Quite the Pair

I was desperately trying to sleep last night when I suddenly sat up in bed. I was struck by a random memory. And all I could think was, "What the hell was I thinking?"

Back in college, one of my best friends was named Erin. She was the very first person to stick her head in my dorm room on the first day of college and introduce herself. She was lively, outgoing, and really cute. She was tall and thin and had blond hair cut in a short bob that really complimented her features.

My husband's best friend at the time was Dave. Dave was a fellow ROTC cadet. My husband and Dave hit it off when they both decided to pledge for the same honor society freshman year. Dave was one of those guys who is both cute and handsome. But mostly cute. He was a bit shorter than my own 5'4" but he fit right in with a class of short guys.

I think it was junior year when we decided that Erin and Dave might really hit it off.

On a Friday afternoon, Erin and I threw our stuff together and headed off on the two-hour drive to their college. The four of us went out for Chinese food. I vaguely remember laughing a lot. Erin and Dave got along fine, but there didn't seem to be any real strong connection there.

Erin and I spent that night talking and bonding in my husband's dorm room. If I remember correctly, all the giggling sent my husband off to find a quieter place to sleep.

The years went on. We stayed friends. Erin was a bridesmaid in my wedding and Dave was my husband's best man.

A couple of years ago, Patrick and I were perusing some of my old photos. As he thumbed through our wedding pictures, he looked up and asked me, "Your husband's best man was gay?"

"What? No!"

Patrick gave me one of his looks. "Sweetie, if he isn't gay, then neither am I."

Huh.

Huh.

Suddenly all those little things that never seemed to add up about Dave made perfect sense. I didn't have any gaydar back then. At least not for men. But looking back, it makes so much sense to me.

And did I mention that Erin came out not long after her date with Dave?

So yup, that was me, Ms. Gay Sensitivity, setting up a big ole' lacrosse playing dyke and a fag.

Suddenly last night I couldn't get over the fact that I was so freaking clueless.

I've read that kids today are coming out younger and younger. It is giving them a chance to date more significantly at a younger age. Where my friends were all coming out in college, many teens today are coming out in high school.

I think that's great. And I hope it is true. Not only will it help straight kids understand and be more tolerant when they are still young enough to have ideals, it will keep gay kids from having to deal with doltish best friends like me.

Erin and I are always just missing each other in Provincetown. Next year we need to make firmer plans. I'd love to know what Dave is up to. I'll have to see if my husband can track him down.

I feel the need to apologize.

Writing the Rain

I broke my own cardinal blogging rule without even realizing it. Twice!

I blogged about the weather.

You see, I think blogging about the weather is the blogging equivalent of conversing about the weather. It's something you do when you have nothing else to say. And if you have nothing else to say, why are you still writing?

But, I want to write. I want to be the old Tuna Girl. Tuna Girl might not be all of me, but she's a huge part of me and more real than the person I play every day.

But I'm afraid.

I'm afraid, as I always am, of turning into Tuna Girl's Broken Record.

A mentor once told me that when you just can't make the words come, tune into your pain. Write the thing you would never write. Let the chips fall where they may.

Fine. Here goes.

Before my husband left for Iraq I told my best friend something. I said, "I would never utter this to a soul other than you and you'll never hear me say this again, but..."

I'm scared.

I'm not really scared of him being gone or something bad happening to him. Believe it or not I have faith. I may not believe in a higher power but I believe in the equipment, training, and my husband's own common sense. And since equipment, training, and common sense can fail, I have faith that if something were to happen, I could handle it. With the support of my friends and family and probably some professional help, I could handle it.

I'm not even scared of being alone here. I've been alone before. I'm not scared of the responsibility or sacrifice. It's all old hat.

I'm scared of being too needy.

I hate needing.

I thought I had learned this lesson with his last deployment. Once my jaw was unwired I was able to open my mouth and let my need bleed everywhere.

But I'm stuck again.

I don't want to get out of bed or leave the house. I do, but I don't want to. I already miss being casually touched by another human being. And it just hasn't been that long.

I need people right now. I need friends. I need to not be so alone.

And I need those people to reach out to me, because if were just up to me, I'd never call out to a soul.

