For someone who promised my husband he'd "take care" of me in NYC (whatever that means), he plans on doing a lot of drinking.
Check this out for info about a blogger meet-up in NYC.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Boring Mom-type Post. Read at your own risk.
We took the kids to the local minor league hockey game last night.
My husband drove his own car so that he and my daughter could stay for public skating after the game.
As we were driving, the kids were singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. And they sang one line like this:
Up above the world so high.
Like a gas ball in the sky.
What the?
Where the heck did they learn that? I mean, sure. It's scientifically correct and all, but diamonds, man. I need diamonds in my kids' songs. I'm all about the diamonds.
What the heck are they teaching at that school?
*****
When we got to the game we found out that our seats were actually in a corporate box. Our financial advisor had given us the tickets. It was a big box with maybe thirty seats, but we were the only ones there. It was nice. Very nice.
We've decided that we are box seat people living on a mezzanine income.
*****
I may have mentioned before that my son loves trains. Especially Thomas the Tank Engine.
When we were driving home tonight, just as we pulled up to the base gates we were stopped at the train crossing.
It seems like a million freight trains go by there everyday. But this was a passenger train. And a fancy one too. After about a dozen passenger cars came cars all decked out for Christmas. There were even engines painted like Thomas characters. There were reindeer in a stable car and a candy cane caboose.
My son was in two-year-old heaven. I've never seen him so excited. We had to call Grandma and Grandpa just to tell them about it.
I love unexpected things like that. They can be so magical to kids. And it is a real gift to be able to enjoy them through a kid's eyes.
I'm in such a Christmas mood this year.
Now if only our 8' tall snowman would stay inflated, I'd be all set for holiday cheer.
My husband drove his own car so that he and my daughter could stay for public skating after the game.
As we were driving, the kids were singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. And they sang one line like this:
Up above the world so high.
Like a gas ball in the sky.
What the?
Where the heck did they learn that? I mean, sure. It's scientifically correct and all, but diamonds, man. I need diamonds in my kids' songs. I'm all about the diamonds.
What the heck are they teaching at that school?
*****
When we got to the game we found out that our seats were actually in a corporate box. Our financial advisor had given us the tickets. It was a big box with maybe thirty seats, but we were the only ones there. It was nice. Very nice.
We've decided that we are box seat people living on a mezzanine income.
*****
I may have mentioned before that my son loves trains. Especially Thomas the Tank Engine.
When we were driving home tonight, just as we pulled up to the base gates we were stopped at the train crossing.
It seems like a million freight trains go by there everyday. But this was a passenger train. And a fancy one too. After about a dozen passenger cars came cars all decked out for Christmas. There were even engines painted like Thomas characters. There were reindeer in a stable car and a candy cane caboose.
My son was in two-year-old heaven. I've never seen him so excited. We had to call Grandma and Grandpa just to tell them about it.
I love unexpected things like that. They can be so magical to kids. And it is a real gift to be able to enjoy them through a kid's eyes.
I'm in such a Christmas mood this year.
Now if only our 8' tall snowman would stay inflated, I'd be all set for holiday cheer.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Last Words on my Mouth
I feel a little bad right now. A few people have found my blog lately by googling for information on jaw surgery. And here I am complaining about crapping my pants.
It's not that bad, Google people. I swear. I'm actually glad that I had it done. I still have a long way to go before I look, talk, and eat normally (like four more weeks) but I think in the long run that I am going to be really glad to have had the opportunity to have this surgery.
A few people have asked me about just how I will look and talk in New York when I meet all these new people. They're wondering how healed I am. People have even asked for pictures.
There ain't no way in hell I was going to allow photo documentation of this whole process. I barely even have any pictures of myself with braces.
But by following these Google searches, I happened upon this man's personal page. A.J. went through a surgery very similar to mine, and documented the whole thing in photographs. You know that I am a total picture slut. I love looking at people's photos. And these were of particular interest to me.
I am healing right along the same lines as A.J. The only difference so far is that he got his bite splint off after two weeks, but I'll be wearing mine for six weeks. Well, that and my bite splint isn't green. And I'd never puree spaghetti. And I'm not a 140 pound, 5'7" man, but you know. In theory it is all the same.
So anyway, to answer your questions, my cheeks (where the titanium strips are holding my jaw forward) are still pretty swollen. And my nose, and lips are still numb. But I've gone from looking like a gorilla to looking like a chipmunk, and it's all good.
Though I think I am going to dub my teeth as the "Gates of Hell". I guess you'll have to see them to know what I mean. I think I may have scared my husband off oral sex for the rest of his life.
Just kidding. Like that would ever happen.
Actually, I feel sort of bad about that. It's been since October since I've *ahem* done that to him. And there ain't no way in hell I'm doing it before he deploys in January. And then he'll be gone for four months. So that's (let me count my fingers) at least six months with no pole polishing.
Poor baby!
Okay. I'm officially sick of talking about my freaking jaw. It's boring to you. It's boring to me. And truly, I feel pretty petty complaining about my simple medical procedure while so many people have so many worse things to deal with.
Speaking of which, have you ever noticed that I always screw up the use of the words worse and worst in my blog? Dumbass.
So let's see. That means my blog topics in the near future may include Jourdan Lane and how much she rocks, how the Tuna Pest got me in trouble again, how I killed my daughter's pet worm, how I think my daughter is a fruit fly in the making, something about Wendy's that I can't remember, and how I have a crush on Steven Sabados.
Happy reading.
It's not that bad, Google people. I swear. I'm actually glad that I had it done. I still have a long way to go before I look, talk, and eat normally (like four more weeks) but I think in the long run that I am going to be really glad to have had the opportunity to have this surgery.
A few people have asked me about just how I will look and talk in New York when I meet all these new people. They're wondering how healed I am. People have even asked for pictures.
There ain't no way in hell I was going to allow photo documentation of this whole process. I barely even have any pictures of myself with braces.
But by following these Google searches, I happened upon this man's personal page. A.J. went through a surgery very similar to mine, and documented the whole thing in photographs. You know that I am a total picture slut. I love looking at people's photos. And these were of particular interest to me.
I am healing right along the same lines as A.J. The only difference so far is that he got his bite splint off after two weeks, but I'll be wearing mine for six weeks. Well, that and my bite splint isn't green. And I'd never puree spaghetti. And I'm not a 140 pound, 5'7" man, but you know. In theory it is all the same.
So anyway, to answer your questions, my cheeks (where the titanium strips are holding my jaw forward) are still pretty swollen. And my nose, and lips are still numb. But I've gone from looking like a gorilla to looking like a chipmunk, and it's all good.
Though I think I am going to dub my teeth as the "Gates of Hell". I guess you'll have to see them to know what I mean. I think I may have scared my husband off oral sex for the rest of his life.
Just kidding. Like that would ever happen.
Actually, I feel sort of bad about that. It's been since October since I've *ahem* done that to him. And there ain't no way in hell I'm doing it before he deploys in January. And then he'll be gone for four months. So that's (let me count my fingers) at least six months with no pole polishing.
Poor baby!
Okay. I'm officially sick of talking about my freaking jaw. It's boring to you. It's boring to me. And truly, I feel pretty petty complaining about my simple medical procedure while so many people have so many worse things to deal with.
Speaking of which, have you ever noticed that I always screw up the use of the words worse and worst in my blog? Dumbass.
So let's see. That means my blog topics in the near future may include Jourdan Lane and how much she rocks, how the Tuna Pest got me in trouble again, how I killed my daughter's pet worm, how I think my daughter is a fruit fly in the making, something about Wendy's that I can't remember, and how I have a crush on Steven Sabados.
Happy reading.
Friday, November 26, 2004
How am I thankful? Let me count the ways.
I had a really nice day yesterday.
You'd think that celebrating Thanksgiving when you can't eat would be a real drag, but I actually had one of the nicest Thanksgivings I can remember.
I am feeling especially thankful for things this year. I am especially thankful for the absolutely amazing sex that seems to have become a regular part of my life lately.
But that seems a little sacrilegious, doesn't it?
So I guess a close second would be my wonderful family, my precious kids, my secure and comfortable life, the excellent health of me and mine, and the gift of being able to do exactly what I want to do with my life.
But I'm thankful for those things every year.
This year I am most thankful for the many new friends in my life.
It can be hard to make friends as an adult. And that's especially true for a military wife and stay-at-home mother. But this year, as I was celebrating the holiday with my best friend and her family I was struck by the fact that CB is the closest friend I've had since Erin and Christine in college. And that surely is a gift.
