Things That Frighten Me
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: "I'm The Mrs.", Buffy Soundtrack
Things That Scare Me:

1. The hub-unit dying before me, or just dying period. If he goes, not only will I be a catatonic WRECK, but I will be alone with no one to take care of me, and it's painfully obvious that I can't take care of myself.
2. Moving to a new town. I have serious panic attacks when I think about starting over somewhere that I don't now where everything is and I'm all by myself socially. Which segues into this next one:
3. Making new friends. According to the friends that I have now, I'm such a great person. However, it took them almost four years to figure that out. I'm one of those people that you either really like right off the bat or dislike IMMENSELY. And if I don't like you? Second chances are not an option. I'm bad at making friends, I'm content with the ones I have.
4. Having Children. The biological clock keeps ticking, and the IDEA of children is like socialism: looks great on paper...NOT so good when actually implemented. I mean, I forget to feed the cat-monkeys at LEAST three times a week, and the litter box? That's the hub-unit's job because the smell makes me vomit. Kids: good idea, bad reality. I get all skittery just thinking about it.
5. No one remembering me. I know this sounds silly, but come on, I'm bipolar. Silly things upset me. To wit: I am 24, soon to be 25, and I have done nothing noteworthy. Unless you're my mother, and then me getting married was the best news of the century, but I digress. I'm a housewife. I want people to be able to go back after I'm gone and be able to understand my motivation for everything I've ever done. I want people to know my story and be inspired or touched or disgusted or shocked or SOMETHING, because I believe everyone's story is unique and deserves to be told.
Those are the things that frighten me. The stuff that panics me is a HUGE list, and I don't even want to go there as of right now. Besides, the Devil Machine (ie, the workout apparatus) is a-callin'. Time to go hyper-extend my knees again.

Things I Realize Now That I'm Married
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: "Hero", Chad Kroeger and that guy from another band
Yesterday's entries were GINORMOUS. I apologize to anyone who was blown away and quit reading.
Back to topis, Things I Realize Now That I'm Married:
1. My mother, bitter and jaded as she is, now has something in common with me, which is better than when we were both single because that was GROSS. We now swap recipes that made me smile as child, and she gets to send baby pictures of me to the hub-unit where I look like I stuck my finger in a socket.
2. I am NOT the center of the universe. I have to take care of a man who is constantly falling apart.
3. If I run out of clean dishes, someone will suddenly call and want to come over for tea and biscuits.
4. If I have tea and biscuits for myself, the hub-unit will suddenly get to come home for lunch.
5. I have no more single friends, and I think that that's okay.
6. I couldn't imagine dating anymore, much less anyone other than the hub-unit.
7. All those bills I just didn't pay and moved away from no longer just concern me. I now have to worry about a credit rating.
8. The Bestest Best Friend will now call and we will discuss what her kids and my cats are doing instead of sex. When we DO discuss sex, it's always about doing it with the same guy, because we are both married now and have no more cool stories.
9. Cleaning the house is harder than I ever expected. MUCH harder. MUCH.
10. Laudry will not fold itself, nor will a man do it for me.
11. I will never get my 10 thousand square-foot compound filled with majestic dobermans and half-naked minions romping about by the pool after I sell my first novel. Well, I COULD, but then I'd have to buy Helen Hunt for the hub-unit.
I'm sure there are other things, but these and the Things That Frighten Me stick out the most in my mind. As a matter of fact, I think I'll post again after I get another cup of coffee...

