Welcome to my wonderful, terrible, soap opera sit-com world.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Of course, S. now thinks he might want to become a Buddhist, but I am still so SO PROUD and so SO THRILLED for pur Pagan/Wiccan brothers and sisters in the armed forces who can now have their headstones as they so rightfully deserve.
The Wiccan symbol of a Pentagram now joins symbols like the Humanist Emblem of Spirit, Sufism Reoriented, a symbol to represent Atheism, Tenrikyo, Izunome, Eckankar, and other non-mainstream non-Christian symbols at the VA website:
Friday, April 20, 2007
He got a real honor, today. The DETCO where he is (that's the head honcho, for those of you who aren't up with the lingo) told him that they wanted to take him on a ride-along on today's mission in the jet, and swear him in some time mid-mission. In the air. In the jet.
All day long I have been proud of him both for making such an amazing impression on his leadership that they would offer to do something that cool for him, but also for doing what he's doing.
And then a knock on my door comes... and I get these:
The note accompanying them was thanking me. For being so supportive and dedicated to his career.
I love that man more than anything.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I have a friend who has known me for a while now, and who knows my religious preference, and who has always been accepting of it. This person has also grown over time to be among my closest friends, and is someone who means a lot to me.
I was chatting with this friend in IM today, when the following exchange took place.
Friend: Okay, I should get going.
Me: Okay. I'll be around here until 5pm or so, I'm meeting a local friend of mine to do the card thing.
Friend: Card thing?
Me: Yeah, tarot cards, she's asked me for a while if I could read them, and I think the time's finally right so I'm going to.
Friend: That is such horseshit.
Me: You're entitled to your opinion.
Friend: I'm pretty open minded about things, but tarot cards, that's just complete bull.
Me: Well, thankfully it's not a prerequisite for you to believe in divination in order to be my friend. I don't have discussions with you about this because I know you're a skeptic.
Friend: Seriously, that's total horseshit.
Me: You don't have to believe in it. It works for me, that's all I know. I think most horoscopes are horseshit, but I think astrological charts can give insight to stuff. I believe in some things, and not in others.
Friend: Well, I believe in vampires, and zombies.
Me: You know I believe in faeries.
Friend: I know there are vampires because the IRS needs someone to work for them.
Me: That's perfect.
Friend: And I see zombies every day when I'm out driving the roads.
Me: Okay. I'm going to let you go, now.
Friend: Aw come on, don't be mad.
Friend: Be glad.
Friend: Not sad.
Friend: Don't be like that, come on.
Me: I don't know what you expect me to say right now, actually.
Friend: Oh, come on.
Friend: Okay, I'm sorry for belittling your beliefs. Is that better?
Me: I suppose so...?
There are just some days, and some things that people can say to you, that can make you feel like you just got run over by a truck.
This is one of those days. And that was one of those things.
I've been made to feel a lot of things by this friend in particular (that's part of why I enjoy them so much, I seem to learn more about myself through my interactions with them) but one thing I've never been made to feel is disrespected.
No, let's stick with "disrespected."
And it's one of the worst feelings around. At least right this minute.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
Okay. So. I know I don't talk much about the frou-frou girly side of me, or the girly side of anything, for that matter. That being said, I want to know where the hell all of you amazingly gorgeous gals have been hiding THESE THINGS, WITHOUT WHICH I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO LIVE.
First of all, is Vincent Longo Lip and Cheek Stain in the shade "liquid kiss."
What the heck, women. What the heck, ladies. Where have you been keeping this stuff? This is THE PERFECT STUFF.
It has a great, thin consistency and goes on and dries very quickly. It lasts A VERY LONG TIME. And it doesn't make me look like I have lipstick on, only that I have very red, very pouty, lips. It's not sticky or waxy like lipstick, and I am not a lipstick wearer. I have to wear all day lipsticks when I DO wear them, because I cannot stand having lip prints all over everything and then having to worry about reapplying my lipstick.
A glamour gal, I am not.
But now I can be, with this. THIS IS AMAZING STUFF. $22 or so at Sephora, which is where I got it.
And I can pair it... with this...
Lip Injection by TooFaced, also purchased at Sephora.
