Dear Darla Diaries

i love driving, yes i do. i love driving, how about you?

I am blowing this popsicle stand like a herd of ants from household Raid. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I get to go to my home state of Oregon for the weekend. And I couldn't be more excited. The closer it gets to my Missouri trip in July the more I itch to take a break from the manageable house of cards I've been building around myself and Sue to survive. They were calling, those adorable munchkins of mine, and I answered. I'm coming to visit boys! I'm ready to be smothered from sunup to snore with peanut-and-jelly kisses, bickering, fighting, selfish attention and lots and lots of hugs.

I have the unfortunate but financially savvy joy of working Friday for 9 hours, nearly 12 counting lunch and commute, before beginning my 6 hour jaunt. My security with this and the other upcoming traveling trips is the location of where I live. It's a beautiful thing living on base in a duplex smack dab in the middle of police force neighbors and big strong men who are rarely gone from home. And I'm not just stating that disclaimer to scare the robbers. Attempt to break into my house and Justin will sic my rottie and his two giant black german shephards on your ass. You can run but I don't think you can hide. Ever seen COPS? Watch it and you'll get the idea. Enough with the threats, I know, because you all love me and wouldn't do me harm!  The other great thing is having neighbors who adore my dog and wish they could adopt her as their second child. This means that pet sitting is generally taken care of with only the price of dog food and occasional child sitting to cover the expenses aka FREE.

The only sore part about the entire weekend trip will be the 18+ driving hours in very few days. I begin the trip driving from eastern Washington to eastern Oregon via the circuitous routes dictated by the departments of transportation in both states. The most direct path being 3 hours southwest followed by 3 hours southeast. Were they drunk when they designed the road system? Maybe you should step away from the vodka bottle before designing buddy, the road weary travelers would appreciate it. Lucky for me it's summer, and will be sunny later and I'm very familiar with the first 3 hours. The not so lucky part is that I don't drive that well in the dark and I've never, I repeat NEVER, been to eastern Oregon. Than I made the mistake of volunteering to cart the kids from my sister/bro-in-laws to my folks on Sunday. That's another 6 hour drive due west. Last but not least this trip will wrap up with a 6 hour return drive home from the folks Monday morning.

Crazy you say? The Sunday trip was two-fold. I get to spend some time connecting with my nephews and visit my parents. I also get to renew my car registration tags on my vehicle Monday morning. The tags that are set to expire Sunday. The tags that, once discovered last night, caused me to have nightmares about being banned from base. I just kept seeing the same scene of the Security Forces banning me from base for inadequate registration. They wouldn't even listen to the reasoning of "but I LIVE here!!" With that panic shadowing my brain I extended my weekend trip to include an unpaid day off, Monday, and extra driving time. A win-lose no changeable situation. The other nightmare was that I would have to cancel my trip and spend Friday getting new license plates, tags, emissions testing and drivers license. No friggin' thank you.

Hold on ... why am I blogging? I have to pack! And pay bills! And get some sleep! Ahhh. And I will talk to you later. Possibly Monday if I'm not too exhausted from my trip. New pictures to come as always. Tidbits from a new town and bragging rights as an auntie. You should know by now if it moves, it gets shoot .. er .. shot.

parental guidance suggested

I found this over at ... so I stabbed him in the head with a fork

I'm not surprised. My potty mouth is not as expressive as hers ... and I get dangerous by saying "pain" and "dead." Hide all the sharp objects and small children!

-------

Today's conversation with the Sprint "specialist"  or "SS" (stupid shit, super special, snitty snotterpants, surly snot) ..

Me: Yes, I'm calling because my picture mail isn't active with my new phone. I have internet access but I can't send or receive photos like I could with my old one and I was reassured yesterday that this wasn't an issue.

SS: Yes I see ... ....

SS: Just a moment ...

SS: So it looks like you have a Picture Mail contract with your new phone.

Me: Riiiight ..But it's not WORKING.

SS: Hmmm ... just a moment ...

SS: Please give me just a moment ...

SS: It's ... just another moment ...

