Royal Weddings

I grew up adoring Princess Diana. If a magazine had her picture on it, I begged my mom for it every step through the store.
I clipped articles from the newspapers. My grandparents showered me with books and various other Diana memorabilia.
At the tender age of 9, I practiced her poses in the bathroom mirror. I was in adoration of the ONLY Princess in the world.
I gave school report after school report about her.
I watched her funeral, and cried all day long.

Still, to this very day, people still give me books about Diana for holidays, and I still devour each book.

So, when Prince William announced his engagement....I was startled, and I admit it, offended even at the sight of Diana's ring...that ICONIC ring...on some brunette.
Someone NOT Diana.
It just felt wrong seeing it there, on her finger. While she smiled at William, and waved her hands around in the interview to be sure that everyone saw it resting on her hand.
I cringed. I did. And I'm a nerd for admitting so.

But I just couldn't believe my eyes.
I thought of her telling her parents and showing them Diana's ring. And it annoyed me.
I complained to my husband. I told everyone I was offended.....

And I wondered if I was alone in feeling so....digusted.

Sharing is Caring...

Picture it...I was snoozing in our sleep number under our soft green shabby chic quilt, dreaming that Michael is in the living room watching drum videos, it's realistic. I even think "That's Mike Portnoy he's listening to..." and I pop my eyes open with excitement. It's 7:13am. Still dark outside..
I hop out of bed, run to the dark living room and...nothing. Nothing on tv except for the little red light that indicates (in case you unsure) that the TV is in fact, off..
I thought to myself...How RUDE to be startled awake for a false alarm, and besides, why would he come home so early and make his first order of business watching dvds...
Since it was still dark, I decided to do what anyone else would...I crawled back into the warm bed.

I realized that someone was outside, closing their car doors and that had to be the 'drumming' that woke me up.
As I lay there in bed disgruntled...I thought... Man...I share my husband with a fatlot of people. Family, friends, coworkers, some people I'll never even meet....
I woke up again to daylight at 9.
Shuffled to the kitchen and made coffee. Coffee that I drank while standing up, making a grocery list. Since the commissary is closed on Mondays, I had to get my few things for the week, today.

 I literally just missed the bus as it flew past our buildings. The decision was made for me, I was walking to buy my food. 

As I walked I thought about not knowing exactly when Michael would be coming home. His online hints flew way over my head. "I am doing this on that day...so that should be a hint of when I'll be home." and "I stopped doing that on this day...so that is another hint."
I strained my mind to think...did we have a code? Did I forget it? Is this a reference to something I should know?

As I kicked through the huge yellow leaves that carpet the ground I thought...Funny...I am keenly aware of where the phone is at in the apartment all times just incase I get a morale call. Which, who knew that 10 minutes of listened-in on conversation would be the highlight of my week?

I thought about how all the pretty leaves will be gone by the time he gets home...and thought of what dessert I could make for him, and how I seriously hope that I do get an email letting me know when he'll arrive. And yes, even what color of lipstick I'll wear the day he gets here.
I thought the most selfish thing anyone could possibly think...I thought "I hate sharing him with everyone and their brother. I wish he was home. Sharing is NOT caring. Whoever was the first person to cross stitch that on a pillow can KISS it."

Then I saw them...all the welcome home banners tied to the fences for soldiers returning from deployment. Standing out like party decorations against the grey sky.
 Welcome Home Daddy!
Welcome Home My Hero!
 I've Missed You my Husband!
Banners decorated with pictures of smiling wives, chubby babies, happy soldiers....

And I thought this is only a temporary mission that Michael is on. He's only been gone a month and 4 days. Here I am whining and these spouses have dealt with a year apart. They have been sharing their spouses, and way more than my little selfish-self has even thought about doing.

I felt like such a terrible woman, a selfish wife. Making sure everyone knows that I've only had about 3 months with Michael out of our first year of marriage. Seeing a picture on a banner of a baby that her daddy has missed nearly the entire first year of her life, kinda puts things into perspective....

And I walked the rest of the way in the wind to the commissary thinking of how lucky I actually am....

Church bells in the Rain

I sit, by the open window...listening to the rain falling and the church bells clanging...
It's really lovely...
Which I believe I can only say this today because I had 3 days of sunshine...or two and a half..however you slice the pie... Friday/Saturday/MOST of sunday.
It was nice and warm and I unfortunately spent it on the sofa, whining with bronchitis. Napping, and watching DVDs of Family Ties.
Granted, Michael and I did take a ride through Bamberg...which was all the engery I could muster. No walks. No marketing. No nothing but sitting in a car, drinking water to fight my cough and then coming home to nap, and drink gallons of hot tea with Echter Deuschter Honig.

The rain here in Germany is nearly constant. It had been going non stop for at least 20 days. Not only was it rainy, it was also cold. And by 'cold' I mean...in the 50's.

And last week, the night before I went to the doctor. I appeared in the kitchen door, (wearing a night gown, a pair of blue thick winter socks, and his flannel thick coat. Quite the ensemble...I may add my hair was wiley and my nose was red.)while my husband was cooking dinner (He forbad me to cook due to my being sick...sweet man, he is.)
He looked at me with kind of a stunned expression.
I wailed extra dramatic with cheese "I'm NEVER going to see the sun again. Ever. Until the 2 weeks in July when it comes out again."
and I promptly broke down into hard tears. I know for the most part, it was my being under the weather. I will cry over everything/anything/nothing when I am sick. It's the charm of me.

Micheal looked heartbroken for me. Standing there holding a stirring spoon up in the air like Lady Liberty and I was his tired, sick, poor and hungry. He came over to me, hugged me and said nothing.
I said between coughs and sobs " Everyone at home is having summer, still. I'm not used to this. I'm feeling smothered by the rain."
When in reality I know now it wasn't the grey clouds or the rain smothering me but my cold was keeping me from getting a deep breath.

Friday when the sun peeked through and burst out of the sky, my lovely husband wanted to call me from work. Just to tell me to have a little gander...
I was so thankful for this weekend of warm dry weather and lots of sun...
It makes the rain that came on this monday morning..not so bad after all.

Weekends, German Class, and Rude People.

The weekends find Michael and I off discovering little things about Upper Franconia. We explore Bamberg, trying to get to know our new hometown. It is so exciting to mingle with the crowds of other saturday shoppers.


We pull our little phrase book to find the right things to say when the florist at the street market tells us that Nein. She does not Sprecht Englisch.

She smiles and waits patiently as we stumble through telling her how main Stücks of this flower, or that flower we'd like. Nodding when we get the words just right, or even kind of right. She presents us with our bouquet almost like it's a gift, and not something we're paying for.

She's chubby and short and reminds me of an elf. I decided, even when stumbling through our communication that I liked her. I liked the way she looked at us, trying to size the two of us up.

We sit at outdoor cafes drinking Spezi, most times with a dog panting at the table beside us. Sometimes the old dog will raise his head lazily and give a bark, just to add his two euro cents into whatever conversation...

We walk around cathedrals amazed at the beauty. Sometimes honestly, we went in not caring about the beauty, but seeking relief from the heat. The giant Cathedrals are cool inside, like G-d turns on the A/C for His Holy places. We were just happy to be in the sweet coolness, and we missed the most famous of all Bamberg's statues. Bamberger Reiter (the Horseman).

I stood right under him my perplexed gaze finding more interest in another statue. I didn't realize this until weeks later, when I was looking at a guide book.

I said, randomly, as if Mike should know exactly what I'm referring to, "What! We were right under that famous statue and I didn't bother to look up!"

He looked up from what he was doing and said "what are you talking about?"

I said "The Bamberg Horseman, we were standing right under him, but I was too obsessed with the grown man that was baby sized sitting on a woman's lap."

He said "Hmm..really?"

Some saturdays we are walking around old Castles, or palaces. My words alone could never capture the absolute thrill of standing on such historic sites. The age and history behind the buildings..incomprehensible to me. I'm standing in a Castle where ages ago, men held look out for intruders! or Kunigunde probably summered here.

Kunigunde, by the way, is my most favorite of Bambergers. I even LOVE her name. Any lady in history who proved her innocence by walking over hot coals has my admiration.


Saturdays, for the two of us, are filled to overflowing with excitement. We come home tired, bags in tow, Spezis in hand, grinning from ear to ear. Proud of ourselves for speaking German. Or astonishing over the fact that the sample lady at Tegut (our favorite little grocery) was giving out wine samples. While I'm handing Michael butters and cheeses to put away into the fridge I smiled, "Can you BELIEVE we shopped in a grocery while I drank wine?"

To which He responded "I know! That would never happen in the states!"

Every Saturday evening, we hurry inside our little apartment to pour over our loot like trick-or-treaters late halloween night. Or we rush into the kitchen to make dinner with whatever goodies we found in the outdoor markets or in the markt. Rosemary butter chicken, fresh veggies. Cheese. We are always about the cheese. In fact one of the first words we learned in German was: Käse. We barely get the front door closed before we are desperate to sample our findings.

But during the week....there's not much going on. Michael goes to work. I clean, I go to the library. But my favorite is German Class. I look forward to it.

The instructor, Heike, is a sweet woman who reminds me of a Garden Gnome. She says "Ja. Ja" in a deep voice. Or when someone says something correct she says "SUPER!" or "Ja wohl!"

Our class had a Brotzeit. (Brut-zyte)Which is a picnic. There were little breads or "brotla", spreads, various ham, radishes, pickles, polish tomato salad and pickled green beans. Our instructor and her Schwiegermutter prepared all of this for us. I was surprised by the kindness, and the excitement she had at sharing a Brotzeit with her class.

We sat around a picnic table and did baby german. "May I have a plate?" and "Can I have a fork?"

It was fun.

Except for...if you've ever wondered "well, why DO people hate Americans?" and you've probably thought this, based on yourself... You're nice. You have manners....etc...What could be so bad about Americans, right?

