Such a Mom!

I love it when readers de-lurk.

One faithful Tuna Girl reader de-lurked to send me a link to this very interesting article about Mommy Blogs from the New York Times. (Thanks, D!)

This got me thinking about whether or not Tuna Girl could even be considered a Mommy Blog.

Yes, I am a mother. In fact, I'm a mommy. And those who know me best will have to agree that I am mother-like to more than just my kids. I can't tell you how many times my friends have said to me, "You're such a mom!" I can't help it. That's just how I am.

But I don't really write too much about my kids here on the blog. Do I?

When I first started blogging, I promised myself I would never even mention my kids. And I think that promise may have lasted, oh, about three or four posts. I just didn't think that anyone would be interested in that aspect of my life.

I also don't chronicle every outing, milestone, and diaper change like it was an actual newsworthy event.

No, I like to think of my blog as a life blog. My whole life is here. The husband, the kids, the sex, the...ummm...what the hell else do I talk about?

But for those of you who might enjoy a more mommy-fied blog, I'm getting my mom on all at once. Hold on, boys and girls. It may be a bumpy ride.

*****

On Friday, as my daughter made her way to my van after school, I noticed that she was holding an ice pack to a huge, red bump on her forehead. Apparently, the Hawaiian stick dance is more dangerous than I thought.

*****

For a school project, my daughter had to dictate a recipe. Here's what she came up with:

Everything Cookies

• 1 mound of sugar
• 1 drop of vanilla
• 2 scoops of flour
• 1 amount of butter
• 2 cups of water
• 100 chocolate chips
• 100 M&Ms
• 100 scoops of peanut butter
• 150 peanuts

Put it all together and stir it.

Put it in the oven on hot for 50 minutes.

Let it cool.

Decorate with frosting, M&Ms, and sprinkles.

Makes 150 cookies.

*****

My daughter brought a notice home from school on Friday. One of her classmates has lice. And now I can't stop itching my head.

*****

If watching Spongebob won't turn little boys gay, wearing these will.

*****

My kids aren't thrilled with the idea that Buffy the puppy might chew their toys. So they put her bed on a chair, put her toys in the bed, and plunked her right in her bed.

Boy, will they be surprised when she learns to jump down.

*****

And according to my five-year-old, "Dioramas are gorgeous!"

Advice Taken

Today, I am taking a friend's advice. I may want to kill that friend before I'm through, but I'm taking the advice anyway.

I'd love to have a funny little story to tell you today, but I've got nothing. I'd love to sit here and type about how fine I am. How nothing is bothering me and my life is wonderful. But I just can't seem to manage it.

The truth is that I am depressed. Do you know how fucking impossible it is for me to admit that? As I told my friend, "But I don't want to be depressed!" He doesn't seem to think I have a choice in the matter.

His advice was to write about it. I resisted, because, frankly, if your blog is only as good as your last post, than I've had the suckiest blog around lately. And I don't want to be that person.

But today I realized that my choices seemed to be to write about it or to crawl into bed and escape in sleep. And writing about it is probably healthier.

I have a lot on my mind. I'm worried about a lot of people.

Some friends of ours took on a five-year-old nephew as a foster son about six months ago. On Friday, for the first time, they took him to the squadron social. On Sunday, he was dead. He contracted meningitis and died very suddenly.

Now, I'm not the closest friend with this couple, but my husband is pretty good friends with the father. I'm not really mourning with them or even for them. But their loss certainly stirs up a lot of emotions that I'd rather ignore. It's impossible not to imagine your own family in the same situation.

And that especially sucks when your husband is away. The circumstances of this deployment have meant that my husband and I don't really get to communicate like we usually do. The times are all off for phone calls and his e-mail is not secure. I just don't really know how he is feeling and it is killing me. I feel like he is angry and resentful, even though he tells me he's not. But I can't look into his eyes and tell for sure.

My baby boy is sick. In fact, he begged me to put him to bed at about 9:30 this morning. I managed to get him to eat a little before I let him sleep. I just feel so bad for him. My poor baby. There is only so much I can do.

The day before he got sick we spent a few hours playing outside with CB and her kids. CB and I talked about some of my gay friends for the first time. It was sort of interesting. But mostly it just made me think more about some of my friends and what they are going through. Talking about it with her somehow made it even more real.

And to top it all off, I somehow got into a discussion with AH during ballet class about religion and gay marriage. AH is actually quite liberal, but she still pissed me the hell off. But the angry feelings didn't last for long. They turned into sadness almost immediately. Sadness for all the hate in the world.

