Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?

Well, it’s been a rough almost 6 months. The last I left Dave had just died. I should be, but I guess I’m still not over it. As my drunken Thanksgiving ranting illustrated. Well, I need to get over a few things, and I’ll lay them out because I haven’t written since then.

A week after Dave died, I noticed Rocco wasn’t eating. Rocco Taco, my little Rock Steady, was my little deployment dog. I got him after Sammy was killed by other dogs in college. He was my little man. He had put on some weight after having knee surgery a few years ago, but now he wasn’t eating. I watched him, like a good dog mommy and nothing piqued his interest. Not treats, nothing. Finally I decided to take him to the vet. His demeanor hadn’t changed, he was still a little spark, just hadn’t eaten for a week. He was losing weight. The vet didn’t know what was wrong with him the Friday I brought him in, she gave me some special food and said to water it down and give it to him and that if he didn’t improve by the next morning to call and bring him in. The next morning he still hadn’t eaten and the shots of antibiotics and B12 she had given didn’t really seem to help. I called them up and decided to bring him in and have him admitted so they could figure out what was wrong with him. All I could think was cancer. All through the day, I kept preparing myself for what she would say. She called at noon and said that he was in preliminary renal failure, but was okay. She said she thought it was cancer, but wouldn’t know until they could run more tests. She said she would call me with an update at 5pm. At 5pm she called. And Rocco was gone. She said she wanted to do an autopsy to find out what happened to him, so I let her. Then told her to send him to the local pet crematorium to have him taken care of. Mike and I couldn’t really believe that he was gone. We both kept seeing him around the house. But he was gone. When the vet had completed the autopsy she wanted me to come to see what she had found. She had found a half of a tee-shirt in his stomach and intestines. About the size of a fist. We couldn’t believe it. He must have eaten it like a snake. I couldn’t help but laugh, because Rocco was always that dog that ate EVERYTHING. Anything and everything he thought could be eaten, he would eat. He is now sitting in a nice little box on our dining room table.

BFF was more concerned for me and Rocco than she was for herself. She’s too much.

That month was kind of a blur, I had told people at work that at some point I would have to go down to TX and it might be short notice, they understood. I had talked about BFF the entire time I had been there and they might have felt like they knew her a little bit. It was really close to home for everyone; I work with two guys who lost their wives about 5 years ago, so they knew. I was to go to TX for the memorial service at Fort Hood on July 21st. I planned to stay down there for 6 or seven days to help her get her new place situated; she hadn’t been alone even one night since it happened.

The night before I left work early and packed up the car and headed down. I got there, met Dave’s parents and we sat down to talk and drink. Dave’s parents sat in the living room drinking Shiner because that was what Dave drank. BFF and I smoked and drank and talked about life. The next day we got up for the service. I put on something nice and she gave me a sweater. The CAO (casualty assistance officer) drove us to the service and I met with her friend to sit together because there are different things that the wives had to do. We sat in the first row, not knowing it was reserved for family members. His photo was right in front of us, and the boots of three other soldiers were next to his. I knew if I looked at anyone else I would cry, so I stared at the photo, the boots, the helmet, the dog tags, the gun. Other wounded soldiers, wounded in the same attack, sat next to us. People cried. Bagpipes played, which was difficult to bear. After, each person in the front row stood for a second in front of the memorials, some touched the tags, some the boots. Colleen and I stood for what seemed to be a respectable amount of time, choking back our feelings, and turned to leave. We went to the back room for the reception and met BFF when she came in. I said we could go sneak a smoke. We did. They presented sketchings of the soldiers who had died. Framed photos. Fucking gift bags. We left as soon as we could. As soon as we got into the van I turned my phone back on. It came to life with vibrations and noises. New voice mails and someone was calling me right then. It was Mike.

Where they hell have you been? He practically screamed into the phone. I was at the fucking funeral, I growled into the phone, trying not to be heard by everyone in the van. We got fucking robbed, Mike said. They took everything, which is probably why all my photos on my other posts are gone. They took my computer, my camera, my entire jewelry box. They touched everything in the house, went through every drawer, flipped our mattress. It makes me cringe. I had to leave the next morning, because I couldn’t leave my husband alone. I couldn’t leave BFF alone. She was alone. On the way home I got a 200$ speeding ticket. Thanks life.

