The things I tell my friends

Sometimes, all I can do is send e-mails in bullets. I’m pretty much the laziest e-mail writer ever:

Subject: Preemptive Strike

1. Did not bring my lunch today.

2. Also? Forgot my sweater from Old Navy that still has the sensor on it.

3. BUT. Am going to the sprint store today for lunch.

4. I have a headache.  I think that caffeine may be necessary.

                a. I’ve already had 2 Aleve

                b. AND a caramel macchiato. But it was decaf?

                c. Maybe I should just have a ½ a coke.

5. I sent this in an e-mail with no explanation to The Man in warning:

Yes, I just told the entire internet it's my ladytime

                 a. I feel like he deserves fair warning for my all around general b!tchy attitude during my rare waking hours because shark week is also making me sleepy.

I’m actually going to give something besides thanks today

So today is Thanksgiving Day. The day that I usually call “Turkey Day” because you really ought to be more thankful EVERY DAY and not just wait for the 3rd Thursday in November. And because really, these days, today has been more about how much food you can eat before your top button pops, before going out for a shopping frenzy at midnight in order to catch all of the sales.

But then my friend,  Undomestic Diva happened upon an organization called Feeding America. For just a buck, they can provide 8 meals. EIGHT OF THEM.


Do you know what *I* can do with $1? I can’t even buy a bag of chips at work with a buck. So, when Undomestic Diva went all Faberge on us. But. She was right. If 8 followers donated $1, and those followers donated, that would be a lot of meals.

Which is kinda my point. I’m not rich, by any means. But you know what? I have a couple of dollars in my pocket, and food on my table. Doesn’t seem like much, until you think of how many don’t. AND NOT just the homeless and impoverished. Some of your neighbors right there in the suburbs are also wondering where the next meal is going to come from.

And just like that, I became even MORE grateful for the things that I have. And because I do have them, I can give to those who don’t. And so, I’m going to donate. Because, I can. Because I have to. Because there shouldn’t be hunger in a place where people have EATING COMPETITIONS (Which. Gross).

Also? You should stop by Undomestic Diva and Jett Superior‘s place. THEY are the masterminds who are putting the giving, back in Thanksgiving day. And even though *I* don’t have a giveaway, they are giving away fancy gifts and prizes to those who do a little donating today.

So have at it kids, Have yourselves a Happy ThanksGiving!


P.S. If you need help, go here. When they said that they are Feeding America, they meant you too.

On trying new things

I am definitely a creature of habit.

If given the chance between NEW RESTAURANT and McDonald’s, there’s a pretty good chance I would pick a cheeseburger happy meal every time. (Clearly I believe in going with the devil you know, rather than the devil you don’t. Sorta related: Hurray for apple slices!)


So one of the stores at my Big Fancy Hospital closed and was turned into a deli. It’s right next to the coffee shop that I go to pretty much every day. (Non-fat, decaf caramel macchiato. Upside down. With whipped Cream. Please. Thank you)

My co-worker decided that she wanted to try to place next door. She was STARVING. And a bagel was not going to cut it.  So, she forced talked me into going with.

Please see very first statement. I FEAR CHANGE.

But I did it. I had a breakfast burrito. Chorizo and Egg Burrito to be exact.


So. I had to take it back. To complain that my egg and chorizo burrito did not have chorizo. Huh. They didn’t give me any trouble though. They made me a new one. Chorizo. Egg. Cheese. No Salsa. No hash brown. (I hate hash browns. I also hate Pace Salsa. And coincidentally, I had home-made salsa that my co-worker brought over JUST. THAT. MORNING.)

I ended up not liking it. I don’t know if it was just the experience, or because I genuinely didn’t care for it. But I’m doubting I’ll get it again. They also had lunch stuff, and a juice bar.

Maybe I’ll give one of those a try. I guess that’s the point, right? Giving things a try?




Veteran’s Day is every day, really

(Which is good, because I just got around to writing this post)

This past week was a double whammy for The Man.

His birthday (He turned 236. Happy Birthday, Honey) was November 10th. And Veteran’s day was the 11th.

I would have liked to done something to celebrate, but we couldn’t. Because I spent a large portion of this week with him in the hospital. He has a completely inexplicable recurring illness that can’t be diagnosed, nor cured. It comes without warning, and all we can do is wait for it to pass.

It’s a souvenir of his first deployment to Kuwait in 1990. He signed up in 1989, right after he graduated from high school. And before he could settle down to his very first duty station, he had orders for his first deployment. After he did his 4 years, he talked about getting out. Told me that he was going back to civilian life, going  to school, blah blah blah.

