I got an email from one of my professors in the M.Ed. program.
She asked me to being a student rep on a panel reviewing the program, its effectiveness and brainstorming ideas on how to improve.
That's kinda nuts.
Those "before and after" photos that weightloss pills have in their ads.
Before, I used to be all like, impressed.
But then my brother told me about this guy he worked with at a carpentry shop. When they started working there at around the same time, the guy was jacked. Then, in the space of a month, the guy put on 30 lbs. When his co-workers gave him hell about it, he revealed that one of these weightloss companies put out a casting to take a "before" photo. He, as well as the other people contacted, put on a bunch of weight. Then the company said they were doing the next shoot in two months and everyone who did a "before" photo needed to lose the weight and get back to their jacked selves if they wanted to get paid.
Unfortunately, this guy never lost the weight.
My brother was killing himself laughing, thinking that this fool gained all this weight for a job not only to not get the gig but also ruin his body for absolutely nothing.
For the most part, I really like living in our apartment complex.
It's conveniently located, has two pools, big laundry rooms, and the complex manager has yet to hit us up for another pet deposit even though we ran into her at the dog park with two dogs in tow. Turns out she's a trainer, and she's not really supposed to have a job outside of the management gig so I think we're in the clear. Sweet!
Most of my neighbors are really friendly and pretty much all dog people, so a lot of us will chat while our dogs play. I think this must be what parents do by the side of jungle gyms.
There are some issues, obviously. I mean, I am pretty sure one of the guys downstairs is dealing drugs. I know I should be more worried about that, but he's always very nice and respectful towards me. Maybe I'm just jaded from living in Cambridge, MA in the shadiest complex you've ever seen, where I literally had to politely ask homeless people sitting on our porch if I could just squeak by to get to the front door.
So it's not really the drug dealing that creeps me out. It's this one elderly gent I often see. When I first met him I felt really bad- he's living alone, in his 60's maybe, and he's had several strokes and a lot of medical issues. He always made a point to come over and talk when he saw me around. Then he started making comments about my looks. I laughed them off, thinking he's just trying to be nice. And then he got into super-weird territory.
He always asked me when J and I are going to have kids. Which is fine. Then he told me he had a dream.
A dream where J and I couldn't get pregnant. A dream where he then "offered his seed".
Ick, blech, yuck, so f*cking disgusting, skin crawl.
The organization is made up of a bunch of volunteers who are connected to the cattle industry and, out of kindness, put on free cook-outs for soldiers. Isn't that really nice of them? What soldier would say no to free steak?
I usually like going to stuff like this. I like putting faces to the names I hear so often and I get to meet other spouses and play with babies. Everybody always complains about the "mandatory fun days" but I think it's similar to how you b*tch with the people around you during college freshman orientation. Like, "I would like to start talking with the people around me and make friends, but I want to look cool and indifferent, so I'll strike up conversation by complaining." And you know what? It works. Pretty much everyone I saw there complained, and then immediately made plans to hang out that night.
We invited some people over and it was a pretty packed apartment. It was crazy. Plus, it was so hot yesterday (108 F) that the kids were inside the whole time. I love kids so that was fine with me, but one of the parents seemed to really hate them. Like, out of control, constant screaming.
I know this is typical- a married lady without kids commenting on someone else's parenting style. I'm usually pretty laid-back and try to always keep in mind that I don't know everything that goes on behind closed doors, but both J and I were shocked by this one mama. When I say constant, I meant constant screaming. And it wasn't just at her kids. Her husband caught hell, too. I think I heard her say four sentences at a normal decibel range. Not only that, but I could see that her oldest already wants to rebel against her.
I'm not really sure what to do in this kind of situation. I mean, they are her kids. But her screeching was out of control and her husband, seemingly used to this, proceeded to get pretty wasted. (J also tells me he's usually an hour early to work every morning.)
What do you do in this situation? I feel like it's not my place to say anything, but keeping silent and still socializing makes me feel like an accessory to a crime.
It wasn't the wedding we had planned, but I loved it. We had been planning a huge event with all our friends and family and, due to a change in deployment schedule, the big wedding was switched out for a small ceremony. It was in Oklahoma on post with only a few of our closest family members in attendance.
And now? We're planning Wedding: Part Deux.
I am so excited!
We just wanted to have a big event (we? probably more me than him, but he goes along with it because he loves me.) It'll still be a small budget affair, but I have big plans for it.
It will be Christmas time since we were planning on going up for the holidays anyway, we know he has a better chance of getting time off then, and his parents were going to come up to Massachusetts this year.
I have a few things in mind...but we just want this to be all about being together and celebrating our marriage with our families.
It's going to be soooo fun!
Especially since I'm meeting with a DJ/photographer duo, a married couple, and the woman describes herself on the website as a former Jazzercise instructor.
This is going to be WAY too much information, so be warned.
I went to the ER last week.
It wasn't anything major. I've had pain in left pelvic area for about a year, off and on. I have diagnosed it to be my ovary. I then diagnosed myself to have ovarian and skin cancer as well as a Fallopian tube pregnancy and STD's. This basically means nothing, since I give myself the same diagnose when I come down with a head cold, but there you go. (It could be residual from my college years, when you went into the clinic with a sprained ankle and they gave you a rape test.)
Anyway, the problem is this: I've had pain in what does actually turn out to be my left ovary and when I'm not on the pill I do not get my period.
J and I have been talking about a family, so this is pretty scary.
I went into the ER because the pain got really bad and by this point I'm kinda freaked out about the whole thing. Long story short, Army hospitals are places unto themselves and, after an ultrasound and the whole bit, they believe I have endometriosis.
I know that this isn't even close to the worst case scenario- a lot of women have this, including my own mother who was clearly able to conceive (although it did take them 5 years and lotsa drugs.)
For the next several months I'm going to track my temperature, since my primary told me that's what any fertility specialist would want see first. Also, since I've basically been on the pill for 12 years, he told me my body will most likely need to readjust and we shouldn't really consider ourselves "infertile" until after a year and a half of trying.
I was totally ok until he threw out the word "infertile" as though it was some everyday word, just as easy as you would say, "Honey, your keys are on the nightstand."
I've found the older I get the more I realize how the world just moves right along, even if things in your own little world might be falling apart a bit.
I don't actually think my walls are crumbling in- in fact, I'm trying to look at this like J would- see an obstacle, find a solution, take action kind of thinking.
We're just another couple, joining the ranks of other couples who find that making a baby is, in fact, as easy as pie.
Because pie is actually not f*cking easy to make and I've never understood that expression.
Last week I was in a weird place- not totally sure why but I have my suspicions.
Anyway, I was upset. I told Josh, "I'm sad."
By the end of that day, we had a new puppy.
(He's an excellent husband, by the way.)
Before this sounds more ridiculous than it actually is, we've been talking about it for a little bit so it wasn't just some spur of the moment thing. It was just fuel to the fire that I was upset and he wanted to make me feel better, so it clinched the decision.
We went down to the shelter and Josh picked out our little Chopper. He's a beagle/basset hound mix, which is called a bagel. So. Cute.
I'm not sure why, but Chopper likes to walk under/lay where Quincy's missing leg should be. He's like a strange little puzzle piece of love.