I am a veteran.

I have a hard time writing that.

In January 1992, The GirlBeater decided to sign up for the Army. He wanted to be an airplane mechanic. While we were filling out his paperwork, the recruiter was making small talk and said, “Have you ever considered joining the Army?”

I said, “Actually, yes; there was a time that I talked about traveling with the Army Band.”

“Reeeeeally?” he asked.

An hour later, we were doing my paperwork, witha  promise for a $1500 bonus upon completion of boot camp. I dreamed of going to college on the G.I. Bill and not having to worry about student loans.

I took the ASVAB and we went to MEPS together. The only part I was nervous about was the hearing test. I knew that my hearing was degrading, but as we did the hearing test, I was relieved to realize that they were sending in six people at a time. I watched the girl next to me, and when she pushed the button, I did too.

The GirlBeater went into the job counselor’s office and came out visibly upset and dejected. He had not been approved for the mechanic job. He had to settle for infantryman.

About an hour later, I was put with a job counselor who told me, sure, I was approved for the Army Band pending the audition. But something else had popped up that he thought would be intriguing.

“Your ASVAB score is fantastic and you passed the physical with flying colors. How would you like to be an MP?”

My jaw dropped. Literally.

“Wow.” was all I could say, at first.

I came out of that office walking on air. I shared my good news with The GirlBeater. He was happy for me, but still quite sad about his results.

He went off to boot camp right away, and I wasn’t scheduled for boot camp until September. I was to start my warrior weekends right away, in February.

Somehow I made it through him being gone for boot camp and AIT. I continued my Weekend Warrior routine in Jackson, MI. I was part of the 303rd Military Police Corps, and I was absolutely loving it. I realized that I initially went in mostly for the G.I. Bill and the signing bonus, but I discovered something much deeper than that. I was proud. I was truly proud to be serving my country.

The GirlBeater came home from boot camp and AIT to do his Weekend Warrior bit, and I shipped off to Ft. McClellan, AL for my boot camp and AIT .

Right away, they said that I had to do Fitness Training Company. I was sort of bummed at first, but quickly realized what an advantage I was going to have over the other recruits going straight to boot camp. I was in FTC for five weeks, and then we were moved across the base to boot camp.

I loved my new life. I was quickly made a squad leader, and got a really healthy dose of good self-esteem and confidence. I asked about switching from reserves to active without consulting The GirlBeater.

I was doing great with the physical part of Army life, but I was having a hard time keeping up in class. If I was fortunate, I’d get a good spot up in front of the classroom and be just fine. If I got a spot in the back of the room, I had to rely on other people’s notes to keep up, as I couldn’t understand the instructor’s lecture from back there.

Then I did something that would change the course of my life. I asked one of my drill sergeants if I could move up to the front of the classroom from the back row. She got a puzzled look on her face, and asked why. Nonchalantly as I could, I just told her I could follow the lesson better up there. She said, “Ok, but you’re going to Noble Army Hospital tomorrow morning to see the doctor. If you have an ear infection, I want it cleared up right away.” We were going on our long march in a few days and she wanted to make sure I had meds before I left.

What could I say? Besides, “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

Nothing.

Long story short, the doctor found my hearing loss within the first 15 minutes of the appointment, and did lots of testing. At the end, he said, “You can’t be an MP with the level of hearing loss you have. You have two choices. One, you let us choose a different job for you. Or two, you go home with a general discharge.”

I didn’t want someone just choosing what I would be doing for the next six years, so I chose door number two. I was crushed. I was devastated. I cried and cried and cried. Two of my drill sergeants did, too.

One week before boot camp graduation, I was Pulled From Training. It only took a couple weeks for the rest of the paperwork to go through and I was home by Thanksgiving.

One good thing that came out that experience was that I found the courage to stand up for myself and confidence that I deserved better than The GirlBeater. I left him January 20, 1993.

