I have this picture, and this one, on my desk. (Thanks, Aaron!)
The other day, my daughter asked me what Patrick looks like. So I showed her these pictures. And her response?
"But Mommy. He looks so much younger than you."
And that is my birthday present to my dear friend today.
Happy birthday, Honey. I love you.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Sunday, February 27, 2005
I knew there was a reason why I married him.
I talked on the phone to my husband for about twenty minutes last night.
It's funny how just sharing things with him can make me feel so much better.
I completely forgot to yell at him about the two things he's done to piss me off. I got started talking about the new softball bat and t-ball supplies I bought and I never even thought to mention it.
Somehow our conversation turned to all of the things I alluded to yesterday. I started talking about CB, and my parents, and AH and I just kept going on and on.
He didn't say anything profound. He didn't say anything that my good friends haven't already said to me.
But somehow I feel lighter now.
I guess I feel like I have someone to haul half the burden.
But blogging about things helps too. I know that. Princessmax wrote a wonderful comment yesterday that I think says how I feel in a way I could never express.
"Tuna Girl, I have been admiring your blog friends and how well and unanimously they respond when you need them. Cute kids, pissy day, doesn't matter: they're there with a comment and,consistently, some sort of raunchy sexual suggestion. You couldn't be better buttressed if you were a cathedral in Europe somewhere."
She's absolutely right.
And, man, but she's only seen a half of it. Because she's not privy to the e-mail and phone calls.
When I started blogging, I never intended for the people in my real life to read my blog. And then, somehow, along the way, the people in my blog world became the people in my real life. And that changed my blogging. Not for the better or worse.
But it also changed my life. For the better. For the much, much better.
Hell, in less than a week, a blogger who has become one of my best friends is coming to visit. Just because he knows that I need him.
And let's think about that for a minute. Let's think about what kind of husband I have that he E-mailed Patrick to invite him to come stay with me. Just because he knows that I need him.
All of this: the amazing husband, the amazing friends, the amazing experience of blogging has made just one point very crystal clear to me.
In May this will all be over. My husband will come home and my blog and my blog friends will endure. The kids can chalk the experience up to a life lesson in how their Daddy can love them no matter where he is.
And I've gained from the experience the soul deep knowledge that there are people who love me. A lot. And they're not afraid to let me know it.
Other people, going through other trials will not have it come to such a neat and satisfying end.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I am lucky. You might even say I am blessed, if you believe in such things. But most importently, I am loved.
I am very, very loved.
It's funny how just sharing things with him can make me feel so much better.
I completely forgot to yell at him about the two things he's done to piss me off. I got started talking about the new softball bat and t-ball supplies I bought and I never even thought to mention it.
Somehow our conversation turned to all of the things I alluded to yesterday. I started talking about CB, and my parents, and AH and I just kept going on and on.
He didn't say anything profound. He didn't say anything that my good friends haven't already said to me.
But somehow I feel lighter now.
I guess I feel like I have someone to haul half the burden.
But blogging about things helps too. I know that. Princessmax wrote a wonderful comment yesterday that I think says how I feel in a way I could never express.
"Tuna Girl, I have been admiring your blog friends and how well and unanimously they respond when you need them. Cute kids, pissy day, doesn't matter: they're there with a comment and,consistently, some sort of raunchy sexual suggestion. You couldn't be better buttressed if you were a cathedral in Europe somewhere."
She's absolutely right.
And, man, but she's only seen a half of it. Because she's not privy to the e-mail and phone calls.
When I started blogging, I never intended for the people in my real life to read my blog. And then, somehow, along the way, the people in my blog world became the people in my real life. And that changed my blogging. Not for the better or worse.
But it also changed my life. For the better. For the much, much better.
Hell, in less than a week, a blogger who has become one of my best friends is coming to visit. Just because he knows that I need him.
And let's think about that for a minute. Let's think about what kind of husband I have that he E-mailed Patrick to invite him to come stay with me. Just because he knows that I need him.
All of this: the amazing husband, the amazing friends, the amazing experience of blogging has made just one point very crystal clear to me.
In May this will all be over. My husband will come home and my blog and my blog friends will endure. The kids can chalk the experience up to a life lesson in how their Daddy can love them no matter where he is.
And I've gained from the experience the soul deep knowledge that there are people who love me. A lot. And they're not afraid to let me know it.
Other people, going through other trials will not have it come to such a neat and satisfying end.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I am lucky. You might even say I am blessed, if you believe in such things. But most importently, I am loved.
I am very, very loved.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Hot Spew
I've been avoiding my blog all day.
I knew that if I opened that Create window, my self-centered, immature...crap would come spewing forth. And I hate it when I spew.
I'm pissed off today. At the world.
I spent thirty of my daytime minutes on the phone with my very wonderful friend. And I thought it made me feel better.
Because I was running late and child-free, I went to the base gym (instead of my housewifely one). I watched hordes of hot, hot, hot military guys working out. And, they kept glancing my way. (Can you say "fresh meat!") And I thought it made me feel better.
I was so very wrong.
I'm pissed at my husband. But it is only my normal everyday kind of pissed off. The kind of pissed off where as soon as I say, "I drove your car off-base today," he's going to know I'm mad and why. It's not a big deal. I'll yell at him good-naturedly and we'll end up joking about it.
As far as the husband goes, we're closer than ever.
But being mad at him seemed to set off my internal anger flame for everyone else.
Even CB did something to piss me off. And I think that hurts the most. Because she has no clue and it is the exact kind of thing I spent a lot of energy protecting her from when her husband was gone.
On the phone the other night my husband said to me, "They just don't get it, Honey." He was talking about what it is like to be a waiting spouse and he's right. Most people don't get it. And I don't expect them to. But CB should.
But I've been thinking about my anger all day. None of it is rational. I'm pissed that people are making new friends and going on trips. I'm pissed that people don't call or write. I'm pissed that people are going on dates and starting new relationships.
Clearly, I'm not pissed. I'm jealous.
And lonely.
So fucking lonely.
My house is full of family right now and I'm more lonely than ever.
They clear out on Monday and Patrick arrives next Thursday. By the time he leaves, I'll be half-way through this deployment.
I'm going to take a deep breath, let this spew simmer on the blog for a while, and move right along. Moving right along...
Because that is how I do things. It ain't pretty, but it works.
I knew that if I opened that Create window, my self-centered, immature...crap would come spewing forth. And I hate it when I spew.
I'm pissed off today. At the world.
I spent thirty of my daytime minutes on the phone with my very wonderful friend. And I thought it made me feel better.
Because I was running late and child-free, I went to the base gym (instead of my housewifely one). I watched hordes of hot, hot, hot military guys working out. And, they kept glancing my way. (Can you say "fresh meat!") And I thought it made me feel better.
I was so very wrong.
I'm pissed at my husband. But it is only my normal everyday kind of pissed off. The kind of pissed off where as soon as I say, "I drove your car off-base today," he's going to know I'm mad and why. It's not a big deal. I'll yell at him good-naturedly and we'll end up joking about it.
As far as the husband goes, we're closer than ever.
But being mad at him seemed to set off my internal anger flame for everyone else.
Even CB did something to piss me off. And I think that hurts the most. Because she has no clue and it is the exact kind of thing I spent a lot of energy protecting her from when her husband was gone.
On the phone the other night my husband said to me, "They just don't get it, Honey." He was talking about what it is like to be a waiting spouse and he's right. Most people don't get it. And I don't expect them to. But CB should.
But I've been thinking about my anger all day. None of it is rational. I'm pissed that people are making new friends and going on trips. I'm pissed that people don't call or write. I'm pissed that people are going on dates and starting new relationships.
Clearly, I'm not pissed. I'm jealous.
And lonely.
So fucking lonely.
My house is full of family right now and I'm more lonely than ever.
They clear out on Monday and Patrick arrives next Thursday. By the time he leaves, I'll be half-way through this deployment.
I'm going to take a deep breath, let this spew simmer on the blog for a while, and move right along. Moving right along...
Because that is how I do things. It ain't pretty, but it works.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Geeks, Gifts, and Gays
Have you guys seen those commercials for the Geek Squad? They provide the tech support at my local Best Buy.
