Wednesday, March 31, 2004

I'm Melting!

Okay people! I just have to share this. So, brilliant little me decides that it would make sense to have links to some blogs like mine. Let's be frank. Most of the blogs I read are by gay guys or women who like gay guys. And that works for me. But people coming to my blog from those blogs are probably often disappointed.

So I went to a couple of blog search tools. I typed in "military wife" and whoa. Did I find some stuff. I knew that my fellow military wives were generally a very Christian/Republican lot, but I didn't realize just how out there some could be. And the ones that weren't spouting God's Truth were just plain boring.

I did find some blogs written by guys who are serving in Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF) and Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF). But most of them didn't paint a very nice picture of our armed forces. This one, Soldier's Paradise, isn't updated anymore. But reading the first page of posts had me crying.

And, hey! At least I found this:

kiss my ass2
congratulations. You are the kiss my ass happy
bunny. You don't care about anyone or anything.
You must be so proud

which happy bunny are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Sorry guys. You knew I'd do one of these eventually. I just really like this graphic!

At some point when my brain hasn't been melted by the completely mind-numbing number of blogs by "military-wife, SAHM, home schooling my 5 children and bringing God to the masses" I'll ferret out some of the really amazing ones by men and women sacrificing so much to serve.

The Eye of the Beholder

You can always tell when my husband is away by how horny I get. I'm horny enough on a day to day basis, but when he's's through the roof.

I don't remember being boy-crazy as a teenager. There was a time when I had an album filled with pictures of Tom Cruise, Rob Lowe, and C. Thomas Howell. But that was in junior high. In high school, I had plenty of boyfriends, but I don't remember having an insatiable need to check out boys.

Evidently 30 really is when women reach their sexual peak, because I'm making up for it now. Of course I live in a target rich environment. Every one of my neighbors is a military fly boy. Of course they're all married, but they still look good. Lunch at the food court in the BX is a veritable all-you-can-eat buffet of eye candy. And working out at the gym on base is better than watching porn. I'm getting all a-flutter just thinking about it.

A few months ago, while my husband was deployed, I had lunch with my two closest friends, AH and CB. CB lives next door to me. I was telling them that I take a few minutes every week to just watch my neighbor mow his lawn. Ahh. It was so nice. Hot, sweaty, military guy being all masculine mowing his lawn. Hmmm. What a show. And this particular guy was divorced and lived there all alone. So he was a prime candidate for fantasies. I call him Hot Neighbor Boy.

CB just gave me a *blank stare* and then said, "Our neighbor? Across from you?"

"Yup," I replied. "What a cutie."

They never said anything else, but about a month later, when my husband was home, I looked out my kitchen window to watch my favorite show. And damn. But they must have recast or something. Hot Neighbor Boy was looking less like Raoul Bova and more like Ted from Queer Eye. He was gawky and kind of skinny. What the hell kind of beer goggles had I been using. Pent up sexual frustrations can do a number on your standards.

Thank god my husband will be home Saturday. I've already caught myself staring at high school soccer players, the guys at the car wash, and my brand new neighbor. Who knows how low I'd go if he were going to be gone for another month.

Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Pass the Buck

Okay people. I have nothing to say today. I actually have quite a few thoughts floating around in my brain. But I can't seem to turn them into a coherent post.

So I'm passing the buck on over to Mark's blog. The pictures he posted there made my day. He's either very brave, or very stupid. :-) Or maybe he's just completely adorable.

Bye Bye Birdie

I have a Valentine's Day wreath on my front door. It is made of twigs in the shape of a heart and covered by roses. Yup. I'm a little late switching it for my Easter wreath. But it will be staying right where it is for a while now.

I opened my front door tonight, and a bird flew right off the wreath. I don't know who was more startled, me or my feathery friend. I looked at the wreath through the screen and thought it was interesting that the bird had chosen to sit on the little decorative nest nestled in the wreath.

But, wait. My rose-covered heart doesn't have a decorative nest. This bird had chosen to build its nest, and lay its tiny little egg right on my front door.

I feel so bad for this little bird. It's home will be swinging in and out a dozen times a day. But I don't want to touch the nest, or the wreath, and make the mother abandon its egg.

When my husband comes home next week, he'll be all upset. For such a big tough guy, he has a tender spot on his heart for little animals. (What good is a husband who won't squish a little lizard or kill a tiny mouse? Huh? I ask you?)

That's all I have to share for now. Thanks for stopping by my little blog.

