Nashville, TN

James and I went to Nashville for a couple's retreat put on by the Army. We had an evening away from class and were told to go do a relationship building activity. Well, I don't know if you've been watching the Weather Channel lately, but Tennessee is getting fucked up by tornadoes and thunderstorms. So instead of going to the zoo or to a mini golf course and risk being blown away or struck by lightening, we bar hopped in downtown Nashville.

And I got HAMMERED. 6 hours of continuous drinking will do that.

I haven't been that drunk in public since the last time I went to Las Vegas. If that is any kind of gauge, you should be impressed-- I was a hot mess. I won't get into the details to save my mom the embarrassment of having raised a drunk, but let me just say, there was hysterical laughter, low crawling and vomit.

Lots and lots of vomit.

We had a really good time. I'm not quite sure the chaplain really meant for us to go get black out drunk as a relationship building exercise, but hey, every couple is different.

Hiatus

Please forgive my temporary leave of absence. I am compiling all my blog entries (along with some filler) from my latest Iraq deployment to write a book. So updating the blog is going to fall to the way side unless something truly hilarious or incredible happens. Wish me luck on the book thing, I might just need it.

New Carpet

We had new carpet installed in the living room and hallway on Friday. It has a subtle diamond pattern running through it. It looks so much better than the cheap tan apartment quality carpet that the previous owners had through out the entire house. New carpet in the master bedroom is next on the list of flooring improvements.

House On A Lake

I love my house. I love love love it!

I never thought owning a home would be something that I would enjoy. Especially owning a home with a really big yard. I've never had an interest in gardening, and now that I have a home, I suddenly have green thumbs! I've planted bushes and flowers. Grass seed has been laid and bushes have been shaped and trimmed. I like to lovingly look at my yard and make plans on what I want to do next to improve it.

However, when it rains, my backyard takes on quite a different look.



The backyard when it's sunny.

The backyard on the lake.

If I had any plans to do something spectacular with the far end of the backyard, I most certainly do not anymore. There is a drainage ditch from the street running along the side of my yard, and then the neighbors have the neighborhood drain in their backyard. So when it rains too much for the drain to keep up, it floods the back yards. No wooden fences for us. No big vegetable gardens for us. No dog kennel in the back for us.

Luckily the yard is huge (absolutely a riding lawn mower is a necessity) and I can spare that part of yard to be an occasional lake. Maybe my house would appraise for more if the appraiser came on a day when my property was lake front!?



Government Shut Down

Government shut down? As in, I still have to report to work like normal but I don't receive a paycheck for doing so? The government better get their shit together and make some decisions on the budget, because my personal budget requires a paycheck every 15 days.

Mouse In My House

There is a mouse in my house. I thought I saw one run across my kitchen floor out of the corner of my eye a few days ago, but I dismissed it. I've never had a mouse in my house before so I didn't think it could happen to me.

But he's definitely here.

I'm not afraid of mice. I actually think they're really cute. But the discovery of this mouse did make me scream like a little girl.

As I was lifting the garbage bag out of the garbage can, the mouse sprung out from a hole he had chewed in the bag. He landed on my boot (as I was in uniform). I screamed. Picasso came running. The mouse took off. In a black blur of mouse, he scampered under my washer and has not been seen since. And Picasso did nothing. Apparently mouse hunting is not a skill set he possesses.

I found evidence under the kitchen sink that the mouse has been sharing our house for a while. He left poo all over under there. Yuck! I wish I could have no regard for where I poo.

I wonder how the mouse got into my garbage can in the first place. The can is a metal cylinder. With a lid. I wonder if I accidentally threw away the mouse in the past couple days? Did I pick him up? Has there been a mouse hanging out in my garbage and Picasso didn't even notice him moving around in there?

As cute as he may be (if I ever got to see more of him than just a blur), he can't stay. I told James to get traps. I suggested humane traps. He said, "The kind that snap?" So...  I guess we're going to end up killing the little guy. I figured since he had the ability to Houdini into the garbage can, we could spare his life. Poor little mouse in my house.

