Our Lives...in 100 Words

I found a really cool article in one of my fashion magazines a while back. I don’t remember whether it was Vogue, InStyle, or Cosmo, but they had a cool article on women who had started companies, broken into professional sports, become scientists or teachers…you get the idea: women who were successful. They gave them all cocktail napkins and asked them to write out their biographies…in 50 words…exactly 50 words. I read them all and they were fantastic! So, I swiped the idea, as any good teacher is wont to do and presented the idea to my students.

I expanded the word count to 100, but held them to the “exact word count” standard. It is a rarity, as I believe most writing is much more organic than that, and shouldn’t be tied to such specificity, but for once, I decided to see what they could do. And, though I hate the term, as it’s all “educational-ese,” I modeled it for them. I wrote my own life story in exactly 100 words (Or, at least that’s what the word count button said.) and read it to them.

It went something like this:

Born in Dayton – Not my fault!
Raised in Idaho, yes, I love potatoes!
Have the perfect family, they steered me from behind.
Learned sewing from my Mama - Found Shakespeare via costuming.
Ran away to Seattle to costume the world.
Ended up homeless - learned a lot - wouldn’t change a thing.
Still can make a wicked cool Renaissance dress.
Bought fun sign -- Every life should have nine cats…I took it literally.
Ran away to join the Air Force - who knew they let people like me fly satellites?
Married three times - finally got it right - thank god he said “yes!”
Luckiest girl alive!

My students then proceeded to knock my socks off sharing what had happened to them during their 18 years of trampling over this mortal coil. Their success got me to thinking…

Why not do this for you as a couple? Since the deployment can take away valuable time spent together, why not encapsulate your relationship with your significant other so you can whip out your cocktail napkin whenever you’re feeling lonely and read about your journey together, so far, as a couple? The brevity forces you to think about your love bug in a slightly unusual way. His or her main personality traits stand out in stark relief to the background noise of the boredom during a deployment. I will now model (again, gag, still hate the terminology they teach you in “How to be an Educator 101.) this for you. I think it turned out kind of cool.

Testosterone and estrogen, damn, met with a bang!
The universe worked its magic, followed its advice…for once.
He cooks so I don’t have to -- cooks so he doesn’t have to eat my culinary attempts. :-)
When one gets road rage, the other finds a Zen moment.
We balance each other out. We argue when we have to, not very often.
Ridiculously intelligent left-brained engineer weds crazy right-brained English Prof.
Parachuting, gun-toting, marathon running - makes it look effortless.
Supportive, fun-loving, cocktail party-throwing, traveling partners…not usually a quiet moment in the house.
It’s a wacky, perfect-for-us, cockamamie love story for the ages…with cats!

Why don’t y’all try it and see what you come up with. Hopefully, you’ll remember all the reasons that, while you may not each be a perfect person, you’re still perfect for each other!

And, Baby, I left out the part about very bravely sucking up the biggest spider EVER with the vacuum cleaner. Now I’m scared to empty it out. Are you coming home soon? ;-)
(I didn’t want to waste that many of my 100 words explaining all that to you in the biography. So, I’m cheating the word count by posting it here. And, the carpets may be a little cat-haired by the time you get home. I'm not kidding about not using the vacuum cleaner again! Love you! And, as always, I'm still glad you said, "yes!")

A Letter From the Kids

Hello, All! I found this note on the computer when I got up this morning. I decided to help them out and post it so it would get delivered.

Dear Daddy,

Hi, it’s Lucky and Neekie. Where are you? When Mama put you in the car and took you to the veterinarian’s office, we thought you’d be home sooner. Did you get lost? Are you micro-chipped like we are? If so, they can scan you and figure out how to send you home again. (And, no, it doesn’t really work with the grocery store scanner like Mama says. We tried it on Zoe, but they kicked us out of the store like a couple of criminals!) We certainly hope Mama didn’t try to get you fixed like she did us. If you need us to put some toys and treats together so you can have them while you’re staying at the vet’s, just let us know. We’ve learned how to use tape and scissors over the last few months. There were a few regrettable mishaps along the way, but Zoe’s fur is growing back in just fine.

Anyway, we have to tell you some of the weird things the Mama is doing in your absence. Do you know she listens to 80’s music really loud when she works out in the basement? It makes our ears hurt. What is a “heavy metal guitar riff” and we've never heard of a “hair band” before. Don’t those singers know that mullets went out a long time ago? By the way, Mama is growing her hair out too…and it’s starting to look suspiciously like a mullet in its own right. Yikes! Business in the front, party in the back, my furry fanny!!! She’s going to look ridiculous. And, can you tell her not to sing Cher songs -- please?? She sounds kind of like Zoe did when she had a run in with a giant hairball the other day. “Hack, ack…” LOL!! See, we learned text-speak, just like Mama's students! :-)

And, what’s the deal with Mama talking to us all the time? Doesn’t she know we like to sleep 22 hours a day? But, she’s ALWAYS talking!! We know that she’s usually saying nice things to us, but come on, is a little peace and quiet too much to ask for in our own home? And, that Mama, she’s a bed hog, too. She thinks she deserves HALF of the bed. Settle this for us, please – if there are four of us, shouldn’t we each get a quarter of the bed? It sounds fair to us. Mama doesn’t share very well, does she?

Speaking of sharing, she almost never gives us what she’s eating for dinner. Then again, that may be a blessing in disguise. Daddy, the woman is trying to cook for herself! It’s preposterous. You do remember that she is Queen of the Casserole, right? She can squeeze cheese into any dish on the planet, and acts like it belongs there. I swear, she puts cheese on her oatmeal in the morning…and then she doesn’t give us any. The indignity of it all! Having to beg…just like dogs do. Puh-leeease!

And, she redid the living room, too! It's now these nerve-jangling colors like orange and purple. There are so many patterns in the room that Zoe's eyes cross whenever she's awake...which isn't very often, so maybe that's a non-issue! :-) But, there are stripes, and polka-dots, and paisley bits. And, ugh, there are flowers on stuff, too. It looks girly! Gag! It doesn’t go with any of our fur anymore. We heard Mama say something about dopamine. What is that? Is it good to eat? We like treats!! Oh, sorry, we got distracted. Curse our short attention spans. Anyway…the living room is now so bright that it’s hard to get our full course of naps in every day. We think our retinas might actually be singed. But, we’ll persevere. We are cats, after all. ZZZZZZzzzzz......



Well, anyway, Daddy, we hope you are okay at the vet’s office. If you need us to organize a rescue, we will. We’ll just have to find someone tall enough to see over the steering wheel. But, please, come home soon. We love the Mama, but sometimes living with her is just unbearable. We know she tells you to keep your head down, but we don’t understand that. Anytime we run with our heads down, we step on our own whiskers. So, we’ll just tell you not to drink the curdled cream and we’ll save you a mousie to play with when you return.

