A Girl Has Needs

This one is at the top of my list today...

I need these shoes boys and girls. I need them.

I don't know when I became the kind of person who feels guilty spending a large amount of money, but it happened at some point. These puppies are 90 dollars.

I'm sure if they were pretty shoes, heels or pretty flats or something, I would have no problem dropping that kind of cash on them. But they're just trainers, and I will only wear them to workout.

Actually that's really 90% of the reason I leave my soggy house nowadays, maybe I need to just suck it up and make the investment.

Why do I need these Lunarfly+2 shoes? Because my feet are a sore and miserable mess. It's really awful. I won't go into detail, but trust me... It's horrifying.

Also these shoes are nike+ ready. Nike+ is the most amazing technology.

What will happen is I'll put that cute little sensor in the predetermined location inside of my cute new Lunarfly's and tell my iPhone (not ipod) I'm getting my workout on. Then my iPhone talks to my SHOE?! It knows how far we go, it knows how fast we go, and how hard we were working (me and my shoes). It will tell me how many calories I've lost and let me listen to a playlist of my favorite workout songs and end my workout with my "PowerSong" for motivation.

Also, apparently, if I sync my nike+ system with my facebook account, it will tell my facebook friends when I'm about to start a workout. Then if my friends "like" that I'm working out, my phone gets the notification and I hear applause with my music. Kind of cheesy, but I love cheesy.

Motivation is fun.

I need those items. Lunarfly's and the nike+ iPhone system. Contact me for my PayPal information if you would like to make a donation... in the interest of my health, and the health of my poor, poor feet.

I'm going crazy, and my mother and my cousin are driving me there. My Mom can't understand why I don't just wear a pair of her shoes, that are 2 sizes too big (and hideous) and completely flat on the bottom. I have humungously high arches, and I'm a pain in the ass and I like to wear shoes that fit. And aren't hideous.
My cousin can't understand why I don't just buy a pair of payless tennis shoes. Well, because my feet already hurt. I'm not trying to wear hard plastic, 12 pound, torture devices on my already bruised and battered feet.
They mean well.

I am off to do more packing, and more bothering my husband from a world away. I hope you all have a fantastic Monday! Tomorrow is our 6 Weeks Downiversary, and my next weigh in! Get excited, readers! I know I am!!

<3 you!

Ew. Ew. Ew. What An Exciting Life

Is it sad that I am super excited that my landlord told me he has graduation parties all weekend and won't be able to come mow my lawn? My landlord is a relatively nice man, enjoyable even. I like him.
But, everyone who has ever rented a property ever in their lives knows that there is a certain level of anxiety that comes with knowing your landlord is coming to your house. My landlord mows for me, for a small fee, and I have found he can come anywhere from once every 3 days to once every 7 days. He's busy, so he can't really say for sure when he will be here. Which is why I also like it when it's raining, because I feel like I can relax.
I'm not hiding a meth lab or anything. I'm just messy, and I forget to pick up all the dog poop, or I'm not wearing a bra and my curtains are open. He's seen me looking pretty rough.
He also works with my Dad, and they are friends. So I know that if something is too out of the ordinary here I will hear it from my pops as well. So, I'm on edge often. Right around 3:30 every day when they get off work, until it gets to be too late for mowing. lol. It's pathetic really.
I should be medicated. More.

**Fair Warning: The rest of this post is kind of gross, and sort of long. But it's very funny, and it has pictures, and not of anything gross, and everybody loves pictures!**

Today I am doing more cleaning. Mostly dog vomit, because Hank is having allergy issues, apparently. Yesterday the lawn was mowed, and he always pants himself sick when the grass is mowed because he is apparently very allergic to cut grass. I feel for him because I have terrible allergies also, but I don't puke on the floor. He's also very nervous about where Zack has been and isn't getting a lot of sleep since he is constantly looking for him. I feel ya, Hank.
As you can see, not only is my life very exciting, it's also immensely glamorous.
Yesterday I had to pick up all the dog poop, which I hadn't done in several days. It was horrifying and I couldn't help but laugh thinking about Zack.

Zack hates dog poop. He has serious dog poop fear. Child hood trauma or something. He's a big baby.
When he first moved in with me, and he and my Dad turned into bff's my Dad started addressing Zack concerning all matters of lawn and Dog care. This included Hank poop.
Even though I offered multiple times to continue picking up the poop, or paying someone else to do it, he insisted that it was his responsibility. Per my Dad.
The first day he went out to pick it up he insisted I stand on the front porch and talk to him while he did it, to distract him.
It was hilarious.
Every once in a while he would smell something and gag and gag and gag. Then get so mad at me for cracking up. It was hilarious.
The icing on the cake was when Hank, casually walked up right beside him and made more of a mess for him to pick up. I think Hank was laughing too.
I knew that day, watching Zack pick up Hank mess and gag, all the while covered in Hank's hair, that he was my soul mate. If he could be with me and love Hank and rarely complain about owning the sweetest, sheddiest dog in the world, and pick up after him, he must really love us. And he does. So much.