I got home, I inventoried. I submitted to insurance. You can’t really inventory original wedding rings or the pearl necklace my grandmother gave me before she died. Or every photo of the past 4 years that was on your computer. The first piece of jewelry Mike got me, the necklace that had my name stamped on it in Arabic that my friend got me from one of his tours in Iraq. Fuck. it makes me mad just thinking about it again. They took it all. Even now, 5 months later, there are still things I look for and wonder if they were stolen. Of course they took the 50″ plasma, so we don’t even use the living room now. I still have nightmares. And two weeks ago, someone broke in again. Broke our kitchen window, climbed through it and when the motion detectors went off (of course we have an alarm now) tried to deactivate it by pressing all the buttons on the key pad, setting off the panic alarm. We’ve got a set of surveillance cameras on the way now, half paid for by our landlord.

After the first break in Mike and I had a minor melt down and decided to move home to New England. I actually quit my job and called the landlord and told him we were out of there. The next day he had a change of heart and realized that we couldn’t just move home without jobs or savings or any plan. So we are still here.

I am dying inside, to tell you the truth. I feel like it must feel to be in Iraq; constantly stressed that something is going to happen, constantly thinking that around every corner is someone trying to hurt you. I have nightmares all the time and it’s basically a panic attack when I go to my car in the mornings to go to work because it is so early it is still dark out. A few times I have gone out and literally found someone in our back yard. Our neighbors got their cars broken into after our robbery happened and I was and am, so terrified that someone is going to hurt our dogs. I can’t lose the other two, they have been traumatized enough. I can’t imagine how they felt when the house was robbed- Luca was in the kennel, as we kenneled her during the day and they just took Taz and put him in the back yard. I don’t know if they hit him, kicked him, whatever, but he was in the backyard when Mike got home.

Blah! It feels good to get all of that out. I am still here. Afraid that every chest pain I get is a heart attack or a stroke. I need to get out of here. Mike is so desensitized that I don’t know if he will ever get us out. I guess it is up to me.

Thank you to everyone that reads and that has subscribed. It really is time for me to move on from these events as they don’t define me or my life. Sometimes it’s hard, though.

The Iraq Factor, or, BULLSHIT TIME

My heart is super heavy right now. Last night BFF called me at 11:30pm. I silenced the call as I was sleeping. She called again. And again. I texted her: Whats up lady? I’m sleeping here, are you okay? She called again. What is she doing? Mike mumbles in half sleep. She’s probably drunk, I say and grab the phone to pick it up this time. I think: It takes 5 hours to get to her house. If I leave now I would get there by 4:30.

Hello? I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

Hey. She says, trying to sound nonchalant. She is not drunk.

What’s up? Are you all right? I texted you. I say.

Yeah, I saw. I figured if I called after you texted anyway you would get the hint. So, ah, Dave died today.

My heart stops.

BFF is BFF. Dave is her husband who has been in Iraq for the past 10 months. I can feel the tears coming and there is a distinct sob caught in my throat. She has caught herself after breaking the news. I know that if I flip out, she will flip out so I try to be calm and quiet. I don’t know what to say. I don’t believe it.

We met through our husbands who worked together in the Army. The day they left for Iraq the first time, she called me up, basically an unknown, and told me to come over with a case of Bud. Aside from one bad summer, we have been friends ever since. She is a sister to me and I love her. On that first trip to Iraq Dave got hit by a suicide bomber. He was sent to Walter Reed and was there for 3 months recovering. When I picked the two of them up from the airport he walked with a cane. If you have never seen a 24-year-old walking with a cane I pray you never have to see it. It killed me. From there out he was a happy person. When he met the Vice President (devil incarnate Dick Cheney) and was asked what the purple heart meant to him he replied; I got blown up. It made you laugh a little.

