If only I could Sleepwalk

For anyone who hasn't caught on just yet, I am an insomniac. Or maybe I am just a night owl who likes to sleep while the sun is up. I don't know for sure, but it is 0330 and I am no closer to closing my eyes than I was six hours ago. I feel that I do my best thinking a) while driving or b) when I should be sleeping. So, due to the fact that I am on my computer, one can guess that it is obviously the latter rather than the former. 

Tonight I enjoyed a trip down memory lane through my friend Holly's blog with her boot camp revival stories. I'm not sure if everyone had the same love-hate relationship during their experience, but the smallest phrase can flood my mind with vivid pictures of Parris. As Holly explained in her introduction of me as a guest blogger on her site, I was am a perfectionist. I know, it is such a stretch to your consciousness, but I was so hell bent on trying to be right, do the right thing, and yes, for the Drill Instructors to like me. There has always been a chasm between the rational and emotional parts of my brain. I knew that they would never like their recruits, it was their job to hate us (or at least act like it), but damn-it if I wasn't hell bent on making them like me. As far as I know this was never accomplished, but it did make me a total pain in the ass to live with for three months. I never have been very good at making friends, especially not with people my own age. I am more comfortable sitting around with my grandparents and their friends playing cards than going out and talking to people I sit next to in school or at a bar. I guess that explains why my husband is almost seven years older than me.

Looking back at all the relationships I've had in my life, I have realized that I am really just not a people person. As far back as pre-k I distinctly remember feeling the need to lie about myself to make someone like me. I don't remember the girl's name, or really anything about her except she was "popular." The boys liked her, and I liked the boys, so what better way to have any interaction with them then be friends with the one they like. (Can you tell I screwed up my priorities early in life?)  Anyways... my great grandparents' house caught fire when we were in kindergarten, still at the day care, and I told her about it. I loved telling stories and turned that story into something more interesting. Success, we became friends. At recess everyday, those boys would chase her around the playground, and I figured that the best way to get them to stop since she didn't want them to, was for us to chase them back.

This twisted understanding of friendships and crushes continued, once I started elementary school I used to get the boys I liked to chase me again by taunting them with "I'm faster than you are, you couldn't catch me in 1,000 years!" When this tactic stopped working, my new best friend Mandy and I would simply chase the cute boys we liked at recess in a forced game of tag. I guess I never really learned how to properly establish interpersonal relationships since besides Mandy, I talked more to my teachers than I did to fellow students. I never had the female friendships that teach one how to talk, dress, or act like a girl. I took ballet for all of a 3 classes until they wouldn't let my mom stay in the room, I was a brownie for only a year, and the one time I thought I wanted to try out for cheer-leading my dad responded with "I would rather you be an athlete than an airhead." So I joined athletics; basketball, cross country, and track, sports my dad would be proud of. To add to this lack of femininity I decided the summer going into my freshman year of high school that I was going to join the military.

At the time I was determined to go to West Point or Annapolis, I wrote them letters requesting information but they replied with "we're sorry, contact us when you are at least 17 years of age." Formal education was always something that came pretty easy to me, it was expected and delivered by everyone in my family. My father is a genius, although he refuses to go on Jeopardy because of the "small talk" with Alex Trebek after the first commercial. My mother went to nursing school at night when we were very young, all while managing to maintain an orderly household, spend time with us kids and Dad, and still make me and my sister dresses for Christmas. My sister definitely took after my dad, she helped me write history papers over the phone while drunk in college. My brother again is brilliant. Although he didn't finish his formal degree (I believe it had more to do with boredom than anything else since he had good grades), he chose to pursue a more noble profession and attended the Police Academy. Well, anyways my point was that I just stopped caring about grades, homework, and school all together. There really wasn't a challenge and I didn't feel like giving it much effort, this held true for cross country, track, and band.

I guess you can say that I am really just a lazy person with high expectations. I put forth just enough effort to get what I want, even if it is for the purpose of proving something to someone else, but that's about it. I wanted to go to the regional cross country meet, so I actually practiced for the week before district so I could drop 2 minutes off my 2 mile time and qualify. I went as an alternate, so I stopped practicing after that.  In school, the only classes I would "study" for were ones where I liked the professor so I didn't want them to think I was dumb. And that really only applied to 2 of my history professors (luckily those 2 professors taught 6 of my 8 history classes).

