There's MORE???

Just when I thought my car problems were leveling off, I stumbled upon some new information.

The 187 Suzuki I bought that had 79,000 miles really has $150,000+ miles. How did I find this out? Oh, I bought a carfax report.

I realize I should have done this before, but it didn't occur to me to ask the seller for the VIN before purchase. According to the carfax mechanics records the mileage was at 102,000 back in 1994! Then it mysteriously rolled back to 72,000 in 2001 before being reported as 87,000 in 2008, and then mysteriously rolling back again to 76,000 in 2009. I bought it at 79,000.

I was poking around the other day and noticed that the plastic odometer cover on the dashboard was missing. I called up my mechanic who had inspected the vehicle before I bought it and asked him if i was like that before.

He said that he had noticed it while he was test driving it and thought the miles were innacurate, but he didn't want to dissapoint me by telling me not to buy the car. In other words, had he done the job I HIRED him to do (inspect the car and tell me what was wrong) I wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't have bought an '87 Suzuki that couldn't pass a smog and had an innacurate mileage.

And then ANOTHER thing I just realized is the name on the title doesn't match the name the guy told me. So either he gave me an assumed identity to protect himself and he really is the guy on the title, or the vehicle isn't his and he forged someone's name.

But that doesn't even matter. If doesn't matter if the vehicle was stolen. The police can come pick it up tomorrow and junk it for all I care. All I know is, I paid $2,750 for a car I'm not legally allowed to own. I'm not legally allowed to own it because according to the DMV it is classified as a "gross polluter". It's illegal to sell gross polluters. The DMV will NEVER let me put the title in my name. Meaning that it's going to forever remain in the sellers name and then once July comes the registration is going to expire.

I don't care what happens to the seller. Maybe the DMV will go after him for selling a gross polluter. Maybe the police will give him a ticket for expired registration on a vehicle he doesn't care about. Maybe he will be charged with odometer tampering (a felony). All I care about is my $2,750.

What if I never find him? I will forever have thrown away $2,750 and I'll be stuck with a car I can't own. What happens then? Does the DMV buy it back? Do I drop it at a junkyard and it becomes someone's parts car? Or do I just ditch it on the side of the road for it to collect parking tickets in the other guys name?

Come to think of it...if it turns out the guy on the title really is the guy who sold me the car, I might just dump it on the side of the road during street sweeping day...see what happens then. Let those tickets and fines accumulate. Then maybe there will be justice.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Punch Someone...

Today that someone is the guy who sold me my car.

In CA there is this thing called a smog certification. Depending on your zip code your car has to pass smog either every 1 or 2 years, and then every car has to pass a smog when ownership is being transfered (as in a vehicle sale).

When I bought my 'zuki my mechanic was poking around under the hood and fiddling with parts to make sure everything was in good condition. While that was happening I was talking to the seller. I asked him if the car would pass smog. His reply was "yes, it had to in order to even be registered".

Fast forward to Saturday morning I drove down to the mechanic's shop on the corner and had it smogged. It failed. Miserably. HC and CO levels were off the charts and the ignition timing was off. Ignition timing is not a big deal, it's quite easily fixed. More troubling was the HC and CO levels, since they had to run a full emissions diagnostic to find out why. They were closing that day so I had to wait until Monday to bring the car back.

Sometimes it's as simple as a catalytic converter that just needs to be replaced, so I figured I would do the diagnostic and hope it was just a little trivial issue. Well my diagnostic came back today...THE HEAD GASKET IS BLOWN.

So now I'm sitting here wondering a) HOW THE HELL DOES A MECHANIC MISS A BLOWN HEAD GASKET? I saw with my own 2 eyes the chocolate-milk colored coolant/oil mixture in the engine. I know nothing about cars, but even I know it's not good. How the hell does a seasoned mechanic who I brought out to inspect my vehicle miss something that critical? Did I not make it clear enough to him when I said I didn't want any MAJOR issues? A blown gasket is pretting major to me considering it's like a $1,200 repair.

The second thing I'm wondering is b) WHY DID THE SELLER LIE TO ME? Obviously had he said it wasn't going to pass smog I wouldn't have bought it (duuuh), but what he's done now is created a whole lot of heart ache for himself.

