~Cats are sketched out by the sound of tape guns. So much so, that they will go into hiding and look like the devil himself is coming after them with a hungry pitbull. Cats even take on a possessed look- wondering if there is such a thing as a cat exorcist.

~During a move that is done in pieces, invariably, despite the best laid plans, shit will get forgotten. You could very well end up after the last movers leave realizing you have no can opener, but a drawer completely full of cooking utensils.

~Children, when left with few toys, will find something to play with, no matter how "not a toy" that something is. *Solo cups, when stacked and fall on a wood floor are noisy- see above re:Echo effect. *Stuffed animals don't smell good after used as bath toys. *Pillows, in fact, do not make good projectiles. *Golf balls make marks on walls when thrown against them. *Empty 5 gallon water bottles, when put in the hands of children can be dangerous.

~Solo cups are multi-purpose kitchen tools. Breakfast cereal can be eaten from Solo cups, spaghetti-o's can be cooked in Solo-cups, and even though they crack, kids can hide solo cups full of liquids in the freezer and make solid bricks of ice that can break toes when they fall out.

~You have more cleaning supplies under your kitchen sink than you think you do.

~AFN sucks worse when there is nothing else to do during down time than watch AFN.... The up side being, you find things to do to minimize down time.

~Temporary furniture was designed by the same people who developed the interrogation methods for detainees in Guantanamo Bay. I know somewhere someone is laughing his sick fuckin ass off thinking about people sitting on couches for weeks that make doctor's office furniture seem comfortable. Same sick bastard thinks the idea of 2 adults sharing a double bed is hilarious.

~Mother Nature, in order to pay me back for taking away her ability to fuck me up with menses, has decided to screw with the weather. Going from the patio temp being 96, with 80% humidity to a high of 62 and windy as all hell... making my body react in bad ways- sweat my ass off to freeze my ass off within 36 hours. Uncool. This week we have had lovely days of 35 mph winds, and an hourly change from torrential rain to sunshine at least 4 times a day.

~You have shit hidden in the corners of your house that you don't know about. I'll make a list for entertainment purposes. You likewise have shit stuck to the floors in your house under the furniture that would scare you... seriously- I don't remember ever having THAT in this house. WTF?!

~Everyone reacts to stress differently. Some eat and gain weight. Some stop eating and lose weight. Some get testy, some get depressed,... I break out. I am not talking the teenager looking zit here and there on my face. I get these huge nasty painful knots in oddball places. These past two weeks have gotten me what could only be described as alien invasions, and they always show up about 24 hours after a new bit of bullshit is added to the stress pile. One in (That's IN) my ear, one right dead center between my tits, one right at the bra line on my back, one in my armpit, one on my thigh, and one... well never mind where THAT one was. The one that did show up on my face is not a zit... I think it is my body trying to grow a new nose (One that looks like it belongs on a famous reindeer) and it is right next to the old nose.

~Old magazines seem like new again, when you find them after years and put them in the bathroom for the "Guy's Shitting Time".

Fuck man... stop the ride. I want to get off now, please.

Okay... follow along close. You may need a piece of graph paper and a slide rule to keep up, but here goes.

In the beginning stages of this mnd screw of house buying, I went and pulled our credit report. Looked it over, and found something weird. A company called Midland Credit had us owing them $1250.00... okay... what the fuck? So I call them.

Call 1- After getting disconnected 3 times, I finally get a talking head on the other end of the line asking for an account number. Well, I don't have one of those- so I give the social security number and she pulls it up. Apparently this is a collection account for Providian. A credit card we had years and years ago. I am pretty sure that was paid off a long time ago, I told her. Shit, fire and save matches. Now, we HAD a Providian account when we moved here. We closed it and paid it off. We paid it off in October of '04. Of course in my fluster of what the fuck, I am told "If you paid it off, no big deal, just fax us proof that it was paid off." ?!?! Okay, fine. Hang up the phone, throw a fit, and start digging through records and papers.

Call 2- Say fuck it and call Providian for information on the original account. Once we did the round about of confirming identity she tries to pull up an account that has been closed for 4 years. She gives me another company to call to trace it to- Oddly enough it is NOT Midland.

