Goddamned religion.

*EDIT*

I had a whole vent going on here. But I thought about who might see it, and decided it didn't need to be here.

Let's agree to disagree and keep our minds open. Please.

Snowing and dancing.

I woke up Tuesday morning and called the base hotline, praying for delayed reporting. Which we got, so I hit snooze on the alarm and set it for an hour later.

I woke up an hour later and went over to my computer to check the weather and such. Branc popped up in chat, and said, "Yay for now work." Jumping at the opportunity to burst someone's bubble, I responded, "It's only delayed reporting." He countered with a simple, "No."

So I called the hotline again. Sure enough, only mission essential personnel had to report to work, placing myself and every other non-essential person within a twenty-five-mile radius on telephone standby.

I didn't really enjoy my day off, though. I felt sick for most of the day, probably from the regular milk I'd had on Monday night. I've suspected since I was fourteen years old that I am lactose intolerant. I've been drinking yummy Lactaid since I joined the military and started buying my own groceries. However, I was out of milk, and knew we were gonna get snowed in, so I zipped by the gas station and decided it wouldn't kill me to drink regular milk.

Big mistake.

I was queasy, queasy, queasy. No fun. But I'm all better now, just hungry.

I woke up this morning and called the hotline, once again hoping for delayed reporting. My wishes were again granted, and I once again reset the alarm. But half-hour later I got curious, and called back. What's this?? Another day off?! Hoorah!!

Now if only I could shake off this persistant headache. It's been on and off since Monday. Ugh... Oh, Branc is online, we shall celebrate together!!

Btw, do you know who it was that first spoke in chatspeak out loud?? You know, like the granny in that once cell phone commercial. "Idk, my bff Jill??"

Guess. No, guess!! Ugh, you guys suck at this game. It was...

*drumroll*

...Tigger. Remember?? TTFN!!

Lulz.

I wanna go dancing this weekend.

How to make Davi stop breathing.

I dropped off The Boyfriend's car this morning at the dealership for maintenance. I never gave them my name, just gave them Boyfriend's name and a number they could reach me at.

So the phone rings this afternoon, and I answer, "[My office], Airman Davi."

"Hi, may I please speak to Mrs Boyfriend??"

Silence. My mind goes blank.

I manage to choke, "Er, that's me."

"Oh, I'm sorry!! I didn't realize you would answer like that!!"

Whew. I was actually sweating.

Wait a fucking minute.

I'm watching Manswers on TV. I'm too lazy to reach for the remote to change the channel. They're telling guys surefire ways to tell if a she is actually a he. Apparently, you just need to look at the hands. A guy's index finger is shorter than his ring finger, whereas a girl's index finger is longer than her ring finger.

I have a problem with this.

When I hold my hand up, my index finger is shorter than my ring finger. What. The. Fuck.

Manswers needs to do a little more research, because I call bullshit.

I'm sick of this place.

I'm sick and tired of Illinois. It's been a nice home for the past five years, but I'm done. Is it the military brat in me?? It's not like I moved that often compared to other military brats. It still felt like too often, but I lived in only three states (plus PR) before enlisting. It can't be that. I think that, deep down, I know this isn't the place for me. I came here for a purpose. Whatever that purpose was, it's been fulfilled. It's time to go. Before I start to hate this place.

I want to leave everything and just hit the road. Go somewhere warm and wear shorts. Go stand on a fucking mountain and gaze at the world around me. Go somewhere I've never been. Get away from everyone and everything I've ever known, and just feel the world the around me as I wander from place to place. There's only one person I'd allow to go with me. I love my family and my friends, but I just don't want to see any of them for a good while. I only want you with me. I wanna take you by the hand and go running off into the sunset, go off and explore a new place, fall in love all over again, and forget all our worries and cares. No stress, no pressure from the outside world, just you and me under the sun, breathing and laughing.

Why why why why why why why why

Why is it so hard to find the words I need to describe, to convey my thoughts and my feelings?? Why is it so hard to channel the rage when it sets in?? Why is the rage triggered by such insignificant things?? I lost my last set of contacts, and as a result my colon/semi-colon key on my brand new laptop is permanently loose. I misplace some paperwork at work for a just a few moments, and I come thisclose to embarrassing myself with a temper tantrum from hell. A conversation with the boyfriend is cut off, and I can't stop crying.

And my brain. My fucking brain. It doesn't want to function the way it should. I've always been slightly scatter-brained, but when I have to add up the years in my head to figure out how old I am, there's something wrong.