Nails 88

Long story short, James needed me to urgently meet him half way between our house and Fort Campbell. So as I'm tearing down the road, he calls me to confirm the rendezvous point.

James: "Where are you?"

Me: "By the nail salon in that stupid strip mall in the middle of no where."

James: "The one that looks like a penis?"

So let me explain that. This is what the sign looks like outside the nail salon:

Since we were in a hurry, I just agreed that, yes, I was near the nail salon that looked like a penis. I could see why he suggested that. But I never previously thought the sign resembled a penis. Every time I passed it, I thought about the KKK.

Perhaps that needs some explanation as well. We've been watching a lot of shows about prison lately. And a lot of prisoners join gangs for protection while they're locked up. A popular choice is the Skin Heads. These prisoners get all kinds of tattoos all over their bodies declaring their loyalty to hating everyone who isn't  a white redneck. One such tattoo is a "88" which stands for Hail Hitler (the letter "H" being the 8th letter of the alphabet). So I pass this nail salon every day and all I can think about is Hitler getting his nails done there.

Which brings me back to a previous blog about that van that I see all over Clarksville. The one that I swear says "Hitler" all over it with the smiley faces. What is really going on here? What kind of town do I really live in? Shits getting raw, that's for sure.

You Know You're Getting Old When...

James and I had a date night last night. Woo-hoo out on the town in Clarksville, Tennessee! We went to the movies and saw Insidious (which I do not recommend at all, save your money). We should have known better than to go see a movie on its opening night, on military payday and on a Friday. The theater was packed. There were teenagers everywhere. The stars were aligned for an awful experience.

Through out the whole movie, we sat beside the world's most annoying man. He screamed and talked the entire time. James actually thanked him for ruining the movie for him as the credits were rolling. I think the movie would have ruined itself but it's always nice to point fingers. This guy irritated James enough that he actually went to find a manager to complain that this guy wasn't removed from the theater by the morbidly obese police officer with the giant dip in his lip that was standing at the front of the theater the whole time.

While James was complaining, I exited stage right to the ladies room. Upon entering the loosely coined "ladies" room, I had flashbacks to the club. There were half dressed teenaged girls all inspecting their cleavage and butts in the mirrors and taking camera phone pictures of their faces all squished together in the most provocative poses they could muster. I tried not to stare. I tried not to make disgusted faces. I made my ladies room experience short.

I can't really justify it, but I was incredibly annoyed with those teenage girls. And for no reason other than I'm getting old. It's true. My boyfriend was complaining about noise and teenaged girls irritated me just by simply existing. Sigh. When did we become so old?

Me & James

Surgar & Coolaid

This has been going around on Facebook. It's a white trash shopping list found discarded on the floor of a Wal-Mart. Probably in Tennessee...

Physical Abuse

I reported to my new unit yesterday. I was told that, although I am associated with the 86th Combat Support Hospital, I have nothing to do with the 86th Combat Support Hospital. Also, I found out that I am actually attached to a unit out of Fort Hood, Texas (not Fort Campbell) and we are chemical and natural disaster responders. My unit is a unit full of nothing but medics, yet, we do not have an aid station. We do not have Docs to work under. We do not do anything medical until we deploy. We'd deploy with zero real life experience. I know that's hard to grasp, but it's the Army we're talking about here; it doesn't have to make sense, you just execute.

I was placed in the Evacuation Platoon once again. I must have pissed someone off once upon a time.

The first thing my platoon sergeant said to me once we met was, "How's your PT score?" That fills fear in my heart. If that is his #1 concern about his new NCO coming to his platoon, he is very physically oriented. I am not what you would call an athlete, by any stretch of the imagination. I get by. I don't have the genes to excel with raw physical power. This dude is going to physically abuse my body every morning and call it training.

And I am scared.