ammogirl

Well, we’ve officially crossed over into the realm of ridiculous with the purchase of John’s belated Father’s Day gift–a freaking PS3.  You know, because the Xbox, Xbox 360, and Wii weren’t enough.  But I was silly, you see.  I gave him a choice of what he wanted, a brand new grill to replace the beatdown, world-traveling one we own now or the PS3, and what was I thinking?  Of COURSE the PS3 wins out, because as one of my friends from work pointed out, the grill is a default win anyway.  Because grills are necessary, meaning man cannot live without one, which makes it an automatic no-present purchase.  In other words, John is getting two presents for Father’s Day.  Belated.  And he’s not even my father.  Plus, have I mentioned he’s going to Italy on Wednesday for a softball tournament?  And I can’t go because the people he is going with are my entire office, meaning I am left behind to man both house AND work? By myself?  Sighhh.  I wish I was my husband, except then I’d be married to me, and that can’t be fun.

Hey, remember wayyyy back to last June when I found out I passed the test for my next stripe? Well!  Thirteen months later, I finally get to put it on.  I know!  I forgot I made another stripe too!  But sure enough, when I put on my uniform tomorrow, I will have six stripes instead of five, and that’s all kinds of awesome, the least of which being if I never make another rank, it doesn’t matter!  Tons of people retire as a Master Sergeant (MSgt, E-7, go ahead and take your pick), and while I certainly wouldn’t turn down the NEXT stripe, there will be no killing myself to try to make it.

Wow, I’ve just discovered that while answering any question, comment, or statement my husbands makes about the PS3, all I have to say is, “That’s awesome!” and he’s satisfied.  I just tried it.  Totally works.

Okay gotta go.

Tschuss!

One of the things I like to do religiously is read my hometown newspaper online.  It’s published every Wednesday, and I have a routine, starting with boring business news, and ending with the obituaries.  It’s generally a pretty dry read, there’s not a whole lot going on in good ol’ Lincoln City.  Oh, except for this excerpt from the current issue’s Public Safety log:

7:39 p.m. Domestic at Taft Trailer Park, 5100 block of S.E. Highway 101. Caller reported that subject was drunk and disorderly and that she was throwing ash trays, cups and skillets at him. He said he was hit with the objects and said “ow” several times. Disposition: Parties separated.

Cop: “And you said she was throwing items at you, is that correct?”

Guy: “Yes sir, that’s correct.  Throwing them hard.  Ashtrays, cups, skillets–you name it, she threw it.”

Cop: “Were you struck by any of these items?”

Guy: “Yes I was.”

Cop:  “What did you do when this happened?”

Guy: “Well, officer, I said ‘ow’.  Several times, actually.”

Yep.  That’s my home town.  It’s a hotbed, alright.

Tschuss!!

I am off work this week because my husband is home.  He’s awesome, if you are wondering.  The best thing?  I immediately got him hooked on ROCK BAND!!! and of course he was duly impressed with my super drumming skills, and of course he loves ROCK BAND!!! because how could you not?  However, he’s not as impressed with the Vita-mix blender, but that’s okay.

Anyway!  The weirdest thing happened the other day!  I spent all Thursday doing last minute vacuuming (what a weird word, vacuum) and…oh!  ANOTHER weird thing happened, when I went to get a pedi.  I got there a little early, and figured, what the hell, I want a massage.  I love massages, by the way, and at one point, I even considered becoming a massage therapist, but now I am decrepit and can’t stand up for more than five minutes without saying, “ow.  my back”  like a broken record, so that’s out.  What?  Get back on track?  Fine: so, I go into the massage room, and massage massage blah blah, and all of a sudden, the massage lady is massaging the top of and in between my BOOBS.  It was sort of awkward.  Also, wow, I could really spin that into a Penthouse Forum letter, couldn’t I?  Dirty.

That was it, though.  No lesbian massage encounters at Elke’s Day Spa for me.  Now, back to the original story, I vacuumed on Thursday night, right?  So there were no piles of, say, smallish bugs laying around in a big mound by the front door.  For example.  HOWEVER.  On Saturday morning, when I went to put some recycle in the recycle bin, there were!  Piles of smallish bugs in a big mound by the front door, TENS OF THEM!  It was like Jonestown, but with bugs.  And it happened overnight!   There were no bugs there Friday morning, or Friday afternoon, or Friday evening.  There wasn’t!  We were going in and out of the door all day, and trust me, we would have noticed.  Also would have noticed?  Tens of little bugs flying around the house.  Which they were not.  So.  Where did the suicidal bugs come from, and why did they perform cult death at my front door?

I am perplexed.  Okay, now I’m going to work out and visit work, because that’s what you do when you have the week off.

Tschuss!!