But, Hank is one thing, and other peoples dogs are another.
When Zack and I drove to Florida before he left for Bahrain, we drove because my Grandma needed to get her dogs and car back there so she could spend some time in the house she has there.

Scooter, My grandma's yorkie, sleeping on Zacks shoulder.

Patsy, My Grandma's Wheaton Terrier, laying on my Grandma's stuff while we drove.

We loved driving down there. 25 hours, and all. Because Zack and I love to spend time together. But honestly, while we loved it and got to see lots of cool things, and make memories we will never forget, our trip started off pretty shitty. Literally.

We stopped every once in a while to eat and let the dogs out, or if we saw signs for something cool Zack we wanted to see.

Giant Superman statue in Metropolis, for example =]

It was super fun, and the dogs were pretty well behaved that first day.

Except for the incident at Sonic. Patsy was barking herself into a heart attack because 2 motorcycles drove up. Patsy loves motorcycles because she associates them with my Dad, who she loves more than life. Even after allowing Patsy to talk to the very nice bikers to show her they were not in fact my father, she continued to bark and completely freak out.

I decided to put her in the car since no one could order their food over her obnoxious barking.

I put her in the car, which the bikers parked right next to, and walked back to the table to grab my food and the bowl of water we had for the dogs, and then walked right back to the car to sit in there and eat with her while Zack and Scooter finished at the tables outside.

By the time I got back to the car, where I could hear Patsy barking and freaking out at the bikes still, she had lost her shit. Literally. Barked until she pooped right in the front seat. In less than a minutes time. Less than 30 seconds probably.

Zack was horrified.

He didn't even see it! For the rest of the day he talked about how disgusting it was that I picked it up with a napkin and put it in a fast food cup and threw it away. He was horrified. And it didn't even make the car stink.

That night we stopped in Tennessee and spent the night at a pet-friendly hotel.

Patsy and Scooter looking out the window at the hotel

That morning we woke up and Zack went down to smoke and get some breakfast. When he came back, he was excited, and said that this hotel had terrible breakfast but was extremely pet friendly, and that he met someone downstairs who had kept 3 llamas in their room the night before and they were outside now. I had to go see them, so we spent about an hour walking the dogs outside and seeing the llamas. Plenty of time for them to do their business before we got on the road, we thought. 

 I know it's a terrible picture of the llamas, but we couldn't get too close, we didn't want to scare them.

We got on the road as soon as we were done walking the dogs, and totally forgot our drinks in the hotel room. Zack started complaining that he was dying of thirst after about 3 minutes. So we pulled off when we saw a sign that said last exit 50 miles and let the dogs out at dunkin donuts, and got some Tennessee sweet tea that we were pretty excited about. So, basically that morning the dogs had been in the car for abour 15 minutes so far.

We were back on the road, and I wasn't stopping until someone was begging me. I'm sort of a male like that. It was early, Zack would fall asleep, as would the dogs, and I would drive until they woke up. 

I had JUST set the cruise control when Zack started saying "I think Scooter is squatting, I think he's gonna go to the bathroom!". I was laughing because he is so paranoid and told him we had just had him out, it wasn't possible he still had to go. Then Zack started to scream "Scooter stop! Stop! Scooter! Molly, pull over!!" He was indeed pooping on all of grandma's stuff we were taking cross country for her. And as Zack screamed Scooter walked and dragged it across the rest of the stuff.  

Zack started gagging, I started cracking up. I have worked at daycares, and I volunteer at the animal shelter, and foster puppy mill dogs, poop is not nearly as horrifying to me.

We had just passed the sign that said we had 50 miles to go til there was anything that could be done about it. We had also just cleaned out the car and threw away all the napkins, there was nothing to clean it up with.

I was dying laughing. It smelled... unfavorable. Zack was trying to roll down the window, and Patsy immediately started trying to jump out. It was unbelievably funny. The window was rolled down one inch and Zack's entire face was sticking out of it screaming at me how we needed to pull over to the side of the (very busy dangerous) road THAT MINUTE. I was trying to explain that there was nothing we could do and we would just have to tough it out for 48 more miles. I almost peed my pants I was laughing so hard.

He made me clean all of it up when we finally got pulled over. It was also all over Scooter, and he wouldn't even hold him while I sprayed him with water out of a bottle I borrowed from the gas station that said "toxic",  and wiped his tiny furry butt off. He gagged the entire time.

My husband the U.S. Navy Sailor.

Oh, silly Zack. I miss him so much that dog poop reminds me of him.

What an exciting, and glamourous life.

I couldn't be happier to live the rest of it with my sweet Hubs.