I say this because I felt the same exact way. I had no idea why anyone would hate Americans...

Well, here's the reason. I will tell you because I think you should be made aware.

There was a woman at our Brotzeit. Her brassy cluelessness made her annoying and highly rude.

She interrupted our "May I have a spoon, please?" exercise by saying "Yeah. But how you ask for a napkin?"

The tone she used made everyone stop talking.

We all looked at her.

She continued, without noticing that we've all got our eyebrows raised against her rudeness, "Cos I was at a restaurant and I ask for a napkin and no body know what I was wantin'. I had to act it out. Still they didn't know. So finally I say 'Gimme a KLEENEX.' And they know what I want then."

Hieke said "You only have to say 'Haben Sie eine Serviette.'"

The woman purses her lips, raises her eyebrow and says "I have to say all that? Can't I just say 'kleenex'?'"

And I couldn't help but think....The people at the restaurant, they knew exactly what you were wanting, they just didn't like how rude you were asking. That's why they made you act out what you wanted. Just to make you feel stupid. I kinda wanna high five the waitress.

This wasn't the only time she made herself seem like a rude/mannerless/idiotic American. She announced that no one would help her find her way from Schweinfurt to Bamberg. So she yelled "WHY no body WANNA help ME?"

Well, honestly, if I was in my hometown, and someone was yelling in her native language...well, I'd just keep walking, too.

My husband had huge eyes and just looked at the table.
It was like a fart in church. All the people in the class were dead silent.
 Here we were, surrounded by the kindness of a lady trying to assist us in learning the language and customs of her home..and this rude woman is so full of ingratitude.

She sat there with an air of entitlement, not of graciousness.

Sadly, It is not an isolated case, either. I am often shocked by the sheer rudeness of our own people. It makes me want to apologize. It would mortify you. You'd think, these people are going out every day representing our good country.

It makes me feel terrible, especially when someone is going out of his or her way to make friends or show kindness to us Americans.

I can say with honesty that when my husband and I go out into town, we try to use the language, even if we say things wrong, we are greeted with smiles and nods. We have met more friendly people than rude. Never once have we ever had to stand in a street and yell "WHY WON'T ANYONE HELP US!" We never have had to play charades for a napkin, either...

I think cultural differences are harder for some to learn...but I think it's a good idea to learn about them before you ever step foot aboard your plane to your foreign destination.

Your trip will be less frustrating and you'll get to see how friendly the people can be....

It is my sincere wish that people like the woman in my German class would understand that this is NOT America, and many things will be different.

There are differences that I find difficult, too, like the staring. Germans stare very hard at people. And trust me, it feels weird, and awkward, but for the most part, we smile or nod and it ends the stare down.

I don't feel the need to scream at the top of my lungs in the middle of Schwienfurt.

I'm not perfect, I know I probably do things inadvertantly that offend Germans...but I try to be friendly and I try to speak their language...and I find myself greeted with more smiles than blank stares.

A little remedy for enduring the heat without A/C

I've made no secret about the sheer lack of air conditioning. In fact, I've complained and whined about the predicament to anyone or anything that has ears. I've acted like a wilted flower, I've pouted, I've stamped my foot, I opened the fridge and freeze a stood in front of it a la Laverne & Shirley. I even cried actual tears for my longsuffering.


Unfortunately, my audience has mostly been my understanding husband.

But I've also found a new ritual in which to escape the heat. My beloved and much needed mid-to-late afternoon cold bath (Sometimes with Caress pulling double duty as body wash AND bubble bath.) It is literally the only reprieve that can be found from the heat.

I make a lovely production of it, if I do say so myself.

I turn the lever on the facet to cool. I'm not looking for luke warm. I want cool as can be. Cooler than a cucumber. I want Shiver-me-timbers! That is Cold!

I make my hair into a haphazard bun.

I put my latest favorite music on loop.

I stick a toe in and feel the delightful coolness wrap around my toe, inviting me to just sink in.

Once inside, I swing my bathroom windows open, letting in any breeze (even if it is stale), and not minding the sun shining down on the water.

I sink back into my divinely deep soaker tub, happy that I'm hidden in my own world from the prying eyes of neighbors.

I close my eyes and sing along with Ella...
"Fish got to swim, birds got to fly, I got to love one man 'til I die. Can't help lovin' dat man of mine...."

Early thoughts about Germany....

I would like to say that Europe is a fabulous place, but seeing as I've only truly had the small town Germany experience, I feel I'm unable to report on the continent as a whole.


But Germany is lovely.

My first day went something like a dream. I was jet lagged into believing it was still, in fact, Friday (The day I left America).

Imagine standing on a bridge that houses the centuries old town hall, right in the middle of a flowing river.

A river that has seen more excitment and horror than imaginable.

Listening to people speak rapidly a language that you only know a few of it's baby words.

Smelling all the various local aromas...

And not feeling like you're dreaming, especially after traveling beside a man who smelled of moth balls, jovan musk, and almond breath for 7 hours.

It's like a fairy land. Something ripped from the pages of Grimm's.

And I instantly without a doubt loved it here.

I stood there with the excitement of a new convert to a different religion. The thoughts going through my mind were as follows:

1. It's so beautiful here.

2. I don't speak the language, so therefore, I can just talk freely with my husband 'cause we are in our own little bubble.

3. This has to be a dream.

4. I wonder if that old man staring at me was a Nazi in his hayday.

5. I smell Armpits.



It is so very beautiful here. The old part of town is absolutely astounding. It looks like a fairy tale came to life, and is just happilserving you coffee and a side dish of kraut at a sidewalk cafe. (Yes. Kraut is a side dish. It comes in a pretty little bowl. Just like we'd get a side of mashed potatoes. They have their kraut.)

I walked around with Michael, and since everyone was speaking loud and fast German and all I could possible conjure was "Tschuss! Danke!" For that one day, no one exsisted in the world, but me and my husband.

All the rest were extras in our movie. The only conversation we engaged in was with each other. It was absolutely marvelous.



After we left the Cathedral of Bamberg (There is a ton of churches/cathedrals here, but that one got top spot because a pope is buried there. Pope Clement. Rest Clem's soul. Ohm. Or whatever holy sound catholics make.) My darling lovely husband led me, without telling me where we were going, across the Cathedral Square to New Residence and through a gate. I love this about my husband. He delights in small surprises. I said "I smell...Rose's."

He smiled "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I said "Strong. It's...nice."

He smiled at me, I said "Do you smell it? Smell. Smell it?"

He said "Yeah. I do."

I was not prepared for what enchantment I was thisclose to beholding. The Rose Garden or Rosengarten.

We walked through an archway, and before me was every rose in the universe. (I found out later it was only 72 different varities. But I bet that's close to every variety known to the universe.)

It was so stunning that I just couldn't believe I wasn't asleep.

Michael said "Oh. Wow. Wow. This is...amazing."

St. Michael's cathedral was up above us, just adding to the glamour of it all.

Shortly after we were meandering around laughing at names of Roses (Schneewitchen, Yankee Doodle, Paprika) Some elderly German men broke into song.

No. I'm serious.

They were just singing their hearts out, letting their words fly over the red rooftops of Bamberg.

I said "Are they for real?"

Mike said "It's so beautiful here."

I said "I think you've dropped me into a dream!"

He said, clearly amused by my enchantment, "I love you."



It may be uncouth of me...but I'll say it. Every old person in Germany scares me. Every last one of them. Even the one walking with two canes down the sidewalk of Zollnerstrasse, even though I know I could've totally taken her, she scared me. I'm not frightened because I'm afraid I will catch TB from them, or that standing by them will make ME smell like moth balls, also.

No. It's because despite the fact that it was over 60 years ago, I can't help but see them as they were. All blonde and blue eyed. Crowding the streets. Heiling Hitler. Smiling. Cheering. Waving their little Nazi Flags. Some of the women with posters of Hitler on their bedroom walls thinking he was "So Dreamy."

Men, all decked out in Nazi regalia soullessly causing murder and mayhem to run it's evil course.

I think of how they made their little children wear SS uniforms. And how those indoctrinated children today, are white haired and wanting to sell me a Schnitzel. AND, if they were indoctrinated at such a toddling about age....how can they not still hold to the idea that Hitler was their hero?

It makes me shiver to think that while they were cheering on an evil doer, millions were being baked in ovens.

And so, when I see an elderly person, I walk on the other side of my husband, and hold onto his arm. Keeping the reality of what they did as far from me as possible.



However, it must be said, that the Germans I have met, so far, are very nice. In fact, most of them go out of their way to teach us the German word for this. Or remind us that the football game is on in one hour.

Even one particularly stinky teenboy with lots of facial piercings came up to us asking for a light for his cigerette and politely said "Entschuldigung...."

I say stinky because truly, everyone knows that Europeans have a knack for...smelling like they have two thick slices of white onion, one stuffed under each armpit.

It's true. They do. I always used to judge them. I admit it. I did. I was so judgemental. I felt so high and mighty with my Degree Fresh Rain Scented Deoderant. I wondered why they chose not to use any at all.

By the end of my second day in Bavaria, I understood their plight and was sympathic. Why, you ask? Because by Sunday night, I smelled just like them.

You see, despite caking deodorant on (and, sister, cake is the WORD. I applied it with ferver!) I still managed to smell like there was a new scent out by Lady's Speed Stick called Garlic and Onions Der Frau.

I blame it on their boycotting air conditioning. Trust me when I tell you, this is a virtually aircondition free environment. Which means, you literally sweat. Like Richard Simmons, but without the catchy oldies to sing along with.

However, instead of giving up the fight and letting the armpits win...I upgraded to clinical strength secret. Problem solved!



