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.