As BFF is my sister, he was my brother-in-law. And though there was a strange rivalry between he and my own husband, he was always very, very nice to me. I visited her at every duty station they have had thus far: Fort Carson, where we met, Fort Knox, on my way to VA, Fort Gordon and Fort Hood. She visited me in VA at Fort Lee and here at Fort Sill.

Since his most recent deployment I have tried to go down and visit her for the weekend at least every 3 months. I think it both eases the pressure of the deployment for her and the strain of my marriage for me. The last time I went down (see post All I got was this bag of drugs) he called while we were out walking Austin. It was a familiar conversation I had done myself many times with my own husband and it was nice to hear. They were happy, and I looked to them as an example for how to lead my own marriage. She had me take a photo of her in front of some of the love graffiti we found while on the phone with him. The wall said I Love You So Much.

My heart hurts for her so much right now. She didn’t have a career, she didn’t want anything but to be a wife and mother. They had been trying to get pregnant for almost a year before he left, and of course they tried when he was home on R&R. She wanted to have children so badly and she knew she shouldn’t have taken the four years he was home after the first deployment for granted. After what happened the first time, she was terrified that something bad would happen this time. I tried to reassure her every time; he was going to Iraq, which wasn’t supposed to be considered a war zone anymore, and he was relatively high ranking which meant that he wouldn’t be put in as many dangerous situations. I don’t know what happened, but iCasualty stated that (though it is unconfirmed at this time as his name has not been officially released) his death resulted from hostile rocket fire.

I am sure there is rambling here. I guess it reflects my mind at the moment. I don’t know what she is going to do. I want to go down to her so badly, but I know I would not only be in the way but would be more of a problem. I easily signify old life. Life before death. If I were in a similar situation, I know that it would hurt more to have her here. Because I feel comfortable with her and I know I could let my guard down. She is going to be surrounded by her family, his family and tons of military people, she needs to keep her head high and she will. I know that if I were there I could crack that shell. At the same time I know that could be me. That could have been me.

I knew that writing would be therapeutic for me. As much as the Blue Moon I’m drinking and the vodka shot I took earlier (its to help me sleep, assholes). I know that what I wrote probably doesn’t make much sense. Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. I know I can’t possibly grieve in the way that she will be grieving. Her entire life was geared toward her marriage. She guided me in my own marriage. All she wanted to do when he got back was have babies. What do you do when everything you planned falls apart? I mean really falls apart. Like when you marry someone and you expect them to always be there, expect to be with them until you are old and grey and they fucking die. What do you do with all of their things? With eight years worth of stuff. With his truck. With the baby books you got because you were determined to get pregnant as soon as he got home. With the house that you lived in. Do you go home? Who wants to do that? Where do you go? I won’t lie, I want to run away with her. And take this tragedy as partly my own. It is not mine to take.

As a battalion of guys came home early this morning to Fort Sill, I look at photos of people reuniting. I don’t want to think, you should have died instead of Dave, but I do. I am not fair. Why should I be when life is not.

Mike has taken this as an opportunity to teach me about Christianity. I cannot believe, I won’t believe. As my bony little fingers type, I am so angry that this happened I cannot express it in words. I am impressed that BFF is holding it together the way she is. I would have broken all of my plates. In fact, I may encourage that when I eventually do go down. Because she will call me, and I will leave here in the dead of night and go to her. She is me, younger. She is me, wiser. She is my little sister.

Dude, baked vegetable casserole. Wicked baked.

Finished product.. too good to stop eating!

Sunday dinners are always my favorite. These are the days where I make cioppino, kale and white bean soup, Vietnamese curry soup, etc. I love to make a super delicious meal on Sundays; I feel like it just sets up the week to be good. Tonight I was pondering what to cook… I had quite a few veggies but wasn’t looking to do the usual veg saute that I do during the week. Time for veggie casserole!

Veggies ready for the oven!

