Not a Classy Peanut

Oh. Right!

2011-04-16T17:54:00.000-07:00

Things have been hectic, Internet.

I know, I know. Every time I disappear for a few weeks I come back and talk about how "hectic" things have been. But they really have been crazy lately.

School has been picking up, especially since in this seven week term I am taking an extra course. I have about two weeks left I think, and then I'm done for this semester. Yay! Although, really, that's not saying a whole lot because I will be staying in school full-time throughout the summer. Sigh. C'est la vie, yes?

The schedule in our household has also been flipped around since Tony got to his new unit. So far I have mostly excellent things to report about this one, aside from the fact that they think it's awesome to go to the field every. freaking. week. So that means I hardly ever have my husband home, which is lame. I suppose it's a wonderful way to prepare for this deployment we have coming up in the fall, though, so I shouldn't complain too much. We were so spoiled with his early hours at his last unit that it's a big adjustment for him to leave at 5:30 am and not get home until close to 8 pm every evening. We're getting there, though!

We DID get our new furniture delivered a few weeks ago, and Internet, it is AWESOME! So much sexier than the fug we had in here before. I feel like a grownup! I'm holding off on posting pictures until after I've painted these god-awful lamps we got with the set. They really are just terrible looking. I haven't had a lot of time to paint them, though, between work, school, and trying to spend what little time I can with my husband. But I'll get there eventually.

I don't have a whole lot of interesting things to report. Just trucking along, busy, busy. Come the latter half of this week, though, I will have a very special event* to tell you all about, complete with pictures and, hopefully, video! So stay tuned, Internet. It's about to get exciting up in hurr.

*No, I do not have any chilluns growing in my womb.

I dun been robbed!

2011-03-24T14:30:00.000-07:00

Except for not really.

What really happened is I sold all (yes, ALL) of my living room furniture. Couch, love seat, coffee table, end table, entertainment center, and area rug. Poof. Gone.

To be honest, I was surprised anyone even wanted my living room furniture. Puppy Jan (and hell, even kind of Adult Jan) has not treated it kindly. But see, that's the beauty of Marines getting married at eighteen years old and having no money. They're desperate for furniture. So here I am, fifteen minutes and an empty living room later.

I'm actually kind of sad. Our furniture, cheap and drab as it was, was the very first furniture we had in our very first home together. Home Stylings by Wal-Mart, we called it. And Craigslist. It was old, and it was breaking, and it was that weird, black, not-wood-but-kinda-wood material that never leaves water rings, which I loved, but on which the corners kinda peeled up. The couches were stained with spaghetti sauce I've desperately tried to clean off (and spilled Chardonnay...) The zippers to the cushion covers broke months ago, and so the cushions always look really loose and fall apart-y. But it's the first furniture we bought ourselves with our very own money as a married couple, so as happy as I am to be moving on to Big Girl Furniture, those damn couches will always hold a special place in my heart.

And now, for the exciting part!! WE GET OUR NEW FURNITURE ON SUNDAY! Excited dance, I am doing it! A few weeks ago we went all over creation and picked out brand new furniture to go in our living room. Right down to new lamps (which are kind of ugly, but I have fancy plans to paint them!). No more white couches! No more plain Wal-Mart coffee table! COLOR! ZOMG I'M SO EXCITED I COULD PEE but I won't.

We also had professionals come out and steam our carpets this afternoon. So, while they couldn't remove the bright pink Kool-Aid stain that's been staring at me for a year and a half (GODDAMNIT TONY!), that is easily covered by my new area rug, and now my carpets look fresh and clean! Jan is angry that she's stuck in her crate for a few hours while everything dries, but whatever man, we all make sacrifices.

So, that's what's been going on 'round these parts! Now if you'll excuse me, I must stop procrastinating and start working on this English paper some more. Why can't it still be spring break?!

The life.

2011-03-15T09:11:00.000-07:00

Things I do faithfully:

1. Do my homework.

2. Eat good food.

3. Eat mediocre food, but I already finished the good food, and what, do you want me to starve or something?

4. Watch The Office.

5. Complain about Steve Carrell leaving The Office.

6. Stream Netflix on my television/computer/iPhone/what did people do before Netflix?

7. Clean my house.

8. Read Harry Potter, over and over and over again.

9. Read an embarrassing number of celebrity news sites and gossip blogs.

10. Talk often about recently-learned celebrity factoids, pretend I'm not jealous.

11. Stress that we aren't saving enough money and/or that I will crumble under the pressure of finding a real-person job one day.

12. Talk about politics with my husband while sitting in our booth at Chile's.

Things that I do semi-faithfully, or at least with a moderate amount of regularity and vigor:

1. Go to the gym.

2. Shower.

3. Cook reasonably healthy meals that don't involve crab rangoon (which is bullshit because everything is better with crab rangoon, amiright?).

4. Update ye olde blog.

5. Actively find ways to spend less money and hoard my wealth, thus softening the blow when my real-person-job-getting time arrives.

6. Stay in touch with friends and family using more than just Facebook.

7. Read actual news sites with stories totally unrelated to Charlie Sheen or the scary one from Teen Mom.

8. Consider applying to be Charlie Sheen's social media intern.

9. Decide my personality is far too addictive to be spending that much time around Charlie Sheen/cocaine.

10. Talk about going to the beach over the weekend.

11. Skip actually going to the beach, due to muffin top and shark danger.

12. Actively look for a hobby that is free, doesn't involve Netflix, Harry Potter, the gym, or school.

13. Get discouraged, bake banana bread instead.

Life gets a little bit clearer

2011-03-09T18:12:00.000-08:00

Is clearer even a word? Ugh. Whatever.

Today, I was reading something that Chrissy posted, and she was talking about how people just aren't thankful about anything anymore. All we do is complain about every little thing, she says, and she's had enough. It's humbling, I think, when someone who has been through something as traumatic and horrible and unfair and did I mention sucky? as Chrissy, talks about the need to be thankful.

It got me thinking.

On Monday, Tony will check back into an infantry unit. He'll go back to his regular, deployable job. He'll start preparing for another seven months away with constant work-ups and formalities, and we'll have to get ourselves back into the mindset that, oh yeah, he really does have to go far away for a little while. For a second there, when I realized we were about to reenter the grind, I flinched.

And then, you know what? I decided that I really, really just need to keep my shit in check. Because this? Work-ups? Deployment? It's not so bad. Not in the grand scheme of things. Not when there are people like Chrissy in the world, a woman who has lost everything and still searches for reasons to smile every day. And certainly not when I think of the many people in the world that she mentioned in her post today-- people without homes, food, family. Without options.

So I am asking you for help, my faithful reader(s?). Please help me keep things in perspective. I know that some of the changes we are about to go through and the separations we'll have to endure will be hard. I've been there, and I've done that. It sucks. But I don't ever want to lose sight of reality. Because even when we're apart and a million things are going wrong, and I miss my husband and my family and I'm homesick; When the house falls apart and vet bills are high and my car needs new tires and oh great, now I have a cavity that will cost me four hundred bucks to fix; It's still not that bad.

When life gets a little bit bumpy, remind me to take a deep breath and move right along.

Because life is too fleeting and too precious to spend it dwelling on the things that coulda, shoulda, woulda. I don't want to spend my time being one of the people that Chrissy was talking about. I want to appreciate what I have, in spite of all the hard times, and remember that at the end of the day, I am loved. I am blessed. And I don't have any goddamn right to complain.

pwning n00bz

2011-03-04T17:55:00.000-08:00

I did it.

I finished.

I passed stats.

It was a close one, Internet, a damned close one. Everything started out fine and dandy the first couple weeks of class. I was kicking ass and taking names and everything else that goes along with being awesome at life. Then I went to Minneapolis to help my sister move into her (ohmygodtotallygorgeous) new house. And, in all the moving hysteria and confusion, it seems someone mistook my computer bag for their computer bag. And then a couple of hours into my drive back to California, I realized that oh shit! My computer and my notes and my textbook ARE! NOT! HERE! WHAT! THE! FUCK!

Long story short, it took a week for my things to get to Illinois, after my darling brother-in-law shipped it to us (Thaaanks, Zack!), and I missed out on that week's work. Which for a normal class isn't such a terrible thing. But for a seven week course it, uh, is. I went from a 97% to a 74% in a matter of seven days. And it just kept getting lower and lower and lower....

Many of you might know that a lot of universities require you to get a final grade of at least 70% in order to get credit for the course you're taking. My school is one of those. So, naturally, I shit my pants a little. (Not a lot. Just a tiny bit.)

Then I hit the books. I studied like I haven't studied in... I dunno, like, a really long time.

And yesterday, I took my final exam and I wound up with a final grade of 72.11% (EDITED TO ADD: I just found out that with the curve I actually wound up with a C+ so stick that in your pipe and smoke it!) also known as HELL YES I'M GETTING CREDIT!!!!!!

And then I did a little dance around the library my friend and I were studying at.

So, basically, now I am breathing a gigantic sigh of relief. I am also very, very excited because I have the whole weekend off, so tonight begins my "I'm not doing anything important so get out mah face" attitude.

Which translates into I'm probably just gonna sit around in sweat pants and no bra and drink beer and watch Netflix and eat Digiorno pizza (it comes with breadsticks and COOKIES now, Internet!!!!).

Cuz I'm fly like that.

Taking Control

2011-02-24T10:46:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had one of those days-- er, weeks-- er, months-- where everything around you seems to be moving and changing and bouncing around that it's all you can do just to keep your head on straight?

Yeah, I've had one of those months.

If I tried to explain it to you guys, it would take me at least seven million words, so I won't even try to get into the nitty gritty of it. Suffice it to say that I have been trying to post for a while now, but because everything was so up in the air, I really didn't even know WHAT to say for fear of it changing again!

What I will say is that we finally have a semi-clear plan for the next few years. Anyone who's had to plan their lives around the military knows that you never count on anything more than six months away. And six months is pretty liberal. You can be told you're going to this place or that, and at the last minute things change. You can be told your husband is going on a deployment in the fall, and before you know it that's moved up to the summer. In the last month we've gone from thinking we're staying in San Diego, to planning to move to North Carolina, to actually getting orders (surprise!) to Twentynine Palms, and then getting different orders to stay right here in San Diego. Talk about a whirlwind, right?

The most important part of all of this is that Tony has finally made up his mind on whether or not he wants to stay in the Marine Corps or get out after this enlistment. And the verdict? He's getting out! This has been a very difficult decision for him to make, and understandably so. Aside from the obvious financial perks of being in the military, the fact of the matter is, the Marine Corps has been a huge part of our lives for six years now. Pretty much the entire time we've been together. It's his job, but it's also been his lifestyle and, as much as I may fight it sometimes, it's become a huge part of my lifestyle as well. While the idea of being able to choose where we want to live, what we want to do, and how we want to do it is exciting to us, it's also very scary. We've never had that freedom before. We are used to structure and rules and asking for permission, and I'm still not sure how we're going to adjust to all of that changing.

But it's nice. It's nice to be able to plan. It's nice to be able to think of living near our families as an actual option for us. It's nice to know that I have to have finished my degree and found a decent job by a certain date. See, once his EAS date arrives (that's "end of active service" if you're not aware), Tony will be attending school full-time. And while the new GI Bill allows us to receive a monthly stipend to offset the cost of his schooling, we will obviously need to have money coming from some other area. Enter, Miss Meredith winnin' all the bread. Scary, yes? You bet! But I know I can do it, and having a clear time frame of when I'll need to have a gig lined up that will pay me more than minimum wage plus tips has given me an extra boost I needed to do well in school.

Speaking of school, I'm officially knee-deep in homework, courtesy of Arizona State University! I take my classes online, which has been bittersweet. It's nice to be able to complete my assignments on my own time, but it's difficult to teach myself a lot of the concepts without the aid of an in-person instructor. I'm taking a statistics course, and because it's math I'm obviously struggling with it. I'm just not a math person. But the good news is, I haven't lost my motivation. I may hate it, I may kick and scream about it, but I still make time to sit down and study.

In the middle of all of this, I am just trying to take things one day at a time. Knowing that Tony is getting out and we will be moving back home (or near home, at least) is nice. But it's made me realize that my time here in Southern California, the place I love with all my heart, is limited. It's made me realize that Tony and I are growing up, and getting older, and our lives are changing. I want to enjoy this part while I have it. I want to revel in the time I have with my husband as a relatively carefree twenty-two year old (although he isn't twenty-two, the cradle robber). I don't want to get so caught up in the future and the plans that I can't enjoy the present. So that's what I'm focusing on. Being here, with my love, enjoying my life as I know it today.

Greetings, from Tulsa!

2011-01-26T21:24:00.000-08:00

Or should I say, greetings from The Land of Massive Amounts of Construction and Impossible-To-Find Hotels That Aren't Really Worth the Effort or Money Anyway.

I am now winding down day two of my three-day road trip from sunny California to less-than-sunny, more-frigid Illinois. My Mama flew out Saturday evening and we hit the road yesterday morning and have been on the go ever since. Well, except for when I've needed to stop and submit some homework assignments.

What's that, you say? Who schedules a three-day road trip right in the middle of a school week, one that will end in her first Stats exam?

The answer is I HAVE NO IDEA BECAUSE THAT BITCH SOUNDS CRAZY.

Except it was me. I did that. Because I am smart and an incredibly good planner.

While we're on the subject of good planning, allow me to lay out the list of things that I forgot to do before leaving my house:

1. Pack face wash
2. Pack my shampoo
3. Pack my body wash
4. Pack my razor (but don't you worry, I remembered to pack the blade refill)
5. Pack my birth control
6. Mail my rent check
7. Be better at preparing for road trips

And while we're making lists, let's now explore the things I have decided to hate with a fiery passion 'til the end of my days:

1. My lower back
2. Tulsa
3. Texas
4. The cop who pulled me over in Texas
5. The cop who ignored my attempts at pushing my cleavage out and acting adorable while trying to hand him my license and registration
6. The cop who gave me a $215 speeding ticket, the motherfucker.
7. Ridiculous fines for speeding. It's not my fault I was speeding, I was just trying to get the hell out of your miserable state. P.S. Your cowboy hat makes you look like a douche.

Hitting the Road

2011-01-20T08:04:00.000-08:00

Since Tony is out of town for the better part of two months, I decided it would be the perfect time to visit home for a little while.

I haven't been back to Illinois since before Christmas of 2009, so I am seriously jonesin' for some hometown-y goodness. And Shirl's. I really, really want a banana split Polar Blast from Shirl's. And Qdoba. And Jimmy John's. And basically all the delicious food that I can't get out here (but hey, at least we have California burritos, suckas).

Mostly I'm excited to spend time with my family and friends, though. I miss everyone so much!! I like being surrounded by a huge network of people, I feel like there's never a dull moment there unless I want there to be-- a far cry from the very limited number of people I know out here in Californ-I-A.

Anyway, since it is ridiculously difficult to find an airline that will agree to fly a bulldog, and even more expensive for them to actually fly her, I will-- most regrettably-- be driving. Again. Last year Tony and I did it in thirty-one hours, straight through. (Insert sad face.)

The good news is, I won't be driving alone! My Mama is flying out here on Saturday morning and we will be catching some sun and then leaving first thing Tuesday morning. We won't be driving straight through, though, so hopefully I'll be in a comfy bed by Friday and Operation: Eat Jimmy John's Until My Stomach Falls Out My Butt will commence.

Unfortunately, there are still quite a few days between now and then, and I have to spend the next few days preparing to go out of town. Things like getting Jan's shots updated and buying mass amounts of her food because what if we can't find it out there? and getting more flea medication so she doesn't run out while we're away and become an infested mess. Or getting the oil changed on Tony's car because we will (much to his chagrin) be taking HIS car, not mine, because his has seat warmers and sometimes my butt gets cold. I also have to clean out my fridge (no coming home to rotten produce THIS YEAR, no sir!) and clean my house because there's nothing worse than being away for two weeks and coming home to clutter and carpet that's been stained with charcoal (YES, CHARCOAL ON MY CARPET I CAN'T EVEN TALK ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW).

Oh, and there's that whole starting-classes-at-my-brand-new-school thing, and it turns out I have an exam I'll have to figure out how to take right smack in the middle of our road trip. Internet Cafe, anyone?

I really loathe going out of town.

No, that's not true.

I love traveling. To anywhere, really. But I am a classic over-thinker, and the lead-up to a trip out of town always leaves me feeling anxious and overwhelmed. This one is especially bad because Tony isn't hear to take care of the normal "Tony" things like getting the oil changed or planning the route we'll drive, or just reminding me to take a deep breath and chill the fuck out. Also, Jan is being super annoying and bad-mannered and I might murder her, in which case what's the point in even driving, I'll see you on the plane, Ma.

I guess I really should just take a deep breath and chill. One task at a time. Breathe.

Because I'm a totally faithful blogger.

2011-01-12T16:31:00.001-08:00

Alright, aright.

I suck.

I know.

I don't even have much of an excuse for why I haven't been blogging lately. Except for the holidays, and having a bajillion things going on all at once, and not really having anything particularly interesting to write about.

I have guilt, Internet, guilt for not writing.

Anyway, a little update on my life as of late!

The holidays went swimmingly, with very little stress, mostly due to the fact that we had very little money to spend and thus did not worry about buying gifts or any of that nonsense. And since gift buying is, I am convinced, the root of all holiday-related stress, this meant that we were in pretty good moods most of the time.

We spent Christmas day with our neighbors who have a super adorable bulldog that Jan loves, and Nicole (the wifey half of our neighbors) and I cooked a feast for approximately sixty-five people which was silly because there were actually only four of us. Leftovers: I has them.

New Years was alright. Tony and I were all excited because last year our plans got shot to hell at the last minute and we weren't able to do anything fun (hearts and kisses, Marine Corps and dumbass who popped on his drug test at 4 pm on New Years Eve, NOT THAT I'M BITTER STILL OR ANYTHING CUZ THAT WOULD BE RIDICULOUS). Since Tony was on leave and in no danger of having to relieve a drug-using idiot from his gun-toting responsibilities, we decided it would be fun to stay at a hotel in downtown San Diego and do the whole bar scene. Which, guys? Was kind of a let down.

I mean, it's not that we didn't have fun. We did. But it felt like a dozen things went wrong that day and by the time we actually got around to getting ready and going out we were both just so tired that all either of us wanted to do was get in our pajamas and watch the ball drop on TV. But fuck that, right, because we paid money for this hotel and we're gonna go have some fun SO HELP ME JESUS.

So we got all prettied up (I felt entirely over-dressed, as I was, I think, the only woman in the entire city actually wearing pants. Or a bra.) and headed out and spent he first two hours sitting around, stone sober, observing all the drunkards and laughing. We saw a pretty sweet bar fight (a guy totally got tasered by the cops!) and this really adorable couple got engaged when the ball dropped.

And then. Out of nowhere. Boom. Drunk. No, not drunk. SHMAMMERED. I don't even know how it happened. We made it through four beers without hardly feeling a thing and then I decided hey, let's do a tequila shot! Because it's New Years! And because mixing alcohol is always a super great idea!

Within the span of about an hour I ended up losing my husband, not being able to get a cab, and calling my sister sobbing (who was two hours ahead of me and had to work the next morning, sorry Austin!) because I couldn't find my husband or my way back to my hotel and I was probably going to get raped and murdered, oh God. Class: I tooootally has it.

Anyway, a pretty vigorous hangover later and the holidays were officially over. But my schedule just intensified.

The following weekend, Tony's younger cousin graduated boot camp so we had all his family out here, which was both a blast and very stressful. Not because his family is stressful but because we were on the go! go! go! for, like, five days straight.

Then it came time to prepare for Tony to head out to North Carolina for training. He left last night and will be gone for six weeks which is a bummer but I only let myself be a baby about it for a couple of hours because I know good and well I have friends who have it much worse than I do. Perspective: I has summa that, too.

