Caution...awkwardness ahead!

I greatly enjoy living vicariously through Kae's life. I tell her to teach her children silly things (although she comes up with gems on her own - like using lyrics from P!nk songs as life lessons). I knit her sacks to carry her baby in. And I try to make her take maternity pictures. She was saying she thinks that's not a good idea for her, as she would not find them attractive. I beg to differ, Kae. Take a look at my evidence.

Let the alien baby out!

Can't let the mom get all the attention. Check out those guns! It looks kind of like the dad photobombed the picture. That's she's taking in lingerie.

The zombie children are trying to eat the baby.

I'm not totally sure what to make of this one...I think the jist of the conversation that morning was, "Wrap up in towels, kids! We're taking a family photo!"

There were a number of pictures that involved an almost entirely nude mother trying to pose sexily in a window. I thought Kae would deem that too risqué for our little blog here. Sooooo many naked bellies. Even ones where the mom was otherwise dressed had her belly hanging out.

There's my contribution for the week, Kae. I will continue to look for more evidence that you should take some maternity pictures before your chance is gone. My next project - looking for things for you to stuff the baby into after its born so you can take a picture. Like boots, baskets and nets.

Bee out.

Pulling the plug on Kae

Do you know how hard it is to plan for one suitcase to hold the next four months worth of outfits (plus shoes and toiletries)? Just saying. I am going to be moving a few times over the next four months and living out of hotels, so I'm trying to keep it light while all my non-necessities are being stored. One bag for uniforms, one bag for my beloved civilian clothes. Everytime I think I have it arranged, I find something important, like a sweatshirt that surely will come in handy for someone moving from the desert to the dead of winter in a practically arctic climate. So then I find myself staring at my suitcase, wondering if I should leave behind the glitter boots or my shampoo. It's gotten to the point that I put all my clothing back into the drawers and hid my suitcase from view so I don't have to think about it.

Along with that comes another thing I had to do, which is deactivate my facebook. It really wasn't that big of a deal, other than that's the main way I communicate with Kae. As I told her, it was like having to pull the plug on her. Now I'll never be able to send her a quick witty comment about a cute DIY maternity dress pattern I found. I'm going to have to actually, like, work to get a message to her. We both are accepting this is the end of our sisterhood. I probably won't even know she gave birth until sometime in the summer.

On that note, Kae, that is what is happening in my life. Maybe send a messenger pigeon to let me know when the baby is born?

Bee out.

P.S. Here's my song for today, as a late Veteran's Day nod.

Party Ranch

Last night I had an adventure. Last night I went to a honky tonk.

Now really, this isn't a great story. It was just the fact that it was a honky tonk. Myself, Señor Marine's little brother [Baby Bro], a friend [we shall call him Hill Boy, as I have been told "hillbilly" is too offensive] and his girlfriend [Hill Girlfriend] decided to go. It was this pretty ghetto looking pole barn just off base, and we had been curious what it was like. After all, it is named Party Ranch. It was, as Hill Boy described it, "if Disney had a western themed dive bar."

When we arrived, we immediately realized we were out of our element. For starters, none of us were wearing Mossy Oak camo. Myself and Hill Girlfriend were not wearing anything sparkly. (This was an oversight on my part - my first week here, a waitress at a local steakhouse told me if I wanted to fit in here, I need to buy myself a "party belt." A "party belt" is just an explosion of glitter and sparkle that you wear to honky tonks, apparently).

I also happened to be wearing my new military-issued glasses, in a weak attempt to try to get used to them. My vision is 20/25, mind you, but I am required to have 20/20 vision for my job. At Kae's request, here is the picture:

Instagramed and everything, for Kae's hipster pleasure

That is not a face that easily fits in at a honky tonk.

After listening to the local country band a little bit (who were actually pretty good), we decided to play pool against each other. In the midst of our intense pool game, a random guy came over and stood next to Hill Girlfriend. And when I say next to, I mean pressed up against. Hill Boy of course saw this, and froze with his pool cue above the edge of the table, like he was going to break it and start swinging it through the air at the random redneck. According to Hill Girlfriend, this is was the conversation that happened next:

Redneck: "Hola."

Hill Girlfriend: "Sorry, I speak English."

Redneck: "Oh good. Me too. I was just making sure you were American." (none of us quite got the redneck logic in that statement)

Hill Girlfriend: "I also speak Korean."

Redneck: "I don't."(Upset by the un-Americanness of this, he walks away)

As he was walking away, he stopped at me next. He took one look down at my military glasses and turned to Baby Bro who was next to me. He shook Baby Bro's hand and wished him luck. Then Redneck lurched away.

Really, that was the extent of the night. Hill Girlfriend wanted to get pictures of us in front of every fake Western storefront that was put up around this honky tonk, but the lighting was too bad. She and I really wanted a picture in front of the barber storefront, with razors to the boys' necks. Alas, maybe at the next honky tonk.