Is it wrong that I find this one particular geek to be really hot? I mean, geeks aren't usually my thing, except for you geeks, of course.
I wonder if I was sending out an I'd-do-you vibe, because he totally hooked me up with a brand new monitor. It's a sweet deal because I even get a $50 rebate that I don't really deserve.
And now I can see my own blog the way it was meant to be seen again. Thank goodness.
*****
My husband sent me a dozen roses yesterday. From the desert. Well, they didn't come from the desert. He ordered them online from FTD. But still.
Do you think he scored some major points? Damn right, he did.
Why did he send me roses? Because I've been sick. I've been really, really sick, but I've been ignoring it here on the blog. In fact, I've been ignoring it in life too.
When you are a stay-at-home mother with kids who don't go to daycare and a husband who is very far away, there isn't a lot you can do about being sick. It's not like I can crawl into bed and wait it out.
*cough cough* Feel bad for me yet? No? *sniff sniff* Now? *hack hack* Here's some flem I chocked up. How about now?
*****
I've found all the local gays. They are hanging out at the Starbucks.
It's funny because I'm always telling people that we don't even have a Starbucks here. It had totally slipped my mind that there is one at the Barnes & Noble. In fact, they have Starbucks stands in the Albertsons and Target too.
Before my husband left, we visited the Barnes & Noble on a frigid day. I decided to get something hot to drink and discovered the joy of Godiva Hot Chocolate. I am a Godiva kind of girl.
Last weekend I was waiting in line with the kids for my Godiva fix when my humble straight-girl-gaydar started going off over the guy in front of me. And then the guy in front of him. And then the couple at the table near the counter. And then the group of guys at the table near the door.
Holy Moses. I've finally found them all. I guess with the lack of a gayborhood or any gay establishments, the locals find themselves in the relatively enlightened surroundings of the Starbucks Cafe.
I feel better now. I was afraid they were all kidnapped by "Marriage=*stick figure man*+*stick figure woman* (with the illegitimate *stick figure child* at their feet)" bumper stickered assholes.
Is it wrong that I find this one particular geek to be really hot? I mean, geeks aren't usually my thing, except for you geeks, of course.
I wonder if I was sending out an I'd-do-you vibe, because he totally hooked me up with a brand new monitor. It's a sweet deal because I even get a $50 rebate that I don't really deserve.
And now I can see my own blog the way it was meant to be seen again. Thank goodness.
*****
My husband sent me a dozen roses yesterday. From the desert. Well, they didn't come from the desert. He ordered them online from FTD. But still.
Do you think he scored some major points? Damn right, he did.
Why did he send me roses? Because I've been sick. I've been really, really sick, but I've been ignoring it here on the blog. In fact, I've been ignoring it in life too.
When you are a stay-at-home mother with kids who don't go to daycare and a husband who is very far away, there isn't a lot you can do about being sick. It's not like I can crawl into bed and wait it out.
*cough cough* Feel bad for me yet? No? *sniff sniff* Now? *hack hack* Here's some flem I chocked up. How about now?
*****
I've found all the local gays. They are hanging out at the Starbucks.
It's funny because I'm always telling people that we don't even have a Starbucks here. It had totally slipped my mind that there is one at the Barnes & Noble. In fact, they have Starbucks stands in the Albertsons and Target too.
Before my husband left, we visited the Barnes & Noble on a frigid day. I decided to get something hot to drink and discovered the joy of Godiva Hot Chocolate. I am a Godiva kind of girl.
Last weekend I was waiting in line with the kids for my Godiva fix when my humble straight-girl-gaydar started going off over the guy in front of me. And then the guy in front of him. And then the couple at the table near the counter. And then the group of guys at the table near the door.
Holy Moses. I've finally found them all. I guess with the lack of a gayborhood or any gay establishments, the locals find themselves in the relatively enlightened surroundings of the Starbucks Cafe.
I feel better now. I was afraid they were all kidnapped by "Marriage=*stick figure man*+*stick figure woman* (with the illegitimate *stick figure child* at their feet)" bumper stickered assholes.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Tag! I'm it!
Scott tagged me with the music meme. Fucker.
He tagged me because he'd "like to know what straight women in Oklahoma are listening to." (I'm assuming he was joking about Oklahoma since I don't live there.) Fucker.
I was hoping to avoid this because I have embarrassingly bad musical tastes.
But here goes. Please don't think any less of me.
1. Total amount of music files on your computer:
How do I figure that out? Kidding. I have 3.44 GB (to fill up my 40GB iPod).
2. The last CD you bought was:
I haven't bought a whole CD in a while. It was either the Avenue Q cast recording or Scissor Sisters.
3. What is the song you last listened to before reading this message?
Sadly, it was Eminem's "Lose Yourself", but only because it was on the one decent radio station we receive down here in OK. According to my iPod, the last song I listened to on purpose was "Slide" by Missy Elliott.
4. Write down 5 songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you:
This is where it gets scary.
"When I'm Gone" by 3 Doors Down: This is the ultimate deployment song. My favorite lyric is, "I'd never let you down, even if I could."
"I'm Gonna Make You Love Me" by The Jayhawks: This comes from an album called Smile. And this song makes me smile every time I hear it. My favorite lyric is, "I'll never be all that you want me to, but that's alright."
"Power of Two" by the Indigo Girls: This reminds me of college and my long-distance relationship with the man who would become my husband. My favorite lyric is, "Chase all the ghosts from your head, stronger than the monsters beneath your bed." Also, "If we ever leave a legacy, it's that we loved each other well."
"Lovers in a Dangerous Time" by the Barenaked Ladies: I listened to this song over and over again after September 11. My favorite lyric is, "Kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight."
"Let's Get it Started" by the Blackeyed Peas: I can't help but dance when I hear this song. Which makes me happy. And anything that can make me happy is very important to me right now. I also think Fergie is hot, hot, hot.
5. Who are you going to pass this stick to? (3 persons) and why?
Hmmm? I'm so shy, this is really hard. Plus, I have to go back and see who hasn't been tagged yet.
Patrick, because he's my friend and I won't feel shy asking him.
Ryan, because he looks good in a wetsuit. Or, well, actually because he is one of my new favorite people and hearing about someone's musical tastes is a cool way to get to know someone better.
And Famous Author Rob Byrnes because it would be interesting to see what old people like to listen to. Do you think he even knows what an mp3 is?
***Update: All three of my boys responded. Aren't they sweet? Go check out what they had to say, and then explain it to me. Because I've never even heard of 1/16th of what they talked about.
He tagged me because he'd "like to know what straight women in Oklahoma are listening to." (I'm assuming he was joking about Oklahoma since I don't live there.) Fucker.
I was hoping to avoid this because I have embarrassingly bad musical tastes.
But here goes. Please don't think any less of me.
1. Total amount of music files on your computer:
How do I figure that out? Kidding. I have 3.44 GB (to fill up my 40GB iPod).
2. The last CD you bought was:
I haven't bought a whole CD in a while. It was either the Avenue Q cast recording or Scissor Sisters.
3. What is the song you last listened to before reading this message?
Sadly, it was Eminem's "Lose Yourself", but only because it was on the one decent radio station we receive down here in OK. According to my iPod, the last song I listened to on purpose was "Slide" by Missy Elliott.
4. Write down 5 songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you:
This is where it gets scary.
"When I'm Gone" by 3 Doors Down: This is the ultimate deployment song. My favorite lyric is, "I'd never let you down, even if I could."
"I'm Gonna Make You Love Me" by The Jayhawks: This comes from an album called Smile. And this song makes me smile every time I hear it. My favorite lyric is, "I'll never be all that you want me to, but that's alright."
"Power of Two" by the Indigo Girls: This reminds me of college and my long-distance relationship with the man who would become my husband. My favorite lyric is, "Chase all the ghosts from your head, stronger than the monsters beneath your bed." Also, "If we ever leave a legacy, it's that we loved each other well."
"Lovers in a Dangerous Time" by the Barenaked Ladies: I listened to this song over and over again after September 11. My favorite lyric is, "Kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight."
