Turn that shit DOWN!!

It wasn't until today that I noticed how often I find myself saying "Turn it down, please" in my house. The eMac, my daughter or son's TV... Were it not for Kev being gone- I would be saying it to him too. I do not know when it was I became so sensitive to noise and what I deem as "ya-ya", but it drives me nucking futs. Its not just TV noise- but the kids raising hell in the back of the house, a neighbor's dog barking, the construction crews.... and the mother of all noise piss-offs: The prick who feels the need to compensate for the size of his penis with his car stereo system.
The ones who not only drive with that thumping irritating shit down the road- I realllllllly hate the ones who go out on Saturday or Sunday morning with a bottle of Armor-all, a rag and their keys. They will sit in front of the building playing that blustering offal- usually right under my bedroom window. Of course he has all four doors wide open, as he details that piece of shit car. It's days like this I wish I kept a box of rocks under the bed-really big rocks.
Of course, I would say something. If I honestly believed he might hear me through the racket, I would holler down. We can all imagine the complete waste of inspired and beautifully strung together profanity he would miss. I like to conserve my execration for those who are not only worthy, but paying full attention.
Keep in mind- I live on the fourth floor of my building, and Germans don't believe in elevators. Were I to actually limp my busted ass ankle down the stairs- all the way down there- I don't think the guy would have much left of his body in tact, other than they ugly ass legs currently hanging out of the car door below me.
Hey! I might even detail my car to show off too- the testicles I tore off to use as fuzzy dice on my mirror.

60% Overweight (aka AAFES sucks)

The US Government says that as many os 60% of Americans are overweight. That's a whole lot of ass, folks.
What has gotten my proverbial panties in a wad today?
The US Government acknowledges that americans are not generally skinny people, right? Anything over say- a size 12- is "overweight"
And yet- I can not go into my local Base Exchange (this is a store on base, run and administered by that same government), and buy any clothes that are nice looking or fit right. The "woman's section" (for anything over a size 12) is a tiny back corner of the store filled with 3 racks of ugly fucking clothes. These range in style from "mormon prude" to "African pride"... nothing really in between for the mid-line woman who doesn't do the polka dot dresses ornamented with huge nipple length collars, or Kwanzaa wear in orange and brown lion-king shades.
The intimates section is far worse- I suppose there are no skinny women in the military with big tits? Must not be- as the idea of finding a "D" cup anywhere is insane. If you do find a proper fitting 38 D, it is probably an anomaly; it came as a bonus with their order, or someone ordered it by mistake.
Perhaps this is the government's way of motivating me to lose weight- (and I am working on it... with the impending surgery- things should go much easier afterwards). However- what is wrong with them not hiding us in a itty bitty corner full of heinously blinding ugly clothes I wouldn't put on my enemy?
I am not one of those women who takes to the extreme sides of fashion available to plus sized girls. These two extremes, of course being-
Wear it like you are a size 3- stuff'n'junk hanging out of low cut, short line shirts, paired with brightly colored or printed ugly tight pants- so that your ass and legs look like the hood of a car after an hour long hail storm, and low cut, so your hips look like a marshmallow with a rubber-band wrapped around it. The other extreme are the gals out there who dress in clothes made by Omar the tent maker. Big shapeless dark colored ugly sacks, which gives the appearance of a tomato sitting on a couple of tootsie rolls (at best), or worse, something reminiscent of Macy's T-day parade balloons.
I don't know what makes them look worse- but these woman are destroying my chance to find nice things- I am not asking for much here.
Decent cut jeans, shirts that flatter the figure- show off my fabulous curves without pointing out my flaws- styled, not trendy colors and patterns and... well, you get the idea. God forbid they would have something that may look good on her, but not on me- so here it is in a different pattern, another cut... The clothes they put out for our "choice" is criminal. It's not shopping- it's demoralizing and depressing. I hope I don't need something for an event in a rush- I'm screwed.
I am not asking for a Lane Bryant wing at AAFES, but COME ON PEOPLE
If 60% of us out there are toting some extra ass in our jeans- shouldn't we be at least on the retailer's radar?

It's Here!

