The cryptic title refers to my random musings, since my brain is always going and observing, and I feel the need to share everything I see that amuses or bugs me.
* I feel bad when I say a baby is ugly, because really, it's not their fault, but I am known for saying what I feel. And J.Lo's kids? Um, not so cute. The girl, Emme, looks like someone stuck a bowling ball on top her neck, and the boy, Max, looks just like Marc Anthony. Marc usually looks like a warmed-over skeleton who trimmed some pubes and stuck them on his face. I'm still wondering if J.Lo watched too many episodes of Dragon Tales (a really stupid cartoon Addison used to love) while pregnant, since the main characters are named Max and Emme.
* My biggest pet peeve of the week is celebrity interviews. Is it just me, you know, or do they sound like the biggest idiots, you know, when they're talking, you know? It drives me up a wall, you know, when in every sentence, you know, they say, "you know". Um, obviously we don't know, because that's why you're being interviewed, dipshit. They are lucky they have scripts, you know?
* There seems to be an open casting call for game shows for the biggest idiots alive. Case in point:
- On Lingo, a game show on the Game Show Network, you have to guess five-letter words and you get the first letter. On a recent show, a guy spelled "train" as "trian". Then he spelled "rifle" as "rifel". Hey bud, if you're going to go on a show where you have to spell, you might want to, I don't know, KNOW HOW TO SPELL. He actually misspelled other words too.
- This was the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune. The clue was Before and After:
I will say it was kids, but older kids, who have obviously never seen 90210 or read a magazine. The poor kid tried saying TARI SPELLING BEE. I had to snicker, just because I'm mean like that.
- This is my favorite: The question on Family Feud was "Name a CITY where people are the rudest." Of course, they said New York, L.A., etc., until a genius gave her answer as "Florida." I admit, geography is not my strong point, but even I know Florida is a state, duh.
That's about it for now. I have to make an attempt to get everything together to leave at o'dark:30 Thursday for our trek to Wisconsin. Fourteen hours of family bonding time, that's all I'm going to say!
That's a random pic of Addison fishing on Sunday morning. He outfished Adam.
I'm probably never going to BUI again. Can't promise that, though. I in no way meant to offend anyone (just putting in a disclaimer, have not gotten any hate comments yet) and I'm not a hateful person, just stupid sometimes. I honestly am proud of all bloggers, especially those who get tons of readers and are able to make a living off it. My favorite blogger is author Jen Lancaster, who is writing her fourth book after being "discovered" by her blog. She's awesome, check her out at www.jennsylvania.com. If you haven't read her books, I highly recommend any of them for laugh out loud reading. I suppose I will try to take a different tact to my blog. I changed the layout as you can tell (unless you're colorblind, which is fine, I know many colorblind people). I may try to write more about what it's like to be an Army wife. I tried to steer clear of it because of security reasons, but I have thought about it and can totally be generic, blah blah blah. Who knows, but I see this blog going in a different direction, because really, there was no direction before. Stay tuned.
Thanks to my girlie, J, who I was a total bitch to in high school after I looked back on my yearbook (J, you were was one of the best friends that ever happened to me and I was a shit, I totally and freely admit it), I started this blog sometime last year (I think. I've had three beers that aren't Bud Lights so I'm a little fuzzy but heck yeah it's Thirsty Thursday. I could have started it last week, but I'm pretty sure it's been awhile.) I love my blog, because, like when I wrote for The Bayonet, the newspaper of the Army post I have lived on for 12 years now, I write for me. I am surprised when I find out that other people actuallly read it. I guess it's low self-esteem or just the fact that when I write, I write for me, and if someone else happens to read it, then great for them, it just never strikes me that someone else will be reading what I write. But as I hopelessly Twitter, I see tons of women who blog. And people read their blogs. And they are no more special or funny or sarcastic than me. Do I have an overinflated ego? Maybe. I'm okay with that. But I also think that I have a heck of a lot more to say than some of these women who actually get paid to have a blog. Hell, you want to know what it's like to be an Army wife? Pay me, I'll write about it all the livelong day. Want me to blog three months worth of a deployment and know what it's like to be depressed to the point of immobility? I'm your woman! How about having a 9-year-old son who is cooler than you? Sign me up! Maybe I'm a bitter witch. Probably, no doubt. I'm just amazed by these many seemingly vapid blogs that get attention. Okay, it does sound pathetic after I read this, but whatever, that's who I am and I'm not sorry for it.