"Let's Get it Started" by the Blackeyed Peas: I can't help but dance when I hear this song. Which makes me happy. And anything that can make me happy is very important to me right now. I also think Fergie is hot, hot, hot.
5. Who are you going to pass this stick to? (3 persons) and why?
Hmmm? I'm so shy, this is really hard. Plus, I have to go back and see who hasn't been tagged yet.
Patrick, because he's my friend and I won't feel shy asking him.
Ryan, because he looks good in a wetsuit. Or, well, actually because he is one of my new favorite people and hearing about someone's musical tastes is a cool way to get to know someone better.
And Famous Author Rob Byrnes because it would be interesting to see what old people like to listen to. Do you think he even knows what an mp3 is?
***Update: All three of my boys responded. Aren't they sweet? Go check out what they had to say, and then explain it to me. Because I've never even heard of 1/16th of what they talked about.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
What more could you want?
My parents are visiting this week. (I think I haven't mentioned their visit here, because if I ignore it, it will go away.) Tonight my father babysat my son so that my mom, my daughter, and I could go see Tops in Blue.
Tops in Blue is just the coolest thing. It is a traveling musical show with a cast and crew completely made up of Air Force members.
Hot military guys who can sing and dance? What more could you want?
Well, these guys and girls are talented too. There was more talent on that stage tonight than in the finals of any American Idol.
It really amazes me. These people, who have so much musical and dancing talent, have committed their lives to service of their country. After their tour with the show is over, they will go back to their Air Force jobs as aircraft mechanics, medical technicians, and public affairs officers. They'll go back to building munitions and flying airplanes.
The shows are dedicated to military folks and their families, but in many cities, they also invite the public. If you ever have a chance to see them perform, you should. It is a wonderful reminder that our troops are real people with families, talents, and desires beyond the mission.
Every time I see Tops in Blue, I come home with a headache from crying. This year was no exception.
At one point the performers came out into the audience and pulled people up with them to dance. A very tall female lieutenant pulled my daughter out and danced and twirled with her. If you could have seen the look on my daughter's face, you'd be crying too. It was pure joy.
They also always end the show dressed in formal uniforms singing the tear-jerker songs. This year the singer said that they had just returned from a twelve week tour in the desert and that this particular song was requested over and over again by the people serving there. He said he was singing it from them to us.
I sat next to my daughter, who was listening to a song "from her Daddy" and I cried my friggin eyes out. I'd heard the song before, I guess, but I had never really listened to the lyrics before.
He called her on the road
From a lonely cold hotel room
Just to hear her say I love you one more time
But when he heard the sound
Of the kids laughing in the background
He had to wipe away a tear from his eye
A little voice came on the phone
Said "Daddy when you coming home"
He said the first thing that came to his mind
I'm already there
Take a look around
I'm the sunshine in your hair
I'm the shadow on the ground
I'm the whisper in the wind
I'm your imaginary friend
And I know I'm in your prayers
Oh I'm already there
She got back on the phone
Said I really miss you darling
Don't worry about the kids they'll be alright
Wish I was in your arms
Lying right there beside you
But I know that I'll be in your dreams tonight
And I'll gently kiss your lips
Touch you with my fingertips
So turn out the light and close your eyes
I'm already there
Don't make a sound
I'm the beat in your heart
I'm the moonlight shining down
I'm the whisper in the wind
And I'll be there until the end
Can you feel the love that we share
Oh I'm already there
We may be a thousand miles apart
But I'll be with you wherever you are
I'm already there
Take a look around
I'm the sunshine in your hair
I'm the shadow on the ground
I'm the whisper in the wind
And I'll be there until the end
Can you feel the love that we share
Oh I'm already there
Oh I'm already
There
Lonestar--I'm Already There
Tops in Blue is just the coolest thing. It is a traveling musical show with a cast and crew completely made up of Air Force members.
Hot military guys who can sing and dance? What more could you want?
Well, these guys and girls are talented too. There was more talent on that stage tonight than in the finals of any American Idol.
It really amazes me. These people, who have so much musical and dancing talent, have committed their lives to service of their country. After their tour with the show is over, they will go back to their Air Force jobs as aircraft mechanics, medical technicians, and public affairs officers. They'll go back to building munitions and flying airplanes.
The shows are dedicated to military folks and their families, but in many cities, they also invite the public. If you ever have a chance to see them perform, you should. It is a wonderful reminder that our troops are real people with families, talents, and desires beyond the mission.
Every time I see Tops in Blue, I come home with a headache from crying. This year was no exception.
At one point the performers came out into the audience and pulled people up with them to dance. A very tall female lieutenant pulled my daughter out and danced and twirled with her. If you could have seen the look on my daughter's face, you'd be crying too. It was pure joy.
They also always end the show dressed in formal uniforms singing the tear-jerker songs. This year the singer said that they had just returned from a twelve week tour in the desert and that this particular song was requested over and over again by the people serving there. He said he was singing it from them to us.
I sat next to my daughter, who was listening to a song "from her Daddy" and I cried my friggin eyes out. I'd heard the song before, I guess, but I had never really listened to the lyrics before.
He called her on the road
From a lonely cold hotel room
Just to hear her say I love you one more time
But when he heard the sound
Of the kids laughing in the background
He had to wipe away a tear from his eye
A little voice came on the phone
Said "Daddy when you coming home"
He said the first thing that came to his mind
I'm already there
Take a look around
I'm the sunshine in your hair
I'm the shadow on the ground
I'm the whisper in the wind
I'm your imaginary friend
And I know I'm in your prayers
Oh I'm already there
She got back on the phone
Said I really miss you darling
Don't worry about the kids they'll be alright
Wish I was in your arms
Lying right there beside you
But I know that I'll be in your dreams tonight
And I'll gently kiss your lips
Touch you with my fingertips
So turn out the light and close your eyes
I'm already there
Don't make a sound
I'm the beat in your heart
I'm the moonlight shining down
I'm the whisper in the wind
And I'll be there until the end
Can you feel the love that we share
Oh I'm already there
We may be a thousand miles apart
But I'll be with you wherever you are
I'm already there
Take a look around
I'm the sunshine in your hair
I'm the shadow on the ground
I'm the whisper in the wind
And I'll be there until the end
Can you feel the love that we share
Oh I'm already there
Oh I'm already
There
Lonestar--I'm Already There
Monday, February 21, 2005
If you know me, you can skip this.
Updated on August 1, 2007
Would you like to get to know me?
Here are the bare bones facts:
Cast of Characters:
Would you like to get to know me?
Here are the bare bones facts:
- I am a 34-year-old, stay-at-home mother, and military wife.
- I currently live on a military base in the South. We've lived here for just about nine long years.
- I was born and raised in a Boston suburb.
- No, I can't tell you why I called my blog Tuna Girl. It's a boring story anyway.
- My husband is currently deployed to Iraq. We hope he'll be home in the spring.
Cast of Characters:
- Tuna Man is my husband. He is an officer in the military and a truly wonderful husband and father.
- Little Tuna Girl is my daughter. She is eight-years-old and in third grade. She is very sensitive, very sweet, and way too smart for her own good.
- Little Tuna Boy is my son. He is fiver-years-old and in kindergarten. He is sweet, neat, independent, and way too smart for his own good.
- CB was my best local friend. She was my next-door neighbor and also a stay-at-home mother and military wife, but she moved away at the start of 2006.
- Her husband is RB. He is my husband's best friend.
- AH was my most-annoying local friend but she moved away in the summer of 2006. She is also a stay-at-home mother and military wife.
- Gay Tunapet is the unfortunate self-appointed nickname of my best friend and guest blogger Patrick. Patrick is a stand-up comic with a day job in NYC.
- SW is my very wonderful, very beautiful, very outgoing local friend. She's sort of the leader of the pack of the friends I've made who have kids at my kids' school.
- I have a host of really great friends who I met through blogging. I link to them as I go.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Told You So
I really am the worst mother ever.
Today after my daughter's soccer game, the three of us made a little pit stop in the rest room.
After my son took care of business he stepped closer to the toilet to flush. And he slipped.