I know that was a really long and gross post lol... but whatev. I thought it was hilarious and Zack will laugh when he reads it =] Sorry if we grossed you out!

Love you!

Alfred Had Nothing On Ankaboot

One of my major concerns about when Zack is gone is my lack of a spider killer. Every year in the fall, well all 2 of them, that I've been in this house the spider problem is terrifying. From the windows in our house we can see the bigger than a half dollar size spiders crawling around in the bushes in front of the house.
When it was just Haley and I the spiders inside the house were a much much larger issue. I don't know why. They were EVERYWHERE. We had this super massive lint roller (read: intense dog hair problem) that looked like a paint roller. It was on a super long extendable poll thingy. Haley and I rolled several spiders from a safe 6 feet away while screaming and hopping like lunatics. It was touch and go, and I made the landlord hire someone to spray, but we lived.
Last year we met Alfred.
Alfred was a spider the size of a hamster. He was big enough that I knew his name from reading his name tag. He came to terrify me by building a web right in front of my living room windows every night, that reached just close enough to the porch banister that I thought Hank would get caught in it. Every night he looked at me through the window while I shook, with all 100 of his creepy little eye balls. For months he showed up every night around 6pm and was gone, web included, by the time I woke up in the morning. Sneaky little bastard.
I'm pretty sure Alfred had to work very early in the morning, so he had to pack it up and get their on time. Thank God Hay and I made such a spectacle of spider killing, because I think Alfred heard about it. Which is why he never let me catch his big ass in my house.
Regardless, Alfred was something I talked about on facebook on the regular. His presence, even outside, haunted me. All of my friends were aware of Alfred and when Zack was home he and his friends would stand on the porch and smoke while I stared at Alfred hoping the second hand smoke would cause him to contract an illness. This went on for months, and Zack refused to put out a hit on the little bastard because he said he ate the mosquitoes and other bugs and that Alfred was probably the reason that we didn't really have an indoor spider problem. This theory was of no consequence to me, and gave me nightmares about him eating smaller spiders. It was horrifying.
Then came what should have been D day for Alfred, but what turned out to be the day I wanted to burn the house down and build a new one, and move out of it just for good measure.
Zack and Doug had been drinking, and I had a headache, so I went to bed at about midnight. When Zack smokes he usually leaves the front door open, because he likes to talk to the people in the house. Even when there's no one in the living room, out of habit, he leaves the door open. Meaning I could hear went on that night.
I like to listen to the drunken ramblings of my husband and his friends because they're absolutely silly. That night they were discussing using my spray deodorant and a lighter to, essentially, blow torch Alfred. I immediately yelled out to tell them I did not want them to burn the house down, and I was pretty sure if they lit him on fire he would just run his humungous flaming ass into the house to call 911. It was a disaster in the making, and I advised against it.
Well, like a lot of the things I advise drunk people against, they decided this was the best plan of action and I was too tired to deal with the nonsense. I crossed my fingers and fell asleep.
The next thing I know, probably about 10 minutes later, I heard women screaming outside at the top of their lungs. They were screaming and yelling "Under the stair! Move the stair!" And then more loud squealing screams. The women sounded like they were being chased by a tiger and I thought maybe Zack and Doug caught the neighbors house on fire and the girls who live next door ran out only to be greeted by a flaming Alfred. In that case the screaming made sense. So I jumped up and ran out to the living room to see what was happening.
To my surprise the only women yelling were Zack and Doug. And they were doing the familiar spider killing hop and scream that Haley and I had done. They were standing in the yard trying to gain control of their flailing limbs when I came out. It was hilarious, but I was relieved because I assumed that, like when Hay and I did the hop and scream, Alfred had seen his last days.
Alas, I was incorrect.
Apparently what had happened was that they had set Alfred's web ablaze and Alfred casually hopped on to the ground (when the woman screaming began). My brave USN Sailors then moved the single cement stair next to the porch to 'get him' and just as they did... a SNAKE slithered out from underneath. Causing the hilarious limb flailing and my sudden urge to burn the house down.
Why me?? WHY ME??
That was the day I discovered my husband is also scared of spiders. And snakes. Maybe not to my extent, he could still take them out sober in broad day light with a shoe, but he was definitely a little frightened of MASSIVE man spiders when intoxicated, and he doesn't like snakes much either.

** Side note** Alfred showed up again several days later, only this time he was more aggressive and hung from the screen door. 

I locked Zack out of the house and told him he could live in it again when he got rid of Alfred. I recorded the Shoe Vs Spider showdown, and on that glorious day the Shoe won.  

The snake, or rather a snake, met it's match with the lawn mower a few days after that.****

Welp.

Today my mom sent me a message about how my brother saw something on the Discovery Channel about massive spiders in Bahrain. So I did some googling... holy shit.

Meet Ankaboot (spider in Arabic)

I hate the idea of not being with Zack, but I have never ever been so happy to not be going to Bahrain with him before in my LIFE. Holy balls.

