Veteran’s Day is every day, really

Posted on by B

(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

Posted on by B

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…

Posted on by B

Deal.

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

Posted on by B

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.

FINALLY.

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.

</rant>

 

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.

Obligatory Birthday Post

Posted on by B

On the way home, we were discussing all of the birthdays in October. Aside from The Brat and I doing some birthday bowling, we had been invited to several birthday parties just this weekend.

Me: Well, there are a lot of birthdays in October. January is a cold month.

Brat: Yeah. I’m Daddy’s birthday present.

Me: What? You’re MY birthday present. I got to come home from the hospital with you on MY birthday.

Brat: Nope. I am EXACTLY 9 months from Daddy’s birthday.

The Man: …

Me: [please insert loud, hysterical laughter here] [and here] [and here]

Because she is. EXACTLY.

I’m sure 16-ish years ago, they told me when I conceived. And I probably laughed then too, realizing that it meant that our birthday sex gave us both a birthday baby.

I just never really thought that SHE* had realized it too.

Who says you never use math in real life?

*Gah! “Sweet 16”, my ass.

This is why I shouldn’t have friends

Posted on by B

So, the names/pictures were taken off to protect ummm… people who ARE  on the internet (because this is Facebook), but probably didn’t think they’d be on it like this.

 ANYWAYS. I didn’t even post the status update that started all this, because THAT IS NOT THE PART THAT MATTERS.

 The part that matters is:

  1. Keep your argument offline, lest I decide to post it for the world to see.
  2. Why are you instigating? EVERYONE on this thread is GROWN. And by grown, I mean at least 25 years old, and too old to be fanning the flames.
  3. I am not helpful. AT ALL. 
    There’s always one…

    click to embiggen

I think I may be ready for some Football

Posted on by B

So I was pretty much getting my ass handed to me in fantasy football. Last week, I lost 101 to 158. Yeah, you know how every week SOMEBODY gets blown the hell out? Last week was my week.

BUT. Let’s talk about this week, shall we:

I thank God for every single one of my points..

THIS WEEK…

Although is SAID Q(uestionable), Beanie Wells was OUT. As you can see by the fact that I got NO POINTS AT ALL for this guy. And Brandon Lloyd, who was P(robable) didn’t play much, but DID IN FACT PLAY.

Questionable/Probable…WHY CAN’T YOU JUST TELL ME WHEN PEOPLE ARE NOT GOING TO PLAY?? WHY DO I HAVE TO GUESS?!

Also, I would like to point out that BenJarvus Green-Ellis got 1.6 points. WTF does that?! I had such high hopes for him. Since, yannow, HE WAS SUPPOSED TO GET ME AT LEAST 1o points. These things would have been a serious problem if I had been playing someone else, but luckily for me, one of  team Prada’s players (::sigh:: I have plenty to say about naming your FOOTBALL TEAM PRADA, but I just…can’t. And I just named my team Mine, so maybe I’m not one to talk?) got negative points  ON TOP OF both her Defense AND her Kicker being shit this week.

So. All of those things happened, AND I’m still up 87 to 69 AND we both have player playing  tonight. Unless, of course Tim Hightower has an UNBELIEVABLE game tonight,  I can claim my first victory.

YAY!

Your argument is invalid

Posted on by B

Every once in a while The Man tries to top me when it comes to “Who Loves The Brat More”

Him: I love the baby so much that I watched the Cheetah Girls with her. ALL OF THEM.

Me: I love her so much that I spent 7 months vomiting, and 13 hours of labor pushing a baby out of my cooch. I also got these really awesome stretch marks for carrying a baby around for 9 months.

Him: …

Me: I win.

I can never resist a challenge

Posted on by B

So last fall, I decided that taking a class on a Sunday was a GOOD IDEA. Which, in reality, it should have been. I would have had all week to do homework, no rushing home from work to change into something more comfy (read: sweats/flip flops), no stuffing my face with food on the way to class before already being tired before class even started.

EVERYTHING about this seemed like a good idea.

Except.

Except, EVERY SUNDAY was FOOTBALL SUNDAY. So every Sunday, The Man and his friends would host football at their home. From the morning game to the last game. Every weekend they rotated houses. But. It was every Sunday. Without fail. This means, food, and football, and refreshments. And by refreshments, I mean beer. And whiskey. And sometimes even wine. (But not for me. Wine does not EVER go with football.)

And I didn’t want to miss out on the fun.

So.

Class starts at 2pm? No problem. I would catch the first few games, eat, have a drink and go to class. EVERY. WEEK. I will even admit to being dropped off at school a time or two because sometimes, I didn’t stop at the one drink. I’m pretty sure the other students in the class thought I had a drinking problem. Whatever. I got an A in the class, because even slightly buzzed, I can bullshit my way through an exam comprised solely of essay questions with the best of them any day of the week. Especially on Sunday, apparently.

I did swear that I would never take a class that was on football sundays again. And I haven’t. I have a Thursday class.

Would you like to know what fun and exciting things are happening on Thursdays?

I can look at it as the universe conspiring against me. OR A CHALLENGE.
Guess which one I’m choosing.

I didn’t know people didn’t know this

Posted on by B

You know those single toilet bathroom deals? You know, not the ones with the stalls? I would like to go over the rules with you.

  1. You go into the bathroom.
  2. You lock the door.
  3. You do your business (WHATEVER that business is: putting on make up, turning your undies right side in because you got dressed in the dark and you’ve been walking around with your draws inside out, having naughty afternoon sex with a married doctor- I work in a hospital, guys. This is not as unlikely as you’d think)
  4. YOU WASH YOUR HANDS.
  5. You leave.
This sounds fairly accurate, right? I don’t think that I’m leaving out anything super important.
NOW. I would like to suggest that there are reciprocal rules for people WHO ARE WAITING to use the restroom when it is occupied:
  1. You knock/jiggle the handle.
  2. You see that it is locked.
  3. YOU WAIT.
Seem reasonable? And by reasonable, I mean that you wouldn’t see that it is locked, AND THEN UNLOCK THE DOOR?
Because THEN you might completely rip the cleaning guy a new one in the hallway in front of the nurse manager’s office because WERE YOU RAISED BY WILD ANIMALS BECAUSE WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT?! IT IS STANDARD PROTOCOL TO FUCKING KNOCK ON A LOCKED DOOR IN A PUBLIC PLACE OR AT LEAST LET A MOTHERFUCKER KNOW YOU’RE UNLOCKING THE DOOR BEFORE YOU CHARGE IN, AND YOU ARE GODDAMN LUCKY I WAS JUST TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE HELL WAS STABBING ME IN MY EYE AND NOT DOING SOMETHING WHERE MY PANTIES WERE AROUND MY ANKLES OR I WOULD HAVE TOTALLY GOTTEN FIRED FOR VIOLENCE IN THE WORKPLACE BECAUSE O.M.G.
*ahem*
I’m just asking. For a friend.