Well, after much heart ache, shipping cost and ardor- The G5 is finally home with us.
We have to contend now with the transfer and set up of all applications- and of course the impending install of Tiger upon Kevin's return home... Which will wipe out anything I have done up to the that point... I will inevitably forget to move something over, and lose it forever in a sea of cyber-oblivion. (Like the picture of my Queen of hearts dress... If any of you have a copy of that picture I sent you- please let me know.)
As far as specs, I am techo challenged... It is a dual 2.something G5, with a gig of ram and some other cool shit that makes it run really fast. With the data transfer I am doing, I have the G4 hooked up, so we now have... a G5, an iMac, and emac, a G4, an xbox (and a partridge in a pear tree-) all hooked up on the LAN. Some of it is gonna be out of here- very, very soon.

Dear Mothers

Dear Parents of Vogelweh Elementary School Students,

I would like to make a simple, common sense request. If your child is coughing, has a sore throat, a fever or otherwise troublesome indicators of a contagious illness of some kind, please keep them HOME.
Perhaps you, in your divine ignorance, do not understand that one coughs when they are sick because that is what the illness wants them to do... it is a way of the illness replicating. It's simple biology, bitch. Same thing with sneezes and any other kind of excess fluid lost. In Kindergarten- those fluids transfer easily between kids, as they are not yet quite out of that "gross" phase of wipe, scratch, pick, touch and eat with the same hand.
Your dirt-urchin kid does not belong in a classroom with healthy children- like my son- when he/she is sick. I am very sorry for your problems with getting out of work or having no place to put them, these are however your problems- this is a school, not a day care.
When you bring your gutter rat to school coughing, with a sore throat, or a mild fever, you are exposing everyone else to the creeping crud your offspring has caught.
My son has never been so sick in all his life, as he has since he started school... I blame the mothers I see every morning, with snotty faced hacking kids in tow, who think a little cough is no big deal. It's a big deal, simpleton.
When my son is exposed to your kindergarten version of typhoid Mary, he either 1- gets sick, 2- carries it home and gets his baby sister sick or 3-both... in which case, usually I will get sick, as will my husband.
I am afraid your boss is going to have to take no for an answer, you twat. Your husband is gonna have to tell his C.O. that your kid is ill. It's called good parenting skills... I keep my kids home when they are coughing, or have swollen glands, or any other symptoms of a contagion. That's courtesy.... of course because of you- he has been home quite a bit as of late.
Take your child home, and keep him there until he is better... Grow a pair of balls for your boss, and a brain in your head, and keep your mud-bug at home.
Sincerely,

A Concerned Mom

Were they HIGH?!

I live in base housing. It is a beautiful home, with all the american amenities anyone living in germany could ask for. 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, roomy, balcony, nice view...
They did do one thing that is so galactically stupid it completely baffles me. It is also something that irks me to no end at least twice a day.
This type of home we have is available ONLY to families- that is- people with children. And yet.... and yet... they found it necessary to fill the kitchen and bathroom with WHITE FRICKON TILES. Not beige- white. Oh, and they are a lovely textured white, so a mess isn't cleaned with a quick swipe of the sponge- but has to be scrubbed up.
These designers were out of their minds, and must therefore end up on my "You're a prick" list. I can wash that kitchen floor and 2 days later it looks like a sprinkled the floor with coffee and let it dry. The bathroom is far worse with the tidal wave that is bath-time for 2 young kids nightly. The water splashes- we unsuspectingly walk in there and the floor is insta-screwed. The bad days are when people come over with shoes on.
Yep- white tiles suck, and whoever you are that put them in here? ::finger::

School Days?