Thus far, I have found that I love our new found home. I love the church bells. I love the laid back street markets, I love the bakery smells and the Italian Ice Cream, I love the abundance of Spezi, I love the little blonde baby who leaned, shirtless, out of his hot apartment to look at us. When I said "Hi!" I remembered he probably doesn't speak English so I quickly said "Guten Tag!" he smiled, and waved at us. Not the open-close hand wave that babies are so famous for, but he put his chubby fingers together and waved, Queen of England Style, amusing me and my husband. I love the fact that the sun rises at 4:30am and does set until after 10pm. I love the candies, I love Bavarian Charm, and I love driving through the countryside passing castles like it's nothing.

It's just about perfect.



I just wish you all, every one of you, could be here, too.

The most beautiful thing ever said to me.

I was standing in our kitchen, the summer air sticky all around us, while my darling husband made himself a turkey and gouda sandwich.
I was telling him about the book I was reading. Which is a ritual of ours. I drone on and on about what book I've got my nose stuck in, and he listens, adding his own 2 cents in every now and then.
This book, Here if You Need Me by Kate Braestrup, had brought me to tears. She writes about the loss of her husband due to a terrible car accident.

I, emotional from I just read,said to him "Please. Be careful with you. I don't ever want to lose you."
He was holding his spreading knife, with some smears of dijon left from his business of spreading, and said with the softest look in his eyes ever:

"I don't want to lose you from my being lost."

I threw my arms around him as my tears spilled down his uniform undershirt.

The journey of a few thousands miles starts with....a plane ride

So, leaving the states turned out to be harder emotionally that you'd imagine. Sure, I was beyond excited to get to my wonderful husband. But the giddiness didn't start until I was in the air and zooming over Newfoundland.
It is so hard to say goodbye to family. Esp. my sister, mom and Grandma.
It started the day before, as I was driving, Cyndi Lauper's sadist song "True Colors" came on. And when she sang the line "I can't remember the last time I saw you laughing..." I broke down in tears, thinking of my sister's wonderful laugh.
And That is all I will write about that, due to the fact that if I write anymore I will be sitting here, sobbing.
So, that was what started my crying bouts.
My sister made a wonderful dinner for me. My favorite chicken dish. Corn on the cob, and her divine pineapple casserole.
We ate. We laughed. I cried. She made me laugh, saying (even if neither of us believed it)"but it's not sad..it's...HAPPY."
I thought "Oh man. I can't do this. I don't want to go to Germany."
But, then, I'd think of my husband and think "I want to go so bad!"
conflicting emotions are never easy.

Fast forward to the next day.
I stopped by Lynsey's work and hugged her extra hard. And she started crying and so did I.
At Dulles, I checked and got my grandma a wheel chair. She made the long trip to DC just to say Bye to me. My sweet little grandma. I love her so.

I didn't even start to cry until Michael called and told me to tell the trio at the airport (Mom, Dad, & Grandma) Bye for him. I choked up on the phone and had to go, RIGHT THEN.
I cried goodbye and cried extra hard when dad kissed my cheek. I couldn't look at Mom. But then I decided to look back and wave as I was leaving for the underground world of security.

Once through and at my gate, I stopped by Great American Bagel and stuffed my face with A chicken pesto panini and waited calmly for my flight.

I flew KLM. Which is Royal Dutch Airlines, if you are as clueless as I am. I need to say, KLM's seats are...extra cozy. And I was in the middle.
I felt the effects of that panini quite fast, I may add. I felt like I needed to use the airline phone to call Jenny.
A few seconds after settling in a large robust man from Nigeria plopped down beside me.
"Hello. You have ever been to Nigeria?" He asked all in one swooping howdy'do.
"Hi. No. I've not been." I answered.
"Well, I extend an invitation to my country."
I said "oh. Ok. yes. thank you."
he said "I invite you right now."
I scratched my nose and felt awkward. Like "you mean right now? I'm en route to germany...but uhm...thanks?"

Nigeria-man pulled out his Bible as I pulled out my portable dvd player, and tuned into season 4 of sex and the city.
Pretty soon I felt something on my left shoulder. I dodged my eyes that way and there it was....nigeria tuning into my dvd!!!
Not that he could listen in as I had on my head phones. But I noticed that while clutching his Bible he was never missing a samantha scene.

KLM flight crew wears royal blue leisure suits.
That is a random fact you may want to store away for future use...like Halloween.
They were nice though, and over fed us.
Which did nothing for the seating.
We got a hot towel and almonds their first go round. I chose NOT to eat the almonds. Not my style. (I had turned off my show to collect the almonds and coke from the air crew man. Nigeria told me "Do not to turn it off, only pause next time." Ooooohkay.)
Then we got a hot towel and dinner. Which was possibly in the running for the grossest thing I've ever put to my lips.(I arranged everything on my plane to signal to the air crew that I was finished, but thanks anyways. Even placing my almonds on top. Nigeria saw this, raised his eye brows picked up the baggie of almonds and looked at me. I shrugged and said "Go for it." And he DID! He ate my trash almonds!!!!!)
KLM shut out the lights for a few hours, and I tried to steal some zz's.
They popped the lights back on and threw another hot towel (which the euro men right in front of me used to bathe down.) I declined it as I was already like richard simmons listening to run-around-sue.
KLM then threw breakfast at us.
Really?
How could anyone possibly feel the need for breakfast? I could see through their lame attempt at trying to trick us out of jet lag.

We landed in Amsterdam, and I got my very first passport stamp. And searched. As in the whole nine. I even got patted down. I was caked in sweat, as there was ZERO a/c in the airport.
A young guy pulled me to the side "Mind if I cheeek yaour bag, meeess?"
I smiled and said "No, please go ahead."
I had to pull all electronics out of my carry on. and open up everything. Which included: A hard drive. Our camera. The mini dvd player, which I had to take out of the case and open the dvd disc holder.
He saw the dvd inside and said "Sexs in dee see-tee?"
I smiled and said "yes."
he said "Cah-ree."
I nodded.
He said "I loauve dis show. You are tip-ee-cull womman, no?"
I said "I think so."

Then I practically had to run to my next gate and Schiphol is a HUGE airport.
If someone ever tells you that Europeans stare. Believe them.
They do.
They stare hard. In fact, it may be some hobby of sort.
There I was caked in sweat (I could feel it running down my back) and feeling VERY out of place. The dress I was wearing was white and thin. So I had the added worry that it would become like a wet sundress contest of amsterdam.
I finally made it to my tram (yes, we had to tram out to our city hopper plane.)
A man said something to me that sounded rude and I was clueless as to what he was barking at me.
I just looked at him.
He barked it again.
I yelled back "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE SAYING TO ME!!!"
He said "Oh, Dis Way to Tram, Ma'am."

We city hopped over to Nurnberg, and I was seated by the Nervous farter who stole my window seat (He may as well have sank my battle ship!)
The air crew on that flight (Still in the blue leisure suits) asked in her darling british accent if she could get a drink for me, love.
I said "Yes. Coke, please." (Playing it safe with beverage choice)
She said "Would you like Coke light, love?"
I, completely unsure what coke light even is, said "Oh sure!" (Turns out it is just diet coke.)

We landed I collected my bags and Walked through a little sliding glass door and there before me, stood my Michael. Smiling.
And I breathed a sigh of relief.

In-sha-bo-bo and Travels overseas....

Last Tuesday I was in my Grandma's sitting room when the phone rang. My husband was a-callin'.
He said "Good news or bad news first?"
I sighed "Bad first."
I knew it was about housing. And for the past two weeks housing news had been bad, and I was one antsy woman. I wanted to get on with it already and be with my husband.
Having quite the flare for the dramatic, I was announcing with tragic production that I would maybe be in Germany for Thanksgiving, and what's worse? They don't even have thanksgiving...do they? Oh how forlorn.
Michael sighed and said "I went online to check out our housing status. Y'know to see where we were in line for a home."
I said "Yeah?" hearing the dread mixed with agitation in his voice made my poor little balloon deflate completely.
"And we were 29th! I was so upset that I called."
"Oh." I didn't even TRY to muster any positivity. Not that I had much to go on at all.
"Yeah, so I called. We get a place on the 21st! You can come out after the 22nd when they bring in our loaner furniture!"
I was shocked then excited. I said "WHAT REALLY!?"
He said "Yeah. Truly."
I said "If you were here, I'd poke you in the chest for that!!"
He went on to explain we would be living as primative as can be, like Robinson Cruso with out A/C. Apparently Germans are a-gin conditioning their air sweating it out in the summer.
Oh well...C'est la vie...or however they say "That's Life" in German.

My sweet husband in all his comedic glory tried to teach me how to say Excuse me in German. I couldn't help but laugh so hard. He said with such authority that to say excuse me in German...all you have to do is say "Inshobobo."
"In sha what?" I said laughing "That CANNOT be excuse me. That sounds like you're scatting. I think you're scatting."
"No. It's true. Inshobobo is excuse me. I'll prove it."
So when someone walked by he said "Hey. Hey man how do you say excuse me?"
The guy said "Oh that's uhm....Entschuldigen."
"oh. Close enough."
Inshobobo it is...

I had to go to Ft. Gordon in Augusta yesterday to file my No Fee Passport. Guess what? EVERYONE was nice. The lady who filed my paper work is an army spouse herself. She gave me pointers about married life and told me how hard her experience moving from Arizona to Ft. Drum and then having her husband deploy.
Kiss that Angel Lady at Ft. Meade!!!

On the route back from Gordon my husband called again with good...no scratch that GREAT news. I have a flight. A real live flight!! Arrangements! Actual ticket info. It became so real when he told me. I leave at 6:30pm from Dulles on the 25th. I will switch planes in Amsterdam and I will arrive in Nurnberg at 10:45am. That's 10:45 am Michael's time. 4:45am real time.
It made me so excited that I couldn't eat.
I gave the rest of my gordita to my dad. Quite pleased with the situation.
Quite excited to see my baldie!
Yet, sad to leave my family and friends.
Which is a quandry. Which should I be happy or sad?
I can't fight the feeling of excitement. It seems like a looong time coming. I've been beaten up by Ft. Meaders. Lonesome from missing my husband.
Had my feelings hurt thinking the Army didn't care about families....
Waited patiently for loose ends to tie...
Waited intolerantly for loose ends to tie up...
And here it is.