I wait until the very last minute to do things, but the universe has yet to condemn me for my crime. I have no idea how or why it seems to be this way, but my bad habits have not kicked me in the ass enough for me to change. 15 page paper with 20 sources due today... I turn in 11 pages and 14 sources- I get a 93. Don't read the assigned book and randomly write down generalized phrases based on section titles- I get an 85. Actually run for 7 days and drop from a 15 minute 2 mile to a 13 minute run... Where is my incentive to change my ways? I have been conditioned to be lazy. I know there must be examples of when this has resulted in a punishment, but it is on a variable ratio schedule that I can't even remember when it has. This is the same reason that even though everyone knows what the speed limit is, they drive 5-10 mph faster on the highway. You may get a ticket once in a while, but you get away with it 100x more than you get tickets.

It is now almost 0500 and I should probably attempt once more to fall asleep, although Wookie keeps snoring and hogging my bed. 200+ combined pounds and 3 pair of legs in a twin bed make for an uncomfortable night sleep. So sadly I must wake her up and send her to her own bed... all of 2 feet away. I cannot wait until my husband comes home to once again have a king sized bed instead. Although living rent free with my dad for a year does have its major financial benefits...



Good night, sweet dreams, my you all have a safe tomorrow.

Walk Down Memory Lane

At the request of a friend I was in boot camp with, I have sat down and sorted through all the painful, funny, and embarrassing moments that we shared during our thirteen weeks at Parris Island in 2004. You hear everyone in the military talk about how they made life-long friendships during boot camp/basic training. I scream LIES!! I know, I’m writing this at the request of a friend that I met during boot camp… the difference is we weren’t friends during it. I don’t know if anyone actually became friends with anyone there. Stress does not always bring out the best in people, especially when seventy women are all living in the same room for three months.
Any way, I digress… although at the time, boot camp was horrible, alienating, and downright miserable; looking back I have so many great and funny memories. Ask anyone who has ever served, especially a Marine, and they will tell you boot camp stories until you want to scream.
 

Our drill instructors were the most formidable women I think I have ever, and will ever come in contact with, but I don’t remember them being vertically intimidating. We of the Dirty Thirty had three Hispanic women who required us to say their names quickly and perfectly. Sergeant De Leon became very annoyed at us for how people squished it together saying “Deli On,” resulting in her yelling one night, “Big D Little E SPACE Big L Little E on” multiple times. Sergeant Gonzales got very irritated that when we had to write out information on duty every night people kept writing “Gonzalez.” This resulted in her yelling, “My name doesn’t end in ‘z!’ I’m not a fricking Puerto Rican!!”
 

I don’t know how entertaining this may be for anyone else… but at the time, this was so hard not to laugh at. I know how they felt, with my maiden name that I had the entire time I was in, nobody ever said/spelled it correctly. They would always use Johnson instead of Johnston, even when I would tell them “sTon” people would still screw it up.
 

Another funny story, which I promise is definitely more entertaining than name mistakes, has to do with why we were referred to as Dirty Thirty. We were Platoon 4030, Oscar Company 4th Battalion graduating 1 October 2004. In boot camp, there are specific methods to ask to do everything. If you didn’t say the long phrase correctly, you got yelled at and weren’t allowed to do whatever. Example: “Good Afternoon Ma’am, Drill Instructor Sergeant De Leon, Ma’am. This recruit requests permission to make a head call, Ma’am.” Just to go to be bathroom.

During the first few days of boot camp, no one wanted to step up and ask for permission to do anything. This led to many, many girls who needed to go to the restroom holding it, some longer than they actually could. In the first two weeks of boot camp, at least 4 women wet their pants, one of which continued to do so throughout our stay until the night she accidentally got the girl in the bed below her wet. I happened to be on fire watch this night, and all I remember is one of our shorter girls stumble into the center of the squad bay, arms and legs spread out to try and keep the wet clothing away from her body , crying “Fire Watch!! Philips* just peed on me!!”

