Today marks the 234th birthday of the United States Marine Corps. 234 years. Wow. I really did not know that the USMC had been around for that long. Growing up, I could only really equate the Marines with Gomer Pyle, which didn’t mean much except that the show was funnier than shit!
Aw come on! Are you kidding me? What do you mean you don’t know who Gomer Pyle is?
Well Go-ollly! Talk to the hand. TALK TO THE HAND!
So, Happy Birthday USMC! And thankyouthankyouTHANKYOU to all past, present, and future Marines.
Wait a minute. Don’t go thinking that I’m playing favorites with the Marines. My thanks go out to ALL branches of the military. I’m an equal opportunity military supporter. Why else would I have married first an Army guy and then a Navy guy? I’m totally supportive of the military. Either than or I’m totally sadistic. What’s next? A Marine? Hmmmm…..there’s a thought.
nd here’s where I let on to just how old I might be…..
I absolutely heart me some ’80s music. Love it. In fact, if I’m in need of something to help keep me motivated on a task, you will either find me listening to music from the ’80s or disco. No…that is NOT a typo. (Remember that age thing I mentioned at the beginning of this post? Well…there you go.)
Sidenote: As far as I’m concerned, disco will NEVER be dead. You can’t shake your ass to anything else like you can to disco. And don’t think I don’t know that you do it too. In your home. When nobody’s watching (at least so you think). You put on Donna Summer’s Last Dance and boogie down. Until you hear someone nearby and you run to switch it to Metallica and start headbanging. Cuz that’ll totally throw them off the trail of what you were REALLY doing in there. You can admit it now. We all know. DON’T WE.
My most recent ’80s flashback had me searching for the video to Olivia Newton-John’s Physical. I found what I was looking for and much more. I got two flashbacks for the price of one. (Then again since it didn’t cost me anything, it was actually two flashbacks for the price of none. But I digress yet again.)
Remember Solid Gold? (Cue the “ooooo”s and “ahhhh”s here.)
That weekly music countdown show that was only just a small step up from American Bandstand. Where lip synching songs was the ONLY option and was paired with a bunch of HAWT dancers in spandex (Spandex? In the ’80s? NAH!). I vaguely seem to remember having a HUGE crush on one of the male dancers. Couldn’t tell you which one, though.
That’s just some awesome shit right there. She never made a mistake. Her performance was flawless. She never had to take a break in the middle of the song bcuz she was out of breath from her dancing workout (or those steamy hunks dancing with her *fanning self*). And I have absolutely NO idea how my simple little ’80s song flashback morphed into poking fun at Solid Gold. I loved that show growing up.
I’ve missed that past few SWS (so sad) and my six words today are not spooky (well, I guess they could be depending on how you look at them LOL), but here they are:
Have you ever had days where you were upset, really upset, about something but you don’t feel like you can talk to anyone about it cuz everyone knows that you made a decision and that your reasons behind that decision were logical and if you complain about having a bad time you will hear them say just suck it up or move on and you desire neither being unfair to them for having to hear about your situation YET AGAIN nor hearing someone else say what you have already said to yourself repeatedly, leaving you feel completely alone?
Yeah, me neither.
Except today…..aaaaannnd maybe yesterday too…..and maybe the day before that. So pretty much every damn day.
Ok…..so maybe not every day.
There are days when the logic prevails and I’m reminded that this was a GREAT decision. It’s been going well. Everything has been moving forward. The light at the end of the tunnel is getting a little closer.
Then there are the days when I repeatedly kick myself at the stupidity of this self-torture I’ve subjected myself to on a freaking near-daily basis. The days when I wonder just how small I will be made to feel. The days when I think I would be so much better off on my own as a single parent. The days when I think of possible reasons for hiring a hit mandrinking myself into oblivionrunning off with a sugar daddy avoiding going home.
I won’t go into detail as to why I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs today (many days actually). The details aren’t important. And I know that when my best friend in the whole wide world reads this, she’ll be saying, “I’ll take Dumbasses whose names begin with the letter ‘R’ for $200 Alex.” Cuz even though I won’t tell her what’s going on, she KNOWS. And I love her for that.
And I know I will get past this. I will get to one of those days when logic will win out. Hopefully I will start to see more of those.
I guess it’s time to accept the fact that summer (and apparently fall too for that matter) is over. The weather people say that we’re getting snow tomorrow and Wednesday, so I guess I have to accept it (even though I don’t trust the weather people as far as I can throw them). I sure as hell don’t plan on giving up without a fight, though!
These pictures from our day at Lagoon-A-Beach have been sitting in a blank post for a while now (cuz my brain has been on freakin overload lately). They’re the perfect way to stick my tongue out at winter’s attempts to cut in line this year, don’t you think?
P.S. Ash may have a little pink on her thigh, but I’m the one who ended up fried to a crisp that day. Ah, memories!
Update – Winter’s tendrils have apparently have started to creep into my brain, cuz I completely forgot a title to this post. I channeled South Park and think I came up with a good one. Winter totally needs to heed that warning.
I attended two hour-long meetings that were a complete waste of time (but they were shorter than the hour AND A HALF that they were actually scheduled for, so there is that), talked to the secretary of an attorney who can’t seem to get it through her head that they ALREADY GOT THE DAMN CHECK (gotta love Payroll, right?), and got extremely frustrated with my problems getting on & viewing tweets (wonder if Brizzly is going to be blocked here at work soon too…..possibly and then I’ll REALLY be screwed).
I got a break, though, when I was talking to her about her about her day. We were getting ready to say goodbye, when all of a sudden, OUT OF THE BLUE, she says, “I love you.”
And it sucks bcuz I can’t tweet it.
