Wednesday Morning QB

When in Rome...

It would appear that this year, I will be forced by geographic proximity to root for the San Diego Chargers in the playoffs. The thought itself makes me nauseous.

'Cassel' in the Sky:

Much to my dismay, Matt Cassel did not turn out to be the second coming of Tom Brady, try though he may. Truth be told, he didn't do a horrible job, but with an offensive line that was tailor made to fit Tom, he did the best he could. I'm wishin' and hopin' that Tom Brady is back on the field next year, however.

Leavin' on a Jet Plane:

Hahahahaha. Eric Mangini. Hahaha. Oooh. Hahaha. Hahahaha. Ha. Hum.

Leave It to the Pros:

The 2010 Pro Bowl will be moved to Miami and be played one week BEFORE the SuperBowl? Whaaaaaaaaat?

Rocky Mountain High?

After 14 seasons as head coach for the Broncos, Mike Shanahan was kicked to the curb after failing to make the playoffs for the third consecutive year. There is something seriously wrong with the Broncos' management, and I hope some amazing team team snatches him up quickly.

Cowboy Up:

Mike Shanahan should not have been fired. I think Wade Phillips, however, has some 'splainin to do.

Meanwhile...

I'll be in mourning until September.

Tweens Beware

It would seem that this guy feels the same way about The Curious Case of Benjamin Button as I do about LOST. Except, you know, I would only THINK about doing it, and not ACTUALLY do it. You know.

I'm Dreaming of a ... Playoff Run

Next week could be one of the only times that I will root for a New York team.

I don't pretend to understand the processes through which playoff runs are decided. All I know is that Miami and Baltimore have to lose in order to give my beloved Pats a chance at a few games in 2009. How that all came about, I don't know. I don't really understand how Miami and the NEP have the same record (10-5), (with the Jets at 9-6), and of the three, the Pats are the team that stands the most the lose. (Mattie, give me a hand here.)

Other things I don't understand (in no particular order):

1.) Why the making of a snow angel is grounds for a 15-yard penalty.
2.) Why, with a 41-0 lead in the third quarter, the starting QB was still in the game.
3.) Why the Good Lord saw fit and deprived MKO and me from our weekly does of Tedy.
4.) Why Brett Favre was named to the the Pro Bowl.

Answers from people more knowledgeable than I are most welcome. :)

Wedded Bliss

Excuse me whilst I barf. (As I'm repeatedly told by my husband, I'm so unromantic.)

Today is my and Ian's three year wedding anniversary. Thanks to the Marine Corps, we have spent this day together only once. (And that day was actually my due date, and we spent the evening at my company Christmas party, where I got to watch everyone else get drunk.) Yet in spite of all that, the past three years truly have been some of the best in my life. Recap? OK.

December 18, 2005 - The Newlyweds drive to NYC for their honeymoon in Bree's grandfather's Buick. They split the driving, but somehow, Bree ends up driving the last leg through the city. Screaming, wailing, gnashing of teeth, and threats of divorce ensue.

December 19, 2005 - Bree comes down with The Plague.

December 19-21, 2005 - More wailing and gnashing of teeth. But hey, if we were going to be stuck inside, at least it was a nice room (Renaissance Hotel in the middle of Times Square). Yeah, Marriott Discount!

December 21-24 - Did I mention that we were visiting NYC during the transit strike of 2005? This severely limited our excursions to those things within walking distance. We did share a cab with some interesting folks out to Ellis Island, however. We got to see some awesome shows (Rent, The Producers, I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change), went to see David Letterman, and took in the sights.

December 25, 2005 - Bree refuses to drive in the city again. Makes Ian drive first leg back to MA. Streets are obviously deserted, and this is the easiest drive EVER.

December 31, 2005 - The Newlyweds celebrate NYE with friends in Manchester. Little Purple Hands!

January 1, 2006 - Bree drives Ian to MHT airport to catch a flight back to to Pensacola. Ian, having been "overserved," didn't come to bed until about 1.5 hours before we were supposed to leave for the airport. As a result, he is sticking his head out of the car window on the way to the airport and hiccuping through the security line.

Mid-January 2006 - Bree packs up her U-Haul with all her wordly possesions, grabs a co-worker to drive it for her and makes her way to Wilmington, NC, where Ian will be stationed at MCAS New River. Ian and Bree ("Bree-an" from here on out) settle in to their new place, and go about their new lives together.

Mid-March, 2006 - Oops! Is that a plus sign?!

Mid-July, 2006 - Bree-an's lease comes up, and Ian is supposed to finish up training any day now. Bree-an moves into their friend Shaun's beach house.

August, 2006 - 5-months-pregnant Bree and Ian begin their drive West. Before they can leave the house, however, Bree leaves her cell phone locked in Shaun's hosue. The drive "West" goes something like this: North Carolina, Washington, D.C., Boston, Maine, Toronto, Ohio, Missouri, Amarillo, Flagstaff, San Diego. 4 days of searching yields an overpriced apartment in Del Mar.

December, 2006 - One year of wedded bliss. 32 hours of contractions, 3 hours of pushing and voila! Aaron Patrick Brown, in all his glory.

August, 2007 - Sick of the overpriced apartment in college-kid ridden hell, Bree-an and offspring move to an overpriced townhouse.

September, 2007 - East coasters invade and successfully surprise Ian on his birthday.

October, 2007 - Ian deploys for Iraq. One day later, Bree and Aaron evacuate their home from SoCal wildfires threatening San Diego.

December, 2007 - First anniversary solo. Aaron's first Christmas and birthday in New England.

May, 2008 - Ian returns from Iraq!

July, 2008 - Bree-an buys their first home together.

December, 2008 - Ian is away at a three-week training in Yuma, AZ, and Bree spends the second of three anniversaries solo.

So there you have it. Through all the ups and downs, however, we still have the best time. Ian makes me laugh more than anyone else I know (with the exception of those Peyton Manning MasterCard commercials), and there is no one I would rather wait for to come home. I'll always be waiting, and I'll never stop loving you, Ian. I love you. Happy Anniversary.

The Sounds of Freedom

By now, I'm sure you've seen the news about an F-18 jet that crashed into a residential neighborhood here in San Diego yesterday. (And for those of you who called me personally to confirm that all was well, thank you!) This event, while extremely unfortunate and not without consequence, does not, however, deserve the public's further scorn of military personnel in the area.