But for me, the new friendships don't stop there. I am just overwhelmed by the generous hearts and beautiful souls of all the new blogger friends I have made. It is amazing. I count some of you among my very best friends. And having the opportunity to meet some of my bestest new blogger friends in New York in one week is an especially sweet gift for me.
Yeah. You know what?
Scrap all that bullshit.
I'm really just grateful for the excellent fucking.
You'd think that celebrating Thanksgiving when you can't eat would be a real drag, but I actually had one of the nicest Thanksgivings I can remember.
I am feeling especially thankful for things this year. I am especially thankful for the absolutely amazing sex that seems to have become a regular part of my life lately.
But that seems a little sacrilegious, doesn't it?
So I guess a close second would be my wonderful family, my precious kids, my secure and comfortable life, the excellent health of me and mine, and the gift of being able to do exactly what I want to do with my life.
But I'm thankful for those things every year.
This year I am most thankful for the many new friends in my life.
It can be hard to make friends as an adult. And that's especially true for a military wife and stay-at-home mother. But this year, as I was celebrating the holiday with my best friend and her family I was struck by the fact that CB is the closest friend I've had since Erin and Christine in college. And that surely is a gift.
But for me, the new friendships don't stop there. I am just overwhelmed by the generous hearts and beautiful souls of all the new blogger friends I have made. It is amazing. I count some of you among my very best friends. And having the opportunity to meet some of my bestest new blogger friends in New York in one week is an especially sweet gift for me.
Yeah. You know what?
Scrap all that bullshit.
I'm really just grateful for the excellent fucking.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Things I've Learned Since My Surgery
- Did you know that your face can swell so much that your pores will stretch to their limits?
- Did you know that when your pores stretch that much they stop working?
- Did you know that they would then secrete oils onto your face?
- Did you know that this will prompt your mother to ask, "Did you put some sort of cream on your face? That's good."
- Did you know that when your upper-jaw is moved forward they actually lift your nose away from your face?
- Did you know that this will cause your nose to bleed and run for at least a week?
- Did you know that you would lose feeling in your nose and face?
- Did you know that when you have no feeling in your face that you can't tell if your nose is running until it reaches your tastebuds?
- Did you know that you would have to be on a liquid diet?
- Did you know what a liquid diet does to your bowels?
- Did you know that liquid bowel movements are really hard to control?
- Did you know that every time you read Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven it will cause you to crap your pants? (Damn you.)
- Did you know that you wouldn't be able to talk on the phone?
- Did you know that this would make you feel really detached from your friends and loved ones?
- Did you know that mumbling about your jaw surgery to a telemarketer will make them feel really, really bad for calling?
- Did you know that every single time you mention your surgery to someone they will completely ignore all of the pain and suffering you've been subjected to and immediately exclaim, "You're so lucky! You'll lose so much weight!"
- Did you know that your feelings will be a little hurt that everyone thinks you need to lose so much weight?
- Did you know that you'll actually only lose about 10 pounds before all the milkshakes you've been drinking will start putting the pounds back on?
- Did you know that the lack of vitamins in your diet would cause your hair to fall out?
- Did you know that the people who love you will love even more, even though you are cranky, mute, snotty, fat, and hairless.
MWUAH!
Love you guys. Happy Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Love You Guys
Yesterday, I told my friend CB that I loved her.
This is pretty out-of-character for me. Not when I'm with my husband and kids, though. With them I'm very affectionate and vocal with my love. But with friends, extended family, even my parents, I'm just not an "I love you" kind of girl.
Until now.
I don't know what it is. My mother had been full of I-love-you's lately too. Maybe it is a realization that there is so much bad stuff in this world, and I'm so lucky to be as happy and loved as I am.
Take Sebastian, for example, of Holding the Man. I only recently started reading his work on the group blog Event Horizon. But you can tell right away from Sebastian's writing that he is a very special man. I checked out Holding the Man a few times before my surgery. And then yesterday, I read the awful news.
It seems that Sebastian was run down by a car. It seems like a hate crime too. Sebastian is in a coma.
Just when I was starting to think that this particular brand of hate was a very American thing, someone has to go and in the worst possible way, show us all otherwise. Hate, ignorance, and violence are worldwide and growing (it seems). And the only way to combat that is to grow love, education, and peace worldwide too.
And I'm starting right here at home.
There is so much more. Death. Sickness. Suicide. Losing love. Losing jobs. Losing humanity.
There is even sending your love to the desert to do his duty for his country.
Everyone has a sphere of influence. Some are spread far and wide, through media or policy, or even an Internet community of faithful readers. And some are more contained to family and friends and the people we love.
And as of now, today, this very moment the people in my sphere are going to be learning a lot about how much I love them. And they'll be learning as much as I can teach about tolerance, whether it be through example ("Yes, Mom, he is my friend and he is a gay man.") or through lectures when appropriate.
Let's face it. It won't change much. But it might change a little. And my love is really the only thing I have to give.
But I think it is worth a hell of a lot.
This is pretty out-of-character for me. Not when I'm with my husband and kids, though. With them I'm very affectionate and vocal with my love. But with friends, extended family, even my parents, I'm just not an "I love you" kind of girl.
Until now.
I don't know what it is. My mother had been full of I-love-you's lately too. Maybe it is a realization that there is so much bad stuff in this world, and I'm so lucky to be as happy and loved as I am.
Take Sebastian, for example, of Holding the Man. I only recently started reading his work on the group blog Event Horizon. But you can tell right away from Sebastian's writing that he is a very special man. I checked out Holding the Man a few times before my surgery. And then yesterday, I read the awful news.
It seems that Sebastian was run down by a car. It seems like a hate crime too. Sebastian is in a coma.
Just when I was starting to think that this particular brand of hate was a very American thing, someone has to go and in the worst possible way, show us all otherwise. Hate, ignorance, and violence are worldwide and growing (it seems). And the only way to combat that is to grow love, education, and peace worldwide too.
And I'm starting right here at home.
There is so much more. Death. Sickness. Suicide. Losing love. Losing jobs. Losing humanity.
There is even sending your love to the desert to do his duty for his country.
Everyone has a sphere of influence. Some are spread far and wide, through media or policy, or even an Internet community of faithful readers. And some are more contained to family and friends and the people we love.
And as of now, today, this very moment the people in my sphere are going to be learning a lot about how much I love them. And they'll be learning as much as I can teach about tolerance, whether it be through example ("Yes, Mom, he is my friend and he is a gay man.") or through lectures when appropriate.
Let's face it. It won't change much. But it might change a little. And my love is really the only thing I have to give.
But I think it is worth a hell of a lot.
Monday, November 22, 2004
In the Dog House
Wow! I haven't had two men fighting over me since high school. Though I'm not sure if it counts if one of the men is gay and the other already belongs to you. Oh well.
Before I went into surgery, I actually read Patrick's first two posts. So, while I was all gussied up in my hospital gown and waiting to be put under I said to my husband, "Don't read my blog for a while. I asked Patrick to guest blog...and...well...just don't read it. I think it will piss you off. Okay?"
Cut to two days later while we're waiting for the doctor to release me.
Tuna Man: I read you blog.
Me: Uh oh.
Tuna Man: Patrick is funny.
Me: You really think so. I didn't think you'd appreciate his humor.
Tuna Man: Well, it's not my type of humor, but I can see that he is funny.
*pause*
Tuna Man: And we're NOT having any poppers in our house.
Me: *laughing* I know, Honey. Did you really think I would?
Tuna Man: No, but, I don't think it's a good idea to have DRUGS in the house.
Then Patrick made a few more posts.
Tuna Man: We need to have a talk about your blog.
Me: Uh oh! What did I do? I haven't even been blogging. I didn't do anything!
Tuna Man: I know Patrick is your friend and you can say anything you want to him on the phone but I don't appreciate it showing up in your blog for the whole world to see.
(He vastly overrates my readership)
Me: Oh. *racking my brain to remember what was offensive* Um. *still racking* Oh! *remembering* Sorry. Um. I can take it off you know.
Tuna Man: You know, you can say whatever you want to your friends, I don't have to like it, but you can say it, but I really don't like it showing up there.
Me: Um. Sorry.
So the Tuna Man is a little miffed at me. Just a little though. He's used to me by now.
Tuna Pest got me in trouble, you big jerk!
But considering that my husband has said, "I hope you have fun in New York." And while watching me down cup after cup of liquid medicine he said, "I know someone who's doing shots in New York," I don't think he's too mad.