So now I'm sitting here in my living room, my dog farting next to me, watching Twilight and being too lazy to go to the store and get something for an actual dinner. THRILLING.

All in all, nothing very exciting. Just a lot of little things adding up to a non-bloggy Meredith, but Internet, I swear I'm going to try and cut that shit out.

I think.

Day Four

2010-12-17T08:29:00.000-08:00

Something I have to forgive someone else for.

Well, for starters, how about the asshat who decided the world needed a little more Jeggings?

My muffin top is all that; whole grain, low fat!

I mean, like, really? Jeggings?

They're like jeans, but they're leggings!

More like they're stupid, and all they do is make skinny girls look knock-kneed and chubby girls look, well, chubbier.

And as if regular Jeggings weren't enough of a terror, some jackass has bestowed upon us this little diamond in the rough:

BABY JEGGINGS. JEGGINGS FOR BABIES. JEGGINGS TO BE PUT ON YOUR BABY.

You know, because we just couldn't get that "lift" we were looking for on little Emma's ass until now.

Forgiven, Internet, but never forgotten.

Feel the burn.

2010-12-16T07:25:00.000-08:00

So, we got these new neighbors.

They're super awesome.

It's another Marine and his wife, and the guy is actually in a unit that my husband is currently trying to get into, so they have a lot of interests in common.

His wife is really sweet.

And in really good shape.

And works out a lot.

This, combined with my desire to amp up my work out routine, has resulted in my going to the gym with her.

We went yesterday for about an hour and a half. Nothing too crazy.

Normally when I work out I do a lot of cardio and various ab workouts, some push-ups, and then I leave.

I don't use the weights. Mostly because I don't know how to use the weights, and I don't want to be that girl , you know, the one who everyone cringes while they watch because HEY, SHE CLEARLY HAS NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE, WHAT ARE YOU JOKING, JUST STAY HOME AND LET THE REAL ATHLETES DO THE WORKING OUT.

But my new neighbor, she knows how to use the weights.

So she showed me.

We did arms.

And dear eight pound, six ounce, newborn baby Jesus I FEEL LIKE I'M GONNA DIE RIGHT HERE AND NOW.

As I type this, I am simultaneously trying to come up with a way to type a blog entry without having to actually use my arms in any way.

This one time, in college, my friend and I stole the arms off a creep-ass mannequin that stood in the living room of our friends' house. And this is how I imagine that poor mannequin felt. I feel like some dumbass co-ed in a Belle costume (it was Disney night!) dun walked right up and ripped my arms off!

In short: OW.

I better get super hot super fast, man, or we're gonna have a problem.

Day Three

2010-12-11T07:20:00.000-08:00

Something I have to forgive myself for.

Hmm.

I have to forgive myself for leaving school when I did.

I mean, it needed to happen. I wasn't happy on that path. If I'd stayed, I'd of graduated with a BFA in Acting, not wanting to be an actress, and I'd probably feel just as lost as I do now as a 22-year-old woman who is degreeless and still in school.

When things get really hard, and I'm up to my eyeballs in homework and I can't get any straight answers from anyone on what I need to do to graduate, I get angry at myself for leaving my school in Illinois. I start to tell myself that if I'd just stuck it out for two more years I'd never have to sit in another class again.

It's really easy for me to blame myself and be frustrated with the decision I made. I get into the "what ifs."

What if I'd stayed? What if things had gone differently? What if I'd just bitten the bullet and toughed it out?

But then I think about all the reasons I left. I think about all the student debt I already have after just two years there. I think about all the things I couldn't do with a BFA in Acting. I think about all the doors that leaving opened up for me in other areas of my life.

And I know I have to just let it go.

Leaving, while it has made things much harder for me academically, helped shape me into who I am today.

And in the end, I'm really, really glad I did it.

Shibby

2010-12-09T09:02:00.000-08:00

I've been instructed by a friend to update my blog, so here I am. Sorry for my semi-prolonged absence. Finals are next week and I have been working my butt off to get all my work done, not to mention I'm in the middle of applying to transfer schools, getting ready for Christmas, plus doing a zillion other things, and I just haven't had time to sit down and write anything decent.

Ah, life.

Anyway, I was going to continue with another Blog Topic Listy Thing, but then I went to philosophy and I decided to talk about something else.

Like how much I kick ass and am awesome.

So, this semester I took a course on philosophy through reasoning. I expected it to be a little difficult but not really an issue, since I'd taken a philosophy class before and did really well.

But my professor was of a rare breed this time around.

As in, she was a major hard-ass. One of those, "I don't care if you're only here to fulfill a gen ed, you're going to work your butt off in here because I expect nothing less" professors. Which I both appreciate and loathe to my very core.

But, unlike 99% of my classmates, I happened to read through the entire syllabus on the first day.

And I spotted a loophole that the others didn't.

It stated very clearly that if you get a pre-final grade of a 90% or better, and you have no absences, you will be exempt from the final.

Shibby!

I've always been a pretty good student in that I understand concepts pretty well and can fake it til I make it without much effort. But I've also always been a bad student in that I tend to skip class a lot and I don't really try as hard as I could because, I mean, I have better things to do with my time than slave over getting an A when I can get a perfectly good B with little to no effort at all. (Like take video of my dog snoring and send them to my mom, and watch DVR'd episodes of Friends, or basically anything in the world that doesn't involve homework or actually going to class.)

Anyway, that little clause in our syllabus gave me something to slave for.

And I. worked. hard.

I didn't skip once. I believe this is the first time I have been able to say that about any class, ever.

I took notes diligently.

I studied.

I did my assignments in advance.

I actually did the reading.

And tried to understand it.

Anyway, I've been pretty confident all along that with all my hard work I'd be able to get my A, but my professor was a tad slow in getting our assignments back, so I wasn't totally sure what my grade was.

But today I got it.

97.5%.

Not just an A, but a really, really good A.

EXEMPT!

O, JOYOUS OCCASION! O, GOD OF DILIGENT SCHOOLWORK, I BOW AT YOUR FEET!

So this means that I now only have one final to take for my Communications class, which isn't really even a final because it's literally just all the exams we've previously taken in the class (all of which were total common sense and kind of a waste of time in the first place). Which means I am, more or less, done with school for this semester.

Hell yes, muthasuckas.

Day Two

2010-11-30T05:54:00.000-08:00

Something you love about yourself.

That's more like it, Blog List Thingy!

Hm. Let's see here.

I love that I'm not afraid to be crazy and ridiculous and just do what makes me happy regardless of how stupid it makes me look.

Don't get me wrong; I definitely care what other people think of me to an extent, and anyone who claims the contrary is a big fat liar.

But there's something empowering about wearing a Halloween "mom vest" you bought at a thrift store, and just not giving a crap if people think you're a huge dork:

Bringin' all tha boiz to tha yawrd: yer doin' it rite.

Or wearing a hot pink Barbie dress to your prom-themed college party, complete with Payless tennis shoes.

Does this dress make me look manufactured by Fisher Price?

Or playing Twister at your wedding reception because it's THAT BADASS OF A GAME:

What corset?

I'm not one of those girls who has to look perfectly in place and all made up in order to step out of the house.

I look exactly how I want to look. How I feel.

Sometimes I feel like wearing an oversized sweatshirt with Precious Moments figurines embroidered on it that I bought for sixty cents at the Bloomington Salvation Army.

Sometimes I feel like looking cute with a sexy top and trendy jeans (But not Jeggings. Never Jeggings.)

Sometimes I feel like pulling on the oversized sweatshirt I stole from my roommate in college (don't worry she knows) and the Hollister sweat pants I had to buy in the men's section because my ass is too big for the women's ones, and on those days I usually don't shower or even take a brush to my hair.

Either way, I don't care.

I make no apologies.

And I love it.

Day One

2010-11-24T08:25:00.001-08:00

Something I hate about myself.

Gee, thanks, Blog Topic List, for getting this ball rolling on a super high note.

I don't generally come off as someone with a lot of insecurities. I can be loud and boisterous and sometimes I wear low-cut shirts because I think the one thing I've got going for me is definitely my rockin' cleavage.

But there are things I... dislike.

I try not to use the word "hate."

Well, unless we're talking about cellulite.

Or Debbie Matenopoulos.

Or giving your children stupid names.

Okay, okay, so I hate a lot.

See, I could be really superficial here and say that I hate my thighs, or my nose, or the fact that I'm getting a zit RIGHT dead-center on my chin.

I could say that, and it wouldn't be far from the truth.

But that's bullshit, so I'm not gonna say it.

What I hate about myself, more than anything, is that I can't just let things go.

Yes, I'm loud. Yes, I'm boisterous. Yes, I can be in-your-face and I can make you laugh and I can do all the things that people are supposed to do in order to have people think that I'm, like, totally fine over here, DON'T YOU WORRY ABOUT ME!

But I'm really, really sensitive. It doesn't take much to push my buttons, especially if you are really close to me.

And when I end up being hurt by someone I love... well... it's a hard pill for me to swallow. A couple months ago I got pretty hurt by someone I was pretty close with, and I'm only just now starting to feel like I can pick up the pieces and be okay with it.

There are times when I am just so mad at a situation, or so hurt by it, that it seems impossible to ever fully get over it.

Don't get me wrong; I want to get over it all. I really do. I hate being weighed down by negativity. I hate feeling like I'm not one-hundred percent okay with everyone in my life all the timerightnowomg. But the self-preserving fighter in me makes it difficult to get there.

And what's worse is, I end up fighting with myself over whether or not the situation is something I can move on from yet. Even as I type this, I'm thinking to myself, "Meredith, let's not get all self-sacrificing here, sometimes people are just being PLAIN OL' DICKS AND YOU KNOW IT." And I'm like, "Yeah, self, I know." And self is like, "Sometimes you just have to let bitches and hoes be bitches and hoes."

Self is both the voice of reason and the negative, crotchety asshole that keeps me holding grudges for three months at a time.

This is something I struggle with every. single. time. I get burned.

And it's also why I get angry so easily. I'm always on the look-out, I've always got my defense up, it's like I'm always just waiting for something to come at me. And as soon as it does come flying at me from around the corner, I just shut down completely.

It's something I need to work on, but it's also something that I realize is going to take a long time to wade through. It's not all bad. Standing up for myself and protecting myself is never bad. Getting rid of any negativity in my life is never bad.

But keeping it close to my heart is.

And I hope that one day it's no longer something I struggle with.

Listies

2010-11-24T08:22:00.001-08:00

My friend Heather is doing this thing on her blog where you follow one topic a day, and I think it's really kind of cool! So I decided to do it, too. I'm still going to post other random things here and there, but I thought this would be really neat to try.

And so! The list:

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself.

I saw it, and it was good.

2010-11-19T09:37:00.000-08:00

This is gonna contain some spoilers from the new Harry Potter movie, so if you don't want to know, don't read until you've seen it!!

The first part of the last installment of the Harry Potter movies came out at midnight last night and I, like many others, dragged my it's-way-past-my-bedtime ass out to the theatre to see it.

I have so far been totally underwhelmed by the movies.

The book series is so well-written and intricate. It's not just the main story I find captivating. In fact, I think the things I love more than the Harry-Voldemort plot are the tiny sub-stories going on all around you. The characters that were tiny blips in the second book turn out to be major players in the seventh. Little odds and ends here and there that never seemed to be important turn out to be hugely important later on in the series.

J.K. Rowling didn't just create a wicked awesome story, she created her own little world, practically her own language. She Tolkiened that shit.

As big a fan as I am of the books, I suppose the movies have always been kind of doomed. I mean, when have you ever liked the movie adaptation of a book best? But when it comes to Harry Potter, I was, I think, more unhappy with the movies than I needed to be.

They always seemed to leave important details out. Not only that, but they'd then choose to add in pointless scenes that had nothing to do with the overall story, so really they were wasting time that could have been used on one of the many awesome subplots that they'd ignored (ahem, ahem, like when the Weasleys' house caught on fire in the sixth movie; what the shit was that about?). I've found the movies cheesy and very frustrating to sit through. Often times I've wondered how anyone who hasn't read the books could possibly follow the storyline because they leave so much out of explaining why something happened, or who that character is, or what such and such is and why it matters so deeply.

I was nervous going into part one of the seventh movie.

The seventh book is my favorite. It's the most straight-forward, the most grown-up, the most developed. I wanted the movie to do it justice. I wasn't so sure that the three main actors could handle the intensity and solitude the seventh story required-- they really had to learn to hold the screen on their own, without doing what they'd done in the past and rely on one of the several established character actors to keep the pace going for them.

I was mostly nervous because the movies had done such an awful job of sticking to the books; I mean, they'd left out several characters from the movie franchise that turned out to be key players in the final books! I like to think Rowling made it that way so the movies would have no choice but to add in some of her beloved yet otherwise ignored characters. But maybe the movie studio wouldn't find it necessary to add them in the end? I was nervous they'd skim over the final Dobby scene, since they'd skimmed over nearly all his other scenes in the previous movies. I was scared they would leave out Bill and Fleur since Bill had never been introduced to the movie audiences before.

But I was pleasantly surprised.

Not only were the main actors leaps and bounds above where we'd last seen them acting-wise, but the story was surprisingly accurate. Sure, they'd tweaked some things here and there and shifted things around a bit, but it was never so much that I felt it was unnecessary. In fact, some of the changes I thought to be brilliant (ie, the opening scene when Hermione wipes her parents' memory in order to protect them).

They'd managed to cleverly add in some of the characters they'd skimmed over in the past, and for the most part they stuck to the overall attitude and pace of the book. That is to say, the movie was slow and frustrating at times, and it was on-edge, and violent. You could sense the loneliness of the characters, their despair.

Mostly, I thought they'd finally gotten the emotion right. While the seventh book proved to be the deadliest, it was certainly not the first installment which touched on the subject of loss. Unfortunately, it's always seemed like the producers just couldn't quite get it right when it came to the death scenes. Sirius Black's was almost laughable. Dumbledore's was good, but it felt rushed and you didn't get the same sense of loss as you had from reading the book. You never really got the sense from the movies that these characters were actually lost forever, which is unfortunate because Harry's losses are really what drive him.

Having said all that, I must say I think they finally got it right with Dobby. Ending with his death scene was, I thought, very appropriate. It wasn't rushed or cheesy. It was emotional and slow-paced and really set the tone for the rest of the story: that time is running out, that the stakes are clear, that there really, truly is something they're fighting out there.

Overall, I was really, really pleased. When the movie ended everyone in the theatre around me shrieked with disappointment, but I thought the timing was brilliant. I wouldn't have wanted it to end any other way.

This was, hands down, the best installment of the series so far, better than any other movie they've put out combined.

I really can't wait for July, to see how they've put together that final, epic battle scene.

I think it's going to kick ass.

Going places: yer doin it rite

2010-11-18T06:45:00.000-08:00

I have two words for the California state school system:

I've now lived in California for about a year and a half, which means I've now been dealing with the California state school system for just as long. And dudes, there is nothing more frustrating than trying to transfer into a totally bankrupt school system in which no one communicates with one another.

To be fair, I don't have the easiest situation to wade through. I spent two years at a private university, getting my BFA in Acting. Acting.

No, seriously.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I love acting and I think I'm pretty good at it, but after spending two years there I decided it just wasn't really what I wanted to spend my entire career doing. Not to mention, I sort of screwed myself. See, at my previous school, BFA degree tracks have lowered gen ed requirements. Which means that when I left in the spring of 2008, I hadn't fulfilled that many general course requirements at all.

Enter, California.

I can haz ur state?

Not only did I not meet the gen ed requirements to transfer directly into a California state school, but I also got first-hand experience at how little they've got their shit together here.

First of all, it's, like, next to impossible to get a proper advisory appointment. The state school advisors refuse to see me since I'm not a student of theirs. The community colleges have so many students and not enough time for them all that the one time I did schedule a proper appointment with one of their advisors, I had to make it for nearly two months away, and on the day of I ended up not being able to get out of work early and I missed it. I've only had a face-to-face meeting with one person, and she wasn't even an actual adviser, and although she tried her very best, she gave me some pretty bad information.

Which brings me to my second point: no one knows what the hell is going on. Not one person has been able to sit with me and actually write out an academic plan so I can get an idea of when I might have my Bachelor's. Information I get from one person is later contradicted by another, and I have no idea whose information to trust.

I could go on and on, forever and ever, about how much I despise this school system, but I have class in an hour so I'll keep it at that.

I am happy to say, though, that after a year and a half of dealing with this bullshit, after a year and a half of not knowing what the HELL I AM DOING, I'm getting things sorted out.

I applied to a school, guys.

Like, a school that will actually give me a Bachelor's Degree.

As in, a school that actually had an advisor call me within five minutes of me requesting an advisory appointment, and actually walked me through the process of applying and picking a major that suited me, and gave me all of his contact information so that I can make this as quick and painless as possible.

The best part is, it's not a California state school.

It's not a California school at all, actually.

(Cue choir of angels.)

Over the past year or so I've heard tons of people talk about this one university. It's actually a four-year university in the Midwest, but they also offer online programs for adult learners and people like my husband and I, military members and their dependents who find the transfer system positively exhausting.

I poo-poo'd the idea of getting my BA from an "online university," stating that I wanted a "real degree" and online learning "wasn't going to cut it."

Which was kind of elitist and asshole-y of me, I know. But whatever, I can be an elitist and an asshole at times.

Fancy hat is fancy.

The other day, after having two more people sing this school's praises, I decided to just look it over again.

I looked through their list of majors and what career opportunities each major could lead to, and what the coursework would be like.

And I actually found something that, for the first time, felt really right.

Social Sciences. It focuses on all the subjects I find really, really fascinating (like history and political science and sociology and psychology), and it's broad enough that I don't feel like I'm going to be pigeon-holing myself into one single career field.

So.

I applied.

I start January 4th.

Unfortunately, now I have to go through the whole process of applying for financial aid and getting all those ducks in a row again. My community college has been so cheap that we've just paid for it out of pocket, so getting back into the whole "paying for a school that actually costs a bit of cash" thing is going to suck.

But I think it'll be worth it. Plus, this school has amazing military benefits, and already some of the costs have been waived, thanksforbeingaMarinehoney.

So that's that! My news.

I can't wait!

A lesson on dish hygiene.

2010-11-09T13:00:00.000-08:00

You know how everyone has that one chore that they despise doing?

I try to clean my house a little every day, but I really, really, super hate doing the dishes. This is partly because my dishwasher never seems to work and my landlord is Joe Toolbox who keeps Googling all the things that could possibly be wrong with it and then "fixing" it himself. When Mama was here she and Tony cleaned the skimmer basket thing (Or is that for pools? I don't even know.) and the thing worked really well for, like, three days. She'd finally put on her hooker heels and gotten the job done and I was like, "Thanks, Dishwasher!" And now she's back to being all, "Maybe I'll work for you this time, but maybe I'll just sit here looking pretty and tell you to wash the damn dishes yourself while I sip on a cocktail." And I'm all, "But Dishwasher, I thought we were friends," and she's all, "Bitch, you wish."

And I'm like, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Because hand washing dishes? Sucks.

On Friday night I made taco soup for dinner in the crock pot (which is both delicious and a hit with my super picky husband, and so I recommend it to all).

I always leave my crock pot to soak overnight when I use it because things get all sticky and gummy inside of it, and I don't do sticky or gummy, and neither does that whore, Dishwasher.

But the problem is, Saturday morning I totally forgot about it before leaving for the ball. And then I didn't cook on Sunday, so I barely even went into the kitchen, and forgot about it some more. And then last night Tony downloaded the Angry Birds app on my iPhone, so I spent three hours after finishing homework trying to get a perfect three stars on all the different levels (did it, bitchessss), and I forgot about it some more.

And then I woke up this morning.

And OH GOD, THE HORROR.

All of a sudden, my house smelled like rancid ass.

