Hasta La Vista, Buddy!

Are we all comfortable now? Good!


Lately, I’ve been holding my breath because someone important to me has been feeling less than comfortable. I’ve mentioned before that I am separated from the one I love and also that Buddy has been living with us. It was an arrangement my husband and I made with him prior to Husband’s trek across the planet.

My husband has made it clear that he is no longer comfortable with Buddy’s presence. What took him this long, I’m not sure. Husband also brought to my attention that the thought of me drinking with Buddy wasn’t something he felt keen about either. So, I haven’t had a drink in over a month.

Back story…

My husband got Buddy a job working for his company and offered for him to rent our front room. Shortly after, my husband got a better contract working out of Afghanistan leaving Buddy in the company of the kids and myself. Understand, coming from an uber jealous person, I would have NEVER allowed this to happen…EVER! My husband on the other hand has never had the need to be jealous. Lucky him, right?

I informed my dear that never again will I agree to allow anyone to move in with us. He feels that Buddy has outstayed his welcome. I reminded him of the original agreement…it would take roughly 6 to 7 months for Buddy to get his shit together. Later, he told Buddy he had until the end of January to move out. When Buddy asked me to ask Husband about storing his bike in our garage, I did and Husband lost his mind.

Thankfully, Buddy is officially moved out and my conversations with the husband no longer need to consist of me playing the mediator of this craziness. Oh, happy day! I’m getting sippy tonight and I probably should have written this before I started downing the Bacardi.

Coming to a Convenience Store Near You

Right before my husband got his new job, he managed to get an army buddy of his a job working with him.  We told this friend (we'll call him Buddy) he was welcome to stay in the front room of our home.  It's a closed in formal living room that we had yet to put any furniture into.  When my husband and I discussed it, I told my him that I had no problem with Buddy coming to stay with us for a few months until he could save up some cash to get his own place.  After all, when we lived in Fort Hood Buddy basically lived at our house on the weekends anyway. 

Shortly before Buddy moved here (ironically from Alabama), my husband was offered a job with a different company that would send him to Alabama for training followed by two years in Afghanistan separated by two weeks of R&R every six months or so.  We didn't want to be assholes so we told Buddy he could still stay with me and the kids as long as he was okay with that.  So now we have this surrogate male role model at our house.  Sometimes it feel like he actually should have been a character in the movie Role Models.

Recently we went to Cracker Barrel.  While waiting for our food, Buddy started looking through one of the kid menus.  He came across an activity that involved designing your own candy, naming it, and picking out a flavor for it.  He came up with Baby Babes.  I suggested Maybe Babies. Buddy said Maybe Babies should be flavor of dead babies (salted).  Sounds delicious right?  Then he drew a picture of an embryo.  I suggested they'd be gummy-like.  Later Buddy came up with a catchy jingle.  I mean, seriously, every great product needs a catchy jingle, right?

"Maybe Babies!
It tastes like a fetus.
You just can't beat us.
Maybe Babies!
C'mon and eat us."

LMAO!  I think Buddy and I found the kids menu more entertaining than the children did.  Something tells me the people at the tables around us didn't find our fetus humor very, well, humorous.  Oh well, screw them.

Sharks & Section 8

Sharks can smell the blood in the water...and mother-in-laws can smell money on its way to your checking account or at least my mother-in-law can.

Financially, we have been making it by the skin of our teeth basically treading water to prevent from drowning.  When my husband was offered a job that would send him to Afghanistan he took it for two reasons:  1.) the obvious reason, a substantial payroll increase and 2.) he'd be working directly under a three-star general and he felt that having him on his future resume would look pretty.

Now, mind you, he left for Alabama over the weekend for about a month of training before heading to the Middle Mess, errr, I mean, East.  Obviously, we have not receive any more cash flow as of yet.  However, a couple of days ago I get a phone call from the mother-in-law asking for $300 to pay her deposit on a new apartment.  WHA-AAAT!?!?!?

Let me back track...

My mother-in-law is a recovering addict.  She is bi-polar and also suffers with back trouble.  She's in her early 50s and has never really been 100% self sufficient.  She holds a part time job but receives a substantial amount of government assistance.  Lucky for her (and for my husband growing up), the glue of the family was my husband's maternal grandmother.  She would bend over backwards to help her daughter time and time again much to the disapproval of my husband's grandfather.  In his defense, I can't blame him for being leery to help her considering after my husband's father walked out when my husband was still very young the grandfather allowed the mother-in-law and my husband to stay in their home and she thanked them by committing credit card fraud and racking up a little over $10,000 in bills which over time they paid off.  So, yeah, I can see why he would want to keep his distance.

In April of this year, the grandmother passed away.  The mother-in-law, while doing much better, lacks many of the life skills that comes with being on one's own that most people experience and retain in their early 20s and 30s.  Now in her early 50s, she's always been bailed out of her problems (I'm not talking jail, BTW) and has never had to actually do it all on her own.

