Just Another Snarky Navy Wife

Find a Veteran Grave

2012-01-13T20:14:00.000-08:00

It's history! Sorta. I've never hosted a guest blogger here before, but when Evan e-mailed me to ask for feedback on a project he's working on, I was impressed that someone has decided to offer a service to the families and descendents of veterans. See what Evan has to say about his project, and offer him some kudos for being one of the few computer science interns in the world who actually achieved something worthwhile (I know I didn't...thanks, BAE Systems!). Also offer him a wutwut for his willingness to be associated with such a site as this one. A "couple of F-bombs" don't bother him, says he. He'll fit right in.

Here's Evan.

There are over 6 million veterans and family members ofveterans buried across the United States. And when you want to pay your respects, it can be very hard to locate aveteran’s burial place. The departmentof Veterans Affairs keeps a massive database of burial sites of veterans andtheir beneficiaries, such as spouses and children. But this database is jumbled, messy andconfusing. But a new online tool hascleaned up this data and made it searchable and easy to navigate. Now, anyone can easily find a veteran grave for free onLocateGrave.org.

Users can search for a veteran by name, cemetery, date ofbirth, military rank and military branch. Once you have narrowed down your search, you can click on a veteran tosee the detailed information regarding their burial. A map will help you locate the cemetery andthe cemetery’s phone number will be displayed. If you are logged in to facebook, you can also leave a prayer or note toremember the veteran.

A similar online tool also powered by FindTheData.org is the Medal of Honor Recipientsdatabase. Like the veteran gravelocator, the Medal of Honor tool allows you to search for recipients based onwar, rank and name.

This is a guest postwritten by Evan Thomas, a student at UC Santa Barbara that has partnered withFindTheData to help create these tools. If you have any questions or comments about the gravelocator, feel free to contact Evan at evan_thomas (@) umail.ucsb.edu

Deployment Preparedness

2012-01-08T16:44:00.000-08:00

Since I get to hear some awesome stories about douchebaggery that takes place aboard YodaMan's ship, I'm often in a position to offer some fun tidbits that might make his job a bit brighter. Of course, you can only polish a turd so much before the shine gives way to a big fucking mess all over your hands and oh-my-god-how-did-it-get-in-my-hair.

On his first ship, a frigate charged with counter-drug ops and whatever extra underways the captain could volunteer them for in order to get away from his obnoxious trophy wife*, they had a huge issue with nailing necessities. They were never fully manned because the ship was a reserve frigate, so they only had their full contingent one weekend a month and for a couple weeks in the summer. They also had no cash. Their budget discussions, every quarter, would end in a debate about whether they should buy paint to keep the ship from rusting or toilet paper. They always bought the paint.

YodaMan's care packages and deployment kits often included toilet paper. And air freshener. Because of all the "cremains" he had to stow in his state room, when he had one.

His anniversary gift this year was a tiny load from our favorite online store, Think Geek. Specifically, I gave him this t-shirt and a few other tidbits, pictured below. I know, I'm so romantic, giving him deployment readiness shit for anniversary. It's how I roll.

Last night, we had Date Night, and at the end, he was telling me about a guy on the ship who is apparently a very good guy but who is still a bit high strung after the hell everyone endured under the last CO. Specifically, this guy likes to give YodaMan orders. But, yanno, he's got no order-like leg to stand on since they're equals in the food chain. So according to YodaMan, when he gets an order, he tells the dude, "Duly Noted. And then he says he'll just write that order down in his "sparkly notebook right next to the glitter and My Little Pony stickers." He may have said something more, but the image set me off so that I couldn't stop cackling.

Needless to say, today I felt compelled to make that notebook a reality and hereby complete the Deployment Preparedness Kit.

Here's the final kit.

The whole enchilada! Minus the sexy t-shirt, natch.

The t-shirt missing from this photo has a back story. Wanna hear it? Great! So YodaMan was called from his rack during an emergency one night on their underway. The CO saw him and gave him a strange look, then shook his head. YM had no idea what that was about until he realized he was scampering about in his nighty, which was this t-shirt, also from Think Geek. Be sure to check out the back of the shirt. That's apparently what prompted the head shake from the CO.

The Notebook: Duly Noted

I tried to make sure the notebook looked like a stampede of My Little Ponies took a crap on it. It's a composition notebook underneath all that glitter. Here are some shots of the inside pages:

For the diva who has everything.

Pwnies!

Click your heels three times, OPS.

Where rainbow becomes a euphemism for cumtard.

Glitter + Rhinestones = I'll Get My Wish

Okay, enough of the brilliance inside. Not photographed was the purple glitter pen that goes with this book. I almost attached it with a special glittery ribbon, but that's just a choking hazard waiting to happen.

Next up, the obligatory mug, which will be either completely grimy and disgusting by deployment's end or will break before halfway day arrives.

Fight the Waves! No. Flavor the Water! Um, no, not it. Figure Time Wins! What? Fake Tech Wings! Hmm.

He regularly gets paperwork that's all kinds of fucked up. He actually had to send an official e-mail out to his guys about the difference between a "hangar bay" and a "hanger bay." No, I'm not kidding.

Hello Kitty thinks you're stupid.

For folks who just piss him the fuck off, we have a very special bit of torture. The Evil-Tron is the size of a quarter and has bizarre noises. My favorite is a tiny voice whispering, "Can you hear me?" I also love the creepy kid laughter. Win! Even the cat felt compelled to help model it.

Moose-i-fur says: WTF? Why this no smell like salmon?

When he goes to staff meetings, he'll love to use these dice to answer the "how do you plan to fix this system?" questions.

Weighted dice? Or the hand of karma?

And there you have it. I'll probably also send toilet paper and Febreeze, for old time's sake. But I probably won't send a dick cozy, which is something I actually shipped to him his first deployment. That went over well.

* or so I heard.

It's Xmas time! Let's watch reunion porn.

2011-12-21T10:38:00.000-08:00

I know it's hard not to watch reunion porn these days. With the end of the war in Iraq and the holiday season upon us, the news stations are all but creaming their panties at the opportunity to show surprise reunions with wee sprogs who don't realize their shock, their joy, and their pain are being televised for the titillation of the American public.

It's pretty rare that the reunion clips come with the appropriate dose of reality that puts the necessary edge back on the story. Most of these news broadcasts include a lot of sentimental and emotional angst, even by the newscaster who's all verklempt. I love Robin Meade, but she's been all up in my shit with this lately, as reporters rush to cover all the tearful, joyful reunions.

But look at this one in particular: Sprog Surprised by Returning Dad. Imagine what that moment is like for that little girl. Reunion is as upsetting as it is joyful. It signals the start of a very rough time in those family members' lives. But all that heavy stuff is rarely covered. It gets at best some lip service, as it did on today's broadcast.

There are so many things wrong with reunion porn. Worst is that it could be easily fixed. If the clips didn't focus on the tears, the hugs, the smiles, the squeals, but gave them their moment in the midst of the larger story--the pain of all that the service member missed, the pain of all the family missed, the months of soul-sucking fear, the stress, the relief, the new stresses, and OMFG the unholy reintegration--these clips wouldn't serve only to titillate audiences. As they stand, they make light of the military family experience. They make light of our children's very particular and very hard struggles. And most of all, they make light of our sacrifice by only revealing a veneer of the happiest moment.

I say fuck reunion porn. The only thing it has to offer is moments of hope and promise for milfams at home, experiencing those horribly bleak moments when you can't even imagine that the separation will ever end, when the stress has you at the snapping point, and all you want to do is curl up and cry. Then these are good. Then they remind you that there is an end.

Otherwise, they're worth about as much as horse shit caked to the bottom of your Jimmy Choos. Sure, the shit highlights how awesome your shoes are, but it's still horse shit, and now it's all over your shoe. You're welcome.

Dear civilians reading this: Let this be a reminder. Just because they're home doesn't mean all goes back to normal and life is good again. Just because they're home doesn't mean they don't still need your support. Just because they're home doesn't mean their work is done and their families will never again suffer their absence.

Keep that in mind, will you?

Blessed Yule, everyone.

In which I extrapolate from a single experience

2011-12-20T11:28:00.000-08:00

Remember this pendant I bought?

I've gotcher pearls right here, bitch.

Yeah, I wore that to the commissary today, and I discovered it's not actually a pendant.

It's a motherfucking talisman, bitches.

The week before Xmas, mere days after the last payday, and I was not cut off once, I was not boxed in, and the rude bitches [read Old Skool Wives who think they're better than the rest of the masses] who parked their carts in the middle of the aisle and allowed their enormous posteriors to block one whole side of the remainder didn't dare stay in my way for long.

At first, I chalked it up to the commissary not actually being as crowded as it should have been despite the fact that (as I learned later) by 11am yesterday, every register was open, and the line was stacked through the frozen section. By all rights, the place should have been overridden. It wasn't.

Then I caught someone looking at my necklace. And then she glanced away and pushed her cart as fast as she could in the opposite direction. Obviously, the presence of the talisman around my neck didn't just encourage folks to move in another direction. It diverted motherfucking traffic headed to the commissary. Truth!

And so hear ye all: If you, too, want an easy time at the commissary, wear one of these.

Peace out.

Search Engine Fun

2011-12-19T06:55:00.000-08:00

It's time for another round of search engine terms that FTW. What brought folks to this site in the last month?

wife breeders
random shit
wife shit
"my navy wife" podcast sex || what?? where is this?
airforce bullshit
asshole military wives
being a navy wife and have a career
dangly balls woman looking at || ha haa!
deployment love poems
dog fucks
fuckywife.com || which I'm so buying
how common is porn during a navy deployment || how obvious is the answer?
how to stop snarky || good luck
husbands straws being done for seeing german wives to fuck with other one || O.o
i'm just looking at you || awesome
minions of hell
smegstick
top navy spouse blogs || er, no. not here.
what the fuck is wrong with Tricare || ha haaa!
youre a fucking loser || love this! also, so in love with the visitor's grasp of grammar

I really wonder if there are interwebz tools that allow you to visit a site with a particular search term. That would be so cool. I should investigate. I'd hit sites of douchebaggery with all my snarky charm.

Help a Warrior Out

2011-12-16T09:46:00.000-08:00

Y'all, there are wounded warriors whose families need extra help this holiday season. I know it's very close to a done deal for most, but there's always time to send a gift card or just anonymously donate to Our Military Kids.

I just sent a gift card for the clothes one family requested for their children, plus two small toys that I hope will help alleviate the burden these children have suffered.

How often do you think about the families of those who come back from war with significant medical and psychological issues? We see and hear plenty about those heroes wounded in combat, and we're hearing more now about TBI and PTSD, which can be so much more difficult to identify as actual wartime injuries.

But really, think about the last time you considered what the families of these service members endure. The initial terror, the grief, the anger at what has happened. The relief that their warrior didn't die. During the harsh and emotionally complex journey to wellness and autonomy, the shame at fleeting thoughts that are natural but would be considered hurtful or even appalling if voiced. Even after the wounded are released, they face challenges, and their families bear the same burdens.

And consider the economy.

The families are heroes, too, often forgotten, usually ignored or expected to step up and deliver. There are support systems out there for these families, but they're not that easy to find, and there's not a lot they can do. Because the focus is (as it mostly should be) on the wounded warrior.

If you'd like to remind these families that their own sacrifices are not forgotten, that their current struggles are acknowledged, and that you'll do what you can to support them -- anonymously or otherwise -- think about giving. If you want to try to send a gift, e-mail me at snarkynavywife at gmail. I'll forward your e-mail to the coordinator. As I said, I sent a gift card, and I threw in a couple of toys. I couldn't afford a lot this year, but I did what I could.

If you'd just like to offer a donation to the program that helps these families all year, visit their website at Our Military Kids.

Rape in the Military

2011-12-08T08:44:00.001-08:00

This looks really interesting. I hope, however, that it covers rape of military men, too. Since that does happen.

It would have been nice if a male survivor had been included in this preview. Heteronormative assumptions 1) make sex appear to be the ruling factor rather than power and hate and 2) make male survivors the Other when sex and gender are actually not germane to the underlying problem. Showing that these assumptions are wrong -- especially when we're looking at a male-dominated institution -- would do worlds of good.

Of course, it's not helpful that I have to say "male survivor." Yes, female survivors are much more common, but it would be, I believe, a boon in the fight against sexual violence if we could remove sex and gender from the conversation without assumptions defaulting to male perpetrator, female victim/survivor, and a sex-centric motive. So how do we change the image of sexual violence in such a way we can eliminate the use of gendered perps and survivors and open the ring for an honest-to-gods fight against dehumanizing violence with far-reaching effects after the fact (e.g. potential pregnancies for women, potential incurable STDs for everyone, sexual and psychological health for everyone, etc.).

In which base security shows it has twin assholes, both hairy

2011-12-06T15:43:00.001-08:00

YodaMan is gone. Enterprise is out doing what they do when they do this "out" thing. I received an e-mail from him yesterday begging for help. Apparently, base security let them know an hour before they were to leave the pier that the quaywall parking had become prohibited. At that moment.

Call me a stickler for logic and fairness, but it seems highly fucking intellectually challenged to tell a ship full of sailors that they're going to be towed if they don't move cars magically, after liberty is secured.

What result? Well, family members or friends have to move their cars or they'll be towed. There's another option for those who can't get someone to move their cars, but it sounds like a recipe for fucking B-movie levels of disaster. Think Megashark vs Absolute Fucking Mayhem, a SyFy original movie. Or something.

Though I have precious few hours when I can do shit like this, I took off this morning and moved the car. I even encountered the dude responsible for fixing this fucked up mess of a circle jerk. I confirmed that the new parking space was okay and was told it was okay, and so I hopped in my car and took off for home. You know, that place where my sprog is dropped off after Kindergarten and where I absolutely have to be when the bus gets here...or else.

I shot an e-mail to YM. "Car is moved across from Pier XY. You are saved. I have saved you. I have also saved your ass. And perhaps your scrotum, since I'm sure base security would suck it through a straw if they were to tow your car, even though the whole mess is their fucking fault."

YM shot an e-mail to me. "Yay! You're my hero." Why, yes. Yes I am.

YM shot another e-mail to me. "Wait. Pier XY? That's where the shrubbery homecoming is. Are you sure you didn't park in those allotted spots? Should have been no parking signs up."

I shot a rather angry e-mail back. "Signs? No Parking signs? Why, no. There were no signs at all. In fact, I kept looking for signs. Also, I asked for confirmation from Sir Dudeness Who Is Tasked With Unfucking This Mess, and I received confirmation from Sir Dudeness. If I have to drive back down there, I WILL BRING THE FURY. I don't fucking care if I end up at motherfucking Guantanamo."

Dear Navy, and most especially your collection of cumtards in base security: You are why I'm medicated. And I will eat your souls if your fuckwittery exceeds my daily dose of anti-want-to-shit-on-your-pillow pills.

Does Wil Wheaton Love Amurrica?

2011-11-15T18:38:00.001-08:00

As the USS Enterprise (CVN-65) preps for its last deployment, I have a sad. It's not that I'm bummed about 7+ months foregoing sex, adult conversation, and a resident bug-squisher. It's that all my Enterprise jokes will end not long after, when the ship decommissions.

I love the Enterprise. I own this pizza cutter, after all. We don't even use it for pizza. No. It's the centerpiece of our Star Trek altar, where we worship every day. It's like a simultaneous athame and idol, and it totally fucking rawks.

Behold! Trad Roddenberrian Wicca!

YodaMan told me recently that there was talk about asking William, Lord Shatner to preside over the humble end of the latest water-bound version of the Enterprise. I fear what might come of that, however. Also, I cheered when Captain Kirk died ("It was.....................fun.") in ST: Generations. It was a spectacularly bland ending to a spectacularly underwhelming character.

This is why we can't have nice things.

I'm not talking about the reboot Kirk - oh no, for therein lies so fucking much potential for squishy, gnarly m/m slash. And other things. Ahem.

Sammich, anyone?

If the Enterprise retirement coordinator gives a crap about the sailors, s/he'll invite Wil Wheaton to be a guest at the retirement ceremony. If s/he doesn't give a crap, I will declare her/him a taintraider.

If Wil Wheaton loves America, he'll accept that invitation. Like Justin Timberlake loves America enough to go to a Marine ball. Do you hear me, Mr. Wheaton? Do you love America? Do you love this country like Justin Timberlake loves this country?

Do you?

America loves you, Mr. Wheaton. We love you like we love the latest tech toys. Like we love butter wrapped in bacon wrapped in crack wrapped in Krispy Kreme. Like we love swinging our big red, white, and blue peen of republicness and starting wars because, hell, what better do we have to do?

Also, I have a couple degrees of separation from you. I went to Klein Oak a year behind this guy.

He wouldn't know me from our principal, who was rumored to be a vampire, as he was never seen in daylight. He also wouldn't know me from any other student, as I was a lowly band geek, and he was a highly Thespian, and the only times I ventured into the theater when Thespians were about happened to be during an ill-fated production of Oklahoma! for which I got to be in the sound booth. I still do not understand how this happened, as I had no experience and no idea what the fuck I was doing. Also, Becky Hepinstall had the BEST obnoxious laugh, and I still remember what it sounded like. Partially because it was my job to notice sound; partially because it was the epitome of fucking obnoxious. But that's actually not the source of my separating degrees. I'm not even sure who those degrees are. But I bet I have them.

And I happen to have counted exactly three degrees of separation thanks to one of my mentors, an awesometastic writer of sci fi and m/m. Hollah, Anne!

If Wil Wheaton loves America, he might also bring some of his pals to partay on the Enterprise before it goes to mothball and undignified scrap - not necessary, but would further the awesome. Friends like Levar and Michael. Like Denise and Brent. Like Patrick, even, if I can get a wutwut. And, sure, we'll let Jonathan join in. We're cool that way. But, of course, this depends on how much Wil loves America.

Naturally, whether this invite goes out depends on They Who Plan. Do They have enough awesomesauce in their souls to believe in Wil? Do They love America? Or will They choose to believe the best crew of the starship Enterprise did not include a certain Ensign full of vim and vigor (or, in Navy parlance, young, dumb, and full of cum) whose crazy antics and need for paternal direction from Captain Picard resonated with all us sprogs of the X Generation?

Who loves America?

