What this house needs is a little "man"

I think I have male attachment syndrome. It's a very real (by which case I mean imaginary) disease that plaques me everytime my husband leaves.

I have withdrawls..for DH, yes, but also for men in general. I find myself lingering around my male neighbor as he gets the mail waiting for an assasin to jump out from behind the garbage can and grab me...at which point my neighbor (being a MAN and all) would OBVIOUSLY whip out his M1911, flex his muscles, and kick some assassin ass...like my own personal Rambo. Then he'll brush the sweat from his brow and jump onto his chopper and zoom off into the desert, like a true vigilante...maybe carving a giant "Z" on the ground with his samurai sword as he rides into the sunset (I wish).

I find myself lying awake at night wishing there was a muscley arm around me (even a detached limb would suffice. In fact, a detached limb would give it that extra dose of manliness...like it's from a SAW movie!)

Basically, my life is too much chick and not enough dude. I get up at whatever time I want and roll around my satin sheets (now that I no longer have to worry about man stains, I can finally use the good sheets lol). Then I waltz in to breakfast and dine on English muffins and tea. I spend the day watching Desperate Housewives and America's Next Top Model before having a light dinner of smoked salmon and arugala and hunkering down with a blanket to watch Grey's Anatomy and Vampire Diaries. Then I may paint my nails, color my hair, take a bubble bath, and listen to my girly ipod music before dozing off to sleep nestled in between 2 spoiled cats.

The only male presence around me is my cat, Skaggs, who might as well be an effeminate homosexual for all the manliness he bring to the house (think kurt, from Glee). I need more sex jokes, gun talk, and beer obsessions. So I look to the men around me.

The mormons missionaries (19 year old, clean-shaven, pre-pubescent-looking guys that they are) at least SOUND like dudes, even if all they ever talk about is their testimony. 

My mechanic, having a certain affinity towards text messaging and cars, provides me with my daily dose of badassery. I frequently text him to ask about our truck, truck parts, truck motors, truck sounds, motorcycles and cars. I will make up mechanical issues just to hear someone say the word "carburator".

Beer is where it gets a little more complicated. Being underage myself, I can't very well roam the liquor aisles debating between Budweiser American Ale and Dos Equis. Ah, but our ex-roommate has that covered. I frequently call him and pester him to regale me with the stories of his weekends (almost all of which involve beer, cops, and underpants...sometimes all at the same time). He also provides me with my weekly dose of sex jokes.

So now I have man voices, man talk, and typical man stupidity covered.

Yet I still find myself becoming obsessively attached to dudes. And I don't mean attached in a sexual way (not at all). I mean attached in the "wait you're a dude! Come be a dude in my vicinity and balance out this over abundance of femininity" kind of way.

I wish I could have a male ghost haunt my house. He'll walk around in his boxers leaving all the lights on, eating all the food in the fridge, and hogging the remote. Then at night he'll sneak up and steal the covers, fart, and snore. And then maybe...in the evenings...he will whine about dinner and I will cook something delicious and wach my little man-ghost inhale it without chewing before declaring it "fine" and handing me his dish.

....On the other hand, maybe I don't need any more "man".

Oh my Mormon...

Several weeks ago the missionaries came to the door. Being from Utah and all, this was the first time missionaries had actually been to my door with an attempt to convert (it's just assumed everyone in Utah is already LDS, so there aren't many missionaries there).

I was having a stellar day that day, making my care package and baking, so I was thrilled that I had been targetted as a potential convert. It made me feel special to know that someone other than the kirby vacuum salespeople thought to knock on my door. And since I happened to be excrutiatingly lonely that day, I was all the more thrilled to have a few moments of a social life.

Plus, they seemed nice (well, being missionaries, I'm sure they actually were genuinely nice).

Long story short, I let them come back. I'm not sure WHY I let them come back, as I really have no intent to convert to Latter Day Saints (or at least not for the religion...maybe to see the temple..hmmm..I'm kidding, of course). The ironic thing is, my husband is already golden. He was baptized into the LDS church at the tender age of 8 and raised into their doctrine. Teenage angst caused him to lose his faith altogether and he became an atheist.

After I met him, I shed my presbyterian ways and joined him as a Secular Humanist, although to be entirely honest I am a far cry from being the staunch atheist that he is. He is perfectly content knowing there is no God and no heaven. I, on the other hand, am not. I cannot bring myself to fully believe, as the concept of dieties and religion seems completely nonsensical to me at this point, but I cannot bring myself to completely let go of my religious upbringing, reliance on prayer, or wish for an afterlife either. So the place I stand now is more as a "removed observer". I've decided to live my life as an open-minded skeptic, prefering to take the conservative route of withholding ALL believe until evidence is presented.

It just so happened that on the day the missionaries came to my door I had just finished having a good cry/panic attack over the idea of death and being completely and utterly alone. So I was particularly impressionable that day. So if I did (by some sheer stroke of missionary luck) end up baptized into the LDS church, my husband and I could technically be sealed for time and eternity in the San Diego temple...not that I think he would even agree to that. He was flabbergasted when his old ward erected a plaque in honor of his military service.

So they came back yesterday. They were very nice young men, and they brought along one of my neighbors who is a ward member (something about not being allowed to be alone with a "single" woman....?). I let them pray at the beginning and end of the visit, and told them with 100% honesty that I do not believe in God, and I have a hard time believing in God, let alone accepting anyone's holy book as being truth. That didn't seem to deter them, although they did somewhat express the idea that it must be "hard" to have no faith. I said it was only hard to be an atheist when other people made a big deal over it. The military has a tendency to make a big deal out of it, so for the sake of being an atheist milspouse or for my husband to be an atheist Marine, then yes I guess it would be hard.

The missionaries completely understand that, because as we all know, the LDS get a lot of crap from a lot of people. People think they are a cult. Having grown up around it all my life, with LDS family, I never was able to understand what was so wrong with the LDS church.They've always been nothing but generous and willing to help, and I don't find them to be any different than any other religion (with the exception of their second book).

Anyways, the point of this post...

The missionaries came and went. They gave me a Book of Mormon and told me to read it. Skeptical, I opened the pages. The way I see it, I can only emerge from this experience as a more intelligent person. I have nothing to lose. I do not fear upsetting any God or any religion, or committing blasphemy, but at the very least it would be nice to finally be able to put the entire belief system together. It will certainly help me identify with my LDS family, LDS friends, and even my husband's upbringing.

So a few minutes after they left, I opened the book and started reading the book of Nephi, sipping on some red wine.

And that's when it hit me...I'm drinking RED WINE with the BOOK OF MORMON! Sweet mother Mary, I would make a TERRIBLE mormon. Even if I did come to believe in God, there is NO WAY I will ever be able to give up caffeinated drinks or wine, and I know for a fact that my husband is obsessive about strong coffee and is a complete beer snob (he even has a home brewery).

