An Army Wife Blog

Chess To The Death

2010-06-22T22:22:00.004-05:00

We were in Galveston, a Texas seaside town on the Gulf of Mexico, a few weeks ago for a little pre vacation vacation. We both needed a chance to get a base coat of tan in before the main tanning event the following week, and we figured we only had a small window of opportunity before the oil made it that way. We saw houses on stilts, the high water mark from when Hurricane Ike tore through and I spent a small fortune on sunscreen.

We also found this huge chess set in the middle of Downtown Tourist-Central Galveston. It was about 178 degrees that day and the humidity was roughly a thousand, but because we're both head strong eldest children who can't turn down a chance to compete at something we played a game.......to the death.

We take our games very seriously.

Every night after dinner, we play a round of Tetris to determine whose going to do the dishes.

Now it may SEEM like he has the advantage on account of the fact that he's been playing chess competitively since before he could walk, but I have raw, untutored talent on my side.

That and my lovely, stubborn insistence that everyone finds so attractive.

I shrank his shirt in one of many laundry related disasters.

It may be hard for you to tell, but for your information, since you weren't there, and there were no witnesses...... I won!!!

Just kidding! We quit half way through and went to get ice cream. Besides being bossy eldest children, we also have short attention spans and nonstop vacation ice cream cravings. And a fear of tan lines. Did I mention we're from California?

Topsey's Exotic Ranch, Adults Only

2010-05-26T18:17:00.006-05:00

A hundred and one years ago, Munoz had a nice long 4 day weekend. Well actually, that happens pretty frequently. They get more 4 day weekends than anyone else in the world, except maybe the French. And in celebration of this fairly common event we decided to go out into the world and see what we could find. Little did we know, that we were about to spend the best 20 bucks ever. Honestly, it was better than the 20 we had to pay for our marriage license.

Allow me to introduce all y'all to Topsey's Exotic Ranch and Drive Thru Safari, located conveniently just on the outskirts of the country bumpkin town we live in!

The tigers were kind of a buzz kill.

How To Decorate Cakes When You're Awesome

2010-05-17T19:46:00.005-05:00

So 100 years ago, we had our first widdle one year anniversary! It was lots and lots and lots of fun. There was plenty of reminiscing, and ink jet printed cards and lovey doveyness. There was also plenty of cake. Some people may consider a 9 inch double layer Lemon Spice Cake with Lemon Cream Cheese Frosting too much for two people who are carb sensitive and prone to fatness of the face, but luckily neither one of us married anyone like that.

Fun Face Fatness Fact

Today the guard at the West Fort Hood gate asked me to take off my sunglasses because he didn't believe that my military ID picture and my human face matched. And then he said,

"Wow, is that really you?! That's not a very good picture."

True story.

Back to the cake..... here's a picture of the luscious Lemon Spice cake that I made from scratch and then frosted lovingly and professionally:

Isn't that nice? Lovely, refined, respectable, subtle and very posh. The perfect way to celebrate a pretty crazy one year journey into adulthood, marriage, responsibilities, taking out the trash, paying all of our own bills, making sure the doors locked at night and closing the fridge when we're not actively getting something out (we're still working on that one).

Very Better Homes and Garden, if I do say so myself.

As I was patting myself on the back, picturing a future spread in Martha Stewart Magazine, a small thought with a small voice made itself known in my head.

"What if there was more?" the small voice said.

And before I could get ahold of myself, I was on the phone to my sister (not this one, the other one) whose very poor and yet somewhat awesome advice led me to to do this:

And this:

And also this:

And I believe the conversation went something like this:

Me: "Hey I made a cake and I think it needs just a little something extra on top. I have strawberries, coconut flakes, mint leaves, food coloring and icing.

Which one should I use?"

Sister: "You made a whole cake just for the two of you?

Are you trying to win a couples Fat Face Contest?"

"NO! IT'S OUR FIRST ANNIVERSARY, STUPID."

"Oh. You should use ALL OF THEM."

And that's all the direction I needed.

Now I remember clearly discussing restraint in art school. I remember talking about how sometimes, a little is just enough, and how you can make a stronger statement by using a lighter touch, if everything is a 10 then no one notices, but if somethings are a 2 then the 10 gets proper attention and so on and so forth and whatnot etc.

That's all very well and good, but when it comes to frosting, I'm more of a Dr. Suess disciple.

The Dr. Suess School of Thought goes something like this:

More is more, and more is better so everything needs to be at an 11 or crazier if at all possible. And if you happen to appreciate the aesthetic of 14 year old girls who are in love with their algebra teachers (HI MR. CARCICH!!!!!), then GO WITH IT.

Here's what our cake looked like a mere 18 hours later:

Honestly, I'm surprised it lasted that long.

This Makes Me Schmile

2010-04-06T12:32:00.002-05:00

I have to go do laundry by myself today:(

Usually, we go together as a little laundry team on Friday night. That's right, we're like those kids who do their homework on Friday because they like the feeling of having the whole weekend open up in front them, free of obligation. Those kids usually don't have many friends.

We don't have many friends here either, and come to think of it my husband did spend a huge amount of time this weekend watching Frontline documentaries on subjects too boring even for me. I'm sorry, "over the counter derivatives?" COME ON, YOU GUYS.

See, he's those kids. I'm super cool.

I'm all for a good documentary, but there'd better be some cute animals, fat people, circle of life bloodshed or historical battle reenactments, AT LEAST.

Okay, actually, we might both be those kids.

We're just exceedingly boring in a town that doesn't serve hard alcohol, ANYWHERE. Seriously, even the "liquor" stores here only have beer and wine. There's a plethora of places to wash your own car though, so I guess that means something.

Anyways, the laundry needs to get done, but I just don't know how I'm going to accomplish it without my laundry "battle buddy" as they say in the Army. It's an exceedingly cute term meant to encourage camaraderie and personal accountability for your peers. For example if your fellow soldier is about to drive drunk, as a good battle buddy, you're supposed to stop him/her. If your fellow soldier is contemplating suicide, as a good battle buddy, you're supposed to, you know, not let them borrow your M9.

My laundry battle buddy's job is to save my seat on the far side of the laundromat away from the door and with the best view of the TV. He's in charge of watching my purse and not touching the bleach. He's responsible for going to get change from the change machine because it sounds like a slot machine and I get embarrassed. He's the one that tries to beat my high score at BrickBreaker, the funnest Blackberry phone game ever. DREAM ON, LOSER.

He's totally essential to the whole operation.

There is an upside to this situation. I may be minus a battle buddy, but my patience won't be severely tested by having to watch someone FOLD EVERYTHING THE WRONG WAY.

By the way, the elephant and the trampoline is unrelated. He just makes me schmile (smile pronounced cutely). I used him to trick you into reading a few paragraphs on laundry. Maybe you thought that I'd cleverly weave him into the plot of this exciting drama.....well, you've been had. SORRY, SUCKER.

I Miss Arizona

2010-04-02T21:44:00.004-05:00

I ABSOLUTELY DEMAND TO BE TAKEN BACK TO CANELO, ARIZONA WHERE THERE ARE SMALL ANIMALS TO FEED, POOFY CLOUDS TO ADMIRE AND YELLOW HORSES TO BE IN MY FIELD.

I'm sorry Texas, I really am. I tried my best, but this just isn't working for me. Think of the small animals, they need to be fed. It's not you, it's me. I'm just not ready for a serious commitment right now and it wouldn't be fair to either of us. I had hoped maybe we could make the best of this situation, but wishin' ain't doin'. IF I HEAR "MA'AM" ONE MORE FREAKIN' TIME...

70 Million by Hold Your Horses

2010-04-01T12:53:00.000-05:00

70 Million by Hold Your Horses ! from L'Ogre on Vimeo.

The Fake Boob

2010-03-13T17:54:00.001-06:00

Aside from some wonderful gossip, the most emotionally charged bumper stickers ever invented and a rock climbing wall the Army also provides us with a really rocking health care plan. It's the kind of health care that rich people and Canadians have, maybe even better. So far I've seen three doctors, one of them twice and have appointments to see two more in the coming months. Seeing a doctor is like going to the movies for me now, it's become a form of much needed entertainment.

And the best part is its all free. No co-pay, no deductible, nothing. I just have to show up with my magic ID card and smile.

So the before last trip to the Military Treatment Facility (MTF) was to see my Primary Care Manager (my general, everyday use doctor), Dr. Herna Llamas. She is small like a Hobbit and has some kind of accent. For some reason I trust foreigners more than the average American, and so I liked her immediately.

When you sign up with TriCare, which is what this whole situation is called, you get to pick a plan (small, medium or large health care please). I chose large or Prime as they call it, because we live close to a base so doctors within the TriCare network are easy to come by. If I lived in the jungle or Puerto Rico or somewhere, I may have chosen medium or small so that I could see whatever doctor was available to me, voodoo shaman, network provider or not.