Like, ass, if ass had gone bad. Bad ass. Not to be confused with badass, because that could give you the totally wrong idea, and I need you to understand that I'm pretty sure this crock pot had grown a soul and then sold it to the devil overnight, and its only wish in return was to turn my house into a festering pile of ASS THAT HAD GONE BAD.

I don't even know how it happened. I thought I'd rinsed most of the food out pretty well before letting it soak, but I guess I forgot about all the ass-y parts, because it seems they had... curdled? Or molded? Or murdered tiny animals and then dragged them down into the abyss of soapy, taco-y water?

Whatever, the point is, I am in NO WAY at fault for this horrific stench because I OBVIOUSLY did everything I was supposed to do, and I mean it's not MY FAULT that my husband gave me the most awesome iPhone app ever, and it's not MY FAULT I didn't cook on Sunday and forgot all about it for half a week.

Obviously JAN is the one to blame here, because that dog has been with us for well over a year now and I'm thinking I'm well within reason to begin demanding that she earn her keep. Why didn't you do the dishes while we were gone, JAN? Plus, if Tony can blame his farts on the dog, I can blame my awful-no-good-crock-pot-disaster on her, yes?

She is so grounded.

Mamas and Haircuts and Balls

2010-11-07T14:41:00.000-08:00

It's been a busy, busy couple of weeks!

Last Friday my Mama flew into town, and I was so, so, so excited to see her. It was a really last-minute trip; she happened to find a really bomb round-trip deal, so she called me on Tuesday to let me know she was buying a ticket. She was here Friday through this past Tuesday, and I loved every minute. She taught me how to make enchiladas and homemade tortillas, we just kinda hung out, attempted to do some shopping, and watched scary movies. By the way, Paranormal Actvity? Not so much with the scary. Maybe it's because we watched it at, like, 2 pm. But still. I was so grateful that she could come out to see me, as I was starting to feel pretty blue about how homesick I was. Most of the time I feel fine living so far from any other family, but lately I've been missing everyone like crazy. I crave to be home, with all the lovely people who I know will love me unconditionally and understand who I am and what I'm all about. I was really bummed out when Mama had to go back home, so I've decided that all you people back in Illinois, Minnesota, Washington, Tennessee, and Pennsylvania should just move out here to be with me. But not live with me. Because that's an expensive grocery bill, dudes.

I also got my hair cut this week! Most of you know that I've had the same hairstyle for, like, seven years. I cut it once about two and a half years ago, and then promptly regretted it and grew it back out (and then some). My hair also grows like a friggin' weed, so I'll get a couple inches trimmed off and then less than two months later it's grown past where it was before. But I'm making some changes in my life-- good changes-- and I felt I needed a new, fancy (well, not really fancy but definitely new) hairdo to match. So I went from something quite like this:

What split ends?

To something a little more manageable with a much lower chance of some sort of rodent nesting in it:

It'd be better if I'd kept the rockin' dress, I know.

I am very pleased with the way it turned out, and I am also pleased that it doesn't take me an hour to blow dry and straighten it. Werd up.

After my hot new 'do came the 235th Marine Corps Birthday Ball. It's a tradition every year to have a big ol' gala every November to celebrate the birthday of the Marines, and since the bastards were born in a tavern, it's also sort of tradition to get shwastey-faced and act a fool. Our ball was held on the Queen Mary up in Long Beach, and we had a blast! The ball itself was pretty lame what with the NO DANCING OMG, and the guest speaker was super old-timey and long-winded. But the food was good and I met some pretty sweet people and got to see some pretty interesting tramp stamps. So all was well. And seriously, I now know how it must feel to be Snooki. Turns out? People in Long Beach LOVE MARINES. Before the ceremony started we met up with another couple in the hotel bar for cocktails, and as soon as we walked in multiple people started snapping pictures, asking if they could take a picture of/with us, shaking our hands, buying us drinks. A few people just walked right up and handed the guys cash. Like, excuse me? I felt like a rock star, it was so weird!

After the ceremony was over and we'd shmoozed an appropriate amount, a small group of us went out bar hopping, which was both fun and mega lame. Fun because I love walking around and meeting people and just being OUT, but mega lame because no one could agree where to go and we were never sticking to one bar long enough to really get into the scene of it. So after a couple hours of that Tony and I skipped out, stuffed our faces with some of the best pizza of my lifeohmigoditwassogood, and then headed back to the hotel. All in all it was a pretty sweet night!

Now we're just sort of lazing around the house, dreading the start of another week, and I'm trying to avoid writing this paper that's due Tuesday. I'm not even sure why I don't just write the damn thing-- I have 3/4 of it already planned out and pretty much written already... I just need to type it out. But I'm being lazy and all I want to do is NAP! So we'll see who wins that fight. My money's on Napping Meredith.

I hope everyone else has had as good a weekend as I have. :)

Oh great, now that I'm all depressed...

2010-11-02T20:09:00.001-07:00

I just finished writing a nine-page, heart-wrenching paper on puppy mills.

Woof.

(No pun intended.)

Gyms, books and dead dogs: a stream of consciousness. Sorta.

2010-10-28T12:05:00.001-07:00

You know you've been reading too much Harry Potter when you relate not one, not two, but THREE things in your morning philosophy class to the wizarding world.

A few weeks ago I decided to try something new in order to give me a little extra motivation to go to the gym as often as possible. I've been sticking with the plan I made a few months back to work out more, and I'm really proud of myself. I've even started to notice a slight difference in myself, and Tony has commented on it a couple of times, too.

But I wanted to give myself that extra push, and I came up with a fucking. genius. plan, dudes.

In addition to going to the gym more, I also wanted to re-read the seventh Harry Potter book, since the first installment of the movie is coming out, and I'm a big nerd.

So here it is. My plan:

I'm only allowing myself to read the book while I'm at the gym.

And, guys. It's working. Like, really, really working.

Those of you who know me well, particularly those who knew me in my junior high years, know how engrossed I become in the Harry Potter series once I start reading it. You also know, then, about my truly unfortunate "Cameron Diaz" haircut I got in the eighth grade, and for that visual atrocity I sincerely apologize.

Anyway, I get SO into the books and I want to read them ALL the time, so it's really been the perfect push I need to hit the gym every day! It also makes my time on the elliptical go by way faster-- faster than any time I listened to my iPod or watched TV. It's amazing, and I love it.

I'm starting to get toward the end of the book now, so I guess in order to keep the plan in motion I'm gonna have to find another book to start. But since I have the emotional tendencies of a fourteen-year-old, I will most likely read another Harry Potter book, or re-read the Twilight series. Who needs literary genius when you have overbearing, sparkly, hundred-year-old men proclaiming their undying love for teenage girls? Am I right?

By the way. That reminds me.

Last night I had a totally awful dream. It was about vampires, but not the nice kind. The scary kind that break into your home at night and murder your dog.

Yes, Jan died in my dream!! WTF IT WAS THE WORST OMG.

I almost cried when I woke up, and then I rolled over and told Tony, "Honey, I had a bad dream!" and tried to get him to cuddle with me, and he gave me his typical response when I try to wake him up in the middle of the night: grunted and rolled away from me.

Psssh.

Anyway, I woke up this morning and immediately ran to let Jan out of her crate and gave her lots of hugs and kisses. She was all, "Mahm, gettoffa me and clean my eye boogies off!!!!" and I was like, "SHUT UP AND GIVE ME LOVE YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!!!!"

Moral of the story: Jan can never die. I will lose my mind. Ya hear that, Jan??

But, I don't want to vote for Arnold.

2010-10-27T07:38:00.001-07:00

When I moved to California, I had to change my status from an Illinois residency to a California one. Well, that's not probably not true, but I never looked into how I could keep my Illinois status.

See, we got married eleven days after my twenty-first birthday, and then I found myself on a plane, moving to California less than forty-eight hours later.

So not only did I now have to get a new license because I was twenty-one and wanted to get rid of that ridiculous red bar across the top of my picture, but I also needed to change my name.

Enter: the California DMV.

I was super sad the day I had to forfeit my Illinois license. Well, I didn't forfeit it. But they totally punched a hole across my birth date, meaning I could keep it but couldn't let any younger chirruns use it for their underage shenanigans.

California licenses are so flimsy and weird-colored and stupid. Plus, i wore my hair up and a turtleneck for my picture-- who does that?! I look dumb. And fat. I look dumb and fat.

Anyway, I swear there was a point in me telling you this story.

Oh, right. Voting.

Because I changed my residency I had to change my voting status, too. I am now an official California voter. When I did this, I immediately imagined myself in armor, wielding a sword, single-handedly striking down Proposition 8 whilst tossing a "Rock the Vote" t-shirt into a crowd of onlookers. I was pumped.

Except then it came time to actually vote, and I was, like... really confused. They do it all different here. And it turns out I don't know anything about California.

Back home I knew who my senators were, my representatives, the governor, attorney general etc. Here the only person I can name is the Governator, and that's only because he's so silly.

I feel weird voting in a state I know nothing about. Ill-informed. I'm all, "Who am I to say what's best, I'm just here for the avocados, guys!"

It sucks, because I am pretty passionate about politics and I think it's of vital importance to vote in every election. But I don't like the idea of voting for candidates that I know little to nothing about, in a state I know probably less about (I mean, I don't even know their state bird!!!!) just for the sake of saying I carried out my patriotic duty. I am also not one to vote along party lines, so that is totally out of the question.

And so, I find myself here. Looking at a round of self-assigned homework. On top of my regular homework. I have to research candidates. I've been putting it off and putting it off because I thought I had lots of time, but here it is, October 27th and I know nothin' 'bout no one.

Blergh.

Being a responsible adult is hard.

Super Couponing: at some point it's just stealing

2010-10-12T14:03:00.000-07:00

Listen, I think my vision has finally thrown its hands up and walked out the door because I've had a raging headache since last night and my eyes are doing this worrisome shakey-thing. So if there is any weird spelling or inexplicable rage going on in this post, you understand.

Last night, I was on Facebook and I saw someone I'm friends with post pictures of all the crap she looted from the local grocery story using her mad couponing skillz.

She had something like 40 cans of soup, twelve pounds of potatoes, and five bottles of ketchup, among other things.

I mean, I get it. The economy's bad. People are losing their jobs. Bail outs. Stock market. Blah blah blah. Errybody's tryin' to save money up in hurr. Some carpool. Others get rid of their cable. Many clip coupons. I do it. You do it too. It makes you feel old, doesn't it? Like your mom? Me too.

So, like I said, I get the need to save money.

But seriously, who needs five bottles of ketchup?

Don't get me wrong, I super love free stuff and I even more super love sticking it to the man. But what the hell am I going to do with twelve pounds of potatoes, except stick it in my giant vat of soup and serve it with my never-ending supply of ketchup?

I don't even know how people make complete meals with the shit they take away from Super Coupon grocery trips. These bitches are walking away with, like, ninety bags of flour and seven boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups. I don't even know where I would store all that shiz, much less what I could possibly make with it. Except for maybe Fruit Roll-Ups 'n' Dumplings.

"Oh yay, I saved a gazillion dollars on all my flour, that's awesome."

But then you have to realize that...

...you have ninety bags of flour in your trunk, asshat.

I mean, on the upside, your great grand children won't ever have to buy flour. And you saved a gazillion dollars. But really? Really?

My favorite is when they list all of their goodies, and there's that one "wtf" item: "I spent $14.37 and got nine boxes of Triscuits, twelve boxes of Lean Pockets, fourteen DiGiorno pizzas, three gallons of milk... and a Kit-Kat."

Was the Kit-Kat on sale, too? Or did you just decide to splurge?

Another things that bugs the crap outta me is the utter lack of courtesy. Not only are you barging in and sniping all the other shoppers' flour, but you're also taking an hour at the check-out line, while the pimple-faced teenager behind the register picks his jaw off the floor and imagines murdering you in a deliberate and painful way before sifting through your novella of PG&E savers.

Here I am just trying to buy my GD bottle of wine and queso dip and you're stocking up for Y2K eleven years too late.

But you know what really pisses me off?

More than any of it? More than waiting in line or flour hoarders or unnecessary ketchup buyers?

It's that the sonofabitches are better at couponing than me.

A reading.

2010-10-09T09:42:00.000-07:00

Love is a temporary madness;
it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides.
And when it subsides you have to make a decision.
You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.
Because this is what love is.

Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement,
it is not the promulgation of eternal passion.
That is just being in love, which any fool can do.
Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.

We had a friend read this excerpt from Captain Corelli's Mandolin at our wedding. When I began searching for a good, secular piece to be read at our ceremony, I had originally wanted something unique. Something that wasn't predictable and well-known. This piece can be found in almost any quick search of Google using the words "wedding reading," but I don't care. When I read it, I knew it was perfect for us.

Tony and I are not dreamers. We are not fluffy or poetic. We aren't under any pretenses that life will be easy and lovely every single moment. We are both fully aware of the fact that some days will be downright hard. But I think I can safely speak for the both of us that we'd rather go at it together than skip any of it alone.

Mmm, pumpkin.

2010-10-06T11:22:00.001-07:00

I love fall.

It's my favorite season.

Not because I like the cold, or the rain. In fact, by all sensibility and logic, I should detest this season.

I hate being cold. I hate the snow, and back home snow in late fall is inevitable. I hate the start of a new school year.

So, why then?

I like it because I love warm colors. Deep purples and burgundies and spiced oranges. I love pumpkins and pumpkin-flavored foods and Halloween. I love scarves and mittens and cute little knit hats. I love apple cider. I love sweaters and Thanksgiving.

Fall means the holidays are coming up, which at this point in my life means that I get to see my family and visit my hometown in just two months. Fall means another year that Tony and I have been together. Fall means the Marine Corps ball, which has always been fun, if only because it means a night out with my husband looking handsome as ever in his dress blues.

Fall means no more having to grudgingly wear short shorts despite my having a fat day, all because it's just too goddamn hot out to wear pants. Fall means a new season of The Office. Fall means Jan's allergy season will be coming to a close. Fall means MY allergy season will be coming to a close, too.

I don't feel this passionate about any other season. Winter is dead to me. Spring is lame. Summer means barbecues and beach weather, but my excitement for it dwindles quickly.

But fall. Fall has a feeling. It makes me feel new, and warm, and fuzzy. It makes me feel more in love with my life-- with my home, my dog, my husband, myself. Fall makes me feel hopeful; there's still enough time in the year to accomplish the goals I've set for myself, yet 2011 and bigger, better things are just around the corner.

As I write this from my couch, Jan curled up at my side and a cup of hot tea on my coffee table, I feel content. I feel accomplished. I feel ready for whatever is next.

Failure: a poor man's success

2010-10-05T21:24:00.000-07:00

I've talked plenty on this blog about my lack of ambition.

I am in school, not because I want to be, but because I am an unfortunate product of the system who has been brainwashed into thinking that the only way I can ever be a contributing member of society is if I get a degree.

Meanwhile, all of my recently graduated, degree-holding peers are having trouble getting a second interview at Wal-Mart.

I mean, whatever, I get it. A degree is important if you ever want to be anything besides a barista. Or a waitress. Or a hooker. Or a contestant on Rock of Love. Or Snooki.

Come to think of it, there are plenty of lucrative, non-degree-needing careers I could have gone after. I simply chose the wrong route, is all. Hmm...

Anyway, my point in telling you all of this is that I really don't give a shit how I do in school, I just want to get through the damn thing so people can shut up about me being a child bride who was forced to give up on her academic dreams, and I can spend my days drinking mimosas in my underwear. People will say things like "Yeah, that Meredith, she doesn't do much now, but you know, she's got her degree."

Turns out, I failed my math class. Like, a lot. My grade was so astoundingly low that when I saw what I would need in order to get the minimum grade to receive credit for the class and I said "there's no way I can do that!!" my professor responded with, "Yeah, there's just no way."

Goddamnit. Even the teacher has lost faith in me.

Any normal, red-blooded American would be upset about this news, but I? I was excited.

Immediately, I started thinking of what failing out of the class would mean. No more math homework. No more math tutoring. And most importantly? No more fucking four-hour class sessions!! FREEDOM.

I am so, incredibly excited to have free Monday and Wednesday evenings, you guys totally don't even know. The past handful of weeks have been awful-- every Monday and Wednesday I've been leaving my house at 4:45 am and not returning home until after 10 pm. Gross.

But now I've got it made. Work and one class. A cinch. Fuck. Yes.

So, while all those suckers with their As and Bs and their nerdy, math-y brains are slaving away tomorrow, stressing over factor trees and algorithms, I'll be getting a head start on my underwear wearing and mimosa drinking.

Booyah Grandma.

Hey, remember that one time I rebelled?

2010-09-29T22:39:00.000-07:00

My senior year of high school, I took a trigonometry class. I had a free period and was told I wouldn't be allowed to take yet a third study hall, so I was sort of forced into it. Rather than take a normal slacker-type class (a la art), I decided it would be best if I were to bone up on my math. You know, because it had always been my strong subject. (Insert eye roll.) But this was back when I still gave a shit and was trying to get into a smart-people college, so I guess I thought trig would help.

So, I get to trig and I realize that the material all seems pretty familiar... OH. THAT'S RIGHT. It's physics without a fucking purpose.

For the first few weeks, I tried to stick with it. I got a hundred percent on all my work, but I was bored to tears because A) I already knew 99.9% of the work, and B) I cannot stand math without a purpose. I tried to drop the class, but was once again told that I'd have "too many" study halls (as if!). My dean also implied that maybe I was doing poorly in the class and only trying to get out of failing. Yeah, okay.

Bottom line: I had to stay.

The next week, while taking an exam, my TI-84 stopped working. Ain't it the shit that you spend $200 on a stupid calculator and then it quits working on you mid-test?

Anyway, so my calculator stops working, so I stopped, too:

Mr. Johnson? I'm done.

You finished already?

No, I didn't finish. I'm just done. I'm not going to do this work anymore.

You... you're not going to do the work?

No, thanks, I don't think so.

Later that day I turned in paperwork to have the course changed to pass/fail, which meant that it wouldn't be entered into my grade point average. I spent the last few months of my senior year being the laziest, most obnoxious student that most teachers only have nightmares about. I would play hangman with my classmates on the white board, mid-lecture. I would leave in the middle of class, and when he'd ask me where I was going I'd tell him I'd just gotten my period. I'm pretty sure that meant I must have gotten period, like, every single day, but whatever, dude, teachers don't check up on period excuses.

Before every single exam, Mr. Johnson would hand me my own copy, in hopes that today would be the day I'd get back on track. I would write the lyrics to Jefferson Airplane songs on them instead of doing any work.

I left the class with a whopping 3%. It was the first time I'd ever gotten anything lower than, like, a 79% on a report card.

I was so proud.

And so it begins

2010-09-28T10:11:00.001-07:00

I talked a while back about some rumors going around at Tony's work that may have meant that we would soon be leaving our current duty assignment.

We waited and waited and waited, and watched several people get orders to various places. Some stayed here but went to a different unit, some went to Twentynine Palms (the bane of my existence), some went to Hawaii. We tried to just keep our heads low and stick it out as long as we could, but last week Tony was told he needed to go speak with the career monitor. Uh oh.

When he got there, he had orders waiting for him.

He goes back to the infantry this February.

The awesome news is that his new unit is on the same base we are at now, so we won't be moving anywhere far away and awful. We may have to move from our current condo to a place a little farther north, because the unit is on the opposite end of the base and inland a little ways, which can be about an hour drive from where we live now, depending on traffic. And that's not exactly ideal. But it's something we are still hashing out.

Probably the news I am happiest about, however, is that he will deploy on a MEU (or Marine Expeditionary Unit-- a ship, for those of you who don't speak Marine) about a year from now.