The True Washington Story, Continued
Mood:  suave
So I'm back, with coffee and cigarette in hand, ready to paint The rest of The story:
Shark Week, 2003:
I go back to ASSMA's apartment every weekend now, but only as a pretense to hang out with her for five minutes before asking if her neighbor is around. He always is, and he's always glad to see me. We all play cards at his place, when he goes to buy smokes at The store he comes back with a pack for me even if I don't need one, he makes me a sandwich when he makes himself one and he even knows I hate mayonnaise, and even if he leaves The room for two seconds to go to The bathroom he comes back and gives me a quick kiss. For some reason, we're acting like a couple even though we've only REALLY known each other for a week, and for some reason, it feels like The most natural progression in The world. We spend The whole weekend lounging around his apartment, watching The discovery channel and talking (among other things), until I have to go home because to stay any longer would tell my roommates that I'm up to no good and not really just hanging with The girls. I don't know why I haven't told them yet about this guy that I'm seeing every weekend, it just feels like if I tell them, it won't be The same. Neighbor guy and I are spending all of our spare time together, whenever can, and then The bomb drops:
We are moving.
Well, WE really weren't moving, but The Bestest Best Friend is getting transferred to Florida, where her parents live. She'll live with them until her husband gets orders there, and then they'll get their own place.
I have bad credit. Seriously BAD credit. I have nowhere to go, but then The BBF drops The idea that maybe I should go with her to because hey, what's holding me here?
Good Point. I agree. So now The plan is that on my 24th birthday, only two weeks away, we will caravan across The country: Me, The BBF, The baby, and my cat in The Neon, and her dad (who flew up to help with The move) and our Pomeranian in The moving truck. The trip will take one week, and I would have to pay for nothing but The occasional meal. This is new, this is exciting, this is me moving across The country based on a snap decision. However, The irony does not escape me: neighbor guy and I are having so much fun together, and now that I'm content, I'm moving. But who am I to turn down such an opportunity? I have to tell neighbor guy. We exchange email addresses, only he writes it down wrong and every email he sends me I never receive. I tell him I will call him on my cell phone.
CUT TO- The Day Before My 24th Birthday:
ASSMA gives me a hug goodbye and sobs that she'll miss my bawdy stories and no-shit attitude. I am spending The night at neighbor-guy's for one last hoo-haw, and I feel fine.
My 24th Birthday:
He drops me off The next morning at The hotel that we're staying at, and tells me he'll miss me.
Okay, this is where I'll speed it up, because it gets even longer:
We start The road trip. We'll be stopping in Spokane for two days, so that The BBF and her dad can spend some time with BBF's brother and his family. I call neighbor guy via dialing ASSMA, and tell her that I was thinking of inviting him to Spokane until we leave, because really, who knows The next time I'll get laid? She hands The phone to neighbor guy, and without a second thought he says yes. 12 hours later, he's there, and I am happy. The second day, he spends an exorbitant amount of cash on me so that I can get my hair and nails done for a 'birthday present', and that night, when we finally go to bed, he turns to me and asks me to be his girlfriend. Bad timing. I hate to remind him, but I'm moving THREE THOUSAND MILES AWAY, starting tomorrow. He doesn't care, and tells me that he's taking leave The second week of September to go see his parents for two weeks, he'll just cut it down to one week and come see me for The other 7 days. His parents live in Arizona. I think it's strange, but okay. We're officially a couple, officially, but we've been together since Shark Week.
He leaves at 10 AM The next day, and we begin our trek to Florida, or "FLOIDA" if you want to be weird about it. Instantly, I begin to miss neighbor-guy. INSTANTLY. That night, at The first hotel, I find out that he's shoved several half-used phone cards in my purse, along with his phone number. And a hundred dollars for The trip.
The TRIP:
I call him every night, talking for three hours . The BBF finds it funny, because that's about as long as she talks to her husband every night. The conversation vary in their progression, but by The middle of The week we're talking about spending our lives together. Not getting married, mind you; just being together. And kids, we talk about kids. Bleah. Towards The end of The trip, we go broke. I don't want to ask him, so The BBF does, and he sends us 300 dollars by Western Union, and tells me that he can't wait to see me in September.
AUGUST 24th, 2003:
We arrive in , and I am in serious pain. My everything hurts. EVERYTHING. This goes on for two weeks, as does The nightly phone calls to neighbor-guy. I miss my period. Turns out, I am 2 months pregnant. I have only been with neighbor guy for a month, meaning that The first night I met him and went home with The mega-hunk, something happened that shouldn't have. I am hysterical, thinking that neighbor-guy won't want me anymore. He does, and he says we'll get through it. Oh god, I don't want to be single and pregnant 3000 miles away from my family and anyone I know. Neighbor guy tells me that he'll come to and take me back with him to Washington. He also tells me that he actually drove back to The house in Spokane looking for after he had left The first time, with every intention of packing all my stuff into his truck and taking me back then, but we were already gone. Of course at this time, I already know that he's leaving in October for a detachment to Japan, and I tell him it won't work because of EVERYTHING that would happen to me while he was gone, plus I had no medical insurance, no job, no money... more complications than I'd care to admit.
So he says that I would be well taken care of if we were married, because I wouldn't have to worry about any of that. He wants me in his life forever, and what better way to do that than get married. He wants to get back from Japan and have me at The apartment waiting for him.
And that's how it went. Chaos ensued. Suddenly I'm buying my own engagement ring with only a hundred dollar budget, a wedding dress with a hundred dollars, and I'm waiting for The 11th of September, when he goes on leave and starts The drive to . Neighbor-guy calls my parents and asks to marry me, causing panic and confusion in California, because no one even knew I was dating someone.
SEPTEMBER 11th, 2003:
He starts The drive.
SEPTEMBER 14th:
He shows up in , and I start to repack all my stuff in his truck for The trip BACK TO WASHINGTON. I have been in for less than a month. I look at it as a short vacation from The chilliness of Washington. We have decided to get married in Las Vegas, on The trip back. by The 22nd of September, neighbor-guy will become a hub-unit. There is much rejoicing as Me, him, and my cat take off on The 3500 mile trip back to The northwest.

