Ready, aim, fire!

So this is like verbal diarrhea. I apparently had a lot to say and didn't realize it until I sat down to type. A lot of it is nonsense at best, so prepare to skip and scan, but don't miss the food porn halfway through and the naked dancing down towards the bottom!

 

We're starting a new quarter at NPS, and as the husband gets back into his academic lifestyle, I feel like I'm treading water. Granted, it's the purtiest Mediterranean blue water ever, and it's calm as a lake. But I feel like I'm stuck treading while huge super cell clouds form on the horizon. This tour will end, and when it does comes the reckoning. For gods forbid we should have anything easy.

 

Though, heh, I will say once more that NPS isn't easy unless you're in the breezy programs. And computer science? Not so breezy. Air's kinda stagnant.

 

Since we have some down time (relatively speaking), we're taking advantage. YodaMan has been nabbing the Muscle &  Fitness magazine (okay, I admit, I totally bought the one with Hugh Jackman on the cover) and taking on some of the workout and food plans within. He's really pulling out the testosterone, I'm telling you. Not to be outdone, I've also stepped up, taking inspiration from my subscriptions to Oxygen and M&F Hers. We've procured a few home gym items because the gym here? Sucks hairy, wrinkly balls. I'm also full vegan (though for mostly religious reasons) and whole foods with 50-75% of my daily intake raw fruits and veggies. I'm over the plateau I'd hit - down six more pounds and making some serious progress with the weight training. Woot!

 

Meanwhile, I'm shocked and amazed by this website. Really? Do people actually eat this crap? I'm no paragon of nutrition, for sure. After all, I'm from the Deep South and lurve a Fry Daddy feast as well as anyone. Give me an Amy's Texas Patty dripping with cheddar cheese and sauteed mushrooms and a side of fries and a freaking Cinnabon the size of my head for dessert, and I'll give you my firstborn. Srsly. But spam sushi? And Bacon Crust Pizza With Bacon? And The Fat Sam? Don't even get me started on the deep fried lard balls. *urp*

 

Also in the news: elder sproglet spent a few days in the hospital. He's fine now, and today's visit to the doc confirmed that he seems to be on the mend. It was rather worrisome (I didn't think it was going to be a big deal until after the fact, when I found out how close he came to surgery) but all is well now. The only bad thing that lingers from that experience, since he thinks the balloons and stickers and stuffed animals and bragging rights made it all worth four days of boredom and angst, is the fact that I missed a residency at school. I've fallen behind my peeps, which sucks, and I won’t graduate in January as planned. The good news is that rumors abound at school, and there may very well be a happy star alignment that makes my June graduation worth the aggravation and bummer.

 

Cross your fingers, though.

 

In spite of all the excitement around here, I'm a bit bored socially speaking. I have no life. I usually join a writer's group when we PCS, but now is the downtime for that group (the national conference takes place next week, so nobody does anything much during the summer). We have no contact with neighbors, which is good considering the folks we had as neighbors just a few months ago. We have no contact with folks from NPS or DLI, even. So…I'm going to join a writer's group, yes. That's inevitable. But I might also … join the spouse group. *gulp* If I do, rest assured I will bring to you all the hilarity and ass-twitching that ensues. And as soon as I've found the one or two normal people who usually show up there, I'm bagging out with their contact information, and y'all are officially Cut. Off.

 

Srsly.

 

Also, I'm headed back to the wilds of San Diego next week for a religious shindig up in the mountains. Naked dancing under the full moon will NOT occur, kthx, but it could be crazy. Because this religion unfortunately tends to draw out the crazies. As well as urban dwellers who think "getting back to nature" means not wearing deodorant (which sucks when you're at a con with them and they all pile into an elevator with you not ten minutes after their Ecstatic Dancing workshop just ended). Anyway, I'll be out of pocket, but if I run into any fun Navy/military hate-worthy rants, I'll be sure to take copious notes and relay when I'm back online.

That's it! I'm moving to Sweden.

Welcome to the hellmouth.

For those new to this blog who have recently stumbled upon my snark (hope you didn't fall in - it can be a bitch to clean off), welcome! Always glad to hear your snark, too, so if you try not to bring on the wank at your own blog, feel free to commiserate here.

 

To those of you who offer awesome advice and then wonder why I never respond, know that I read and appreciate every comment but deal with a pain in the ass hurdle to leave a comment b/c of my attempts at anonymity and the prevalence of trolls. I do try to jump in, but I'm usually too pissy to make the effort. So consider this a blanket statement: you have been heard, and I appreciate what you said. Even if I disagree. ;)

 

In the world of double-edged good news, promotions finally happened, and husband got his. Lots and lots of good people got screwed over while a few pieces of shit managed to eke out a promotion in spite of bad fitreps and worse reputations for being fat slobs who spend their work hours doodling on their dissertations rather than doing their jobs.

 

Ahem.

 

Here's hoping the next possible duty stations are good ones and do NOT require a year-long IA beforehand. Because I will raise such hell if he gets an IA and is then sent to a deploying ship and we have a threepeat of 2006-2009, I will leave foil-wrapped ass dumplings all over that detailer's desk. Just sayin'.

You don't say!

Strap yourself in. This news might stun you.

 

Apparently, the Navy culture leads to heavy drinking. I'm stunned. Aren't you?