Anyway back to the previously scheduled program...

She apparently applied for Section 8 which from my understanding is a government program that assists with rent based on your income.   The applicant pays a percent and the government pays a percent and by government I mean taxpayers.

When she called me it was a few days after my husband left.  She asked if he had told me about her moving which he hadn't.  She said her aunt was giving her money to pay for movers and that Section 8 would be assisting her with rent but she hadn't received the voucher yet.  She said she had to come up with her portion of the deposit which was $300.  Then she told me she needed it by the 1st of September.  She called me on the 30th of August, by the way.  I explained to her I didn't have it at this point in time to give to her.  Although she never said outright that she spoke to my husband about giving her the money, she has this manipulative way of beating around the bush about things which is exactly what she did.  I told her I needed to talk to my husband before I could send her anything.

Later that day, I spoke to my husband and he had no clue what I was talking about.  He didn't even know his mom was moving.  I asked him if he wanted me to give her the money.  I explained that I use the word "give" because even if I say "loan" I know we will never see those C-notes ever again.  He is adamant about not giving her anything which means I'll be stuck in the middle of their conflict.  Lucky freaking me!!  All I can say is at least she's clean now so her rants will be a bit more coherent.  Regardless, this will be all my fault.  I am sure of that.  *sigh*

Gracing The Internet With My Presence

I haven't blogged in a few days for many reasons.  The obvious one being that my family and I are trying to square many things away before my husband leaves for his work excursion...aka deployment.  There are so many things to do and, as it happens, I'm the family's appointed "executive assistant".  "Secretary" sounds so outdated and the terms "executive assistant" just sounds so much more important, like I run this shit (which I do, duh!).  I'm scheduling physicals and setting up meetings to take care of all the power of attorney business.  So now, I've got the power!  Thanks Snap for bestowing that 90s gem on us.


Tonight is open house at the kids school so we get to take the kids to meet their new teacher(s).  We'll be dragging my son against his will, of course.  My daughter is still young enough that she will gleefully skip to school humming the Smurf's theme song.  La la lala la la la lala la la....  Actually, kids these days have no freaking clue who the Smurf's are.  I'm just saying...



Tomorrow is the glorious day I've been waiting all summer long for...THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL.  Choirs of angels surrounded by golden light have come down from their spaceships to sing beautiful hymns.

Sunday is my birthday.  Some say I'm turning twenty-ten.  Other say it's the first anniversary of my 29th birthday.  I say I'm just getting freaking old and one day I'll die...just like everyone else on this glowing ball.  My children still, no matter the valid arguements I produce, continue to think I'm ancient.  My son recently asked if I had electricity when I was kid.  I told him I didn't.  I also told him my best friends in school were Cleopatra and Joan of Arc.  Hell, if I'm going to be old, I may as well have been a cool and popular kid, dammit!

In other news, a beer would be highly regarded right about now...END!

Future Undetermined

For a little over a month, I had been keeping a journal.  I did it on a friend's suggestion that it would help me with the things I had been going through on an emotional level.  For nearly 30 days, I wrote my innermost thoughts.  Then I began to realize I don't want to dig that deep into myself.  With all the things that have been going on in my life in the past few years, diving that deep into my brain made me feel, well, depressed.  I would journal about certain topics and then feel shitty for the remainder of the day and sometimes into the next day.  I also felt that I kept continually rehashing the same things over and over and over again.  Anyone that knows me will tell you, me and emotions (especially sadness) are not very close.  Bring on the raging anger any day!  I don't do the tears...it feels like weakness and giving up to me.
So, now I decided what's best for me is to just scratch the surface.  I figure if I'm putting myself out there for all to see, I will express myself in a way that isn't so "poor me" which is more comfortable and true to life than what my journal was turning into.  I've decided that some things are better left inside your head...filed away deep in the back of your mind.  I know many arm chair psychiatrists and basement therapists will disagree but I'm going do what I feel is necessary and relevant to my life.
All those things said...on to the meat...
There is a very good chance my husband will be going away awhile for work.  I'm not looking forward to this at all but I look at it this way:

1. I have already dealt with two deployments.  The first one I did under very similar circumstances as right now and made it through.  The second was much easier.  I knew what to expect.  This time not only do I know what to expect, we are a little more financially prepared to handle whatever curve balls life throws our way.
2. Once he returns we will be much closer to being able to finally purchase a home.
3. We can get the debt monkeys off our backs.
4. We will have the opportunity to actually set aside a college fund for the kids.