Recipe (open to interpretation and substitution):

1 Can del monte green beans

1/2 zucchini, cut into bite sized pieces

1/2 yellow squash, cut into bite sized pieces

1 tomato, diced

2 stalks bok choy, cut into bite sized pieces (stalks and leaves)

1 carrot, thinly sliced

1/2 Cup lentils

1/2 Cup brown rice

1 Can cream of celery soup

Lentils, Rice and Carrots cooking

Start by putting lentils, rice and carrots into a pot with about 2 cups of water. You will want to boil this until the rice is cooked. It takes approximately the same amount of time to cook all three to my liking- about 25 minutes. It is okay, even a little better to have some water leftover when finished.

As this is cooking, cut up your other vegetables. I added spices like turmeric, oregano, garlic salt, salt, pepper, and some chili powder. It really is up to you with what you want and how you like everything to taste. If you are going for something earthy, add a couple sprinkles of sage and thyme with your turmeric. Next time I will definitely add onion and fresh garlic, I was just out today.

I put all the vegetables into a 9×9 casserole dish and seasoned them while the rice/lentils/carrots were cooking. Once the rice was cooked, I added it, and the water, to the vegetables and added the cream of celery soup. Mix together thoroughly. There will be some liquid, but this is good to make sure that all the vegetables are cooked tenderly.

I put this into the oven at 400 degrees and let it bake for 30 minutes or so.

Dude, wicked good

What came out was delicious, moist and flavorful! Even my husband liked it! And he’s an omnivore… 😉 Anyway, check it out and I’d love to hear any variations or comments if you try it!

All I got was this bag of drugs…

The little devil in me.

I ran away this past weekend. To Killeen, TX, where a very, very good friend of mine lives. I figured out a way to pay for gas and she literally paid for everything else. Then she whisked me away to Austin for a super great night on the town. I sincerely feel rejuvenated and am so glad I did it. We had some awesome times. See included photos.

I got there about 6 on Friday night, we went out for some sushi and had some drinks and headed to a piercing place to get the girls done. Yes, those girls. That is probably for another post. We then went out to the local watering hole for some dancing. After a few Jager bombs we became seriously disenchanted with the music selection the dj was playing. We went up to say something. *As a former half ass dj- one that spun RECORDS, not CDs that were beat matched by a computer- I am very sensitive to music, and this dj was Terrible with a capital T. I tried to talk some sense into the dj; play some Gaga, some Aguilera, something with a beat of at least 170 bpm, we headed back down the stairs to our table, as we were walking down the stairs my girl fell. Down the stairs. I tried to save her, but some guido jumped in. He and his fist pumping friends decided they should buy us a drink. Being girls who will always accept free drinks, we followed them back up the stairs. My girlfriend got her drink, I got some shitty Cape Codder (not that they are shitty, just that I didn’t want that at the time) while the guy tried unsuccessfully to get our numbers. We tried to explain that we were lesbians, to no avail. At that point we decided it was better just to walk away, which we did. We could tell that guido-san was trying to follow us, so when I got to the bottom of the stairs I went up to the table of people next to us and said, ‘hey guys, can we come sit with you for a while? There are some guys harassing us and we just want to chill here a second like we are part of your group so they will leave us alone.” The group consisted of both girls and guys, accepted us and made like we had always been there. We chilled for a while and started talking. BFF made fast friends with the table while asked about their kids and where they were all from. By the time the bar closed down, we were really part of their group.

Me, at crazy bar before crazy bitch attack

As she is wont to do, BFF started asking where the after party was. A few people said they were going to so and so’s house, and invited us. BFF committed. As we all started walking toward the parking lot, I saw two of the girls in the group walking together. They had said we were going to one of their houses, so I decided to make sure it was all right if we tagged along. I trotted up to the girls; “Hey,” I said, “You know, girl code and all, is it all right if we tag along with the group? Be honest, I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable.” Black and white haired girl shoots around, “No, I don’t fucking want you guys to come,” she spits. “Okay,” I say, “I understand.” I head over to the car and tell BFF that the chicks don’t want us there, so in no way am I going. I don’t want the drama that this causes. Jesus, I am almost 29, I don’t need to fight anyone, I don’t even want to yell at anyone. BFF is talking to one of the couples; they say that we can go hang out with them. I tell them that the other girl didn’t want us to go and that I sure as hell wasn’t going if she was going to be dramatic about it. They assure us that we are going to a different place. I am sure you can see where this is going.