Sunday, March 28, 2004

The Thunder Rolls

We're having a thunder storm tonight. As a kid, I loved storms. My father used to pack us all into the cab of his pickup truck and drive to the highest point around. He'd set up a tripod and his Cannon and take pictures of the lightning strikes. Or if we were at the lake, he'd load us into the boat and go for a spin. The lake was big enough to drive around the storms.

It occurs to me, even as a write this, that may be why my brother became a meteorologist.

Storms in New England are mysterious things. You can often hear the thunder, and see the flashes of light, but not really see the lightning because of the hills and trees. They seem to pop up out of nowhere and drive through hard and fast.

But storms in the dessert and in the flatlands of the South are completely different. You can see them coming from miles and miles. You can see every lightning strike. You can feel their vastness and their destruction. Once I saw my first lightning storm roll in across the New Mexico dessert, burning and killing anything in its way, I lost all of my childish wonder.

I've had my run-ins with lightning in the past. We had a small fire in my childhood home, after it had been hit. A power surge burned up every electronic thing in our home in New Mexico. I knew a man there who was struck while working on the flightline. He survived, but his feet were badly burned where the electricity left his body and hit the ground.

But my worse run-in was in Pensacola. We lived in a beautiful historic home on base. It was built in the 1700s and had once belonged to the Army fort commander. It was well-known to be haunted. It was on a street overlooking the beach, where every other home belonged to a Navy Captain. But because the entire house only had two bathrooms, they had split it up into a two-family home and assigned it to Company Grade Officers.

We lived on the second floor, and the third floor belonged to us too. We didn't really use the third floor, except for storage, because that house was way too huge for us.

Anyway, one Saturday morning we were sleeping in. Thunder must have woke me, just a little, because I remember hearing a lightning strike that must have been really close by. And then it sounded like something exploded. It was a pop and a sizzle, accompanied by the smell of ozone. I've never smelled ozone before, but I knew that's what it was, because I could only describe it as air burning. Of course it woke us both up, and freaked us out. But we looked at each other, said, "That was close!" and pretty much went back to bed. I didn't want to be walking around all the French doors we had in our bedroom. I figured there was nothing to see. Since the smoke alarms weren't going off, I figured a tree must have been hit near by.

I little while later our downstairs neighbors woke us up when they rang our doorbell. They wanted to know if our kitchen was sooty too. What?

So I went in the kitchen and it was absolutely black. The vent over the range was connected to the old chimney that went through the kitchen and 400 years of ash had blown into our kitchen. Then we realized that the chimney must have been hit. I got my husband out of bed and we went to the third floor.

I was in shock. There was a hole in our roof at least 6 feet across and 6 feet wide. Shards from the roof were sticking out of everything, even the walls. I finally looked out a window, and the bricks from the chimney had been blown clear across the street.

We spent the rest of the day with people from the base going through our house. Everyone wanted to know what happened and why we didn't call the fire department. And I had to tell them we were sleeping. Sleeping. We slept through our house being struck by lightening.

I'm glad we didn't use the bedrooms on the third floor. We could have been killed. All of our electronics were fried again. Luckily, none of our cars were damaged, which is surprising considering there was brick all around them. We were so lucky our house didn't burn down with us sleeping in it.

All of this goes to show you one thing.

I'm really not a morning person.

Saturday, March 27, 2004

From the Mouths of Babes

Today my daughter and mother were discussing why the main road onto base was lined with flags. This is something the base does only on special occasions.

Grandmother: I wonder why they have those flags up. Maybe the president is coming.

4-Year-Old: Who's the president?

Grandmother: A man named George Bush.

4-Year-Old: That's just silly.

And that's as political as I'll ever get people!
I'm so very tired today. I had planned on posting some more deep stuff about me and my life, but it will have to wait until tomorrow.

Friday, March 26, 2004

I'm Fixing To, Y'all

A few minutes ago, a young workman knocked at my door and asked me to move my car. At least I think that's what he asked. His mouth moved and sounds came out, he pointed toward my car. His buddy was perched in a bucket truck with some sort of chain saw at the ready to cut the limbs from a tree. It's hard to tell though, what with the Southern accent and all.

I told him, "Give me just one minute before you start. Okay?" To which he replied, "Prolly so." Or I thought that's what he said anyway. Because in the minute it took to put my sneakers on, they had started cutting and a huge limb fell inches from my car.

I wanted to save my car. Well, it's a mini van, actually. But it's a nice one. And I like it. But I also didn't want to risk my neck for it. So I sprinted. Yup. I did the housewife sprint to save my mini van.