With Prime you also pick a Primary Care Manager (PCM) to be your go-to doctor. So anything at all that goes wrong with me, I see my PCM first and then she is either able to treat it herself or refer me to another health care provider who specializes in whatever kind of problem I have. As long as I follow that order of operations, everything is 100% covered, as in we pay zero.

Well I don't know about EVERYTHING, but anything with in a normal range of things that could go wrong with me is covered. I'm sure if I needed CNN's Dr. Sanjay Gupta for neurosurgery or Extreme Makeover plastic reconstruction surgery then someone would have to pay something.

Anyways a few weeks ago I was at the MTF to see my little PCM for a ________. During the ________ she's trying to get me to _____ and so while my ____ are in the ________ she asks me where _________ is and then when I tell her, "Ummmm, __________?", she says "Oh! ______? Yes? I know ______, all of the movie stars are living there and they have the beautiful bodies and ok you can take your ____ and _____ it down ______ oh, okay very nice, good."

Once I am clothed in more than just a paper napkin again, she turns to me wanting to talk about self breast exams. My policy on self breast exams is that they will be done about once every so often when I both remember and feel like it. Much like my policy on flossing.

However my policy concerning both the Dentist and the Doctor is to inflate the frequency of these actions so as to not seem irresponsible or stupid.

Only this time she saw right through me. This time she reached into her secret drawer and pulled out a MINI FAKE BOOB and said I could take it home with me! Is this the BEST health care system in the WORLD or what?!

Naturally I raced home and hung it off the one bedpost that's currently being topped by a wine cork.

The cork is on there to protect my Army Husband from accidentally impaling his eyeball on the huge dangerous screw that sticks out of the top of that particular post while he's fumbling around in the dark trying to get dressed in the morning.

Doesn't that sound ominous?

ONE LUMP CAN BE FELT.

THE OTHER CAN ONLY BE SEEN.

Like its a vampire lump starring with Kristin Stewart in the next Dark Moon sequel.

Maybe thats just me.

It is possible that this is way funnier to me than other people, but I'm going to continue regardless.

Here's the backside. Its a step by step diagram of how to give yourself a breast exam. Complete with a pretty racy illustration.

Here's a close up of the self examinee. It's like a soft core porn illustration with medical overtones. I imagine night orderlies at dingy hospitals are into this sort of thing.

Just imagine if everyone had a health care plan like mine! We'd all have access to mini fake boobs and borderline inappropriate cartoons and small foreign doctors and the world would be a happy, healthy place. Yay!

Now because I've been such a GIRL lately, my overall motivation has ideologically shifted. These days I operate mostly on presents and/or the promise of presents as opposed to values and/or morals. Basically, I can be bought.

Whether Dr. Llamas knew this about me or not, her small present was just what the doctor ordered (teehee). Now if only the dentist could get his act together. If I could bring home like a bisected tooth model, I'd be much more excited about flossing.

Another Heart Warming Tale of Love and Devotion

2010-03-03T13:16:00.002-06:00

Brought to you by me, via Ms. Vicky:

___________________________________

Hi Vicki,

"My niece is in the military and she’s scheduled to go on her second deployment sometime this year. My concern is with her ex-boyfriend who is the father of her son.

"He’s been living with a married woman whose husband is deployed and will return in the next month or so. From the information I received, this isn't his first indiscretion.

"I'm somewhat in awe that he would disrupt the camaraderie that Soldiers have among themselves. And this guy is proud to call himself a Soldier!

"This lady is going to ask her husband for a divorce when he gets home from deployment. I can't imagine what this fellow Soldier will endure when he’s informed of her actions.

"Besides disrupting his son's life what will he do to his fellow Soldier’s life? Is there and disciplinary action that the military can take?"

Sincerely,

A concerned aunt

_____________________________________________

Oh! The twisted web of lies and deceit! The Niece, the Son, the Baby Daddy, the Other Woman and the Other Woman's Husband! Three of them are soldiers!

I don't know why exactly, although I have some educated guesses, but infidelity like this runs rampant in Military culture. As we were having French toast for lunch today (we have very sophisticated palates), I heard yet another story that will end in divorce. It's completely unsettling, and makes me want to play the denial game even harder.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go paint my nails and watch Marie Antoinette while pretending that my marriage isn't statistically doomed to fail because I agreed to marry a man set on joining the stupid military. Thats right, I said STUPID.

Hibernation

2010-02-23T17:25:00.008-06:00

Today, as predicted by our weather system and my father, it snowed. And I, as predicted by me, hibernated for the majority of the day. Much like the monks who take vows of silence, I too have made a commitment. Except mine is to not ever being unnecessarily cold or uncomfortable.

This snowstorm was a little more intense than the Horrible Freeze, which can be viewed here. I enjoyed looking at them both through the window in my pajamas.

Actually neither one would be classified as a snowstorm unless you're from Southern California, in which case today was an Catastrophic Apocalyptic Blizzard. Best to stay indoors, and under blankets if possible.

Several people have warned me to stay off the roads and to exercise extreme caution when driving. Thank you for your concern people, but it is entirely unfounded. I have decided to spend the entirety of this Winter season indoors, and to venture out only when in need of Fat Free Cool Whip. When Spring rolls around, I'll reassess the outside situation then.

This hibernation is made possible by the fact that the most pressing responsibility I have is returning the Netflix videos so that we can get new ones on a regular basis. And I took care of that obligation yesterday.

Although I am completely committed to my hibernation, I did venture out briefly this afternoon, wearing completely weather inappropriate clothing, to take some pictures. Here is the result of my finger numbing exploration.

This is looking out our porch balcony across the street. People FLY around that corner and make such terrible screeching noises with their tires that I am constantly running to the window to see whose been killed and how many ambulances will be needed.

Man I wish a squirrel lived in this tree. Doesn't it look like the perfect squirrel tree?

Our staircase looks totally lethal and deadly with snow on it.

It snowed so hard that they closed the base at 1100 and everyone got to go home for the day and smirk at their wives from balconies while wearing glorified pajamas. When I asked if he wanted to come down and play in the snow with me he declined saying that he'd already had a chance to "play in the snow" this morning during PT (physical training).

If I were an Eskimo I'd call this Cotton Ball snow.

This is our trash can. We are completely negligent with taking the trash out to the street. I had to put a reminder in my Blackberry because we forgot so many times in a row. Although I know I am complaining, I can tell you right now that I will NOT be the one doing it this week. No sir.

Photographers are totally obsessed with rusty things. I don't know what it is. Something to do with documentation, the psychological preservation of atrophy, the visible chemical disintegration and the whole finding beauty in ordinary objects thing.

I just cannot pass up taking a photo of rust.

This is where my organic urban vegetable and small flower garden is going to go. There's going to be hanging plants and window boxes. I'm going to get a porch swing and a small table and sit out there in the sun and do crossword puzzles and drink ice tea in the heat and sweat all Summer.

Whenever this bullshit Winter nonsense is over, of course.

V-Day 2010, Part II

2010-02-21T14:07:00.004-06:00

Last week was Valentine's Day, and as part of my new pro-active, anti-depression life plan I CELEBRATED Valentine's Day. Totally novel concept, I know, I am kind of a ground breaker. When I had a hundred things going on in my life, I didn't give a FIG about holidays, Valentine's Day in particular. But now that I have a permanent Valentine and nothing going on, silly holidays have gotten promoted to the most important thing on the agenda. I CANNOT FREAKING WAIT FOR ST. PATRICK'S DAY you guys. It's gonna be big.

Here's how it went down:

1) Saturday (Day before V-Day) 1300 hrs

I sneak out of the house with 20 bucks (in cash) by telling the Specialist that I am going to the gym. Hahahaha! What a sucker! In truth, I go to the Dollar Tree store and spend every cent on garish red and white decorations. Then I go to the gym for real, look at myself in the mirror for 20 minutes and head home. He has no clue. I deceived a Specialist in the UNITED STATES ARMY you guys, the most advanced military force this planet has ever seen just got outsmarted by a GIRL. I am the coolest. I hide the bag of decorations in the closet behind the vacuum, for obvious men-are-so-dumb reasons. Not only does he have no reason to go into the closet where the cleaning supplies are, he doesn't actually KNOW where that is, like he can't actually SEE the closet. If I asked him right now to pull out the vacuum, he'd suddenly need to go outside and "check on his car" or for some other highly vague, completely false reason. Mark my words, Bin Laden is hiding behind cleaning supplies somewhere.

2) Saturday (Day before V-Day) 2000 hrs

We go out to dinner at a local restaurant where they put a roll of paper towels on your table in addition to napkins. It was super small and super cute and super Texas. They gave us cornbread and didn't serve any liquor. But the waitress said we could "bring it on in and HEB is just across the street". Was she kidding? I still don't know. Anyways we settle on a couple of Diet Dr. Peppers, a catfish plate, a shrimp platter, the oysters and fries. The fries obviously were fried, and lucky for me so was everything else! Yay for that. I don't know if it was because it was Valentine's Day, or because we just worked up a killer appetite by doing a marathon around Wal Mart, or maybe because we hadn't been out to eat in an eternity but everything was absolutely delicious. Crawdaddy's Cajun Grill is my new favorite place in Texas. Well my only favorite place in Texas, no offense Texas. Oh! and the Bread Pudding, OH YEAH BABY THE BREAD PUDDING!!!

