WTF Commissary

Everytime I go to the commissary, I vow to myself to never return. And then time after time after time I end up BACK in its clutches. I don't even LIVE near it, so I sure as hell don't drive there willingly. I think the commissary is just a giant doom vortex that merely sucks my car in its general direction.

Yesterday was one such day that I found myself wandering aimlessly through those little sliding doors, wondering how the hell I ended up in a re-enactment of the Normandy Invasion.

So based on my shopping experiences I have compiled a list of commissary "tips" that one should obey if they wish to blend it when shopping on base.

1. Bring your kids. Wait no, not just your kids. Bring your neighbors kids. And your other neighbors kids. And before you do that, make sure they are all cranky. If you have a young infant, deprive them of naps for the few hours leading up to your shopping trip, just to ensure they're extra wimpery.

2. Bring your coupons. Or maybe just the entire Sunday paper. Then spend as much time as necessary loitering in the middle of the aisles comparing sales prices and manufacturers coupons. You have the time...and so does everyone else shopping there at that exact moment.

3. If you're shopping with a significant other, make sure to make out as much as possible as you galumph down the aisles like a drunken 2-headed dog. Whisper in each others ears as you pick out your top ramen, and spank each other asses as you oogle the ice cream. He just got back from Iraq, we all get it. And we appreciate that you are including us in your public bedroom display. Really.

4. If you find yourself in the midst of shopping at closing time and hear the DECA announcement to "please proceed to checkout", that is your cue to shout! YELL! SCREAM! Break out running at marathon speed around the store, gathering items as you go, and leaving a trail of toddlers in your wake. Forget obstacles! You're a commissary shopper on a mission, which clearly gives you the ability to move through solid matter (displays, shelving, other shoppers, you name it).

5. While waiting in line at said check out, please disregard the nylon ropes. If you see an opening through two bins of DVD's and a display of cereal, by all means walk through it. It was put there specifically for you. The Commissary knows how much money you spend there each week and outfitted their check out line with a custom-made shortcut just for you, the VIP shopper.

6. Leave your military ID at home. You won't need it. If the cashier IGNORANTLY asks to see it, just demand "DO YOU KNOW WHO I'M MARRIED TO?!" Hey, if they gave you your own personal line, they sure as hell don't need to check your id. They should be able to recognize you just by the wash of your jeans and the baby suckling your left teet.

7. Don't ever...EVER..pay with plastic. If you have a debit card and you have money in your checking account and it would be easy to swipe your card and be done...don't. Instead, rummage in your purse and unearth your barely-used checkbook. Thumb through it for a good 10 minutes looking for the "perfect" check. Then dig in your purse for a pen. Make sure you take as much time as possible during this step so that the other shoppers behind you can learn from you, maybe take some notes and write a thesis.

8. Since you'll be writing a check, make sure to conveniently "forget" your sponsor's social security number and unit. We all know it's written on your ID, but since you're "above" the use of ID's you should also be above having to know anything about your sponsor. When the cashier tells you they can't accept a check without a social security number (for "financial security" reasons) scoff at them. They're ignorant, that's already been established. It's ok, because the rest of the commissary shoppers will have your back and have no problem waiting.

9. If you have a disgruntled teenage child at home, full of angst, who enjoys sulking in their dungeon and writing demonic poetry...encourage them to apply for a job as a commissary bagger. It's a marvelous opportunity for your "terrible teen" to get out of the house and share their anarchic worldview with the unsuspecting general public. This is an especially good tip for those who have children with anger problems, or really for anyone overflowing with hate.

So there you have it. 9 tips (because I couldn't come up with a 10th) to making commissary shopping fun for the whole family!

My Military Education

3 years ago I was graduating from High School. 3.5 GPA, a transcript padded full of AP and Honors classes, a scholarship from the school district, and offers to attend universities like Puget Sound and Colorado State.

I opted for the closest school to my house: University of Utah. I started school that fall completely gung-ho and confident in my dreams. I was going to double major in anthropology and English. I was going to travel abroad and live on ramen. I was on the fast track to graduation, with AP test scores replacing 12 credit hours of general eds and summer school soaking up a decent chunk of other core requirements.

But something happened.

I hated college. I hated the learning, I hated the students, I hated the teachers, I hated the campus shuttle that whipped around turns at lightening speed. I hated the meal plan. But most of all, I hated the pressure.

When was I going to declare a major? How many credits did I have? Did I read Dostoyevsky over the summer? What about Neitzche? What was my career plan? What was I going to do after graduation? Was I planning to study abroad?

I HAD to attend college. My parents, my teachers, my friends, my extended family...they told me college was normal. It was the next step in a life full of steps. I was just a pawn, progressing through a checkerboard of moves, controlled by someone else.