For me, when mad turns into sad, instead of the other way around, it is time for me to stop being stoic and brave and start admitting that I'm not fine.

I will be. And I'm sure admitting it is a good thing. And, well, I hate to admit it, but writing about it did help.

Now I think I'll take my friend's next piece of advice and start cleaning my house and getting my life organized. If I can even manage to cook dinner tonight, I'll feel just a bit better.

In fact, I think I'll start by making my bed. It will help me feel accomplished and deter me from crawling under the covers to escape myself.

Because I know that without a doubt, when I crawl back out of those covers, I'll be waiting right there to slap myself in the face with even more reality. And I don't think I can handle the confrontation right now.

Fishing for Compliments

Get it? Fishing. Tuna Girl. Huh? Huh? Is this thing on?

It did occur to me yesterday that I was just blatantly fishing for compliments. But, since I often feel like the straight man (or girl) just setting you guys up for comic genius in my comments, I thought it could be pretty funny.

And oh my god! You guys both cracked me up and made me say, "Awwww." I've been saying awww a lot since I started blogging.

So I'll get busy putting those together for an About Me post. Thanks you guys. I love you. Oh, and if you still want to put in your two cents, feel free.

My son was very ill last night and I didn't get much sleep. So I spent my normal blogging time today having a nap. I'll catch up with you tomorrow.

MWUAH! Fishy kisses for you all.

Hello. My name is Tuna Girl.

Thanks to a few links from these blogger big boys, my blog has more visitors than ever. Well, not as many as when I posted pictures of drunk bloggers, but still more than I'm used to.

Knowing that there are new people visiting my blog has made me very self-conscience.

First of all, I do not want to become the poster blog for the left-behind military wife.

I recently read an article in Redbook (the bookstore was out of MEN Magazine) about military wives that really pissed me off. The wives were portrayed as these morose, tragic figures. Even in the pictures, they were all wearing these I'm a tragic figure but I'm brave faces.

I was so mad at these wives. Is that really the image we want to portray? I wouldn't let myself be photographed or quoted in such a way for a national publication. Or in any way, for that matter. (Let's ignore for a minute that I publish morose stuff to my own blog on a regular basis.)

I don't want to be a tragic figure. My life just isn't that bad. In fact, I've lead a really charmed life. I love my life!

I know that I have friends who are worried about me. And while I appreciate that they care, I just feel that there are so many people, friends of ours too, who are so worse off. Who are fighting much more challenging battles. I feel bad for sucking up their concern.

But back to the topic at hand, I've realized that many new visitors to the blog wouldn't even know that my husband is deployed and I have two small kids unless they read back some in my archives.

I've been meaning to write up a simple About Me page since last March. I am a master at procrastination.

But to tell the truth, I have no idea what to write.

A lot of you guys know me pretty well. You've been reading my blog for a while or you've actually met me in person. You're my friends.

So since I am in absolute self-serving mode lately, I have a request to make of you.

If you had to introduce me to a friend of yours, what would you say?

And let's try not to embarrass the poor, left-behind, military wife, hmmm?

Time on My Hands

I'm typing one-handed right now. And no, it is not for the fun reason you might think. The puppy is sleeping on my left arm and I hate to disturb her.

She may be getting a tad bit spoiled.

So, yesterday afternoon I was half way to music class when I realized that I wasn't supposed to be going to music class. It's important to actually pick up your kid from school before you attempt to take her to music class.

That's how my life has been going lately. So today's blog will be mindless.

As you can imagine, I get quite a few odd Internet searches for things related to tuna. But lately I've been getting a lot of searches for tuna tampons. Even I say eww to that one. What the hell?

So I did a little research and found what people were looking for.

Some people have too much time on their hands.

*****

By the way, did you know that you could blog directly from photobucket.com now? Cool. And better than Hello.

*****

And check this out. How fucking cool is that? I'm bilingual. Thank you to my reader who speaks whatever language that is for caring enough to translate me. Oh, and is it the same language as this blog?

***

And further! My monitor has been giving up the ghost about every five minutes. So if I haven't answered your e-mail or commented on your blog in a while, it is only because I can't fucking see you. Frustration!

In which I learn to pronounce Zeitzeuge

Do you think it could be a bad sign that after experiencing my driving from North Dallas to downtown, Mark jumped at my offer to drive my minivan himself?

In a weekend that could have been all about driving, driving, and more driving, meeting Mark made our weekend. In fact, the day the kids and I spent with him has been the highlight of our month.

