The downfall of Bee

Señor Marine yesterday was slightly concerned about my mental health and due to that concern, has now caused my downfall and the destruction of everything I touch. Allow me to explain.

Yesterday I spent much of my day sending texts to my long-suffering husband complaining. Complaining about the heat, about the girls who live in the dorm room next to me, about how the moving company has lost all of my belongings, about how he told me to buy these rocking blue heels to start building my shoe collection back up (and replace my poor lost blue boots) but I have nowhere to wear them to. He wisely suggested I find a friend to do something with so I can dress up in my heels. I responded I only have dude friends that go out with me, and it's a little weird to get dolled up to hang out with them. 

Not a shoe you can casually wear with shorts, in my opinion

He then suggested I find something mindless to occupy my time. Here is where it gets dangerous.

I went to the craft store. This may seem harmless enough, as the only craft I can do with any skill is knitting. Then I passed the aisle with all the puff paint in it, and thought, "I have been talking about how I need a new computer tote bag. Maybe I can decorate one."

And that's when I saw it. It was tucked in the back of a bottom shelf, but it was like a soft heavenly glow was lighting my path to finding it. I pulled the box out from behind some cheerleading patches and unicorn stickers, and gingerly dusted it off.

My bedazzler.

I went back to my room armed with a tote bag, the bedazzler, and assorted studs and rhinestones. I set it up on my bed, and proceeded to accidentally bedazzle my finger, the back of my hand, and my toe. Once I got the hang of it, I managed to intentionally bedazzle my tote bag with an anchor. The anchor because the bedazzler came with patterns and the only one that didn't involve stars, hearts or flowers was the anchor. And as I explained to Señor Marine, anchors are very in right now.

A (consolidated) text message exchange between me and Señor:

Me: "The instructions don't make any sense. I don't think I have a stud stuffing tool. Oh wait. I found it. HA! I just bedazzled my finger. I should just leave it. Now my finger is pretty. THIS IS SO MUCH FUN! I'M GONNA BEDAZZLE EVERYTHING I OWN!" 

Señor: "Wow. Take it easy."

Me: "I'm not very good at this. I'M GONNA BEDAZZLE EVERYTHING!"

Señor: "Maybe you should take a break."

And that was the start of the downfall. Although I did follow his advice and put it away before I bedazzled any clothing, or my uniforms, which I badly want to do. Maybe I'll just stick with bedazzling my new blue shoes, since my other glitter shoes sucked. Or bedazzle the rest of my hand. Or sneak into the dorm room next door and bedazzle that girl's uniform, because these studs are impossible to get out. Or maybe I should take a friend's suggestion and modify the bedazzler so it shoots rhinestones from afar, and can be used as a weapon. I need to go. I have lots to do now.

Bee out.

Patience is not my virtue

Thanks, Kae, for taking care of our sucking up and award accepting duties. Like she mentioned, I have been very busy lately. Of course, it's mostly being very busy waiting. That's just what the military does. We had an early formation, and then waited an hour to go answer a survey about whether we had had unprofessional relationships with our TIs (Training Instructors) during boot camp, or whether we had ever been discriminated against because of our gender. To which, I answered, I'm a female in the military. Of course I have. It doesn't make it right, but it doesn't make it a surprise.

Also, as mentioned in an earlier post, I had some of the things from me and Señor Marine's home packed up and sent either to storage or to meet me at my new base. This was my first time doing the whole shipping thing, as up till now I've been able to stuff what I own in a couple duffel bags and drag them along with me.

This happened near a month ago, so I called the TMO office (TMO is the guys in charge making sure you and your things all get safely to your new base) to ask where my things were. They responded with an unhelpful, "We can't release that information to you." I'm sorry, are my things top secret or something now? I'm imagining what they could possibly be holding my things for. The things I shipped, keep in mind, are textbooks, cold weather clothing I won't be needing until, oh, never again, and shoes. Lots and lots and LOTS of shoes. Did some spec ops group stumble across my blue suede boots and decide they had to have them for a mission? 

Like this, but with blue boots.

Of course I asked for clarification, and they said, "You can look online for it." Again...WHAT? Like on Craigslist? Do I need to buy my own stuff back? Look for pictures of these spec ops guys in my clothing? The office didn't have any more information to give me than that.

Thankfully, yesterday, I got a phone call from the TMO guys at Lackland. Lackland is the Air Force's basic training base. They had my things there, but didn't believe that I wasn't there, and would not be releasing it until I proved to them I wasn't in basic training. Once again...WHAT? How does it make sense that I would be shipping things to myself if I were at basic training? I think they would know that isn't allowed. Thus starts my adventure of faxing copies of my orders, and waiting. I guarantee my orders will be lost at least three times and my things won't show up until late August. Anyone wanna start a betting pool?

Definitely wish I had had stilettos and my own clothes at this point. Or anything but MOPP gear. Funny thing is, this is actually my flight at basic. No, I don't know where I am. Just look for the one with the left-handed gas mask. That one is me.

Along the lines of "hurry up and wait", Señor Marine and I were going to wait until the Labor Day weekend to set up a visit. Of course that looked like it wasn't going to work out, so we decided to just go ahead and buy plane tickets now. So he'll be here in a week! One week from now, we will be disgustingly sickeningly cuddling on the same side of a booth at some romantic catfish diner. Just thinking about it makes me nauseated with how cute it'll be. But the bad part is, I have no patience. Literally none whatsoever. Ask Señor Marine. Thus starts the longest week EVER.

How could you not be looking forward to seeing this little nerd.

I have promised Señor Marine I would keep my crazy under wraps for this week. I'll try to make that same promise to the rest of you.

Bee out.

Foot-poppin' fun

So I bought some blue knee high boots. Blue knee high boots with ruffles. This was on a whim, as I ended up at an outlet mall and they were the last pair at Charlotte Russe and therefore ten dollars. Before I go further, you all need a visual.

So initially I wanted to wear these boots on Monday. That didn't pan out. So I had to wait all the way until Thursday (THURSDAY) to wear my blue boots. I came home fresh and sparkly from work with somewhere to go (trivia night with some of Señor Marine's friends) and got dressed. Imagine, if you will, these boots with leggings, a white skirt and a gray lacy shirt. Cute, right? I walked out of the bedroom and Señor Marine's reaction was, "Well, that's hippie of you." (Yes, I realize this sounds mean when it's written and not him saying it, but he didn't mean it that way.) Probably right with a flowy skirt and ruffly boots and whatever. Take two was just skinny jeans, boots, shirt.

So we headed out, and once we got to trivia, I did everything in my power to have someone comment on my boots without flat out saying, "Hey! Boots! Look!" I tried crossing my legs so my foot stuck pretty much straight out in everyone's line of sight. I tried casually standing up with my foot popped as I talked to someone. I imagine it looked something like this:

You know, cute and casual.

So after an entire night and not a single comment, I looked around and realized: we were with a group of entirely male friends. And not a single one of them was going to say something about my shoes. I had struck utter failure.

I'll wear them again and damn it, someone is going to comment on my blue boots without me forcing them. If that doesn't work, I'll jam that cute little stiletto heel into their foot until they do.