But for the record, Tuna Girl does NOT do shots. As of today, my teeth are still tied together and I'll definitely still be wearing a bite splint in NYC. If I can't drink it through a straw, I can't have it, period. And I ain't drinking no Irish Car Bombs through a straw!
Before I went into surgery, I actually read Patrick's first two posts. So, while I was all gussied up in my hospital gown and waiting to be put under I said to my husband, "Don't read my blog for a while. I asked Patrick to guest blog...and...well...just don't read it. I think it will piss you off. Okay?"
Cut to two days later while we're waiting for the doctor to release me.
Tuna Man: I read you blog.
Me: Uh oh.
Tuna Man: Patrick is funny.
Me: You really think so. I didn't think you'd appreciate his humor.
Tuna Man: Well, it's not my type of humor, but I can see that he is funny.
*pause*
Tuna Man: And we're NOT having any poppers in our house.
Me: *laughing* I know, Honey. Did you really think I would?
Tuna Man: No, but, I don't think it's a good idea to have DRUGS in the house.
Then Patrick made a few more posts.
Tuna Man: We need to have a talk about your blog.
Me: Uh oh! What did I do? I haven't even been blogging. I didn't do anything!
Tuna Man: I know Patrick is your friend and you can say anything you want to him on the phone but I don't appreciate it showing up in your blog for the whole world to see.
(He vastly overrates my readership)
Me: Oh. *racking my brain to remember what was offensive* Um. *still racking* Oh! *remembering* Sorry. Um. I can take it off you know.
Tuna Man: You know, you can say whatever you want to your friends, I don't have to like it, but you can say it, but I really don't like it showing up there.
Me: Um. Sorry.
So the Tuna Man is a little miffed at me. Just a little though. He's used to me by now.
Tuna Pest got me in trouble, you big jerk!
But considering that my husband has said, "I hope you have fun in New York." And while watching me down cup after cup of liquid medicine he said, "I know someone who's doing shots in New York," I don't think he's too mad.
But for the record, Tuna Girl does NOT do shots. As of today, my teeth are still tied together and I'll definitely still be wearing a bite splint in NYC. If I can't drink it through a straw, I can't have it, period. And I ain't drinking no Irish Car Bombs through a straw!
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Making The Case
Ladies and Gentleman of the jury (that's you Tuna readers!), I am placing my fate in your hands...well in your keyboards. You get to determine if I am guilty.
If you find me guilty, I will live by your rules and do the shot of your choice in NYC(on camera), in the presence of TunaGirl. If you find me innocent, TunaGirl will drink the shot of your choice in NYC on camera. (I'm all about the win-win solutions).
So...Ladies, gentlemen, and queens of the jury, I ask you. Am I guilty for going too far? Here are the facts of the case:
Three days before Mrs. Fish went for her surgery, she asked that I guest blog for her, which I was more than happy to do. She then announced to all of you that I would be guest blogging.
As you can see from her own words, she decided to NOT LAY ANY GROUND RULES. Yes...No rules.
Now I ask you Tuna readers to find an area where I mention the the Tuna tits? In fact, I neglected to mention the Tuna rack (although it is legendary) over the entire week.
As for oral sex jokes...well I just don't find oral sex a lauging matter. Giving oral sex is a very serious work and I like working. Ask around!
So most loyal, intelligent, and fair minded TunaReaders...am I guilty?
Thank you, and I hope to see you all over in my neck of the woods at The Traveling Spotlight
If you find me guilty, I will live by your rules and do the shot of your choice in NYC(on camera), in the presence of TunaGirl. If you find me innocent, TunaGirl will drink the shot of your choice in NYC on camera. (I'm all about the win-win solutions).
So...Ladies, gentlemen, and queens of the jury, I ask you. Am I guilty for going too far? Here are the facts of the case:
Three days before Mrs. Fish went for her surgery, she asked that I guest blog for her, which I was more than happy to do. She then announced to all of you that I would be guest blogging.
In the meantime, I've arranged for a guest blogger. Yay! I love guest bloggers. Especially when they're good friends.
Patrick has graciously agreed to inflict his brand of humor on my humble little blog. I'd try to lay some ground rules, but everyone just ignores me anyway. I'm sure Patrick will have one or two jokes to share about all the oral sex my husband won't be getting. And I can almost guarantee some mention of my rack.
Man. I may live to regret this.
As you can see from her own words, she decided to NOT LAY ANY GROUND RULES. Yes...No rules.
Now I ask you Tuna readers to find an area where I mention the the Tuna tits? In fact, I neglected to mention the Tuna rack (although it is legendary) over the entire week.
As for oral sex jokes...well I just don't find oral sex a lauging matter. Giving oral sex is a very serious work and I like working. Ask around!
So most loyal, intelligent, and fair minded TunaReaders...am I guilty?
Thank you, and I hope to see you all over in my neck of the woods at The Traveling Spotlight
Friday, November 19, 2004
Hugs from Afar
Hey guys! It's still Tuna Girl here. I haven't been able to concentrate well enough to post on the blog. But I did want you to all to know that I'm starting to feel a little more like myself again.
It has been very strange to be so disconnected from people. You don't realize how much of an important role the telephone plays in your life until you can't use it. And I haven't really even been able to e-mail much because my eyes aren't really focusing well.
CB even stopped by the other night to bring me flowers. But when I went to the door to sign "thank you" I scared her daughter. So even my best friend feels too weird to be around me right now. We're having Thanksgiving at her house though. That should be nice.
And I got one of Pua's very special hand-made scarves in the mail today. And I can't even tell you how nice that made me feel. Talk about perfect timing. (Love you, Pua! More than Rick even.)
And my orthodontist sent me a flower arrangement yesterday. I thought that was so sweet.
Now, if I could just get my family to puree some dinner for me before they rush out to a restaurant every night, I'd be all set.
I believe Patrick may have a post or two left in him. I obviously don't have anything interesting to say. Let's see if he can make a case for himself NOT getting his ass kicked in the next couple of days.
I'll be back to blogging on Monday.
I miss you guys!
It has been very strange to be so disconnected from people. You don't realize how much of an important role the telephone plays in your life until you can't use it. And I haven't really even been able to e-mail much because my eyes aren't really focusing well.
CB even stopped by the other night to bring me flowers. But when I went to the door to sign "thank you" I scared her daughter. So even my best friend feels too weird to be around me right now. We're having Thanksgiving at her house though. That should be nice.
And I got one of Pua's very special hand-made scarves in the mail today. And I can't even tell you how nice that made me feel. Talk about perfect timing. (Love you, Pua! More than Rick even.)
And my orthodontist sent me a flower arrangement yesterday. I thought that was so sweet.
Now, if I could just get my family to puree some dinner for me before they rush out to a restaurant every night, I'd be all set.
I believe Patrick may have a post or two left in him. I obviously don't have anything interesting to say. Let's see if he can make a case for himself NOT getting his ass kicked in the next couple of days.
I'll be back to blogging on Monday.
I miss you guys!
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Tuna's Back
Hey Guys! I'm actually semi-lucid at the moment and I thought I'd give you all a quick update.
But first things first. Yes. Patrick will be getting his ass kicked when I see him in New York. Now, moving on...
So, whenever anyone calls to check up on me, my mother or my husband tell them that I'm doing great. I look great. I feel great. My doctor has also said that I'm doing better than any patient he's ever had and that my morale is surprisingly high. He said I'm a good sport.
Yeah. Um. Not so much. I look scary. I feel in pain. And I just want to sleep. I mean, how exactly am I supposed to act.
I think this blog is very much going to be about me saying all the things I can't actually speak for a while.
Right now, my prevailing thought is that I am lucky to be as healthy, happy, and loved as I am. But a couple of nights ago, I was wishing that I had never even thought to complain about pain in my jaw.
I have to admit that I was absolutely terrified the first night after my surgery. I couldn't breathe. I was literally drowning in my own blood. But I couldn't speak or explain so no one could help me. I was so alone. I also assumed that they were giving me pain medication. But evidently, my doctor told me later, they were waiting for me to ask for it.
Hello! Ask for it? I can't fucking talk. I had to squeal like an animal to get anyone to notice that I was vomiting blood.
Never mind the fact that they kept trying to take my temperature orally. My husband yelled at them twice about it.
Wow. I actually feel a little better just getting that all out. Considering how longwinded I usually am, I'm sure you can imagine the words that are bubbling up under the surface.
So, as of right now, my jaws are not wired shut, but they are tied shut with elastics. I can only suck clear liquids through my teeth. And I am starving. You'd be amazed at what sounds good right now.
The doctor says I'm doing really well, and he's going to let me put my own elastics on and off starting next Tuesday, so that I can get a little solid food.