Love and Head Scritches,
Neekie and Lucky

P.S.
You can have Zoe’s spot on the bed when you get back!

Editor's Note:
It's always nice to know what your cats really think of you. And, no, I don't anthropomorphize anything at all! :-)
By the way, the mullet looks fantastic, in case you were wondering!!

If Today...

Over the last couple of semesters, I’ve given a writing assignment to my students. I play the Nickelback song, “If Today Was Your Last Day” and ask them to write about what they really hope to accomplish in this lifetime. I assure them that I’m looking for the hope in their lives and not truly hoping something bad happens to them; they respond with wit, depth, and dreams far beyond what I ever could have imagined for them. They pour out onto paper what they really want to be “when they grow up,” they present what’s best in them and remind me that I need to do the same, as well.

The song came up randomly today while I was hiking outside, looking up at the snow on Pike’s Peak. It made me think about some of us who tend to push the pause button in our lives when our spouse is away from us for long periods of time. But, I think the message that can be pulled from the lyrics is that there is every reason to keep living, hoping, becoming while our other halves are on the other side of the world. I thought I’d share some of Chad Kroeger’s lyrics and my thoughts on them with you. If nothing else, download the song…it makes for a great listen!

“My best friend gave me the best advice
He said each day's a gift and not a given right
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind
And try to take the path less traveled by
That first step you take is the longest stride…”

How much stronger is your marriage going to be if both of you can keep growing while you aren’t geographically co-located? If you can dump your fears and jump onto the “who I want to be when I grow up” train, you’ll both bring so much more to the partnership when you get back together. For those of you who are staying home, your mate is going through profound change while overseas; keep it interesting – be the force for your own change, too. The hubby is over making a difference in the world and I’m now trying to take over the publishing world. Both of us are putting effort into our respective endeavors and have tons to chat about when we Skype each other. When someone asks what I want to be, I say “I want to be a writer!” How about y’all? What do you want to be?

“Against the grain should be a way of life
What's worth the price is always worth the fight
Every second counts 'cause there's no second try
So live like you're never living twice
Don't take the free ride in your own life…”

I’ve got friends out there who truly do suck the marrow out of life. They are examples of what this song is about. If there is something they want to do, they do it. There is no waiting for next year, or next decade, or next lifetime for this group. I aspire to be more like them. I do understand that there must be a balance, too; work must be done to earn the money to do the things we want to do. But the idea of grabbing what you want keeps me going. So, for those of you who dive the Great Barrier Reef, jump out of perfectly good airplanes, and fly planes and helicopters to ridiculous places, keep it up. We need more adrenaline in the world!

“And would you call those friends you never see?
Reminisce old memories?
Would you forgive your enemies?
And would you find that one you're dreaming of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you'd finally fall in love if today was your last day?...”

Forgiving enemies can be a powerful experience. I tend to hold a grudge with the best of them, but I’ve been trying, lately, to just get over it. Holding on to negative emotions is just toxic to me, so why not just let stuff go? It doesn’t mean I’ll allow myself to be walked on, but accepting an apology when offered to me is a direction I’m trying to go. I’ll keep you posted. :->

As far as finding ‘the one you’re dreaming of,’ look at where you are in your life and ask yourself who you would want to spend your last day with. Are you with that person? If the answer is no, what do you need to do to ‘finally fall in love?’ I think we all are faced with transitional periods in our lives and can flounder a bit before finding our way. I found my way when I found my Seal. But, I took the lead and asked him out on a date…well, actually, I asked what he was cooking for me the next Friday, but that’s technically a date…right?? (It was Tequila Lime Chicken…it was good enough I proposed to him!) The point is, I didn’t just wish I could spend time with my crazy/perfect-for-me partner; I took steps to make it a reality. Where do you want to be, with whom, and what do you need to do to get there? Whew!! That’s a lot of questions, huh? Sorry, I’m not trying to be heavy-handed here, but, screw it! If you’re settling in your life, STOP IT!! You can be happy! You may have to do some tough things in the interim and it may be a little uncomfortable for a while. But, in the end, on that last day, it will all have been worth it. Trust me.

What I like most about the song and the assignment, is that while asking the tough the questions, it also gives us the tools, the hope, and the impetus to make a difference in our lives.

“You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars
Regardless of who you are

So do whatever it takes
'Cause you can't rewind a moment in this life
Let nothing stand in your way
'Cause the hands of time are never on your side”

I’d be interested to hear what you guys have to say about the future. What are your hopes and dreams? What do you want to be when you grow up? Remember, I wish only the best for all of you. So, if you’ve pushed the pause button, hit play again. Live your life. Follow your dreams. You deserve it.

Peace, love, and a hell of a future!

Happiness is...

Warm Laundry!

I have to admit my first reaction after rounding the corner intent on folding the latest load of laundry fresh from the dryer was, “Yeeaaarrrrgh! Neekie! Mama just washed those!” And then I thought about it. What a great place for a small, chilly cat: a huge, warm pile of laundry. Since I’ve been cultivating my Inner Zen Master (or Monster, depending upon who you listen to! :->), I decided to take my cat’s very sage advice and climb into the pile of warm laundry with him. It’s not like everything won’t get cat hair on it eventually, so we might as well make the most of our fortunate mid-afternoon find. He’s not big on sharing, but once he figured out I wasn’t going to boot him off the sofa, we had a nice nap together in the sun. That’s another piece of advice my cats always give me, and I’m trying to learn how to follow it. Nap! It makes everything better.

Come to think of it, cats are very Zen creatures. They find the beauty in everything and perhaps those of us dealing with the deployment blues would be well served to follow in the paw prints of our pets. Let’s see, what else would my cats recommend for us?

Hidey-holes are extraordinarily imperative.



Do all things with dignity.



Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.



When all else fails: snuggle.



Wow! I’ve always known cats were intelligent creatures, I just didn’t know how much they had to teach me about living in the moment and enjoying what life has to offer. You might want to sit back and watch your kids and your pets to learn some of the secrets of Zen-dom, too.

Peace, love, and warm laundry to you all!

Pondering the future...

Hola, everyone! Hope all is well. Since I’ve spent so much time chatting about how the universe seems to get involved with most of my life-altering experiences, I figured I’d let you in on the latest it had to say to me. It can be kind of tough to decode sometimes, but usually worth the effort. It’s kind of like holding a conch shell to your ear, and hoping you don’t find a hermit crab inside while you listen to the message.

