Some stupid Air Force story because why not?

So a grunt on the Grunt Facebook page I like shared a story about BMT. I can't tell these guys my stories because I was Air Force, and Army guys always thinks they are bigger more ferocious people, so everything I say is invalid (well that and I'm a girl and should be making sammiches in their small minds, and I'm the type of girl who serves men knuckle sandwiches so yeah...). I know the truth about the branches. I'm cool. Some Army are badasses, yes, but when shit gets crazy, too hot to handle, who do they call? The Air Force. and duh. Air Force spawned from the Army. We became our own branch when we met aliens. People need to learn their history... So with that said...

In tech school, during the weekends, we had regular instructors act as our MTL's (babysitters). I liked these guys because we didn't know enough about each other to hate each other yet. So, of course, that means I'm comfortable enough to fuck with them on a meaningless level. I go to the acting MTL who was playing cards with people, and I told him so and so had a stripper in their room. He freaked the fuck out. Threw his cards. Stood up cussing like he was about to kick some ass. He marched, stomped, like a toddler throwing a fit, all the way to the room, with a possy of Air Force students all ready to stir the shit pot. He pounded on the door like the police. The door opens, and as he opens his mouth to scream, he sees it. The floor stripper. That thing where you strip the old wax off the floor... He turned red, apologized for bothering anyone, his possy was cracking up, and they left with their tails between their legs...

And NO, I didn't get in any trouble over it. Dude had a sense of humor. 

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.

The Koolaid that brought no one to our yard.

I'm watching one of my nephews for a few days just because his brother pissed him off. For purposes of this story, we shall call him the boy. He just turned 13.

Me: (as I was getting up off the husband's lap) I don't like that girl.

Boy: Who?

Me: (pointing to the TV), that girl

Boy: Why?

Me: Because she stole Captain America's heart from me. That man belongs to me.

Boy: What about the Puerto Rican Air Force (pointing to my husband)

Me: Who?

Boy: The Puerto Rican Air Force you married.

Me: Oh, but she stole Captain America's heart!

Husband: Awww, no you don't. Denied.

Boy: I can't believe she just dissed you.

I start walking to the husband who is not having any hugs.

Husband: No, no. You already made your choice. Go be happy with Captain America.

Boy: Yeah. You can't diss him like that and think he's just going to take it.

So I jump on the husband and lift my big red shirt (it's his shirt he got for Christmas from my mom one year and has never worn because he hates it) over his head and jammed his face in my boobs and wiggled. Laughing hysterically.

Boy: Gawd, what are you people doing? What is wrong with you?

I start to get off and the husband takes the shirt, puts it back over his head, lifts up my tank top and places his head in my boobs and starts shaking his head screaming "Ahhhh" Of course, he's the only person who can see my boobs because my shirt is still on me. I'm just pregnant with the head of my husband for a second, that is all.

Boy: Oh wow, y'all need to stop. Seriously, you people are crazy.

Me: Yeah, I think we are scarring this child for life hun. We should stop.

Husband: Yeah.

Me: Our kids are used to this sort of thing.

Boy: Just go make me some Kool Aid. Some Black Drink.

Me: I'm making the Kool Aid. Wanna know why? Because I'm the blackest motherfucker here.

(Mind you, I'm white. My husband is Puerto Rican, and my nephew is black, well actually he's mixed but you wouldn't know that looking at him).

Boy: She is.

Me: See. Proof.

Boy: I'm surprised you didn't stick your face in the Puerto Rican Air Force's boobs.

Husband performs milk shake. It brought nobody to our yard.