See...in the state of CA it is the SELLERS responsibility to get the vehicle to pass smog. Buyers cannot even legally register cars that don't pass smog. The smog technician pulled the DMV records on the car and found out that it had been smogged a day before I bought it...and it had failed. Meaning when Mr. car seller looked me in the eye and told me it passed he was lying...committing fraud...false advertising...however you want to look at it.

So what's going on now?

Oh I'm SUING HIM. Yes....little old me, the shy girl who sits in the back and doesn't say a peep is furious. I am so pissed off right now that I can't even think straight. I've been up for the past 4 hours angrily pacing my apartment unsure of how to conduct myself in such potent rage.

I'm going to talk to JAG tomorrow but the smog tech. gave me all the printouts I would need. According to the CA vehicle code 24007 the sale is null and void because the car didn't pass, meaning I am entitled to a full refund on the vehicle. Basically, Mr. moron who sold me the car is in for a long and painful road.

I WILL be suing him and I WILL be making his waking life a living Hell. And in the meantime I'm going to go down to the shooting lanes and fire several boxes worth of .45's down range.

Lesson to the rest of you random strangers I will meet in life: Don't fuck with me. Especially not while my husband is deployed.

Adventures in 5-Speed...MY FIRST CAR!

Today I bought my very first car. And when I say my first I mean MY first. My parents didn't give it to me as a gift, my husband didn't finance it in his name and "allow" me to drive it.

I went and I took MY money that I made working MY job and I bought MY car. I researched it myself, decided what I wanted, set up a test drive and mechanic inspection, and signed my name on the title. Once the title transfer is complete on Monday it will be the first car I've had that actually has my name on it.

So whats the catch?

Oh that's right...it's a 5 speed manual and up until about 2 hours ago I didn't even know what a "clutch" was. But the car was just too good to pass up! It's a little blue Suzuki Samurai with a soft top, 6" lift and 33 inch wheels (did I mention I love off roading??)

It's always been a dream of mine to have a little off-road capable "project" car. I was putting that dream off for years because 1) I have no mechanical prowess whatsoever 2) most off roaders are manual and I can't drive them.

But the other day I was cruising in the middle of an unpaved Longhorn ranch in Temecula looking for an address for my Census Bureau job and I thought to myself how great it would be to have a tiny little off road jeep to rock crawl with. The truck is nice (nay...it's badass), but it's a city truck. It's what you drive when you want to show off how badass you are without actually getting muddy. Plus, with an $18,000 loan, freshly painted side panel, and monthly trips to the auto detailer, it's not something my husband necessarily appreciates me dragging all over the county, putting on miles and wearing out brakes. It's his truck, that's HIS responsibility.

I decided that you don't learn how to fix cars by not owning one and you certainly don't learn how to drive a stick by avoiding them like the plague. So I took a HUGE risk and bought a 1987 5-speed Suzuki Samurai for $2,700. Only 79,000 miles (dang good for a 23 year old car) and the body is in great shape. The paint is a bit faded and the soft top is torn in some parts, but those are cosmetic and quite easy to fix.

I had to have my mechanic drive it back for me because of my ignorance at manual transmission.

BUT THEN....dun dun dun...Gaile from Deployment (again) came up and taught me how to drive a manual. We started in the parking lot of the LDS church and wound up out on some ranch roads below Pendleton. I only stalled out maybe....50 times ;) I even drove it on the road, with traffic and stop lights and windy turns!

My neighbor is coming over tomorrow to expand on my knowledge a bit, so hopefully by tomorrow I may actually be able to get up a hill without stalling out and rolling back down (*cough*...sorry about that Gaile). Or accidently releasing the clutch before the passengers are fully in the car (sorry about that again). Or without scaring the living daylights out of various homeowners, who I can only imagine were probably thinking "what is the stupid blue jeep doing out in the middle of the road jerking around and making those horrible grinding noises?

I have high hopes for this car. I feel more lift and bigger tires coming on, fresh coat of paint and a new top, roll cage, the works.

But in the meantime, here's a picture. Any suggestions for names are greatly appreciated:

What a HAIRY Situation

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I won't regale you with a boring and long-winded story. I think the pictures explain it the best.

My life felt drab, so I decided to do some FIRE ENGINE RED:

FIRE ENGINE RED didn't exactly work out. But that's why God invented "Color OOPS!":

Now how do you fix a "Color OOPS" OOPS? With more "Color OOPS!":

Well maybe if I bleach it?:

That color isn't so bad. But it's still a bit too yellow. But hey, that's what toner is for, right?"