On Friday, I was sure that I couldn't take even one more second of being me. In fact, I happened to have Patrick on my cell phone as I finished packing, changed my son who had an accident, rushed to get a change of clothes to my daughter who had an accident at a birthday party, and got stuck on base because the gates were all closed. I swear if he hadn't been talking me through it I would have lost it big time. My neighbors who were washing their cars without shirts helped distract me though.

But once we got on the road to Dallas, things were fine. The kids are finally at an age where we can travel comfortably. Of course, having a VCR in the van helps. Between watching movies, they asked me a million questions about Mr. Mark, our new puppy, and the fish in the aquarium we were going to visit.

It's funny, because in his post, Mark talked about being nervous to meet us. But I never would have guessed that. And I was strangely not nervous to meet him at all. I hoped the kids would behave, but they usually do.

I soon as I gave Mark a hug, the kids moved in for their hugs. Too cute! I mean, I know they're not shy, but it was like they had an instant new friend.

It's kind of hard to explain to anyone who hasn't been a waiting spouse with small kids, but just having another adult on an outing was the biggest relief I could have ever experienced. I was able to relax just one small iota and enjoy the kids and the aquarium, secure in the knowledge that my eyes weren't the only ones looking out for the kids. And of course that is a testament to Mark, who I happen to think is the sweetest man ever. He was wonderful with them.

In fact my daughter invited him to her ballet recital and my son made a pillow out of him at Hunky's in the 'hood. My son claimed him as my friend Mr. Mark. We went to the Galleria that night and everywhere we went, the kids were looking for Mark.

And since I know you're all wondering (and at the risk of embarrassing him), Mark kept up the blogger tradition of being way nicer looking in person than in pictures. Not that he doesn't take a nice photograph, but man! How is it that so many bloggers are so hot?

The next morning, we started our three-hour trek down to Austin to pick up our new puppy. She's a Maltese and, yes, we did name her Buffy. I was just throwing out names and the kids picked right up on that one. Which is funny, because I instantly regretted suggesting it. But she really does look like a Buffy.

It took us six hours to get home, and she barely made a peep the whole way. The kids were amazingly good too. It's hard to believe that a weekend in which I spent about twelve hours driving two little kids and a puppy around Texas could be such a break. But it really was.

Unfortunately, the husband and I had a bit of a fight through e-mail and on the phone last night. I hate that. There's nothing worse than fighting when he's deployed. And the thing that kills me is that I wasn't intending to fight. At all. But I couldn't say anything right and he took everything I said the wrong way. Ugh. In fact, as soon as I publish this, I'm off to write him an e-mail.

'Cause I need more stress right now...

But who could resist that cutey wooty wittle face?

Introducing, Buffy the heart slayer.


The breeder sent me her picture (in that lovely purple frame) last night.

My girly genes are kicking in big time. But I promise not to talk about her or post her picture too much.

*****

Oh, and I just have to let you all know:

AH is having a boy.

*cue maniacal laughter*

She's really disappointed. And somehow surprised. It's a fifty-fifty chance, people!

He he. I can't stop giggling about it.

Love you...

To my friend who senses my desperation and offers to "spend a day playing" with my son.

To my friend who calls just to check up on me when I don't post.

To my friend who will talk to me for hours and hours about nothing and everything and then send me to bed when it gets late.

To my friends who answer their phones, and willingly listen to my daughter read them her homework.

To my friend who won't take "I'm fine" as an answer.

To my friend who is willing to chauffeur me and my kids around a new city.

To my friend who uses the words "fucking" and "cute" right next to each other.

To my friend who listens to my stories about my other friends, only because they matter to me.

To my friend who replies to my "I love you" by saying, "I'd do anything for you."

To my friend who will marry me, have children with me, and still be my best friend through it all.

To my friends who worry about me.

To my friends who make me stuff.

To my friends who read what I write as if it mattered.

And to my friends who call me "Sweetie" even though it bugs my husband.

I love you all.

Who the hell knew I had so many friends?

*****

Speaking of friends, I'm off to Dallas tomorrow where I'll get to meet the famous Mark of Zeitzeuge. Maybe I can finally ask him how to pronounce zeitzeuge.

He'll be the first blogger to meet my kids. Here's hoping they behave!

I'll be back on Monday with a brand new puppy and stories from my weekend.

Behave, boys and girls.

My Own Personal Queer Eye

I have previously claimed that my husband looks like Vin Diesel. And I am standing by that claim. But I have to admit that when he smiles, the resemblance completely melts away. He has a beautiful smile. And he's a smiley guy.

But the biggest reason he looks like Vin is because he shaves his head.

He first shaved his head a couple of years ago during a deployment. I got to see it on a web cam, but I really couldn't tell if I liked it.