I have played with the idea of going back to school off and on for years now. Medical School even.
What keeps me from going? The lack of credit hours they they will let me skip, assuming life will have taught a me a little something- maybe even 90% of what I might read in Psyche 101 I have figured out from marriage and motherhood.
They won't let me clep out of English or composition, which is where I get the overwhelming urge to find a school admin and from across a crowded quad call them out as an Asshole, a prick and a torture artist.
Honestly- the last time I went to my doctor, I found myself wondering- You went to school for 8 years for that? I could have told you that- thanks for nothing, shithead... Damn I could be a doctor.
Given my recent experience in the ER, I am now, more than ever convinced that most professions of the medical field are complete puckey... excepting things like surgery; the fairly complex tactile types of human biology science should be performed by well educated professionals- but honestly... I told the doctor in the ER my daughter did not have strep. I was given that "Poor, woman, doesn't know any better" look, as she sent me out the door with a bottle of penicillin I didn't need. I was right by the way... see, I could be a doctor.
Other than the 4 years of "general studies" standing directly in my path from here to medical school- there is also the fact that I really don't like people very much. My favorite doctor? My hero? Dr. Michael Baden.... The forensic pathologist.
I would love to do something like that.... or the ER, so I didn't have to get to know the patients too much. In, Out, Have a nice day.
Of course, I did have to consider how sexy it would be for my darling husband- being married to someone who comes home from cutting up corpses all day- bet that smells nice. And OH the dinner conversations we could have stemming from "How was you day today, honey?"
So, I continue to mull it over- I may end up back in college yet. Then again... maybe I could get a degree from some mail order truck driving school... Then there is the dream of opening the bar...

Las Vegas and Homelessness

remember there was this one indigent woman in Las Vegas- she wore a do-rag and had braided pig-tails falling over her very tanned shoulders. Anyone who is a resident of Vegas for more than a year has seen her, with her "work for food" sign. One radio station there even talked of her having a BMW she got into when the sun went down... as she was successful at her pan-handling. I do not know if it is true.
I do know that homelessness a big problem in my beloved home town. With all of the growth- people going there seeking jobs and prosperity- it has only become worse.
There is a bill in Nevada now to make accessible the things that these down and out folks need to get back on their feet- documents.
Ever tried to get a job without an ID? Ever tried to get an ID without an address? The new bill would allow the indigent to get free copies of birth certificates and the like... and, yes, at the tax payers expense. Suck it up Las Vegas. It's a good thing... this bill passed unanimously. Grand thing that. Maybe other states will take up the example.
I found one opinion in the LVRJ that looked at the bigger picture- the underlying problem. You can read it here.
Interesting perspective, I think.
Of course, they could try to put the brakes on the rising cost of housing too- or the influx of people. I, myself- I am waiting for the big bust. It is inevitable.
In the mean time, with the cost of housing still on the climb in Vegas- up 50% just in the last year- we will opt for someplace else to retire. At this rate- we'd be looking at 350K for house over 1300 square feet, and that doesn't include a yard worth shit, or a view.
Mountain Home, Idaho, here we come. :)

What is TDY, anyways?

With my husband somewhere over US Airspce, and gone for 3 weeks, I am suddenly taking on the role of "single mom"... Not in the true sense of those who are single mothers- I do not have to run out and get three jobs to keep food on the table. But I do have the sole responsibility of care and maintenance of the kids.
Usually- even if for a few minutes each day, when Kevin gets home, I can take a break, brief though it is, and get away from the fighting and bickering and back talking of my children.
I am only doing this for three weeks- if we were at a different base, I would be doing it for 3 or 4 months at a time. My husband would not be deployed to the states for school- but in some god-forsaken cat box of a desert, surrounded by people who hate him because he is American. I have it easy, I know... i have friends with spouses in Afghanistan and Iraq. So much as I pray for them- I am glad it is not me.
I miss my hubby, my buddy, my pal, and it hasn't been a whole day since he left. Codependent I am not, but it sucks to not have anyone to hang with after the kids go to bed... And AFN offers little by way of distraction, as 78% of the time- there is shit on to watch.
So, I will no doubt be entering an emotional cycle of keep busy days and insomnia nights. I will do my damnedest to hold the reins of control on the kids in one hand, and the reins to my sanity in the other... For example, I am looking at my son at the kitchen table- he has been staring at the same 4 pieces of broccoli for 40 minutes. I am amusing myself at the idea of what choice he will make- he eats it- he gets to play video games- he doesn't.... well, no games of course. These are the kind of little power struggles I would normally have a helping daddy hand on.
These next three weeks should make for good blogging though, as my stress level climbs and surges like some kind of sick psychological tide.
Pray for me- and them... give them the wisdom to not send me into walls... and me the patience to deal with the constant drone of the high pithed screaming fights.
Miss you, Honey. Come home safe and soon

In Memory...