You may now take pause and itch all over.

I wont post any more terrible pictures of Bahraini spiders here. Google it though, if you're brave. They're massive. And they're aggressive.

I'm going to put the Shoe Vs Spider showdown on a DVD for Zack to take with him to Bahrain. If he's smart he will play it on a loop in his barracks so that the spiders tell their spider friends what a spider killing badass Zack is.  

You and I will know the truth, but they don't need to know. 

My Crazy

I have serious issues. I'm sure something is wrong with me, as usual.

I have had this strange lump at the top of my neck, under my chin kinda. It's like the size of a marble. It's been with me for over a year now, so it must not be anything super awful, but I'm sure I should have it looked at.

When I first discovered this mysterious addition I went to the internets, to some random Dr. site and frantically typed in "HELP" in the subject line and my issue in the body. Days later I got replies from people telling me it is probably a lymph node or (because I mentioned I suspected it) a result of some sort of infection from my tongue ring, maybe a cyst, etc. etc. I took out my tongue ring. I still think that's probably the cause but I don't know. 

I also texted hundreds of my friends and relatives with any medical experience to see if I was in trouble, they all told me I probably wasn't. And that was that.I had a legitimate medical issue,

I drive everyone crazy, with the internet. Thank goodness the internet exists or I probably wouldn't have any friends. 

Well, right now, at this stage of Hypochondria, I'd like to share this story with you. As most of you know, for a period of time Zack and I were trying to get pregnant. Basically in the time we thought we were going to be gone together. From around July to October I'd say. Unfortunately, we were unsuccessful. Or fortunately, if that's how you choose to see it. But at the time there was nothing that could keep me from constantly bothering my friend Chelsea, and my husband with questions. "Do you think my runny nose is an indicator? I'm having crazy dreams, I bet I am. I'm one to three minutes late, I'm sure this is it." How I wish it would have been it, but it wasn't and that's ok.

Well, last night I found myself frantically searching the interweb for an answer to a question, I'm sure a lot of people ask... I was in the bath tub and suddenly I realized, that as unlikely (extremely) as it is, there was a tiny possibility I could have been pregnant. So I found babygaga.com, as I frequently did when I wanted to be pregnant before, and I frantically asked a question under the subject "I'm sort of panicing... hot baths??", it read "So, I just took a super hot bath, which I do at least once a day to relax- my hubs is about to deploy- anyway while in the bathtub I realized I'm kind of 'late', I've been kind of cramping and it doesn't start, and today I had really mild chest pains, none of which are completely uncharachteristic for me, but there's still a chance my eggo might be prego   which would be awesome, as unlikely as it is. Anyway I'm concerned I was just boiling in the bathtub and boiling my (unlikely) unborn child?? Does anyone know if I just made a huge mistake?? I know its a no-no, but should I be freaking out? Thanks for your help!"

I'm embarassed. Of course, everyone told me I was fine. And I woke up this morning feeling really silly for even asking the question but an hour before I was crying over a Brodkeys commercial. I don't even surprise myself with my crazy any more.

This is what I'm dealing with here kids. My baby-fever is at an all time high, my hypochondria is at an all time high, my stress is at an all time high, lets be honest, my crazy is at an all time high. 

I cry about everything. My body is confused. Let me tell you why, my husband is leaving. It's not fair. I'm stressed, and I'm depressed, and I'm trying really hard to put a smile on all of it. Most days I am legitimately happy and feeling good about everything. But some days, like last night, I am a whack-job. 

But I'm ok. I'm going to be ok. 

I'm Going to Be FIne

Today has been a long day. I've been cleaning my house. Not just cleaning, I mean like deep cleaning. It was in complete disarray, so any kind of cleaning was welcomed by both my house, and my husband. My living room and bathroom are the cleanest they've been since I moved into this house. It's ridiculous. However, I have broken each and everyone of my Kim Kardashian glamorous finger nails. For some reason when I clean obsessively I slowly fall apart. My back aches, my feet suddenly feel freezing and go numbish, my skin gets dry, my lips immediately chap, and most concerning my nails get dry and break... yet, my husband doesn't feel this is a sign that I am to immediately stop cleaning and hire a cleaning service.

Our house is over run with animal hair. So much so that I almost considered naming this post Shaving the Kitty, which I immediately rethought... not really the type of reader I'm looking to get. Not on this blog anyway.
I won't pretend that Lucy is even one fifth of our animal hair problem, although her stripey hair is increasingly becoming an issue, it is mostly my big sheddy Hank. He makes no apologies about it, and the benefits of Hank's love far outweigh the fact that all black clothing Zack and I wear has to be kept in our cars, and we have to put it on in the driveway. Making wearing black pants uncomfortable for us, and our neighbors.
I have a dyson, and it rocks, and it still is a constant battle to tame the detached main of my zoo. It's really awful. But I try... yes I do.

