Leda Smith, Anyone?

I'm sure everyone's already heard, but I had to write about this chick (just like every other blogger, I know). This 85 year old great-grandmother recently came home from church one evening to find that a 17 year old kid had broken into her house and was still in it. She simply grabbed the .22 from her nightstand, snuck up on the kid and told him he'd had it. She then held him at gunpoint, making him call 911 and turn himself in. Awesome. And such a Mom thing to do - making him own it.

Not only does this story inspire me as a woman (she didn't immediately go call some man when she saw the back door to her house was open), but it also reminds me of the bad ass grandma I recently lost. More specifically, it reminds me of a time last fall when I had an unfortunate incident with her toaster oven. I was supposed to toast some taco shells for Mom, which, in a toaster oven, means "bake." But I was thinking toaster oven and toast, so I set it to toast for ten minutes. Well, wouldn't you know that thing became a little inferno; suddenly there was smoke and flames. I'm not sure if I was the one that managed to get it unplugged and into the sink, but I remember being unable to put the fire out. So what did Oma do? She hastily snatched up the damn thing and carried it outside. In my mind, I can still see her carrying this flaming toaster oven, as I fearfully hung back, watching my grandma be way more tough than me.

So here's to tough ol' grandmas everywhere - may all us young ladies be able to take care of ourselves (and at times others) as well as you gals!

Feeling Life's Foot in my Tush

All I want to know is who's going to cure me because I'm nearly there!

To preface today, let me first discuss yesterday: Yesterday was tough. I realized several things I was trying to count on couldn't be counted on. One of these things was spending my birthday at the beach and actually have something be about me instead of the Army-Joe-Show. Well, this led to me having the crying disease - in the car, while making a sandwich, while trying to get my laundry out of the dryer, and even as I tried to eat a carrot in part with my lunch. It sucked. You can't cry and eat food because you end up inhaling it, and well...it was just a mess.

But today. Gosh, today gave me something to talk about other than Joe and the Army, which I believe was life's way of kicking me in the ass. I woke up late and took forever to get downstairs. When I finally did and was fixing myself breakfast, Molly acted like she wanted to go out, so I took her out once I had my yogurt/berries together in a bowl. I was standing outside as Molly continued sniffing around the garage door which always remains slightly ajar for our cats. I called her over toward the yard, but she wouldn't come. Dad keeps a live trap in the garage to catch miscellaneous raccoons and neighborhood cats (and even a turtle once) that get in the garage and after the cats' food. Thinking it would be one of these things (lately it's been a cat and the turtle), I held breakfast in one hand and opened the garage door with other. It all happened so fast, yet in slow motion. Molly ran under the garage door before I could see what's in the cage. I quickly realized she was face to face with a skunk and immediately began yelling at her to get out of there. Then there was a smell. An awful smell. Molly ran out of the garage and flung herself into the yard, rolling and rubbing her head in whatever she could find - one of her eyes was only opening halfway at this point. I flung the garage door down and screamed obscenities at Molly before I went silent. I stood in the driveway watching her roll, as I continued to eat my breakfast (that I realize now had probably been skunked), slowly absorbing what had just occurred . This was how the day started. We actually got her cleaned up fairly quickly, and the skunk smell came out of my clothes since Molly caught most of the action, though I did manage to carry the smell inside the house with whatever was lingering on my clothes. Oh well.

After that, I took my car to the shop and was told the new (faster) oil leak that I have is due to a front seal leak, and it will cost around $600 to fix. It's necessary, though, so I gave it the go ahead and will be driving Joe's wiener car around for the next 4 days.

I can appreciate irony and a good butt-kicking, but I think today may have been a little excessive. There were also a few financial things that popped up after I looked at the accounts to figure how the mechanic bill would work out. I won't discuss it here, but I do wonder about being on the same page in a relationship in even the general sense. Joe and I are most of the time, but it seems with this one subject we continue to have the same discussion. I want us to be equals, but when does one assume rank and take charge? Or do you just have to let it blow up before major change takes place?

One last thing - please think good thoughts for Joe's PT test tomorrow. If he passes, he'll start class on the 25th, and we can get this ball rolling. And I can count on a few things...

Joe May be a Soldier, but I'm the Man in this Relationship

Yeah, so. Right. It's been an interesting evening. Sarah described my actions this evening as passionate, though I think by my last conversation with Joe it was full on rage. Yes, I'll go ahead and admit that. But Sarah doesn't yet know about the last part. Le sigh....

I don't even know where to start except for to blurt it all out: with money and spending, I'm the dude in the relationship. I have my Dave Ramsey book that I've been reading. I've set up a debt plan and have been paying our shit off and adding to an emergency savings. Yes. So far, I've gotten the emergency savings squared away and managed to get Joe's credit card paid off also. His student loans are almost paid off too. I've talked to Joe about money and what I read and what we might plan for, and I've made sure he's in agreement with whatever we plan. I want to have healthy communication regarding money, as it is I used to watch David and Stephanie fight about it quite a bit. Hell, when Mom took us shopping for new school clothes, she used to instruct us not to tell Dad and hide the clothes when we got home. She would spend, and he would flip shit about anything. Probably not the most healthy thing to do, but I learned from it and am doing better myself. I mean - we're getting shit paid off, and it feels much better than opting to just live with debt. Feels awesome, actually.

