I got a BIG shout out! Whoopee!

I was revisiting the Web site www.emailourmilitary.blogspot.com to read a new guest post and scrolled down to mine and noticed there were four comments. They were very nice and like I commented also, it's strange to me to get kudos on my writing. It may sound weird or selfish, but I write for myself, not with a reader in mind.

I guess I feel that if I write for the intended reader, I'm losing the intent of what and why I'm writing. Usually when I write anything, it's from my heart.

Anyway, long story short-one of the commentators was a woman named Phyllis Zimbler Miller, who is an author of a book called Mrs. Lieutenant, about her and three other women who sent their husbands off to Vietnam. I'm definitely interested in reading it.

Mrs. Zimbler Miller thought it was such a great guest post that she talked about it on her own blog at www.mrslieutenant.blogspot.com. It's dated Oct. 29 and has the link back to the emailourmilitary Web site.

Thank you, Mrs. Z.M. You made my week!

Southern Fried Initials

I don't know if this trend is anywhere but the South, but this is it-

Women put their monograms on the back of their car windows.

For example, I would have a small E, a big N and a small A, since my

initials are EAN. Adam didn't understand the monogram thing when

our teenaged neighbor put her initials on the back of her SUV. Her

initials are ANB so as a monogram on her car, it says ABN.



I had to explain monograms are different, because he thought maybe

we had adopted her and he didn't know about it.



Anyway, this is what I saw today on the back of a car:

I thought it was funny as hell. I won't do the initial thing, because I hate jumping on

any kind of bandwagon. I'll keep my Red Sox Nation sticker, Pat the Patriot sticker and my

Boston Pride sticker on my car, and be the sports chick I'm known as so as to be true to

myself.

Why you'll never be invited over for supper

I can't cook. I freely admit this. Cooking to me is throwing something in the microwave and crossing my fingers it cooks all the way through.

I've never been a "foodie." I only eat when I'm hungry, and only because my blood sugar gets low and I become quite the bitch, more so than usual. I don't enjoy trying new food, and only do it because Adam will bug me until I do.

I've tried to cook. I've looked up recipes, but if it involves more than 4 ingredients I'm immediately turned off.

Maybe it's because I'm Irish. Any seasoning other than salt and butter throws me for a loop. Maybe because I didn't have a huge array of different foods growing up. I'm okay with this, though, doesn't bother me one bit.

I feel bad for my Adam, who grew up with a mom who can cook anything and everything and is quite good at it. I almost cried the other night when I served him pork chops that the NHL could have used in place of the usual puck.

I feel inadequate when Adam talks to his mom and she's cooking this or baking that. Homemade apple pie? I don't like pie, so I don't make it. I make Addison cheesecake from the box. I made brownies from the box. I make cookies from a box or premade dough. Betty Crocker I'm not.

So, if you're hungry, my house is not the place to come to, unless Adam is cooking. He's a great cook, because as he once told me, "I learned how to cook after we got married because otherwise I would have starved." Love ya too Hun.

Read some more of my stuff

I wrote a guest post for emailourmilitary.com, a nonprofit organization that supports our troops in many different ways.

Here's the link-the post is dated Oct. 28 and if it's not at the top of the blog then just scroll down until you see it.

www.emailourmilitary.blogspot.com

Hope you enjoy it!

Fashion no-no

This is what I saw today while shopping at the commissary:

I guess it's my civic duty to send it to Glamour for a "Don't."

FYI: It was about 45 degrees outside, and no, I don't know her, and yes, I did follow her around the store to get this shot. If you notice, other people have on pants, coats, etc.

Is it over yet?

I've deliberately stayed away from politics here on my blog. One, because I know who I'm voting for, and I'm not going to try to sway anyone to choose my candidate. I'm pretty sure most people are smart enough to vote on their own.

Two, I'm sick to death of Election '08. If I see one more poll I'm gonna puke. Polls are so unscientific, so stupid and so not a reflection of what's going to happen Nov. 4.

Here's my plea: Just go vote. Or don't-it's your right as an American.

And if you're still undecided, ummm, it may be time to educate yourself some more and pick someone!

Denial...

It's becoming more and more of a reality that we are moving in January. We've been browsing houses online to buy, and already got our pre-approval, so we've done what we are supposed to do.