Now, for those who aren't acquainted with the different types of deployments out there, you may be asking yourself why I would be so happy that he is going to be deployed again. My answer is two-fold: first of all, he was going to go regardless, and if he's going to go, I would rather him not go to Afghanistan. I was expecting him to get orders to go somewhere with an extremely high level of danger, so I am beyond ecstatic that this will be a non-combat deployment. Most MEUs never even enter combat zones. Instead, they go to various countries in a given area of the world and perform whatever tasks need to be done; often times it's humanitarian missions. Secondly, after doing the math, I realized that the timing of this deployment will essentially mean that it will be his last. We have no current plans to reenlist, and as long as nothing freakish happens, he simply won't have enough time in his contract to deploy for a fourth time. Score.

I am feeling really, really good about these orders.

Of course, there are downsides. While a MEU is not a combat deployment and that level of danger is lessened, it does entail some pretty heavy work-ups. He may not be heading to a combat zone, but apart from doing their day-to-day missions, MEUs also serve another purpose: if anything near their location goes wrong, they head over to respond. This means they have to be able to perform various types of missions in various types of locations. Instead of doing desert-only training, they also complete cold weather training. It's a lot of overnight stays, field stays, traveling, etc. that takes the Marine away from his family, and that sucks. Then, as the deployment approaches, they begin ship training, and that takes them away two weeks out of every month. So for the final months before he deploys, Tony will be home for two weeks, then gone for two weeks, and that part will really kind of suck. Not to mention, there's the whole "leaving me for seven months" thing that will blow.

When I think of all these downsides, though, I just can't help but think: at least I'm confident that he'll be coming home to me. I won't ever not worry about him, but I don't think it'll be the kind of fear I got used to while he was in Iraq. That is huge. It's a blessing. I'm not going to let a little distance conquer me, especially with a silver lining as brilliant as his safety.

So, I'm ready for this change!

Bring it on.

Things would probably better if I could just take my top off in exchange for goods.

2010-09-24T14:34:00.000-07:00

Alternate Title: Why I'd rather be a hooker.

I hate money. The ever-looming thought of paying our bills is starting to get old, yo. Ferrealz.

It's not that we're poor. I mean, the military by NO means pays Tony what he deserves to be paid, but considering our age and the state (and county, even) in which we live, we get by pretty comfortably. We would actually have it pretty easy if we didn't have my massive student loans and two car notes (would've been one if my darling husband hadn't traded in his paid off Jeep for a P.O.S. VW Jetta without talking to me about it first but whatever, NOT THAT I'M BITTER OR ANYTHING).

Alas, the fact of the matter is, we DO have those things that we have to take care of.

The thing is, we are both planners. We have specific goals in mind and to achieve those goals, we need what everyone else in the world needs: more money. We have timelines set up to pay off our debt, and we work really, really hard, and sacrifice lots of little luxuries in order to stay on track.

Unfortunately, there are just things you can't control. I can plan and plan and plan, and spend hours pouring over the Excel spreadsheet I keep track of our bills on, and still, shit happens. Like how I needed new tires a few weeks ago. I just HAD to have a Lancer, what with their sleek body and high-performance tires that cost more than our grocery bills for two and a half months. Or plane tickets for a sudden trip to Minnesota. Or $275 deep-cleanings for my teeth because I suck and have early signs of gum disease. SWEET. I've always wanted to hand my paycheck over to a man with hair plugs and rape-y eyes.

This week we've been feeling the hit especially bad. The three aforementioned expenses have all happened within two weeks of each other, and it's just so hard not to be discouraged. I can't help it. I mean, I know we are fine. We aren't destitute. We aren't even broke. I just hate, hate, hate that the god foresaken payment plans that we've set up for ourselves keep having to be shifted.

Why can't there be a bill fairy? Some hot bitch who flies around with bags of money and a bottle of José Cuervo. The money could be used to pay off all my debt and then we could use the tequila to throw ourselves a little party.

Too bad that doesn't exist. Crap.

Looks like I'll have to just whore myself out to Donald Trump instead. He's sexy in a smarmy, toupée-y kinda way.

Six

2010-09-21T06:33:00.000-07:00

I never thought that I'd ever date my husband.

He was a bad kid.

With a reputation.

And possible illegitimate children running around town with their equally questionable mothers.

(Or at least that was the rumor.)

He skipped school. He drank. He got kicked out of houses. He got detentions and suspensions. He got kicked out of school. He had this god-awful Bieber-before-the-Bieber-do, and a molestache that made him look like Prince.

He tried to prank me a lot.

One time, when we'd first met and he thought I was all hot but didn't know yet that I didn't roll like that, he punched me on the arm, trying to flirt as fifteen-year-old boys do... and it hurt like a bitch.

He was crass. And loud. And didn't have a filter on his mouth.

He liked to moon people a lot.

He was the mascot at our football games. No, I didn't make that up.

But then, when I was a sophomore, he cut his hair. And shaved his molestache (I found out later he only shaved so he could make out with this girl on the tech crew, but roll with me).

Uh oh. Shoot.

Tony is kind of adorable.

We started actually conversing like normal people that August at a welcome home party for a mutual friend of ours who had just gotten back from basic training for the Army National Guard. I'm not sure what changed about him, but something made my tummy all butterflied.

But I wasn't going down that easy.

He got my AIM screen name from someone, and started instant messaging me for a while (sooo 2004). We flirted shamelessly, though that was about it.

Later, at school, I passed him in the hallway and he slipped me a note. Yes, a note. I wish so badly that I'd saved it, like I do every. other. thing. I've. ever. gotten. from. him. But I didn't think it would be important, because who marries Tony?

The note said something to the extent of "I like you. Here's my number. I'm gonna give you a week to call me, and if you don't that's cool." Smooth.

I waited exactly seven days to call him.

We started dating casually, but I never intended it to go anywhere. We'd hang out with my friends, or watch movies in his basement. Nothing fancy, as my job as a receptionist at Cost Cutters and his after-school commitments of dancing around in a Fighting Bee costume weren't exactly lucrative.

I quickly learned how amazing he was. Not only was he funny and smart and sweet, but he didn't have any illegitimate kids at all!

A few weeks in, he gave me my first kiss. (Yes, I was 16 and hadn't kissed a boy before, back off you skanks.) To this day, he swears that I slipped him the tongue. Do not believe his lies. It was all him, all the way, no doubt about it. Why would I slip HIM him the tongue on my FIRST KISS? Lies, I tell you.

Anyway, at some point in mid-September, he asked me to be his girlfriend while we were sitting on a swing set near his house at the time. We still never really thought it would go anywhere, so we didn't think to take note of the date. Because of this, we have no idea when our actual "anniversary" is. We got tired of having to explain to people that we didn't really know when we'd started dating, so we decided to start acknowledging September 21st as D-Day, mostly because it's easy to remember, and also because that year it was a Tuesday, and I know for certain that he did ask me on a Tuesday.

I kept expecting to break up with him. Not because I wanted to, but because that was what I did. I dated a guy for a few months, long enough to focus on that one thing that annoyed me so much I wanted to gouge my eyes out, and then I'd break up with him without warning because I was cold like that.

But with Tony, that thing never came. Sure, he had his flaws... but in the one guy that I was so sure I could never really be serious about... I just wanted to spend all my time with. I didn't break up with him because he just kept on being interesting to me. I knew very quickly that he was different.

I knew by Christmas that I was falling in love with him.

We experienced a whirlwind of a first year, and went through some things most people our age didn't normally go through. He ended up living with us for six months after having to leave the friend's house he'd been living at. How many 16-year-olds could say that they lived with their boyfriend? Don't get any ideas, though, my mom made sure that he slept three floors above my bedroom, with her bedroom right smack in the middle. There was no funny business going on in that fortress.

I didn't want to date a guy in the military, and for as long as we'd been dating, he'd been slated to leave for boot camp June 5th of 2005. When he left, we decided it would be best just to be friends. About an hour after he left, though, I knew that our break wouldn't last. I wrote him every single day he was gone, and he wrote me, too. When he graduated we were together again, like nothing had happened, but for some reason we tried to break up again when he left for the School of Infantry. I'm not sure what we didn't get it already that you can't break something that you know perfectly well will work. A week after he left for SOI, he told me he didn't want to be without me, and that he loved me too much not to call me his girlfriend. I agreed.

The date was September 21st.

We've been together ever since, and I love him more today than I ever thought I could. We've been through so much in these last six years-- mostly headaches centered around the military-- but I would rather have gone through it with him than not go through it at all with anyone else.

I'm a lucky girl.

Rushing

2010-09-14T11:14:00.000-07:00

Tony and I decided to fly out to Minnesota for Troy.

His service was this morning, so we won't make it in time for that, but he really feels like he should go out there to pay his respects to Troy and to his family. We will also get to meet up with his girlfriend, who is extremely sweet and has been very helpful getting me the information we needed in the past few days. I'm sure that she is hurting in the worst way, and she's still been so willing to help. Amazing.

Anyway, the past twenty hours have been such a whirlwind. At first we'd decided not to go out, and to just send flowers instead. But after talking with the chaplain, Tony decided it was important that we go, so all of a sudden we both had to rearrange class and exam schedules, find someone to watch Jan, he had to get emergency leave approved, and I had to figure out how to get my shift on Wednesday covered. Plus there's that whole "buying a plane ticket" thing that is such a pain in the butt. But, thankfully and by the grace of God, we were able to work it all out. There's one last kink that has me stressing out, and that is my Intermediate Algebra exam that I was supposed to take tomorrow night; I went to the math center this morning so I could take it early and it wasn't there. I waited and waited and waited for her to email it to the center, but it was a no-show. Mind you, I told her twice last night that I would be at the center at 9:30 am sharp to take the test... I'm guessing she still just forgot. It happens. I just wish that she'd get a move on, since I only have until 8:00 tonight to get it done.

Regardless of whether or not I get the test done, though, we are going! I am super sad about the reason for our visit, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited at the same time. In addition to seeing Troy's mom and girlfriend, whom we haven't seen in nearly two years now, we get to stay with my sister and her husband in Minneapolis, and that makes me very, very happy. I miss my sister so much it hurts sometimes, so being able to see her is a very bright silver lining in our extremely dark storm cloud. I wish that we could bring Jan with us, since Austin's dog Arlo is very close to her size and they get along really well, but that's just not in the cards for us, especially not this late-notice. It's expensive to fly dogs as it is, but in addition to the financial inconvenience, most airlines refuse to fly bulldogs because they are so sensitive and have difficulty breathing. Instead of hitching a ride in the cargo bin, she'll be hanging out at home with our friend David, whom she has an extremely inappropriate crush on (read: She humps him. A lot).

So that's that! Today will be spent (hopefully) taking the godforesaken algebra exam, packing, and taking care of any last-minute errands before we head out tomorrow. I won't be on while I'm away, so look for another post on Tuesday-ish. Hope everyone has a lovely week!

This needs to stop.

2010-09-11T07:52:00.001-07:00

Another life lost. Another tragedy. Why do these things keep happening?

One of Tony's best friends from the "old days" in the Marine Corps, Troy, took his own life this week. We just found out yesterday afternoon. He was 23.

Troy was a really, really good guy. He had been deployed with Tony in Iraq both times, in the same squad. They'd become very close. When Tony was going through some rough times, Troy was there to help him through. Hell, Troy even took an IED blast for Tony. During one of their first patrols in-country, Troy wasn't feeling too well and he asked if Tony could take the lead. Tony was the first in the patrol to round the corner, out of sight from most of the others, when those in the back-- where Troy was-- hit an IED. Troy wound up with a broken foot and internal bleeding that caused him problems for a very long time. If they hadn't switched positions, who knows what would have happened to Tony. I thank Troy from the bottom of my heart for that.

He had a good family. When I wanted to come out for the guys' homecoming the second time around, I was having trouble finding a ride from the airport to Twentynine Palms. Being only 20 at the time, I wasn't able to just rent a car so I needed to find a good Samaritan to pick me up. After Tony told him what was going on, Troy arranged it so that his mom, Beth, and his girlfriend and best friend, who were all flying in the same day as I was, to pick me up and drive me to my hotel. Not only did they do that for me, but when Tony's flight home was delayed by three days and I was stuck at the hotel, they picked me up, took me to dinner, and helped me hang my welcome home sign on the base's fence. They were just such loving and caring people. My heart aches for every single one of them.

Troy got out of the Marines about a year ago, and he and Tony haven't been able to talk as much since then. The last time they spoke was about a month ago. Troy was telling Tony about starting school, and a new job. Things sounded like they were going well for him. It just breaks my heart that something was wrong and he didn't let anybody know. I'm not going to speculate about the things that drove Troy to do what he did. That wouldn't be fair. But I'm just so, deeply sorry that it happened. So many people love him, and will miss him forever.

I don't know how to handle this one, guys. My husband is pretty broken up about it. But, being my husband, he doesn't want to talk about it. That's fine. I just wish that I could go into his heart and take out some of the pain. I wish he'd let me shoulder some of it for him, but I know he won't. He's always been protective of his experiences in Iraq. He'll talk about some of it with me, but I know there are plenty of details that he saves only for the guys who were there with him. He's opened up a little over time, but it feels like Troy's death has sealed him up again. I just hope that he's okay. I hope that eventually he'll want to talk about Troy. Right now he kind of just wants to be alone. I understand that, but it just makes me feel so helpless.

I'm going to end today's post with a request. Please, hold your loved ones close. The last nine days have taught me that anyone can be gone in a flash. Don't make it so you have to live your life with regret. Tell everyone how you feel about them. Love them. Kiss them. Hug them. Hold them. Memorize their scent, their face. Live your life with them.

Rest in peace, Troy.

Turn that frown upside down.

2010-09-07T20:54:00.000-07:00

Attitude.

I've got it.

In a major way.

I've always had an attitude. I've always had a temper. Those who aren't particularly close to me usually don't believe me when I tell them I've got a pretty short fuse. Upon first meeting me, I generally seem sunny and upbeat, albeit sarcastic and a little bit (okay, a lot of bit) of a potty mouth. I've usually got a huge grin on my face, and I laugh at your jokes, whether they're funny or not. It's kinda my thing. It doesn't mean you're funny, just that I'm a hopeless people-pleaser. Sorry.

Anyway, so I've got this temper. This negative outlook on things that creeps in without me noticing it. Unfortunately, I take a lot of things out on the people I love the most. I don't mean to. I hate that I do it. But it's like I can't help it. I get so upset about a million stupid little things, and I let them all build up until they spill over onto the nearest innocent bystander. Who usually happens to by Tony. And that's not fair.

This is something that I've struggled with my entire life, and it's something that, in recent years, I have tried to slowly turn around. It hasn't been easy and it hasn't always been very successful. I'll make progress, and then slide back a little, before making it a little bit further next time. It's a constant fight, but I'm always trying, I'm always aware.

The thing is, I've always thought that I'd really make it better tomorrow. "Today was a bad day, but tomorrow I can change it." Tomorrow I'll try extra hard to check the 'tude.

But the problem with that outlook is that there isn't always a tomorrow. You shouldn't wait until tomorrow to make it so your loved ones don't have to deal with your bad moods or your stressed out attitude. You shouldn't be wasting your time on being angry about something or taking it out on someone you love, because you never know when that person is going to be taken from you.

I don't ever want to live with regret. I don't want to wake up one day and find out that it's too late. That I didn't do enough. That I could have tried harder, and didn't. If something were to happen to someone that I love, heaven forbid, I do not want to feel like I wasted our time together stressing about my busy days or my bad day at work or the fact that the trash hasn't been taken out. It's not worth it. All those things, yeah, they might be hard... but they aren't what this life is about.

This life is about the people in it. My husband. My parents. My sister. All of my siblings and family and friends and my dog. (Yeah, I included my dog, so what?) I want to feel like I lived my life with them the best way that I possibly know how. I want them to know that they mean more to me than any petty thing that goes on throughout my day. I want to be someone that brightens their day, not darkens it. I want to be a better person for them, because every single one of them deserves it.

We all get mad. It's a natural emotion to have, and I realize that completely. But I'm not going to waste my time holding onto it anymore. I would much rather let it go than stew in it. The hour that I pout is an hour I could have taken a walk with my husband, holding his hand and telling him exactly what he means to me. And I don't ever want to miss out on an opportunity like that.

Not ever.

Hollow

2010-09-05T15:59:00.000-07:00

At six o'clock Thursday morning, I found out that my friend Chrissy lost her boyfriend in Afghanistan. His name was Josh Twigg. He was twenty-one.

My mind... it cannot seem to fully grasp the reality of what's happened. My heart aches for Chrissy. To have given all her love, her whole heart, her entire future to Josh, and then to have him cruelly and viciously ripped from this world... there isn't anything fair or right or logical about any of it. When I first heard the news, it took me some time to fully digest what it meant. I understood it from the beginning; I knew that he'd been killed. Still, though, an hour later, I found myself finally breaking down in tears over her pain. But wait, I told myself, that means that she'll never see him again, or speak to him, or tell him that she loves him just one more time. It hit me like a ton of bricks. This beautiful, innocent girl has just had her life changed forever. She doesn't deserve this, I said aloud to no one. Of course she doesn't, I immediately thought. No one does. But that doesn't mean it isn't happening.

I've never really given much thought to what happens to those who lose their loved ones to war. Don't get me wrong; I've imagined it. I've pictured what I would do if I opened my door to see two Marines standing there, bearing the news no wife wants to hear. I've imagined how I would handle it. Would I be angry? Would I be able to handle it? Am I the kind of woman who could be strong? Could I move on? I've known of women, friends of friends, or some other distant connection, that have lost loved ones in Iraq or Afghanistan. I cried for them and thought I understood. Yet Thursday morning, it was like I had been awakened from a deep sleep, like I'd had my head buried deep in the sand and could only now see what was happening around me. Chrissy's way of life has been ruined. Sure, she'll find ways to cope with her grief and as time goes on she will learn to be happy again. But the life she lived up until Thursday morning, the one that centered around her love for Josh and the love he returned... that life is changed forever. How? How can that be? How can this be happening around us? Why can't we do anything to stop it? Why can't we take it back? It all just seems so... hollow. So pointless. So unfair.

One can't help but project a little. With Tony deploying twice to Iraq, I am intimately familiar with the fear that creeps in like a poison while your loved one goes off to combat. At times it can be crippling, no matter what type of attitude you tell yourself you'll adopt while he's away. The what-ifs are never-ending. Time seems to stand still some days. It can be terrifying. And still, with all my worry and my what-ifs, and my imagination running wild with images of flag-draped coffins, I still never thought it would ever happen. Not really. Not to me, and not to the people I cared about. But it can happen. It does happen. It has happened.

I have no words of comfort or wisdom. I can think of nothing to say to Chrissy that might ease her pain. Every time I think I have the perfect words, I look over them again, and I decide that they are unworthy. The truth is, I know that for now, her pain is here to stay. All I can do is grieve with her. As she mourns, I mourn for her.

My thoughts, my heartbreak, my tears are for her.

I really want to go to the Harry Potter park at Disney World.

2010-08-14T11:11:00.001-07:00

After a brief interruption, we have now returned to our regularly scheduled blogging. Sorry about the mini-break, I got all busy this past week and barely had time to dry shave my legs, much less entertain you losers with my wit. HA JUST KIDDING. But not really that much.

Anyway, quite a lot has happened in the past week, much of it of little or no importance to you. First of all, Tony had his 24th birthday last Sunday, and it was a pretty good success if I do say so myself. He does this thing for my birthday that has, over the years, come to be known as "Birthday Week." Basically it's code for I'm spoiled as hell. In brilliant contrast to my yearly birthday extravaganzas, however, Tony's birthdays have always sort of sucked big-time. For his 19th birthday he was in boot camp, and on his 20th he was just coming out of Mojave Viper and getting ready to deploy. His 21st he spent at the Palm Springs airport waiting for my extra, super delayed flight from Chicago, and got drunk with a scruffy-looking veteran at the bar who gave him $100 in cash (weird). His 22nd he was actually in Iraq again, and his 23rd we were really poor because we'd just had a wedding and gotten an expensive puppy who needed even more expensive vet visits. So, naturally, this year he demanded a Birthday Week of his very own. And I planned one, oh, I did. I made him his favorite meals for dinner all week, and I got him two things he has been dying for: the 32g iPhone 4 (HOLY MOTHER THAT PHONE IS EFFING EXPENSIVE) and a brand new charcoal grill. Yes, my husband is the only human being alive who still uses charcoal grills over gas ones, I don't get it either. Needless to say, he was very pleased. It was a low-key weekend, but it was nice, and I think he had a good time.