Reading some of the comments left on blogs and articles reporting on this tragedy quite honestly make me sick. I am sure that the pilot, who would have received an extensive amount of training before ever setting foot into that aircraft, did everything he could to protect not only his life, but also the lives of innocent civilians on the ground. When there are no functioning engines on an aircraft, there is no power to that aircraft. Without power, that F-18 was no more than a falling rock, and, try though he might to angle the trajectory of that rock into an uninhabited area, there is only so much he could have done.

The answer here is not to relocate Miramar, as so many have voiced their support for. Nor would it be prudent to convert Miramar into a commercial airport. (Because really, when a 757 crashes into your house, it's not going to be 4 lives that are lost, it's going to be about 400.) Pilots are not infallible human beings (though they sometimes like to think so), and paining this young man in a negative light is almost inhuman. I'm sure the knowledge that 4 people are dead as a result of his aircraft's malfunction is something that will weigh heavily on his mind and the minds of many for quite sometime. The pictures of him on his cell phone immediately following the crash are not reasons for his crucifixtion: no doubt, he was calling military emergency crews to the scene, not calling his drinking buddies with a "Duuuuude...." story. And the fact that the military currently has jurisdiction over the crash scene is not something that is being done to "cover up" what really happened. On the contrary: this was a MILITARY exercise conducted by a MILITARY pilot that went unspeakably wrong. And it will be the MILITARY that finds out what exactly that was. So back off.

And, P.S. San Diego, should you be successful in your push to relocate Miramar, don't you dare open your mouth to complain when those helicopters with their ability to dump thousands upon thosands gallons of water on your burning county in the middle of fire season are hundreds of miles away.

Tagged

My friend Lois tagged me, and now it is my turn to list 7 random things about myself:

1) I silently count stairs as I walk up and/or down them. I think I may have fallen down the stairs or something as a child, but for as long as I can remember, I have counted stairs. If I know how many stairs there are, I won't be in danger of missing one. 

2) I memorize license plate numbers. When I was growing up in Georgia, the plates there had 3 numbers followed by 3 letters separated by a space. Since many of my friends had similar cars, I could tell whose car was whose by the plate number. Plates in CA are a bit different, usually one number, followed by 3 letters, and 3 more numbers, with no spaces in between. 

3) I silently correct the grammar of anyone to whom I speak. You'll know we are true friends if I correct your grammar out loud. 

4) I cannot stand to have unpainted toenails. Even if it's clear, I must have toenail polish on in order to function. I have had some sort of toenail polish on my toes for at least the past nine years. 

5) I have a very specific way of eating a cupcake. I usually lick off most of the frosting until there is just a little bit left. Then, I remove the bottom half of the cupcake and put it on the top half, and eat it like a sandwich. 

6) I have a freckle in my eye. In it. On the very bottom of my iris of my left eye, there is a little dark spot. In college, I knew someone with two different colored eyes, so I felt slightly better about my eye weirdness once I met her.

7) Until Ian brought home his X-Box from Iraq, I had never owned a video game console in my life. Prior to playing Guitar Hero, the only video game I had ever played was Frogger, and that little bastard never once made it across the street.

Now, I TAG: Meghan, Andrew, Ian, and Steph. 

Saturday at the Movies...

I think I spent more time watching movies today than I have in the past month. Ian granted me a reprieve this afternoon, and I caught a matinee by myself. (Note: By Myself = awesome. I'm not one of those people who has a complex about seeing movies alone. In fact, sometimes, I rather enjoy it.) So I headed downtown (downtown Escondido, which is far less interesting than downtown SD) and saw Changeling, starring Angelina Jolie. I had been wanting to see this movie for awhile, but could never convince Ian that he wanted to see it, too. Finally, I stopped trying to convince him. Anyway, the movie was good, but it was long. I kept expecting it to end, but it just kept going. Parts of it were pretty disturbing, too. The basic premise (SPOILERS ahead, be ye warned) is that Ange, a single mom in the late 1920s, goes into work her shift, comes home and her son has disappeared. She reports him missing to the corrupt LAPD, who eventually return a boy to her whom they claim is her son. She knows that the boy is NOT her son, says so, and then the LAPD calls her crazy and shuts her up in a mental institution. She eventually gets out, goes public with her story, frees all the other inmates who have been committed by the police, and testifies against the Captain who was handling her case. At the end: no son. Long movie, and no happy ending. Lois would have been so pissed.

And speaking of Loie, that wonderful gal let me invite myself over to her place this evening to blow off some steam. We drank so margaritas and rented Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Now, this movie was something I had wanted to see, but figured it would be one of those flicks that I added to my Netflix queue instead of shelling out $10+ to see it in the theatre. And, truth be told, while everyone else is busy killing themselves laughig over Judd Apatow's movies, I, to this point, have been rather unimpressed: The 40-Year Old Virgin? Eh. Knocked Up? Not so much. The one (obvious) exception to this, however, is Anchorman. But I digress. Forgetting Sarah Marshall was really pretty good. There are a lot of good jokes, and although I did see waaaaay too much of Jason Segel's penis to be able to sleep peaceably ever again, it was, overall, a pretty good movie. And, from me, that is a glowing recommendation. 

Boring

It's becoming more and more obvious recently that Ian and I are not being invited to certain social events within a particular group. And, other than getting a little butt-hurt over the whole thing, and not having much to contribute to conversations on the off chance that I AM invited to such shindigs, I'm pretty ok with it. I may only be 25 years old, but my partying and bar-hopping days are long gone. Truth be told, I didn't particularly enjoy it even when I could just go out night after night with no familial obligations. I don't like going to crowded places where you have to pay just to get in the door, where drinks cost as much as the cover, and where you have to yell to the person standing right next to you while migraine-inducing bad music streams from speakers placed right next to your ear. This is assuming that you're not still circling the block looking for a parking spot before you ultimately surrender and cough up the $20 to park in a poorly lit lot no less than a mile from the bar which you plan on attending. Maybe it's just me, but that's just not appealing anymore. Even a couple of glasses of wine with dinner now result in a headache and a fistful of Advil in the morning.