It's raining today, and it seems appropriate. Writing about the rain is appropriate too, because I have nothing else to say.

But it's a Dry Heat

Keep cool, baby!

Reflections of My Father

We're home again.

But not until after I reached a stage five mom meltdown on the car ride home.

I yelled.

I mean, I really yelled. People, I yelled so loud and so hard that not only did I strain my throat, but my ab muscles actually hurt.

And yes, I hate myself for it. Of course I do. We were on vacation for over a month. We had a great time. We made memories. We drove for 22 hours in relative ease, and then we had to end it with me having a complete fit in the car.

My kids have had just about enough of each other. I've had just about enough of their fighting. And I fear that I have completely turned into my father.

I also fear that years from now, the thing that they'll remember most about that summer that dad was deployed was mom completely losing her shit in the car. Because when I think back on my own childhood my clearest memories are of my father losing it in the exact same way.

Damn it all.

There are exactly eighteen days until school starts.

Heading Home

It's pouring in New York City today. And how do I know that? I know that because last week I completely gave up on the idea of everything related to Cape Cod, summer and vacation.

I want to go home.

On Thursday morning, I packed up a month's worth of supplies and clothes and cleaned up a month's worth of mess in record time. By 11 a.m. we was on the road headed South.

But as much as I wanted to be home, I wasn't really ready for the marathon drive. And the kids wanted to see Uncle Patrick. And Uncle Patrick wanted to see Buffy the Wonder Puppy. So we decided to spend a very long weekend in New York.

I'm more than glad that we decided to stop here. I was stressed about parking the van, but after one night in a garage (and a fifty dollar hole in my pocket) I worked it like a real New Yorker and staked out a spot on the street in front of Patrick's apartment.

The kids love Uncle Patrick so much. I know it helps ease their Daddy pangs just the smallest bit to have a man around. Not much though. They're still making their periodic "I miss Daddy" announcements. I actually think it is good, both that they miss him so much and that they are able to express it.

Patrick has been a great host. On Friday evening, he suggested we go to the Harry Potter Place street fair-type thing they were having in front of the Scholastic Store. Seeing as I've only read the first three books and the kids are too scared to read any of the books or see the movies, I wasn't sure how interested they would be.

But Uncle Patrick hit a home run with that one. They loved it! Now I suppose I'll have to keep reading the books.

On Saturday, Patrick had a race to run, so we signed the kids up for the kids' races scheduled after his easy four-mile jaunt.

The kids loved that too! I was so proud of them. My son moved up an age group since November, but he was able to keep up with the pack. After my daughter's emotional ending during last November's race, I was a little worried about her this time. She could have been dead last, but as long as she didn't cry I would have been happy. But she kept up with the pack (or at least the back half of it) too. And she didn't cry at all. She was all about the intensity.

They have both declared that they love racing and I am determined to keep them going with it. With soccer starting soon, and swimming classes starting again, I'll have them whipped back into shape in no time.

On Saturday afternoon, Uncle Patrick had another crazy idea. He wanted to take the kids to Coney Island, especially since the majority of it will close after this season. My daughter was heartbroken that she was too short to ride the Cyclone, but she quickly recovered.

Do you have any idea how expensive the rides are at Coney Island?

I told the kids they could each pick two rides. They picked the log ride and the Tilt-a-Whirl. They didn't complain a bit about only being able to go on two rides, so I surprised them each with one more ticket for a kiddie ride. They chose the kiddie coaster.

Uncle Patrick and I thought the subway ride back took forever, but that was my son's favorite part of the day. He loves the subway, no matter what.

Yesterday we spent the day in Central Park letting the kids do pretty much whatever that wanted, including getting their clothes soaking wet in the water playground. And today they got soaking wet just walking to the luncheonette, poor things.

I wonder if Patrick has any idea how wonderful he is with kids, or at least my kids. I know it must be hard for my husband to hear all of these stories about his children having fun and bonding with another man. But knowing my husband, he's just happy that they have more love in their lives.

Part of me wishes I didn't have to leave here in the morning. But we need to get home for so many reasons. I wish I could take Patrick with me. I wish we lived closer to each other. I wish I could afford a private jet to whisk us back and forth as often as we liked. I wish a lot of things, none of which can ever come true.

