TWO WORDS

GO PATS!!!!!

Crazy People

Those who know me well know I am a news junkie. This morning during a commerical of Saved By The Bell (I know I'm 33, but it's like comfort food to me, it's my comfort TV) I flipped over to MSNBC and saw that Benazir Bhutto had been killed by a suicide bomber, after being shot in her head and neck. How awful. Then I started thinking about powerful women and how people are intimidated by them and what they stand for. I don't know much about Bhutto, except she was a prime minister of Pakistan at one point.

It makes me sad when powerful women (and men) are killed. My hero has been Christa McAuliffe, the teacher on the Challenger Space Shuttle, since I was 12 years old. She wasn't a political leader, but something about her appealed to me. Maybe because I wanted to be a teacher and have always been fascinated by anything space-related.

So I'm sad the world has lost a powerful female leader. We need more of them (except Hillary, please, no Hillary, I'm convinced she's packing man junk in her crotch).

Enough already Big Guy

The Big Guy I'm referring to is God. There's a quote that says, "God doesn't give you more than you can handle." I believe this, but at the same time, would like to please ask God to stop giving me too much to handle.

Case in point: Christmas Eve. About 2 p.m. There's a puddle of water underneath my washing machine. Having fixed the washer several times, I pull it apart and realize there's a drip coming from a part of the washer that doesn't have a water source anywhere near it. Uh oh, not good. And it's near the electrical wiring. Double not good. So I had it. After 11 years, it's time to buy a new washer. The OCD kicks in and I'm at Lowe's at 3 p.m. and home by 4 with a new washer. With the help of my friend Stacey, we get the old washer out the door and carry in the new one. Like she said, we're badass bitches. It really wasn't as heavy as I thought it would be. I got it all hooked up and I'm actually enjoying doing laundry, for the sheer fact that everything is clean and new.

So yeah, God, could you make these next two weeks fly by without any really major hassles? 'ppreciate it.

I'm gonna say THE word

CHRISTMAS. It's Christmas Eve and I want to shout out to y'all - MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!

The retailers are so PC these days they won't even print the word Christmas. F that, I say. I have made it a point to say Merry Christmas to everyone from the UPS guy to the checkout girl at the commissary, because obviously, they have been told not to say it to anyone, lest they offend them. F that again, (See, Adam, I can clean up my dirty mouth for Christmas). They seem surprised I'm able to say "Merry Christmas." Hey, I'm sorry, but aren't 99% of us celebrating Christmas? Our Jewish friends have already had their holiday and Kwanzaa doesn't start until Wednesday, so yeah, it's MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Adam, I miss you so much. It won't be the same here without you. I love you, always and forever.

I Heart Card Sharks

I also heart the Game Show Network and marathons of all kind. GSN is kind enough to give me an early present - 11 hours of Card Sharks. Tomorrow is Family Feud. New Year's Day GSN will have a Let's Make a Deal marathon.

And, of course, the best marathon of all time - 24 hours of A Christmas Story, starting at 8 p.m. tonight on TBS. It's our annual tradition, to put it on at 8 and leave the TV on in the bedroom all night. When Addison opens up his presents from Santa, A Christmas Story is on. I heart leg lamps.

How to Have Fun at Starbucks

Fake names, of course. It all started with Adam and I. Adam said to give fake names, like of famous couples. Our first time, I ordered my grande mocha light frappucino and when asked my name, answered, of course, "Britney." Adam ordered his drink and when asked his name, (stay with me here), replied, "Kevin." We had a good ol' chuckle on behalf of the Starbucks employees who seemed to have no clue what we were doing. We did feel bad, though, when Brit Brit and K-Fed broke up, as if we had something to do with it.

The next time, I gave the name Katie. Adam gave the name Tom and within a second bolted over to the tables. He was afraid of busting out laughing, which I was having a very hard time not doing myself.

Before we visit Starbucks, we think of famous couples. Next time we will be David and Victoria.

But today, Addison and I were feeling a need for a caffeine fix so we stopped in after shopping at the PX (Underdog the movie and a football for Addison and a George Foreman grill for me-Merry Christmas Erin). While were in line, Addison said, "If they ask your name, tell them Jessica." When she asked my name, I said "Jessica." Addison started grinning. He had ordered a caramel mochiatto or something like that I had never heard of, and when she asked for his name, I told her, "Joe." It just sprung to mind, and for those of you who are not regular Us Magazine readers, Joe is Jessica Simpson's dad who is creepy and talks about his daughter's twin assets on a regular basis.

It's just a small day to brighten up your day-our inside joke on Starbucks.

You Down With OCD?

Yeah you know me. But if you don't, several years ago a very nice doctor told me I had mild OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder). Okay, I can deal with that. Through the years, I have noticed that at times my OCD flares - during the holidays, during times of stress, and when Adam is deployed. Bingo bango, all three are happening right now, and my OCD is pinging away.

More than 50 rolls of toilet paper? Check. Three cans of furniture polish? Check. And the list goes on and on. I did manage to figure out why I am like this. It all has to do with control. I have no control over certain things in my life, but I can have control over things like how much laundry detergent I have. It's a comfort thing. I know my ass will be clean because there's no chance of running out of toilet paper. I know my furniture will be clean - if I actually use the polish.

What can I say? I don't enjoy OCD but it works out well for my friends, who know if they run out of something, Erin has it.