I do not expect it to be a cake walk but I KNOW I can do this.  I know this because when backed into a corner the claws always come out!  When push comes to shove, I'm going to do whatever I need to do to move my family forward just like what my husband is doing.
He said in taking this job he will have a supervisor position on top of working directly under a three star general.  He said that if he can add that general as a reference on his resume in addition to all the experience he will gain going away, his career will be golden.  I hope he's right.
At this point, I'm ready to pray to any god, stick pins in a voodoo doll, light a candle or two, or sacrifice a goat just to ensure that this all works out to our benefit.  I'm just tired of struggling and having nothing to show for it.  I'm not some high maintenance person either.  When I say I want something to show for it, I mean I want a house.  And I'm not talking some five story mansion with an indoor pool and a mini movie theater.  I just want a quaint home on some land.  I'm not fond of neighbors...I'm not fond of people in general for that matter.  I want enough money to be able to pay my bills, put money on the side for my children to attend college, and have a little left over for minor upsets that arise from time to time and/or a little entertainment cash.  I don't need a yacht although a small boat would be nice.  I don't need a $50,000 vehicle...just a small vehicle that gets me from point A to point B when needed.  I want my kids birthdays and Christmas to roll around and not scrounge for pennies just to buy them a gift or two just so something is under our tree or next to their cake.
We will make it there someday and by my husband taking this job it feels within our grasp.  Hopefully in two years, I'll be able to blog about how everything worked out.  I must say though, many times I wonder what the hell I did in a past a life since nothing has seemed to go as we've planned.  I have my fingers crossed we have finally paid our debt to fate and now things will start to look up.  We shall see, won't we?

Friendships Wanted, Not Needed

Six months I've been here and I'm convinced no matter where you move people are either crazy or boring or both.  Making friends has never come easy to me...maybe I'm a snob.  If I think someone is a bore and/or a lunatic, I will go out of my way to keep my distance.  For some reason though, these people are drawn to me like bums to bus terminals.
It doesn't matter where I am, the check out line at the grocery store, the gas pump, or an airport bathroom, these individuals will talk to me and divulge the craziest things to me.  At first, this entertained me.  I felt complimented in a sense that I must put these people at ease in a way that they feel comfortable telling me about their issues.
Let me interject here.  When I say "crazy", I do not mean someone diagnosed with mental disorders.  At least when these people do something out of the ordinary, you can empathize.  No, I'm talking about these folks that seem to eat, sleep, and breathe drama.  I'm referring to those people that seem to go out of their way to invent problems just so they have something to entertain themselves.  To these people I say, find another hobby!!
Anyway...
For a long time (probably the first twenty or so years of my life), I didn't have any rules or regulations for a person to be my friend other than you couldn't be a total asshole.  I would talk and befriend anyone and it would remain that way until they did something to piss me off.  As time went on and my family and I relocated to Fort Hood, these lackadaisical stipulations proved to be more time consuming than previously anticipated. 
With deployments and loneliness running rampant throughout the base, spouses clung to different forms of companionship.  I chose the safe, platonic route.  At first, it was nice to have the company of other women.  I felt a bond with them due to our similar circumstances.  Little did I know the drama that would surround many of these females like the dust cloud that hovers around Pigpen from Peanuts comics.  Like I said, at first this entertained me.  It was like watching an episode of Jerry Springer or Maury Povich pan out right before your very eyes.  I wanted to grab a bowl of popcorn and sit back and enjoy the show.  That was until these loonies began including me in the craziness.  It was at that time I had to step back, take a deep breath, and say "Fuck. This."
After the military, we headed back to our hometown in New Orleans area on the good ol' Westbank which by the way was only supposed to be temporary.  It, unfortunately, turned into nearly two years.  During that time I stuck to the handful of people I knew who where a.) not boring, b.) not crazy, and c.) trustworthy.  Seriously when I say handful, I literally mean like five people, nearly half of which were family members.
On more than one occasion people would tell me how they didn't understand how I could cut myself off from others so easily.  I don't really see the problem.  Why should I befriend people who I don't really enjoy being around?  What?  Just so I can say I have oodles of friends??
Now we are in Oklahoma and I must admit I am a little lonely.  However, I'm not lonely enough to resort to being bored to death just for the sake of company.  I also will not participate in their drama just to be entertained...they have reality shows for that.   Also, I can't stand liars.  Furthermore while I believe fully in freedom of religion, I cannot be around someone who feels the need to "save" me.  I must be able to be myself 100% and the truth is I curse like a drill sergeant and I am completely random ESPECIALLY after a few drinks which I look forward to consuming at least one a week if not (and hopefully) more.
As you can see, I do think it's wise to have a hobby.  Everyone needs something to occupy their time.  So as for me, I'm going to blog my own thoughts and try to avoid falling into the same old habits.  Truth is, loneliness is a bitch and as much as I'd love to move into a cave somewhere, we both know it isn't going to happen.  So in the meantime, I'll keep my fingers crossed that one of these days in my trek around Texhoma, I'll actually come in contact with someone that can hold an intelligent conversation with me that doesn't involve gossip and rumors.  I won't hold my breath though.