I've been so happy to be Georgia. Being with family... spending a summery afternoon with my beloved girls Katie & Jackie..making brand new friends...spending time with Stephanie and Aiden the sweetest cutest little boy in the land...laughing with Mom...going to the movies....and just enjoying the incredible heat and air condition that my wondeful beloved peach state has to offer....

Wednesday was like a Saturday in New Oxford, Pa.

My sister had yesterday off from work. And me...well I have every day off from work, until I finally become an official expatriate. But until then...It's watchin' tv and waitin'...but that isn't what this blog is about...

This blog is about how yesterday was like saturday in the fact that Lyns did NOT have to work, and thus, it was a day of glorious sisterly glee.

Our first idea was to go to DC...so that she could gaze upon those Ruby Slippers..and I could grab a magnet for my ever growing ever beloved collection...Because of all the times I've been to DC...I've no magnet to prove it. Which in a way is a lesson in don't take anything for granted...except it is just a silly fridge magnet...but you know what I mean...

I always knew I'd leave DC...but just didn't know when...Ok I still don't know when...but how about I just didn't think it would be so soon...

Ok..so, we got dressed, we put on make up...we serenaded the bischon. We goofed off. We ate breakfast...and then...it was a little too late to go to DC AND have time to make it back to this area by 5pm for a meeting she had to attend...No...not AA.

So, in lieu of DC...we decided on New Oxford, Pa. Which is a charming place to visit. It's motto is ","The Little Town with the Beautiful Circle," Don't believe me? Check the link. It's all true.

We pulled around the circle in the middle of town, and there like a caffieniated beacon of hope in a historic building stood the coffee house/welcome center.

Which is ingenious if you ask me. You get a cup of coffee, and welcomed all in one stop. Not to mention, they also sell pregnancy tshirts. Tshirts with quippy little sayings like "Don't drink the water" with a huge arrow pointed at your baby gut. Or my personal favorite "Mostly likely to kick" with a swirly arrow pointed to your beach ball belly...

The shop is quaint...with little iron table and chairs out doors...and my most favorite thing about the place? The old doors. The kind with the windows and low door handles....gorgeous!
Once inside, however, dangers lurk behind the pastry cabinet...in case you are wondering...they have a plethora of sugary confections just tempting you from behind the curved glass.

I ordered the fresh apple cake. Apples=healthy. Apple cake=healthy-in-theory.
The lady working shop, who was slightly rude with a chance of friendly, wiped her hands on her apron and said "Want it warmed or what?"
I said "No. Unwarmed is good."
She looked at me like I was running with scissors around the shop. As though my preference for cold  as opposed to warm cake was somehow some way against the Holy Catholic Church and all the Saints in Heaven.
I almost apologized. Only Almost though.

She made our coffees, and pulled out my cake from behind the glass and said "Well, is that everything for you two?" Apparently I'd really chafed her perseption of me...by not allowing her to micro my treat.
Lyns, pointing to the bottom shelf of the case, asks "Could I getta slice of the Coconut cake?"
She pursed her lips as she asked "Well, is this to-go??"
She didn't have to sigh a sigh of discontent..I could hear it in her tone.
I said "No. It's to-stay."

She plunked down our pastries, we paid, and headed over to the sofa area for munches.
Note...Even though it is NORTH of the Mason-Dixon, Coffee Co.'s coconut cake tastes like someone's southern meemaw made it in her old fashion kitchen, with her  good old fashion applicances with good old fashion love. Yeah, it was THAT amazing.
and I can say this with honesty, because we forked each other's cakes.
And the apple cake? Well, let me just say...it could replace sex as the nations favorite pastime.

Before leaving, we signed the guest book...and if you ever find yourself there...and are browsing through the guest book and happen across the name Mander Nancy Holsenback from Ducktown Tn...well, just know that you probably have read her blog....and know her real name not just her Pseudonym.

So, the two of us, Lynsey & Mander-Nancy, decided to walk around the circle and found ourselves at a "Thirft Shop" in a historic home. Which is a bonus because
1.) we can dig through some junk.
2.) we get to go into an old house.
Once inside, we realize that it is possibly the smallest thrift store ever with wall-to-wall thick shaggy green carpet!! One elderly lady was running the place. And she looked none too happy that we were trodding in cramping her style and making her miss her programs.

I did however find one very awesome costume jewelry necklace for 2 bucks as well as a 10 commandments charm bracelet minus one commandment.

My sister, post drinking coffee, had to run to the bathroom. I was looking around, and I realized that we were in a Catholic thrift shop. What tipped me off was the giant statue of Mary, and a bust of blue eyed Jesus looking to the sky mournfully. In addition to a fine array of prayer cards, and up on the bulletin board was a brand new church bulletin/prayer list AND a list of Mass times.

I chose my vintage slip off the rack, for just 1.50. It still had the tags on it from way back when.

Lyns busts out of the rest room. She says "Dammit! I just squirted damn soap all over my leg. Look at this! Dammit!"
I mouthed "We are in a catholic thrift shop."
She, not being fluent in lip reading, gave the finger to the bathroom area.
I looked over my shoulder at the old lady pursing her lips in our general direction, and feeling much like a heathen.
I whispered "It's a religious thrift store."
She whispered back "What? How do you know that?"
I whispered "I saw Mary and Jesus statues...in there."
She said "Oooh. crap."

Despite the lady looking at us like we were sure fire on our way to spending some hard time in Purgatory, we made out like bandits!
Seriously, I felt so giddy with the pompatus of getting a good deal, I bought a 10 puzzles in one box jumbo set for $2. I sided with the standoffish old lady....She probably likes puzzles too.

I also had my prized necklace, charm bracelet, and a pair of clip on earrings...yeah, I have pierced ears, but They were just sooo avent garde, and 1950's chic...I couldn't...no I wouldn't turn them down...not with that glorious $.25 price tag they were dangling from.

Once outside and safely on the sidewalk, Lyns said "Can you BELIEVE I flipped the bird in a catholic thrift shop?"
I laughed and said "I know. And I'm walking with my jumbo box of puzzles down the middle of the street, like I'm proud."
She said "But I gave the finger. THE BIRD to a Catholic thrift shop."
I said "A catholic thrift shop bathroom, and that lady was fairly sure she didn't like us."
We had rounded the corner, and were putting all out loot in Lyns' Rover when a frenchman approached my sister...
Yeah...I know...how did a french person FIND New Oxford? THAT is the million dollar question.
And you  may be asking yourself, "But how did Amber know he was French?"
Yes, he was wearing loafers, no socks...but that wasn't it.
He said "Excuse me, Do you know where zee Rest-OH-RAN on zee square ees? I am lookzing fow zis."
Lyns shrugged and said "I dunno. I'm not from here."
He shrugged. "Ok."
I hopped in the passenger seat and saw that we were parked literally in front of the restaurant. He was actually standing under the sign when he asked.

I said "Lyns! Look!" And pointed to the sign.
She hopped out of the car and said "Sir! Sir! It's right here!"
He saluted her and marched back over and went inside.

We then took ourselves to Frederick, MD so she could pick up some paperwork at her MD's and then we entertained ourselves at Goodwill in Frederick with a glorious fashion show as the rain poured down outside....

my lil' treasures

Flowers in New Oxford.

Lovely garden statue

Front Porch

Why Motherhood Matters...to me.

I always knew I wanted to have children. Seriously. I even tucked in my Fozzie Bear at night when I was 3. I mothered everything. I stuffed pillows under my shirt, I nursed a rag doll when I was 4. (Ok. I was weird.)

Point is, I always wanted a luscious buttery sweet smelling chubby baby. Or two. Or five. Who can seriously resist a happy fatty that has drool sticking to it's fat fist? (Unless the fatty is over the age of accountability...then that is just Jonathan Winters as Mork's child weird...Although...I loved Mearth. There I was a tangly red haired preschooler tuning into the show waiting to see the "baby" I didn't care/notice that he was full grown.)

I don't think I ever rationalized that it wouldn't be 1.2.3 easy for me.
I didn't imagine that I'd ever get pregnant from a One Nighter...but I didn't think I'd not get pregnant...like the daring young man on the flying trapeze....with the greatest of ease.
Even though that song was about a guy so it's not like he'd get pregnant with ease either...although there was that circus case in People magazine back a few years ago where some guy had a baby...but turns out he was hanging on to the uterus 'just in case'. Greedy!

It could be because birthday number 34 is looming around the corner...and my husband and I have been apart since February....So not only is my biological clock flashing at me like a digital after the electricity has been out "set me! Set Me! SET ME!" but I can't do anything about it!
In lieu of being with my husband...I didn't the  next best thing...I reached for the internet. Don't be dirty!
I did some innocent searching on %s and such. As I read that a 34 year old woman has a 75% chance of conceiving naturally I stared at the screen and thought...is that what it comes down to? My fertility reduced to a statistic...a number....and a not-too-pleasing odd either. But still if the weather woman said there was a 75% chance of rain...I'd take an umbrella...I guess...but still...
Where is the romance in that, pray tell?

I decided right then that I was giving up the ghost of wanting someone in my life who has yet to be created. Just like that...
And oh, I was so smug, so self righteous about it.
I thought, I am happy. My life is good. Why screw it up with sleepless nights spent with a screaming infant? Cleaning up runny diarrhea? Projectile vomit aimed straight at me?
Why willingly lose freedoms like...sleeping in late, cereal for dinner, going to a late-late movie, going to any movie?
Why would I volunteer to have poison control on speed dial, boogers on fingers pointed right at me? Wiping someone's nethers until age  3 (it is 3 that people can wipe their own kit-n-kaboodle, right?)
I actually like making out with my husband right in the living room/dining room/kitchen/multi colored sofa, using off color language and making off color references, and the occasional few cocktails...in a row..., I like not having to censor my words, actions, life.