OMFG I'm GREY. I guess I could always blame it on "deployment stress"?

So now (the grand unveiling):

400 million shampoos later (using medicated anti-dandruff shampoo and dish soap, and alternating deep conditioning hair mask in between washings) I have achieved what I consider to be a "tolerable" platinum:

It's still looks a bit white depending on what light I'm in, but I would much prefer to have hair that's almost white than be straight-up GREY. (hey, you can even se my piercings in that picture).

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 ;)

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 ;)

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.

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 :)

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).

I hate Deployment Internet

I mean really? We have a bunch of exciting and expensive equipment, but we can't get wireless internet in the barracks? That is completely ridiculous. Whatever.

I don't want to jinx myself, but this week has actually been somewhat decent. I did a little shopping, a little restaurant testing, cooked some chicken Vindaloo (there are NO Indian restaurants here...it's depressing). I also mailed another care package.

This one was themed after movies, because DH asked me to send him a few flicks. I got a little gutsy and actually sent him some snickers (in plastic bags, in case they melt). I found this crazy cool collection of every single Alien and Predator and AVP movie ever made all rolled into one boxed set- so I bought it for him. I was trying to decorate the box all cute, but I did it at about midnight so my creativity was sorely lacking.

And I have finally been able to sleep a little. I found the problem lay more in my feelings of being alone. So I started leaving the hall light on. When I was a kid, I always loved the nights that my mom would turn on the hall light, because it was a really warm, sunshine-like light that would creap through the door. So I just decided to continue with that practice and leave the hall light on. It makes me feel like maybe DH is just in the living room playing video games or something.

The only problem is, I felt bad about wasting electricity. So I bought a timer, and the light automatically switches itself off in an hour (which by that point I'm pretty much passed out).

Oh, and I'm trying to hone my green thumb by actually managing to not kill plants. So I planted some tomoatoes, jalepenos, and aloe vera out on the porch. But my most prized potted plant is actually a dwarf orange tree I picked up at Home Depot. It's a little patio-sized orange tree that already has 2 orange dangling from it. I'm quite excited to actually be growing citrus fruit, as that is something you totally cannot do back in Utah.

Ricky Ticky Recon

I promised an explanation, so here it is (and in case you forgot what photo I'm talking about, or else you came in late, here it is):

I blogged about our roommate back in February. Well, he moved out (or more or less my husband and I kicked him out because it was right before the deployment and was causing unnecessary stress). Well, the entire month he lived with us he never paid any rent. Not a damn cent. I partially blame myself for that because I never really "enforced" it with him. I left that up to DH, and although I love him to death, he's not the greatest person to leave in charge of conflict resolution (not that I'm any better...as you will soon learn).

So, after bumming a room off of us for a month, and joining us for family meals that I cooked, and tagging along to all of our weekend fun, drinking our booze, and requiring transportation everywhere, we finally got him out. He found a studio out in O-side. The only problem was...the car. He needed a car to get around, and we happened to be selling one.

Now, I would have happily signed my title over right then and there, except for 1 little fact: his driver's license was suspended. As a car seller, I want to protect myself from liability and I cannot sell a car to someone who doesn't have a valid driver's license. Why? Because in order to release myself from liability on the car, I need to transfer the title and that requires them to appear in person at the DMV with a valid license. So I declined to sell the car. He asked if he could borrow it until he got his license. Pssssh...that's even more of a bad idea. I certainly don't want to be responsible for car accidents or moving violations done in a car I own by a guy without a license. And I'm not saying he would have done anything, I'm just saying it's not responsible.

He allegedly called the Oregon DMV and got his license issue fixed, and so we were just waiting for it to come in the mail. A few weeks later I went and got my car smog checked as per California regulations. It failed. Miserably. Well there goes the grandiose plan of selling it. In order for the new owner to register the car, they would need to pass smog. So I decided not to sell. And I have no idea how that kid got to and from work everyday, but that's really not my concern.

The week after DH left, I got a call. It was our ex-roomie was asking me if I was still interested in selling my car because he got his license, and he was going to just fix the smog issues himself. We agreed to meet up and he would give me a ride back home. I transferred the title over to him, he gave me $2,000. Now what happened was, I forgot to take the plates off the car, so he drove off in my (now his) little Taurus with plates registered to me. I let it go for a few days because I expected him to go to the DMV and get a temporary registration until he could fix the smog issue. He decided a weekend trip down to San Diego to get his d*ck sucked was a more responsible idea (*sigh* Marines).