*Name has been changed for camaraderie reasons* 

 I've been watching the HBO series The Pacific with my dad since moving in with him while A is deployed. One thing that struck a chord with me was when Leckie, one of the authors, developed enuresis after Guadalcanal and Cape Gloucester. Basically due to the stress and fatigue of battle, he would urinate without realizing it, or being able to control it. I know that boot camp is nothing like going into the horrors of battle during War World II but it does effect people.

What Would Have Beens

As I lay here tonight, as with every night, my mind wanders through the thoughts plaguing my subconscious. I have been lucky to reconnect with old friends because of Facebook as of late and the questions of "what would have been" keep assaulting my brain. Please don't get me wrong, I love where I am, who I am, and who I am with. Even in all of my alternate realities, I still end up with my A. The only difference is the paths along the way.

How would my life have been different if I had had the nerve to actually let people know who I really was in high school/middle school instead of feeling the need to put up such a tough girl front? Would I have had more friends, stayed in touch with more people, had more dates? What would have happened if I actually had the nerve to tell C, M, D, J, etc... that I had liked them? Its funny because since leaving high school and moving such a distance from these people I found out that at least C and M did like me at the same time I had feeling for them. I don't see any of these people as someone that I would be settled down with and married to, but I think at least for the most part that I would've had better relationships with them than I did with the few guys who actually did ask me out. I still talk to these guys and they are not the type who cheat on their girlfriends, but are honest in telling the girls when things aren't working out... how nice would this have been for the first 6 years of my dating life? To be able to date and not be cheated on or used by a guy.

I feel the pang of jealousy sometimes, not because of my destination but because of the journey I had to take to get here. I had to claw and fight and cry my way up this mountain to find my happiness and husband. Each failed painful relationship acted as a path but one covered in thorns and loose rock willing me to fall further from the top. I have yearned for a smoother path, I saw them in the distance, but I was scared of the unseen turns so I stayed close to the familiar ones, even though they cut away at my legs. If only I could have been sure than those clear roads led me to you would I go back and change my route. Maybe I could have found you sooner, with less cynicism and baggage. But time as we perceive it, is linear. There is no alteration of our past, no do over and restart. Additionally though, there is no guarantee in life, maybe those clearer roads would have led me away from you and would that really be where I wanted to go? I do not know that I could take those trails without knowing you were to be my goal.

Deep Thinking

So anyone who truly knows me knows that sleeping, though I love it, is not the easiest thing for me to do. My brain continues to run at hyper-speed even though I just want it to freeze and take a breather. Tonight as I lay in bed trying to meet with the sandman for our nightly tryst (he has been dodging me lately and I am rather upset at being put aside) I recall all of the past relationships that I've had.

Tonight, my sister, future sister in law, and sister's college bff/roommate went out for drinks to celebrate K's birthday. Funny stories were brought up from the college days of S & L, usually revolving around alcohol and prior boys. So as I lounge in my tiny little bed all of my past mistakes in the area of love come to mind. I realize that I was the stereotypical "fat girl" growing up. Starving for attention, wishing that someone would befriend me, that someone/anyone would love me.  My first relationship lasted all of three months, and quite frankly I was never really attracted to him, but he liked me. And stupidly, I ruined a friendship over him. Not two weeks before meeting him (through the friend I lost), we were driving around in my car on Valentine's Day blaring the "newly released" song She Hates Me by Puddle of Mudd with the windows down for hours. Its so funny because now that song reminds me of my first boyfriend and fits, it was great for a week or two then it sucked horribly. I felt the need to do whatever he wanted to do (keep it pg people, I was a very innocent kid), no opinions of my own, felt obligated to pay for dinner/movies, you name it, until he broke up with me a week after his birthday when I bought us tickets to Six Flags.

This pattern continued with my next boyfriend who was even worse. He was not physically attractive, was not very nice, and really didn't even have a very good personality, BUT he liked me. I was so in love with the idea of falling in love that I never considered the fact that some guys just really suck. I stuck around with this guy for over a year, even while he was in college blindly believing that he wouldn't cheat on me and that he really did love me. I was so naive to the ways people were that I never even thought that I had to worry about it although I did learn he cheated on me while I was in boot camp and broke my heart a few days before Thanksgiving. Although this heart break did lead to the first time I ever truly got drunk, 3 beers and 2 shots of tequila in an hour.