They're coming back in an hour to read with me some more and I just finished another glass of red wine with lunch. Things are not looking so bright ;)

IT ARRIVED!!!

1 month later my lovely care package finally got there, after being delayed over 2 weeks by the Iceland volcano.

The cookies were hard as rocks and the candy was melted, but at least he got to see it (even though it wasn't a surprise anymore).

And they FINALLY put up wi-fi, so I got to video chat for a few minutes. Unfortunately the wireless doesn't penetrate the barracks, he has to use it outside.

Death of a Care Package

Words cannot even begin to express exactly how I feel right now.

Remember that amazingly beautiful package I slaved day in and day out for? I baked cookies and cakes and made a photo book and went on a man-hunt for Samoas?

It's MIA.

Literally....MIA.

I don't know where it went. DH never got it. I mailed it almost 3 weeks ago.

Apparently mail was held up because of the Iceland volcano, but really....even at the time of the erruption the package was already a DAYS behind schedule. All my other packages arrived within 8 days. We're now going on 20 days.

I have sorry hopes for the contents of the package. The cakes will probably be fine (I hope) but the cookies....I tried to seal them as best I could in a ziploc bag with a slice of bread. I don't even want to think about what they look like now. Or what the bread looks like now.

I don't know. WILL the cakes be fine? If the package ever even turns up, I don't know if I would trust anything in it, except maybe the (by then) melted candy and cookies. And it's not even really the unfit food that bothers me. It's the lack of surprise. After finding out it never arrived, I HAD to tell him what was in it because he was asking why I was crying over a package.

Oh yes, you heard me. I cried over a package like it was my own missing child. It was a piece of art. I was so excited for him to open it and see all the work I put into it and to see the photo book I made with all the pictures of us, and the pretty cakes and how I wrapped them all in fabric and tied them with ribbon and included all of his favorite candy and wrote a poem....and now it seems like it's either never going to get there (did they lose it? was it stolen? forgotten? thrown away?) or it's going to get there and nothing in it will be useable...except the photo book (which is now no longer a surprise..and how can he even enjoy that if he can't eat the love I put into all of the food?).

I feel completely crushed right now. Part of me wants to fire-bomb the post office (FBI take note: I am not serious. I am in no way, shape, or form going to incite violence against a government office or it's employees...just understand my anger). The other part of me wants to crawl into a hole, padded with pretty ribbon and fabric, and cry over this package like it's a deceased loved one.

And yet another part of me wants to never make another pretty care package again. Maybe now I will forever punish myself to plain brown boxes and store-bought goods. Never again will I put glue to paper. I will never stand in the kitchen and meticulously shape cookies. I will never cut squares of fabric. And I will never take any pride in my creations anymore...if this is what the world has in store for my work.

And if my threat against the Post Office attracted any sort of government attention, I would just like to point out that I am DEMANDING a full investigation into this...this...MISJUSTICE! Oh yes, you heard me. This is a misjustice. It is GROSS NEGLIGENCE of soon-to-be GOVERNMENT PROPERTY. And if this happens one more time...then so help me I will SWIM my packages across the Atlantic Ocean MYSELF!

DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

Parking Wars: Part 2

By now you are hopfully familiar with Parking Wars Part 1.

My husband has a giant truck. Driving it is fun. But parking? EEEEF NO!

Check out what I did to it back in November (our first week in California, second week of owning the truck):

In case you're wondering, that was "new car meets yellow parking pole". That of course meant that he got to drive up to meet his new unit with a brand new, badass truck that was the envy of everyone...and a story to tell about his wife who can't park.

So before his command even knew me, they knew not to let me near their vehicles.

It also so happens that all the parking lots in California are built for vespa scooters (just about). The spaces are almost insultingly small and packed in like sardines. Our apartment complex has the added "benefit" of also being shaped like this: [ (ok that was a bad example, but basically, you drive in one end and the parking lot goes up, right, right again, and then out. In other words it's tight. Each section has 2 rows of spaces, one on each side with the driving space in between them.

We've been in so many parking fiascos there. My husband tapped the back bumper of our neighbors SUV once. Another time our other neighbor caught me granny parking for 15 minutes and screamed at me from his balcony about "crowding" his vehicle.

At one point my husband almost had a meltdown in the parking lot because he couldn't maneuver into the space. I tried to fix it for him and that resulted in ME having a meltdown because I was stuck between 2 cars and blocked in by the car on the other side of the lot. Finally someone behind us got out of their car and manually guided me into position.

Then I discovered the art of "backing in". I could turn into an empty space across from us as screwy as I wanted to, and then back perfectly into our space. That seemed to work for a few weeks. Our rude parking nazi neighbor even commended me on my "skillz".

And then the inevitable happened. Our apartment manager GAVE AWAY THE EMPTY SPACE. The other day I tried to back into the space but there was a car in the other spot and I couldn't do it. So I pulled back around and tried to pull in frontwards. That didn't work either. So I gave up and parallel parked on the street (you KNOW parking is bad when you opt for parallel street parking).

The other day I tried it again, but once again couldn't maneuver around all the cars without hitting something.

So it was with a stroke of genius that I decided to ask for a new space. At first the manager seemed skeptical that one person could have such horrible parking skills that they required a new space assignment. But after viewing the giant decoration on the side and hearing tales of actual accidents we have caused in said parking lot, so gave me the best parking spot in the ENTIRE lot.

I got the corner spot next to the handicap space. So not only is there no one parked on one side of me, but I can also conveniently drive straight into my spot. I don't even have to turn the steering wheel whatsoever. It's amazing. I go around the parking lot and when I get to the corner, instead of turning I just coast into place.

I exitedly sent my husband an email telling him of our luck.

Next on the to-do list: Fix the car. It's going to cost about $500 and take 3-5 days (blegh). So if anyone wants to loan me a car for a few days (just so I can still go to the gym), that would be great. I promise to always park as far away from everyone else as possible ;)

Circle of Friends Award

Thank you to Gaile at Deployment (again) for this award! I'm so glad I was included in her circle of friends.

The rules of the award are:

1) Post it on your page


2) List five things you looooove to do

3) Pick five friendly bloggers and pass it on!


