Tour Two

Insanity, Thy Name Is Liz

My lord, I am so busy.  It's awesome.  Exhausting to the point where I frequently want to smash my head against the wall and put myself out of my exhasted misery, but still awesome.  Time is flying by.

The boy is finally in Iraq.  They were in Kuwait for a week longer than they were supposed to be, which of course made him super happy, but they finally made it there.  He was about tired of all the planning he was doing in Kuwait and was ready to just get out of there and get his missions started.  I got one e-mail from him in the 3 weeks since he left, but he called last week for my birthday and then again this week.  So, hopefully him being in Iraq now means that I'll hear from him at least once every couple of weeks.  Our conversations are pretty much just awkward bullshitting, but it's better than not talking to him at all.

Life here is nuts.  Between being busy building the empire at work and keeping up with all my friends who never seem to rest, I'm running around like a crazy person.  I cannot believe the boy has been gone for 4 months.  The time has slipped right through my hands, but it's made it a lot easier to deal with him not being here.  I am so incredibly lucky to have the people in my life that I do.

2 big things going on, though.  One, I haven't really eaten in around a month.  I'm losing weight so fast.  I had to buy a bunch of new clothes because I was swimming in everything I owned.  I haven't had an appetite since the boy left for Kuwait; whether it's because I'm so busy that I forget to eat or my nerves are just shot, I'm not sure.  I've gotten used to the dizziness and sometimes irritability that it's brought about, but I know it's not a good thing.  Shit, who am I kidding?  It's the eating disorder, back with bells on!  Lord, I'm so sick.  My family is begging me to call my therapist, but I won't because she'd be on the phone with my shrink so fast, Baker Act-ing me into an inpatient clinic, which I can't go to because I have clients who need me.  That's my excuse, anyway.  It's sad when I know what's going on and I completely and totally ignore it.  What can I say?  I'm a nutcase right now.

The other big thing is that my best friend has a hot new girlfriend.  She's never really liked girls before but evidently, she's now straddling the fence.  She's freaking out because it's all sorts of new to her and is constantly calling me for advice, which I'm not in any position to really give because I've never dated a chick.  It's hilarious.  She called me the other day while I was at work and the only thing she said was, "I just think you should know that [hot new girlfriend] isn't manly.  She's hot, like me.  I'll call you later."  Seriously, my life is so utterly weird sometimes.  I almost feel guilty for converting her, because now the male species is missing out on her awesome self.

Sometimes, I step back and look at my life in all of its insanity and wonder if it's actually my life.

Headless Chickens & Hot Shoes

When I was a little kid, I remember once watching my dad execute a chicken.  Chase it around, catch it, hold it by the neck, promptly connect ax to neck.  The chicken then runs around headless, blood flying, until it just sort of, stops.  Why he did this, I do not recall.  He did, though.

I feel like that chicken.  A lot.  I have been so busy with work and friends and dog/house-sitting and buying hot shoes and such that I forget to stop and eat and sleep and then I finally pass out in random places, like on the kitchen floor of a friend's house.  I am losing weight, quickly, because I'm basically starving myself (not intentionally, believe it or not).  My lovely C-cup boobs have shrunk to a B, and I am sad.  I am sad, and my husband is angry.  "Liz," he told me before he left, "that will not fly for long with me.  You will eat.  I like your big boobs.  I'll see you in 3-9 months, and you will have big boobs when I do."

I am so very glad that this was what he deemed important enough to substantiate our last conversation together.

It's good, though, I think - working and building the empire, staying preoccupied.  I got a membership at the new LA Fitness down the road and I am going to start training again.  Not as hard-core as I used to, but probably close.  I miss being rock-solid all over with an ass that you can bounce quarters off of.  My ass is still in good shape, but the quarters don't bounce as high anymore.  And I'm moving soon, in with a friend so that I won't be alone anymore.  I hate living alone and 3 months is about all I can handle.