Update – And by ‘her’, I mean my daughter. I guess Twitter flustered me more than even I thought. Great. NOW I’M AN ADDICT! Does that mean it’s time for TA. Noooo, not T and A. TA. Twitterers Anonymous.
I can’t believe it. I’m just about half-way through my 1st real semester of college. And I haven’t dropped a class. And I actually have an A in both classes. This cannot be me. It just can’t. Me, the high school Junior & Senior year slacker (except in Band, of course), who had to cram the night before and the morning of her high school Economics final in order to graduate (got a B on the final & pulled a D out of the class. Whew!).
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know it’s coming. I just know it.
It’s funny. My College Algebra class is the one I thought would be tough. I was thinking that a 20-year gap would possibly be too much to overcome. I have been wrong (so far) and I haven’t quite figured out what has made the difference. Is it that whole ‘older but wiser’ concept? Is it that I’m putting forth more effort this time around? Is it that this professor just explains it better? All of these are quite possible, though I’m not sure I can pin the difference down to just one reason. Maybe it’s all of them. Maybe it’s that I have better liquor now. Who knows!
My Computer Essentials class is a whole OTHER story. It’s a stupid prerequisite for the programming classes I need (which I really don’t get at all, but whatever). I was feeling going into the class that it should be an easy A. For the most part, it is. EXCEPT. Except for the fact that the (associate) professor teaching this class is treating the Word section like an English class (e.g. I have to write a paper for my Word Final Project). WTF? AND (here’s one of the best parts) she is grading based on a statement in the book that says something ‘typically’ does not occur. Since when does typically equal a hard coded rule? When you point that out to her and provide examples to support it? She says the book says so, so that’s what it is. She shows a complete disregard of the points made. Might as well have not said a damn thing. I talk to others who have taken the same class at the same school under different professors and I get a very different view. Figures. I get the professor who for all I know is being this way thinking it will get her tenure. It was a mistake to take this class from her. I wish I could test out of it, but that’s not an option. Oh well. I am looking forward to the course eval when this is all over.
Basically, nothing good can come of it, so just don’t do it.
I have acrylic nails. I have had them forever and I maintain them RELIGIOUSLY. I really don’t have a choice. I have to keep them up. If I don’t, I will have no nails. None. Cuz I’m a nail biter. No, you don’t understand. I’m a BAD nail biter (or would that be a good one?). I’ve been one as long as I can remember. I even think I remember my mom saying once that I came out of the womb with no nails. Which means I probably had it from conception. I totally blame my mom. And she is a former biter too, which supports my case. Thanks so much for the genetic defect MOM!
I go in last Saturday for a backfill, like clockwork. The nail place I go to has a HUGE display table full of examples. Anything & pretty much everything you can think of, they’ve got. Plus they rotate in some seasonal examples cuz they’re greedy mothers cuz it’s just good business. I head over to the display table looking for something Halloweeny (WTF is wrong with me? Halloweeny?). But anything I remotely give a second glance to is like an additional $30+. I don’t THINK so. Then my nail tech comes over to ‘help’ and I know I’m in trouble. Actually, ‘in trouble’ doesn’t really cut it. I’m screwed. I just can’t say no to her. So, I let her talk me into getting a spider on one of my nails. Great. Just great.
She gets the backfill done first just like normal. Then it’s time for the spider. She puts a big glob of black acrylic goo in the middle of my nail. I just KNOW that there’s an egg sac in there that’s just waiting for Halloween night to bust open and take me as a human sacrifice. But how do I tell her NOOOOO! I’m not ready to die yet! without coming across as rude? I just can’t do it. I just can’t tell her that her idea scares the living shit outta me. So I suffer in silence. And while the end result is quite attractive and season appropriate, it does nothing to calm the horrific fears I have of what is to come on Halloween.
And since then…..
I have to hide that fingernail. I have noticed the spider eyeing people around me looking for more potential victims. YIKES! I can’t let that happen! I’d go to prison for murder cuz who in their right mind would believe that a spider on my nail killed people? Plus, I would not make a good inmate. I would completely freak out. Which would leave me a prime candidate to get a shiv in the prison yard. Yep, I’m that girl. Or another inmate would corner me in the shower and make me her bitch. Neither of those are good options for me.
Also, everytime I catch the spider out of the corner of my eye, I freak out screaming, “Spider! OMG! A SPIDER!” Then I grab my stapler and start banging my hand with it yelling, “Kill it! Kill it! KILL IT!” And then my biting habit kicks in, but I CAN’T GET IT OFF!
So now my hand is a sick combination of black/blue/purple/yellow and that finger is all shredded and bloody. It’s pretty much completely useless. Which is why it took me a week to write this post. And my job is in danger of ending even earlier. I keep getting written up for being a disruption in the office. But then again, my job will be over when I get arrested for murder anyway.
Can anyone recommend a lawyer? I’m gonna need a good one to keep me from going to prison. And then I think I’m gonna sue my nail technician. It’s all her fault. Better yet, I’ll sic my spider on her. Yeah, that would work.
I follow Jenny The Bloggess. She is butter. Butter I tell you. She is death by butter. Before the chorus of The Hell? hits the comments, let me explain. Chefs always say cooking with butter is awesome. So by calling The Bloggess butter, I’m professing her total AWESOMENESS! I shit you not.
I also follow another blog that Jenny’s involved with, Good Mom/Bad Mom. This one has some funny shit too, even if the Houston Chronicle tries to contain her awesomeness. You CANNOT contain The Bloggess! Anyway, while reading a recent post, a commenter (TC) provided this week’s gigglesnort:
What I wanna know is, why the fuck didn’t Santa leave THAT doll under my Christmas Tree? I was screwed.
Rock on Bloggess and all your awesome followers!
Writing about captivity and my bouts with Stockholm Syndrome since 2008.