Phone call 3, I call the next company. A nice guy named Guy checks the account and confirms it indeed was paid off in October of 2004. I ask him how this account got sent to a collection agency in San Diego if it was paid off 4 years ago. He's stumped too, by the way, just as I am. I was able to get the original account number tacked to the account from him. It was a Visa- I know that because it started with a 4.

Call 4- Back to Midland to ask them where did they get the account? When? Account Number? All that happy shit. Midland gives me a Mastercard account number (Started with a 5), said they got it from some company name Presidio... Never heard of these dirtbags, btw, and Forest Gumped me saying they couldn't tell me anymore about that, because they had no contact information for Presidio. Hmmm... okay...

Call 5- To Providian, who as luck would have it, had to be routed through Washington Mutual Bank because I had no card number to give the auto-answer machine... I talked again to a nicely employed off-shore rep and asked her to grab old information. After once again talking to my husband to confirm that he was here- she said we had one account with them. Ever. A Visa account- that's right- starting with a 4. I confirmed the Visa number with her, and yep- the was the only one she had for us. Fuck a duck. Okay...

Call 6- Extensive forum digging on Google provides me with contact information to a company named Presidio, who apparently sold Midland this account of ours from Providian... I get a really nice lady there. I give her the mastercard account number that Midland says we owe for- and for the account they claim Presidio sold them with our name on it. She doesn't have it in her system. I give her our names. Nothing. Our SSNs- nope. Presidio has no fuckin idea who we are- never heard of us, have no card or account in our name, not even a single address linked to our zip code.

So to sum up thus far- Midland Credit has us on file for owing $1250 on a Providian mastercard account that Providian doesn't have in our name, that was sold to them by a collections company that has never heard of us, and are telling us we carry the burden of proving that we paid it off in 2004, even though the one we paid off was attached to a different Providian account number and was paid off to a company called Palisades.

Call 7- Back to Midland to inform them that Presidio has no record of this account, us or this ghost balance. Also tell them that Providian has no records of this account belonging to us- as all we had with them was a Visa account. She tells me to file a Police Report. (What the mother fuck??) And to contact the FTC about Identity theft.
Now I am quite sure this is not ID Theft as further down my credit report I show a soft hit in May from a skip trace, and oddly that's when this ghost account shit got added to my report. Some prick in a cube farm somewhere found a name match and tacked this shit on to our experian and transunion report, because he saw a previous account with Providian.

In any case- Call 8- The feds. Called the FTC, filed a complaint... and then asked, "Okay, now what?" The Federal Government said to inform the company that there has been a mistake- and said if they will not fix it, ultimately I am within my rights to contact an attorney and sue them.. As I never received a bill, they have provided no proof of the debt, etc. The FTC said that whether it is due to theft or not, it is still fraud.. Fraud is a felony. :) I asked her how likely it was that a thief would steal our numbers in order to open ONE card account for $1200. She kind of laughed- not really the way it usually happens... and more often than not the credit card company that originated the account would still have it tied to your name.

Call 9- Shit, It's now 10:30 p.m., I am pissed off and frustrated, and I get back with Midland to inform them that I have filed a complaint with the FTC. She says I need to get a police report. Wait, what? Yes, see because she says it is Identity theft... I say, one, I am in Europe, so what police do I call? Second, I am quite sure no one stole my information in this matter, just someone in skip tracing fucked up. Now these sonsabitches want me to fax them an affidavit stating the account is not ours in order for them to do the research and take it off our credit report. Gee, just an affidavit? It's that simple, huh, bitch? Well, of course if I send it with a police report... basically- they don't acknowledge that it was a mistake, it must be theft. You fuckweed.
She says an affidavit is all that is needed, and if I send it to them with any "supporting paperwork", they will expunge my credit of this debt. Some little minimum wage prick fucks up a skip trace, and leaves me to try to prove a negative.

Midland is unwilling to do any of this research themselves- I have to get legal papers, and "supporting documentation". The burden of proof somehow does not lie on their shoulders, but the consumer's. In the mean time I get to write and retell this story to every bank we want to shop with for a mortgage until Midland stops jerking off into the cereal bowl of my life.

I have a complaint on file with the FTC. I also filed a complaint with the BBB. I am seriously considering hiring an attorney... especially if this shit delays us buying a house, or costs us massive amount of points in interest in trying to get a mortgage from some over zealous little bastard in his cubicle not verifying the validity of a debt and identification associated with it.

