Can't We All Be Dogs?

I am absolutely marveled at the species of the canine. They are unbelievable.

Over the years, a human being compared to a dog was often a negative, not a positive. Men were often given the unfriendly comparison due to their habits and un-human like responses, and not to mention their ability to pee, spit, and scratch their balls in public without any sense of embarrassment whatsoever. Because of this, being compared to a dog became a negative personality trait.

However, the more time I spend with my new dog, Lacey, the more I start to think... can't we all be like dogs? If we were, I think the world would be a much happier place.

No one can love you like a dog. A dog's love is the exact definition of unconditional. My dog, Lacey, just loves me...from the minute we brought her into our house, the love started. She doesn't care about the mistakes I have made in the past, or the ones I continue to make daily. She doesn't care if I raise my voice or get too emotional. Lacey looks into my eyes with so much love--and there are no strings attached at all. Sure, it's not completely one-sided. She does count on me to feed her, shelter her and occasionally walk and play. But she'll love me anyway--even if I don't get a chance to take her on a walk or throw her toy around with her enough one day.

Maybe if humans were all like that--maybe if we all cared more about our relationships with each other and gave out our love freely with no expectation of anything in return--the world would be a happier place. Maybe if we always greeted our loved ones at the door after their long day at work, curled up in their lap even though they just disciplined us for doing something bad, and made eating, sleeping and loving our priorities--the world would be a happier place.

I am marveled by my dog, and feel privileged and so lucky that she loves me unconditionally, no matter what.

Can't we all be dogs?

Bowl Cut Xmas Tree

Mr. Navy and I have the worst luck. Actually, generally he's been lucky his whole life, so maybe it's my bad luck that's rubbing off. Who knows.

We have a tendency to get the short end of the stick. We'll constantly buy something new, bring it all the way home, open the box and find out we're missing key parts to make it work. We'll buy a piece of clothing, put it in the wash and suddenly it shrinks and it cannot be worn again. We'll leave phone chargers behind, pay full price for something the day before it goes on sale, break our computers merely months after the warranty expires and agree to take in a dog right before it decides to attack another dog and get put down. However, this trend has never been so evident than it is right now--as I look at our Christmas tree.

We went out to the lot to purchase our first tree together this past weekend and it was very exciting (I was perhaps more excited than Mr. Navy was, but that's because I magically transform into a 7-year-old every year starting the day after Thanksgiving and then coincidentally turn back to my rightful age right before New Years Eve). We brought it home, put the lights on and decorated it with ornaments old and new. And then as we took our proud photos, we saw it. There's a huge chunk missing from the top. Huge.

There's no getting around it. Even turning it slightly towards the wall only makes it worse. We can't exactly take it back because of a flaw--we picked it out and dressed it up, therefore we must stick with it. But it's hard to take in the beauty when it's just...so...awkward looking...much like a kid with a bowl/mushroom haircut or something. Like Lloyd Christmas.

Mr. Navy and I are hoping this streak ends before we start having children...

Vacuum Bliss

I know I've been talking about being old a lot lately. Maybe 27 isn't really old, but for some reason I can't get off the topic.

Ok, you know you're old when...you're totally elated about a new vacuum.

Yesterday, Mr. Navy and I went out and purchased our first tree together. It was so joyous picking it out, bringing it home, setting it in the stand and beginning to clean up the millions of tiny pine needles that fell on the floor. As I vacuumed, I realized it wasn't picking up the needles, but just spitting them back out all over the carpet.

Mr. Navy, being the frugal fix-it that he is, took it apart to see what was the matter. After screws were un-screwed and screwed back on, filters were cleaned and hoses unclogged, I began the feat again--and yet again, it spit the needles back all over the carpet. As Mr. Navy reached to tear it open yet again, I thought to myself "please, can we just get a new one?" As if he read my mind, we were in the car on the way to the store faster than you could say Jingle Bells. And, we came home with a masterpiece.

Not only did the pine needles get scooped up in a heartbeat, but our new vacuum comes with a duster, two hoses and an upholstery cleaner--and not to mention the carpet and hard floor settings. The modern technology and sophistication combined with the thought of easier household cleaning almost brought a tear to my eye...

And now the new vacuum, with the same respect as Ralphie's Red Ryder BB Gun, sits proudly in the laundry room, just waiting to be called upon for duty.

Am I Just Tired...Or Am I Old?

This week was my first official week back in an office 8 hours a day. I'd been masquerading as a stay-at-home housewife and two-hours-a-week newspaper writer for about seven glorious months until a month ago when I was offered a part time position at a facility on base (which will remain nameless, again to protect the innocent). As daunting of a task as it was to start waking up at 6:45 every morning, at least I came home by 12:30 p.m. so that I could enjoy the quiet of the house, do the grocery shopping at a reasonable hour and watch my Sex and the City re-runs without judgemental looks from Mr. Navy. Things were good.

However, the paper started getting tedious and I wasn't feeling like I was able to rise to my full potential(damn my over achieving conscious). I was tired of being neglected by my editor and writing boring, mundane stories about ribbon cuttings and twin pilots. Something wasn't right. Something was missing. I wasn't feeling important or useful. Most importantly, I wasn't feeling creative. Then, the part time position at the facility on base offered me a full time position.

Long story short, I accepted the position, quit the newspaper and have been waking up before the sun comes up and heading home after it's gone down all week. I feel creative, productive, and...I get to wear cute shoes again. But, I'm also unbearably exhausted.

Am I tired, or just old? Why can't I motivate myself this week to do anything? Cook dinner--No, I'm exhausted. Go to the gym--Ha! I can barely keep my eyes open. Last night I dared to go grocery shopping after an 8 hour day at the office. I thought I was going to die. I still haven't recovered.

Am I just tired...do I just need to get used to not being a housewife any longer? Will my psyche and my body recover from the shock of not being able to stay at home and watch The View and Oprah in my 'jammies'?