Our dish washer is broken as well. It's one of those mobile ones that rolls around the floor when drunk people  lean on it. It was never really reliable for clean dishes, but for the first 18 months or so that I lived here, a couple cycles did the job. It has however, completely forsaken me. Bastard. Now it sits angrily in the corner of my kitchen, mocking me, unused and in my way. So I have been HAND WASHING dishes, for the first time in my life. So much for being the kept, trophy wife I thought I was. It dries out my hands and nails in a way that you can not imagine.
My nails are screaming, and they sound like a tiny Vietnamese woman named Susie who works at my nail place. They beg me to get acryllic nails and forget about how great my nails grow on their own when taken care of. But I can't. It's too danged expensive, and I just cant forget how awesome my nails look when they get to grow on their own. I'm not ready to give up on them.

My carpet is perpetually spotted. Our carpet is white, because my landlord is a sadist. I don't know what he was thinking when he filled this house full of white easily stainable carpet but it wasn't "Some day I'm going to rent this house out to a funny young woman, her muddy husband, her great big dog, and their occasional potty trained-challenged foster dogs. So, I think we will go with white carpet. Yep." No sir, it was not.

Bah. I hate cleaning. I'm the worst cleaner, but when I start, you better just leave me alone because I'm not stopping. Which is why demon kitty has been quarantined to her room most of the day, I was certain if I stepped on her tail one more time it was going to result in a pricey vet visit.

I haven't checked facebook, all day. I don't know what's on anyone's mind right now, and it is strangely freeing but extremely unfamiliar. I could think about nothing other than shiny sinks (Thank you Flylady), Windexed mirrors, and getting everything organized all the live long day.

Here's the thing, I think if I just stay this busy every day Zack is gone, I should be A OK. I have all sorts of things planned for the year from hell.
I'm going to workout every day, except for maybe Sunday. Just because nobody likes anyone who works out everyday and public approval is very important to me.
I'm going to go to weight watchers because I'm getting boudoir or pin up photos done as a Valentine's day present for my husband in 2012, (which I'm writing more about later) and I plan to be even cuter.
I'm going to work and make some money and since I'll be so busy, I hope to have no time to spend any of it and be super ready for baby beautiful eyes as soon as Zack gets back.
I'm going to play with all of the babies of the people around me lucky enough to get knocked up recently. That is going to be spectacular.
I'm going to start cutting coupons like it never went out of style. I don't care if I look like your Grandma in the grocery store. It's going to be sweet.
I'm also playing coed softball with two of my favorite people in the world, Chelsea and Sam. I'm really excited about that.
I'm going to volunteer my behind off for SOLAS, for Precious Memories, and for any other thing I can get into. Volunteering makes me SO happy. It's disturbing.
I'm going to blog and talk to you all a lot. Because I just love you so much.
Plus I'm going to be spending a lot of time shipping care packages to my husband and skypeing and talking to him as much as possible.

My point, dear kiddies, in this crazy long post is a three parter: 1: Everything in my house is falling apart, and is likely to get worse when my husband leaves. 2: I don't mind because it will keep me so busy trying to keep up with everything. and Finally, I'm going to be fine. Even though if I think about it for more than a minute I am likely to cry uncontrollably with no foreseeable end, but why in the world would I think about it for more than a minute?! Just like when he's gone, I'm going to take every day one minute at a time.


***Love you guys, thanks for reading. Recently I've been getting a lot of super positive feedback about TGIMolly and I'm so proud. I would say about 90% of my monthly readers are military wives, so if any one of you would like to write a guest blog post I would absolutely love that. Also, don't forget it's so easy to comment at the bottom of these posts and let me know what you think.***

Security

Alright. I had about 3000 super sad negative things to write about today. But I've stifled them. Instead I've decided to blog about how everyone keeps telling me I should worry about my impending house invasion and consequent attack while Zack is in Bahrain.
Here's the thing, I've lived by myself before. I have a big dog. A big 90 pound german shepherd mix, with big teeth. Hank. Scary right?
Wrong.
Does this look like a scary animal to you?

Holly and Hank Sleeping

Hank and Zack kissing

Doug and Hank Sleeping

He's the sweetest baby in the world 99.8% of the time. Unless you're a bunny, you're traveling down the street on a motorized wheel chair, you have a jimmy johns sandwich in your hand, you're hitting me, or you move to quickly and are not... um... caucasian... (he's a racist. I apologize. We've talked about it. He's working on it.) you're Hank's bestie. He loves everyone. He has a little bit of a nervous licking habit and will lick your hands off, or your face if you're close enough. And my little cousin Zach will testify that if you are sitting in the front seat of my car, he will ignore that you exist.

Exhibit A

He's a marshmellow.

