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.