And that's it, kids. I had to go cross-country to find love, only to find it back in The place I left. He drove there by himself to get me, and we went back together.
I think I'll talk about The trip home later, I've babbled on enough for today.
Cheers. Hope I haven't taken up too much of your time with these two posts.

The True Washington Story
Mood:  suave
Now Playing: "Texarkana", REM
So this week is Shark Week on the Discovery Channel....
No biggie, you might say, but for me it's HUGE. You see, I met the hub-unit during Shark Week. We liked each other so much that I ended up spending almost every night at his apartment, even though he had to get up at four in the morning to drop me off back at my place before heading off to work. Anyway, having said THIS, we've been together a year now, and I feel the need to celebrate said relationship with a retelling of the whole sordid mess that began a most interesting courtship and a 'movie of the week' everything else. Pull up a martini and sit back, I'll try to edit for television:
June, 2003: My savings are exhausted after only six months being out of the navy, and unemployment checks suck big time. I feel the need to for my first civilian job in five years. I apply to twelve places that I want to, and three places I don't. Guess who calls?
After one phone call and one conversation, I get hired as a housekeeper at the A____ M____ I__.
I will never do housekeeping again. I was attacked by someone's dog when I came in, I had to peel condoms off walls, I ruined two pairs of jeans from being on my knees all the time scrubbing floors, and I developed an obsession with figuring out how people got pubic hairs on TOP of the toilet. All this, in six days.
The roommates and I ran into some financial problems, and one day the water company called to tell us that they were shutting our service off at noon if we didn't pay up. We have a seven month-old baby in the house, this would not do. I called work, three hours before I was supposed to be there, and told them that I had to help scrounge cash an that I wouldn't be in till around noon. Having given them plenty of notice before hand, they still fired me, the bastards. I wasn't upset, not in the slightest. However, the assistant manager, who had taken a shine to me, invited me over to her place that weekend for a party. I have no life, therefore a party invite is MORE than welcome.
This was a bad idea for many reasons. (I also realize that this story is going to be in two parts.) I worked at the A____ M____ I__ for SIX DAYS. Bleah. Anyway, I show up at this party, and there are some strange people there, all telling me that they're taking me out to get drunk and possibly laid (WOOOO) so that I feel better. One girl, there with her incredibly hot boyfriend, tells me that her ex-husband lives downstairs and they wanted me to hook up with him. One look and I knew this would NEVER be possible. Then, the assistant manager's (Here forever known as ASSMA) next-door neighbor comes out. What a geek, and super-skinny. I introduce myself and them run inside to finish applying my makeup.
At the bar, I watch the ASSMA hit on male and female alike, and her friend try to organize a threesome with some girl that's at a bachelorette party at the same bar. Her super-hot boyfriend doesn't seem too interested, but...
I am sitting there looking stupid. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this mega hot (SUPER mega hot, if I may) chunk of man sits down next to me and starts applying the charm. Jackass that I am, I do not question, and him and a buddy of his follow us back to ASSMA's apartment. I get lucky, but only in the way that I got some, not in the way that I enjoyed it or anything. ASSMA's friend shows up at the apartment, sans boyfriend, proclaiming that her and super-hot are no longer together, and proceeds to make some of the MOST disgusting nookie noises I have ever heard not more than three feet from my head. Ten minutes later, she gets up and leaves, heading downstairs to crash at her ex-husband's place. Later that morning I find out that she slept with him too, which is inconceivably GROSS to me. Suddenly I'm glad I didn't hook up with her ex.
So I go home, disheveled and disappointed that the mega-hot chunk turned out to be such a dork ( I won't go into details), and as soon as I get home the phone rings and it's ASSMA, making plans for the next weekend. I decline, fearing another disastrous drunken hook up, and live the next month or so in blissful unemployment.
The Week BEFORE Shark Week, 2003:
I finally go back to ASSMA's apartment, having nothing else to do, and she has a date with the most fucked up grill I've ever seen. She says he has a great ass, but I can't stop staring at his teeth. She tells me to go get her neighbor to drink with us. Sure, why not, the more the merrier, right? SO I burst into the neighbor's apartment, and the first sentence I ever utter to him is "Get up bitch, I'm here and we're all drinking tonight!"
I suppose that's what won him over.
So we're all tanked, and I've spent the evening talking to ASSMA's neighbor, who turns out to be less of a dork than I thought. One thing leads to another, and I end, um, "elsewhere" than where I started.
Now, before I cut this short and continue later today, I will give a little side story:
ASSMA tells me that her and her neighbor have a mutual attraction. However, nothing will ever happen because they don't want to ruin their friendship. ASSMA weighs about 270, and at the time I was maybe 160. I figured that, while he was kind of cute for a dork, nothing would happen because I was obviously not his type. Later in the evening, when we were alone and somewhat sober, I told him this. He laughed his ass off and said that he was just being nice, and there was no way in hell that he would ever do anything with ASSMA because she was loud and obnoxious and slept with EVERYONE that came over to her apartment of the male persuasion. I figured if he wanted to fudge a little, it was cool because the two of US was never going to happen again Anyway.
So the neighbor drives me home in the morning, and I jump out of his truck before he even comes to a complete stop and run inside. I don't see him again for another week, when things got REALLY weird.
Til later, kiddies.

