I did it all for the cookie!

Eighteen months and 444 posts later and it still all comes down to the same thing.

Me: You know, the kiddo is already up so late anyway. Maybe I should just take her with me to pick up Grandma and Grandpa at the airport.

Him: That's fine, but can you put her down for just a little while so we can have a cookie?

Me: *all excited* You bought me a cookie?

Him: *shaking head* Not a cookie. A quickie!

Me: Awww, man. I really wanted a cookie.

A Challenge

It's a damn good thing they evacuated those aircraft for the two inches of rain and whopping 15 m.p.h. winds we suffered through here. And I'm glad they're not attempting to fly through the partly sunny skies of the Midwest to return to base now. Who knows what hell might befall these combat-veteran fliers when they encountered those fluffy white clouds.

As you may have guessed, my husband still hasn't returned home.

Which would be fine, normally.

But my parents arrive tomorrow night. And my in-laws arrive Thursday afternoon. They're all on their way to celebrate my husband's promotion on Friday morning.

Much like my wedding day, we won't know if he'll actually be here until the last minute.

To say that I'm a bit cranky would be an understatement. My daughter practically flew out of the van and into school this morning, just to escape my mood.

"I just love my school, Mom," she told me. She might as well have said, "I can't wait to get away from you, Mom."

I can't say that I blame her. If I could, I'd get away from me too.

So I've decided to be self-serving. (Like that's something new for me.) In the interest of sparing my kids, husband, and closest friends from the wrath that is a Tuna Girl mood, and in the interest of preserving family harmony with those that gave us birth, I issue you, my faithful blog readers, a challenge.

Cheer me up. You can do it. You've done it before. Let's see how well you know me.

What do you think would cheer me up?

And just to get you started, here's one: A postcard from an exotic locale. Thanks, Jase!

My Apologies

I'm sorry. I had so much to write about today, but I've been distracted.

I stayed up way too late last night. Yes, I can get into bad sleeping habits when my husband is away. And yes, I stayed up way too late talking on the phone to Patrick as he drove home from work.

But what really kept me up late last night was a Wet and Wild South Park marathon. It's not that I'm a huge fan of Mr Hat, Big Gay Al, Evil Cartman, or tunneling hamsters. I enjoy crude humor from construction paper cut-outs as much as the next girl, but there was something more keeping me up all night.

Paul Walker and Jessica Alba hosted the marathon with lead-ins promoting their new movie Into The Blue.

Oh, all that is holy in this world! Paul Walker and Jessica Alba? Together? In bathing suits? It's more than my poor heart can stand.

I could have spent the few hours I was sleeping last night dreaming of six feet of blond gorgeousness wrapping himself around me and Ms. Alba as we rub lotion on each other's...um. Where was I?

Oh yes, I could have spent my night dreaming and then moved on. But today I caught just a glimpse of a magazine that my husband left lying around, and it brought it all back.




I could just slide down those abs and right into those trunks.

And he has a nice smile to boot!




So I apologize.

I know you come here for stories about puke, cockroaches, shit and spew. But this is all I have to offer you today.

Can you forgive me?

Not tonight, honey, I have an overdraft.

Last night I refused sex.

I know. I know. When does that ever happen?

But I was in the middle of something big. Last night I went back over our finances for the past year. I've been letting things slide for quite a while. In fact, I've let things go to hell in a handbasket ever since my surgery last November, and it is starting to bite us in the ass. Actually, it's taking huge, gnashing chomps out of my ass.

So I went over and reconciled every single financial transaction we've made in the last year. One by one. It was excruciating. But I was committed to getting it all done in one night so that I could finally shake my financial panic and move forward.

So when my husband asked me if I wanted to "take a break" while he winked and made that little come hither clicking noise that he does, I just couldn't tear myself away from our impending financial ruin enough to participate.

"Tomorrow," I told him. "While the kids are at school."

It's a damn good thing I got my nooner nookie today, because I don't think I'll be seeing him for a while. He and his aircraft are being evacuated out because of the storm. So he gets to go somewhere safe, and the kids and I are going to be weathering this thing on our own.

He damn well better be back before all of our parents arrive for his promotion ceremony. If not, he might not have a wife to come home to. I just might implode from stress.

**On a related note, why do I find it impossible to masturbate while the lawn guys are mowing my grass.

Sometimes being a military wife isn't so freaking fun.

Buffy Ain't Just a Puppy!

It's 100+ fucking degrees in fucking September. I have to babysit. And I still haven't gotten any.