As I said, the trip to Mexico was great. Even the trip back, replete with detours – we sat on the tarmac in Denver because we couldn’t land in the Springs for two hours – turbulence, and attempts to assuage the travel gods, wasn’t bad. And, the time alone on the airplane gave me some time to contemplate my future. (I know, for those of you who know me, this is always a dicey proposition! I’m just as likely to decide that Timbuktu is where I need to be as I am to decide that the lawn needs a little love.) Anyway, one of the things that the deployment highlights for me is how alone I can be, which, about once a year causes me to revisit my and the hubby’s choice to remain on the outskirts of the cookies and kool-aid crowd.

We use this term with love and a lot of truth. Our family and friends with kids tend to end up crowded together at gatherings and restaurants serving cookies and kool-aid to their progeny, while those of us sans kids sit around with our martinis and artisanal cheeses trying to stay out of the way. About once a year, my husband and I check back in with each other to see if we want to continue to orbit this crowd, or jump in with both feet, instead. We’ve both heard tell of something called a biological clock, and we periodically listen to see if we can hear one or both of them ticking. Nary a tick nor a tock, so far.

But, since I was staring down the barrel of another four months of “Kristen-time,” I contemplated whether having a child would help fill future deployments with finger-painting, zoo-going, and just exploring the world from the level of a two- and- a- half-foot person. As I boarded my first flight, a family sat in the row of seats in front of me. I was in the window seat, as was a three- or four- year- old, who was behaving very well. His big brother, maybe age 10 or so, was next to him, and their mother sat in the aisle seat. The father and daughters were across the aisle from the boys. I was really impressed with how polite the family was and how engaged the kids were in the games and activities their parents had brought for them. It seemed like the three hour flight would fly by.

It was kind of fun to hear how the little things in life excite children, as well as adults. The two boys in front of me were thrilled to get the WHOLE can of Coke when the flight attendants came around with refreshments. After twenty minutes, I heard junior ask where the bathroom was. His brother helped him stand up on the seat and pointed out the lavs at the back of the plane. He looked over at me and waved before he sat down. Cute kid!

Just as he started to unbuckle his seatbelt, the plane hit some heavy turbulence, leading the captain to turn on the “fasten seatbelts” sign. Ten minutes later, I heard the mother ask whether she could take her son back to the bathroom in spite of the turbulence, but she was rebuffed by the flight attendant. Poor kid, I was ruing the fact that I’d had the second cup of coffee myself, but was resigned to sit until we landed in Houston. Junior had other ideas.

I heard his brother say, “Dude! What are you doing? Mom!!” Then the mother leaned across the middle seat to admonish the youngest child for something or other. At that moment, the “something or other” became crystal clear to yours truly. The child had been taught not to wet his pants, and, when faced with no other option, he aimed his stream, rather like a cherub in a fountain you find in English gardens, over the edge of the seat and on to the floor beneath him.

Clever.

However…

My backpack suffered the brunt of the shower, as it was underneath the seat in front of me. The seat populated by Number 2 son who just went Number 1 over the edge of said seat. The kids’ mom quickly ascertained the damage absorbed by my plucky, new (sigh…) backpack, punched the call button for the flight attendant and gathered as many beverage napkins as she could get.

“How many napkins does it take to mop up after junior?” you ask.

“They didn’t kill enough trees to even make a dent in that river!” I answer.

The mom was mortified; the kid was in tears once his brother pointed out, in a voice loud enough for at least ten rows of passengers to hear, what he had done. The sisters were grossed out and humiliated by their relationship to the water spout. The flight attendant was helpful, adding, “Perhaps I should have let him go to the restroom earlier.”

“No! Ya think?!”

After mopping up the worst of it, the flight attendant Febreezed my bag, which helped the aroma a little, but the dampness was pervasive and I was going to have to carry it through customs at Houston. I imagined it going something like this:

“Ma’am, do you have anything to declare?”
“Yes, the kid in front of me on the plane sprung a leak on my backpack. How’s your day?”

“No, ma’am, what I mean is, are you bringing anything into the country like fruit, vegetables, flammable liquids?”
“Ummm…you’re kidding, right? Hey, listen, I’ve got a really nice backpack here. Ya want it?”

I figured they’d drag me off to jail if I answered honestly…so I lied. And, I took my sodden backpack on a sprint through the airport to catch my next plane, stopping just long enough to see that the restroom near my gate was closed for cleaning…

Okay, Universe! I get it. I asked the question, and you gave me the answer. Should my husband and I take the plunge and have children like many people our age are opting to do? What I learned will serve me well in the future:

I will make and serve the kool-aid…but I will never, ever drink it. I will never sit near the kid who got to drink the WHOLE can of Coke, nor will I drink the second cup of coffee on a plane. I will sit in my backyard with my cherubic fountain in sight, aimed away from my backpack, my martini in hand, and discuss adult things with adult people. The leaks I will fix will come from the washing machine or the dish washer. I will do my own finger-painting, I will visit the zoo alone, and whenever I want to experience the world from the viewpoint of a two-foot-tall person, I will lie down on the floor and play with my cats. So, thank you, Universe, for such a prompt answer. I appreciate the fact that you’re paying attention to me. Touche’, Universe! I raise my martini glass to you.

Hey, anyone want a backpack cheap?? It’s nearly brand-new! 

It Never Rains in California...

However, it must be the rainy season in the Yucatan Peninsula. So, as the song lyric continues, “when it pours, man, it pours!”

I shared with you in an earlier post that while your spouse is deployed, it would be both wise and fun to accept as many invitations as you can. It was impossible to turn down a trip with my parents to Cancun and the surrounding environs for a week. The trip was fantastic, catching up was great, and the ruins at Chichen Itza were spectacular. The three hour bus ride was well-worth the saddle soreness as the guide was full of interesting information. He shared two nuggets of info that I found quite funny.

When the Spanish conquistadores arrived in Mexico, they were met by the Mayans. The Spaniards asked their hosts, “What do you call this place?” The response was, “Yu-ca-tam.” Hence, the current name of the area, Yucatan. What the Spaniards didn’t know is that Yu-ca-tam in Mayan means, “I don’t understand you, you idiot!”

Next, the conquistadores asked the Maya peoples what they called themselves; they were interested in the name of the tribe. The response was always, “May-ja, May-ja!” Henceforth, the native people were known as Mayans to the Europeans. What May-ja actually means is, “Stay away!” Gotta love it!