And, when all is said and done, who can really afford that? Congratulations if you you can blow that much money weekend after weekend, but I know many of those people also stay at home with their kids, just like I do. (For now. In other news, I GOT A JOB! But that isn't the point of this post.) I have a mortgage, student loans, car payments, bills, bills, bills, a two year old who is growing out of his clothes before I can buy them, and more bills on top of that. 

So yes, I am out of the loop. I'm not cool, I don't like to party. I'm a nerd. I am boring. But when all is said and done, I'd rather sit at home and play trucks with my kid. I'd rather sit on the couch with my husband and laugh. I'd rather make dinner for my family and splash with my son in the tub. 

Thankfully, I have a wonderful, close-knit group of friends who feel the same way. While we do occasionally enjoy an evening out downtown, these nights are usually planned well in advance and executed with the logistical equivalent of a SWAT team. However, these nights are few and far between, and you are much more likely to find us sitting around one of our living rooms with a couple of bottles of wine, good conversation, and many, many laughs. We sometimes get a little crazy and play some Cranium.

Crying with Jealousy

Oh, how I hate Meghan....

President Elect

There is nothing more obnoxious to me than people who, once their candidate has lost, "threaten" to move out of the country. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out, people: America is a democracy, and the fact that you even have the right to choose your president puts you above so many other people in the world. America's citizens voted, and if your choice was in the minority, too bad. You have a duty to support the President Elect of the United States, and if you are too narrow minded and closed off from reality to realize this duty, then please, by all means, LEAVE the country. I will help you pack.

Sassy

Sarah Palin may have just earned my vote...

Hyperbole

"Joe Biden exaggerates so much, he lives on a completely different planet."

~My GOP-faithful husband, said with no discernible trace of irony

Adventures in Babysitting

This morning was an interesting one for me. Two days a week, for sanity-saving purposes, I take Aaron to daycare. Those treasured Tuesdays and Thursdays allow me time to job search, go on interviews, get some stuff done around the house, and, like today, go get my hair cut. I wake up on Tuesdays and Thursdays a happy person, because I know that I won't be losing my temper on an hourly basis, fighting the stubborn will of an almost-two-year-old all day long. I don't think I'm a bad mother for those two days, because I think it provides me a breath of fresh air, since it seems that my son inherited his stubbornness, short temper, and hardheadedness from his mama. And when you put the two of us together for an extended period of time, tempers flare and he usually wins. 

So you can imagine that this Thursday morning (sidenote: yay Thursday! Tonight The Office and Grey's Anatomy come back!!) I was pretty much happy go lucky. Until I walked into Aaron's room to wake him up and get him dressed. HE WASN'T THERE. Um, ok, so the gate in the hallway was up, so there were limited places he could be. Guest room? Nope. Bathroom? Nope. Did he manage to sneak into our bedroom whilst I was performing -- er, morning duties? Nope, not there either. OK, he can't climb over the gate, so what's going on? I call out his name -- no babbling response. I start to panic. But before paranoia sets in, i walk back into his room. Why is that blanket in the corner? Ah ha. There he is, sleeping soundly on the floor tucked in the corner of his room, fully hidden from view underneath the blanket. 

I get him dressed, get his shoes on, and tell him we're going bye bye. (He waves at me.) Ok, let's go. Where are Mama's car keys? .... hmm, where are Mama's car keys? 

"Aaron? Keys?"

"teeeeeeees."

"Aaron, where are Mama's car keys? You know, KEYS? For the car? Car goes beep beep."

"Buh-beep."

"Yes, good job. Beep beep. Where are Mama's car keys?"

"Teeeeeeeees."

Getting nowhere fast, I scour the house for the keys, looking in all the usual places: in the sofa cushions, behind the loveseat, in the broiler (yes, that is a "usual spot."), behind the TV. Nothing. 

After a full thirty minutes of searching EVERYWHERE, (it's a small house, and there aren't that many hiding places!) I'm starting to fear a full day at home alone with child and no way to leave. The thought is petrifying. So I intensify my search. OK, think like a toddler. Nothing too high, so the keys are definitely below my waist. What did we do yesterday? We ran around the living room. Under the coffee table... no. On the bookshelves? No. Double check the couch cushions and behind the loveseat. No. Windowsill? No. Ok, what else did we do? Pulled out more toys from the toy box. The toy box. YES. The sight of that SAC keychain almost makes me cry. Hurry up, kid, you're off to daycare, and Mama's on her way to sanity. 

A Word

I'm sitting on my couch, watching the Emmy Awards (sidenote: to get to this page, I had to open my internet brower, where my homepage ruined any surprise that I may have had at the conclusion of this show. But that's another rant...) and I just have to say that I am getting more and more annoyed with celebrities who think that they are in any way qualified to tell me that their political views and opinions are valued simply because of their profession. Here's a newsflash, folks, you are ACTORS. I watch you for entertainment purposes ONLY. If I wanted to hear what you had to say regarding the current administration, or your views on the respective candidates, I would require that you have more credibility and the ability to do more than pretend to be someone you're not. Because, let's face it, that's what you're paid to do. Entertain me. And don't for a second think that you will influence my vote. I can think for myself, thank you very much. 

My Friend Meghan

I've been holding off on this post, because I wanted to be able to tell you all about my new job, why I left my old job, and all sorts of other new and exciting things, but since I don't HAVE a new job, and things are more or less the same, that blog has yet to materialize. However, since my lack of blogging seemingly has caused other undue distress, I have decided to make this blog entry about My Friend Meghan.

We often refer to Meghan as MKO. Before she married Andrew (more on that later), her last name was O'Brien. Her middle name begins with a "K." And while I know what her middle name is, I'm not positive she likes having it advertised. So hence, MKO. So if you ever see me refer to an "MKO," it's very likely that I'm not talking about one of the Olsen twins.

Meghan married Andrew (and for those of you who like to combine names, a la Brangelina, Bennifer, and the like, these two are dubbed "Meghandrew." Please don't forget the "h," as Meghan will kill you. Kill you dead.), and Andrew was Ian's college roommate for four years. They have a man love that Meghan and I will never nor ever want to understand. Whenever they're together, it's like Meghan and I are not even in the room. And occasionally, we're ok with that. Other times, such as in 2001-02, we form clubs, such as WACS. (Women Against Counter Strike).  Whenever I see this video, I often think of Ian and his BFF Andrew. (Though it is also quite funny of it's own accord.) 