I think the worse thing since coming home from the hospital is taking all this liquid medication. God! It tastes awful. I will be extremely happy when I can swallow a pill again.
I can't remember if I ever mentioned before that I know a little sign language. That's come in handy, but people are cracking me up. My husband and kids keep signing to me. Um. Guys? I can actually hear you. You can speak to me.
Can you tell that I'm still on Lortab? It's not making me loopy though. Just tired.
So I'm off again, probably for a few more days. My mother extended her stay until Saturday, thank god. After that I am on my own with these kids.
I hope you've enjoyed Patrick's torturing--I MEAN--posting for me. And, Patrick, I hope you keep posting if you feel like it. Even though my husband is gonna kick your ass.
So, I love you guys. In those moments on Friday night when I considered just how long I could go without breathing before I would die, I believe that your spirit helped me keep sucking air in and out. Breath by breath. Yeah, my love for my husband and kids was forefront in my mind, but I really think that all of you pulling for me helped me through too.
Be safe.
But first things first. Yes. Patrick will be getting his ass kicked when I see him in New York. Now, moving on...
So, whenever anyone calls to check up on me, my mother or my husband tell them that I'm doing great. I look great. I feel great. My doctor has also said that I'm doing better than any patient he's ever had and that my morale is surprisingly high. He said I'm a good sport.
Yeah. Um. Not so much. I look scary. I feel in pain. And I just want to sleep. I mean, how exactly am I supposed to act.
I think this blog is very much going to be about me saying all the things I can't actually speak for a while.
Right now, my prevailing thought is that I am lucky to be as healthy, happy, and loved as I am. But a couple of nights ago, I was wishing that I had never even thought to complain about pain in my jaw.
I have to admit that I was absolutely terrified the first night after my surgery. I couldn't breathe. I was literally drowning in my own blood. But I couldn't speak or explain so no one could help me. I was so alone. I also assumed that they were giving me pain medication. But evidently, my doctor told me later, they were waiting for me to ask for it.
Hello! Ask for it? I can't fucking talk. I had to squeal like an animal to get anyone to notice that I was vomiting blood.
Never mind the fact that they kept trying to take my temperature orally. My husband yelled at them twice about it.
Wow. I actually feel a little better just getting that all out. Considering how longwinded I usually am, I'm sure you can imagine the words that are bubbling up under the surface.
So, as of right now, my jaws are not wired shut, but they are tied shut with elastics. I can only suck clear liquids through my teeth. And I am starving. You'd be amazed at what sounds good right now.
The doctor says I'm doing really well, and he's going to let me put my own elastics on and off starting next Tuesday, so that I can get a little solid food.
I think the worse thing since coming home from the hospital is taking all this liquid medication. God! It tastes awful. I will be extremely happy when I can swallow a pill again.
I can't remember if I ever mentioned before that I know a little sign language. That's come in handy, but people are cracking me up. My husband and kids keep signing to me. Um. Guys? I can actually hear you. You can speak to me.
Can you tell that I'm still on Lortab? It's not making me loopy though. Just tired.
So I'm off again, probably for a few more days. My mother extended her stay until Saturday, thank god. After that I am on my own with these kids.
I hope you've enjoyed Patrick's torturing--I MEAN--posting for me. And, Patrick, I hope you keep posting if you feel like it. Even though my husband is gonna kick your ass.
So, I love you guys. In those moments on Friday night when I considered just how long I could go without breathing before I would die, I believe that your spirit helped me keep sucking air in and out. Breath by breath. Yeah, my love for my husband and kids was forefront in my mind, but I really think that all of you pulling for me helped me through too.
Be safe.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Tuna Says: Eat Me!
Crispy Wasabi Potato Crusted Tuna
1 pound center-cut bluefin tuna
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon wasabi powder
1/4 cup water
1 large white potato, peeled
2 tablespoons olive oil
Drizzle of sesame oil
Sprigs of fresh chervil
2 ounces of caviar
Cut the tuna into 2 inch logs, 1 1/2 inches wide and 1 1/2 inches thick. Season the tuna with salt and pepper. In a small bowl, whisk the wasabi and water together to form a loose paste. Using the potato threader, cut the potato into thin curl-like pieces. Season the potatoes with salt and pepper. Divide the potato curls between the tuna logs in individual piles. Brush each piece of tuna with the wasabi mixture, coating each side of the tuna completely. Place a piece of the tuna in the center of each pile of potato curls. Wrap the potatoes entirely over each piece of tuna, tightly. In a large saute pan, heat the olive oil. When the oil is hot, pan-fry the tuna until golden brown, about 2 to 3 minutes on each side. Fry the tuna in batches. Serve the tuna on a platter with a drizzle of sesame oil, chervil and a dollop of caviar.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Tuna Update
TunaPet Here. I called the Big Fish last night, and spoke to both TunaMom (who sounds nearly identical to Tuna) and TunaHubby. The McFish Fillet is doing fine, but is still a bit swollen. She thanks you all for the happy thoughts.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
A Fishy Conversation...
A big hello from the Traveling Spotlight. Seeing that TunaGirl is high as a kite on Lortab, I thought now would be a great time to give you some of the best quotes of our conversations over the phone (with some artistic liscense). So pull up a chair, sit down, and have a listen:
Tuna: "Well I don't want to betray his confidence, but what he told me was ..."
Tuna: "The last time TunaHubby was deployed I sent him a few 'private' photos of me. He emailed me the day he received them saying 'You're the best wife...EVER!'"
Tuna: "Wait! You're talking with me about men in harnesses while you are doing your grocery shopping?"
Patrick: "Sweetie...I live in the gay ghetto. I could talk about the different preferred positions of butt sex and nobody would batt and eyelash!"
Tuna: "I worry about all you boys!"
Tuna: "Deciding who's going to top or bottom? I guess being straight has it's advantages."
Tuna: "Think of me as the sister who will listen to all of your deeds and never judge you."
Patrick: "I slept with a married man and I know his wife."
Tuna: ***Silence***
Tuna: "I think you and XXXXXX [protecting this blogger's identity] would make a great couple."
Tuna: "I will say this...my husband underestimates his size."
Tuna: "Well I don't want to betray his confidence, but what he told me was ..."
Tuna: "The last time TunaHubby was deployed I sent him a few 'private' photos of me. He emailed me the day he received them saying 'You're the best wife...EVER!'"
Tuna: "Wait! You're talking with me about men in harnesses while you are doing your grocery shopping?"
Patrick: "Sweetie...I live in the gay ghetto. I could talk about the different preferred positions of butt sex and nobody would batt and eyelash!"
Tuna: "I worry about all you boys!"
Tuna: "Deciding who's going to top or bottom? I guess being straight has it's advantages."
Tuna: "Think of me as the sister who will listen to all of your deeds and never judge you."
Patrick: "I slept with a married man and I know his wife."
Tuna: ***Silence***
Tuna: "I think you and XXXXXX [protecting this blogger's identity] would make a great couple."
Tuna: "I will say this...my husband underestimates his size."
Friday, November 12, 2004
A Sigh of Relief!
Gay TunaPet here, just back from bowling with my Friday league. After bowling a measly 110 in my first game, my phone rang. TunaHubby had called to let me know that the lady fish is FINALLY out of surgery and that the whole operation went fine. Tuna is now resting, and I (along with each of you) can breath a sigh of relief. In fact, that news, along with my two cosmopolitans, allowed me to bowl a much better second game. Thanks miss thang for sending me the goodwill, and you've got a fan base that is wishing you happy thoughts!
Any Last Words!
The Gay TunaPet is traumatized. Last night, TunaPet took the tuna kids into the living room to play a game of Pretty Pretty Princess, while TunaGirl took TunaHubby to the bedroom to do whatever it is that she does that makes him squeel like a pig. I'd like to say I could tell you, but the video recorder didn't record clearly.
I will say the noises were loud enough that I'm surprised the children aren't traumatized. Thankfully...my broadway recording of Cats was loud enough to drown them out...but those noises (which oddly sounded like the sound of screaming into a pillow) will haunt my sleep for at least a few weeks.
This morning, I asked the Big Fish how she felt before the operation today. "I can't talk very well...my jaw is really sore", was her answer as she flashed a glance at TunaHubby. Not to worry TunaGirl...He's going to be in some good "hands" with TunaPet!
Seeing that Tuna is now singing "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds", while the doctors realign her jaw (TunaHubby...I'm impressed), I figure I'll tell you a true story about her fishy majesty!
