Creative Ways to Wake Up Your Husband That Don't Work

The husband laid down for a nap before work and asked me to wake him up at 9. I set the alarm, and at 9, I realized, "Wait, he never wakes up." Like there are times where I try to wake him up, tell him things like, "By the way, it's going to be $500 for her teeth. We're going to have to sell my body for sex to afford this," and he'll agree and forget the entire conversation took place because he was sleep talking.

I knew this was going to be a challenge.

So I sat abruptly on the bed, which opened his eyes really wide like he just fell off a cliff in a dream, and then I burped loudly.

"How's that for an alarm?"

He started to close his eyes again, so I proceeded to breathe in his face. My breath is pretty bad at this point.

He kept moving his face away from mine (I don't know why), and then he started to close his eyes again. So I grabbed him by the balls, cupped em, and with his balls in my hand, I proceeded to kiss his stomach (because that tickles him, and the balls were in my hand to protect myself from retaliation).

He farted and went back to sleep.

I licked his belly again, and then we had a conversation about sex, showers, my armpits, and his workplace, and then he drifted back to sleep.

So then I bit his nipple. He grabbed my nipple, and we proceeded in a nipple gripping war. When I declared peace, he went right back to sleep like this never happened.

So I sent in the kids. I even told them for the first time in ever, "Go jump on my bed." They did. They got hugs and kisses.

Would you believe he's still asleep?

So I wrote this blog post while it was all fresh in my head, and finally, he had to use the bathroom. Nothing gets you up better than having to use the bathroom. I'm probably going to surprise smack him in the face with my boob just for putting me through all this.


UPDATE: So I read him this blog post, and he has absolutely no recollection of any of this taking place.

PMS and Men...

So I've been discussing PMS on my page because mine this month is brutal. My normally barely C Cups have swollen into DD Cups, hard cups like someone inserted rocks to make them bigger. My ass is also an inflated puffy bulge that is twice the size of its normalness, and if I weren't so pissed off at the world, I'd probably enjoy dropping it like it's hot. But it's not hot. In fact it's all temperatures. I go from cold sweats to hot flash in point five, and it's constant. For days. Cold sweat for hours where I'm hovering over the broiler followed by a sweaty hot flash where I'm hugging the freezer just to get cold again....

Then on top of it, I have the mood swings. One minute, I want my own hotel room to get away from everyone and the next second I'm thinking that's not a good idea because then I'd miss everyone and I start crying thinking about not seeing my kids for a whole whopping night, and then I think how it would be awesome to not see my kids for one night just be free and then I feel super guilty for it because PMS IS A BITCH.

And that thought process goes for everything. Talking to people. Talking to other people's kids. Talking on the phone. THe husband. Taking a shower. Not taking a shower. Cooking dinner. Watching Dora....

Then the men come in with their brilliance. I think regardless of where you stand on the PMS psycho spectrum, you've probably had part of this conversation at least once a month...

Woman: Don't bother me right now. I have hormonal issues that make me mad over nothing and because i know that's not fair to you, I'm just saying don't bother me okay?

Man: But I'm really concerned for you. That's not fair you have to go through that. Let me help.

Woman: No, you can't help, and you are starting to  piss me off already.

Man: But I can make you laugh. Let me try with some stupid horseshittery...

Woman: Stop it. You are really starting to piss me off.

Man: Fuck you and your fucking woman problems and stupid mood swings like I'm not having one right now. Let me piss you off out of concern for your pissed offness. Let me help by making it worse. And now this isn't even about you or your PMS but about me and my stupid mamby pamby feelings, because pissing you off isn't enough for my sadistic evil pleasure. I must add guilt and make you second guess your sanity and self worth with it because I'm the alpha dog and you are the woman.

And then in many cases like mine:

Woman: Are you serious with that horse shit? (throw out evil glare where I really am thinking about divorce and murder at the same time)

Man: No, I was kidding. It was a joke. If you didn't have PMS you'd think it was funny. I'm sorry. I love you.

Woman: I don't know. Rub my feet. Then we'll see how I feel.