The boy flew out to the Middle East 4 days ago and I haven't heard from him.  No news is good news, though, my father-in-law tells me, so I just live my life and hope and pray that they are doing okay over there.  Days are long without getting to hear his voice at all, and they never get any less lonely.  I never get any less horny, either.  Funny how that works.

I did buy some incredibly hot shoes the other day:  a $240 pair of black Charles David suede peep-toe pumps, on sale for $60.  The gods must have been smiling down on me that day, because those shoes are smokin'.  I'm not supposed to be buying shoes, but come on.  It's the cardinal sin of womanhood, passing up a sale like that.  Life without the boy may suck, but hot shoes definitely make it bearable.

That, and it's my birthday in 2 weeks.  Par-tay!

Trying Not To Give Up

If this week is any indication of how the rest of my life is going to go, I don't think I'm going to make it.  Or rather, we're not going to make it.  And, coming to that realization sucks.  A lot.

Severe PTSD symptoms flaring up again are, especially to the unsuspecting, a kick in the teeth.  A kidney punch when your back is turned.  A blow right to the stomach, knocking your breath out.  I had no way of being prepared for what this week would be like with him home and even if I could have been prepared, I'm not sure it would have made that much of a difference.

We shouldn't be fighting.  I shouldn't be crying.  It's not supposed to be like this.

I am at a complete loss for words.  I have no idea what to do or say to make this situation right again.  He knows what's going on, even if he can't help it, and he told me not to run away.  He said that he needs me to weather the storm with him, but I'm not so sure that I will be able to survive what happens at the end of the deployment, if less than 3 months into it it's this bad.

The Boy Comes Home

Homeboy should be on his way home now.  I am very excited.

Actually, I'm not.  I think that's bad.  I'm excited about seeing him, of course, but I am NOT excited about the goodbye we will say in less than a week.  Fabulous.  I know I shouldn't be thinking about it, but I can't get that inevitable nightmare out of my head.

My boss pulled me into her office today to tell me that she has noticed that I have become withdrawn and am not myself at all.  I cried; she sympathized (two very surprising events, indeed).  I realized that I am not coping nearly as well as I was a couple of weeks ago.  I feel like I've hit a brick wall and am slowly but surely losing my grip on the positive facade I held up.  I try to fill my spare time with things like plotting how I am going to make it down to Miami Ink with my cousin and his fianceé to convince Garver to tattoo him and Ami to have sex with me (something that would, believe it or not, make my husband love me even more), but I can't stop thinking about how much the end of the week is going to suck.

I'm actually really nervous about having him home.  He's back into what I call his "combat zone mode", which is pretty much characterized by his PTSD symptoms flaring up again.  I want us to do fun things while he's here, but I already know that we'll end up hanging around the house because he can't deal with doing anything that requires making any sort of decision or dealing with any number of people whatsoever.  It's bad now, but I know it'll be so much worse when he gets back at the end of the next 13 months.

Lord, I'm depressing myself.

Shoes.  I need shoes.

Today was, well, crappy.

"She's only 22," my friend said.  "It's been really hard on her, having him away.  She has to do everything on her own now.  She's still a newlywed, and she rarely gets to talk to him."

"Yeah," was the reply, "but they knew that when they started this."

"It's just difficult for her," my friend said.  "Can't you imagine being in her shoes?"

"But they KNEW that!  Why does she get upset?!  Why did she let him go in the first place?!"

News flash to everyone who doesn't give a shit about the sacrifices that my husband, his boys, and their families make due to a fierce belief in the right of EVERY person on the planet to live in freedom:  you all can go to hell.  I am sick and tired of people thinking (and saying) that I shouldn't ever be upset, or lonely, or sad, or wanting to cry because I should have known it would be like this.  My decision to support my husband in this deployment and not abandon him does not make it any less lonely without him.  Our sacrifices, and those of every other family, don't suck one iota less just because we knew this was coming.

I am so over these assholes right now.

Liz Gets Insured

The Husband:  "HONEY!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Me:  "Working!  Trying to fill one of my vacant condos.  Why are you yelling?"  (He always yells, for some reason.)
TH:  "I AM ADDING YOU TO THE INSURANCE TODAY!"