Meghan is a Liability Adjuster at The Hanover Insurance Group. Or so it says on her LinkedIn profile. I think that means that she decides whose fault it is.  You'd have to ask her to find out for sure, though.

Meghan's favorite TV show is Gilmore Girls, and I think she was seriously depressed when the show went off the air. 

Meghan and I wore the same dress to the senior formal, and as a result, we refused to be photographed standing next to each other:

Meghan's wedding had golf carts, and my husband, an attendant in the wedding party STILL talks about how cool that was, and how we should have had golf carts at our wedding. Then I remind him that we got married in DECEMBER, and the Meghandrew nuptials were in JUNE. 

This is a picture of Meghan and I when she and some of our other friends came out to San Diego last year to surprise Ian on his birthday. Meghandrew TOLD me they were going to come out to San Diego again this year, but then they went to D.C. I'm still not sure the hurt has fully healed for either Ian or myself, but Meghan assures me that, when I least expect it, she will be sitting on my couch waiting to be entertained. I LEAST EXPECT IT EVERY DAY, MEGHAN!

Meghan and I are both HUGE Patriots fans. When Ian and I move back to New England, we are going to go to a lot of games together. I haven't yet told her about my plan to go in 50/50 on season tickets when that happens, but I think she'll find out about it soon enough...

 

So that's My Friend Meghan. And since I rather enjoyed writing that post, I might make it a feature, and tell you all about my other friends, too.

Pompous Caboodle-Hole

(Title derived from a funny Scrubs episode.)

I will tend to do exactly the opposite of whatever Michael Moore proposes. If he told me to go to the bathroom, I would hold it. This would have been a good idea had Mr. Moore not suggested it. And here he goes again with thinking that he's God's gift to politics, this time promoting nation-wide illiteracy.  Please, Mr. Moore, don't tell me how to spend my time, otherwise, it just might be spent thinking of different ways to call you an arrogant SOB. 

In other news, I'll soon be posting in exquisite detail just what, exactly, I've been up to recently. I know you're on the edge of your seat, squirm-ily dancing in anticipation. 

The Big One

Yesterday was an interesting day for me. As I sat in my cubicle around 11:45, thinking about lunch while exchanging phone calls with our escrow officer as we desperately tried to close on our house, I got a little dizzy and started swaying.

Or so I thought.

After a few seconds, I realized that I wasn’t the only thing swaying. So was my computer, and the walls of my cube, and the plants all around the office. I heard a co-worker exclaim as though she were on a roller coaster; someone else yelled out “Earthquake!” Then, the swaying stopped and the shaking started.

Now, I’m a die-hard east coaster. Give me a nor’easter or a blizzard or a tornado or a hurricane any day of the week. I’ve lived through those, and I know what to do when they occur. And although the first time wasn’t necessarily a charm, I’m now a bit more educated in the wildfire scenario as well. Earthquakes, however, a bit new and mostly an unwelcome experience for me.

When things started shaking, and the walls began moving back and forth, the voices on my floor elevated. This wasn’t a typical earthquake—something you usually classify as momentary dizziness and dismiss before looking at your neighbor, who seems to have come down with the same case of dizziness simultaneously, before you’re both like, “oh, wait, what? Was that an earthquake?”—no, this time there was no questions. I stood up (why? I don’t know. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? No? Oh well.) and looked around, watching a few of my more experienced coworkers run for doorways or hit the floor. It eventually went through my head that I probably didn’t want to be standing right then, and I kneeled under my desk for the next terrifying 15 seconds or so.

When it stopped, things were still a bit shaky. It was like I’d just been on a boat for hours and stepped onto land—that woozy, discombobulating feeling. While my coworkers shared their various clichés, (“That was a doozy!” “ Holy cow!” and the like) I jumped onto my computer and Googled “recent earthquakes.” Within seconds, I was able to inform them that it was a 5.8 (which would later be downgraded to a 5.4) magnitude quake that hit Chino Hills. (Which sparked another debate as to the location of Chino – wasn’t that in NorCal? You know, up by Stockton? No, that’s Chico—Chino is outside of L.A.)

Thankfully, as The Governator later reminded us, L.A. came out rather lucky. CNN also reports that “The Big One” is still to come – that within the next 30 years, there’s a 99% chance that California will experience an earthquake of 6.7 magnitude or greater. (Good thing we just signed a 30-year loan! Hello, irony.) Hopefully by then, I’ll be shoveling my way out of my driveway in New England.

The Light At the End of the Tunnel...

My time has come, people. Today, I put in my two weeks' notice at my job. After almost thirteen months, I just got tired of being told to hurry up and wait for an opportunity to arise. Now, I will actively seeking opportunities myself, and not waiting for them to come to me. So, if you have any friends and/or contacts in the San Diego area looking for writers/editors/proofreaders, please think of me. You will receive a shout out on this world-famous blog.

Don't Believe the Hype

Don't panic. If you haven't yet seen The Dark Knight, it's going to be ok. It can wait.

Now, I'm not saying the movie wasn't good. It was. But, with all the hype and excitement surrounding the release, I had great expectations. Was the movie thought-provoking and intriguing? Yes. Heath Ledger's performance was admirable, yes, but in my opinion, hardly worth all this posthumous Oscar win buzz.

Overall, it was a good movie, and an unexpected and enjoyable night out, but I'm now much more excited to see Mamma Mia! (with my own Mamma!)

We Are ... Blubbering Fools

A few months ago, I signed up for the most basic Netflix package there was. Recently, my queue included We Are Marshall, starring Matthew McConaghey and Matthew Fox. To me, there could be absolutely nothing better than a movie about football with Matthew Fox in it. But then I sat down to watch it.

Within minutes, I was sobbing uncontrollably. I was also watching this movie with This Guy I Know, to Whom I May or May Not Be Married. He, too, was more than a little misty-eyed. Now, I have, in the past, been accused of being cold-hearted... well... ok, a bitch. While my four other girlfriends were sobbing their faces off during P.S. I Love You, it took every ounce of my self-control not to throw my head back and groan at the sheer sappiness and utter predictability of it all. Obviously, I have no heart. So, clearly, We Are Marshall can even tug at the heartstrings of an unfeeling wench.

