Dude, Where's My Shirt?

All this talk about voting (and the fact that we soon have to change our address) had me thinking. Whatever happened to the mythical anniversary present that my husband ordered from these awesome people? It was ordered in April, and the hubby assured me that it should arrive within 6-8 weeks. Here we are, at 12 weeks…and no dice. I even had the hubby check under the porch to make sure the delivery man hadn’t dropped it between the slats.

Disconcerted, because we are about to move (at the end of this week, no less), I contacted Drew. His response was lightning-quick. I have never had such prompt or polite customer service. The best news is that a replacement “Voting” T-shirt will be on the way as soon as their store re-opens. Whoo-hoo!

So, in homage, I must add Drew and Natalie to my meager links lists. I was so glad to stumble upon their comics a few years ago. They make me laugh, every day, which is no small feat.


marriedtothesea.com

Just an Ass

I admit that I am just an ass, and one who has very little idea what she is braying about.

However, over the years, I have come to conclude that my vote for the next American Idol will ultimately count more than my vote for President of the United States.

There was much hooplah regarding the abolishment of the Electoral College after the 2000 election debacle. Where have the naysayers gone since then? We have once again become complacent with a flawed system which does not necessarily echo the voice of the American people. We are willing to accept the system because, with three glaring exceptions in our nation’s history, the popular vote and the results of the convoluted Electoral College happened to match up.

I’m not asserting that I have a solution for this problem. I will continue to vote, regardless of being disheartened by politics in general. Because, at my core, I am a simple citizen who wants this country to thrive. And I will do whatever I can with my small power, and my small brain, to help achieve that end.

Some Order, at Last

Our follow-on base has been assigned, so we should have the associated paperwork this week. The good news is, we're not too far from home: the bad news is, we're going to be far enough away that I'll have to pack and ship a lot more than I was hoping for. So...yeah. For the next two weeks, I'll be the lady locked up in her house, resisting the urge to rip her hair out.

Regardless, it's such a relief to know where we're going.

Edible Anarchy

I finally found the motivation to purge some of our paperwork yesterday. During my daughter’s two-hour nap, I managed to separate old receipts and all the miscellaneous junk sitting in the mail sorter.

Once we have our move date, I will have a better idea of when I can sort and pack more essential items. For example, I’m not packing and sending sippy cups and other toddler place settings until a few days before we depart. I also need to figure out what food items, if any, can be shipped to my mother’s house. I am determined to eat or donate anything that remains in the cupboards. In an effort to reduce excess, I have incorporated many of the lingering groceries into our menu for the next few weeks.

But there are a few random, surplus food items that have me wondering.

What would yams cooked in tomato sauce taste like?
How about adding some water chestnuts to that Italian Wedding Soup?
Would shallots somehow add a little class to my Ramen Noodles?
Taco Shells filled with Easy Mac and Rice-a-Roni? I think so.
Egg noodles, tossed with tomato paste, jalapenos, and dry roasted peanuts? I’ll have seconds, please.

Screw fiction. I smell a cookbook simmering: “Applesauce and Vermouth: Last Resort Recipes for the Military Spouse.”

They can put an ad for it in the deployment planner.

Mini Monet

I bought Violet some washable watercolors earlier today. Here is what my little artiste came up with. They’re genius, I tell you. Pure genius.

Oh, Snap

The late Mitch Hedberg was right: “Rice is great if you’re really hungry and you want to eat two thousand of something.” And this afternoon, I found out that Rice Krispies are not so great when you don’t want two thousand of something, soaked in milk, all over your floor…

Thank You, Smash Mouth

Due to poor placement of the transmitter, our atomic clock is currently displaying an outside temperature of 107.6 degrees.

As a result, “Walkin’ on the Sun” will be stuck in my head for the remainder of the day.

On Waking

I woke up, and stared at the ceiling. My eyes began to wander around the darkened room. Suddenly, there was wetness on my face. I panicked momentarily, thinking that it must be a nosebleed. I then realized that the offending substance was coming from my eyes.

