Thursday, April 28, 2005


I fucked up.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I forgot to pay the credit card bill. In my defense, I pay it online and I had sort of forgotten that I have to go to their site and approve the amount every month. I didn't realize that I hadn't paid it, because I don't actually ever use the credit card.

But my husband does.


Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I have become the stereotypical military wife who can't even take care of the bills while her husband is deployed.


Speaking of fuck (or fucking gorgeous in this case) I had fully intended to write the plumber story after I put the kids to bed last night. But I ended up watching Grey's Anatomy on my TiVo and then going to bed myself.

I have two weeks left before my husband comes home, and, frankly, I'm not doing so great.

This fucking sucks.

Oh, no, wait. I was supposed to be writing about my plumber. Well, after so much build-up, I'm afraid the story will be a let down.

But do you know what is really fun to deal with when your husband has been away for months and you're operating on your very last fucking nerve? Raw sewage in your kitchen sink.

I live in an old house. Because this particular house hasn't turned over many families in the last couple of decades (in fact only three, which is unheard of) it needs a lot of work.

But the good thing abut living on base is that when raw sewage makes an appearance, I just call Housing Maintenance and they have to deal with it.

The last time we had a plumber out he was the stereotypical big man with plumber's crack and a full bushy beard.

This time an angel was sent to my door.

He looked like a military boy, high and tight haircut and all. And he was definitely on the lean side. But his eyes were mesmerizing and his face was perfect.

And his ass. Ooh, lordy! It was displayed to it's best advantage encased in tight, tight jeans and sticking out of the utility closet while plumber boy was on his hands and knees.

Now, looks aside, I'm in love with this guy. Because unlike every other plumber who has paraded through here, he has actually committed to fixing all of my plumbing problems. He's not going to just tell me that the pipes are old and the little trickle of water that comes out of my shower is the best I'm going to get.

But he will tell me other things.

After sighing and swearing for an hour under our house, he crawled out to let me know what the problem was. And his little speech concluded with these words:

"But let me tell you, no more flushing feminine products!"

Now, I could have died on the spot, but I decided to argue the point with him. Because when you're going to talk about tampons, it's best to do it with the hottest plumber you can find.

By the way, and on a complete aside, I don't flush wrappers or applicators, and the rest is meant to be flushed! It says so right on the box. What the hell else am I going to do with them? Save them and make a modern art piece. Don't argue this point with me in the mood I'm in. I'll fucking kill you. I swear.

So, hot plumber boy left my tub and sink in pieces and is supposed to be back to finish up. Except I got a call this morning and the part won't be in until Monday.

I'll get to see hot plumber boy again, and maybe this time I'll talk about my cervix, or when my water broke, or that one time I had that bladder infection. Or hell, maybe I'll just bring up anal sex.

Because it couldn't be worse than talking about bloody tampons.


Wednesday, April 27, 2005


I was tortured today.

When I had my braces taken off, the technician noticed a "small cavity" under where one of the brackets had been.

I put "small cavity" in quotes because she should have called it a freaking huge canyon of food-catching bleakness.

Frankly, I was really pissed off about the whole thing. I had worked really hard to keep my teeth clean while I had those braces. In fact, it felt like I had taken on a part-time hygienist job.

When I finally got to the dentist, he told me that the "small cavity" had developed because my bracket was bonded on with moisture underneath it. This moisture ate away at my tooth for the two and a half years that I had braces.

So it wasn't my fault.

But I still had to go and have a crown put on the tooth today.

And it was torture.

It wasn't the huge needle that he shoved in my gums. It wasn't the distracted assistant who almost pushed me out of the chair with the sucky thing. It wasn't even the unrelenting drilling. (That sounds kind of nice, actually.)

No. It was that the whole time I was in the chair, I was forced to watch The View.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking:

"Enough about your freaking tooth! I want to hear about the hot plumber!"

Okay. Since I live purely to entertain my dozens of loyal readers, I will tell you about my run in with the hunky plumber.

I just can't do it right now. My face hurts and the kids are running amok. Check back later.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

What list did I get on?

Sometimes, I swear, my life sounds like a television show. Maybe Desperate Housewives, meets Leave it to Beaver, meets HBO's Real Sex. Sometimes I'll be participating in my life and I'll look around and think, "How did I get here?" It's surreal.

About a week after being flattered into taking a board position on our school's Parents' Association, I received an invitation in the mail to join the Women's Board of the new children's hospital.

I was flattered to be on the invite list, and I thought it might be something I'd like to do, but I sort of shrugged the whole thing off. I just don't have the childcare to participate in something like that right now.

But, well you know me. Flatter me just a little and I'll drop everything to do what you ask. It turns out that a friend of mine is the president of the Women's Board. She and her husband also coach my daughter's T-ball team. These are good people. The best. She called to tell me that she had made sure my name was on the invite list because she just thinks the world of me and would like to get to know me better.

There's no way I could say no to that.

So I asked my very wonderful friend CB to watch my son so that I could go to the Welcome Tea this morning.

I painted my toenails, smoothed and curled my hair, donned my silk twin set and set off to join the ranks of society women.

As I rounded a corner in the hospital, looking for the meeting room, I smacked right into AH. I was kind of glad to see her, because I was feeling shy about mingling. But it was also too bad that I ended up just talking with her. The room was filled with painted-toenail, twin set-wearing moms from my daughter's school, music class, and T-ball team. I would have liked to get to know them all better.

I always mean to be outgoing and social. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I just have to congratulate myself for even having the guts to show up.

I'm actually very excited about working for the board now. The turn out was great and the work we'll be doing is very important.

But sometimes it amazes me how I can go from joking with my friend about landing strips and vibrators to sipping tea with the Junior League. I can be Bree Van De Camp one minute (although according to this I am a Susan), and Samantha Jones the next, and still have porn worthy sex that night.

All with a hunky plumber making cameos throughout. (And I'll tell you about my hunky plumber tomorrow.)