About a week later I still hadn't heard anything about my plates. I kept telling him, and expected him, to go and get a temporary registration. It's really not that complicated. For some reason he kept trying to hold the car repairs over my head as an "excuse" and I bought into it for a while until a friend of mine reminded me that I really didn't owe him anything. I let him live with us for free, eat our food, DH gave him rides to and from work (EVEN during his week off, which really just threw me over the edge), and I gave him a pretty good deal on my car. There's no reason why I should "owe" him the use of my license plates. What if he was in an accident or got a parking ticket? That's going to come right back to me.

So after a few days of pestering and getting no response I finally asked him again on facebook. His response? "Don't exploit my personal business on facebook!" Well! I'll be! So I tried calling him and he didn't answer and that's when I decided I couldn't do it anymore. My friend and I planned a recon mission into O-side to get my plates back. We were simply going to unscrew them from the car. And if you're wondering if this is illegal, it's not. Those plates belong to me, are registered to me, and thus are legally my property. Also, the car title had not been transferred over to his name yet so technically I still had a small claim to the car as well. So we did it. 12 AM in my black truck, we snuck over to where my car was parked armed with screwdrivers and simply reclaimed my personal property.

I found DH's grease paint from boot camp in his old sea bag and decided to play around with it. Now first of all, I have never worn grease paint in my life and I have no clue how to appropriately apply it so that it doesn't make me look like a green zebra. But whatever. There you have it. Secret Recon Mission to O-side was a success.

And I woke up the next morning to see that apparently I had ruined his entire day and he was depressed and was losing his mind. Did I feel a little bit bad? Yes, I did. Actually, I felt terrible. But you know, I can't be responsible for him anymore. I gave him 14 days to go and get his temporary pass and he decided that weekend sex excursions to San Diego and 29 Palms was more responsible than making sure he wasn't illegally operating a motor vehicle. So I washed my hands of him.

That darn cat!

Not leaving the house in a week has had its perks. For one, I finally discovered why there always seem to be little tracks of cornmeal throughout the kitchen.

The culprit?

I shouldn't have been surprised, as he has managed to weasel his way into other cupboards, I just never though he had figured out how to get past the child locks. I mean, if our cat is that smart I hate to think how devious our actual offspring will be.

In other news, I finally have plans to go to the gym. It took a bit of convincing and schedule rearranging so as not to miss any communication (DH said he'll try to get on each day after work, which equates to 9 AM my time), but if all goes well I will be working this flab into shape at 5 AM!!

Oh and I'm cleaning the house so I can finally start my crafting business. I am SOOO excited.

And how the heck do people manage to get HUNDRED of followers? *jealous* :)

Deployment Photography

I'm so excited! I scheduled an appointment with a photographer in the area to do some couples shots of us on the beach! Woo! I just want some recent pictures before he goes, since it's going to be a whole year until we can do any pictures together.


I can't really think of anything specific to blog about on this lovely Tuesday so I'll leave you with a picture:

Oh wait! We went to Best Buy yesterday and bought DH a new computer for his deployment. $600 laptop and YES I'm aware its going to get trashed, but if it helps him stay in contact and gives him a way to entertain himself for 12 months, I'm all for it.

DH also said he wanted to take Flat Husband to Afghanistan. He said it would be hilarious to take pictures of a little flat guy doing things around base lol. So it looks like Flat Husband will be joining Real Husband for a few months.

Homesick...

Contrary to what you're thinking, I'm not homesick for Utah. No, that nanny state can kiss my butt. I'm homesick for Missouri..the location of our first base.

I don't know what it was about that state or that base, I just cannot let it go. Fort Leonard Wood, as a base, was a little piece of nothing in the middle of nowhere. But that's precisely what was so amazing about it. That was the smallest, most rural town I have ever lived in. I forgot how wonderful it was to not have people swarming all over the place.

Part of it, though, revolves around the fact that Missouri was the site of a lot of firsts:

1) First alcoholic drink (Mmm St. Louis)
2) First anniversary
3) First official military base
4) First time renting an apartment without my parents help
5) First time driving/Navigating across the country
6) First time moving/living "out of state"

My decision to move to Missouri was a rash one. It was criticized by everyone from family to friends to random strangers. I mean come on!! Who moves to a base in the middle of Missouri for 3 months just so you can be closer to your husband for the last bit of training? I do, that's who.