Chichen Itza was stunning. Its name means, “at the mouth of the magic water.” It was the center of the Mayan world and contained so many more ruins than just the one pyramid normally associated with it. There was an entire field full of “acoustic stones” where people would come to listen to very pure tones. They were mathematicians and astronomers extraordinaire. There were enormous ball-courts where, contrary to popular belief, the losers weren’t slain. That piece of info was written down by the conquerors later, after they had burned all the Mayan books, which, I was interested to learn, were made of paper. As many conquered peoples have learned, the victors tend to misrepresent them; losers are often shown throughout history as barbarians to justify the destruction of the civilizations.

I know I’m kind of a new-agey sort of girl, but I think places have a feel to them. This place felt magical and peaceful. Even as the storm clouds rolled in, stemming the heat of the afternoon, the air didn’t feel oppressive; it felt serene. I had walked to the far end of the ruins to take some photos with fewer tourists in them. The raindrops started to fall; I was so far from everyone else that the plops of water were the only sounds I could hear. The Mayans consider the rain a great blessing. Rain brings life. The water was truly magical.

Suffice it to say the Mayans blessed me that day. I received so many blessings that rain ran down my face in rivulets, sluiced off my nose, and filled up my shoes. Waterproof shoes – check! I watched all the tourists bolt for the covered area, which was nearly a mile away. I had to laugh. There really wasn’t any way I could get any wetter. It was a warm rain that soaked me to the skin. The only worry was my Dad’s camera, which I wrapped in my hat, leaving my locks to soak up the monsoon. I’ve always wanted a dread-locked/braided look, and I finally achieved it that day with my blessings courtesy of the Mayan gods.

While most of the tourists sprinted for a small roofed in area where they packed themselves in like sardines, a vendor family working the ruins invited me to stand under their sheet of plastic with them. We held it over our heads and tried conversing in the little Spanish I know. I think there is a universal sound for, “Ugh, the water just ran down my wrists all the way to my armpits.” It sounds something like, “Yack!” It was clear after a few minutes that the cloudburst was in no mood to cease and desist. I walked slowly back to the bus, sad to leave such a miraculous, mysterious place.

As we all arrived at our tour buses, clearly no one had escaped the continuing torrential rain. Rain was pouring down in sheets, bouncing back up at least two feet into the air. Puddles ankle-deep were everywhere. Men pulled off their t-shirts and wrung them out before boarding, many women with long hair tried to wring that out, too. We anticipated our three hour bus ride and weren’t shy about removing wet things, whether or not there were dry things to replace them. My white pants were completely see-through, except from the knee down, where all the sand had bounced back up with the force of the deluge. The opacity on the bottom didn’t exactly cover my lovely lime green underpants. I pulled off my t-shirt to wring it out and found that my bra (keep in mind here that I’m a tad to the under-endowed side and tend to gravitate toward some padded bras) held about a half-gallon of rain per cup. Gives a whole new meaning to the term “water bra,” let me tell ya. I might have been able to win the wet t-shirt contest that day! Everyone participated, whether they wanted to or not! I decided there was no reason to be shy and removed the prize winning bra, too, to squeeze out the water. Only decorum kept one young vendor from staring outright…hmm, I wonder if I could have gotten a discount on the dry t-shirts he was selling?

Ah, well, the Mayan gods had their fun, as did all of us. The rain did little to dampen our enthusiasm for the trip and we all seemed to bond over squishy socks and sodden undergarments. The couple from the U.K. found it to be just like home, minus the Mayan ruins, of course. The Magicians of the Water treated us all to an unforgettable experience.

So, my advice to you is that if you ever find yourself in Cancun, sign up for the three hour bus ride. Go to Chichen Itza -- you won’t be sorry you did.

Please, just remember not to stare when women are doffing their sopping clothes, or at least toss ‘em a dollar to pay for your peep.

Peace, love, and magical water!

Even Working Dogs Can Be Cute

During this deployment, one of the things I’ve been working very hard at is finding the good in everything, the peace in every instant. I’m trying to put into practice a very Zen way of living in the moment and finding the positive under every rock. It seems to keep my stress down and takes pressure off the hubby because I’m much calmer when we can chat. He also should be given credit for telling me the good, “Baby, I’m not in any danger,” stories.

Today, I’d like to share one of his stories with you. There can be humor and life-affirming moments even in a war zone. The following is quoted directly from an email he sent…along with the permission to share it with you…believe me, I checked first! :-)

“So,

I was on a C-17 back to the Deid from Afghanistan and we flew back with
three bomb-dogs and their handlers. The dogs rode in the bay with us and
were not crated.

Our show-time had put us in the PAX terminal over-night and, as a result, no
one on the flight had gotten any useful sleep; it was morning before the
flight actually left.

So, once we reached cruising altitude and could un-strap and take off our
armor, a lot of us found empty spots on the deck and laid down. Only the
center pallet positions were being used, so there were pretty wide aisles
down each side of the aircraft, i.e. lots of floor space.

While they do run the heaters in the cargo-bay when they have passengers on
board, the aluminum floor of an aluminum airplane at 30-ish thousand feet is
pretty cold. When you have been up long enough, you don't care so much.

Naturally, the dogs are also on the floor and tend think that this aluminum
floor thing is somewhere between OK and kinda-sucks, just like the rest of
us.

So, about two-thirds through the flight I wake and move back to a jump seat,
having reached the point of being more cold than tired, and I see the point
of this whole story.

One of the guys on the deck (not one of the handlers, they had stayed
strapped in) was wearing a fleece and, during their snooze, one of the
working dogs had inched over to the far end of his harness (it was taut)
so that he could snuggle up against his back.

My movement must have woken up the pup, because he opens one eye, looks at
me. Looks at his handler. Then looks back at me and, to anthropomorphize
Kristen-style, gives me the "shhhh...don't tell him" look and scrunches up
closer to the guys he is leaning on.

Too cute.”

First, a note from the editor:

I don’t anthropomorphize anything, do I kitties? But, after reading the story over my shoulder, Neekie wanted me to share this with you.


“Blech! Dogs stink!”

Also, I had a picture in my head when my husband shared this story with me that the bomb dogs were German or Belgian Shepherds. So, it didn’t make sense that the big fluffy dogs would get chilled, even at altitude. The hubby then sent me this picture of what the dogs looked like. We think they were all Chesapeake Bay Retrievers, who, as the “hubband” told me, “were hired for their noses, not their coats.” And, as I think about it now, German Shepherds and equally fluffy dogs would expire in the heat of the Middle East, so the shorter coats of the CBR’s make terrific sense.



Besides, how cute are those noses??!!!

I hope what you take from this entry is that there will be all kinds of stories that you and your spouse will be able to share with each other during and after the deployment. Embrace them, they will become a part of your shared history, even though only one of you is present at the time. Learn to become story-tellers for each other. Try to capture the details of what you’re seeing and experiencing. Take the time to apply all of your senses so you can share these wonderful events with your partner. And, remember; listen closely when your love bug is sharing a story with you, too. He or she is trying to give you a gift of a long-distance moment.