Monday, April 25, 2005

You Think You know a Guy

Tuna Man checks in with us again from his deployment overseas. He'll be home on May 12, but in the meantime, he's helping to give me a break by writing a little something for the blog.

Only my husband could combine the divergent topics of Hooters and the cost of freedom into one post.

I have to say before you read any further that I didn't know my husband felt this way about trashy chain restaurants or war. It's amazing what you can learn about the man you love when you are apart for so many months.

As many of you know I have not been home for a few days, and over the past week I have been working on my paper for my masters class. Well yesterday I ran head first into a wall, a writing brick wall. I told TG that I would blog a few times for her so she could help me with my paper and just have a break from the world of blogging.

I am going to write about cravings because they hit me like a ton of bricks. I have to say I have been eating well. I had Dunkin Doughnuts yesterday. Very tasty. So, what I am craving is HOOTERS. No, not TG's HOOTERS, but the restaurant. I am craving HOOTERS wings and a big tall BEER or Multiple BEERs.

Now you might be thinking that is a very strange craving. Maybe but I am eating VERY well for the positions that I am in. Once a week I get to have lobster and a T-bone steak, with some fried shrimp on the side. That is probably the highlight to my eating week but all the other food is really good. We also have roasted turkey, Cornish hens, ribs, fried catfish and chicken, just to name a few.

But I want HOOTERS wings, so I started thinking why? Why do I want HOOTERS wings (other than saying HOOTERS is really really fun). First, I can not get them were I am. You name it I can probably find it. There is no Outback here but there are some good steak places. But there is nothing to replace HOOTERS, sitting at a table eating wings and onions rings.

What I guess I really miss is the sitting with all my friends and talking, watching a game and not having to really care about anything that is going on in the world. It does not hurt that all the women at HOOTERS wear tight shirts and shorts to work. You need to do something during the commercials!

Now I want to tell you about something I received a few months ago. It is about a brave man we will call 1stSgt K. This is the email I received from a friend; it has only been edited to leave names out.

"Marine 1st Sergeant K (in the middle). This photo is from the most recent major offensive in Fallujah. 1stSgt K sacrificed his own safety to save a room full of fellow Marines. He ended up taking several AK rounds in the leg. Most of his lower leg was blown away but you can't tell it from this pic. He took rounds in the back which his armor saved him from. He took one round through his butt which passed through both cheeks leaving 4 holes in him. And he also took the brunt of a grenade blast. He jumped on top of a younger Marine to cover him from the fire. He killed the enemy who did most of the damage to him and his men, and despite a massive loss of blood he never stopped fighting. Notice that he's still holding his pistol. He has been put in for the Medal of Honor for his actions on that day. He already has several Purple Hearts for previous battles throughout his career and he has turned some down so that he could stay with his unit. "

I did not include the picture because the narrative does just fine on its own. This is what you are not hearing about in the news. He is the man that is protecting your FREEDOMS and your family, not only the men and women that serve with him but all of you in "Small town U.S.A." or "Large City U.S.A." He brings the fight to the enemy so they will not bring it BACK to where we live. We are all safer because of 1stSgt K and everyone like him.


Hmmm. Taking the fight to the enemy. I kind of like that.

And Hooters? Hooters? I didn't even know he had ever been to Hooters! What else does that boy get into when he's away?

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Smiles from My Guy

When my husband wants to make me smile, he sends me e-cards from Hoops and Yo-Yo. They never fail to make me laugh.

He told me last night that he is counting down the days until he leaves for home. He says he's at 20.

I'd be excited, but I don't know how I'm going to make it through today, never mind 19 more just like it.

I guess I'll go visit with Hoops and Yo-Yo for a while. I like the way they dance. It makes me smile.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Tuna Girl is the Hostess with the Leastest

I hosted the squadron wives' coffee last night.

When I had signed up back around Thanksgiving time, I didn't know that my husband would be deployed now. With the help of my gay friends, I thought I could throw the coffee to beat all coffees. It would be a coffee with a real theme, and exotic coffee, and scrumptious treats in my beautifully decorated home. I'd even wear a dress.

But, no. Instead I decided to hire a babysitter and reserve a private room at a local Italian Cafe.

The commander's wife was thrilled with this idea. She thought some of the more shy wives (mostly the younger students' wives) might actually come to a restaurant as opposed to someone's home. And she thought it would be nice to show some of the new wives our local culture (or what amounts to culture here on the bayou).

So then why didn't she bother to show up?

I had decided to wear jeans and a fuzzy purple sweater. When I came downstairs, my daughter asked me, "Why aren't you all pretty?" Gee. Thanks, Honey.

But I'm glad I didn't try too hard to look nice, because exactly five people showed up, including me. And three of them were good friends of mine, including CB.

The commander's wife is also a military member, and she is being moved to a different base. She had been asking around for people to take over her "Commander's wife" duties and even asked for volunteers along with the coffee invitation.

I think she scared everyone away.

It was fine with me though. My friends and I had a really lovely dinner and we got to chat and catch up with one another. And I got to get out of my house and away from my kids for a couple of hours.

And that just may have saved me from going to the dark side.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Phoning it in...

My husband wrote this post and E-mailed it to me from his undisclosed location.

A Break for my Tuna Girl

I was asked by my wife to write a blog to give her a break, so I am. I really don’t know how much of a break I really am giving her for many reasons. First, she is writing my paper. I am currently in the middle of a class and it is getting to the end on the semester and I have my paper due. Well, knowing how well I write, or not write as the case may be, I asked my wife to “help” me with my paper. This way I will ensure that I get a passing grade. So for the last week she has been up until the wee hours of the morning helping me out.