I was crying, and hadn’t realized it.

Oddly, I don’t remember feeling sad. I don’t remember thinking anything, other than, oh, I’m awake again, and, I wonder how long this will last. Then, tears. Even when I realized what was happening, and willed the deluge to stop, they kept rolling down my face.

Was I mourning some fragment of a recent dream? Or am I just more messed up right now that I will allow myself to admit?

Eventually, I slept again. But it was broken sleep, fraught with nightmares.

No wonder I prefer staying awake.

Absence of Order(s)

Wow. It’s amazing how bright my computer looks at 3:45 in the morning.

I’ve been wondering if this recent bout of insomnia is due to stress, or whether it’s all these troublesome thoughts in my head wandering around aimlessly because I haven’t had time to furnish a home for them. Hmph.

Speaking of homes, we are pretending that we’ll actually have the opportunity to leave ours in the next three weeks are so. Unfortunately, my husband still has no official orders, and therefore we have no idea when, exactly, we’ll be able to leave.

Perhaps I’m being selfish. You see, I had hoped that the hubby would be able to visit extended family for a few weeks before he’s overseas for the year. Maybe that was too much to hope for. I am well aware that we are not the most unfortunate military family regarding orders, or lack thereof. Every time I open my mouth to complain, I am told some horrific tale of Airman or Staff Sergeant So-And-So, who was only given a week’s notice when they dropped orders on him. Naturally, So-And-So had to leave the family behind, and the wife had difficulty obtaining a POA so that she could move their household goods, etc, etc…

I am well aware that things could be worse. After all, without these orders to Korea, the hubby would have been deployed to a very high-risk area in January.

I am also well aware that all the military branches are currently involved in, say, a massive-scale WAR right now. So letting my husband know where exactly he’s going after his tour to Korea might not be very high on the priority list.

But come on, people. He’s had a reporting date for Korea since January---

Instead of bitching further, I will end with this…

I have stripped the walls of pictures. They are very nearly naked. And my arms hurt from playing with caulk all day.

*Insert “That’s What She Said” joke here.*

Cleansing

I hate sounding sanctimonious and depressed. *Click.* *Delete.* Ahhhhh, yes, that feels better.

Because She’s a Pussy

The cat’s been giving me the stink eye this morning.

I think she knows.

It couldn’t be the me-sized stack of packed boxes standing ominously in the corner of the bedroom. Or the fact that she and Turbo recently had two sets of shots. Or even the unusual number of guests we’ve had over to the house these past few weeks. No. Nermal knows something’s amiss because I’ve been moving our precious stuff around.

And she absolutely hates that.

She grew quite upset with me yesterday when I infringed on her territory under the bed. I needed to pack some shoes. She took my actions as some sort of personal betrayal. She glared at me, and refused to move even when I pushed one of the storage boxes right next to her. I’m standing my ground, her shiny eyes seemed to say. You just try to pry me out from under this bed, and see what happens.

I know that by this afternoon, her complaints will increase. As I begin to take pictures down, she will alternately mewl and hiss at me, as if to ask, “Why? Why are you doing this again? Why, oh why, can’t we stay in one place? Don’t you know how much I hate change?”

I do know how much she despises these all-too-frequent cross-country trips and relocations. I know because she undergoes a distinct personality change every time we move. When we relocated from Texas to South Dakota, she reverted to the full-fledged paranoia she displayed as a kitten. For months, she sought out every possible hiding place in the house. Last year, when we stayed in Boise with my mother, the stress of living around dogs must have been too much for her. She became uber-territorial, and took her angst out on Turbo. Nermal incessantly bullied the older cat, and wouldn’t even allow her to go in the litter box.

I did everything I could to help Nermal calm down. I even purchased some expensive kitty pheromones designed to relieve stress. Nothing worked.

I love my baby cat dearly. But part of me wonders if she would be better off with a non-military family…