Anyway, we get into their car and we drive to the bitch in question’s house. Of course when I get out she calls me out: “What the fuck are  you doing here?”

“I didn’t know we were going to your house, I’m sorry, they didn’t tell me,” I stammer.

“They didn’t tell you?” She screams in her townhouse driveway, “I was right there!”

“No, they didn’t tell me,” I repeat, “I’ll call a cab, where are we?”

“Why don’t you start fucking walking? Get the fuck out of here!” She yells.

“I don’t know where we are, so I can’t have a cab come get us if I don’t know your address,” I say,  phone in hand.

“Start fucking walking down the fucking road bitch! Get the fuck out of here!”

So I start walking. As I round the car that brought us there, the couple is standing next to the hood. “You fucking lied to me,” I say, “you knew I didn’t want to come here because she didn’t want us here. And now I had to get my ass torn open because you lied to us.” They didn’t say anything.

Are you kidding me? Really? A car pulls up next to us and BFF is yelling at me to get into it. I am too old for this shit. I see three people leaning against another car a few houses down. It’s 2am, “Hey guys,” I say, “Uh, yeah, we are girls,” they reply. Shit.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not wearing my glasses and it’s dark, and I’m a little drunk… anyway, where am I? I need to call a cab to pick me up.” They give me an address as BFF appears at my side. I light a cigarette while dialing a cab company. “Um, you can step off our property while smoking, thanks,” says the voice of the shemales behind me. What the fuck? Fine.

BFF gets me to hang up the phone and get in the car so we can get a ride home. We get home safe and sound. Still, I am disturbed by these crazy assholes two days later. It is Texas? I don’t know. I don’t know what was wrong with the original girl, she was prettier than us, she was also married, as we are (and make obvious). I do not understand why she felt the need to bitch me out in her driveway, or why she possibly felt threatened by us.

Please love <me> forever already. Painted on a wall in Austin.

Austin was a much better time. We arrived around 3 pm, went to a place called The Domain and looked at expensive things we could never afford (Louis Vuitton, Tiffany, Coach, etc.). We had a little snack and headed to the hotel. Nothing really exciting happened; we found a great Irish pub, we got to ride in a pedi cab (friggin awesome!), danced the night away on a rooftop bar and had delicious food cart kimchi french fries. On Sunday we crawled out of bed, ate breakfast and walked around the shopping area of Austin (where the awesome love graffiti was).

DJ on the roof of the bar on the rooftop bar. We started throwing our empties off the roof; trying to hit the dumpsters.

Pedi Cab Driver. He was smelly but worked hard.

What a rejuvenating weekend. I had never really been to Austin and it really changed my view of Texans overall. There were some very, very nice people out that night and it was nice to be around some non military adults. *People around military bases are a special breed and sometimes it can be a little tiring. I can’t thank BFF enough for getting me out of this stifling town and showing me a good time. Not to mention paying for everything. I love her so much.

I Love You So Much. Spray painted on another wall a few blocks down. BFF.

Yuck. Month 2 Update

Starting measurements:

Waist: 33 (sucking in) / 35 (relaxed)

Arms: 10.25 (left) / 11 (right)

Thighs: 23 (left) / 24 (right)

Measurements 1 month in:

Waist: 32/35 *After eating dinner even. Though I’d like the relaxed to disappear. Well, all of it to disappear.

Arms: 10.5/ 10.5 *Okay, went up .25 inch on the left arm, and down .5 on the right, which is great. Keep on doing push ups.

Thighs: 23.25/23.25 *It looks like I’m actually evening out. I am definitely happy to see .75 off the right thigh. That’s legit!

Hips: 38.5 *

 

Waist: 32.5/35

Arms: 10.5/11

Thighs: 23.25/23

Hips: Forgot

 

I totes don’t even want to comment on this. I’m super frustrated. I went to spin all this month- 3 days a week- and started doing a six-mile hike on Sundays. I must not be eating correctly. Also, I’ve got this damned IUD. When I was 18 I started getting the Depo Provera shot. 6 years in I got slammed with about 20 lbs of weight gain in about 8 months. I thought I had a glandular problem or something. I got off the shot and lost weight. Now, I’ve put on 10 lbs in the past year. And it seems that no matter what I do, I can’t take any of it off.