So I say this to all you ladies out there. Milk your men. If they are going to be inconsiderate assholes to you during your time of psycho where your body is preparing to tear down walls, whether it's intentional or not, whether it's sadistic maniacalism or not, use it to guilt him into doing the shit he should be doing anyway, whether it's taking out the trash, washing dishes or rubbing your feet. Yes you men SHOULD be rubbing our feet and our backs and what not because a massage therapist is 60 an hour. If I clean the house to avoid paying maid service, and I watch the kids to avoid paying nanny services, then you can rub my motherfucking feet to avoid paying massage therapy services.

My Sexy Pillow Talk

To give you a glimpse of the romantic sweet nothings the husband and I have before bed, here's last night's conversation. Now mind you, they are not always this romantic. Sometimes, okay a lot of the times, our conversation before bed is more like, "Did you lock the door?" and that's it. There are times too we get into deep discussions about kids and his work. Now I should point out, the nights we passionately fuck like it's a sin, we don't talk at all. 

They do say it's important for marital couples to communicate...

The husband explains that after work the next day, he's stopping home to get his pedal he sold and taking it up to the guy who bought it. He plays guitar. It's a guitar pedal. Not sure if it's one he bought before, or one he made. How cool is that though? He builds guitar pedals. He's naming them after the kids too.

Me: If the kids are crazy tomorrow, will you take them with you?

Husband: Sure.

Me: That's awesome. Already looking forward to it. If they are anything like they were today, I will NEED that break... Well, actually, I was thinking earlier... you know how the kids get crazy every full moon? What if, in my Keanu Reeves voice, what if the moon don't make the kids crazy? What if it makes me crazy? And I just think it's the kids?

Husband: Hahahahaha. Well the moon does affect you.

Me: Really? Were the kids any different today than usual?

Husband: No.

Me: Are they ever any different than usual when I'm like, "kids are crazy, must be the moon."

Husband: Not really.

Me: Is that look on your face a sign that you are really afraid to say this to me?

Husband: No. Not at all.

Me: Shit, I can't tell if you are fucking with me or telling the truth

Husband: Hahahahahahaha

Me: Fuck you… (I roll over and face opposite direction). With your own hand.

Husband: Whatever.

Me: whatever, that was a pretty good fuck you. I mean, you can't get better than that. Fuck you. With your own hand.

Husband: eh, not really

Me: You really aren't trying to get laid anytime soon are you.

Husband: Would I get laid anytime soon?

Me: Well, your chances for it were much better 5 minutes ago.

Husband laughs, proceeds to get closer, cuddles, and then dry humps my butt.

Me: Really? You are dry humping my butt now?

Husband makes humping much more obvious.

Me: Keep it up and you'll end up like the bull in the movie we watched.

Husband: Really? You'd cut off my dick?

Me: Yep, and I'd wear it on my neck as a trophy.

Husband: That's fucked up.

Me: And I'd slap people in the cheek with it.

Husband: Fuck you.

Me: My fuck you was better than yours.

Husband: Hahahahahaha, I love you.

Me: I love you too.

Husband: Good night.

Me: Good night. And quit stealing my blankets you blanket whore.

Post Mother's Day Anti-Depression

http://www.inkcinct.com.au/

I've read a lot of charming blogs about Mothers Day. I saw a lot of Facebook posts of moms getting breakfast in bed, bubbles baths to read their favorite book, beautiful pics of visiting a grandma or something... Here's my secret. I hate Mother's Day. It ranks up there with Valentine's Day. It's a limp dick. A holiday designed to give you orgasmic level expectations to leave you sitting frustrated and disappointed because there just isn't enough blood pumping in the right place at the right time leaving you with a useless sack of sperm to play with making you go "completely nuts." And you can't be pissed because you love the impotent person enough to not hurt their feelings. So when I see pictures of women enjoying a bubble bath (no nudity duh), I want to diabolically throw glitter all over them and their perfectly clean bathroom to truly make them sparkle. Nothing personal. Just jealousy.

My mother's day was not a good day for the most part. I don't think it was my negativity that did me in. I actually started off the day positive.