And who loves the Enterprise?*

~~~
In other news, I bought this [ETA: from this Etsy page], and I shall wear it to every FRG meeting and trip to the commissary between now and blessed retirement.

You want a piece of liberal milspouse? Come and get it, motherfucker.

If you're ever near a military mcthing and see a very short person walking around with this necklace, come say hey. Because that will be moi.

*This bitch! Except, of course, when it forces long terms of celibacy and isolation from adult conversation.

2011-11-05T17:27:00.000-07:00

When I was prego and living OCONUS, all my Euro friends offered me a glass of wine or a harder drink on the handful of occasions we got together for social events. I was shocked - fetal alcohol syndrome is ingrained in us from birth, and it's one of those things we know like instinct. It's ingrained in American women that we're nothing more than human incubators for a ball of undifferentiated cells, and all our base are belong to everyone else. Once people know we're with child, the world is given permission to ask any kind of prying question, judge our behavior or diet and lecture accordingly, touch our stomachs, check our cervixes, etc. It's nuts.

Recently, some prego friends have mentioned things going on in their lives that have brought to mind how paternalistic we are towards pregnant women. I dug around and found that American women are far more likely to have a child with FAS than a European woman is...yet in Europe, a woman isn't treated like a piece of trash when she has a glass of wine with her dinner. I wondered if maybe this isn't yet another example of our puritanical and paternalistic restrictions causing a more severe reaction than we might otherwise have.

Not that FAS is a minor issue. Of course not. It can be devastating. But so is displaying an unrealistic image of a pregnant or post-pregnant woman, like on the tee vee when a woman gives birth and suddenly voi-fucking-la, her huge ass baby bump is all disappeared and her uterus isn't all HEY MOTHERFUCKERS WHAZZUP SOMEONE BRING ME A FUCKING BURRITO AND THE TEE VEE REMOTE WHILE I MAKE LIKE A FUCKING BEAN BAG CHAIR ON YOUR PELVIC FLOOR. Y'know, since panic ensues when we realize how incredibly huge we're getting, and instead of increasing our daily caloric intake by 500, we're decreasing by 1000 and hoping to gods that the sudden fullness around the face is just the incredible hormones all taking up residence in our skin cells and not actually an indication that it's going to take longer than the usual 9 months to a year to fix the lumpy pile of good our post-natal bodies will be.

Not that I decreased my caloric intake. I lived in Cheez Its and apple juice because it's the only thing that didn't set the yarfing and/or acid reflux into overdrive. And I don't know if you realize, but Cheez Its are not low-calorie. Nor are they healthy. Which is why I drank the apple juice. You know, to offset the pile of shit and chemicals in the Cheez Its. And over yonder, across the pond, the juice was all fresh and had minimal if any sugar added, and there was pulp and shit, so at least there was a little fiber to slow down the BLADOW of sugar and insulin.

Anyway. FAS. What's bad is that in my digging, I found the most ridiculous image EVER CREATED. Ready? Prepare yourself. This is seriously fucked up. Let's see how many ways we can snark the shit out of it, mkay?

Apparently, pregnant women, when they drink, drink NEKKID.
Also, they shove a wine glass up their cookie because good moms know to puff, puff, pass.
And also, when your fetus is getting his crunk on, he does so with his head embedded firmly in your ass. Or possibly crowning, since you can be nekkid on these health websites, but we can't show a cookie to confirm. Really, she could probably wait five minutes and let the kid suckle the wine right out of her boobs. Unless this kid's gotta bust alien-like from her thigh to get free of her uterus, which appears to be migrating down her leg.
And is it just me, or is she not a real blonde? I guess OB/GYNs get really good at guessing who's natural and who's not. I wonder if they make a drinking game out of it at work.
Also, I'm guessing from what we can see of her face and her terrible physical anomalies that she's a zombie. And who knows? Maybe FAS is the cure for the zombie virus. Maybe it sets up a road block of crunk-ass ninjas in the placenta and takes those rogue virus DNA strands down.

Hey, CDC! Get on that. FAS blocking zombie viruses across the placenta. You're welcome.

Get to Know Us! What Should Civilians See?

2011-10-15T20:59:00.000-07:00

This past week, I saw a tweet from a blogger whose mad skills with words and bosoms make me delirious. Unfortunately, her tweet was something that made me twitch rather than swoon:

SmartBitches SB Sarah Wendell

Here, want to cry? 9 yo surprised by returning soldier father: is.gd/cnW0gU

After a short tweet-convo about the perils of reunion porn, SB Sarah responded thus-like:

SmartBitches SB Sarah Wendell*

what would you want shown? Would be of interest to me for sure!

My brain froze. What would I want shown? Certainly nothing that would make for good tee vee, to borrow a phrase from the cockwits trying to make the milspouse experience even further removed from reality and understanding for civilians.

So forgetting ratings and such, what should the civilian world see of our lives? What would make for honest cultivation of comprehension and empathy for the 99.5% who don't serve? Could they even see a snippet and get a full understanding of the psychological cycle accompanying deployment? Would they understand, even after the wars are well and truly done, that some will continue to endure extended deployments? Would anything we offer up convey to them how difficult the last decade has been for all, and how it's a real pisser even when we're not at war?

I don't know. But I'd love to hear what you think might help build that bridge of understanding.

I'd love to see the day that civilians don't watch reunion porn without understanding how motherfucking hard reunion is, and how motherfucking awesome it is, and how incredibly intimate that moment is when you see a loved one after months and months of life apart. I'd love to see civilians have at least a passing understanding of how all those small moments of holy what the fuckery that occur, on top of the really fucking scary moments. I always think of Sis B's experience a few years ago, before her husband was severely injured, and I wonder if any civilian has ever even considered something like that might happen, and whether that kind of moment, once related to them, would make them stop to consider the greater milspouse/milfam experience.

So I guess, long story short (ha!), I'd recommend the following moments be shown to civilians. Not to titillate. Not to give them a shorthand moment of concern or elation that will make them feel as if they are involved and that they care. Nothing really to evoke understanding, because I'm not even sure that's possible without living this life. Rather, I would hope to inspire them to become involved in the military community. Whether it's volunteer service or just tapping in, some kind of involvement might at least foster the understanding our two communities lack.

Deployment gremlins. A moment when the one fucking thing in the house the milspouse does not comprehend breaks or starts spewing sparks/water/smoke/random high-decibel noise, and the only way to get it fixed is to shell out some cash we already don't have.
A PCS. From the point when the movers arrive, preferably catching them in the act of exercising the incompetence or outright maliciousness that's inspired by the shit-tastic contracts the government uses with them.
A trip to the Military Treatment Facility. Or, pretty please, a trip to the Tricare office in Monterey, California, so the world can see that in the entire city of Monterey, there are only five or six doctors willing to take the hairy-sack-tastic Tricare insurance payments.
A PCS done while the service member is already on his/her way to the next duty station and unable to complete the required paper work that the milspouse isn't allowed to do in order to move all their shit.
The tears when we leave behind yet another carefully cultivated support system and yet another tightly knit group of friends.
The really morale-killing moment during deployment when you're out for a rare night of fun, forget that your spouse is in the middle of a fucking war for five minutes.
The soul-killing moments when we actually plan our reactions to learning our spouse was killed in action, because what the fuck else are we supposed to do with that reality looming over us?
The middle-of-the-night screams from the sprog having horrible nightmares in the midst of deployment.
The sudden behavioral changes the sprogs undergo because Mom or Dad isn't home and WTF is going on/?
The hell we must traverse to get our sprogs the therapy they need to deal with so much absence.
How the military culture (including those in charge) treats PTSD - still - and suicide - still - and doesn't even consider spouse suicides.
The little moments when a chain of command assumes that yon milspouse's job is to be a milspouse, and her (mostly her, as I seriously fucking doubt they treat mil-husbands this way) time is to be spent performing unpaid labor to benefit the command.
The way we're lumped together in one huge, Republican ass-licking group of automatons by much of the public. And the way liberals are demonized or told by those in the Republican ass-licking camp that when our husbands are killed in action, it'll be our fault b/c we're liberal.
The first fight after homecoming.
The big fight that happens right before deployment, even though you've worked so fucktastically hard to get along this time and not stress out this time and not let the impending separation get to you. This time.
That moment when you realize your own career dreams are motherloving kaput. Gone. Not gonna happen.

And then these, too:

Milspouse camaraderie, banding together, preferably with a frou frou drink.
The joy at homecoming.
The joy when we actually getting to take a vacay that isn't sammiched between whirlwind family visits.
The excitement of something new, for those who still feel that excitement.
The pride that inevitably comes in spite of the pain of sacrifice.
An unexpected and well-timed military discount or hook-up from a veteran who remembers what it's like to need that hand.
The moment when you realize you can't have the career you worked so hard for in college, but HOLY SHIT there are other opportunities. And, if you've hit it on the third Tuesday of a month that starts on a Friday and coincide with the alignment of the moon and Jupiter, you might actually qualify for financial aid that will offset the additional cost of education.
That really horrible day that completely rushes you from behind, cops a feel, leaves a stain on your pants leg, and steals a twenty from your purse. And then when it's over, the stunning relief when you realize you hit the halfway point of the deployment right about the moment the day smacked you across the face with its dick. Sweet relief!
The meeting when you learn your sprog's teacher is a milspouse, and her husband is on the same ship. This mean she'll understand completely when the sprog loses his shit a month into deployment. And she'll know exactly how to respond. Motherchucking WIN.
Traditions. Not Navy traditions. Family traditions. Those little things, usually at holidays, that have become utterly familiar to the sprogs, so when they see them, they respond with bright-faced joy. Those moments are islands of refuge, and they deserve serious camera time.
Going for a drive with the sole purpose of getting lost, since that's the fastest way of getting to know the town you just moved to and will leave in two years or less. And also how you'll find that amazing little restaurant in the scary alley with the questionable but holy deliciousness.
The moment you hear your DH is CONUS and no longer subject to IEDs.
The first time you get combat pay plus separation allowance plus tax-free pay. Awesome. And then blow it on a latte and a manicure. Double awesome.

What about you? What would you have the American public see about our lives?

* BTW, Wendell's full of truefact when she claims to be a Smart Bitch. Her dissection of popular romance novels is a faboo blend of third-wavy feminist inspection and nonsense-free evaluation of the author's ability to entertain. Read her blog. You won't regret it.

Random shit

2011-10-15T18:00:00.000-07:00

Now for some completely random news.

The USS Enterprise fall festival happened today, and the sprogs had a blast.I'm stunned by how much money the FRG spends for fun shit. I'm bummed that somuch of it is kid-centric (where the holy fuckerfuckles is stuff for thechildfree and those who just want away from the sprogs for a few blissfulhours?). And I'm curious about what the decommissioning is going to be like.Will they get Patrick Stewart here? Oh, sweet Poseidon, send us Wil Wheaton! Ifnot, I'll take the seksiest bald dude that side of the pond, fer sure. Maybewe'd even get the Abrams-esque Enterprise peeps. Zachary Quinto? Mrow! I'dfornicate with that man's eyebrows. I don't exactly know how that would work,but by gods, I'd make it happen.

Something I learned today is thatthey do carrier cakes for special events. Carrier. Cakes. What the what?!YodaMan thinks I orta make some carrier cuppies just for shits and chortles. Itold him I'd only do that if he promised to use his Enterprise pizza cutter onthe next carrier cake, and then only if he'd say, "Pewpew! Pewpew!"as he approached the cake with the cutter. Because that would win the Navy. Andalso the next Trekker con.

In which the neo-cons get me all up in the lady bacon.

2011-10-10T14:21:00.000-07:00

The current gaggle of honking fuckwits occupying the news these days (aka the contenders for the Republican presidential nomination) have got me pondering my lady bacon in ways I never imagined I could. From visions of Michelle Bachmann deep-throating a corn dog while pontificating on her role as subservient helpmeet to the utter incomprehensible Romney waffle from pro-choice to anti-woman, I wonder at the fate of my amazing twat at the hands of the Republican party, should they win the election next year.

Of course, there are plenty of other things I worry about, aside from my Netherville and the fate of future generations of women-turn-Atwood-handmaidens. Cuz, y'know, I'm pretty sure Margaret was getting her prophecy on regarding our neo-con future when she wrote her amazing pop-lit novel. Ahem. Anyway, though I shake my head in disgust at the entire line of holier-than-thous, I keep going back to the bacon.

Hence, the following rant.

I actually like the idea of smaller government. In many, many ways. Especially as concerns my uterus, which is my fucking business and none of yours. I have not consented to the intrusion of any politician in my ladyparts, so each time one of those fuckers tries to stick his business up my cookie, that is political rape. Also, when the rights of an undifferentiated ball of cells trump my rights, that is a violation of my civil rights.

I hate, hate, hate when rape is thrown around as a means of shock or entertainment, as that minimizes the horror and trauma that should be associated with the word. I hope that says how strongly I feel in equating restriction of reproductive rights with rape.

There are people out there, like my aunt, who desperately want a child, who are devastated when they learn that the fetus has such terrible anomalies that it is completely unviable and will live in agony for as long as it takes to pull in a lung full of air, and then will die. In pain. To force these women to carry to term, to force them to go through the birth experience knowing it will end in tragedy and sorrow, to force them to give life to a full-term baby rather than cut that little soul free before it suffers? That. Is. Rape. And never mind this worst-case scenario. To tell a woman that her health, her psychological well-being, and indeed her life mean nothing next to a ball of cells that is unviable outside of her womb? Also rape. Your business is up in her business. She is the physical manifestation of the Goddess. She is creatrix and live-giver, and to take away her ability to exercise her will is subjugation of power and force that is emotional kissing-kin to physical rape.

You haven't stuck anything physical up their vaginas, but you sure stuck something that didn't belong and wasn't welcome. All as a show of your will, your force, and your power.

So, neo-cons, take your tiny government claims and stuff them up your ass, and when you're done having an assgasm, consider shoving your hypocritical attitudes up there, too. Take everything about your 1% and shove it far and deep.

Ahhh. I feel better. /vent

Doh! Daddy Guilt, Fresh From the Sprog

2011-10-07T18:15:00.000-07:00

YodaMan was incommunicado for a coupla days because he had duty right when a planned interwebz outage occurred on the ship. So for just under 48 hours, the sprogs had not heard a peep from him.

Of course, that's precisely when Shit Blew Up in my professional life (in a good way, but I still wanted The Huzbind to talk to about it all) and when an OMFG HUMONGOUS BLACK SNAKE RACED PAST ME IN THE FRONT MOTHERFUCKING YARD, MOTHERFUCKERS! Typical. Can't wait for next summer, when mowing the lawn will be my job instead of our job, and we've got MOTHERFUCKING SNAKES IN THE MOTHERFUCKING YARD HOLY SHIT.I have a slight snake phobia. True story.

Anyway, Dad wasn't home. This isn't new, but they don't remember when Dad wasn't around before. One sprog was too young, and for the other, he was young enough that that whole nearly-three years of misery seems blurry to him. Still, their understanding of the New World Order 'round here is acute.

Allow me to 'splain.Younger sprog's teacher e-mailed me today. He's having difficulty at his new school, and she wanted to chat with me about these issues. I told YodaMan about all the convo with the teacher and separately with the sprog. I nominated him to play Good Cop since he's leaving, and I'm sure at least a third of sproglet's issues concern the New World Order.Tonight, YodaMan had a wee convo with the sproglet, who is five years old.

YM: I heard you've been having some problems at school.
S: Yes, sir.
YM: You know you can talk to me.
S: I know.
YM: So next time you're upset or you have problems at school, just come tell me about it. I'll always listen.
S: [with scrunched-up face] But Daddy, you'd have to actually be here so I can talk to you.

Doh!So true. Younger sprog bonded way more with me because he was gaining long-term memory and understanding about the time YodaMan was deployed all over hell and back. And even though YodaMan will disappear for seven months next year, not to mention several weeks between November and then, I really wanted him to have the primary role of Good Cop. But he won't be around much. I'll have to play both parts, as is always the case when there are underways and deployments to consider.

Three more years of this shit, folks. Three more years, and we're OUT. I have to tell you, there's very little I'll miss about living the Navy life. This bit with the sprogs missing Daddy time because the ship owns his soul? Not gonna miss any part of that.

One more bit of hilarity. Just because.

2011-10-06T12:44:00.001-07:00

Fun break, since the douchebaggery is depressing the shit out of me right now.

2011-10-06T02:00:00.000-07:00

And now for something completely different. Something that will take the edge off all my anger lately. How about this?

Hmm. No, that's not catchy. What about this?

Better. But not quite what I was looking for. Oh, I know!

Yes. All better. Thank you, Benny Lava.

Dear Tricare: I will gnaw your dangly balls off with my teeth.

2011-10-05T23:00:00.000-07:00

Mom's oncologist, it turns out, doesn't take Tricare. So she had to move to another oncologist. This one is concerned about the size and something about speed of the tumor's growth, so she wants to run the oncogene test to make the final determination on whether chemo will be necessary.

Alas, Tricare doesn't cover the oncogene test. Of course it doesn't. Why would it? Such a valuable tidbit of information could not possibly be of use in avoiding unnecessary chemo, which is exactly what it could do.

The test is $4000. There might or might not be patient financial aid services for this test. We'll see. Without it, chemo will be a definitely recommendation.

Mother. Fucking. Woot.

Once again, Tricare shows off its perfectly shiny asshole, waxed and bleached c/o tax dollars, and offering shit that is no less brown and stanky.

I've fucking had it. With the world.

The Riveting Lives of Military Wives of San Diego...my ass

2011-10-05T07:56:00.000-07:00

Have you seen this flaming bag of bullshit? I received a tweet from an individual agent announcing this craptacularness several weeks ago. I had hoped it had died the sad, pathetic death it needed, but it looks like we're in for it.

I'm willing to bet my once-favorite network Bravo is the culprit. I haven't been able to watch it since it became the haven of stiletto-wearing, sneering bizatches and their clans of botoxed zombie minions. The call for participants leads me to believe they're looking to spin the same old bullshit but with a milspouse filter.

There are so many things wrong with this. First is the fact that our 1% is completely misunderstood or discounted by the 99% of civilians. A dramatized rendition, with requisite bullshit shenanigans, that has nothing to do with what our lives are really like will only serve to widen that divide of understanding.

Also, I see an amazing potential for Reunion Pr0n* to spool out into The Whole Fucking Cycle of Deployment Woe Pr0n. We know all the little stressors won't be given fair air time - after all, it's not titillating to watch an Army spouse dealing with a bullshit job s/he only scored out of luck even though s/he is qualified for a real career-building position making more money and doling out less bollocks...not when there's hair-pulling and petty jealousy over who's running for the FRG board. Instead, little vignettes of "Awww, poor wifey is dealing with reintegration" will help civilians feel smug and warm-cockle-hearted because it's clear now the six month deployment was the fun part - the part wifey really enjoys. The cycle is so complex, I just don't see how a network show based on voyeurism and Oh No She Didn't moments could possibly convey the intricate and layered reality in 60 minutes with five or seven or whatever different families.

Just today, I mentioned to a friend whose heart is breaking over the proliferation of military strife and woe that it's at least good she's not succumbing to Civilian Apathy Syndrome. This perpetual sense of meh emanating from the civilian world toward us could be remedied with a show that does not glamorize or dramatize our lives, but reveals all the little and big mind-numbing, terrifying, stressful, joyful, bone-melting, soul-hollowing, or amazing moments of loss, hope, yield, and unmovable obstacles.

Where is that show? Where is the realism that reminds civilians that we're no different from them, we're no less eclectic and human and prone? Why is our one hope at a realistic portrayal of our complex lives handed off to a "reality" show that has forgotten not all service members are men, not all milspouses are women, and wants to know "What 4 other wives would you love or hate to see join the cast for this show? (Think great television!)"?Also, I'm not feeling it when the group responsible for casting the show is military-stupid enough to call the different services "divisions."

Considering how common Civilian Apathy Syndrome is, I seriously doubt we'll ever see a fair and realistic portrayal of our lives.

Buckle yer belts, ladies and gents. We might need to bring out a few cans of whupass, and you'll want to make sure your pants stay up. After all, they're looking for us to show our asses.

* Reunion Pr0n: (noun) Video, audio, or photographic representations of military homecomings meant to draw an emotional response from civilians, often used to offer civilians the chance to feel better about their lack of actual support or knowledge of military families and service members.

Samhain Approacheth

2011-10-04T19:43:00.000-07:00

Few things are more awesome than autumn, especially when you're a witchy type and totally dig on the translucent veil separating the overworld, underworld, and our world. Also, there's pumpkin. So. Much. Pumpkin. There's pumpkin soup, pumpking saag, pumpkin scones, pumpkin seeds, pumpkin pie, pumpkin muffins. All vegan, natch, hopefully organic or local or both. There are fun pumpkin patches and corn mazes and haunted houses and skeery movies and paranormal month on the tee vee and horror novels and all kinds of my favorite shit in the world.

October really is the start of fun for those of us who are witches. And for once, we've PCS'd somewhere with a yard large enough and crazy enough to allow us to decorate. Boy howdy will there be decoratin'. We even have a very thick bamboo patch over here that I plan to turn into a spooky forest for all the trick-or-treaters to walk through. Skeery strobe lights, skeery things hanging from the fig tree limbs, and the very strange sound of bamboo rubbing together in the wind. Thank you, Navy, for sending us to the armpit of the country! I lurve it here!

Samhain is probably my favorite holiday because it reconnects me to my ancestors and gives me a sense of community and heritage and place I don't always feel. It's hard to attach to a spot spiritually when you know you're leaving in no time at all, but when you can attach to the people who once walked here, as well as to the people who have brought the spiral around to create you, it's so much better. And that, I think, is the greatest benefit of Samhain.

And then there's Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I have no fucking idea why they chose October to highlight this cancer but hey. I'm not sure if I've mentioned it here often enough, but I now have had two family members diagnosed with breast cancer. My aunt's cancer spread, and I believe it was the brain tumors that killed her in 2003. She was my mom's BFF and had been since they were wee. They married brothers. My mom, as I've mentioned, just had a bilateral mastectomy. She's still recovering from that brutal bit of surgery.

In 2006, I walked in the Breast Cancer 3 Day as part of team Witch Way to the Cure. I told my teammates that year that if I ever made noise about wanting to walk it again - as this is a 60-mile test of endurance over three days - to hog motherfucking tie me, pin me to the floor, and wedge slivers of glass into my feet and knees to remind me why I do not actually want to walk this again.

The game has changed, though. There are amazing advances being made, and it's because of the publicity and funding breast cancer research gets. I know this time how to train (on concrete sidewalks with starts and stops, not pushing 50 pounds of sprog in a jogging stroller up a 40 degree incline mountain trail), I know this time which socks to get (soft clingy ones), and I know to get someone from outside to bring me a fucking blow-up mattress to sleep on because that ground is motherfucking HARD and I am old and creaky. I want to walk it again. And I want to walk it next year, preferably somewhere warm so that I have to cover myself in wet bandanas to ward off heat stroke (that cold ocean air sucked ASS last time, I tell you. ASS).

I will walk again as Witch Way to the Cure. I want a team. Witchy or not, I want people who understand that every step we take is focused intention, prayer, intensely physical magical work that wills a cure. That reminds us that everyone deserves a lifetime. Everyone deserves hope. And we can make that happen.

I don't have teammates yet, but I might do the unthinkable and establish a fundraising toolbar on this blog. I hope y'all don't mind. It's not cheap to participate: each person has to raise a couple thousand dollars to walk. It's not hard to do when you start early, but unfortunately, you do have to be *that* annoying SOB always asking for a donation. Unless, of course, you get a corporate sponsor. That would rock. But I know better. That won't happen for moi.

The walk I do will likely be in Atlanta. Right before Samhain, this time next year.

Samhain approacheth, y'all. Embrace the energy. Embrace the dark. That's where you'll find the light.

Why Monterey Still Sucks Furry, Nit-Infested Balls, IMHO

2011-10-03T18:23:00.000-07:00

So many things have reminded me this week of my time in Monterey, which I have come to think of as "two to life." It really was a sentence, but more something I'd imagine encountering in a Mexican jail. Except for the weather.

This week, talking to a milpeep friend who's got the medical what-what, I learned I might have a root cause for the rheumatoid arthritis I hadn't considered. Then when I researched this new root cause, I found a few sites claimed that its genesis often coincides with toxic mold ingestion. Yanno, like if you live in a house full of toxic mold, and it gets into your foodstuffs. Sweet. Eat it, Monterey.

This weekend, the temperature dropped, and it's been similar to that which I experienced in Monterey - in the 40s and 50s, overcast if not foggy, dismal, and bone-chilling. I fell into a bit of mini-depression, probably out of habit. Then I remembered it gets warm here. In fact, it'll be back in the low 70s as of tomorrow, and the clouds cleared up today. Eat it, Monterey.

I was called in to talk to my elder sprog's teacher. I was worried, as I have been since the first experiences at Foothills Elementary in Monterey soured me on teachers and school administration. But Elder Sprog's teacher is the fucking bomb. She's an aviator's wife, she's won teacher of the year, she's energetic, and she's amazing with the sprog. She called me in to find out things she could alter in her class to make Sprog's classroom time more comfortable. Not once was I made to feel like a shitty mom. Not once was Sprog labeled a problem child. She presented his issues not as behavior problems (they're caused by sensory overload, and his hands-on-ears-while-rocking response would have created huge issues in Monterey, despite the child-centric and granola view of life there) but as a recognition that there was something else going on that was not behavioral and not a personal affront to anyone at the school. The convo was awesome and extremely helpful for both of us. Eat it, Monterey.

Also during the convo, I explained to her the issues we had with Foothills in Monterey (one of the worst schools I've ever had the misfortune to encounter, IMHO) and a bit with the issues at La Mesa (the best school in Monterey fo sho', but far from the best school I've ever encountered). She was agog and expressed her intention not to teach when they PCS back to California after this school year. I told her I don't blame her. I don't blame her at all. The California system is broken beyond repair. Only a hard reboot will save the education system there, and meanwhile, the teachers who actually give a shit are the ones stuck in a horrible crevasse. Monterey is the worst since apparently the school district finds the best schools, dismantles them, and spreads those students throughout the worst schools in order to bring up the bad scores. Problem is, they've just laid off all those excellent teachers who gave a shit, and those teachers are mostly leaving the state for other work. Eat it, Monterey.