SS: Well I see ... you will need to call back from another phone so we can program your new phone.

Me: I see, well I don't have another phone. This is my ONLY phone.

SS: Your welcome. You call back from another phone and we can program this phone.

Me: ???

SS: Is there anything else we can help you with?

Me: Um no. Thank you. (Since you didn't actually help AT ALL.) So I can't use my picture mail until I FIND another phone and call you back to program this phone?

SS: Your welcome. You call back and we help you than.

**Bang! Bang! Crap ... broke another one.

wi-fi wi-fi everywhere ... not a drop to spare

Cable chords how I loathe you. I despise how you make me feel so confined and tied down. How you limit my mobility. How you force me to sit in the corner like a naughty girl as you wield your mighty power.

Look how I mock you with the new wireless router. Are you ready for my freedom? I will use you in the basement. I will use you on the couch. I will use you on the floor. You will not whimper or whine. You will not get lube to dull your pain. You must accept it silently and efficiently.

Now I will run you ... over you and through you. As I bitch and rant, brag and lament, love and lose while exploring the world's wide web.

a real phone like the big kids have

Today when I got home I found the mail man had brought me presents. I did a jig as I unloaded the new pieces all over my pretty clean kitchen. Now I'm happily downloading ring tones and text messaging my husband like a fool. Knowing him he's probably rolling his eyes and mouthing off to his friends about how annoying I'll be again. Little do they know that phone sex is occurring and he's a big fat liar pants. I can SO cut you off baby. Digital, analog, oral or physical. Watch me. OK, so maybe if I actually got to see you more than once a semester this might be a real threat. Really.

PAINTING POTS MAKES ME HAPPY: I'm 43 little red pots down and 157 to go. That's 126 layers of red paint. Three plus coats on the outside and two plus coats on the inside of every little 1 inch clay pot. I looked like I murdered my dog. No amount of scrubbing could get all the little bits of supposedly water soluble colonial cherry paint from my knuckles, creases and fingers last night. The things we do for our art forms .. or for someones little nifty wedding favors. It was a soothing way to spread the Sunday afternoon especially after trying to break myself on Friday.

THOUGH SHALT NOT MOVE THE FURNITURE: I pulled a girl move. You know you've done it, or known your wife to do it. Don't lie. I single handedly wrangled the double recliner section of my three-piece sectional down a flight of stairs and into the basement. A very narrow flight of stairs I might add. It took a good 30-45 minutes to get it around the narrow corner and off the first step. And another 30-45 minutes to unstick it from the bottom of the stair well. Talk about a greek tragedy. I phoned ETS when the couch was stuck at the top of the stairwell and I was stuck at the bottom. I told her to please make sure my obituary read: GIRL CRUSHED TO DEATH BY COUCH! (Her husband TOLD her not to move it.) Yeah. My thought at that point was that the big evil green bitchy couch was coming down that stairwell if I had to saw it in half. It was just one of those days. I wanted it out of the living room no matter what the cost. A broken arm, concussion ... whatever. The sad part was both my man slaves, err "neighbor boys" to be politically correct, weren't home so I felt the need to play Sheera. Good thing Angie next door popped over and helped with the next two pieces, along with a friend of her family. Sometimes the military families can really pull together! Other times it seems that I live on the wrong side of the tracks in an evil commune where the doors get locked as you cross the driveway. Blinds shut. Lights off. But perhaps I exaggerate. A little.

OWNERS YOU SHALL BEAT YOUR DOGS WITH LONG WET NOODLES: The easiest way to incur a beating would have to be standing at the door and whining and sniveling because you can't be outside barking at the pedestrians like the other aggressive bastard dogs in the neighborhood. I just can't tolerate it. Puppies are to be seen NOT heard. Ok, maybe heard sometimes ... like when a robber is crawling through the living room window or a fat man in a red suit slid rudely down your chimney but not and I repeat NOT at innocent bystanders trying to exercise. It just ridiculous. What's really going to happen? Do you think the two year old is going to catapult out of the jogging stroller, sprint to the fence and throw rocks at you? Really ? Or is that person going to let her poodle off it's leash so it can ravage you with it's teeny tiny incisors? Seriously. Shut it! Than I get those big sad droopy "poor me" eyes. Yes because she's a helpless little whuppy that happens to look like an aggressive monsterous beast. Good thing I'd sooner throw my body in traffic than actually harm her. But I sound really mean. HEY! ... until I ruin the effect by petting her and apologizing. Wow. I'm going to make a great mom someday. I can feel it.

the paralysing fear of hesitation

Hello. My name is Darla and I suffer from hesitation. Chronic hesitation of the unknown that cripples, weakens and limits my activities.