So, my five things:

1. I LOVE driving my husbands truck. Parking is always a dramatic to-do, but when I'm sitting up in that truck, 7 or so feet off the ground surrounded by a cage of steel, I feel like a badass. I even decorated it:

2. I love accessorizing our apartment. I am madly in love with throw pillows more than anything and area rugs and love switching up the colors, using accents, and overall interior decorating. Everything in our house has to match, and each room has a coordinationg floral arrangement :)

3. I love listening to music in the shower. I'm sure our neighbors are none-too-pleased to hear Taylor Swift and Madonna blasting through the walls at 7 AM, but I don't really care. I can hear them playing Call of Duty all night, so it's only fair they deal with my bathtime tunes. I always just use my iphone with speakers, which means that when I'm in the shower and my husband gets online I will hear the little notification. I never miss chats anymore :)

4. I LOVE black clothing. I guess it's because I've always been a goth at heart, but I love black clothes. Black is my favorite color. When I go shopping I don't even pay attention to colors or prints. I go straight for the black. I find it to be sexy and slimming and it makes me feel confident, so almost all of my clothes are black. Even my finger nails are usually painted black and I only ever wear black underwear too. My home, on the other hand, is always bright with accent flowers and colors, I just love to WEAR black.

5. I love Mexican food. Tacos, tortas, fajitas, burritos, quacamole...I could live on the stuff. And California Mexican food is so much better than Utah Mexican food. It's AMAZING.

So I'm passing this Cirlce of Friends award on to:

Kirsten at Requires Heavy Lifting

Tootie at Tootie's Place

Navywife24 at A Day in the Life of a Navy Wife

Dani at Hard Corps Love

Expat Girl at The Sand is Different Here

Weight Loss: Day 2

OK, I know I know...day 2? How is it only day 2 when I started 2 weeks ago?

There were a few setback (*cough* couch potato *cough*)

But today was Day 2 of me dragging my ass to the gym each evening. I ended up going by myself and it wasn't as bad as I thought. No one sneered at me, cat called me, or acted like "what's this unfit person doing in a gym". And I didn't feel like the blob in the corner (can't say the same of 24 Hour Fitness, though).

I suspect the difference is I went to the base gym rather than a "civie gym". I thought it would be packed with muscley Marines and sure there were a few, but it was mostly just wives and retirees and everyone pretty much minded their own business.

I did 40 minutes of cardio on the treadmill and elliptical and then 20 minutes of weight machines. Maybe in a few weeks I will be daring enough to step on the scale.

Here's my moto post-workout "look" (HA!):

Cooking For One

I had to write it, because I know some of you child-less spouses are in the same boat: cooking meals for ONE person.

There are several reasons I cook for one rather than just doing the regular-sized recipes and putting it in the fridge:

1. It's easier to portion what I eat
2. I'm less likely to go back for "seconds" and/or binge eat the entire meal
3. It saves me money and results in less food waste
4. I'm more likely to actually cook than do take out

I was noticing that week after week I was throwing out a lot of food. Not because I was buying too much but because I wasn't eating what I was buying because it was a hassle to cook a meal for 3-4 people and then have to store it.

So what I did this past week is I bought 2 weeks worth of food at the commissary. It cost me $91.00. I bought some boxes of cheap noodles, ramen, pasta sauce, vegetables, fruit, milk, cheese, beef, and chicken (among other things).

The chicken was on sale, so I bought 6 breasts. Each breast was pretty big, so it was more like 8 meals worth of chicken. I got home and cut up all the breasts into cubes, put them in quart-sized freezer bags in the freezer. Each bag has just enough for 1 meal. When I want to cook with the chicken, I just take out 1 bag from the freezer. There's no thawing and re-thawing or chicken waste.

I did the same thing with the beef. I portioned it into 3 servings, wrapped it in plastic and foil and froze it. With the other pound of beef I made a meatloaf and I baked it in little individual-sized pans. I got 4 mini-loafs out of the mix, and I wrapped and froze those as well.

With the vegetables, I washed and cut them and then blanched my carrots, broccolli, and peppers before putting them in plastic storage containers and freezing those. With my strawberries I washed and cut those and froze them in individual baggies for one-cup smoothies.

I happened to have leftover thanksgiving turkey carcass and thighs in the freezer. So I put the carcass and the thighs in a pot with water, celery, onions, and carrots and boiled it to make a broth. Then I strained it, picked back over the meat, put it back into the soup with the veggies and seasoned it. I save all my jars, so I simply poured the soup into old sauce jars and froze those too.

I also made some homemade salad dressing and froze it in an ice cube tray.

There are some things that can't really be frozen, such as lettuce, so I washed and dried it as best I could and put it in a special cloth "lettuce bag" that is supposed to keep lettuce longer. I'l probably end up going back to the store next week for some more lettuce though, which is fine.

Cheese was on sale, so I bought 2 cubes and froze one. I know from personal experience that cheddar cheese actually freezes quite well. So does butter.

So far things have been going well. I don't make elaborate meals each night (usually just chicken with some sort of seasoning lol), but knowing that every time I cook it's just for 1 person takes a ton of stress off. Esecially since I'm trying to lose weight, so I don't have to worry about eating an ENTIRE recipe.

Deployment: It's not that big of a deal

Ok ok, I know my post title seems completely contrary to everything I have spewed out in the past 2 months. I mean for heaven's sake I can't even put away my own groceries. But here me out...

A few weeks ago I met someone on craigslist. She is not a milspouse and has pretty much no connection to the military whatsoever. We were playing volleyball and she asked about my husband. I mentioned he was acually in Afghanistan.

Hearing that news the entire tone of the outing changed from a fun-loving day at the beach to an afternoon of akward conversations. She was acting like, at any moment, I might burst into tears and slit my wrists, like the mere mention of him would cause me to wail into the heavens like a depressed banshee. She was basically tiptoeing around the conversation, trying not to "tip the scale".

But come on...I'm not THAT fragile. I've had my ups and downs, but the last thing I want is for someone to treat me like a glued-back-together china doll.

Ya, my husband is deployed and it's not the most ideal situation but there's nothing I can do to change it and I don't want to go around all day playing the "woe is me" card (unless I'm talking my way out of a traffic ticket hehehehe). I wish people would just treat me like they always treated me.

There's no need to hyper-sensitize the issue.

So in that sense, deployment is not that big of a deal. Especially now that's it's been almost 2 months, I'm actually starting to become somewhat "accustomed" to it. I don't want to sound like I don't need my husband, but I can certainly see the "silver lining" (as one of my other bloggy friends put it in one of her posts).

For instance, I used to have to watch all my TV shows online because my husband would whine if I dared tune in to "Vampire Diaries" during his history channel marathons. But now I get to watch my sexy, un-dead day walkers on our 36 inch flat screen! With popcorn!

Oh and I can actually cook fish. DH hates fish (unless it was literally caught right in front of him). This morning I made scrambled eggs with smoked salmon. I also don't have a curfew. I used to always strive to be home when he was home, but now I'm not chained down to any specific time. Working out at 9 pm? Count me in.

The cats, of course, are loving his absense...probably a little too much. My husband has an issue of tossing and turning like a crazy person when he sleeps and my poor kitty usually takes a foot to the head at least every other night, or else he is accidently pushed clean off the bed. With DH gone, Skaggs can now sleep an entire night at the foot of the bed, undisturbed.