So, like any good mother would, I grabbed him around the waist to keep him from falling. Except that I overcompensated. And sent him head first into the toilet.
And what's worse, he knocked his face on the side of the bowl and split his cheek.
So now, every time someone asks me what happened to his face, I'm going to have to tell them that I threw him in the toilet.
I am the worst mother ever.
Today after my daughter's soccer game, the three of us made a little pit stop in the rest room.
After my son took care of business he stepped closer to the toilet to flush. And he slipped.
So, like any good mother would, I grabbed him around the waist to keep him from falling. Except that I overcompensated. And sent him head first into the toilet.
And what's worse, he knocked his face on the side of the bowl and split his cheek.
So now, every time someone asks me what happened to his face, I'm going to have to tell them that I threw him in the toilet.
I am the worst mother ever.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Happy Birthday to EvillMom
It has been said that the only way to judge a mother is by how much people enjoy being around her child.
If this is true, than Aaron's mom is a wonderful mother indeed.
I was privileged enough to get to meet Aaron in person. And I was lucky enough to spend some time just talking with him. And in those conversations it became quite clear to me that Aaron and his mom have a really great relationship. I can only hope to be that close to my son when he is an adult.
My daughter has a special place in her heart for Aaron. She talks about him a lot and asks me a lot of questions. One thing she wanted to know was what Aaron liked to do.
Well, man. I could have gone on and on with that one. But I decided it would be safest to just tell her about his photography.
That may have been a mistake, because now both kids want to take tons and tons of pictures. Between my digital and the throw-away cameras my mom gave them for Christmas, I have enough kid-taken pictures to fill a couple of albums.
Here are some of their efforts. Do you guys think I have a couple of future Aaron Edwards on my hands?
Okay. So maybe future Aaron Edwards they are not. (And someone is in big trouble for taking that picture of me still recovering from surgery.) But I did come across a few gratuitous crotch shots taken by my son.
Maybe he is going to take after Aaron after all.
And that would be okay by me.
So, happy birthday to Aaron's Mom. And thank you so much for Aaron. We appreciate him.
If this is true, than Aaron's mom is a wonderful mother indeed.
I was privileged enough to get to meet Aaron in person. And I was lucky enough to spend some time just talking with him. And in those conversations it became quite clear to me that Aaron and his mom have a really great relationship. I can only hope to be that close to my son when he is an adult.
My daughter has a special place in her heart for Aaron. She talks about him a lot and asks me a lot of questions. One thing she wanted to know was what Aaron liked to do.
Well, man. I could have gone on and on with that one. But I decided it would be safest to just tell her about his photography.
That may have been a mistake, because now both kids want to take tons and tons of pictures. Between my digital and the throw-away cameras my mom gave them for Christmas, I have enough kid-taken pictures to fill a couple of albums.
Here are some of their efforts. Do you guys think I have a couple of future Aaron Edwards on my hands?
Okay. So maybe future Aaron Edwards they are not. (And someone is in big trouble for taking that picture of me still recovering from surgery.) But I did come across a few gratuitous crotch shots taken by my son.
Maybe he is going to take after Aaron after all.
And that would be okay by me.
So, happy birthday to Aaron's Mom. And thank you so much for Aaron. We appreciate him.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Put 'Em On Ice
Here's a post that most of you could care a less about.
Well, except maybe Jeff who won't get to ogle Brendan Shanahan for an entire hockey season. And Pua. Poor Pua. She has enough going on right now. And now hockey will be taken from her too. It's tragic.
The NHL season has been canceled.
This year for the first time since 1919 when a flu epidemic struck during the playoffs, the Stanley Cup will not be awarded to an NHL team. Coincidently, 1919 was also the last time the Red Sox were reigning World Series Champions.
Hockey has been a constant in our life for years now. It is something that my husband and I share a real passion for. So when he gets home, we won't be spending a couple of nights a week curled up on the couch watching our favorite game.
I guess we'll have to move to the bedroom and play our favorite game. Much like hockey there is holding, slap shots, and even roughing. But only he gets to spend time in the box.
Speaking of dicks...
My favorite sports fan informs me that this whole NHL fiasco is akin to two men each insisting that his dick is bigger. And since neither side could agree about the other's endowment, they all just decided they weren't playing anymore.
I'd be happy to settle that argument for them.
Whip 'em out boys.
I could go on and on about which side I think is right and why the endurance of the sport is more important than the issues on either side.
But I think I'd rather just fantasize about this measuring contest and spend my money to support the local minor league team.
When they come back in September they better be better than ever. They have a lot of fans to win back. And they're not going to be able to do it with just the size of their dicks.
Well, except maybe Jeff who won't get to ogle Brendan Shanahan for an entire hockey season. And Pua. Poor Pua. She has enough going on right now. And now hockey will be taken from her too. It's tragic.
The NHL season has been canceled.
This year for the first time since 1919 when a flu epidemic struck during the playoffs, the Stanley Cup will not be awarded to an NHL team. Coincidently, 1919 was also the last time the Red Sox were reigning World Series Champions.
Hockey has been a constant in our life for years now. It is something that my husband and I share a real passion for. So when he gets home, we won't be spending a couple of nights a week curled up on the couch watching our favorite game.
I guess we'll have to move to the bedroom and play our favorite game. Much like hockey there is holding, slap shots, and even roughing. But only he gets to spend time in the box.
Speaking of dicks...
My favorite sports fan informs me that this whole NHL fiasco is akin to two men each insisting that his dick is bigger. And since neither side could agree about the other's endowment, they all just decided they weren't playing anymore.
I'd be happy to settle that argument for them.
Whip 'em out boys.
I could go on and on about which side I think is right and why the endurance of the sport is more important than the issues on either side.
But I think I'd rather just fantasize about this measuring contest and spend my money to support the local minor league team.
When they come back in September they better be better than ever. They have a lot of fans to win back. And they're not going to be able to do it with just the size of their dicks.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Time for a Rant!
I'd love to talk about anything else but this today. But it is on my mind, and I can't seem to shake it.
AH is driving me insane.
Everywhere we go (and she always seems to be everywhere I go) people ask her if she knows what her baby is yet.
And she always replies in the most dejected way possible, "It's a boy." She'll go on and on about how she had her heart set on having three girls. She'll go on and on about how awful boys are and how she is so disappointed.
I call her on this again and again. Just last night I lost it with her. "You better face reality!" I told her. "You're having a boy and that is all there is to it. Wishing it were a girl isn't going to change him into a girl. All your negativity can't be good for him. And someday you're going to look back and say that you can't imagine life without him."
She said, "Oh I know. I know. It's just that Asian boys are so bad. My brother blah blah blah."
I tuned her out when she started to make racist judgments about her own fucking son.
She told two other stories that night that made me want to shake her. I can't get them out of my mind and I wonder why they make me quite so angry. Maybe it is because I can't seem to pull away from this woman no matter how hard I try.
I don't even understand why she likes me. I keep yelling at her.
I feel bad for my poor husband and my best friend who have to listen to me rant about her all the time. Even CB hears some of it. And of course my poor blog readers have to read it from time to time.
So, I'm sorry. It's been a while since I posted something that is just a bunch of whiney crap. But here it is. For all to see.
I guess my life is pretty damn good if this is all I have to complain about.
AH is driving me insane.
Everywhere we go (and she always seems to be everywhere I go) people ask her if she knows what her baby is yet.
And she always replies in the most dejected way possible, "It's a boy." She'll go on and on about how she had her heart set on having three girls. She'll go on and on about how awful boys are and how she is so disappointed.
I call her on this again and again. Just last night I lost it with her. "You better face reality!" I told her. "You're having a boy and that is all there is to it. Wishing it were a girl isn't going to change him into a girl. All your negativity can't be good for him. And someday you're going to look back and say that you can't imagine life without him."
She said, "Oh I know. I know. It's just that Asian boys are so bad. My brother blah blah blah."
I tuned her out when she started to make racist judgments about her own fucking son.
She told two other stories that night that made me want to shake her. I can't get them out of my mind and I wonder why they make me quite so angry. Maybe it is because I can't seem to pull away from this woman no matter how hard I try.