Or, am I just old? Is this the life of an old person? Am I going to be tired every day and never be able to participate in after hour activities Monday through Friday? Am I going to start going to bed at 7 p.m. every night like my mother?

Am I just tired...or am I old?

So Long to Lola

I've had some questions come my way recently about what has become of Lola. I talked her up, and promised photos and tidbits about her new life among the cow pastures up here at NAS somewhere.

Lola is no longer with this world. She had an accident before she was able to come home to Mr. Navy and I. The ramifications of her actions resulted in severe injuries to another dog, and unfortunately, her own demise.

Although I never formally met her, I will miss her. I thought of her every moment of the day once I had learned that she'd be coming here to live. I bought her a pink jeweled color and a name tag. I thought about what it would be like to walk her, train her and finally feel like she was a part of the family. I grew excited to start a family with Mr. Navy--Lola was going to be our first addition, our child "try-out."

Another dog will come, eventually. Mr. Navy and I are still a bit saddened by what happened, but will warm up to the idea of another furry friend soon, I'm sure.

A New Member of the Family

Today, Mr. Navy and I made a big decision. We've decided to expand on our family. No, this doesn't involve me getting a belly and screaming in pain 9 months from now.

We are welcoming a 1 year old pit bull into our family. She's a girl, and I'm going to call her Lola. Yes, like the Eric Clapton song.

Lola will make our family proud.

I am equal parts terrified and totally excited. I'm scared because of the breed, I'm scared because I wonder if I'll be a good trainer, a good master, a good mommy... I'm excited because it will be another personality in our lives. Someone for us to love and take care of...someone to bring us even more laughter and love.

It's so funny how life changes. I'm right in the middle of a total life change... A new home, city, husband, job and now dog. My life is changing, and I'm watching as it happens. It's weird.

Stay tuned for pics of the new lady...

Bowing down to the Wii

God Bless the Wii.

I don't know what I did with myself before Wii Sports. How did I feel my life was complete before that white wonder sat on my entertainment stand?

That small little machine can transform my living room into a bowling alley, a beautiful beach side golf course with calming winds, a sold out baseball stadium and a boxing ring. Anything is possible! With the Wii, I can bowl strikes! I can do better than Mr. Navy! With the Wii, I can hit a tennis ball--actually hit it, receive it, and hit it back. With the Wii, I can send a golf ball soaring through the trees and into the hole. With the Wii, Mr. Navy and I are no longer in the middle of nowhere and slightly nobodies--no, we're in important places and all star sports players...having fun...together.

God Bless the Wii.

Her

I wish I could change the world. For real. For the better. I wish that mean people would be taught lessons, and they'd see the light and be proven wrong. I wish that good always prevailed and evil always lost. I wish that I could protect my loved ones from every bump, every bruise, every wrong. I wish I could at least change her world...

Less than two years ago, she lost everything. She lost her husband--the man she knew since she was 16. The man who taught her about love, about life, and unfortunately, about pain. The man who was everything. Then, she lost her home. Granted it was only a place she had lived in for three years, but it was her home, a place where she made memories. Then, she lost all of her belongings. The past 40 years of collections given away to ministries and shelters, unable to afford to move them and no home to store them in. Then, she lost her job--a place where she felt important, special and loved. A place where she felt like she belonged. She lost and left it all less than two years ago...and moved out to CA. Why? Because I needed her. Because she needed me. Because we both needed...something, and couldn't have Dad.

Now, I feel as though she is my child, in a way. She has so much to learn. She was sheltered for so long under the warmth of a husband and a church...and her children. Not that life was great--it wasn't--but once you lose everything, you forget its flaws and only remember it's beauty. I don't want her to lose anything more. I don't want her to feel any more pain. I wish I could shelter her from all of the world's pain, like a mother cradles her baby inside a blanket close to her heart. I wish that I'd never hear the sound of her cries again--only laughter. Laughter at a second chance, at a life rebuilt.

At her new job, the employers treat her horribly. They have it out for her--the sweetest woman in the world--most likely because she is more knowledgeable than they are and they hate it.

Something happened to her today at this new job...something bad...she was accused of something she didn't do, and forced to sign something saying she did it or she'd lose her job. How did this evil find its way into her life? Hasn't she experienced enough for one lifetime?


I wish that mean people would be taught lessons, and they'd see the light and be proven wrong. I wish that good always prevailed and evil always lost. I wish that I could protect my loved ones from every bump, every bruise, every wrong.

But they aren't. And it doesn't. But I can't.

A Hiatus from the Hiatus

Hello to all my six or seven faithful followers :)

It's been so long since I've written. I'm a bad blogger. Bad.

I will tell you all of the normal, cliched excuses--family emergencies, my dog ate the computer keyboard, I joined the Peace Corps....

Actually, the truth is, I've just been slacking. I would wake up in the middle of the night and think, I should blog about this thought, but then alas my sleeping pill kicks in, and I awaken in six hours or so with zero thoughts of blogs. I promise I'll be better.

So, what's new... Well, I got a second job. A second job means more money for Mr. Navy and I, which is great--I mean who doesn't like more money, right? It also means less time for blogging and my favorite...house cleaning. The house used to be spotless when I had only one job. Dishes were always done, the living room was organized and dusted, and the laundry was always done. Mr. Navy always had a clean, new towel every morning for his shower and clean socks for his toesies. I am finding it so much harder to keep up with now. Now, our living room has about 12 pairs of shoes scattering its surface, clean laundry is still piled up on the recliner, the iron and ironing board is facing the TV, and papers are scattered all over the place.

So when I'm not working two jobs or washing Mr. Navy's towels(what kind of person can't reuse a towel two days in a row????) and socks, I am trying to plan a wedding. I still don't have a date set yet. What's this, four months and counting? No, I'm not trying to set a Guinness Book of World Records for being the biggest wedding slacker. I am trying to figure out how to have the wedding of my dreams--and be able to pay for it. It's no easy task. I have been researching venues, caterers, photographers, DJs and bank loan opportunities like crazy. However, I think I am finally inching towards a venue choice. Stay tuned.