I think the worst part of that whole relationship is the fact that years later I learned that there were actually a few nice, decent guys that I was friends with who actually liked me at the time. I was the proverbial fat kid who just wanted someone to love that I sacrificed real love for the closest visible thing. I had no real self esteem, no true confidence in who I was or what I had to offer. I grew up watching Disney and sneak reading my mother's romance novels. The beautiful girl finds her true love and lives happily ever after be the age of 20. I was outwardly cynical and inwardly hopelessly romantic and naive.

The Marine Corps did help me slightly with the self confidence although it did aid in the cynicism. We were told in boot camp that men, especially Marine men, will only see us as one of three things. The Whore: a woman- pretty or not who is nice and willing to sleep with anyone, or at least not willing to stand up and show that she didn't sleep with him. The Lesbian: a woman- again could be pretty or not and is liked by her fellow Marines but not willing to sleep with you or allow any insinuation to be made that she would ever allow you to sleep with her. or The Bitch: a woman who will not put up with any shit from anyone and stands up for herself but is very clear in her attraction to men- just not any that are in the Marines. I went through my 6 years in the Marines more than likely consistently being the bitch, and honestly I am perfectly content with that. Simply based on the whole numbers situation, it was not hard to get a date while in school. 200 people typically under the age of 25 living in a building and only 15 are women... you could look like Jabba the Hut and still get a guy to ask you out. Although the downside to this being that guys you have never met, see, or heard of know your name, and true to the young male pattern of behavior, brag that they have done things with you that never happened.

I learned from a friend in California soon after I returned to Fort Worth after A and C school that some unknown Marine from our school in Florida was saying that we hooked up in the second floor dvd room. I was devastated, not only did I have no idea who this guy was but he was telling this to people that I did know on the other side of the country!  But I digress. After a few more bad experiences with crappy boyfriends, I learned that I really could be picky about who I actually went out with. Just because a fella asked me out, I didn't have to say yes, I really did have a choice. And I believe that I have found that one who really loves me for me, not for my looks, or money, or anything else that isn't truly me.

I know I'm not a gorgeous model who wears a size 2 jean and a 38DD bra, but I don't need to be. If I chose to be that person, I could. I used to wear a size 2 and I could get down to that again should I feel the need- which I don't, I think women need curves and I am perfectly content to have gone from that 118 pound 19 year old with no confidence to this happy 150 pound 25 year old. Even though my defensive argument, to women who bragged about their chests in high school and boys who teased me about my lack of one since high school, has always been that breasts are fatty tissues, I envied them. But I have since realized that should I ever truly want to deal with a larger chest, I only need $10,000 or a $30 bra. Due to the fact that my back is already messed up and causing me pain on a daily basis, I choose that beautiful $30 bra whenever that green little monster comes calling.

I guess I have written more than I originally intended and probably shared more than I actually needed to about myself. I wish you all a good night and sweet dreams.

Horrible Day

There is really only such a phrase for a day like today. Horrible, terrible, painful. Things began normally today, but when I joyfully got a phone call from Adam this morning, I decided I needed to go outside and feed Wookie as well. Outside at my Dad's house, Wookie and Nikita were being perfectly normal, Nikita was freaking out and snapping at Wookie. I guess it got too much and Wookie flattened her. I, of course, pulled Wookie off and put her in her kennel. Nikita was just laying there on the patio, not really moving, but twitching. I thought she just got freaked out, but then she didn't get up. I called the vet that I take Wookie to in Hurst, wrapped her in a towel (I don't know why I got a towel) and took off to the vet. She made no movement, no noise, and I couldn't tell if she was breathing anymore. I couldn't help bawling the entire way because I knew it wasn't good.

The vet, after being in back with Nikita for about 15 minutes, finally told me that she had passed on. A broken neck, most likely because she was 10 lbs and Wookie is 50. My dad's tiny little annoying dog, but she was his friend. I still can not think about it without crying. I'm soaking my laptop as I type even know, 12 hours after the fact. I know Wookie didn't mean to cause her harm, but I still cannot help but keep a distance from her now, and she knows this. The entire 3 hour drive today, instead of sleeping like normal, Wookie simply looked out the window, and occasionally whimpered.