This fear started about three years ago, when, in the span of three days, two birds made their way into my house. We use a large window as a dog door so the dogs can go in and out as they please, but that also lets said birds come in. I don't know why they would choose to come in, but they did.
The first one ended up on my curtain rod in my bedroom. I closed the door and called Adam at work and made him come home to take care of it. Sadly, he shot it with a BB gun. Ok, maybe I'm not so sad about it, but I do hate to see any kind of animal die.
Probably the saddest thing was that Adam put it in a plastic bag and in the trash, ON TRASH DAY AFTER THE TRASH MAN HAD ALREADY COME. I made him take it out and throw it in the woods, because honestly, a dead bird in the trash can, even though it's outside, creeped me out and I figured a stench would eventually emanate from it.
Three days later, I woke up to hear birds singing. Not outside-there was another one in the house. He was in the kitchen, up on top of the cupboard. I got the BB gun out, but it took me awhile to get up the courage to shoot at it. I fired three times, and missed all three times. I think I probably missed on purpose, but hell, my shot group was TIGHT.
I had Adam on the phone, begging him to come home, and the screen open. It was that bird's lucky day that he decided to fly out the door to freedom.
Since then, I have hated birds. I went out back after this debacle and hacked the shit out of the tree where the birds liked to hang out. My backyard looked like tree limbs fell out of the sky and blanketed every square inch within the fence. It did make really good firewood for the firepit though.
My most recent hatred is of hummingbirds. Yeah, they're cute and all, but they scare the shit out of me when I'm sitting on the porch and all of a sudden they're right there in my face, buzzing their wings. I figured out they scare me because here in the South, we have bugs bigger than hummingbirds, no kidding. So I always think it's a huge-ass bug trying to attack me.
Go ahead, laugh at me, because everyone else does. Doesn't bother me, because I readily admit it's stupid.
I'm still trapped in this mental fog I'm guessing is depression. I know tomorrow will be better, because it will be one day away from Adam coming back home. It will give me reason to get off my butt and clean the house, which I have no desire to do right now. Luckily, the depression will be gone once Adam is home. I also have much to look forward to. My friend's daughter is coming home from college for the weekend, so I will be able to celebrate Thirsty Thursday. Next Thursday, the Nash family will hit the highway and drive to Wisconsin (yum, cheese) to my BFF Ely's house. We are the godparents of her son Thomas and he will be baptized next Sunday. I am super excited to see Ely and Brian and meet Thomas, just not looking forward to the 14-hour road trip. Adam tends to get cranky when stuck in the truck for too long and I am always one second away from peeing my pants. But, it's been too long since I've been able to hang out with Ely so it's all good. Go Red Sox, let's sweep the Mariners!
Adam's been gone since Wednesday. I finally feel normal again after too many days of being sick. And I'm bored out of my mind. I'm so bored I don't even feel like blogging. I don't know if it's depression or I'm just lonely. Addison's got friends over all the time so it's just me and the dogs basically. I'm so bored I'm addicted to Twitter. If you're bored, too, follow me on Twitter. I update all the time.
I've been gripped by a stomach virus for six days now. I finally feel better, can actually walk around and do some stuff, and my appetite is slooowly coming around. I wish it wouldn't, I'm enjoying my 5-pound weight loss, but oh well, it will give me motivation to work out and keep it off. Yesterday was Friday, and I didn't have one drop of alcohol, like I usually do on Friday and Saturday nights. I figured a couple handfuls of Cheerios and a can of peaches wouldn't sit quite right with some Bud Lights. Plus, I really didn't feel like drinking. My 13-year-old neighbor is really worried, because Miss Erin always has beer on Friday nights. Today I feel alright, but am about to take two Imodium ADs. Yeah, back to the diarrhea. I can't get a break.