I have a funny story to tell about the Tuna Girl and our first date. It really all starts a few days earlier. We worked at the same grocery store along with her mother. Well, one day the three of us were working and her mother asks if I can drive TG home from work. Being the nice guy that I am I said OK. I drove her home and we had a nice long talk and I got her phone number so I could call her later. When I was younger I had very high situational awareness. NOT. It turns out they (TG and her mother) were conspiring to get TG and I together. I did not have any clue until about a year later when we were talking and the subject came up. So our first date was not anything remarkable. We watched a movie, she kicked my ass at ping pong, nothing really to say about the actual date, but picking her up…that is where the fun started.

I talked to TG on the phone and made arrangements to pick her up at her house and before we hung up the phone for the night she said to me, “My father will be there when you pick me up and he is a cop.” I replied, “OK.” We said good bye and that was the end of it.

Now to go off on a tangent, I was a little nervous meeting her father but I had taken out many girls and met their parent. In high school, parents did not really see me as a threat to their daughters. I was that responsible one who could get you to stay out later because parents would always say, “You’re going out with TM? He is a nice boy. Stay out as late as you want.” And I always went to the door to meet the parents rather than staying in the car, so I had experience working parents to get what I wanted. Why should this be and different on my first date with TG.

Before that day I never had met or seen her father, but I knew her mother. She is a nice woman, very sweet and caring and easy to get along with. So I drove up to the house a little nervous (it is TG you know). Walking up the driveway, I thought to myself I have this half beat. I already know her mother. I just have to meet her father.

I walk up the porch, put on my best game face and ring the door bell. TG’s mother answered the door and invited me in. Well, like a girl TG was not ready and waiting for me down stairs so I stepped into the kitchen and her mother said “I will go get her for you.” Now I am in the door, but just barely. The main door is open and the screen door is closed behind me. My eyes start to focus and at this time TG’s mother said “This is TM”. There he was. TG’s father.

Let’s talk size for a second; I knew TG and her mother. TG was about 5 foot 7 and 120 lbs. (Ed. note: I'm actually 5'4". 16 years later and see how well he knows me!) Her mother is shorter than that. I hadn’t met her brother until after this night. So they are not very big people.

TG’s father was eating dinner at the table. Let’s talk about the kitchen. It is about a 15 X 20 room with the table taking up most of it. The table was to the right of the door and there was just enough room at the end by the door to fit a very small person. Where you walked in the kitchen was a 3ft path between the counter and the table. This was a tight space. Me standing just inside the door, I was like two feet away from TG’s father.

TG’s mother introduces me and her father did not say a word. I looked over at him to say hi and something witty and what is hanging off the back of his chair…..his 9mm hand gun. I said hi in a nice quiet voice and stood their hoping TG would hurry up before he kills me for taking out his daughter. While the days passed and I waited for TG to come rescue me in the kitchen, her father finishes eating dinner and gets up from the table and there is a 6ft 8in, 300 lbs giant standing in front of me. I think I hurt my neck looking up at him. He looked at me and grunted. TG has really good timing. She was rounding the table squeezed by her father grabbed me by the arm and said, “I will be back by 1 am.” I thought to myself, “HELL NO! We will be back by 9 pm.”

The rest of the date, like I said, was nothing to comment about. We had a lot of fun.

So at the end of the date we compromised. I brought her home around 11 pm and like the gentleman I am, I walked her up to the door, TG invited me in (I was not about to face that man in the dark!!) and I politely refused because it was getting late.

So that was the first time I met my now father-in-law. The only thing that has really changed from that first date is he does not carry the gun anymore.


Sunday, April 17, 2005

Bright Side

Some kids came to my door selling candy bars. Most parents still feel safe letting their kids go door-to-door on base. Which is fine, except that it costs me a lot of money.

There were three kids, so I bought one small candy bar from each of them. I told my kids, "Since we already had a good dinner, we can each have one candy bar as a special treat."

I unwrapped their bars and put them on plates and let them eat them in front of the TV. (As CB says in these situations, "I am SuperMom!") I put my own candy bar on the dining room table to save for an intense savoring after the kids were in bed.

I left the kids alone for a few minutes to run their bath and when I checked on them, they were both still eating candy bars.

Hmmm. That's interesting. They're eating really slow.

I decided to eat my own candy bar while the kids were in the bathtub. I'm not very good at delayed gratification. Except, wait. Where did I put it again?

And it dawned on me. Those little shits! They're eating my candy bar!

"Did you take my candy bar?" I asked them both.

"No, Mommy!" my daughter replied. "My brother opened it."

"And are you both putting it in your mouth right now?" I asked her.

"Well, yes," she admitted. "We broke it in half to share it." She couldn't exactly deny it.

My little dears or not, no one should ever come between a PMSing woman and her chocolate.

I read them the riot act about respect and thoughtfulness and sharing.

And when I told this story to my husband he said, "Well, look on the bright side, Honey. At least they were sharing with each other. That's really sweet. Most siblings would kill each other over a candy bar."

Yeah, great. It's really sweet. My children are conspiring against me.

And who's going to buy me more chocolate?

Friday, April 15, 2005

Your Questions Answered

From Jack:

1. What is the thing you've done that you're most ashamed of?

Just recently, during an awful moment when my kid was throwing a temper tantrum, the wind caught my car door and slammed it into the car parked next to me. It left a small dent in the door of the brand new car. I got in my car, wrote a note with my number, and drove away without leaving it. I just couldn't bring myself to leave it and have to deal with a stranger calling me all pissed off.

You don't have to yell at me about it. Believe me. Enough people already have.

Without a doubt, that is the thing I am most ashamed of. I've spent my entire life avoiding trouble at all costs.

2. Did it involve any kitchen utensils?

Nope. Unless my van door is somehow useful in the kitchen in a way I'm not aware of. (Which is entirely possible.)

3. Do you like Grape Nuts Cereal?

I hate that stuff. It's like eating pebbles. My poor tortured teeth can't take it.

From rumblefish:

4. Is it true that blogging is just diary-keeping for exhibitionists?

Actually, I don't think that blogging is diary-keeping at all. At least not the kind of blog I write. I've never kept a diary or journal, but if I did, I wouldn't write anything like I write here.