We have been married for how long now?  Lord, we are so damn lazy.  It takes all of 10 minutes to add me to his insurance, but we apparently just can't be bothered as there are more pressing matters to take care of when we're together (like having sex and watching cartoons).

Me:  "Great.  Now I won't have to worry about footing the bill when we pop out a unit."
TH:  "Yeah, they have to take you.  You could be 500 pounds and riddled with disease and they'd take you!"
Me:  "Lovely.  Because you'd still be married to me if I weighed 500 pounds and was riddled with disease.  Are they sending me ID cards?"
TH:  "SILLY GIRL!  YOU JUST FLASH YOUR MILITARY ID AT THE DOCTOR OR THE PHARMACY AND THEY GIVE YOU FREE STUFF!"
Me:  "Oh."
TH:  "OH!  I GOT YOU DENTAL INSURANCE TOO!"

This is actually very exciting.  I like the dentist, but I don't like paying for it.

TH:  "Bitch, you'd better appreciate that, too.  Dental insurance costs me $10 a month!"

I love that we don't get to talk to each other very often but when we do, these are the conversations we have.

Jesus.

Another Day, Another Tattoo

My cousin G (who is not only family but also one of my best friends) tells me that I am becoming a tattooed weirdo, which I find odd since he is an artist and has done the vast majority of my work.  I interviewed a new artist (Mark) today (read:  let him, on blind faith with regards to his abilities, carve the outline of a rather large piece into my upper back) and was so impressed with not only his skill but also his personality that I decided he will be the one who finishes my back and torso pieces.  I showed him the beginnings of the one on my side, so I just have to think about where I want to go from here and have G sketch some stuff out for me.  G will end up doing a chunk of it, I'm sure, because I love his work and could never just dump him forever.  He lives a ways away, though, and I always feel bad about having him drag his tools out when we only see each other once every week or two.

I did discover, though, that having your back drilled is cake compared to having torso work or foot work done.  I told Mark that whenever anyone comes in to have their first tattoo done, he should do a little something on their foot first so that when he goes to do work on any other body part, they won't bitch about the pain.

I never believed people when they told me ink was addictive, but it is.  My friends think it's funny because I work in a very professional (I call it "stuffy") field and I am always dressed very conservatively (dress pants, blouses, etc.) at work.  But then, when you get me in a tank top or swimsuit, it's like this completely different person underneath.  I love it.  I've found that a lot of guys dig it, too; some of them are caught off guard at first but a lot of them really like it. 

Especially the weird (albeit nice and good-looking) 45-year-old guy at the drop zone my cousin and I jump at who has decided that I am the hottest, most incredible woman he has ever met and cannot, apparently, keep himself from telling every single person at the drop zone, including my cousin and his family, which is really weird, that I am sooooooooo hot.  And yes, he knows I am married.  And yes, he knows that the man I am married to is nuts and good with large automatic weapons.

Yeah.

Back Home

I am totally dragging ass today.  I'm in such a weird, quiet, blah mood.

Well, at least I'm definitely a whole lot less of a raging bitch now that I've gotten laid this past weekend.  I'm sure the entire state of Florida is screaming a big, fat "THANK THE GODS" for that one.

I dropped the husband back off at post yesterday afternoon and then hauled ass to the airport to catch the last Northwest flight out of the hot, sweaty pit of grossness that is the state he is currently mobilizing in.  That state makes me wish the deep South had been obliterated during the Civil War.  What a vile, vile waste of land.  (Okay, maybe I am still a raging bitch.  Whatever.)  My eyes didn't even tear up when I left.  I stalled a little when we got back to post, trying to delay the inevitable goodbye, but I sucked it up, hopped back in my bouncy little rental car, flipped on my iPod, and made my way back to the airport.

I got to meet some of the NCOs he's closest friends with and we went out and partied with them and their women this weekend.  I feel so much better having met and spent time with these guys; they've each been in various combat zones across the world over the past few years and are completely off their rockers, just like my husband, and I have no doubt that they will watch my boy's back.  As could be expected, they all spent the entire time we were out together trying to one-up each other with war stories while we women rolled our eyes until we thought they would pop out of our heads.