Just reminiscing now, that was quite an adventure. I left Salt Lake City on July 29 with absolutely no prospects for an apartment. As far as I was concerned, I would be living out of hotels for the first few weeks. I managed to book a week at a budget motel and swore to apartment-hunt while I was there. Shortly after leaving I received a call from a guy in Missouri renting out a basement apartment.

2 days later I was pulling through the gates at Fort Leonard Wood, absolutely TERRIFIED of the place. I was a stranger in a new state. I had no knowledge of the area and I was utterly lost. It took me a solid 2 weeks to even get my bearings of the base and avoid getting completely lost. I was living in a room in the basement of another couple's house, but managed to find a little short-term studio rental for the last 2 months.

That first month in Missouri was AWFUL. My car broke down and required $1,200 in repairs, the humidity absolutely killed me, I hated my living arrangement, and I only saw my husband on the weekends because he was so busy with school. I spent most of my days browsing around the base or else hanging out alone at Walmart with everyone else in the town. I despised Missouri.

Luckily, things turned around the 2nd month. We went to St. Louis and I fell absolutely in love with that city. We made several more weekend trips to St. Louis, and I got to hang out with my husband's friends. We went to movies, we went to the local dance club...now that I think about it, St. Robert epitomized everything that movies portray small towns to be. It was SO small, so quaint, as almost all towns in Missouri are, but it had character and life. It was empty, but full of love. Fort Leonard Wood was a very welcoming base. It was small so it felt like you were really part of something...like a base family. I had a lot of great experience in Missouri, from the weekend parties at my apartment, to being a regular at Applebees, to catching my neighbor naked in the hallway, to getting a Federal speeding ticket (which, btw...if you're going to get a speeding ticket, get a federal one. They're so cheap!) Of everything of note that has happened to me in the past year, 90% of it occurred in Missouri.

I didn't realize it until I left, but Missouri/Fort Leonard Wood actually really grew on me. I don't ever remember experiencing any kind of home sickness for Utah while I was gone, which is why it's so strange now to be in California longing for that home-town feel again. Camp Pendleton just is not the same. My first time on Camp Pendleton was just confusion. It's so big and it has NO trees. I don't even go onto that base if I can avoid it. It just feels to foreign and there's really no need for me to go there anyways. Fort Leonard Wood just had something about it that made me feel home. The day we left it POURED. I was completely drenched just running from the PX to the car. I like to think that maybe that torrential downpour (the worst since I was there) was Missouri saying goodbye.

And I know all of this is extremely sappy and cheesy, but I really can't convey it any other way. My experience in Missouri was COMPLETELY abnormal to what most people experienced at "Fort Lost in the Woods" but there was just something so new and amazing about it that I would give anything to go back in time 3 months to be living in Missouri again. I proposed that idea to DH and he said "ick what a po-dunk town. I hate that state" and it makes me sad that he doesn't appreciate Missouri like I do.

Oh well, maybe I can talk him into going back to St. Louis. That city is amazing after all.

Click here to listen to "Missin' Missouri"

An Ode to Dead Blogs (and Flat Husband!)

Let's just say this is not the first time I have attempted blogging...although it is certainly my most popular attempt (can I have a shout out for 2 whole followers? Woot!)

I've had many dead blogs over the years. Most of them died at the hand of their writer, who never seemed to have time to update them. One of them was killed following an angry tirade about how the internet sucks. Three of them never saw fruition and sat endlessly in a state of "saved drafts", waiting for the moment when I might grow a pair and just post them already.

Possibly my most successful attempt at blogging (minus this one) was my own facebook page, rife with political notes. But then again, that's not entirely fair. On facebook you can tag people in your notes and otherwise force them into reading it. I just decided, after a while, that it was terribly unfair of me to spam other people's pages with my political musings. So I moved into the blogosphere, ready to sink or swim on my own.

That was scary. I pat myself on the back for having 5 posts already (a record). It's scary because, when you cherish something as much as I cherish my writing, publishing that for other people to critique and/or ignore is like sending your child to kindergarten for the first time. How are people going to react to me? How are people going to react to my writing...to this whole thing?

Oh and did I mention I stayed up all night against tonight? Oh well...I guess it's about time I embrace this habit of mine.