Every night I go to sleep thinking tomorrow will be the day I'll start jogging for exercise, relaxation and destressing. I see the Propel, Gatorade and Nike commercials and think I Want To Be That Girl. I've thought of myself as the person that could run until I puke and run some more, for years. (Ironically my expertise in cross country track was limited to my senior year in high school, nearly a decade ago.) I read books and the heroine is always a naturally athletic girl who runs down country roads and city streets to clear her mind and I want to be that girl too. Yet, at the end of the day, when I get home I think of all the strangers that will stare and point at the awkward girl running and I can't get off the couch. I make excuses about how hot it is and how tired the dog must be in the yard. And I never go jogging.

I constantly fight to break the evil cycle. I've taken to bringing lunch every day instead of eating out. I've even progressed to getting in the car to eat lunch at the park. One small problem with this scenario, this isn't a familiar park. This is a strange park in an unknown city. The people frighten me with their shiny pretty freshness. They surge around the park with dozens of soccer kids, bikes and strollers. From my car the movement oozes like ants in their little plastic farm. The fear sets in. What if I carry my lunch to a picnic table and the parents and guardians think of me as the stalking single person just at the park to scope out their children? Will they think me the odd strange bird person? The person they shoo their children away from out of fear? What if there isn't a picnic bench and I'm the only corporate suit trying to eat lunch at the park without a buddy, kid, partner, pet? What than? Than I just sit in my car, eating morosely, until my lunch is up or I've fidgeted past the point of the comfortability and have to leave.

One of my hardest struggles is keeping occupied in my husband's absence. I want to go to new places and do new things. I want to see new parts of the city and watch new movies. I just hesitate until the last minute, in case someone wants to go with me! And ... because I'm enjoying MySpace, television, movies, books or crotcheting just a little bit more. Instead of enjoying the refreshing briskness of water, I'm sprawled on my couch. Instead of hiking new trails, I'm sprawled on my couch. Instead of laughing in a theatre of people at Brad Pitt in Ocean's 13, I'm ... sprawled on my bed. (Gotcha.)

Is there a 12 step solution to this?

Darla

you're such a pretty girl!

Dear Sue.

All I wanted to do was photograph the brilliance of your shiny coat and lovely features ...

with me ...

but you didn't want to play fair! You wanted to lick my cheeks ..

and nuzzle my boobs!

Yes, that smile was just for the camera and not from your attentions! Though I do love you dearly, my constant companion and entertainment.

I wanted to tell the lovely readers why I don't go completely crazy because of you. The fact that I have to feed you, walk you, beat you and yell at you for barking at the people walking on base.

Last night you proved your worth when you finally, and of your own accord, showed up and slept on the floor in the bedroom all night long. I slept much better knowing you'd scare the monsters away, even if you don't wake up much. And it did take you 45 days to realize I really did want you to sleep there, rather than the living room corner.

I wish I had more to brag about your loveliness but I just can't think at the moment, so you will have to be satisfied with your daily dose of Purina healthy weight dog food and a pat on the belly.

xoxo
Darla

the real truth behind the military wives

This is the reality behind the happy smiley facade:

Some days like today it isn't pretty or shiny or nice.

It sucks.

You hate it. EVERY MINUTE OF IT.

You wish there wasn't such a thing as deployments or TDY or schooling in other states.

You wish your entire relationship of loving, caring, supporting, protecting, and reacting hasn't turned into a daily phone call about menial topics and explosive arguments over even sillier ones.