3) Saturday (Day before V-Day) 2200 hrs

I get a Valentine's Day card after dinner. It's perfect. I am told not to take pictures because that would be a "gross invasion of privacy". He obviously doesn't know about the gross invasion of privacy album I've been keeping.

4) Sunday (V-Day) 0900 hrs

I wake up to McDonald's in bed. It's the best thing ever, heavenly. Why can't we start every day with Cinnamon Melts and Chicken Biscuit Breakfast combos with Hash Browns? Well because I'd be morbidly obese by next week. But every once in a while, its nice to start the day by being a fat kid in bed.

5) Valentine's Day Proper

After awaking from the food coma brought on by McDonald's Chicken Biscuit Breakfast combo, I begin to put Operation Go Get Me Something From The Store into play. It totally works, he falls willingly into my plot. I write a list of items I totally already have, but know it will take him forever to find. The list includes things like 6 Organic Brown Eggs, a small bottle of Dark Rum etc. He's out of the house for a good 2 hours. I take the opportunity to break out the decorations.

My decorating strategy included doilies, glittery stuff, red heart napkins....

streamers....

fake roses....

streamers....

and streamers.

You guys, living inside Streamerville: Population 2 was so much fun! I kept it up a few extra days. And then I got used to it, so I kept it up a little longer. And then our landlord stopped by to fix one of the burners on my stove and I had to explain to him why our apartment looked like a slutty 8th graders birthday party. And then I took all the decor down pretty quick.

For dinner I made Cornish Game Hens that eventually were pretty tasty. I say eventually because they took a full hour and half longer than I expected in the oven. We didn't eat until 2300 hrs. I cried just a little because it took so long and the whole day was obviously ruined, but the Specialist has gotten really good at responding to the first indication of tears and acting accordingly. Actually I think that was part of his training in Arizona.

So in conclusion to another exceedingly long post, here's what I learned from Valentine's Day:

1) I have to make my own happiness here. If I want a Valentine's Day, then I'm going to have to make a Valentine's Day. These things don't just happen and its unfair to expect the Specialist to hunt Al Qaida and make me a Valentine's Day all at the same time. Besides, he can't hide decorations from me, I'm a genius.

2) Meat thermometers don't lie. It's not broken and you're not reading it wrong. If it says 130 degrees then the internal temperature of your Cornish Game Hen is bloody and raw. And if you take it out and serve it to someone then you can't cry when its bloody and raw because thats exactly what the brand new Martha Stewart Meat Thermometer told you it was. Regardless of how hungry you are, or how long the small birds have been in the oven, meat thermometers don't lie.

V-Day 2010, As Successful As D-Day 1944

2010-02-15T11:50:00.000-06:00

As I lay around in a bathrobe looking at the wonderful sticky mess left over from our first Valentine's Day this morning, I can't help but feel quite victorious. It was messy, sure, and there we're some bumps along the road, in truth I almost called the whole thing off in a moment of panic but just as I'm sure General Eisenhower felt after successfully taking the Normandy shore, it was all totally worth it.

Perhaps it would be best to apologize now to any WWII veterans who may accidentally be reading this, as I intend to continue to draw analogies between a bloody battle where many brave American lives were lost and what should realistically be called a really lovely weekend during which I was happy.

However, now is not the time for realism (yuck) or history (yuck) we're talkin' bout Valentine's Day (yay!). A day of ridiculous expectations, unrestrained consumerism and unbridled romance (yay, yay, yay!)

Now in our first Valentine's day as a married unit, just as in many other "firsts" we've shared, there is a certain inherent expectation. A standard setting, if you will, for this will be the Valentine's Day against which all others will be judged. In other words, now is not the time for small, or subtle or subdued lest I spend the rest of my life saying, "Wow, honey. This Valentine's Day was even more subdued than last year. Yawn. Let's stop having sex."

Some of you who are "doing the math" as they say, may be wondering, "What about Valentine's Day last year? How did you mark the occasion in 2009?"

The answer to that question is "poorly". Last year we got into our first serious argument. It's a very archetypal argument, for us. This is the one in which I end up sounding like an outrageous slut and he ends up sounding like an uptight Catholic. That's what we did last year, thank you very much for asking.

All the more reason to plan ahead for this year. Since I've got nothing but time on my hands, I did a little Internet research and was surprised to find a number of women in the Mommy Blog category who claimed not to care about Valentine's Day. I was stunned, my misconceptions we're shattered as I read time and time again things like "Everyday is Valentine's Day when you're married to the man you love." Or even more sickeningly, "I have the kind of husband who brings me flowers throughout the year, so Valentine's Day doesn't really matter to me."

To that sentiment I say "VARGUS". "Vargus" on you people (Uncle Richie). Everyday is not Valentine's Day, everyday is everyday and VALENTINE'S DAY is February 14th, get a calendar! And if you have the kind of husband who brings you flowers throughout the year then you really should tell him to stop because that is a ridiculous waste of money. The recession may be technically over but we're not all about to go out and snort cocaine off the hoods of our new Lamborghini's! Let's show some restraint.

Fine, fine, fine who am I to tell you how to spend your money? Waste it on flowers and hookers and water bottles at the movies if you want to. But even if everyday was Valentine's Day at my house, it most certainly is not by the way, I would still want something just a little bit special on the day when everyone else in society is being gay with the ones they love. I'm all for shunning unnecessary social conventions (we did get married on a Wednesday after all) but this one happens to be nice and harmless and just fun! And besides, I don't have a husband who brings me flowers unprovoked. I have a husband who "breaks shit and kills people for a living", and I like it that way just fine (CSM Felt 12/09).

For the record he hasn't actually broken anything or killed anyone yet, unless you count the loofah that allegedly "fell apart as I was using it normally" he said.

Now like any successful military campaign this one began ahead of time and with some well placed propaganda. Wary of repeating the horrible tragedy that was Christmas 2009 and New Year's 2009 and aware of the risk of sinking back into the listless fog of regret I had so recently come out of; I became adamant that we "do something" to mark the occasion. He protested, he whined, he played dumb, he dodged questions and he groaned when pressed for ideas. I persisted.

Finally, after much prodding, it became clear that the situation was hung up on "I do actually love you but just really don't know what to do" and not the dreaded "I don't actually love you and therefore would like to do nothing" as the tiny insecure voice in my head would have me believe.

On Friday night, we settled on a course of action. Saturday night I would be treated to a restaurant meal (in the civilian world) and a small card. Sunday night, I would have the pleasure of cooking Cornish game hens and watching Gone With The Wind at my leisure throughout the day. Perfect, negotiations concluded amicably, both sides left satisfied and prepared for what was going to be expected of them in the days to come.

But just like any military campaign, it is the "unknown unknowns" that hold the power to turn the tide (VP Cheney, 2/02 ). Or ruin dinner, in this case. Stay tuned for Part 2 of V-Day 2010, As Successful as D-Day 1944, as this post is already exceedingly long and I am in need of a nap. If I can get my act together, I'll include some pictures, but don't get your hopes up.

Happy Monday:)

Footnotes

"Vargus"

Character on Seinfeld episode, "The Bizarro Jerry"

Coined as a curse by my Uncle Richard.

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=516949&id=1209439723

CSM Felt 12/09

At a "Welcome to Fort Hood" meet and greet at the Backbone NCO Lounge, CSM Felt delivered a very rousing and enthusiastic welcome that included use of the word "hooah" 738,302,751 times.

http://www.hood.army.mil/leaders/bios/Felt.pdf

VP Cheney 2/02

"As we know, There are known knowns. There are things we know we know. We also know. There are known unknowns. That is to say we know there are some things We do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns, the ones we don't know we don't know."
-Feb. 12, 2002

Department of Defense news briefing

http://www.washingtondispatch.com/article_6676.shtml

An Incomplete List

2010-02-13T00:33:00.002-06:00

THINGS MY HUSBAND DOESN'T LIKE

Puerto Ricans.

"Why are they so proud of their heritage? They've never done anything to be proud of."

Green Bell Peppers. The other colors are acceptable.

The French.

The people, the country, the culture, the language, the cuisine, everything.

People Who Claim That They Speak A Language More Proficiently Than Someone Else.

People Who Want To Talk About Wine.

Elitism.

Pajamas That Match.

Jeans and how "everyone wears them!" The phenomenon is so outrageous to him.

10 Day Vacations.

Apple Computers.

Fruits.

They're "over-rated".

People Who Walk For Exercise.

Tattoos.