People might say that Monterey is so beautiful and so awesome. And it did have its high points. No deployments. Most evenings with the husband home, even if he was preoccupied with studying and programming. Weekends with the husband around, even if he was itching to study and finish his projects. Lots of great sight seeing, and some incredible if daunting hiking trails. Wonderful, fabulous, amazing friends abound. But overall, Monterey can eat my ass and lick it clean. I will never return to that area to live. Ever. I value my health, my bank account, my sanity, my core body temperature, and my kids' education way too much to be a sucker for the fresh agriculture and fun people.

No, Monterey can definitely eat it.

BLADOW! Y'all got served. Served a tray of smegballs.

2011-10-01T19:03:00.000-07:00

Video streaming by UstreamAt 23:50, you'll see this:

"We don't believe in the kind of smallness that says it's okay for a stage full of political leaders -- one of whom could end up being the President of the United States -- being silent when an American soldier is booed. We don't believe in that. We don't believe in standing silent when that happens. We don't believe in them being silent since. You want to be Commander in Chief? You can start by standing up for the men and women who wear the uniform of the United States, even when it's not politically convenient. We don't believe in a small America. We believe in a big America -- a tolerant America, a just America, an equal America -- that values the service of every patriot."

FUCK YEAH.Well said, Mr. President.

And dearest Navy Times, you buncha fuckwits, this?

Yeah. Way to show your furry little taint raisins.

I feel like we are surrounded by fuckball zombie masses who are intent on eating our brains and demolishing all that is good about America. But maybe I just need another fucking Jack and Coke. I might need to spend the next year in a drunken stupor just to get through the amazeballs drama the crazyfest election is going to lay out for us. Holy mother of douchery, if the Republicans' behavior thus far is any indication of the coming tenor of this cycle, we. Are. Fucked.

Stay classy, Republicans. Stay classy.

Setting Up Sailors for Failure

2011-09-25T10:26:00.000-07:00

As YodaMan and I get old and gnarled, our bodies have begun to break down and do funky things. For example, after a lifetime of eating what he wants, running five miles four or five days a week, and living large, YodaMan suddenly has hit a wall with his running times, has trouble building muscle mass like he used to, gets an upset tummy (aww, poor baby) when he eats shit food, and has elevated cholesterol.

This last issue has become a definite issue for him. He's going to be tested again in December, and if his levels haven't improved, he'll end up on statins.

Now, I fully back pharmaceuticals. Well, maybe not fully. There are plenty of bullshit drugs and prescription frequencies out there that I think need to be questioned. Examples: just because a kid as never been disciplined a day in his life and is therefore prone to random acts of tantrum doesn't mean he needs to be on Ritalin; just because someone pees five times a day doesn't mean she's got an issue and needs meds for hyperactive bladder - she probably just drinks enough fucking water, thank you very fucking much; when a dude shows up because he can't get a boner, maybe instead of prescribing a boner pill, perhaps we should teach him about proper nutrition and see if his healthier arteries don't get the boner job done for him.

But overall, I thank the gods I live in an era with antibiotics and blood pressure pills and thyroid hormones and the like. They've saved lots of people who perhaps couldn't be treated normally for a variety of reasons.

At the same time, I'm loath to see our population prescribed a bevy of drugs, and especially as we age, considering it normal. It's not normal. Check out the China Study and tell me we can't live drug-free and healthier through proper nutrition and exercise alone. Tell me we can't tell subsidized factory farms to stuff their disease-producing foodstuffs up their asses (for one, we could at least stem the looming threat of drug-resistant bacteria and rising tides of avian (poultry farm) and swine (pork farm) flu).

One of the drugs I'm very nervous about is statins. My sperm donor cycles through statins. He needs them because he functions under the common belief that eating chicken and turkey instead of steaks and pork means he's not overconsuming cholesterol. He goes off of them because of sudden onset of pain that has landed him in a morphine cloud in the hospital for a week. This is a NOT uncommon side-effect of statins. A friend of mine was prescribed statins, and he also started feeling pain within a week of taking his first pill. It was a slow build for him, but the man who once hiked and swam and sky dived and did all sorts of mad crazy physical activity suddenly was too tired and hurting too much to deal with them. Until he took himself off the statins. And then he was fine.

But statins are apparently the Thing To Do when you've got someone with cholesterol problems. Never mind that cholesterol consumption happens any time you eat an animal product. It's in dairy. It's in meat. And yes, meat includes fish. The thing is, despite what the ~~meat industry lobbyists~~ FDA recommends, we don't need meat or animal products every day. In fact, we don't need them at all. We only consume them because we have this mistaken belief that they're healthy. Also, we're just *absofuckinglutely certain* we just couldn't live without these ingredients in our diet. "OMG I'd be a vegan, but I can't live without cheese!" I used to say that. Then I developed a dairy allergy. Guess what? You can have something even tastier, and it's not going to clog your arteries and induce a heart attack when you're 48.

Shocker, I know.

YodaMan is Southern born and bred, and he was raised in his family's grocery store, so he's accustomed to eating whatever the fuck he wants to eat. Ding Dongs? Sure! Steak and mashed potatoes? Absolutely! A huge glass of milk with sugar and vanilla in it? Um, okay. He's never really questioned his diet until I started making healthier food full of legumes and leafy greens and fresh fruit and raw, soaked nuts (the best kind of nuts, hur hur) ground up and flavored and made into alfredo that won't induce a heart attack (did you know fettucine alfredo is the most common last meal of heart attack victims? now you do).

Now that he's being threatened with statins, which he will be forced by the government to take as a requirement of his continued employment, he's interested in dialing back the added chicken and steak and fish and shit he's been preparing for his own meals. I figured it was time for The Talk every vegan inevitably has with an omni spouse.

Me: Have you considered maybe only eating meat maybe two days per week? You could even just cut out all animal shit for the month prior to the cholesterol test, and that will put your numbers back to normal.
YM: Yeah, but I'm actually interested in not dying, too. Heart attacks suck.
Me: [wiping away tears of joy] Reeeeeeeally?! We can do that.
YM: Except that it will all go to shit when we deploy.

And he's right. The options for food on the ship are absolute shit. There have been vegetarians and vegans serving with YodaMan who had to dip into unmentionable meals because they were on the verge or already suffering from malnutrition. It's understandable that it's hard to get fresh fruit and veg on the ship when you're trying to be all sneaky or are relying on unreliable food sources. But what the fuck? If our government is so interested in having healthy sailors, shouldn't they be more diligent in ensuring nutrition is healthy? None of these fat-laden, cholesterol-heavy, meat-centric meals with the occasional canned-veg side dish. It makes no sense.

Why isn't our military looking at ways to cut health care costs to Tricare by providing solid nutrition to deployed service members? Why aren't they trying to extend their service members' energy levels and mental acuity by ensuring they have the proper balance of vitamins and minerals from sources as fresh as they can possibly make them? Why are they subjecting service members to fatty, high-sodium piles of cooked corpse and soggy boiled veggies, and then dinging their service records when their physical readiness takes a downturn?

Thank the gods that hasn't happened to YodaMan. Yet. We might have to find a way to get him healthy food on the ship during his next deployment and just take the financial ding when he's charged for meals he can't or won't eat*.

Better yet, let's see if the military will ever step up and introduce meal options that are actually a little bit healthy. I bet, if nothing else, the food will actually taste better. It couldn't get much worse, from what I hear**.

*Since officers are charged for a full day of meals during underways and deployments, regardless of whether they're actually eating the food.
**Unless you're serving on a submarine.

Teh Evil Gayz Are Ruining Amurrica!

2011-09-23T11:45:00.001-07:00

So many things I could say about this group of fuckbuckles. So, so many. Two points:

1. A real American would applaud a soldier, especially one currently serving his country, especially one currently deployed to a war zone, and regardless of his sexual orientation.

2. A real American leader would have called out these taintlickers who booed the soldier.

And then there's Santorum's response. Which. Just.

What a cock-eating jar of smeg-covered foreskins.

The repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell means we're giving homosexuals special treatment? O RLY, Herr Santorum? Methinks you've got it backwards. With the repeal, the heteros [and bisexual folks on average half the time] no longer have special treatment. As anyone who's sat inside a ward room or were filled in on the chatter that happens during slow moments of watch can tell you, the heteros have been gabbing about sex and their sex lives without any hesitation for years.

Also, since sex has no place in the military, I assume that means that service members will actually be off the clock once in a while. If they're "on-call" basically 24/7 for the duration of their careers, well...I'd say that's a long fucking time to stay celibate. And we know what celibacy has done for others. Ahem.

Just to get it off my chest

2011-09-16T16:06:00.000-07:00

This post serves no real purpose. It has nothing to do with the Navy. But I need some venting time. So here goes.

This week, I have cleaned up dog barf. And dog poop. I like dogs, especially when their slobber isn't extraordinarily viscous, but there's a reason I don't have a dog of my own. It's because of dog barf and poop.

This week, I have stripped drains from a bilateral mastectomy. I'm glad I can be helpful, but the blood clots have nearly done me in. On the other hand, I've proven to myself that I have a fucking stomach of STEEL, bitches.

This week, I watched as a cosmetic surgeon took the edge of an incision not healing quite right and used some weird little heat tool to shave skin and other body tissues off the incision area. I then watched as he stitched the new incision back together. Glad I could stand by and encourage my mother to quit holding her breath, but holy shit, I did not need to know skin and other tissues are that rubbery and springy and moist.

This week, I have listened to creepy noises down the hall that sound like someone rustling through paper. Upon checking, I find that everyone is asleep, and puppies are in bed with the parents. Nobody is down the hall. It is not the A/C. There is no fan, and the wind isn't blowing away outside. This is all fine until the pressure changes in my room, in such a way that it feels like someone is walking down the hall and then standing at my bedroom door, and then it creaks like someone pushed up against it. Meanwhile, the world is still asleep.

This week, I have had to stay in the same house as the man who abused me throughout my sproghood. I don't particularly enjoy that in the best of circumstances. These? Not the best of circumstances.

This week, my RA is really killing me. My finger is swollen. It sucks.I need to detox, but I don't want one of those shit-yerself-speckled detox things. I want a bonafide something or some such that pulls every last toxic piece of Monterey mold out of my fucking body.

I also want free of the plethora of nasty food noises I am being subjected to now. I hate food noises. Like HAAAATE.

That is all.

[Edited because Blogger fucked up the carriage return shit.]

Random thoughtlets.

2011-09-14T22:37:00.000-07:00

At the command picnic a few weeks ago, as I stood in line with the sproglets so they could nosh some nasty corpse and slimy potatoes (read: picnic fare), some fucklechuck stood behind me and wanked endlessly about his job. Not smart, since he dropped more than enough info to let me know he's one of YodaMan's guys. I, being a complete snatch, of course relayed what I had heard to the darling husband, who responded with ORLY? Complete with raised eyebrows. Lesson: Do not bitch about your job and how you're so much better than everyone else and how you are too smart to work as a monkey pulling wire when you're at a picnic with who knows who the hell standing right there. I had a FB page. It disappeared. I have recreated it. I don't know why. It gets no traffic, and I'm rarely on FB. But there you go.Mastectomies are horrifying. I feel so bad for those who've had to have them. I figured they were unpleasant, but Jesus Crispy Christ. This shit is insane.Speaking of religion, I'm officiating my first wedding. NEXT MONTH. I have no fucking clue what to expect, but the happy couple want it to be blot-like. That'll be awesome since the closest I've come to a blot is the oracular seidh at PantheaCon. Time to hit the books!Speaking of books, the husband and I have been making plans for retirement in t minus three years. Woo to the motherfucking hoo! I'm so excited. YodaMan mentioned going back to Atlanta, where we met in college. I'm totally down. In fact, I'd like to get my PhD and get my academic on. That would fucking rock. The sad part, of course, would be giving up this blog. I'd really have nothing to wank about since we'd be freeeee of the Navy, and in all likelihood won't even have any of the supposed retirement benefits he signed up to receive when he commissioned lo seventeen years ago.Speaking of seventeen years, holy fuckballs, I'm old.

What happens to the milspouses of injured warriors?

2011-09-10T13:45:00.000-07:00

Sad, scary news came through my circle of milpeeps this past week. Yet another severe injury means yet another milspouse racing to get to her husband's side as he begins a long, difficult recovery period. We hear about injuries and worse all the time, but it's rare to see the media follow up on families of injured warriors. In fact, it's rare to see the media follow up on injured warriors unless it's to sensationalize their struggles or injuries (or the shit-tastic hot mess that the VA is finally trying not to be) or to give the civilian masses a little feel-good moment because a warrior has recovered well and is thriving with his or her new life.

That's pretty sad. Because if you pause to think about what life is like for the injured, you know it's at best a real challenge. And if you pause to consider what the whole process, from notification of the injury to starting a new life outside of the military, is like for the spouse of the injured, it's terrifying.

What programs exist to help the spouses? There have to be some out there, but how easy are they to find? And, like MyCAA, do they disregard the sources of real need the spouses have?

Here's what I imagine: A wife has given up her career and her local ties to be married to a service member. Maybe she's struggling without the counseling resources and local help she needs to deal with her new reality. Or maybe she's taking the opportunity to dig in and get her career moving again. Maybe she's got new goals and plans and desires and dreams, and she's going to use the unfortunate semi-independence she now has to pursue those.

Then BAM. The phone rings. Her husband is gravely injured and might or might not survive. They might or might not know which stateside hospital they're sending him to. They might or might not be able to tell her much of anything, but one thing is now perfectly clear: her priorities are completely changed. Her whole life is turned upside down. If she was struggling before, the pressure on her now won't help. If she was getting her success on, she's now dropping everything to be with her husband (we hope that's her priority, at least).

Milspouses already sacrifice so much for their warrior spouses to serve our country. They sacrifice even more when their spouses are injured. Their lives become a seemingly never-ending procession of hospital visits, surgery, physical therapy, psychiatric appointments. Oftentimes, their spouses can't drive much or at all, so they become chauffeur and possibly even nurse, aide, assistant, maid, etc. So much needs to be done to care for those who have suffered massive injuries like those seen in a war zone. Meanwhile, where are their careers? What's happened to the local ties they'd just begun to forge before having to move quickly to the vicinity of a hospital? What can they look forward to now that their entire existence revolves around the health, well-being, and recovery of their loved one?

And what programs exist to help them? Are there maid services to help keep the house clean? Does the VA pay for daily or weekly home nursing visits to address issues? Are their grocery delivery services set up so any "away time" the milspouse gets is something less frustrating than navigating through throngs of slow, fat, aisle-hogging jacksnatches who have so many sprogs, you could easily confuse their vaginas for clown cars? Are there grants or scholarships that spouses can use to cover the extra cost of classes that didn't transfer from their last school? Are there programs that suck less than MyCAA that help these spouses redefine or jump-start the careers they sacrificed to the nth degree? Are there babysitting services to take on any sprogs during the hours and hours of various appointments?

Step back again and look at the spouses of those whose injuries are not obvious, the warriors who return home with TBI, PTSD, anxiety, depression, or liver and lung diseases that seem to manifest later in huge chunks of populations stationed around burn pits in Afghanistan and Iraq. The less clear the injuries, the less support the warrior gets. Extrapolate that out to the milspouse, and what can we assume? Zero support. Zero assistance. Zero acknowledgment.

The milspouse life is challenging enough. It wouldn't be so surprising to learn the military expects the family members (namely, spouses) to step up and take care of all the intricacies of the long and very difficult recovery process.

To those women and men who have received that awful news and who have stepped up: you are all amazeballs. I bow down to your sauce of awesome.

Oh. Em. Gee.

2011-09-09T21:22:00.000-07:00

H/T to Allison Pang. She finds the coolest shit.

May you perfect the art of the snuggle fist.

Posted Without Comment

2011-09-09T09:20:00.000-07:00

The Tricare abortion coverage policy. In case you didn't know.

She said what?!

2011-09-04T21:15:00.001-07:00

So, this here blog made a wee appearance in Milspouse Mag again. Here's the crappy photo I took:

A bit, Miss Charity? Only a bit?

I might have cause for offense, love. *sniff*

I'll have you know I giggled at the commissary when I saw this. And that wigged out the clerk.

A bit. ROFL.

On how the Navy believes milspouses are too feeble-minded to manage their own reproductive health

2011-08-29T18:41:00.000-07:00

I find it really obnoxious when I go to a doctor -- any doctor, not just military or Tricare-ified -- for an issue with my finger and am asked before any other medical question when my last period was.

I find it even more obnoxious how little say I have over the function of my girlie bits.

Back in the day, when I was childfree, I asked what it would take to get a tubal ligation during a visit at the Pride of Navy Medicine, Balboa Hospital.

Doc: Your file says you don't have any children.
Me: Nope.
Doc: Typically they want you to have two before you make that decision.
Me: Kids are the spawn of Satan. I do not like kids.
Doc: No kids?
Me: That's right. What will it take to get a tubal?
Doc: Therapy.

The doc explained that I'd have to see a psychiatrist first, and then they'd consider allowing me to nuke the possibility I could pollute the gene pool. But, said the doc, with my list of medical issues, there was nil possibility I could become pregnant anyway, and since the issues were persistent, I really didn't even need a referral to the psychiatrist (unless, I inferred, I fell into a deep depression that I would never conceive*).

I never did understand this strange fascination the medical community has with my ability to procreate**. I'm downright confused by the military medical community's seeming insistence than I be a human incubator as often as my uterus and ovaries will allow.

This really became an issue for me when the assurances I received as to my infertility were proved horribly, terribly wrong. Turns out my list of medical issues was actually just one issue, and that one issue is resolved with exercise and a low-GI diet. Imagine my shock when, after hiring a personal trainer and strictly following her ungodly diet, two--count them! two!--pregnancy pee sticks turned positive on me.

I eventually got over my shock, sometime around his fifth birthday.

Not a year after my elder sprog came bleating into the world (literally, as he was a preemie, and his cry sounded like a baby goat, which was cute and horribly terrifying at the same time), my ovaries decided it would be HIGH-larious if they popped out another viable egg in spite of my lack of exercise and not-so-low-GI Weight Watchers diet***. Luckily for that sprog, he turned out cute enough that I decided not to sell him on eBay.

When I got pregnant with younger sprog, I decided Something Must Be Done. I hadn't wanted any, and here I was about to have my second. This would not stand. So I thought back to that fateful convo with the lying doctor who said I didn't need to worry about a tubal. She said I had to have two. I was about to have number two. I went through all the paperwork I'd gotten from Bethesda and saw something about opting for a tubal during a C-section. I didn't want a C-section, but my first pregnancy had ended in one****, and my health was headed in the same direction during that second pregnancy. I had a fair to middling chance that I'd end up on the operating room table with a shaved cookie and my excavated uterus perched on my belly.

I called to ask the doc about this. "You'll have to take a class at Bethesda, but it's just two hours, you sign the paperwork, and then if we do a C-section, we'll do the tubal ligation at the same time," said the doc.

Mother. Fucking. Woot.

I called the designated phone number to sign up for the class. The woman gave me the time, date, and location for that wonderful class, two months away (and--whew!--the last one before my due date). I showed up early, intent on not fucking up my chance to skewer my innards. When I sat in the waiting room, I noted how loud it was. There were a metric fuck ton of preggers and their service members sitting there with me.

The one next to me had a gleeful look. "So this is your first?" she asked.

I thought that was an odd question. "Nope, my second," I said.

She gave me a really weird look, like I had grown a puckered asshole on my forehead, and turned away. She didn't speak to me again.

I thought that was even more strange. Until we were called back for the designated class, for which I was registered.

It wasn't Let's Wrangle Our Fallopian Tubes and Motherfucking Hogtie Those Bitches class.

It was the new parents orientation shit. You know, how to put a fucking diaper on your kid. How to feed them. When to feed them. How not to be a shitbag of a parent.

I was so embarrassed. No wonder that gleeful 'zatch acted like I had motherfucking leprosy.

I left, naturally, and asked on my way out when the Getcher Tubes Tied class actually was.

The week before.

Mother. Fuckers.

Cut to a few weeks later. My health sitch had totally spiraled at this point, and the docs were telling me they'd take the first opportunity to induce labor. Then they got their excuse. The way shit went, I opted to just get the C-section to avoid the complications and issues we'd had during the first sprog's entry into the world. I jokingly said how nice it would be to get the tubal I'd tried to have. The doc gave me a weird look and asked for an explanation. So I provided.

The doc said, "Let me talk to the other surgeons. Since you have another child and have taken all the steps except for the class*****, I'm okay with doing the tubal anyway. But we'll have to make sure everyone else is." She implied it was an ethical concern.

Color me confused. Ethical?? Whatevs. Go corral the motherfuckers and twist some fucking arms. Only one surgeon had concerns, and she came to speak to me personally. I received the following list of questions:

Are you sure this is what you want? Absofuckinglutely.
Are you sure? Absomotherfuckinglutely.
What if you change your mind? I won't.
What if you want other children? I'll adopt. 'Cuz, yanno, there are tons of kids out there who need homes.
What if you want your own children? 1) My genes suck. Why would I want my "own" children? 2) What kind of shitbag mom would I be if I considered adopted sprogs not my "own?"
Are you sure? Bitch, do you see me with an exploding eye and a possible stroke on the way? How the hell is this something I'd motherfucking want to repeat?!

She was okay with my responses at that point. But then, the piece de resistance! She basically asked my husband if she had his permission.

YodaMan is intelligent. His response was something along the lines of, "She's an adult. Why are you asking me?"

I got my tubal. Thank the ever-loving gods. I just had to have two sprogs and my husband's permission first.

Apparently, at least in the milspouse world, we have about as much right to our reproductive freedom as Saudi women have to theirs. Which, IMHO, is motherfucking awesome******.

In happier news, our house in VA Beach survived both pieces of evidence that God hates people who hate teh gayz. I got to ride out the hurricane with LAW and Smurfette's husband. And my younger sprog today saw something awesome and said to me, "Shut the front door!" My sprogs fucking rock.

This post brought to you by Smurfette's shock when she heard second-hand about this issue and demanded a post.

*Ha haaaaaa!

**And don't fucking get me started on the ZOMG IF YOU HAVE A UTERUS AND VIABLE EGGS DO NOT EAT ANYTHING BUT LOW-FAT PASTEURIZED MILK PRODUCTS AND APPLES AND DO NOT PARTICIPATE IN ANY POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS ACTIVITIES AND TAKE YOUR VITAMINS AND AVOID VICES AND BE THE EPITOME OF THE WHORE/VIRGIN DICHOTOMY AND BY ALL THAT IS HOLY ENCASE YOURSELF IN A PLASTIC, AIRTIGHT BUBBLE JUST IN CASE!!!

***Ha haaaaaaaaa! So fucking funny.

****My first pregnancy was a clusterfuck beyond all reason, makes for excellent birth control when I tell womenfolk about it, and should have qualified me for a tubal right the fuck there. Alas....

*****YodaMan, to hedge our bets, also signed up for a vasectomy to ensure someone in this marriage would cease to be fertile. In news of high-larity, he was given 30 pain pills for his V. When I left the hospital with my second c-section in eighteen months, I was given 10 pain pills. Same pill, btw. Because major surgery during which your innards are splayed out on your stomach and a new life pulled from within that muck is not as painful and its recovery not as prolonged as a quarter-inch incision for an outpatient procedure. Yeah. This.

******Fuck that noise.

Why NS Mayport, the Officer's Club, and all hands affiliated with weddings there can kiss my gleaming white ass.

2011-08-28T21:55:00.000-07:00

ETA: Please forgive the numerous and egregious grammar and spelling errors throughout. I was too riled when I wrote this, didn't edit properly, and now don't have time to fix it. Kthx.

If you're getting married in Jacksonville, FL, and have heard about the beautiful beach-side weddings available through the MWR and the Officer's Club, allow me to warn you away before your very special day is obliterated by dick-swinging, incompetence, inflamed egos, no guests at your wedding, and tears.

My sister-in-law called YodaMan a year and a half ago to announce her long-time boyfriend had proposed. They'd set the wedding for June of this year. We didn't understand why the hell she was waiting a fucking year and a half to get married, but it turns out everyone and their maid of honor wants to get married at NS Mayport. The waiting list is that long.

Having seen how they work, I do not understand why.

YodaMan sponsored my SIL and her fiance so they could have a bit more freedom (and a discount). She purchased a permit so she could access the base without jumping through extra hoops every time she had an appointment or -and this is important- get access to the O club early on the day of the wedding. She paid for an extra security guard to stand at the gate specifically to cover the wedding party's size. She checked and double-checked with the MWR coordinator for weddings to make sure there would be no hiccups.

Here's where shit went south: she didn't take note the nature of a Navy base and, which is often full of suck and cock, especially when you're a civilian who's poured good money into the sailors' MWR fund.

First the coordinator went on vacay the week of SIL's wedding and left her Number One (henceforth referred to as Number Two because of the way that fucking cuntnugget acted). Second, the head of the gate security munches crunchy asshole for breakfast and shits the remains on anyone who comes through his pearly white jizz-stained gate.

Can you tell these two fuckbuckets pissed me off? And trust me when I say Someone Will Get a Letter, probably the base CO.

We show up the day before the wedding, prepared to do the rehearsal with the wedding party, the wedding coordinator, and the photographer, as agreed in writing with the MWR coordinator. SIL even had printed e-mails with all this information because she's very organized and likes to have all ducks ordered and beribboned. She was in the lead car and arrived first at the front gate. My MIL was in the lane behind her. YodaMan and I chose a different lane and were a few cars from entry when we got a frantic phone call from SIL.

The guard told my SIL the he wasn't about to waste his time checking in everyone in the wedding party. He said he never received shitballs for a list from the MWR coordinator, and her wedding rehearsal would have to take place somewhere else. Then he said he would turn away every. Fucking. Wedding. Attendee the next day if they arrived before the appointed wedding time, and she should just prepare for the onslaught.

I am, of course exaggerating the delivery. I am not exaggerating the content of his message. I am also not exaggerating the tone and utter lack of professionalism.

My SIL pulled up, as she had that delicious tag she'd bought, and freaked out. YodaMan told her to stand by, pull ahead out of the way, and we'd take care of it. Then the phone rang again. We were one car from entry at this point. It was his mom.