Next up on our queue is Blades of Glory... I'm pretty sure no tears will be shed over that one. However, Saint Lois has agreed to babysit (a.k.a. "wrangle") for us tonight, so we're heading out to see The Dark Knight, and, from what I've heard, Heath Ledger's performance just actually might make one reach for the hankies. I'll keep you updated on that one.

Coming Soon to a Bedroom Near You...

(get your mind out of the gutter, people.)

... A Toddler Bed. Yes, that's right. This morning, I awoke to a loud thump, followed by the sounds of my child's screams. Fear not, everything and everyone are fine; I think Aaron was more scared by what had happened than he was hurt. Nontheless, we have lowered the mattress in his crib to the lowest possible setting, but given Aaron's recent tendency to climb everything (including into his high chair, on to the kitchen counter, up onto his changing table, and into our bed), I am under no illusions that soon, he will be the proud occupant of a Toddler Bed. Yes, apparently my son has monkey genes. 

Excuse Me, Where Could I Find An 'I Love Your New Hair Color!' Card?

I recently went into a Hallmark store in search of a meaningful parting gift for the outgoing COW (a rather misleading acronym referring to the spouse of the squadron's commanding officer). While I was there, I was rather astonished to behold the sheer number of "category" cards present. No matter the situation, be it a loved one's "coming out," the abandonment of one's dream, or even being overlooked for a professional promotion (I think I have many of those cards lost somewhere in the mail), Hallmark has just the card for you. So next time you wish to send your heartfelt congratulations to a friend who was just selected for a reality TV show, swing into your local Hallmark to pick up a card that says just that.

Lazy Saturdays...

DISCLAIMER: Apparently, I posted this blog on the wrong website. For those of you who read my LOST blog, you were probably a bit confused. This blog should have been posted here, on Saturday, June 28.

I love Saturdays like these. 3.5 hour naps, big breakfasts, and cheesy Lifetime movies. I'm telling ya, ya can't beat it. (Well, Sundays during football season give lazy summer Saturdays a run for their money.)

Still not much going on in the Browns' life. We're in escrow until the end of the month, then, for the 4th time in 2.5 years, we'll be moving. Yay military life. (Though granted, the last two moves have been inter-city, and more or less our own choice than that of the military.)

Ian and I enjoyed our monthly Parents' Night Out last night. After mandatory fun at a squadron hail-and-farewell, a military tradition of welcoming the newbies and bidding adieu to those moving on in their military careers, we headed to the movies to catch Get Smart, the new movie starring Steve Carell and Anne Hathaway. Some discussion had been made as to whether to see this movie or the new James MacAvoy/Angelina Jolie action flick, Wanted. Though I'm a HUGE JMac fan (Becoming Jane? LOVED IT. Atonement? Cue heavenly angels' chorus!), I wasn't at all disappointed by Get Smart - the humor was there, the dialogue was witty, and the twist was pretty good, too. Still, I am more than willing to entertain offers of babysitting in order to go see Wanted. :)

I'm A Horrible Blogger...

...but in my defense, there's not been much happening in the Brown household as of late. Oh, except for the fact that the Brown household will be relocating (yes, AGAIN, and NO, you don't have to help us move!) come August. Over the course of a head-spinning EIGHT days, we met our realtors for the first time, applied and got approved for a loan, viewed two properties, put in an offer on one of them, flew across the country (where the local Kinko's workers came to know us quite well from our prolific use of their fax machine), and finally ended up with our dream house. OK, so maybe it's not our DREAM house, but for our first time around the block, you gotta admit, it ain't that bad:

And I will try to be a better blogger. Cross my heart. 

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted...

Currently coming to you live from Boston, where it is cold and rainy and I LOVE IT. The Celtics won game 1, and hubby and I are in the throes of offers and counter offers and counter counter offers. Yes, we're well on our way to becoming homebuyers, and all that that entails. Ooh rah. 

Hahahaha

Maybe only an English major like myself can appreciate the utter hilarity I found in the following:

"Haikus are easy

But often don't make much sense

Refrigerator."

:P

Military Spouse Appreciation Day!

To all my sisters out there, Happy Military Spouse Appreciation Day! The following has been circulating around the MySpace bulletin board this morning, but (with a few edits for grammatical errors!!) I thought it was worth reposting. 

Here's to you, the one who waits, no matter the distance, no matter the time.

Here's to you, the one who fights your own battle at home, between the tears and sleepless nights. 

Here's to you, the one who will never give up, even when everything around you seems to be falling down.

And here's to you, because while people may think they know how tough it is to be a hero, no one but us will ever know how tough it is to love one... 

Semper Fi, ladies! :)

Blog It Out...

Yesterday was a very dark day in my life. As I am wont to do, I let my gas tank get down to the point where I would have been That Crying Girl on the side of the road who pushed her car to the limit and lost if I didn't stop for gas ASAP. So stop I did, and that is where it begins to get all fuzzy.

The Chevron I pulled into was selling regular unleaded gasoline at $3.99 a gallon. As I threw up in my mouth at the thought of having no choice but to fill my tank with most of my day's earnings, it occurred to me that I was also lacking milk at home to give to my son with his dinner. So I swiped my card, filling my tank, and headed inside to pick up the moo juice.  I found the whole milk my son requires and stopped. And STARED. The price tag below the gallon indicating the price was typed in Bold. $5.99. I took it to the counter and once again swiped my card. And then I died on the inside. 

After I pulled out of the lot, I called someone who I felt would also feel my hurt on this particular subject, given his propensity for outrage at paying $3.30 at the pump. After we discussed (in no particular order) juice, UTIs, Democrats, and the superiority of the East Coast over the West, we got down to the heart of the matter, and after I cried and gnashed my teeth, Andrew suggested I Blog It Out. So, though you may or may not share my pain at the pump, your sentiments of outrage, shock, despair, and/or disgust would certainly be appreciated.  

The Lawnmower Man

To: The Anonymous Lawnmower Man

From: Bree

Re: My Lawn

On April 23, 2008, someone mowed my lawn. And weeded. And edged. And pruned. And cleared out that nasty area around the palms. And I don't know who it was.