I find it hard to be happy these days. I'm find around friends, laughing and having a good time. But in general, I'm...indifferent. My summer ended badly, and the fall was miserable. But usually when I'm not happy, I'm begging for the world around me to send something pleasant my way. But not lately. I'm indifferent. I could care less if I woke up tomorrow and found my cats had staked out the living room for their personal litter box and had eaten my hamsters. I would look at the mess around me, and walk out the door without another word. (I've done this once or twice after finding the hamster cage knocked onto the floor. No worries, I eventually came back to rescue the hamsters.) I just. Don't. Care.

Work is fine, but my scatter-brained ways are escalating, and it's secretly frustrating me. I would be caught up on my regular work if the additional duties weren't constantly interrupting. As the new unit fitness program manager, I'm stressed. I completely revamped the program, and no one seems to be happy about it. I'm not the only who can see the benefits of my new program. But everyone is looking for something to bitch about, and they've chosen to bitch about this. I'd feel so much better if I could just tell all the nay-sayers to fuck off and go to PT, but then I imagine DM having a stroke, so I manage to restrain myself. I guess I have taken too much responsibility on my shoulder. There is one other UFPM, and I think my monopolizing of the duties is frustrating him. I need to slow down, relax, and prioritize.

But at this exact moment, none of that is really bothering me. What bothers me is the interrupted conversation. This is so upsetting that there are no words to describe what I'm feeling right now. And as important or unimportant as the topic may have been, I'm sure it will now go the way of all our cut off discussions: nowhere. We talk about something important, one or both of us has to cut it short, we promise to continue the discussion later, and we NEVER continue it. Never, ever. And this makes me want to throw my brand new laptop across the room, which would no doubt cause more damage than just a permanently loose key on my keyboard. And would probably give my father a heart attack.

I can think of no immediate solutions to any of my problems. At least, none that would a) work, or b) be acceptable. And I think if anyone tried to give me advice right now, I'd punch them. No, I don't want to talk about it.

The one good thing today?? Mary gave me flowers. Well, fake flowers, but flowers nonetheless. I don't see anyone else giving flowers right now. I love tutoring.

Wooooooow.

Music video for dental patients.

Ever tried singing a song while your mouth was still numb from your dentist visit??

This guy did.

My sister makes fun of my midwestern accent.

My nose wrinkles in disgust. "Who farted?!"

Charlie, lying on his back, grins up at me. "It was me." The room fills with adult laughter.

And just now, looking at Sister's boyfriend, the China-man: "His hair is so long, if you put your finger in there you'd lose it."

Charlie and his fraternal twin, Eddie, are five years old. They're my second cousins. And absolutely adorable.

I'm on the east coast for my four-day weekend. I flew in last night at approximately eleven o' clock, and was swiftly whisked off to the home of my dad's cousin. It was his fiftieth birthday yesterday, and even though I was just with him and my mom and Sister last week for Christmas, I thought it would be fun to surprise him.

I arrived, and Sister ran to her car to get the cake out of the trunk. I walked into the house carrying it. In this area resides Dad's aunt, uncle, five cousins, and their spouses and offspring. More than half of them were at the house, and none of them were expecting me. I walked in carrying the cake, and saw surprised faces left and right. Dad was in the living room looking at the TV, and I said, "Happy Birthday, Dad."

He ignored me, not even turning his head. I raised and eyebrow and said, "Really??"

Finally he turned to me, and just looks at me for five seconds like I was just another person. Eventually it sunk in, and his eyes widened as he said, "How the hell did you pull this off?!"

I'm so awesome sometimes.

Today I went into the city with Mom, Dad, Sister, and China-man. (Before you get all offended on his behalf, you should know that when Sister first told me about him, her exact words were, "I got me a China-man!!") We went to Madame Tussaud's wax museum (for you stalkers, that narrows down my current location to five cities; have fun guessing) and had a blast there posing with the different figurines. We ate at a sandwich shop, let Dad and Sister run amok with their cameras for a few minutes, and then headed back to my great-aunt's house.

That's when the twins walked in. Dropped off by their mother, another of the five cousins, for the night, it was the first time I'd seen them in a few years. They were initially shy, not being familiar with myself and China-man, but he and I wore them down quick. The twins dragged me downstairs to play, and heard someone ask behind me, "Why do kids love Davi??" Mom answered, "Because she treats them as equals." Well, I do. I limit the baby talk to actual babies. Once they're walking and talking, I cut that shit out.

And so hear I sit, listening to Charlie ask if anyone pooped. "No, I did not." Eddie is following China-man around, and Charlie is curled up with Sister playing with my DS. It feels good to be in the area again.