Goal for June: workout every day. For reals. June 30: getting this damned thing out of me!!!

Spin Cycle: The Week Thus Far

Had a different instructor at spin tonight. Dallas. Yup. Incidentally he works with my husband. He had the lights on the whole time (so he could see his card and see us bike to make sure we were doing it properly, he said), played some different music (I’m used to some pumped up, bassed out techno, hip hop, R&B and some classics thrown in- he played more Prince and country as well as some sweet 80s classics) and made us do sprints the ENTIRE TIME. I walked upstairs to do my sit ups afterward and barely made it. It was good, just different. If Otis would show up to class on a regular basis it would be nice because he rocks it out.

One thing I do want to mention is the ladies walking out of spin after class. We have to walk through all the weight machines and free weights, which are usually pretty full up with soldiers, to get out of the gym. These girls saunter their butts out of spin like they are on a stroll in the friggin park. And I always get stuck behind them. Listen, I sweat like a beast, I’ve got my fat ass that I am self-conscious of, and my bangs have frizzed themselves into a white afro of sweat. I don’t want to saunter my ass through all the jacked guys like I’m checking out the leaves, I want to dart through there attracting as little attention as possible so I can go work my arms and abs in the little corner of the gym. I have to go through an obstacle course to get around these girls usually and it just pisses me off that they are being so inconsiderate. If you want to walk slowly, walk off to the side.

Hike on Sunday was good, saw a ridiculous Tarantula. Out in the wild. Chillin. Yeah, I’m going to pass on it. One of the others got a photo though. Doesn’t that look like something out of a magazine? We had a couple of newbies with us, one of whom was not prepared for the hike at all. Of course my lazy ass begged us not to start until 9:30 (because that means I leave at 9 to get to the meeting place and I don’t like to get up earlier than 8:30 on Sundays) so what should have been a 2 hour hike took almost 3 hours. Which was not helped by Taz, who is not as in shape as he used to be, apparently, as every time he saw a shaded spot he laid down in it. I had to carry him almost a mile by the end. Little scamp.

Also, the in-laws might be arriving tomorrow. Yes. Mike heard about this, ahh, last week, from his sister. They still haven’t called us directly, but are supposed to be in the area around tomorrow. Know that we are 3000 miles away from where they live. They didn’t want to call us and make some plans? I’m exasperated and I feel, I don’t know, put off by their lack of planning. If we could have made a plan I could have arranged some time off from work, to take them to some places, we could have figured out a place for them to stay (either at our house or a hotel).. etc. Not to mention Mike’s birthday is Friday. They haven’t sent him a birthday card or even called in years. Nothing on Christmas, nothing on birthdays or holidays… It makes me really mad. Even when he was in IRAQ.  I shall drink my way through it.

That’s about it, and it’s only Tuesday.

Oh, I also made a sweet ass soup!! I’ve got three new recipes to post that I’ll put up soon. Mmmm food.

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line

Engines pumping and thumping in time. The green light flashes, the flags go up, churning and burning they yearn for the cup…

~Cake

It took a pair of jeans. The pair of jeans I bought two weeks ago. I knew they were a bit iffy when I bought them. The ticket said 29″/(size)8. I was skeptical. I paid the 55$ for them anyway, mostly because I could get them buttoned and my ass looked great. I brought them home, tried them on for the husband, who barely looked, and set them aside. I looked at them probably every day, thinking, I want to wear those, but I probably won’t be able to get into them and I can’t deal with that right now. Well, this morning I put them on. And I wore them to work. And it felt great. I am still not sure I trust that 29″, but I’m going with it. I guess I’ll have to pull out my other pair and start wearing those again.

Yesterday I kicked my own ass after spinning, and those jeans motivated me to do it again today. Planks, push ups, sit ups… I guess it just took that pair of pants.