Aside from one instance where Linny approached my door in the middle of the night and he acted like he might take her out, I have no reason to believe he would scare anyone away. He likes the mailman. When the mailman reaches our house, Hank relaxes and plays with him until he hands him a treat. 

So, the problem is, everyone thinks I'm going to be raped. Many of the people close to me are concerned that I am going to be unsafe by myself for a year. It is concerning, sure. But what am I going to do??

I have an alarm system on my home, it has however had issues connecting to the company that installed it. Meaning, unless there is a fire, the police are not always called. It's just a very loud annoying noise for a rapist to have to put up with until I put the code in or a neighbor calls the police, about 10% of the time. I have to hope that my intruder is also an arsonist if I want the alarm to really be 100% effective. But they don't know that. So, I've played in my head what I would say to them "Excuse me sir, that alarm system you hear,  yeah it just called the police. They should be here soon. I'm not playing. Go. Quit petting the dog. Scram bucko!".

Ineffective? Perhaps. I think I'll have that checked. 

Zack wants me to get a gun. Which I am absolutely not going to do. I don't want a gun in my home. It's too easy to have an accident. I'm pretty sure I'd just be providing the assailant a weapon. I have on occasion tried to give my husband a dose of his own fracking medicine and shoot him with his stupid nerf gun, he immediately apprehends said gun and I am pelted with dozens of tiny nerf bullets. It's annoying. I fear that with a real gun, the outcome with an intruder could be far more fatal. 

I don't want a gun.

I have, as recently as a couple of weeks ago, fostered dogs in the past. Usually tiny dogs, but I could get a bigger scarier one... I mean, one with a scary bark and a big head. But Hank likes being an only child and I think he was happy to see the last foster leave. I'm pretty sure he's waiting for Lucy the adorable demon kitty to find a new home. Sorry Bud, she's staying. Unless she jumps on this keyboard one more time while I'm blogging....

So, what to do?? I'm interested in what other military wives do during deployment. I know lots of people move in with their parents, which is super not happening. We all get along better when I live somewhere else. Plus Hank sheds and my parent's cat tried to eat Lucy. 

I could get a roomie I guess. The last time it was pretty fun.

hm.

I can't wait for this stupid year to be over.

Excuse Me, How Did This Happen?

It's strange to look forward to 2012 the first day of 2011.

I try to stay positive. Every time I have a negative thought, I try to spin it in to a positive. Lately even, a lot of people have been telling me "It's good that you're staying so positive." If you are one of the people who counts on me for positivity or if it will break your heart to read something else, please skip this post. I'm very sorry.
Well. I have to be honest.
I already feel like 2011 can suck it.
As far as I'm concerned after March, or April, I think I'll just go ahead and hibernate until Zack gets back. Please see the post with the sign up sheet for feeding Hank and Lucy. I expect all of you to participate. Thanks so much =)
I liked 2010. I was comfortable there. It made everything seem far away. Writing a date that ended in 2010 meant that it wasn't even the YEAR Zack would have to leave. I had all the time in the world. Now I feel like it's slipping through my fingers. I don't know what to do about it either. It's frustrating. It makes my heart beat faster than I'm comfortable with.
I'm trying to enjoy every moment with my husband, but then my expectations are so high that I end up being disappointed. Everything bums me out.
And, listen, it's day one. So if I want to be a little negative, damnit I will be.
ok?
It's hard.
My friend Brenna's husband is leaving the same time Zack is and she has a baby girl. Can you imagine? She's a great mom, so I know she will be fine, but it's going to be awful. No one enjoys this. And she's leaving me, and moving away.
I'm going to spend a lot of time by myself I think. I'm ok with that. I've always felt like people are so judgey when you're sad. Or competitive, like they have to prove they're sadder.
I know I'm lucky to have my husband. To have found love, the person I'm supposed to be with. That only makes him leaving harder. Some days I can get far enough from the situation that I'm ok, and I can be someone who says "psh, it's only a year". Today, is not one of those days.
I see myself becoming violently angry while he's gone... I swear to goodness, one person tells me to suck it up-- I'll cut them. I will go to jail. Please remember that before you tell me, I signed up for this.
Ugh.
I have to get a job. I'd like to work until I can't remember what day it is.
I feel actual guilt about writing this post... I wish I could be positive all the time but sometimes I can't not cry. Ya feel me? Sometimes it's overwhelming.
I'm not asking for sympathy. I am glad you read this though, it means a lot to me. I swear these poor me posts will be few and far between. Today I am just... shocked. I feel like it sneaked up on me, I guess.

OH, and if I hear "Oh na na, what's my name??" one more time... Listen, it won't be pretty.

Well what a bummer that post was.
To lighten things up, here's an adorable picture of the love of my life and the boy who introduced us, Doug. Coincidently Doug is leaving for Japan soon, and is going to be gone for like... 2 years or 3 years or something. It's obscene. His girlfriend, Linny, is honestly a saint for powering through a long distance relationship for that long.
Annoying... anyway, here's one of their pictures.

