Speak to me, Baby

I've been talking for a few weeks about finding a hobby since making the decision to not work anymore. I have not been triumphant in this pursuit. So I've come up with a few ideas I might give a whirl:

1. Teach my 12-pound dog, Baby, how to talk. At first I thought maybe I could teach her English, but then realized Adam would send me up the river to the crazy farm. When I can get her to whine she makes some funny noises, and have even gotten an almost, "Mama" from her.

2. Enter every contest online I can find. Maybe I could win something really cool, like corn cob holders.

3. Get another dog to try to assuage my guilt over putting my first dog to sleep almost two years ago. Even though she had cancer and it was her time, I can't get over the guilt. Not sure if it's being raised Catholic or I'm just a guilt-ridden person, but I also realize I really don't want three dogs, even if Brewster is going on 11 and I don't expect him to be around forever. Maybe after we come back from North Carolina in May I'll seriously consider it. It would make me feel better to save a dog and have a new addition to the family.

4. Have another baby. NOT! Ha ha ha totally kidding, have no desire for a baby. Would rather have a raging case of diarrhea for a month.

5. Learn Spanish via the steamy novelas on TV. Rosetta Stone didn't teach me much in the six weeks I had to do Adam's homework, so I figure if I watch enough Spanish-speaking shows I'll pick up the language like that. I've seen enough interviews with actors from other countries who watch English-speaking shows and learn perfect English, so why can't I do the same?

6. Make a drinking game out of watching Judge Judy. Every time she calls someone stupid I'd have to take a drink of gin and juice.

7. Become an expert at Guitar Hero. The only problem is my ring finger has never worked. I lack muscles or whatever it is that makes it move, so that might be a long shot. Or I could invent an exercise machine for fingers that will help you ace Guitar Hero.

8. Work out until I pass out. Will have a killer bod and way less boobage then I do now. Pass.

9. Watch cooking shows and research the ingredients they use, because I haven't heard of about 90% of what they actually put into these recipes. Then find out if they actually sell this stuff at the commissary.

10. Play bingo online at pogo.com until I actually win a game. I'm constantly beaten by people with screen names like Granlovesbingo, GrammyBunco and Nana1932. Watching the Game Show Network and playing online bingo has probably qualified me to live in a retirement home. Which sounds pretty cool to me, because they cook all your meals and drive you to the mall. Adam says I can't go live there though.

Loca en la cabeza

Maybe it's because I haven't been employed for two months. Maybe it's because I'm just inherently weird or curious.

For whatever reason, sometimes I have really strange questions that I ask Adam for an answer to. Poor guy.

For instance, last night I asked him if birds fly more because it's easier for them than walking. This was prompted by seeing a bird walking across the street.

The other night while eating supper, I saw Brewster, my almost 11-year-old Rottweiler/Lab mix (yes, he looks like a big ol' bear) scarf down a steak tip without chewing.

"Is it possible for dogs to get dentures?" I asked Adam.

He looked at me like I lost my mind. But I was serious. I'm sure there are some dogs who lose their teeth when they get old, and how would they eat? A liquid diet?

Adam told me that dogs would eat the dentures. That placated me until I thought about it. How would they eat the dentures if they didn't have teeth? I watch enough game shows that have plenty of commericals geared towards senior citizens to know they make some really strong denture paste. I'm also positive I need the pink One Touch blood sugar tester (even though I don't have diabetes) and the tub that you can walk into, sit down and shut the door. Adam says I don't need these things. Party pooper.

Astronaut in training...or special?

I'm not sure what The Boy's deal is. All I know is that we got him his own batting helmet for baseball (because germophobe Mom just realized that other kids have lots of germs and might even have...gasp...lice.) Ewwww.
I guess he's getting into that eat, sleep and breathe your sport thing. Which is cool with me. Just not sure about wearing it around the house. If he starts licking the windows I'll look into medication.