But mostly right now I wish I was home again, with my life back to normal and my husband safely with me. Until that can happen, I'm thankful that I have friends who are family who can help us through it all.

Men on a Mission

For the last couple of years, I've been hearing stories about the beach in Provincetown.

You see, as a breeder, I only really knew about Herring Cove Beach off of the highway. Herring Cove has bathrooms and parking and is apparently only for families and straight people.

But a winding path through the dunes leads to the gay beach.

The start of the path is easy to find because it is surrounded by hundreds of bikes. And poison ivy bushes. I'd heard that it was quite a hike to the beach, but when the guys were here I found out what an understatement that was.

The guys (Patrick, Charles, Brian, Jase, and Jase's coworker) were excited to get to the beach on the Fourth of July. We started the day with brunch and in preparation for my hike, I forwent a yummy mimosa.

I knew it would be a long walk, but I figured we'd chat and rest every once in a while and it wouldn't be so bad.

I've never been quite so wrong ever before.

You see, I was doing okay. I was keeping up with the guys to start. Considering that they're a bunch of skinny, little, running-for-fun bitches, I was feeling pretty okay.

Then the sand got soft and thick.

I fell back a bit, but I was determined to get to that fucking beach.

And the guys were chatting and joking and having fun. And they were waiting for me too.

They were waiting for me to catch up to them, and then they'd start walking again!

So the fucking skinny, little bitches were getting a rest and the fat chick wasn't!

As we neared the end, they stopped waiting at all. They were men on a mission. I could almost hear them chanting, "Shirtless men. Shirtless men. Must reach the shirtless men."

Once we crested the dune and were among the men, I put my foot down. They wanted to venture farther down the beach where the men were more scantily clad and more cruisy. Considering I had already been teased about being a female sacrifice, I was pretty happy with the shirtless men smack dab in front of me.

If the guys had continued on, I would have headed in the opposite direction and found a nice lesbian couple to adopt me.

I was having a perfectly nice time laying on the beach and reading my book and barely ever glancing at the continuous parade of gorgeous men (ahem) when I encountered a problem.

I had to go to the bathroom.

If I were with the straighties at Herring Cove, I could have walked to the toilets. But, oh no, I had to hike to the gay beach where there are no facilities.

I had no choice but to wade out into the water. Except I had one more issue. I had left my bathing suit at my parents' house. I was wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt.

My plan was to oh-so-casually wade out, quickly dip down to the waistband of my shorts, do my business, and stand up with no one but the fish the wiser. But, oh no.

As soon as I started to dip, a huge wave crashed into me and knocked me in the water up to my neck.

At that point, I figured what the fuck and I dove into the next wave.

But now I had to walk back to the car and my dry clothes, miles and miles away in soaking wet clothes. I was so damn sexy, I could barely stand it.

Not.

I sat in the sun to dry out a little. But before I even stopped dripping the skinny little bitches decided they were cold.

I had a strategy for the return trip though. First I threatened Patrick. "You'll walk slow with me and wait for me, or I'll fucking kill you." Then I headed out first. I figured if I had a head start, I wouldn't feel so desperate.

My strategy worked out well because the skinny, little bitches were slowed up by the tide pools we had to wade across. They may have been concerned that their designer swimsuits would dissolve in the water or something. I don't know. My Target shorts were holding up fine.

By the time we got to the car, I was feeling pretty good, until I realized something. I had forgotten to pack a dry shirt!

So I trudged my wet self to a shop and bought an extremely unflattering, but cheap t-shirt. I returned to the car and stripped right in the parking lot.

I wonder how many people I scared that day.

Guess how I spent the rest of my day in Provincetown.

That's right! I spent it getting fucking drunk off my ass with the skinny, little bitches.

Where, oh, where has Tuna Girl gone?

Here I am! The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of activity.

When I arrived back to Massachusetts from New York City I was definitely feeling very down. My husband and I had one marathon phone discussion in which he basically told me to fuck it. Fuck it all. He told me to do whatever I needed to get through these months, even if that included letting my parents win. He suggested that I give my parents a firm date on when they could keep the kids, and then taking advantage of the time and having some fun.