Take care of each other!

Peace, love, and warm, snuggly bomb dogs to you all!

RSVP! On the Road Again!!

Hello, All! I have returned with lots of new info and many (slightly dubious) pieces of advice to share after a trip out of the states. Hopefully everyone is motoring through their respective deployments with relative ease. One fun way to speed through the separation is to stuff your free time with no end of activities and visits. This does necessitate accepting invitations you might not have been expecting, or might not even understand what you’re going to be doing or where you’re going…but, what the hell! Keep life interesting! What I’m saying is…if somebody invites you somewhere -- anywhere, really -- if you can afford it…GO!

If your coworker invites you to canasta; go! (If you’re not sure whether it’s a dance or a card game, it would be wise to pack for both activities.)

If your uncle asks you to go fishing, put on the hip-waders and go. If your boss invites you out for cocktails, get a designated driver and go.

If your BFF invites you to help out at a birthday party for three year olds – um, well – there are some things a sane person shouldn’t do. But, since we all know our sanity was put up for auction long, long ago when we signed on for the deployment long-haul, you might as well go to the birthday party, too. Just remember, nearly all bodily fluids and butter cream frosting can be washed off. Febreeze will take care of the rest.

If your friends invite you to Tampa, and promise to stuff you with all the best vegetarian fare on the planet, even if you usually take your oatmeal with sausage, bacon, and ham on the side; go!

And, last but not least, if your parents offer to take you to the beaches of sunny Mexico…duh! GO!!!

So I did!

Trip report to follow.

Peace, love, and sand in your shorts!

Fun Meters!

So, the spouse has been absent a while and the fun meter is pegged out to the left. You may hate to hear this, but only you can change that. I’ll put it very simply. Every day, just choose to be happy, opt to have fun. It may sound ridiculous, but you are in control of your thoughts (at least on your more lucid days… ;-)) and choosing to enjoy your day, even though your beloved is on the other side of the planet, is a very potent move to make.

I have rediscovered a book I read a number of years ago. It’s called “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff…and it’s all small stuff” written by Richard Carlson, Ph.D. It’s filled with two and three page chapters, not unlike a blog, really, that contain little nuggets of wisdom. I’m finding them newly applicable as I face another stretch of months alone. Chapter 69 is entitled “Be Happy Where You Are.” He means that we should attempt to peg out the fun meter wherever and whenever we are in our lives. Many of us fall prey to the idea: “…that we keep convincing ourselves, ‘Someday, I’ll be happy’.” Our problem is that we put off happiness indefinitely. Why not start now? It’s important even when you’re not with your honey, maybe, especially when you’re not with your honey. Remember, no one is responsible for your fun meter…except you. Get ready to peg it out, everyone! Besides, resting the responsibility for your happiness on anyone else means you might be wussing out. Don’t wuss out, people! Choose happiness. Don’t make your main squeeze responsible for that.

So, how can you accomplish this during a deployment? Do what you love. If you love running marathons, well, you’re masochistic, but that’s okay, so am I. Anyway, if you do enjoy competing in races, take the time that you would otherwise be rubbing your love-bunny’s feet and use it to get back in shape. Get outside, enjoy the weather, and run till you barf! Yay! Marathons! Can you tell I’m a fan? Well, really, I’m a fan of the end, when it’s all over. That moment when you can no longer taste your own heartbeat. I love the free pasta dinner, the camaraderie, the blisters and sunburns. No, really, it’s nice to have a goal, set out to accomplish it, and survive to see another sunrise once the race is done. I can’t say that the Air Force marathon completely pegged out my fun meter, but at least I got the needle to wiggle around a little bit.

If running/race-walking/hacking up a lung isn’t your thing, how about learning something new while your love bug is off saving the world? While I was with Pat and Dani in Tampa, they very kindly took me to their favorite cooking school. (Well, they have eaten my cuisine in the past, and they know that my hubby is the chef in the family. They’re just trying to make sure I don’t starve to death between now and the return of my favorite home-cook.) It was bread-baking day. The chef who taught the class was very nice. I’m not sure her fun meter registered with a “whoop!” when she figured out that more than a few of her ten students couldn’t really even boil water. Ahem…for the record, I can boil it, I just don’t always do anything spectacular with it after that! And, really, is this about her fun meter anyway? No! It’s about mine!!

She presented us with three different recipes and all kinds of fancy-schmancy whiz-cookery things to use in three hours. Yes, I’m sure that is the technical name for all of the gadgets we used to make sure the water was the right temperature, to make sure the bread didn’t stick to the pans, etc. The one thing I recognized was the wine glass. I liked that part. :-) I really did try to listen and remember the process so that I could go home and wow the cats with catnip bread-sticks, but I’m not sure I’d be allowed to leave a pastry school outside of a body bag once my French focaccia bread is taste-tested by the experts. And, by experts I mean anybody with a modicum of taste buds. Most of the students’ bread turned out really well. We could add caramelized onions, rosemary, Kalamata olives, or parmesan cheese. I opted for simple and cheesy, (kind of like me) and the chef even tried to help me form the bread into a nice leaf shape. She was very kind once it was baked and didn’t even hint that it looked like…well, a toilet seat. Wow! My fun meter is bouncing all over the place. My friends were nice about my cheesy commode topper, they didn’t once snort wine out their noses when they looked at it. That’s the mark of true friends, people!!



We were all asked what we learned at the class as we polished off our bread and I think what I learned is I’ll keep buying my bread, fancy or otherwise, at the grocery store. But, hey! I learned something! And, truly, I did have fun.

So, get back out there! Learn new things! And, write me once in a while to let me know how your fun meter’s looking! I’m sure the dude who wrote the “Small Stuff” book would be intrigued with our choices.

Peace, love, and focaccia toilet seats!

Get "Lucky"

So, the deployment stretches on. You’ve been making do with Skype and care packages. Chatting when you can, ignoring the silence in the house the rest of the time. What can you do now to up the fun factor? Why not add a new family member to the household? For those of you already pregnant, all you have to do is take care of yourself and wait for the magic day. But, for the rest of us, barring some weird kind of immaculate/long distance conception, we have to be a little more proactive about the situation. Adopting a child is an option, and a good one should you really want to add two-legged people to your household. For those of you who are maxed out on person-to-bed ratios, why not adopt a four-legged being. They do inject fun and frivolity into an otherwise quiet abode.




I even put this advice into practice a while back and can share it with you now. During one of the hubby’s trips around the world on an oil supply boat (suffice it to say that he has had weird jobs for a military dude), I decided to participate in this grand experiment of family additions. The conversation via satellite phone went something like this:

Me: Hi, Baby! I need a kitty.
Hubby: Sweetie, you already have two cats. Did something happen to them?