Time Warner Cable.

Nacho Cheese.

The Cold/Being Cold.

Anything That Costs More Than 5 Dollars.

Telemundo.

Holidays.

(Christmas, Valentine's Day....all of them)

Hippies/Hipsters/Yuppies.

Organic Anything.

Vegans/Vegetarians.

Corporate Philanthropy.

"Instead of donating money to charity, why can't they just give me a cheaper product?"

Bottled Water/Filtered Water.

Celebrities.

Teenage Celebrities.

With the exception of Taylor Swift, he knows all her songs. But he calls her "Swift Taylor".

Teenagers.

Onions.

Carbohydrates and Simple Sugars.

Things That Are Marketed As Being "All Natural".

He prefers chemicals, actually he loves chemicals.

Lines/Waiting

Cable News Networks

Children Who Run Near Him

"Look at that one, he's careening out of control."

Inefficiency

Romantic Comedies

Fat People

Do you see what a fine line I have to walk here?

God forbid a French Child runs past him while waiting in line for a Romantic Comedy starring a Teenage Celebrity who has a Tattoo behind a bunch of Fat People who smell like Onions, who are talking about Wine and Corporate Philanthropy and wearing Jeans.

I'd have to talk him down off a ledge.

And these are just the things I can think of off the top of my head.

A Heart Warming Tale of Love and Devotion

2010-02-10T11:19:00.000-06:00

In addition to a very nice comprehensive Government-run health care program, being a fringe member of the military community has afforded me access to some top quality gossip. This juicy tidbit is courtesy of the Military.com newsletter that gets emailed to me way too often. Enjoy.

Dear Ms. Vicki,

"I've been married for 13 years and my husband has been in the Navy for 14 years. We have one child together. Recently I was contacted by a woman who stated that she was his fiancée and that she also had a 5-year-old child with him.

"I informed her that he was married to me and she was shocked stating that she was in the process of moving to where he was stationed to live with him.

"When I confronted him he didn't deny he had a child with her, but stated he was lying to her about other things. However he was going to see her on the weekends since they already lived hours away.

"My son and I live in another state and he always has an excuse about why we can't live with him. I need to know how these some men who serve our country can be allowed to treat their families with such disrespect. Who can I report him to because I believe he is using the military as a way to get away with his double life? Any answers you can give me will be greatly appreciated."

Sincerely,

KW

Whenever I read something like this, I try to find the one or two things that I don't have in common with this poor unfortunate soul.

For example, right now I'm telling myself that this could never happen to me because 1) This guy was Navy and mine is Army. Totally, totally different. 2) This woman has a child and I have no child. Also making this a completely different situation.

Isn't denial fun?

The Teeest Thing

2010-02-02T12:48:00.000-06:00

Recently, whilst unpacking some of my own personal boxes, full of my own personal things for my own personal use I was interrupted by the Specialist holding something mischeviously behind his back.

After threatening to bite him (I fight dirty) he handed me the one thing I would grab before running out the door if our house was on fire.

It was The Teeest Thing! or TTT, if you prefer.

And if you're in the military you probably do.

The Army is obsessed with acronyms, and its totally contagious.

As I disintegrated into a puddle of small noises and tears of joy and happiness I was instantly brought back to a time, about this time, last year when all this Army stuff/Marriage stuff started happening in a very real way.

A little background info:

Now, when we first got together, he was finishing his Master's in something and I was finishing my Bachelor's of Fine Art in Photography. After we both graduated in December, he went and got a teaching job in Irvine with a private institute specializing in ESL or English as a Second Language. He taught academic English to adults who already had a basic understanding of English. His students were a mix of Korean housewives, Thai college students, and Japanese businessmen.

So all during our casual dating phase (I like to call it the Irresponsible Sex Phase or ISP) that quickly transitioned into serious dating which became a rapid engagement culminating in Lets-Get-Married-On-Wednesday Wednesday, he would go to work in the morning and engage his class in conversations that included his personal life. I doubt they discussed our irresponsible sex, but I know they talked about marriage and his decision to join the Army.

During the 4 months when things got real real, his students were like this little panel of foreigners who encouraged him and supported him in this life changing decision to get married and enlist. I've never met these people, but our little love story resonated with them.

See! Love is totally, totally the universal language. Jodi Foster from the movie Contact was way wrong. She thought it was math or science or some baloney like that.

Anyways, his class marked the beginning of a growing wave of people who supported us even though what we had decided to do was in every way crazy. Totally bat shit crazy.

Fast forward, or rewind actually, depending on which way you're going, to the last day of class on the last day of the semester. They gave him a 5 lb bag of Gummi Bears, this wedding card and instantly became my favorite group of real people whom I've never actually met.

They're my FGORPWINAM, and I love them.

Just look at how precious this is.

And look at the bride! She's a redhead!

Here's some of the things my FGORPWINAM wrote on the inside:

Jinhee's is my favorite. She writes, "I bet you are a good husband."

Whenever he's being especially nice or cute or funny, I just want to call Jinhee and tell her,

"You were totally right dude, he's a pretty good husband."

I can't even begin to express how happy this little thing makes me.

I put it on the fridge so I can look at it every time I go for a pudding snack.

The Gummi Bears got stashed on the bottom shelf of the right side of my mother's pantry, behind the Juice Machine. If anyone needs a Gummi Bear fix, now you know where to go.

Tee!

Chica, Cuter Than a Human Child

2010-01-31T16:42:00.001-06:00

Hello Dear Blog,

How I've missed you. Hello dear 12 followers, I've missed you too. Wait, there's 12 of you? Holy cow!

Anyways....there are a great number of excuses I could give to assuage the growing rage you must feel towards me and my recent abandonment of you, dear 12 readers. And justifiably so! But let me just kindly remind you, I'm not getting paid for this. Teehee.

Now if I were you, I would be saying to myself, "This woman promised to blog twice a week! Twice a week! She promised!"

Well, listen, I don't know if your mothers ever told you this, but you can't believe everything you read on the internet. Let alone on the blog of a woman who doesn't know what she's doing. Not to mention on the blog of a woman who has a serious procrastination problem, a very serious over sleeping problem and a very, very hungry husband who needs to be fed home cooked, love filled, high protein meals every 4 hours.

So now that I've apologized in my patented not-so-apologetic way, let me address the matter at hand. My dear sister (not the cover of Seventeen Magazine one, the other one) once told me that the way I say "I'm sorry" actually sounds a lot more like "Fuck you". Teehee again.

The matter at hand being: Holy Longhorn, I'm in Texas! I live here now, and all of my earthly belongings are here with me! And some other people's earthly belongings as well! If anyone is missing a polka dotted tank top, a Super Troopers DVD and a weird lounge chair/ottoman the only thing I can tell these people is that those items are MINE now. They're mine, and they're in Texas and you're welcome to come an git 'em. Teehee once more.

As much as I'd like to say something super witty and fabulous here, I'm afraid this is going to be more of a Britney-Spears-at-the-MTV-Awards style of comeback post. In a word: sloppy.

Just for the record I Heart Britney Spears, big time.

At this point I'd like to quote one of the Top Five Prettiest People I've ever seen in my real life:

"Here is a purposefully anti-climactic post, because trying to come back with a bang is just too much pressure. But hey, it does involve Betty Page’s side boob and maybe a little butt cleavage, so it’s still perfectly in line with the perverted angle of Sheena Loves the Internet."

If you'd like to actually see Betty's side boob, and not just hear about it, you can so here. Just scroll down a little, lazy.

Now on to the main event. If I were a responsible, coherent blogger with an actual message, I would have prepared images from our Road Trip part II, images of the fantastically huge moving truck, images of Copperas Cove, Texas, our new apartment that's starting to look pretty respectable, something having to do with the Army or married life in general.

Well SORRY, all I have are these:

You're so totally welcome you guys. If you're still longing for some insight/witty sarcasm, I'd suggest you take another look at October '09. Apparently, I had a lot to say that month.

Moo Ooo

2010-01-06T15:30:00.000-06:00

Look what I found! Cow Portraits!!! They're from Arizona and I think they're great.

This is a boy cow.

I have extensive training in distinguishing boy cows from girl cows.

I know what you're thinking, "Poor California girl....freaks out when it rains and is now obsessed with livestock...tsk tsk tsk." Well save your tsk-ing. This is my blog and I'll post Cow Portraits if I want to. I've gone native.

This is a girl cow.

I attended an exclusive workshop this Summer in Kansas.

Besides Cow Portraits are indisputably better than the horribly depressing blog I wrote last week when I was horribly depressed and homesick.

This one's name is 203.

Plus its freezing cold outside and I can't go out there to take any new pictures. I'm not kidding, its way way way way way too cold. I mean seriously cold.

This one's name is Ferdinand.

Besides the homesickness has subsided and it seems counter productive and dare I say, childish to wallow. Especially since I'm on the verge of driving to Austin, getting on a plane and then landing at John Wayne Airport in less than 24 hours.