Calls 10, 11, 12 will be to Providian, and the other companies involved to try and sweet talk them into helping me prove my negative to these cockbites at Midland. Why should it be my job to prove THEY fucked up?! OMG I am SO fucking pissed off. I may make calls 13, 14 and 15 to stars and stripes, and consumer groups to besmirch these fucktards in every public forum I can find.
So MCM, Midland Credit Management you can FUCK OFF AND DIE for adding this much more bullshit to the stress of moving and house hunting. Your company sucks big fat dick, and I hope you get put out of business by the federal government, with your managers led away in chains. Your company is unethical and I would be surprised if you make any money at all with your business practices. FOAD. You suck something fierce.

We could rent. Find a place that is not the size of a refrigerator box with a washer and dryer, and who allow a cat... and looks like rent on such a place will run about $800+ a month. Now- even given a pretty shitty interest rate to account for us not owing anyone money... A pretty nice set up- like 2200 sq ft and a yard, etc will run $700 PITI... so... You can see why I am sticking on the idea of buying. We will be there for at least 5 years. Usually more than enough time for a recession to turn around, and fuck all, owning something there might make me like it a little. (Yes, I realize this is before spending my first winter in the middle of an iceberg landscape.)

But do I want to invest a substantial part of our life and heart into something? I can rip out the bathroom if I hate it... re do the floors... paint my fucking walls any god damned color I like!! Now I have noticed North Dakotan's like of painting walls red and putting up really ugly fucking wallpaper full of flowers and stripes... but I can rip that shit off and do my own thing if I own the place. On the other hand- if the toilet falls apart, or the outside paint looks like shit, I have to pay for it.

See, even thinking about it has my asshole all puckered up tight. This may be worse than wedding jitters... No.. yes...no... yes... Fuck it. I need a beer.

~No more AFN commercials. If you had ever seen a day's worth of this shit, you'd understand. The saddest part is when you realize that they pay people to write, record, edit and publish this retarded shit... It's positively depressing. My brain may never recover from 6 years of OPSEC, AAFES, depression awareness, suicide prevention, sexual assault, stress relief and commissary TV spots; oh- how about the "god" commercials-truly stupid shit; like they took those funny billboards about how he'll make rush hour longer, and twisted them into this pseudo religion ad- and forgot to make it funny.
Holy shit! I'll get to see a superbowl WITH commercials. On that note- more than 12 TV Channels. Now I'll have at least 150 to go around with and see that there is fucking nothing on. How glorious.

~The exchange rate will no longer be a spectator sport equally brutal as watching a rugby match. No more having to budget an extra 45-50% in order to eat out, fix the car, or buy something in town.,, and no more VAT forms. I will happily now fork over my 7% in sales tax dollars versus the paperwork and errand running for a 19% euro reduction in taxes.

~American doctors available off base. I can get a referral off base without fear of my lack of communication skills causing a rift in my medical care. I can go see a GYN- a female one even without being creeped out, and I bet I can get in without a 45 day wait. I might even have a choice of psychiatrists that don't sound and LOOK like Sigmund Freud giving me the brush off the the wiggins all at the same time... and I can call and change providers if I think my kid's doctor is an asshole for always being late without a bunch of bullshit, or being sent to another doc in the same office.

~I will no longer hate and dread grocery days because of the four story climb with 50 pounds of bags cutting the circulation off from my fingers, my legs shaking after trip three, and feeling wiped out by the whole ordeal.

~No more Sunday afternoons spent smelling the people downstairs... They like to grill on Sundays. They don't have a gas grill, and they are VERY fond of charcoal lighter fluid. Two hours every weekend, I teeter between retching and getting high off fumes. Perhaps I will give them our gas grill when we move... Cause they way they cook- can't taste very good- nothing hitting the tongue but flammable liquids.

~Should something break, need repair or need replaced- I bet I can find it in a store. Grill parts, furniture repairs, computer peripherals. I will be able to go out and buy printer ink- any time. Or fabric for sewing, and have it that day. No more waiting for shit to be shipped... OH- and we can have Dunkin Donuts coffee beans delivered, because there is no customs shitting on us. Oh, the glory of immediate satisfaction for a $2 part being there when you want to buy it. Need brake pads? How bout an alternator? Pep boys has it in stock- and they take core charges. Real acrylic nails, and Matrix hair care. Woot.