But is blogging for exhibitionists? Eh. Probably. I'd never want to be famous, but it is nice to feel some connection with people who enjoy what I write.

I think it is very interesting that many bloggers are fairly shy in real life, myself included.

5. Do you think that nude photos enhance or detract from a blog?

Well, some blogs exist only to disseminate nude photos. And I am perfectly fine with that.

But when I'm emotionally involved in someone's blog and then he posts a picture of his penis...(you know who you are). Ack! My eyes! My eyes! I don't want to see that!

Most bloggers will give you fair warning and I can choose not to look. Or, umm, maybe sneak a peek when no one is looking. Either way, my overall sentiment is, "It's your blog. Do what you want. There are a million more out there if I don't like yours. Or I could even, I don't know, read a book or something crazy like that."

6. My shoes hurt. (I know that's not really a question per see, but it's something that I had to get off my chest).

I suggest you go bare foot. Start a new trend. I never wear uncomfortable shoes. (And that's one less real question I have to answer.)

From Chad:

7. Does your husband give you the best sex you've ever had, or have you had better?

The wonderful thing about our sex life is that it has gotten better and better over the years. I attribute this to the fact that we communicate very well and love each other completely.

So not only have we shared the best sex I've ever had, but right now (before the deployment at least) we're both having the best sex we've ever had. If we keep up at this rate, by the time we're fifty we're going to have to train for our sexual gymnastics.

8. Your favorite color?

Blue. No, green.

9. If you were a animal..(okay I just want to know the answer to the first one. But I know he reads the Blog so if you can't answer, you don't have to.)

Well, I answered it. But if I were an animal I would be Jeff's dog, or Pua's puppy, or Rick's cats, or Patrick's Ex's cats (because I've heard stories), or Aaron's dog, or Jim's dogs, or Jess and Marc's dogs, or the pet of any of you who have such huge hearts.

from Patrick (my former best friend):

10. What's the one sexually kinky thing you haven't tried that you want to try with the Tuna Hubby?

A male on male on me threesome. Are you up for that? Bring the poppers.

11. Have you tried watersports?

That depends on how you define watersports. I have never peed on anyone or been peed on. Oh, wait. There was that one time in New Orleans. Okay, I've never been peed on on purpose.

12. Exactly how do vou braise beef?

I fly in my Tuna Pet, buy him some meat, and tell him to get busy with that "braising" thing (whatever that is).

From Joel:

13. Who's your favorite blogger and why?

Jeesh! Talk about putting me on the spot.

I've actually thought a lot about this question today. All of the links under my Daily Reads heading are ones I read and enjoy every day. Some of those bloggers are also very good friends of mine.

There are also a lot of really wonderful blogs by really amazing people in the rest of my links who just might not update every day.

But to judge based on blog alone, I'd have to choose 1000 Words and More as my favorite.

Aaron's blog might best be described as a photo blog, but I think he succeeds where no one else has. His photography could stand on its own. And his writing could stand on its own. But the absolute genius of Aaron is that he marries the two together so well.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Amazing blog. Better man.

14. If/when you return to the working world, what career do you plan to pursue?

I know some of you will hate me for saying this, but I will never work again.

I'll probably be on the board of a few charitable organizations, and I do plan to write a book when the timing is right. I'll be involved with the kids' school. And I will also be much more involved on base as an officer's spouse.

Other than that, I'll be a Lady Who Lunches.

15. Would you be willing to be a surrogate (sp?) mother to either an infertile couple or same-sex couple?

Wow. Good question. I've been asked this question before and gave the instinctual answer of, "No. I couldn't do that."

I've thought a lot about it since then. And my answer remains the same.

Having carried two children of my own, I just don't think I have the strength to carry and bond with a child for nine months, and then give her away to her parents. I believe it is the most noble of gifts, and I respect any woman who can give that gift. But I just don't think I could do it.

I also couldn't put my husband through that situation. He worried for me constantly while I was pregnant. We've known too many people who have died in childbirth to take the process lightly.

But I would definitely consider donating an egg to a couple (especially a same sex couple). And especially if I loved them. But I'm turning 32 next month. Y'all better move fast if you want a piece of me.

From Alan:

16. What if the hokey pokey really IS what it's all about?

But it is, Alan. It is.

To take a silly question and make it way too sappy, for me taking the time to do a little dance with the kids is exactly what it is all about.

17. I don't think I know how you and your hubby met, so ... How did you and your hubby meet?

We met when I was 15 and he was 16. We both worked in a grocery store. I was a cashier and he was a bagger.

One night when I was working later than my mother (she worked at the same store) she asked him to drive me home. And history was made.

We dated for a few months in high school. Someday, we'll have to do a He said/She said post about our break up. By the time we started college, we were together again.

We went to colleges that were a couple of hours apart. His was mostly men and mine was all women. It made for an interesting four years together.

But to tell the truth, I think I knew deep down, even when I was 16-years-old, that he would always be family to me.

From JustaGirl:

18. Do you sing in the shower and if yes, what is your favorite tune to sing there?

I used to really belt out the tunes in the shower. But once I had my first baby I learned to tone down the singing so as not to awaken her and forfeit my shower time.

My husband and I always have a radio in our bathroom. I sing along to whatever is on the pop station. I may even dance a little too. Shhhh. It's our secret.

From Aaron:

19. What was the title of the porn that sustained the injury to your head?

My research indicates that it was a Taboo.

20. If you could live anywhere on the planet where would you want to set up house?

Again, you're all going to hate me for this one, but I already own a home in my ideal location. We inherited a house on Cape Cod with a beach on a small bay.

I fucking love that place. It represents all that is home and sanctuary to us. I love the seasons and the smell of the ocean. I love the excitement of the summer season and the quiet of the winter.

If I didn't have kids or a husband in the military, I would love to live in New York City. And we recently filled out a form that requested Australia and London as possible home bases for us.

Truthfully, I could live anywhere, as long as I get to be with the man I love.