I don't even understand why she likes me. I keep yelling at her.
I feel bad for my poor husband and my best friend who have to listen to me rant about her all the time. Even CB hears some of it. And of course my poor blog readers have to read it from time to time.
So, I'm sorry. It's been a while since I posted something that is just a bunch of whiney crap. But here it is. For all to see.
I guess my life is pretty damn good if this is all I have to complain about.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Is this sexy or dorky?
I don't know how you men do it.
Yesterday I wore boxer shorts. I wish I could say that I was trying to be oddly sexy. I wish I could say that I was trying to feel closer to my husband by wearing his boxer shorts like I sometimes do his T-shirts.
But no.
I am just that far behind doing laundry.
I ran out of thongs a few days ago. I'd go commando but I was on my way to the gym and wearing soccer shorts. I didn't want to give anyone a surprise show while I was doing hip abductors.
I suddenly realized while I was on the treadmill that I was dressed just how I find guys most hot. In fact, the only reason my husband even owns boxer shorts is because I think they're sexy.
If I were a guy, I like to think that I'd be all soccer-player-type hot.
I know that I'd be hung.
But I might not wear boxers. Because, damn, those things were uncomfortable. They look comfy, but I spent most of the day picking all that extra material out of my ass.
Yesterday I wore boxer shorts. I wish I could say that I was trying to be oddly sexy. I wish I could say that I was trying to feel closer to my husband by wearing his boxer shorts like I sometimes do his T-shirts.
But no.
I am just that far behind doing laundry.
I ran out of thongs a few days ago. I'd go commando but I was on my way to the gym and wearing soccer shorts. I didn't want to give anyone a surprise show while I was doing hip abductors.
I suddenly realized while I was on the treadmill that I was dressed just how I find guys most hot. In fact, the only reason my husband even owns boxer shorts is because I think they're sexy.
If I were a guy, I like to think that I'd be all soccer-player-type hot.
I know that I'd be hung.
But I might not wear boxers. Because, damn, those things were uncomfortable. They look comfy, but I spent most of the day picking all that extra material out of my ass.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Valentine Whore
How many of you are without Valentines today? Show of hands? Anyone?
Well, I have the perfect solution. Hire me to be your Valentine. Man, woman, gay, straight. It doesn't matter. I've got just what you need, baby.
First and foremost, I won't interpret your Valentine mushy-goodness as true love. Because I have true love. My true love just isn't available to be my Valentine today. So feel free to lay it on thick. I can recognize holiday-induced desperation when I smell it.
I also like to give gifts just as much as I like to receive them. What's your pleasure? All you have to do is hint that you might like something and I'll go embarrassingly overboard in getting it for you. It's just the way I am.
But I'm a great gift-receiver too. The smallest sentiment means so much to me. Chocolate, flowers, jewelry, cards, anything homemade, even household appliances. I will love and appreciate them all. And I've got impressive ways to show my appreciation.
And how would you like to spend the night? Dinner and dancing? Woo hoo. I'm all over that. Quiet night at home watching movies? Awww. I'd love that too. A wild night of monkey loving? Oops. Sorry. I have to draw the line there. But if you want, I can hang out and videotape your Internet hook-up. Then hand him (or her) a heart-shaped box of chocolates and kick his (or her) ass to the curb.
Because isn't that what a good Valentine is for? Catering to your desires while protecting your heart.
While I'll take cold hard cash as payment, I'll also settle for a hug and a promise of friendship. Because I'm a little lonely here. But I'm more loved than ten women deserve.
Let's share in the mushy-goodness, hmmmm?
Sunday, February 13, 2005
War is Hell
For those of you who are worried about my poor husband serving overseas, I thought I would share part of an E-mail he sent me today.
*****
"WAR IS HELL" It all started when I was rudely awakened by strange sounds outside my window. I looked at the clock and it was 8am. I walked outside and I could not see. I was blind! It took a few minutes and my eyes started to adjust. What was causing this pain? Then I noticed a big ball of fire in the sky above me. I looked around the side of my tent and saw two birds. I had to scare a few birds away from my window. How dare they make noise at 8am? WAR IS HELL!
After I took care of the loud birds I started making my way to the Chow Hall for true warriors. I was about halfway to the Chow Hall and I noticed the unbearable heat. I passed two airmen and they said it was a steamy 78F. It was so hot I had one bead of sweat running down my face. Out of breath and close to heat exhaustion, I got to the Chow Hall and thankfully the AC was working and Ben (the door man) was there with a glass of water. I sat down and rested for a while because the 100 feet from my tent to the Chow Hall was like walking through an oven. WAR IS HELL!
I got my china plate and fine silver and asked where is Jeff my personal chef. The maitre'd said he was sick and would not be here today. WHY ME? Who would be able to make my special eggs? WAR IS HELL!
The rest of the morning went okay. The internet took 3 seconds to load. Way too long, but that is what happens when you are having the type of day I am having.
Then we got to lunch! It was like nothing I have ever seen, the mayhem and anarchy. People were diving under tables screaming and crying. I could not believe my eyes. It was horrible. It took every ounce of energy to get through it...I had to eat lobster, a T-bone steak and fried shrimp for lunch. I had to eat it without shell crackers and a steak knife. If you have a weak stomach you might want to skip this part...the tails were still on the shrimp! MY GOD! IS THERE NO HUMANITY? The drops of golden butter splattered all over the plate...stomach turning. Then it happened. My buddy took one right to the eye...lemon juice. I grabbed him and pulled him to safety away form the juice snipers. I stayed with my friend until the medic arrived. I still had a mission to do! WAR IS HELL!
Most of us got through lunch with only a few minor wounds, nothing that a true warrior could not handle.
The rest of the day was routine...drinks by the pool and a live band for entertainment. I don't know how may more days I can take of this!!
"WAR IS HELL!"
OK, so my day did not go down just like that but I did have surf and turf with lobster, T-bone and fried shrimp, and THERE WERE NO CRACKERS. Thankfully my parents gave me all the survival training down the Cape to open the tail of a lobster by hand. It was a very good lunch. Have I told you lately I am fighting a war over here? So what did you have for lunch today?
*****
"WAR IS HELL" It all started when I was rudely awakened by strange sounds outside my window. I looked at the clock and it was 8am. I walked outside and I could not see. I was blind! It took a few minutes and my eyes started to adjust. What was causing this pain? Then I noticed a big ball of fire in the sky above me. I looked around the side of my tent and saw two birds. I had to scare a few birds away from my window. How dare they make noise at 8am? WAR IS HELL!
After I took care of the loud birds I started making my way to the Chow Hall for true warriors. I was about halfway to the Chow Hall and I noticed the unbearable heat. I passed two airmen and they said it was a steamy 78F. It was so hot I had one bead of sweat running down my face. Out of breath and close to heat exhaustion, I got to the Chow Hall and thankfully the AC was working and Ben (the door man) was there with a glass of water. I sat down and rested for a while because the 100 feet from my tent to the Chow Hall was like walking through an oven. WAR IS HELL!
I got my china plate and fine silver and asked where is Jeff my personal chef. The maitre'd said he was sick and would not be here today. WHY ME? Who would be able to make my special eggs? WAR IS HELL!
The rest of the morning went okay. The internet took 3 seconds to load. Way too long, but that is what happens when you are having the type of day I am having.
Then we got to lunch! It was like nothing I have ever seen, the mayhem and anarchy. People were diving under tables screaming and crying. I could not believe my eyes. It was horrible. It took every ounce of energy to get through it...I had to eat lobster, a T-bone steak and fried shrimp for lunch. I had to eat it without shell crackers and a steak knife. If you have a weak stomach you might want to skip this part...the tails were still on the shrimp! MY GOD! IS THERE NO HUMANITY? The drops of golden butter splattered all over the plate...stomach turning. Then it happened. My buddy took one right to the eye...lemon juice. I grabbed him and pulled him to safety away form the juice snipers. I stayed with my friend until the medic arrived. I still had a mission to do! WAR IS HELL!
Most of us got through lunch with only a few minor wounds, nothing that a true warrior could not handle.
The rest of the day was routine...drinks by the pool and a live band for entertainment. I don't know how may more days I can take of this!!