But I guess what I’m trying to say is that I am technically a veteran, but I have a hard time saying it. When I think of a veteran, I think of a person that has been in combat or in a police action or similar service. I think of a person that gave their life for their country. I think of a guy in the desert that’s seeing his child for the first time via webcam. Not someone who did seven warrior weekends and about 12 weeks of training.

I am a veteran.

I just wish I could have been a better one.

A great big ol’ “Good Frickin’ Riddance” to 2008. The important thing is, I’m not bitter.

Some good stuff came out of 2008. 

Top Viewed

1. His name was Dice.
2. Eeet’s not a too-mah.
3. We’ve been Elf’d!
4. Signing Saturday, the Pilot Episode
5. Joyce Meyer 26th Annual Women’s Conference
6. Musings on Steps, Grief, Love, and Old age. Oh, and divorcing dinosaurs.

Top Referrers
Where’d ya’ll come from? Besides my old blog, then Google Reader, and then Twitter and Facebook, these lovely folks made with the kinky linky love. Thank you so very much, you lovey people!

1. Five Star Friday
2. Country Girl, City Girl
3. Okay Fine Dammit

Top Commenters
Sorry, this only goes back to August when I switched from Blogspot to WordPress. I just didn’t have the energy to do the math between the two casas. Nonetheless, my most loviest of love goes out for my dealers of verbal cocaine. You give good comment, Mah Peepull. I love you guys.

1. Kizzle (27)
2. City Girl (19)
3. BEG (16)
4. Jim (16)
5. Heather P. (11)
6. Caron (9)
7. maggie, dammit (9)
8. Trienne (9)
9. fatboyfat (8)
10. Britchik96 (7)

Top Posts
Handpicked by yours truly.

January 2008 There’s no place like home. Except your childhood home.  ”…I’m not sure how deeply I want to dissect the last few days, because I’m just exhausted; physically, emotionally, and mentally. So we’ll break it down in a safe, distancing, I Use Humor as a Defense, sort of way. Ready… Break!…”

February 2008 My HMO declined to cover that particular ER visit. The bastards.  ”…Cut to two thirtysomething women up on bar stools laughing uproariously and weaving back and forth in their seats as only the seriously shnockered can. Several empty shot glasses (one of which has been licked clean)…”

March 2008 The One That Almost Was Not  ”…I don’t share Dr. Jekyl side of myself a whole lot; well, I did once and got no comments that post, so I had to conclude that no one wanted to hear that crap, much less put a hand out to steady me. So I thought, Aw hells no, I’m never doing that again. Then I changed my mind…”

April 2008 That’s Alllllll I Waaaaant…  ”…Now, never having been in this situation before, let’s just discuss exactly what I pictured Mr. Bondsman to look like. The only thing I have to pull from is Janet Evanovitch’s Stephanie Plum series and Dog The Bounty Hunter…”

May 2008 Stoo-pid is as stoo-pid does. -OR- Life is like a box of cat poop.  ”…He so stoo-pid, he chewed the cord on the LitterMaid, gave himself a pretty good jolt, and is now afraid of his own litterbox. In his feeble mind, The Potty Bit-ted Me On My Mouf…”

June 2008 Happy 13th Anniversary! Yay, us!  ”…Syllabus…Class: How You Can Can Make Yer Wimminfolk Happy Just Like I do; Instructor: Hunky; Location: Billiards Room; Pre-Reqs: Meaningful Commitment With a Significant Other…”

July 2008 The One Where We Went To Michigan. Again. Now with added contest at the end!  ”…At one point, Dino went and sat on Seester’s lap and she leaned into him and deliberately burped in his ear. He turned around to look at her, and completely dead-pan said, “That was HAWT”. I laughed so hard I almost peed. That’s my boy. We’re SO proud…”

August 2008 Mi Casa Es Su Casa times 200 divided by PMS squared. Or something.  ”…Now, before we begin, let me warn you that today I am sporting PMS colored glasses…”