He can also hog the easy chair, AND lounge on the kitchen table. Yes, I let my cats hang out on the kitchen table. It's not like anyone eats on it. It's usually covered in papers and random things carried in from outside (purses, umbrellas, keys, bags, mail, etc). DH HATED the cats on the table. He said it was "unsanitary" and was always running around chasing them off and yelling. But I don't really give a damn, so cats on the table it is.

Another Inside Look at Deployment

Who's smart idea was it to subscribe to the San Diego Tribune?

Oh that's right.....mine. Something about "becoming worldly" and "involved in the local community". HA!

And considering there are only 6 of them, I'd say I've actually made a lot of progress since last month.

What's even more sad (and/or funny...however you look at it) is I opened the door, took pictures, and then closed the door. They're STILL there!

B.E.A.U.T.I.F.U.L

I had to share this. I found it online and for a fleeting moment I felt invincible:

B.E.A.U.T.I.F.U.L

Be the most gorgeous you. Stand in front of the mirror and find five things that you love about yourself.

Emit positivity. When you feel like putting yourself down, stop and find 2 good things to say instead.

Assess yourself for change. Make small goals to change areas in your life.

Uniquely you. There is no one like you. No one will ever be you. You are different from everyone else. There is something that you have that no one on this earth will ever have. Do you know what that something is?

Take back control. This is your life.

Inspiration required. Find a man/ woman who can be this inspiration to you, that will encourage you to move towards your goals.


Fun time is your time. Are you actually doing what makes you happy?

Undo the damage done by unhealthy habits and stick to it consistently for 3-6 weeks

Love yourself and others. Give what you want to recieve.

B.E.A.U.T.I.F.U.L is the fullness of your unique beauty that begins with you and impacts those around you. Love you and aim to give back.

An Inside Look at Deployment

Yes, those are groceries. From Friday.

And don't be fooled by the empty-looking white bags. That simply means those particular groceries were lucky enough to gravitate from the living room floor to their final resting place on the kitchen floor. The only thing that ended up put away was the perishables.

But why are they on the floor?

Because I'm mid-deployment and that's where I see fit to leave them. So there!

(See...I can too function. Just gotta embrace the lack of functionality).

I love this place

I've just decided. If the Marine Corps gives DH PCS orders, they will have to drag me out of this town kicking and screaming because I love it. I refuse to leave.

When I learned we would be moving to California I thought I was going to die. All I ever hear about this state is traffic, crime, illegal immigrants, taxes, and how expensive it is (usually all thrown into the same sentence.)

Then I found Fallbrook. My initial impression was "wow. It's 10 pm and there isn't a single car on the road!" Then after we visited our prospective apartment complex and I fell completely in love with the property I decided we were going to live here. And now, when DH gets back from deployment, we're going to buy a house here. That's not just me being a dreamer either. We WILL own property in this town because it is everything I ever wanted in a home.

What really sold me was the sense of "community". I can leave my apartment unlocked when I go to the store and when I come back someone will have moved our garbage off the front porch but left the door untouched. The shops on main street are almost entirely local businesses (art galleries, a candy emporium, some amazing mexican eateries, local restaurants, and coffee shops.) There's a local theater (as in plays and shows) as well.

The people of Fallbrook are less concerned with satisfying the needs of the military base, or even attracting any military business at all. They go about their business doing things their way and catering to one another.

I had the pleasure today of going to the annual "Avocado Festival" that kicks off the avocado harvesting season. The street was closed down and it was FLOODED with happy people munching on hot dogs and trying samples of everyone's homemade guacamole. the sense of community and togetherness was AMAZING! I wanted to cry.

So here's a little taste of where I live:


The Panderia/Taqueria, which translates to Bakery/Restaurant. They have really excellent carne Asada tortas:

The Mission Theater hosts the annual Christmas play as well as the Miss Fallbrook pageant:

This little tattoo parlor and hair salon has always intrigued me, just because of the striped store front:

The crowded festival:

A local avocado tree on display:

The Holy Quaca-moly stand, dishing up heaping helpings of quaca and chips:

I had to capture that sign. I love it:

The gelato truck. I was too nervous to try my taste buds on the avocado gelato and instead got some avocado ice cream from the local Coldstone booth:

JJ Purdy Landry's Irish Pub. They have some interesting Irish food there, but the drinks are where it's at. That place was over-flowing out the back door:

The farmer's market behind the Wayside Cafe. I tasted some of their local blood oranges. Delish:

Swirlz Candy Emporium. The outside doesn't do it justice. The inside is like part candy store part wonka factory:

Vacuum shop. I've never been able to catch them when they're actually open, but I LOVE the purple store front. It really sticks out if you drive down Main:

Probably my favorite part of this town is the Mexican community. When I first moved to California I was a bit of a "stereotyper". The Hispanic community in Utah is really crime ridden and a lot of the teenagers end up in juvie, so I grew up subconsciously learning that Hispanic communities were associated with poverty and crime. But living here I've discovered that they're the people who will be cooking tortillas with the kitchen door open and having the big get-togethers with friends and neighbors. People outside fallbrook refer to it as "Little Mexico" in a somewhat derogatory way, because there are a lot of Mexican markets, Panderias, Taquerias, and Spanish-speakers and the last thing any place wants to be equated with is "Mexico" (where you're told not to drink the water). But if every taqueria were to go away tomorrow, there really would be no town anymore.

Why I hate the Commissary

The commissary is not my friend. I've been to 3 different commissaries across the country (Hill Air Force Base, Utah; Fort Leonard Wood Army Base, Missouri; Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, California.) I've also been to the annex at Camp Williams National Guard station in Utah when I was 11. They're all the same. Over-crowded warehouses decked in the stars and stripes where people are herded through like cattle, shopping carts are marooned in the middle of aisles, and people are fighting over the box with the coupon taped to it.

Knowing that, I still decided to do my grocery shopping at the commissary today. I am a loyal, loyal, LOYAL customer of the California chain store known as the "Fresh and Easy". I am so loyal, in fact, that my shopping trip on base actually left me with pangs of guilt over not giving my business to the local F&E. But I just had to find out if the commissary was really cheaper. At the F&E I can get a bag of avocados for 98 cents, a pound of chicken breasts for $1.29, and bread for 99 cents, just by playing the weekly coupon mailer right. Plus the store brand is delish, the checkout is all self-service, the bags are double-ply extra large, and the whole store is energy efficient. So how does the commissary compare?

It doesn't. I probably won't shop there again and if I do, it will only be for the extra-wide parking spaces that easily fit my giant 4-door pickup. Oh, and I'll bag my own groceries.

Why?