I proudly announced this to my husband. I could hear him smile as he told me about the weekend that he spent with a childful couple. How the 2 year old threw mammoth tantrums...and all he wanted was to go home.
I said "So, you're ok if we don't have a child?"
He said "I'm ok with it, only if you are."
Good enough for me!
We both high fived each other.
Well, the only kind of high five you can give via the telephone...but you get the picture.
We were on the same no-kids-for-us page.
I wore it like a girl scout badge of honor. The "I decided I don't want kids!" badge. If you're wondering, it's a little embroidered patch with a margarita smack in the middle ...and I sewed it like a good childless woman, right on the front of my modern day grown up girl scout vest.
Then I went out to do more good in the world.
I scoffed at mom's in target who had the annoying 3 pack of kids in the buggy, who were all simultaneously screaming for their lives. A trio of terror. Where was homeland security? I announced loud and proud that I was SO thankful I wasn't in that boat. And "oh sweet vishnu can't she DO something with that?" Yes, I was totally honestly 100% unabashedly objectifying the three caterwauling heathens she'd loaded into the Orangish buggy. I looked down my nose as I looked at the tote bags "Good Ganesh, she sould've used a condom."

And that resolve lasted....it did, really.

Then I saw Fozzy Bear in the back of my car...how he got there, I don't know. Well, could be I'm taking my prized possessions back to Georgia (Don't judge, Fozzie is prized to me!) and I tossed them all in my car.
But nevermind all that,  there he was...looking at me like "Waka Waka...you're gonna bail on me? What happened to all the gotta-tuck-fozzie bear in at night routine? What happened to lil' miss mommy?"
I pursed my lips and told him "I was 3 and you should count yourself lucky that you aren't in a warehouse in Virginia."
"I'm just saying...." He retorted.
I looked in my review mirror...there he sat, love worn, full of jokes. Eyebrows raised at me, questioning my newly embraced I don't want no kids crampin' style philosophy...

I thought of my own real life Fozzy Bear living la vida europa... who at that very minute was snapping a picture of himself and emailing it per my two days ago request.
"We both already decided. We like our life... I'm getting too old. Right?" I asked no one but myself.

Later I opened my email and saw Michael's ocean eyes smiling back at me from his self photog moment. So endearingly that I smiled back at the computer screen. Suddenly, the image of his sheer joy of having my best friend's child asleep in his arms came into my mind. I heard his excited voice whispering, to not wake the baby, "I really want us to have one." and all of our "I hope it looks like you!" "NO! I hope it looks like you!" conversations came rushing back.
My heart stopped beating, my eyes misted over....

And from the back seat of my car I heard a fuzzy worn bear lovingly say "Waka. Waka."

My Passport in my hands.....

Yesterday, coffee still in my cup...the fed ex man pulled into Lynsey's drive on a mission.
The fed ex man in his fed ex shorts knocked on the door in a fed ex fast fashion. Each knock yelling URGENT!
Chloe went crazy-go-nuts at the commotion and decided biting someone/thing would be appropo. She took out her aggression on her raccoon toy named Bobby.
I opened the front door and he held out his little electronic scan tron with a No. 2 computery pen for me.
I signed the little signature pad, in an excited scribble. I knew. I just knew what was safely sealed inside the flat envelope.
As soon as the door was shut, standing in Lyns' foyer, in a beige vintage night gown, hair still proudly displaying the fact that it hasn't been awake long, I ripped the little "pull to open" tab across the envelope.
I saw a blue legal sized envelope.  Stamped: RETURN TO CSM OFFICE
I gulped...thinking...noooo...what!
But I cast it aside and looked deeper into the darkness of the fed ex envelope. (turns out it was just my birth certificate.)
There...quietly in the darkness was the glorious navy blue booklet.
I lifted it out, held it in my hands and thought "This is what cost us $165 bucks?"
I opened the front page, Saw Francis Scott Key and the first part of the National Anthem...quote by Abe Lincoln...yeah yeah yeah..I'm not gonna forget that stuff...
And I turned the page...
There in all it's gloriousness...The Bald Eagle standing guard over the photo of me...in my brown cord jacket...kinda smiling...kinda not...but mostly looking like I'm smelling poop..and my face...looking a lot fat.
Awesome.
I was smelling something stinky when the picture was made...but it was more of a vegetable soup and sandwich variety. I thought of Chef...snapping the picture in the old musty building there at ft. meade.
The way he referred to himself in 3rd person while he was out to lunch.

I did a happy dance. Which was more-or-less some disco shuffle mixed with a lady ga-ga arm punch/leg kick. Which wasn't as stylish as Madame Garland's 'c'mon get happy' dance routine...but I didn't have the ensemb of men falling at my feet while I shimmied to a show tune.
But, it was my dance o' joy. My one-step-closer-to-my-husband-who-is-living-in-Europe-already dance.

I realize that I'm not going to Germany tomorrow..and there is still the whole waiting on the paperwork thing...but...
If I HAD to get to my husband...at least now, I know I could :)

SJP NYC & Letters from the State Department

Saturday, in all of it's glorious overcastness...found Lynsey & I in her yard. Planting.
She bought the  most amazingly stunning Azalea. Whom we named Eleganza. Partly because of Rupaul, mostly because it is literally the essence of eleganza. Yeah. It's that gorgeous.
So, there we were, two sisters and a shovel, digging up her rocky soil.
We got Eleganza safely in the ground and started digging the hole for her wine cup plant, named Martha.
Michael called, and I sat on the porch to talk to him. As he told me the news about why his buddy Carl called me at 1:30am, my time, looking for my husband, Lyns kept digging the hole for Martha.

(picture it...1:30am...phone rings. Strange number. I answer immediately and in my sleep daze I'm thinking it's Michael. Cell reception here is horrible I say in my "hey! i was asleep" voice "hello?" bad connection..."Hello? hello, honey? Michael? Honey? hello? can you hear me?" Dead connection.
I call back "I just got a call from this number..."
"Yeah...I'm looking for Mike...Michael...This is Carl...His buddy."
I said "Michael's in germany. this is his wife."
Carl says "Germany? How long's he there for?" Clearly Carl was bright eyed and bushy tailed and to his alertness I responded "3 years. I'm drowsy."
He said "3 years! Wow. I guess I forgot about the time difference. I called to tell him about a guy from our old unit."
I said "ok. I'm drowsy. but I'll tell him you called, because...he has a magic jack...and I don't know the number. but when he calls you...it's a washington state number. And...I'm drowsy."
Which, clearly the re-announcement of my drowsiness was part of my I-can't-keep-my-eyes-open-ness.)

So, there I was sitting on the porch listening to the scuttlebutt as to why Carl called me so early in the A.M.
And my sister is cussing. And throwing rocks out of the hole she was digging. Jumping on the shovel, and basically digging to china.
Then she announces with glee and a slant of pride "I DID IT!" She had proceeded to dig a rock...no scratch that...a boulder out of her yard.

After digging, and talking...we went to Ft. Meade. To shop the PX, to check the mail, and to get groceries at the commissary. In. that. order.

We skip out of the PX with our new fragrances in tow....SJP NYC. And it smells Y.U.M. We walk down to the P.O.
As I put my key in the box I say to Lyns "I am not getting my hopes up that there will even be a passport in there."
She said "yeah. don't blame you."
I pull out out some junk mail and a letter marked United States State Department Washington Passport Agency.
My eyes are like saucers. I rip it open. Heart beating faster
I see it's just a letter.
My heart starts to sink.

I unfold it and read the first line:

Dear Mrs. Suman (Since when am I "dear" to them???)
Thank you for your recent passport application. We need your help in order to continue processing your request. (My eyes scanning the letter faster. I started to gasp for breath.)
You will need to provide your permanent street address ( I started to struggle to breath. I don't have a permanent street address. I don't even have a home...but I could use mom's address, but that's in GA and I need this passport to show the no-fee passport angel lady that I have it...and I need it soon...and...)

If we do not receive .....blah blah blah... your application will be denied....blah blah blah...

Although the letter in itself doesn't warrant a sobbing breakdown right in the middle of Ft. Meade Post office. The letter wasn't bad or worded wrong. Or offensive, or even boasting any typos.
But it was the straw that broke the camel's back.
So, right there, in Fort Meade post office... Right by the window that looks out into the parking lot... While SJP NYC still lingered fragrantly on my arm where I'd spritzed a sample on not 20mins before.
While gasping for breath I began to sob.

People came in the post office. And I continued to sob. Some cries you can't stop just to be polite and spare other people from witnessing your moment of weakness. And this was an all-get-out-can't-stop-it-cause-the-dam-done-broke cry.
Lynsey read the letter. She listened as I sobbed. She walked with me out to the car while I sobbed my way to my paint chipped ford, in the drizzle.
I got inside and said
"It's..." gasp "just" gasp "So" gasp "MUCH to put" gasp "on one person." SOB.
I apologized for sobbing 'like an idiot'
I said I was never going to get to Germany. I was releasing all the stress that a had piled onto me since Michael left.
My eyes were puffy. I stopped crying and sobbing and got hold of myself.
I said to Lyns, before going into the commissary "Does it look like I've been crying?"
She said "yeah. A lot. Here...put on some more make up or something."
So i did.
I said "What about now?"
she said "Hmm...try on my glasses.. that may help."
I put them on and looked at her "well?"
"Hmm.." she said looking at me. Her face an open book. Clearly, my break down was still visible to anyone who chose to look at me..
I said "well, let's just go in anyway."
I entertained her with my antics walking in her glasses into the commissary.