"WAR IS HELL!"
OK, so my day did not go down just like that but I did have surf and turf with lobster, T-bone and fried shrimp, and THERE WERE NO CRACKERS. Thankfully my parents gave me all the survival training down the Cape to open the tail of a lobster by hand. It was a very good lunch. Have I told you lately I am fighting a war over here? So what did you have for lunch today?
Friday, February 11, 2005
Mommy? Why do you have so many boyfriends?
My daughter is a thinker.
She'll think and think about something, and then suddenly, when I least expect it, she'll ask me a question.
And a lot of her questions recently have been focusing on boys and girls.
First of all, she wants to know why I have so many boyfriends. Of course when she says boyfriends, she really means boy friends, but it can make for an awkward moment in the Commissary.
She wants to know if Shamus is Patrick's boyfriend, because Shamus was at Patrick's house when she called him on the phone. She wants to know if Patrick has any girlfriends.
She wants to know why Mr. Mark would want to move in with his friend. "Is it a boy?" she wanted to know.
Now, as a parent, you are constantly balancing your kids need to know things with their level of understanding. I've heard so many parents go into deep explanations when all the kids' really wanted was a simple answer.
A great example was when my daughter's friend asked her mommy where her baby brother came from. The mother got all flustered and actually started explaining about pregnancy. And the little girl stopped her and said, "No, Mommy. I mean, is he from Texas?"
I've been guilty of it too.
So, I told her that I just happened to have a lot of friends who are men, but that I have a lot of women friends too. And I told her that men and women, and boys and girls, can all be friends. She wasn't buying the boys and girls part. She's five.
We have had a few talks about how all people are different. How people come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. And we've also talked about how all families have different rules. And by rules we really mean values. And we've talked about how that is okay.
And with all these recent boy/girl questions, we've also talked about how just like everyone looks different, and acts different, people love differently too.
So I'm starting to wonder. When is it time to tell her what "gay" means? When is that magic age when she is old enough to understand, but young enough that she hasn't been affected by other families' values of what is bad or wrong? Or, well, queer.
What do you guys think?
She'll think and think about something, and then suddenly, when I least expect it, she'll ask me a question.
And a lot of her questions recently have been focusing on boys and girls.
First of all, she wants to know why I have so many boyfriends. Of course when she says boyfriends, she really means boy friends, but it can make for an awkward moment in the Commissary.
She wants to know if Shamus is Patrick's boyfriend, because Shamus was at Patrick's house when she called him on the phone. She wants to know if Patrick has any girlfriends.
She wants to know why Mr. Mark would want to move in with his friend. "Is it a boy?" she wanted to know.
Now, as a parent, you are constantly balancing your kids need to know things with their level of understanding. I've heard so many parents go into deep explanations when all the kids' really wanted was a simple answer.
A great example was when my daughter's friend asked her mommy where her baby brother came from. The mother got all flustered and actually started explaining about pregnancy. And the little girl stopped her and said, "No, Mommy. I mean, is he from Texas?"
I've been guilty of it too.
So, I told her that I just happened to have a lot of friends who are men, but that I have a lot of women friends too. And I told her that men and women, and boys and girls, can all be friends. She wasn't buying the boys and girls part. She's five.
We have had a few talks about how all people are different. How people come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. And we've also talked about how all families have different rules. And by rules we really mean values. And we've talked about how that is okay.
And with all these recent boy/girl questions, we've also talked about how just like everyone looks different, and acts different, people love differently too.
So I'm starting to wonder. When is it time to tell her what "gay" means? When is that magic age when she is old enough to understand, but young enough that she hasn't been affected by other families' values of what is bad or wrong? Or, well, queer.
What do you guys think?
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Reason #296 Why I Miss My Husband
Because he isn't here to drink copious amounts of Pepsi One and win me free iTunes songs.
And some real reasons...
Because I miss sharing with him every little stupid, silly thing that crosses my mind. I miss laughing with him. I miss really talking with him. I just miss him.
It's funny that I'm missing him more now that I am over the worst of my depression. I guess maybe now that I am back to being myself, I can actually let myself feel again.
I'm fine. I'm happy. But I'm missing the little things. Like seeing his car in front of the house when I come home. Like having his shaving stuff making a mess out of the bathroom. Like cleaning up after his always interesting attempts to cook. Like listening to him read stories to the kids.
I miss the big things too. But when I'm in a good mood, it's the little things I miss the most.
And some real reasons...
Because I miss sharing with him every little stupid, silly thing that crosses my mind. I miss laughing with him. I miss really talking with him. I just miss him.
It's funny that I'm missing him more now that I am over the worst of my depression. I guess maybe now that I am back to being myself, I can actually let myself feel again.
I'm fine. I'm happy. But I'm missing the little things. Like seeing his car in front of the house when I come home. Like having his shaving stuff making a mess out of the bathroom. Like cleaning up after his always interesting attempts to cook. Like listening to him read stories to the kids.
I miss the big things too. But when I'm in a good mood, it's the little things I miss the most.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Back with the Housewives and Old Men
It's funny that I was just talking about being motivated the other day. Because I may have been talking about it, but I sure as hell wasn't living it.
But then something happened to change all that.
Yesterday at my daughter's cast party, a friend made a point of coming up to me to say, "How are you doing? You've lost a lot of weight haven't you? You look great!"
It's amazing how a little positive reinforcement can re-ignite a dying fire.
The truth is that I lost 30 pounds last year, without even really realizing it. I'd be proud except that I have a hard time admitting that my weight ever got as high as it did. On Dec 22, 2003, I wrote a little note for myself and stuck it on my fridge. I wrote "Highest weight ever:" along with the number and the date.
Then I promptly forgot about it.
I found it this past December and was amazed. Thirty pounds is nothing to sneeze at.
Now, I'm back at it again.
I went to the gym today. I had a good work out. My son spent the time in Kid Fit Class and had a good work out too.
Woo hoo! Go, me!
I know myself well enough to know that now that I am working out again, I'll be happier and more productive in every aspect of my life. I'll get more sleep and eat better. I'll be motivated to start and complete projects. And I'll be hornier too. Though that last one doesn't do me much good.
And now that I've said all that on my blog, I have to stick with it. I'd be too embarrassed not to. Besides, my gym offers up too much blog fodder to ignore.
But then something happened to change all that.
Yesterday at my daughter's cast party, a friend made a point of coming up to me to say, "How are you doing? You've lost a lot of weight haven't you? You look great!"
It's amazing how a little positive reinforcement can re-ignite a dying fire.
The truth is that I lost 30 pounds last year, without even really realizing it. I'd be proud except that I have a hard time admitting that my weight ever got as high as it did. On Dec 22, 2003, I wrote a little note for myself and stuck it on my fridge. I wrote "Highest weight ever:" along with the number and the date.
Then I promptly forgot about it.
I found it this past December and was amazed. Thirty pounds is nothing to sneeze at.
Now, I'm back at it again.
I went to the gym today. I had a good work out. My son spent the time in Kid Fit Class and had a good work out too.
Woo hoo! Go, me!
I know myself well enough to know that now that I am working out again, I'll be happier and more productive in every aspect of my life. I'll get more sleep and eat better. I'll be motivated to start and complete projects. And I'll be hornier too. Though that last one doesn't do me much good.
And now that I've said all that on my blog, I have to stick with it. I'd be too embarrassed not to. Besides, my gym offers up too much blog fodder to ignore.
Monday, February 07, 2005
My Worlds Collide Again
I think I may have mentioned not too long ago, that I finally had a frank discussion with CB about my gay friends.
It was about a year ago while out to lunch with CB and AH that I first mentioned that my two all-time-best friends were lesbians. I think CB's reaction was along the lines of, "Well, of course. You played college softball. You were surrounded by lesbians."
That's not exactly a ringing endorsement of my choice in friends, but it wasn't condemnation either, which I had sort of expected.
Now she refers to my closest blog friends as "the one with the brain tumor" and "the one with the cancer". Though it took her a while to realize that they aren't one-in-the-same person. That's not exactly a great way to define my friends, but I figure it's better than her referring to them as gay and gayer. (Or should that be the other way around?)