My first guess was that it was the handiwork of my super fabulous next-door neighbors, since, on several occasions, Lt. Col. Mike and the girls have been out there weeding, etc. But, when I thanked Ralita, she knew nothing of it. Yesterday, she confirmed that no, neither Lt. Col. Mike nor her father had done my lawn, but that her father had mentioned seeing "some guy" out there working. 

So, to you, "some guy," thank you. I know my botanical upkeep has slipped since Ian has been gone, but hey, it was winter, and it was ok. But now that it's warm again, and since I got that letter from the HOA telling me that my yard was "unacceptable" (but that's another angry story for another day wherein I tell the HOA to PISS OFF) I have felt slightly bad that I lack the ability to keep anything green alive. At least the inside of my house (when it's clean) looks substantially better than when Ian left! I feel slightly victorious about that.

So anyway, thank you again, Anonymous Lawnmower. That was very nice of you, and if you come forward and reveal your identity, you will receive an award.

Most Sincerely,

BriBro

Dear Pennsylvania...

I don't like you very much right now, as it seems all you are doing is prolonging an already exhausting election process. At least a win for Obama would have (mostly) solidified the Democratic nomination in his favor. At this point, my bigger issue is that neither candidate can seem to close the deal, and that doesn't leave me very confident that Democrats have their s**t together in the first place. Maybe the Dems need another four years to get their ducks in a row?

Assimilation

While I in no way consider myself a Californian, there are a few things of which I have recently become aware, that frighten me to no end. (Most notably, the fact that as temperatures dipped into the low 60s and the day was overcast, I thought to myself that "it's a bit chilly today.") I like lists, so we'll do it that way:

• The word "dude." While it's always been a part of my vocabulary, it has never had such a prominence in my vernacular until living in SoCal. Everyone is a dude. Duuuuude.
• "The" is, apparently, a requirement in preceding any highway. Directions to my house include: Take the 5 north to the 56 and head east. Take the 15 south to the Mercy Road exit. Also of note: never before,  in all my travels on the east coast, would I have made it to a destination relying on cardinal directions. Here, it's pretty much a given, but I constantly mentally think, "Never Eat Sour Worms."
• Flip-flops. All. The. Time. 
• Bicyclists. Man, do they effin' annoy me. But, when gas is at $3.60 a gallon for the cheap stuff, I can't say I blame 'em.  

Now, don't get me wrong, there are still puhhhhlenty of things about the left coast that still really piss me off. Numero Uno: It's called sarcasm, people. I don't actually mean it. Numero Dos: No Dunkin' Donuts. Numero Tres: Fires = NOT COOL. Give me a Nor'Easter any day of the week. Numero Next One: No Dunkin' Donuts. Numero Next One: Celebrities everywhere who actually think I give a shit about what they say, especially in regard to politics. And, lastly, there's no Dunkin' Donuts. 

But, I think, when it comes down to it, when we do eventually meander back to the east coast, there are a few things I will definitely miss.... ok, really, only one thing is coming to mind: mexican food. I do love me my cadillac margaritas!

40 Days and 40 Nights

Now that Easter has come and gone, and Lent has gone with it (and yes, I managed the WHOLE 40 days without celebrity gossip, and I feel like I'm a much better person for it... I will, however, be getting the scoop from Perez here momentarily, thankyouverymuch), my son and I will be embarking upon another 40 day stretch. Except this time, at the end of 40 days and 40 nights, our family will be whole once again.

I still have a punch list I'd like to finish up before Ian gets home, but I'm pretty happy with what I've already accomplished while he's been over there. I'm pretty proud of myself, too, for being able to handle everything that has been thrown my way. (Albeit, with less grace than I would have hoped for, but hey, I can't split hairs like that.) I never thought that I wouldn't be able to handle everything, but I'm surprised that I haven't had more meltdowns. And, aside from a bump here and a bruise there, Aaron is none the worse for wear, either. I know I should hardly expect a gold medal or a mother-of-the-year award, but I know I've done the best I can with what I have. I am, however, looking very forward to a nice, long vacation that involves a lot of sleeping and massages.

I realize that I'm rambling, and that this post is probably one of my least prolific and verbose, but it is, after all, Monday morning. Give me a break.

It (Updated)

I suppose the time has come for us to talk about It. But, it must be said, we really don't want to. This was a conversation I had with my hairdresser recently:

Sia: "Blah, blah, blah, blah..."
Me: "Uh huh."
Sia: "Blah, blah blah, blah bah."
Me: "Oh yeah?"
Sia: "OH! And I haven't seen you since It happened!"
Me: (pregnant pause... just because I like that phrase. It has nothing to do with me being pregnant. Because I'm not. That would be awkward, and I would have to do some serious explaining to Ian. In retrospect, this explanation wasn't worth the fun expression...) "Sia! I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!"
Sia: "Oh, neither do I, trust me, honey. Worst night of my life. But I love that you know what I'm talking about."

That's right. My very Greek hairdresser and I, we're Patriots fans. And in a city like San Diego, once you utter those words, you are either met with laughs and jeers, or outright hatred. Here in the Whale's Vagina, sympathy, empathy, or simply someone who won't spit at your face is hard to come by. So we, the few but faithful, have to stick together, and we have managed to do that by honoring our silent agreement to just not talk about It. Since that fateful night in February, we've just sat here, our heads in our hands, wondering just where it all went wrong. We've only dared to peek through the slits in our fingers to see if Moss would ever get the ink in his pen working, and now that it is certain that 12 + 81 = 6 will return for another season, we can begin to assess the damage.

Sometimes, it feels like we're just emerging into the sunlight after a huge storm that swept everything away. We've lost a lot; our house is destroyed, and we lost some of our family members (i.e., Samuel, Stallworth, and Gay). There was so much hype, this was going to be the year. From week 4, all anyone could talk about was the Pursuit of Perfection, yet our boys kept their game faces on, week after week, chanting their mantra, "One game at a time." Bill "I'm a Football God" Belichick fed them regular doses of Humble Pie, and by the time Week 16 rolled around (in what would be a chilling precursor to The Night Which Will Live in Infamy), we were ready to make history. Which we did. Sorta. Not that that is what will be remembered this season. What will be remembered? SpyGate, the Perfect Collapse, and how much it hurt when we had to swallow that jagged little pill and admit that almost doesn't count.