September 2008 Where do you send the fire truck if Teh Innernets go up in flames?  ”…To the estrogen laden population of my readers, and the testosterone-y ones who have estrogen-laden significant others, I don’t need to explain this next revelation. But just in case there’s one or two readers who I dunno, possibly live in a frat house on a men-only campus on another fooking planet, I will state the obvious…”

October 2008 In. Mah. Damn. HOUSE.  ”…About an hour went by, and all of a sudden, I wrinkled my nose and inhaled a little more deeply. Smoke. OMG, something’s on fire! Just then, Hunky came out of his cave office, and said, “Do you smell cigarette smoke?…”

November 2008 (a very hard decision, since I had 30 to choose from, damn NahNoMoFoMe) Smoke and asses and mirrors; that’s what little bloggers are made of.  ”…I caught myself starting to whine, “Why don’t I have H8Rs and Trolls and obnoxious Anonymousi spitting their venom all over my comments?” Then I pulled my head out of my ass…”

December 2008
Ain’t no such thing as a homeless playah. ”…For the most part, the people who are given clothes really need them and are very grateful. Every once in a while, Hunky’ll get the guy who comes in and says, ‘Ah need me a coat.’ and when he’s shown what they have in his size, he says, ‘Ah cain’t wear dat. I’m’a playah.’…”

Top Tall Finger
Goes straight out to 2008. Screw you, man. You sucked. 

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Best wishes of a blessed, happy, and healthy 2009 to you and yours from me and mine.

36.

Thirty-Six.

XXXVI. 

I really don’t feel as old as THIRTY-SIX sounds. 

Dang, another year shot to hell. Oh, well. What’re ya gonna do?!

Last Friday Hunky surprised me. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, only that I needed to dress up. He took me to Ames to see The Nutcracker. Very cool. 

I invited a bunch of friends to 5th Gear tomorrow night to celebrate. I’m going to have a button made that says, “No matter how much I beg or plead or cry, do not, I repeat, DO NOT, buy me a shot of Tequila.”

So. 36. Eh, not as much a big a deal as 35 was. I’ve put the check mark in the 35-55 demographic instead of 18-34 for a year now, and it’s not near as traumatic as I thought it would be.  

This is me.

Not much has changed. 
I still get that look on my face when I get drunk and happy.

Mah Peepull… the inimitable Grandy over at Functional Schmunctional has tagged me for another Random Things meme. Obviously, I didn’t run fast enough! 

1. Link to the person who tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. List 6 random things about yourself
4. Tag 6 people at the end of your post
5. Let each person know they have been tagged and leave a comment on their blog

It’s going to be hard to pull more out of my ass come up with more random things, because I have done this a time or two. I’ll do my best.

1. I haven’t ridden a bicycle since I was in 8th grade. That was about 22 years ago. But then I bought a motorcycle, took a safety course, and got my license in 05/2007. I don’t really like driving a motorcycle; I’d much rather just be a passenger. When I’m driving, it’s just too scary and out of control. The whole time, all I can think about is how many different incredibly painful ways I could die on that bike. This doesn’t exactly make for a relaxing hobby. But I’m glad I did it, because it made Hunky awfully happy.
2. I’ve only had one speeding ticket in my whole life. That’s not because I’m careful, it’s because I’m lucky. 
3. My dad does stained glass, and I wish I could, too. But I can’t imagine taking on another hobby in addition to sewing and photography and scrapbooking and woodworking and riding on the back of Hunky’s motorcycle. 
4. I miss the smell of having a real Christmas tree, but it’s just too much hassle. But then again, it doesn’t really feel like Christmas without that smell.
5. When I was in 6th-12th grade, I played flute in symphonic band and marching band. THIS DOES NOT MAKE ME A BAND GEEK, HUNKY. Back me up, here, Mah Peepull.
6. I’ve watched the entire series of Friends, all ten seasons, at least five times all the way through. That’s not as bad as it sounds; it’s just that when I’m working on the computer, I like to have it on. I’ve also been through Scrubs seasons 1-6 four times. And Will & Grace seasons 1-4 at least three times, and House seasons 1-3 once. 
7. Sorry, I’m having to dig in the muck at the bottom. The cars I’ve owned: 1986 Gutless Cutless, 1989 Pontiac Grand Am, 1992 Pontiac Grand Am, 1991 Dodge Dakota, 1990 Dodge Shadow, 1986 Dodge Aries K Car, 1992 Plymouth Acclaim, 2000 Dodge Stratus, 1999 Saturn SL.