21. What's one thing you would like to do but haven't yet?

I would love to learn to fly an airplane.

It's something my husband and I could share and it fits in well with our love of travel. We could buy our own little plane and visit our friends whenever we want.

From Bonnie:

22. What did you think being a military spouse would be like, and has it been harder than you thought, or easier than you though, or about what you expected.

Good question.

I had four years to prepare to be a military wife. I had mentors before we were ever married. But you never really can predict these things.

I had a college professor who was also an Army officer. He told me that being a military family was a lot like being an active part of our small college community. He told me that he thought I would be an excellent military wife because I was strong, intelligent, independent, and compassionate.

Ironically, my husband didn't think I would be a good military wife.

I think I thought it would be like being a member of a club. I thought that all of the wives would be good friends and do things together. I thought we would be moving once a year. I thought I'd go to luncheons and coffees and make small talk with the commander's wife.

I didn't think my husband would ever go to war. I thought that a war seemed unlikely for his generation. I think I can chalk that up to wishful thinking.

I thought we would be living overseas for many, many years. I thought I would be learning other languages and cultures.

All in all, being a military wife has been about what I expected. I have been lucky enough to make some of the most wonderful friends. I wish that the squadron wives' groups were more cohesive units and I wish that some wives didn't fall through the cracks when it comes to support. And I kind of wish that the official Officers' Wives' Club had a younger membership and more visible presence on base.

Every assignment is different and every assignment is what you make of it.

I can tell you what I didn't expect though. Much like my husband, I didn't think I would be a very good military wife either. I am much stronger than I thought.


Wow. What great questions, guys. But I've got to tell you, I won't be doing this meme again. Whew.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

"This may hurt a bit."

How many times have I heard that in my life?

I think the most memorable time was when my demonic OB was thrusting some forceps up into my womb to drag my son kicking and screaming out of my body.

But this might be a little more painful.

The lovely Bonnie, has tagged me with a meme. It's a question meme of the type that I have been avoiding for a long, long time. Thanks, Bonnie. Umm. Yeah. Thanks a lot. I'm just so glad that I told you, "You should start your own blog!" when we met in NYC.

So here's the deal. (I've modified a bit because it's my blog and I can.) Use my comments to ask me three questions. I am only obliged to answer the first 20.

I have no idea what you might ask me because I can't think of anything that I haven't already told you. But we'll see how this goes.

I'm not going to tag anyone because I took enough flack when I tagged three people with the music meme. But, if you see this here and use it on your blog, let me know, and I'll take credit and link you.

And if you don't have a blog and you are reading and commenting on mine, well, maybe it's time you started one. This can be your first entry. Tell them, "Tuna Girl sent me."

I'm going to leave you with the one thing I say more than any other all during the day: "Please be nice to each other."

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Who needs sleep? Apparently, I do.

When I was a little girl, I would watch Johnny Carson every night on the mammoth black and white television in my bedroom. I'd even watch Tom Snyder's show afterwards. There was many a night when his odd laugh would lull me to sleep.

When I was a teenager, I would watch David Letterman every night on the little 13" Panasonic TV in my bedroom. Then I would start my three hours of homework. Then I would get up at 6:30 in the morning, locate my school uniform in a ball on my bedroom floor, and make the 45 minute drive to school on autopilot.

When I was in college, I would stay up all night reading books, talking to my future husband on the phone, listening to my walkman, and when the roommate wasn't shooting me evil looks, watching TV on that same 13" Panasonic. I would sleep for a couple of hours in my practice clothes and get up at 5:30 in the morning for the first softball practice of the day.

Now I'm thirty-years-old (plus or minus a couple) and I've never learned to fall asleep.

In my teens and twenties I could handle being perpetually tired, but once I hit thirty, my brain just couldn't take it anymore.

And now that we're on our third deployment (actually, there have been at least five long separations) and we have two small kids, I just can't put up with insomnia any longer.

In the last two weeks I've just completely forgotten about three important things. I forgot to take my daughter to her soccer party to get her trophy, even though I had been planning on it all week. I forgot to take the kids to the Sesame Street Live show that I had spent quite a chunk of change to buy tickets for. And I forgot to take her to ballet class.

That last one kills me, because I'm all about commitment. I don't forget things. Ever.

I've done a ton of research on sleep disorders over the years. But a couple of days ago, I just happened to come across an article in Better Homes and Gardens (Shut up! I'm a housewife.) that sounds very reasonable to me. It addresses the one issue I have that always keeps me awake.

The point of the article is that our minds don't allow our bodies to fall asleep until we are at peace. But my brain is never at peace.

The experts suggest setting a nighttime routine including meditation and relaxation exercises to help ease your stress. And I find that helpful. But a doctor from the Mind/Body Medical Institute in Boston said something in this article that finally, finally, finally clicked with me.

He said that if a worry surfaces during your breathing exercises, just say, "Oh, well," to yourself and return to your breathing.

That is classic thought stopping technique and I can't believe it never occurred to me to use it before.

I was first taught thought stopping by my sports psychologist in college. When negative thoughts intruded while I was on the mound, I would say the word "fwap" and focus on my pitch. (Could that sentence be more sexual?)

For two nights I've been practicing this technique. And although I am still tired (it is going to take me a while to catch up) I feel more well-rested than I have in months.

But it has occurred to me that "oh, well" is an excellent response to most stressors in my life. I've been using it constantly while driving the car, cooking dinner, and working out.

You should try it. Really, I swear. The next time some troubling thought occurs to you just say, "Oh, well," and move along.

And now I'm going to go take a nap. It may mess up my sleep routine, causing me to yell at my kids, and causing them to develop horrible self-esteem issues and never be able to get jobs or sustain relationships, but...oh, well.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

All'a Y'all

I've told a few people recently that I've been struggling to write in my blog. I know that we all go through cycles, and I've definitely been on the downside of inspired lately.

I think it is mostly because the main source of my blog fodder isn't around to make fun of. (Sorry, Honey!)