Gotta Brag

I really hate those moms and dads that think their kid's shit don't stink. The ones who brag that their kid is "the best" at whatever they choose to do. But I gotta throw my kid a bone here.

Last night was his first baseball practice. I begged, borrowed and stealed (okay, that's a bit dramatic, but it was a hell of a time) to get Addison aged-up to 9-11 year-old baseball, even though he doesn't turn 9 until June. But I knew coach-pitch baseball would not be challenging for him. Why? Because he was born a natural athlete. And I'm not just saying that because I'm his mother. The child literally is awesome at whatever sport he plays. He got his first set of plastic golf clubs at the age of 1 from his grandpa and hasn't looked back. He can outdrive me and has been known to putt balls around the house, because, as he told me, he's "gotta work on my short game."

Thank God that I was able to get him into baseball. He's right at the older kids' level, if not a little above. He's got a great arm and can just about make the throw from third to first. Once he gets in his groove, he can hit the ball into the outfield.

Maybe I'm not so much bragging as I am just a proud mom. I don't understand how some parents can sit there and think it's cute that their kid tries to bat with one arm. Huh? I would die of embarrassment if Addison threw the ball like a rainbow, or thought it was time to act stupid and dance around while out on the field.

If that was my kid, before baseball ever started, I would have them out at the field, teaching them at least how to catch or the proper way to hold a bat. The reasoning that they've never played before doesn't fly with me. Work with them!!!! Take one hour out of your busy schedule and play with your kid. They can only go up.

The title comes home!

I haven't posted in a few days because of the 25th annual Best Ranger Competition, held here at Fort Benning, Ga.

I am very proud to report that Staff Sgts. Shayne Cherry and Michael Broussard have brought the title back to the 75th Ranger Regiment.

I am also very proud of Adam for doing a hell of a job coaching all of his teams. This is from the Columbus Ledger-Enquirer:

Waiting to greet the winning team was Sgt. 1st Class Adam Nash, who a year ago placed third in this competition, having teamed up with Staff Sgt. Colin Boley to win the Best Ranger title in 2004.
"You have to give a lot of the credit to Coach Nash," Broussard said. Nash has been coaching the 75th Ranger Regiment team, which fielded six entrants this year, for the past several months.
He paired Broussard together with Cherry and the move paid off in victory.

That was very nice of Broussard to say that, and I know Adam appreciates it greatly.

The 75th also had teams finish third, fourth and 10th.

Way to go guys, and thanks for bringing the title home.

Best Ranger Eve

It's an exciting day at Fort Benning. Tomorrow begins the 25th annual Best Ranger Competition. I've got a soft spot for it, probably because my husband and his fellow soldier won in it in 2004.

He also competed in 2002 (5th place) and last year (3rd place). Luckily, he's retired from competing, although this year he is the coach of all the teams in his unit. I know he's gotta be nervous, and I hope he gets to feel just one iota of the stress I've felt all three times. It's a fun time, but stressful, especially when you're on the sidelines, cheering on your husband.

We will be out there all weekend, especially Adam. Wish the 75th good luck!

Picture info: Adam rounded up his the guys in his unit and made this awesome photo-finish. It brought tears to my eyes, and many others. It was an awesome show of solidarity. Adam is second from the left, the handsome one, of course, with No. 19 on his chest.

Hobby-Less

It's been about a month since I quit my substitute teacher job, and I've figured out at about a month is when I get itchy. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally.

I worked part-time from 1997 to 2007, and it wasn't very taxing, but I got to use my brain, a lot. I'm not quite sure how to be a housewife and be content. So I'm asking anyone reading this to help me out and find me a good hobby.

First, I do read, a lot. But I can only read for so many hours before my eyes hurt and I feel nauseous. Same with the computer. I can only play bingo online for so long before I feel like yuking.