• I tried to write and didn't get to because I was servicing my kids (not feeding them, but things like getting them that thing that is 2 feet in front of them and breaking up fist fights) too frequent to focus or be creative. 
• Then Mother Nature gave me her Mother's Day present (the monthly uterine wrecking ball), and of course, I'm out of all my hygiene products... 
• Why do I sometimes call my oldest kid Hercules? Let me see your 6 year old daughter rip out a RECLINING sectional piece of the sofa to the middle of the floor and flip it, and tear out a piece of drywall for fun. 
• What goes better with eggs than a heaping cup of Baking Soda? Accidentally dumping baking soda on your frying dozen eggs while looking for the missing baking powder for pancakes, now that's the priceless shit Mastercard can't buy. So basically, everyone had sandwiches, everyone except me of course because not enough bread. 
• Then at the brink of passing out from hunger, I got a Big Mac (my mother's day breakfast lunch and dinner) on my way to my mom's house devouring it while driving and handing kids stuff, meaning I just drove like a drunken crazy person, while listening to the wonderful music of my children screaming, squealing (horror movie scream) and fighting. 
• Drama like Jerry Springer on TNT ensued at mom's house... over me not getting my nephew I was watching home fast enough because that would be my responsibility. And why was it so important? They were planning to take him to his dad's mom's house. Yes, if you are 10 minutes late for that, the apocalypse would definitely begin. Ironically, he was going to be on time, but everybody had to dig their own grave and blame me, why not? It's my fault because I chose to have my children. 
• Then I took all 3 kids to Dairy Queen by myself, and then devoured 2 slices of different cakes I couldn't taste thanks to the cold (like dieting suicide right there).

Mind you too, I endured that day with a migraine, the period, a swollen ankle that I supposedly sprained 2 months ago but obviously did a little more damage than that, and i can't prove it because the 3 trips to the doctor's office over it were all about how it's normal for an ankle to still be swollen. I was also tired since I accidentally took my kid's antihistamine aiming for my Tussin. And I have the snot monster cold, meaning my throat hurts, I'm coughing every 5 seconds like death, and I have green ooze coming out of my nose.

In addition, a few days ago, and I hate to admit this on a blog, but I will because I think some people can sadly empathize to an extent... I was damn near suicidal. The only thing to stop me was the fact that I didn't have a babysitter for it. Here's a list of my current goals to explain...

1. Divorce-- more expensive than getting married. Just like a wedding, requires a shit ton of planning. I do hope to be the most beautiful anti-bride on that big day. I think my colors are going to be Funeral Black and Mistress Red. If I could just get the date planned. The husband doesn't seem to care when it happens, like the sooner the better. I mean we are in anti-love, young anti-love. But, we just don't want to rush it since that would mean getting 2 big houses furnished for the kids...

2. Do my resume-- I know this sounds like an item on a to do list, but for me in my world, it's a long term goal. Why? Because I do everything with my children, so it takes about a thousand times longer to accomplish something. But I do kind of need an income if I plan on being a single mom. I'm a little old to actually get paid for hooking or any other "worst case scenario" solutions I had going for the last decade.

3. Write a book-- Face it. Nobody wants to hire a mom who has been out of work for so long. This is my back up plan. I was thinking of telling the story about my in laws and the possible Santeria curse, except I'm going to label the book fiction because I don't think anyone will believe me that it's a true story, plus i can deny being a part of it. This way, my inlaws can fund the divorce (usually the anti-bride's family pays for such events, usually because most of the gifts are for the anti-bride like 17 different blenders or is that weddings?).

4. Clean the house--- I keep saying this for years. I really do want to have a clean house. Some day I suppose I will get it. Until then, I'll just keep cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. In case you missed it, I have 3 children under the age of 7, and one is hyperactive high functioning autism. Did you read the part about the sofa?

5. Beat up the demon--- He might be a hallucination. He might be the Santeria Curse. He might be an actual demon who has been in this house disguising himself as a little boy for the last 3 years and is the cause of things like the constant mess and the divorce. Negativity spawns negativity. I did try burning sage. Made it worse. Holy water helps though, so that's what has me thinking it might not be a chronic sleep deprived hallucination. Either way, I beat it up once, but since it fucks with me every time I try to sleep, I really would like to kill the little bugger. He will be in the book if I ever get to write it.