1. High School
2. College
3. Stable Career
4. Marriage
5. Children
6. Retirement
7. Death

So I dropped out.

Well, no, first I wasted another 2 semesters of college money on classes I never completed before transfering schools, and THEN I dropped out.

I got married without so much as 2 cents to my name. My husband enlisted in the military, I lived with his mother, then I moved around the country on the military's dime. I digressed from the norm.

All the people I graduated high school with will be finishing their 4 year degrees this school year. Some have already finished them. Many have studied abroad, had internships, joined sororities or fraternities. Hell, my 19 year old brother had more college credits after his first year of college than I did after 2 years and a summer.

 But I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry I put it off so long. I'm not sorry that I hated college. I'm not sorry that it took me so long to come back around, that I got married at the tender age of 19, and that I've spent most of that marriage alone.

The reason I'm not sorry is because it allowed me to prioritize my life. Graduating at the "normal" time, with a degree I'm only lukewarm towards is simply not (and will never be) a priority in my life. Despite what everyone wants me to do, I am NOT going to go back to school just to get "any degree" to pad a resume. Why would I waste money on something I'm just "settling" with?

This fall I am planning (but not promising) on returning to school. A community college this time. I'm working towards an AA in photography, and I can't believe it took me this long to realize it.

Photography.

That was my "side hobby" in high school. Actually, art in general was my side hobby (more of a passion, really). I took every art class imaginable, I did summer art classes. I had a photograph featured in a show in a gallery in downtown Salt Lake City. I volunteered at an art museum, owned a digital camera, printed and framed my own work. I drew all the time, doodled on my homework, and on any given day I would most likely be found in the art room, either leading an art club meeting or painting something.

Why did it take me this long to realize and pursue? I don't know.

Carpe Discount!

Hello all my military ladies!

I'm doing something different on today's blog post. I was out shopping last week when I stumbled upon a previously unknown "military discount" at one of my favorite stores. So I'm compiling a list of all the places I know of that offer military discounts. So please, SEIZE THE DISCOUNT!

1. Hot Topic
2. Khol's
3. Aeropostale
4. Bath and Body Works
5. Sally Beauty Supply (you can also join the Sally Club for free...regularly $5)
6. Foot Locker
7. New York & Co.
8. Pac Sun

9. Autozone
10. Lowe's
11. Home Depot
12. Checker Auto Parts
13. Big 10 Tires
14. Jiffy Lube
15. Kragen
16. Meineke
17. NAPA Auto Parts

18. Applebees
19. Denny's
20. Chipotle
21. IHOP
22. The Melting Pot (HOLY SHIT! Now I'm excited)
23. Sizzler
(many restaurants and hotels offer discounts, just get in the habit of asking)

This got me thinking how many times I've passed up discounts because I didn't know they offered one. So now, I ask EVERYONE. If I'm buying a shirt at an obscure store, I ask. What's the worst they can say? No? Then you're just back to square one.

Also, for those who don't know, Active Duty Serivcemembers get into Sea World and the San Diego Zoo for free, and wives get a small discount. Disneyland sometimes offers military promotions, or you can get cheaper tickets at the Camp Pendleton travel office (lattitude travel). Anheuser-Busch attractions also offer single-day free admission to AD military.

Check out Military Avenue for coupons and rewards in the area around your base. Military.com also has a list of running coupons, discounts, and sales.

So what's YOUR military savings secret?

Memorial Day

"Although no sculptured marble should rise to their memory, nor engraved stone bear record of their deeds, yet will their remembrance be as lasting as the land they honored."

 ~Daniel Webster

Not the Green Weenie Again..

Funny story... (that's usually code word for UN-funny story).


The Marine Corps messed up their paperwork.

According to them, I'm 5 months pregnant and due in September. Now, under normal circumstances I'd say that error is comical. Here are a bunch of Marines running around making preparations for my husband's R&R to coincide with his baby's birth and there isn't even a baby! HAR DEE HAR HAR. Ya...har dee har my ASS.

Given that oh...I dunno...we've been struggling with fertility issue for the past 2 years, my husband is in the middle of nowhere, everyone around me is popping out kids left and right, and I don't even have a hope of becoming pregnant for at LEAST another year (simply due to DH's absence...don't even get me started on the months of fertility treatments it's probably going to take after that)...well needless to say I don't find their paperwork error to be funny AT ALL.

In fact, I find it to be utterly depressing. It makes me want to shoot someone in admin (disclaimer: I do NOT advocate violence against government officials).