Finally, though, I bit the bullet yesterday and checked with my neighbor to see when her daughter would be available to feed our dogs so we could visit Savannah and meet our agent and look at houses. I was putting it off because basically, I'm still in denial.

I feel torn. I'm excited to move to Savannah, and have the beach just minutes away and palm trees everywhere. I can't wait to explore the city and learn all there is about it.

But at the same time, I'm so so sad to be leaving Fort Benning. I've lived here longer than I have any other town in my 34 years. I have two best friends, one across the street and one up the street, who I talk to daily and hang out with a lot. We've seen each other through deployments, late nights, drama and all those girlfriend things that women do.

I have old co-workers who are like family, who I know I can go to for anything. I know that all of these people would drop everything to help me in any way, from babysitting Addison to lending me an egg. When we get to Savannah, I won't know anyone. I know I'll meet people, but it won't be the same.

Basically, I don't do well with loss. I still mourn my dog who died more than two years ago every day. I miss my grandfather who passed away in March. I miss all of my relatives who are no longer here, and feel it deeply in my heart. Moving from Fort Benning feels like a loss to me, from a loss of stability to a loss of friends. I know that my friends will always be my friends and we'll keep in touch, but it won't be the same not having them there physically.

So, I'm sad to leave here, as much as I've bitched about it. I'm making a pledge today to look on the bright side, to get excited about moving and home ownership and finally having a house I can do whatever I want to.

Wish me luck.

He got it from his mama

Although Addison has his father's warped sense of humor and his derriere, he does have some of my traits. Unfortunately, they are the bad ones.

He got sensitive skin and allergies from me. Sorry, boy. But the baby blue eyes from my side of the family kind of makes up for it, no? The chicks dig them.

What worries me the most is that Addison seems to be guided by his brain, just like me.
When we were visiting my BFF in Wisconsin in August, we went out to eat at Red Robin (yummmmm). He had an incident where he got some food caught in his windpipe and it scared the hell out of him. He eventually got the food up, but for almost two weeks he had a hard time eating anything solid, for fear that it would happen again.

It happened again over the weekend. While playing in his tackle football game as quarterback, the kid on his team had the ball up the field and fumbled it, and the other team got it and started running along the sideline. Addison gave chase as any good quarterback would do, and when he made the tackle, he got creamed pretty bad. He got a hit directly in his stomach/upper stomach area and got teary. I think he got the wind knocked out of him, and sat on the bench for awhile.

I finally went over and told him to at least stand on the sidelines with his teammates, because I knew he wouldn't get over it any other way. He did, and I was proud, but the next day he complained his stomach hurt.

I'm not an insensitive mom, but I noticed when he was distracted, he didn't complain about his stomach hurting. He even went out and played pass with Adam, so I didn't worry about it.

Last night, he started crying and complaining that his stomach hurt again, right before football practice. I knew he had to get over the hump and get back out there on the field. After some threats, he got suited up. Guess what? He was fine at practice and after too.

So, kiddo, I'm sorry you got the "can't get over scary moments" part of me. But hey, we both have a larger second toe than our big one and totally matching feet-isn't that enough?

Why I'm So B.A.

Since I have so much time on my hands and my brain runs the gamut with everything from politics to furniture polish, I recently started mentally racking up all the women who inspired me as a child.

*My mom, of course. I learned even if you marry a jerkoff (#2) you can rebound from it and be a better person because of it. I was never scared off marriage as some kids of divorce are. Heck, I was 22 when I got married, and Adam was 19. We are still married 12 years later and still madly in love.

* Half Pint, also known as Laura Ingalls Wilder. I loved watching Little House on the Prairie with my sister, especially the older ones, when life was very rustic. Laura was a spitfire, and always questioned anything she thought was wrong. I find myself doing that, questioning authority a lot, because I don't like being told what to do.

*Madonna. My first tape ever bought was Madonna's first album. I followed her career until the mid-90s, when her music got weird. I learned from her to be my own person, that I could be B.A. without being a bitch.

* Pat Benatar. I love her music, especially "Invincible" and "We Belong". I used to love the video where she ran away from home because it was bad there. Pat Benatar was the original B.A. (badass) and I wanted to be her, to wear a rag skirt and rags in my hair. My only beef is that the song "Hell is for Children" used to scare the bejesus out of me.