Impending airplane rides seem to be just the thing for incurable homesickness.

Beige Wonderland

2009-12-31T16:17:00.000-06:00

I found a blog that I do not like. It offends me, I am enraged.

I am a little afraid that my blog and this person's blog are more the same than they are different, therefore making my dear little blog as annoying as this person's. Which is sad, because I'm sure that this person thinks their blog is adorable, just as I do mine.

I am torn between posting the name of this blog so that all ya'll can confirm or deny, and not posting the name of this blog so that this person won't get a sudden spike of 12 extra viewers one day and get the wrong idea.

SPC Husband thinks this is a bad idea. Childish, he says. Hard to believe I now take advice from a man who sits this close to the TV:

That's our apartment. Beige, beige and more beige. Well that's about to change. Starting Saturday this living room will be the proud new home to a blue suede couch, very brown leather chair and small round table.

The apartment also comes with some groovy appliances from 1973 and a Command Sergeant Major who lives downstairs. He's a big deal so we avoid him like the plague and are quiet like mice up here.

Here's a list of Enlisted Ranks:

Like I said, he's a big deal.

There's another list for Officers. It's the kind of thing I'm supposed to know by now, but since I am childishly resisting this new lifestyle as hard as I can, I don't. So sue me.

Here's some more pictures of things apartment related:

Snow on our railing and some kind of bush outside.
It snows here. I live in a place where it snows.

The other day I was totally freaked out to find myself walking in the rain, yet not getting wet. I thought I was Christ for a few minutes until it dawned on me that this kind of rain is called hail and that I should not stop and stare like a tourist, I should continue with my business as usual.

Everyday I am reminded how unbelievably NEW I am.

Mood Swing Christmas

2009-12-27T16:00:00.000-06:00

From the ages of zero to 10, I thought the holidays were totally freaking awesome and I had no problem telling anyone who would listen, what I wanted for Christmas. I was completely into it, the whole situation appealed to me. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and New Year's were a stellar line up my childhood brain could get behind. I didn't necessarily "believe in Santa" but I damn well believed in parties, lights, feasts, presents and general merriment.

I never counted Halloween as part of the holidays because, historically, my costumes never turned out the way I wanted. Halloween was always bittersweet for me.

From the ages of 10 to 20 (lets do this in nice even increments) the doubt, cynicism, and sarcasm so unfortunately common to my adult personality began to creep into the holiday season. My eyes saw a little more than the presents and deviled eggs, past the garish decor and silly traditions. And so the season slowly lost its glossy appeal.

I wouldn't consider this unnatural, or even out of the ordinary. I'd say, with scientific certainty, that probably, about 127% of people's feelings about the holidays change. Their roles eventually shift from the adored child, center-stage, showered with presents and glitter to the stagehand behind the scenes making sure the fake snow falls on cue. The shows just not the same, from the Prima Donna to the Costume Girl; it matters where you sit when it comes to

Christmas.

This Christmas, I had nosebleed seats. I almost sat outside in the cold, pouting.

20 to 25 was characterized by being consistently broke. The holidays, I'm sure you've noticed, fall directly in between the Fall and Spring semesters and directly in between Fall and Spring financial aid allotments.

So, after a monumental year of graduation, marriage, two moves and the ever looming threat of deployment you'd think my emotions could handle anything. Apparently anything but being away from home for Christmas. The only way someone can go from being head over heels in love with the holidays to disdainful and unaffected is if the holidays are still around to be disdained upon. In my case, I thought I was disdainful and unaffected but after a week of mood swings, I can now diagnose my problem as one of privilege. I've always had the privilege of rejecting Christmas, the privilege of being annoyed at all the cheer, the jammed parking lots, the forced hugs and the nonsensical light displays.

This year, I did not have that privilege. Christmas wasn't around for me to make fun of. This year I had to make my own Christmas, all by myself, and it was just medium.

So this year, I had a self-made C+ Christmas. This year I cooked with borrowed utensils and we ate on a folding table. I did 4 rounds of dishes and watched TV.

Next year, we may not get a tree, we may not put up lights but you can be damn well certain that we'll have a ham thats ready at the same time as the side dishes.

I've Been Kidnapped

2009-12-22T20:23:00.000-06:00

By a nice guy, sure, but a kidnapping none the less. Actually I'm not sure that kidnapping applies to my situation as I am technically not longer a "kid". Perhaps adult-napping would be the more accurate term. Although that sounds more like what I did this morning after AH (Army Husband) left for PT (Physical Training) very, very early. Perhaps I can get those "Baby On Board" people to make me a sign that says "Adult Napping" with small suction cups so I can put it in the front window of our new apartment.

So now to briefly chronicle the events that happened rapid-fire style since my last glorious post and bring all ya'll up to speed on how I came to be in Texas, sitting on the floor with AH watching My Fair Lady against his will.

Here's a quick grammar lesson. "Ya'll" is singular, but "all ya'll" is plural. Since being in Texas I've been addressed as: Ma'am, Honey, Baby, Mama and Darlin'. All by Black women in casual conversations, apparently all are acceptable.

I believe a list is in order. So immediately following the AIT graduation ceremony we:

1. Packed up and cleaned out our little Arizona house. It took like 3 hours.

2. Drove straight to Las Vegas, Nevada forsaking both our families and the best national holiday, Thanksgiving. As we dined on fancy Mexican food and burlesque shows, I began to accept my fate as the luckiest kidnap victim ever. I allegedly cried out "I don't need my family!!! I have Las Vegas!!!" upon entering the strip for the first time. I, of course, have no memory of this.

3. After winning $100 dollars on a slot machine, and then promptly spending it, traipsing up and down the strip like I've never seen anything shiny before, developing a blister I have yet to be rid of and defying death on the scariest of scary roller coasters, we drove our ridiculous looking car back home to California.

4. A week or so of living in limbo, unpacking, sorting, laundering, eating, eating, eating, arguing, and then repacking we started out on our next road trip or the Second Kidnapping, as I like to call it.

5. Over the course of 4 days, we stopped at a dozen Denny's, two dozen Starbuck's and consumed a heck of a lot of beef jerky. We stopped in Phoenix, Las Cruces, Austin and finally Fort Hood. We also stayed at the most high speed Motel 6 ever. I have pictures somewhere. "High Speed" is military for something that's really really good.

So that's how we got here. I have to go to bed now, my kidnapper has politely requested it. By the way Texas is 2 hours ahead of California, so if anyone wants to call please keep the time change in mind. We're in the Army, we need our beauty rest.

Graduation

2009-11-18T23:02:00.001-06:00

Tomorrow at 1300 my Army spouse will participate in a graduation ceremony with his platoon. It won't be anywhere near as dramatic as the picture above, hopefully. I'm supposed to be there on time, look pretty and I'm not allowed to bring in any Starbucks. It's being held at the Main Chapel and that, I'm told, would be inappropriate. The Main Chapel looks a little like the creepy Post Office on Tustin Ave in Orange near Quan's Rockin' Sushi (before they suffered too many health code violations and got turned into an Arby's). I will no doubt be a little nauseous.

Here's a list of things I anticipate making me nauseous tomorrow:

1. This building gives me the willies, I hold my breath when I drive by.

2. Army people will be there.

3. Sergeant Hall may possibly be there. This guy scares the crap out of me. Sergeant Hall walked in on my husband's lips briefly touching mine once and when the yelling was over I didn't even know where my own asshole was. I almost melted into a puddle on the floor. It was impressive. I've never been in the presence of such professional yelling. Husband later described the incident as a light scolding.

4. The last time he graduated, from Basic Training at Fort Jackson, I couldn't eat for 3 days. I think I still have some lingering nausea from that particularly traumatic time period.

In an effort to exorcise that lingering unease, and in preparation for tomorrow's sweaty event, here are some pictures from Fort Jackson. I'm going to practice not panicking.

Fort Jackson's Graduation Ceremony/Family Day

July 2009

So after navigating the labyrinth of Fort Jackson and then negotiating some seats in the shade, we noticed some teeny tiny soldiers across the field from us, hiding in the trees. The ceremony begins with a hundred different people of varying levels of importance saying something into the microphone. I can't remember a single thing any one of them said. It took forever, but luckily it was exactly 100 degrees and no one could tell if I was sweating because of the heat or the imminent panic attack. At this point I had not spoken a word since breakfast.

After everyone and their moms had said their piece at the microphone, this unfortunate event happened. They put on a Terrorist Show for us, complete with loud scary bangs and Arabs. Because seeing my husband for the first time in 10 weeks wasn't a compelling enough reason to attend the ceremony. I also need to be entertained.

The crowd went crazy, they started chanting "Ter-ror-ist, Ter-ror-ist."

Rednecks.

Then the US soldiers acting as US soldiers kicked ass and took names.