I got this GREAT idea though. I was thinking about all the things DH is going to miss this year:

1. My 21 birthday
2. My mom's big family reunion/party thing
3. 2nd Wedding Anniversary
4. Thanksgiving
5. Christmas
6. The cat's birthday (ok so I'm grasping at straws now...)

Anyways, the point is, he's going to miss things. So I decided to be clever. A few years ago when I went to the 2002 Winter Olympics, my cousin was doing a school project called "Flat Stanley" and he asked me to help him. Needless to say, Flat Stanley attended the 2002 Winter Olympics. My mom got really into it and even made a scrapbook of all the places the little flat boy visited.

So my genius idea...I'm going to make a "Flat Husband", and he can come to all these places with me. I'll just take pictures of "Flat Husband" spending quality time with me wherever I am, and then I'll send them to him so he can see what he's been doing in his own absence :)

Yup! I'm going to do that!

Stress and Urban Dictionary!

Just for the fun of it, I urban-dictionary-searched (or as I'll say..urbied) "deployment". I am loving the results:

1. Spending 16 months alone with my daughter while my husband is in Iraq, Afganistan, Korea or Germany. It is my husband missing 1/2 of our marriage due to his "duty" and endless readjustments when he is home. It is the cause of so much marital stress. It is the reason for so many nights spent crying and each day spent worrying.

But I just have to add my own little spin on that:

1. The 12 months spent trying not to throw a pity party, but doing it anyways.

2. The 12 months spent reassuring family and friends that you haven't just dropped off the planet, you're just worried about tying up the phone line or missing a vital call.

3. The period of time where you clean your house and it manages to stay clean just because there's no man to come barreling through the door and throw his socks all over the place.

4. The months spent feeling guilty about your secret enjoyment of being able to keep said house clean longer than 5 minutes.

5. A vague amount of time that keeps changing in length (12 months? 15 months? Only 9?), wherein you have to "hold down the fort"...nevermind that you've been doing that for years anyways. But this time you actually get credit for doing it.

Anyways, speaking in regards to that first definition "Spending 16 months alone with my daughter" I can't help but feel a sense of alienation. You see, we don't have any kids. It's not our fault either. We did not plan for that to be the end result. Our non-children are a mistake...a mistake I tell you!

But it's come to my attention that a large portion of deployment checklists, support groups, events, and advice is geared towards kids. FRG events are geared towards mothers with children. Even on-base classes and events seem to be more "mother-friendly" than "wife-friendly". Entering into a deployment with not even so much as a week-old fetus is actually a bit depressing.

I would love to be super mom (or even half-assed mom...or even just "mom" for that matter). I would love to be able to have that stress of taking kids to school, dealing with deployment as a family, and being able to have that momentary distraction. But I don't. We don't have any kids, so I almost feel like I don't even have a routine to return to. I don't have much of a routine to begin with since I've been out of work AND school for over 1 year, but whatever semblance of a routine I do have certainly won't be "returned to" anytime soon. I don't have anyone to take pictures of to send him. Nothing to occupy my time while worrying or spazzing out. And it seems like EVERY discussion between military spouses involves their kids, every event involves kids and parenting and kids and what to do for the kids and keeping things normal for the kids...

To be honest, it makes me feel like less of a wife. What do I even DO as a wife? It seems like these days I do a lot of web-surfing, TV-watching, random house cleaning and organizing, and microwaving. That doesn't stack up to what my husband does. I need something else...something to call my baby. Like volunteering, or a part-time job. Something that makes me feel less guilty about waking up at way too late to be considered "normal", and throwing some soup in the microwave and calling it "dinner".

But whenever I try to do that I am struck with the sudden fear of not being good enough. The prospect of even LOOKING for a job after being unemployed for so long is downright terrifying. What if they don't hire me? What if they do hire me but I start to hate my job? What if I can't do it? What if I don't get hired? What if I'm...fired? What if the schedule sucks? Don't even get me started on going back to school. I have a terrible track record with school and I know I really should finish my writing degree before DH gets out and wants to use his MGIB, but I just get so scared that I will stop going to class or that I will have no friends or that I won't make any friends or that I'll end up on academic probation again..just all these what ifs that terrify me. So I stay home and do "wifey" things, hoping for something more..like a baby. Something to give me the satisfaction of doing more than just hanging out at home vacuuming. Because as it is right now, vacuuming is about the only thing I can do really really well. And I stopped getting the gold star for that ages ago.