This stuff? It doesn't make my lips LOOK plumper, it MAKES THEM PLUMPER. I guess I had heard about stuff like "Lip Venom" and the like before, but I had never tried them out. This makes my lips, which are otherwise thin and not at all pouty and sexy, just enough pouty and just enough sexy. And it's glossy. And it's not too sticky and doesn't taste like much, although you don't really want to lick it. It's tingly.
It makes my lips feel like eating red-hot cinnamon candy feels inside your mouth.
With these two things together, I can finally have the sexy red lip that I've always wanted but never been able to have, ever, ever, ever, ever. And I am thrilled.
Thus ends the girly moment... I just can't believe that you've been keeping these beauty secrets from me for so long. I feel like I am reborn. REBORN, I TELL YOU.
Friday, April 06, 2007
PS: It is snowing.
PPS: SNOWING. IT IS FREAKING SNOWING HERE. It was 85 degrees less than a week ago, and today it has SNOWED on and off.
PPPS: S. hasn't been able to IM me today. sadface.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
I get a phone call from my apartment manager yesterday, calling to inform me that she had to "tell me a little something" about my new neighbors.
When we first moved into this apartment complex, we were the only people in the whole building and there were only two buildings constructed out of 10. After we had lived here about a year, they went about the process of making the two buildings closest to the office and pool, "no-pet buildings." This is mainly because you know, dogs pee on the bushes and stuff, which can make them brown, and they are touring people around the property over here and need to keep things looking nice. They did not make us move or switch units, they just grandfathered us in.
Apparently, a nice young family decided they want to rent a three-bedroom unit near the office and pool, and wanted a pet-free building. Excellent, said the management, these two buildings are pet-free and this building has three-bedroom units in it!
Because I am an excellent pet owner, they only see my dog when I am walking him, and they never hear him or anything because he's quiet and happy. So they sort of forgot I have a dog. And they rented these people an apartment on the bottom floor, near my second floor unit.
Yesterday while I was out walking Boomer in the morning, I passed a man I had never met who gave me the distinctly evil eye. Evil, evil, evil, evil, EVIL EVIL EVIL eye. He evil-eyed me as we walked past him, as we walked up the stairs, and he carefully watched me to see what unit I entered once I got to my breezeway. Apparently, he went straight to the office to report! me for! having! a dog! A DOG! in a pet-free building! the building! is pet-free! and she has a dog!
They explained to him that I am allowed to have my (loveable, adorable, quiet, well behaved) dog because I am a (responsible, thoughtful, valuable, excellent, wonderful) tenant who was grandfathered in, and they aren't quite sure what the problem is if my dog doesn't disturb anybody... well... his wife is dog phobic. DOG PHOBIC.
So the reason why they specifically picked an apartment by the pool and the office facing the main walkway in a pet-friendly complex that advertises that they allow dogs up to 40 pounds and relatively frequently hosts pet-friendly events in the office not 20 feet from their patio, is because the wife is dog phobic.
Why wouldn't you just rent an apartment in a complex that does not allow animals at all (and believe me, there are plenty) or get a unit that's on an upper floor that is away from main walkways and stuff, if your wife is going to totally freak out and have a panic fit becuase I am walking my dog in the common area?
Yeah, I didn't get it either. The manager assures me they do not want/need/expect me to change my "lifestyle" in any way, shape or form, so that's a good thing. And she kept telling me how wonderful I am and how thrilled she is to have me in this apartment and how they would never ask me to leave or move.
But jeez. Some people. I don't fault this lady for having a phobia, but they could have made some better choices.
2) Pink wine
Last night I had a couple of glasses of wine for the first time in nearly a month, after four 12-hour days of work, and I slept like a rock. And I overslept this morning. Ahhhhh, a little relaxation.
3) Blind seething rage
S. IM'ed me last night. They are extending him.
For a month.
I can't share all the details right now because he's trying to get it all worked out -- but apparently someone in the squadron here isn't aware that his (and subsequently, my) ID expires at the end of April, meaning that I would have no right to privileges, medical benefits, or anything until he returns or they find some way to get me my ID without my sponsor being available.
Because he hasn't officially re-enlisted yet -- when they told him they were sending him back on the 25th, they said, "You can just get sworn in at home."