The shit stain of a Napoleonic weenis-swinging taint muncher had the nerve to insult my MIL and, though my MIL afterward declared she couldn't remember what he said (I think this was an attempt to smooth the waves kicked up in this whole fucking brouhaha), apparently told her he didn't "give a shit" - he wasn't letting anyone else in the wedding party on the base.

And, there you go, he started turning people around and telling them to get the fuck out.

By the time we made it to the gate, DH was confused and not a little upset. He explained to the guard (a different dude than the Sir Weenis of Buggeryfuck, who btw is a motherfucking civilian loaf of asscheese) who we were, that he'd heard there was an issue, and that he wanted to help resolve it.

Our guard, a sailor, acted like he'd seen this song and dance before* and pulled out a list of guests. He showed us they had it, and he assured us there was no problem. Then Sir Weenis headed our way, gave the sailor a look of clear displeasure, and proceeded to start a tussle with YodaMan. It ended with the directive that YodaMan would have to check in the wedding party...by driving up fifty feet, parking on the side of the road, and marking down all the guests after they'd already been let onto base.

Does this make sense to you? Me neither. After all, what the fuck is the gate guard's fucking job if not to vet all entrants and help ensure the security of the base?

One thing YodaMan is good at is politics. He comes from a long line of politicians. He did his best to accommodate the bullshit, for his sister's sake. But after he heard what was said to his mom, and after he was treated like a furry ballsack by Sir Weenis, he decided he was going to speak to the security office. He'd served in Afghanistan with a guy who, last he'd heard, was senior cheese in security at Mayport. Alas, the guy left two weeks prior to this incident.

So when he went into the office to find out what the ever sucking fuck had happened, behold his surprise at finding Sir Weenis in charge.

That. Civilian. Piece of shit. Motherfucker. Is. In. Charge.

Sir Weenis explained nothing to YodaMan, only repeated his threats that tomorrow would be holy hell for SIL. Then, because YodaMan had the audacity to enter his domain in search of explanation (at least and punishment at best), he explained in a very clearly not-so-veiled threat that he'd make sure he was the one manning the official wedding lane. He'd be watching for the early arrivals (which, sayeth he, cannot happen, and fuck your expensive wedding), he'd be watching for guests, and he'd make sure guests could only enter the gate at 3pm. In other words, at the time the invitation said the wedding would start. In other words, folks who arrived at 2:40 in order to make sure they were parked in seat for a 3pm wedding would not even be allowed to approach the High Holy Gate of Mayport-Style Penisry until 3pm. Also, wedding party, baker, photographer, wedding coordinator, etc. would not be allowed entry until 3pm.

YodaMan had gotten the name and number of Number Two, by the way, and during this exchange, he told Sir Weenis that the agreed and contracted schedule and entry and yadda had the approval of Number Two. SIL even spoke to Number Two to ensure all was right with the world.

Number Two told Sir Weenis she had no idea what they were talking about, and he should deny entry to the wedding party and early arrivals if he so chose. Oh, yes she did.

YodaMan also made the point that SIL had paid for another gate guard to be there, and Sir Weenis informed YodaMan that it meant nothing. It was his gate, and all would suffer his wrath.

Keep in mind there are time limits on the rental. We would be kicked out at a certain point, and the timing was critical enough that SIL had even scheduled the reception down to the minute in order to ensure things went smoothly and on MWR's schedule.

I assume the man has crabs, boils on his asshole, a screaming yeast infection in his peenhole, a bladder infection, and a mutant Amazonian wart-covered poison arrow frog/piranha hybrid living in his colon. Nothing else explains why he had such a hard-on for making this wedding miserable**.

So now we had the story from the fuckmunch's mouth. He intended to make her wedding start late, her to ensure her wedding party was unable to access the base until the wedding started, and to evoke as much angst and stress as he could.

The next day, YodaMan showed up in his fucking uniform to make sure he could do whatever task was required of him by Sir Weenis of Let Me Stick My Metaphorical Undersized Cock In Your Puckered Brown Star and I Promise You Won't Feel It Because Have I Mentioned It's Quite Wee. Drama ensued. There were tears. There was angst. And Number Two, who changed her mind about rolling on SIL at some point between meeting with MIL and meeting with YodaMan, ended up standing at the gate to ensure Sir Weenis did not fuck over this wedding.

When she left, the head chef, who was then in charge, let us know that this happens Every. Fucking. Weekend.

You read that right. This. This clusterfuck. This was how shit rolled. And the chef let us know it was always Sir Weenis at the ready to make everyone's lives a living fucking hell for the duration of their pre-wedding.

Needless to say, I was furious. As a side note, I was also furious with the wedding photographer after she was rude, presumptive, and generally unprofessional. Allow me to recommend you *not* employ a Jacksonville photographer with the business initials of AMP***. She was rude to me personally, was rude to my MIL, did not even fucking ask me or YodaMan before she took my younger sprog outside with a cupcake to photograph him (and meanwhile, I'm all OH FUCK WHERE IS YOUNGER SPROG?!), and has not yet produced a photo album or the ability to order photos though it has now been close to three months since the wedding. End side note.

I will be writing a letter to someone at NS Mayport. I'm not yet sure whom I will contact, but I guaran-fucking-tee someone will feel the wrath. After all:

People pay into the MWR fund to use Mayport's facilities. They have contracts. And they are regularly fucked over for that pleasure. They are supporting the morale of our sailors, and yet they are shit on .
What the FUCK is a menthol-coated porn star's codpiece like Sir Weenis doing heading up gate security? Why the fuck is a civilian given that much power and leeway, especially when he is known to abuse that power and leeway?
How the fuck does this treatment help the public's perception of the military? There's already a chasm between civilian and military that would be bottomless but for the piles of excrement that will cushion your fall. Why pull shit like this that only adds to the distance, near-resentment, and lack of empathy the civilian world often feels toward the military world?

Weddings are stressful enough without having to deal with cockbiters like Sir Weenis and Number Two. Think twice about inviting that kind of stress and just book elsewhere. In the end, after all, it's a day of celebration, and as long as you're surrounded by people who love and support you and your new spouse, it will be amazing. No matter where it happens.

I think MWR rocks. I love it. But I don't think it's right that sailors' happiness and fun-time is funded by this kind of assmunchery.

And because it's fun to say: Sir Weenis is a douche canoe.

*Probably because he had.
**Though I did wonder at some point if this is his hobby, considering. If I could speak to the man again, I'd recommend he take up some self-love with oil-based lube, as well as yoga so he can learn enough flexibility to self-fellate.
***E-mail me if you have someone with these initials in mind, especially if the first name is Alex, and I will offer a personal warning with further details so you can decide on your own whether her lack of professionalism jives with your desperation for a half-decent photographer.

MOTHERFUCKING RAWR: I'm looking at you, Tricare.

2011-08-18T20:48:00.001-07:00

My mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer.

This sucks enough, but we've lost very dear family members and friends to aggressive forms, and my mother is scared to death that she's going to end up like her best friend and sister-in-law. So she's on a mission to fuck cancer's world and make it her bitch. She's getting a double mastectomy, and while they've got her on the table, they want to do reconstructive surgery.

The problem in getting shit moving NOW, before things progress, is......Tricare.

I know you're shocked.

First it was getting a referral for an MRI to determine whether the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes in her chest cavity. Then it was the one, single, only MRI in her area covered by Tricare breaking, with repairs slated for two weeks after her appointment. Then it was getting Tricare to cover another MRI before the other is repaired so she can keep her tentative surgery date at the end of this month.

Then today something really awful happened. Her plastic surgeon, who needs to see her in order to gauge the work that will need to be done (and therefore come up with a mutually viable surgery date for everyone who needs to be in the operating room), decided he won't take Tricare anymore starting next week.

Now, I totally get this decision. I've been handed off to new primary care managers as many as five times in a year because it's just not financially feasible for many of these doctors to accept this notoriously low-paying insurance company. I know costs are high for docs, especially when you consider the price of insurance and the insane school loans that come with the practice. I also know it's getting worse. I totally understand doctors deciding not to take Tricare, and I'm extraordinarily grateful for those who do stick to it - mostly because the docs I've spoken to about this situation say they only take Tricare because they feel obligated not to turn their backs on the military.

My mom spent the bulk of her adult life as a milspouse, and she's earned her shitty Tricare For Life coverage. What she didn't earn was getting a call from her plastic surgeon's office today and listening to the office manager apologize profusely because the doctor has canceled her appointment for tomorrow - her very last wicket before she can get the surgery and start chemo - in light of his decision not to carry Tricare anymore.

This. Is. Unconscionable.

How the fuck can doctors get away with dropping patients already in their care over insurance coverage? How the fuck is it okay for a doctor who has a finite number of interactions due my mother, all within the next two months, to cancel all care the day before her appointment?

My aunt, a nurse who spent most of her career working in military hospitals (as did her neurosurgeon husband), is livid. She's already set in motion some particularly yummy retribution including letters to medical associations and asking around to find out which temple he worships at. Apparently, my Jewish aunt doesn't take kindly to unethical Jewish doctors, and she's going to make sure his religious community knows where he's stuffed his oaths. Which I find kinda fucking funny. And also a little crazy since I see I have an apparent genetic predisposition for diabolical and vindictive behavior. But anyway.

I'm mightily pissed at this doctor (Dr. Cohn in Birmingham, in case anyone is wondering - do NOT let your doctor refer you to him because he is a cuntweasel), but I'm also really fucking done with Tricare.

It's a benefit, yes. But it ain't much of a benefit when you consider it is the epitome of "you get what you pay for." It rubs me absofuckinglutely raw that Tricare's hurdles are mighty, even when you have a time-sensitive medical issue that requires fast attention. My mother called Tricare today, trying to find a new plastic surgeon so she can have reconstruction, and you know what they did? They told her to go on the website because they can't help her.

You know what my experience has been? The website is the biggest fucking waste of electrons, at least since Geocities went tits up. You can search their site all day, and it won't tell you if a doctor is still with Tricare or if s/he is accepting new patients. You have to fucking call Tricare or each individual doctor to figure out that much.

My mother, who's on Xanax right now trying to get through this emotional hurdle, who has been given the runaround since her diagnosis, who has been fucked over three times in the last three weeks by the medical profession c/o Tricare's shitty coverage, was told "sorry, we won't help you" until she trolled the shitty fucking Tricare site first.

This. This is what is wrong with health care in our country. This is why we can trust neither the industry nor the government in health care's current incarnation. Tricare is the fucking cautionary tale we need to listen to before we enact fuck all with national health care. Because if our government looks to that monolithic piece of masticated excrement for direction,

ARE

ALL

FUCKED.

Tricare is the absolute worst combination of government oversight and industry procedure. There is no interest in the well-being of the patient. There is no compassion.

There is only profit.

Fuck you, Tricare. And fuck you, doctor Cohn, you bag of tool and jizz. I hope you both rot.

Lack of Snark: Change of Command

2011-08-15T18:22:00.000-07:00

A new CO is incoming to the Enterprise. He's absolutely awesome. Sat next to his wife tonight and convo'd with him a little, too. Very down to earth, very easy-going, very the opposite of the current CO. VERY.

In fact, that was kinda the theme tonight. Easy-going. Down to earth. Everyone I encountered was that way. It was shocking, and I wondered if this was due to the command climate aboard this ship since Captain Honors was rightly booted from command when his videos came to light. Honors' relief was less-than-easy-going. Very much so. And I thought perhaps the very jovial attitude tonight might be a bit of relief by the heads of department as the primary problem they've suffered the last eight months is headed out the door.

I thought I'd have snark when I saw the brooch one spouse wore - a rhinestone (I hope - if it was diamond, I might have something to say) 65. Alas, she was the XO's wife, so it came across more as I Support CVN 65 than Lookit MEEEEEEE I Lurve the Navy GO ENTERPRIIIIIISE. Naturally, I found it fascinating that I had a different reaction to the brooch given who was wearing it. I don't know why I take I would take it differently according to the role of the service member the spouse is attached to, but there it was. A good tidbit about myself to file away!

There was only one incident that got my grrr up, and it wasn't aimed at anyone in particular. The CO's wife was acknowledged and thanked for her work on the FRG and with the OMBUDSMAN. I don't know her particular situation, if she has a career of her own or if she tailors her time in support of her husband's career, but I was irritated that there might be an assumption that the CO's wife will involve herself in the FRG as part of her unpaid labor.

Conversations with YodaMan afterward reminded me of an admiral's wife in Bahrain. She was very intelligent and had a career of her own before her husband made admiral. In the military, for those of you who don't know, every promotion after O-6 (Captain/Colonel) is political. It literally takes Congress to move up the ladder, which means that the job becomes as political as it is military. It's also why you see so many generals and admirals making political careers once they're retired - they've got the chops and possibly the taste based on the tail-end of their military careers.

Anyway, the admiral's wife socialized a bit with the spouses (not that I did - I heard she went to Bunco occasionally, but I can't confirm personally), but she didn't get that involved. I can't say I would have, either, especially given how difficult it can be as a political wife in a foreign country, when you have expectations of the diplomatic sort on top of you. And when you had a career that had nothing to do with your new life, a life that revolves not around your personal goals and achievements, but rather around your husband's.

One thing that always bothered me was the expectation laid at the admiral's wife's feet. She was "honorary president" of the Bahrain Officers Spouse Club. It meant she didn't have to actually get involved, didn't have to actually do anything, but the expectation was there. I'm certain none of the officers of the BOSC considered the designation anything but deference and an honor. But there's a history there, and I can guarantee the job wasn't always honorary--it was de facto.

The admiral's wife was reputed to have a mild drinking problem. I don't blame her. The pressures must have been incredible. The expectations of an "honorary" nature must have made the situation even worse. The disappointment of where she thought she'd be relative to where she was...yeah. Unreal.

I hope for the outgoing CO's wife's sake that she intended to work the civilian side of the command and to volunteer her time. I hope that's fulfilling for her and that she doesn't do it because it's expected and demanded (unofficially, of course). Nothing rubs me more raw than this, the assumption that the spouse will subvert her life and her needs in order to support her husband's career.

I also hope the incoming CO's wife does what's right for her in regards to involvement with the command and the FRG. And I hope, if I'm ever required to do the same, that I don't flip off too many people as I bend over and reveal my super-white ass. That might be gauche.

Dear The Air Force, There's Something Fucking Wrong With You

2011-08-05T07:55:00.000-07:00

What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck?

Seriously, Air Force chaplains? Seriously?

I know I don't need to write a piecemeal take-down of this bullshit, and I don't need to rail. But I'm gonna lose my shit anyway because this bollocks is not okay.

When you have Pagans struggling at the AF Academy to get a simple circle of rocks set aside for their religious purposes, and all the while, you've been using Christian doctrine throughout an ethics course, there's something fucking wrong with you. (And all the "we've supported the Pagans getting their circle the whole time" is a load of bullshit heavier than that created by the combined forces of the Tea Party. Have a wee discussion with TSgt Longcrier, and he'll give you the what what.)

When Jews are called whiners in mass e-mails of the official variety, yet they're being told that Jesus says it's okay to nuke other countries, there's something fucking wrong with you.

When those who disagree with the policies that allow evangelical Christians to pressure others are fired from their positions, there's something fucking wrong with you.

When that douchefuck Breivik extensively quotes folks who've spoken at the AF Academy, there's something fucking wrong with you.

When atheists want equal time at the AF Academy and are flat fucking denied, there's something fucking wrong with you.

When you have Pagans at the AF Academy dealing with open hostility*--and tell me there wouldn't have been a HUGE MOTHERFUCKING RAWR of fundie outrage on Faux News if the Christian chapel there had been decorated with a symbol of our faith--and all the while, this ethics course has existed in this incarnation, there's something fucking wrong with you.

I wish this were only a problem at the Air Force. Fortunately for the rest of the services, the AF gets to take the full shot to the balls on this one. Not that they don't deserve a cock blow (and not the good kind), but when shit like this happens in other services, it ought to be trotted out, so that the world can see the pale, hairy ass of that service.

For example, when I witnessed a Catholic Navy chaplain telling his boss he couldn't deal with me because his religion apparently prohibits him even talking to me (a motherfucking chaplain said this, people - the dude who's responsible for working toward freedom of ALL religion on his base), I knew there was something fucking wrong with the Navy, too. Later, when the head chaplain flat ignored my follow-up e-mails after I met with his temporary replacement (he, apparently, gets to take vacation! and then come back and be a rotten dickbag), I knew once again there was something fucking wrong with the Navy.

These issues are pervasive throughout the services. But for today, I declare to the Air Force that your shit is about as fucky as it gets, especially since it appears that the worst instances are at the Academy, where the future leadership is being indoctrinated.

You are fucked, Air Force. Fix it.

*And I absolutely disagree with Mikey Weinstein saying it would be like painting a swastika on a synagogue. The Xians-as-Nazi-oppressors shit is completely unfair and untrue. That analogy is based largely on the Inquisition, which did not actually oppress any Pagans or Witches, since our religion didn't exist back then, kthxstfu. And also, though we do face a fuckton of prejudice still, we're not being burned at the fucking stake, and we're not being dumped into mass graves, kthxstfubai. A more appropriate analogy would be hanging a pentacle, a Thor's hammer, a goddess figure, etc. by the front door of a church. It's hostile, it's potentially threatening, but it's not anything like a fucking swastika aimed at Jews.

Dance of the Dead: So not made of hilarity and win. SO NOT.

2011-08-05T05:45:00.001-07:00

Back in the late '90s, I learned a lot about the Taliban. I received an ezine called WIN, and in each issue, almost without fail, was an article about the Taliban. In one of the last issues I received (I believed the newsletter went kaput, but I'm pretty sure it's still out there), there was even a reader letter blasting the contributors for speaking ill of the Taliban because, as she put it, they had brought order and peace to a lawless and frightening society.

Which made me twitch a little at the time and really makes me twitch now.

One thing I don't recall ever reading in that newsletter is the treatment of women in tribal Afghanistan, even away from the Taliban. I hear about that more frequently nowadays.

A story I heard last night makes me want to personally carpet bomb the whole fucking country. Please note that it's extremely disturbing and could be triggering.

When a tribe's elders gathered with members of our military, they traded funny stories for bonding time. One of the stories the elders shared wasn't funny, not to the Western service members, but the elders thought it was hilarious.

A woman "allowed herself" to be raped twice by her husband's brother. When she fought back the second time, her rapist decided to get back at her by telling the tribe that she had enticed him into her home and lured him into raping her. Twice.

The elders decreed that she was no longer human, which meant the laws of Islam no longer applied to her. And to teach her - and other women - a lesson, they took her into the middle of their town, stripped her naked, and beat her. They strapped her to the roof of a car, still naked and bruised and bleeding, and paraded her around. Then when she was no longer a good lesson for the women of the community, they cut off her head and poured hot oil down her neck. This lit off her nervous system, so her headless body twitched about on the ground, which the men of the community found to be one of the most hilarious things they've ever seen.

This was the dance of the dead.

Stories like this make me wonder if that region will ever respect human rights. The good news is that, with their life span so egregiously short, and with a progressive presence there (even if it's our troops - boo hiss on constant deployments and IAs), it's possible we'll see change within the next couple of generations (~40 years?).

I hope, anyway. I'd hate to have to carpet bomb a whole fucking country* because of a few dickless cuntweasles who use arbitrary religious laws and fundamentalist perspectives to get their sadistic jollies.

* To say nothing of the sack-free cockjunkie religious fundies in our own country. But that's a post for another day.

Death sucks

2011-08-03T07:23:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, YodaMan came home with some terrible news.

Remember Shana Hight, the milspouse who was murdered in Virginia Beach last year? Her husband died of a self-inflicted gunshot. His roommate, a sailor aboard YodaMan's ship, witnessed his death. According to the roommate, Scott Dunn was better but still not dealing well with Shana's murder. He was drunk and may not have intended to kill himself, but as the roommate tried to talk him down, Scott pulled the trigger.

It's horrible and sad and awful and unbelievable. I don't know what services Scott got after he was pulled from the ship at sea and brought home to such devastating news. Clearly, the help he had wasn't enough. And you know, since this is how brains tend to work, he blamed himself for not being there when she needed him - never mind the Navy owning his soul and there not being any way anyone could have foreseen that tragedy.

The Navy has a great responsibility to spouses who are underway when tragedy strikes at home. It's no different than being deployed and witnessing tragedy abroad -- in either case, there will be psychological repercussions. Cookie cutter responses, such as the drug-'em-up response we sometimes see toward PTSD sufferers or the you-get-six-sessions-and-then-buh-bye therapy style, are inappropriate and irresponsible. If the military can't do better by their service members, then our politicians need to step in. There have been efforts to de-stigmatize mental health and to stimulate use of services through anonymity, but these efforts are clearly not enough.

Of course, after the bullshit we've seen from our politicians the last several months, I don't suspect we can trust them to wipe the shit off their cheeks after they've nommed corporate asses. Still, in a moment of post-ass-play bliss, they might be amenable to doing something right by the military and ensuring there are numerous, accessible, anonymous, and taboo-free services available to all sailors, Marines, soldiers, and airpeeps, regardless of whether their mental state was fractured by war or by personal tragedy. It's clear, not just from this particular tragedy, that the structure of mental health services for military doesn't work well enough. Not when I personally know two sailors who have considered suicide during PTSD. Not when chaplains kill themselves because they, too, can't get the help they need. Not when you have a sailor who lost his wife violently and needed help he clearly wasn't getting.

And now we have a sailor who was trying to keep tragedy from striking his friend, who has now entered the cycle. I hope he's required to get counseling, and I hope the counseling he gets is appropriate and comprehensive. I hope we don't see even more tragedy spring from Shana Hight's death.

People will slip through cracks. It's unfortunate, it's a tragedy all its own, but it is inevitable in our society. But these aren't cracks we're seeing people fall through. They're fucking crevasses. And they're unacceptable.

Air Force Dig...

2011-08-01T13:17:00.001-07:00

Saw this on the Facebook today and giggled. A lot.

Thank gods for the Air Force, right?

Military Pagans are Blogging!

2011-07-30T07:21:00.000-07:00

I have apparently been under a fucking rock during the last few years as a grad student. That's my only excuse for not knowing about Warriors and Kin, a Pagan Newswire Collective blog with contributors who are Pagan and also mil-something. Service members (including one Brandon Longcrier, the dude who's gone toe to toe with the AF Academy over their douchecanoe policies regarding Pagans), milspouses, and even, it seems, a milbrat!

Go check out this blog. It's pretty busy over yonder, and the content looks fascinating.

Dear Snarky: Finding Like-Minded Peeps

2011-07-29T06:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Snarky,

I'm looking for some general advice on finding like-minded folks within the milspouse community. Is there a secret handshake? Should I buy the "some dudes marry dudes. get over it" tee shirt I've been eyeing and wear it everyday until someone gives me a compliment? I'm living overseas, and all the activities seem centered around children and church, neither of which is of any interest to me.

Thanks, in advance,
I can't be the only liberal/vegetarian/feminist spouse in all of Japan, can I?

Dear Liberal/Vegetarian/Feminist Spouse,

Not to depress the fuck out of you, but you most likely are alone. The stereotype of the ultra-conservative milspouse exists for a reason, after all.

The good news is that it's not a certainty that you're by yourself. When YodaMan was stationed in Bahrain, where all the military fundies go to witness to the heathen Muslims (no, I'm not kidding), I thought for sure I'd be alone. Still, I went to the Bahrain Officers Spouse Club annual coffee. The fact I had no sprogs (at the time), was decidedly feminist, and sat clearly left of everyone else in the room made me stand out.

It also made one other milspouse stand out. She wasn't just left. She was an environmental engineer. She also had no sprogs. She also listened to NPR. We were twin pariahs! It was completely full of awesome. And what was even better? The conservatives in the room went out of their way to introduce us to one another, I assume so that our liberal cooties wouldn't spread too far among the rest of them.

It turns out I also had a lot in common with YodaMan's boss's wife, a woman who was somehow comfortable among everyone and who was very good at setting everyone at ease, regardless of their beliefs or how little they had in common with the other wifeys (or hubbies) around them. I learned how cool she is at the BOSC coffee and was reminded of her awesome and win when we got together to make soap, knit, discuss spinning yarn, etc.

Based on my experience, along with my spectacular failure at finding like-minded individuals from the wardroom at other duty stations when I didn't put myself out there, I'd suggest taking a similar route.

Find out what the FRG, spouse organization, wardroom, etc. has to offer for gatherings.

Bring Alicia Simpson's Mac 'n Cheez (the one with absolutely no nooch in it, published in VegNews and also in her Comfort Foods cookbook) as a side dish or perhaps some cuppies from Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World as a dessert (might I suggest adding mint and substituting rum in the Mucho Margaritas recipe to turn them into Mucho Mojito cuppies?).

Talk about how you love to repurpose trash and how you're saving up for a composting toilet. Ask if anyone has found a local shop that sells cruelty-free make-up. After everyone's eaten, talk about how no animals were hurt in the creation of the dish you brought. Chat folks up about how you and your husband have a deal, that post-Navy, he follows your career.

If you have kids, DO NOT DISCUSS THEM. If you don't have kids, sigh every time someone brings up their kids (but don't hyperventilate - that's guaranteed to happen if you sigh too heavily or too long at every single mention of sprogs). When convos steer toward sprogs, steer it away. When someone asks you if you have kids, tell them you're childfree (if you are) or that you're so happy the sprogs are old enough to be independent and not need you to hover constantly (if you are).