Shit... dryer is done. Must. Wash. Everything. 8 days. *8* fucking days.

SO now all those in my life most concerned with dates, (besides myself,) can stop freaking the fuck out. We arrive in Baltimore (after a layover in O'Hare, the airport from depths of HELL) on July 31st. We'll be spending the night there near BWI in a Sheraton. Bright and early we'll be getting the car and beginning the long ass haul to BFE North Dakota. Still working out the stops along the way for that torturous long ride, but we'll get there, kids and cat in tow. Google maps estimates about 25 hours of actual driving time. That's a really long time to spend in a fucking car, eating from plastic wrappers, drinking from pop bottles and dealing with, a backseat monkey shit fight, and "I have too pee" every 2 hours. Even if we are stopping every night to sleep, shower and make phone calls, it is going to be a stressing few days.

In any case, there is a light at the end of the tunnel- although I get the feeling it is more like a light at the end of of roller coaster climb though a dark cave, and on the other side is a series of really steep drops and hard fucking turns... but it's a light, no doubt.

Yep- I'm upset too. Not just at the lack of a car, and my plans being fucked, but at the fact that everyone around me is in a state of agitation and turmoil. See, I had plans for today. Sort through the upstairs store room, go through our closet and arrange it into pack and carry shit, then head out for a late lunch with the kids. Now I have a pissed off man, upset boy and confused girl, (because at her age, everything is the end of the world). In the grand scheme it is a hiccup, a bump in the road, no big deal... but when my nerves are frayed at a fine thread it's little shit like this that makes me want to start pulling my hair out in great gobs.

I want to be concentrating on my shit-to-do list, and instead I feel the compulsive urge to play peacemaker... not for their sakes so much as my own. I can't make anyone unpissy, though, can I? It's dumb. I shouldn't try. I can't effect anyone else... seriously though- I just want everyone to shut the fuck up, have a coke and a smile. Pull into line with my thoughts and start running towards a common goal... together. In so much as I am not the first to go through it, and I know it is irrational, but I feel like I am going to be doing the majority of this shit alone.... Like- he is doing the paperwork, (most of it), and everything else- the meat of the move- is up to me, and me alone. Medical records, transcripts, sorting absolutely everything and making sure everything is ready. That's alot of shit for one person- well, at least for me.

I may look like I am flying through it all with grace, style and agility- let's just hope when this three ring circus is done, the lions are back in their cages, the clowns are not wearing the dancer's costumes, and I remember to pack the tent poles for the new town's show.

Today, I will scramble to get much done in the house, while trying to find a little time to relax and enjoy the awesome quiet. Tomorrow, the children will be released early and set loose upon the neighborhood (and my nerves) for the summer.... Then the quiet ends. Not only will we be running to get all the paperwork and errands for the move done with one car, (we shipped one already), but I'll be having the divine pleasure of doing so with the kids in tow, bitching for ice cream and going home.

All this lovely running about like a crazy bitch has been the cause of my lack of posting and ranting here. I would love to have a temper tantrum and the nervous breakdown I desperately deserve, but I just haven't the time these days. I will write when I have the time... as it is, the precious few quiet moments I get are split between jotting notes, making plans, thinking entirely too much, and oh, yeah- trying to have fun with my family. God forbid I try to find not only the time, but the ambition for the simple carnal pleasures of marriage.

Seriously- this is the time when those who care for me should hit their knees and thank god for the miracles of modern chemistry and mood stabilizing meds. The chores call... I think today is linen sorting and trashing (bags 12 and 13). I'll get back here when I can.

After fighting the good fight, post-op, my Grandfather left us. He left behind his memory of laughter and kindness, and a great gap of his presence. I remember the last time I talked to him- the night of December 19th. We were getting ready to go to the obligatory Christmas party for my husband's work. He was in great spirits and told me a dirty joke... we laughed our asses off, and I told him to take care of himself. I know most people have those postmortem regrets of "I never told him this or that.. He never knew..." I don't have those. He knew how much he was loved. He always knew how special he was to me, and I am sure he knows how much he is missed- I am certain when I crack myself up in an empty house thinking about one of his obscene songs, (I wish I had the prick of a stallion...) that he is laughing right along with me. The only thing I wish is that I could thank him, for everything. But then, I am sure he wouldn't go for all that mushy boo-hoo shit.