I also got myself all registered for classes and am getting everything ready so I can send in my application to transfer to CSU by (**hopefully**) spring 2011. It should be a pretty simple semester-- I'll be taking a communications class, more algebra (grumble, grumble), and a philosophy class. I'm pretty good at public speaking and I took a philosophy class once at my old school and got an A, so I'm really only stressing about fitting yet more math into my already algebraicaly-challenged brain. I take solace in the fact that these will be the last math classes I will ever have to take.

Hell. Yes.

Tony finished up his first session of classes on Thursday and is going straight into a new one along with me. He met with a counselor the same day that I did, and found out that if all goes according to plan he should have his Associate's Degree by Spring 2012, so that is very exciting! In the meantime, we have a week together of no school for either of us, so I'm going to soak that up as much as I possibly can. I've forgotten what it's like to have a husband that you actually see on a regular basis!

Jan is Jan. She's itchy and stubborn and obnoxious and she peed a little on my couch AGAIN yesterday, that whore. Seriously, I don't know what her deal is, she's never peed on our couches until a few weeks ago. But I still love her because she's so wrinkly and cuddly and that faaaaace!

So there you go-- a little update on our lives. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am gonna go shave my legs with ferreal shaving cream and do crazy things like grocery shop and schedule an appointment for a car tune-up. Watch out guys, it's a crazy Saturday comin' up.

Bear-Bear

2010-08-04T08:42:00.001-07:00

A number of my friends on Facebook have started posting the story of Bear-Bear, the brown and white Siberian Husky in Anne Arundel County, Maryland, who was senselessly shot and killed at his neighborhood dog park. The shooter? Another dog owner-- and a federal cop.

According to the articles I've read (and there are few), the off-duty police officer had come with his wife and their German Shepard, whom they kept on a leash (something I always thought was a big no-no at dog parks), to the off-leash dog park on Monday while Bear-Bear was there with his owner's brother. Being a Husky, and confronting a dog of similar size, Bear-Bear began to play roughly with the officer's Shepard, and the officer was not happy about it. Understandably, the officer most likely mistook the rough-housing for aggression, and asked that Bear-Bear's guardian get control of the dog. Before control could be obtained, however, the officer drew the gun he'd brought with him (...to the dog park?) and shot Bear-Bear, who later died of his injuries. Animal Control has stated, after examining the officer's German Shepard, that there wasn't a single scratch on him.

Now, I am an overprotective dog owner. Jan can be incredibly submissive and timid toward other dogs. She is generally not one to stick up for herself-- at least not well, and especially when it comes to strange, much bigger dogs. There have been times when I've wanted other dog owners to take control of their animals, and have been legitimately scared for my dog because of an overly-aggressive one. Nevertheless, I don't think I need to spell out for you the atrocity of what happened Monday in that Anne Arundel dog park. To have my dog, who was most likely doing nothing more than playing rough as huskies do, taken from me in an instant, because of a trigger-happy police officer... I don't know what I would do. Jan is as much a member of my family as my husband. She is my baby, she has feelings and a personality, and expresses emotion. If she were shot, yet there wasn't even a scratch on the other dog to show for her supposed aggression, you better believe I'd do everything in my power to press charges, sue civilly, and make it so that off-duty cop didn't go a single day without thinking of what he'd done.

But in the end, it wouldn't bring her back. No matter what, that cop ripped a member of someone's family away from them. And what's worse-- he hasn't even apologized. Anne Arundel police have since determined that no criminal activity took place, and they are even refusing to release the name of the officer in question. They won't even comment to journalists on what happened. Nothing. Silence.

HOW? How on earth is this possible? How on earth was the situation so dire that it required immediate and deadly force, yet no marks were made on the other dog? How on earth is this officer allowed to murder an innocent dog, and walk away without so much as an apology to Bear-Bear's family? How on earth are people not screaming about this? How?

To the shameful officer, hiding his face behind the curtain of his job-- where is your humanity? Your compassion? Perhaps you didn't commit a crime. Perhaps you did. That's not for me to decide. But I can tell you, without a shadow of a doubt, that you owe Bear-Bear and his family a heartfelt apology, at the very least. You at least owe them your side of the story, your reasoning for taking their family member away. Do not pretend that something tragic and wrong has not taken place here. Do what you can to make even some portion of this right!

Do your worst

2010-08-02T11:39:00.000-07:00

One thing I have come to dislike about the Marine Corps over the past five plus years (as if there is only one thing HA!) is all the uncertainty you have to wade through. In the beginning it was simple things, like when Tony and I would get a chance to see each other next. We learned quite quickly that it was a no-good-very-bad idea to buy any plane tickets more than two weeks prior to the time the plane was scheduled to lift off the ground, and even then you were taking a gamble. They can cancel your leave/special liberty/weekends off at the drop of a hat, and they never need an actual reason. And they exercise that right, too. I can't tell you how many times I got the "sorry, babe, but it looks like I can't make it home" phone call. After which there were always tears and "Woe! My life is so hard"s. But that was a long time ago, and we've since discovered that it was only the beginning.

Soon, we were hearing constant deployment rumors. So-and-So in H&S company heard from some important-sounding higher up that they were set to deploy on X date. The following week it would change. Again, I adopted the "I'll believe it when I see it" mentality, and never really took anything to heart. Eventually someone would get it right, and sure enough he left. We never knew what day he was leaving until it arrived, and I've even had friends whose husbands had gotten on those white buses, and they'd said their goodbyes and cried all their tears, only to get a phone call a couple hours later saying they were headed home and leaving some other day. Way to make me a basket case, right?

But of course, that's not where it ends. Deployments are the worst when it comes to uncertainty. Once they are gone, the countdown to when they return immediately begins-- whether you keep it in your head or it manifests itself on your Facebook page, or the infamous Donut of Misery, which is a little pie chart that tracks what percentage of the deployment you've completed. Tony left for his first tour in Iraq on September 1, 2006-- five days after I moved into my freshman dorm. I opted to put my countdown on the dry erase board placed outside of my door. My whole floor was really supportive of my situation, and asked a lot of questions. I was glad that they cared so much. It was a general countdown, of course, because you aren't ever given an actual date. If I remember correctly, I was counting down seven months from the date he left. But of course, that's not how it worked out. In January of 2007, less than four hours after watching George Bush announce on TV that there would be a troop surge in Iraq, I found out that Tony's tour had been extended. I was floored, and it was just heartbreaking to change the countdown on my door. It was even more heartbreaking when all my floor mates came knocking on my door, asking what happened. That was the day I learned not to count down.

It's never-ending, and it's a cycle. Rumors about when the boys would go on their second deployment began sprouting up before they even returned from the first. Nothing, the good or the bad, is certain in the Marine Corps. I've learned not to freak out about anything until it actually happens before my eyes, but to always prepare for it to be true. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

We've gotten some news recently that may mean we have to leave the unit we're at now. I won't get into the details of it, in case it doesn't end up being true, but there it is. It's sparked a lot of discussion between Tony and I about where we could go-- whether we'd stay in California or opt for somewhere else. One of the things he's brought up is leaving his current unit in the next few months and going to a unit his best friend is in... one that deploys in January. I don't think that's really a viable option for him, which makes me feel better because I, selfishly, want my husband to stay right the hell here with me. I know he has to go one more time, but I would like to avoid him going any time soon because the sooner he goes back to the fleet, the higher his chances become of deploying twice more in this contract, rather than once.

It's all very confusing and stressful. I'm trying not to think too much about it. Like I said, nothing is certain. But we've got a bad feeling about this one. And we have the worst luck ever. So there you go. If it does happen, and he does have to change units, I won't be angry. It's not worth it. That's life. That's life in the Marine Corps, especially. But until then, I'm just crossing my fingers it's not something we have to deal with until we're ready.

Cooking Woes

2010-07-28T14:58:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been in a crazy cooking/baking mood. I rewatched that movie, Julie & Julia, which is almost entirely about delicious food that I've never even attempted to cook at all, but would love to try some day. Before getting married, I'd really never cooked a day in my life. An Easy Mac here, a Lean Pocket there. But nothing "real."

I've slowly been building up my repertoire, first perfecting a delicious meatball and other Italian classics like stuffed shells and lasagna. I make a yummy crispy ranch chicken. A couple months ago I decided to try my hand at Baja shrimp tacos-- a recipe that skyrocketed to the top of both Tony's and my list of favorites. The other night I improvised a bruschetta chicken recipe. I found it mediocre and a bit bland, but Tony raved about it. We tend to have different tastes like that.

Anyway, so I want to try more complicated, intricate recipes but there are two problems that remain:

First, I don't own a single cookbook. Well, that's not true. A dear family friend gave us a copy of her sacred, holy-jeebus-that-was-life-changing pesto recipe as a wedding gift (something I have been saving for a super special occasion, but forgot about on our anniversary!), as well as a "Cooking with Wine" cookbook that we've cracked open a few times. But I want something more versatile that I can use a few times a week and get a variety of different dishes. Since I am on a health kick I've considered checking out Cook Yourself Thin and just hiding the title from Tony-- he wants nothing to do with health food. But again, I'm not sure how versatile it is. Any suggestions?

My second problem is that I'm afraid making complicated meals will require more money than we are used to spending on groceries. I suppose starting slow and maybe only trying one new recipe a week would be a good way to ease us into the price difference. Perhaps a bit more research in that department is necessary.

We've done well so far with the limited amount of meals I can cook really well, but after more than a year of eating pretty much the same dinners night after night, week after week... I think we're both ready for a change! The good thing is, I can make a bomb batch of chocolate chip cookies. So if all else fails, I can feed my husband cookies and beer and he'll forget all about the weird meatloaf thing I just forced him to eat.

Ten things I don't find entertaining

2010-07-27T20:23:00.000-07:00

1) Kathy Griffin. She is on Chelsea Lately right now, and she is not funny, nor is she witty. She is desperate, and staged, and couldn't come up with a joke on-the-spot if her life depended on it.

2) The trendy spelling of names/spelling of names that make no GD sense. Such as: Khelleigh. Aymee. Jaxyn. Krystene. Fuck that shit. No one can pronounce your kid's fucking name, and he/she will never be able to ever buy a shot glass/license plate key chain/refrigerator magnet with the correct spelling of their name on it because you are an idiot.

3) As a continuance of the trendy spelling asshattery: made-up names. Like Nevaeh. But, it's Heaven spelled backwards!!!! GET IT?!?! Yes, I get it. It's stupid, and it's kitchy. Plus, pronouncing it "Na-vay-uh" is stretching it. It looks more like "Neh-vay".

4) Season finales that leave us on a major cliff-hanger. I'm lookin' at you, True Blood.

5) Season finales that you don't even realize are season finales, because the episode was that anticlimactic. Side-eye to you, The Office season 6.

6) Push-ups.

7) Mel Gibson.

8) That Facebook status going around right now that's all "ZOMG Lindsay Lohan is getting more coverage than all these dead soldiers!!!" Like, SOME people are interested. Not you, obviously, but I am, and it doesn't fucking mean I don't care about dead soldiers. I just also happen to care that she makes for incredible E! specials that I can easily turn into drinking games.

9) How sore I am going to be tomorrow. I can feel it building already. Owie.

10) The economy.

Steroids and ointments and antihistamines, oh my!

2010-07-23T17:37:00.001-07:00

Turns out, our dog isn't dead.

Or in any immediate danger of dying.

Pretty much, she's just super itchy and annoyed and has red nipples.

Jan has allergies. To what, you ask? Well, friends, let's see. We know she has food allergies. Her Princess Tummy can't handle wheats or corn, and it's too sensivitive for high protein diets. She eats kibble that's been made entirely with fish. Even her treats are salmon. So, you guessed it: my dog walks around farting and burping fish. Have you ever encountered bulldog farts? Imagine that. Plus digesting fish-kibble. It's soo cute.

Anyway, aside from the food allergies, she is also gravely allergic to fleas, and now we have some fun, new thing to add to the list because she has, yet again (again, again), had an allergic reaction. Her underbelly is all red and infect-y looking. It's down in her groin and today it spread to her hooziwaz. Ewww, infected hooziwaz. The irony that she smells like dried fish is not lost on me, folks.

So, back to the vet we went today. It was routine: "She's got allergies," to which we responded, "duh." I giggled to myself when, after taking her temperature for about a minute, Jan took a nice, big dump on their nice, clean floor. Hey, if you stuck a thermometer in my ass I'd shit on your floor too.

We made it out pretty cheap this time-- only $141.27 in the hole. This may very well have been our cheapest visit to date (how incredibly sad for us). We were sent home loaded with all kinds of nifty things to keep the itchies at bay, along with the information that this will never really go away, and doggy antihistamines are pretty much a way of life now. Fucking high maintenance dog. I keep telling her we're going to trade her in for a dining room table, and she just snorts at me and rubs her eye booger-y face on my couch cushions.

In other news, my workout plan is going fabulously so far. Yesterday I spent an hour and twenty minutes in the gym! I did something right, too, because this morning I woke up and for a split second I thought someone had surely broken into my bedroom in the middle of the night and stolen my insides to sell on the Black Market. I was all, "wtf!" and then I remembered my adventures in the gym and I deleted the "9-1-1" from my cell phone and put it back on the night stand. No hunting for m'insides today. I can tell already that stepping up my gym time is really going to make a difference. I even found it much easier to avoid all the bad-for-me foods because, hey, my abs feel like they're going to fall off, I'm not negating all that hard work for a fucking bag of cheese puffs. The important thing is that I am feeling great, motivated, and ready to make a difference!

Weighty

2010-07-21T15:01:00.001-07:00

I wish that I could say I am one of those girls who doesn't care about the way she looks.

One of those girls who can wear whatever they want, wherever they want, and not give a crap what anyone thinks or says about it.

But... I'm not one of those girls. I care. I'm not obsessive, but I do care. It means something to me when I see, after a few months of not tracking it, that my weight has gone up five, ten pounds. I want to look cute in a bikini. I want to be healthy and fit. I want to be strong.

My husband's entire career practically revolves around him staying fit; he's 170 pounds of lean muscle, he works out multiple times a week (both for and outside of work). It's easy for him. And while I am perfectly aware that he will love me unconditionally no matter what size I am, I feel like it's important to try my best to stay healthy like him. I mean, it's only fair, right?

Which is why I'm upping the ante. I've talked about this a little bit in a previous post or two, and I've been making an effort to eat healthy (do you know how hard it is to do that when you work around delicious pumpkin bread and cranberry muffins and lattes all day?!?!). I've been trying to stay active, but could work harder, I suppose. In the end, I'm just not seeing the results that I want.

So, I'm taking a leaf from my friend Alex's book, and giving myself a mid-summer goal: to go to the gym every day that I'm not at work.

I've thankfully only been scheduled to work about three days a week, and I've come to accept the fact that it's just not realistic for me to work out on the days I'm at the coffee shop. I have to wake up at 4:30 in the morning those days, a whole two and a half hours before my gym even opens, and after eight hours on my feet and lifting heavy water jugs all day, the last thing I want to do is kill a few miles on the elliptical. So since I've acknowledged my lack of motivation on work days, I can stop pissing and moaning and really get down to it-- at least one hour in the gym for each day I'm not working.

That's very realistic, yes?

I'm not really sure if I'm wanting to lose a little weight or just tone up. Either, I suppose. I know I'm not overweight, I just want to see a difference. I watch what I eat way too much to have to deal with a muffin top, dudes. I am only going to allow myself to get on the scale once a week. I in no way plan to make this anything to obsess about. Just something I think is important to keep on top of.

So that's that.

Any tips on how to stay motivated and active would be greatly appreciated! My biggest road block is that I have asthma that is easily triggered, so activities like running long-distances are difficult for me. I also get bored really easily so variety is important! But really, I'm all ears! Exercise, diet, motivation tips-- give 'em to me!! Please and thanks. :)

It's possible that my dog might die.

2010-07-20T09:32:00.000-07:00

"It's about that time again."

"Time? What time?

"You know. It's been a while since we've taken her in. DAMNIT! She knows I want an iPhone 4 and she's plotting against me."

"You know, you're probably right. She is a genius. I mean, it took her, like, two minutes to learn to shake with both paws. I wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be an evil genius. Like Brain. You know, from Pinky and the Brain. You know?"

"I know. So... should we call the vet?"

"Meh. Maybe that rash on her belly is just temporary. Maybe it's heat rash. Maybe she's just allergic to my new air freshener. Yeah, that's probably it. Damnit, Jan, I finally find an air freshener that covers your fart smell and doesn't smell like someone shoved potpourri down my throat and it gives your precious princess skin a rash? I CAN'T HAVE ANY NICE THINGS, CAN I?!"

"Calm down, Meredith."

"Sorry. (Ahem) Soo... I guess it's about that time again."

"Guess so..."

"Yeah..."

And then we turned back to the DiGiorno pizza we were eating (did you know you can get it with breadsticks now?!).

We are obviously gravely concerned.

House Guest

2010-07-19T08:32:00.001-07:00

This weekend, Tony and I drove out to 29 Palms (which sits in the middle of the Mojave desert, and is this totally barren, creep ass town with fifty zillion tattoo parlors and barber shops and bars and zero townies with actual teeth or any understanding of personal hygiene) to help a friend of ours move.

David is one of Tony's best friends, and they were in the same unit together out in 29 Palms. They deployed to Iraq twice together, were roommates in the barracks before Tony and I got married, and overall just became great friends. David just got stationed out here, so being the incredible people that we are, we agreed to make the drive out to The Stumps (as 29 Palms is so lovingly referred to) and help him out. He doesn't check into his new unit until Wednesday, so until then he is staying with us and his 67-inch, big ass TV is sitting in my garage, where I can no longer fit my car... shakes fist.

I'm really happy that he's out here; it's made Tony so happy to have a really good friend to hang around. He's got a few friends he hangs out with here and there, one that I would consider of the "best" quality. A few acquaintances or husbands of my friends that he'll talk to at parties or on fight nights. When it comes down to it, though, this unit that he's with right now just isn't conducive to forming close bonds between its members. Everyone in his unit is married, most of them with at least one child, so they have their own stuff going on. A lot of them live on base (which we flat out refuse to do) or crazy far north of us, so he hasn't had many opportunities to really get to know the guys outside of work the same way he got to know the ones he was previously stationed with.

Now, Tony's not exactly the kind of person who needs to be surrounded by all of their friends all of the time (ahem, like me), so he's mostly okay with only having a few select people that he would consider close friends, and he enjoys his alone time. But I think when it comes down to it, he just plain misses his old friends, misses hanging out with them, being able to just get away from it all and shoot the shit on a regular basis. And let's be real, here... while I am obviously beautiful and gifted and awesome, I don't have a penis and sometimes dudes just wanna be dudes, ya know? Right now, having his friend here, Tony is totally reveling in being a dude, and he's enjoying the company of someone who is very much like himself.

And so, while my home is smelling evermore like GUY, and I can't keep food or beer in the fridge, and there is an even larger abundance of random desert cammies and boots and gear strewn about my floor... I'm happy for it.

Because sometimes even guys need their BFFs.

In conclusion

2010-07-19T08:23:00.001-07:00

I know you all are just sitting on the edges of your seats waiting to hear the exciting conclusion of The Tale of Ms. ON THE BOARD.

Truth be told, the bitch is completely crazy.