I was later informed by my husband that all of those guys thought I was the coolest chick/wife they'd ever met, which he also told me happened to be the unanimous opinion among all of the guys in his unit who knew me.  Super.  I now fear the thought of how many, if any, have seen naked pictures of me because let's face it, I'm cool but that cool?

Okay, fine.  Maybe I am that cool.

Anyway, my husband also informed me this weekend that he is going to go to OCS because he's finally convinced that he thinks like an officer and that is what he is meant to do.  I always knew he was widely regarded as one of the most valuable members of his unit, but it didn't hit me until I overheard those NCOs talking about all the different things that the brass have said about him and the responsibility that has been placed on him because they know he'll pull through.  He's currently doing the jobs of guys 1 and 2 ranks above him because, well, he picks up slack without saying a word.  Of course, he never really talks about this stuff because he's so humble about it but apparently, he's the "quiet asshole" and every person at his MOB station (even those outside his unit) knows his name and respects him greatly.  I'm proud of him but it also makes me nervous, thinking about what him being an active duty CO means:  travel, moving around, our kids growing up Army brats.  Sacrifice, on the part of everyone in our family, not just me.  I can't help but wonder, though, what it does mean for me: it was only a few months ago that I accepted the job offer of a lifetime, and I'm only 22.  I have no desire to leave this city.

And there I go again, thinking about me.  Bad, Liz.  I should be overflowing with pride but I can seriously be so self-absorbed sometimes.

So, he'll be home soon for a few days before he heads to the sandbox.  He and those other NCOs are skipping out on the departure ceremony ("not necessary; we don't need a f***ing pep talk when we know better than anyone what it's like over there and what needs to happen") so we'll probably spend that time downtown drinking and making one last scene before they take off.

I hope that country is ready for these raging lunatics to be back there again.  I love it - they're completely crazy but so soft-hearted when they think about what they're doing for that people as a whole.  They all believe so fiercely in freedom and sharing it with Iraqis.

I need to learn from them.

At Last...

I get to have sex tomorrow.

God no longer hates me.

Throw Down

I have come to a few conclusions over the past few days:

1.  Having a real career in which you are being groomed to own a lucrative firm is a royal pain in the ass.  Highly fulfilling, but a pain in the ass.
2.  My husband is incredible with training his troops but completely out of his mind as far as "we" are concerned.
3.  I want a wedding after all.

The first and second I can't do much about.  I suppose I could quit my job to go flip burgers and divorce my husband but other than that, not too much can be done.

Wanting a wedding, though:  I can do something about that.  I informed the boy that I do indeed want to throw down at some point and he agreed that we could do it.  I don't want the ridiculously lavish ordeal that was his first wedding, not at all; that left a bad taste in his mouth and it's too over-the-top for me anyway.  I just want a kick-ass party on our 2nd anniversary that will be a celebration of us making it through the deployment and a reason to get our friends together and knock back some serious adult beverages.

So, I've been thinking about it and I'm already certain of several things.  One, our "rehearsal" will be a toga party.  You can't get much more kick-ass than that.  Two, the tuxes will be all black with ties, not bow ties, and the girls will be in all black with colored flowers and shoes to match.  Black is slimming.  Three, the girls' dresses will be linen (to compensate for them being black) and custom-made.  Our anniversary falls in a very hot month, linen breathes, and custom is the only way to go.  Four, the largest expenditure will be the top shelf bar.  Five, our cake will be tiered, camouflaged, and sporting little green Army men.  I think that pretty much covers the most important aspects of a wedding and I consider my planning to be halfway done already.

There will be live music from some of my close friends, bartending from some other close friends, and catered food from a restaurant everyone loves.  Afterward, the wedding party and anyone else who will fit in a limo will party downtown until the bars close down.

I decided that I need something for my boy and I to look forward to during this deployment, and this is as good a thing as any.