So it turns out that Patrick will be in town for her daughter's birthday. My husband thinks it is a great idea to torture Patrick with a three-year-old's birthday party. I think his exact words were, "Take Patrick! Let him see what it is really like to be a military wife and mother!"
I asked CB if it was okay if my friend from out-of-town came to the party. And she immediately told me, "Of course."
But for some reason, last night at her Super Bowl party, I felt the need to clarify exactly which one of my friends would be attending her little dear's party. I don't really want to analyze why I felt the need to do that. Let's just stick to the surface and say that it is because I wanted to avoid any awkwardness with my very religious friend.
Me: So are you sure you don't mind Patrick coming to the birthday party?
CB: Of course not. Now is this the one with the cancer?
Me: Yes, ***controlling my need to roll my eyes*** but you know he is gay, right?
CB: Yes. My goodness, of course it is okay. He's just a person. It's not like he's going to be having gay sex in my kitchen.
Well, I don't know. She's never met Patrick.
It was about a year ago while out to lunch with CB and AH that I first mentioned that my two all-time-best friends were lesbians. I think CB's reaction was along the lines of, "Well, of course. You played college softball. You were surrounded by lesbians."
That's not exactly a ringing endorsement of my choice in friends, but it wasn't condemnation either, which I had sort of expected.
Now she refers to my closest blog friends as "the one with the brain tumor" and "the one with the cancer". Though it took her a while to realize that they aren't one-in-the-same person. That's not exactly a great way to define my friends, but I figure it's better than her referring to them as gay and gayer. (Or should that be the other way around?)
So it turns out that Patrick will be in town for her daughter's birthday. My husband thinks it is a great idea to torture Patrick with a three-year-old's birthday party. I think his exact words were, "Take Patrick! Let him see what it is really like to be a military wife and mother!"
I asked CB if it was okay if my friend from out-of-town came to the party. And she immediately told me, "Of course."
But for some reason, last night at her Super Bowl party, I felt the need to clarify exactly which one of my friends would be attending her little dear's party. I don't really want to analyze why I felt the need to do that. Let's just stick to the surface and say that it is because I wanted to avoid any awkwardness with my very religious friend.
Me: So are you sure you don't mind Patrick coming to the birthday party?
CB: Of course not. Now is this the one with the cancer?
Me: Yes, ***controlling my need to roll my eyes*** but you know he is gay, right?
CB: Yes. My goodness, of course it is okay. He's just a person. It's not like he's going to be having gay sex in my kitchen.
Well, I don't know. She's never met Patrick.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
Godspeed
Today, I used the word godspeed in a comment over at his blog.
As soon as I hit publish, I thought to myself, that was a stupid thing to say. I sound like a religious fanatic. Which I am clearly not. Despite CB's best attempts and many forwarded E-mails.
But godspeed is the traditional military farewell. When someone leaves for a new job or retires, we do not say, "Good luck," or even, "Best wishes." We say, "Godspeed!"
According to dictionary.net, godspeed is defined as, "Success; prosperous journeying".
I kind of like that. Because no matter what changes we are making in our lives, it is always part of a journey. We don't really need luck or best wishes. We need to prosper as we move through the steps and challenges of a journey through life.
And even what seem to be negative changes are part of the journey. Everything that happens to us is directing us somewhere in life. As long as we get to a place that we find "successful" then the journey is worth the challenge. As hard as it may sometimes be.
As stagnant as I feel right now, I suppose I am still on a journey in life. My husband reminded me of this last night when he said, "You still have almost three months until I come home." He thinks I should use the time to write a book. I'd like to stick to my original goals of getting in shape and getting my life organized.
But if every journey begins with one single step, than I better get my walking shoes on and get my butt out the door. Because my body isn't going to magically transform itself. And my house and life aren't going to spontaneously arrange themselves to fit my needs.
I need to do it. I need to get busy. I need to start the journey.
So godspeed to me! And godspeed to you, my friends. May your journey, no matter your destination, be prosperous and filled with love.
As soon as I hit publish, I thought to myself, that was a stupid thing to say. I sound like a religious fanatic. Which I am clearly not. Despite CB's best attempts and many forwarded E-mails.
But godspeed is the traditional military farewell. When someone leaves for a new job or retires, we do not say, "Good luck," or even, "Best wishes." We say, "Godspeed!"
According to dictionary.net, godspeed is defined as, "Success; prosperous journeying".
I kind of like that. Because no matter what changes we are making in our lives, it is always part of a journey. We don't really need luck or best wishes. We need to prosper as we move through the steps and challenges of a journey through life.
And even what seem to be negative changes are part of the journey. Everything that happens to us is directing us somewhere in life. As long as we get to a place that we find "successful" then the journey is worth the challenge. As hard as it may sometimes be.
As stagnant as I feel right now, I suppose I am still on a journey in life. My husband reminded me of this last night when he said, "You still have almost three months until I come home." He thinks I should use the time to write a book. I'd like to stick to my original goals of getting in shape and getting my life organized.
But if every journey begins with one single step, than I better get my walking shoes on and get my butt out the door. Because my body isn't going to magically transform itself. And my house and life aren't going to spontaneously arrange themselves to fit my needs.
I need to do it. I need to get busy. I need to start the journey.
So godspeed to me! And godspeed to you, my friends. May your journey, no matter your destination, be prosperous and filled with love.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Speaking of Urine
It's Mardi Gras time here on the bayou.
This weekend is the second of the two largest local parades. People start lining their RVs and pick-up trucks along the parade route a few days before. I never did understand the appeal of these parades. How much plastic crap can one person collect? But I do think that Mardi Gras in New Orleans is something that everyone should do once in his or her life.
Once was enough for me.
When my husband was in flight school, a group of us decided on a whim to drive to New Orleans for the weekend before Fat Tuesday. I managed to find a room in a hotel that was connected to a hospital, just a short cab ride from the Quarter.
There were maybe 12 of us in that room. There were married couples, dating couples, single guys, and a couple of married men whose wives refused to go on the trip.
We headed over to Bourbon Street fairly early in the day. My friends, after being inspired by some obviously professional strippers, started flashing anyone and everyone who would offer beads. The guys used their wives as bead whores.
Our closest friends had decided to bring cheap white jackets for everyone to wear. And everyone got a Sharpie. The idea was to see who could get the most signatures during the weekend.
Now let me state for the record that my husband and I do some wild and crazy things (in bed) and we're up for anything new (in bed), but when it comes to showing our goods and interacting with complete strangers...well..it is not our cup of tea.
So we drank. We ate Chinese Food. We conned our way into a series of non-public restrooms. We drank some more. Even I, the modest one, had so many beads that my neck hurt.
We watched one of the big parades and than tried to get through the wall of mass humanity to head home. Even our most gung-ho friends could only take so much. Once you've seen a few hundred boobs and dicks, you've seen them all.
The 12 of us were all in a line, holding onto each other as tight as we could, and snaking our way toward an area that might have cabs. At one point, on Bourbon Street, I was stuck right in a big pile of sewage in the sewer. New Orleans is not the cleanest city anyway, but considering the drunkenness of the crowd, the sewers were just overflowing with human waste.
It was at this point, being crushed by people on all sides, that the man beside me started having an argument with a man standing on a balcony overhead. The argument escalated and the balcony man had a brilliant idea.
He whipped it out and started to pee on the man that was angering him. I know it is hard to believe that you really can't move enough to escape a stream of urine, but me and the man next to me bore the brunt of it.
I didn't want to yell, because I didn't want to open my mouth, but I did push against my husband to try and get him to move. "Tell them to move out from under the balconies," I was finally able to say. And slowly but surely, we were more toward the middle of the street.
My hair was pee-soaked. My neck hurt. I hadn't drunk near enough to get drunk (Hurricanes-Schmuricanes). And I wanted to fucking go home.
After our friend who was a former SP physically threatened a cabby into taking us home, I went back to the hotel for the longest shower of my life.
We did get to soak in a hot tub that night. We were all in our undies. (What? We're straight. That's kinky for us.) And I managed to make an inappropriate comment about by best friend's husband's calves. I couldn't help it. They were hot.