So I'm doing a fucking quiz, damnit.

You scored as Buffy Summers. You are a very strong individual. You do, however, have some trouble admitting how you truly feel. You've experienced a lot during your life, but you more than manage. Always willing to help, you're a great friend. Buffy Summers 75% Rupert Giles 58% Dawn Summers 58% Spike 50% Tara Maclay 46% Anya 46% Xander Harris 42% Willow Rosenberg 38% Which Buffy The Vampire Slayer Character Are You Most Like!? created with QuizFarm.com

Well, fuck yeah. I could have told you that.

So, Jeff, if we could just find a Willow, Xander, and Spike, we could really put a dent in some of your rage. I'll bring the hard spike. If I can just find one.

An Ode to My Blog

Oh, blog of Tuna green and blue
Why have I deserted you?
Where once there was sex and randy muse
Now there is nothing but blog abuse

What happened to the funny stories
Of puking kids and horny fairies
Of critters taking reign of my house
And attics filled with poop of mouse?

There was raunchy sex and porn on cue
Hot guys and asses and boobs for you
There were trips to Mexico and N.Y.C.
Shows and movies and plays to see

But now, dear blog, just like me
You sit in obscure lethargy
Car pool, bills, parents and such
Boring, boring but still so much

It's time to take things back, I think
To innuendo, wit, and poignant kink
After all, dear blog, you've given me
I owe you big, I'm sure you see

But sometimes I just have to breathe
Good stories take some time to weave
Very soon now, I'll try my luck
I'll have more to write once I fuck

Daddy's Little Girl

Sometimes I wish that I could be the dad. I said to my husband yesterday, "Someday our little girl will be in her twenties. She'll be getting married and living on her own. And she'll still call you Daddy."

"Hmmm, probably," he replied. "And what will she call you?"

And in unison we answered, "Bitch!"

If you ignore that pesky earning-a-living-and-putting-bread-on-the-table thing, dads have it pretty good. They get to be the fun ones who are greeted with cheers and hugs every time they come through the door. With daughters especially, I think that the kids don't have to put so much time and energy into pulling away from a dad. So they can be closer as they get older.

Dads also seem to get to have these great teaching moments. Like today. We took the kids outside and finally got them riding their bikes. After some discussion, my husband got out the wrench and began that classic right of passage...teaching your kid to ride a bike without training wheels.

Now, truth be told, while he was doing that I was teaching my son to ride his "big kid" bike for the first time and silently begging my husband not to lose his temper and start yelling.

My daughter can be very hard to teach. And my husband and I are both a little wanting in the patience department. But after one rather harsh, "Why did you let go?" he reigned it in and was absolutely awesome with her.

It was the kind of scene that you see on television, and it was both sweet and poignant in its own way. But lately my husband has been struggling a little with his aging and his daughter's growing up.

In fact, we were watching The War at Home tonight. It's a new sitcom that deals with parenting teenagers. I shouldn't ever let him watch these types of shows, because he starts thinking about what it will be like when our daughter is a teenager. And he starts planning to get some time in at the firing range.

He seems to have trouble with the fact that I lost my virginity when I was 16. And I don't seem to regret it. He wants to know what I'm going to tell our daughter about sex when she's 16.

And since the sitcom was alluding to oral sex, he wanted to know when I gave my first blow job. He wasn't happy when I told him I was 16. No, he wasn't happy to say the least.

"And what are you going to tell her about that?" he asked in total exasperation.

"Well, honey. At least she can't get pregnant that way."

That's when he swallowed his tongue.

So I continued, "Besides, I'll teach her about women's rights." I banged my fist into my opposite palm. "I'll tell her to demand that she gets hers first before she dishes it out."

He found his tongue then.

"Get out. Get the fuck out. Get out of my house."

Aww. Poor baby can't take a joke.

So I went and bought him ice cream. And I promised that the first and only time he will ever know about her sex life is when she makes us grandparents.

I guess there are some good things about being the mom.

Earning His Call Sign

My husband has been in and out of the house all day today. And it reminded me of something he said last month.

When the kids started school, he asked me for all of the scheduling details. I thought maybe he was going to help me out with all of the picking up and dropping off. But, oh no.

He just wanted to know when I'd be alone in the house and available for nooners.

Some carpooling help would have been nice, but nooners are nice too.

Except here we are, a month into the school year, and I haven't gotten a single nooner yet.

Promises, promises. What happened to all that enthusiasm?

I suppose it's okay though, because I can only imagine what the guys in the office would think if he showed up back at work every afternoon all relaxed and happy. He might just earn a new nickname.