In September of 2004 I got news that one of my closest friends had killed himself. That last conversation with him is also stuck in my memory... because before I hung up, I had told him "I love you, and please don't do anything stupid." Guess he made an empty promise when he agreed. I miss him so badly and it is a hole in my heart that will never heal. Being in Europe, no one in his family knew where to find me or contact me to let me know when it had happened in August.. and I spent the better part of September, after I found out, crying every day. It still tears me up that I haven't been back to Vegas in over 6 years, to see him parents, or pay my respects at his grave. I am not sure that I have any regrets about what I said or did not say to him either... We were so close that I never pulled my punches, always spoke my mind, and always let him know how I felt... Although I wish I could have been there, that maybe if he had me to come to he'd still be around, I can't regret any of that.... Just wistfully want it to have been different.

So much... Mom got married, Dad is getting married, my best bud from High school had a baby, my grandmother's health is failing. We've made friends who have left, made more, got close, and they left too. My son is nine, and when we got here he was three.... so he has spent more of his life in another country than his own. We came here with furniture that looked like it belonged in a newlywed flat, and now have a houseful of stuff we can be proud of. I have added 3 more cars to the very long list of vehicles come and gone. We've been the victims of check fraud, and changed bank accounts. We've seen the Eiffel Tower, walked through Notre Dame and been to Disneyland Paris. My kids got to put their feet into the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans within 2 weeks of each other. I tended bar at two different clubs, worked at the commissary, broken my ankle, had a hysterectomy and ortho surgery. It's been a busy six years...

Yet, I don't feel any different really. Not much has changed. The daily grind, the bills, helping with homework. A roller coaster of belly laughs and sobbing in tears... and now with so much getting ready to change around here- I wonder- how much will change really?

This being one of my favorites- as it includes FTFF- Fuck the Fuckin' Fuckers- and, "Why don't you go outside and play hide-and-go-fuck-yourself?!"

Then there is another of my favorites:

There are many words in the English language that can have multiple meanings, but none are more versatile than that little four letter word, SHIT.
Consider the following:
* You can get shit-faced, Be shit-out-of-luck, Or have shit for brains.
* With a little effort, you can get your shit together, find a place for your shit, or be asked to shit or get off the pot.
* You can smoke shit, buy shit, sell shit, lose shit, find shit, forget shit, and tell others to eat shit.
* Some people know their shit, while others can't tell the difference between shit and shineola.
* There are lucky shits, dumb shits, and crazy shits. There is bull shit, horse shit, and chicken shit.
* You can throw shit, sling shit, catch shit, shoot the shit, or duck when the shit hits the fan.
* You can give a shit or serve shit on a shingle.
* You can find yourself in deep shit or be happier than a pig in shit.
* Some days are colder than shit, some days are hotter than shit, and some days are just plain shitty.
* When you're sick, you can feel like shit, look like shit, smell like shit, and sound like shit.
* You can also sound like you're full of shit.
* You can have too much shit, not enough shit, the right shit, the wrong shit or a lot of weird shit.
* You can carry shit, have a mountain of shit, or find yourself up shit creek without a paddle.
* Sometimes everything you touch turns to shit and other times you fall in a bucket of shit and come out smelling like a rose.
When you stop to consider all the facts, it's the basic building block of the English language.
And remember, once you know your shit, you don't need to know anything else!!

So, have a nice day. Or go fuck yourself- I don't give a shit! ;)

Well, that's it for this installment of "go get you one". I'll find more to list... maybe a list of stuff I think sucks and wouldn't give away to an enemy.

So, as to not deprive the fucktard of his 5 minutes of fame, let me plaster his shit on my front page- as I said- feel free to shoot him a line at hisname@yahoo.com:

You are the most angry-evil bitch I have run accross in a long time. I think you should have to go live in the real world where couples each have a job and have to pay for health care. Where you have to buy groceries at market prices and pay taxes on them.
You are fucking spoiled. Who wants to fuck a snot nosed whiny bitch. Your old man must be hard-up or getting the real pussy somewhere else.
Do the world a favor and get those baby producing parts taken out, then you can find something new to bitch about.
Kent

And now- let me go ahead and reciprocate, you twat. First- learn to use your spell checker. Second- This blog is not for you. It is for me. It's kind of like therapy. My anger is better let go here than at the people around me.