So, when I'm not working two jobs, washing towels/doing housework or planning a wedding, I'm pursuing my Bachelor's Degree in Communications full time. I have papers due every week, not to mention a 10 page paper due every five weeks, weekly quizzes and discussion board postings. Only one year left though!

So when I'm not working two jobs, washing and cleaning, planning the wedding and going to school full time, I'm researching adopting a puppy. Am I crazy???????

So that's all folks. Really, I've just been busy. Really busy. I'll try to keep up with it more though.

Always Wanting What You Can't Have

I always think the grass is greener over there. It' probably the worst characteristic of mine. I want what I don't have and miss what I had and left.

Tonight, I'm missing CT.

I didn't leave because I didn't like the cold or felt bored by my friends. I didn't leave because of my job or school. I left because my home life was not great, my Dad was sick, and maybe I thought by leaving I could make it better. Maybe if I wasn't around to see it every day, he wouldn't be sick.

Well, he continued to be sick. He passed, and here I am. 3000 miles away from the life I used to have--and I can't help but miss it.

I miss those few friends who always made me feel special. Those friends that I experienced so much with. They are still there, magically, almost waiting for me to return. They miss me and speak of me each day, like I've simply gone on vacation and will be returning soon.

I know my life is in the military right now. And I wouldn't give up Mr. Navy for anything. But I'm beginning to think that maybe my life needs to continue, back in that chilly place I called home.

To be continued...

Feeling Nostaligic

I was driving out in town the other day and got caught in some really bad traffic--very uncharacteristic of a small town but it was due to the fact that I was across the street from the local high school and everyone was in a mad dash to get out of there and get home. As I sat in the car, I looked on at the campus and at all of the high schoolers walking around. I saw the groups of girls gossiping and laughing at each other; I saw the couple making out; I saw the couple enraged in a fight; and I couldn't believe what I started feeling--nostalgic. I couldn't believe it--I was feeling nostalgic for those days that I apparently hated so greatly.

After reflecting upon this emotion, I became very upset with myself. Why didn't I enjoy high school more? Why didn't I enjoy those "coming of age" years that I'll never have back? Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't repeat high school if you paid me--but I wish I had appreciated the good things better than I had while I was there. Instead of being upset about not having a boyfriend, or upset that my grades weren't as good as they could be, or upset about the things going on at home--I could have taken into account the fact that I had the greatest group of girl friends that anyone could have ever had--girl friends that I really don't have any more. Yes, I am still great friends with a couple of them today, but we are separated by coasts and we don't get to do all that we used to in high school, let alone see each other more than once a year. The rest of those great girl friends from high school have faded off, creating new lives for themselves. I wonder if they ever think of our friendship as fondly as I do. I wonder if they ever get nostalgic over those long lost days of running from hall monitors, ringing taco bells and nights of no sleep and gossip.

Yes, high school was frustrating. Boys were stupid and teachers were even worse; homework was lame and I hated having a curfew. But--I had great times with a group of girls that were truly special--and I wish I had appreciated all of our fun in the moment while it was happening. That's really the point of high school, I think...to form these friendships that will impact your life forever.

As the traffic started to pick up again, I looked upon that group of girls I saw outside of the school. I made a wish for them--that they would always appreciate those other girls standing around laughing with them. I hope they stay in touch as long as they can, and they realize how lucky they are to have each other.

Thinking

Thinking



I sat down one afternoon

And reflected upon my years

I thought about how much I'd seen

I thought about all the tears



I thought about my weakened heart

How love has been so unkind

I thought about men I'd loved and lost

And the times I'd been left behind



I thought about how I'd been betrayed

The lies caused so much confusion

I thought about how I'd come to believe

That trust is just an illusion



I thought about my family

How much pain and hardship we'd bared

I thought about how much they've meant to me

No one else has ever compared



I thought about times I'd gone without

I tried even harder to gain

I thought about how I wanted sun

But often times just got rain



Then I thought about all the people

Who bared all of this with me

I thought about the kindness of strangers

And how what will be will be



Then I thought about smiling

When I realized I'd been so strong

I thought about how through every trial

Strength kept me happy all along



Then I thought about thinking

And how the sadness had clouded my brain

I thought to myself, Count your blessings

And never once again thought of pain

A Grown Up Cliche

You know that cliche that says "You know you're an adult when your friends become your family".... Yeah, we've all heard it, read it, maybe even applied it to our lives time and again.

I'm here to reverse that cliche and make a new one. This is something I've descovered after living in California for the past two years . Yes, California has showed me many things--tattoos are a fashion statement, flip flops are appropriate footwear anywhere and the Central Valley just smells like cow...there's no getting around that. However, I think the most important thing I've learned over the past two years, is a reverse to that popular cliche.

"You know you've become an adult, when your family becomes your friends."

I have spent the past two years getting to know my family all over again after having been away from them for over 10 years...and it is the most amazing and not to mention comforting thing to discover that the people who have known you since birth are also your best friends in the world. It's incredible to be drinking wine or margaritas around a bonfire, playing guitar and singing to great lyrics, having heart to hearts, and then look up and realize that you are related to all of these amazing people enjoying this evening with you. It's amazine to know that they will be there forever. They have to, they are family.

To all of these people, you know who you are, thank you for helping me realize adulthood in the best way possible, and for being my best friends. :-)

(ok, enough cheese. goat cheese? i love goat cheese!)

The Passing of "Firsts"

I think one of the hardest things about getting older (besides the slowed metabolism, the wrinkles and the overactive bladder) is the fact that you have to start watching those around you--those people who were an influence on your life--pass away.