So I did.

I twisted Patrick's arm up way behind his back and convinced him to come visit me on Cape Cod. Then I twisted a few more arms and got Jase, his boyfriend Brian, and their friend Charles to come visit from the 4th through the weekend.

I'm so glad everyone came.

We spent most of every day in Provincetown and we had a blast. P-town is one of Patrick's favorite places and it was very nice to be able to enjoy it with him. We dined on some amazing food and probably drank way too much. Luckily, moderate Jase was able to drive us back to my shack every night. We walked the beach, walked the galleries, and walked the shops.

By the way, the shops in P-town sell some tiny, little bathing suits. I'm just saying.

I also got to see my first drag show. Cashetta claims to be the world's only drag magician. Let's hope. Actually, the show was fun and Patrick took a turn on stage as Cashetta's lovely assistant.

Have I ever mentioned that Patrick is a bit of a ham?

I have no photos to share because my husband took our camera on his deployment with him. But that may be for the best. Planter's punch goes down way easy.

All in all, I had a blast. I was especially glad to get to know Brian. I'd met him once when Patrick and Jase ran the Race to Deliver but I had no idea how much fun he could be. There's just something about a Midwestern boy.

I have a couple of stories to tell that I'll save for another day. For now, I'm enjoying having my children back where they belong. These lazy summer days filled with miniature golf, afternoons on the beach, and more trips to ice cream parlors than we probably need are absolutely priceless. I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Just a Puppet on a String

My pal Bob, of Bob's Yer Uncle, is in some kind of ridiculous virtual Big Blogger game. This week's task is to pimp the most votes, and he's kindly requested that I pimp for him. Imagine.

Here's what you need to do ... Click here, then click on Bob (it's the poll in the right-hand column) then click on vote.

Then tell all your friends to do the same.

It's silly, yes. But like most men, he's silly too.

I'm not the girl I used to be.

I've had so much to say, but I feel like I'm living in the Stone Ages. Two days without a computer had me going bonkers. Today I drove over a half hour just to pick up a NetZero disk. Isn't dial-up great?

Yesterday I came down to the Cape to get our house cleaned up and ready for the kids. But not before I had it out with my parents. Now all I can do is sigh about the whole situation.

I'm hurt that my parents just can't seem to understand what I'm going through right now. It's just about impossible to explain. I feel almost like they're glad my husband is deployed because he's out of the way. They think they can control me when he's not here, mostly though their passive aggressive ways. They want to take the kids and do what they want with them, regardless of what my husband and I want.

What they don't get is that my husband and I are still a team no matter how far away he may be.

They also don't get that I'm a different person than I was when I left home twelve years ago. I've made my own family. And right now that family is more here for me than my parents could ever be.

I'm wallowing a bit, and I'm sorry for it. I had a great time in New York City and it sucks that I had to come back to conflict and upset. But the kids are happy and my husband and I are closer than ever. I'm trying to concentrate on all of that and let the rest go.

I'm sick of being this way already.

Jet Blue for One

Oh, did I forget to mention that I'd be in New York for a few days?

I have to admit that I'm more than a little sad. My husband and I had planned for months to make this trip together. He was really excited about it. He was going to run in the Pride Run with Patrick and he had been training for it for months.

Truly, he was making a huge effort on my behalf. He wants to get to know Patrick even better. And he wants to try to see why I love New York so much. He really wants to buy a place here someday and enjoy the city with me. He also wanted to experience a little bit of Pride.

Those are huge steps for a homebody like him.

But I'm here on my own and I certainly can't complain about getting to spend this time with my best friend. And I even got to see MAK, FARB and his blond bombshell last night. (All of whom are looking incredibly handsome.) I'm sure I'll see plenty more friends soon.

As for my kids, my mother practically tore them out of my arms. I was feeling guilty asking my parents to watch them for this extra long weekend and an extra long weekend in July, but she practically begged me to keep them even longer. It's hard to leave my kids, especially now that they're older and more fun to be around but...I don't know...

I'm going to have fun this weekend even if it kills me.

Safe and Sound

One stressed out mom.

Two conflicted kids.

One poopy dog.

One aging mini van.