You think we don't pay for health care? Hmm... well, albeit, our premiums are low for our coverage, and it is a great HMO- however- most people don't go to work knowing it is their job to take a bullet for a loud mouthed shithead like you, and most wives don't live with fear months at a time, scared to turn on CNN in front of their kids, because Daddy is "over there". I think we pay our dues.

And for the record- in the states, I did work, you dick, and when we go back to the states, I'll be working outside of the home again, you dick. When was the last time you lived in another country and had to find a job that paid well enough to cover child care, had decent hours, and still left enough money to make it worth it to blow a tax bracket- in another country?... no, likely you are a typical guy who doesn't give a second thought to other people who don't live in the United States.

Blah blah, market prices, blah blah... eat me. How about you get put on a controlled budget knowing you'll never make as much money as some guy in the same career field for 20 years on the outside. Most enlisted personal live rather modestly- it's called a fixed income... and our prices, like yours are going up too. Oddly, our salaries- like yours are not keeping up with the change.

So fuck you. You don't know me. All you know about me is that I have a place to vent my frustrations so I can show a happy face to the people in my life who matter. YOU are not one of them. I may put it out there- but it is usually more comedic relief than anything else. Sorry you weren't born with the intellect to decode a twisted sense of humor.You are an internet troll who has little better to do than worry about nickel and dime shit that is none of your business, and post venomous shit on someone else's page.

You're obviously a cock. Live day in and out with the same person for 12 plus years through the best and worst of times. See if you don't feel like blowing a screw or two loose. Live 3000 miles away from everything you know (that would be America, dumbass) for 6 years, lose family members to death in your absence, oh- and have your best friend of 15 years hang himself and not find out about it for weeks because they don't know where to find you. See if maybe you wouldn't find a blog to vent on for relief. Break your leg in three places, and live on the fourth floor of a building without an elevator. Have the friends you make pack up and leave and accept it as normal that you feel alone so often. I am quite sure a judgmental prick like you couldn't pull it off, even with a blog.

I wouldn't worry about my husband, or my pussy, or what we do with it for that matter. If you think that is all there is in a marriage, you are sadly misguided- it is the dishes, and kid's flus, and the laundry, and the car repair that makes the whole thing work- perhaps you've not had a relationship that didn't revolve around your hard dick... There is no need for him to go find pussy anywhere else, buster, he seems more than happy with what we've got.

I also went through a very long arduous time of suffering with uterine damage and excruciating pain- ending up having my "baby making parts" taken out. It was a really difficult time for me. Thanks for bringing it up, dickhead. I can only equate what I went through as you being kicked in the balls every 10 minutes for 4 days, and do it every 3 weeks. You'd shrivel your ugly ass up and die... but thanks for pointing that whole baby making thing out. Very classy.

Perhaps next you would like to counter by attacking people with Bi-polar disorder, and how they cope and live daily with a difficult and overly stereotyped disorder. Maybe one or two of them have outlets like, I dunno.. BLOGS maybe to work out issues. They put them in public because it helps them work through it by going back later, re-reading it, and seeing how other people responded- to put it in perspective. Maybe people like me need outlets so we can deal with assholes like you.

This is how you spend your time? Talking about other people's husband's fucking other women? What a twat. Well, there you go kentbeckman@yahoo.com, there's your fame and glory, e-troll. Have a fucked day. I shan't give you a second thought.

I don't have many friends, and though it sounds cliché to say I have acquaintances, but few friends. I can count on my fingers the number of real friends I have made, on one hand the number I have kept over the course of years. In almost all our years, we have had a total of 2 fights, of which only one was serious enough to cause a schism. It lasted a few months, and we picked up where we left off, as if it never happened.

So a little about her, this fabulous woman who shares half of my soul and brain. Heather. We have been friends for... (holy shit, lemme take a breath here, over feeling OLD)... Almost 19 years. We met sophomore year in high school, and it was hate at first sight. Let's see- she had on this designer suit, complete with pantyhose and matching heels and purse. Supermodel hair do, flawless makeup on this classic Victorian face. I saw her coming, shoes first, sitting on the bench in the gym. I was in a flannel t-shirt, ripped up jeans and hair pulled into a hasty pony tail. (I didn't do mornings then,either.) As I had just recently been displaced to Vegas from Scottsdale, I was rather defensive. From what we found out later, she saw me and felt equal disdain- the tom-boy who seemed to look more through her than at her; who didn't give a shit what she or anyone else thought. It took a badminton game in PE, and an offhanded, off-color comment about the very odd teacher some weeks later to kick things off between us.