6. Get a new car--- All 3 cars are in the shop. Two of them are totally done for. Nothing like a car payment before getting divorced.

7. Clean myself up from addiction--- I'm addicted to Motrin. Actually NSAIDS in general. I take at least 400 mg a day up to the 1600 mg limit. Why? If my ankle doesn't hurt from tripping over that pebble months ago running to a crying kid diving into a mud puddle (I might of did a flip without a high dive), then it's my knees. See, I'm double jointed, and now I'm old, and they don't make WD40 for people. Only tin men in Oz get that kind of medical care. But then, there's the children induced migraines. It's not just me. They give other people migraines too.

I am honestly getting to a point where I just don't want to do it anymore. I'm sick of cleaning a mess that gets dirty the instant I clean it. I'm sick of taking care of everyone else because I'm totally neglecting myself, and nobody will let me take care of myself. Not at all. Not just my children, but also the husband, my family, my friends... I'm being consumed by people. I don't know how to make it stop. It's like I'm in a black hole, and I struggle and struggle just to prolong the sucking into the abyss thinking I'm close to getting out but no where near it.

Then Mother's Day Miracle (if you use your imagination)... I'm talking to my mother on the phone after the day decided to shut the fuck up for us...

When my mother was in college and dating her first husband, he was working down the street from her mom's house. She borrowed his car for school. So they met up every day at my grandmother's house at noon for lunch. My grandmother, every day, made them a nice lunch. My mother said, at that time, she didn't realize how special that was for my grandmother to do for them. She didn't realize how much work it was.

But this story cleared up a misconception I had. My grandmother was an alcoholic. She died Christmas of 1998 from liver failure. I was under the impression that grandma started drinking at motherhood. I mean the woman had 7 kids, couldn't drive (no license), and was poor. Her part time jobs, she walked to them. I just assumed that sucked so bad she had to drink. But my mother informed me her alcoholism started after the kids grew up and moved out. She was so depressed when she had nobody to take care of that she really enjoyed those little things like making lunch for my mom and her boyfriend every day.

My mom swore to me that I may not see this now... When I was my kids' age, she couldn't wait for me to grow up too. But some day, I will feel that same pain my grandmother felt, and my mother felt. That pain of boredom. The pain of figuring shit out and getting into the groove of the chaos with the kids for it to totally fucking disappear and leave me bored.

Because I score high on the IQ test for the visioning things part, you know, taking a 2D object and making it 3D in my head... I can see that. I can almost feel that. I can imagine my house empty, void of the chaos my children bring, and that is truly depressing... That future just gave me clarity that I desperately needed.

My grandmother used to say, "Life is great, as long as we don't weaken." 

Now how's that for supermom? Who else can nurse her granddaughter through a very trying time in her life from the grave? My grandma. Badass. And through who? My momma, BadAss Junior. All so that BadAss the third can get her groove on.

For reference, my Mother's Day Facebook Statuses...

This one, the first one, I made the extra attempt at being perky and positive.

Happy Mother's Day to all the women out there, whether you have kids or not, because I think if you don't have kids, celebrating this day anyway is the only way you will get to celebrate this day with all the shit implied with this day. A day to yourself. To get a break. To relax. The only way you get to do that as mom is to celebrate this day BEFORE you become a mom. So Happy Mother's Day to all you people who have a uterus. To all you moms out there, if your things you married and your spawns let you have some time to yourself, you should totally thank them with some home cooked meal tomorrow or next week. So far, we'll be ordering pizza. And to everyone who is all "this is the day we appreciate moms for their hard work," Fuck You. You should do that every day you dirty bastard.

and then

Well today royally sucked. It sucked, swallowed, and then spat what was swallowed. This day was just a dirty whore.
I wrote it all out about the day. It's long. Like 2000 words long. I'm so tempted to post it somewhere public for all those involved.