HEY YOU-YEAH YOU

I'm talking to you. You know who you are. You're the assclown in front of me in the checkout line, who has a large item up on the counter, but yet you can't seem to find the strength to move it so I can put my stuff up. Clearly I'm struggling with my full basket and the canister set under my arm, yet you don't seem to notice me. You make me cranky. You are rude. I hope Santa brings you socks and tighty whities.
From the short, angry girl behind you

I love third grade

So I got the call Wednesday afternoon to substitute for a third grade teacher today. Sure, I told her.

I was a little apprehensive because in the few months I've been subbing, I have never been a real teacher for a full day. A few hours here and there, but mostly subbing for aides in kindergarten and special needs.

I needn't have worried.

We started the day with 10 kids - 7 girls, 3 boys. Within 10 minutes, a boy and girl went to spend the day at the gifted program- down to 8. By 11:30, a boy left for the day (he told me his mom was picking him up to go shopping because he had $30-way to go mom), so I was down to 7. After lunch and recess, two more kids left for Reading 180.

It was me and five third-grade girls. We did some worksheets together, then colored a Santa card and cut it out (I made one for Addison) while listening to Christmas music. Addison's class across the hall was having their Christmas party, so my friend brought me over some pizza, cookies, a cupcake and some Cheetos.

Talk about being set.

It's great being a sub.

What is up with the Spears' girls?

I first saw the cover of OK! Magazine yesterday on Perezhilton.com and figured it was some sort of joke. There's no way Jamie Lynn Spears is pregnant!
First thing this morning (Okay, this afternoon, when I got out of bed - it's a long story about sleeplessness) I put on my favorite news channels (CNN Headline News, MSNBC, Fox News) and figure if it's really true, it will be on there. I missed the scrollie thingie but did see something about a longtime boyfriend so I kept flipping back and forth between all three channels when, yup, Jamie Lynn Spears is 16 and pregnant. By a 19-year-old. Who she met at church. How sweet.
I could type forever and ever my opinions on the Spears' family and parenting and all that crap, but like my husband says, "Opinions are like assholes, everybody has one." You formulate your own opinion, because I've certainly got tons of mine own.

My Christmas Message

The trees are decorated, the presents wrapped and the cards have been sent out. We’ve been inundated with the commercialism of Christmas so much that we believe we must have that GPS or the toy no one can get their hands on. It’s impossible to watch a half-hour sitcom without seeing at least five Christmas-themed commercials.
This is what Christmas has become – a fast-themed, must-have, hyped-up holiday. And frankly, I’m sick of it.
This year I’ve felt bad for myself. Poor me, I’ve thought, my husband is once again not going to be home for Christmas. Double poor me, my brother is also deployed, and I have to worry about his safety also. Why, once again, do I have to be the one to buy all the presents, wrap them, do the Christmas cards, etc.? I started sinking into a depression until I started thinking like an adult instead of a petulant child.
What about those families who have lost their loved ones this past year? What about the wife who lost her husband in Iraq or Afghanistan, who will never again share any holiday with him, or has to explain to her child why Daddy won’t be home for Christmas? Or the mom who wakes up Christmas morning, remembering Christmases past, knowing her son or daughter won’t be there for dinner, because they gave the ultimate sacrifice for their country?
Every day when I log onto my e-mail, I am reminded that there are those people, who in spite of having real reason to complain, don’t. Scot Noss, an Army Ranger, was in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan in February. He has been in a coma since. Every day his wife RyAnne writes about her day and how Scot is progressing in his therapy. She is a pillar of strength, and not once have I read anything to indicate her feeling sorry for herself. It is quite the contrary. She believes in God, and in Scot, and the miracles that God delivers. She is with Scot every day, taking huge pride in the small steps Scot is making.
She could bemoan the fact that Scot will be in a hospital for Christmas – but she doesn’t. She could turn her back on God because Scot won’t wake up next to her Christmas morning and say, “Merry Christmas, I love you.” But RyAnne chooses to see the good in everything, and everyone. Her faith keeps herself and everyone around her, and everyone who reads the updates on the Web site, full of hope and pride in the progress Scot makes.
I never got the chance to know RyAnne when they were stationed here. My husband knows Scot very well – they worked together for awhile, and my husband thought the world of Scot. He would come home and tell me stories about how funny Scot was. “He’s a quiet guy, but when he talks, you listen, because you know it’s going to be hilarious,” he would tell me.
Even though I don’t know RyAnne, her thoughts and feelings come across through the Web site. I’m thrilled when Scot has a good day, and keeps his eyes open. I got teary-eyed reading about how he can give a thumbs up or down to basic questions. I get frustrated when certain therapies don’t work like they should. Basically, it’s very emotional, reading the Web site, and I never thought I would ever say that, but it’s true.
This Christmas, yes, I will be sad my husband isn’t here. I will be sad for my 8-year-old son who will probably remember this Christmas as opposed to three years ago when Dad wasn’t here. But I will not be feeling sorry for myself. I will be happy that I am blessed with everything God has given me, from my husband and son to my three best friends, from a little girl named Miriam to a boy named Gage who remind me every day not to take life for granted, and a girl named Jordan who gives me the world’s best hugs, always just when I need them.
But most of all, I will be thinking of RyAnne, who probably never thought she’d spend a Christmas in a hospital with her husband. There are so many other wives and families doing the same. Let’s stop and think of them this holiday season, because really, once our presents are all unwrapped and our holiday dinners consumed, they will still be fighting to get better every day.