Everyone has that one song... The one that makes you weepy, or look through whatever is in front of you into a misty bittersweet memory. I have several of those songs- some that make me yearn for the days of my youth, some for home, there are even those I can't listen too without being reduced to a sobbing mass of raw pain- those are the songs from memories not so emotionally distant.
On my return home from the commissary today, I flipped the iPod over to the next song on the shuffle and on came the sad lyrical tones of Madonna's "This Used to Be My Playground". I haven't heard the song in some time, and it brought me from the shopping bliss I was in, to a deep emotional pool of wistful regrets.
The lyrics cut me, as I thought of those in my past that I no longer can be near... And especially the one I can't ever see again.
In the last 3 years since I came to Europe, I have lost my grandfather and one of my closest friends. When my Pop-pop died, although it was tragic and unexpected, it was after a long illness and his poor old body just couldn't go on anymore. His soul does. There are so many times I still feel him around- a if he is watching me, and getting a good laugh out if it all the while. He was such a wonderful guy- I was lucky to have him in my life, and I think of him always fondly. I tell my children about him, so he lives on in me, and in them.
My dear and beloved friend... that one I can't seem to come to grips with.
I found out 3 weeks after the fact that he had taken his own life by hanging himself in a garage. I am still angry, and confused, and terribly sad. All those things that go along with the gamete of emotions after a suicide.
But that is not what I want to say about him... He was wonderful, sweet, charming and funny. He had a tender heart under a tough exterior (you know the type), and everyone who got to know him, even a little bit, liked him. He was not without fault- heaven knows he had them... lots of them. And he had at times during the dating part of our past hurt me romantically- he never broke my heart. He never treated me with anything but dignity... He always loved me... as I was, where ever I was in my life. God, I miss him.
Thinking of him brings up the wonderful memories- he was so funny-SO funny... my times with him were always full of laughter; the side splitting, face aching, pissing myself kind of laughter. Even when he was own and depressed- he alleviated his own pain by making me laugh.... well, right after he listened to whatever my problem was with a kind ear- then he would cut up- and the problem seemed not so bad anymore.
I do not know how many mourn him- but I don't think too many. I think of anyone he encountered in his life, I feel his loss more than anyone else. (Excepting his own parents, of course).
So here is to you, Kristian Kramer. To the love you gave, the laughs you supplied, and the hearts you touched.

"... This used to be the place I ran to
Whenever I was in need
Of a friend
Why did it have to end
And why do they always say

Don't look back
Keep your head held high
Don't ask them why
Because life is short
And before you know
You're feeling old
And your heart is breaking
Don't hold on to the past
Well that's too much to ask"

