Author: callsignmommy2

We Don’t Forget…

Today we are loading up a PODS container and beginning to see all the boxes appearing, dust coming off of things that haven’t been moved in forever and cabinets opened to groans — “WHY did we keep all this crap this whole time???” But while we’re going through the motions of another PCS, in the back of our minds, we’re also thinking about those we’ve known who won’t have the privilege of suffering through another crappy moving experience. Because while it certainly sucks — it is a PLEASURE. You know why? Because The Major has always come back. Every time they’ve sent him somewhere crappy. Every time I didn’t get to hear from him for weeks because he was forward deployed. Every time I have been so worried… he has come home. And that isn’t always the case.

We are part of an aviation community. And while accidents happen in all arms of the services, here at home and in theater, when they happen in airplanes and helicopters, people don’t tend to survive. And we hear news regularly about accidents here at home that happen on what those families thought were just regular old workdays and school days. And I don’t forget that. When I send my kids off to school and The Major leaves in his flight suit and kisses me goodbye as he heads out the door to an early brief, I don’t forget what he’s out there doing. I have tried, but when you live near an airbase, you hear, see and feel jets and helicopters ALL the time. And it is impossible to forget that it’s my husband up there, flying at nearly the speed of sound in a metal container. (All in a day’s work, right?) But he has always come home.

So this post, like this day, is dedicated to those who didn’t come home. We continue to go through our day to day, a proud military family putting up with whatever crap comes with it, in their honor. We don’t forget them or the families who miss them every day, not just today. Thank you for the sacrifice. We will never be able to repay you for what you gave to this country.

My Answer

"Mommy, I have to pee. right. now. Mommy... MOMMY!!!"

My answer to my question from yesterday, that is… cesspool. Actually, that’s what the Major calls it. He has also said that Los Angeles is a boil on the ass of California, and has blamed the city for its very existence, made possible only by swiping water from the rest of the state.

Now before you get all huffy and defensive, let me say a couple things. First off, both the Major and I have some right to judge Hell-A, since we both lived there for 4 or 5 years while attending college. (No, we didn’t go to the same school. Our schools are cross-town rivals. And if you’re wondering, mine is totally better. Go Bruins!) Anyway, that isn’t the point. The point is that we know the place well enough to know that it sucks monkey balls.

And if you can step back from being all annoyed for a minute, then you might be able to consider a few other points about why L.A. is not a real city and should be removed from all “city” references, lest starry eyed European teenagers give up an education in hopes of traveling to LA to be discovered on Hollywood Boulevard, etc.

1. L.A. is not a well-planned city. There is no organized mass transit, few common public open areas, no real commitment to bike lanes or pedestrian accessibility.

2. It takes an hour to get anywhere. If there’s “no traffic.” I put that in quotes because there’s never no traffic. Sunday at 2am? Oh, hello four million cars on the 405 that just happen to be braking for NO APPARENT REASON. Tuesday at midnight? You betcha, backed up on the 5. Pick a number and I’ll show you a bunch of cars all crawling along at a snail’s pace. It sucks it sucks it sucks. Add a crying baby in the backseat. Then it REALLY sucks.

3. It is extremely economically segregated. Don’t get me wrong, I know that “real” big cities have ghettos and lower income neighborhoods, but in many, they blend right into the mediocre neighborhoods in a way that doesn’t make you fear for your life should you stumble into one.

4. (or 3b). Every neighborhood sees itself as an individual, independent city. “Oh, you’re from LA?” “No, loser. I’m from Orange.” “Oh, you’re from LA?” “No, loser. I’m from West Hollywood.” “Oh you’re from LA?” “No loser. I’m from Santa Monica.” Clearly, I could go on all night. If you don’t want to be a city, quit getting mad when I tell you that you’re not.

Yeah, so, I’ll quit. Maybe you can tell that I don’t like LA all that much. And still, we are headed there for a college reunion of sorts. We’re driving down and back in one day (we don’t want to stay over and risk being there when the Earth finally realizes that LA should be stricken violently from it’s surface). We are headed down to have lunch with some of my college buddies, to let Turbo and Lunchbox play with all of their kids for a while. Then we’re going to meet up with some of the Major’s friends from college and have dinner with them, again encouraging Turbo and Lunchbox to play with kids they’ve met only once before and may not see again for five years. And of course we’ll be all sad and distraught if they aren’t best buddies by the end of their forced play time. Frankly, I’ll be surprised if either of my kids avoids a screaming meltdown by the time all the shuttling around (ON the F-ing traffic-jammed freeways) and forced socializing is over. Should make for a pretty fun three hour trip home. But since we’re headed 3000 miles away pretty soon, it’s time to see the people we care about. Even if it means going to LA.

The Meddling Media

I love gossip as much as the next girl… when someone leaves a copy of US weekly or People in the loo at work, I will admit to occasionally taking a bit longer than needed to do my business so I can get a glimpse of Mariah Carey’s ridiculous nursery or Oprah’s changing looks through the years. But I have to draw the line between those who choose to be public figures and those who do absolutely nothing purposefully in the interest of becoming the subject of a media frenzy.

I’m talking, of course, about Ahhhhnold’s love child.  Isn’t this really about the Governator’s bad behavior and NOT about a 14 year old kid? So why did we need to track down the woman involved? Why isn’t it enough to know that he did this thing to his OWN already public family? I feel terrible for his children (all of them, wherever they may be) and his wife — but that’s nothing compared to how I feel about the 14 year old boy who never asked to be made a public figure in this way. He can’t help who his parents are and he certainly isn’t at fault for the way he was conceived. He is undoubtedly already struggling with the difficulties of being 14 — he hardly needs the added scrutiny, pressure and gossip. I’m sure he gets plenty of that at school.

The media often also offers tainted views of our military men and women’s actions overseas. My husband was on the ground in Iraq with a battalion that had an implanted journalist who did a hatchet job on several of the young Marines he pretended to be friends with as soon as he had a controversial idea that would make for a sensational story. I am all for the public seeing the war up close and personal, but I’m not sure there is ever a way to convey to an extremely judgmental public the realities that our warfighters face on a daily basis. That topic is an entire can of worms that I’m not going to open all the way (just popped the lid to let a worm or two squiggle out I guess). But is asking the media to cover ACTUAL NEWS just outside the realm of possibility? Puh-lease?

That’s what he said…

Life with a Marine can be interesting. Not only do I get to tour some extremely scenic locations (uh, yeah, this is sarcasm, folks!), but I have picked up quite a vocabulary! Unfortunately, not only do I live with one Marine who uses some colorful language from time to time, but I work with a few too. As a result, I’ve picked up some phrases — we’ll call them “Majorisms” that I thought I’d share. Ten points if you can use them all in one day after reading this.

1) Regarding something that won’t be well received: “That oughta go over like a fart in church.”

2) Regarding someone who appears to have had better days: “He looked like a bag of smashed a**holes.”

OR

3) “…looks like he got beat with a bag of nickles.”

And my favorite:

4) Best used to explain how little you care about something: “I don’t give two squirts of piss about that.”

I’m sure there are more… I will do a better job making mental notes when The Major offers new ones up (which I swear he does almost every day).