And the US soldiers acting as Arabs got taken away. I swear I heard someone in the crowd yell, "Waterboard them!" I've never been so uncomfortable, until our friend Sergeant Hall that is.

Before I was able to begin processing the many layers of weird and I'm pretty sure racist the Terrorist Show was, somebody put some purple smoke out on the field and our guys got to run through it! It looked like fun and someone tripped! That calmed me down a little bit. I think I was able to smile and nod when my new sister-in-law asked if I was going to be all right.

Bless her heart.

When they were all lined up in an orderly fashion according to Company, we got to go down on the field and find the one we wanted! That was the best part. Ours was in "C" Company. As I've since learned you're supposed to say "Charlie Company" not just "C Company" with a big dumb grin on your face. Paola (sister) found ours, just as I was on the verge of psychotic breakdown.

I will be forever grateful.

I actually love this picture. Our body language is perfect and nobody has too many chins. Obviously I can see that it's blurry, but its my favorite anyhow.

This is also very nice.

This is Charlie Company on Graduation Day. Can you find my husband? I've been over this picture more times than the Zapruder Film, and I've located an eyebrow that looks suspicious.

See that one eye and eyebrow in the dead center of the picture?

That's him! I'm like 85% certain.

Can you find him here? It's hard because he's camouflaged.

Having an Army husband is sometimes like playing Where's Waldo.

And then this happened. It was a very weird day.

My Pretty Pretty Friends

2009-11-16T22:47:00.000-06:00

When I get a little bored/sad/small/lonely/weary/hungry/insecure/lazy, I'll sometimes look at pictures of my pretty friends. For some reason, looking at devastatingly attractive people soothes me. It also helps with the motivation/inspiration/getting out of bed/depression situation that rears its ugly head from time to time. Like last week, thus the absence of blogs.

But these:

These are like emergency dark chocolate

and naptime

and marathons of The West Wing

and Del Taco bean and cheese burritos with red sauce

and Britney, any and all Britney Spears

and drugs and alcohol

and swimming pools. Those were a few of my favorite things.

Ahhh, I feel like running a marathon.

Russian Gangsta

2009-11-06T22:29:00.000-06:00

As winner, and only participant, of Guess Where The O'Donnell-Munoz's Will Be Stationed Next, Paola got her choice of landscape, sunset or picture of her brother looking like a Russian Gangster. I think she made the right choice.

Here's some more, just because. These are from simpler times when I got to take him home on the weekends and he wasn't carrying an M-16 assault rifle with him everywhere. This was Septemberish in Bisbee, where we spent the day at a lefty coffee shop making fun of locals and eating scones.

Doesn't he look way too NICE to be in the Army? So nice and handsome.

This is the face he makes when the Mozart is playing too loudly in his head for him to hear anything else. Including me.

And this is the face he makes when he's a canary.

I don't know what this face means. We haven't been married that long. I actually don't really know him that well at all.

So nice.

I Wanna Be A Cowboy

2009-10-30T01:42:00.000-05:00

Well I just got off an emotional roller coaster, the details I won't bore you with. Let's just say about $100, 3 hours in the cold, 2 cigarettes and a few dozen tears later.....I know where we're going to be stationed next! Now anyone who knows me, knows that there's nothing I enjoy more than lording information over others. And since this topic has been a Top Ten question by everyone and their moms since we started this whole Army/Crazy Train ride, I'm tempted to hold out a little longer. Well, except that I know that that's mean. Ok FINE.

I'll give you a choice of 5 to 7 posts and anyone who wants to play can guess! The winner gets either a landscape or a sunset, their choice. I should let you pick from a list of 60 because that's a little more realistic but whatever.

Where will the O'Donnell-Munoz's be stationed next?

1. Fort Lewis, Washington

2. Fort Richardson, Alaska

3. Heidelburg, Germany

4. Fort Hood, Texas

5. Fort Greely, Alaska

6. Fort Dix, New Jersey

Here's a hint, a very obvious hint.

It's Freezing Cold Here Today

2009-10-28T18:38:00.000-05:00

I would like to call your attention to a few new features here at http://jessmunoz.blogspot.com. If you scroll way, way down you'll find that I've added a fish pond. That's right, I did a little waterscaping, hand selected multicolored fish and then trained them to swim towards your cursor so you can click feed them to your hearts content. I've been doing it all day.

Also we have a new follower (WOOHOO), she comes from Apple Valley and her name is Michelle. She once told me that there are actually no apples in Apple Valley, and since she's from there I had no choice but to agree with her.

I also swiped a picture of myself off of Facebook (thanks Paola) where my bangs are the perfect color and size to use as a profile picture. This way, in case any of you see me in the street, you can yell something and I can demonstrate how cool and aloof I am.

Here's a pretty pretty landscape of some grasses and stuff:

All Of The Animals, Part Three

2009-10-28T02:03:00.000-05:00

Guy

Guy is nobody's cat. He looks like he used to be somebody's cat but then something bad happened and now times are a little tougher for him. Perhaps it was the economy. We don't know a lot about him, except that he's dirty and he only comes by a couple times a week. I think he's got another 2 person family somewhere nearby. I wonder what name they give him. He got this name "Guy", from The Specialist, who started another story with "when I was a little boy...." and when I was able to stop cooing and kissing his forehead, the cat's name was Guy. Little boy stories are a giant weak spot in my otherwise logic hardened reasoning.

He's not a bad looking guy, Guy, but I'm sure he's got fleas or chiggers or intestinal parasites or the Swine Flu at least, so I won't let him touch me. My vaccinated husband cuddles the hell out of him when he's home though. They're so cute together, Guy gets all the love and attention he so desperately needs and Husband gets to change his clothes before he comes back inside. I prefer to support our grey lionish friend in more material ways, like salami.

All Of The Animals, Part Two

2009-10-28T01:10:00.000-05:00

Oscar

Oscar belongs to Scott and Jeanine. He doesn't like the wind or being alone and is in charge of scouting for snakes when we go on walks together. He has super soft ears that flop comically up and down while he's running away from me. He is surprisingly fast for a creature of such odd proportion. He will occasionally come sit on my porch in the sun and ignore me, and when I invite him in he declines. He plays hard to get like a champ and so I am madly in love with him.

He's so poised and thoughtful and sophisticated.

This is what he does right before he's about to ditch me.

This is how big he is when he's ditched me.

All Of The Animals, A Qualitative Study

2009-10-26T15:47:00.000-05:00

After many strenuous hours of walking around with my camera, and sometimes Oscar, I've finally completed a photographic catalogue of all of the animals here. The bug section is a little incomplete, but who cares about bugs. You'll notice there aren't any pictures of snakes, because there are NO SNAKES in Arizona. Comforting, huh? I've also taken the liberty of naming them, regardless of whether they already have names and/or actually belong to me. A short biography of each animal may be included, depending on whether I like the animal or not. Here we go:

Kalish

Kalish you've already met. He used to live on top of the stove (except when it was in use) and watch me make huge messes in small spaces; but I relocated him into the living room due to the fact that it's suddenly 45 degrees in the kitchen as soon as the sun goes down. He enjoys making angry faces, staring, and blowing bubbles. I read on the internet that when he makes the bubbles it means he's feeling sexy. I'm going to look into getting him an ugly brown girlfriend as soon as everything else in my life gets taken care of and "squared away" as we say here in the Army. Kalish is a nickname actually, short for Kalishnikov; which according to Husband is superior in every way to the M16. I like it because it rhymes with "fish".

Henry and His Harem

Henry is a very impressive rooster who heads an equally impressive operation inside Scott and Jeanine's impressive chicken house, or coop or whatever. Now I realize that Henry is also the name I chose for the first hummingbird to grace the feeder on my porch, however Henry the Rooster was named by Husband the Specialist. And honestly, anyone who is willing to play the game of naming other people's animals with me deserves the gratification of having their name ratified. Even if it's already been "taken". Specialist had a charming tale to support his choice. It went like this: "When I was a little boy..." and then I died and called him 37 sweet nicknames in a row and said you can name the chicken anything you want. I'm an pathetic sucker for any type of husbandly reasoning that starts with "when I was a little boy...". Hopefully he won't figure that out for another couple of years and be able to use it against me for the rest of our lives.

Henry lives with these other chickens:

The Redheads

I don't think they're twins, I think they're just exactly the same color.

The Black

I walked in on The Black Chicken laying an egg once. It was terribly awkward and uncomfortable.

The Blonde

I'm sorry, but Blonde is the cutest one. Look at all that FLUFF!

To be continued with the exciting chronicles of Oscar, Guy, Mia and Lizard On The Fence.

This is My Sister (real, biological)

2009-10-26T15:19:00.000-05:00

This is my sister, her name is Madalene. For a little while after she was born, we didn't have a name for her. She's one of the blank icons to the right. She's also a candidate for the cover of Seventeen Magazine, the Prom Edition. She has a gap between her front teeth that she can almost stick the tip of her tongue through. It's called a diastema. I've always thought it was super freaking cute. She plays volleyball and I was kidding when I said she was going to be on the cover of Seventeen Magazine. She totally should though.

