Beige Wonderland

I found a blog that I do not like. It offends me, I am enraged.

I am a little afraid that my blog and this person's blog are more the same than they are different, therefore making my dear little blog as annoying as this person's. Which is sad, because I'm sure that this person thinks their blog is adorable, just as I do mine.

I am torn between posting the name of this blog so that all ya'll can confirm or deny, and not posting the name of this blog so that this person won't get a sudden spike of 12 extra viewers one day and get the wrong idea.

SPC Husband thinks this is a bad idea. Childish, he says. Hard to believe I now take advice from a man who sits this close to the TV:

That's our apartment. Beige, beige and more beige. Well that's about to change. Starting Saturday this living room will be the proud new home to a blue suede couch, very brown leather chair and small round table.

The apartment also comes with some groovy appliances from 1973 and a Command Sergeant Major who lives downstairs. He's a big deal so we avoid him like the plague and are quiet like mice up here.

Here's a list of Enlisted Ranks:

Like I said, he's a big deal.

There's another list for Officers. It's the kind of thing I'm supposed to know by now, but since I am childishly resisting this new lifestyle as hard as I can, I don't. So sue me.

Here's some more pictures of things apartment related:

Snow on our railing and some kind of bush outside.
It snows here. I live in a place where it snows.

The other day I was totally freaked out to find myself walking in the rain, yet not getting wet. I thought I was Christ for a few minutes until it dawned on me that this kind of rain is called hail and that I should not stop and stare like a tourist, I should continue with my business as usual.

Everyday I am reminded how unbelievably NEW I am.

Mood Swing Christmas

From the ages of zero to 10, I thought the holidays were totally freaking awesome and I had no problem telling anyone who would listen, what I wanted for Christmas. I was completely into it, the whole situation appealed to me. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and New Year's were a stellar line up my childhood brain could get behind. I didn't necessarily "believe in Santa" but I damn well believed in parties, lights, feasts, presents and general merriment.

I never counted Halloween as part of the holidays because, historically, my costumes never turned out the way I wanted. Halloween was always bittersweet for me.

From the ages of 10 to 20 (lets do this in nice even increments) the doubt, cynicism, and sarcasm so unfortunately common to my adult personality began to creep into the holiday season. My eyes saw a little more than the presents and deviled eggs, past the garish decor and silly traditions. And so the season slowly lost its glossy appeal.

I wouldn't consider this unnatural, or even out of the ordinary. I'd say, with scientific certainty, that probably, about 127% of people's feelings about the holidays change. Their roles eventually shift from the adored child, center-stage, showered with presents and glitter to the stagehand behind the scenes making sure the fake snow falls on cue. The shows just not the same, from the Prima Donna to the Costume Girl; it matters where you sit when it comes to

Christmas.

This Christmas, I had nosebleed seats. I almost sat outside in the cold, pouting.

20 to 25 was characterized by being consistently broke. The holidays, I'm sure you've noticed, fall directly in between the Fall and Spring semesters and directly in between Fall and Spring financial aid allotments.

So, after a monumental year of graduation, marriage, two moves and the ever looming threat of deployment you'd think my emotions could handle anything. Apparently anything but being away from home for Christmas. The only way someone can go from being head over heels in love with the holidays to disdainful and unaffected is if the holidays are still around to be disdained upon. In my case, I thought I was disdainful and unaffected but after a week of mood swings, I can now diagnose my problem as one of privilege. I've always had the privilege of rejecting Christmas, the privilege of being annoyed at all the cheer, the jammed parking lots, the forced hugs and the nonsensical light displays.

This year, I did not have that privilege. Christmas wasn't around for me to make fun of. This year I had to make my own Christmas, all by myself, and it was just medium.

So this year, I had a self-made C+ Christmas. This year I cooked with borrowed utensils and we ate on a folding table. I did 4 rounds of dishes and watched TV.

Next year, we may not get a tree, we may not put up lights but you can be damn well certain that we'll have a ham thats ready at the same time as the side dishes.

I've Been Kidnapped

By a nice guy, sure, but a kidnapping none the less. Actually I'm not sure that kidnapping applies to my situation as I am technically not longer a "kid". Perhaps adult-napping would be the more accurate term. Although that sounds more like what I did this morning after AH (Army Husband) left for PT (Physical Training) very, very early. Perhaps I can get those "Baby On Board" people to make me a sign that says "Adult Napping" with small suction cups so I can put it in the front window of our new apartment.