When he got home, the very first thing my daughter said to him, before she hugged him even, was, "Daddy! Your hair is all gone!"

And the thing was, even when he came home, I still couldn't decide if I liked it. For the next year and a half he kept shaving his head and he would occasionally ask me if I liked it. And I always told him the truth, that I just couldn't decide.

I know he liked it though. He didn't have to run to the barber once a week to stay in regs anymore. And he definitely had a sort of warrior look going on that fit in well with his compatriots.

But when I went to New York in December, I brought a small photo album filled with pictures of my family. (Of course I did. I'm a mom. We do those things.) In the album were pictures of my husband both with and without hair.

Nobody said much about it at the time, but a week or two after I got home, my own personal queer eye started gently nudging me with some fashion tips. And he was smart about it too. Because if he had said, "Your husband doesn't look as good bald," I probably would have taken offense.

But oh no. He had to say, "Your husband shaves his head, right? He's not bald by choice?" And then he had to claim, "Because in those pictures where he has hair he looks really hot."

Okay. Yup. Time to convince the husband to grow the hair back.

I was actually just starting to get sick of the whole bald thing myself. I missed having hair to run my fingers through.

But here is what cracks me up and makes me say "awwww" at the same time. All I said was, "I miss your high and tight," and he started growing it back right then and there. It was almost like he was just waiting for the word from me.

By the time he left on this deployment, he had a very tight high and tight going on. Yum. And like every deployment he'll come back all buff and tan. And *sigh* yup. Hello? I think I hear someone at the door. Is that my libido returning?

Would you like to know what else my own personal queer eye suggests? That I dye my hair blond. Egad. Can you picture that? Of course he gently added, "But you might want to get a tan first."

Let me tell you, I'm not letting him anywhere near my house. I know how he decorates. I'd end up with a giant dildo hanging in my bedroom.

Don't Fuck with a Mother

Like most people, I'm not a fan of confrontation. But once I became a mother, well, it changes things.

So those of you who are new should know that I have a friend (and I use that term loosely) AH who drives me a little crazy. When I first came to this base six years ago, she was part of the group of stay-at-home military moms that I befriended. But after all this time, she and I are the only ones left.

Now, I know how to distance myself from people I don't like, but AH has made it impossible. She has insinuated herself into every aspect of my life. Her kids do all of the same activities mine do, and she even switched her oldest to my daughter's class in school.

And their kindergarten class is putting on a play. It is called Parade Around the World. The kids are going to pull floats (decorated wagons) across the stage and explore different cultures around the world. They will also perform some songs and dances.

Last Thursday when I arrived at ballet practice, AH asked me if I had read the class newsletter that had been sent home that day. Now, considering that we have to pick the kids up in car pool line and then race over two highways to get them to ballet on time, I wasn't quite sure how she had managed to read it. But, I suppose it's her own kids' lives she's taking in her hands.

So I told her no, I had not. And here is the rest of our conversation. (Let's call her daughter CH and mine LT, just for the moment.)

AH: Well, CH was crying and pouting the whole way here because she has to be a float puller in the play. She wants to do the Hawaiian stick dance.
ME: Oh, LT is pulling a float and she's all excited about it.
AH: No she's not. She's doing the Hawaiian stick dance. It said so in the newsletter.
ME: Oh, well, whatever. We'll see.

AH then looked me straight in the eye and said:

"I think CH and LT should switch."

And I looked her right back in the eye and said:

"I think this is a really good time for CH to learn that she can't always get everything she wants."

As it turns out, my daughter is actually pulling a float, saying a line, AND doing the Hawaiian stick dance. Wait until AH gets a load of that.

"When masturbation has lost its fun..."

It's funny.

Just when I think to myself...

Okay. You have some alone time. You're not expecting any calls. No one should be e-mailing. The kids are fast asleep. Relish it. Do something for you. Accomplish something. Do something you enjoy just for you. Get motivated. Or relax. But enjoy this solitude...

I get lonely.

And I seem to fill my time with absolutely nothing. So that suddenly, it's 2 a.m. and I'm still awake, and I haven't done a thing to make myself happy.

I'm bored. And I suck at being bored.

It's been two weeks now since my husband left. They say that the first two weeks are the hardest. And I've had my bad moments. But all in all, it's been fine.

The first week crawled and this last week flew. I've become even closer to a few friends. And I've become even more distant with the ones who drain me. (Well, just the one. I haven't talked about AH in a while, but I have a story to tell soon.)

This weekend has been hard because my daughter is off of school for four days. I would have loved to hop in the car and get away with the kids. But because of AH, I was stuck in town. And the kids are bored, despite going to the movies and a birthday party.