So we talked to our landlord a few times via email about everything that has been happening with Ms. ON THE BOARD. He was very upset that we were being harassed, and he got straight pissed when I told him we had been avoiding going outside, since we get nothing but crap from her, even when we are being perfectly compliant. That was all he needed to hear, as it is obviously not fair that people as awesome as us have to stifle said awesomeness by staying inside all day and just being awesome together.

Last week, he paid a little visit to our neighborhood psycho and asked her what the BFD was.

Her response? (And this is a true story, folks!)

"Oh, I have no problem with them! They are just sooo nice! And so sweet! And their dog is just precious, ohmygosh, I just LOVE HERRRRR!! They are such great neighbors, especially that girl, she is just so nice and so great with her dog, very responsible!"

Umm...

Uhh...

Huh?

BITCH, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?!?!

Our landlord called me, chuckling, a little while later and told me what happened. He is perfectly aware that she was skirting the real issue for fear of getting into trouble with THE BOARD, and he let us know that he told her if she has any further complaints, she is to deal directly with him. Basically, he told her to stay the hell away from us and mind her own damn business. Which, so far, she's done beautifully. So that's that, I suppose....

Whatever, though, I'm still pissed.

The Tale of Ms. ON THE BOARD

2010-07-09T14:01:00.000-07:00

We live in a condo.

It's a super cute, one bedroom, one bathroom place with cherry wood cabinets, a nice big, walled-in porch, washer and dryer, dishwasher, stainless steel appliances. It's great. We love it. Our landlords are awesome, our rent is so cheap for the area, it's centrally-located.

There's just one problem.

We. Have. The. Neighbor. From. Hell.

She's ON THE BOARD. The HOA board. And she never. lets you. forget it.

So, we have a dog. Dogs have to go outside to do things like pee and poop, yes? So, we have a dog, and we take her out to do her lady business. We've always been super careful to clean up after her, except for maybe a few times when she pooped under a big thing of bushes and I was like "eff that noise, I'm not crawling my ass under that bush for that." Months ago, yes, there were a few times when I knew she just had to pee real quick that we'd let her run out off-leash, do her business, and come back in. We were always with her, she has not once run away from us, and plus, everyone else does it.

Then, a few months ago, our next door neighbors were moving out, so my husband offered to have them keep their boxer over at our place so she'd be out of the way while they moved boxes out. We kept our back door open so the dogs could be in the sun, and of course, here comes Ms. ON THE BOARD, marching over and telling my husband that-- get this-- "it's against HOA rules to have your dogs off leash outside."

"Um. They are inside my property."

"Well, they're on the porch, so that's breaking the rules."

"Yes, because my fifty-pound English Bulldog, who can barely lift her fat ass onto the couch, will surely jump this four-foot concrete wall. What with all of her agility training."

He didn't really say that, but it's what I would've said had I been there.

That was run-in number one. (For the record, we later found out she's full of SHIT and it's totes fine and within the rules to have dogs out on your porch off-leash-- so we started keeping our back door open all the time, just to spite her.)

Run-in number two happened a couple weeks ago. Our landlord called and told us that he'd received a complaint from the HOA-- apparently we'd been breaking the dog rules. I informed him of the porch incident, let him know we were sorry, and told him that we comply with the rules just as much as any other dog owner in the complex. But from then on, we were extra, super, duper careful to follow every single rule, every single time. Not one poop un-picked-up. Not once has she been off-leash while outside (except for the porch, motha sucka).

Run-in number three happened yesterday afternoon. I was out walking Jan and she was peeing, and Ms. ON THE BOARD comes traipsing over to "make sure" that I pick up after my dog. Yes, I told her, every single time, thankyouverymuchandgofuckyourself.

"Well, it's just that SOMEONE," she said with a side-eye, "has been leaving their messes everywhere and it's really not okay."

"Yeah, you know, I've noticed lately that someone has been doing that." It was true-- someone really has been making a lot of messes lately. "It's especially bad over there by the dumpsters."

She left after giving me lots of shifty-eyes and knowing looks.

After this particular incident I had a very long talk with Jan about how much we hate that mean old lady, and I informed her that if she ever slipped and ate Ms. ON THE BOARD, I'm sure no one would mind.

Run-in number three happened about thirty minutes ago.

I got home from work and immediately took Jan out for a walk. She wanted to walk down below to the enclosed, grassy area below our unit, so I went down there. She was on a leash the entire time. After she went to the bathroom, I realized that the little plastic case attached to the end of her leash-- the one that holds all her clean-up bags-- was empty. So I walked Jan home, put her in the house, grabbed a new roll of bags and went outside again to clean up. I had taken the leash with me so I could refill the holder attached to it. I picked up the mess, and as I was walking up the stairs to the parking lot, I hear "YOU CAN'T DO THAT! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!"

I was confused. Can't do what? Clean up after my dog? Shit. Here it goes.

"Huh?" I replied.

"You CANNOT walk your dog off leash!" Ms. ON THE BOARD said to me, in her most exasperated, I've-had-it look possible.

I turned around, looking for what dog she must think I've got with me. "I don't have a dog. My dog is inside."

"Well, someone called me and told me you were walking your dog off-leash..."

"Someone called you? Just now? In the past two minutes, someone called you and you came running out to tell me someone called you?"

"Yes. And, you know, I'm ON THE BOARD, and you cannot have your dog off leash."

"Well, yes, I know that. Which is why I don't have her off leash. Didn't have her off leash. Won't have her off leash. As I said before, my dog is inside."

And, here it is, folks. Here's the kicker. She replied with, "I'll let it slide this time..."

BITCH, LET WHAT SLIDE?!?!

It was about this time that I rolled my eyes, shifted the bag of poop in my hands so that it was nice and close to her uppity face, and walked to the dumpsters to dispose of it.

I'm writing this post to call it. We will get another complaint from her, I'll put money on it. And when we do, I want evidence. Proof. A written account of what happened, because Ms. ON THE BOARD is going down. DOWN.

Uff-Da / Apocalypse

2010-07-07T20:01:00.000-07:00

Things that I love:

-Vacationing

-Warm weather

-Rivers

-Boats

-Inner tubes

-Bikinis

-Booze

-Minnesotan accents

-Fireworks

-Rainforest Cafe

-Bars

-The Twilight Saga: Eclipse (shut up)

-Mongolian food

-Experiencing all of the above with family members I rarely see

Last Friday Tony and I flew out to Minneapolis to visit my sister and her husband, who just moved there from Chicago. Lots of other family members made the drive up from Illinois, too, and we were able to spend our holiday weekend enjoying the company of people we love and miss very, very much.

The weekend was amazing! Except for the part where I forgot mosquitos exist, and I got bitten in some pretty interesting places (read: my ass).

We got back late Monday night, just in time for the both of us to grab about 3 hours of sleep before waking up for a long day of work. It had been pouring rain when we left Minneapolis Monday evening, and while I was sad to be leaving my family, I was excited to get back to the mild and sunny SoCal weather. Except for that? Not so much with the existing lately.

I walked out my door at six o'clock Tuesday morning and it was POURING RAIN AND FREEZING OHMYGOD. Seriously, it is July. I dunno who didn't get the memo, but holy mother, whatthehell? I've been compulsively checking my iPhone since yesterday morning and it keeps telling me it should be sunny and warm, and sure enough, it remains dreary, rainy, gray, and cold. As in, I wore a sweater and a North Face to work today and still had my nose dripping from the cold wind.

I'm over it. I do not pay what I do for rent to be dealing with this bullshit. Sunshine tax? EFF THAT NOISE. This is some seriously apocalyptic shit going on here, yo, and I am not amused. I can't be alive during the apocalypse. I'd poop my pants, and that is not hot. I am not religious, I would not be taken. I get nervous and would not be a good pillager. Crap.

Alright, that's it. Whoever is responsible for summer, I want a word.

Reason number 567 why I'm not ready to be anyone's mother

2010-06-30T19:34:00.000-07:00

Internets, I am a pretty awful student.

I was totally one of those d-bags in high school who got straight A's but never had to crack a book open or study or anything. I graduated in the top ten percent of my class and all my teachers thought I was awesome, and I'm not really sure why either of those things happened because I actually hated school like a lot.

Anyway, so after I graduated high school I went to college and was like, "eff. this. noise." I tried to make it through without doing any homework, and it turns out people don't think that's so cute or pass-able at $38,000-a-year, former Methodist private institutions. I didn't fail anything... but I definitely wasn't anyone's favorite student. Every once in a while I'd be able to bullshit my way through a paper (a talent of which I am incredibly proud), but by and large I was mediocre at best.

Then I went through this whole identity crisis when I turned 20, and I was all "who am I?" and I left school and started working at Starbucks. After trying my hand at being a full-blown working-girl adult for a year I said fuck that and went back to school. Not so much because I wanted to learn, but because I didn't want to have to pay off my student loans anymore. That shit's expensive, yo.

Internets, I went back to school and realized that nothing has changed.

I still hate class. I still never want to go. I have no motivation. Literally, my husband had to bribe me with yummy treats and sexy times to get me to go to my math class. When that didn't work he reminded me of all the money I'd paid to be there, to which I said (in my most posh voice available), "honey, I've paid thirty-eight grand a year for school, twenty-six dollars a credit is nothing."

It was over. He couldn't win. I was an awful, no good student-adult, and there was nothing he could do about it.

I got all mopey a few weeks ago when I realized it may be too late for me to apply to the CA state schools in San Diego because their shit's all bankrupt and overflowing with eager young minds. I was all "FOUR YEARS OF COLLEGE AND THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS OF DEBT AND I CAN'T EVEN TRANSFER TO A GD STATE SCHOOL ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!"

And then I was like fine, I'll just work full-time.

Except fuck that.

I want to stay at home.

Except people whisper about stay-at-home wives, about how lazy they are.

Fine, I guess I'll just start having babies. You can't talk bad about stay-at-home moms, you judgmental pricks.

"Yeeeaaah, we're on our way to Baby Town. Honey, let's go have sex and make babies."

This is about the point that Tony got on the computer and found a local community college with a more sensible school schedule. He sat down with me and figured out an academic plan, that puts me graduating in, like, two years. Still a friggin long time away, but at least there's a plan, yes?

So, I guess that puts the kabosh on Baby Town. Which is fine, because I guess getting the perk of staying home in my sweats and not showering ever is not the best reason to bring forth new life.

Besides, I would ruin those children. I would ruin them good.

One

2010-06-26T06:55:00.001-07:00

Exactly one year ago today, I put on the most beautiful dress I've ever owned. Makeup was on, veil in place, flowers in hand. My father turned to me and said, "Are you ready, Merie?" I was so ready. Somewhere in the distance, I heard Kelsey start strumming her guitar, and soon Erin's voice could be heard filling the ravine around her. My dad took my hand, and led me from my mother's house. There were tears in his eyes. Our families were there. Our friends were there. We'd planned for this, waited for it, dreamed of it. I rounded the corner of tall flowers that my stepfather had planted all year in preparation, and began walking down the long concrete staircase ahead of me.

And at the end of the stairs, I saw him.

My soon-to-be husband.

I'll never forget the look on his face. No one has ever looked at me that way, and I suspect that no one else ever will. His face lit up, and he gave me The Smile-- one that in nearly five years I'd never seen before. It wasn't his every day, someone-just-told-a-joke smile, nor was it the one he gives someone when he's trying to appease them. It wasn't the smile he gets when he kicks ass in some lame video game, or when he watches stupid TV, like South Park or Operation Repo. It wasn't the smile I see when I say something stupid, or when I get grumpy and he thinks it's cute. This one was different. It was for me. It was mine. He was ready too.

I don't remember much of the actual ceremony, just as I don't remember much of our proposal. I suppose that sort of thing just happens too fast and you are too excited. I remember the way I felt, though. I remember looking at him, and him looking at me. I remember not being nervous at all. I remember being in front of all those people and for once, not taking notice; I don't remember who sat where, or how many people there were, or how long the ceremony took, exactly. I just remember thinking about this man, whom I had known for years, and how unbelievable it was that I was marrying him. How different we were in high school, all the shocked reactions we got when we started dating. How unlikely it was that we would have ever even been together, and here we were getting married. I remember thinking about how amazing he was, and how much I loved him. What he meant to me. What this meant to me.

We may not be perfect, and I know that. We've both made mistakes and we piss each other off, and we have stupid, nothing fights. And today, one year later, I think about our wedding day-- the music, the dress, The Smile, how I felt, how much I loved him and love him-- and none of those other things matter.

He is my husband, and he is the best man I have ever known. I am so lucky to get to spend forever with him, and so happy to be celebrating this day.

Happy Anniversary, Tony. You are, and always will be, my love.

2010-06-23T17:38:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone.

Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Things have been crazy.

First, I had my 22nd birthday last Tuesday. Weird. Old. Two of my childhood best friends flew into San Diego and then made the drive to Las Vegas with Tony and I. We spent five days there at the Planet Hollywood Westgate. We went to a Playboy comedy hour, at which Tony got the autograph of Miss July 2010 (for the record, she has wonky nipples). We went to quite a few famous clubs, and I won $312 at Black Jack-- a considerable victory, as I had never before played Black Jack. Some call it beginner's luck. I call it I'm awesome. We also met up with some friends of Tony's from his old unit who were in town for their belated Marine Corps ball (theirs had been delayed since they were in Afghanistan in November, when the ball is traditionally held). All in all it was a fabulous time, and it was awesome to not have to worry about work or anything else. There were a few SNAFUs, which I will not go into too much detail about, but suffice it to say I had no idea how little drama I had in my life until the world seemed to implode around us once we were surrounded by other people 24/7. Too. Old. For. That. Shit.

Monday, Tony started his first ever in-class college course. He was the first person in his entire family to ever go to college (we're talking EVER), and while originally he had a hard time with school (he'd started an online class but had to drop out of it because of work conflicts), he is ready to be in it for the long haul this time. He's taking a business marketing course and a U.S. history course weekday evenings. I am so proud of him! Tony wasn't exactly a stellar student in high school... actually, he wound up getting completely kicked out of school by April of his senior year, so the fact that he's not only taking the initiative to go back to school, but is also genuinely enjoying it so far, is something to make me smile.

The downside to all of this is, of course, that I am now hardly able to see him. He's on leave through the rest of this week, so it's not so bad now, but come next week the poor guy will pretty much be gone from very early morning to fairly late at night. That combined with the fact that I kind of have to work weekends at my job pretty much gives us one weekday evening and maybe a day over the weekends solely dedicated to spending time together. I shouldn't complain, because I know very well that it could be worse (hell I've had worse), but I still am having a hard time adjusting. Unlike some people I've met since moving here, I actually enjoy spending time with my husband, so forgive me for moping. I kind of think he overdid it signing up for two courses at once, but he is absolutely determined to finish his Associate's by the time he gets out of the Marine Corps, and since he is non-deployable for another year and a half or so, now is the perfect time to make a major dent in that goal. I get it. It's just hard. I suppose I just need to focus on the positive aspects. For example, I can watch multiple Buffy episodes on Netflix without getting the stink-eye. I can update this here blog in peace and quiet, without him looking over my shoulder saying "Whatcha doooooin'?" I can perfect my Liza Minelli impression in the shower without him laughing at me from the living room. You see, it's not so bad after all.

Otherwise, things have been pretty normal and quiet around here. We found out while in Vegas that Jan has a mysterious flea infestation, which is weird, because she is on Uber Flea Preventative. We were a couple days late getting her a dose last month, though (GD vet office and their stupid fucking weird hours) so I guess when they say give it on the same day every single month they really do mean it. No matter, though. A flea killing pill, another dose of preventative, and a vacuum with some Borax and we're back to flea-free Jan. I think.

Oh, speaking of vacuums. We got a new one. And not just any one. A Dyson. Ladies and gents, I think I'm in love. Fuck my old vacuum. Fuck my old vacuum and its stupid attachments and its inability to vacuum my tile floors, and its blowing all the dog hair off my area rug, rather than sucking it all up. Fuck its enticing $90 price tag, and fuck my need to be frugal. THE DYSON IS AWESOME. They had them on sale at the exchange for $100 off on Father's Day (like, who gets their dad a Dyson on Father's Day?). We took advantage of that and got the super cool, hypoallergenic, purple swivel ball one. My floors look amazing. My black area rug is once again black, and not white and brindle. My base boards are clean. Everything is just so clean! Love. My. Dyson.

Also, speaking of things that rock my ass off! I'd just like to send a big shout to my sister and her husband for moving to Minneapolis and ditching Comcast or whatever the hell it is they had when they were living in Chicago. Because they used our account for DirectTV and got us ten more dollars off our bill for ten months. My bill this month? $30. Yeah, you heard me. My ass has been rocked off, folks.

And on that note, I'm off to pour myself a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats ("with REAL peaches!"). Because that's another thing about having your husband gone in the evenings that ain't so bad. I can be all, "honey, why don't you take this $20 and buy yourself something yummy to eat?" and then I eat cereal, and bam! No cooking. Woof.

Responsibility

2010-06-08T11:56:00.001-07:00

I am twenty-one years old, and I am married.

I say that, and it blows peoples' minds.

I have responsibilities that normal people my age don't have to deal with-- bills, budgets, insurance, paying off student loans, keeping a house in order, making healthy meals for my husband and I. Most people at this age are living in a dorm, blissfully ignorant of the things they will soon be faced with. Others are living four to an apartment, surviving on Keystone Light and Ramen Noodles. It's strange, being in a situation that to many of my friends seems so foreign.

I used to live their lifestyle. I wasn't exactly ignorant to "adult" responsibilities-- having to scrounge for $3 just so you can do a load of laundry, saving yourself from wearing your swimsuit since you're out of clean underwear... that can be quite the reality check. I was, however, out all night, every night, drinking with friends, going to parties, running around campus doing both hilarious and quite possibly illegal things. I had no money, but I didn't worry about it. I'd only use (most of) the money to buy pizza and beer anyway, so the fact that I only had about $200 to last me a full month was of no concern to me. More student loans? Sure. I don't have to pay them back right now, so why not? Class at 9 am? Great, I can stay out til at least 3:30 without dragging ass the next day.

My life now is drastically different. I left my school and dorm-life behind about two years ago, and immediately things changed. I had no health insurance, so I had to get a full-time job that would give me benefits. I was very lucky, and immediately landed a position at Starbucks. Eventually my six month grace period was over, and I had to fork over an enormous chunk of my pay check to cover my student loans. I was planning a wedding, for which my husband and I paid the majority of. I could no longer stay up all night partying and drinking, not only because I had to work, but because it wasn't as easy anymore-- all my friends lived at least 20 minutes away. The days of practically crawling home from parties and pouring into bed around dawn were over. My mind became occupied with other things.

Then I moved to California, and things changed even more. More responsibilities. More bills. Tighter budgets. A dog to take care of. Each other to take care of.

It's not the same. I am not the same.

That's not to say these changes have been bad. When I decided to get married so young, I had a lot of people question my choice-- you'll never make it, you must be crazy, you two will never be able to live normally so young. But I love my life here, and I love who I've become, and I love that my husband and I are able to take care of ourselves without depending on anyone else. The other day I was at the dentist and the I began talking to the lady cleaning my teeth about whitening them. "Well now's the time to do it," she said, "before you're out on your own and paying for your own dental work!"

"Actually, I'm on my husband's insurance so I'm paying for it no matter what," I said with a chuckle.

"Oh, you're married? Wow. Well, maybe it's something you can think about in a few years."

Automatically, she assumed that we had no money for something so frivolous. Because for some reason being 24 or 25 equates to a better ability to save money? Not quite sure what her logic was there. I didn't correct her. It didn't matter.

The fact is, we are a happy, normal couple, capable of taking care of our responsibilities and still able to enjoy the fun things in life. We are there for each other, and we have a blast together! I love the little family that we've established, and I wouldn't change it for anything.