So there ya go. I’m not going to tag anyone because I just did less than a month ago, and I’d rather not be lynched or tarred and feathered. And if anyone tags me in the next couple months, my head is going to explode.

Mah balance. I haz lossed it.

I blame NahNoMoFoMe.

It is just so hard to write every single day. I worry that I’m going to lull you into a state of unconsciousness. I worry that I’m going to lull MYSELF into a state of unconsciousness. And the more inept I feel, the less I want to write.

Between writing posts, reading blogs, commenting, fussing with my blog design, and twittering, I’m spending way too much time in front of the computer. I haven’t cheated and backdated any posts. But is it worth my brain disintegrating in a fiery hell of SUCK?

My Google Reader is so voracious, I can barely keep up with it. I haven’t cheated and ‘Marked as Read’ a single post without a least giving it a good skim, and at most reading then clicking over to comment. But is it really worth it reading until my eyeballs fall out and roll around on the floor picking up dust bunnies and/or my family has put my face on the back of milk cartons?

I’ve worked on my blog design for at least a few hours this month. At first I was just kind of sprucing up the place. Well, then it did actually crash once, and I never did figure out why. I had to deactivate every plugin and reactivate a few at a time, and then rebuild everything including the Tabbed Widgets as I lost all my text widgets in the crash. I like it better now than before the crash, but was it worth 47 days of my eyes being stabbed by those little drink swords crossed by code?

My house projectile vomited all over itself. Some of the laundry came up the stairs and tapped me on the shoulder and politely inquired as to when it might expect for an estimated time of washing. Coincidentally, Hunky walked up to me and announced that if a load wasn’t done tonight, he was going commando tomorrow. (Hint: He’s not currently enlisted in any of the Armed Services.) Then I opened the fridge, and either the boys have been doing more fancy science experiments than I ever conducted, or I believe it’s time to throw out some leftovers. My kitchen floor is so filthy, I can’t come up with hyperbole outrageous enough to do it justice. I’ve been slacking around here and it’s really not fair to Hunky.

I haven’t been giving my job hunt the priority it deserves. I’ve been applying for jobs, but not near enough. I’ve been temping, but it’s never a full week, and never more than I would get for an unemployment check. So by the time they take my earned wages off of my unemployment check, I’m making the exact same amount as I would have sitting my ass at home on the couch watching movies and collecting full unemployment. But my unemployment benefits are about to run out, and at this point, I have to start applying for shit I really don’t want to do to pay the bills.

I haven’t completed a single book in the month of November, and that is SO not like me. That’s like Martha saying, “I haven’t carved a single gourd into lovely… ” Turkey booties? I don’t know, honestly; I don’t watch her show.

I have at least three picture collage frames that I’ve bought but I haven’t ordered the prints to go in them. I rilly, rilly want to finish cleaning my basement so I can set up a place down there to have all my craft crap in one place, and a small rec area with TV, DVD, VCR, and PS2. I want to go out into the neighborhood and take more pictures. I want to kick Manual Mode’s superior, snarky, smarmy ass. I want to set up an Etsy shop for my photography. I haven’t done any sewing (unless you count me sewing that patch onto Kizzle’s hockey jersey) and I miss it. I want to cut out more squares for the boys’ t-shirt quilts, because they’ve actually been asking for them. Every time they outgrow a t-shirt they’re particularly fond of, they ask, “But I’ll see it again in my t-shirt quilt, right?” Well, yes, but at this rate, it may be your high school graduation gift, if we’re lucky, son.