But I've also just been down. Not depressed or anything. Just moody and not myself.

And then all of you step in and show me the light.

Last week, Pua sent my son a little gift. It was a potty book for boys. And one of the lines in the book is actually, "Boys sit down to poop." Which is perfect.

I've been waiting to blog about it because every time I sit down to post about it, I realize the book is in the same room as my sleeping son. There is no way I'm going to risk interrupting his naptime so that I can scan the cover of the book and post an audio blog.

Wait. What? Did I just say audio blog? Why, yes, I did.

This book has a button that when pushed makes the sound of a flushing toilet and a boy giggling maniacally. Apparently, Pua and her family found this sound hilarious. I find this sound in my nightmares. Do you have any idea how many time I've heard that demon child's maniacal giggle?

But it is worth it. Because the day after he got it, he pooped in the potty while the babysitter was watching him. And the next morning, he pooped on the potty again.

Woo fucking hoo. I love Pua.

Except, well, I guess I should have blogged about this last week after all, because today he has pooped in his pants twice. So we're on outfit number three, and I'm breaking that book back out of the drawer and letting him read it wherever we go.

Don't you just love a poop post? Aww, come on. Everybody loves a poop post.

But not as much as we love a Pua post. (Thank you, Sis!)

And then, when I got home from Dallas, I had a wonderful E-mail waiting for me from a reader I'll call M. She is a soon-to-be military wife and she thanked me for writing my blog. And it put it all into perspective for me.

It's hard to put your life on the Internet for everyone to see. Even when no one is judging me, I feel like my flaws are alarmingly apparent to anyone who cares to look.

But if I can help let one young military wife feel not-so-alone, then it is worth it. So very worth it.

And how wonderful for someone like that to write and let me know how she feels.

When you add in all the wonderful friends who have really gone above and beyond to put themselves out there for me, I am just very blessed.

I'm feeling sappy today. Say one nice thing to me and I just might explode my gooey-soft sentiment all over you.

Monday, April 11, 2005

Our Dallas Adventure

We drove back home through the base gates last night at just about 7 p.m. As the guard checked my ID, my daughter started to sob.

Only a half hour before she had announced that she was tired and cranky, so I should have seen it coming. But I was still a little surprised.

"I miss Dallas," she wailed. "I miss Mr. Mark. I want to live in Dallas." Sob. Sob. Sob.

She cried for an hour and a half.

She cried while going potty. She cried while brushing her teeth. She cried while I read her a book. She cried until she cried herself to sleep.

All because she missed Mr. Mark.

Now, that might make him feel bad, (Sorry, Sweetie!) but it shouldn't. It just shows how much he came to mean to her.

We had a great weekend. It was admittedly stressful for me, but we had so much fun with Mark and Brian that it was totally worth it. Those kids deserve all the fun they can get.

And those guys are just so sweet and so good with kids. Even if they were checking out Spiderman's package. Okay, I guess we need some explanation here.

After spending the day on Saturday in little boy heaven with Thomas the Tank Engine, we met up with Mark and Brian. They took us to this restaurant called The Magic Time Machine.

This place defies description. It's full of theamed booths and the servers all dress up as fairy tale or movie characters. It was over-running with tweens.

Of all the different themes and servers we ended up in the Love Shack being served by Joe Dirt. (I said "served" not "serviced".)

I was frankly in awe that two grown, childless men would willingly submit themselves to dining at this place. But the guys were cracking me up with their comments. And the kids loved it so it was worth it. I was smart enough to take a Tylenol before we got there.

I think my favorite moment of the night was when on the car ride home, My daughter suddenly announced to Mark and Brian, "That's enough arguing!" Too funny.

Mark continued his weekend of self-sacrifice for the sake of the guppies by taking us to the Ft. Worth Zoo. It was nice, and despite being exhausted from the night before, the kids really enjoyed themselves.

Mark went above and beyond the call of duty when he entered the bird aviary with at least five sticks of birdseed. There was no way in the world that I was going to hold one of those sticks, but the kids really got into it. And I got to hear Mark make a few girly squeals. I was proud of him though. He really held it together for the sake of the kids.

All in all it was a fun weekend and a nice break. Mark is just the best. And it made me happy to see the kids so happy. (Thank you a thousand times over, guys!)

Sometime soon we'll host Mark and Brian here. But the only thing the local culture has to offer is alcohol and gambling. Somehow I think they'll make due.

Friday, April 08, 2005

When the going gets tough...

...the tough get their asses out of town.

The kids and I are on our way to visit Mark and Brian in Dallas. I am really looking forward to getting a change of scenery and seeing one of my favorite guys and his phantom boyfriend.

I'm taking my son to the Grapevine Vintage Railroad for a ride on a real Thomas the Tank Engine. He is going to be in three-year-old heaven. I may not be able to drag him off the train when the ride is over.

And I'll take my daughter to the mall where she'll be in little girl heaven. She's such a little princess.

And we're all going to the Ft. Worth Zoo where both kids will be in little kid heaven because they'll get to spend time with Mr. Mark.

So, I'll see you all on Monday. And I’ll catch up on my E-mails and comments then too.

And by the way, it's time for me to get all sappy. Things haven't been going well for me lately, and so many of you have reached out to me and helped pull me along. The phone calls, E-mails, E-cards, comments and thoughtful gifts all mean so much to me.

But you guys topped it when you went over to Rose's blog and offered her the same kind of support. I felt like a proud momma.

One or two negative folks here and there could never diminish my love for the power of blogging.

*sniff sniff*

Has anyone noticed the PMS-induced vacillation in my last few posts?

Oy vey. Where's the Midol?

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Reason #542 Why I Miss My Husband

Because someone spilled chocolate on my white-haired dog, and he's not here to blame.

And some more real reasons...

There is only one person in the world that I can share things with, and just in the sharing the things are less important. That person is my husband. And he is far away.