I can't sew or knit, so that's out. I love TV, but I'm not sure that's classified as a hobby. Forget about volunteering, I don't like people. (Wow, I sound like a ton of fun). I do love sports. I have cross-stitched in the past but have no patience for it anymore.

If you have a suggestion that is cost-effective, please let me know. Otherwise I'm going to have start dressing up my dog and she really doesn't like it. (bitch-she's got some cute-ass dresses too)

Shoot Me Now

Every year I get it into my head that yes, I can have an organized house. And every year I lug out the trash bags and just start chucking. Where did we accumulate all this crap from? Do we really need five comforters and sets of sheets?

Then my OCD kicks in and I try to do it all at once. I can't help it, my mind takes over my body and by the end of day 1, my muscles ache and my brain is fried.

Why do I do this? I guess I figure that if everything is organized and has a place, life will be that much better. I hate clutter and I hate when I need something simple, like a stapler, and know I have one somewhere, but just can't remember the last place I saw it.

I still have a long way to go but I have made great headway. I even got Adam to go through his drawers and now they are nice and neat. I told him everything that belonged to me was clean and organized and that his clutter was blocking my good chakra. I was talking out of my ass, of course, but it worked, and it does feel much better to go to bed in a room where I know everything is clean and organized. Makes putting the laundry away much easier too.

Am I trying to be perfect? No. I'm just sick of too much crap in the house. Everyone needs to spring clean and get the clutter out at least once a year. My time is now even though I'm cursing myself for getting started.

Ode to Richie D

Oh, Richard Dawson, you are the apple of my eye. I guess it's because since quitting my job, I have many hours to watch TV, especially the Game Show Network.

I watch you on Family Feud and the Match Game. You are so funny, and so handsome. I imagine it is 1976 and I'm not 2 years old, but 20 and smoking hot, because I imagine you get all the chicks, but you see me and decide you must be my sugar daddy.

We live at your mansion in Beverly Hills and it's ultramodern, with shag carpeting and round seats in the living room. We like to sit out on the veranda overlooking the hills at sunset and drink dirty martinis, because you're a dirty boy, obviously, and we like to smoke our cigarettes and maybe entertain friends.

I know you're old now, and my husband tried to tell me you were dead, but I insisted that I would know if you had died. You're just really old, but I bet you're still smokin'.

Thanks for the daily eye candy, Richie D.

This Girl Can, Jillian

I tend to tune out when another NutriSystem commercial comes on my television. As an avid TV watcher, I've been bombarded with these since January. I can stand Dan Marino and Larry the Cable Guy, but I've since seen Jillian Barberie (yeah, I know, who?) and her bragadocious "I've lost 41 pounds on NutriSystem."

Am I the only person who sees the asterisk, on each and every one of these commercials, that says, "*Results Not Typical"? Then why the hell would I want to do it? Give me something us "typical" people can do to lose weight, assclowns.

Okay, but my big beef is that Jillian seems to think she's the only girl that can catch a football from someone tossing it to her off-camera from a foot away.

"I'm not your typical girl. I love sports. Football," she says. Yeah, typically, sports is a male-dominated world, but suffice to say, many more women are avid sports fans. I am. Many of my friends are. I don't have a Boston Red Sox tattoo because I like red socks. My husband got me a subscription to Sports Illustrated for Christmas two years ago. I read it cover to cover every Thursday. Love it.

I am currently freelancing for the newspaper I used to work for writing a weekly column entitled "Bench Notes" where I cull pertinent sports tidbits for the reader. I originated as the columnist and have rightly taken it back, because obviously, in my opinion, I did it the best. Yes, I do hold myself in high esteem.

What gets me is when Jillian "Mama Jugs" catches the football and says, "How many girls can do that?" Um, maybe it's just me, but unless a girl was born without arms, she could do it. Maybe if Jillian threw a perfect spiral 50 yards I'd be impressed. Maybe her mammoth boobs prevent it.

You're giving us chicks a bad name, Jillian. If that makes you special, then I'm very sorry for you.