I am deeply saddened at the loss of Patrick Swayze. I know he was a celebrity--I didn't know him personally, and probably couldn't relate to the type of life he lead. But nonetheless, I am saddened. Patrick Swayze was my first crush--the first time I actually realized what a man could do to me. He was the first guy I actually thought was "hot" as opposed to boys I just chased in the playground or threw pencils at. Up until that point in my life, there was no one I both envied and hated more than Baby in Dirty Dancing. "Take me out of the corner, Johnny" I used to think. Patrick Swayze was one of those "firsts" for me, and I had never forgotten that.

Whenever someone dies of cancer, I can't help but think of my father. And as I watch the news broadcasts and tributes on TV tonight, I can't help but think maybe half of those tears streaming down my face are for the man who was my first "first"--my father. The man who was the first to influence my life, and the first to leave it. I can't help but compare his journey to the journey of others who have suffered the same disease. I can't help but admire his bravery. I can't help but think of him and wonder where he is.

So, here's to Patrick Swayze. Here's to "nobody puts Baby in the corner" and "Ditto." Here's to giving me my first boy/girl life lesson. Here's to living and dying in the classiest way possible. I hope that you're up there, somewhere, teaching my Dad how to do the mambo. With separate partners, of course.

Regular Americans...It's Finally Our Turn

I rarely talk politics. I usually have a hard time wrapping my head around other people's ideas when they differ from my own--not because I am stubborn and one sided, but because when it comes to our country, sometimes I just can't understand other people's opinions.

However, I just have to discuss this...just have to touch on it, even if it's ever so lightly.

Last night, Mr. President spoke to our nation about our healthcare. Let me restate this--he spoke to OUR country about OUR healthcare. I have to say, it is so refreshing to actually hear a President discuss a problem that is happening in our country. His speech wasn't about a war; it wasn't about what we can do to improve someone else's freedom; it was about a huge problem in OUR country, one that he so desperately wants to fix, because it's in awful shape. I feel as though through the last administration (to protect the innocent I won't mention what his name is, or what party he is associated with) all we heard about was war, terrorism and overseas oil. Not to say that those things aren't important--they are. You'd think with my involvement with the military I'd be completely immersed in those topics--but I'm not. While all the speeches were being made and money being spent (wasted) on this war, OUR country was falling...deeper and deeper into economic depression, and not much was done about it. I know we have to protect this country--but don't you think a President should be able to multi-task? I mean he is the leader of the greatest Nation in the world, after all...

Anyway--healthcare has always been an issue that I feel very strongly about, ever since I got to watch my father suffer for all those years. I watched as my mother who was trapped inside a low paying job because she couldn't get insurance for my father anywhere else feared that the bills wouldn't get paid. I watched as the hospital bills piled up, because insurance didn't cover anything. Cancer is the most expensive disease, and no one should die from it because they can't afford it.

Finally, we have a leader who is concerned about things that affect regular Americans. Regular Americans! Americans who are jobless and scared...scared and sick...sick and going broke because of it.

His plan won't be smudge proof. It's not possible. He is human, and there can be error associated with it. But--we should feel calmed to know--that he can't screw up this country any more than the administration of the last eight years did.

Every Hound Dog Has its Day

Today, I headed to the gym at about 3 PM as Mr. Navy was heading off to work. I ran, walked, biked and squeezed my glutes. I then headed over to the Jet-Mart (a convenience store) to buy some dish washing liquid and some of my new favorite zero calorie SoBe Life Waters. Upon coming home, I pulled my car into the garage, opened the door and came in...to the pungent smell of aerosol.

Yuck! What was that smell? It smelled like a combination of strong bug spray and fresh paint, and was rampant throughout my downstairs. I immediately dropped my stuff and began sniffing. I followed the smell throughout the downstairs, but couldn't pinpoint the source. I started to worry--what if something was leaking in the house...what if I was going to pass out from these fumes? What if Mr. Navy came home to find me passed out on the kitchen floor in my sweaty gym clothes?

After sniffing for about five to ten minutes, I thought to call our housing company and find out if there was any work being done on any of the homes in my area. Maybe the smell came through the air from somewhere else. I dialed the appropriate number and was greeted by "Lincoln Lady". I explained to her the situation and she said she had no idea what the smell could be. She told me that no work was being done around my area. "Ok....," I answered her. She told me maybe it was hair spray. "I don't use hair spray," I answered her. She told me that maybe our bug spray had leaked all over the house. "I keep the bug spray outside in the backyard and it doesn't smell out there," I answered her. She came back to me with a long Hmmmmmmm. She told me she just didn't know what it could be. I thanked her for nothing, and hung up the phone.

I then continued to make like a dog all over the house--no, I didn't mark my territory, but I started sniffing like I've never sniffed before. I went into the corners, the vents, the oven, the closets and the bathrooms, all the while sniffing like a regular basset hound. I stuck my head into the washer and dryer, only to come out covered in lint and none the wiser. Then, the phone rang. It was "Lincoln Lady."

She told me that there was plaster work being done all afternoon in the house connected to mine, and that's what I was smelling. Not to worry, she told me. No need to go around the house sniffing like a dog, she should have told me....

Too late. She couldn't have found this out for me while I was on the phone with her initially? Today is one of those days where I'm really glad that the flies on my wall can't relay any information to Mr. Navy.

Am I a Wedding Brat?

I'm still in the beginning stages of my wedding--and by beginning, I mean we haven't even set a date. I'm very close, however, and a couple things are starting to come together.

Already, millions of opinions and ideas are being thrown at me in every direction possible--and none of them are my own. Opinions on the church, the venue, the colors, the food, the engagement party, the wedding registry and the honeymoon are just a select few of the ways that other people try to (lovingly) get involved. Sometimes, all I want to hear is "that's a good idea"--not from my mouth, but from theirs, after I state what it is that I, the bride, think.