We still talk, of course, and he doesn't say anything profound or important, but he is my partner. We're a team and the very fact that the entire team is informed of a matter makes the resolution or closure within reach.

I miss being able to look in his eyes and know intuitively what he is feeling. I miss knowing that he can look in my eyes and do the same.

My friends call, they send thoughtful gifts, they let me know they care, and it helps. A lot. It cheers me and helps me make it through a few more hours. I love them and appreciate them more than they'll ever know.

But they are not him. There is no substitute.

I've gotten to a point in this deployment when casual acquaintances are starting to ask me if he is home yet. When I say that he won't be home for about six more weeks, they always say some version of the same thing. "Oh, that's not so bad. You're in the home stretch. He'll be home any day now."

And I just have to grit my teeth and think, "Yeah! You try it."

If he were leaving for a six week TDY today, it would seem like he'd be leaving for a very long time. The fact that he has already been gone for three months makes it much worse. Not better.

It's like running a race. My legs are already burning. My lungs are already on fire. Being in the home stretch might help you see the finish line, but it still hurts like hell.

I can only imagine what a year-long deployment is like. I have it good, and I know it. But it still hurts like hell.

*The picture is of his grandmother's house.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Bad Influences

I am in a much better mood now, guys. Thanks for all of your concern. A handful of things happened yesterday that just made me laugh out loud.

Shall I share?

Aaron called during my son's nap time yesterday. We talked for quite a while and he was cracking me up. But after about a half hour, my son came out of his room and curled up in my lap. I happened to be sitting in front of my computer and my screensaver happened to be displaying random pictures from the My Pictures folder.

I said to Aaron, "Aww. Little Tuna Boy is all snuggled up and watching the pictures on my screensaver. Oh shoot. You know what? Not all of those pictures are G rated."

Recently, some bloggers have felt the need to send me pictures of naked men. But more naked pictures. I have enough pictures of dick to last me until...well...a couple of days at least. (Embarrassing pictures of bloggers wearing funny hats and holding beer bottles over their stuff will still be accepted.)

At that exact moment, before I even had a chance to move the mouse, up popped a picture of a ten-inch dick. (No really. It is that big.)

I quickly turned my chair and hugged my son so he couldn't see it.

"Oops. Figures!" I exclaimed to Aaron. "And it was ten inches too."

"Don't worry," Aaron replied. "I'll be here for him when he comes out. Though with that size, I don't know. It might scare him straight forever."

I think I agree with him.

And I think I need to move my Naked Bloggers folder out of the My Pictures folder. I'm on it.

Later that night Patrick called.

Now, Patrick has this habit of just making a point as soon as I say hello.


"Tonight is going to be a masturbatory night."

"Excuse me?"

"Tonight is going to be a double-fisted, pud-pounding, masturbatory night."

"Ummm..he's not here right now. Can I take a message?"

An hour later Patrick called me on my cell phone.


"Don't believe a word your babysitter tells you about me."

Yup. You guessed it. He was talking dirty to my 16-year-old babysitter because he thought she was me. And he didn't even realize until an hour later that he had crank called the poor girl.

What makes me laugh is that I know his penchant for outrageous greetings and I had made a point to tell him that I'd have a babysitter.

This is the same babysitter who watched the kids the night Patrick and I went out. She must think I'm having one red hot affair while my husband is away. Poor girl. She didn't say a word about it though.

The next time Patrick wants to tell me about his pud-pounding neighbor (Have you seen this guy?), I think he'll establish my identity first.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Don't fuck with me, boys.*

*I shouldn't be allowed to use this quote because I've never seen the movie and I can't remember the name of the actress who said it. But it still sums it all up for me. And see! I didn't even get it right! It's good to have gay friends to point these things out to me.

I've had a bad couple of days. I've moved past sad and lonely for the time being and have moved on to pissed.

And let me tell you, when Tuna Girl ain't happy, ain't nobody gonna be happy.

I only slept for about two hours last night.

And let me tell you, when Tuna Girl is tired and cranky, ain't nobody gonna be happy.

I was in a bad enough mood last night to tell Patrick, "Don't argue with me. Don't fucking piss me off. Just say, 'Yes, Ma'am.' and move on." I said it good-naturedly though, so don't worry. It's also not the first time I've said that to him. Interestingly, I don't think he's ever said, "Yes, Ma'am."

I was in a bad enough mood to ask my husband to call me at about 1:30 a.m. He made me feel better while we were talking, but I was mad on his behalf when I was trying to fall asleep.

Here is the thing about me that everyone should know: You can mess with me, and I'll probably give you a few chances before I write you off. But fuck with the people I love, and there will be hell to pay.

Except that, well, there rarely is hell to pay. Because I am mature enough to realize that the adults who I love can take care of themselves. My stepping into the situation will only ever make things worse. So I grit my teeth and try to be classy. (My kids, though, are a whole other story. They're my cubs.)

But I've noticed something lately, and it is really bothering me.

The men in my life all seem to share one characteristic. They care too much and for too long. And I'm talking about every single man in my life. Even my father.

They care long after they should. They still care after they've been burned over and over again. They put themselves out only to get shit back.

I think it is all about obligation and loyalty. And I think that I tend to associate with men who have very good hearts.

But it kills me. I can only tell them so many times to drop this person from their circle of friends or slice this family member from their lives. They will never see it my way.

So I'll be there to offer support when the shit hits the fan. I'll be there when they are ignored and forgotten. I'll be there to admire the men that they are and let them know that I love them.

But it still pisses me the hell off.

And that is why I should be nowhere near a blog today. Because I will always be honest. But I will never be spiteful. And I'm feeling rather spiteful at the moment.

Monday, April 04, 2005

Today's Post is Brought to You by a Dead Pope

After two solid weeks of eating everything I could get my hands on and wallowing in self pity, I stepped on a scale yesterday.

And got my fat ass to the gym today.

I hadn't even realized that it had been a month since Patrick had tortured me at the gym. I was a little embarrassed to show my face there again. Not because Patrick did anything outlandish (well, no more than he normally does) but because all those people saw me near death.