Me: No, I just reeeeealllllly need another kitty. (I think my pouty bottom lip may actually have stuck out at this point.) And, I found the perfect one in the paper. You know how Neekie is black and white, and Zoe is grey? Well, there’s a kitty at the shelter who is black and white and grey. It’s not like we’d even know the difference. And, her human parents were killed in a car accident, so she’s an orphan. She needs a mama as much as I need another kitty. See, the universe is getting involved again. I’ve learned to listen. Sooooo…I can stop by the shelter and pick her up tomorrow. She’s really cute! You’ll love her, I promise! (I don’t think I took a breath that whole time.)
Hubby: Right. Another four legs in the house, huh? I think twelve legs are all we really need in our residence at any given time.

Me:
Hubby: Will you at least give someone else the opportunity to give the kitty a home? Promise you won’t be there first thing in the morning with your nose pressed against the window.

Me: I promise! I love you, Baby!!
Hubby: I know. I must love you, too. (That last was covered by a burst of static, so that might not have been exactly what he said.):-)

For once, I actually listened. I did wait until noon to show up at the shelter with the crumpled newspaper picture in my purse. Albuquerque has such a problem with stray animals that they put ads everyday in the local paper from one of the thirteen shelters highlighting a cat and a dog that need homes. In my defense, it really is tough to ignore the pictures and the stories that go with them. So, when I arrived, ready to add a new family member to trot home with my new kitty, I handed the photo to the animal control chica, but she then proceeded to tell me somebody else had stolen my baby.

What?? The nerve of some people!! Somebody else got there first? Not fair!! I wanted, no, needed a new kitty! I think all of this played out on my face and perhaps the word “sucker” really is printed on my forehead, because soon after that, she asked the magic question. “Would you like to come back and look at the other kitties? We have so many who need homes.” You couldn’t have sunk the hook in my cheek any faster. Zing! Fish on!! Of course I’d be thrilled to go look at the kitties! Silly Goose!

The shelters in ABQ really do a great job caring for the animals in the shelters. However, they have so many cats that they can only afford to keep them for 90 days before they have to put them down. The room with the cat cages was very clean and I could tell the people who worked there really loved the animals. There was a brown grocery sack in one cage to make a hidey-hole for a very shy, scaredy-cat. Others had brothers and sisters together for company; most had toys and very clean litter boxes. As I walked through and looked at the kitties, I tried to stick to grey, black, and white furry-butts, since that was what I had told the spousal unit on the phone. Maybe he wouldn’t know the difference. Besides, what’s a mere four extra legs in the house? We have plenty of room!!

After looking at all of the babies, I selected a short-haired gray and white cat with big blue eyes. I pointed out the kitty to Karen, the volunteer working with the animals that day. She smiled, but then noticed the note tacked to the side of the cage; this cat was reserved for a family who was coming back to get her in two hours. She walked me to another cage, saying that she wasn’t supposed to make suggestions, but she wanted to show me her favorite cat anyway. He very politely sat up tall, adjusted his metaphorical bow-tie, started purring this wonderful tune and reached out to her when she opened his cage. He was the sweetest cat! He was orange and perfect. While I petted him, I saw a similar note tacked to his cage. Crap! “Does he have someone coming for him, too?” I asked Karen. She quickly removed the note. “No,” she told me, “that’s not what that card means. You know we can only keep felines for 90 days before putting them down? Well, this is his last day. He needs a home today, which is why I wanted to introduce you to him," she said, almost in tears.

He looked up at me and patted my cheek with his paw; he was ready to go home. “He’s been in this cage for 90 days? And, he’s this sweet? Of course, I’ll take him.” She looked a little uncomfortable at that point. “Um, he hasn’t been in the cage for 90 days, he’s been here for 180 days. He didn’t get selected at the 90 day point, so the vet put him down…but, sometimes the euthanasia drug cocktail doesn’t take; he woke up. And, he woke up purring. We all love him so much that we decided to restart his clock and today is his second 90th day. I’d take him myself but I’ve got seven at home and my husband would leave me if I brought home another one.” I laughed through my tears. Yeah, my husband was going to be equally as thrilled. But, this fuzzy creature was going home with me!

We named him Lucky. His full name is Damn Lucky To Be Alive Seal, and he is the happiest cat on the planet. Even my cat-sitter thinks so. Lucky sings to himself and purrs ALL the time. He runs around just for fun and has finally developed some thigh muscles. He’d been in the cage so long that his back legs had atrophied and he was kind of knock-kneed when I got him. His smile is genuine. He plays Marco Polo with us when he gets lost in the house which happens daily. He’s probably not the brightest bulb on the tree. The hubby and I frequently say that he has two brain cells – he rubs them together to make heat and light. I’d like to add that they must make happiness, too. He’s just full of it and willing to share.

So, as far as the advice goes, I would highly recommend getting a new cat or dog if you’re having a hard time getting through the separation. Your mate may not be on board in the beginning. But, if the pet is anything like Lucky, your partner will come around. After six years, Lucky is still worth it. He’s helping me get through deployments by keeping me entertained and letting me know I’m loved. I think he knew I was coming to pick him up. He just had to give up one of his nine lives to be there at the right time. Every day I tell him I’m sorry I was almost too late. Every day he tells me that it’s okay. Every day he shows me that he’s happy. I don’t know how I got so “Lucky!”

Half-A**ing It

You know how I said yesterday that I don’t recommend half-a**ing anything? Well, turns out that the one thing that I half-ass on a regular basis is the toilet. Wait…not what I meant. What I mean is this; there are some things, most things, to which I will devote my complete devotion: watching a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon, writing letters of recommendation for former students, seeking out all Taco John’s restaurants in a 300 mile radius. To those things I will bestow all of my energy and time…which, as it turns out, I have more of than I’d thought. There are, however, in the interest of full disclosure, a few things to which I will turn a blind eye. Ignore. Half-ass, if you will.

One of those things is currently our upstairs loo. Keep in mind, like many modern households, we have two of them. The upstairs commode, the one attached to our master suite is the one that is currently a huge pain in my...um, again, I’m not meaning to turn this blog toward scatological humor by any means, butttttttt…Okay, you can groan now, but I did warn you a few days ago that my sense of humor is just really awful sometimes and tends toward ridiculous puns. I love puns! In this case, though, the puns are (mostly) unintentional and the privy really is becoming a problem.