Buy that FckH8 tee or a bumper sticker. If you get the tee, repurpose it into a bag in which you carry your bowl of Mac 'N Cheez. In other words, have your opinions visible but not overly obvious. You don't want the fundie wives coming after you with their pitchforks and torches. Not until you have peeps at your back and a copy of the Oxford Annotated Bible (doh!) as a shield, anyway.

Also, remember to be open to meeting others. It's so easy to seem standoffish or unapproachable when you're surrounded by people who are often not shy about shining their pitchforks in front of the likes of you. If you can relax, do so. At the worst, you'll leave knowing which spouses aren't likely to result in long-term friendships.

Another thing I did in Bahrain was get my freak on publicly. I put my name out there as a Pagan contact, as much as I could in that environment. While everyone else gathered for churchy events and quilt-making classes, I talked to the assholes manning the chaplain trailer about putting together a study group, which never materialized because I was dealing with Catholic cuntbubbles and Baptist assnommers. But YOU! You can start a book club and prime the reading pump with books like The Wave, Handmaid's Tale, The Red Tent, The Dirty Truth, or Misconceptions. It might fail miserably when only one person shows up, or it might morph into a conservative backlash each month you don't choose the book, but it's one more venue you can try. Do the same with a monthly movie. Forks Over Knives, anyone? Food, Inc? Jesus Camp? The options are vast. :)

Also, don't write off the civilian population. I'm usually involved heavily with the local Romance Writers of America chapter, and I've made so many friends over the years from my participation in monthly meetings, not to mention online special interest chapters. In Japan, as in any foreign country, you might have more obstacles to overcome, but again, it's an option. (FWIW, I only made one "friend" from the local population in Bahrain, and it was mostly based on the fact that we shopped exclusively at his rug shop).

If all else fails, you know you have this spot, Left Face, and the Twitter to find folks of like mind. It's not hanging out, but it's conversation. :)

Good luck!

Snarky

Send your OMFG HALP letters to snarky navy wife at gmail. Reasonable responses not guaranteed. Good advice most assuredly not guaranteed. Don't try this at home. May cause drowsiness. Do not operate heavy machinery. Etc.

On KBR Contractors and the Jackassery of Texas

2011-07-10T09:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Jamie Leigh,

You stupid, stupid slut. You should have known better than to be drugged in a foreign country under the employ of a federal contractor. You should have known better than to be anywhere near your male counterparts in this new situation. And you should certainly have known better than to consent to sex while you were unconscious. Because, you see, that’s exactly what you did.

You should especially have known better than to make a civil case out of this. Because in America, women ask for it, even when they’re unconscious. The fact you have a twat means you asked for it. The fact you have tits means you asked for it. Even if you were so passed out - from being poisoned by your ~~rapist~~ lover - that you couldn’t speak to say otherwise, your anatomy and the fact that it accommodates a cock means you asked for it.

Yours,
The State of Texas
Yee Haw

I spent a good portion of my youth in Texas. In the Houston suburbs, specifically. To say I’m not surprised at the outcome of the Jamie Leigh Jones case is most definitely an understatement. After all, you need only look to Silsbee to see how Texas views women, especially when their allegations might affect the standing of “respected” men. No surprise at all.

Still, it’s more than a black eye for Texas. Try a broken jaw and busted ribs. Justice has not been served, and the rape culture thrives.

I guess one solid lesson we can all learn from this is not to live in Texas, especially if you have any holes that accommodate cocks or any “funbags” that might entice a man to construe their presence as an open invitation.

Another good lesson to remember is that Texas doesn’t exist in a vacuum, despite Texans’ beliefs about their place in the world. The United States as a whole supports the rape culture. If it didn’t, do you think an estimated 60% of rapes would go unreported every year? Do you think women would still be so concerned (and for good reason, see above) about their clothes, their presence in a “bad” area, or someone getting the wrong idea from something they say or do?

It's not a shame that this happened. It's shameful. It's disgusting. It's appalling. And it's a sign that shit needs to change. NOW.

Judgmental Breeders

2011-06-27T10:38:00.001-07:00

Dear Snarky,

How do I kindly suggest to people that they mind their own business with regard to our plans for procreating? Do I dance around the issue or rudely put them in their place. The army is a small world but I'm tired of the questions.

Thank you,
Tired of Ridiculously Nosy People

Dear Tired,

Boy, do I feel your pain. Back in the day, I was childfree and frequently suffered rude comments and judgment from breeders. For some reason, milspouse convos led to these moments much more frequently than civilian convos. Three guesses on my theory about that....

My favorite response came from a friend in Bahrain, another childfree type who also braved the commentary from her mother. She decided the next time her family asked why she wasn't squeezing out the sprogs yet, she'd feign tears, wail about all the pressure she was getting from them when she couldn't get pregnant, etc. In other words, she'd make them feel very bad about butting in on something that isn't their business.

Great idea, but that's not so effective when you're at a function with folks who don't have a personal stake in your happiness and sanity. So a better option might be to make a pointed comment regarding the inappropriateness of their questions and suggestions. For example:

Breeder: Why don't you have kids yet?
Tired: Wow! That's kind of personal. Do you want the results of my last pap smear, too?

Breeder: Why did you get married if you don't want kids?
Tired: My husband is good for more than just depositing his sperm in my twat. We like to do crazy things together. You know, like having deep discussions and making fun of narrow-minded breeders.

Breeder: Don't you like kids?
Tired: If my progeny were to turn out like yours? Definitely not.

Breeder: Who's going to take care of you when you get old?
Tired: The nice folks in the amazing assisted living facility I'll be able to afford after not spending all my money on diapers and juvie fines.

Breeder: The Bible says it's your duty to fill your quiver.
Tired: Deuteronomy says disobedient kids need to be stoned by their community. So you just hold yours still for a sec, and I'll go grab some rocks.

Breeder: It's selfish not to want kids.
Tired: It's ignorant to assume everyone should have them.

Breeder: I just don't know what I'd do with myself if I didn't have kids.
Tired: I'm sorry your life is so unfulfilling.

Yes, it's a small community, and word might get around that you're touchy about the sprog questions. But would that be a bad thing? At least you wouldn't need to worry about constant pestering at every new duty station.

If all else fails, you can burst into tears and run from the room the next time someone asks. That would shut them the fuck up, I bet.

Get Some B-12,
Snarky

The Milspouse Magazine Convo

2011-06-12T10:41:00.001-07:00

We moseyed to Little Creek yesterday because husband didn't believe me when I said it takes half an hour to get there (I showed him, though!). Went into the exchange to get some a/c filters since the previous tenants apparently never once installed any (nor did the rental folks - nice!). As we stood in line, sprogs lobbied to get some gum. Husband and I recited "no" while looking at the magazines.

YodaMan ogled the Muscle and Fitness (homoerotic much?)(which is just a bonus in my mind)(for many reasons), which he is wont to do. I picked up the Military Spouse Magazine. I'm not usually so wont. I have two subscriptions: VegNews and Oxygen. I used to have a subscription to Muscle & Fitness Hers. I also get RT Book Reviews for the industry gouge I can glean from there...and also reading suggestions. My reading doesn't usually fall in the "women's sphere" of magazines. If I buy fashion magazines or Good Housekeeping or the like, it's because I'm about to do a collage for a new story and need models that might fit the different characters or scenes that might fit the setting in my book.

While Military Spouse appeals to a demographic, for sure, I'm not in it. Which bums me out. I'd love to have a fun magazine that has really meaty articles about issues related to the military life, written with the spouse, parents, and sprogs in mind. Kimba and I once had a short exchange about starting our own magazine, but lord. The work involved with that. And the time. Egads. I can just imagine.

Anyway! We're in line. We're ogling magazines. And husband mentions I should query MilSpouse with some article ideas. I laugh it off (I've already done that and got no response, probably because I was aiming at something meatier than the short and upbeat articles they tend to publish) and then say, "Oh! I should send in a query to do an advice column for them. Dear Snarky."

YodaMan's response was something along the lines of OMG or WTF or similar. But it prompted me to consider the idea. Not for MSM. They're way too uptown to put up with me. Rather, I thought it would be fun to do here.

So if you want some advice (though ask at your own risk because, well, have you read this blog?), send your Dear Snarky letter to snarky navy wife at gmail dot com, only without spaces and with the requisite @ and period.

And if you ever hear of a magazine that's up for a 1000 to 3000-word article about difficult milspouse-related topics, hollah!

Feeling down? Well! You're a fucking loser.

2011-06-04T17:21:00.000-07:00

Not really, but that's a sentiment I hear all too often.

"You can choose to be happy! You can choose to be independent and not have your mental state determined by whether your husband is around."

And if you strip away the naivety and dismissal of logic, that sentiment is actually kinda right on. You can choose to be happy. Except when you can't.

Some folks aren't so lucky. Everyone is an individual, and everyone has a different breaking point. Some folks thrive on their own. Hell, I met a room full of women who believe the only point of marriage is pumping out sprogs, and the only role husband plays is providing the genetic sample to make a baby happen. Those women aren't friends with their husbands, and though they might have their own kind of emotional bond with their husbands, their lives are no better or worse without him around. I believe there were a fair number among them who specifically married Navy officers in order to ensure their husbands would be gone. Frequently.

On the other hand, some of us actually dig our sig-o's. Some of us enjoy the company of the person we consider our BFF. Some of us get a little down when it's been two months since the last phone call or e-mail, and the a/c is broke dick, and the kids have cycled through two months of shared colds and fevers. We got married because we looked forward to a partnership but knowing full well the life of a milspouse means you're often partner-less. So when our sig-o's are gone, life is not ideal. Life is not easy. You have all the pressures of married life and all the suck of the single life. Add to that often being located away from your built-in support system, and voila! Recipe for feeling bummed.

The thing I agree with in the statement "you can choose to be happy" is that, yes, you can choose to be happy. You can choose to stick your head in the sand when the stress is overwhelming and crap is hitting rotating blades. Sure. Sometimes it even works. Worked great for me during YodaMan's second deployment.

Regardless of the personality that can choose to be this way and follow through during multiple deployments and underways over a decade or more -- whether that's incredible strength and compartmentalization or incredible shallowness and emotional frigidity -- the sentiment above has a humongous flaw: it does not take into account that everyone is different, and in so doing, it demonizes those whose thresholds don't quite meet the exceptional standards of the speaker.

It also accuses those who are not as "strong" of not being independent. So there's a dual insult implied here. If you can't choose to be happy, then you are a weak, sniveling, dependent fool who turns into a mushy pit of sob and doom every time the ship leaves port.

And that, quite frankly, is a steaming pile of maggot-infested bullshit.

I can maintain my own happy self. But I do it because I have this blog to bitch and whine and get shit off my chest. This life is challenging and often frustrating, and being able to snark about it takes away some of the pressure. Even when this blog was young and fresh and pimply-faced, with nary a reader and plenty of echo, I felt better posting my wank sessions here. The venting made this life a little more tolerable.

Makes. This blog is how I survive.

Each person is entitled to his or her own method of getting through it. If that's playing ostrich and pretending like things aren't more difficult, sometimes lonely, occasionally frustrating, and usually chaotic, so be it. Ostriches can thrive. If that's popping a happy pill every day, getting therapy, keeping a gratitude journal, popping out daily affirmations, etc., awesome. Go for it. More likely you're somewhere in between, relying on the infrequent glass of wine, night off care of a babysitter, and fuck-bomb-infused bitchfest.

To each her own. Because we're all different.

And the next time some naive or judgmental bizatch declares Thou Art Lesser Than, kick her in the girly junk. Figuratively. Literally tell her to kiss your pucker hole.

Srsly.

Moldy Monterey

2011-05-30T20:03:00.000-07:00

Looks like I totally forgot to show you what was in our master bedroom at the house in Monterey.

When you gaze upon this awesome, keep this in mind: the landlord intimated he knew mold was an issue in the house before we moved in. He said he got new windows to make sure the mold wouldn't crop up. Yup.

This is just one room and doesn't do the actual amount of mold justice. It was ALL OVER the walls, right behind the furniture we never moved because the room was so small we had to walk sideways through the room.

If you're moving to Foggy Monterey and are considering a home in the Josselyn Canyon area, give me a holler. Ask if this is the house you're considering. Because, really, just say no. Especially considering the landlord is now trying to screw us out of our deposit.

Let them eat volcanoes!

2011-05-30T18:20:00.000-07:00

We're nearly settled in Norfolk now. We just said goodbye yet again to very dear friends with whom we've crossed Naval paths several times. I always hate when you can't stay near the gems you find in the Navy world. Le sigh.

Anyway, I figured I might as well take a minute to upload a couple of cake pr0n photos from elder sprog's last birthday. His natal day isn't actually until this week, but we figured we'd let him have an early party before we left Monterey in order to be sure he'd actually have fun with his friends.

So the backstory on the cake is thusly: He wanted a volcano. He drew photos. Photos included tiki torch candles. I found some online, but they were ridiculously priced, so I bought basketball candles, shaved off the black markings, put my blow dryer to them, and then molded the softened wax into tiki heads. Then I realized I'd be making this cake after the packers and movers had come through our house. How the hell was I going to do this?

I went to the commissary and ordered a quarter-sheet cake with absolutely no decor. I even told them just to put a crumb layer of buttercream and leave the rest undecorated. I think they were planning to call the wacky wagon on me, but they relented. The day before his party, I picked up the cake along with a cake mix. In the BOQ, where we were staying, I mixed the cake mix together (red velvet) and nuked the cake. I used modeling chocolate for the decor this time, plus a bit of gum paste, and threw it all together. On the little, teensy, tiny table in the BOQ. With the BOQ kitchen instruments of doom. That's right.

And here was the iffy result:

We also used some dry ice to create the smoke for his volcano. He was pleased. :)

It's impossible to see the awesome carve up I did on the candles. But they're there. Trust me.

Oh, blessed Norfolk

2011-05-14T20:51:00.000-07:00

YodaMan is heading to the Enterprise!

Meanwhile, I'm sick as a fucking poodle-schnauzer mix. The last big cleaning we did apparently set off an allergic reaction so huge (and possibly a fungal infection up my schnaz) that it created a three week-long fiesta of nasal sludge and finally pink eye. Woo to the motherfucking hoo. I guess that was Monterey's parting shot as I hightailed it the fuck out of there. Did I mention, when the movers pulled the furniture out of the tiny, cramped spaces in our house, that we found the most disgusting, heinous fields of mold growing out of the walls? *urp* I can honestly say, much as I loved the friends I made there, I have never been happier to PCS.

I realized I'm back "home" in at least close to the South, if not below the Mason-Dixon, when someone talked to me at the grocery store, and they weren't trying to get money or sell me drugs, and the woman at the Tricare Service Center at the Portsmouth hospital was actually incredibly fucking nice, helpful, and patient. Holy. Shit. I almost pooped myself. For real.

This place might be redneck, but by gods, I'm so happy to be here. These are my peeps. They're not always awesome, particularly in the stick-up-the-ass and -ism departments, but I at least understand them.

So a report on a couple of the MTFs around here, since Norfolk is unfortunately et up with these things, which means we're pretty much fucked for getting a civilian doctor. Little Creek? Unhelpful and under construction, so it was a pain in the fucking ass to get to. The Health Benefits dude was nice, though he made a comment about the novelty of sarcasm from an officer's wife that shocked the hell out of me. I can NOT be the only one to sit in his chair and snark about Tricare. Anyway, he couldn't help me with my sludge and eye of doom, so I went to NAS Oceana, which is much closer to me anyway. They also couldn't help me, and their Health Benefits woman was smoking some serious weed. Or crack. Or something. Either way, she wasn't sharing, which just made the lack of info and help she could offer that much worse. She basically told me I would have to wait another 3-5 days for an appointment for my sludge of doom.

Nice.

So I went to Portsmouth, and the Tricare woman was full of awesome, win, and professionalism. She helped me with some options for getting help soonest, and she discouraged me from dealing with the ER when I could easily call up Tricare on Monday and rant for a while. Because of the info she gave me, I was able to run back to Oceana and score an appointment less than an hour later. SCORE. I now have pharmaceuticals, my eye looks much less likely to crawl out of my skull, my sludge no longer has the color of Chernobyl run-off, and the pain in my face has migrated into my throat. All in all, massive improvement.

Oh, and when I had my BP checked at the doc, it was fucking NORMAL. That's right, bitches. Normal.

Fuck you, Monterey. My shiny white ass, let me show you it.

I know people warned me left and right about Norfolk. I know they told me it would be a shock after years spent on the Left Coast. But you know what? I haven't been so happy after a PCS ever. I'm within a day's drive from my family. Two days from in-laws (perfect!). They sell cheese grits at the store. The store is fucking Kroger, for gods' sake (the only thing better might be a Piggly Wiggly, my sweet, sweet bitches). There's an evil WalMart on every corner. There are MULTIPLE Barnes and Noble storefronts here, and there's even a fucking Borders. The sprogs' school is within walking distance. I have a mailbox, not a community mail tomb a quarter mile away. The house is affordable and has enough room for all our shit...and then some. And even though it's full of the South, though sadly lacking kudzu, I can still find Tofutti, Amy's, Nasoya, Almond Breeze, Bob's Red Mill, and other similar brands I've come to rely on to keep my veganism convenient.

It's like heaven. A little broken, perhaps, but heaven nonetheless.

I'm home, bitches!

But don't worry. I'm sure I'll hate the East Coast Navy even worse than West Coast. After all, they're way more uptight on this side of 'Murrica. I hear there's an FRG, so there will also be opportunities aplenty to report. Can I get a muwahahaha?

PCS Break

2011-05-03T07:00:00.001-07:00

I'm in Alabama right now, on my way to Norfolk with the sprogs and the YodaMan. The devastation from the tornadoes is unreal. It's one thi8ng to see it on the news, an entirely different thing to see the rubble, the people trying to get in, the National Guard blocking roads, the huge crates of water and tents of food set up to provide relief. In. Sane. Apparently, there were about two hundred unidentified in the morgue in Tuscaloosa the other day. According to cousin and friend reporting about the devastation, the Tuscaloosa area is now minus two lakes - the tornado sucked them dry. It also sucked a storm cellar out of the ground, with huddling victims inside.

What's frightening is "tornado alley" has shifted, and not just here. YodaMan's family lives in Arkansas, and his brother is an insurance adjuster. BIL made the comment that he's been busier in the last ten years than he was in the first ten, and in the last few years, he's been even busier. There are more storms and natural disasters, and -oh, look!- tornado alley has shifted, so new towns that weren't as diligent about storm damage are now getting the shit kicked out of them.

But you know, this has nothing to do with a changing climate. Nope.

And now for something cheerful.

First song in my head when I heard this: America, fuck yeah.

I hope the folks on the team that killed that motherfucker have no opportunity to buy their own drinks, ever again.

SUCK IT MYCAA

2011-04-05T07:43:00.000-07:00

(xposted at Left Face)

MyCAA sucks absolute balls. And by balls, I don’t mean the good kind.

Recently, I graduated from an MFA program. During the course of this program, I managed to score MyCAA funding for one semester’s worth of classes, which really ended up saving my happy ass. My justification on the paperwork was that I could teach online classes, and perhaps one day see income from writing. This MFA would help with those portable jobs.

Today I am thrilled to announce that I have an assistant editor position, and it’s a work-from-home job. I’ll be working with some amazing authors and amazing staff at a truly bleeding-edge publisher. I couldn’t be happier. And I’d have hella more debt than I do now if not for MyCAA.

Yet MyCAA is no longer accessible to a great swathe of the milspouse population. Why is that, DOD? What was that about certificate positions like medical transcriptionist and associate degree programs being the best a milspouse can hope for in the portable job world?

Eat a dick, MyCAA. Nom it up.

Bullies and Fighting Back

2011-03-21T13:25:00.000-07:00

This news story really hits home for me.

I was bullied as a kid. I think most of us get a taste of bullying at some point (even bullies, I bet, get it at home or from other kids). I don't advocate rolling over, though that's what I was taught ladies do - we ignore bullies and internalize the taunts and try hard to avoid actual physical tussles.

We're in California, which is largely one of those freakishly no tolerance zones, so even if you hit someone because he's trying to choke you in the hallway between periods, you'll get bounced for fighting, too. We're in NoCal, in the Bay area, which means we're surrounded by advocates of peace and compassion and granola. I'm a total fan of all of these.

But I'm also a fan of not being a victim.

We're about to head back home to the South, where we know the rules are different. Our wee ones have been so indoctrinated into the Run Away As You Turn the Other Cheek mentality that they're bound to be even bigger bully targets when we get to Virginny this summer.

My elder kid was bullied last year and again for a while this year. He got in trouble for fighting back, for pinching or hitting or kicking a kid who was doing the same to him (he didn't tell on the bully b/c his speech delay made it impossible to convey to the teachers what was happening), and we spent more time coaching him on how to tell the teacher when he was being smacked around than we did on matters of self-defense and when and how to fight back. Plus, there was the issue of him spending hours in the principal's office. As a Kindergartner (horrible teacher syndrome what?).

My younger sprog hid and played away from other kids when one little shit ran up behind him and kicked him in the thigh, leaving a bruise. This was not at school, but he's got the California lessons down pat. Don't stand up for yourself. Don't fight back when someone is clearly going to keep molesterating you because he knows he can. Just run away and hope you don't stay on his radar.

Another lesson they've learned here is that teachers and other adults will not help you if you're being bullied. They'll have stern words for the other shit, but nobody's going home unless there's still an obvious mark where the pinching/hitting/kicking/biting/scratching occurred. And mean words? Well, those don't mean anything to a kid, do they?

Though I have reservations about this (and we've already had issues because of it), we have started with the Don't Be a Welcome Mat lessons. I'm waiting for it to backfire here in California (we already had a minor skirmish because of them, but I hope we've caveated the kid enough that he knows when self-defense is actually self-defense), but I'm hoping it helps alleviate any issues the boys might have when we return to real civilization.

As for the kid in the CNN story, I'm shocked at how far he went to defend himself, but I do applaud him for standing up for himself. I hope everyone--the school staff and parents included--have learned a lesson, but I don't hold out much hope that the little shit who was hitting him won't find another target. After all, that little bully says he's not sorry for his behavior.

Here's the video one of the bully's minions took. Be warned: it's pretty graphic, and the little shit who brought this on is lucky he's not in the hospital.

Japan Evac...What?

2011-03-20T22:44:00.000-07:00

Of course, y'all are aware that we have mil-folks in Japan, right? Bestselling author Alyssa Day (her pseudonym) is a milspouse who just moved to Japan and is now awaiting evacuation.

Her tweets have been fascinating.

What is our government doing to get our military families out of harm's way? I'm not sure. I can't tell, really. It's hard to say what's going on outside of an apparent clusterfuck.

I know our folks have their hands full. I know there are a LOT of people who need our help over there. I just don't understand why, if they have decided an evacuation is necessary, the government is failing to get our people CONUS right away.

When terrorists were threatening to kidnap a milspouse/milbrat in Bahrain for the purposes of an on-video beheading to be broadcast to the world, you're damned right they got all the non-essentials out of town post-motherfucking-haste. But I guess that would have been really bad press for our gub-ment at the time considering we were up Iraq's ass and in an Arab country....

What's up? Is it really an issue of not having enough hands to support all the efforts required in Japan right now? Is it a funding issue, now that we're talking about the brink of a government shutdown? Why are military families caught in the center of any of this, though?

Those Westboro Minions of Hell

2011-03-16T14:30:00.000-07:00

I hate those fucking fuckers of Westboro Baptist Church. I hate them so much, I've been contemplating an insta-karma spell, and damn the insta-karma backlash I'd get for my efforts. I hate them so much, I wish their god would go to an all-you-can-eat chili and corn buffet, drop trou, and take a dump on the lot of them.

I hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. I wish there were options for those those bigoted hate-mongers protest. But I love the Constitution, too. I've been whining at YodaMan that there ought to be some recourse or pre-emptive strike a protestee could make. I advocated for signs that mock Westboro, and counter-protesters who might (we could hope) shame the Westboro types into leaving. Clearly that's not going to work especially when their Supreme Court success led them to declare jihad on America. How to fight back? This eluded me until YodaMan revealed a quote from the Mistress of Satan, that cuntmuzzle Shirley Phelps-Roper, he heard on NPR. She said their intent was to bring despair to everyone so they'd turn away from their god and land themselves in hell.

*lightbulb*

Let's diminish the impact they're going for. Instead of leading people into despair and abandoning their god, let's see counter-protesters fight back with signs that support the idea of a compassionate god.

When their signs say:	Counter signs should say:
God Hates Fags	Jesus Loves Fags
Thank God for Dead Soldiers	Thank God for Freedom
Don't Pray for the USA	We'll Pray For You
Thank God for 9/11	Jesus Horses for Everyone! no, wait
Fags Doom Nations	Hate Dooms Nations

The next time Those In League With Their Debbil show up in your town, pledge to be there with your own sign. Even if you're not Christian, you'll do everyone a favor if you remind them what that crazy rebel Jesus was really after. It won't stop those cock-eating smegbuckets, but it will at least negate their intent. It might bring comfort to those being protested. And maybe, just maybe, it will drive the Phelps cocknommers to make a tiny mistake, do something illegal, and finally give the rest of us the foothold we need to chip away at their financial and (im)moral foundation.

The Great Bath Debacle: Repost

2011-03-14T22:45:00.000-07:00

Back in the day, I had a blog elsewhere. It's gone now, and with it went one of the most infamous stories ever told in Casa Snark. Since it came up in convo with an IRL friend today, I'm re-posting it here for all to read and enjoy and laugh and point fingers and thank the gods it didn't happen to them.

From 2007:

I'd like to relay an incident that occurred tonight, which shall henceforth be known as The Bathtub Incident of 2007. But fi rst I need to give you some background. Yesterday afternoon, my kids decided naps are passe and chose to fi ght sleep until after 4pm. I let them sleep for about two hours then made them get up. They were cranky, but after some dinner, they calmed down and began playing.

Later last night, I was trying to get some cleaning and organizing done and lost track of time. The littles were playing quietly and behaving, so it was with some shock that I looked at the clock and saw that it was 9:45. Holy crap! My kids never stay up this late.
I yanked them upstairs, brushed their teeth, changed diapers, dressed them, and put them to bed. After I'd had my daily constitutional and gotten a shower, it was about 10:30. I was only half-done with my own work, exhausted, and looking forward to a long day of errands and cleaning after a repairman visit.