And I am very thankful for the friends I've made here. All of them are married, and young, like I am. In my little group of friends our ages range from 21 to 24, a couple of them even have kids, so it's nice to have people around who can relate to the changes I've experienced in the last couple years. Every few weeks, we like to get together and have a "girls night," where we can remind ourselves that although we might be married chicks with bedtimes and meal plans, we are still young! We'll get together at each others' houses and watch movies our husbands refuse to sit through with us, and drink and play games. Every once in a while we get all dolled up and head out to the bars.

It's nice to still be in touch with that side of myself and still be married to the greatest man on earth.

(Not a) Morning Person

2010-06-04T13:01:00.000-07:00

So, I work as a barista at this tiny little coffee kiosk. It's one of those drive-up shops that are so tiny you feel like you could wrap your arms around it and just stuff it in your trunk.

Anyway, being in the coffee biz, I naturally have a lot of very, very, very early mornings. Normally it's not so bad. I work second shift, which means I don't have to be there until 6:30 in the morning. This morning, however, I opened, and I got to work at 4:45 am.

Yes, you heard me right. 4:45 in the morning. Yes, I am aware that this is before even the sun.

And you see, the thing is, I am not even in the tiniest bit a morning person. I snooze. Like, a lot. Like, at least three times each morning. Except for my husband hates that I do that, and he hates it even more that I do it at 4 am, and then I wake up to Grouchy Tony, which does not a Happy Meredith make. So I've been slowly trying to de-snooze my life.

This morning was a big breakthrough. I didn't snooze once. Not a-once!! I was so proud of myself. My alarm went off and my eyes went BING! (read: that's the sound your eyes make when you are refreshed and energized upon waking up). I got to work ready to have a fun, productive day.

As the sun rose, however, I started to drag. 5:30 in the morning and I was already gassing out. Awesome!

You see, folks, it seems that snoozing is not my only problem. I guess when it comes down to it, I'm just not a morning person; I'm tired, I'm grumpy, I'm uncoordinated. The latter was displayed five or six times as I insisted on pouring drink after drink all over the counters and down the front of my brand new, trendy American Eagle sweater-thing. This was made so much better by my espresso machine deciding to break down. After the machine had miraculously fixed itself, my steam wands decided they didn't want to work properly. Do you know how hard it is to make a fucking latte with no steamed effing milk?!

So, what's a girl to do? I've tried the whole not-working-as-a-barista thing (customer service at a bridal store, heeeellllllmuthafuckingno). I've tried being really savvy and capable of fixing broken espresso machines on my own, but I just don't understand it. So instead I settled on perfecting the pouty lip and the sad (but cute) face and collecting lots of pity tips from the customers.

Yeah, that'll do it.

I might be a tired, grumpy, coffee-covered barista... but at least I'm a paid tired, grumpy, coffee-covered barista.

For love of country they accepted death

2010-05-31T15:28:00.000-07:00

Today is Memorial Day and, as on most holidays, my Facebook newsfeed is brimming with statuses acknowledging what the day is all about. I, too, am a holiday-status-maker. What can I say? I'm a sheep.

I love Memorial Day. I love that our country has a day dedicated to remembering the sacrifices that have been made in the name of our people.

I must admit, I am not what one might describe as "outwardly patriotic." At least, not by the military's standards. Your average military spouse is a gun totin', Dubya lovin', war supportin' gal. I am... not. Guns make me feel like I need to pee. I was less than enthusiastic about our former president's administration. I do not support the Iraq war. This, however, does not make me any less of a patriot. And you know, something struck me as a little funny when I was sifting through all the nods to Memorial Day on Facebook. Quite a few of my friends had the same status-- something about listing the number of fallen service members in every American war since the Revolution. And they were all "all these service members died protecting your freedom."

And I was like, "the Mexican war was more about taking away someone else's land because of a false belief that we were destined to rule the continent, but alrighty."

And you see, that's okay. I don't pretend that all of our wars have been right, or good, or even honorable. Some, yes. But others, absolutely not. The thing is, none of that even matters today. Today is not about the wars we've fought or the reasons we've fought them. It's about the people who, at one point, stood up and took action for those who couldn't. It's about those people who gave their lives fighting for their countrymen-- not fighting for a war, but for their people. It's about honoring the families of those who returned home from war in coffins, or didn't return home at all. To these people, past, present and future, I say thank you.

Thank you for helping to protect my husband while he is, was, or will be with you.

Thank you for your sacrifice.

Thank you for going so that I don't have to go.

****************************

Another status was from someone I went to high school with, a military man, who expressed his anger that not enough people were posting about how sad they were about all our dead service members.

This sort of thing really frustrates me.

I am not going to judge you because you don't understand what people have sacrificed.

Of course they don't understand. How could they? They don't know anyone who's been to war, much less died in one. They probably don't even know anyone in the military, save for their second cousin's boyfriend who may or may not be in the Air Force. I cannot hold that against them. So long as they acknowledge it-- so long as they know, on some level. Know that our country's freedom came at a cost, that it has been tried and tested time and again; that nasty wars have been fought by men who put their lives on the line so their friends and family wouldn't have to; that they are draft-free today because of men and women who are willing to confront their own mortality, many at the ripe age of 18 years old, and still volunteer to go.

They know. On some level they understand. And for that I am thankful.

**********************************

I guess my point is, guys, to remember our fallen in your own way. Honor them the best way you know how, whatever that might mean.

In which I drown in a box of Franzia Chardonnay and celebration

2010-05-28T07:19:00.000-07:00

In 40 minutes, I present my last final of the semester. Research is done, board is made. I even added orange and red construction paper to make my $2.48 white tri-fold poster board look a little snazzier. I have passed all my finals to date (well, I'm not sure about math... my professor claims he posted our grades but I've checked online and I see no grades). Oh, something I forgot to add in my post the other day... I got into a car accident this week. This is, no joke, the third car accident I've been in in the past year. None of them have been my fault. Some ass hat totally sideswiped my car going like 40 mph in a PARKING LOT. Thankfully the car was insured this time (that was not such a fun thing to happen the day after Christmas...) and there is very minimal damage--mild scraping, most of which can probably be buffed out by hand.

And it's pay day!

And I'll have time to actually clean my house and cook something, rather than send Tony out to get Chinese for the third time this week.

Jesus. Thank you.

Thank you for ending my misery. Thank you for pay day. Thank you for Quick Wok and Panda Express. Thank you for my crock pot, in which I will make delicious chili and my husband will be all "omg she loves me so much, she made me this big huge meal!" but really I'll smile inside because-- HA!-- chili is, like, the easiest thing ever to make. Thank you for the chocolate chip cookies that you put on sale at Albertson's (two bags for $5, whaaaa?). If you could make it so they have no calories in them, I'd apreesh. Thank you for not demolishing my car when Mr. Lead Foot hit it. Thank you for soy caramel lattes. Thank you for a husband who took the hint and actually did ALL the laundry this week, took care of the dog 98% of the time, and did a million other things to help me cling to my sanity.

Without any of the above, I would not be making it out of this week alive.

Up

2010-05-25T21:09:00.001-07:00

Things are getting better.

Finals started today, and while that might be enough to push some people over the edge, my alarm woke me this morning and I got to my feet with a feeling of utter relief. I liken the past two weeks with the build-up before a deployment: horrible, awful, no-goodness leading up to it, but once it starts you realize you can't stop time and it's just a waiting game til it's all over.

I took my math final, which is the one that I've really been focusing on for the past six days especially. It went alright, I suppose. You know when you take a test that you expect to be incredibly hard, but then you breeze right through it? Peace of cake. Suspiciously cake-like. Like, maybe the cake is poison. And you just thought you understood it all really well. But you didn't. And you fail.

But whatever, the point is that I am done with that class, and as long as I passed the final (which I'm pretty sure I did), I will get the credit and pass with at least a C.

That's hot.

Tomorrow will be a rough day, though. I've got the morning to work on what's left of Satan's Makeup Final, then it's over to take my Political Science final. Then it's straight to the theatre to actually get ready for and present Satan's Makeup Final, strike it, burn it, and tell it to go fuck itself.

Then I get some peace of mind.

Except for Thursday I have to do an entire research project on the endangerment of and conservation efforts for orangutans for my anthropology class. Why exactly that is my assignment when we ended the class talking about hominid species is a little strange to me... but whatever. It sounds like an easy topic and I'm really good at dishing out BS and making it look like I worked really hard at it.

But then. THEN. Then I'm done. Free. The end. Fin. Curtain falls. Blackout.

So excited.

3 things people are asking about the Lost finale that really bug me

2010-05-24T13:02:00.001-07:00

ULTRA SPOILERS AHEAD, SO IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE FINALE OR ARE DESPERATELY TRYING TO GET THROUGH THE SEASONS ON NETFLIX WITHOUT KNOWING TOO MUCH (AHEM JORDAN AHEM) DON'T READ!

1. Sooo they were dead the whole time?!?! Great. That's just great. What a waste!!!

No, asshole. If you'd cleaned your ears out before the finale, you would have heard Christian blatantly say that what happened on the Island actually happened. You also would have heard him say that some of the people in the church died long after Jack did, thereby implying that the Island survivors (Kate, Sawyer, Claire, and the like) lived long after flying away, and DID NOT die in the original plane crash. This is even more cemented when you remember that Hurley and Ben had a nice little exchange outside of the church, where Hurley called Ben an "awesome number two," and Ben called Hurley a "great number one." This implies that the two had a very long history on the Island with one another, one that would have taken place quite some time after Jack died. This all also takes care of the question "Did none of them actually survive the finale? They all died?" The answer is, of course, no. Clearly Hurley and Ben survived, possibly for centuries protecting the Island.

2. Wtf, what about the polar bears?

Um, hi. Not so much with the mystery on this one, folks. This question was answered seasons ago. Remember, the Dharma Initiative brought the polar bears to the island in order to perform experiments on them. The reason Charlotte and her team found polar bear fossils in Tunisia is because-- HI-- the desert in Tunisia is where people end up when they leave the island via that big, weird wheel thingy (a la season 4 finale).

3. So Ben is still alive in the flash-sideways? Phew! At least someone survived.

Sweet Jesus. No. He's not alive in the flash-sideways. Nobody is. In fact, Christian actually said, "everyone dies at some point" (or at least it was something to that extent) which led me to believe that what the writers were trying to get across was that everyone dies-- we all do-- but what's important are the connections we make that last beyond life. The flash-sideways is a place that was created so that the Islanders could meet up with those who were there during the most important time in their lives, and then move on together. Ben was not alive just because he didn't go with the group of Oceanic survivors, it just means that there was someone else he was waiting on instead-- perhaps Alex.

Down

2010-05-22T08:45:00.001-07:00

Things have not been great lately.

No worries, everything of any major importance is doing fabulously (except for maybe my health, but wtf else is new?).

It's just that it seems like all the little things are sucking, and it's gotten me into a royal funk.

You know it's bad when your husband tells you, with a pouty face, that you haven't gotten excited about anything in weeks.

Woof.

I'm trying really hard not to be this way, I just feel overwhelmed and don't know how else to react to it. It's not just dealing with the finals week from hell, but figuring out which school to transfer to (and now which major to declare, but that's a totally different post since I don't have the energy on a Saturday morning). The fact that we just never seem to have the right amount of money. How to balance all of this with my work schedule and still have time to make dinner, keep up on laundry, and make it so my black area rug doesn't morph into a brindle and white area rug (hearts and kisses, Jan). I'm missing my family and friends back home a lot. Lost is ending tomorrow.

Just kidding on that last one. Kinda.

Blah.

I just need to suck it up. It's all temporary anyway. Finals will be over in six days, I'll be able to figure out my school stuff then, pay day is in nine days, and we just booked our flights to go to Minneapolis and visit my sister over the 4th of July. Plus two of my best friends ever are coming to Vegas with us next month for my 22nd birthday.

Things really aren't bad at all.

Sometimes I guess it's just hard to see that when you're knee-deep in stress.

I desperately want to just go out with my husband and all my friends and let loose, but I know if I did that I'd just be thinking the whole time about all the math homework I should be doing. I couldn't even run errands yesterday for three hours without feeling stressed about it! Hell, I can't even take a 15 minute break to cook a meal without feeling like I'm losing precious final prep time. In fact, I had to force myself to write this post, rather than dive right into homework.

But I'm going to try and be more positive, less stressy. Positive thoughts. Happy feelings. Excited reactions to normally exciting things.

Yeah, that's the ticket.

Complain Train: All Aboard

2010-05-18T11:17:00.000-07:00

I have finals next week, so I apologize for the lack of posts. Been busy, yo. The following will be a rant.

On Friday morning I made the mistake of making a detailed list of all the things I have to do before May 28th, which is the day of my last final.

This was a mistake.

Turns out, I'm a procrastinator. Who knew?!

Not only do I have to do a stage makeup assignment that was due, like, two months ago, but I also have to put together about 100 pages for a makeup reference binder, finish two costume, hair, and makeup designs, find supplies for and MAKE said costumes, put together a research board, and practice putting the character together on my saint-like husband, who agreed to be my model. That's just for one class. I also have a paper to do and a presentation to prepare for my anthropology class, about three chapters' worth of work for my algebra class (update: haven't been to that class since March), and a study guide for political science.

If you made it through all of that, good job. If not, here it is in a nutshell: I'm the Best, Most Prepared Student in the World.

So anyway, I've got this Mega To-Do List, and I basically have to drown in homework every day until the 28th just to get everything done in time. It doesn't help that this last weekend was totally useless homework-wise, and this coming weekend will probably be similar, productively speaking, since we have to go out of town for our friend's daughter's baptism.

The good news is that soon The Semester From Hell will be over, and I'll be able to relax a little bit. I can't wait, this goddamn stage makeup class is killing me! I thought it'd be a skate class-- I mean, it's MAKEUP. Instead it's ended up being the most involved and expensive (since we have to buy all our makeup and costume materials on our own!) class I've ever taken. Not to mention it's 5.5 hours long. Yes, you heard me. I said five and a half hours long. At once. As in five and a half hours in the same day. For our final we're putting together some lame ass "production" where we show off the character designs we've put together. It's a 10 minute show but they want me to be there seven hours before it starts in order to prepare. Never mind the fact that I have a final for a different class right smack in the middle of that time... who would have thought, during finals week-- other finals?! Oh, and they want me to bring food for the people that go to the show.

Pardon the 'tude, but fuck that.

I can't stand it when professors think that theirs is the only class you are enrolled in.

Oh, and on top of everything, I'm pretty much going three days with little to no contact with my husband. AWESOME. I know, I shouldn't complain. One of my friends is going all week with literally no contact whatsoever, and two of my friends haven't seen their husbands since last Monday. For others it's been months. I know I don't have it bad at all in comparison, but I'm in a complainy mood, and I'm mad that even though Tony slept in our bed last night, he came home so late and left so early that we only managed to mumble the words "hi" and "I love you" to one another. Which is annoying, especially when everything else is sucking right now.

AND I STILL HAVE THIS DAMN COLD.

Alright. That's it. I complained. Now, I just have to imagine that my dear husband is here-- his reaction to this post would be to tell me to "harden the fuck up."

Thanks, babe. I gotcha.

Death Warmed Over

2010-05-11T15:32:00.000-07:00

I've had this GD cold for a week now.

Last week I was all, "Wah wah I feel so awful! You know that tickle? In your throat? You know how it tickles? WAHHH!"

Pffft.

Turns out, that was just the warm-up cold.

It really hit me Sunday, and Sunday sucked.

It hit me harder Monday, and Monday totally sucked.

It hit me harder still this morning, and today has been a dazzling pile of crap.

Though, I must say, there are certain things about being sick that rock my ass off. For instance:

I get to eat things like onion bagels spread with peanut butter without getting the side-eye from anyone.

I get to command that my husband buy pop (a delicacy he refuses to allow in the house... although, oddly enough, he has no problem buying 48 beers in one trip, as evidenced by our little trip to Mainside two weeks ago), which I will drink copious amounts of.

I get to not shower for two days and be stinky and stay in bed all day if I want to.

I get to refuse to take the dog out so she can pee for the billionth time today.

I used to get out of that by just taking my pants off any time I was in the house...

"No-pants people can't take the dog outside, Tony!"

...but he caught onto that pretty quickly and instated the Pants Must Stay On Until 8 pm Rule. Eff.

But this shitty part is, I get to experience all these normally wonderful things with a head that feels the size of a watermelon and mucus that is not normal textured collecting in my lungs and throat.

Sexy.

Must figure out a way to enjoy lazy-dom without hacking up a lung...

Bitches and hoes, man. Bitches and hoes.

2010-05-06T14:40:00.000-07:00

So I love, love, love Craigslist.

I also love Pendleton Yard Sales, which is kinda like Craigslist, but it's for people stationed at Camp Pendleton.

Damn, I guess I just gave away my super secret location.

Whatevs.

Anyway, so when I'm bored and have nothing better to do (read: almost all the time), I like to peruse the pages of CL and PYS and see what kinda busted down shit people are selling for ridiculous prices, but which unknowing patrons of the site will buy and think that they're getting a deal.

No, it's not always like that. We totes bought our couches on Craigslist and they were pretty hot and cozy before my dog rubbed her giant, meat-covered bone all over and them (note: white couches =/= conducive to puppy raising).

Today I was looking through the pages of Pendleton Yard Sales and I saw a wedding set for sale.

Aww, someone got divorced and put their wedding rings up for sale. Sad face.

Except for no. That's not what happened. This bitch was all "I'm only selling it because I want a new set."

Pardon?

P'ascuse me?

WHO DOES THAT?!?!

I mean, I'm not naive. I know that not everyone gets the ring they've always wanted when their guy proposes. I've had friends who've upgraded their diamonds, or gotten a cheap ring for a small courthouse ceremony, and upgraded to a more expensive set for their big wedding (this is actually something that happens often in the military world). But to buy an entirely new set and then SELL the one that you married your husband with ONLINE? "Just because?" I can't even imagine that.

I love my rings. I love the way they look, the way they sparkle. But mostly, I love that these are the rings that my husband picked out for me to wear. I love that when he decided to propose, these were the rings that he decided to do it with. And I love that on the day we got married, these are the rings that he put on my finger. I can't imagine selling them to some strange dude who's probably going to melt them down and pawn them or some shit. Gross.

I am appalled, people. Appalled.

The boys are back in town!

2010-05-04T08:30:00.000-07:00

Sunday was a very special day!

Back in October the unit that my husband was in for four years deployed to Afghanistan. For a while there Tony was really out of sorts. He felt bad that he wasn't with that unit anymore, that he hadn't deployed with them. He felt that he should have gone to be with his friends. It was rough for him the entire time they were gone. On Sunday, the guys came home. Tony and I made the drive to 29 Palms to welcome them back, and to spend some time with one of his good friends that had been gone, David.

It was a difficult deployment, and unfortunately not everyone who left with them came home.

When we got to the gym where we were to wait for the buses carrying all of our friends, we ran into a friend of ours, Bridget. Her husband had been deployed with mine twice before, and he had been in Afghanistan. This was Bridget's first time going through a deployment and, having been in those shoes two times before, I knew exactly how she was feeling. Anxious, excited, nervous, emotional, stressed. Seeing her brought back so many memories and feelings of Tony being gone-- some good, some bad. The excitement of knowing that he's on his way home. The stress of not knowing exactly when you'll see him, since they change it on you a trillion times before it actually happens! The happiness you feel when you get that phone call saying, "I'm in Maine." Thank goodness. He's safe. He's on American soil. But even then, the weight that's been on your shoulders since the moment he got on those white buses to take him to war... that doesn't go away until he's back in your arms. I didn't even know I had been carrying it around with me the first time around, but the second he grabbed me and hugged me, I realized how much I'd been weighed down. Suddenly I felt lighter, euphoric.