So that was my night. Now I am going to spend the next few days sitting around bored, waiting for Señor Marine to get here on Thanksgiving. As promised, he has supplied a picture of the horror that is his mustache:

I will still try to love him as I would a human husband.

For my music selection today, I chose the song that has been on the top of my most played list on iTunes since its debut about three years ago. Swim Until You Can't See Land

Bee out.

Gifts from the heart...and from the wild

Lanky is a sweet guy. He'll come inside with something behind his back and tell me he has a surprise. I've been gifted bouquets of dandelions, thistles, and some weird flower that actually kind of stunk up the house.

So, today at Grandma's when Lanky earnestly said, "Mom, I have a surprise for you," I was expecting a pinecone, maybe some dried up fall foilage.

Instead,

 



 

What mother wouldn't rather display part of an animal carcass on the kitchen counter instead of a vase of fresh picked wildflowers?

 

 



 

 

Should I even say it's the thought that counts? Because you know darn well I'll be treasuring my new animal skull for years to come.

 

 

--Kae--

Bee writes from the depths of spinsterhood

Alright. Kae, bless her heart, has been more than upholding this blog, along with gestating new life. Upholding? Is that even the right word? I'm making it one now. I, on the other hand, have been wallowing into (married) spinsterhood and, well, doing nothing. I have been keeping myself busy with little knitting projects. I am now the proud owner of a few pairs of leg warmers, fingerless gloves, and a cardigan. I sent Señor Marine pictures of my cardigan, which I made in two days. His response? "You must be really good to have knitted it that fast." No, Señor Marine, I am just stuck in a wasteland with nothing else to do, and all of my wingmen gone.

As my mother pointed out, no, I did not have anyone to take the picture for me. This is my new cardigan, creepily taken in a mirror.

So here's my update. I recently finished my work here, and now I'm just waiting to move on to the next adventure. I visited Señor Marine at his location a few weeks ago. That was a good time. It was fairly low key, as Señor Marine is pretty restricted at his base, and was at work a good amount of the time that I was there. But really, it was just nice being in a place that had, you know, SEASONS. I saw some autumn colors! I even enjoyed when my hotel was evacuated because a bunch of lieutenants were trying to cook in their room and started it on fire. I stood outside without my coat in 25 degree weather, and it was AWESOME. I say that now, anyway. Wait till I get to my next snowbound assignment.

Coming up, I will be trying to find a ridiculous show to replace Breaking Amish. Señor Marine will be visiting for Thanksgiving, I will possibly manage to see him at Christmas, and then he's off to the other side of the world. I will do my best, but I don't forsee any fun posts like you're used to from me for a little bit after that. I mean, come on. I'm going to be eating baby rabbit eyeballs, and then be as separated as possible from Señor Marine. Even if he is growing a mustache right now just to spite me, I'll still miss him. (I will also be asking him to supply a picture of said mustache, so the rest of you all can be as horrified as I am.)

Man, Kae. You need to lend me some kids for a while so I have cute pictures and stories to share. I could tell stories about PFC Cuddles, but I think that would qualify me as crazy. Like that one time a friend texted to ask what I was doing, and I said "we" were watching TV. That was mistaken to mean I was hanging out with other people. No. It was just me and PFC Cuddles watching Grey's Anatomy. He's really into doctor shows.

Señor Marine and PFC Cuddles, at his birth. Yes. HIS BIRTH.

Now that you have seen the depths to which I've fallen, I shall grace you with a song I have been addicted to lately, and sign off before this gets weirder.

Birds of a feather

Rather than inundating both readers of ye ol' blog with pregnancy update after update after update... I thought I'd offer a little alternative entertainment to watching the election results. (Note: I promise this will be muuuuuuch less stressful to read than counting electoral votes).

So, this boy:

Got his very own chicken coop, complete with chickens from Grandma.

The hens are Lucy and Hannah. The rooster (not the look of controlled fear on Specs) is named Piranha. That should tell you about Specs' feelings for roosters in general.

But these chickens. People, you would not believe the level of care these chickens receive.

If Specs misses closing up the coop for the night and Aquaman goes out to do it, he's immediately interrogated by Specs when he comes back inside.

Specs: "Dad, did you close the coop? They need to be inside so they stay warm."

Aquaman: "Yep. I closed the coop."

Specs: "You made sure you closed the door?"

Aquaman (bless his patient heart): "They're all inside."

Specs: "But did you tuck them in?"

And now that our northern tundra is starting to get even chillier, Specs goes out every morning to deliver tap water to his flock. And then comes this conversation:

Me: "Specs, it wasn't that cold last night. Their water didn't freeze."

Specs: "But their water is cold. I'm getting them a drink of warm water."

Yep. We would be the family that has a chicken coop with its own personal butler/valet.

--Kae--