And seventeen hundred miles to drive.

It all adds up to...

Surprisingly easy!

I have to say, this trip couldn't have gone any better than it did. The weather was beautiful, the traffic was light, and the kids were pretty damn good. In fact, for the first twenty-six hours of our trip, they were angels. We had a couple of yelling moments in the home stretch, but I really couldn't have asked for more from two little kids.

I have to give myself a little credit too. I went into the whole thing with a very laid back (and unlike me) attitude and it worked out very well. I've learned a lot from the last two years that we've done this trip. And I'm raising some pretty damn good kids here.

Speaking of which, I will be raising them on my own for a few months now. Actually, that's not quite right. I may be the only parent who is with them, but my husband and I are still very much a team. Part of the team is just a little far away right now.

We dropped him off at the airport and said our goodbyes with surprisingly little drama. We briefed the kids on exactly how it would go down and that helped a lot. My husband isn't big on goodbyes and my daughter in particular has felt short-changed in the past. But having a goodbye plan helped a lot.

So did an immediate distraction of driving to Grandma and Grandpa's house. I highly suggest having a nice, distracting vacation planned for your kids whenever they have to deal with a separation.

As for my husband, in the days leading up to this deployment, he got quite sad. I've never really seen him that way before. It was like we had switched roles. But both of our mothers got emotional on the phone with him. And my daughter has been asking, "Why?" and "Why you?" for weeks. Mostly, he just wanted to go on this vacation with us.

I have so much more to say, but only so many firing braincells at the moment. So I'll save more stories for another day.

Most importantly, we've arrived safely. And my husband arrived at his pre-Iraq training safely. We're apart for now, but life goes on, supported by those who love us.

Thank god.

And She's Off!

I can't believe it. I actually did it. I was packed for this trip before 8 p.m.

That is unheard of. And we had two separate, very long trips to pack for. Usually I'm up until 1 a.m. the night before a trip desperately trying to pull a few outfits together. Not this time.

We rock.

With just a few hours to go until we drop my husband off at the airport for his deployment, I am very proud of how we made it through this stressful time together.

Experienced military wives know that you usually face at least one big fight right before a deployment. Psychologist say that it is easier to leave or say goodbye to someone when you are mad at them. Plus, the stress of packing and planning can wear on even the best relationships.

But we got through it with our team intact and relatively happy.

Hopefully our goodbyes won't be too hard. And then the kids and I are off for Massachusetts.

Wish me luck. Twenty-eight hours driving with two kids and a dog. Woo hoo!

And she's off!

Torture! Tuna-Style

When I rearranged my summer plans due to my husband's deployment, I was excited to be able to fit one more laser hair removal treatment in before I left for the summer.

Did I say laser hair removal? What I meant was TORTURE by laser light.

This was my fourth appointment and except for one stray chin hair and three stray gray hairs my face is as smooth as a baby's behind. So I thought that it couldn't be nearly as painful as the last three.

I have never before been quite so wrong.

I slathered on the numbing cream extra thick, even though it makes me look like the centerpiece in a bukkake porn. It may be humiliating to walk in the hospital covered in thick, white goo, but if that stuff blocks any pain at all, it is worth it.

Usually a treatment lasts thirty minutes. The nurse pulses the light, applies aloe, and gives me a breather before each section.

This time the nurse decided it would be best to just get it over with! The entire appointment took seven minutes. Seven minutes of fiery, painful hell.

I learned that the laser isn't just zapping the dark pigment in my hair, but also any dark pigment in my skin.

Have I mentioned that I'm half-Irish, people? I have freckles, and lots of them. Fiery, painful, hellish freckles.

I also learned that my freckles may fade or disappear by my last treatment. And so may some of my moles. The laser also stimulates collagen and will help fight wrinkles and keep my youthful skin.

Huh? Suddenly, seven minutes of pure hell doesn't sound so bad.

Quickies are Good Too

As I was writing yesterday's post, I was also talking on the phone with Patrick. I told him that I was writing about my daughter saying, "But he wouldn't focus!"

After a few minutes I sensed a being behind me. I turned to find my daughter scowling at me with her hands on her hips.

"I heard what you said about me."