I know what I want. After all, I'm a chick, aren't I? I've known what I've wanted as far as my wedding is concerned since I was probably old enough to understand what it meant. I am no bridezilla, so I am always willing to tweak what I want in order for it to fit into the category of "what I can do." But, I'd like the tweaking to come from me, from my mind, from my ideas. Am I being rational, or am I a wedding brat?

While other people's ideas are always welcomed, strong opinions are not. My fiance and I are going to be contributing financially and therefore I feel that I should be listened to. I feel that once I put down an idea or opinion from someone else, I shouldn't have to continue putting it down for the next five minutes straight. I feel that once something is said on my end, there should be an automatic "concrete" feeling--once I say no, people should leave it at "no." I don't want to offend anyone by not taking their ideas, but with all due respect, it's my wedding. People offering opinions have either already been able to use their own ideas at their own wedding, or they will one day in the future.

I am a big girl. I know what I can and can't afford. I know what I want and what I can do. I have the ability to plan an inexpensive and beautiful wedding. Please let me. I am open to all ideas, but isn't this the one time in my entire life where it's my turn to make the decisions?

So, what's the consensus...Am I a Wedding Brat?

Be A Leading Lady

In most chick flicks, there is often a "leading lady" and a "best friend." The leading lady is beautiful and also the center of the story. The best friend (and it's usually the same actress in all chick flicks) is usually less illuminating than the leading lady, and adds commentary, keeps the leading lady from going crazy, and tries to help her realize the true meaning of life. In the end, you have no idea what happens to the best friend; but you find out that the leading lady lives happily ever after.

I feel as though lately I have been the "best friend" instead of the "leading lady" in my own life. I feel as though I've been just swimming by, feeling less special and attractive than others and not taking charge of my own life. I feel like the one who's never remembered and never the center of the story. Today, I realize that it all needs to change.

We all slip into a rut. We all fall out of leading lady status every now and then. There are some small steps we can all take in order to stay in the center of the story in our own lives.

*Every leading lady needs a fabulous dress, that hides all of her flaws and makes her feel fabulous.

*Every leading lady needs to know where she's been, deal with where she is, and know where's she's going--and how to get there.

*Every leading lady needs to not be afraid to take risks, both with her physical beauty and her career goals.

*Every leading lady needs some dark black mascara.

*Every leading lady needs to take a look at herself in the mirror and admire what is good about her. Try it daily.

*Every leading lady needs a pair of fiercely high heels for the appropriate occasion.

*Every leading lady needs to know that they are the star of the story and will triumph at the end, no matter how difficult the journey.

Be the leading lady in your own life--and the best friend in someone else's.

Scamming and Spamming

Craigslist had always been my number one "go-to" list for job searching. I had always thought of it as a rich resource with tons of possibility--until recently.

What has happened to Craigslist? 9 out of every 10 jobs I apply for end up being a scam. I receive an email back stating that I have to sign up for something, complete some survey, or become a "secret shopper." Nothing ends up being the job that is posted. Most are now scams run by horrible people who are trying to take advantage of the jobless in order to get their email addresses. Jobless people are an incredible target nowadays. They are so desperate for work that they will apply for any number of jobs on this website, and even give out their email address a few times before they start to catch on. I admit, I was an unlucky victim as well. Luckily, I know how to spot these scams now. The email address that I use for job purposes is now cluttered with spam--useless advertisements that could only have come from once source...Craigslist.

I'm wondering what happened to honesty and integrity. There are people out there really struggling, really putting their faith in job searching websites, hoping to put their life back together again. Websites need to be monitored better, especially in troubled times like these.

Shameless Plug

Check it out...

http://www.milspouse.com/article.aspx?id=12318&terms=spa

If It Walks Like a Duck....

If you have ever had a good, hard workout, you understand the post-workout waddle. The toes pointed in, butt out, this is the only way I can move around waddle. Your inner thighs and hamstrings are burning so bad that you'd rather remain immobile than risk the pain of moving around. Yes, the post-workout painful duck waddle.

I have started running training in preparation for a marathon in February. Since I've never run before (except in elementary school when chasing boys or when I'm chased by a bee) I had no idea how my body would react to it. I have to admit, mentally, I feel fabulous. I feel like I'm working towards a goal, and the bonus of that goal will be getting in better shape. Physically, however, is a different story. I had no idea that running intervals for three days would make my body hurt this much. Usually I get the post-workout waddle from a really hard AB class on Tuesday/Thursday, or a strength training class that Mr. Navy and I take occasionally. However, after my morning run, I got out of the car with a surprising ache in my hammie's, butt and calves--ouch!

I have been waddling all day, and doing specific stretches so I can de-duck before Mr. Navy comes home from work. Ducks may be many things, but sexy they are not.

Stay tuned on the progress--hopefully I won't resemble any animals after a few more days.

Hey, It's Ok...

There's a page in every month's Glamour Magazine (I'll write about my magazine addiction at another time) entitled "Hey, It's Ok." I love this section. It lets women know that it's quite all right to have existing quirks that may not be what others consider "normal". In the spirit of this, and in appreciation of my constant goal of self discovery and acceptance, I decided to make my own.

Hey, It's Ok....

*If I don't have and don't ever want a high tech phone. I just need to call and text. Actually, I barely even call.

*That I am a little bit of a wuss. Life can be scary.

*If I burn dinner, set off the smoke alarm, or light my hair on fire sometimes.

*To start accepting and stop hating the little wrinkles on my face...I am almost 30 for cryin' out loud, stop the age fight.

*To I admit to the fact that I'd totally have plastic surgery if I could afford it.

*If I eat cereal for dinner when Mr. Navy is working nights.

*If I'm a little bit of an over-reactor and ever so slightly neurotic.

*If I'd rather be at a five-star resort than "roughing it."

*If my favorite movies are Confessions of a Shopaholic and Sex and the City.

*That I hate salad and LOVE McDonald's.

*That I'd rather be dressed up in a classy wine bar than hootin' and hollerin' at a dive bar.

*To be totally me and only me, without caring about who likes it and who doesn't.