Food For Thought

Now, it is unlike me to 1- watch ,Oprah, or 2-Comment on it... but really I must.
There is some poor woman who got ripped up by Star Jones on The View for saying that she loves her husband more than she loves her kids. So, Oprah had her on today. (You can read her article HERE
She puts her marriage ahead of her kids. In her owns words "I am in love with my husband, and love my kids". And there was this circle of super-soccer moms on there talking about how they felt about it. Most of them were less than supportive of this point of view.
Usually- the shows on moms and women are detailed with stories of these moms who have sex as a matter of obligation to their husbands. They don't want it, are too tired for it, and could care less. Next to them on the couch are devoted men; a husband and father who finds his home life a vacuum of attention and affection, much less intimacy- even if he is getting laid- he's not getting love from it.... The wife all the while talks on about how he doesn't engage as an equal partner, and that is why she has no interest in sex... vicious circle time.
Now I have a unique view on all of this from my experiences.
Starting from my own childhood- I had the anomaly- my mom and dad were married- the whole time. They are no longer married now. They got divorced soon after I got married and moved out. Why? Well, they had issues, I suppose- but my own personal take on this is that once I left the house- they looked across the dinner table at each other, and were sitting with a stranger. Hard to work out any issues with someone who looks and feels familiar, but you don't really know anymore.
Imagine if your spouse had amnesia, and you had to build on a foundation that was at best riddled with cracks and holes. The connection over the years had withered.
It is not that I complain- they were great parents... a unified front, and stern when need be- I never got away with any kind of bullshit. In fact by the time I was old enough to get in to trouble, my early years had trained me to not bother trying. They were always incredibly supportive, and to this day are there for me, anytime for anything. I had fun as a kid.
Great Parents. However, (and I didn't understand this until I got much older), I think that they let parenthood and the stress of everyday life take priority over the relationship between them. They got so busy being mom and dad- providing and supporting and teaching- that when it came to be husband and wife again, it had escaped. And try as they did, they couldn't find it again.
I fear that for myself.
Not that I am afraid of losing my husband. As every one does, I have threatened to walk out- even to the point of packing my shit and grabbing the keys. He knows I don't play games, and he finally stopped me... I am not afraid of a divorce, per se... as if something happened tomorrow and we broke up, I would have the kids and I would move on.
I am afraid of being so wrapped up in being mommy, that I can't find the time or desire to be a partner and lover.... terrified of waking up one day, and being 50- and waking up next to a total stranger- a roommate I used to have sex with.
Sure, we all have the days when having sex it one of those things like deciding what to have for dinner. "Hamburgers or hot-dogs?... I don't care, whatever." Too tired, or too drained to care either way. Just, making that a constant... a way of existing is not acceptable.
This is actually an issue I have been mindful of for the course of my marriage, and I have gotten to a point with the kids where I have no qualms about going into my room on Saturday afternoon and locking the door behind me, so I can get some one on one time with my partner. I have no problems with them playing together for an hour without me there to hover over them, so I can reconnect, even if only a little, and tend to the needs of the man who is my best friend. I also have no problems with telling the kids, "Not now, go play", through that locked door, and making it clear we will be out "Later".
Even if all we do for that hour is wrestle around talk a bit, or doze off while discussing something completely stupid, like why the cat is retarded... it matters.
So, I guess I can count myself out of the "super mom" club. (I will no doubt post soon about they parents who over schedule their kids and inundate them with stimulation in hopes they will grow up okay... and in the process create crazy children.) I am the kind of mom who willing to let them get dirty, tend to themselves once in awhile, and who is okay with letting them be kids- So long as Iget to be a grown up too.
The best gift I can give to my kids is an example of what a healthy loving relationship between a man and a woman looks like- bickerments, kisses, discussions, and the occasional whispers from behind closed door.

Back to Business

Now that I have most of the things here set up as I want them, I figured I should get back to the business of talking about... me, mostly.
I have spent the day so far today doing my usual routine. Boring.
The boy-o is home from school today with a swollen eye. Self inflicted, I assure you. He rubbed it and rubbed it until it swelled shut last night. Still pretty puffy looking this morning- and I figured the school would have freaked thinking he had pink-eye, so here we are.
The children on the other hand have been having a bang up time of making me nuts. Since I am an only child- I do not understand the dynamics of sibling relationships. I didn't grow up with another child, so I am unable to comprehend the need for constant fighting and bickering, bitching, whining and moaning. Example?
He gets told it is her turn to use the computer, and he begrudgingly obliges giving her control- but closing the web page he was playing on. This, naturally, sends her into a complete fit. After I have convinced him to put the page back- (and he does so with a look of total exasperation on his face, mind you)- He proceeds to go on and do something else, and leave her to her game. Is this good enough? Hell, no!
My darling baby girl feels compelled to get his attention, stick her tongue out at him and taunt him that it is her turn and not his... further more, she "fakes" at leaving the computer to see if he will take the bait and run for another go. Motive? To have something to cry and whine about to me- that he is trying to take her turn.
Whilst this boo-hooing is going on IN my face, he is in the background vehemently defending himself "I WAS NOT!". It makes for quite the ya-ya.
She bitches that he bothers her- but makes damn sure he does it.
He tells her to leave him alone- then bitches to me that she won't play with him.
Try to separate them in opposite rooms or corners and they get upset that they can't "play" together.
The only thing they seem to be unified in is the pursuit of the fight with one another... or perhaps the subconscious desire to drive me to the looney bin between now and when she starts school in the fall.
Maybe they are worried I will be lonely here, and I might look nice in a white room in a nice white straight jacket.
They may be right.