Because I hate the commissary baggers. Now, hate is a strong word, especially when directed at high school students just trying to earn a buck. I was one once, working at the grocery store for 3 years bagging and cashiering. And because of that 3 years I spent in food retail I know EXACTLY what I'm doing when I shop. Some people are food snobs, others are car snobs...I'm a grocery snob. I purposely put my items on the conveyor belt in the order I want them to be bagged and will sometimes even butt in and bag my own groceries if they aren't picking up on my subtlety. "Those" kinds of customers drove me insane when I was a bagger, but now I completely understand where they're coming from. Bagging really is an art-form. It's striking a balance between fitting as much as you can into one bag without crushing anything or making it too heavy to lift.

The commissary baggers, to be quite frank, haven't picked up on that art form yet and they probably never will.

Take for instance the guy who bagged my groceries today. He was quiet, seemed fairly nice, and I gave him a $3 tip just for the tremendous hassle of moving items a whole 2 feet from the counter to the basket. I know they aren't paid hourly but honestly...a $3 tip from 1 customer means all he really has to do is average 2-3 tipping customers per hour and he's already making minimum wage. Judging by the backed-up line, I don't really think that's going to be a problem either.

Anyways, I was willing to give him an extra $2 if he offered to take it out to the car. Yes, I'm one of "those" customers as well. He didn't offer. So I handed him $3 and wheeled my cart out the door, careful to put a little extra HMPH! in my step.

As I unloaded the groceries I looked down at my cart and realized that not only was my avocado in a bag all by itself, but so was one onion and a can of cat food. The milk was practically gift-wrapped in 4 bags and the eggs got an entire paper bag all to themselves.

They must have a commissary bagger conference or something every year where the baggers can "share" their scams with one another because the kids working at the one in Fort Leonard Wood once divided up $30 worth of lean cuisines into 29 bags and 2 shopping carts, while the ones at Hill Air Force Base padded the bottoms of the paper bags with 19 sales flyers, trying to take up room and make them look more full.

I feel bad for the woman behind me. She actually DID have 2 carts. I bet she left the store with 4.

So the number one reason I will probably not go back to the commissary is because, aside from it not being any cheaper than my beloved Fresh and Easy, I don't really appreciate carrying a million practically empty bags up to my apartment. I even get after the people at the Fresh and Easy for "under-bagging", I'm not about to let some 17 year old commissary worker get away with the exact same thing.

But before I go, here is the ONE good thing at the commissary:

The picture doesn't do them justice. They are beautiful strawberries, for $3.79 for the whole giant container. Every commissary I've ever been to has always had consistently beautiful fruit. Fort Leonard Wood had amazing grapes (maybe they invaded the Napa Valley?). Camp Pendleton has stellar strawberries. So maybe I will go back just for the strawberries.

Care Packages and a VOTE!

It's funny to think, my husband has been gone 6 weeks and I'm already on care package #5! That means I send almost 1 care package per week.

Why do I do so many? Partly because, it entertains me. I have a lot of fun coming up with themes, and I actually have a long running list of themes I am DYING to try out. But also because, he requests them! Every time I talk to him, he is asking for more packages. So I don't even bother mailing letters anymore. I save them up and just toss them in the care package. Plus, I'm the only one who really sends him packages. If I didn't send them, he wouldn't have anything.

This care package I have actually been planning for a few weeks! I bought the stuff to put in it the week after he left and I was planning on making it my first package, but that idea was pushed back by St. Patrick's day, his requests for cookies, his requests for breakfast items, and his request for movies. So, after sitting on this stuff for a month, I FINALLY got to put it all together.

The theme is basically "Feelin' HOT HOT HOT!" (you know, after that reggae song by Arrow...ole, ole, ole ole feeling hot hot hot!). The contents are everything my husband loves: spicy, spicy spicy!

There's flaming hot cheetos, spicy nacho doritos, Mrs. Dash seasoning, crushed red pepper flakes, tabasco, after death sauce (that comes with it's own skull key chain), wasabi peas, cocktail onions (his fave), spiced beef jerky, jalepeno jerky, hot salsa, and then I threw in some red/orange items too like cherry drink mix, a kodak camera, and fruity mentos. I had a bit of trouble fitting in all in, because the chip bags are filled with air, so I poked a miniscule hole in the bottom of the doritos bag, let out some of the air, and then taped it back up (LOL!) They may or may not arrive stale, although I don't think he'll mind either way. Just get the damn chips in the box!

Now I need to ask for a vote on what my next theme should be:

1. "ooh-ooh-ooooorah!" Everything monkey and banana themed, such as banana chips, banana pudding, barrel of monkeys, etc. I actually saw something similar done, but hers was "Hang in there", so I figure I should switch up the actual theme.
2. "This little piggy" All feet items, Dr. scholls inserts, foot powder, clean socks, toe nail clippers, lotion, boot bands, laces, etc
3. "California Dreamin'" This one will take a bit of planning, but it's everything local! Local candy from Swirlz, maybe some local oranges (can you send fruit??), post cards, padres stuff. I'll have to browse around the shops and see what I can get around here, maybe even a map.
4. "Just the Essentials" That's pretty self-explanatory. It's just the essentials, like baby wipes, febreeze, underwear, energy shots, mints and gum.
5. "Revenge of the Nerds" Nerds candy, Morrowind the Elder Scrolls (??? some video game he asked for...sounds dorky, huh?), BCG's, pocket protector, science books (he loves them lol), book mark, revenge of the nerds DVD


Soo...lemme know which one you want to see next week!

Much Better Day

Well today was a much better day. Yesterday I really was about 5 seconds away from just driving to Utah and showing up on my mother in law's front porch looking for sanctuary. But then, things got better.

I met a girl on Craigslist yesterday (ya I know...who looks for friends on Craigslist? haha). We decided to meet up at a beach in Encinitas this afternoon to play some beach volleyball. When this morning came around I was honestly beating myself up. Why did I agree to this? I'm not ready for this. Can I cancel? OMG I'm meeting a total stranger! I was NERVOUS. I was about to text and make up an excuse but then I just thought no...do it. What's the worst that can happen? I play beach volleyball for a few hours? Even if nothing ends up happening as far as a friendship, it's a few hours being out in the sun. So I went.

It was actually really fun. I could definitely play more volleyball. I also got a bit winded so it was like exercise at the same time.

Then of course as I'm driving home I start going through the entire conversation/outing in my head thinking if I made the right impression or if I came off as being totally off my rocker. Then I was wondering how long I had to wait before calling her back to avoid looking stalker-y. Wait too long and I appear uninterested or like I use people, but if I don't wait long enough I'll become the "crazy chick" with no life. I mean, the whole thing reminds me of dating in high school except it's just 2 girls looking for friends (does that make ANY sense haha).

So then I came home, and I was pretty pumped because I met someone. I walk up the stairs to my apartment and was assaulted by a giant vinyl sign. Apparently my neighbor's husband is coming home and she pulled out all the stops and had bought a giant sign with his photo on it (larger than life-sized) and "WELCOME HOME" and "WE'RE SO PROUD!" in giant letters. So after having a wonderful day at the beach I couldn't help but feel like a bit of a moron. First of all, I've lived here 5 months and didn't even KNOW my neighbor was military or that her husband was deployed. In fact, all I really know about them is they leave their trash outside their front door just like I do.