The Cuckoo's Nest

There's nothing like a few celebrity headlines to make your life seem more normal. I have to say, whenever I'm feeling unusually low, all I have to do is read up on a few of the screw ups in the news today--makes me realize I've got it together way much more than I thought.

John Edwards--The former Democratic Presidential hopeful is admitting that he fathered his mistress' baby. Thanks, Captain Obvious. We all knew it. You could have saved a lot of people a lot of time and just admitted it right away. Who cheats on their terminally ill spouse? I lower my head in shame at the fact that I would have voted for him had he run.

Jon Gosselin--It's so easy for people to put all of the blame on his bossy and controlling ex-wife Kate. Yes, in times of trouble, blame the woman. We are easy targets because we are in fact bossy and controlling most of the time. But PLEASE--can he keep it in his pants for the sake of his kids? And what's with the motorcycles, the earrings and obnoxious collection of Ed Hardy T-Shirts? This man has a serious problem, and it isn't and never was Kate Gosselin. His new girlfriend, who has already claimed her 15 minutes of fame by shamelessly going on E News to talk about their relationship, is just disgusting. Poor Kate is going to be stuck alone with 8 kids--what man is going to date a woman with 8 children???

The Jackson family--Enough is enough. You have enough money, and you've already made enough off your troubled late family member. Invest in some dignity, bury the poor man, and move on. Give those kids some chance at an actual life.

Really puts your life in perspective, doesn't it?

Run, Forrest, Run!

I hate running. When I think back on my life, running has never been my exercise of choice. I can get on the elliptical for 45 minutes, or bike for an hour...but I can't run for more than 5 minutes. Running was always just a reaction to being chased by a bee, or something--not to get in shape. Maybe it's boredom, laziness, or the chest bouncing that stunts my progress. Who knows.

So,since I detest running so much, why not sign up for a marathon? That's something I can do to fill up my time! I have been thinking of what "hobby" I should take up to make my life more productive. I thought about knitting, but realized that this hobby, combined with my fear of getting older and the new found wrinkles around my eyes, might encourage a nervous breakdown. Training for a marathon would be perfect, and it would get my butt off the couch and in shape for my upcoming wedding.

I found the perfect beginner-thon taking place in the early morning of Superbowl Sunday. It would only be a 5K--runners take to the streets of PCH right on the beach in Surf City (HB) and then are rewarded with a surfer medallion and a free beer garden in the sand. Rewarded with free beer?! I'm in, sign me up, point me to the treadmill.

First, I must find a pair of running shoes that are actually legit. The years of wearing 4 inch heels every day have given me a serious arch, so I need a shoe to support it. Then, I'll start the training. Can I go from being out of breath after 5 minutes to running a full 5K?

Stay tuned. P.S.--He doesn't know it yet, but I'm forcing Mr. Navy to participate with me. I'll use the "free beer" as his reward as well.

Missing in Action

Since I have an incredible amount of free time, one of my new hobbies is experimenting. No, not with chemicals and tubes like Bill Nye the Science Guy, but trying out new beauty tips and tools to keep Mr. Navy a happy and interested sailor.

My latest problem has been the persistent bikini line bumps that frequent the area quite often, making for a self-conscious bathing suit experience. Females reading this will understand the heartache and pain we feel when trying to either disguise these bumps or shave over them. I have refused to get a bikini/Brazilian wax after watching an episode of "The View" where poor Sherrie was in tears after her traumatizing waxing experience. No thank you. Instead, I turn to Amazon.com.

I researched many different products and read hundreds of consumer reviews. I compared and contrasted ingredients and prices, and finally settled on a product. MiN Solution 2 was the one! As I entered in my credit card information and clicked "order", I could almost feel the bumps disappearing and my skin becoming incredibly smooth. When I received my confirmation email that it had been shipped, I swear I could hear Mr. Navy's voice in my head saying "Great job babe, this experiment has made you super sexy and desirable." That email came on August 3, 2009. Expected to arrive on August 6--just three days till perfection, I recited over and over like a mantra.

Days turned into weeks, and while I kept very busy, I kept wondering where my MiN Solution 2 could be. Finally, after 12 days had gone by since the expected delivery, I decided to track this S.O.B. and find out where it was hiding. Delivered, it said. Whaaaa??? My mouth hung opened as I read it. Delivered where? I contacted Amazon right away, and after a few angry emails, they told me they are "looking into the problem."

Did it get lost somewhere? Did someone steal the box from outside my door? Do they know I have nothing better to do with my time than experiment with beauty products I find on amazon?!

Until I get to the bottom of this, my bumps remain, and the beauty experiments continue. My next? Dying my hair brown. Stay tuned.

Base Invasion

"Ya know, the witch in 'Hansel and Gretel' is very misunderstood. Here she builds her dream house, and these brats come around and just start eating it!" --Miranda Hobbs, Sex and the City

I've always known I wanted to be a mother. Most little girls play with dolls, but as I played with mine, I knew that part of my life's calling one day would be to have real ones. I planned to grow up, meet a man, have babies and screw them up in my own, unique way. Well I’ve met that man, but I’m finding that I’m not as ready for the next step as all the women around me. More and more women I meet around this base are already mothers. Some of them are either my age, younger or just barely a couple years older than me with not just one, but two or three chicks already residing in the hen house. And what I'm also finding is that these chicks can be quite loud, and are invading NAS Somewhere...they're in the pools, in the grocery store, at the mall, in the restaurants...and it seems that each child invaded place I go to is even louder than the first.

Don't get me wrong...kids are great. Two of my cousins have kids, and I love the little munchkins more than anything. I also spent three years of my life teaching children, and I had a very special relationship with all of them. I barely heard the screeching and yelling each day because it became a part of my every day routine. But now...after two years of working with grownups and being able to go through a day without getting peed on, I have really grown to appreciate "adult life".