So now to briefly chronicle the events that happened rapid-fire style since my last glorious post and bring all ya'll up to speed on how I came to be in Texas, sitting on the floor with AH watching My Fair Lady against his will.

Here's a quick grammar lesson. "Ya'll" is singular, but "all ya'll" is plural. Since being in Texas I've been addressed as: Ma'am, Honey, Baby, Mama and Darlin'. All by Black women in casual conversations, apparently all are acceptable.

I believe a list is in order. So immediately following the AIT graduation ceremony we:

1. Packed up and cleaned out our little Arizona house. It took like 3 hours.

2. Drove straight to Las Vegas, Nevada forsaking both our families and the best national holiday, Thanksgiving. As we dined on fancy Mexican food and burlesque shows, I began to accept my fate as the luckiest kidnap victim ever. I allegedly cried out "I don't need my family!!! I have Las Vegas!!!" upon entering the strip for the first time. I, of course, have no memory of this.

3. After winning $100 dollars on a slot machine, and then promptly spending it, traipsing up and down the strip like I've never seen anything shiny before, developing a blister I have yet to be rid of and defying death on the scariest of scary roller coasters, we drove our ridiculous looking car back home to California.

4. A week or so of living in limbo, unpacking, sorting, laundering, eating, eating, eating, arguing, and then repacking we started out on our next road trip or the Second Kidnapping, as I like to call it.

5. Over the course of 4 days, we stopped at a dozen Denny's, two dozen Starbuck's and consumed a heck of a lot of beef jerky. We stopped in Phoenix, Las Cruces, Austin and finally Fort Hood. We also stayed at the most high speed Motel 6 ever. I have pictures somewhere. "High Speed" is military for something that's really really good.

So that's how we got here. I have to go to bed now, my kidnapper has politely requested it. By the way Texas is 2 hours ahead of California, so if anyone wants to call please keep the time change in mind. We're in the Army, we need our beauty rest.

Graduation

Tomorrow at 1300 my Army spouse will participate in a graduation ceremony with his platoon. It won't be anywhere near as dramatic as the picture above, hopefully. I'm supposed to be there on time, look pretty and I'm not allowed to bring in any Starbucks. It's being held at the Main Chapel and that, I'm told, would be inappropriate. The Main Chapel looks a little like the creepy Post Office on Tustin Ave in Orange near Quan's Rockin' Sushi (before they suffered too many health code violations and got turned into an Arby's). I will no doubt be a little nauseous.

Here's a list of things I anticipate making me nauseous tomorrow:

1. This building gives me the willies, I hold my breath when I drive by.

2. Army people will be there.

3. Sergeant Hall may possibly be there. This guy scares the crap out of me. Sergeant Hall walked in on my husband's lips briefly touching mine once and when the yelling was over I didn't even know where my own asshole was. I almost melted into a puddle on the floor. It was impressive. I've never been in the presence of such professional yelling. Husband later described the incident as a light scolding.

4. The last time he graduated, from Basic Training at Fort Jackson, I couldn't eat for 3 days. I think I still have some lingering nausea from that particularly traumatic time period.

In an effort to exorcise that lingering unease, and in preparation for tomorrow's sweaty event, here are some pictures from Fort Jackson. I'm going to practice not panicking.

Fort Jackson's Graduation Ceremony/Family Day

July 2009

So after navigating the labyrinth of Fort Jackson and then negotiating some seats in the shade, we noticed some teeny tiny soldiers across the field from us, hiding in the trees. The ceremony begins with a hundred different people of varying levels of importance saying something into the microphone. I can't remember a single thing any one of them said. It took forever, but luckily it was exactly 100 degrees and no one could tell if I was sweating because of the heat or the imminent panic attack. At this point I had not spoken a word since breakfast.

After everyone and their moms had said their piece at the microphone, this unfortunate event happened. They put on a Terrorist Show for us, complete with loud scary bangs and Arabs. Because seeing my husband for the first time in 10 weeks wasn't a compelling enough reason to attend the ceremony. I also need to be entertained.

The crowd went crazy, they started chanting "Ter-ror-ist, Ter-ror-ist."