 So tomorrow I am going to go to Pendleton with a bloggy friend and check it out (since I haven't really been on base that much haha). I'm so excited. I've even managed to NOT talk myself out of it :)

Make This Day End

I have had, quite possibly, the worst day of the deployment yet. It started last night fighting with a friend (a fight that has pretty much ended the relationship). Then I woke up this morning with an ear-splitting migraine that still won't go away, so I haven't even really bothered to get out of bed.

I talked to DH this morning and HE'S not doing very well either and is lonely and depressed too. He isn't really chummy with any of the guys in his unit. And that's not surprising. He's shy like me, and has been with the unit for maybe 5 months total, and of that 5 months almost a month and a half was spent on holiday and pre-deployment leave. So the guys he deployed with may as well be strangers. Plus, we've been at this base since November and I've driven on base maybe 4 times total? It just feels so much more menacing and unfamiliar than our last base (Fort Leonard Wood, which is a small Army base in the middle of Missouri). I lived by myself at FLW as well because DH was in school and I was just renting off post, but there was something about the base that was more welcoming than Pendleton.

I don't know what it is, I just feel like I have nothing in common with the people who live on base. Sometimes I forget my husband is even in the military, that's how far removed we are from everything. But I look at the other wives, and they are involved with the FRG and they do things on base and I really wish I could do something like that as well, I really wish I could do stuff with our FRG, but I just feel so out of place when I'm on base. So I don't go there.

I have trouble getting out and doing things by myself and meeting up with strangers. It's just so intimidating and I never really know what to do or say, so half the time even when people invite me places I get so scared about the new situations and new people that I just stay home anyways. Sometimes I even break down in tears at the thought of going somewhere new. Needless to say I know maybe....4 or 5 people, tops. And I'm not really sure where to go from there either. There are days when I wake up totally psyched and excited for the day, promising myself I'm going to get things done, exercise, do everything right, but it seems like most days I wake up and try to psych myself up and I end up just moseying around the house trying to do things.

And I don't know whats wrong. Sometimes even something as simple as putting dishes in the dishwasher seems like a huge mountain of a chore and I can't muster the physical or emotional energy to even do it. And that scares me. It scares me that I sit there and break down because there are dishes in the sink and I can't figure out how to put them away. That seems like such an infantile thing to cry over.

I realize now that maybe I cry over those things because I can't bring myself to cry over the deployment. Even the day he left, I didn't shed a tear. I went by the whole first week perfectly fine and since he's left I've never really cried because he was gone. Instead I cry because I can't put away dishes. I cry because my cats are fighting. I cry because my TV show is a rerun, there are 7 newspapers on the front porch, my bathroom light is burned out, my plant died, etc. Then when I'm not crying about those pointless things, I'm crying because I'm lonely. Yet I'm lonely because I don't really leave the house. And I don't leave the house because I feel so overwhelmed with things to do, yet I can't do any of them. It's a vicious cycle.

Part of me has been smacking myself over my decision to stay in California. Why did I stay here? I knew I was shy and hard to make friends, I knew I was unemployed and would spend a vast amount of time at home. Why didn't I just move back to Utah? I guess I stayed here as proof that I could "hack it," and I didn't need to run home anymore. But what have I been doing the whole time I've been here? Crying.

So much for "hacking it."

Must Love Cats

Yesterday I welcomed a second furry baby...a 2 year old female cat named River.

My line of thinking was....my cat used to live with cats, he seems bored, well let's get him another cat to be mischevious with. So I adopted a cat from a Marine stationed here who couldn't keep his 4 kitties due to deployments and family life. I ended up with the one cat that wasn't unaltered, mainly because I know that's a deterent for adoptors and I didn't want her to end up in a shelter. Plus, she was the smallest, and she kinda resembles my own cat Pawz Skaggs.

I brought her home and set the carrier in the living room while I closed the door. Skaggs ran over to meet me at the door like he always does. He slowly approached the carrier, sniffing and pausing, and then...he let out a hiss at the little mewing creature through the bars. I picked up the carrier and carried her into her own room, showing her where the little box was and stuff.

After a few hours I thought I should check on her. I opened the door and a little greyish brown blob rushed past me and into the bedroom. And that's when the fighting really got going.

River sniffed around the room, trying to get close to Skaggs and sniff him. Skaggs hissed, growled, yowled, and flashed his neatly-trimmed non-lethal claws. River just sat under the bed sleeping. A few hours later Skaggs snuck up to River and yowled at her, she lunged at him, he took off down the hall, she took off down the hall after him.

Show down in the kitchen!

Skaggs scuttled over near the trash can, river jumped from chair to chair to table to chair to ground trying to get closer. This is what happened (the real action starts at 0:45):




Oy, cats. I really hope they start getting along in a few days/weeks because I would really hate to have to return her or rehome her. Skaggs got along great with the other cats he lived with, I think he just needs time to chillax.

This time, I refuse to fail

Like many wives, I have certain deployment "goals". Things I would like to achieve by the time my husband comes home. I tried this a few times while he was in training but it just didn't pan out the way I would have liked, but this time I'm optimistic.

My number 1, more important than anything, goal is: Lose Weight.

Now, some people in my life have looked at me strange when I said I wanted to lose weight. One person asked me, "why do you need to lose weight? It's not like you're obese." So for that person's information I weight 182 pounds. When I met my husband I weighed 130 pounds. Over the years I have gained almost 100 lbs. I managed to shed a few last year and dropped down to 182. My wedding dress was a size 18. It doesn't matter than I'm not obese. The 30-50 lbs I would like to lose represent a lot more than just "getting skinny". In fact, "getting skinny" isn't even the actual goal. Those 30-50 lbs are the difference between feeling good about myself and feeling insecure. It's the difference between enjoying being out and active and wanting to hide inside. It's the difference between being sexually confident and feel inadequate in my own marriage. If eating better, exercising every day, and working to improve myself is what it takes for me to see those results, "getting skinny" is completely irrelevant.

Not to mention, I have PCOS. The weight isn't even really the real issue, the issue is the other health problems...the infertility I've experienced for the last 2 years as a direct result of being overweight. MOST importantly those 50 lbs are the difference between watching my friends have children and actually having my OWN children. I know DH wants at least 1 biological child (as do I). He frequently talks about our "son" (Lord help him if we have a girl hahaha). He talks about all the things he wants to pass on, and about having that one thing that essentially symbolizes his feelings for me: another life. He already has plans, a timeline. He actually requested his R&R dates specifically to line up with my estimated ovulation (how a man managed to figure that out is beyond me lol). So I look at myself, all 182 lbs of myself, and I don't just feel like a blob. I feel like a failure.