Some people have laughed at us, looked at us right in the face, and said, "Cheaters never prosper," "What goes around comes around," and other cliche-ridden sentiments that can hardly capture our disappointment. What these people fail to realize however, that no matter what they say, or what comes out about our team (no matter how scandalous) that the Patriots will always be Our Team. We can no less cheer for the Chargers (unless, of course, they happen to be playing the Colts) than we can go a day without breathing. Through the good times (now) and the bad times (every year prior to 2001), the Pats will be our team. So go on and hate, because nothing you say will change that loyalty. Which (must get in a subtle dig here) is more than we can say for you, San Diego, and your fairweather fans who chant "Mar-ty, Mar-ty, Mar-ty" 3 games into a regular season. 

Now, all this might seem melodramatic and over the top, but when you're as emotionally invested in a season as Patriots fans were this season, it's bound to be a crushing blow. For those of us who actually have to work at it in order to even see the games, it's especially hard. We can't wake up, go to church, head to brunch, chat with friends and then come back home to settle in for a night of football. We actually have to get up, and find a place where 1) the game will actually be broadcast and 2) a place where it's well lit or 2a) there are other Pats fans in attendance. This year, after fighting and ultimately losing my battle (and subsequently, my Sunday Ticket) with DirecTV, it was more difficult for me to get out and see the games, especially once the single mother thing kicked in. So yeah, I was emotionally invested. And yeah, I did cry when It happened. 

But I'm over it. And though August is a long ways off, I'm more confident than ever that our boys will be back next year in top form. So watch out, 'cause here come the Pats! :)

The Best $10 I Ever Spent (This Weekend)

One of the best birthday gifts I ever received came from an ex-boyfriend. (Sorry, Ian! You showing up unexpectedly in Manch was top-notch, however.) For my 19th birthday, this guy took me to see the Goo Goo Dolls at The Tabernacle in Atlanta. For those of you unfamiliar with the venue, The Tabernacle was formerly an old church, hence the name, and is a smaller space, so to go to a show there means that you are within striking distance of whomever is performing.

Prior to the show, I had obviously heard of the Goo Goo Dolls and could even sing a few of their songs. After seeing that show, though, I was hooked and they became My Most Favoritest Band. I immediately had their album Gutterflower downloaded, and also picked up Let Love In when it became available. This weekend, while pushing a screaming child through the aisles of Target, my eye caught sight of this:

On sale. For $9.99. Love it.

Trying

Well, we are right about there with only 2 months to go in this deployment. And, try as hard as I might not to, I'm getting really excited. It's not that I don't want to be excited, it's just that there are still 2 months -- 8 weeks -- left to go, and I should focus on getting through those rather than think ahead. All this is made more difficult by small things that keep my mind unfocused. For example, receiving an email from my KV regarding the Return and Reunion Brief scheduled for March 29. All the talk of the relief squadron's advance party making preparations to leave. People asking me whether or not I'm excited. (Duh.) In short, as long as I can make my mind think about the fact that there's still 8 weeks to go, and a lot can happen during that time, and not focus on that number of days left getting smaller and smaller, I think I'll be ok. 

And on a similar note, here is something that I have discussed in the past with my fellow military wife, Jaime, whose husband returned from Iraq in March 2007. PLEASE don't ask us if we're excited. I mean, honestly, I truly love it that you care, and I have really appreciated all your support during this deployment, but the answer to that question should be overly obvious. In fact, so obvious that I think I might change my answer from "Yes, really excited," to "You know, I hadn't thought about it. But I guess it will be a little awkward when I have to kick my boyfriend out of the house." You know, just to see how you'll react.

That made me think of this: Things You Should Never Say to a Military Wife. Learn it, live it, love it. (Courtesy of Lois)

THINGS NEVER TO SAY TO A MILITARY WIFE!!!

 
Things Never to say to a Military Wife...Especially those whose loved ones are deployed...

1. "Aren't you afraid that he'll be killed?"
(This one ranks in at number one on the "duh" list. Of course we're afraid. We're terrified. The thought always lingers at the backs of our minds ---but thanks, you just brought it back to the front. Maybe next you can go ask someone with cancer if they're scared of dying.)

2. "I don't know how you manage. I don't think I could do it."
(This is intended to be a compliment. Though, its just a little annoying. Here's why: it's not like all of us military wives have been dreaming since childhood of the day we'd get to be anxious single moms who carry cell phones with us to the bathroom and in the shower. We're not made of some mysterious matter that makes us more capable, we just got asked to take on a challenging job. So we rose to the challenge and found the strength to make sacrifices.)

3. "At least he's not in Iraq."
(This is the number one most annoying comment for those whose husbands are in Afghanistan. What do they think is happening in Afghanistan? An international game of golf? Guys are fighting and dying over there. And Africa is no better either…where do you think the bad guys are hiding out?!)

4. "Do you think he'll get to come home for Christmas/anniversary/birthday/birth of a child/wedding/family reunion, etc?"
(Don't you watch the news? No! They don't get to come home for any of these things. Please don't ask again.)

5. "What are you going to do to keep yourself busy while he's gone?"
(Short answer: Try to keep my sanity. Maybe there's a military wife out there who gets bored when her husband leaves, but I have yet to meet her. For the rest of us, those with and without children, we find ourselves having to be two people. That keeps us plenty busy. We do get lonely, but we don't get bored, and drinking massive amounts of alcohol can occasionally help!!!)

6. "How much longer does he have until he can get out?"
(This one is annoying to many of us whether our husbands are deployed or not. Many of our husbands aren't counting down the days until they "can" get out. Many of them keep signing back up again and again because they actually love what they do or they VOLUNTEER AGAIN and AGAIN to go back to Iraq b/c there is work that needs to be done.)

7. "This deployment shouldn't be so bad, now that you're used to it."
(Sure, we do learn coping skills and its true the more deployments you've gone through, the easier dealing with it becomes. And we figure out ways to make life go smoother while the guys are gone. But it never gets "easy" and the bullets and bombs don't skip over our guys just because they've been there before. The worry never goes away.)