It runs. Hell, I think it actually runs more than some of my former fitness training clients. It has been running since we moved in. We’ve replaced the rubber gasket inside two or three times in less than two years. Before my honey trooped off to become a denizen of warmer climes, he replaced the entire interior workings of said porcelain throne, in the hopes that I wouldn’t have to deal with it in his absence. He wasn’t, I’m sure, actually thinking of me. He just knows how I “fix” things when he’s not around. I have a proud lock on the title, Jury-Rigging-Princess. I can half-ass nearly any repair inside or outside the house in order to “just get by.” I hate fixing toilets…but I hate listening to them run even more. Come to think of it, that john is as noisy as some of my former clients, too.

Anyway, I have a history rigging up fixes for running toilets, (ask my parents about my college powder room "fix.")but this time, I took the high-road. I simplified the “interim-repair” – ohhhh, great term, not jury-rigged, but an interim repair, I like it -- and instead of using twenty feet of twine and shoe laces to shore up the float inside the tank to keep the water from leaking into the bowl, I just used eight inches of elastic. It’s perfect, people!! I hooked it around the arm of the float, and the top of the tank, when replaced, exerts enough downward force to keep the elastic loop in place. When flushing becomes necessary, I just lift the top slightly, whip out the elastic, flush, wait for the tank to refill, and then, replace the elastic. How much easier is that than going down to Home Depot and figuring out which “black rubber thingy” to buy, emptying the tank, splashing the cats with water, run, Lucky, run…curse my short attention span!! See? I just get distracted and would rather not bother myself with repairing it correctly, as my poor hubby has requested. He even offered up the services of one of his squadron-mates. “Nah, Baby, I’m fine. The elastic doesn’t bug me.” Poor guy! That’s one of the other things I tend to half-ass: listening! ;-)

Once I saw the decorative potential in the elastic loop, I decided to go hog-wild. There are many different colors of elastic and when curled nicely, it looks like your lav has been gift-wrapped. Pretty, for any occasion. You can change it up for parties or try different colors to go with the seasons. Try it yourselves!! Save the trip to Lowe’s Home Improvement, save gas, and save the environment at the same time. Make a pretty privy!!

See? Half-assing some things can sometimes be desirable!! So, remember, just because your significant other is off dealing with his or her own plumbing issues half-way around the world, it doesn’t mean that you can’t fix your own powder room…your own way. By the way, I have to run. I need to grab some sparkly, metallic, bling-bling elastic to go with the black and white décor of the upstairs lavatory. If I can’t find what I’m looking for, I may just have to paint the whole room to match the elastic!

Um, and,Baby? If you're coming home anytime soon, I'll brief you on how to jury-rig the john like a pro! :-)

Peace, love, and pretty privies to one and all!

Yup, I Really Did...

Thanks to everyone for your kind comments about the blog. As an English Prof, it can be easy to forget how hard it is for your students to turn over their “babies” (their papers) to you. It’s just another assignment to the teacher, but not to the students. These are very personal items. Nobody likes being told his or her baby is ugly, so writing this blog is forcing me to put my babies out there, a few per week, to be judged, as well. It’s good practice in humility. That, along with shooting, cooking, and sewing are keeping me really, really humble, y’all. I think the blog has made me a better reader, too. I’m a little more willing to forgive a student’s claim of writer’s block if I’ve suffered it myself recently. It’s also easier to overlook a few grammatical errors when I make them myself. Trust me -- sometimes I re-read something for what must be the fortieth time and STILL screw up comma placement. Comma-splices, my left butt cheek! I like commas, so I’m gonna use commas!! Take a breath, insert a comma. ‘Nuff said about that,,,,,,,,, :-)

But, I digress…Back to you, my lovely readers! My friend just asked today whether the story about the pickle jar is really true. Yup, I really did smash the pickle jar open with a hammer on my patio. I was out of options, people! As I thought about the veracity (not voracity…as I’m always freakin’ starving. I’m a vegetarian, after all; I’m almost always hungry.) of the stories and strategies I’ve been building for you, I wanted to make it clear that the stories are true. Yup, I really do a lot of ridiculous things that I’m willing to share with you, because…what the hell? Ya know what I mean? The more the merrier. I’d love to think that you could learn from my mistakes, but I don’t even think I’m learning from them just yet. So, for now, it’s about the humor in the simple things in life, relationships, and deployments.

So, yes, I really do keep a hammer in the kitchen drawer, right next to the Saws-All and the Band-Aids. My husband is smart enough to know not to laugh when I ask him to unscrew a jar for me. He usually even lies and tells me that I must have loosened it for him. Laugh it up, Sweet Cheeks! You have to sleep sometime!

And, I really did paint my walls, with the help of my fantabulous sister-in-law, the color of macaroni and cheese. As her comment said, “it was officially the scariest can of paint we ever looked into.” I’m not willing to half-ass anything, and I’m hoping that comes through in my advice to y’all. I really mean it when I say, “go big or go home.” It’s just paint. You can raze the house and start over if you don’t like it. I’m sure we could find a great deal on an earth-mover. I feel that way about my hair, too.

I really did dye it every color of the rainbow in the last few years since I’ve been out of the military and probably some very illegal (or un-reg-like) colors while I was active duty. I got in more trouble over my hair than anybody out at Schriever AFB probably ever has. I kept a copy of an LOR in my shin pocket at all times, just to remind myself that not everybody “loves on” the hair like I do. But, my students and university bosses have always liked it; you can tell very quickly how my class is going to be run by looking at my hair on the first day. If it scares you, you’re probably in the wrong classroom. Don’t let the door smack you in the butt on the way out. If it makes you smile, stick around, and we’ll probably have some fun.

Speaking of pockets, yes, I really did fit everything AND the kitchen sink into my flight suit. If they give you pockets, they mean for you to fill them up. Don’t they? I haven’t actually weighed my old flight suit, but hefting it, and then hoisting the fattest of the cats is about the same amount of “holy crap, this is heavy!” (Mama loves you, Zoe! You’re a pretty girl!) Even this many years later, I haven’t had the heart to clean everything out of the pockets, so if I find myself in need of something, anything, really, I start by hunting through all of the uniform pockets; I usually find what I’m looking for, too. Strange, maybe that’s where the socks that get sucked into the dryer empty out: my right flight cap pocket. I’ll test that later in my VERY scientific fashion. Trust me!

I really did ask my husband to marry me. It really was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. In my mind, I was going to be very suave and debonair, I had a ring and was ready to get down on one knee, as I was asking him to be my wife, not my husband…long story. Let me know if you want to hear the whole story in another blog…and then he can tell you how it REALLY happened!

I really did pass out getting the tattoo. Yeah, it was funny. Yeah, it hurt like a bi!@%. Yeah, it was worth it. Now, it REALLY, REALLY itches!!!! But, it’s still worth it…really.