Wouldn't Nooner make a great call sign?

Someone throw me a line!

I'm drowning here.

I'm gasping for breath and flailing my limbs, just trying to get my head above water long enough to see where I am.

But it's not water I'm drowning in. It's obligations, and commitments, and annoying friends who won't go away, and money concerns, and all the same old shit.

And I call out for help, but all anyone does is throw some ballet shoes, or a violin, or a whole mess of soccer balls into the mix. And they're drowning me and I can't breathe.

I see startling rays of light from time to time. The kids hug each other and say "I love you" and suddenly I see blue sky. Or the husband does something nice and I feel like my fingertips have found the edge of a life preserver. Or a friend calls and just for a moment I can feel myself floating.

But they are all too fleeting glimpses and my head is under the muck again. And I can't see my way out.

Until today. Today the oppressive weight I've been struggling against parted like the Red Sea. I could breathe, and see, and even dance a little.

Everything is still waiting to crush me again, but right now I feel invincible.

This week I lost 7 and a half pounds.

With the help of a couple of people who love me...

I ROCK.

Heroes' Relief Drive

If you're a big reader (and I know I have quite a few Suzanne Brockmann fans who read my blog) check out this information on an eBay auction.

It specifically benefits military victims of Hurricane Katrina through the Soldiers' Angels program.

Thanks to ArmyWifeToddlerMom for bringing this to my attention.

Ready normal people?

Sometimes I wonder about my neighbors.

The people next door to us have a window-filled sunroom that faces our sunroom. They use their sunroom as an office, and every night when I glance out my upstairs window before closing up for the night, I see the blue glare of their computer screen.

If they're writing a letter on Word, I can almost read it. If they're balancing their checkbook with Quicken, I can tell. If they're checking their e-mail, I know how many messages they got.

So here's the question that has been bugging me all year.

How the hell do they surf porn? Because, man. Why else do we have the Internet? Blogging is only something to do while the really good porn loads. Right?

Do they not look at porn? What kind of freaks don't look at porn?

And if they are the kind of people who are too uptight for porn, how do they feel about living next to us?

I need to check on just how much the noise from our bedroom filters outside. Yeah. I need to do that right now.

Pump up the volume, Daddy!

Yesterday, while she was doing her homework, my daughter started singing. Did she sing a sweet rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star? Did she belt out a tune from The Little Mermaid? Did she entertain us with her school song that she performed on stage?

No, no, and no.

What she sang was:

She went to Cleveland

With some guy named Leelan

That she met at the bank

Come back to Texas

Before you lose your accent

Apparently, it's her new favorite song. And that's all she knows of it, for now.

I asked her, "Where did you hear that song? Who taught you that?"

And my husband chimed in with an incredulous tone, "It was on in the truck yesterday and she asked me to turn it up!"

"I like that song, Mommy," she told me. "It has Cleveland in it."

The kids have been quite fascinated with Cleveland since I went there to help Patrick move. I can imagine them arriving there some day and being sorely disappointed.

But to have my little baby girl singing a pop song all day long is disconcerting, to say the least. And she's got her little brother joining in. He just sings, "Come back to Texas," over and over again.

I wonder if Bowling for Soup knows that they have a potential market with the three to six-year-old crowd.

But this whole situation has made me very cognizant of the music I play in the car. Even pretty innocent songs with no cussing can have pretty bad connotations when you take the lyrics out of context. Or when you put them in context.

For now, those lyrics aren't so bad. According to my husband, our daughter has turned into an adolescent overnight. As long as she's not flirting with boys, showing her naval, or wearing a thong, I'm cool with it for now.

But I still need to make sure she isn't singing, "Besides the Mexican food sucks north of here anyway." That could be bad.

*****
By the way...

From the department of good news, which is sorely needed right now, we have the results from Buffy's liver biopsy. According to the vet they were "absolutely fantastic". But we're leaving her on the medication as a precaution. (The dog, that is. Not the vet. Although I sometimes wonder.)

First of all, we're okay.

It seems like whenever really bad things happen to me, my husband is flying.

Today, after I dropped my daughter off at school, my son and I were in a car accident.

We're fine, but it had the potential to be pretty bad. I was driving in the right hand lane of a two lane major road when a car came out of a parking lot and t-boned right into us. I saw it coming and was able to pull partially to the left and accelerate so that she didn't hit us head-on.

But that is some scary shit.