Let me remind family members something. I blog. I blog about my life. While I currently blog anonymous, that is soon about to change. Maybe if I blogged these adventures I experience in Jerry Springer Wonderland, maybe people would actually start acting in a way that wouldn't embarrass themselves if they read about it on the internet. Seriously, if all of you are so righteous, then it shouldn't bother anyone for me to tell the world should it?

and then

AND in the future, I love children. I don't mind babysitting other people's children. BUT I am overwhelmed. Most of you this refers to can't possibly understand that with your simple easy lives full of people doing most of your work for you, but that doesn't change the fact that YOUR KID IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. If you want YOUR kid home to YOUR HOUSE at a certain time, then YOU need to get YOUR HAPPY ASS over here and pick up YOUR kid. If you want me to drive YOUR kid anywhere with my 3 kids to get them home for any reason, you are on MY SCHEDULE. That same situation is now in effect for my mother as well. You are not entitled to favors. AND you could be a little more appreciative of them as well.

Love and Marriage... and dirty dirty sex

For those who don't realize it, a lot of people on Facebook are changing their profile pics to a symbol similar to this. The original can be found at the Human Rights Facebook page here. What does it mean? Today is day 1 of the Supreme Court Hearings, today on Prop. 8 and tomorrow on DOMA. You too can show support for equal rights by changing your profile picture. I made this one sparkle. 

Now I personally am trying very hard to avoid politics with this blog, but I've said it before in a previous blog, it's really an unavoidable topic because it's about our lives and future. 

If one of my children grow up and discover they are attracted to their own gender, I don't want them to be denied the same rights I have just because of that. I'm all about equal rights. And that's what this is about more so than anything, providing equal rights to people. 

Marriage, however, is a difficult subject because it's based on religion, but we have evolved where marriage is also a government contract between two people, one that we use to define a lot of what goes on in every day life. Marriage means something. Even if you don't believe in religion at all, marriage still means something. This tradition has evolved in of itself, going well beyond the boundaries of religion. So from a government contract perspective, I'm all about it.

I'm all about helping people save money on their tax returns, and we all know married filing jointly helps, a lot. I am also all about helping people get healthcare, and you have to be married to get on your spouse's insurance. I'm also all about helping children stay with their other parent after one dies, and that's like impossible for a same sex couple to have that right without a marital contract (and obviously by parent, I mean person raising and caring for child, not person who donated sperm or womb).

Now, I may not be a religious person, but I am a very spiritual one who believes in God, Jesus Christ, and the Bible. Maybe I was brainwashed as a child growing up in the Born Again religion, but I would think converting to Baptism and having a church do me really dirty would undo most of that. Either way, from a religious standpoint, I know most Christian based religions consider homosexuality a sin and therefore are not only against homosexuality at all, but they definitely oppose homosexuality in the "sacred" nature of marriage. Some Christian fanatics go even farther into the realm of hate, which to me is because they are also assholes, and that's what assholes do, hate people for stupid reasons. 

I don't think the Bible says homosexuality is a sin. I think it says freaky sex is a sin, and I think it's a sin almost everyone commits regularly, whether they are homosexual or not. But I DO (haha punny) love it when someone gets all "homosexuality is a sin," and that someone is someone I know for a fact has no room to talk about sin in the bedroom (either because I was with them when they committed the sin, or because they brag about their awesome sex). It just amazes me people who themselves engage in oral sex, anal sex, masturbation as foreplay, dildo's, nipple clips, butt plugs... will lecture people about the sanctity of sex. Even more hypocrisy when they commit ADULTERY (that is a commandment breaker whereas being homosexual is not), lie to their spouses, divorce... lecturing us about the sanctity of marriage. Jesus did say something about casting stones once didn't He? 

I just believe God is Love and where there is love, there is God, and if two people want to get married, that has to be love because marriage is a sacrifice, a very big sacrifice, a bigger sacrifice than death, and if love isn't a good enough reason to do something, then God isn't either, so if you love God at all, you'll love love, no matter what. 

Whatever happens with this Supreme Court stuff, I do have faith that love will conquer all, eventually, and by the time my children are old enough to be allowed to get married at all, that they will have the option to marry any person they wish to marry, outside of incest.

The sad thing is, when I talk about homosexual marriage, the only time I really need to censor what I say is when it comes to the Bible, ironically. I'm telling you people, that book should be rated R with a parental advisory sticker for violence and sex. 