So why the new found intense magnetism to a kid free life? I'm counting on the fact that one morning, I'll roll over and not be able to press the snooze button on my biological clock. I count on the fact that one day it will start ticking. Until then? Ear plugs and awesome one on one time with Mr. Navy. After all, I think he's the only one I can handle cleaning up after for now.

What Are We, Chopped Liver?

It's such a shame that chopped liver has such a bad rap. I bet whoever invented the dish thought it was lovely.

Anyway, those of you who know me know that I have a very hard time with the "military" life. I hate rules, regulations and someone telling me or my Mr. Navy that he has to be at a certain place at a certain time wearing a certain outfit. I hate acronyms (why can't they just say the whole term???) and the fact that no one on this base knows how to drive.

But however I feel about the institution of the Navy, I have to ask--what's with the lack of military discounts?

Before I got involved with the military, I never knew that having a military discount was pretty standard in some places. Once I figured it out, it's something that I found reassuring and very necessary--these men and women let themselves be "owned" for years, while their significant others go along for the ride all for the freedoms that make our country wonderful. I think a 10% or 20% discount is just common courtesy. But I have found that the farther you travel outside of a base area, the fewer and far between the military discounts become. Maybe some people think that military doesn't deserve a discount--that they should pay full price, like everyone else. All I'm saying is that if a place, like a movie theatre, is willing to offer a student discount AND a senior discount, why not a military discount?

I'm assuming students get their discount because people figure they are broke, and furthering their education is such a daunting but incredible task that they deserve $2 off their movie ticket. Ok, sure, school is rough and I'll applaud those who study to make more money some day and hopefully are able to then pay full price. I'm assuming seniors get a discount as a reward for..still being alive? No joke, making it unscathed until your 60s is incredible, and you should be given that discount, regardless of the number of mistakes you've made or the wrongs you've done throughout those years. But military members give themselves, their time and their freedoms up for the freedoms of all of those other people standing on line at the movie theatre and selling them tickets at full price.

If students and seniors get rewarded for their contributions to society, shouldn't military members? They should know by now that even if they knock off the $2 for Mr. Navy's movie ticket, he'll give it back to them triple time at the snack bar.

Language Barriers

So, men are from Mars and women are from Venus, right? Venus must be the prettier, smarter, cleaner planet.

This morning, I'm wondering why the differences between males and females seem to be so vast at times, like a deep cavern with a hidden bottom. Why were we made so different? I feel as though we aren't in fact from different planets, but different galaxies all together.

Is there a way to bridge the gap? I fear that as each day progresses, the vast differences are either going to get smaller or larger causing either peace or more confusion. There are times when I feel like Mr. Navy looks at me like I have flames coming out of my rear or something (which could be true if I was cooking peanut sauce earlier). There are times when he really just doesn't understand me. Am I that baffling? There are times when I really just don't understand him. Is he that baffling? Or are we just too lazy to work harder at trying to speak either others languages?

I'd be open for some suggestions, maybe even a Martian translator to try and help me understand the language. I keep telling myself over and over, 'he has to find this important too, right? Right?' I keep walking further and further out on that limb as I ask that question, to find that I'm standing there alone (and probably naked with everyone staring).

They say that Martians are simple creatures, that they don't think and analyze as extensively as us beautiful creatures from Venus. Oh. Ok. Glad that's solved. They're simple. However, life is not simple. Women are not simple. Life is too up and down, sad and happy, scary and safe all at the same time to be simple. There's no room for simplicity. Should we send a Venetian tutor over there full time? Should they have to pass a test? I'm open to all options here, as long as they all lead to a little bit more understanding.

The Mysteries of the 4-Way Stop

The four-way stop sign or the riddle of the Sphinx? Or perhaps the Bermuda Triangle?

I am beginning to wonder if it's something in the water around here, or if people at NAS Somewhere have no concept of the rules put forth to make the four-way stop sign work. Since arriving here, I cannot even count the number of near fatal collisions between me and some housewife in a mini-van because she didn't know that it was my turn. (Just to add, I have no issues with either housewives or minivans).

I am not the greatest driver (hello, fourth time's the charm!!) but I do know what happens when you slow your car and pause at a stop sign. Whoever got there first, and then if there is a discrepancy, the one to the right gets to go. If all else fails, just wave the other person the right of way to avoid a crash! Stop sign etiquette does not include rolling through slowly and then gunning it with your eyes closed. You do not get to go just because you feel that your turn is "entitled".

Wondering if I should teach a class, in addition to all of the other classes they offer on military bases, about the mysteries of the four-way stop. Think of how many minivans I'd save!

Burn Baby Burn

This happened last week, but I still think it’s a MUST to share. In my quest to keep life interesting, I decided to light myself on fire.

I have a recipe for peanut sauce (yummmm) and I bought these Japanese Udon noodles that I’m desperately trying to get rid of, because they are way too thick for me and I’m shortly going to go on a bread fast. Mr. Navy was at work until midnight, so I decided to cook up a yummy dinner for little ol’ me.

I first took a shower so that I could be completely clean and smelling fresh for my peanut sauce. My hair was wet and styled up in my lovely towel turban, and I put on my comfy white robe. The sleeves of this robe are big and droopy, adding to the comfort and spaciousness of the terracotta material.

Then, I got out my sauce pot, mixed some ingredients, and turned up the heat on the stove. The events that follow will be forever be held against me by Mr. Navy.