First of all, she pushed us into the lane of oncoming traffic. Luckily, at that time in the morning, there were no cars coming. The impact was enough to send everything in the car flying, but interestingly enough, the air bags didn't deploy. I don't think I have side curtain airbags. My mother was hit the same way once, and her mini van rolled. I know I'm lucky.

My son was completely unphased by the whole thing. He just asked me to hand him back his book and wondered why we were stopping. He thought the big bang and the police car were pretty cool.

If my daughter had been in the car, she would have been a wreck. Those things upset her a lot. She also might not be with us anymore, because the car impacted us right where she would have been sitting. In fact, her empty car booster seat was shoved into the passenger side seat.

What about me? Well, I was amazed at just how calm I felt. It was like as soon as my brain accepted the fact that this car would be hitting us, I became completely calm. I pulled out of oncoming traffic. I asked my son if he was okay. I called 911. And then I took care of the woman who hit us.

She was uninjured but very badly shaken up. When she realized that my son was in the car, I thought she was going to lose it. I kept telling her that we were fine. That this is why we have insurance. That every thing would be okay. I was even hugging this woman.

She was also honorable enough to admit to the police officer that it was all her fault. That should help me deal with the insurance company.

I have to admit that I'm more shaken up then I want to admit. This is the first car accident I've ever been in. I had a completely perfect driving record before this. This is the first time I've ever called 911.

I wanted my husband home right away. I even tried calling him at work to see if I could catch him before he took off. But he was gone. It wasn't until I got home and sat down to call my insurance agent that I lost it a little. That was too fucking close.

And you know, I hate that my car is messed up. The alignment is shot. The doors won't open. The tires are making weird noises. I was able to get it home, but I really shouldn't have driven it. The truth is that I never want to drive that car again. I wish I had the money to just go out and buy myself a new mini van.

So I did the next best thing. I went and stole my husband's truck from his parking spot at work. I forced myself to drive it around on and off base for about fifteen minutes to get back on the horse, so to speak. I left him messages to let him know that I borrowed his truck. I hope he gets them before he goes out to the parking lot after he lands and finds it missing. That just might give him a coronary.

But right now, I'm in this weird panicky place. Every time I hear a car go by my house, I wish it were my husband coming home. But he won't be driving home today anyway. He'll be hoofing it.

Poor baby. He just lost his new truck to his wife, and he doesn't even know it yet.

Eighteen Years Until Menopause

It's been a while since I talked about PMS.

No! Wait! Don't leave.

I'm not going to yell at you, or swear at you, or cry, or throw things, or inflict the silent treatment, or beg you to buy me chocolate. Not now anyway. I save those things for the men in my life.

No, no. I want to have a serious sharing moment about PMS.

Because I swear, PMS has taken over at least half of my fucking life.

(Oh, shit. I promised I wouldn't swear.)

Last month, the very worst days of my PMS coincided with my packing up and leaving Cape Cod. I would have been sad about leaving and stressed about driving so far with or without PMS. But with it, well...let's just say that I made life hell for a certain someone for a couple of days. And I made a certain someone else think that I hated him.

In fact, I left things so poorly that I was upset about it for weeks later. It weighed on me. A lot. Too much to even admit to anyone.

And then suddenly, this month, I started to feel like shit again. I was angry, sad, depressed, horny, and in pain. And this particular month, I was so fatigued that I could barely function. It didn't seem like a month had gone by. And I even called my friend and asked, "Hey. When did I start PMSing last month?"

What's sad is that my friends and husband keep track so that they can know when I'm going to be impossible to deal with. They make plans around it.

Yesterday, my husband kept asking me. "Do you want me to go out and buy you some Midol?"

I kept saying no, yet he kept asking.

Have you seen that episode of Everybody Loves Raymond? The one where Ray tries to "help" Debra by getting her a PMS magic pill?

I think I finally conceded the fight by saying, "Well, Honey, if YOU want me to have a Midol, then fine. Go buy them."

Then he tried to overdose me with them.

It's time to do something about this. I have so many friends and acquaintances who are on anti-depressants specifically to deal with their PMS. Everything from Welbutrin to Prozac. But I just can't go there. No. I refuse to go there.

I keep telling people that the best thing I can do for my PMS is to lose weight. But every month, when that time comes again, and I haven't lost any weight, it makes me want to kill myself.

God, I can't be alone in this. Can I? Considering how many women must be affected by this, you'd think there'd be some known cure. You'd think married men everywhere would be working around the clock on a cure for PMS. You'd think they'd be donating half their paychecks.