But I kicked my workout up a notch today just for the self esteem boost it would provide. It's amazing how much better I feel about life in general when I work out.

Whenever I return to the gym after an absence, I find a million things to complain about.

First and foremost today was that every single television in the cardio area was tuned to the Pope being carted from one place to another. I mean really. Can't we have at least one T.V. tuned to ESPN? It is a gym after all.

Of course, it is a Catholic gym (don't get Patrick started), so maybe it makes a little sense. But I didn't see any nuns on the treadmills. Give me my ESPN, damn it.

Secondly, is my gym the only one in America that has women pushing strollers on the track?

That kills me! There is a group of women who walk around the track every day, gossiping, pushing babies in strollers and carrying them in backpacks, and never breaking a sweat. They clump up and make it hard for serious walkers and runners to get around them. Today they knocked right into a woman doing squats along the side of the track.

I think it is great to take your baby for a walk...outside. But my gym has child care. And pretty good child care too. If you're not comfortable leaving your kid in the child care area, take your ass outside. The weather is beautiful Get the kid some air!

And one of them is really ugly. Okay. My opinion of her may be skewed by the fact that she said something mean about my kid. But I can lose weight. She'll always be ugly. And a bad mother.

Lastly, today I wore two different socks to the gym. And I didn't even notice until I was almost done working out.

That has got be the most horrific sin of all.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Alone Again

You know, when people start calling you funny, the pressure can really begin to mount.

I've talked about this before. I've never thought of myself as funny and I never intended to be funny when I started to blog.

Whenever I meet bloggers, they always ask me the same question: Why did you start to blog?

I'm sure the reasons to blog are as complex as the people who write them, but I think I can sum up why I started blogging in just one word.


But somewhere along the way, people start to flatter you. And as they flatter, you start to write to their expectations. Or try to, at least.

And suddenly a post about how very lonely you feel, starts to feel inappropriate.

As far as blogging goes, I've succeeded. And that's the truth. I have made amazing connections. I've made friends with wonderful people. Amazing people. The best people. And some of these people are family to me now. They care about me. A lot. And they let me know it.

So I am starting to think things like I can't blog about how fucking lonely I am, because I'll make people feel bad for me.

But I really think that it was that kind of honest blogging that helped me make these special connections in the first place.

So here is the honesty.

Tonight I was sitting in a chair, watching something stupid on the TV, crying and thinking about how desperately I need someone to touch me. I need to be held by someone who loves me. I want my husband back. Now.

I can talk with him on the phone until we're poor. I can write him a thousand e-mails. I can send him gifts and write him letters.

But there is nothing in this world that can take the place of being held by the man who loves me.

And I'm sorry that you have to read that. It isn't the stoic facade that I want to portray. It isn't the inner strength that I have in abundance. It isn't the knowledge of love that keeps me going.

But it is me.

And it is all I have to offer right now.

Friday, April 01, 2005


Now that I've come out with my little button phobia (Damn! I had to type that world again!) I feel the need to purge myself with some more confessions.

First of all, I feel the need to admit that I talk to myself. A lot. I have whole conversations with myself where I play the part of me and the part of some other character.

To tell you the truth, I was worried for years that this was a sign that I needed professional help. But recently someone offhandedly said to me that my talking to myself like that was "just the writer" in me.

I sort of like that. It makes me sound more like an eccentric genius and less like the freak I know myself to be. So now I'm going to boast about it. Yup. I have imaginary friends and I talk to them out loud.

If you see men wearing white, carrying nets, and headed toward my house, please stop them and explain that "eccentric genius" thing. Okay?

Next, I feel the need to explain about my eyebrows.

Most of you probably know that I'm not really into appearances. I don't wear make-up and I've never colored my hair. So it might make sense that I wouldn't pluck my eyebrows.

Except that isn't the reason.

Actually, my eyebrows drive me crazy. They're really thick and dark. If I could, I would pluck the hell out of them. But I have a problem.

I have a cowlick in my eyebrow.

The hair in my left eyebrow, from the bridge of my nose to almost the center of my pupil actually grows the opposite way than it should. If I were to pluck out the cowlick, I'd have a huge chunk of hair missing from my left eyebrow.

So instead, I pull at the hair in my eyebrows. All the time. I'm like an evil villain twisting my moustache, except with my eyebrows.

For a while I worried that this was some sign that I had OCD. But then I read of another blogger who pulls out his eyelashes. I think it was Todd. And a bunch of people commented that they do the same thing.

So once again, I'm going to go with my eccentric genius excuse. Because if it is good enough for a bunch of bloggers, it is good enough for me.

Oh shit. There might be a flaw in that reasoning.

And finally, I feel the need to inform you all that flattery will get you everywhere with me.

I really struggle to say no to people sometimes. When my husband is deployed, it is pretty easy to say no to any requests for my time or efforts or, um, body, or anything else. "Oh, I'd love to, but my husband is deployed right now..." is usually enough to get me off the hook for anything.

But if you flatter me, I don't have a chance in hell of saying no to you.

It's a good thing my husband isn't reading my blog right now, because he wouldn't be very happy with what I'm about to tell you. At all. In fact, he's going to kick my ass when he finds out about it. (Not literally. Don't worry.)

Somebody asked me to do something last night. I know I should have said no. I should have screamed no and run away. But this person started flattering the hell out of me, and I just couldn't say no.

Now I'm running damage control and there will be hell to pay when my man comes home.

What did I do? Oh hell, What did I do?

I agreed to be a chair on the parents' association next year.

There will be hell to pay. It would have been easier if I just cheated on him instead.

Share the Love

Okay, guys.

You know that love, affection, concern, and attention you envelope me in? It's Rose's turn now.

Rose is a cool Air Force wife with a great blog. And her husband is facing a deployment.

Go spread your awesome love over at Great Googly Moogly.

I'll be ever so grateful.