A True Love Letter

Dear Prince Charming True Love Soul Mate guy:

I was waiting for you. I waited and waited and waited. Then my biological clock started ticking and I really was sick of being in a position where I might catch an STD just because I needed something to cuddle up to that night. I needed to settle down and do the family making thing. You were no where to be found outside of my dreams.

So, I married some guy. He was the best possible option made available to me in the history of my options. Deep down inside, he's a good guy. His parents are fucking crazy and I now have the worst possible scenario for in-laws, and his culture raised him to expect 1950's gender roles bull shit, but he lets me blog and blow copious amounts of money on Diet Coke. The best part is, we reproduced. We now have little spawns who never would have existed had I not settled for Adele's "Someone Like You."

So here I am trying to enjoy my "This will do" ever after, but I can't. Nope. Destiny. Soul Mates. Blah blah blah. I keep diving down that hole chasing a white rabbit with a clock bitching about being late. The problem is, that world may or may not exist. That world might be my own insanity. That world, things don't make sense. Meanwhile, I'm sleeping through this world who will never measure up to Wonderland.

I am having dreams about you, all the time. I can't forget you. My sleep won't let me. Then I wake up and try to make sense of things like most people do. Between God, astrological charts, dream interpretation, The Magic 8 Ball, and so forth, everything tells me to have faith, leaving me wishing and hoping you will come swoop me off my feet out of this life I settled for and give me the life I dreamed of, the one we were "destined" for... I've decided to drop the faith.

I decided that you are nothing more than an illusion fabricated by my insanity and needs and wants and desires and Freudian stuff. You don't exist. You never have. Real romance is not Disney's Cinderella. It's Voltaire's Candide. It's a story about a young optimistic person who endures reality. Life broke his dreams. He didn't get to enjoy his true love until after she was old, ugly, and scarred from her life, and by then, there was nothing left to enjoy. All they could do is find peace in boring life things and the company.

That's where I'm at. I'm not with that true love dream I had. I'm with this husband guy instead. Life did a number to him much like it did with me, and we are at the part of the fairy tale where we just learn to be content with mundane tasks like the dishes.

Just because I am rejecting True Love Faith and have decided you are an illusion, that doesn't mean I'm totally rejecting you. If you really are out there, when you decide to grace my life with your presence, I'm all about happily ever after. I'll be your down ass bitch then. But until then, I have to exchange some of the intangibles for the tangible.

No matter the Destiny, free will is a bitch, and we both married the bitch. May God protect you and may you live, laugh and love and all that jive. Peace out I'm doing laundry.

Sincerely,

Alice Not In Wonderland

My super fabulous wedding

All you brides to be, grab your pen and pad and take some notes. This is the wedding of a lifetime. Celebrities? They ain't got shit on this.

I met my husband in August of 2004. We were both aggressively filing paperwork in the US CHAir Force, active duty, at the time. I had been on that base for a couple weeks, and I go outside to the smoke pit, and this beautiful Puerto Rican hunk of man meat was sitting out there smoking a cigarette. I was actually spending the day pampering myself, so I had like stuff in between my toes from my pedicure as I was walking outside on my heels. Anyway, we talked, all day, outside there. It was his first day on that base, and he needed some things from the store and had no car. So, I offered to drive him the next day. That's actually all I remember talking about. I think I was too busy humping him in my mind to pay attention to the shit I was saying otherwise.

I decided to take advantage of the situation (duh) and forced him to look at every store in town to price compare television sets. At one point, I even did that, "Oooh, look at this movie down here on the bottom shelf, not the movie, my sexy butt, okay the movie, keep looking at my butt." When we finally got back on base, it was dark. A Wyoming starry night was the perfect setting for a first kiss in my opinion, so I opened the moon roof and started asking what constellations were what. I know right? My swag is fantastical. It took about an hour of me being obsessed with the stars in sight of where I had to lean in his personal bubble, mouth close to mouth, before he got the fucking clue to kiss me. I knew right then and there, this man is dumb enough to marry.

Not to sound like the only slut in the room, but clothes came off after that and he never left my dorm room except to work. Really, he was just supposed to be a one night stand because he was younger than me. I would never seriously date a guy who was younger than me. He years later confessed that I was supposed to be a one night stand as well, and that it took him about a month to remember my name. In his defense, it took me about a year of being married to finally spell his name.