WHAAAAT????????
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: "Guilty", Gravity Kills
WHAT THE FUCK.
Weighed myself today, and I couldn't believe my fucking eyes. The last time I was hefted onto a scale I weighed in at 182, which was what I pretty much expected. TOday, hefted again into the sling, I gawped at the fact that I now cash in at 192. HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT WORK?
For the last two weeks I've been doing NOTHING but work out on that confounded Gazelle thing and take my pills. The appetite suppressant/metabolic enhancer has KILLED my food intake to an apple and a cup of coffee for breakfast, a tomato with bleu cheese for lunch, and MAYBE a small bowl of whatever for dinner. I pee constantly, good god above I SHIT twice a day, how the FUCK could I weigh ten pounds more than what I did in FEBRUARY??
This prompted a SERIOUS depression attack, and the hub-unit had to stay home from work for an hour trying to console me while I tried to beat him off with a stick becuase I didn't want to be touched. I'm surprised I didn't leave greasy fat-marks on his shirt. GRRRRR...
HIS reasoning:
How do I know that I haven't gained a lot of weight before I started working out, and how do I know that I also haven't LOST any, since I abhor scales? How do I know that I'm not just packing on muscle that will eventually kick my metabolism up a HUGE notch and then I'll just drop it all in a blink?
MY reasoning:
I AM A FAT COW THAT DOES NOTHING.
HIS statement on the situation:
I love you no matter what, and the working out must be doing something because the last time we had sex I was Super Stamina Girl.
JOY.
MY statement on the situation:
DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME AGAIN OR I'LL POKE YOU WITH A SHARP STICK.
Can you tell I'm having a bad day? Shit...
And then, to make matters weirder,my mom drops all this crazy business about how I should have had a D&C after my miscarriage just to make sure everything came out. SHe says this because her rights to grandchildren fall solely to ME, because my little sister is a fucking jet-setting flake. I tried to explain that they just don't DO the scrape when you've only been pregnant for two and a half months, which prompted her to fly into a "I told you so" speech about sleeping around and putting the hub-unit under pressure to raise another man's baby. Hate to break it to her, but she's only half right. Yeah, it was another guy's baby (Christ, I was s slut), but me? A mom at 24? Her ass hurts. Things just got a little twisted.
But enough of that mess, I'm bitching about having a fat ass.
And I'm done bitching.