You really, really, really doubt decisions that are beyond changing.

You actually entertain horrible thoughts about divorce or separation or 'back in the day before the military' that you should leave locked away in a dark cave.

Your friends call to pray with you and make you laugh and you still fee like all you need is a pack of cigarettes, a hysterical cry and a day away from it ALL. A day when you aren't a military wife and he most assuredly isn't shackled to it either.

i HEART EM ... and you can't cause she's MINE ALL MINE

This is an ode to one of my dearest friends in the whole widest world. EM. You see she doesn't want a pat on the back. This isn't why I'm writing this bit. I'm also not writing it to compare favorites or make anyone feel any less or more significant than they are to me. Stop over analyzing yourself. This is just an ode to a woman that deserves it very much.

My soul mate EM has offered her hand to me in so many ways over the last year. Our friendship is one formed through trial and separation. Not the standard over exposure to make the heart grow fonder.  We started casually connecting right before the boot camp launch and through phone call after phone call toddled our way smack in the middle of a brilliant adult kinship.

The longer I'm gone the closer we get, which is especially rare since of the hundreds of church people we've known, for nearly a decade, not a one has gone out of their comfort zone to return more of effort than just replying to my monthly newsletter emails. EM is a sister of Christ and a fellow church member but that wasn't what drew us together. It's actually a funny story how we met. Her and her husband own a series of laundromats back in our old hometown. At the time, being apartment bums, we had a weekly appointment at said facility. We stumbled into her husband while waiting for the dryers and eavesdropping on a catastrophe of an old man who had stuffed the biggest, oldest and rattiest sleeping bag into the smallest washing machine in the facility. Needless to say the smoke, stench, disorder and chaos drew quite the conversation between Steven (Mr. EM) and us while we lounged. Have I ever mentioned our affinity for striking up odd conversations in the weirdest of locals? Well, perhaps I will sometime. Let's just say that after laundromat incident, and a few unintentional attendances of the same church service, we started chatting a bit and our friendship story unfolded. (What can I say, her tall lengthy beauty partnered with his short muscular bald physique was quite the unique and unforgettable site to behold at church. Anything that brilliant had to be claimed as our own!)

I'm not sure how or why but God brought us together in ways only HE can understand ... and we can appreciate. Ways that she can express far more clearly than me, but I have never doubted His purposes. If you don't believe in God than call in karma or good fortune but it's mine nonetheless.

Through many care packages, visits, and many many many late night and lengthy phone calls we have forged a bond that will hopefully last longer than a lifetime. She has proven to be resilient, loving, caring, brutally honest, frank, assertive, loving and hilarious when I've needed it the most. Words can't even begin to express the feelings I have for this girl.

A few nights ago a situation illuminated my inadequate ability to fully express how much I appreciate her. She and her husband, through their love for us and concern to support their friend's (our) marriage through this hostile environment we call the MILITARY, wanted to lend a hand. And they did, which enabled me to purchase airfare and plan a trip to finally go to Missouri. A trip that will land squarely between now and his graduation in August. This jaunt to visit him will probably prove to be one of the most vital parts of this entire separation phase. Without it we could be testing the waters of challenge and loneliness that really just need to be left in their box. The fact that my friend sees my soul and knows the utter fear and terror I have of this new occupation tearing the foundations of our healthy marriage to shreds, is amazing. And brilliant. And beautiful.

I HEART you EM. And I want the world to know.

little painted pots

How long would it take you to paint 200 1-inch clay pots, by hand, for wedding favors? Two coats of colonial cherry with white detailing if you please. Can you make that to go? By September 15? Thanks, we would appreciate it terribly.

And, if it isn't too much trouble to ask, can you make them really pretty? The bride and groom think you're very special. Like special ed.

in case I'm found dead in a ditch somewhere, without my pants

So did you hear about my neighbor's girlfriend who got a bar code and her social security number tatoo'd on her ankle?

She did it so that if they found her body in an alley somewhere the cops could identify her. Because if she's found in an alley somewhere then she was obviously missing and the usual things like a drivers license, fingerprints or dental records were useless.