Mrs Sandman & Sam Cooke. Just a tale about moving....

April 13th isn't a day that will life in infamy. Which doesn't hurt my feelings even a little. It was the drizzly day that Executive Movers came to the little Suman Apartment in Columbia.
Their arrival time was between 8-10am. I woke up at 6. Just to make sure everything was ready. All the i's were dotted and the t's were crossed...and that all the DO NOT MOVES were in central un-ignorable places.
Which happened to be our cabinet/pantry in the kitchen, and in the bedroom popout window area.

10:30 rolled around and there was a knock on the door. I opened it and there before me were 3 huge strapping men. "You need movin' right?" Clearly the littlest man of the trio was the boss.
I said "Yes." as they introduced themselves to me.
They burst into the apartment with the force of three tornadoes.
They collectively groaned when they saw the mounds of books.
"He don't lie when he say they had tons of books."
I felt almost like apologizing. Then stopped myself. Why should I apologize? We like books. End of story.
I chewed my lip as the littlest man ordered the biggest of the trio to bring up some "Three-oh's"
I'm not in the know when it comes to moving lingo.

When the big guy came up with the three-ohs that's when the mad dash packing race began. I said "I think...I'll just put the cats...uhm...in the other room for now."
Joe, the biggest of the three, and a cat-person said "Ah, now. They wouldn't scratch a fly. They cute little things."
I smiled and said "Yeah, but they get scared..."
So, I closed them into the spare bedroom...after chasing Allie into a corner to pick her up. She detests moving. So, I didn't want to risk her making a great escape.

The little guy took the kitchen, Joe decided to start on DVDS and Harvey took the bedroom. I stayed put in the living room on our "Colorful" sofa (Which Joe decided to call it that.)

I ended up putting the cats in their taxis when the movers kept going into the spare bedroom.
So, there we were, two cats and a red head sitting awkwardly on the edge of the sofa while 3 strange men busked through the apartment.

Joe decided he felt talky. I liked him immediately. He saw my buddha he said "So, oh lawd. You like these things too huh?"
I said "Which things?"
He said "Them fat buddhas. Lawd, my sister, she got a big ol white one. She say to errbody 'dontchu touch my buddha. I say 'i only rubbin that belly for luck.'"
I laughed and said "I think that's the biggest one my husband will tolerate."
He laughed and said "Wheeew"

Joe asked me where I was moving to, I told him to Germany.
He decided to sing "Change Gonna Come" from Sam Cooke to Jessie & Allie. Complete with hand
flourishes, the man was testifying.
Harvey was busy packing up my unmentionables, and truly, I didn't even think about it until after the fact.
Joe eyeballed Jezebel, my prized houseplant. He said "Mrs. Sandman?"
I said "Yeesss?" (Who could resist????)
He said "Whatchoo gone do with this flower?"
I said "Oh. her? My sister wants her....so...I guess she'll have a new home."
He said "oh. Yeah. I see."

I told the head honcho that lunch was on me, and asked what they liked on their pizzas. Pizza=cheap and more bang for the buck...
He informed me that they didn't like pizza. They'd had it so often. It was just boring to them. I thought...oh crap. They packed up the phone book. I don't know what else delivers. And I couldn't help but think...who gets choosey when it comes to free lunch?
Thankfully, my darling husband rushed in to save the day...all the way from Bamberg.

He called. I said "they...uhm...don't want pizza. they have it...uhm....too much."
He said "What? Uhm...okaaay."
I said "Yeah..." Trying to maintain my nice tone.
He said "What about...oh...uhm...what about Chinese? Do they want chinese?"
Head Honcho said "UH HUH! Yes!" to chinese. Even placing his order for "General Toe-Sew's Chicken. Wit Rice."
Harvey said he'd go for some chicken wings and rice.
Joe said "No. I don't eat chinese. They all the time eatin cat. but if they had chicken wings, I be ok with that. As long as they threw in rice."
My husband called and placed the order, and soon, chinese was en route to the suman abode.

About 5mins before our lunches came, so did two other movers. Actually, they were packers. Two ladies. Bettylyn who announced to the men that her husband was out of town. She was elderly and this cracked me up.
The other was a lady around my age, who I liked. She was chatty.
I told them lunch was en route, but I'd be happy to order some chinese for them, too. Bettylyn said she'd like an order of General Tee-Sews chicken. While the lady around my age wished for an order of peppersteak and rice.
She said "So, what will you do with your plant here?" Apparently Jezebel puts a spell on all who gaze into her hugeness.
I didn't have time to answer. Joe called from the dining room "No. Her sister been cryin' for it."

Which made me smile thinking of Lyns with a kleenex in her hand sobbing and begging me to give Jezebel to her.

Lunch arrived, and the delivery guy says "You move in?"
I said "No. Moving out."
He said "Ah. To where you move?"
I said "Germany."
He said "oooh Germany. You move to capitol city?"
I said "no...uhm...bamberg."
He said "That near capitol city?"
I said "No."
I also told him I'd see him in a few minutes, because more orders were placed. He bowed and said "See you soon, Ms. Lady."

When he returned bearing the Pepper steak, and general Tee-Sews chicken, he said "My sister she go to Germany."
I said "Oh! really? Did she like it?"
he nodded over-the-toply "Yes. Like it berry much"
I tipped him...again. He bowed and said "Tank you ms. lady have good aaaaventures in germany."

I told Joe to make sure he got some Egg Rolls, since there were over 12 of them on the counter.
He said "No thank ya Ms. San-mun. I don't be eatin them. You never know if they gone have some cat in them."

The movers stayed until 6:15pm. they left only the do not moves in the bedroom.
The headhoncho took cokes for the road, and all the left over egg rolls.
Joe, Harvey and the ladies also helped themselves to more soda and some bottled waters.

My voice echoed in the now empty apartment as I told Jessie & Allie they were free to explore our furinture-less apartment.
I went to the PX for a pillow and a blanket...

When I got home, I opened the DO NOT MOVE cabinet pantry door to help myself to a treat. Only to discover, that Head Honcho had indeed packed up our food. To include...my opened loaf of Whole Wheat Bread. Some Opened boxes of Life Cereal & Oatmeal Squares Cereal, some Egg noodles and various other foodies....

I grimaced imagining how furry that food will look when I see it again.....

Grumpy. Antsy. Restless. Sulky.

It's been a beautiful day. It's a lovely evening. yeah yeah yeah.
I've done laundry all day long. Literally. All. Day. Long.
Getting crap ready for the movers to come to pack up all our stuff, and put it in a magical place referred to as "Storage, Pending Overseas." Where ever that may be. It could be far away in some storage unit. It could be close by. Getting re-infested with Stink bugs, like our stuff did in Public storage. It doesn't really matter, because it will be nowhere near me.

The EFMP lady sat around for a week and didn't get in touch with me about my bloodwork results and all the other needle torture they are going to put me through.
I know I'm going to have to have a lot of vaccines. They don't even have to tell me. I just can already guess that one.
They will probably invent some other weird vaccine that I will have to get...but I'll have to wait for development and research to approve it.
So, While I'm busy doing all this waiting...the movers are coming.
To take all my stuff away.
My blankets. My pillows. Our ugly sofa. Our stuff.
All the while I am still waiting.

I can't apply for a NoFee/Official passport until I am put on Mike's Orders. I can't be put on his Orders until the 5888 form is signed. That won't be signed until I have all the ridiculous amounts of needles poked into my body, and I can't get any shots until the EFMP woman makes an appointment for it, and she won't make an appointment until someone looks at my bloodwork. And I have no place to live. Lovely.

AND, guess what? they aren't even giving us seperation pay. Why? because I'm not on the orders. And I can't be on the orders until....well, you get the picture.

It's like I've been drop kicked into a Keystone Kops film. While the EFMP lady takes smoke breaks, It's-a-pretty-day breaks, personal days, pops some popcorn, and scratches her ear and looks at her finger, I am waiting. And waiting. AND WAITING. AND WAAAAAAAAAAAAITING.

We paid $165 for a tourist passport. But what good is that? I can't afford to buy a ticket to Germany. AND if I did, I could only go for a visit. And Honestly, there's nothing in Germany that I want to pay to see, except for Michael. And should I really HAVE to pay to see my husband?

I don't know if this is some kind of pyschological test/ practical joke that the army is playing on me. I don't know if they are just wanting me to throw up my hands and say "Ok. OKAY. You win. You don't have to get me to my husband. I'll just go back to Georgia and live my newly married life seperated. Kthanksbye."  I honestly do not know what the deal is, but I do know, I've not met anyone who has gone through this.

I'm just so frustrated. I have no more patience. None.
  In february, I was so sure I'd be with Michael in March. In March I was SO sure it would be April. April is here, and I'm fairly certain I won't be there until end of June, if ever.
And it's making me hate Germany.

There. I said it.

I feel stuck. Stuck here, but kicked out of my home. So, now, not only did the Army take my husband away, they are taking my stuff away, too. Except for what I can cram into two suitcases.
And one of the suitcases will be crammed full of my underwear, because gross. I don't want some sausage link fingers stinky man fondling my underwear while packing it up.

I'm frustrated. My darling little Padgett Temper is brewing. I've kept it from bubbling up for as long as possible.
AND to top it off, I did a search of how long this EFMP process takes. The answer I got was it varies from person to person family to family. Fair enough.
But then I read of a Filipino woman who married a military man, and was joining him in Korea from the Philippines, and it only took her 2 weeks.
It made me SEETH.
2 weeks? she's not even American!!!!! and I'm on what? 2 months. Nice.

Just call me a Trypanophobic.