I need to earn a gold star for doing SOMETHING other than writing a blog that no one reads ;)

Does it ever end?

This is the 3rd time I have had pneumonia. Yes, you heard me right. The THIRD time.

The first time was right after DH got out of boot camp. The second time was right after DH got out of MCT. Now the 3rd time is right after DH and I moved to the new station. (Are we seeing the trend)???

In between all of these bouts of chronic lung pain and coughing I've also been pleasured with having swine flu, regular flu, and the stomach flu. Charming.

My husband, on the other hand, has been healthy as a horse. He had pneumonia once in boot camp, otherwise I haven't seen him so much as snivel. These past few days have been particularly bad and I feel terrible about it. Here he is, leaving in a month, and he gets to come home to a disgruntled housewife lying on the couch with kleenex in her nose and uncombed hair, frantically trying to order Nyquil over the internet. Sexy.

And did I mention that my attempt at having my Nyquil delivered was a fail? Ya, apparently Von's was all booked up for the rest of the day and couldn't deliver groceries. So who had to go out and get it for me? DH of course. Then to make matters worse, I slept in the next day (which is actually today...don't know why I'm talking about it in past tense) until 3 PM. So there goes all my progress getting up on time ;)

The one thing I have to be thankful for though...having pneumonia as many times as I've had it has allowed me to experience the wondrous world of military ER's. Oh and you can see where this is going, I'm sure.

A few months ago, sitting in my apartment at Fort Leonard Wood, I took a deep breath in and felt a sharp pain in my chest. My first instinct was "heart attack" so I jumped in the car (as anyone who suspects themselves of having a heart attack would do, lol) and drove to the Army hospital. 3 Hours later what did I have to show for it? A prescription of Motrin.

At the time, I didn't understand what was so funny about that. Yes, Motrin. So what? But after talking to a few people I realized that Motrin is the military's cure for everything. Sprain? Motrin. Pneumonia? Motrin. Can't sleep? Motrin. So now I just skip the late night ER visits and go straight for the OTC Motrin.

But I digress...literally the only thing right now keeping me from crawling into bed and sleeping for the next 12 months is that I have mandatory distractions. This next month will be busy. First my MIL is coming to visit, then DH has 1 week of leave, then my parents are coming to visit, and then it's the going away week. I have a lot to get done in that time period: cleaning the house, cleaning the house again (who woulda thunk it, but those things get dirty quickly), buying some stuff for DH, tailoring some of his gear, and I have to make a point to make every one of his favorite meals before he leaves. I would hate for him to be in Afghanistan thinking back to his last month of "special take out". Thankfully I have a man of un-picky tastes. Tacos, spaghetti, and stew it is!

I really need a better schedule

I'm a night owl by nature. There's just something about the wee hours of the morning when no one is awake and its dark that just makes me happy. Maybe it's that I can go outside in my pj's and get the mail without being seen, or that I can enjoy the goofy infomercials on TV.

Usually I've been able to force myself to go to bed by 1 or 2 AM, but today I think I really overdid it. I stayed up all night. My husband woke up to an empty bed, came out to the living room, and saw me watching Youtube videos and old episodes of "Full House" on TV and said "have you been up this whole time?" Yes, I have...mainly because I was incredibly lazy yesterday and slept until 6 PM. And when you sleep for 17 hours, you're generally running on a lot more than fumes come 5 AM. In fact, I'm quite wide-eyed right now. Feeling the effects of sleep deprivation only marginally.

The bad thing is, now that I was up all night, I'm going to have to stay up all day as well. No more of this "going to bed at 4 AM and waking up at 4 PM" stuff. Sure the night is great, but nothing is open, meaning nothing gets done, and I've seriously wasted a lot of decent daylight by being in REM sleep.

I keep thinking to when he's deployed and I just know I'll probably revert back to my night owl ways. When he was in boot camp, I did the exact same thing. He wasn't there, I was lonely, and day time is just so much more lonely when you don't have a husband around to talk to or even wait for. But night time..well no one is awake at night anyways, so it's almost an excuse to be an introvert. Instead of admitting that I'm a shy person who doesn't get out much, I can just claim to be a night owl and it makes it that much more acceptable. If you don't get out much simply because you're only awake a night...people understand that. They almost look at you with awe and say "I wish I could stay awake all night".

Well when you sleep in until 9 PM, it's really not that difficult.