When it is just the three of us, the time drags. Daddy's being home on the weekends usually provides us with entertainment and stimulation. But with just the three of us, we watch too much TV and just make a mess.

So, next weekend we are going to Dallas. Next weekend we are getting a new puppy. Next week I will sleep, at least a little. Next week I will go to the gym. Next week we will go to the library and the park.

But for now, I'm still bored. And lonely.

And I miss him.

Gaydar

I've always been fascinated by gaydar. It's a pretty interesting topic, if you think about it.

But I'm hardly an expert on gaydar, for obvious reasons.

And that raises the question: Can straight people really have gaydar, or are we just making judgments based on stereotypes?

I've always thought of myself as someone who can really see people for who they are. It doesn't take much for me to see right to the core of a person. But this can lead me to make decisions about people's character before I really even know them.

That used to bother me a lot. I'd instantly get the sense about someone, "Oh. She's really shallow," and then feel so bad. Who am I to make such quick judgments?

But after years and years of being proven right again and again (and sometimes getting hurt when giving second chances) I decided to trust my instincts.

And this is true when it comes to gaydar too.

Maybe I can see the nuances when other people don't take the time to look. Or maybe I've been so close to enough gay people that I can just sense who is and who isn't. Or maybe I really am just making judgments based on stereotypes.

And besides, how do I know that my gaydar is really all that great. It's not like I'm hooking up with people and finding out for sure.

Though I did find this interesting little game via Daniel at ...was I there?

How Good is Your Gaydar

Here are my results:

You impressively scored 80%.
You personally got 16 of the 20 people correct and were better at
recognizing girls than guys. Overall, you guessed better than 85% of all test
takers.

Well, hmmm. I'm just not sure what that means.

What do you think?

Peer Pressure

LoxyFady did it. She rose to the challenge. I love it!

You know you want to be like the cool girls.

Come on. What's the messiest part of your house?

Reason #363 Why I Miss My Husband

Because today I had to teach my son how to shake off.

No Flowers in My Attic

A few days ago I began working on a project. This project required that I find some of the cords and accessories to an old computer that has been sitting on the floor in our office for months.

Despite the fact that he is a Virgo, my husband is the biggest slob known to man. He knows this. He admits this. And he does try to be neater. But his efforts to be neat are sometimes more annoying than the messes he leaves behind.

Case in point:

After lugging out the old computer, and hefting out the old monitor, I realized that both were missing power cords. And I couldn't find the mouse. And the keyboard seemed to be a thing of the past.

After looking in every box, shelf, drawer, nook and cranny in the office, I did something I never should have done. I ventured into the attic.

Oh the horror! The horror!

It's been months since I was up there. But while I was on my cruise, my husband had done a bunch of work around the house. Evidently, this work involved making large piles of shit and shoveling them into the attic.

I found my power cords, alright. I found them in a tote with about a dozen other power cords. I also found dozens of chargers from who-knows-what, 100s and 100s of feet of cable, zip-loc bags full of printer cables, various mice, keyboards, enough phone cord to wire the Pentagon, and even an entire tote full of just telephones.

I also found the original boxes to every computer we've ever owned.

And it was in one of those boxes that I found my little birdy friend. And he's still up there. I'm waiting, you guys!

Let's see...what else. Oh! Mouse poop. Lots and lots of mouse poop. At least I'm hoping these droppings were left by mice, because I've heard stories of rats in base housing. The nice exterminator man has removed the mice, but not their poop, of course.

This is all in addition to furniture, potties, Christmas decorations, and more household crap than I ever realized we owned. No books though. He got rid of those.

When we are briefed here on base before a deployment, the councilors always tell us not to bother our deployed husbands with household stress, like broken sinks, bad grades, misbehaving kids, and pest problems. But that's not really how our marriage operates.

So, when I had to resort to e-mailing him and asking where the disks for the computer were, I told him point blank, "It's a good thing you're half a planet away or we'd be having the biggest fight right now."

And his response...

"Just don't go near the garage, okay?"

Our garage is a few blocks away from the house. I haven't even been in there since we moved in four years ago. Who thinks I should take the camera and go on a little fact-finding mission?

Enough with the Surgery Already

Can you guys tell that I'm trying really hard not to be pitiful?

I was just wondering if it showed.

I've decided that for the moment, self pity is good for me. It helps me acknowledge that I'm not superhuman, and it garners either sympathy or pity. Both of which I'll take right now.