NOTE: In the military, E3 and below lived in the dorms, unless they are married or rank up to E4. We could get apartments, but the military did not supply BAS or BAH for single E3's (because we had dorms instead of BAH and the free meals at the dining facility for BAS).

A few months later, we broke up for about 4 hours. That's when I think we realized we were probably going to get married some day. We actually talked about it a few times after that, planning something closer to our one year anniversary mark of meeting, like ideally, the wedding would be on that day.

My separation date was approaching. I was volunteering a lot at the tax office on base to get away from my NCO with short man syndrome, and it's been confirmed by men who showered with him that I'm very accurate with my theory that my NCO probably had the smallest dick on that whole base, and yes, that was a question I asked people. Like, "how are you? Good good, and how's the shop? Good, and out of curiosity, you deployed with so and so didn't you? Yeah, well did you shower with him? Did he have a vagina?" Anyway, I managed to finagle everything so my outprocessing process was something where I checked in with the tax office (instead of my NCO), which gave me loads more freedom, like I could have gone to my dorm, slept, masturbated, and then went shopping during my duty day for all my boss cared. I was Untouchable at that point.

So, one Friday morning, I was sitting in my car getting ready to go into a building for a signature to outprocess, and my cell rang. It was my boyfriend. I guess during the formation I missed that morning (oops), they asked for people who were bilingual Spanish and English. He was one of several who raised his hand, and he was the one they chose to deploy. I guess a bunch of guys in El Salvador got food poisoning bad enough to come home, and they needed to replace the linguist. They told him he'd be flying out on Sunday, 2 days later.

So I'm freaking the fuck out. Here I am outprocessing with no where to go after separation a week away. We had planned on getting an apartment together, but he would be the only one with a pay check for a minute. I didn't feel right using his money on rent for a place he wasn't staying. I sure as hell didn't want to be stuck in Wyoming by myself waiting on some boyfriend who could dump me before he returns home. So I did what any woman in my situation would have done. I proposed over the cell phone. It went something like, "Well I'm not sticking around for a boyfriend, if you don't want me moving back home with my mom, you probably should consider marrying me." And he was like, "Well I don't want you cheating on me with that Tech Sgt you constantly flirt with. I was thinking maybe we should get married so that way I know you are still here when I get back." Then I'm like, "Let me call and see if we can afford the fees and swing this today."

So I called the courthouse, got all the information, called the boyfriend back "Yes we can afford it, and yes we can do this today on our lunch break." He was like, 'See you at lunch." So then I call my mother and tell her.

Lunch time approaches, we get the certificate and stuff. The judge takes the same lunch break as we do, so we had to wait on the judge, and while waiting, we got lunch from Wendy's or McDonalds or something and called for witnesses. We needed 2 witnesses. Out of 50 friends, not one answered their phone. So, we are like 15 minutes away from it thinking it wasn't going to happen because we had no witnesses, and we were going to be late coming back from lunch, which some people could be assholes and call it going AWOL.

Finally, I get the bright idea... I called the tax office. The receptionist has to be there during lunch to answer the phone. She did, like the fabulous receptionist she was. She also closed down the tax office (not allowed) to leave, grabbed her boyfriend who was at home on his day of leave, and dragged his ass to my wedding. I totally have no idea what their names are.

I always wanted to get married in green. My favorite painting in art appreciation class was Jan Van Eyck's Arnolfini "Wedding" Portrait (the picture in this post). My art teacher explained that green was the old school traditional color for a wedding dress because it helped ensure fertility. So my wedding colors were definitely camouflage green and black maybe? I don't know. I was wearing my BDU's (Battle Dress Uniform, you can't get better symbolism than that for a wedding) and combat boots. The judge had married many grooms in that attire, but I was her first bride (swing my head up high with pride). Let it be known, I think the green worked on the fertility thing, three kids later.

The hubs didn't end up deploying for two weeks after that due to paperwork issues, so he actually got to help me move us into an apartment. I really anticipated this marriage to die within 2 years. We've been married almost 8 years now. Not bad for a one night stand.