But he didn’t; he went back for more. Two unaccompanied tours to Okinawa, Three deployments to Afghanistan/Iraq. At least 5 military moves with the family, and all that entails:  including changing schools for 2 kids, and figuring out whether we were going to live on/off base, and supporting a wife who worked intermittently because just when she got comfortable somewhere, it was time to change duty stations. And then leaving said wife and kids because he had a field op/deployment/some other thing that he had to leave for several months missing birthdays, anniversaries, and other things he would have preferred not to miss.

That is what military life is. Missing things that you’d rather not miss, doing things that (sometimes) you’d rather not do. BUT. Being a Marine was what he wanted to do for as long as he can remember.  And even when he hated it, he loved it. 

I’m pretty sure that if he never heard one “thank you” in his entire years of service, he still would have done it. It’s the life he chose for himself.

Still. It’s nice that people are grateful. ‘Cause I don’t know that I’d want to risk my life for y’all motherfuckers.

Just sayin’


Facing my fears

I’m one of those people who hate going to the Doctor’s office for tests.

Which is kind of weird, when you consider that I’ve never gotten bad news. Surprising news, yes (What do you MEAN I’m pregnant?!), bad? No.

I made a Mammogram appointment today.

I’ve put it off because breast cancer runs in my family/because I feel FINE/ because I couldn’t possibly have it.

But I can.

So I called. My appointment is November 16th.

Day 2.

Put on your big girl panties and…


When Undomestic Diva, who is one of the most fearless broads I know, threw down a challenge to face your fears for 30 days called Operation Eleanor, first I was like Operation ELEANOR? REALLY? But hey, maybe she’s had a life long fear of the name Eleanor. MAYBE THAT’S THE FIRST FEAR SHE FACED.

Whatever. I suppose it doesn’t really matter what it’s called. It’s about putting on your big girl draws and doing something that scares you. Me? I’ve got big fears and small fears. Things that I’ve been wanting do but didn’t, because sometimes I CARE WHAT PEOPLE THINK. SOMETIMES.

Some I’ll post here, and some I won’t. Let just call those PERSONAL VICTORIES. But I promise to take you along for most of the ride. Deal?

Happy November boys & girls. Let the fear facing begin!



A Halloween post. With Pictures. And a small rant

This was The Brat’s costume:



I spent almost an hour in Party City, with 500 bajillion other people because she waited until Saturday to tell me, “Oh, I *do* want to wear a costume to school on Monday”. So after a breakfast that included chicken and waffles (and an itis SO STRONG that I had to fight against it just so that I wouldn’t fall into a Rip Van Winkle-type sleep), we were off to find a costume that was both not ridiculously expensive and cute, but not slutty. The procedure: Go to the wall, pick out a costume, pray they have it in your size:

Me: Do you have the “Candy Corn Witch”?

Clerk: We only have it in an XL.

Me: But the wall says you have only XS…?

Clerk: Nope.

Me: Sigh… Brat, go look for another costume.

Rinse. Repeat.


Me: They have this Little Red Riding hood costume in a size 3-5. So, it should be a little big, and hopefully not as short?

Brat:  Fine. Let’s buy it and go, the line to try it on is long and hasn’t moved in 15 minutes.


My Cell, around 7PM:

Brat: Um. I tried it on. I’m going to need leggings, or tights or SOMETHING*.

So I go to The Target, where THEY DON’T HAVE LEGGINGS IN ANY COLOR BUT BLACK, which WTH, Target?! I wander a round for a bit before I go to the kids section and grab the 14-16 size tights.

She’s also wearing her track shorts. Because she felt like she needed EXTRA protection so that her ass did not end up exposed.

Stand by for rant in 3…2…

Here’s the thing: I *know* that costume should’ve been bigger on her than it was because she’s a tiny little thang. LUCKILY, she IS small, so she *did* have some room. But not much. Also? This costume was clearly a teen costume. SO. WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU COSTUME PEOPLE?! WHY do you insist on trying to slut up every costume? WHEN did this become okay? Why can’t you make a costume REGULAR SIZED and with a DECENT LENGTH? In theory, these costumes should be able to be worn at school, right? Because MOST KIDS wear costumes to school on Halloween. But a lot of these costumes are fast getting to the point of not being appropriate. And if that is the case, THIS MEANS YOU WANT US TO SEND OUR YOUNG DAUGHTERS OUT IN TEENY TINY COSTUMES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO ASK FOR TRICKS OR TREATS.

Like hookers.



I’m thinking next year, I’ll be making a costume for The Brat. It’s getting to be too difficult to find a decent looking costume for a girl child. And because if this trend continues, I’m pretty sure next year all the costumes will be booby tassles and thongs.


*I sincerely hope this means that I’m doing something right, that The Brat requested help de-sluttifying her costume so that she could wear it? Please say yes.

**This rant brought to you by the fact that I’m old, and that I remember being able to wear a costume without needing to get waxed.Now, GET OFF MY LAWN.