8. "My husband had to go to Europe for business once for three weeks. I totally know what you're going through."
(This one is similar to number two. Do not equate your husband's three week trip to London/Omaha/Tokyo/etc. with a 12-15 month or more deployment to a war zone. Aside from the obvious time difference, nobody shot at your husband or tried to blow him up with an I.E.D., your husband could call home pretty much any time he wanted to, he flew comfortably on a commercial plane, slept between crisp white sheets and ate well, paying for everything with an expense account. There is no comparison. We do not feel bonded to you in the slightest because of this comment and, if anything, we probably resent you a bit for it. Comparing a 12 month combat deployment to a few weeks business trip is like comparing a crappy ford taurus with mercedes convertible.) (... I recently had a co-worker admire me, since when her husband left FOR FOUR DAYS, she almost went crazy.)

9. "Wow you must miss him?"
(This one also gets another big "duh". Of course we miss our men. There are some wives who do not and they're now divorced.)

10. "Where is he exactly? Where is that?"
(I don't expect non-military folks to be able to find Anbar Province on a map, but they should know by now that it's in Iraq. Likewise, know that Kabul and Kandahar are in Afghanistan. Know that Muqtada al Sadr is the insurgent leader of the Mahdi Army in Iraq and that Sadr City is his home area. Know that Iran is a major threat to our country and that it is located between Afghanistan and Iraq. Our country has been at war in Afghanistan for seven years and at war in 
Iraq for five years. These basic facts are not secrets, they're on the news every night and in the papers every day ---and on maps everywhere.)

11. "Well, he signed up for it, so it's his own fault whatever happens over there."
(Yes, he did sign up. Each and every day he protects your right to make stupid comments like that. He didn't sign up and ask to be hit by anything, he signed up to protect his country. Oh, and by the way, he asked me to tell you that "You're welcome." He's still fighting for your freedom.)

12. "Don't you miss sex! I couldn't do it!"
(Hmmm, no, I  don't miss sex. I'm a robot. Seriously...military spouses learn quickly that our relationships must be founded on something greater than sex. We learn to appreciate the important things, like simply hearing their voices, seeing their faces, being able to have dinner together every night.)

last but not least....

13. "OH, that's horrible...I'm so sorry!"
(He's doing his job and he's a badass. Don't be sorry. Be appreciative and please take a moment out of your comfortable 
American lives to realize that our soldiers fight the wars abroad so those wars stay abroad.) 

So there you go. Perhaps some are a little harsh, a little more sarcastic than maybe I would have said to someone who said one of those things, but you get the general idea. 

BUT, on the bright side.... only 2 more months!!

Drool....

Dear God,

Thank you.

Love,
Bree


hotness.

Will Work for Football

Though I'm not quite ready to talk about what happened on that fateful night a few weeks ago, I'm already starting to feel its void in my life. My Sundays just aren't the same. I do, in fact, feel an actual pull to ESPN on Sunday mornings, and am dismayed that instead of seeing Jimmy, and Boomer, and all those other tools in fancy suits, there's bowling or something else equally boring on. How many more months until the preseason? :(

Maybe It's Me...

...but stuff like this doesn't endear her to me in any way. I've never been the biggest Hilary fan as it was, but this just makes her seem like the little girl who got her pigtails pulled on the playground and went and told the teacher. 

Angry...

Seperate from my LOST blog, which, by rights, does not delve into anything other than topical posts on the TV show, I have started this blog to purge my thoughts on other subjects. (Although, admittedly, thoughts that have nothing to do with LOST are few and far between.)

With that said, I don't claim to be a member of the Democratic party, nor of the Republican party. If forced to choose, however, you will find that I have more conservative tendencies. If you are looking for heated debate from a liberal perspective, I suggest you go here. If you read that, and find you disagree with what he says, you will most likely find that this guy does, too. Then, finally if you wish to read running commentary about the Gilmore Girls, go here. (Shameless plugging of friends' blogs: check.)

I don't usually wax on all things political, philosophical, vegetable, animal, and mineral (stupid song's stuck in my head now), and you will probably find that I will contradict myself on a number of occassions. No need to point it out, I'm more than well aware of it. I'm Catholic, but not a very good one. I'm a parent. I consider myself educated. I'm Irish, and have the temper to prove it. I married a Marine, who is currently deployed in Iraq, and I hate it when people say they support the troops, but not the war, since supporting one requires support of the other. I (sometimes unwillingly) am a resident of the State of California, and I find it hilarious to say that The Terminator is my governor. With that said, it paves the way to my reason this morning for blogging...

Berkeley, California is a disgrace to the human race.

Now, I understand that this war the military is fighting (because let's face it, we are not a country at war, we are a country whose military is at war, and to dispute that fact is just plain ignorant.) has dragged on for quite some time, and believe me when I say I wouldn't be the happiest woman on the planet if the war was over and my husband could come back home. But that is just not possible. To pull an entire military out of an as-yet-unstable and unsecured location would be to negate every good thing for which they have worked. Granted, however, you don't see the good stuff on televsion, and you don't read about the good stuff in the newspaper. But good stuff is happening, and we are making progress. Citizens of Berkeley, though, make every good thing that has happened over there all for not.

Now, please don't get me wrong. My husband, my friends, and their fellow marines are fighting for our rights every day. And those rights include free speech and the right to assemble. But, if you are going to take a stand for something, if you are going to buck tradition, if you are going to cause a commotion, you better be prepared for the repurcussions. It seems that Berkeley, however, has bitten off a bit more than it can chew. When the City Council announced that marine recruiters were not welcome in the city, and that if they chose to stay there, it would be as "unwelcome and uninvited" guests, they had to know that they were starting a maelstrom of ill will from military supporters. In a Wednesday night meeting, however, the spineless City Council members rescinded their vote, proving to the world that when it comes to money, your principles don't really matter. So here's to you, Berkeley, and here's to you, Cindy Sheehan, and finally, especially, here's to you, members of Westboro Baptist Church, because we will still fight for you, abhorrent human beings though you are. I look forward to watching you in the afterlife, sucking scum from hell's fiery pools of acid, while the men and women you disrespect, denegrate, and deride for performing their civic duties are exalted, honored, and can, finally, rest in peace.

And to you, my husband, my friends and fellow Americans, thank you. I love you, and I am so very proud of you.