When I called my Dad and told him, I think it made it harder that he was understanding. He tells me its alright, he knows it was an accident, try not to let it get to me. I do not know what I would do if the situation were reversed, but based on the amount of crying I have done for Nikita today, I would be absolutely useless. I know, you think that this is just over a dog, but that's not how it works in my family. Our dogs are part of us. A true family member that makes the hard times easier. When you are in the throws of depression, they are a reason to get out of bed, even if all it is for is to feed them and let them go outside. Wookie saved my sanity when I was in Wichita Falls before I met Adam, and through him many friends including Thad and Augusta. I hope that soon I'll be able to look at my baby and not think about today, not think about what happened and how it should have been different.

Driving back to Lawton for the last time today, I wondered, would getting my Dad a puppy make it easier for him? Or is this just an attempt to make me feel better about what happened? I don't know, but I certainly wish I knew how to remove this guilt and pain.

Rest In Peace Nikita, I am so sorry for this loss.

Hypocrisy of Higher Education

As most people who know anything about me outside of a business setting could tell you, I am a procrastinator and really just extremely lazy. I have had an assignment for my Psychology of Learning class since the first day of school this semester in August, I started this assignment on Thursday night simply by finding random sources to use, even if they didn't fully fit the requirement of the paper. After such a busy day of finding sources, I didn't work anymore on this project until Sunday around 3pm, it was due Monday morning at noon. Normally this wouldn't be an issue for me, since I am really very adept at word vomiting a decent B average paper without any real thought. This paper was particularly difficult for me because I really just didn't care and it was a very nondescript assignment- write a 12-15 page research paper reviewing current research about a subject relating to "learning" with at minimum 20 sources. Really? What exactly does this entail? Well I could just not get my brain around this assignment and so my less than half of a half-assed effort was what I turned in. An 11 page (including title and bibliography pages) with only 14 sources and very, very badly written with absolutely no organization what-so-ever. And what grade do I get on this elementary level research paper? 93- please tell me that some colleges actually require real work to be done for A's.

I have one more final to take in the morning, but it is for my history class, which really doesn't require too much studying since it is the one class that I consistently showed up for. Additionally I have to get the rest of the stuff moved out of the house this week. Hopefully I can find a trailer from Uhaul to move everything down at one time (the mattress is a little big too strap to the truck bed).

I am laying in bed and Wookie has decided that I am going to abandon her so she feels the need to lay right up on me. I tried scooting her over and she just moves right back over on top of me. She has been sad ever since Adam left. Poor little girl misses her Daddy. The other night she decided that my butt makes a really good pillow. I was able to get a picture over my shoulder as I was laying there.

Child Rearing Concepts

As the years continue to pass and everyone we know is getting married and raising children, it has become more and more apparent that standards and techniques people use in their child rearing vary greatly! Obviously not having any children myself yet, I can only give my personal opinion and hope that no one feels insulted by these statements.

I have seen parents who have given their children such structure from the very beginning of their childrens' lives and am thoroughly impressed. Their children are polite, responsible, engaging, healthy, and intelligent. Contrary to these people, I have seen parents who enforce no rules or decorum. Children who have never heard the word no, or been required to keep up with chores. I do not understand how people think they are preparing their children for the real world, but then again, look around today and you will realize that most people have no clue about reality even into their twenties and thirties.

I do think parents tend to encourage their daughters to grow up way too fast and don't keep them children/preteens where they belong. When I was growing up there was no way that I was allowed to wear actual make up before high school. My mom did buy me some eye shadow when I was in 6 or 7th grade but it was neutral and really couldn't be seen because it was a tan and taupe color which allowed me to wear "make up" without looking like it. I do understand being allowed to "dress up" for special occasions but I do think girls are expected to grow up way too fast. A and I have discussed how we will raise our children, especially daughters, and we will not be allowing make up early in life, or date before high school (hopefully late high school),  or have a cell phone.