That's what I wish I could tell the nay-sayers. I wish I could tell them I don't really give a damn if they think I "look fine". They're more than welcome to maintain their own health and let me maintain mine.

Oh and if you live in Southern California, come with me to this next Sunday. I'm super psyched:

Sunshine Blog Award

Wow. So readership of my last post about the care packages almost gave me a heart attack (in a good way). 8 comments is pretty much a record and my blog jumped from like 16 followers to 23 in the span of a few hours. I'm speechless.

Thank you to everyone who read my blog, and thank you for all those compliments you guys gave me on my last post. It means a lot.

Now the real reason for this post is because I've been awarded the Sunshine Blog Award from Cheryl over at Boots in the Doorway and from Kirsten at Requires Heavy Lifting. I feel like I've just left the Oscars :) The Sunshine Award is awarded to bloggers whose positivity and creativity inspires others in the blog world. The rules for accepting this award are:

-Put the logo on your blog or within your post
- Pass the award on to 12 bloggers
- Link the nominees within your post
- Let the nominees know they have receive the award by commenting on their blog
- Share the love and link to the person who gave you the award.

So my list of 12:

Living the Life of an Infantryman's Wife

Forever in Blue Jeans

Deployment (again)

I roll OORAH style

A Day in the Life of Mrs. M

ACU's, Stiletto Shoes, and Pretty Pink Tutus

Ether's Promise

Hard Corps Love

OWH Stars and Stamps  (and you guys should check out what a great thing they have going!)

Shannon Katharine Sullivan

Spiderman & MaryJane

The Sand is Different Here

Last, but not least, a summary of my day: I did a work-out video with a friend. We spent 40 minutes doing the "diggin jiggy"...a testament to the fact that the people who make those videos REALLY need to come up with better names for their made-up dance moves.

"Care"-ied Away

Wow. My major project this week has been making baked goods and home-made crafts for a care package. I really wanted to give DH that specific taste of home that can only be found in something I slave over on a stove. I made cakes in a jar and some pudding cookies, and then I got a bit carried away with the fabric and cardstock and ended up making an elaborate box to put them in (well, I more or less "converted" a flat rate box into a work of art).

Here's a picture of the box before I put anything in it:

I was originally trying to call it "Home is Where the Heart is" but I printed the words too big and just got lazy after that and settled for "Home is..". The text below is little bits and pieces of poems and quotes. It says "Home is where the heart is. Home is not where you live, but where they understand you. Home is a shelter from the storms-all kinds of storms. Home is the one place in all the world where hearts are sure of each other."

I also spent all of yesterday making a photo book. Here's just a little sampling (since I don't want to bore you guys with a play-by-play of all 18 pages):

This was the first time I've made "Cakes in a Jar", but I think it was an overall success. I even decorated the tops with some fabric.

In case you're wondering, here's how to make them:

1. Follow the instructions for any cake batter or mix, just like you would if you were making a full cake. I used Betty Crocker Super Moist Yellow Cake.

2. Instead of a cake pan, use wide-mouthed canning jars. Grease the inside of the jars with some oil or pam so that the cake can be "dumped" out to eat.

3. Fill each jar about half-way full with batter. I used 1 cup of batter in my jars and that seemed to be the perfect amount. Nothing over-flowed.

4. Bake the jars in the oven as per the instructions on the box. As a rule of thumb cakes will take about 15 minutes less than the box instructions for a 9 x 13.

My instructions said 33-39 minutes and overall I left mine in for about 20 minutes. Also, put the jars in a cake pan just to catch any possible over flow, plus it makes it easier to get them in and out (you might want to bake one by itself as a test).

I used a bamboo skewer to check each cake for done-ness.

To seal the cakes, place the lids and rings on right after the cakes get out of the oven. Don't re-use lids and don't boil them. Boiling the lids has a tendency to ruin the rubber seals and they won't seal. I left my lids on the top of the stove while the cakes were baking so they heated up, and then once I pulled the cakes out, I used a dishtowel to hold the jar and screw the ring on around the lid. The jars seal themselves about 10-15 minutes later as they cool and you will here a little "pop". You can also check the seal by pushing on the top (it shouldn't pop up and down).

Four little sealed Cakes:

I also made some pudding cookies. Supposedly the pudding mix in them keeps them moist. Here's the recipe:

Cream:

1 c. softened butter
3/4 c. packed brown sugar
1/4 c. granulated sugar
3.4 ounces any flavor pudding mix (around 1/2 a c. I used vanilla, but you can switch it up and use anything)
1 tsp. vanilla
2 eggs.

Add in:

2 1/4 c. flour (in reality, I probably used 2 3/4, but that's because I sift mine)
1 tsp baking soda
Also: chocolate chips, oatmeal, nuts, health/skor, M&Ms or whatever other thing you want. Mine were oatmeal chocolate chip.

Bake for 8-10 minutes on 375. (I purposely under-baked mine by about a minute, just so they're more gooey.)

That was my test-batch. I forgot about them and subsequently they burned to a crisp. I made sure to use a timer for the all the other batches haha!

To ship them, I've heard several methods. One is to put them in a Pringle's can. Another is to vacuum seal them. I just put them in gallon-sized ziploc bags with a slice of white bread, and squeezed out as much air as I could (the bread is in the back, hidden from view). 

Here's my care package ready to mail. I wrapped the cake jars in large bubble wrap and also included some Girl Scout cookies, instant coffee, forks and spoons, some chocolate frosting, and a photo book I made.

I will probably be sending a "whoops" package this weekend, to make up for the fact that I forgot to make the waffle-cookies he had specifically requested. Like I said...carried away on a care package. I guess we should say "care"-ied away!!

Today's Care Package

RISE AND SHINE!

It's entirely morning/breakfast themed. DH mentioned how he had to get up at the crack of dawn to get ready and eat and shave, so I sent him a few things to hopefully let him get a few more minutes of shut eye.

In the box there's an electric razor, pop tarts, energy bars, instant oatmeal, hot chocolate with mini marshmallows (he won't eat it any other way), some mini cereal, and instant coffee.

I really lucked out with some the contents. We have a subscription to the San Diego Tribune and I opened the door the other day and lo and behold there was a giant General Mills advertisement on the outside with 3 free cereal samples. So I included the little individual-sized cereal in the box. So there's another great way for you ladies to get things for packages: FREE SAMPLES!

Anyways, I'm a little bit behind on my care packages. I can't keep up with the demand. People in his unit have been requesting specific and obscure things and the reason they're requesting them from me rather than their mothers is because I'm a "do-er". I do things. Have a craving for an obscure girl scout cookie 1 month after cookie sales are over? No problem, because I will search through hell and high water until I find them. Anyways, I told DH I already sent all of the stuff he asked for. In reality, I haven't made any of the cookies yet, so I better 'git 'er done' pretty soon. The upcoming theme is "Home Sweet Home" and it's pretty much just homemade cookies, cake, muffins, samoas, and a little photo book I made. I should have it completed and mailed tomorrow (crosses fingers...)