Today I have to do a couple of things. Here they are in semi order:
1. post something deep, meaningful and insightful on the blog (done)
2. clean the kitchen (maybe)
3. vacuum the crumbs up off the floor from walking around and eating (also a maybe)
4. go into town and buy some vegetables to grill on my new grillin' machine
5. grill the vegetables and like a chicken breast or something on my new grillin' machine
6. give rent check to Scott and Jeanine so we don't get evicted
7. read my new book on the porch in the sunshine
8. calculate whether a hammock would fit on the porch by eyeballing it
9. shower (I should probably do this first)

Crayola Landscape

2009-10-23T14:22:00.000-05:00

This is a Crayola Landscape for Paola (who complained) and Gin (who is new, yay and welcome!) They're related so they have to share one landscape. Sorry, but those are the rules.

Perhaps I'll spend the rest of the day photoshopping landscapes within an inch of their life and dedicating them to my followers. Perhaps I'll crawl back into bed. Perhaps I'll go eat a leftover meat pie. Perhaps I'll continue to snuggle this Adidas jacket. Perhaps I'll go to Target and shop for something pretty. I do need tweezers. Target it is.

For 20 Minutes in Milwaukee, I Was A Believer

2009-10-21T14:44:00.001-05:00

Every morning that I wake up, later than I probably should, check my silly blog and see a handful of small (mostly blank) icons, I smile at the little fish on the stove and remember that I am not alone out here. Out in the middle of the Arizona desert, 30 minutes from the nearest Starbucks, and covered in little thorny prickers that stick to everything and pinch me unexpectedly. Even here I have people, I have blessed internet people. And so, it is with a warm heart and open arms that I'd like to welcome Jasmine Clark to my cluster of internet people. Yay! I am both country bumpkin who saves wilty vegetation for unaffected chickens and savvy internet scribe. I am a low-level superhero with unremarkable, debatably non-existent powers and silly alter ego.

My identity is very open to construction right now. Very, very soft, very pliable, not concrete in any way, much like a play-doh identity. So forgive me if I'm prone to play.

Coincidentally, in the way of the Universe, I have been working on something a little artsy, a little academic, and a little something that relates to my friend Jasmine from art school. What a cool coincidence that she would chose to follow me today, of all days! By continuing with your eyes open you are agreeing to keep your mouth shut about the previous use of the term "artsy", which, if we were still in school, would get me crucified.

I am encouraged by these coincidences. It's the little believer in me. Like the time I was sitting in the Milwaukee airport thinking about my Army husband when low and behold, an Army guy walked by. Milwaukee, by the way, is a place full of very pale, very jiggly people. I know this from sitting in their airport for 2 hours and not talking to anyone. If Husband were here he'd ask what this Army guy's rank was. And he would be annoyed when I would reply, "I have no idea, but he was blonde." But he isn't.

Anyways, as I was thinking and possibly also writing a letter to Army Husband, and an actual Army guy walked past; I was immediately struck by the coincidence and tried to hash out a deeper meaning. Just as I settled on the comforting theory that everything would be all right because of this unmistakable sign that the Universe had just sent me, another Army guy walked past. This time a brunette. And he was carrying a magazine, conspicuously inside another magazine. This lead me to believe that the inner magazine was porn. This also lead me to believe that the situation was strange, because it was quite early in the morning. But I guess anytime is a good time for magazine porn if you're in the Army. I'll have to ask Army Husband.

So, here we have the possibility of two or three interpretations. 1) Two Army guys is better than one, therefore the original theory "Everything will be all right" stands. 2) One Army guy (blonde) another with porn. Perhaps the Universe is trying to tell me that "Everything will be all right, sure. But there are secrets, possibly pornographic secrets". 3) The Universe isn't talking to me, I'm grasping for meaning and purpose during an emotionally stressful time. Army guys walk through mid-American airports at all freakin' times and especially in the early morning. This is no big deal, I should go back to my crossword puzzle.

Eventually, Option 3 was overwhelming adopted by the teeny debate team in my head as a slew of other Army guys walked past. However, for a good 20 minutes in Milwaukee, I was a believer. And believe you me, that is good high.

Here is some fledgling art that I optimistically choose to believe is being endorsed by the Universe by way of substantial coincidence and timing.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Universe, timing and coincidence are its bread and butter.

A Special Kind of Weird

2009-10-20T23:39:00.000-05:00

I've been hanging on to this image, thinking I could cleverly work it into an analogy/metaphor/simile for my life or work or art or something, maybe get a laugh. But now I'm beginning to believe that's going to be a bit of a stretch. Perhaps it's better if I just post it, and then we can all share in the weirdness together. Yes, this one doesn't need any dots connected, no gilding the lily (so to speak). Here we have two grasshoppers, and then a third, just outside my kitchen window.

Welcome Follower #7

2009-10-20T18:38:00.000-05:00

Here's a pretty pretty landscape:

How To Do Laundry When You're Awesome

2009-10-16T16:23:00.000-05:00

So last week Cuban and I had a conversation that went something like this:

C "So, do you think you could do me a favor?" (He's obviously about to ask for oral sex*)
Me "Um, sure. What is it?"
C "Well, I don't know if you can, I mean, I don't know if its possible..." (He's obviously about to ask for anal sex*)
Me "What?"
C "Do you have a laundry machine at the place?" (Damn)
Me "Yes. Would you like me to do some laundry for you?"
C "YES PLEASE!"
Me "...great..."

Apparently, aside from fighting terrorists, exercising while its still dark out and learning all manner of secret Army secrets, laundry is the hardest and most challenging thing he has to do every week. I don't really know what to think about this. A grown man, who can handle guns and knives and grow an impressive mustache has trouble doing ONE load of laundry, once a week. And its not like his one load needs any kind of special attention. Tracksuits aren't notoriously difficult to launder. There's no cashmere, silk, knit or suede in his wardrobe. He's like a walking advertisement for Cotton products, or a laundry detergent for people who have a lot of dirty kids.

Well, we're new, so I'm going to consider this whole thing adorable. And I have a lot of free time on my hands, plus it seems a shame to refuse him when the most pressing thing on my schedule is making peanut-butter-and-banana-on-crackers for lunch. And I love him. But I suspect that this would be not so cute if I didn't love him. Much like the way he is able to stand precisely in my way at 4am, the way sweet, tiny black hairs get left in the sink after he shaves and the way he kicks me in the shins with his big dumb boots whenever I make the mistake of sitting across from him at a restaurant. I used to sit next to him in booths (even when it was just him and I, which was always) because I couldn't get close enough to him, I would have sat on his lap and spoon fed him if people hadn't stared. Now I sit next to him in booths to protect myself from being accidentally crippled by giant beige Army boots. I wonder if my new healthcare provider covers that.

Actually, laundry day was really, really fun for me. I felt like such a provincial little woman carrying a wicker basket of my dear husband's wet clothes over to the clothesline, where I lovingly took way too long to hang them to be dried by the sun. I'm certain that Jeanine (our saintly neighbor/landlord) could have done the whole thing in half the time. However, I'm new to clotheslines and womanly feelings, so when I get the opportunity to do these things I like to cherish them. Like when I feed the chickens and steal their unborn babies while they're not paying attention, I cherish. I did a little spying on her while she was hanging clothes the other day, and I picked up on some very impressive techniques. See if you hang the shirt over the clothesline then put the clothespins in the armpits, then you don't get the little pinch marks which are difficult to iron out. Even with your own, brand new iron and all the time in the world because a Golden Girls marathon is on TV.

Besides the hideous pinch marks, the only problem I ran into on laundry day was one of modesty. You see, Specialist has beige underwear. They're very nice and very sturdy and they go really well with the whole camouflaged, Army Combat Uniform (ACUs) look. And from the driveway where other people occasionally drive by, you can't even see them because they're so unremarkable. I am not in the Army, as I continually tell myself and others, and nothing I own is beige. Nothing I own is cream, or nude or buff or tan. The under things I own come in all different colors and prints and sizes and believe me you can see them from the road. So I made myself a small personal clothesline, just for personal things, that hangs off my porch where only the deer and hummingbirds can see it. I considered this a great personal achievement and went inside to celebrate (by myself) with a cold can of Diet Coke when I was ambushed and overwhelmed by a tidal wave of warm, womanly, squishy emotion. For as I looked out my small kitchen window, I noticed my dear sweet husband's ugly beige briefs blowing in the wind, for all the world to see. I died.

*These statements were included for shock value. I do not engage in anal or oral sex because it is amoral.