By Sunday, the guys' flight home had been delayed about a week due to the overthrow in Kyrgyzstan and the volcano that had erupted. It was a long, confusing, disappointing week. Many families were unable to be at the actual homecoming-- they'd flown to California and waited a week, but now had to return home to their jobs. Because of this, it was a small homecoming, but it was just as exciting.

The day had finally come for Bridget to hold her husband again, and I was lucky enough to be able to videotape the moment they saw each other. There really is no feeling in the world like it. It's just pure happiness. Nothing bad. So much good. Relief. And love.

Welcome home, boys.

Holy sale, Batman!

2010-05-01T07:39:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I heard the sweetest words come out of my husband's mouth.

They might as well have come straight from the angels:

Honey, the guys told me Bud Select is on sale on Mainside-- a 24 pack for $10.41!

We obviously got two.

Because if history tells us anything, it's that you can't go wrong with 48 beers in your fridge.

Ugh I just want chips and queso dip

2010-04-28T17:01:00.000-07:00

I've made this deal with myself that I'm going to work out in some fashion every day of the week. Cuz I, uh, want to get in shape. Mostly I just want to fit my ass into a bikini.

I work out semi-regularly (a few times a weekish) but it's nothing I've been real serious about. Like, ever.

It doesn't help that in the months leading up to my wedding I mysteriously lost twenty pounds. How it happened, I have no idea. I was working at Starbucks and eating expired parfaits and stolen chocolate chip cookies every day (Which, btw, have like 550 calories in them. No joke. That's pretty much a Big Mac...).

Anyway, so I lost all this weight and then I moved out to California and I was all, "This is the shit, I don't have to do anything and I'll stay skinny FOREVER!"

False.

Turns out marrying an Italian makes you fatter.

Nah, I'm not fat or anything. But I've packed on a few. Which, whatever. Except I live in California where everyone is hot. And I just bought a $60 bikini, so I have to wear it. And so far every time Tony's been like, "Babe, wanna go down to the pool?" I've been all, "AND SHOW THE WORLD MY MUFFIN TOP, ARE YOU INSANE?!" And he's all "Meredith, you don't have a muffin top, remember how we went to six stores and drove all the way to Huntington Beach to find a pair of bottoms that fit? That was to prevent the muffin top." (True story.)

So anyway, in the end I have no choice but to put on my damn bikini and go down to the pool with him. Then I wind up lying out on the pool chairs as stiff as possible, because if I move it'll make it harder to suck in my stomach. Plus moving makes my ass jiggle.

And I'm too cheap to not enjoy my $60 bikini. Plus it's purple, and I really like purple. Purple should be worn and enjoyed.

So pretty much this all comes down to the fact that I need to exercise. So far it's been going well, but we'll see. I keep craving that hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint down on Coast Highway that sells burritos as big as my dog. And if there's anything that'll make my ass jiggle on a poolside chair, I'm almost positive it's a dog-sized burrito.

Domestic Goddess, Shmomestic Shmoddess

2010-04-27T06:50:00.000-07:00

I never thought that I would be the type of adult who was concerned about cleaning, well, anything. Growing up my room was always a disaster. And I, uh, got in trouble on more than one occasion for just, um, stuffing things into my closet as my version of "Meredith Rose, clean your room or I'm gonna take away all your things and leave you with only your school uniform and a mattress!" (She woulda done it, too.)

So anyway, my room was so messy. We're talking, clothes never on the hanger but in semi-organized piles on the floor instead. As in, it's possible that I re-wore super dirty pants that I had mistaken for clean on a pretty regular basis because the clean clothes and the dirty clothes always ended up intermingling. Water glasses from last week all over my dresser. Old Arby's bags from my lunch breaks at work piled up on my nightstand. I was a gross girl.

Now that I'm a grown up (pfft) and somebody's wife I suddenly feel the need to be all domestic. I work part-time in the early mornings and I go to school, but by and large I spend quite a bit of time at home (at least, in comparison to Tony). So I feel like since I'm the one that's home more, I should be the one to keep the house tidy. So instead of munching on a Big and Tasty from McD's and leaving the wrapper underneath my pillow like the olden days, I'm now traipsing through my condo doing laundry and wiping down counters and washing mirrors and windows. I wash the walls, people, and the BASE BOARDS. Like, when did this happen? Is there some chip in me that got activated the minute I got married or something? God, did ya turn on my housewife switch? Cuz now I'm all "let's watch this cooking show" and "honey, help me make a grocery list." I did laundry on Friday night. LAUNDRY. And I cook, like, really big and good meals.

And when I talk to people about my domestic duties I'm all "psh, chyeah right, cooking and cleaning is the worst!" But secretly, I kinda like it. It feels good to not be wearing dirty pants. I like being able to invite people into my space and not having to make up some excuse as to why it might look like it hasn't been cleaned in months (read: it hadn't been).

Now if only I could get my damn dog on board. And my husband. Because I may semi-enjoy cleaning, but I swear on your soul, my darling husband, if you drop your cammies on my freshly vacuumed floor I'm gonna punch your face. And you, Jan. If you take all the cushions off my couches one more time I'm gonna trade you in for a dining room table. Trust.

Ode to a Douche Bag

2010-04-26T09:11:00.000-07:00

Folks, today we're going to talk about something that really ticks me off.

Military wives who have been through this, and that, and blah blah blah... suddenly that makes them salty and gives them a license to be an ass hat.

News flash to the military wives of the world: YOU ARE NOT A SERVICE MEMBER. You have no right to call anyone a "shit bag" or insult the things they have or have not done in the military world. Last time I checked, you didn't man up and enlist, so what on earth makes you think that it's okay to call an actual service member (who has been through boot camp and has earned the rank on their arm) a shit bag?

There are some women out there who think that just because their husbands have deployed X amount of times, that makes them better than the wives of Marines who haven't-- or, what's really rich, better than the Marines themselves! And it's never ending- if it's not one thing, it's another: "My husband actually went to IRAQ, yours just floated around on a boat." "My husband has actually seen combat, yours sat on the base the whole time." "My husband was gone for a year, yours was only gone for six months."

These bitches just love to wallow in their own misery.

This is one of my biggest. pet. peeves. and yes, it really does happen. In fact, I heard about it happening just this past weekend. Some of the things these girls were saying were just atrocious, and all it did was make them look like trashy douche bags.

It's idiots like these that make people like me think twice before letting strangers know what I am a military wife. I'm terrified of being automatically clumped into this group of women who have no self control and zero respect for anyone, all because somewhere along the line, someone told them that they were entitled to something.

Laaaadiiies. Give it a rest! You are not salty. Stop using military slang more than your husband. Stop judging people by what they've done, or what their husbands have done. Get a life. Get your own life. Puh-LEASE.

If anything goes wrong, Lost will be my constant. I'm a big nerd.

2010-04-21T17:29:00.000-07:00

It's awesome. It's actually The Best Show on Television (I normally reserve that title for The Office, but this season has been lackluster, what with them NEVER HAVING A NEW EPISODE). Seriously, crazy hot actors on an island with guns and polar bears and smoke monsters and bad guys and Others? What's not to love?! And THIS GUY:

Drool...

Anyway, so Lost. I'm crazy about it. And I'm so. sad. that it's ending next month. I'm, like, legit upset about it.

So how have I been preparing myself for the end of The Best Show on Television?

Why, I have been rewatching every single episode, natch!

I'm totally bummed that there are only FOUR episodes left of this amazingly awesome series, and to top it all off I'm already in season four on my Lost Marathon Extravaganza, so now it's gonna be super duper over. Jesus, this is like when I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, shit man.

I mean wtf, how am I supposed to spend my Tuesday nights (or Wednesday mornings when I pass out cuz I'm totally old and staying up until it's on at 9 is, like, near impossible)? I'm gonna need to find a new show to become obsessed with. A new character to love (Desmond). A new storyline to crave (Desmond Desmond). A new cause to take up and reason to threaten writers that if they kill off your favorite character (DESMOND DESMOND DESMOND) there will be serious consequences (it would probably involve me pooping on their wives or something).

Welp, gotta go. Claire's about to find out that Charlie died. Eff. Gives me the sads...

Broccoli Cheddar Chicken (Heaven In Your Mouth)

2010-04-20T09:40:00.000-07:00

So I wanted to share this totally awesome recipe that I just tried out for the first time ever on Sunday night! It's broccoli cheddar chicken, and those of you who love broccoli cheddar soup (like yours truly) will love. love. love. this dish! I originally got it off of allrecipes.com, but made a few changes to it. It's super easy to make, and it takes about an hour from start to finish. (Note: The ingredients I've listed are for three servings. Also, I rarely have the patience to make things from scratch so most of the ingredients I use are boxed or frozen. Get over it.)

Ingredients:
-3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
-1 can cream of broccoli soup
-1 can cream of chicken soup
-Your choice of broccoli (I used 1 bag frozen broccoli-- you can use pre-cut, but I suggest buying whole, you'll see why later)
-1 box herb roasted stuffing
-1 9x9 glass baking dish
-mixing bowl

Making the Goodness
-Start by preheating your oven to 375 and boiling your chicken breasts
-Begin boiling water for your broccoli, or prepare your broccoli as needed and set aside.
-Prepare your stuffing. When the stuffing is finished, line it on the bottom of a 9x9 glass dish (make sure you spray with cooking spray first). It's okay if it doesn't cover the whole dish.
-In a small bowl, mix your two soups together.
-Chop about half your broccoli into small bits. Mix the bits in with your soup mixture so it's good and chunky. Set aside your whole pieces.
-When the chicken is boiled, place the breasts on top of the stuffing in your baking dish.
-Cover the chicken with the soup mixture, and sprinkle the whole broccoli pieces around the sides of the dish.
-Bake for 45 minutes

Hope you enjoy it! Next time I plan to grill some asparagus sprinkled with salt and pepper, and serve that as a side!

I have an infant. Or a tween. Or both.

2010-04-19T07:58:00.000-07:00

So we have a dog who is just under eleven months. We got her when she was about ten weeks old, and she was absolutely our dream dog. We'd been researching and preparing for an English Bulldog for, like, two years or something crazy like that. (We're planners.)

The first few weeks we had her, I was all like, "ZOMG I hate this puppy what on earth did we get ourselves into?!?!" People warned me that it was like having an infant, and I totally thought they were being dramatic so I responded with something like "Psh. Tony totes read that Dog Whisperer book, we're, like, soo prepared."

We were not prepared.

Plus, I was stuck at home with her all. day. long. By myself. Without a car to go anywhere to get away from the little furry demon child. I don't know if you know anything about puppies or anything, but, like, they bite. A lot. And it's not cute, "aww she's nibbling on my fingerrrr!" biting, it's "I'D LIKE TO KEEP MY TOES YOU BITCH, KTHX" biting. And they totally don't come potty trained, or leash trained. And bulldogs are super high maintenance in and of themselves, plus I'm convinced my dog is NOT a normal dog, and imagine that as a ten-week-old, and it's just terrifying. And don't even get me STARTED on Poop Fest '09:

On lockdown during Poop Fest '09. It was projectile. We were moving out of our apartment in, like, two days. My husband was in the field, which meant I was now not only moving on my own, I was also cleaning shit off my carpet, my tile, my WALLS, alone, too. It was so sexy.

I mean, I loved her, but I totally felt like the worst mother on the planet because all I wanted to do by the time Tony got home from work was hand her off to him and pop open a bottle of wine.

So anyway, once the heinous puppy stages wore off, we totally became BFF. She's the greatest. She's the sweetest, smartest, snuggliest, snoriest, slobberiest, fartiest dog ever. I love her as if she were my actual child, and she knows exactly who her Mama is. But there are also these two lingering problems: 1) she is still incredibly high maintenance, and 2) she understands her training, but she totally refuses to do what I say unless she feels like it. Brat.

Just a few minutes ago my sister asked me what I was doing and I told her, "still sitting on my bed because I can hear Jan snoring and I'm not even gonna TRY and wake her up by walking around." As if she's an infant or a tween or something, and just the sound of her waking up is gonna give me gray hairs.

But hey. I'll take the gray hairs any day if it means I get to spend my time with this:

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to CVS to stock up on hair color...

Friday Night!

2010-04-16T18:36:00.000-07:00

Tony bought Splinter Cell ( FOR NINETY SIX DOLLARS HOLY SHIT THAT GAME BETTER TAKE HIM SEVEN MONTHS TO BEAT) on Wednesday, so I am officially an Xbox widow until at least Monday morning. He's surrious about his game skillz, dudes. So I'm leaving him at home with his Second Wife and heading on down to Britt's house for an evening with friends, filled with of some of our favorite things: cheap beer and crappy movies (thanks, lazydork.com, for officially contributing to the universe's efforts to make me a total lush!). I have a good hubby, though, because he promised to pick me up if and when I find myself a little on the drunk side and a little less on the capable-of-driving-home-legally side (emphasis on the "when"). Safety first, folks.

Stay classy, Peanuts.

Another World

2010-04-15T20:27:00.000-07:00

Someone close to me once told me that I should start a blog chronicling the things I see in the military world.

That isn't what this site will be about, but, I thought I'd let you know... it's pretty crazy, y'all.

Which is weird for me to say, because I grew up in a military household, in an area not far from a military base. It's always been there, in the background of everything, something I've always known a little about, though have never actually been a part of.

It's different now, now that I'm married to it, now that it controls nearly as much of my daily life as it does my husband's. Not to be melodramatic or anything. I'm certainly not one of those military wives who go around thinking they're "oh so different" and "oh so brave and heroic" or anything. But it's true-- the military has my metaphorical balls in its not-so-metaphorical iron fist and could squeeze any time it feels necessary. Ouch. My husband is not particularly "moto" (a term used in the military realm to describe an overzealous service member or spouse; Usually outfitted in a ridiculous amount of USMC gear with tacky bumper stickers and their rank plastered on their windshield. Generally thinks their shit don't stink-- the aforementioned "oh so brave and heroic" type. I just call them assholes). He doesn't bleed OD green or anything, but back when we first started talking about getting married he said to me, "Mere, you know that there are times when I'll have to put you second, right? Times when the Marine Corps demands to be first, and I can't do anything about that?" "Yes," I said. I knew. I was ready.

Turns out, I was only kinda ready. What can I say, I'm selfish!

I get asked a lot what it's like, being "married to the military."

Well, have you ever seen the Lifetime series, "Army Wives?"

Don't get excited.

It's nothing like that.

None of our local bars have blown up and I'm mos def not BFF with the base General's wife.

But it can be hard. Mostly it's just disappointing. Another leave block denied. Another vacation ruined. Another school for him to go to. Five days a week without my husband. Two weeks without my husband. Seven months without my husband. Fucked by the Green Weenie again (as my eloquent husband and his equally loquacious friends like to put it).

I'm incredibly proud of my husband and what he does for a living. He's great at it, and I will always, always support him no matter what. But goddamn. Sometimes I just want to do what I want to without someone else having to ruin it just because they can. It's my life, after all.

Except that it's not "just" my life. It's the life of someone who happened to fall in love with man, who happened to be a Marine. And now I've got to make the best of that lifestyle-- Green Weenie and all.

Lucky Girl

2010-04-14T08:13:00.000-07:00

I am a lucky girl.

I mean it.

I grew up about an hour north of downtown Chicago. The Windy City. The Cold as Hell City. The Holy Jesus My Face Got So Cold While Shoveling the Driveway I Can't Feel the Snot that's Frozen to My Face City.

Let's remember that last June I moved to Southern California. San Diego County to be exact. We're talking, in certain parts of my condo complex you can see the ocean. As in the Pacific Ocean. As in surfing and swimming and tanning and walking along the boardwalk with my husband while eating ice cream and walking our dog, watching the sun set (done it).

I love living here. I was really worried that when I moved away from everything I'd ever known, I would be so home sick that it would make me hate everything about California living. I am incredibly close with my family, especially my sister, Austin, and my mom. I couldn't imagine what my life would be without having them within a short driving distance. I was scared, and the months leading up to my departure were tense and dramatic and crazy because omg I was leaving forever!!!!!1!! But then I got out here, and I settled in, and I realized that I am truly a West Coaster, no doubt about it.

I still miss my family. It's hard every day. But as I settle into this life more and more, I know that I still have them there for me, and I am so happy and thankful for that. I talk to my sister, Austin, almost every day. My mom and I talk a few times a week at least. We see each other every few months, which isn't often enough, but it's something to hold on to.

Meanwhile, I am settling in here swimmingly, and my husband is a huge part of that. When I first got here and hadn't met any friends yet, he would drink wine with me and let me put on movies like P.S. I Love You, and he'd let me cry on his shoulder like an idiot every time Hilary Swank got one of those fucking letters from Gerard Butler (still gets me, every time). He understood when I was having a hard day and I missed my family. He took me around San Diego and showed me the things about this state that he knew I would love. And most importantly, for the first time in nearly five years, now Tony and I were in the same state. We saw each other every morning and every night, and I still don't think I'm totally used to that, ten months later. He's been in the Marines since 2005 and has split his entire time as a Marine between California and Iraq. To be able to see him, touch him, laugh with him every single day... I am so incredibly thankful for that, because I know how easily it can be taken away.

I've also made excellent friends here-- two girls in particular, who I just adore. Making friends was another one of the things that scared me the most about moving so far from home. Back in Illinois I have had the same three best friends since about the third grade. They are my soul mates, my second family. They shaped who I became as an adult just as much as my family did. And I mean, really, if I barely managed to make any new friends since the THIRD GRADE, how am I supposed to meet all new people in an entirely new state, when I'm not working yet, and not going to school on campus yet? But I did. I met Alex, and we clicked right away. There wasn't really any "awkward beginning friendship stage," we just understood each other. I'm so glad to have such an amazing friend who I can be my vulgar, ridiculous self with. And sometimes she thinks I'm funny, so, bonus. And Brittany-- she is one of the best moms I've ever seen. She has two toddler boys and still manages to be crazy and fun, and I love everything about her! And HER BOYS. So cute. Could eat them for dinner. But I won't because that's illegal. And gross.

I am lucky enough to have a wonderful, supportive family that understands that I had to go. I have a husband who loves me and is there for me every step I take. I have friends, both in Illinois and California, who give my life so much color. I live in a friggin' vacation spot.

I am a lucky girl.

You, You, You, You You, I Wanna Talk About Me

2010-04-13T07:58:00.001-07:00

I figure since you're here you'll probably want to know a little bit about this not-so-classy peanut. My name is Meredith and I am 21 years old. I am originally from the Chicago area, but about ten months ago I done got married and moved my entire life out to Southern California to be with my husband. He's in the Marine Corps and we're stationed here for at least the next two (-ish? Maybe? I hope?) years. I'm a full-time student, much to my dismay. See, it's not that I don't like school... it's that I loathe school with every fiber of my being. But my ass was in California for six months before I even got a single job interview, so survey says I need to get a stupid degree (woof). My husband Tony and I share our condo with the most beautiful (slobbery), precious (she farts a lot), easy-going (expensive-- zomg how much is that vet bill in your hand!?!?!) English Bulldog in the world. Her name is Jan Levinson-Gould (Jan, Jan-Jan, Jannifer Janiston, Jandolf, Jan Jan Thank You Ma'am, etc.), and she is our baby.

I am sort of at that point in my life where I'm still trying to figure a lot of things out, and I'm also kinda lazy. I know I probably need a career, but I don't want to work on figuring out what I want to do, nor do I want to attempt to go to class to actually get one. I'd much rather watch reruns of Lost and The Office and drink beer, but the hubby says that's a no-go since he has to wake up at 4:30 am and do work things (shakes fist). And I'm all, "Shit man, I just wanna chill. Why you gotta be all up in my flava, Tony?!" and he's all, "Cuz you need to contribute!" And then I'm all, "But I'm a student!" and he's all, "Meredith, when was the last time you went to your math class?" And then I have no choice but to be all, "Crap... Ya got me." Because folks, to be honest, I haven't been to my math class in, like, three weeks.

And that fact, right there, should tell you all you need to know about me.