So, You Think You Want To Marry A Sailor? Part I

Recently a few of my friends have said silly things to me about how they would love to date someone in the Navy/Military, and I feel this needs to be addressed my little tag chasers. Being married to someone who is married to the military is not all Christmas parties, and halloween parties, and moving fun places, and awesome benefits, etc. Although, there is a lot about it that's fun, a lot about claiming a sailor/soldier/airmen/marine is pretty suckful.

So this post will be dedicated to a few things I've learned and things I wish I'd known, I'm certain I would have made the same decisions I've made as far as my relationship is concerned it would have been nice to be prepared with this info.

Sailors know how to partay.

That's pretty much the jist of it. Sailors drink and party like... sailors. They're loud, and obscene, and they're frequently naked for reasons unknown, but they are fun. And that makes command parties a good time. Recently I saw a bunch of drunken sailors sing and dance to "I'm on a boat", it was absolutely hysterical. This is a definite pro, Zack and friends are very entertaining.

Nick and Zack at the command Christmas Party

Pride.

This is a given. There's nothing like being seen with a man in uniform, sigh. Plus, they're so sexy.

Hooyah Navy!



BAH does not happen immediately.

BAH or basic allowance for housing, does not come right after you get married. BAH pays your rent, and that rocks. However, when we first got married we already basically lived together and were managing to pay rent with my unemployment. We did however have to eat a lot of ramen. When we got married we were sort of counting on our housing allowance to kick in... it didn't happen on the first check... then it didnt happen on the second.... or the third...

A lot of paperwork has to be done and by that point Zack had no idea what the problem was. It finally came down to making sure the paperwork was completed and re-completed that he had indeed checked out of the barracks.

To check out of the barracks we had to clean, like really really clean his room and have it checked by the dorm manager. It usually takes 2 or 3 tries, and it's kind of a pain in the ass.

When we did finally get our BAH the check was massivo because we got back BAH, which totally rocked. But the months of barely getting by were very frustrating. When most girls marry someone in the military it involves moving across the country or at the very least far enough away that they have to quit their jobs. A friend of ours has been married since September and moved his wife quit her job and moved here from Chicago and they haven't received BAH yet. 

BAH is not something I will frequently complain about. The fact that the military is making sure we don't have to worry about paying our rent is allowing me to stay unemployed temporarily and spend this time with my husband. It is a benefit that is pretty sweet. Will put this in the pros column, but the waiting is rough.  



Being a dependant is weird.

I am classified as Zack's dependant. I have a dependant ID, so that I can see doctors or get on base without much hassle. To get it however Zack basically has to agree that I am his wife, and he is responsible and in some ways in charge of me. For those of you that know me, you know how I feel about people being the boss of me. It's difficult for me to fathom that while I am on base, I am a reflection of my husband and things I do could get him in trouble. Which makes me very nervous. I don't even like to go to the commissary because I'm concerned I'll cart crash the commander's wife or something. There are a lot of rules.

Follow the rules, or go home.

While it's frustrating to have a few rules to follow as dependents, don't speed, try not to look like a homeless person, be classy, don't embarass yourself and your husband, etc., being directly accountable to the military as a Sailor/Soldier/Airmen/Marine is much much more difficult. Zack has lots of rules he has to follow that I definitely couldn't. I'll name a couple...

Let's start with 6 ring stand-by. This means that Zack has to answer his phone within 6 rings of someone calling him any time of the day or night and be sober and ready to go save the world. Granted this is something that happens once in a blue moon, when it happens it's a little bit of a hassle. I can never find my phone. If I was on 6 ring stand-by I would be that dorky guy at the mall with the great big plastic belt clip for my phone on the side of my pants. It takes me 2 rings to identify and understand my phone is ringing and an additional 5 rings to find a phone in my purse. Bad news. Trouble.

Here's the kicker, the one that I'd definitely just fail at, is the PRT test. You know what this means ladies? This means they will tell you if you weigh too much, not only tell you but kick you out if you fail to fix it. Holy goodness. I'm so upset just thinking about this I ate half a pint of ice cream. I'd die.



Nothing is ever for sure, until it's happening.

If you read blog at all when I first started you know that Zack going to Bahrain without me is definitely not what we thought was going to happen. At one point we even had orders to Virginia, or at least we thought we did. This one is hard, it's very frustrating to not know for sure, and to not be able to plan. It also allows you false hope that maybe something won't happen, ie deployments, dependant restricted duty etc.



Hurry up and wait.

Again, if you've read any of the blog posts from the beginning you know about hurry up and wait. It's constant. Get ready, fill out paperwork, be prepared, fill out more paperwork, wait.... it's like that annoying kid who starts the playground race that says READY... Seeeeeeeeeeeeettttttttttt........... SEEEETTTTTTTT........SSSSSSSEEEEEEETTTTTTT..... SET......
Annoying.