Busted! I say a lot of things to Patrick that my kids shouldn't hear, but I'm usually sure they're not around.

"Oh, mind your business, little girl," I told her as I gently pushed her toward the television.

Doesn't she know that her whole purpose in life is to provide me with writing fodder? Jeesh. Some kids.

*****

My husband and I went on a date last night. Our first stop was to pick out new glasses for him.

I can now have sex with him again! Yay!

His new frames make him look hella cute. I'm so glad he's heading off to Iraq with cute, studious boy glasses.

*****

After dinner and electronics shopping we headed to Barnes & Noble where I received a funny voice mail from Patrick. It was made even funnier by the fact that he left it while my B&N curse was taking full affect!

If you're new around here and aren't familiar with my B&N curse, well, I ain't gonna tell ya about it. Go read the archives and find out on your own.

Gosh, darn, farbing curse! Though, I did have even something worse happen recently. But I'm not talking about that either.

UPDATE: Here's the other side of the phone call story. Too funny!

*****

Contrary to the fact that I've blogged about it twice in the past two days, I haven't been talking much to Patrick lately. In fact, I haven't been doing much of anything but spending time with my husband and kids.

It has been nice. I miss my friends a tiny bit, but I know I'll probably be driving them all crazy soon enough. But this family isolation has been very nice. If only we could become filthy rich and live the rest of our days just like this.

Irony Defined

As queen and supreme ruler of Tuna Land I declared these last two days as cleaning days.

Yesterday, I got out the back ho, handed each kid a shovel and set off to conquer that wasteland of toys and crap we call a playroom.

After picking up a thousand Legos and hundreds of trains, but still with heaps of dolls, games, and puzzle pieces to go, I got a phone call.

Now, I only abandoned my ho for a few minutes and left the kids to toil in what I thought would remain companionable silence, when I heard a screech.

I calmly asked my caller to hold while I asked my eldest child, "What happened?" But she couldn't get a word in edgewise when the injured boy immediately ceased crying to explain, "She squeezed me!"

Isn't it funny how they can stop their painful wailing once they have someone's ear to complain to?

"Did you squeeze your brother?" Ever the fair ruler I gave her a chance to refute the charges.

"Yes. He stopped cleaning."

"Go to your room. I don't care what he did or didn't do, you don't hurt your brother."

She was smart and guilty enough not to argue or pout and just trudged up the stairs. I returned briefly to my phone call only to hear the guilty party start crying.

Apparently she had found a judge to hear her appeal. And Daddy is much more susceptible to girlish tears.

I pulled the phone away from my ear in time to hear my daughter implore, "But he wouldn't focus!"

This is when I dropped the phone and convulsed in laughter. My husband bent over clutching his stomach and barely saved himself from falling down the stairs in mirth. I could even hear my friend on the phone gasping for breath through his chortles.

That is the definition of irony. That is what the phrase pot calling the kettle black was invented for.

Our little fairy-watching, unicorn-dreaming space cadet was upset because her future-accountant brother wouldn't focus?

It's these little gems that make having kids worthwhile.

Hard Times

Okay, guys. Time for a little honesty here.


I'd love to be cute and funny right now, for a lot of people's sakes, but I am too overwhelmed with my own stuff.


I spent most of this weekend in bed, sleeping for five hours at a time, almost around the clock. I have a cold, or maybe allergies, but between my sinuses and our almost daily storms, I've been having debilitating headaches.


That was not how I wanted to spend my last weekend with my husband.


I've gotten to that pre-deployment point that I've learned to dread. Three previous deployments have taught me what to look out for and what to expect. And that at least assures me that I'm not losing my mind.


I think that people assume that the worst time of a deployment is right after he leaves, and maybe in the middle when it is stretching on. But that's not true for me. The hardest times are right now as he is getting ready to leave, and near the end when people start expecting you to be "normal" again, and right after he gets home when the adjusting is so hard.

Because during all three of those times you are not just worrying about getting yourself and your kids through each day usually within your well-established routine. You are worrying about other people's feelings.

My husband had to take care of a lot of morbid stuff last week, like his will and custodianship for the kids should something happen to both of us. He had to go to the required briefing about Family Readiness.