It took that pair of jeans to make me start recording my calories again and to not pick up that six-pack tonight (and yesterday). When I couldn’t do any push ups tonight, I was sad, but I got that focus back in my mind. ROTC. Less than 1 year away. No one thinks I can do it. No one thinks I will do it.

They deftly maneuver and muscle for rank, fuel burning fast on an empty tank. Reckless and wild they pour through the turns their prowess is potent and secretly stern. As they speed through the finish, the flags go down. The fans get up and they get out-of-town. The arena is empty, except for one man, still driving and striving as fast as he can. The sun has gone down and the moon has come up and long ago somebody left with the cup. But he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns. And thinking of someone for whom he still burns.

Shrunk Jackets, Lavender Spiders and Birthers, Oh MY!

Apparently today wasn’t actually that uneventful. In terms of my life, having three things to talk about is a big day.

As I was fixing my lunch and work snacks this morning what catches my eye but a nickel sized wolf spider on the ceiling of my kitchen. I stopped, frozen, for a minute and stared at it, as if willing it to either disappear or drop to the floor so I could step on it. He didn’t move. I continued my carrot cutting cockeyed so I could watch him while I was doing it and was trying to think of a way to get him off the ceiling. I had read a couple of months ago that spiders hate lavender, so I have been spraying it all over the house for quite a while. I figured I wasn’t going to mess with this guy at 6am with a sleeping husband, but that I’d at least get my little lavender spray bottle and spray around the bedroom door so he wouldn’t go in there during the day (?). As I sprayed it, he started to move away from where the smell was coming from. Hmmm. Maybe they don’t like lavender. So I sprayed all around the moulding of the kitchen cabinets. He moved away immediately. He was heading for the hall (still on the ceiling, mind you), so I cut him off at the pass and as soon as he reached the spot I sprayed he dropped to the stove. Seriously? It works? I put a glass on him and a flimsy cutting board under and brought him to the garden and let him off with a stern warning. I then proceeded to spray lavender all over the house and bug spray all over the outside of the house.

First, some photos from my Sunday hike:

Big girl playing in the watah

Luca and Scout

Before the Fire Swamp

Item 2: Fat guy in a litttlllleee coooaaaaattt (oh Chris Farley Lay off me, IM STARVING!). I have sucked at this diet thing, no surprise there. I have been working out and I rocked a six-mile hike on Sunday, but I can’t seem to stop eating like I’m a 200lb man. Anyway, I put on a blazer that I wear probably once a week and I couldn’t button the second button without it being super tight. Motherchucker! This is not happening! Then I remembered it had gone on a little trip through the wash and dry this weekend. I looked at the sleeves. Yes, they were a little shorter. Shrunk. I am a little famous for shrinking things: A week after I married my husband I decided to be the good little wifey and wash his BDUs. I shrunk them all. Those babies don’t stretch people. He went to put them on and could barely button his pants and jacket. He never let me wash them again. Awesome, I shrunk something else.

birth-certificate-long-form

C: Hick of the day, let’s call him Dick, went off this morning at our usual breakfast table pow wow in the break room about how Obama’s recently released long form birth certificate wasn’t real. As my mom would say, Jesus H Christ (the “H” stands for Holy- I was informed of this recently as I used to say Jesus Age Christ, which I still think sounds better), what the fuck more do you want? He went on about how there was no seal, you couldn’t see the embossing that should have been left by the stamp, blah blah blah. I told him the seal was on the back, which is why you wouldn’t see it. As someone who possesses a reissued birth certificate, among other court documents that have been stamped, such as name change papers and marriage documents, those things don’t show up in photos. They are there for TACTILE purposes you moron. They don’t use ink when they stamp them, it’s not a stamp in the traditional sense that’s why they call it a SEAL (not the Navy kind). He went on to say it wasn’t signed by a doctor, actually, it was. He went on to say that all he had to produce was a Certificate of Live Birth. At this point I knew he hadn’t actually looked at it because that is EXACTLY what it says at the top. Of course the other guys were chiming in as this exchange was happening: that’s all he had to do, easy, he just had to provide a birth certificate, he couldn’t even do that… yadda yadda yadda. Then came the, well, they do that here. It’s not a problem here or here. I am not from here (thank God) and I said, well they do the same thing where I’m from. Oh, they also do the same thing in Alaska, where my husband was born. Oh, they do the same thing in Massachusetts where my mom was born. Guys, when will you realize that the midwest is not the only place on earth? It about ended there as I drank my green vegan protein shake. Peace.