Rednecks.

Then the US soldiers acting as US soldiers kicked ass and took names.

And the US soldiers acting as Arabs got taken away. I swear I heard someone in the crowd yell, "Waterboard them!" I've never been so uncomfortable, until our friend Sergeant Hall that is.

Before I was able to begin processing the many layers of weird and I'm pretty sure racist the Terrorist Show was, somebody put some purple smoke out on the field and our guys got to run through it! It looked like fun and someone tripped! That calmed me down a little bit. I think I was able to smile and nod when my new sister-in-law asked if I was going to be all right.

Bless her heart.

When they were all lined up in an orderly fashion according to Company, we got to go down on the field and find the one we wanted! That was the best part. Ours was in "C" Company. As I've since learned you're supposed to say "Charlie Company" not just "C Company" with a big dumb grin on your face. Paola (sister) found ours, just as I was on the verge of psychotic breakdown.

I will be forever grateful.

I actually love this picture. Our body language is perfect and nobody has too many chins. Obviously I can see that it's blurry, but its my favorite anyhow.

This is also very nice.

This is Charlie Company on Graduation Day. Can you find my husband? I've been over this picture more times than the Zapruder Film, and I've located an eyebrow that looks suspicious.

See that one eye and eyebrow in the dead center of the picture?

That's him! I'm like 85% certain.

Can you find him here? It's hard because he's camouflaged.

Having an Army husband is sometimes like playing Where's Waldo.

And then this happened. It was a very weird day.

My Pretty Pretty Friends

When I get a little bored/sad/small/lonely/weary/hungry/insecure/lazy, I'll sometimes look at pictures of my pretty friends. For some reason, looking at devastatingly attractive people soothes me. It also helps with the motivation/inspiration/getting out of bed/depression situation that rears its ugly head from time to time. Like last week, thus the absence of blogs.

But these:

These are like emergency dark chocolate

and naptime

and marathons of The West Wing

and Del Taco bean and cheese burritos with red sauce

and Britney, any and all Britney Spears

and drugs and alcohol

and swimming pools. Those were a few of my favorite things.

Ahhh, I feel like running a marathon.

Russian Gangsta

As winner, and only participant, of Guess Where The O'Donnell-Munoz's Will Be Stationed Next, Paola got her choice of landscape, sunset or picture of her brother looking like a Russian Gangster. I think she made the right choice.

Here's some more, just because. These are from simpler times when I got to take him home on the weekends and he wasn't carrying an M-16 assault rifle with him everywhere. This was Septemberish in Bisbee, where we spent the day at a lefty coffee shop making fun of locals and eating scones.

Doesn't he look way too NICE to be in the Army? So nice and handsome.

This is the face he makes when the Mozart is playing too loudly in his head for him to hear anything else. Including me.

And this is the face he makes when he's a canary.

I don't know what this face means. We haven't been married that long. I actually don't really know him that well at all.

So nice.

I Wanna Be A Cowboy

Well I just got off an emotional roller coaster, the details I won't bore you with. Let's just say about $100, 3 hours in the cold, 2 cigarettes and a few dozen tears later.....I know where we're going to be stationed next! Now anyone who knows me, knows that there's nothing I enjoy more than lording information over others. And since this topic has been a Top Ten question by everyone and their moms since we started this whole Army/Crazy Train ride, I'm tempted to hold out a little longer. Well, except that I know that that's mean. Ok FINE.

I'll give you a choice of 5 to 7 posts and anyone who wants to play can guess! The winner gets either a landscape or a sunset, their choice. I should let you pick from a list of 60 because that's a little more realistic but whatever.

Where will the O'Donnell-Munoz's be stationed next?

1. Fort Lewis, Washington

2. Fort Richardson, Alaska

3. Heidelburg, Germany

4. Fort Hood, Texas

5. Fort Greely, Alaska

6. Fort Dix, New Jersey

Here's a hint, a very obvious hint.

It's Freezing Cold Here Today

I would like to call your attention to a few new features here at http://jessmunoz.blogspot.com. If you scroll way, way down you'll find that I've added a fish pond. That's right, I did a little waterscaping, hand selected multicolored fish and then trained them to swim towards your cursor so you can click feed them to your hearts content. I've been doing it all day.