My husband...the "glass is half full" kind of guy that he is, tried to make me feel better about it, joking about "if there's something I need to tell him" or how maybe he just has super sperm that is able to travel trans-atlantic. But it didn't work. I got off the phone with him and sat in the grocery store parking lot (where I was at the time) and just cried.

So thanks for making me feel spectacular again, Marine Corps.

You know...it's a real shame the "Green Weenie" isn't literal or I'd have been knocked up ages ago (I guess there is humor in misery)

Tricare....Spawn of Satan?

Where to even begin....

I enrolled in Tricare Prime last year at Hill Air Force Base. They let me choose my own off-base PCM and I did. I never actually went in and had any appointments or anything, and I didn't really bother changing it when we moved out here, until now.

We live about 10 minutes off post, but we're 15 miles from the hospital (which translates into about 30-45 minutes of driving, depending on traffic, and another 10-15 minutes trying to find a parking place in that God-aweful tea cup they call a parking lot). I went to the Tricare Service Center on base today to change my PCM over from my old Utah doctor to someone here. I had already selected a family practioner within WALKING DISTANCE to our apartment. He had excellent reviews and I wanted him to be both mine and my husbands (and eventually our child's) doctor. And he was accepting new patients. Plus his partner was an ob/gyn so it was like perfect.

Well, Tricare didn't think so. Rather than allow me (and them) the convenience of letting me go to the doctor 30 seconds away from our front door, they assigned me a doctor on base in INTERNAL FREAKING MEDICINE (not even general or gyno), then put me into the Naval Hospital system. Now that I'm in the system, they won't let me out of it!!!

As this was all happening, I asked the lady at the TSC if I could please have a doctor off base...can I fill out one of those Tricare PCM change forms please? She glared at me. "NO!"

So I left the TSC, called Tricare, and asked them how to change my PCM.

"Oh no problem, just fax the PCM change form to us....oh wait no....you're already in the Naval Hospital system. This is out of our control. You're going to have to get them to let you change, since it's now their issue."

So I call the Naval Hospital and ask them what to do.

"No, you have to have a doctor on post because you live within the 30 mile radius."
"But it takes me 30 minutes to get there"
"Yes, but it's in the radius. You can come in to the TSC though and ask them."
"I have to drive 30 minutes back on post to change my doctor to avoid driving 30 minutes on post?"
"Yes, ma'am."

So I call Tricare back and this time go through an entirely different phone tree and get someone different. She looks through her map, asks me zip code, consults the map again...

"Well it looks like you're only 5 miles from post"
"Yes, but it's another 15 or so to the actual hospital. The base is very large"
"Hmm...ok well, I can't really do anything. It's out of my control. You're going to have to go on base to the TSC and petition them."
"Do they have a phone number?"
"Well, call the hospital and have them transfer you though."

So I call BACK to the hospital, explain whats going on, and ask for the TSC.

"They don't have a phone number."
"Oh, they don't? Well I really don't want to have to drive back on post. It's 30 minutes."
"Well, that's not true. They have a phone number. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but if you call Tricare and ask them, they will transfer you to Camp Pendleton TSC."

Ooook....so I call Tricare back YET AGAIN, and explain what I was just told. The lady asks me to wait a minute and transfers me through...TO THE PERSON AT THE HOSPITAL I WAS JUST TALKING TO.

I ask her what is going on. She says just give up and come on post. I ask her what exactly are the guidelines to change to a PCM off post and she says that they probably will deny my request because we're only 5 miles from base (plus another 15 from the HOSPITAL...geezus).

So, Tricare....this is what I want to know.

Why, in the name of all things holy, do you have in-network PCM's who accept tricare prime IN FALLBROOK if you won't let anyone actually go there? What do I have to do? What am I missing? Do I have to go and see this "Dr. Vu" I was assigned to and have him refer me to this other guy every 4 visits? Do I have to use standard? Do I have to pretend to move back to Utah, switch to a civilian PCM and then switch BACK to one out here?

Seriously...none of this would have happened had I just ignored everyone's advice and faxed the PCM change form to begin with. But everyone kept telling me I HAD to put myself in the Naval Hospital system. I HAD to go to the JRC and change my PCM with them. I HAD to do that in order to even get a doctor. Come to find out, I could have just faxed the form to the main tricare office with my request and gotten the doctor I wanted to begin with.

Is there a way to get out of the Naval Hospital system or is this like a lifetime without parole kind of situation?

And let me just make myself ABUNDANTLY clear...I DO NOT, under ANY circumstances, want to have a doctor on post. It has nothing to do with the "motrin cures all" mantra (well, maybe a little). It really just has more to do with the nightmare that is that hospital. Getting there is a pain. Parking is an even bigger pain. Finding my way around is a ROYAL pain. And what am I supposed to do about my husband? He can't get in to medical to save his own life. I had to take him to a civilian ER in Salt Lake City when he had freaking pneumonia. I would much rather HE have an off-post civilian doctor as well, because things might actually get done.