Being pitiful in the blog is also better than the alternative, letting the kids get on my last nerve and yelling at them. Which I was this close --><-- to doing last night. At about 5:30 I was wondering if all three of us would survive until their 7 o'clock bed time.

Life has just brought me one anoying thing after another in the last few days. And I've responded by binge eating. Because we all know that putting on weight will make me feel so much better.

But the truth is that I'm nervous. I'm really, really nervous about my oral surgery today. Which is stupid because I wasn't even this nervous about my jaw surgery.

But when I had the jaw surgery my husband was here to take care of me (to the best of his ability) and my mother was here to take care of my kids. Today, RB will have the boy, AH will have the girl, and CB will have me. And that makes me so uncomfortable.

I've been known to cry uncontrollably after anestesia. I don't want CB to see that. I've also suddenly realized that she's going to be in my house and my car, both of which are a mess. She's a domestic goddess, and I barely get by without breaking health codes.

And then there is the fact that I'll be all on my own again by the kids' bed time. What if I can't handle it?

But I will. I always do. I'll probably be a royal bitch, but I'll get through it.

This sucks.

And to top it all off, I found a dead bird in my attic. On Friday. And it is still there. This is why I got married. Critter removal. So do I see hands for volunteers to fly in and remove my dead bird for me? Please. No? I should just grow a set and deal with it? Yeah. That's what I thought.

Dance, Baby, Dance

Ever since Patrick mentioned children's television programming the other day, I have been paying even more attention than I usually do to what my kids watch on TV. And I've always known it, but let me say for the record...

There is some freaky ass shit on children's programming.

Of course we all know about the Teletubbies because of the brouhaha over Tinky Winky. But even without the boy's purse, that show is still very odd.

And the same people now make a show called Boobah. Personally, I think Boobahs are even worse. The kids saw it once and loved it, but I won't let them watch it. I told my daughter that Boobahs didn't have anything to teach her, like language skills or values. She told me that it's just because they can't talk because they don't have mouths. Then she decided that they had mouths, but they were tucked down in the necklines of their shirts.

Whatever, Baby Girl. No Boobahs. I wonder what they were smoking when they came up with these concepts.

My son's favorite thing in the world is Thomas the Tank Engine. In general I think this is fine. The show is very value-based. And he spends hours in his room playing pretend with his Thomas the Tank Engine Railway Set.

But the narration on the show is done by either Alec Baldwin or George Carlin.

Yup, you heard me right. George Carlin narrates a children's show. He actually does an excellent job, but I keep expecting the seven dirty words to spew forth at any moment.

Now, Patrick may have been down on the Disney Channel, but they actually have some good programming for preschoolers early in the day. And they don't have commercials, which is nice. They fill in the time between shows with mini shows.

Their latest mini show is Go Baby. And it features the most disturbing baby on television since Ally McBeal danced to the ticking of her biological clock.

Go Baby is a real baby, of whom they must have shot hours of video tape. Then shots of the infant's movements and expressions are used to animate it. Freaky. (It's nice that the heavy-set guy from Mad About You and Spin City is finding work though.)

I believe this is only one step away from cloning. Maybe the childless can line up for their own animated baby. All of the coos and cries, none of the pee and poop.

*****
UPDATE
I hate it when my friends show me up. So I'm trying out a new way of responding to comments. What do you guys think?

Horrifying Realizations

I was flitting about the kitchen yesterday and letting my mind wander. And I suddenly had a realization.

That happens to me quite a lot. I don't have a very good memory, but I think there are a lot of things buried very deeply in my mind that I only recall when something suddenly reminds me of them.

So anyway, I was thinking about Jake of NoFo and how he had realized that he may have, um, lost something during his surgery.

This triggered a horrifying realization for me!

The story gets a little gross from here on out, boys. You might want to skip ahead.

The day of my jaw surgery, I got my period. Figures. Great, right? I didn't know how or if that would affect my surgery but when the very nice pre-op nurse was instructing me on how to put on that stupid gown I told her about my little problem.

"That's okay," she said. "Just leave your panties on. But take your tampon out. Do you need a pad?"

I had come prepared so I didn't.

So I went into that surgery wearing a pair of cotton Hanes Her Way high-cut bikini briefs, color purple...and I came out of it completely bare down there.

So of course things got a little messy, especially since I was in recovery for a long time.

That night, the same nurse who never brought me my pain meds and tried to take my temperature orally yelled at me for not telling her that I started my "cycles".

I wonder if she could understand the "Fuck you, bitch!" though the wires?

And suddenly last night in my kitchen I realized something. I never saw those purple Hanes Her Ways again. So who the hell has my underwear?