Also we have a new follower (WOOHOO), she comes from Apple Valley and her name is Michelle. She once told me that there are actually no apples in Apple Valley, and since she's from there I had no choice but to agree with her.

I also swiped a picture of myself off of Facebook (thanks Paola) where my bangs are the perfect color and size to use as a profile picture. This way, in case any of you see me in the street, you can yell something and I can demonstrate how cool and aloof I am.

Here's a pretty pretty landscape of some grasses and stuff:

All Of The Animals, Part Three

Guy

Guy is nobody's cat. He looks like he used to be somebody's cat but then something bad happened and now times are a little tougher for him. Perhaps it was the economy. We don't know a lot about him, except that he's dirty and he only comes by a couple times a week. I think he's got another 2 person family somewhere nearby. I wonder what name they give him. He got this name "Guy", from The Specialist, who started another story with "when I was a little boy...." and when I was able to stop cooing and kissing his forehead, the cat's name was Guy. Little boy stories are a giant weak spot in my otherwise logic hardened reasoning.

He's not a bad looking guy, Guy, but I'm sure he's got fleas or chiggers or intestinal parasites or the Swine Flu at least, so I won't let him touch me. My vaccinated husband cuddles the hell out of him when he's home though. They're so cute together, Guy gets all the love and attention he so desperately needs and Husband gets to change his clothes before he comes back inside. I prefer to support our grey lionish friend in more material ways, like salami.

All Of The Animals, Part Two

Oscar

Oscar belongs to Scott and Jeanine. He doesn't like the wind or being alone and is in charge of scouting for snakes when we go on walks together. He has super soft ears that flop comically up and down while he's running away from me. He is surprisingly fast for a creature of such odd proportion. He will occasionally come sit on my porch in the sun and ignore me, and when I invite him in he declines. He plays hard to get like a champ and so I am madly in love with him.

He's so poised and thoughtful and sophisticated.

This is what he does right before he's about to ditch me.

This is how big he is when he's ditched me.

All Of The Animals, A Qualitative Study

After many strenuous hours of walking around with my camera, and sometimes Oscar, I've finally completed a photographic catalogue of all of the animals here. The bug section is a little incomplete, but who cares about bugs. You'll notice there aren't any pictures of snakes, because there are NO SNAKES in Arizona. Comforting, huh? I've also taken the liberty of naming them, regardless of whether they already have names and/or actually belong to me. A short biography of each animal may be included, depending on whether I like the animal or not. Here we go:

Kalish

Kalish you've already met. He used to live on top of the stove (except when it was in use) and watch me make huge messes in small spaces; but I relocated him into the living room due to the fact that it's suddenly 45 degrees in the kitchen as soon as the sun goes down. He enjoys making angry faces, staring, and blowing bubbles. I read on the internet that when he makes the bubbles it means he's feeling sexy. I'm going to look into getting him an ugly brown girlfriend as soon as everything else in my life gets taken care of and "squared away" as we say here in the Army. Kalish is a nickname actually, short for Kalishnikov; which according to Husband is superior in every way to the M16. I like it because it rhymes with "fish".

Henry and His Harem

Henry is a very impressive rooster who heads an equally impressive operation inside Scott and Jeanine's impressive chicken house, or coop or whatever. Now I realize that Henry is also the name I chose for the first hummingbird to grace the feeder on my porch, however Henry the Rooster was named by Husband the Specialist. And honestly, anyone who is willing to play the game of naming other people's animals with me deserves the gratification of having their name ratified. Even if it's already been "taken". Specialist had a charming tale to support his choice. It went like this: "When I was a little boy..." and then I died and called him 37 sweet nicknames in a row and said you can name the chicken anything you want. I'm an pathetic sucker for any type of husbandly reasoning that starts with "when I was a little boy...". Hopefully he won't figure that out for another couple of years and be able to use it against me for the rest of our lives.

Henry lives with these other chickens:

The Redheads

I don't think they're twins, I think they're just exactly the same color.

The Black

I walked in on The Black Chicken laying an egg once. It was terribly awkward and uncomfortable.

The Blonde

I'm sorry, but Blonde is the cutest one. Look at all that FLUFF!

To be continued with the exciting chronicles of Oscar, Guy, Mia and Lizard On The Fence.