Here we are eighteen plus years later, 6000 miles apart, and still joined together. Her mother fucking HATES me with a white hot passion. I take comfort in that-and maybe will dedicate an entire post to THAT story later. :) We also share a brain, and it drives our husbands bat-shit. The four of us go out, and they see the looks going back and forth. Most of the time, "I don't even have to say it". She just knows what I am thinking, as I do her. There were many times when we would have that "thing" going on- when across town from each other, I would call her because I knew something was wrong. She'd bump her head- I'd get the headache. Actually, I can see how it would creep them out.

A few more things about Heather...

~She's a fantastic dancer. I am a great singer- She can't sing, and my dancing looks like a seizure when compared to her. We don't give as shit, and do it anyway.
~An unshakable faith in those she loves, even if it is, at times, completely undeserved.
~Class. She holds her head up, even if swimming in a river of piss and looking for a tree.
~While I am the pragmatist, she is the dreamer and hopeless romantic. It works out for both of us. She keeps me dreaming- I keep her grounded.
~She taught me "Gracious under Pressure". i.e.- tact- tell them to go to hell in a way to have them looking forward to the trip... I taught her "FTFF". (fuck the fuckin fuckers)- i.e. Be yourself and if they don't like it, that's not your problem. She softens me, I toughen her, and between us a formidable strength I would not like to come up against in someone else.
~When our husbands are dead, we are going to buy an island somewhere... maybe roll old men for their money.
~Though she comes across as fairly serious, therein lies her incredible sense of humor.
~"Does this dress look okay?".. Her... "NO! It looks like shit! Take it off!"
~She is everything I am not, and the perfect compliment of my every facet.
~She gets me. What else is there? Totally and completely... she just...gets it.

I miss her terribly, even though I can feel her with me.
I could never forget her birthday- I just want this one to be a little special, even if forced by time and distance to wait a few more weeks.

Oh! Shit! I didn't tell you about Friday! K2 came home early so I could take his car to the pharmacy, as mine was still dead and pissed. His car was low on gas.. now I probably could have made it there and back on what was in there- but the stupid light came on, and in that gas hoggin' whore, I get really jumpy... so I stopped to fill it. Grabbed some adult beverage refreshments for later while I was there, and figured. no big deal- I have almost an hour to get there. Since I was just picking up an already filled script, that was time to spare. Cruised down to Ramstein, feeling better that I would be able to get my meds, and put a halt to this stupid shit cycle of zombie sleep deprivation.

UNTIL... Duh duh dunnnn.... I pull into the clinic parking lot, and it is empty. Empty at 3:45 p.m. On a Friday. So, it was apparently a goal day... or family day... or a training day... or whatever else kind of bullshit that I could not wrap my head around at that moment. They were obviously closed. Yes, I still felt the need to get out of the car and walk up to the door... go inside and hear the nothing inside the dark building full of closed doors and empty rooms. Crickets! Crickets, I tell you! Now, after almost a week of hardly any sleep, and the little bit I did get being broken into 45 minute chunks throughout the 3 or 4 hours I was laying there, I got a little emotional. I welled up as I waked back to the car- and sat in the driver's seat, in an empty parking lot, and had myself a good old fashioned crying jag.

Anyway, came Monday, and the opening of the pharmacy... and the first unbroken night of sleep in a week. Then the haunting quieting of my mind earlier. Remember how it sounded on September 12th? When there were no planes flying anywhere? It was eerie, but not in a way you could quite identify...? Well, that was what it felt like- in there- where the cobwebs live between my ears-. Now my mind is back at work- but it is calm. Almost orderly. Maybe I needed that crying fit in an empty parking lot.

Feeling out of focus, depressed, and majorly mindfucked? I have the cure! Sleep deprivation of at least 6 days, a mini-breakdown- complete with the self soothing of rocking and wailing like an Italian Widow- and then a good hard sleep.