So Much for Funny

Go read this by Pua.

I'm still crying. But in a good way.

Show Me the Funny!

I'm quite sick of myself, thank you very much.

I want nothing more than to have a funny little post for you today. But as you can tell by how late this post is, I've got nothing.

But in the last few days, I've spoken to two different people about being funny. And they were both very funny people, though in completely different ways.

I've never thought of myself as funny. Ever. Oh, I crack myself up alright. But I'm the only one who's ever laughing.

I guess this may stem from the fact that my husband and I have completely different senses of humor. We can watch any given sitcom and laugh at decidedly different parts through the whole show. When I say what I think are funny things to him, he'll often roll his eyes at me.

And I can only think of a handful of times when people laughed at me. Or, preferably with me. But at me is okay too.

When Pony redesigned my site (and by the way Pony, I keep getting searches looking for dolphin blog templates) I was really surprised that he included the words "housewife humor in water" on the banner. Surprised and a little dismayed, to be honest with you.

It's one thing to accidentally spew forth something funny on occasion. It is another thing entirely for people to expect you to be funny.

Because I don't know much about humor, but I do know this: Trying to be funny never works.

You can't force it. Funny things have to just occur to you. And often, a post that you think is going to just be hilarious (like my recent pictures of myself) can totally flop. But posts that you don't even think twice about, just kill.

If you go back and read my archives (and why don't you? Get to know me!) you'll find that at least half of my posts are very serious. Or cranky. Or pissy. Or downright morose. In fact, BoBo describes me as "thought provoking" in his link list. (What the FARB is up with that, BoBo?)

But I'm absolutely sick of being that way right now. So I'm trying to be funny.

And I got nothing.

BUT!

I may not drink, so I'm not a funny drunk. But I love people who drink. They make me giggle. So here, for your singing pleasure, is my favorite Irish drinking song.

Sing it fast boys!

I'm not a pheasant plucker,
I'm a pheasant plucker's son.
But I'll be plucking pheasants,
'Till the pheasant plucker comes.

Again! Faster!

I'm not a pheasant plucker,
I'm a pheasant plucker's son.
But I'll be plucking pheasants,
'Till the pheasant plucker comes.

One more time! With feeling! And FASTER!

I'm not a pheasant plucker,
I'm a pheasant plucker's son.
But I'll be plucking pheasants,
'Till the pheasant plucker comes.

Oh dear lord. But I do crack myself up.

Case In Point

I have to have a follow-up surgery next Tuesday to remove the suspension wires that are embedded in my skull and protruding through my gums. Fun.

And just as I was feeling really sorry for myself, CB called me.

She wanted to let me know that her husband was taking Tuesday off of work to watch all the kids, and that she would take me to the surgery and care for me afterward.

I appreciate that. Immensely. For all her Christian Fundamentalism, I love her.

But then we were talking about the long hours her husband has been working and the fact that he's moving to a job with longer hours. And then she told me that there is a good chance he'll be going to Korea for a year.

Her husband has been deployed more than anyone I know. She's had two children during those times. She has a two year-old and a one-year-old.

She started crying while we were talking. I know I'm the only one she'd ever do that with.

I just have no words. None.

Tears. I have plenty of those. And she's not the only one I'm crying them for.

I can make an "S' sound!

There are plenty of things that I could post about today. And I've learned that if I don't use my funny little stories soon, someone else will pilfer my blog ideas. But there is only one thing on my mind right now.

I got my bite splint off! I got my bite splint off! I. Got. My. Bite. Splint. Off.

*cabbage patch dance*

I've been looking forward to this day since November 12.

But that's the problem. I've been looking forward to this day, imagining that it will be the great day of my return to normalcy. I figured it would hurt to have the thing yanked out, but that it would be so worth it. (Kind of like waxing your bikini area.)

But the day kind of sucked. In fact, it sucked a lot.

I keep telling people that through all of these deployments, I've learned to ask for help. And that's true.

Sort of.

I've learned to ask my friends to babysit my kids. I've learned that it's okay to accept the gallon of milk my friend thought I might need. I've learned that it's okay to ask my mother to visit and help take care of the kids for a while. I've learned that it's okay to delegate some of my responsibilities.

But I'm still not so good about asking for the kind of help I really need. The kind of help that isn't about getting things done but about nurturing my spirit.

I'm suddenly realizing...that was probably the biggest reason I started to blog.

But yesterday I bit the bullet. I sat in the car pool line picking up my daughter and I broke out my cell phone and called my friend. And I said, "I just really need a hug."

Do you know how fucking hard that was for me to do?

But it was worth it.