I had joy. Sheer joy when the EFMP coordinator told me that she had indeedy put in an appointment for me to get bloodwork at the Lab.
And this is huge considering, I hate needles. I will avoid needles at all costs.
Except...when it comes to going to be with my husband.
If you're holding my husband from me...and the ransom is me getting blood drawn...well, then I will let you poke me with a needle...but not without a panic attack. And it's embarrassing. I hate it about me. I feel so absurd.

So, my blood letting day... it started like this...
I wake up to a sunshiney day. Good Friday.
I take a long shower to prolong the needling.
I finally go to Fort Meade. And I see a line of cars. As in...the main gate is backed up. I think...What the...it's a sign..I shouldn't Go. And PS...what is up with this line?
Turns out...People need a DOD sticker now-a-days to get on post.

I continue on my way to the lab..thinking "it's good friday..I'm getting nervous for nothin' cause they are going to be closed and I won't have to do this." Even the parking lot kind of (KIND OF) encouraged my denial...it was empty enough that I got a parking spot CLOSE to the front door. Which nearly never happens at Kimbrough.
I walk in so smug. Almost smiling.  So confident that there wouldn't be a needle...but also kinda scared...what if there's NO needle...then I will still be no closer to my husband...Either way...lose-lose.

Except...the pharmacy had waiters. Waiting on their numbers to be called for their medicine. Doubts started to creep in when I heard that they were now serving B620. Probably the lab was open.

My palms started to sweat. I started to feel that the best option when it comes to fight or flight would be flight...to somewhere else...somewhere fantastical. Or somewhere non fantastical....just somewhere away from the Lab.
Which I'm sure "The Lab" is one of the 9 circles of Hell in Dante's Inferno. After all, it seems like no coincidence that the poem starts the day before Good Friday...and this already IS Good Friday...

I find myself standing at the door. Hand on the Handle. Turning it and half hoping that it's locked. Closed for Spring break, and all those wacky Phlebotomists are going wild at a needle convention raising their shirts for a box of syringes.
My image was destroyed as the door opened to a waiting room...where a man argued with the lady at the desk that his wife was his dependent...so he should have rights to hear about her blood tests for her "cholesterol thing."
She said "I can't tell you. It would break HIPAA law."
He put his hand on his hip, and chewed the air and said again "She's my dependent."
Finally he left in a huff.
And I took a number into my sweaty palm. Sat in a chair and thought....Just don't look at that Old Korean Lady staring at me....Pretend you dont' see her staring.

My number was called. F761.
The lady at the desk took my humid number and put it in the number holder.
I said "look. I hate this. I'm nervous. I passout. You need to know this. I definitely passout."
She goes "Girl, don' go passin' out on my watch. We take care of you. You ain't passin' out I promise. I got ways."
I smiled weakly.
A 50 something woman pipped up from the waiting area "Yeah. Don't worry, it's No big deal."
And sidenote..but that REALLY ticks me off. No, it's not a big deal....TO YOU. But to me, Yes. It is.

So, the lady at the desk tells me to take a seat around to the right, and she will be right in to take care of me.

I walk into the room, expecting...well, not this scene.
This 'scene' is litereally just a circle of chairs. In one room. Blood drawing is NOT a private thing at Ft. Meade.
Nay, drawing blood is a group effort. All we needed was a camp fire and wow. it'd be a day at summer camp.
I sit in the big green torture chair (I'm sorry but any chair that an arm folds over the front of you, is a torture device of Medieval caliber.)
I try to look at nothing. But I see blood tubes riding on the blood tube carnival ride. I look away... To the box of syringes that someone won at spring break 09.
I decided it was best to look at the stitching on the chair.

The girl came in and said "Ok. Girl. You ready, or do I do her first?" And pointed to the woman across from me.
I said "Her. I'll go last."

That was when there was an influx of people. All happy and giddy taking their seats. Like it WAS a joy ride.

My turn was up.  My lab tech says "Ok. Mrs. Soozman? Sue-Man? Seaman?"
I smiled weakly and said "Su-man. And I'm going to close my eyes now, so I don't see anything."
She said "Girl, no. Don't close them eyes. No reason to. I need you keep 'em open up ok? Cause all I'm gon' do is...."
but I cut her off and said "It's ok. please don't walk me through it."
She laughed and said "Ok." as I heard the pop of the arm wrapper thing-a-ma-bob or the needle popping into place or something...I felt my head start to swim
Ms. Lab tech said "OH Girl...ok make a fist, make it pump up, girl. What yer husband name is?"
I said "Michael."
She said "Ooh Micheal. Stop pumpin' you fist honey. He cute?"
I said "Ouch. yes. Uhm...very. I miss him. REALLY bad."
She said "You miss Michael? Why you miss Michael?"
I said "Because he's..."
She said "Ok...Mrs. Suman...open your eyes. Where he at?"
I said "Germany."
She said "you got kids?"
I shook my head no then muttered it weakly.
She said "You gone have kids?"
I said "Hope so."
She said "how many kids you want?"
I said "I.. don't care."
She said "How ever many God blesst you with?"
I nodded.
She said "How many you hope He blesst you with? 2? 3? Keep yo eyes open. Ok?"
I open them and see the little old Korean Lady staring at me like I'm a show that she got front rows at, by winning them from a call-in radio show. She was literally 2 inches from me. She started at me expressionlessly. In anticipation.
I said "yeah. sure. 2. that is a good number."
She said "Ok, honey you hold this to your arm ok. Keep you from bleetin on your shirt ok?"
I said "I need to lay my head down now. please. Because I can't...."
Everything in the room started going grey. The Lab lady shoved a yellow lollipop in my mouth. She said "Hold that. Taste it. Ok. What flavor is it?"
I heard the 50 something woman say with an air of snotty "If I ACT like I'm Nervous, will I get a lollipop?" She sounded so far away.
The sweet sweet Lab lady said "Firs of all, this ain't no ACK. We gets people like this all day. That's why we got the lollipops here. An' no. you wouldn't."
I was covered in cold sweat and freezing.
Lab Lady brought me in cold towels and told me to hold them on my neck. I said "I'm... ok. I think I can leave."
She said "Girl, no uh-uh. No way. You ain't leavin' until you ain't white as a ghost. When the color come back to your face, you can leave. Not until then."
A lady who just came in said to me "Did you pass out?"
The lab lady said "No. She did not."
the 50something said to me "I wish I could've seen you when I had my hysterectomy."
I wanted to say "Yeah, well YOU wouldn't have seen me when you had your hysterectomy, because YOU were probably asleep, punk."
But, nay. I did not. Instead, I sipped the ice cold  pepsi  that was put in front of me..and felt like a moron.

Now I just wait to see what vaccines I need, and what other needle torture these sadists want to bestow onto me to keep me longer from Michael....

Calorie Free Weekend...A blog about Fatness Fatness Everywhere!

Lyns arrived Friday night, much to my delight. She brought New Moon, for us to watch, since last weekend we got too sleepy after watching Twilight. We were going to play catch-up. And MOST definitely watch the movie this weekend.

But before we could settle into any movie-thon....We went firstly to the commissary to load up on mounds of junk food, which any good calorie free movie watching weekend demands.
Lyns & I walked around and around the commissary, dodging the hoverround gang that seemed to gaggle it's way into our aisle at every turn.
We couldn't decide on anything definite....everything looked good, but yet, nothing looked good. It was a hard decision but we settled on a chocolate peanut butter cake and some molly mcbutter. (Ms. McButter was for future use in Hobo Popcorn.)
AND some Lay's Pepper Relish Potato Chips (Mmm. Mmm. Deeelish!)
We came home, ate a non delivered Digorno...supreme. It lived up to it's name...it was Supreme...in deliciousness.

The Two of us, did not, in fact, make it to New Moon. Nay. Instead we laughed until we cried at Dane Cook's Vicious Circle.
We called it a night, and woke up saturday for shopping/junking/coffee drinking.

I made the world's strongest coffee, because that is how I like it.
We drank a cup, and headed to Dunkin Donuts...were we got MORE coffee and a delicious breakfast of Donuts.

Next stop? Goodwill Jessup.

There was treasure to be found...and Lyns had a new surname given to her. Trayvon, her robust cashier with sausage link fingers decided, that her last name was Goodwin.
Lyns said "GoodNo...It's Goodno."
Trayvon said "Oh...looks like...an E in there..."
This is just one more knotch in the running tally of "how many people can mispronounce our last names..."

Her running tally/My Running Tally:



Good-now/Shuman
Goodwin/Shoe-MON
Goody/Shumaker
Goodluck/Shultz
Good-n-plenty/Schwartz
GoodnessGracious GreatBallz of Fire/Shooweeisthatthelitterbox

We took our hard-to-understand surnames & carried on with our day, which took us less than a mile away to the wonderously amazingly mothball smelling Salvation Army.

There was very little debachery in the Army of Salvation.
We spotted some oh-so-lovely wedding gowns.
Some glorious acid washed jeans
And some sexy lingerie....circa 1962.
We passed on everything....
Even though Lyns found it positively heartwrenching to walk away from the acid washed Jeans.
We promptly went straight to the showrooms of Ikea.
Our mission? To get the basket, lamps, arty prints, organizers and cinnamon rolls on Lyns' list.

And to count up the number of fat pregnant women. (Any pregnant woman got on our tally of fat pregnant women)

We instantly found 2 pregnants, and what is without doubt the ugliest baby on the face of the planet...in it's division. (being the college park area of MD) Possibly the WORLD.

First of all, don't judge for me calling that baby ugly. Because, If I'd had my camera, I'd have proof. But I did NOT have my camera, so You will absolutely just HAVE to take my word for it.