In a related story, I have a house cleaning service once a week. The people on the crew are very nice, but as we chit chat we often repeat the word "what" over and over. Actually, I say, "What was that?" and they say, "Huh, Honey?" But you get my drift.

This week, one of the crew was a nice young man. I guess he was listening to me talk to my kids as he was cleaning the bathroom, because he abruptly asked me where I was from.

"Boston." I replied. *pause* "Why?"

"I could tell by your accent," he informed me. Then, "How long have you lived here?"

"Five years," was my answer. That's when he gave me a funny look.

The truth is that I worked very hard to lose my accent when I moved away from New England. That was in 1995. I figured the Boston was all gone by now, but apparently not.

"Do you find yourself starting to talk like us sometimes?" he then asked.

"Sure do," I replied. "Y'all are fixin' to turn me into one of y'all."

Which brings me to another related story. My mother is coming to visit. She arrives tonight and stays until Wednesday. My husband will be away and my father is staying back home. It is going to be so nice. But her Boston accent is one of the thickest I ever heard. Her license plate on her mini van says, "quilta". SO if I start talking about driving my cah to the habah to eat my lobstah with buttah, chowdah, and a beeah afta, you'll know why.

Have a great day everyone!

Thursday, March 25, 2004

Hot Love in the Tuna House

I've thought a lot about sex.

Let me rephrase that. I've thought a lot about sex and this blog today. Because last night, well, I'm sure we broke some laws. And when we were done, I sort of laughed and said, "I've got to tell somebody about this!" My husband laughed too and then replied, "Who would you tell?" Of course my answer was nobody. But man. Some things are just meant to be shared.

Or maybe not. So as of right now, I give you my solemn vow. No more sex talk. It will be hard for me. Let me tell ya. But I will persevere.

Yours in all virtuous modesty,

The Tuna Girl

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

Interior Decorating for Hockey Players

Last night I took the kids to my husband's hockey game. He played in college, so he's pretty talented, but he's really more of an "intimidater" than anything else. He likes to hang out in front of the crease and wait for garbage shots. He scored on a beautiful slap shot from the blue line. My kids love watching him play and they probably yelled "Daddy!" a hundred thousand times. I like watching him play's hot.

We got home and put the kids to bed, and unfortunately, we missed the Bruins game. So I turned on Bravo to watch Significant Others (which I think is very funny) and the first 20 minutes of Queer Eye (because I like watching them make fun of the slobby straight guy). My husband hates the Bravo network, but loves me, so he watched. His first comment was that if I ever got those guys to come remake him, he'd kill me. My answer was that if I cared how he looked, I'd remake him.

While Ted was cooking we had this conversation:

Me: If I had to marry one of those guys, it would be Ted.

Him: Are you kidding?

Me: Hell no. He can cook. I'd never have to make my chicken casserole again.


Me: What about you? If you HAD to?

Him: The decorator guy.

Me: Why? Do you think he's cute?

Him: No, he could redecorate the house.

Me: Ummm...what are you trying to tell me? You don't like the way I decorated our house? What is that supposed to mean?! Why do you even care what the house looks like! You're a straight guy!

Him: How the hell do you get me into these conversations?

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Dog Gone It

I live on a military base. My neighborhood is all historic homes, with tree-lined sidewalks, so there's a lot of pedestrian traffic. I glanced out my kitchen window last night and noticed two guys running by my house. They were nice to look at, so I sort of stopped and looked again. Only to find my dog running behind them.

My kids were busy eating so I shot out the front door yelling his name. You can get in trouble on base for letting your dog run loose, and he's my husband's baby, so I felt some real panic. I'm sure it showed in my voice. The dog, a husky, turned and looked at me and kept running. Which is pretty typical of my dog. But I couldn't go after him and leave the kids in the house alone. So I headed back through the house to the back yard to see how he had gotten out of the fence. Only to find my big, fat, obnoxious dog sitting there, looking at me like I was crazy.

I'm sure he's not the only one who thought I was crazy. I was chasing after someone else's dog! I'm such a dork. This is how my life has been going lately.

Monday, March 22, 2004

What we do for family!

My cousin sent me one of those forwarded e-mails where you're supposed to answer a bunch of questions about yourself, and send it back to them, and on to a bunch more friends. I hate those things. I hate forwarded e-mail of any kind. BUT, she's the only female relative I have, besides my mom, grandmother, and daughter. She was a bridesmaid in my wedding, along with my lesbian friends. I thought you'd all like to witness my humiliation, and I can reply to her e-mail with a clear conscience. So here goes.