So, ever logical and sensible, I stayed up watching TV and drinking Hansen's for another two hours. Then I went to bed.

My kids woke up at 7am. WTF? They usually only wake up that early (yes, early, shut up and
quit giving me that look) when they've gone to bed at a decent hour and had a decent nap the day before. I crawled my ass out of bed, got them dressed and fed, then took them to daycare, making me the most joyous mother on earth.

Sidenote: I lurve daycare days. I take the sproglets twice a week because my sanity requires it. Even when the husband returns from deployment, they shall continue with their visits ONLY to ensure they still have spots in January when the husband returns to the Middle East. But I shall not complain. I shall continue to lurve daycare days, lick the calendar on daycare days, dance naked and free on daycare days, pretend I sold the kids on eBay on daycare days, drive far, far, far, far away, change my name to Lela Mae, take up waitressing at some remote truckstop ....

Anyway, so I returned from dropping them at daycare and welcomed the repairman into the house.
He had a difficult time fi xing a few of the problems, so I had time on my hands to do things I hadn't planned. I messed a bit with a shelf at the door to the second bathroom upstairs, clearing it o ff, preparing it for newer, bigger, better, 99 % fat free, trans-fat free, no GMO, High Fructose Corn Syrup-free goodness.

I had it mostly cleared by the time the repairman left and it was time for me to go address my other obligations* for the day. After the horrible crafting I had to do - ugh! I loathe papercrafting!! I loathe it, I tell you! - it was time to grab kidlets from daycare. Alas!
I grabbed the spawnlets, who were in rare form and acting as if I were the last person on earth
they wanted to see (hey, poop factories, the feeling's mutual!), and we headed home. After two torturous hours of eating, pooping, spilling, screaming, fi ghting, nosepicking, and booger eating, it was finally time to put them in the bath and get them to bed.

I ran a bath for them, popped some bubble bath in there, and threw them in. They immediately
calmed down and began to play. Woot, thought I. Maybe if they play for a good 15-20 minutes in the tub, it'll be late enough they'll actually sleep until 7:30 or 8 tomorrow. So I let them have at it. I soaped them up, rinsed them down, then went back to the shelf at the door to their bathroom and picked up where I'd left off earlier this morning.

They played for about seven minutes and thirty-two seconds, not anywhere near long
enough, and began to bitch and moan that the bubbles were gone (in toddler-speak, this
means they said: "Nooooooooooooooooo!!!111!! Mamaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! Where bubb-oooos go? Oh no! Help, deese [please]." Actually, that was the older child. Younger child was playing harmony with: "Mamamamamamama! Noooo! Mamamamama!").

Side note: I am quite short. I can't see anything below the solar plexus on the kids when I'm
standing at the bathroom door, so I could not confi rm the loss of bubbles as I cleaned. I merely took the kids'words for it. As I am the most bath-savvy mom ever, I raced to the rescue with a fizzy ball. You know, the ones made with citric acid that go all Mentos-and-Coke when they hit bath water. This one was made with some kind of calming something-or-other which might once have been lavender from the scent but had long since faded to a kind of au lait color. Turns out it didn't matter.

Instant. Hit.

They played and played and played and played, and I cleared and cleaned and cleared and cleaned. And lo there was giggling. And lo there was cleaning. And lo it came to pass that the fizzy had dissolved, but I was close enough to the appropriate hour to begin prepping them for bed. Woot, thought I. Just one more minute cleaning and clearing.

And that one more minute is what did us all in.

My elder sprog had begun informing me that the fi zzy was "broken," which I knew meant that it
had stopped fizzing. Then he said it was "all gone gone," which obviously meant it had dissolved into mere molecules of once-sudsy happiness. But then he said: "Oh, there it is! Uh oh, Mama. Fizzy broken!"

I thought nothing of this, so intent was I on imminent success. I fi gured the fi zzy hadn't quite faded into nothingness and had hidden in some toy or body part and reemerged just when the kids thought it was gone for good.

Oh no. Not so.

The elder insisted I come investigate the fi zzy because it was "broken!!!!!!!!!!!" So I took that two steps into the bathroom from the door and looked down. He held it out, and I thought, "Hmm, it must have really dissolved and put itself out. But why does it look bigger....?"

I blame the lack of sleep last night. Totally. Because even when I took it from his hand and felt the texture of it, then looked at the bathwater that had gone even more cafe au lait-colored than it had been, I still didn't clue in. It wasn't until I'd taken a step towards the toilet that a primal scream bubbled up in my throat, held back only by the vomit that was racing to beat it to my mouth.

My younger spawn had SHIT in the bathtub.

Oh my fucking gods.

I was holding SHIT in my hand.

I took up the spider/snake/scary bug dance, threw the murky turd in the toilet, danced and screamed to the sink, danced and screamed while I scrubbed my hand. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!"

"Mama?" said my elder.

"Poo poooooooooo!!!!!!111!!!!!" I said.

The look on his face then was classic. As scalding water and bubble gum-scented barfi licious soap coated my hand, he looked down at the bathwater that had, in the last twenty seconds, sprouted about four more "fi zzies" and some not-entirely-digested broccoli relics from dinner the night before, and developed a look of pure horror as he attempted to vault out of the tub.

Meanwhile, my younger child sat there with a shit-eating grin on his face, and all I could think, as I dashed to keep my shit-coated three-year-old in the shit-infested water was, "Oh PLEASE tell me he didn't actually eat any."

Side note: I inspected his breath and have concluded he did NOT sample his poo. All hail baby Jesus.

What followed need not be mentioned. Suffice to say, the kids are now clean, I am divested of everything I ate today, there are no more poo chunks in the bathtub or in the bathtub plumbing, a pile of laundry awaits a sanitizing cycle in the washer, and a pile of bath toys awaits a trip to the trash.

I am forever changed. I shall never be the same person again.

Before I return to the snarkage...

2011-03-14T20:30:00.001-07:00

I'm ramping up for the PCS, which means I'll be full of snark soon enough. But for now, I've been having a blast hula hooping.

Can you believe that shit? Me? Hooping. That's right, bitches.

I've been fascinated by hoop dancers (not the original Native American types, who are way too cool for my ass, but the born-again hippie types) for over a year now, and as I watch shit like this:

it gets me as excited to join in as shit like this does:

So in addition to bellydancing, I've started hooping. I initially tried using the piece of shit semi-radioactive lead painted toxic BPA plastic kid hoops from WalMart or Target or wherever the hell we got them. When I couldn't keep the damn hoop up for more than two revolutions, I gave up while I researched adult hoops. Since they're freaking expensive, I took a trip to Home Depot and got some PEX tubing, an insert connector/splitter, and some tape. Now I have a purty black and purple hoop that's all BLADOW on my waist. I went for about ten minutes straight last night. Freaking fabulous. Also, hooping can burn anywhere from 360-600 calories per hour.

WHAT? That's right.

All this to say I'm on a new fitness trip. I've decided to stop forcing myself to do exercises I loathe. Occasionally, I'll do a spin class because I forget between them how miserable I am during and concentrate on how great I feel after. Otherwise, I'm burning some serious calories with hooping, working my muscles and flexibility with belly dance, sweating to Dance Central, or doing a bit of strength training (which I love, but for going to the gym, which I loathe).

And I've decided to focus on making a percentage of my meals raw. I'm already doing about 50% raw each day with fruit for breakfast and a gargantuan greens salad for lunch. I'm aiming at 75%, so I eliminate any soup I might have with/instead of the lunch salad, and increase the portion of raw veg I have at dinner.

And to show you that raw can be yum, check out this amazing recipe I go back to when I have a hankering for pudding but don't want to consume bone marrow to get my fix. If you live in SoCal, drive up to North County, get a bag of fixin's for $5, and make enough for your whole street. Also note that I made it the first time with pomegranate vinegar, and it was OMG FUCKING AMAZING.

So that's all I have as far as woot and vigor. After this, I'll be back to my good ol' bitchy self.

Awesome LIFT and Saucy Prizes

2011-03-08T20:40:00.000-08:00

First, go read this post over at Left Face about Like It For Time, an effort to get Time Magazine to recognize the military family as the 2011 Person of the Year (prompted by Zuckerberg getting that title for 2010).

Then go here and print out the letter (of which I've taken a snippet below) and mail it. It's worth the stamp, I promise. Even if the military family doesn't get recognition in the form of PotY, I would hope they'd take the time to dissect the military family experience in more than just a brushstroke-feel-good-aww-happy-homecoming bit of barftasticness. Not that I'm at all pissy about this twatwaddled, exploitative, irresponsible fuckpile of a show. Ahem.

Anyway! Here's the promised snippet, which I found full of win and awesomesauce:

Regarding the military family’s effect on the world, Rudy Giuliani was chosen for Person of the Year following the September 11 attacks because he “embodied what was really most important, what we learned about ourselves, which was that we could recover,” explained a TIME editor.

The military family embodies what is most important after a decade of war and multiple deployments: a resilient and unifying force even as the families grow weary of being separated – sometimes permanently – year after year, those years apart filled with agonizing anxiety and uncertainty about the future of their families. That resiliency speaks volumes about who we are.

And here's the mailing address:
TIME Magazine Letters
Time & Life Building
Rockefeller Center
New York, NY 10020

And behold! A random prize! Here's what I'll do.

Leave a comment here that you've printed, stuffed, stamped, and mailed a letter to Time. I'll not only take your word for it, but I'll enter your name in the very random drawing.
Tweet this: "Support the Military Family for Time's 2011 Person of the Year! http://bit.ly/ggOibZ @snarkynavywife" and leave a second comment here that you've tweeted this effort. That will be a second entry.
Like the LIFT effort's Facebook page. Leave yet another comment here that you've done that. It will be your third entry. Be sure to leave comments here that you do this, and be sure to separate them. I'm going to do a completely lazy drawing method, and you need to have separate comments for me to make full use of my laziness.

What will the random drawing produce? A prize! A prizetastic prize. My book is coming out soonish, and if the winner is willing to wait, I'll send either an e-book version or a print copy. Alas, the name on the book is my *real* name. So the lucky winner will know my sooper sekrit identity. I'm sure you're psyched.

If my book is delayed, I'll send a friend's book instead, and since I have several published friends in a couple of different genres, there will be OPTIONS. Options galore, I tell you.

This here push begins now (March 8) and ends Friday (March 11) unless I get shitfaced on Friday (entirely possible since the book I'm writing now is trying to break up with me; YodaMan's two-year-old cough, care of his time in Afghanistan, lately sounds more like he has the plague than an irritation, so I'm preparing myself for the Navy docs to say, "Holy shit! How did we not see that half your lung was chewed away by the burning human poo and tires during your IA?!"; this house is trying to drown me in my own hives and snot; I only have a month and a half to get ready for this PCS; and the Navy sched plus a family wedding have already fucked with my chi, so I can't attend a single one of the writerly events I had looked forward to this year), in which case I'll close comments when I stumble away from the pool of saliva under my cheek Saturday morning. Then I'll draw a winner.

Ready...steady...print!

A video! For old time's sake!

2011-03-01T18:41:00.001-08:00

I know it's been a while since I ran across something so utterly WTF that I just had to post it here. In fact, it's probably been long enough that I could repost some of those oldies (but goodies). But wait! I have a new one. It is absolutely, completely NSFW, NSFS¹, NSFP². Once you're home and the room is clear, enjoy!

No, it's not the Benny Lava song, but it's pretty damn awesome. I mean, it's a COWBOY for fuck's sake! How the hell did someone look at that toy and say to him/herself, "Self, this here ought to be called a COWBOY! Yee haw!" It just does not compute.

¹ Not safe for sprogs.
² Not safe for pets.

What are Republicans doing, anyway?

2011-02-24T08:33:00.000-08:00

This woman is my hero:

Wow. Word up, lady. What does a war on women have to do with jobs and the deficit? If neo-cons got their way, leaving women in positions where they're better off leaving the jobs for the menfolk, the economy would go tits up fast.

Luckily, it seems like we have some folks with 1) brains and 2) the ability to voice their opinions without devolving in the process. I think we might make it through this shitstorm, if the neocon asspirates can shut the fuck up for a while and do some some legislation.

Abortion aside, considering it's only the target issue of a much larger problem, if you take away women's ability to plan a pregnancy, stay healthy, pay for the birthing experience, pay for diapers and breast pumps and etc., and earn a living wage while she's home with the newborn, you're left with a woman who must rely on someone else for income and support. We'll fall into a situation where we have abused children and rising crime rates (read Freakonomics if you think I'm pulling that tidbit out of my ass), we'll have kids and their moms living on the streets, and we'll have a lot fewer women in the workforce. You think it's bad now? Just wait. Just. Wait.

But, you know, women should know better than to spread their legs for a man. Unless they're married. In which case, they ought to stay home and take care of the brood. Because that's their best contribution to the economy, you know. And women who own their sexuality and maintain agency deserve to get pregnant. Because babies are God's punishment to whores. Right? Isn't that the "logic" ruling this anti-woman agenda?

Shame on the anti-choicers, those who don't actually value life at all, whose only concern is ensuring sinful women pay for their indiscretions and learn that their true place is only as helpmeet and mother.

ETA this awesome link provided by Kimba in comments: The true story of a late-term abortion, which reminded me of a (not late term) abortion a very dear family member had. She desperately wanted a third child, but she had to go through hell to have the two she managed. When she got pregnant with what would be her third, she was old enough to require an amniocentesis. They could draw no fluid. After tests, they found that the fetus had no kidneys. The doctor told her the baby would draw one breath, cry once, and die of a painful heart attack. She was heartbroken, but the pregnancy was also dangerous to take to term, and time was of the essence if she had any hope of getting pregnant again. She chose to abort, but my evangelical shithead cousin called her up and ranted about her evil decision and told her that it was her duty to fill her quiver. She was devastated at the need to terminate her pregnancy. But this shitfuck of a dickless assmonkey, who stuck his nose into someone else's private affairs, went after her for doing the right thing. The fuckbag is lucky I haven't run into him since this incident. Though this happened a long time ago, I'd still rip his fucking nutsack off if given half a chance to try.

Shit that is pissing me off lately.

2011-02-23T12:31:00.000-08:00

Tomfuckery in Georgia

Personhood laws

Incredible tomfuckery

Don't fall down

Court orders

A list of court ordered interventions

Laura Pemberton from NAPW on Vimeo.

How to Support the Military

2011-02-21T18:25:00.001-08:00

I'd like to see a huge bonfire. A bonfire fueled by the stupid fucking pointless yellow ribbon paraphernalia that's made someone a fuckwad of money while these women need help. Real fucking help. Not a "bless your heart" or "thank you for your service." Acknowledgment is nice, but it doesn't fix all that's broken with the system that should be supporting our veterans.

If you want to support the military, find a way to make sure that the homeless in your city - who are more often than not veterans - have the help they need. And for gods' sake, don't forget that there are women veterans who need help, too.

Sexual assault and the military

2011-02-16T18:56:00.001-08:00

Today, the running theme here has been shocking comments concerning rape and assault aimed at women. First there was apparently a submarine douchebucket today who said that Lara Logan should have known if she went into Tahrir Square that she would be raped - after all, she's a pretty blonde in Egypt. In other words, it was her fault. YodaMan heard this and called the wee lieutenant on his fucktardian commentary. I was stunned. The fuckchuckle might as well have said straight out that she was asking for it.

Then we were watching Piers Morgan tonight interview a former Marine involved in the lawsuit against Pentagon officials over its ineffectiveness in dealing with rape. He also spoke to two women who had been raped during their service and who then dealt with a "rape" from the system that should have protected them as it prosecuted the offenders. It was all sad to hear, including that 40% of VA post-rape help is given to men (which, even as it pains me that men deal with this, too, gives me an ironic and bitter bit of hope that the culture of shame and blame might be overhauled with numbers that significant), but none of it shocked me.

That is, not until one of the women shared what happened when she sought help after being confronted by her attacker. She requested a SAVI officer or chaplain to help her and was given a chaplain. And guess what the chaplain told her?

The rape was God's will, and the best thing for her to do would be to get back to church and get right with God.

Chaplains are supposed to be trained in how to help survivors of assault and rape, and I am pretty fucking sure none of that training includes sexist, victim-blaming dogma. Whoever that fuckstick was needs to have his commission yanked, burned, shit on, burned again, and thrown into a fucking sewage pit. In fact, yank his credentials to act in any kind of official religious capacity, too, because even the most anti-woman, Bible-thumping, evangelical freak who would hand over such appalling advice should have a little come-to-Jesus thorny beating before being allowed to lead a congregation in a round of Mary Had a Little Lamb.

FUCKER.

How does this happen? How does the culture of the military convince so many to just keep quiet until further threats are imminent, at which time it's too late to do a rape kit, which means commanders are better off taking the fuckhole through non-judicial punishment so that some form of justice is done? How does our society's rape culture persist? How do young men born during and/or raised through the nineties, who ought to fucking know better, say a woman was asking to be raped because of where she dared to go? How does anyone living in our country, in this supposedly post-feminist era, get away with saying a woman should curtail her activities, her conversation, her style, or her beliefs because if she doesn't, she deserves to be raped?

How is this okay?

Oh, wait. I keep forgetting that we still have old fucker jackwads who love to paternalize us wee womenfolk, protect us, fight over us, and treat us like we're tender flowers who need to be led. That's just one root of our rape culture, but it's a pretty fucking sturdy root. When you make women targets, make them prizes or objects rather than people, you make them less than, so it's okay to rape them. After all, they're weak and dared to step outside their spheres, so they had it coming.

In other news, completely unrelated, the next reporter who calls the Pearl Roundabout in Bahrain "Pearl Square" will get a steaming pile in the mail from me. First, roundabouts are not square in shape. Second, they are not gathering places as a general rule. The Pearl Roundabout is one of the largest roundabouts in Bahrain with already freaky-ass drivers pulling some of the scariest maneuvers, and in spite of the very cool pearl monument in the center, it's not a social spot. Therefore, it is not a square in either shape or function. Facts are bendy, though, I suppose.

ETA: This fabulous take on the racism and xenophobia inherent in responses to Logan's attack, in addition to the "she was asking for it" bullfuck. Please to read!

In which we mock the troll who goes by "alley"

2011-02-13T09:43:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I apparently stepped on a dung beetle nest and ended up in the middle of a shit-eating frenzy that was...well, let's just call it stunningly grotesque¹.

One of the trolls who hit the comment button and proceeded to bless us with some unholy yarf goes by the profile-free, link-free name of "alley." Nobody can identify this person with any online presence. Even in a world frequently anonymous (or mostly, as this here blog is), s/he is especially so. I'm assuming this person is a female. I don't know why, but that's the sense I got from the comments.

The first comment little miss alley left was a semi-veiled threat to a fellow milspouse blogger who's heard time and again from the conservative fuckbuckets that when her husband is killed in action, it'll be her fault because she's a liberal.

Keep it classy, neo-cons fuckholes!

When this comment appeared, it had a few lines of actual "worth" in it. And by worth, I mean shit that wasn't threatening. I seem to recall it had more of the same simple-minded attempts at logic that made all the troll comments so incredibly entertaining. I couldn't censor the threat from the comment, which was too bad. I'd have loved the option to bleep out the part that could have resulted in legal issues, since what remained would have added immeasurably to the comedy. I'm bummed that I had no choice, in absence of an edit function, but to delete the comment and direct further discussion to a post in which we could attempt to sling less shit and have more discussions.

I didn't start out bummed. I started out pissed as fuck-all at the audacity of this twatwaffle. Now I've calmed down, though. Now I'm ready to mock the troll. So let's do it!

Here was alley's second comment, this one posted to the new discussion I opened after she forced me to shut down the original.

Note for all: I left a comment on the last post on this issue and your oh-so-openminded Navy wife hostess deleted it because she couldn't handle the truth. Feminists and liberals though you may be, you must admit that deleting a comment you just can't argue against is nothing more than censorship, and isn't that everything you liberal bitches fight against?

Or maybe it's like the "pro-choice" debate, where you refuse to admit your ideological predecessors (like Dorothy Sanger) were actually eugenicists who were in favor of KILLING "inferior" people like blacks and Irish.

Once again, I advise you, "Navy Wife," to remove the Obama crap from your site. You're just exposing yourself as an anti-military sleeper agent.

Now that y'all know why I deleted the comment, let me tell you what I recall it said (and I might be wrong, but I do remember this statement being made, and I don't see it in that comment thread anymore, so I assume this was her): She gave advice to "the enemy" by letting me know the pro-Obama gif gives me away as Not Really A Milblogger.

And really, I swear that last sentence implies her belief that I'm...what, a terrorist? Maybe one out to get the military? Yeah, I can so see that. But really, if I were a sleeper agent, wouldn't I keep my discontent about military services to myself? They already watch for me when I go to Pendleton, for example, so my "cover" is totally blown there. Oh, doh! I get it. She thinks I'm a terrorist who targets the military, and I'm not too bright because I advertise it.

Frankly, that makes perfect sense to me. No, really! Can't you see the deliciousness of her logic? Bueller? Bueller?

Also, I'm the enemy. Liberals in general are the enemy. I assume that attitude is based off the idea that liberals are anti-American (because only a conservative ass²-fucker can be a Real American, and if you disagree, that makes you anti-American).

And, of course, we must fling the censorship poo, this time with "you liberal bitches" tossed on the pile. It wouldn't be a proper neocon wankfest if us libs weren't painted as anti-American in some form or fashion. If "alley" knew me in person and knew how often I went off about censorship (for fuck's sake, I'm a writer, so I'd be supremely fucked in the head if I supported censorship; also, have you read this fucking blog? ripe for the censors, y'all), I seriously doubt that would have been the particular anti-American wangst she'd have brought up.

And now for the truly amazing non sequitur of anti-choice rhetoric. First, I shouldn't be surprised at the uneducated³ comment, but here I am, expecting better from someone who'd try to lob insults this way. Sanger isn't generally the right person to point to as the progenitor of abortion, since abortions were going on in this country on from the first settlers who arrived here, and happened for thousands of years before Europeans happened upon this continent. Sanger didn't whip out a coat hanger and say, "Eureka! Let's kill the baybeez!" In fact, her actual stance on abortion is hotly debated. We don't know where she stood (my guess is she'd be down for it in the lower classes and among "lesser" races but not so much for whites and upper class folks). We only know for sure that she supported birth control and, yes, eugenics. Yay on the former. Boo hiss on the latter. A model person to start Planned Parenthood? No. But then the slave-owning forefathers of this country aren't exactly model by contemporary standards, either. Yet we still see the value in what they brought to this country in spite of their devastating shortcomings. Yes?

But back to the subject, WTF does that have to do with deleting your comment? Nothing. It was just none-too-clever sleight of speechifying and self-righteous chest beating.

I almost went on a rant about abortion here, but my views are distasteful both to radical feminist anytime-anywhere-any reason views and to conservative take-your-punishment-you-whore/pro-life-until-it's-actually-life-and-needs-assistance-or-else-is-a-brown-skinned-person-on-death-row views. They're not much fun, and they have nothing to do with mockery.

I hereby open the floor to mocking commentary. I've left plenty of mock-fodder for everyone to take part. ;) Enjoy.

¹ Which brings to mind the show Being Human, in which this exchange made me choke on my coffee:
Ray: A wolf's stomach processes food different than a person's. The first few times after changing, I found myself throwing up all the animals that I'd eaten. The wolf will chow down on some crazy stuff. That ever happen to you?
Josh: I think the wolf eats its own poo.
Ray: Yeah. Yeah, that's the worst.
² As in donkey buggerers, not consenting adults in the bedroom. Because the former is an insult, the latter none of my business.
³ If not uneducated, alley clearly heard this little argument elsewhere and has never bothered to research it herself to see what it means. Or she has researched it and somehow came up with this conclusion, but she doesn't have a strong enough grasp on the English language to convey her own argument...much less how she makes the jump from censorship to abortion.

Voting for your boss

2011-02-12T13:27:00.000-08:00

Recently, I had a chat with YodaMan about some interesting shit he's heard from friends of his in the past. Apparently, there's a contingent of service members who refuse to vote (or at least vote in federal elections) because they feel it's not right, as apolitical service members, to enter the fray, much less to vote for your own boss.

I find this fascinating. I absolutely disagree, but the reason for my disagreement is my belief that (regardless of what the military says) you're not a service member 24/7. Your soul is sold to the military, yes. You're basically "on call" 24/7, yes. But there's more to your life than the military, and there are parts of your life that should remain separate from your career, especially one so invasive as the military.

But even if you are always a service member, always on the job, then let's break something down.

The monthly pay for an E-5 with about nine years in is $2800.50.
BAH for an E-5 with no dependents in Bremerton, WA, is $1020.
That's a monthly total of $3820.50 per month or a total salary of $45846.

There are 365 days/year, 24 hours/day. So that works out to $5.23/hour. That's about $2 less than the federal minimum wage. For a skilled laborer with 9 years of experience? Bollocks. Even with tax breaks for housing allowance, extra pay for the 24/7 served in a war zone or separated from your family, etc. Even with "benefits" like medical and dental. Considering the importance of the work being done, and especially considering the other financial sacrifices required just to serve, that's a shitastic level of pay. Shit. Tastic.

So if you're working in the civilian world, and you and all your peeps are being underpaid, what recourse do you have? You can have an arranged sick day or even go on strike. Do that in the military, and there are serious repercussions to your well-being, if not freedom and criminal record. You can appeal to the upper management to reconsider your value. How do you do that in the military?

Vote. Vote for the folks who already know your worth and who will work to get you the pay you deserve. That's how I see it, anyway.

What do y'all think about this? Do you agree service members should relinquish their rights and obligations as citizens when they enlist or are commissioned? Or do you think they have rights and obligations in both worlds? In Tunisia, in order to ensure the military remains apolitical, members of the military relinquish their right to vote. Do you think this ought to be the case for our country, too?

What the--

2011-02-06T13:11:00.000-08:00

Since the troll-fest here a few weeks ago, I've gone back to reading the nutfuckery of teabagger types*, even those coming from the site that instigated much of the nutcase trolling. It's reminded me why I stopped reading that shit. I think my blood pressure has easily gone up ten points on both top and bottom just from the generalizations, the assumptions, and worst of all, the absolutely willful ignorance that these people seem to want to roll around in. I honestly don't understand how someone can want to be ignorant, and yet, there it is. The problem comes when they try to argue their points. I find it difficult to debate with irrational, angry, logic-free types. I'm too easily sidetracked by astonishment when these fucknuggets drop comments that are so radically inappropriate, incorrect, and inflammatory, that I lose my steam and my focus.