Since the sleeves of the robe were droopy, and since I was in a daze and not paying much attention, the right sleeve quietly dropped into the flames of the stove and caught on fire. I didn’t notice until I saw the flame in my sleeve out of the corner of my eye. I panicked, and due to reflexes shot my right arm up towards my neck. Because of this, the flame then transferred to the back of my robe. Terrified and waiting for the flames to hit my skin, I flung off the robe and stomped on it, and put out the fire stark naked right in front of my open door (my apologies to all offended neighbors). I turned on all the fans in the house and sprayed some Febreeze in an effort to hopefully dull out the smell of burnt fabric. After about 10 minutes, the smell hadn’t dissipated—in fact, it smelled a bit too close to home. I wondered if the flames had hit my hair—yes, that’s what the smell was. Not burnt fabric, but burnt hair. My long hair had been up in a bun at the top of my head, so I reached to the underneath hairs right above my neck. To my horror, my thought became my reality, and the hair started coming out into my hands as I pulled it away from my head. I kept pulling away ashes and long blond hairs, piece by piece. It’s only hair, I told myself over and over.

The damage was minimal but the fear instilled inside of me will last forever. I burnt off the under layer of my hair, so the only huge thing lost was some dignity. Small price to pay, I think.

Lessons learned? I can take my pick…Never cook in a robe. Roll up my sleeves. Keep the heat at medium. Wear a bag over my head. Buy my peanut sauce from now on.

The Things That Make it Worthwhile

Ok, so maybe I’m a bit of a whiner…

Mr. Navy and I got into a small “fight” (he doesn’t like to use that word), which is completely normal for all couples, especially those in their first few months of cohabitation. However, I think that sometimes the reason for ours have a deeper meaning. I think that I spend too much time focusing on the things I don’t have, the things I’ve given up, and the things I know I’ll continue to give up as the future progresses—those thoughts begin to cloud my brain so much that I lash out about the smaller insignificant things.

The next day after the fight, Mr. Navy walked in with flowers; a beautiful bouquet that he picked out, especially for me.

I may not have anywhere to wear the fancy clothes anymore. I may be separated from my friends (and from human contact on a day to day basis). I may skip the makeup daily and stare sadly at the collection of cute shoes in my closet that go unworn. I may not have a corporate job that makes me feel important and busy. I may wake up in the morning with nowhere to go and nothing to do except pull the sheets up and arrange the fancy pillows against the headboard. I may not have designer duds and fancy restaurants to wear them to.

But, I do have these flowers. I have these beautiful daisies, lilies and purple mums from a wonderful man who does think I’m important. These flowers represent the bigger picture—the fact that although I may not be changing the great big world as a whole, I am in fact changing someone’s little world, for the better.

And one day, maybe I’ll have all of those things again that I crave and miss. But until then, I take the flowers from Mr. Navy any day.

Saying Yes to Forever

Engaged. After 14 months of dating, we're engaged. It hasn't been easy, and I know that two people who aren't 100% perfect for each other could never make it through what we've been through. My relationship with Mr. Navy began as a fling, a "taboo" thang that made a lot of people very upset. Our relationship has gone full circle in the past 14 months. We began seeing each other every day, not knowing where we'd end up--to two months of boot camp where we couldn't even speak, to phone conversations and one visit every two months, to once a month visits, to every other weekend visits, to every weekend visits, to living together. We are now seeing each other every day, and haven't had that since we first met.

Living with a man is both glorious and gross. Saying yes to forever means you say yes to all of it, though. I am just finding this out. Saying yes to forever means I say yes to the back rubs but also yes to the gas. Saying yes to forever means saying yes to the passion and yes to the messiness. Saying yes to forever means saying yes to the funny jokes and yes to the annoying jokes. You say yes to all of it. I used to think maybe I could just take bits and pieces of him. I'll take the suaveness but leave the stink. Take the manliness but leave the dirty underwear left on the floor. I was so naive.

The glorious parts equal the gross parts in quantity, but definitely not in quality. The fact that I have this amazing, whole other person at my side at all times makes it all worthwhile. If you say yes to forever, and trust me---forever is a looooong time--you need to start to ignore the gas and underwear, and soak in the back rubs, the passion and the funny jokes--not to mention the way you feel when his hand takes yours, right when you were needing it...

Now comes the wedding planning-- saying yes to forever also means saying yes to a big wedding, and months of stressful planning. More to come.

1st Day in the Life...Blog Life At Least.

First posting...always the trickiest. Where to begin? Should I begin as if you, the reader, and I, the writer, are already friends and we're already in the middle of a conversation? Should I be more formal and give the life story?

Hello all, I'm Megan.

Today is a day like every other. I wake up, make the coffee, turn on the news, and stare at my computer. Answer some emails, check the facebook page... Yes, this is my life.

I was transported from a busy, corporate job in a city into a life that consists of working a couple hours a week from my home on a naval base. While Mr. Navy* goes off to work each day, I stay here and do very important wifely duties. I try hard to get the kitchen floor clean, although these tiles always give the illusion of dirt. I clean our clothes, fold them, put them away. I prepare dinner for the evening. I read the celebrity gossip headlines. I try, slowly, not to go insane.

Not that I don't love taking care of Mr. Navy. I do. I love giving him a clean home--one that I know he is proud of. I love making his lunch, and trying to be sure he is eating healthy. I love cooking his dinner, and making sure he always has enough clean underware and socks. Don't get me wrong--I adore him. But I can't help but miss the way life used to be. Important meetings have turned into 10-minute interviews a couple times a week (I work for a newspaper--SMALL town journalism requires little to no work because there is NOTHING happening), high heels have turned into flip flops, sexy office outfits have turned into shorts and t-shirts, and my surroundings have gone from city/beach life to pastures and cows. Did I mention I took a 60% pay cut? It's been quite a change that I'm still dealing with, each day of my life.

These blogs will be a collection of experiences that I will face daily--experiences that I hope anyone reading can relate to. I know there are other military girlfriends/fiances/spouses out there. I know there are women who had to leave their families and friends, their jobs, their wardrobes behind. I know there are women who are struggling to fit into their new lifestyle. There are women out there, just like me--who are trying to meet new friends, adjust to the heat or the cold, adjust to the fact that a government organization owns your Mr. Navy, Army, Air Force, Marine, etc. I hope that I can let these women know they are not alone, and maybe we can all just sit around and laugh about it.

Happy Reading!

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.