She was blonde. Her hair was in sweat curls hanging limp around her head. She was fat. And that wasn't her downfall per se. I love fat babies.
But she wasn't just "hey, i'm a baby with some good old fashion chub-a-lub" fat. NOR was she "Look at my buddha belly isn't that cute?" robust?
No. She was a "I-can't-get-out-of-my-crib-due-to-my-girth-so-bring-me-a-box-of-fish-sticks-and-some-tartar-sauce-stat-then-call-Maury-and-book-me-on-an-episode" lard.
She was asleep in her Chicco stroller.
The bulk of her fat head was resting calmy on her fat fat face. She had the biggest weirdest cheeks I'd ever seen. They were bright red.  I  was only sure that it could  be, getting too hot while she slept, Alcohol Abuse, Balsam Apple Poisoning, Barber's Rash, Rosacea, or Exercising.
(Although...I think it's safe to eliminate the last from the list)


Her siblings were equally annoying. The Brothers were throwing "juice" from their sipper cups, at each other, except...it was going everywhere.
The parents...well, they were trendies. And proceeded to ignore the fact that Zoey was bitch slapping her brothers with a sense of glee. And I would've felt gleeful watching, except the older sister was on my nerves with her face.


The mom said "Trevor...Alex...I don't want JUICE on my things."
I thought..."Well, neither do I, lady...but you're the one with 4 spawn...so...might I suggest a Tubal Ligation/Vasectomy/NuvaRing/Depo Provera/IUD since barrior methods apparently have no appeal to you two horndogs?"

Lyns sneered at the 2nd to the youngest of the Poop-in-Your-Pants Brood as he grabbed our buggy and tried to do-si-do while we waited for employee assistance.


On our way out, we did indeed pick up a box of their Glorious Cinnamon Buns....FOR Sunday Breakfast...not for right now...
However, it must be said that We worked up an appetite in all the kid hating....and went to the Ghetto Fabulous Laurel Chic-Fil-A.
Lyns told me a story about someone she knows. I said "yeah. but who cares...she's fat."
Lyns said "Yeah...but she lost like 37 lbs. She's on the biggest loser diet.."
I said "She IS a loser."
She laughed. I munched a waffle fry.

Post Chic-fil-a-ing we went across the parking lot to Target. We debated on Baby Binks, but just said NO! To the potential calories lurking inside the bunny's two glorious sugar eyes.
Relying instead on the many calories that  were provided in the Dark Mocha Cherry Jubilee we found at Starbucks.
First of all, the sign on the chalkboard says "Admit it, you WANT to try the new Dark Cherry Mocha Latte!"
And I'm the first one here to admit that NO. You don't.
It's gritty.
It's bitter.
It's....nasty.

The two coffeed up sisters returned to the apartment, wherein the brother-in-law and chloe came for slumber party parte deux.

We had subway, and yes, we Finally watched New Moon, and lounged around in our calorie infested day...It was glorious...

The only sad part?
When they loaded up their loot, and new found treasures and went back to PA.
And I am going back to a low-calorie week :)

Sunny Weekends

Spring is springing forth as I type. This past weekend was positively lovely. I was happy to see the yellow blossoms on the Forsythia, even if it makes my eyes ooze icky stinky gunk.
No matter...it's SPRINGTIME! The weather is warming up, and I'm actually wearing flip flops without cold toes!
It's amazing to me that just a mere...what....2 and a half weeks ago, the ground was covered in snow, and I had no hopes of seeing a daffodil anywhere.
This weekend, I went to PA to spend time with my Lovely baby sister, and her husband and pup.
We made homemade pizza, laughed too much, and sipped Mango Margaritas.
The only thing missing was Michael.
It is so very difficult to live your newly married life miles and miles apart. Especially when it seems as though there is no end to the gap between us.
Boarding a plane headed towards Nurnberg seems like a dream. It seems like a fairytale.

Hearing his voice on the phone makes me very feel very Kim Wilde. It keeps me hangin' on.
I think about how fast the butterflies will be flying around and around in my stomach when I'm on the plane inching closer and closer to him.
How excited I will be to throw my arms around him, and actually hug my husband.
That is what I want. I want to HUG my husband. I want to see his smile and look in his beautiful eyes.

But until then, I have weekends with Lyns and sunny days that are only growing warmer!

Retro Post.

I found this post from my other blog. It was from Michael & I were dating.

Sunday, October 14, 2007


Farts...Hey..everyone does it.

Current mood:Down for the Count

Last Night, I visited Michael. In Augusta. I put my hair in low Marcia Brady Piggy tails per glamour magazine. (They suggested that men find loose low pigtails/ponytails very alluring..and yes..I do feel like an idiota for even admitting to reading glamour..but there..I said it.)



You'd have thought I have a bladder of a 2 year old on potty training. I stopped in Smyrna. Covington. Eatonton/Madison. Sparta. AND exit 190. Which is AFTER the Laurel & Hardy Museum exit.

I arrived in a very non prompt fashion. Pony/piggies in place. Lip Gloss in check.



When I pulled into our ritual meeting place, he pulled in shortly after. Smiling he jumped out of his quickly parked truck, and ran around to me. He enthusiastically put his arms around me and kissed me all in one sweeping fashion. (Hoorah Marcia Brady Hair!!)

Apparently he was as happy to see me, as I was to see him.



We found a hotel room. The girl behind the counter (who was quite avant-garde with the body glitter) said "well, I just gave away the last non smokes room to the man who was just standing here."

I said "Ah..yes.."

She said "I got a smoker room."

We both looked at each other with grimaces (Not the purple mcdonalds kind) but before we could make any comments, she piped in with 'Our maids is real good. Which means they clean out all the smoke smell."

Mike said "Mind if we go check it out first?"

I tried to make her laugh with some "Is it just me, or does this room smell like Camels?" joke.

I had to tap my invisible microphone and say "Is this thing on?"



We went up to room 209. Opened the door, and were whafted with what smelled like the Marlboro man had just been in this nice room.

We turned around, and went back to the 'office'.

She referred us to their sister. (Hotels have relatives).

Turns out, this place was nice---er. And smoke free. It came complete with everything. Alas, we JUST missed the round bed suites. And all the jacuzzis were spoken for.



We put down our junk and turned on the a/c.

As it was getting quite late, we decided definitely dinner should be at Firehousesubs.

While we're sitting at our little table, eating and talking, and munchin' on these delightful sammiches, the tiniest little girl walks up to our table. Specifically looking and directing her conversation at Mike.

He has a way with kids. They like him. They flock to him.



I topped off the dinner with my kosher dill. I have barely any resistance to those. I decide to save my chips for 'tomorrow' thus reserving room for Cold Stone.



We stand up to leave, and it hits me. The biggest ball of gas. Right in the stomach. NOT the kind you can burp out.



I thought..Oh man..I sooo don't want to fart in his truck. Or the air outside of his truck. Or around him in general. I don't want this man to think that I fart.





In the car we play "name that band". He played a tidbit of a song, and I had to guess the musicians. All the while I'm willing away the gas. Telling my stomach that she does NOT have free fart reign. I could see in my mind, that woman "Take Beano now, and there will BEANO gass later." I wanted to bitch slap her. Had she been en route to Cold Stone, I'd have instructed the driver to pull over.



Despite my airy situation, I did rather well on the guessing game. He even played my favorite Candlebox song. (Far Behind). Loud. Which was fine by me.



In Cold Stone, we were trying to decide what to choose. He said he was "definitely going for real ice cream, this time."

I said "I think I will too."

I had my eye on the cotton candy one. It's how I'll never grow up. I'll always have a part of me that is 5. I wanted it for the blue color.



Mike chose the birthday cake ice cream bonanza. I'm not sure exactly it's name. I saw that it had a whole brownie in it. That they crush up. BROWNIE may as well have been a boston baked bean. I knew if I ordered that, I'd fart him into oblivion.

The girl behind the counter kept trying to get her fellow employees into sing alongs.

I ordered my "Like it" cotton candy sans add-ins. Add-ins would just encourage the air-outs.



While we're waiting an adorable baby girl (Maybe a year and a half) stands up in her chair. Looks at Mike and dances saying "Mmmm MMMM" in reference to her ice cream.

Kids love him. He was enamoured with her. I told him her dress was 'no bigger than a minute."

He looked at me and said "I've never heard that before."



The moment he was handed his "love it" birthday cake. I knew I wanted it. It looked like a party. It smelled like a party.

He let me eat it. First it was "Just a bite."

I offered him some of my blue. He declined.

Mike smiled as I took another bite.

He asked "Like it, huh?"

I said "Yep! It's like a real party. With Cone shaped hats and everything!"

He was extra generous and let me eat the majority of it.



After the ice cream we went to his barracks to collect his Dvd's. He showed me where he talks to me on the phone. And then up to the top floor to his room. Before entering the barracks he said "Hold your breath, it smells like a huge Fart in there."

I have to admit thinking "Ah..my clever disguise!"



It made me smile thinking of him walking all that way for cell service, just to talk to me, and hear me ramble on in nonsense.



I must say, Mike & his roomie keep their area so nice and tidy. He gave me the grand tour, showed me where the too-packed carnival was happening. Where he sits when he's on duty..the whole nine.



Then we headed back to our big room, to climb into our big bed, and watch Me, Myself & Irene (my choice).

Except, lounging on him while we watch movies (ritualistic of us) was just encouraging the gas. And it was making it highly difficult to hold it in. When you add in the humor factor, I was literally just hoping I could hold it.



Later on, I was dozing off. Almost to that glorious deep sleep. And I hear it.



LOUD.





PFFFFFT!!!



I pop open my eyes. Thinking 'OH geez. Oh good lord. OH MY Sweet Sweet Lord!" Almost certain it was moi.

Then I hear him say my name, quietly, as if he was testing the water to see if I'd heard it. And I realized it wasn't me. I pretended to still be asleep. Trying so very hard not to burst into my 11 year old glee and giggle.



So, apparently, Firehouse gave him the same issue.



This morning we had a WaHo breakfast and non stop conversation. Promising to see each other as much as humanly possible before he leaves Georgia. It was just soo hard to say goodbye.

But 3 hours later, we were yakkin' it up on the phone again...