I think in those moments, it becomes clear to me why our awesome country is stumbling now. We have a large portion of society that looks down on education, on time-honored methods of investigation and study, and generally speaking, on logic. It's astounding. Worse, I have no idea how to turn this tide of anti-intellectualism. How do you educate (and through education cultivate a powerful machine of debate and growth) people who spit on the idea of education?

It reminds me of, gods love them, the folks from my husband's home town. He grew up in this tiny area in the southern back woods, and everyone there ends all discussions with, "Well, we're just simple folk with a simple life. We don't need none of that highfalutin' stuff."

You just can't say that shit anymore. This is a global society now, and if you access the internet and use and/or appreciate the technology that has drawn our world together - for better or worse - you can't then claim that education and knowledge distort truth or are irrelevant. They're more relevant now than ever.

I didn't want to link to any one thing on That Site, since I really don't want to draw attention or make them feel validated in any way, but here goes. This comment blew my fucking mind. If you don't want to go there, this is the gist of the statement: all progressives are by definition elitist.

Astonishment. I sat there, blinking at it for several long seconds before I could even get to the point of laughing. Clearly, to start, there's a difference of interpretation on what defines an elitist (and frankly, the attitude displayed at that site is nothing if not elitist by my interpretation of that definition). Second, what happened to logic? One does not equal the other, though an elitist might be a progressive (just as many elitists are teabaggers). Also, looking at one of the responses to this guy's comments, how does 'highfalutin' vocabulary' mean that someone's progressive. I've met several stupid and uneducated people who are progressives. I've met several very intelligent people who are conservatives.

What the fuck?

The joy in all this, I suppose, is that attitudes and commentary in this vein make it super easy for me to target my liberal venting. The lack of joy comes when hotheaded anti-intellectuals resort to threats and name-calling because they can't be bothered to puzzle out a reasonable argument. Honestly, the differences between libs and cons boils down to a few essential worldview points, and we'll never agree on anything based on those arguments. However, compromises can be made when we understand those differences and work to find middle ground that satisfies each of our basic needs.

The problem, of course, is when one side decides to willfully misunderstand or revile fact in order to demonize the other side. It's supremely adolescent behavior, but I suppose most of those types think of high school as their glory days. Why try to make yourself a better person through compassion, understanding, education, and community building if your best days are already past you?

I guess I'd be a bitter, wailing teabagger, too, if my life's highlight was a wedding proposal at senior prom.

I need to create a label for this blog that specifies whether this is the default wangst-vent post or an attempt at actual discussion. My fear is that it's not obvious when I drop insults and f-bombs that it automatically relegates the post to the wangst-vent pile. I have a feeling I need to be more plain. So henceforth, when I'm trying to create a real discussion here, I will label it thusly. Just in case the difference in tone passes you by.

*Again, my definition of teabagger: The willfully ignorant conspiracy-theory type who blindly believes whatever conservative personality du jour says they should. Current personalities include most of the "entertainment" and even some of the "journalist" types at Fox News. And, yes, I delight in the double entendre the teabagger types created when they first used this term to describe themselves.

Where's the Neo-Con Wangst?

2011-02-02T03:13:00.000-08:00

Ahem. Michelle Bachmann proposes we cut VA benefits as part of our fiscal responsibilities, and the neo-con room goes silent.

Where's the fucking self-righteous anger now, douchebuckets?

I guess it's only offensive to consider the idea, to even propose the idea, if you're not a conservative. If you ARE a conservative, and especially if your free time is spent writing odes to teabagging, you won't hear a single conservative service member wangst about it. No personal attacks. No crosshairs. No general outrage. Just silence.

Interesting.

Hypocrites.

Another stab at religion

2011-02-01T08:15:00.000-08:00

As a member of a minority faith, I think I'm more sensitive than many of my fellow milspouses (maybe overly sensitive) of religious issues. Certain things pop out at me that don't always occur to even my most like-minded milpeeps. I often keep my mouth shut because it's not worth tussling over, but it always irks me when we default to a single assumption: All service members and their families are Christian. This assumes that everyone is religious and that of the religious buffet of choices, they've picked Christianity.

Today or tomorrow is celebrated as Imbolg among many Pagan faiths. Imbolg is a significant day, a holy day, and is actually one of the four Greater Sabbats (harvest days, as opposed to days of solar significance). It signifies the coming spring, the promise that the womb of the earth is about to bring the first green shoots of new life. It's celebrated with candles, symbols of the growing power of the sun/masculine aspect of the Divine. It's light in darkness, hope in desolation, a promise that the wheel turns still and brings life from death. At least, that's the general idea. Every Pagan's mileage varies.

I was thinking about the fact that a "non-denominational" prayer at a Pagan Imbolg ritual would be fabulously bland. And then I thought about "non-denominational" prayers at military gatherings. I've always felt bad for others in the group who were bowing their heads so as not to stick out, even though they're thinking about work or are seething that they're being subjected to a prayer at all. Not everyone sitting in those rooms during those prayers are religious. Some of us are able to transpose the very Christian prayers (as they are non-denominational to the Christian faith, have no doubt) into something palatable to our beliefs. Others of us are scanning the room, wondering why nobody points out how strange it is that religion is ever injected into a military function at all. Never mind how strange it is to publicize a very private communion with God....

All these thoughts were in the back of my head this morning as I trawled around a certain site from whence the trolls love to flock, baaaing like widdle sheep, shitting everywhere like sheep, too*. Lo and behold, what did I find at this site? Wankage about Muslims. I'd love to do a direct quote, but then I'd have to link back to the site, and those fuckers don't need any encouragement. So I'm going to ask you to take my word for it as I paraphrase. You can DM me on Twitter or shoot me an e-mail, and I'll tell you where to read the actual bollocks (and if you've already figured out where the trolls swarmed here from, look at the posts from yesterday, the 31st).

While I'm always down for a Southpark reference, and his would have been funny if it weren't sunk within a pit of offensive verbal diarrhea, I'm concerned about the attitude displayed. In essence, he's saying that moderate Muslims are like fabled beasts that nobody's actually seen yet. And he implies that the current unrest in Africa and the Middle East are possibly real, actual sightings of Bigfoot.

Never mind the countries full of moderate Muslims everywhere. Never mind all the really cool folks I met in Bahrain. Never mind the millions of Muslims here in the States. They've been only a figment of our collective imagination up to this point, apparently. And it'll be a downright miracle if we see a real, live, actual moderate Muslim. We'd better warn them all off--the way folks like these go on about Islam and extremism (and how apparently they're one and the same), they'll probably want to dissect and study the poor Muslims if they're ever caught.

Assmunches like these can go on all day long about how Islam is dangerous and Muslims are extremists. To be sure, there are extremists. There are even extreme beliefs within fervent (but not extremist) Muslims. For example, the Shiite celebration of Ashurah is pretty fucking gruesome, especially when they involve their infant and toddler children. But the religion is no more violent in nature than Christianity, and its violence-loving mullahs are no worse than the violence-inciting Christian extremist freaks this country is et up with. As for dogma, look at the Old Testament. How many times and how many terrible ways are Christians called upon to murder others for their beliefs/practices/sins/abominations? How stringently do Christians believe it's their duty to witness and proselytize? How fervently do some of these folks believe that this nation was built on Christian principles and should invoke Christian morality among its citizens?

What's the difference, y'all? I don't see it. Except, of course, the One True Path I'm Right And You're All Going to Hell bullshit. There's the only obvious difference. Otherwise, I'm not seeing it. (Feel free to enlighten me if you know how it is that Christians are allowed a certain political worldview but Muslims are OMG FUCKING DANGEROUS when they want the same.)

Frankly, from my non-Abrahamic perspective, I don't want to live anywhere that someone of a different faith has the power to tell me how to live when I'm not interfering with the life or well-being of anyone else. But that's a different convo.

I'd like to see an end to the hypocrisy, obviously. But I'd also like to see my fellow nation-tribe members back the fuck off the inflammatory, derogatory, egocentric, and ethnocentric bollocks. It's not cool, it does us no favors as a country, and is willfully ignorant.

Instead, let's take this time to bask in stillness, reflect on the interconnected web of life and its cyclical nature, tune in with our humanity and the promise of light in the dark.

Blessed Imbolg, my bitches.

*Why was I there? I've found it a pool of high-larity to see all the dick swinging that goes on over there, so I've peeked over there a couple of times. Today? Not so much. I guess the level of jizz from all the dick swinging was just too deep.

Whoa. Milfams getting publicity? Real publicity?

2011-01-27T19:40:00.000-08:00

I heard today, after it had already started and I was unavailable to watch, that Oprah served up military families on a platter. I also heard that it was atypical in that it didn't show glitzed surprise reunions that make the war-stupid public feel better about themselves. It didn't fart glitter and fairy duster. It talked about some of the real issues of the military family life. And it was a call to Americans to support the troops beyond buying a ridiculous yellow ribbon magnet you can stick to the ass of your car and forget about. I've heard it didn't exploit, either, as certain commercials like to do (and who the fuck has that kind of bandwidth on a carrier, for fuck's sake?!).

So while I'm glad to hear that Oprah's huge following got wind that this isn't all proud tears and tearful reunions with no stress or strain twixt each, I'm not grooving on the situation, either. After all, we heard from Ms. Obama before the election that milfams were her pet project. And yet what have we seen? Not much. As usual, with every elected official I've been alive to witness, it's a lot of lip service and not much else. There are programs, like MyCAA, but there are also clusterfucks. Like, um, MyCAA.

And though we've been at [wiggledy fingers] war for almost a decade, the American public is as ignorant - and I'd go so far as to paint them with the willful ignorance that is so abundant on the far right, which is strange since I see it amongst those on the far left, too, where milfam issues are concerned - as it's always been.

So I did a little bit of digging. I watched one of the clips and was heartened to see that about two minutes were dedicated to the hardships of the typical Army family. That's cool, though I hope to gods they dug deeper outside of the clip and really expounded on those issues and how they're the same and different among the different services. I also found a link to serve.gov, which looks like a great idea. I'm not sure, again, what it's about or how much traffic the site is generating now, but every little step, right? And as LAW said to me today, if the show means one military family gets the help they need, then it's a good show. Absolutely.

I guess I'm just tired of having smoke blown up my ass. It kinda chafes after a while.

One of my faves among the service sites is United Through Reading. How awesome is that? Because books ROCK, and stories are such a hard-coded way for us to bond together as people. I love this. Love it! I did think there was one funny, though not because of the service. Rather because of certain dickwads who like to dismiss Those Who Do Not Agree as traitors and most certainly not patriots. Little Patriots Embraced helps milbrats get through deployments. By far, I think this is one of the best ideas ever. They so need help. All of them.

The thing that made me giggle, though, is the perverse image I had of one of those fucktard neo-cons screeching about a five-year-old whose parents are liberals, so clearly that kid is genetically fucked as far as patriotism goes. But wait! That's science, right? And science needs to take a back seat to GAWD because GAWD throws science at us in order to test our faith. Right? So genetics are just balderdash. Like electrons that drive the interwebz. All balderdash. (/neocon wankfest)

Anyway, let's hope that we see real efforts by civilians to serve the milfams and milspouses that need help and yet bend over for the sake of the military on a regular schedule. I'm serious about the chafing. It's getting to be more than a nuisance.

Pissies, Crazies, and Other Nuts

2011-01-26T07:55:00.001-08:00

I'm feeling pissy this morning. I haven't slept well the past few nights because my allergies in this moldhole have me wheezing constantly. I'm wheezing because I ran out of my preventive inhaler and thought I didn't need it anymore. At first, I was right. Now it's clear I was very mistaken.

You might recall my woes with the inhaler and with the pharmacy at the Presidio. I have a dilemma: fork over $180 in copays (thank you, Tricare!) at a civilian pharmacy or go all the way to the Presidio and deal with the pharmacy there. Neither is fun, but considering how fucked we are with our house situation, the copay becomes unacceptable. The thing about this morning is I'm pretty sure I didn't have a refill on that inhaler, so I might get over there, find out I can't get a refill, and then have to drive all the way to my doc's office in Pacific Grove. It's not THAT far, but all that driving around is going to suck the air out of my day. Oh, if only the pharmacy ever answered their phone.....

I'm wheezing so much probably because of my workout yesterday that prompted a four-puff rescue inhaler session, but my rib-cracking laughter at Michele Bachman's coked-out sales pitch didn't help. That woman is nuts. I did agree with her on one thing: the deficit is heartbreaking. It's too bad overextension on wars and failure of government oversight to prevent jackassery in mortgage lenders helped lead us here. Thanks, Shrub. I'm pissed that we've spent as much as we have under Obama, but I'm not sure what the right answer was. How do you get the economic engine going without giving it some gas? I guess we'll see if austerity was a better decision when Europe pulls out of this shit.

Meanwhile, crazy woman who doesn't look at the camera. Bachman. Now, she didn't come right out and say that the Iwo Jima memorial shows six GIs, but the way she worked (or rather, didn't work) the camera sure made it sound like that's exactly what she said. And, um, last I heard, GI was what Army soldiers were called back in the day. I'm sure the Marine Corps and Navy sailors will be delighted to know that they weren't actually at Iwo Jima, and they didn't raise that flag.

In fact, YodaMan nearly popped an aneurysm over it. That's when I started laughing. Bachman's slippery grasp on fact (historical or otherwise) drove my dearest hubster to such distraction that he was actually hopping around on the couch in response. HIGH-larious, y'all.

It's really too bad she didn't offer us any other gems of Bachman-reality. Like slavery that ended thanks to the tireless efforts of John Quincy Adams (from the grave? or -ooh!- he's actually an immortal who's a secret force within the government...story idea! ching!) and other founding fathers. Who didn't at all own slaves, yo. My, but if this story were only true (so sorry for linking to fucking HuffPo, y'all, but I think this is the only place that article ran)....

I feel surrounded by nuts lately. Like attracts like in situations like these, I know, so I should spool down. I guess the frenzy of freaks that hit this blog last week got me more a-dither than usual. Time to forget them, as they've forgotten me, and try to shed all the assholes decorating my life right now.

What is a Liberal?

2011-01-23T14:42:00.000-08:00

In the last week, I've been told I'm not a real American. I'm not a patriot. Etc. I've heard this bullshit before, and I've heard worse than that: my liberal friends with deployed husbands will be at fault when their husbands die abroad because of their liberal views, my liberal friends should just go kill themselves because of their liberal views, our liberal service members aren't real Americans and certainly aren't patriots.

I gather from the bits of detail in these illogical spouts of verbal diarrhea over the years that to be a liberal invalidates your citizenship and/or your love for your country. Apparently, you can only claim your citizenship or declare your pride of that citizenship if you are a Christian of some protestant variety (with evangelical offering bonus points), socially conservative, fiscally conservative (in the government, at least, so personal debt and financial irresponsibility don't count), capitalist, and want a small government and a society ruled by meritocracy.

I was actually a very resolved conservative for years. The story of how I realized I wasn't a conservative after all is long and probably boring, so I'll blog it some other time. Suffice to say, I nearly blacked out the moment I realized I wasn't a Republican at all. I'd been so immersed in conservative culture for so long, the thought that I was part of the great devil-machine stunned.

But you know, I'm okay with being a part of the great devil-machine. What I'm not okay with is being labeled un-American. Because I'm not.

I love this country. I have friends who want to get away from here, live in another country altogether because the atmosphere has grown so incredibly toxic thanks to shit like this. I respect their choice, but that choice isn't for me. I love this country. I LOVE this country. I love how diverse we are, how we are so unlike any other nation in the world. I love hearing folks from other cultures say that we approach our problems and resolve toward a particular outcome in a way peculiar to the rest of the world. I love that. I also love that we're free to critique our government, our society, and the people who comprise both. I love that our freedom here extends well beyond the borders. We can critique whoever the hell we want, and we consider that critique healthy, even a requirement. Without critique, as the world around us changes and our citizens respond accordingly, our country would suffer. We'd wither and die. But we don't - we thrive because we're fucking awesome, but when we're not, we are completely unafraid to point and holler about it.

That makes us even more awesome.

What is not awesome, what's worse than a festering sucking chest wound is the culture of rage that surrounds the radicals on my side of the bench and the ultra-con/reactionaries on the other side. The self-righteousness each side exhibits is obnoxious on the best of days, but this insane compulsion to make broad assumptions about each other is past ridiculous.

Fox and its brood are responsible for at least half of this nonsense. The wanks at MSNBC who decided to take up the opposite drum and play in Fox's back yard need a sound spanking. And all the unaffiliated fuckburgers on the radio, on their "news" websites, on their ridonkulous blogs (you know who you are) are just as bad. Why this self-righteous chest-beating bullshit? Why this propensity to paint the other side as the new Great Satan? Why this need to assume that since one little bitty milspouse blogger in a teensy niche of the interwebz calls herself a liberal that it means she's pro-socialism, anti-capitalism, pro-abortion, anti-Jesus, etc?

Because, seriously, if you assume all that about me, you'd be really fucking wrong. Just like I'd be really fucking wrong if I assumed all Tea Party members were teabaggers*. Not all are. Just the ones who appear on the TV every time the Tea Party gets coverage.

I think Americans are inherently incapable of functioning within a communist or socialist society. We thrive on incentive, and though fraught with its own problems, a free market is the best option for us. I don't think socialists are evil. I actually think socialism might be awesome on a micro scale among a group of people with a special bond. But on a grand scale, in this country? No way. Would never work.

Jesus and I have a very special relationship, forged when I was a very devout Christian. I'm not a Christian anymore, and Jesus is okay with that. Kali and I also rock out together. Jai Ma!

I'm actually not against prayer in school. If people want it, I say we bring it back! And I propose the following two-week rotating schedule:

Day 1 - Christian/Protestant prayer
Day 2 - Atheist quote followed by contemplative silence
Day 3 - Hindu mantra/prayer
Day 4 - Buddhist mantra/prayer
Day 5 - Jewish prayer
Day 6 - Muslim prayer
Day 7 - Pagan prayer
Day 8 - Catholic prayer
Day 9 - Indigenous prayer
Day 10-Confucian/Taoist prayer/quote

Wash, rinse, repeat.

Meritocracy. Absolutely. Affirmative action is for the birds and doesn't do what it's supposed to do. So let's address the problem in public schools so that affirmative action becomes unnecessary, and we really are functioning in a meritocracy. Because, of course, we've never actually had a real, live meritocracy. It's nice to dream of, though. I'm down for it.

Pro-abortion? Nope. Not me. Pro-choice does not make me pro-abortion.

Anti-guns? Nope. I have a gun. I love it and pet it and call it Rambo. It's loud as a motherfucker, too.

I'm a fiscal conservative and a social liberal. Socially, I'm VERY liberal, so I think that puts me to the left of a moderate.

I believe in compassion. When my fellow countrycritters are down, I like to offer a hand rather than eat them.

I'm pro-military but anti-war, and I think it's better to have a badass military that you only have to use when every peaceful method has failed.

I could go on, but I think I've made my point. I certainly don't look like Teh EEEEEBIL Liberal the right-hand culture of rage insists I am.

The funny thing is, I'm not sure I personally know more than one liberal who does fit the description I hear constantly. That one person is an amazing, kind, compassionate woman with a highly convoluted brain I'd totally eat if I were a zombie. She's not evil. She's not naive. She's not out to take down the country.

None of us want that. A real American wouldn't. But I can't think of a single faux American in my life.

I don't agree completely with other liberals. I disagree almost entirely with conservatives, and especially with ultra-cons. I do think some folks have ill intent, but I don't think they want to take down America so much as they want to line their pockets; they've found the best way to do that is to beat the war drum and scare the shit out of everyone. They don't love America like I do, no. But they love America in their own way, and it's no greater or more diminutive than my patriotism. If you serve your country in whatever way you can, to the best of your abilities, if you vote, if you use the rights our Constitution grants you, then I say you're an American deserving the title patriot. Even if you're otherwise a douchewad.

To the fuckburgers of the country, those who say I'm not a real American or I'm not a patriot or my husband isn't a patriot even when he's a fucking Navy officer commanding fucking Army convoys, I say to you: fuck your own ass. To the hairy dickbags who believe some Americans don't deserve the same rights as you, I'm writing you into my next novel, and I'm going to have fun messing with that character. Muwahahaha.

Oh, and to the nonsensical among you who believe I'm not a *real* milblogger because of my pro-Obama image on the sidebar, please go take a remedial rhetorics class at your local community college and learn how to hang with this really groovy concept called logic. It's an awesome thing. Like magic! Only with a lo.

*where teabaggers are the uneducated, hypocritical, conspiracy-nut, racist dickbags with the hilarious signs and the lawn chairs that at least half the time are straining to forsake gravity under the massive weight of those using them.

Incubators at the Exchange

2011-01-22T10:09:00.000-08:00

Recently, I was yarping again (I know you're shocked) about how pregnant women are treated. The minute you have a bump, the world becomes your mommy and tells you exactly when they think you're misbehaving. Everything you do is inspected and judged, and perfect strangers feel quite comfortable telling you that you shouldn't eat that piece of chocolate because *gasp* it has Teh Eeeebil Caffeine!

The message, of course, is that the embryo/fetus in your uterus has higher value than you do. When you're pregnant, you lose your status in society, you even lose your personhood, and all to the bean trying to grow hands from the stems that will be its arms. I've been there. I've even been there in a Middle Eastern country, where the status of a woman is quite a bit lower than that of an American woman, with or without a pregnancy.

Of course, I think we put up with the paternalistic treatment because we do, indeed, value the child we'll have some day. We want to give that sprog a leg up from day one and not contribute to any challenges that reduce or deny her/his quality of life. So we relent, agree not to eat fish even though BY GODS we're craving it, agree to run screaming from the sight of alcohol even though in Europe prego women still drink occasionally (I was shocked when a French woman offered me whiskey when I was four months pregnant; she was confused when I declined) without any problems, and we're more than willing to let the medical establishment treat our pregnancies as if they're a life-endangering medical emergency even though we have more problematic labor and death rates than other countries of our ilk, where pregnancy and labor are treated as natural processes.

What does this have to do with the military? Not much, except that I often see pregnant women at the commissary and exchange. When I was a kid and we went shopping at exchanges from Cherry Point to 29 Palms to Laurel Bay, I actually thought that you buy your babies at the PX. It must be true, since in my kid-brain, it seemed like the dozens of pregnant women were only ever visible at the PX. I never found the baby store, though I looked everywhere.

Nowadays, when I see a pregnant woman at the exchange, I remember my assumption and stifle a juvenile giggle, but now that I'm an adult, I also note how she's treated by others. It's fascinating to watch. Fascinating! Especially when you watch non-pregnant women to see how others treat them. The contrast is amazing. Try it sometime.

Recently, though, I saw something at the Army exchange that stopped me cold.

What would you do if you saw a pregnant woman smoking a cigarette? What judgments would you make? Would you hate her? Would you feel compelled to yell at her for her terrible behavior? I know I'd be shocked, and I'd fully expect to see someone rush up to her and lecture her about what a terrible mother she is.

But what would your response be if a man standing next to a very pregnant woman was puffing away on his own cigarette, subjecting her to his second-hand smoke, even blowing it in her direction? Would you expect to see someone rush up to him and lecture him on what a bad father he is? I didn't know what to expect when I saw this very situation, so I waited. The pregnant woman said nothing. The other shoppers said nothing. Nobody even paid the couple much attention.

His behavior was ignored. Completely.

That, I think, is fascinating.

Oh, and a quick bit of Monterey gouge: if you like sushi, hit up Yama Sushi at the mall. It's on the back side of PF Chang's and has THE BEST vegetarian rolls. It's also half the price of other local sushi joints. YodaMan gives the non-vegetarian sushi thumbs way up, and Slave To My Novel says the udon is full of nomms.

Women in Combat, in which I stop laughing at assinine statements by the con crowd

2011-01-21T15:06:00.001-08:00

Though I shouldn't be, I'm actually stunned that my vitriol (not vile, since vile is not a noun but rather an adjective), posted without any argument or commentary whatsoever (minus the pointing and laughing, which isn't actually commentary), has generated such a response in comments. I didn't expect anything more than a few crickets and maybe one or two people giggling with me over the characterization of all men as unintellectual primitives.

It feels like gauntlet meets ground when I see my post and its comments referenced as if it were an intelligent or logical discussion/debate of this issue. So I feel compelled to lay out some of my objections to Jim's objections and to make a statement regarding the rights of women to serve in the same capacities as men.

Jim's arguments, as he stated in this clip, boil down to two problems:

Men cannot separate their (debatable) psychological evolutionary urges from logic. In other words, if a woman is around, they cannot help but infantilize her and ensure that she's safe from all harm. Even if she's carrying a weapon and is much more adept at its use then he is.
Men cannot separate their biological evolutionary urge to spread their genes as far and wide as possible, and therefore are incapable of acting professionally when there's a potential womb receptacle for their seed.

To be honest, I find this a very difficult set of objections to debate simply because I do not see evidence of this fact in the civilian world, much less in the military world. I also think it's an unfair generalization to paint all men as Neanderthals when I've known guys who can very much forget that there is a vagina in range when there are other dangers, and the woman attached to the vagina is more than capable of taking care of herself. In addition to this, I tend to think our humanity means that we've evolved beyond the point of acting in strict accordance with our animal natures. One can argue for adherence to traditional gender roles and still acknowledge that our psychological and spiritual selves have the ability to override animal instinct. After all, do we not move in this world without urinating on our houses, holding physical contests to see who can out-muscle the CEO for his position as alpha guy, and indiscriminately killing someone who threatens our position, property, or mate? There might be urges, but our logical, higher-functioning minds bring on the kibosh.