I have nothing against Dr. Vu. He is technically a civilian doctor and actually used to work at the medical center in fallbrook that I so desperately wish to go to. I just really wanted to NOT be fucked by the green weenie for once. Is that really to much to ask????

Oh and before I forget....what genius at the Naval Hospital came up with the idea of playing techno rock while you're on hold? The LAST thing I want to hear when I'm about to rip someone a new a-hole is "doooba dooba chicka chooo....dong dong booopbleeeboopbleee dinga choooo"

Being a Military Spouse (Part 2)

Well I was just sitting around today looking at pictures and I decided to go back through some of my old photo albums on facebook. I came upon a picture. It instantly brought back such intense feelings I couldn't help but blog about it.

It made me REALLY think about what it meant to be a military spouse. Why do I put it with all this crap, the fighting, the deployments, the separation, the bullshit they like to call Tricare (don't even get me started on that...).

Why do I do it?

This:

I remember that day so well, like it was yesterday. It stands out more than my own wedding. All that waiting and writing. I was a noob then, oblivious to military life and the green weenie of the Corps. But it was that obliviousness that made me really be able to stand back and look at things as they really are, without the politics, the drama, the heartbreak.

MY HUSBAND made something of himself. He set a goal and he achieved it. And it made me DAMN PROUD of him. I don't think I've ever felt more proud of something in my entire life. Not my high school graduation, not my scholarships, nothing.

It was a different kind of proud. When you see someone struggle so much to get somewhere and do something, when you see someone go through what he went through just to make a life for the person they love..the feeling is indescribable.

And that's what I'm resting on now. When I sit back and think FML this is BS why am I doing this, I think about him. As much as he is doing this for me, I'm doing it for HIM. I simply go back to that feeling of intense pride, seeing him graduate and become a Marine, seeing how excited he was, and that's what I focus on.

What Does Being a Military Spouse Mean to Me?

First of all, I am SOOO sorry to all my bloggy friends for ignoring the virtual world last week. I DID check every single one of your comments as the days went on and I noticed I have a few new followers (hurray!). So just know that yes, I am aware of you and most of you I followed back, there are still 2 or 3 that I haven't had the chance to, but I will once I'm done with this post!
Now, I've had such a whirlwind of a week that I figure it's time to sit and relax with a CONTEST! Christina over at Married to a Sailor: Journey of a Navy Wife is hosting a contest. The question? Write about what being a military spouse means to you.

The question is very hard to answer. If you had told me in High School that I would be a military spouse I probably would have laughed in your face. You see, I was vehemently opposed to the military. I was a member of Code Pink, a rebellious teenager just entering the world of politics. I was uninformed about many things, particularly the military. It wasn't that I so much hated them, just that I was so far removed from military things and everything I knew was just what I got from the news or other sources.

I remember walking the halls at lunchtime frowning at the recruiters, thinking in the back of my head that they were signing people up to die. I had cousins in the military. One in the Navy, one in the Marines, and one in the Army. They represented the military well because shortly after each of them left for basic I was left feeling abandoned. The military took my cousins away, maybe one day it would kill them.

When I met my husband I was 17. I had never imagined myself in a serious relationship. He used to tell me that had he not met me he probably would have just joined the Marines. I thought to myself that I was saving him from being signed up to die. I told him that under no circumstances was he to enlist because I would leave him. And he said not to worry, he would never join the military.

Fast forward 2 years and we were living by ourselves in Northern Utah where I was involved in school. I was unemployed, he lost his job, had no high school diploma either. I remember the moment well. He was sitting at the desk in our guest bedroom playing a video game. I popped around the corner and uttered the unspeakable. "Maybe you should join the Marines." He responded back with the unthinkable. "I already decided to."

We went to the recruiter that next week and he was signed up for adult education classes to finish his diploma. We got married the next month, he completed his diploma in 4 months and was DEP'ed into the Marines. He left 1 week later.

What being a milspouse means to me is hard to answer. Sometimes is means that I lie on the floor and rip my hair out trying not to kill myself over dead vibrator batteries. Other times it means I scoff at the on-base "dress code" that doesn't allow hats in the MCX. But then there are the days, when I tag along with DH to work and watch him do morning colors, and I see the flag being raised, the National Anthem playing in the background and I think that I'm glad I'm a different person than I was 4 years ago. I'm glad I married a man who became a Marine. I'm glad I have been able to travel around the country in the past year and meet people who I will probably know and love for the rest of my life.

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.