I had to stop and do some mental calculations today, and when I did, I figured out that I haven't left my house in a week. I've gone outside and across the street to the neighbor's to help Addison feed their dog while they're on vacation, but basically, have not set foot in a vehicle since last Thursday.
Last Thursday, I dragged Addison to Hobby Lobby and the fabric store. Friday, I got a herniated disc in my back. Friday night and Saturday, Addison had diarrhea and the runs. Sunday I didn't feel very well, and we stayed home and watched NASCAR and the Sox. Monday all hell broke loose with my body (Thanks Addman) and I seriously thought about slitting my wrists because I've never spent so much time on the toilet, and on my knees (yes, even more time than in high school) trying not to shit my pants while puking.
Tuesday the fluids stayed in my body (including urine, it took me 24 hours to urinate) but I still had a raging fever. Yesterday, I thought it would be all over. I was wrong. Still feverish and weak.
Woke up today and figured, ok, this is the day when I feel normal again. It took all of about 30 minutes until I was laying on my bed, afraid I was going to pass out. Between that and the bad stomach pains, I'm trying to make deals with God.
I feel for Addison. Adam left for California yesterday and poor Addison is bored out of his skull. One of his good friends moved and another is on vacation, so only the dregs of the neighborhood are around and I guess even only children are selective. Right now we are having "throw the wadded up notebook paper into the wastebasket and see who wins." I'm kicking his ass, like I did at Connect Four yesterday. Sucka.
Every once in a while any common sense I have goes out the window, and Adam likes to make fun of me. Last night, for instance, we were watching the weather, and the forecast for today said "numerous storms."
"Numerous, that's a lot," I told him. Sometimes these profound statements just fly out of my mouth before my brain has the chance to filter them.
Before everyone thinks I'm the only wack job in the house, let me present you this: Adam's consumerism is based on commercials. When Garnier Fructis started with commercials, I bought him the shampoo because he wanted it, because, in his words, "Those people are having fun." Because of the music, "Woo woo, woo woo" and the fact that the people in the commercials were having fun, he wanted the shampoo. I didn't argue, just bought it for him and imagined him singing the song as he washed his hair.
His newest thing is Amstel Light. I don't know if he's ever had one, but whenever we watch the Red Sox on NESN, there's a commerical for Amstel Light with cool music and people having fun. He said the other day he wanted to drink it because of the commerical. Mind you, he will deny any of this, so if you're reading this, Adam, don't even try to dispute it. The gist is right.
On my Friday beer run, I got him a six-pack of Amstel Light so he can identify with the commerical when we're watching the Sox tonight. No one can say I'm not a good wife in that aspect!
First off, I'll admit, I am a very lapsed Catholic girl. I rebelled against religion when I was a rambunctious teenager. But I've never given up on praying, because honestly, I believe in God and the basic premise, and I have my own relationship with Him.
I don't pray often, and I try not to pray only when I need something from God. Sometimes I just thank Him for what he's given me and ask him to watch over and bless others.
Two nights ago, I realized it's been almost four months since my beloved grandfather, Big Daddy, died. I love the psychic Sylvia Browne and remembered she said it took four months to pass over into heaven. So I started my conversation with God and asked Him to give me a sign that Big Daddy made it to heaven okay and was happy and healthy again, in the form of a dream. For some reason, all of my relatives, and even my dog, have visited me in my dreams after they have passed away.
I've still got goosebumps because my last dream of the night, shortly before Addison woke me in the morning, was one with Big Daddy. I dreamt we were going to his house and all of my relatives (my grown cousins were just kids) were there too. For some reason, there was a squirrel in front of the screen door that was trying to get in too. When I opened the door, the squirrel got in, and when I went into the house, Big Daddy was standing there, looking like I remembered him as a child, eating off a paper plate and he was chuckling about the squirrel.
We all then pointed to my Uncle Neil and said, "You get the squirrel."
That's where my dream ended, because like I said, Addison woke me up, so I didn't get a chance to talk to Big Daddy, but I am ecstatic I got to see him, and that's my sign from God that he is in heaven and well.
Hey God, thanks. I will try to be a better Christian, because I see the miracles you work everyday. Thank you.