And, definitely, the universe really did have to get involved in my relationships! My ability to select well for myself had been a little suspect prior to the name tag sealing the deal for me. Wawawa…bad joke! Seal the deal? Really? Yeah, my sense of humor is actually that awful. Just ask the Seal Hubby. He groans in his sleep now. I think I might have marred him for life with my ghastly jokes. Ah, well. Take the good with the bad, Baby! ;->

I really do have three cats who run my life, and I’m really learning to swear at them in Gaelic. The going’s a little slow, because it really is the most outrageous language I’ve ever taken a crack at. We haven’t even gotten to lessons on commas. Oh, shit! At that point, I think I’ll just throw in the towel -- if one of the cats isn’t sitting on it at the time.

And, last but not least, my husband really is deployed. It really does suck sometimes, but writing only partially-ridiculous advice for other people does make it more fun for me. And, I really did make a toilet seat out of bread. Oh, wait…did I tell you that one yet?

Girls Kick A**

Most of my past blogs have spent time coming up with survival tactics for the spouse staying stateside and keeping the home fires burning. And, as the hubby says, “this doesn’t mean you’re supposed to burn the house down, Baby!” Check! “Keep cats alive and don’t burn down house.” He doesn’t have many imperatives, but he knows to be specific. Sometimes, people have to make their directives crystal-clear for me to follow them. Anyway…This column is for my chicas-in-arms currently deployed. Hey, Girls!! And, having traveled on the government’s dime while active-duty myself, I want to share deployment survival strategies with this kick-ass group, too. (Okay, I double-checked the spelling of traveled…turns out you can spell it with either one L or two. Man, I teach this crazy language, and I’m still surprised by stuff like this! At times, I think Webster just gave up and included alternate spellings in his dictionary because some people – my students, for instance, not to point fingers – just continue to spell words however they want to. I blame text-speak!)

Back to the chicks hanging out in the desert oases of the world! I have some suggestions that you may be able to follow to make your home-away-from-home experience a little better. Now, as you’ll recall, I’ve discussed changing the paint in your living room, or on your body to generate a little dopamine, that feel-good hormone we all love so much. I understand that you won’t necessarily be able to repaint your dorms or tents, and that the regs have tightened up some on where you can have tattoos, but how about hair color changes? I’ve been told that the language in the regulations has been changed regarding hair color, too. (They even changed the name from regs to instructions. Really? What? Somebody needed a bullet on their EPR or OPR to prove that we’re a kinder, gentler military? Whatever!!) Not sure exactly what it says now, but “a natural color” and “colors found in nature” meant the same thing to me when I was still in uniform. My boss was colorblind and I was able to convince him that “Loreal’s Burgundy Brunette” wasn’t really purple; it was just a trick of the sunlight. And, really, people, who could blame me? Eggplants are found in nature! I miss that color! It went so well with my blues. Then, when I went very, very, strawberry blonde, (definitely an orangey-pink) I found a civilian dude working on the base who had the same natural color hair who was willing to speak to my boss about it. Great guy, weird hair, but a great guy! :-)

How else can you flout the rules? For those of you without color-blind bosses, or at least those with bosses who read the regs and are willing to raise the bullshit flag when they should: How ‘bout skivvies? I know, I know, personal question. But, get over it! We’re all friends here! I know that those of you who took off for the land of the 125 degree summer were only allowed one set of “conservative, appropriate civilian clothes.” Ye gods! Gag me with a Louboutin stiletto! Those two words, conservative and appropriate, have been my adversaries all my life…so, no surprise…I figured out how to get around them, even in uniform! So, though you are only allowed one set of boring clothes along with multiples of equally boring, though functional, uniforms, why not bring along an entire lingerie store’s worth of cute underpinnings. Fancy word for fancy things, ladies! Let's get some fabulosity happening in the war zones! And, you ought to be able to keep those fancy undies a secret from, well, from anybody who ought not be peekin’ down the front of your flight suits.

So, what better way to feel pretty, even when hot showers are hard to come by, than wearing silk and lace?! And, the great thing about ABUs and flight suits is the sheer number and size of pockets. (The hubby used to be amazed at what I could fit in my flight suit. No need for a purse here, people. I could travel for a week on what I had squirreled away in the pockets and frequently did. Flight cap, my identification and badges, mini-toothpaste, toothbrush, three colors of lipstick, tea bags, tampons, three pens, a grease pencil, laser pointer, change of underwear, the bra that started itching halfway through the day, granola bar – cuz, really, who eats those things?, the all-important unit coin, extra change…holy crap! No wonder my spine has a slight scoliosis curve to it now, I carried around twenty pounds of wholly necessary junk!) So, girls, embrace your pocket-space! In them, you can fit a corset from Trashy.com, a pair of Victoria’s Secret silk boyfriend shorts, and a pair garters and stockings from Frederick’s of Hollywood, and nobody will be the wiser. Except you! Feel beautiful while kicking butt for the good ol’ U.S. of A! And, that’s what matters. Just keep in mind that lace in a 125 degree environment under full battle-rattle can cause some serious chafage! (Yes, I made up the word, but I get to. It’s in the fine-print on my diploma…at least that’s what I tell my students. And, they believe me. They’re so gullible, I mean, great, they’re so great!) So, in extreme heat, you may want to opt for natural fibers like silk and cotton – both are pretty options.

And, if all else fails, and they start searching your bags and pockets for underwear, after smacking them, you can always fall back on my favorite, cheap, easy way to paint your body. Bright lipstick, girls. Remember, the slim tubes fit nicely in your pen slots. My two favorites when in uniform were the perfect red and a wonderful, warm orange with gold flecks. The red is Christian Dior’s #854, called Chez Soi, or At Home Red; it’s a slight blue-red, that, when layered, can be VERY bright (I once had a Vice Wing Commander ask me to turn it down. I told him it didn’t have a volume control and neither did I! We became great friends soon after that.), and the blue-red makes your teeth look super white. Voila’! C’est magnifique! The orange is a Lancome Rouge Magnetic color called Sanguine. It’s a vibrant orange that is the perfect complement to the blue of the uniforms. Ah, so bright and beautiful. Pucker up, smooch a napkin, and send it home to your beloved to remind him how much he misses you!!!

So, girls, remember, the next time you’re sitting in the desert, slap on a little face paint, snap your bra straps, roll up your stockings…and prepare to take over the world. Because, you, and don’t you forget it, kick ass, ladies!!! If your BX (or lack thereof) doesn’t carry lipstick and lingerie, I’m willing to take orders and ship some to you. What we won’t do for our country, huh? Rosie the Riveter would be proud!

Peace, love, and lipstick - K