Kalish the Fish

2009-10-12T23:11:00.000-05:00

There is either a serial killer/rapist on my porch or I am so tired from driving all day that I'm hallucinating. Or its the damn cat. Driving to Arizona has become a kind of a special pilgrimage to me, and so I pride myself on doing it right. Today it didn't go so well. Turns out it is far more physically, psychologically and emotionally draining to drive into a different state while someone is sleeping comfortably in the passenger seat. It also takes an hour extra for some reason. Luckily, nobody got accidentally hit with their iPod or accidentally strangled, so no harm done. We got stuck in a little extra traffic and had to stop a couple extra times at designated rest stops because of the huge quantities of Diet Coke we consumed before noon, but having a mustachioed copilot wasn't entirely annoying; it had some perks. For example: someone pumped gas for me 80% of the time, someone bought me gum unprovoked, and someone rubbed my neck until his hand got tired. Finally getting here was a relief though, its not good for our marriage to be confined to such a small space for so long. Our marriage is claustrophobic like that. Its also not good for someone to be miserable and someone to be comfortable in the other, miserable person's presence. See what a wise married woman I am?

OMG the serial killer is playing with the wind chime. That's definitely not the cat, although it could, I suppose be the wind. When I finally turned into our little driveway after a very draining day, a few hours ago, my senses started playing tricks on me. The bushes have never rustled so viciously, I've never noticed that Stephen King book on the shelf before and quite conveniently, a TV special on the FBI's Most Wanted List was on as I pulled up to our secluded little cabin, where I don't get cell service, all alone on this dark and scary night. Where the hell is my husband you ask? He's tucked into his little bunk bed, with 30 other Army guys in the middle of well protected Army Installation. And I'm out here all alone, without even something I could fake as a gun. I would kill for a Fireguard patrol positioned around the house right now. The worst part of this whole scary night, is that the poor stupid fish is still trapped in the car. I carried him in his special little travel case all the way back to CA and back, checked on him periodically while he was in the cup holder, bought him special shrimpy fish treats and a small plant for him to hide behind and now he's going to freeze to death. I'm sorry, call me cruel, but there's no way I can go back outside, I'm not exaggerating. I sooooo could use a mustachioed husband right about now, and so could Kalish the Fish.

Diff'rent Strokes For Diff'rent Folks

2009-10-08T15:21:00.000-05:00

This is Joe, and yes that is a grown up size butterfly net. We've seen him and his giant net once or twice before from the porch, and a couple weekends ago we met the man in person, yay! Scott, our saintly neighbor/landlord used a phrase we have tenderly adopted into our own lexicon, one that describes this guy perfectly: "diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks." Which is a really, really nice way of saying "that guys gay." Let me tell you about our official meeting with the Butterfly Hunter.

So after a Thanksgiving feast of Sunday morning breakfast that included: mushroom, ham and brie omelet, mountain o' pancakes, bacon, coffee and leftover peach cobbler-ish we were feeling pretty high on caffeine, sugar and carbs. So we threw on some shoes (Kansas cowboy boots to be exact) and ventured into the field below our porch. This had to be done very carefully because the grass is high and the word SNAKE was on the tip of my tongue. Tired from walking very slowly and feeling silly, we stopped to enjoy the scenery and chew on things.

Thats when Joe showed up. He tags Monarch butterflies (this is his full time profession) in our field and other places along their migration path and charts the data with his Conservatory program.

We were then treated to a 2 hour, hands on butterfly catching lesson and Q&A session. As INTPs, question and answer sessions are pretty much our favorite things. So here's how it goes:

Joe catches Monarch (only Monarchs, he doesn't give about anyone else)

Joe checks the time and logs an entry into his tiny diary.

And then he is distracted by our incessant questioning and accidentally lets the butterfly escape. Then we start over.

He's looking straight at me. Spooky.

All the Monarchs get tagged with a little blue sticker that has a serial number and email address on it. Just like sharks, only it doesn't hurt.

It was a very educational morning, after which we both needed a nap. Joe, however, is probably still at it.

The Blog of Many Topics

2009-10-08T14:18:00.000-05:00

I have been remiss in my blogging responsibilities, and to the 6 people who have made a commitment to me and Google, I apologize. Let me try and offer some kind of an explanation. You see, even though I have very little to do, I am actually quite busy. I have fashioned quite a lifestyle out of wandering around with my camera, wandering around without my camera, spending a lot of time with Photoshop, watching the Food Network, CNN and The Golden Girls, drinking way too much coffee, staring at my pantry, spying on my new neighbors and of course napping to my full potential. As you can see, all of this leaves very little time for blogging. I propose a new schedule, one whose expectations I can meet. Instead of a daily blog or an every other day blog, I think a twice a week blog is more appropriate to the amount of things I actually have to blog about. Which, in reality, are very few.

Now, as it has been almost a full week since my last post (SORRY), I have a number of topics I could cover. Here's a list of possible blog titles, even though I'm only going to write about one:

1. The Professional Sleeper (me)

2. The Inedible Meal I Made (frankly, I'm not ready to talk about that)

3. The Butterfly Hunter (get it? like the Deer Hunter? Its ok, I've never actually seen that movie either, but the cover art looks very intense)

4. My Saintly Neighbors (Scott and Jeanine, who are way nicer to Husband and I than we deserve)

5. The Hummingbird Wars (this is going to be a good one, it involves a redhead)

6. My Grandma Kills Spiders With Her Bare Hands (and now I do too)

7. How I Fell In Love With Someone Else's Baby (Her name is Naomi and she was crushing on me harder than Sheena Zadeh)

8. 35 Wife or The Best Dream Ever (I'll just tell you, two days ago I had a dream that the Army gave me a medal for being the best wife in the platoon. It looked just like the medals we used to get for finishing 3rd in the little girl softball league. This was 24 hours before the Inedible Meal.)

9. Things Husband Does That Have Annoyed Me, My Mental List (I don't know that its healthy to post inflammatory things like this on the Internet, but I don't think he reads this)

10. Why I Hate The Commissary and Grocery Shopping In General

11. How To Do Laundry When You're Awesome

And now a picture to reward you for reading all the way to the end:

Hey, What Did You Guys Do Today?

2009-10-02T19:06:00.000-05:00

I had the best day ever. After driving Husband to work at 4am, I crawled back up into bed with my laptop and played on the internet until the caffeine from this morning's coffee wore off. Then I took a little nap.....until about 11am. If Husband were here, he'd be quick to point out that the term "nap" only really applies to periods of sleep that are less than what one would experience during a full nights rest. Unfortunately, he's not here to correct me:(

Then I woke up again and watched an episode of That 70's Show while eating Cheerios with bananas. Next is cleaning, which for a teeny tiny family of two (one of whom only stops by for dinner and a shower) takes 5 minutes. After walking around and picking up the moths and other assorted bugs that died in the night with a tissue, I washed the 2 puny dishes in the sink and was ready to move on to something more challenging. Luckily right then Leah called, Yay! After a friendly chat I promptly forgot about my challenging task for the afternoon and decided to bake something. With neither a proper recipe, mixing bowl nor exact ingredients I fashioned a peach cobbler! Basically out of thin air! As far as I can tell at the moment, only two possible things could be wrong with it: 1) I used too much sugar and may accidentally turn us into diabetics later in life. 2) I may not have cooked it long enough, and it may therefore be mushy and doughy on the inside. I'm pretty sure we'll still eat it.

Then, with leftover peach-flavored sugar I refilled the hummingbird feeder on the porch. As I was eyeballing the mean lookin' wasp (who has set up shop on that other feeder, and has watched me whenever I've ventured outside for 2 solid days) my first hummingbird appeared! Seriously, I walked inside to get my camera and when I came back he was there. I decided to call him Henry, after Seal and Heidi Klum's first son. This I know from watching True Hollywood Story of Heidi Klum yesterday. Excellent episode.

YOU GUYS

2009-10-01T15:40:00.000-05:00

If you click on the pictures they get all huge and gorgeous!!!

Farmer's Market outside Bisbee

2009-10-01T14:36:00.000-05:00

This was a super fun weekend in September. We were driving around looking for a place to live and instead found a Farmer's Market. We saw Mexican Crazy Skirt and Machete Dances, little girls riding bikes through puddles very carefully and a huge, giant, big fat hole in the ground from an old copper mine.

Tombstone

2009-09-30T16:41:00.001-05:00

Tombstone was like Frontierland, only I don't think these people are being paid and you can smoke wherever you'd like.

The New Place continued...

2009-09-29T17:58:00.001-05:00

Its a long way down.

The New Place

2009-09-29T17:29:00.001-05:00

Here's some pictures of our teeny tiny little clubhouse and the view from the front porch.

To Do

2009-09-29T08:11:00.000-05:00

Things to do today: (in semi order)

Wake up while its still 100% night time and drive Teeny back to base

Avoid getting a traffic ticket from MP (military police) all day

Enjoy premium scenery and assorted small animals crossing the road

Make a blog

Go back to bed until sun comes up

Buy spaghetti noodles at some point

Clean bathroom with newly acquired products

Go for a walk and figure out how to get as close as possible to the horses

Play on the internet