A few months ago, during a phone conversation, we were discussing my favorite activity. No...not shopping, cooking, or any of the sports we both like to play, but sex. Did you know Tuna is a top? Ok...that's a stretch...but she asked me very timidly..."What are poppers?"
Ahh, Tuna...so young, so innocent...so getting an education in New York City! As I look at her blogroll list, I realize that the majority of you already know what they are and in the case of Zeitzeuge, even advocate using them. For the two of you who don't know what poppers are:
But really, the only way you are going to know what Poppers are Mrs. T, is if you have a bottle of them to take home to TunaHubby. So in honor of meeting you in person for the first time in NYC, I, Patrick of the Traveling Spotlight (shameless plug), have bought you a bottle of Cleveland's finest poppers. You can take them home with you and use them with the TunaHubby. You'll make a bottom out of him yet.
Now I will say...TunaGirl knows that I have bought this for her, but she has insisted that she will not take them back on the plane with her when she leaves NYC. So I need your assistance in persuading her that she should take her poppers home. Every popper needs a good home to live in.
I will say the noises were loud enough that I'm surprised the children aren't traumatized. Thankfully...my broadway recording of Cats was loud enough to drown them out...but those noises (which oddly sounded like the sound of screaming into a pillow) will haunt my sleep for at least a few weeks.
This morning, I asked the Big Fish how she felt before the operation today. "I can't talk very well...my jaw is really sore", was her answer as she flashed a glance at TunaHubby. Not to worry TunaGirl...He's going to be in some good "hands" with TunaPet!
The Pop Life!
Seeing that Tuna is now singing "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds", while the doctors realign her jaw (TunaHubby...I'm impressed), I figure I'll tell you a true story about her fishy majesty!
A few months ago, during a phone conversation, we were discussing my favorite activity. No...not shopping, cooking, or any of the sports we both like to play, but sex. Did you know Tuna is a top? Ok...that's a stretch...but she asked me very timidly..."What are poppers?"
Ahh, Tuna...so young, so innocent...so getting an education in New York City! As I look at her blogroll list, I realize that the majority of you already know what they are and in the case of Zeitzeuge, even advocate using them. For the two of you who don't know what poppers are:This is a group of quick-acting drugs (alkyl nitrites), of which amyl nitrite, butyl nitrite and isobutyl nitrite are the most widely available. Poppers evaporate at room temperature and are inhaled through the nose and mouth. They're stimulants, but the "rush" lasts minutes, hence the name "poppers".
Poppers comes in small bottles of clear gold-coloured liquid. It is inhaled from the bottle or from a cloth soaked in it. The effects are instantaneous, but last only 2-3 minutes. Effects include:
- A burst of energy and a rushing sensation, because blood vessels open and the heart beats faster, sending the blood rushing to the brain.
- A feeling of light-headedness and dizziness may occur after the initial rush because the blood pressure is reduced.
- The muscles relax, people lose their inhibitions and may giggle uncontrollably.
But really, the only way you are going to know what Poppers are Mrs. T, is if you have a bottle of them to take home to TunaHubby. So in honor of meeting you in person for the first time in NYC, I, Patrick of the Traveling Spotlight (shameless plug), have bought you a bottle of Cleveland's finest poppers. You can take them home with you and use them with the TunaHubby. You'll make a bottom out of him yet.
Now I will say...TunaGirl knows that I have bought this for her, but she has insisted that she will not take them back on the plane with her when she leaves NYC. So I need your assistance in persuading her that she should take her poppers home. Every popper needs a good home to live in.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Rules of Petting
G'afternoon folks. Patrick here asking that you all welcome me to the Tuna family! Since TunaGirl has offered to adopt me as her pet, it is now officially TunaGirl, TunaHubby, TunaDaughter, TunaSon, and gay TunaPet!
A few rules for the Tuna Family in regards to caring for your new TunaPet:
If the Tuna family follows these rules, you can expect to have a very successful relationship with the TunaPet.
A few rules for the Tuna Family in regards to caring for your new TunaPet:
- TunaHubby
- Although I am gay...I can not perform all the duties of the TunaGirl. I'm just not equipped that way. That being said...I can teach you a few things...like cooking the perfect Creme Brulee, or how to coordinate your shower curtain with your bedding!
- Sometimes when the TunaPet is crawling on his hands and knees, it's only to look for the contact lens he dropped
- If we're sleeping in bunk beds, the TunaPet can sleep in either bunk...you decide
- TunaPet loves cuddling while watching Brad Pitt movies. This is a good way to get your TunaPet to purr.
- TunaDaughter
- TunaPet would love to play "Pretty Pretty Princess" with you, but remember that TunaPet is ALWAYS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL! You may be a little princess, but I'm a queen! I outrank you.
- "I'd love to play a game sweetie. Let's play Cinderella! You be Cinderella and I'll be the Wicked Step-Mother! Here's a mop...go clean!"
- TunaPet can teach you a lot of important lessons if you let him. Such as "Make him come to you!" and "dumb and rich = good boyfriend!"
- TunaSon
- The reason I have never had kids? Diapers. I have no idea how to change one, so we are just going to let you run without one. Don't make on the floor!
- TunaPet would love to teach you a few show tunes. We'll start with the original Broadway Cast of Gypsy and work from there
- Pay attention: Gray Goose Orange Vodka, Cointreau, cranberry, dash of lime juice. This is what you feed TunaPet!
- I insist you play "Pretty Pretty Princess" with me.
If the Tuna family follows these rules, you can expect to have a very successful relationship with the TunaPet.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Today's Real Post (such as it is)
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Apparently, my pictures are worth quite a few less.
I actually never think to express myself in pictures. If I feel the need to get something out, I don't paint, draw, sculpt or capture it in any physical form. My psyche operates on words alone. Usually a whole lot of words. Strung together in dubious ways. But words, none the less.
Which is why this blog is occasionally filled with rambling prose on the state of my life.
Take today, for example.
Did I call yesterday Tuna Girl's Day of Crap? I was sadly mistaken. Because today has been far worse.
First, let's start with my orthodontist appointment. The surgeon thinks one of my bicuspids is too high. So the orthodontist used a pair of pliers to lower it. And yes, that feels just as painful as it sounds.
Then his assistant placed surgical hooks on my braces And that is much more painful then it sounds. It felt like she was removing all of my teeth at once by pulling out the wire they are attached to.
And now I have these lovely Gates of Hell razor-sharp hooks across the front of my teeth.
And I thought all the pain would be starting on Friday.
Then I went to my surgical appointment.
A word of advice to the girls. Always shave your legs for a doctors appointments, even if it is a maxilofacial surgeon.
I ended up getting a full exam and lab work. It would have been nice to know that would happen before hand. I'm glad I got over my needle phobia while I was pregnant.
Oh! And I fell asleep in the surgeon's exam room while I was waiting for him. I was dreaming and everything. When he opened the door, I jumped a mile.
Today I'm bruised, cut, swollen, and miserable. And the hard part hasn't even started yet.
AH called me a little while ago and asked me to substitute in our daughters' classroom next week. Isn't she thoughtful? She knows full well that I am having this stupid surgery. Can you just picture me, trying to control twenty five-year-olds without being able to speak in more than a mumble?
I know that so many people have things so worse off than me. And I know that this surgery isn't a big deal at all. Maybe it is because I am so dependent on words that I dread all of this so much.
And I can't tell you how many e-mails I've received (not to mention all of your great comments) wishing me luck. I'm sure you can't tell through all of my whining, but I appreciate your words so very much.
I will be quiet for a few days now. But I am sure I will be back with a vengeance. I'm going to need some outlet for all the words that rumble in my head and won't be able to find their way out of my mouth.
In the meantime, I've arranged for a guest blogger. Yay! I love guest bloggers. Especially when they're good friends.
Patrick has graciously agreed to inflict his brand of humor on my humble little blog. I'd try to lay some ground rules, but everyone just ignores me anyway. I'm sure Patrick will have one or two jokes to share about all the oral sex my husband won't be getting. And I can almost guarantee some mention of my rack.
Man. I may live to regret this.
So have fun together and play nice. I'm going to be taking a vacation with a little friend I like to call Lortab.
I love you guys!
I actually never think to express myself in pictures. If I feel the need to get something out, I don't paint, draw, sculpt or capture it in any physical form. My psyche operates on words alone. Usually a whole lot of words. Strung together in dubious ways. But words, none the less.
Which is why this blog is occasionally filled with rambling prose on the state of my life.
Take today, for example.
Did I call yesterday Tuna Girl's Day of Crap? I was sadly mistaken. Because today has been far worse.