During that call I realized that I can actually talk again. And the ramifications of that suddenly filled my head.

I had taken the hardest step. I had called someone I trust and admitted my weakness. So what the hell, I called a few more people. And by the way, those calls were completely selfish. I was lonely and bored and needed to just chat and have fun and be myself.

Which leads to today's guilt. Is it just those of us who were raised Catholic, or is guilt really that much a part of everyone's life?

Now I'm thinking the same things I ALWAYS think. Who am I to complain? My life is so great. None of what I'm dealing with is a big deal. My friends are going through worse things than I am. Why do I have to make my friends worry about me? Blah, blah, blah. You've heard this from me before.

Fucking guilt.

I don't know. I guess much like my thrice-damned teeth, fixing myself is a process. And I'm one step closer to where I want to be.

I just want to be on the other side of things right now. I want to be in the place where my husband is home, my friends are all healthy, the people I love are all secure, and I can use my beautiful, white teeth to smile about it.

Last night I was listening to my iPod, and singing along. Yes, I said singing, people. I hadn't even realized how much I missed singing along to the radio. I love to sing, and it's not something I ever obsess over. I know I'm not a very good singer, but I don't care. I love to do it, so I do it whenever possible.

So right now, I'm going to concentrate on that. The rest will work out. It always will. And if I can kick this fucking guilt in the ass, I'll be so very, very happy.

Pretty, Pretty Tuna Girl

Sorry to disappoint, but this isn't me.

What I Learned in 2004

I'm not one to make resolutions. At least not on New Year's Day.

And I'm not one to look back and remember the year that was. Mostly because I can never remember what happened.

But this year, for the first time, I have a written record of my life over the past ten months. I may not be able to remember January and February of 2004. But the rest of my year is just a link away.

And here is what I learned this past year.

• Tuna Girl is a stupid name for a blog.
• But I'm a huge dork. What do you expect?
• My husband doesn't like my decorating.
• And he doesn't like my underwear.
• You guys love my boring stories.
• Even my birth stories, you bunch of freaks!
• And my puke stories too!
• I talk about my boobs way too much.
• And I talk about penis too much too.
• And asses for that matter.
• Alluding to anal sex on your blog makes you popular.
• But admitting to anal sex will make you legendary.
• Talking about Edward Penis Hands will fuck up Internet porn searches for months and months.
• Porn can be a lethal weapon.
• Call me Sweetie and I'm all yours.
• Embarrassing myself is fun.
• Embarrassing my friend is even more fun.
• But I'll pay for it in spades when my friend guest blogs and gets me in trouble with my husband.
• Talking about PMS is fun too.
• An astounding number of you actually believed that these were my teeth.
• You should never ever joke about your husband's infidelity.
• One little blog post about feeling lonely can be the impetus for a wonderful new friendship.
• A friendship that will lead you to New York City and even more wonderful friendships.
• Speaking of which, posting photos of bloggers will triple your hits. Can you imagine if they were all naked?
• Oh. And don't forget that you can complain in your blog about never seeing Avenue Q. A blogger will promise to take you, and actually see his promise through!
• And by the way, you can take the boy off the stage, but you can't take the stage out of the boy.
• Your sex life can improve after 30.
• Y'all are responsible for my hot sex life.
• I can be pretty damn shallow when I'm horny. Which is all the time.
• You can learn a lot on a Mexican cruise. Including the fact that I'm fucking snarky!
• My husband thinks he's damn funny.
• I can actually learn to say, "I love you."
• And I can learn that you guys love me--PMS, sex-obsession, snarky comments, Gates-of-Hell teeth and all.

So I had a great 2004. It was a time of transition for us. But it was also a time of meeting challenges and making new friends. And I'm going to enjoy these new friends for years to come.

Love you guys!

A Good Day

My husband's early morning departure couldn't have gone any smoother than it did.

There were no tears from any of us. My daughter just announced that she was sad, and then asked how much longer we have to wait for our new puppy. And the kids and I have been having a pretty good day. We've been watching the Rose Parade and having a good time.

I've even had a good laugh today. At my own expense.

I had to break out the dictionary and look up the difference between dessert and desert. Tee hee. Yes, I graduated Magna Cum Laude. Can you tell?

It doesn't help that we've been teasing my husband about going to the dessert. And I find the phrase, "just deserts" confusing.

Oh well. Maybe you got a good laugh at me too.

But all in all, I wanted to let you all know (especially Patrick, Aaron, and Pua who all called or left me messages) that I am fine. The kids are fine. The husband is probably in Baltimore by now and fine too.

It's actually been a good day.