Daisy's Back in Town (I'm so embarrassed!)
Nothing. I have a laser mouse
I hate games
Entertainment Weekly. Or Men's Health, which is the only good porn for women
fresh baked bread
the local landfill
NO!!! Five more minutes!
I have no clue. Maybe green
hot pink
One or two. Only my mother ever calls me.
Let's just say it's an irish girl's name starting with C
My marriage
SO chocolate
Absolutely not
No. Unless my bald-headed bear of a husband counts.
Cool in New England. Scary everywhere else.
1984 Red Ford Tempo
Raoul Bova. Just kidding. This one makes me think. Probably Special Forces soldiers, to thank them for keeping our guys safe and confident.
I don't drink.
Taurus--May 18, 1973
Only the stems. Who wants to eat those little bushes.
I'd be a wife and mother, just like I am. But maybe I'd write fabulous, and profitable, novels on the side.
The color I have now
It's half full until it pisses me off, then it's half empty
Shakespeare in Love (Joseph Fiennes is my adult crush, well, my first one at least)
No. Typing class is the only class I ever cheated in.
Boxes and boxes of romance novels.
Losing my husband or kids
She's loyal and related to me!
Maroon 5, Santana, Barenaked Ladies
The Sopranos, CSI Miami
Both. Sorry. Meat is good.
Caffeine-free diet coke, because you don't want me any more stimulated then I already am!
San Diego, Colorado Springs, Nassua
Plain blue

So that's me--in a nutshell. Family obligation met. Whew. What a load off.

Gays Away

I finally saw Under the Tuscan Sun on Pay Per View last night. I only watched it for my boyfriend, but I found that I really enjoyed the movie. And now I want to move to Tuscany and learn to speak Italian.

When I married a military man, I figured I'd be seeing the world. So far I've seen New Mexico, Lower Alabama (aka Pensacola, FL), and this damn bayou I live on now. He's seen England, Guam, and a whole lot of sand in a place I'm not supposed to talk about. Oh well. I guess that's what retirement is for. Once the kids are in college, we're off to exotic destinations.

By the way, one of my favorite unknown actors had a small role in Under the Tuscan Sun. I don't know why I have a thing for Dan Bucatinsky, since he would never have a thing for me, but All Over the Guy is one of my favorite guilty pleasures.

Sunday, March 21, 2004

Some Stuff About Me

I've always thought I was a pretty simple person. That's probably because I am fundamentally happy. But I had the brilliant realization a few months ago that I am far from simple. In fact, I am one damn complex woman.

I've always been someone who can swim in many crowds. Not because I am two-faced, or fake, but because I am comfortable with many sides of myself. I am a military wife. I am completely involved with the officers' spouses group. I bake cookies for airmen and bring casseroles to new moms. I'm even a stay-at-home mom. Hell, I'm even a preschool room mother and soccer mom. All of that paints such a quaint picture. If any of the people who knew me in that capacity also knew what kind of life I lead apart from that, they probably wouldn't believe it.

The two best friends I have ever had were (and of course, still are) gay. Actually, they're lesbian, because they're female, but they always say "gay" so I will too. Unfortunately, I've lost touch with them in the last few years. We still e-mail and send cards occasionally, but we've all moved around so much

Erin was the first person to walk into my dorm room our freshmen year in college and introduce herself. We became friends that very first day, and fourteen years later, she's still one of the best friends I ever had. She came out our junior year (I think). I wasn't surprised. I was actually the last person she talked to about it because she was afraid of my reaction. We ended up being in a Tolerance for Gay and Lesbian leadership workshop where I was one of the only straight people in the room. So the leader asked me how I'd feel if my best friend came out to me. I sort of laughed and said, "Well, she's out to everyone else. I'd love it if she'd feel comfortable enough to talk with me about it." At which point Erin stood up and started sobbing. She came bounding across the room and hugged me and said that she was stupid to think I wouldn't still love her. She said a bunch of stuff I don't remember and everyone started crying. The leader said, "This has never happened before. You know I'll be telling this story every time I do this workshop from now on." Erin was one of my bridesmaids when I got married. That's a whole other story!

Christine was my other best friend. And her story is much different. I knew her, and was fairly good friends for about a year or so before we got really close. She was on my college softball team, and we really bonded by my sophomore year. She struggled quite a bit with her sexuality. She would cry to me, asking why everyone thought she was gay. She said that she wasn't, and that she wanted to get married and have a family. I took her at her word, but I think I always knew deep down that she was fighting against something huge. In our last two years of college, she even had a girlfriend. At the time she would deny it with her last breath, but of course it all came to light later. I was closer to her than I've ever been to any other woman, besides my mom. It hurt so much to watch her hurt. And again, it was another of those stupid leadership workshops that outed her.