*slams head on desk*
He's supposed to call some folks in the chain of command here and find out exactly what's going on. It serves me right, it serves me right, it serves me fucking right, for actually believing a date that they give me before he's on the plane. :(
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
I don't write about it very much, mainly because the shifts my life has taken in the last couple of years have essentially eliminated music from my life. It's a rather sad state of affairs, and it's something that I am trying to fix.
As long as I can remember, I have always fancied myself a singer. And it turns out, I'm pretty good at it. Or I used to be, anyway. I've won some money singing karaoke, although I've also had my share of "mediocre karaoke appearances," as Simon Cowell would say. I used to sing in the shower, sing in the car, sing anywhere I could get away with it.
When I was in college, I played some "gigs" with a friend of mine and we made quite a nice little acoustic duo. I would also sit with him on the corner sometimes down on Mill Avenue and fill in some harmonies while he sat at the coffee shop and did his thing. When I was in high school I would sing any time I could get away with it, making recordings at the shop in the mall that let you "record your own song" or even sitting in a park late at night with a dear friend of mine while he recorded me into a standard cassette recorder.
Just one of those things where I've always batted around the idea of "cutting a demo" or whatever, and then one day I woke up and I was a chubby 37 year old transcriptionist with no real hope of ever being able to go anywhere with my music. So now I just mostly consider myself a "music fan" and not a "musician."
When I met S., one of the things I liked about him is that he is also a musician, and is a music fan, and has spent some time trying to do the garage band thing. He understands what it's like when music is ingrained deep within you, when it's something you can never truly be rid of. He gets that part of me, and we used to spend lots of late nights sitting in front of the stereo singing, or sitting around with his guitar with me singing. Even if it was only singing to S., at least I was still singing.
Then life got away from me -- no, life got away from the both of us -- and it's made it really hard to get back into singing.
Now, I've been presented with an opportunity and it's scaring the living hell out of me.
A friend of a friend here is a musician, and amateur music producer, and actually plays gigs with a working band from time to time. He is, as it was relayed to me, "looking for a female vocalist" to work on some acoustic things he's been trying to get put together. When S. found out about this, he immediately got on me to respond and say that I would be willing to sing.
And then I croaked out a few notes through my sorely underused vocal chords and said no, I didn't think I could do it. I hardly TALK any more, let alone sing. My singing is like the dusty catacombs in the secret passage behind the library shelves in the haunted house. People suspect that it might actually be there, but no one's experienced it first hand in years.
Well... apparently between me mentioning my love for singing to a friend of mine and S. insisting that this is something I should try to do, word got back to the musician. He and I are acquaintances, and have hung around together from time to time when our lives cross. This last time, it was different.
He walked right up to me and put his arm around me and said, "Hey, so you're gonna have to pick a time we can get together and start working on some music. I'd love to hear you sing."
This both thrilled me and freaked me out at the same time. I felt like it was something that was really out of my control, a choice that I should have been able to make for myself but that was kind of made for me. You see, he did not ask me, he was telling me -- which means someone else told him that either I am hesitant and he's trying to give me a little prodding, or someone told him that I had expressed a willingness to do it.
So now I'm not sure what to do. I recently shared some a capella recordings of myself with some folks for their opinion, and they reiterated to me that they think I have the "chops" to try to piddle around on a project without hesitation. S. is all over me to sing more -- take time every day to sing, he says. Just make time for it. And the friends, even the ones who have never heard my singing voice, seem to have all the faith in the world that this is something I would do well at and make myself and others proud in the process.
I just don't really remember a time that I was this unsure of myself about anything. I am my own worst critic, and it seems that I'm either going to have to let myself hold me back, or I'm going to have to kick myself to the curb and do it in spite of myself.
I'm both excited and uncomfortable. And that in itself makes me kind of antsy. You know?
My job as a military wife is
to make it as easy as possible
for my beloved husband to do his job.
Where he leads, I will follow.
Husband: SSgt, USAF
Current Location: Tinker AFB, OK
Job: Self-Employed Transcriptionist
and Domestic Goddess
I am currently pimping:
me @ consumating
I play Everquest II!
Iksar Necromancer, Kithicor
We're trying for a baby!
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