Saying, "I got peed on at Mardi Gras," is a good conversational starter. But if I ever go again I think I'll stick to the *dramatic whisper* gay section. And if I'm going to get peed on again, I want it to be by choice.
This weekend is the second of the two largest local parades. People start lining their RVs and pick-up trucks along the parade route a few days before. I never did understand the appeal of these parades. How much plastic crap can one person collect? But I do think that Mardi Gras in New Orleans is something that everyone should do once in his or her life.
Once was enough for me.
When my husband was in flight school, a group of us decided on a whim to drive to New Orleans for the weekend before Fat Tuesday. I managed to find a room in a hotel that was connected to a hospital, just a short cab ride from the Quarter.
There were maybe 12 of us in that room. There were married couples, dating couples, single guys, and a couple of married men whose wives refused to go on the trip.
We headed over to Bourbon Street fairly early in the day. My friends, after being inspired by some obviously professional strippers, started flashing anyone and everyone who would offer beads. The guys used their wives as bead whores.
Our closest friends had decided to bring cheap white jackets for everyone to wear. And everyone got a Sharpie. The idea was to see who could get the most signatures during the weekend.
Now let me state for the record that my husband and I do some wild and crazy things (in bed) and we're up for anything new (in bed), but when it comes to showing our goods and interacting with complete strangers...well..it is not our cup of tea.
So we drank. We ate Chinese Food. We conned our way into a series of non-public restrooms. We drank some more. Even I, the modest one, had so many beads that my neck hurt.
We watched one of the big parades and than tried to get through the wall of mass humanity to head home. Even our most gung-ho friends could only take so much. Once you've seen a few hundred boobs and dicks, you've seen them all.
The 12 of us were all in a line, holding onto each other as tight as we could, and snaking our way toward an area that might have cabs. At one point, on Bourbon Street, I was stuck right in a big pile of sewage in the sewer. New Orleans is not the cleanest city anyway, but considering the drunkenness of the crowd, the sewers were just overflowing with human waste.
It was at this point, being crushed by people on all sides, that the man beside me started having an argument with a man standing on a balcony overhead. The argument escalated and the balcony man had a brilliant idea.
He whipped it out and started to pee on the man that was angering him. I know it is hard to believe that you really can't move enough to escape a stream of urine, but me and the man next to me bore the brunt of it.
I didn't want to yell, because I didn't want to open my mouth, but I did push against my husband to try and get him to move. "Tell them to move out from under the balconies," I was finally able to say. And slowly but surely, we were more toward the middle of the street.
My hair was pee-soaked. My neck hurt. I hadn't drunk near enough to get drunk (Hurricanes-Schmuricanes). And I wanted to fucking go home.
After our friend who was a former SP physically threatened a cabby into taking us home, I went back to the hotel for the longest shower of my life.
We did get to soak in a hot tub that night. We were all in our undies. (What? We're straight. That's kinky for us.) And I managed to make an inappropriate comment about by best friend's husband's calves. I couldn't help it. They were hot.
Saying, "I got peed on at Mardi Gras," is a good conversational starter. But if I ever go again I think I'll stick to the *dramatic whisper* gay section. And if I'm going to get peed on again, I want it to be by choice.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
It's a Urine-soaked World
My life has degenerated into a sea of pee and a pond of poop. My son and my puppy have both taken a major backslide in the potty department. I wonder which one influenced which.
I've been sick and it is really kicking my ass. I'm just exhausted. I even fell asleep in car pool line yesterday. The van was in drive, my foot was on the brake, and I suddenly woke up realizing that the cars in front of me had moved up a few spaces. Adrenaline rush! I'm lucky I didn't hurt anyone.
But as tired as I am, I am doing really well. I can't tell you how much better I feel. I can tell I'm in a happier place because I've started dancing around the house like an idiot while listening to my iPod again. That's always a sure sign that things are looking up in my world.
I've also been able to laugh on the phone with my husband. For a while there, I did nothing but fight with him. Unfortunately, staying up late to talk to him hasn't helped my fatigue issue. I've gotten in the bad, bad habit of napping when my son does. Which is right now.
So nighty night, y'all. Hopefully, I'll catch up on my sleep and get back in my normal blog writing and reading pattern soon.
Sweet dreams!
I've been sick and it is really kicking my ass. I'm just exhausted. I even fell asleep in car pool line yesterday. The van was in drive, my foot was on the brake, and I suddenly woke up realizing that the cars in front of me had moved up a few spaces. Adrenaline rush! I'm lucky I didn't hurt anyone.
But as tired as I am, I am doing really well. I can't tell you how much better I feel. I can tell I'm in a happier place because I've started dancing around the house like an idiot while listening to my iPod again. That's always a sure sign that things are looking up in my world.
I've also been able to laugh on the phone with my husband. For a while there, I did nothing but fight with him. Unfortunately, staying up late to talk to him hasn't helped my fatigue issue. I've gotten in the bad, bad habit of napping when my son does. Which is right now.
So nighty night, y'all. Hopefully, I'll catch up on my sleep and get back in my normal blog writing and reading pattern soon.
Sweet dreams!
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
What Not to Wear
On Monday I forgot to wear a bra.
On Tuesday I wore a thong because that was the only clean underwear I had.
Today I am wearing a power chain. Who wants to guess on what part of my body I am wearing a power chain?
You should know that none of those things are comfortable.
*****
Update: Y'all are a bunch of perverts. This is a power chain. And it hurts like hell.
But there's good news. Wearing it means that I am about nine weeks away from getting my braces off. Woo fucking hoo!
I wonder what I could possibly do to my husband with my braces-free, pain-free mouth? Come on world. Turn a little faster!
On Tuesday I wore a thong because that was the only clean underwear I had.
Today I am wearing a power chain. Who wants to guess on what part of my body I am wearing a power chain?
You should know that none of those things are comfortable.
*****
Update: Y'all are a bunch of perverts. This is a power chain. And it hurts like hell.
But there's good news. Wearing it means that I am about nine weeks away from getting my braces off. Woo fucking hoo!
I wonder what I could possibly do to my husband with my braces-free, pain-free mouth? Come on world. Turn a little faster!
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Ode to My Sex Drive
With apologies to Simon and Garfunkle
Hello libido, my old friend,
It's nice to see you once again,
Visions of Sam Tyson creeping,
Left it’s seed while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
With the return of my sex drive.
After horny dreams I wake alone,
Can't get my husband on the phone,
Imagine taking it like a champ,
Parts of me are all moist and damp
Magic Wand will take me through all the night
It feels so right
With the return of my sex drive.
One month down and three more to go until this return of my libido will do me any good. But it's still nice to have my old friend sex drive back in my life.
Seriously, people. In the first three days my husband was gone I probably got busy with myself a dozen times. And then nothing. For weeks. Depression sucks.
But I'm back in the saddle again. I can once again enjoy watching the men pump gas at the base gas station. I will once again take the kids to the BX food court for lunch just so I can ogle the uniformed mechandise. I can once again troll the Internet for pictures of hot men. (Gay friends are good sources for hot Internet men.)
Ah, libido. How I've missed you. Welcome back my old friend.
Hello libido, my old friend,
It's nice to see you once again,
Visions of Sam Tyson creeping,
Left it’s seed while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
With the return of my sex drive.
After horny dreams I wake alone,
Can't get my husband on the phone,
Imagine taking it like a champ,
Parts of me are all moist and damp
Magic Wand will take me through all the night
It feels so right
With the return of my sex drive.
One month down and three more to go until this return of my libido will do me any good. But it's still nice to have my old friend sex drive back in my life.
Seriously, people. In the first three days my husband was gone I probably got busy with myself a dozen times. And then nothing. For weeks. Depression sucks.
But I'm back in the saddle again. I can once again enjoy watching the men pump gas at the base gas station. I will once again take the kids to the BX food court for lunch just so I can ogle the uniformed mechandise. I can once again troll the Internet for pictures of hot men. (Gay friends are good sources for hot Internet men.)
Ah, libido. How I've missed you. Welcome back my old friend.
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