Other objections I've heard elsewhere that sound as ridiculous are:

Newt Gingrich telling a classroom full of college students that women can't serve on the front lines because they get infections.
They might be tortured, and they can't handle that. So...who has the babies here? Who can do so without any drugs and be just fine?
They might be raped. If you're a woman, that's an everyday fact. Rape happens to civilians and women serving in the military, even when they're not in combat. To say that a combat situation makes a woman more susceptible to rape than when she's walking in her grocery store parking lot at night is illogical.

One thing that angers me about the discussion is the double standards. Why aren't we concerned about men who might be raped on the front lines? That happens. So maybe men shouldn't serve in combat roles. Men might be tortured, too, and given how 75% of the men I know react to the everyday cold, I'm concerned about their ability to withstand that pain. Maybe they shouldn't be in combat roles! Dudes get infections, too. I know this because I've seen Gold Bond Medicated Ointment commercials my whole life. Dudes get infections on their feet, scrotum, and gods know where else!

Another double standard: What if a woman is captured and beaten and shown on the teevee, and all of a suddenly everyone will be shocked and spazzed about OMG a woman was beaten! First, I think we spaz anytime we see someone, regardless of gender, who's been captured by the enemy and treated so abominably. Second, why is a woman's life or well-being so much more valuable than a man's? That's not okay.

My arguments for a woman's right to take a combat role boil down to one essential truth: some of them want to. If a potential service member doesn't want to see combat, s/he shouldn't sign up. If someone goes Navy, s/he should expect to spend time on a ship, and that ship might find itself engaged with the enemy. Ships are dangerous even when they're not dealing with a combat environment. If someone goes Army, s/he should expect to spend time in a combat zone in general, and with the right rate, s/he might even expect to spend time in combat specifically. If none of this appeals, maybe they ought to think long and hard about what it means to be in the military. If they're too scared or the job just seems unappealing, there's no reason push their hesitations on those who are more than willing -- and more than capable -- to do the job.

Why should the rules change? Because they're outdated, and they discriminate. Women are already serving in combat, but their job descriptions mean that service isn't recognized. They're punished within the military environment when they've been in more danger than some of their fellow soldiers, but those who never saw armed conflict get promotions women are denied anyway.

As for Jim's argument that women would be a distraction, I have a hard time believing that those bulky camouflage uniforms and the armor that goes over them will reveal enough feminine cues to distract anyone but the worst kind of horn-dog. I suppose it could happen; but if someone's willing to endanger their cohorts to sniff out a woman they can drag by the hair back to their man-cave, they shouldn't be serving in the first place. They're a danger in general if they can't keep their minds on the task at hand.

There's no call to infantilize women, to hold their physical beings in higher regard than a man's, or to make broad assumptions about their abilities when there are quite a few exceptions to every generalization I've heard. To do any of these invalidates the arguments.

When douchenozzles open their mouths, what comes out?

2011-01-20T13:48:00.000-08:00

I was going to spew about the bullshitfuckery in this clip, but I think the whole thing speaks for itself. First, there's an amazing spokesperson for women in combat, Genevieve Chase. And then there's the boob-ogling troll-boy standing next to her, defining his entire sex as a bunch of sex-crazed, bumbling jackwipes who can't think beyond the cravings of their man-junk*.

So...warning: TOOL ALERT. Commence the dickbaggery, his stipulations, and the SMACKDOWN the womenfolk bring.

*In my experience, it's usually just the fuckwad uber-conservative sexist junkmonkeys who characterize all men this way, so it's no surprise to learn that this gem of a taint-hair comes to us from Black Five.

ETA: I'm closing comments since some think it's okay to tell another commenter to kill herself. If you want to join in some actual arguments, see the new post.

Also, anyone who thinks liberals can't be patriots? Go fuck your own asshole.

Just call me Master Snarky

2011-01-14T20:25:00.000-08:00

I'm home from my final residency at school. It's bitter in that the fun has come to an end. It's sweet in that I'm finally done and have a pretty hood and sparkly diploma I can fondle.

While I was gone, it seems all hell broke loose. Because I was so busy with school (seriously, 9am-9pm every day at school, and then 9pm-3am every night partying at the hotel), I missed all the goings-on. I'm pretty sure I'll be catching up all weekend and maybe into next week. Given what's been happening, I'm sure I'll have something to say. I'm just too exhausted right now.

I'll probably also post a long diatribe about the airlines, US Airways in particular, and about how San Francisco is apparently shocked that it gets fog, so we shouldn't be shocked when the airport is closed due to fog.

Seriously. Fog. San Francisco. No lie. And I have a $140 hotel+taxi bill to prove it.

Meanwhile, I have to say it's always a blast to meet other snarky milspouses. It's especially a blast to meet someone who reads this blog, mostly because I'm still half-convinced that there are about three people in the whole world who stop by here. So it's just shocking as a reasonable Palin when I meet someone who tells me they like this blog.

Shout out to Alexis, who taught me this last week that my soccer mom glamour does, indeed, hide my identity, and who also taught me how to donkey-donkey. My world (and YodaMan's world) is complete. I'm pretty sure I looked just slightly less silly than Tom Cruise in Tropic Thunder, but now I'm educated.

Now that school is done, it's time to start two-a-days at the gym, writing on a career schedule, and job hunting. Woot. Let the fun begin.

Meanwhile, I already miss my school peeps. I can't believe three years have passed since the first time I stepped foot on the beautiful campus of Seton Hill.

Request for HALP!

2010-12-30T14:12:00.000-08:00

I'm leaving for school in a week (gulp!). It's my last residency and my graduation, so I'm tres excited. However, I'm completely unprepared. I haven't planned for sustenance at all. And this is an issue because of my veganness.

Quick break for hilarity and chuckles.

School food is typically school food, and there are rarely options for those of us with restricted diets. I usually end up eating salad bar and maybe occasional french fries when I'm desperate for something different. Everything else is coated in butter, tossed with eggs, or floating in cream.

So I'm looking for ideas. I need airport security-approved food stuffs to carry with me so I survive the cross-country twelve-hour flight (each way, sob sob). I also need something that will supplement the school salad bar with the grocery store fruit and soup...that I can keep and prepare in a hotel mini-fridge and microwave. Zoinks, right?

Last year, I tried a tofu jerky recipe that was WAY salty. I'm a salt whore, and even I felt completely pickled after the first bite. I've tried the few store-bought vegan snack options, but they tend to suck. Some are too spicy. Some are too salty. Some taste like every vegan food stereotype (aka like someone licked a wheatgrass asshole and went all EUREKA!). The food I make here rawks. But it's not very portable.

So if you have ideas for something that will survive a flight or that I might be able to find when I hit Greensburg, Pennsylvania, next week, leave a note in the comments. I'm desperate here. I usually lose five pounds during residency, which is a good thing, but I'd rather maintain my weight if it means I can stay conscious through classes.

Oops. There went Yule.

2010-12-23T21:15:00.000-08:00

I can't believe how many people are in need this year.

Usually, I hear about the Toys for Tots or Salvation Army helping someone in one of those feel-good local news reports, and half of me smiles and the other half throws up in my mouth because of how fucking saccharine the reporter ends up looking. Like she'd pat the poor, filthy masses on the heads with her manicured hands if only she weren't concerned about what she might catch (because poverty is apparently communicable).

This year, however, I've heard so many first- and second-hand who are desperately in need. Pregnant women whose husbands are suddenly out of work, and their own income is impacted because of the pregnancy. Now there's no money for a crib or clothes. I've heard of small children who are going to find out day after tomorrow that there is no Santa because unemployment benefits ran out and there's still no work to be had. That breaks my fucking heart right there. I don't know how any heartless motherfuckers can look down on those who are struggling so hard right now just to put a fucking meal on the table, much less exchange gifts. Like that fucking fuckbucket Bauer in South Carolina. Just as an example.

I'm really fucking lucky. Much as I hate, hate, hate this military life, I can easily and happily acknowledge how nice it is to have a guaranteed paycheck (assuming the Admin taintfuckers haven't jackslapped some paperwork, which has totally happened to us, and boy that fucking hurt) and know the chances are pretty fucking slim that the husband is going to be laid off. I look at the gifts under the tree this year, slim thanks to the dickless freak next door who chased off our tenants*, and I'm incredibly grateful we can afford as much as we have. Our kids are shielded from the pit of doom the politicians of the last decade have encased us in. They have no idea how rough things are. And that's as it should be.

Kids should not be the political punching bags of douchefuckers like Bauer, and they deserve to have some magic in their lives. Real life-adulthood-is fucking hard. They don't need to know that yet.

I realized on Yule that I hadn't even come up with something to do to celebrate. Apparently, the church did a little Yule shindig that ended up bringing in nearly 50 people. Wow. That fucking rocks. But the celebration passed me by this year. I'm a little disappointed I didn't drum up the sun or make orange pomanders or bake or walk a spiral in the sand at the beach, but I am joyful that I've managed to give. I doubt I've taken much of the tarnish off the dented joy of the season for struggling parents, but I hope I've given a child the chance to ward off the pissers of adulthood for one more year. I really do hope so.

It's a reminder, though. Yule has come and gone. The sun is strengthening in the sky, bringing the fertility of the god to the land once again. Though the holiday commemorating this shift has passed, I can channel the god's bright joy and energy by sharing what I have with others. I think that's going to be my goal this year. I will give. I will share. I will try to alleviate the burden for those who've taken too much of it. Even if that means I (gods save me) babysit someone else's sprogs for an afternoon so she can get back some sanity, I'll do it. I'll be more involved in the homeless program here in Monterey. And maybe next year in Norfolk I'll be able to take part in something along the lines of that really awesome Samhain Sandwiches event that I helped with about five years ago in DC. That? That was amazing.

There's so much I can do. What can you do?

Blessed Yule. Merry Christmas. Happy holidays. Beautiful tidings for the new year. Rock out, y'all.

* But glory be, we have new ones, and FUCK YEAH, one is a fucking Marine, bitches! Take that, you little cumguzzling hairless shrivelly ballsack motherfucker! Ooo-fucking-rah, y'all! Wait, that's not very charitable of me....

YodaMan Has a Birfday

2010-12-12T11:03:00.000-08:00

So the old man is actually getting old, and since he's hardly ever around for his birthday, we decided to throw him a party this year. And by "we" I mean I said "Christmas par-tay!" and he said "birfday!" and we decided we should do a YodaMas/Christmas party.

He wanted all manner of cholesterol OMG HOLY SHIT for food: mini chimichangas, cheese sticks, pigs in blankets, jalapeno poppers, pizza rolls, etc. So I had to make something I could eat (cauliflower and red lentil curry omnomnom). And then I had to be a completely sneaky bitch and make his birthday cake vegan. And Nobody. Knew. Until I said so. Ha!

To explain, his latest project at NPS has been all about the Android phone. He's been programming some mad Android bollocks for WEEKS. And I've had to inject appropriately-timed ooohs and aaaahs and make like I understood a single fucking word he was saying (meanwhile, I'm singing in my head "Java's for looooooosers, Perl would pwn ur assssssssses"). He's pet his Android. He's loved his Android. He's rocked it to sleep and cuddled with it in his programming chair. In short, Android has become Second Wife in this family and, if it were to run a program that spawned more than two processes, I'm sure I'd become Second Wife by some standard of processes spawning (aka squeezing out some sprogs).

I wanted to make a cake he could geek out over, so I figured an Xbox controller would rock. I prepped for that cake for a week, and then when he saw my plan, he got a look on his face. Then he said the only thing that would be better would be an ANDROID cake.

I figuratively shit myself at that point, but I did so all in my head. Aloud, I said, "Sure. Not too late to revamp the entire thing, and I think the cakes I ALREADY BAKED can be done as a FUCKING PHONE." Or something way less I-hate-your-fucking-Androidesque.

And I made that damned cake. And it was actually easy, though I had trouble with the buttercream not wanting to crust (maybe because it's rained four out of every five fucking days for the last month). And nobody knew it was vegan (except for the android logo, which had to be done with some meringue powder, which killed a bit of my soul, but anything for my husband, right?) until I announced it loudly.

Mu-fucking-wahahahahaha.

Behold the cake pr0n, YodaMan style. And happy birthday, old man.

Take that, Android. I totally eated you.

How the Terrorists Won

2010-12-04T12:36:00.000-08:00

I hear so often that the problem with the terrorists and the fundamentalists we're at war with started this fight because they hate our way of life. They hate freedom. They hate liberty. I have some quibbles with that, but let's assume that this gross simplification of the source of hostilities is really at the core of the issue.

Let's think back to how things were prior to 9/11. There were embassy bombings, the USS Cole was lit up, and other foreign attacks on the US were infrequent but not uncommon. We knew there were people who hated us, but we had no idea they hated us enough to bring an attack like 9/11 to American soil. We had no idea they were so incensed by us that they were willing to train operatives for years to fly planes into the final leg of the Pentagon that had not yet been bomb-hardened, the WTC, and one unknown location presumably in DC.

Since these attacks, the TSA came into existence, and how we fly changed completely. No longer did you have the conversation about whether you'd meet your loved ones at the gate or at baggage claim. No longer did you walk your loved one to the gate and see them off. No longer can you carry a bottle of water or a cup of coffee on board. If you have special dietary needs that are almost never met by the offerings beyond the airline gates, much less from the $15 snack menu on board your flight, no longer do you have the option of carrying on easy containers of applesauce, soy milk, yogurt, etc. Airline travel has become more difficult and more invasive. Quite a few years ago, I had to show a TSA agent a body piercing I had recently gotten (and couldn't remove because it hadn't healed), and I was asked to lift my shirt in front of the crowded security area at the Denver airport to ensure the agent I wasn't carrying a teensy weapon against my torso. But this was fine. I was willing to take a moment of OMG THEY SEE MAH BELLEH in exchange for safety. I was willing to be pat down, let a stranger riffle through a suitcase full of unmentionables, and lose out on some comfort as I had only crackers and even more expensive than usual Starbucks to keep me through a full day of flying.

What I'm not okay with is the loss of liberty. In essence, I'm not okay with letting the terrorists win since, according to so many right-wing nuts, the terrorists hate our freedom and our way of life.

I have to wonder if the latest horrors we hear about TSA aren't a devious way to convince the terrorists that they really, really, ridiculously don't want to fly. After all, do you think a fundamentalist Muslim dude (or lady) is going to be okay showing up naked on a screen to someone of indeterminate gender in another room? Or will they choose instead to be groped and fondled in such a way that some legal experts are calling government-sanctioned sexual assault? I doubt it. If they know their only options are nudity or groping, maybe they'll think twice about trying to get on a plane with a bomb. Or maybe they won't. Maybe our government just thinks they will, and that's enough reason to institute all these new "safety" regulations.

Either way, if the terrorists hate our way of life and hate how free we are, then violating our rights to privacy and our right to protection from unreasonable search and seizure is just the thing the terrorists would want. They'd want to drive us to the point where we'll either give up all our freedoms on the false assumption they'll make us safe (when apparently no terrorist has been caught by TSA, and all post-9/11 terrorist attacks have actually been stopped by brave new passengers who know better than to sit complacently while governments negotiate for their safety) or else refuse to fly.

TSA's new rules are scarring people. They're taking away rights, and they're leaving some passengers in situations they should not have to endure - detained for the audacity of trying to carry breast milk through a TSA checkpoint in accordance with TSA's own rules, forced to remove a post-mastectomy prosthetic breast and show it to an agent in view of other passengers, made to spill urine on pants with nary an apology, groped without any warning as to the new search procedures, forced to remove leg braces and walk alone even though the four-year-old was not yet able to do so, subjected to an invasive search because of a natural flannel rather than bleached-paper menstrual pad, cuffed and ticket destroyed for asking questions about TSA procedures after opting out of the backscatter, being groped inside of underwear, and after surviving a prior rape endured one of these grope-downs by an agent of the opposite sex.

I think I've read recently that pilots and politicians might be exempt from the intrusions. Nice. Especially considering flight attendants are any more likely to want to kill hundreds of people than pilots are, and OH! Wait. Never mind.

Each time there's a new terrorist attempt or murky whispers of intel pointing to an attempt, we see tighter and more focused security regulations come down on us. Why does it feel like it will only take intel female suicide bombers hiding weapons in their cookies before we're all subjected to random digital rape? Yes, that's totally slipper slope logic, but I'm not talking logic. I'm talking worst case fear here. They're already looking at us nekkid, and apparently, some folks are getting to third base right there in the security line. There's just one solid hit between third base and home, so the question is whether that kind of hit is possible. We've already given up so much for the terrorists (who have now won). What's next, when even these security procedures fail? Cervical checks? I'd throw butt stuff in there, too, except for the ass vacuum factor (you know that butt sex adage: if you can lose it, don't use it! wait, you do know that adage, right? right?).

Some folks couldn't care less. Frankly, I'm uncomfortable with the idea of being virtually naked on someone's screen or else being groped in order to fly, but it's not enough to stop me from getting on a plane this January. When I return home, I'll be entering the flight process at an airport that uses the nudie scanner. I'll probably opt for it in spite of the questionable radiation effects (since those are sooper sekrit national security facts) since I spent my childhood getting diddled, and I don't particularly care to chance flashbacks. It's been *years* since I've had one, but if the search were to become as invasive as some of these, I can't discount the possibility that it could happen again.

But as I stand spread-eagle and showing my asscrack and cookie and saggy tits to whomever is in the back room, I'll definitely be asking myself if Bin Laden & Co. are sitting in their Pakistani mountain retreat having a good cackle at our expense. And then, I won't fly again. I'll resume my old love affair with road trips, a cooler full of applesauce and mutabel next to an insulated mug full of coffee and Silk creamer, and America the beautiful front and center on my windshield. The terrorists won't have driven me from air travel, since it's gotten suckier for years, even before 9/11, but the terrorists will still have won that war on our freedom. If it exists.

Bring on the Cake Pr0n!

2010-11-21T19:28:00.001-08:00

This time last year, I was a cake makin' mess. I'd had bronchitis for two months at this point, and it was turning into pneumonia (did I mention I hate Monterey?). I was exhausted, overwhelmed by school, unable to breathe, and trying to give my kid a good 4th birthday. As I made his layered Transformers cake, struggling so hard with fucking boxed cake mix hell that wouldn't rise no matter what the fuck I did, I pulled the full-sheet cake layer from the oven where I was keeping it safe from the ants, spiders, deer, and jackalopes that ran free through this house pre-Orkin contract.

The board the cake was on collapsed, and half the fucking sheet fell into the oven and on the floor. Imagine me, giving serious thought to pulling out my gun and shooting the rest of the cake into oblivion. Instead, I cried.

The next day, as I finished decorating the cake, part of it collapsed. Piece of shit Betty Crocker.

It looked like twice-baked cow shit, but my kid was delighted at the Autobot and Decepticon symbols I'd handmade and shellacked to the sides of the fucking Titanic cake from hell. Live and learn. This was the piece of shit in all its slumping glory (and the collapsed remains of the sheet cake on the bottom):

This year, I started early in the week. I used a homemade recipe on the top layer (vegan, wutwut, and nobody the fucking wiser, bitches). Then YodaMan bitched at me for going all out (really? sifting flour is that fucking hard?) so to teach him a lesson, I got more Betty Crocker for the rest of the layers, but they actually set up, so I used them. Despite the fact that the vegan chocolate layer was much denser, moister, and generally easier to decorate than the BC layers. But whatevs, bitches.

My sprog wanted a kitty cat theme this year. I don't know if you've been ogling birthday party shit lately, but the only kitty themed anything is Hello Kitty. Which, um, no. At home? Yes. At a party full of Kindergartners where very traditional families are deeply entrenched in very traditional gender roles and would give my kid all kinds of guilt for liking a fucking kitty with a fucking bow? No.

So we did this instead:

And it worked great. The sprog ended up with four new kitties. He loves kitties. I bet you didn't know that. Still, we got looks when I explained that yes, indeed, the sprog loves his kitties. Yes, he's likely to grow up to be a veterinarian. And yes, he had trouble deciding between kitties and Batman for his theme. Actually, Superman was in the running until I discussed with the sprog that Superman is lame, and though his cake would be easy (because the dude is lame, so the cake would be lame), it was against my religion.

The kitty cake didn't turn out too bad. He wanted it blue, his favorite color. I gave him blue. Lots of blue. And four kitties, one looking as if it had an unfortunate encounter with a speeding car. But whatevs, bitches. He's four-going-on-five. He didn't give a shit. He dug his cake. Here 'tis, with YodaMan's "But My Phone Camera Works GREAT!" splendiferous photography:

I see the errors. Lots of them. Glaring. Not a horrible cake considering I haven't done a cake in six months, but certainly not good. Maybe not even passable. Still, the woman at the bouncy house, who remembered the Transformer cake and told me I was too hard on myself, asked why I never brought her business cards for my cake business.

O_o. Eh? Me?

If she wasn't joking, she might have been high on pizza fumes. Though it might be fun to have some work, this shit exhausts the hell out of me. And I'd have to come up with better recipes than this bullshit Betty Crocker method. Oh, and I'd need to find a better tasting fondant than that shit Wilton passes off as edible. Or else perfect some mad buttercream skillz.

Once more with blur and feeling:

Supporting Milpagans

2010-11-21T15:07:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, I participated in a one-time event where a few friends and I put together about 50 (maybe more - could have been 60, but I can't remember now) care packages for military Pagans in Iraq. We only knew of one point of contact there, and we never received confirmation that the packages were delivered or distributed, so we didn't bother trying again. Turnover was too huge, folks seemed too secretive (understandably), and the work was pretty intense considering the level of personal juice we gave. We actually made tiny portable altars with bits of handcrafted everything in them, and we created and shipped the boxes at our own expense. It was a hefty undertaking, but so worth it if even one was ever received.

I have a huge amount of respect for any group that does care packagers in general. I have greater respect for those who do care packages specifically for Pagans and their religious needs. It's hard work, not just putting packages together but digging out points of contact and such.

All of which brings me to a wee request. If you know of any groups that send military care packages (aside from the obvious - Circle Sanctuary included), please leave a name or a link in comments. The Military Pagan Network, after many, many years of supporting milpagans, is dissolving and looking for care package groups to donate reserves to.

The news of MPN's demise is pretty sad. However, since the group was set up almost entirely for the purpose of supporting milpagans through advocacy and giving them a network point, it's outlived itself. Advocacy has become less necessary in the past few years, as some of the final stumbling blocks fell (such as the bullshit with the VA taking its "no Pagans allowed" cues from George "The Decider" Bush's pre-election comments on Good Morning America ten years ago), more Pagans are willing to go public when they're taking it in the shorts from someone in the chain of command, etc. Networking has become moot with Witchvox, Facebook, Twitter, etc. It's easy to find other milpagans these days, and it's easy to touch base with them.

It's a bittersweet end to a great group.

That's not to say the obstacles are behind milpagans. There's still prejudice, and there are still jackwipe thou-shalt-pray-to-baby-Jesus-or-else-receive-my-creepy-stalker-esque-harangue-fest rutfuckers galore. But it's easier now, and the appropriate DOD and service-specific instructions are better known. I've even worked with a chaplain in Bahrain who (for a few sweet weeks, before the real chaplain returned, and the bullshit began) had worked with other Pagan groups stateside. He knew exactly the questions to ask and had no reservations about the local milpagans getting equal time and resources on the base. And that's stunning.

Still, there are no Pagan chaplains and aren't likely to be any unless they come through a hinky Unitarian Universalist route. Pagan troops need support, whether it's through book donations, care packages, or acknowledgment when they likely feel very isolated and alone. Think about joining in, even if you're not a Pagan.

As a side note, I fully intend to read and review the book Faith and Magick in the Armed Forces. One of these days, it'll happen....

One word

2010-11-13T11:34:00.000-08:00

I learned a new word yesterday, and it might just become my favorite:

douchecanoe

It's like music, isn't it? A symphony of snark. *heart*

Mah buttonz. I haz them!

2010-11-08T09:07:00.000-08:00

Last week, there was a wee row because someone pushed one of my buttons. I thought it was an obvious button, but discussions since then have led me to believe that not everyone knows what my buttons are. That's pretty fucking incredible to me because, well, I have LOTS of them. And they're huge. And there are neon signs pointing at them. No really.

So, if you want to mash a button of mine and watch me spool and explode, here's what to start mashing:

Wear your husband's/wife's rank.
Say that this is an all-volunteer military, we knew what we were getting into, and we have no right to complain.
Then turn around and bitch about your job, your kids, your car, your house, or any other decision you've made.
Say that we military folk have GREAT benefits.
Say that those GREAT benefits more than make up for any sacrifice we have to deal with.
Assume that, as a milspouse, my only career aspirations should involve a toilet brush and a spatula.
Assume that, as a milspouse, my only job options need to be low-paying with few career options.
Assume that we're conservative and tell me how lunatic the "bleeding-heart" liberals and evil progressives are.
Quote those fuckburgers Limbaugh, Beck, Palin...actually, anyone from Faux News...as if you buy their bullshit. Actually, just quoting them usually spools me, even if we're both agreeing they're a bunch of fucking tools.
Avoid logic when you're debating with me.
Tell me military Pagans don't have the right to practice their beliefs.
Make sweeping generalizations about Muslims as if they're all terrorists. Assume anyone with brown skin is a Muslim and therefore a terrorist.
Say a Navy deployment isn't really a deployment. Especially when your darling service member was in the Army/Air Force before 9/11 and therefore took a Cold War-length vacay from deployment scheds.
Extol the virtues of milbrat-dom.
Tell any milspouse that it's her fucking [unpaid] job to support the military, the command, other milspouses, etc.

I'm sure there are others I'm just not thinking of. Feel free to mention others in comments. I'm sure y'all have picked up on some more.