How Sexy is the Man in Uniform?
Mood:  chillin'
Now Playing: Splinter Cell Theme Music (GAWD I hate that game...)
First of all, a HUGE Whoot Whoot to Chinq, proprietress of the Nut House, for leasing a unit on the far side of the complex after several posts! I never knew we even HAD lakeside views...
The hub-unit had a Change of Command today, so he had to come home and change into his whites for the occasion, and for a moment there I was taken aback. I'd forgotten how downright sexy those sailors could look in the right uniform. I wanted to jump on his yumminess right when he got home, but I couldn't because I was violated during my pap smear today. Fucking GYN's...
I actually asked Doc Shmuckatelli (known from heretofore as-) about the nasty silly-putty pinkypurple goop that occurred with that NASTY yeast infection thing earlier this month, and he gave me a blank look. All I got was "well, you don't have any infection now", and "purple is not really a color I like to connect with the vaginal area". Connect THIS, assmonkey. I want a new doctor.
I hate going to doctors. I would rather DIE than go to see a doctor. When I had my miscarriage last year (something I'll have to probably get into later), the hub-unit literally had to FORCE me to call and make an appointment to get checked out. This was more complicated than it sounds, because the unit was actually in Japan during said appointment. Later about all that mess. I especially hate going to see the cootch doctor and getting a spread and scrape because I have issues with people taking liberties as such (once again, complicated...). I'm going to have so much fun if I get preggers.
Oh yeah, it's fucking HOT again. After about a week of decent temps around here it's cranking up to a weekend in the 90's here. This is WASHINGTON, people, it doesn't DO high 90's here. It doesn't do high 70's for that matter. I'm gonna die in the heat. I can feel my fat rolls already starting to sweat.
As for the "fat No Longer" plan:
It's been almost two weeks, and no change in my weight. I'm barely eating because of these pills, and I've gotta go careful on the damn machine because I keep breaking myself, but COME ON....
I'm starting to get impatient. I've got 40 pounds to drop by November, and I'm into instant gratification.
BAH.

Must...Stop...Posting....
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: "Ain't It Funny", JLo(bleah)
I should really run amuckon the net BEFORE I post this ridiculousness every morning...
Funniest site EVER: Amalah's fantasticness. I laughed so hard I had coffee shooting out of my nose. I could never even aspire to her greatness. It was there that I found the uber-creepy site by Kirk Cameron, of all fucking people. Nothing against Christians or anything, but whoo BOY is that kinda strange...
I take it back. Some Christians spook me.
Like Kirk Cameron.

The 90's Revisited
Mood:  spacey
Now Playing: "Black Betty", Ram Jam
So someone posted about the 90's. I guess this means that I have to say something about my most embarrassing moments...
I was in junior high during the earlier 90's, and in high school the latter decade, and I SUCKED in high school. I spent so much time trying to find myself in other people that I ignored my education and tried to fit in, thereby creating my worst 90's moment... FASHION.
I wore the eight pairs of scrunchy socks with the snap-crotch bodysuits and the pegged jeans, hair in a tail on top of my head and bangs out to THERE. I wore the pink and black-checkered bike shorts with an oversized t-shirt with a corner tucked into one of those ridiculous plastic things that made it only LOOK like I'd tied it up. I wore my clothes backward when Kriss Kross was cool (couldn't sit down to save my life), I wore the multi-colored Cross Colors outfits with the silver baby pacifier necklace, I wore bell-bottomed pants with up-to-there platform shoes and a crocheted vest. The bells lasted a day, because some jackhole called me a stinking hippie. Funny, how I now live in Kurtas and dashikis with patchwork pants and thriftstore finds.
I wore the short shorts with the little rufflies on the bottom with a matching shirt and Blossom hat (you KNOW what I'm talking about), I affected a bowler hat and spectacles to look studious...
You fucking name it, I did it. If only my mother hadn't enabled my co-tour (lol) victimization with her credit card, I would've been better off.
So there you have it, kiddies. My worst memories of the 1990's is clothing.
But lord, don't get me started on the music...