Tomorrow is a new day, I’m going to rock out with my cock out. Or, jam out with my clam out. Win it all baby.

BOOM

When I first started spinning I invited a friend to go with me. She is basically my only friend in town, especially the only friend I would invite to a spin class. She is an ex college athlete, so I knew she wouldn’t be opposed to a hard workout. She carpools with her boyfriend in to town, so we couldn’t quite get the logistics right at the time. She texted me Monday asking me if I still went to spin. Her boyfriend is in the field blowing things up all week, so she wanted to try it out.

The first night she looked like she was about to die. I wasn’t sure she would go the next day. But she did. And did better. And liked it a little I think. Today it was gorgeous so she convinced me she had to get home early to ride her horse (jealous!), so we went and did some major ab work and 10 minutes of sprints.

I am psyched. She was down for everything and I feel like we had a good workout. She couldn’t jump rope because her shorts were literally falling off her skinny butt, but that’s all right. Her boyfriend is coming back tomorrow so we probably won’t be able to do it again, but it really gave me some more motivation to have someone come work out with me for a week. It definitely made me feel awesome to have a partner there. It also made me feel awesome to get on the treadmill after a 3 month hiatus. I think I shall do it again sometime.

I have a photo of us on the bikes and as soon as I can figure out how to steal it from the new, lame, Facebook photo layout, I will put it in the post.

And the spokes fell off

Polo Time!!

The spokes fell off the diet wagon this weekend and crashed, so I am making up for it with shots of vodka and Corona in cans with tuna noodle casserole for dinner. I do feel a certain sense of determination to rock this week out. That sense of determination that comes after feeling like you are scraping the bottom of the barrel and it is time to pull yourself out. I didn’t have a bad binge or anything, which is very like me, though I did eat veggie fried rice last night and the salt alone bloated me to the size of one of those African children with the distended bellies. On the plus, I got a pair of Gap jeans in a 29. I love how the jean size says 29 and yet I measure my own stomach enough to know that it is 32. I wonder what jeans I will wear when my stomach gets to an actual 29.

The polo match today was fantastic. As someone who hates watching any kind of football or baseball and enjoys watching things like rugby, this was right up my alley. I love horses, being pretentious and wearing terrific hats and dresses. I found a girlfriend to wear a great hat with and we went with her daughters. It really was a great time.

There is one thing I would like to bring up. When the chaplain, this was on a military post, said the prayer and the Army band played the national anthem, I took off my fabulous hat. I am a proud Atheist, however I do take off my hat out of respect to the soldiers. I do not say Amen during public sermons and usually awkwardly stare at the people who bow their heads, but I try to be respectful of their beliefs. I will take my hat off during the anthem and turn toward the flag as well. It does no harm to me as an Atheist and I feel that it is not my place to make a stink and ruin other people’s time of reflection or what have you. While they were playing the anthem, I looked around and noticed that I was about the only girl with a fancy hat that was holding it to their stomach. The ladies with the visors had definitely not removed them and probably 90% of the women who had fancy hats, including my friend who is a known Atheist/Pagan, had not removed theirs. Are you absolved from removing your hat during the National Anthem if it is fancy? I guess I slightly regretted removing my hat because my hat head was atrocious, though I still felt that I should be respectful. Especially being on a military installation. I guess it was just something that struck me as strange.

*Edit: I discussed this with the guys at work and they informed me that ladies with fancy hats do not have to remove them during the National Anthem as they may be pinned into their hair and not easily removed. That makes sense.

Anyway, now I am home and seriously considering calling out sick of work tomorrow. Just for a little mental health day. We shall see, I probably won’t do it. I don’t know why they give us so much sick time, I already have over 40 hours accrued this year. I think I should use it. Better at a day a month than all at once, right?