This one wasn't even about tolerance or diversity. I have no idea what it was about. But we did this exercise where you stand in two lines, split up by opposite labels. For example, the labels would be "tall" and "short" and you had to choose a side. There was no standing in the middle. After about five of these, came the labels "gay" or "straight". I think about six girls outed themselves on that one. Including Christine. At a small all-women college like mine, the gossip flew. She had a long talk with her three roommates about it. And they suggested that she talk to me. She said that she really wanted to talk to me about it. She never did. Never ever. A few days later a told her that if she wanted to talk, I would understand, but that I didn't want to force her to talk if she didn't want to. She pretty much said, "Thanks," and that was it.

Wow, did I ramble on. point is that after a few years as being introduced as "our straight friend" I got to feel very comfortable in the gay and lesbian community. As I moved around with my husband and the military it has been rare that I meet people who are out. Although when I worked in retail for a short while, I made a couple of very good gay friends. I have a funny story about my military friends and my gay friends meeting up that I'll tell soon.

I guess I've only scratched the surface of me here. I started a blog to blather on about the things that nobody in my real life would understand. And I guess I've started to do just that. I don't have any actual readers just yet. Probably because I haven't told anyone about my blog. But it's nice to write these things out. And reflect.

Saturday, March 20, 2004

It's All About the Cookie

Here's one of my favorite little stories. About a month ago my husband and I had this discussion after sex. I had just tucked my freezing cold feet under his knees.

Him: Hey! Cold feet!

Me: Hey, I just gave you a quicky. I get to warm my feet.

Him: You bought me a cookie? Where is it?

Me: Not a cookie, dumbass. A quicky!

Him: Oh. (pause) I really wanted a cookie.

Thursday, March 18, 2004

Wrinkle Free, Baby

Today's post is mostly inspired by this man's blog. A couple of nights ago I was watching television with my husband and we saw the new Gap ad featuring Raoul Bova. I could actually feel my heart fluttering. That man is insanely hot. I was so moved that I turned to my husband and said, "That man is insanely hot. He is hotter than hot." To which my husband replied, "Which outfit do you like best?"


I think I answered that it wasn't the clothes that mattered or something. But then Raoul was in the rain and I got distracted.

Anyway, you can see the ad for yourself here.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

The First Post

My first post. I feel as though I should be especially witty and urbane. Of course that would require that I actually be witty and urbane occasionally.

I've been reading blogs now for a few months. Some are wonderful. They make me want to live that blogger's life. Some...well, I've found that once I've linked to them I feel compelled to link back again and again. Even when the bloggers have nothing interesting to say.

I know that I have nothing interesting to say. So maybe that will take the pressure off. In a lot of blogs, folks tend to rant about what bugs them. And I've decided that to save my family and friends from the annoyance, I will blog my rants too.

I got a brand new dollar in the mail last week. It was fresh and crisp. And the oldest marketing ploy in the book. "Accept this dollar," the enclosed letter said, "as a thank you for participating in our survey. We'll be calling next week" All I can think is that I now have to answer the phone one more time and get all worked up talking to a telemarketer. Talking on the phone makes me uneasy at the best of times. Talking to strangers makes me downright nervous. The first time they called, I was changing a diaper, but expecting a call, so I ran to the phone and grabbed it without checking the caller ID. Since my son was naked in his bedroom, and I'd rather not have him play fireman on his new carpet, I quickly said, "So sorry. I have to run," and hung up.

Just a few minutes ago, they called again. 9:30 p.m. is too late to call someone at home, if you ask me. This time I was smart enough to check the caller ID, but I figured if I didn't tell them not to call back, they would just keep calling. As I interrupted the caller's canned script he said, "I just need to know what radio station you listen to." I actually thought for a second. And then had no clue. "I'm sorry," I sort of laughed. "I just can't even think. I really don't know." Then he mimicked me. Mimicked me! And said, "So apathetic!" and hung up. What a jerk. I was all spluttering into the phone. And actually saying out loud, though I'm alone, "Asshole!"

Now, I realize that most people would shrug this off and not even care. And in five minutes I will too. But, heck, I decided to blog, and I needed a rant. And this is it.

That damn dollar has been making me feel dirty all week. I feel like I should throw it away. I haven't even put it in my wallet. It's sitting on the kitchen table mocking me and my lameass attempt to be assertive. Maybe I'll slip it in my husband's wallet and let him deal with the karma fallout.

I promise to be more entertaining tomorrow, or whenever I blog next.