So last Friday night, when we were just sort of hanging out he turned to me and told me that he loved me. He told me that he appreciated me more than I could ever know. He told me that he is lucky to have me and that it felt good knowing that he could leave and not worry about anything here.

I mostly appreciate that I have a husband who can say those sorts of things to me. I've seen too many marriages die while they suffered through separations. I've seen wives go back home to their parents. I've seen wives just give up, and leave their kids and husband behind.

He leaves in less than a week. We both have so much to do before that time. I am overwhelmed and sick and tired.

But I'm secure. And that is the most important thing to be at this time.

The Satisfaction of Stripping

I was cleaning out my medicine cabinet last week and I found one lonely, little Biore Pore Perfect strip.

Do you remember when those were all the rage?

I couldn't throw it away. I love those little buggers. So I washed my face and slapped it on my nose.

When I emerged from the bathroom, my husband started laughing at me. "What are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning my pores. Don't judge me."

I cuddled up with him in bed and set my watch timer for fifteen minutes. When it beeped I braced myself, gripped a corner, and pulled that bad boy off in one fell swoop.

Then I spent a good half hour marveling over the little forest of pore dirt left on the strip. I mean, it's like a tiny little dirt rain forest sprung up out of nowhere.

My husband suggested I include my fascination with dirty pore strips on my list of Seven Weird Things. I ignored him and went to sleep secure in my pore's state for another week.

In the last two days, Mount Vesuvius has been growing on my nose. And it hurts. A lot. Maybe it hurts because I legion of little pore dirt people are gearing up to make a demand for a virgin sacrifice. Or maybe this will be the zit to end all zits and I'll make it into the Guinness Book of World Records.

"You need a pore strip," says my husband.

Tonight he ran to the grocery store for ice cream, cereal and Diet Coke. And what special treat did he pull out of the bag? You guessed it. I shiny new box of ULTRA Biore Pore Perfect strips.

But they weren't all for me.

No, my big, bad warrior decided that he should probably clean his pores before he heads off to the sandbox. Maybe it will help his gas mask fit better. Who knows.

He disappeared into the bathroom and I tucked into my mint chocolate chip. But that mint chocolate chip almost came out my nose when he returned with his pore strip on upside down.

"Way to read those directions," I told him. "Can you make sure you point your M16 the right way? Do those have easy-to-read, illustrated instructions too?"

He waiting his fifteen minutes and eased his strip off a section at a time. Wimp.

And his strip had no little pore dirt forest! What fun is pore stripping if you have no little dirt forest to marvel over?

So I took a turn stripping myself. I thought my pores might be cleaner this time around, but, no. This time my dirty, little strip resembled the New York City skyline! So many dirt buildings. So pretty.

But my nose still looks like an eruption is waiting to happen.

When I kiss my husband goodbye next week, I'll have to do it around the giant growth on my nose. And I'll have to trust that he'll operate his warrior-boy machinery better than a little girly-boy adhesive strip.

At least I know he's leaving me all fresh faced and clean.

These Friends of Mine

A while back I wrote on this very blog about my decision to make new friends. I had spent too many years isolating myself in a military world and had a circle of military-only friends to show for it.

I think it is easy to fall into that pattern. Especially when you live on base. And especially when you are a stay-at-home mom. It's just that another military wife and mother can so easily understand your challenges.

Don't get me wrong, those friends were great. We were all there for each other during those first post-9/11 deployments and CB especially was there for me during some of the hardest moments of my life.

But I felt an elemental disconnect with so many of them. I just didn't feel like anyone really knew me and I truly thought that most of them wouldn't like me any more of they got to know me.

Which is why I started to blog. Blogging was my outlet and my connection to the rest of the world. And I've made some wonderful friends through blogging. Some of them have stood the test of time and our relationships have evolved way beyond blogger friends.

But still, it just isn't the same as having a core group of good local friends. Everyone needs friends they can see regularly, and laugh with, maybe even share a hug with once in a while. Maybe. Everyone needs someone they can turn to when they need a hand.

Making friends as an adult can be hard, especially when you're not sharing a workplace. But I accepted the challenged to put myself out there and see what connections I could make.

And, man, have I made some connections.