I know there are more women who inspired me while growing up and shaped me into who I am today, I just can't think of anymore right now.

He's doing his job

I finally put out all of my Fall/Halloween decor last week. I tend to go heavy on the Fall stuff, because I can be lazy and keep it all up until Thanksgiving, when I drag out the Christmas stuff.

I decided to try out my life-size scarecrow in a different place this year, and while he's doing his job, he's also scaring the bejesus out of me:

Every time I pass by the door or go out to smoke another coffin nail, my heart stops for a second, thinking there's someone lurking in my front yard. Definitely time to put him somewhere else. My nerves are too frayed lately and I'm afraid I might try to hurt him.

Losing my mind, wish somebody would tell me I'm fine

I'm not quite sure when it happened. I'd like to blame it on the fact that I'm unemployed, but I don't want to give housewives a bad name. Lately, my brain has turned into a ball of mush, an unintelligble, mangled mess.

Here's a few examples:
* Last Saturday, Adam and I were sitting on the couch talking. He asked me a question and when I tried to answer, my mouth and brain were not in sync, and instead of words, all that came out was "blahhhh whaaa jusbuaaaaa." We looked at each other and just started laughing. "What the fuck was that?" he asked. "I have no clue, I tried to talk and a bunch of noises just came out," I told him. One of the more stranger things that has ever happened to me.

* A couple days ago, I told Adam, "My hair just keeps growing!" I didn't quite mean for it to come out like that. What I meant was that he had just cut my hair a couple of weeks ago and it seemed like it was long again.

* Last night, Adam asked me to hold his hand while he went to sleep. "Oh, you have nails," he said. "Yeah, they keep growing," I told him. "Oh, kind of like your hair?" he asked. Nailed. Burned. Yup, he recognized my own stupidity and brought it to my attention. Again, what I meant was I had just trimmed them via my mouth last week and they seem to be long again. I never notice my nails growing until they are long, then it just bothers me.

These are all the beauties I have for now. So proud to be me.

Getting to know you...straight-up style

You know those e-mails you get, the "Getting to know you" ones? They ask you what you are listening to, who was the last person to talked to on the phone, etc. I've been thinking a lot about these lately, maybe to try to think about something other than home-buying. Anyway, I've been crafting my own "Getting to know you" questions, because seriously, do you really care if your friend like blueberries or cherries better? I try to get more and more creative with these silly things, for instance, putting that Dale Earnhardt Jr, Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie are the least likely to respond, because I didn't e-mail it to them.
Here's some of the questions I would ask, and feel free to copy and paste and send to your friends and family to find out the "real" them.

1. Have you ever run from the po po? Sure, who hasn't? I mean, no Mom, I never ran from the cops at a house party in Hyannis in high school.

2. Have you ever been arrested? I am happy to say, no, I have never been arrested. Have I done stuff that I could have been arrested for? No, mom, and stop reading. Yes and that's all I'm going to say for fear of incriminating myself 17 years later.

3. Who would you really like to see be President? Jimmy Buffett, of course. Running under the slogan "It's five o'clock somewhere" is a lock. On the plus side, he already has his own beer, Landshark, so there's no chance of another "Billy Beer" embarassment.

4. What was the last thing you cried about? The original question is when was the last time you cried. I'm sorry you cried, but I'd like to dig deeper into your psyche and life and know why you cried. I cried last week (one of the few times a year I do) because Adam was upset with me for not expressing my feelings. I'm trying, hun, I really am.

5. Think this one through for a minute. What do you remember about the drunkest you've ever been? Teetotalers need not answer. I remember bathing fully clothed in a cocktail of treasures found in a medicine cabinet at an inn on Nantucket.

6. What do you wish your name really was? I like my name, Erin, mostly because I wasn't one of the many Jennifers of my generation. Don't get me wrong, it's a great name, but unfortunately overused way back when. If I had to change my name, it would be to a name that has a song titled after it, like Amanda by Boston or that really cool song about Brandy being a fine girl.

7. Let's be honest-which of your children is your favorite? Ha ha, suckers, I only have one child. All of you moms and dads of more than one, good luck!

I know while thinking about this the last couple of days I had more questions, I just can't seem to filter them out of my info-adled brain right now. Feel free to add your own, or let me know which ones you'd add too.