First, let's start with my orthodontist appointment. The surgeon thinks one of my bicuspids is too high. So the orthodontist used a pair of pliers to lower it. And yes, that feels just as painful as it sounds.
Then his assistant placed surgical hooks on my braces And that is much more painful then it sounds. It felt like she was removing all of my teeth at once by pulling out the wire they are attached to.
And now I have these lovely Gates of Hell razor-sharp hooks across the front of my teeth.
And I thought all the pain would be starting on Friday.
Then I went to my surgical appointment.
A word of advice to the girls. Always shave your legs for a doctors appointments, even if it is a maxilofacial surgeon.
I ended up getting a full exam and lab work. It would have been nice to know that would happen before hand. I'm glad I got over my needle phobia while I was pregnant.
Oh! And I fell asleep in the surgeon's exam room while I was waiting for him. I was dreaming and everything. When he opened the door, I jumped a mile.
Today I'm bruised, cut, swollen, and miserable. And the hard part hasn't even started yet.
AH called me a little while ago and asked me to substitute in our daughters' classroom next week. Isn't she thoughtful? She knows full well that I am having this stupid surgery. Can you just picture me, trying to control twenty five-year-olds without being able to speak in more than a mumble?
I know that so many people have things so worse off than me. And I know that this surgery isn't a big deal at all. Maybe it is because I am so dependent on words that I dread all of this so much.
And I can't tell you how many e-mails I've received (not to mention all of your great comments) wishing me luck. I'm sure you can't tell through all of my whining, but I appreciate your words so very much.
I will be quiet for a few days now. But I am sure I will be back with a vengeance. I'm going to need some outlet for all the words that rumble in my head and won't be able to find their way out of my mouth.
In the meantime, I've arranged for a guest blogger. Yay! I love guest bloggers. Especially when they're good friends.
Patrick has graciously agreed to inflict his brand of humor on my humble little blog. I'd try to lay some ground rules, but everyone just ignores me anyway. I'm sure Patrick will have one or two jokes to share about all the oral sex my husband won't be getting. And I can almost guarantee some mention of my rack.
Man. I may live to regret this.
So have fun together and play nice. I'm going to be taking a vacation with a little friend I like to call Lortab.
I love you guys!
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Going it Alone
Today is Tuesday.
I think I'll rename today as Tuna Girl's Day of Crap.
With everything that is going on, I forgot that my husband would be TDY this week. He's gone until late Thursday night. My mother is flying in on Thursday afternoon. And my surgery is scheduled for Friday.
Every moment of my life is booked (and double booked) solid until this weekend. And not with fun stuff.
It's slowly dawning on me that I am more overwhelmed and anxious about things than I am willing to admit. Even to myself.
It feels good just to say that.
And I bet by the title you thought this would be a post about masturbation.
Speaking of which, I have a confession to make. If you link to me through your Site Meter I will snoop and see what your stats are like.
And some of y'all have some weird ass google searches.
I think I'll rename today as Tuna Girl's Day of Crap.
With everything that is going on, I forgot that my husband would be TDY this week. He's gone until late Thursday night. My mother is flying in on Thursday afternoon. And my surgery is scheduled for Friday.
Every moment of my life is booked (and double booked) solid until this weekend. And not with fun stuff.
It's slowly dawning on me that I am more overwhelmed and anxious about things than I am willing to admit. Even to myself.
It feels good just to say that.
And I bet by the title you thought this would be a post about masturbation.
Speaking of which, I have a confession to make. If you link to me through your Site Meter I will snoop and see what your stats are like.
And some of y'all have some weird ass google searches.
Monday, November 08, 2004
Publish, Blogger, Publish
I wrote a brilliant post during my regular blogging time this afternoon. It was pure genius. I swear. It covered everything from poop to my new Febreeze Scent Stories.
Then I pressed Publish and...poof...it was gone. Lost forever in cyber space.
And I really just feel bad for you, my readers, who will be forever bereft of my pure genius. Really. I swear.
Okay. Maybe it was the most rambling piece of crap I've ever written and the blog gods did me a favor by eating it up. But we'll never know. Will we?
I just wish my slutty soccer mom post hadn't been the one languishing at the top of the blog for more than it's regulation day in the sun.
Then I pressed Publish and...poof...it was gone. Lost forever in cyber space.
And I really just feel bad for you, my readers, who will be forever bereft of my pure genius. Really. I swear.
Okay. Maybe it was the most rambling piece of crap I've ever written and the blog gods did me a favor by eating it up. But we'll never know. Will we?
I just wish my slutty soccer mom post hadn't been the one languishing at the top of the blog for more than it's regulation day in the sun.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Today's Youth
Today, I saw a young man wearing a T-shirt that read:
I *heart* soccer moms!
Awww. We *heart* you right back, sweetie.
But take-off that shirt while you mow the lawn and we'd love you even more.
I *heart* soccer moms!
Awww. We *heart* you right back, sweetie.
But take-off that shirt while you mow the lawn and we'd love you even more.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Days like this make it all worthwhile.
I'm having a great day today. And I had a great night of sleep last night.
I think I owe it to the amazing sex we had last night.
I'm talking stuff-something-in-your-mouth-so-you-don't-wake-the-kids kind of amazing sex. I'm talking can't-walk-very-well-today kind of amazing sex. I'm talking knocks-your-husband-out-of-commission-for-an-entire-day kind of sex.
Well, he did do all the work.
He and the kids are napping right now. I'm either going to go mess with my blogroll or watch some TiVo. Or maybe I can work at returning a bunch of the e-mails and phone calls I've received since yesterday.
Speaking of making my day great...
Thanks you guys. I really am fine. It's all normal in my world. I take everything day-to-day and moment-by-moment.
But I appreciate your thoughts more than you can ever know.
I love you guys.
I think I owe it to the amazing sex we had last night.
I'm talking stuff-something-in-your-mouth-so-you-don't-wake-the-kids kind of amazing sex. I'm talking can't-walk-very-well-today kind of amazing sex. I'm talking knocks-your-husband-out-of-commission-for-an-entire-day kind of sex.
Well, he did do all the work.
He and the kids are napping right now. I'm either going to go mess with my blogroll or watch some TiVo. Or maybe I can work at returning a bunch of the e-mails and phone calls I've received since yesterday.
Speaking of making my day great...
Thanks you guys. I really am fine. It's all normal in my world. I take everything day-to-day and moment-by-moment.
But I appreciate your thoughts more than you can ever know.
I love you guys.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Strong and Stalwart
It's time for the post that I should have written earlier.
I'm not myself lately, and I wonder if anyone can tell.
I'm not depressed exactly, but I'm not myself either. I think I've just been very stressed about a myriad of things going on in my life.
None of these things are really that important. Or if they are important, they aren't things that I have any control over. There just seems to be quite a lot of them.
But something happened today to bring it all to a head for me, and I'm starting to feel my stalwart exterior slip just ever so slightly.
My husband won an award at work. He was nominated to compete in the next level and won that too. That's a fairly big deal. So he was nominated to compete at the next level too.
Today CB was nice enough to watch my son so I could go to the award ceremony.
I walked into a hanger filled with a few hundred military members, mostly in BDUs, but some in flight suits too. The wall behind the stage was graced with the largest American flag I've ever seen. I was one of maybe a dozen civilians in attendance.
My life is so surreal sometimes.
I am very comfortable in these types of settings. I worked on bases long enough to know the score, and I'm the kind of person to assert myself just enough to make sure that I am there for my husband. I'm proud of him, with good reason. I'm proud to stand in a hanger like that and by my very presence say, "I support him."
I spotted RB in the crowd and he helped me spot my husband. He looked a little nervous, but mostly he was fine. He appreciated that I was there.
But moments after saying hello, he told me, "I got the TDY."
This time, by TDY he means deployment. A four month deployment. January to April.
He volunteered for this one because he'll get to do a job that is a little different for him, is good for his career, and has a definite end date. But this time, well, he'll be in the thick of things.
I replied, "Thanks for telling me right now." I don't think he picked a great time to tell me, but he was excited and proud and wanted me to know.
And it really doesn't make a difference anyway. I would have reacted the same way no matter where or when he told me.
And my reaction?
"Okay."
What reaction am I really supposed to have? I am strong and stalwart. I know that he will deploy from time to time. The timing is really the best it can be. And I'm proud and happy for him. He was chosen to do this. It's an honor.
So I sat through the ceremony. I laughed in the right places. I applauded in the right places. I didn't think.
I was disappointed when he didn't win. My baby should ALWAYS win.