 

In related news, scientists say they will drop hundreds of millions of dollars on a study that will determine whether ripened bananas are indeed yellow.

Awesome! The guys unite.

Kimba just found an awesome new blog starting up. It's brand, spanking, shiny new, so there's not much content yet aside from a links page and a forum with a few intros, but I'm hoping it fills a largely ignored gap. If you're a guy (or if you like guys)(or both) and married to the military, check out Military Husbands.

 

I think this is fabulous. Guys get a lot of lip service as milspouses and don't often have their needs or special circumstances addressed (not that I like that there are special circumstances for them, but our society is still clinging in many ways to patriarchal throw-back bollocks, and I'm sure they take at least some occasional crap from neanderthal types). It's great to see them band together. I hope we get a lot of eye-opening and stimulating content from them soon!

Angsting and bitching - what's new, really?

While the semester is finally over, and I've done all I can at this point, I still don't feel like I have room to breathe easy. After all, after this residency in three weeks, I have one semester left before I'm done. I graduate, if all goes according to plan, in January. My thesis is breathing down my neck.

 

Maybe the stress of the final push is what has me in this weird place. Or maybe it's the lingering effects of all the time spent stressed about doing the single mom bit during the two deployments aboard yon ship; perhaps it's even the the stress of the IA that still hasn't let go. I'm inclined to think it's likely the latter because my chest has constricted just a bit tighter since we learned that two folks from YodaMan's old digs died from an IED along the route he used for dozens and dozens of convoys. Maybe it's knowing that timing and absolute luck means he avoided the fate that others have now endured.  

 

I know this sensation. I nursed it through some pretty gnarly depression, when I developed agoraphobia and panic attacks. Long story about where that started, but it officially hit me during YodaMan's first sea tour when I was stranded in a strange city thousands of miles from my family and friends literally two days after he checked in to the ship. That sense of panic and unrelenting impending doom hovers over me constantly, and when I think about all the possible ways our lives could come to a bone-sucking stop, I start to freak out.

 

My logical mind knows this is pointless. I can say to myself a hundred times that all is well, but I still feel every day as if the other shoe is ready to drop. I'm scared to get on the plane to go to residency at the end of this month - it might crash. I'm scared of another IA - for obvious reasons. I'm scared of schools and stores and, gods help me, even the commisary - what if someone comes in with a gun and starts shooting? See where this is going? Yeah. Nowhere productive.

 

Like I said, it's pointless and completely  illogical, and I know it like my best friend's favorite drinking story. I know the edge of a panic attack that's ready to eviscerate me. I know it, yet there's every likelihood I won't be completely rid of the fear until all threat of another IA has passed, until I know that even dangerous sea tour deployments are no longer a possibility. The IA, and I'm somewhat sure it was the final straw in this perpetual fear cycle, has left a deep scar that my soul is trying to patch.

 

[And for the record, I'd also like to insert here how completely, utterly, ridiculously fucking insensitive and me-me-me I feel considering my husband is home. Safe. Healthy (well, minus the black lung from Kabul's fabulous air quality). I have nothing to complain about considering the nightmare and challenge some spouses have to deal with. Unlike the bulk of his compadres, he isn't suffering from massive liver damage. Nor is he seeing a doctor for lung treatments. He hacks a lung during long runs, and glory be, the phlegm is now grey rather than black. He is just fine. And that makes me feel like a complete asshole for being so consumed with this fear.]

 

I have a plan, and I know I'll be fine. It's time to resume my daily practice of mantra, meditation, and kala. It's time to find a place for regular ritual, or at the very least investigate the local UU church. It's also time to check in with the doc and make sure my chemicals are hunky dory and my anti-depressant and thyroid meds don't need to be adjusted. More than that, I need to search around for the source of this angst and address it. If it's school, that's easy enough - I have backup to catch me if I fall on my face, but I'm not likely to do that. If it's post-deployment bollocks, that's another bowl of cereal altogether.

 

In the meantime, I can swallow my fear for a few minutes by bitching up a storm. Commense bitching:

 

Dearest Navy, I'm really fucking annoyed at how long this stupid fucking promotion bullshit is taking. How fucking hard is it to look over a bunch of names, nod, John Hancock the fucking paper, and pass it on? Really? How hard? Oh, and for the record, dearest Navy, if you fuck my husband on this promotion, you're totally blackballed at Casa Yoda. I will make sure you are henceforth deprived of one of your best sailors. He will not take another deploying tour. He will not take another IA. If you try to foist any bullshit tour on him, I will pull out every weapon in my arsenal to ensure he will not take it.

 

I guarantee it.

 

/bitching

 

Now back to the regularly scheduled descent into crashing heartbeat, prickling skin, and shallow breath.

While I've Been MIA...

Sorry I haven't been posting. Term deadline just passed, and I'm still trying to recover. I have a few more things to do before I can call it a semester, but to quench your snarky thirst, allow me to share with you the utter shite Spanish horror flick (1972) my husband had me watching last night on public access (watch it all, I promise you'll love it):



Oh, and so you know - that massive head injury she sustained from that incredibly forceful blow at around 2:40? Yeah, that was fatal. Sorry if I just spoiled the ending for you.

If you like to watch pure trash TV, this movie is the one for you. Plus! Titties. Lots and lots of random titties. Did I mention the movie was completely effed up?