Put on your big girl panties, you knew what you signed up for marrying him, it's just a year, suck it up, and other annoying things stupid people say.

These are all things civilians, and sometimes even other heartless mil wives, say to you that make you want to kick puppies. Never say these things to me if you expect to remain unharmed.
I don't wear panties, and I'll cut you.
I didn't sign up for anything, except marrying him and I'm pretty sure God and Zack have some sort of contract there because I never ever thought I'd end up with someone in the military. HE signed up for this, and I love him so I got dragged along. Shut it, or I will punch you in the throat.
It's just a year, suck it up. It's just a year?! Please tell me the last time you were ever away from your husband for a year? Oh, never? I thought so, or you probably wouldn't be so insensitive. And I can't suck it up because I actually like my husband. Excuse me. Dicks.

Avoid the drama.

Military wives get a bad name when it comes to drama. The stereotype is that they all sit at home and talk about each other, and that's not really true. Most of the military wives I have met are legitimately good people, moms, and wives. They are a sisterhood, and an extremely welcoming community. They don't all cheat. They don't all gossip... But some do. And those women should be avoided at all costs. They're horrendous.

And, finally.

No one can love you the way a man with a deployment or dependant restricted duty in the foreseeable future can.

That's all.

Well that was fun =)

Babe

My husband could beat up your husband. Ok, maybe he could, maybe he couldn't... but he could probably out sing him.

My husband rocks. He is everything I could have ever asked for in a person to share my life with, and I literally thank the Big Man every single day, that he is in my life.

<3 What a dorko <3

That being said, I'm pretty sure my family is turning in to one of those families that says things like "If something ever happens with Molly and Babe I'm not sure who we'll keep!". They LOVE this kid. I get it, I picked him, but c'mon!

My entire family refers to my husband as 'Babe'. They say it's because that's what I call him, and there are already too many Zach's in the family. Right.

Let's take today for example. I am sick. I have some sort of disgusting stomach flu that I will spare all (both) of you the details of. It is gross but my parents changed my diapers, so when I spoke to them I expected them to, as usual, ask me every tiny detail... "what color are you puking?" Etc. They're weird, and nothing is personal or private in my family. This is one of a million reasons why I love them.

Anyways, I wake up from a particularly sweaty nap and decided it was time to call Bob and Mickey to see if I can score some front door delivery lime popsicles, or at the very least, their deepest sympathies for my condition. Let me tell you what actually happened.

"Hey, sis how ya feelin'?" The concerned voice of my father answering the phone for his sickly only daughter (and clear favorite child). "Well, Dad" I sigh, "I've been better, I'm thinking it's unrelated to whatever was making me sick before, and its just that stomach thing you guys had...". I admit it, I placed a little blame there hoping for two boxes of popsicles. "I'm sorry Mol... Babe at work?" He responds.

I'm caught off guard by this... perhaps he is wondering if Babe has already purchased and perhaps fed me these life saving treats that I so desire...

"Uhh yeah, he had to leave a little while ago. He won't be home until 7am or so..." I say quietly to assure them that my throat is sore and in desperate need of cold limey goodness. "Oh, well that sucks, I'm sorry. Here's Mom I'm all greeeeeasy."

Pump the brakes. No Zack no talky? How is this acceptable?

Repeat that with the voice of a slightly more distracted Michelle Lich and you have the entire conversation. Only at the part where I speak quietly, my darling mom tells me to take the dick out of my mouth so she can hear me. I admit I laughed hysterically, but I did not get my popsicles. And Dawn, if you happen to read this... I didn't have anything but a breath mint in my mouth.

This is a constant issue. I'm funny, but Zack is new and my family can NOT get enough of him. I wait in the BLISTERING heat to pick up cousin Cody from drivers Ed., he gets in the car and says "Babe working?"... seriously??? Little Zach calls me and I get excited thinking perhaps he is as bored as I am and would like to come clean my house, or accompany Hank and I on a walk, and instead he says "hey, Molly. Is Babe at work today?". Let's just say the answer to that question usually determines whether or not he still wants to play with me. Keep in mind, they ALL wanted to play with me pre-babe.

Sigh.

It has even spread to my Grandma's.

So, now I have to decide. Do I infect Zack with my illness and see how they react to determine if they still love me? Or do I infect Zack with my illness as a punishment for making them love him so much? It's a tough call.

The moral of the story is I love my husband more than they do, damnit, and my family BETTER love me at least equally :). I know these are truths. I just want my popsicles.

I do believe ill go watch Madagascar for the eleventh time today.


Follow up- My Daddy just called to check on me again and told me if I need anything to tell him and that no one loves me more than him :) feeling much better.


Thanks for reading this one too, kiddos.