Oh and just because I think I forgot to post it, here's a picture of last week's care package. The theme was "At the Movies". I really threw it together in about an hour, so the decorating is not really up to par for what I was hoping it would be.



(well upon further review I see I did already blog about last week's movie care package, but it was a sorry post at best.)

Earthquakes...just what I needed

As you've all probably heard from the news, there was a 7.2 earthquake down in Baja California this afternoon.

I had just finished deep-scrubbing the floors and kitchen, and was perched precariously on the arm of the sofa, waiting to see the finale of an America's Next Top Model rerun. The vases on the kitchen table suddenly began to tremble and shake against the table, creating a "bump bump bump" noise. At first I thought maybe there was an incoming helicopter, as those things have a tendency to shake the walls. But the lack of aircraft noise said otherwise. My next guess was that my neighbors downstairs were banging on the ceiling.

I stood in the living room looking around, confused, wondering why my apartment was vibrating? Were other people's apartments vibrating? I decided to leave the building just in case our apartment building was being demolished or something random like that. I walked over to the front door (which was locked) and suddenly it started to shake on its hinges. It was banging over and over again against its own lock, and our porch door was pounding and pounding and pounding until the door jam popped and it flew open. The pictures hanging above the TV crashed down, one of the vases on the table bowled over, and I saw outside people running out of the pool as the water sloshed over the sides like river rapids. One of the neighbors ran out of his apartment and braced himself at the top of the stairs, which are under construction and looked like they might just topple over.

I just stood there, for the minute/minute and a half that the shaking lasted, in the middle of my living room, wondering what I was supposed to do, if the building was going to crumble, should I get in a doorway or maybe under something? Don't they always tell you NOT to go outside? I couldn't remember. We're on the very top floor of our apartment complex and part of our bedroom actually free-hangs over the parking lot with no support underneath it. I thought for sure it was going to go careening into the cars below.

The shaking died down after about a minute and a half, but the building continued to tremble a little bit as it slowly regained its composure. I picked up the phone and the first person I called was my mother in law. I told her I was just in an Earthquake. I still wasn't entirely convinced it was an earthquake though...maybe our apartment was just falling apart or there was just a really large truck that rumbled down the road. I checked the USGS website and noticed they hadn't reported any earthquakes...then again, it was only 3 minutes after. So I reported it to them, still slightly convinced that maybe I had just imagined everything.

Once my report went through I noticed a few others from the area and that's when I realized I was actually IN an Earthquake. Then I realized this is actually the second earthquake since DH has been gone. The first one was a 4.4 up in LA the first week he was gone. A shockwave went down the fault and through our apartment, rattling the door for a second, and then it stopped. But this one was much much worse. I could feel aftershocks for a few hours afterwards, starting with mild but noticeable tremors and slowly dying off into slight vibrations.

Anyways, the point is, that earthquake threw off the entire karmic balance of my day. What was originally turning into a productive day where I might actually finish everything on my list soon turned into a "did you feel it?" man-hunt to find other people on the internet that felt it. Then, after we all compared out "where were you?" stories, I emailed DH and told him about the earthquake, just so he doesn't have to hear about it from someone else.

Then I called our insurance company and sat on hold for an hour trying to order earthquake coverage. Then I started planning emergency kits, checked the exterior of the building for cracks, calmed down my very terrified cat, did a walk-around of our vehicle, called my parents to tell them I didn't die, and took a bath to calm my nerves. Throughout all of that I could still feel little aftershocks, both real and imaginary. I felt about 30 aftershocks, which I know is way more than actually occurred, so I'm pretty sure a lot of those were just imagined by me...little house creaks that ended up magnified in my brain as actual tremors.

Nothing else on my list was completed, and actually there was more of a mess since I had to clean up a shattered vase and picture (plus I found out later that my cat actually went ape shit and ripped the blinds off the window, so I had to put those back up). One of my flowerpots on the deck toppled over, so I had to clean up the dirt that spilled, and my recycling bin was blown over and I spent about 20 minutes gathering up all my cans and bottles.

Ironically enough, some of my friends didn't even feel it. I don't get it. How did they manage NOT to feel it when I lost a vase, a picture frame, a potted plant, a set of blinds, and my sanity all in 60 seconds? That just boggles me. (Oh and if you feel like getting technical, our hummingbird feeder flew off the hook and landed in the tree below...but that's pretty minute compared to collapsing houses in San Diego).

Going Postal

I hate the post office. Well, I love the post office because...well...they're the post office. But I hate them at the same time. Last Monday I sent off a care package to DH. I arrived at the office around 1 PM with a taped up box, clutching a customs form. I walked up to door and found a horrendous line streaming out of it and halfway around the building.

I started looking around at people standing in line and realized they're all MORONS! I was the only person actually holding a package. The guy behind me was buying stamps, the woman in front of me was mailing ONE letter and needed ONE stamp. Someone else in line had dragged their entire litter of kids out to get passports, but had forgotten to bring any form of identification for them and was arguing with the clerk about "needing to go to Costa Rica".

And how did the Post Office respond to this sudden rush of people in dire need of stamps? They sent everyone on LUNCH! They have 4 counters, but had only 2 clerks there, and the second clerk was standing in front of her computer putting on lipstick with a nice little "lane closed" place card in front of her. Finally Mrs. Costa Rica stormed out and we all moved a whole 3 inches.

I was in line for almost 45 minutes. I got up to the postal worker and he looked over my box, looked over my form, stamped it, and I was about to pay and then he walked away. Then the other cashier walked away, and for about 10 minutes we were all standing in the post office looking at each other like "WTF!" When he came back, he had a third cashier with him (whew!). But this 3rd cashier spent the next 5 minutes shuffling papers.  It reminds me of being at a DMV in Hell.

Finally, as I was walking out with my receipt, a guy from the back of the line cut in front of everyone and walked up to the 3rd (new) cashier and started asking him questions and asking about certain forms. I thought perhaps the other 40 people in line were going to lynch him, and that's when the other clerk (the woman) came out from the back and literally went postal on him.

"GET IN THE BACK OF THE LINE! GET BACK THERE NOW! DO YOU SEE ALL THESE PEOPLE WAITING? WELL YOU CAN JUST WAIT LIKE THE REST OF THEM! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR EXCUSES, MOVE THOSE LEGS AND MOVE THEM RIGHT BACK TO THE BACK OF THE LINE"

So now my weekly trips to the Post Office are going to have to be meticulously coordinated so as not to show up at the same time as every other person in San Diego.