But to tie in my title with the subject of money, it's how I buy things for myself versus buying them for Joe. When I buy something for myself, it's very calculated. I wait and wait and wait. I guess there's some measure of maturity in being able to delay gratification, but at times it may even be a bit ridiculous. I have to find the best deal, and if it's not at the price I want it, then I wait until it is. Yes. But but since Joe's my special guy, when I buy things for him, I splurge. I don't find the best deal, and instead am more spontaneous and just go for it. Today, as I sorted through a box of Joe's, I found these prints he'd gotten in France. He hadn't packed them well, and they were starting to get a bit banged up. I know all of his French stuff is important to him, so I took the two prints to the Frame Shop to see what I could do. I couldn't afford to do both at a time, but I did opt to do the more expensive of the two. The matting was perfect, and the frame was really beautiful too. For between $200 and $300 it ought to be, right? I also wanted it to be a nice surprise for Joe.

Well. After a series of slightly dickish moves on Joe's part this evening, we were having our last talk of the day and getting everything straightened out that had happened previously (aforementioned 'dickish' moves). During this final chat, he informed me that not only will they (two Army buddies and himself) be staying in a hotel tonight, but tomorrow night as well. Okay. Fine. Whatever. THEN. Then, I discover that he's put more money back on his credit card - $20 of which is a late fee because a payment was due 8/07 and didn't get paid. OH MY GOD. I wanted to kill him. And I told him so, along with several other things amidst sobs. One, I worked so fucking hard to get everything paid off, and two, the money for my surprise for Joe should have actually been put toward paying off his credit card...again.

So yeah. He buys for himself. And I buy for him. What a lucky guy.

How Many Rashes Can YOU Say You've Had in the Last Year?

You know how you get to that point where you're just done? Like, you're just mentally kaput? Yeah. And then you find that one thing that's funny. It's really not appropriate to laugh at, but you just can't help yourself because you're so out of your mind? Well. I'm there in that place, and I found my inappropriate thing to laugh at.

See, it's been kind of a rough last twenty-four hours, and in the last little bit of this particular evening, the only thing that has caused me to laugh is someone getting [indirectly] hit by lightning. It's not the electric shock itself that has me cracking up, but a detail of it. I know; I'm horrible. But anyway. My sister's boyfriend is Gene, whom I've written about before. I love him. I think he's awesome, but I can't stop giggling at unfortunate incident that he was a victim of earlier in the week. As told to me by Arielle, Gene was apparently driving his FedEx truck in a thunderstorm on Tuesday, and it got struck by lightning. (I'm giggling right now - I can't help myself). Ari said that he's alright - just couldn't hear very well for about a day and had a sore throat from letting out a big girlie scream. It's that last part that gets me - the scream. Understand that Gene is a big handsome Alabama country boy. He has a deep voice with a thick Southern country twang. Knowing that and picturing him screaming in his truck while getting, as Dave Chappelle might say, "ZAPPED," well, it's just too much.

Now, so you guys don't think I'm a complete asshole, I'm pretty sure I had a panic attack earlier in the day, and further, I'm on about my fourth or fifth stress rash since Joe's been gone. Additionally, I've had a headache for 24 hours straight and neck pain that I only get because of tension. I'm completely out of my mind - any little bump in the road now with Army stuff (or even just the idea of a bump) provokes a meltdown. I cried in front of my mother-in-law yesterday, and that's just not something I do. Every thing's just really freaking me out. I'm scared of right now - what will happen next week - and what getting to a permanent duty station will actually be like. I'm scared that I'll never have enough time with Joe ever and that he'll never want to/be able to do something nice and special for me. A lot of that latter fear seems to currently be stemming from the fact that Joe said he'd to marry me on the day that Oma died - like, on the phone while I was at the hospital right outside the room where we got the bad news. Romantic engagement, right? That's why none of you have heard that until now. I figure instead of saying that in therapy, I'll go ahead and say it here. I really, REALLY need to buy a dog.

But anyway. Thanks to crispy Gene, I've had a laugh this evening.

Oh. I guess I'll update you guys real quick on my return to the dentist today before I finish this post: When I got there I checked in, and and there didn't seem to be an appointment in the computer. I knew it was today - I could see the card in my mind, plus the doc who did this thing is only there on Fridays, and it was to be one week from the last appointment. So anyway. I finally got called back after waiting briefly. There were no wrestling moves or anything of the nature - just sort of your standard cluster fuck. The same 'slightly off' hygienist attended to me - providing both upper and lower night guards. Well, the dentist only wanted me to have lower, and the hygienist didn't notice a big damn bubble in the middle of the lower. They ended up both disappearing to cut the bubble out, leaving me fully reclined and kind of pissed. Check the shit before I get there - and plug your appts into the computer so you know I'm going to be there. Whatever. Someone else finally showed me how to turn the flat screen TV on, as I'd been trying to but gave up, so I watched a little Carter Can on HGTV. Then Mom called, so I talked to her while I watched TV laying down. Not bad I guess. Finally the doc appeared over me, and I hung up on Mom. He handed me the lower, and I put it in. It fit. That's it. I'm done. I was there for a fucking hour for that shit. And the bill was $250 for a piece of glorified plastic, part of which got cut out. I think my insurance is going to pay the whole deal (per my manual), but I had to pay half up front. Fucking fuck. Anyway. After I got home, I checked my appointment card. Yep, August 1st at 2:00pm...but wait...2002. The crazy hygienist had written 2002 - plain and clear - that last 2 was no 8. And so, the reason they didn't realize I'd be there today is because they were expecting me 6 years ago.