I think I was very lucky to find myself in close proximity to some great people. And I'm going to pat myself on the back just a little and say that I totally rock. I'm really very shy (I swear) and sort of a loner (no really) but I overcame those inborn traits. I also went out on a limb and took on some leadership rolls in volunteer committees that really helped me get to know more people.

One of the hard things I'm going through right now is telling all of my new friends about my husband's deployment.

Because they're not military, a lot of them just don't know how to react. And they hurt for me. I can see it in their eyes. It pains me to see them hurt for me. I am way too empathetic for it not to effect me.

But the upside is that I have friends coming out of the woodwork to show their support.

It's satisfying.

These relationships evolved so slowly over time (like good relationships probably should) that I hadn't even really realized how many friends I had. And then, boom! There they were.

When you live so far from your family, you make your own. These people may not be like my immediate family. Yet, anyway. But I suddenly feel like I have a great big extended family of cousins, aunts, uncles, and crazy ass in-laws.

And this loner isn't feeling so alone anymore.

Anatomy of a Meme

Sometimes I feel left out.

I see memes come and go and nobody ever tags me. I mean, come on, people! I get as much writer's block as the next guy. Sometimes you need a little fluffer filler.

But I learned back in junior high that the best way to get the cool kids to make fun of you is to emulate them, so I just sat here in my little corner...all meek and quiet...alone...friendless...in the dark.

So I was really happy when my friend Aza tagged me with this Seven Weird Things About Me meme. I'm weird. I can rock this one out of the park!

*Ahem* Yeah. I just lost my cool kid cred, huh?

So I sat down and started writing.



Seven Weird Things About Me

1. I have geographic tongue.

2. I have a fear of buttons.

3. ...


I didn't get very far. And I got distracted with all the information I found about geographic tongue. I finally have a medical reason for not being able to eat spicy foods. See! I'm not just a wimp!

But I was seriously stuck on something that was supposed to be a quick and easy post.

When my husband came home that night I told him all about my meme thing (which was hard because I have no idea how to pronounce that word). I asked for his help.

"You know I'm weird. What else can I put on the list?"

He thought and thought and occasionally shouted out his ideas.

"You have an expensive purse fetish!"

"That's not weird," I argued. "Lots of women love purses." Admittedly, it's kind of weird that I dress like a lesbian but carry designer purses, but still.

"You leave hair all over the house," he accused. "You're always snipping your split ends. You're always right. You tell your best friend everything. You can't remember shit. And you get moody when you have PMS!"

Okay! Enough!" I stopped him. "This isn't a list of Things That Annoy My Husband. These are supposed to be weird things."

Clearly, I needed a more expert opinion. So I called Patrick.

"Name something weird about me."

"You can only masturbate under the covers," he replied, without a second hesitation.

"Damn you! You know too damn much about me. I can't write that. My husband thinks I tell you too much as it is."

(Let's hope my husband doesn't read this particular post.)

Through his laughter Patrick started ticking off a list of extremely embarrassing things I've told him over the years. His memory is too damn good. I told him that the two of them were having way too much fun at my expense.

"I don't think you should write this list yourself," he suggested. "I think it would be more fun to leave it up to your friends and family."

I don't think my fragile ego can handle it.

So, let's see. So far we have:


Seven Weird Things About Me

1. I have geographic tongue.

2. I have a fear of buttons.

3. I can only masturbate under the covers

4. My husband

5. My best friend

6. My blog

and...



Screw it. Next time I want a quick and easy post I'll put up a picture of a puppy.

Alone!

Thank all that is good and holy for the wonderment that is soccer camp.

I am alone! Alone! Alone! Alone!

My husband is at his physical (poor baby...so not fun), Buffy is at the groomers (getting fresh pink bows) and my kids are at indoor soccer camp (offspring relief, rain or shine).

I've learned that at seven and fiver years old the kids can only go so long before they are absolutely sick of each other. And once they're sick of each other, mommy suffers. This does not bode well for our twenty-eight hour drive to Massachusetts.

I should be using this alone time to clean, or run, or write, or something. But I think I will curl up on the couch and watch a DVD. Maybe it's time to pop in that Eroscilator instructional DVD.