He walked me to my car and I went back home to my napping son. I didn't think.
I blogged. Obviously, I didn't think.
I picked up my daughter and made the weekly mad dash to ballet. I didn't think.
I measured her for her costume and listened to the other mothers be insane. I didn't think.
I met my husband and we all went out to eat. With the whole family in the car, my husband and I did not talk about the deployment because we need to find the right way and time to tell the kids. I started thinking.
We went home and he put the kids to bed. I crashed. Unconscious. No thinking.
And I woke up a little while ago and felt the need to blog. And now I'm thinking. And for the first time since this deployment even became a possibility, I'm crying. But just a little.
No husband for four months? I can live with that. No sex? I can live with that too. More worry than I've ever felt for him on a deployment? I can even live with that. Dealing with the emotional reaction of two very loving and sensitive kids when Daddy goes away again?
Now I'm really crying.
I'm not myself lately, and I wonder if anyone can tell.
I'm not depressed exactly, but I'm not myself either. I think I've just been very stressed about a myriad of things going on in my life.
None of these things are really that important. Or if they are important, they aren't things that I have any control over. There just seems to be quite a lot of them.
But something happened today to bring it all to a head for me, and I'm starting to feel my stalwart exterior slip just ever so slightly.
My husband won an award at work. He was nominated to compete in the next level and won that too. That's a fairly big deal. So he was nominated to compete at the next level too.
Today CB was nice enough to watch my son so I could go to the award ceremony.
I walked into a hanger filled with a few hundred military members, mostly in BDUs, but some in flight suits too. The wall behind the stage was graced with the largest American flag I've ever seen. I was one of maybe a dozen civilians in attendance.
My life is so surreal sometimes.
I am very comfortable in these types of settings. I worked on bases long enough to know the score, and I'm the kind of person to assert myself just enough to make sure that I am there for my husband. I'm proud of him, with good reason. I'm proud to stand in a hanger like that and by my very presence say, "I support him."
I spotted RB in the crowd and he helped me spot my husband. He looked a little nervous, but mostly he was fine. He appreciated that I was there.
But moments after saying hello, he told me, "I got the TDY."
This time, by TDY he means deployment. A four month deployment. January to April.
He volunteered for this one because he'll get to do a job that is a little different for him, is good for his career, and has a definite end date. But this time, well, he'll be in the thick of things.
I replied, "Thanks for telling me right now." I don't think he picked a great time to tell me, but he was excited and proud and wanted me to know.
And it really doesn't make a difference anyway. I would have reacted the same way no matter where or when he told me.
And my reaction?
"Okay."
What reaction am I really supposed to have? I am strong and stalwart. I know that he will deploy from time to time. The timing is really the best it can be. And I'm proud and happy for him. He was chosen to do this. It's an honor.
So I sat through the ceremony. I laughed in the right places. I applauded in the right places. I didn't think.
I was disappointed when he didn't win. My baby should ALWAYS win.
He walked me to my car and I went back home to my napping son. I didn't think.
I blogged. Obviously, I didn't think.
I picked up my daughter and made the weekly mad dash to ballet. I didn't think.
I measured her for her costume and listened to the other mothers be insane. I didn't think.
I met my husband and we all went out to eat. With the whole family in the car, my husband and I did not talk about the deployment because we need to find the right way and time to tell the kids. I started thinking.
We went home and he put the kids to bed. I crashed. Unconscious. No thinking.
And I woke up a little while ago and felt the need to blog. And now I'm thinking. And for the first time since this deployment even became a possibility, I'm crying. But just a little.
No husband for four months? I can live with that. No sex? I can live with that too. More worry than I've ever felt for him on a deployment? I can even live with that. Dealing with the emotional reaction of two very loving and sensitive kids when Daddy goes away again?
Now I'm really crying.
Squeeze and Release
I can write one of two posts today.
I can either write a post that vacillates between morose and proud. A classic military wife post full of angst and subconsciously begging for sympathy.
Or I can write about a telephone conversation that I had that involves sex and way more information about me than you ever wanted to know.
Hmmm. What to write? What to write? Angst or sex? Domesticity or TMI?
Anyone, anyone?
Yeah. I'm thinking sex sells and I can be all morose tomorrow. I can also retaliate against Patrick for claiming to be the most reserved of our little blog group. GUFFAW.
So what happens when you get two people who will say absolutely anything and have no filters or boundaries on the phone? You get a straight women talking to a gay man about his gynecologist.
(This is highly paraphrased to spare you gentle readers.)
Patrick: The best doctor I ever went to was a gynecologist. He could obviously only treat so much but his bed-side manner was excellent.
Tuna Girl: Listen to this. After I had my son I went in for my eight-week check-up and my gynecologist told me that I was the tightest patient she'd ever seen. She wanted to know if I did Kegals.
Patrick: (laughing at me) I guess your husband is one lucky man.
Tuna Girl: You guess? Have you read my blog? He's not only lucky because of that.
Patrick: Very true.
Tee hee. Sorry Patrick, but it cracked me up. And I thank you for allowing me to use our phone conversation to distract me from that morose, angsty thing I don't feel like blogging about yet.
I can either write a post that vacillates between morose and proud. A classic military wife post full of angst and subconsciously begging for sympathy.
Or I can write about a telephone conversation that I had that involves sex and way more information about me than you ever wanted to know.
Hmmm. What to write? What to write? Angst or sex? Domesticity or TMI?
Anyone, anyone?
Yeah. I'm thinking sex sells and I can be all morose tomorrow. I can also retaliate against Patrick for claiming to be the most reserved of our little blog group. GUFFAW.
So what happens when you get two people who will say absolutely anything and have no filters or boundaries on the phone? You get a straight women talking to a gay man about his gynecologist.
(This is highly paraphrased to spare you gentle readers.)
Patrick: The best doctor I ever went to was a gynecologist. He could obviously only treat so much but his bed-side manner was excellent.
Tuna Girl: Listen to this. After I had my son I went in for my eight-week check-up and my gynecologist told me that I was the tightest patient she'd ever seen. She wanted to know if I did Kegals.
Patrick: (laughing at me) I guess your husband is one lucky man.
Tuna Girl: You guess? Have you read my blog? He's not only lucky because of that.
Patrick: Very true.
Tee hee. Sorry Patrick, but it cracked me up. And I thank you for allowing me to use our phone conversation to distract me from that morose, angsty thing I don't feel like blogging about yet.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Renewal
Has anyone else noticed how many bloggers are talking about change right now?
I've never thought of November as a time for renewal and change. In fact, most people seem to coast through November and December in a fog of holiday gluttony and procrastination, just waiting for the excuse of the New Year to make resolutions.
I may be a little slow, but it finally hit me. A presidential election could certainly stir up feelings of renewal or desperate attempts to make things right.
I'm not immune. In fact, this November the Tuna Girl will have a whole new face. You can't get much more changed than that. And the Tuna Family just may be getting a new addition.
No not a baby. Though it would have been fun to leave you guys with that impression. We're on the search for a female Maltese puppy. I was undecided about getting a new pet for months. But now, I'm excited. I can't wait to find the right cutey-wootey-bundle-of-wuv and bring her home.
And I think I'm nesting. Because I started with the kitchen last night and I am purging the crap out of my house like nobody's business.
I'm so sick of my surroundings. I need renewal!
New haircut. New face. New pet. New decor.
Now all I need are some new friends.
*****
Speaking of new friends, one month from today I will be in New York City.
if I haven't yet tried to convince you to meet me there, it's only because I haven't gotten to you yet.
So go! Out-of-towners have one month to plan, and NYCers have one month to prepare. You may need every second of that time to prepare for the combination of him, him, and (especially) him.
I've never thought of November as a time for renewal and change. In fact, most people seem to coast through November and December in a fog of holiday gluttony and procrastination, just waiting for the excuse of the New Year to make resolutions.
I may be a little slow, but it finally hit me. A presidential election could certainly stir up feelings of renewal or desperate attempts to make things right.
I'm not immune. In fact, this November the Tuna Girl will have a whole new face. You can't get much more changed than that. And the Tuna Family just may be getting a new addition.
No not a baby. Though it would have been fun to leave you guys with that impression. We're on the search for a female Maltese puppy. I was undecided about getting a new pet for months. But now, I'm excited. I can't wait to find the right cutey-wootey-bundle-of-wuv and bring her home.
And I think I'm nesting. Because I started with the kitchen last night and I am purging the crap out of my house like nobody's business.
I'm so sick of my surroundings. I need renewal!