Okay, so it doesn't take a lot to make me angry. But right now my blood is boiling.
Everyone on Fort Benning who has a pool got a notice that they are addending the rule and your pool can't be more than 8 feet in diameter and four feet deep. My pool is 14 feet in diameter and 42 inches in depth and is not big at all.
We are in compliance with the fence around the pool and a lock on the fence gate. So why the fuck in JULY do these dipshits decide to change it?
Anyway, I went to see my neighbor who gets even more fired up than me and we decided that if we have to, all of us in the neighborhood will go to the main office and present a united front.
What 'tard decided that you can only have a pool eight feet in diameter? It doesn't even make sense to have a pool eight feet across and four feet deep. There are no pools like that in existence.
They say we have until Sunday to take the pools down. Not gonna happen. They have pulled this crap before and then eventually got their heads out of their asses so I am not taking my pool down.
Our pool is the only way we can go outside and get fresh air during the day, when it's 95 degrees with 100 percent humidity. Our community doesn't have a pool like some others, so unless they want to pay for my gas or reimburse me the $200 bucks I spent on the pool two months ago, they can bite me.
I consider myself a pretty smart person. I kick ass on Jeopardy! and solve puzzles like no one's business on Wheel of Fortune. I'm a virtual trivia machine and sometimes surprise myself with the useless drivel I know. That said, I find stupid things funny. For some reason, I find it funny if you add the word "the" before certain things that don't sound right, but makes it sounds funny. Example: "I love the bingo." "I wish I had more time to do the blogging." I wish I could think of more right now but my brain is farting. Another thing I like is calling people by their first and last names, but only if I don't know them. Sit with me and watch the Red Sox, and listen to me say, "Let's go Mike Lowell!" "Great catch Jacoby Ellsbury!" I don't know why I do this, but it tickles me pink. I guess I feel like I don't know them personally, and after living in the South for the past 12 years, have acquired a modicum of manners and geniality. Maybe I'm just really special. I'm sure most of my friends would agree.
Happy 4th of July! I will keep this short, because, hell, it's a holiday and why the heck am I online anyway?
I want to especially thank my huband (my hero) and my brother for their service to our country, for preserving that freedom we gained way back in 1776. Thank you, also, to all our service men and women. I appreciate you all.
I'm not sure exactly why, but I hate, and I will say it again, hate, seeing women's boobs hanging out of their tops. It's not because I'm jealous because even if I was hanging D cups, I would keep those puppies to myself.
Sorry, ladies, I just don't want to see your mammaries. It's not very classy and actually, you look like a prostitute. Unless you're Pam Anderson, you don't need to let them loose. Everyone expects Pam's boobs to be in their face, BAM, big boobies, but honestly, I don't want to be trying to eat at Olive Garden and have boobs staring at me from the next booth over.
There's no shame left. It started with wearing regular bras with tank tops. I mean, ewww, how white trash. Even the see-through bra straps are noticeable. You know, they make these things called STRAPLESS BRAS so when you wear a tank top or something of the like, your STRAPS don't show. I highly recommend one.
Let's leave something to the imagination, ok? Would you want your boyfriend/husband walking around with part of his peter showing? Didn't think so.
Yesterday morning I booted up the laptop and tried to get online with our Verizon broadband access PC card. Once I finally got online, I couldn't get to any Web sites. Long story short, Adam called Verizon last night and tried everything. Today, it was the same problem. So I called Verizon back and Robert was very nice and we tried everything. It's better but not like it was two days ago. I have no clue what's wrong but it's pissing me off and with my OCD, shit that doesn't work pisses me off to no end because there's nothing I can do about it. And, my cellphone is whack. I can flip it open and have the correct time, then flip it shut, open it back up, and the time is one hour behind. Say what? Robert helped me with that, too, and I updated the programming but it's still whack. He told me to bring it to a Verizon store and they will do a flash update on that. Ummmm, okay, I'll give it a whirl. It also wasn't giving me my texts as soon as I was getting them, but I suspect it might have something to do with Twitter, so I had to make that web-only, instead of getting the texts. We'll see. UGH! That's my life in a nutshell. Whoopee.