Dear God, You Did WHAT?!?!
Mood:  bright
Now Playing: "Time and Time Again", Papa Roach
NOTHING happened this weekend. It was a payday weekend, which meant a frantic shopping spree at the social hub of the city (read, Wal-Mart), followed by grocery procuring and house cleaning. SO boring. I did my usual scan of the WWW to keep up on the torrid affairs of the rich and inane, and came up with only a few tidbits:
Michael Jackson denies having quadruplets with an unidentified woman via artificial insemination. BLEAH.
The new movie "The Grudge", starring the buffylicious Sarah Michelle Gellar, seems to be a rip off of the ring, all the way down to the creepy little girl with black hair crawling around with her hair in her face. We need more original ideas Here's one (Hollywood, feel free to rip me off):
In the farther future (cliche), we have once again slipped into a hard-core patriarchal society. Women can't have jobs, they can vote only in things that concern them, i.e. higher taxes on foods that are imported, etc. The government is working smoothly with no chicks (Condi Rice, sorry), but there is a slight faction of women who had resorted to rebellion. I'm talking rock-hard bitches that spit in the face of male authority, that live on a decommissioned group of aircraft carriers off the coast of California, dubbed Themiscryia...
Being an almost self-sufficient society, the US government has left them alone, only intervening when the women pirate around the coast in search of their own...only doing what they need to survive away from the craziness of the world around them...until now.
And NO, they're not lesbians, you dirty birds.
So something happens (slightly vague on the area, any suggestions?), and the US maleness needs the help of the autonomous society of Themiscyria, who until now have been the bane of the country. I'm thinking about some great clandestine meetings in the darkness of a hangar bay... a leader more like a mob boss than a queen...some ridiculous threat that men can't handle because they're dopes.
I don't know. It's a work in progress, I haven't worked all the kinks out yet. I just have this...image.
Sometimes, I hate being a writer. Things just sit in my head, half-baked and crumbling, until the right moment.
But when, at my ridiculous age, is the right moment?
I have two books finished, sitting on my shelf, that the hub-unit was gracious enough to have special printed and bound for me like an actual novel. Maybe I'll do something about it after I'm dead.

I Take It All Back
Mood:  quizzical
Now Playing: "Interstate Love Song", STP
Okay, I take it all back. Today's not SO boring, but I will say that my interest has been piqued. It's all about this Rance dude everyone's been talking about.
He seems very bored, that's all. Some people have a gift for writing, some don't. I do, or so I've been told, I just don't exhibit it here on this blog. I'd rather work on my Chronicles and hide them away so no one can read them, because I crumble under 'constructive criticism'. It's my shit, I'll let my fan base read them when I'm damn good and ready, ie; dead.
But as for Rance, who cares? I've noticed the guy gets like 73 replies to his posts. He's well-spoken, I'll give him that, and I've read the articles about who he may be, but should we care? Isn't the good thing about blogging the anonymity?
I don't know, I'm starting to ramble away from the thought that originally sparked the entry.
Oh yeah....
I just don't see the reason for his popularity. I mean, he's entertaining, but I could give a rat's bumcheek about who he is. I may love pointing out the faults of the rich and ucka-famous, but to spend hours a day trying to discern the identity of a guy who says he's a Person of Infamy? Bah.
Entertainment, that's all. But if any of you can give me a few reasons about Rance's poop-ularity, I'd love to hear them.
Maybe I'm just not reading into it closely enough.
And since I've been watching TWO HOURS of I Love the 90's every night this week, I have a question to ask of anyone who dares answer:
What 90's trend did you jump headfirst into and now despise yourself for doing so, and what was YOUR most memorable moment of the past decade?
I will reveal my most embarrassing 90's moment in a later post. I wanna see if anyone answers me first so I don't look like a dork.