I just want a magic pill that gives me an extra 12 hours in a day.

I saw a commercial for something like that, where this chick was just, like, on her hands and knees scrubbing her kitchen floor, obsessively lining up the throw rug fringe, and cleaning the bathroom tile with a toothbrush… What was the name of that stuff?

I wish I could remember…

Oh, yeah!

METH.

So, yes, I know they already make them and they’re called Methamphetamines, but I’ll pass, thanks.

No, just a little pill that will grant me a spare half day, with no nasty side effects such as my teeth falling out of my head, over-obsession almost to the point of insanity, [;/'''reeeeeeeee Emma just walked across my keyboard and she wanted to share that] insomnia on steroids+HGH and vitamin supplements; oh, and an addiction more powerful than heroin. OOOooo, can you make them with no side effects and make ‘em taste like Mike & Ike’s? That’d be groovy, dude.

I just need to make the scale swing the other way. I need to spend less time in front of the Mac, and more time investing in my family. I want to complete the NahNoMoFoMe thing, then take a couple steps back and reassess to admit I’m not make sure I’m spending my time as wisely as I can. I know I can do better than I’ve been doing.

But we have a more dire issue presently.

Mah funneh. I haz brokeded it.

I’ve been looking over the last few months and for the most part, I’ve felt disappointed with the quality of the word dance I’ve pushed out onto my little stage here. I’ve wondered and pondered and obsessed and worried that I’d lost it. My voice.

I almost allowed myself to forget why I’m doing this.

I was reading writers way out of my league and starting to think that as good as they are, made me worse.

I was frustrated with throwing myself into trying to find my connections with the blogoshere and starting to think that as popular as they are, made me less lovable.

I was watching my feedcount a little too closely, and trying to figure what I might have written that would explain a drop from 25 to 9 in one day, and was starting to think that as fickle as they are, made me less interesting.

I was reading pro blogger tips and was starting to think that as successful as they are, made me more of a failure.

I caught myself starting to whine, “Why don’t I have H8Rs and Trolls and obnoxious Anonymousi spitting their venom all over my comments?”

Then I pulled my head out of my ass.

This is MY casa.

I reminded myself that the writer I needed to be comparing myself to, and constantly challenging, was myself. I need to push my own limits, and refine my own voice. I haven’t lost my voice; I’ve just suffered a little laryngitis.

I’ve got to write for first of all, myself; to dare myself to push my talent harder and longer and stronger. (That made me feel a little bit dirty just then, how about you?)

And second of all, all of you, my Innernetz Budz; to make you laugh a little bigger, forcefully spew a little more raspberry mocha cappuccino in your keyboard, think a little longer, feel a little more connected, and care a little more.

And if the big girl (and boy) bloggers never notice me, that’s got to be ok.

As small a world as it is, Dooce will never be my non-practicing lesbian lovah complete with matching decoder rings. Someone told me she was just a mythical hobbit, and I know she’s not, but she might as well be Angelina Jolie for all it will change my life. Ree will never invite me out to her ranch to work cattle with MM and the punks and give me one-on-one photography lessons.

I will try to write as strikingly as Black Hockey Jesus and as unabashedly as Avitable and as bitingly witty as The Bloggess; but if I never do, that’s got to be ok.

And damn the page views and subscriber count. I’m thankful for how much I’ve honed my writing talent to this point, and will continue to spin the mental Thesaurus and dig a little deeper. I’m grateful for each and every comment you guys grace me with, and will continue to enjoy connecting with you.

I hope I’m not blowing smoke up my own ass.

I hope you all notice the difference.

But if you don’t, as long as I’m doing my best, that’s got to be ok.