New haircut. New face. New pet. New decor.
Now all I need are some new friends.
*****
Speaking of new friends, one month from today I will be in New York City.
if I haven't yet tried to convince you to meet me there, it's only because I haven't gotten to you yet.
So go! Out-of-towners have one month to plan, and NYCers have one month to prepare. You may need every second of that time to prepare for the combination of him, him, and (especially) him.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
The hits just keep on coming!
If you scare easily, you may not want to read my blog today.
Still here. Good. Because before I begin today's actual post, I want to thank a couple of people.
First, my husband. He puts up with a lot. (But don't be fooled. He dishes out a lot too.) But on this most sacred of days (and by that I mean the day of the month when I'm most likely to commit mayhem) he took it upon himself to try and make me feel better.
His sure-fire way to my heart is to do housework. He really did quite a lot. And I vacillated between thanking him and yelling at him for not doing things right. I really do appreciate all your work, Honey. But the next time you dump a clean pile of laundry on the floor next to my side of the bed, I may use that laundry to suffocate you as you sleep.
And Secondly, I'd like to thank my dear friend who called yesterday at the most opportune time. I was sitting in the waiting room at music class, doing my best to keep AH from seeing my hatred for her burning in my eyes, when my phone rang. Oh thank the good lord! Salvation. I stepped outside and escaped (and laughed) until I had to meet my daughter. Thank you dear friend. You may have saved someone's life.
As the mothers convened with the daughters in the music classroom, and while the teacher was explaining the next week's homework, AH decided to drop a bomb on me.
AH: I don't know if I told you at the party last week but *mumble mumble* pregnant.
Me: Who's pregnant?
AH: We are.
Me: *shocked silence*
AH: Yeah, and I'm really feeling awful this week, what with my two-year-old being so awful.
Me: Oh, well, congratulations. I guess it's taking a minute to sink in. How far are you?
AH: Almost eight weeks. We're due in June.
Me: That's a nice time of year. Summer babies are healthier too.
AH: Yeah. I wanted to have a summer baby so she could have pool parties for her birthdays. My oldest always wants to have a pool party (in January) so I figure this way she can just have her party for her baby sister. Isn't it awful to plan a baby around a birthday party?
Me: Har har. Uh huh.
Does this strike anyone else as terrible?
Add to that the fact that her husband didn't want any more kids. He even had a consult for a vasectomy.
Add to that the fact that her life revolves around her oldest daughter. This little girl is her mother's clone. And she makes all of the family's decisions. Like where to vacation, where to live, what house to buy, what color to paint a room, when to have parties, and (I strongly suspect) whether or not to have another baby. She's five.
AH even told me, "Well, my oldest really wants another baby, so we're thinking three might be good. Then we'll see if she wants anymore after that."
OH! And add to that the fact that her two-year-old is a real challenge to her (and so emotionally ignored). Now she'll be a middle child. I see a large therapy bill in her future.
Argh! This is the one thing my husband and I have been gossiping about since last night. My husband said, "Whatever. I think they made some bad choices but I don't have to deal with it."
And I replied, "But I do! Because she's insinuated herself into every aspect of my life!"
I hope they have a boy.
Okay, so I'm breaking the cardinal rule of blogging and talking about people you could care a less about. But let me tell you, the way I feel right now, it's blog it or scream it. And I know nobody wants me to strain my voice.
Oh hey! You know what's better than chocolate for PMS? Shopping. I bought a new table runner. You can stop feeling bad for me now.
Still here. Good. Because before I begin today's actual post, I want to thank a couple of people.
First, my husband. He puts up with a lot. (But don't be fooled. He dishes out a lot too.) But on this most sacred of days (and by that I mean the day of the month when I'm most likely to commit mayhem) he took it upon himself to try and make me feel better.
His sure-fire way to my heart is to do housework. He really did quite a lot. And I vacillated between thanking him and yelling at him for not doing things right. I really do appreciate all your work, Honey. But the next time you dump a clean pile of laundry on the floor next to my side of the bed, I may use that laundry to suffocate you as you sleep.
And Secondly, I'd like to thank my dear friend who called yesterday at the most opportune time. I was sitting in the waiting room at music class, doing my best to keep AH from seeing my hatred for her burning in my eyes, when my phone rang. Oh thank the good lord! Salvation. I stepped outside and escaped (and laughed) until I had to meet my daughter. Thank you dear friend. You may have saved someone's life.
As the mothers convened with the daughters in the music classroom, and while the teacher was explaining the next week's homework, AH decided to drop a bomb on me.
AH: I don't know if I told you at the party last week but *mumble mumble* pregnant.
Me: Who's pregnant?
AH: We are.
Me: *shocked silence*
AH: Yeah, and I'm really feeling awful this week, what with my two-year-old being so awful.
Me: Oh, well, congratulations. I guess it's taking a minute to sink in. How far are you?
AH: Almost eight weeks. We're due in June.
Me: That's a nice time of year. Summer babies are healthier too.
AH: Yeah. I wanted to have a summer baby so she could have pool parties for her birthdays. My oldest always wants to have a pool party (in January) so I figure this way she can just have her party for her baby sister. Isn't it awful to plan a baby around a birthday party?
Me: Har har. Uh huh.
Does this strike anyone else as terrible?
Add to that the fact that her husband didn't want any more kids. He even had a consult for a vasectomy.
Add to that the fact that her life revolves around her oldest daughter. This little girl is her mother's clone. And she makes all of the family's decisions. Like where to vacation, where to live, what house to buy, what color to paint a room, when to have parties, and (I strongly suspect) whether or not to have another baby. She's five.
AH even told me, "Well, my oldest really wants another baby, so we're thinking three might be good. Then we'll see if she wants anymore after that."
OH! And add to that the fact that her two-year-old is a real challenge to her (and so emotionally ignored). Now she'll be a middle child. I see a large therapy bill in her future.
Argh! This is the one thing my husband and I have been gossiping about since last night. My husband said, "Whatever. I think they made some bad choices but I don't have to deal with it."
And I replied, "But I do! Because she's insinuated herself into every aspect of my life!"
I hope they have a boy.
Okay, so I'm breaking the cardinal rule of blogging and talking about people you could care a less about. But let me tell you, the way I feel right now, it's blog it or scream it. And I know nobody wants me to strain my voice.
Oh hey! You know what's better than chocolate for PMS? Shopping. I bought a new table runner. You can stop feeling bad for me now.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Pissed off, Moody, and Sniffly
I don't think I've ever actually mentioned PMS in my blog before. You see, I write for my audience. I do. I admit it. Even when I'm blathering on and on, I'm considering how my blather contributes to my blog as a whole.
Pathetic. I know.
So when I have the urge to talk about my menses, I curb it. I do. I swear.
But I think you can go through my archives and notice some monthly angst.
Not that it has anything to do with PMS. Because the absolute worst thing you can ever say to a women with PMS is, "Are you PMSing?"
That just may get you killed.
Where the hell am I going with this? Damn it! Someone tell me where I was going with this. You bunch of ingrates.
I love you ingrates. *sniff sniff* What would I do without my blog friends? Blogging has meant so much to me. *sniff sniff*
And don't you hate it when damn Blogger is acting up? Fucking Blogger! I hate Blogger!
Blogger has been my tool to share myself with you. You who mean so much to me. *sniff sniff* I sort of love Blogger.
What? What's that you say? I seem a little moody?
Awww. It's sweet that you care about me. I'm tearing up here.
What was that? Come again. Do I have PMS?
Fucking yeah I do. So fuck off.
For five minutes. And then come right back. Because I need you guys. I love you. I swear.
Pathetic. I know.
So when I have the urge to talk about my menses, I curb it. I do. I swear.
But I think you can go through my archives and notice some monthly angst.
Not that it has anything to do with PMS. Because the absolute worst thing you can ever say to a women with PMS is, "Are you PMSing?"
That just may get you killed.
Where the hell am I going with this? Damn it! Someone tell me where I was going with this. You bunch of ingrates.
I love you ingrates. *sniff sniff* What would I do without my blog friends? Blogging has meant so much to me. *sniff sniff*
And don't you hate it when damn Blogger is acting up? Fucking Blogger! I hate Blogger!
Blogger has been my tool to share myself with you. You who mean so much to me. *sniff sniff* I sort of love Blogger.
What? What's that you say? I seem a little moody?
Awww. It's sweet that you care about me. I'm tearing up here.
What was that? Come again. Do I have PMS?
Fucking yeah I do. So fuck off.
For five minutes. And then come right back. Because I need you guys. I love you. I swear.
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