But maybe it is just me. I swear my husband just thinks I'm using it as an excuse to get him to put the kids to bed. Maybe it is all in my head. Maybe it is just an excuse to vent my angry feelings once a month. Maybe I'm that bad at dealing with my life.

Fuck it. It's time to see a doctor. I don't think I can go on like this. I certainly don't want to.

It's time to be proactive. It's time to take my hormones in hand and say to those fuckers, "Shut up! Sit down! This is my body and I'm not letting you rule it anymore. You inconsiderate little fuckwads! I don't need you anymore anyway. So get in line or get off the bus."

Fuck yeah. That should work.

Fuck It Friday

What the hell. The blog's going to hell in a handbasket. We had to cancel our weekend trip. The kids haven't had a bath. I have no clothes to wear. And I have PMS.

Fuck it. Fuck all the deep shit I have on my mind. Fuck the zits. Fuck the five pounds of water weight I seem to have gained overnight. Fuck our weekend plans and fuck room mother shit and fuck it all.

My husband's home from work, the kids are at school, and we're swearing like sailors. So why the hell am I blogging?

Come back after the holiday for some real blogging.

But in the meantime...for the first time ever...I'm going to FANDANGO!

Happy Friday Fellow Fandangians!!

Some people claim that everyone is a "little gay"... let's pretend this is true and list five people* of the same sex that you'd "do" if you were so inclined. Yeah, and let's pretend your Significant Other doesn't mind you doing the freaky fandango with someone else.

(If you happen be to gay, well, pick five people of the opposite sex.)

Either leave your answers here or on your own blog linking back to Friday Fandango.

(*-celebrities or bloggers are preferred but regular folks will work as long as you give us some kind of idea of who they are)

1. Emily Procter

Hmmm, this is harder than I thought. I mean, I've known that I would "do" Emily Proctor in a heartbeat, but beyond that...I just don't know.

Okay, here's nothing.

2. Alyson Hannigan

3. Eliza Dushku

4. Charisma Carpenter

Hmmm, seems I have a Buffy thing going on here.

and finally...

5. This straight girl I met in Provincetown who is just adorable, sweet, blond and funny. And she has no idea how gorgeous she is. She was even mistaken for my girlfriend. Score one for me. Like I could ever get someone that hot.

Hey, that was kind of fun. I feel like drinking a cosmo or four, hitting some clubs, and trying my luck. Maybe I'll run into Ms. Procter. Who wants to join me?

Seven Things

If you like your Tuna Girl in daily doses, today you can thank MAK.

I had started at least three different posts today and deleted each one. I think with everything that is going on in my life right now (our town being full of evacuees, a husband who gets depressed on his birthday, the impending arrival of all of our parental units for my husband's promotion, and being in a constant state of worry for a certain blogger we all know and love) it is the perfect day for a meme.

And hell. Who could resist MAK's sexy good looks and winning personality. (I'd go on about MAK's good attributes, but since my husband has actually met him and knows that I think he's adorable, I think it's best not to poke the jealousy monster. Oh, and did I mention that my husband gets cranky on his birthday?)

So without further adieu (or parenthetical phrases) here is some memey goodness.

7 things I plan to do before I die:

1. Travel overseas
2. Go on a gay cruise
3. See my kids graduate from college
4. Be independently wealthy
5. Start a scholarship fund in honor of someone I love
6. Get my teeth whitened and extraneous hair removed by laser
7. Write a book

7 things I can do:

1. Speak in public
2. Write
3. Make my friends cry
4. Make my mother cry
5. Make my kids cry
6. Read music
7. Perform unspeakable acts of sexual artistry

7 things I cannot do:

1. Ejaculate (or well, not really)
2. Feel things in my mouth
3. Roll my tongue
4. Knit, or sew, or any of that crap
5. Sing in public
6. Pee standing up
7. Ask for help when I need it

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:

1. A nice nape
2. Stability
3. A boyfriend
4. Short hair
5. Really rocking abs
6. Strong legs
7. A military uniform

7 things that I say most often:

1. I know.
2. Be nice to each other.
3. How are you doing, honey?
4. What's wrong?
5. What's up?
6. Please and thank you.
7. I love you.

7 celebrity crushes:

1. Joseph Fiennes
2. Robert Gant
3. James Denton
4. Michael Vartan
5. David Boreanaz
6. Brendan Shanahan
7. Sam Tyson (Do porn stars count as celebrities?)

7 people I want to do this:

1. Scott (because I owe him one)
2. Pua
3. Jess
4. Rose
5. Stale Betty
6. Greg
7. Rick