Marissa Turner

Have you heard this?  A Dream of Gardens, vocals by Olga Nunes and lyrics by Neil Gaiman.  She’s got songs for download on her website, and I highly recommend them.  Her voice is wonderful.

Yesterday gave me my own person “IMMD” moment.  I was coming back on post, which requires showing a military issue ID, so I roll up to the guard (who has arms the size of cannons and I can see the outline of tattoos pressing against his sleeves) and has a face that makes you think he’d just as soon rip your head off and play basketball with it as help you across the street.

So, I hand him my ID and smile and wait to be waved through.  He looks my ID over, and as he’s handing it back, he pauses, his ear cocked towards my open window.  And starts singing along with Owl City’s THE SALTWATER ROOM.  We had our own little karaoke moment right there at the main gate, staring down the other guards and people who were trying to get on post.

I looked at him and said “you’re just made of win, aren’t you?”  I was smiling the rest of the day. 

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It’s a Joan Jett and Pat Benatar sort of day.  If any of you remember that music, I highly suggest cranking it up and letting yourself rock out.  And maybe have flashbacks to the good ol’ days when your biggest worry was whether Barbie should marry Ken again, or if she should marry G.I. Joe.

At least those were my original worries when I listened to their music the first time around.

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I found another secret to joy yesterday when I was out in Savannah with a friend of mine.  She needed to stop at PetsMart for something or other, and I’m never one to turn down a long drive and conversation, so I threw what I needed in my pockets, and we were off.

It’s rather well-known among my friends that I don’t really ‘get’ little dogs.  The kind that fit in purses, or in a little carrier bag thingie, or need a stroller for long distances.  I don’t understand their point, or their purpose.  You can’t rough house with them.  You really can’t step on them on accident in the middle of the night, as it might crush their little bones and make them flat as pancakes.  And Lord knows that, should you find yourself with a rat problem, then you better get the dog out of the house first, as it would be the first thing the rats eat, being so much smaller than they (the rats) are.

That doesn’t mean I can’t be charmed by a six week old chocolate brown chihuahua who liked to snuggle under my chin. 

And yes, I made the squee noises and the cooing noises, and maybe even a “pretty baby” noise once or twice.

I’m so easy.

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Today was both suck-tastic, and fun.  I took Thunder Butt  for her Valentine’s Day photo op at the kennel on post.  Now, let me give you some brief background of my dog: she’s like an ADD toddler who mainlined an 8-ball and an entire strip of acid tabs, all at once. 

Added to that, she’s got toy OCD.  She has to chew on every toy, at least once, or her life is not complete. 

So, remembering the issue that Christmas pictures were a few years ago, I took one of her favorite toys with us when we left, in hopes that she’d lay calmly on the floor while her picture was being taken.

And I learned, the road to hell is not paved with good intentions, or adverbs.  It’s paved with the hopes of pet parents who furry children couldn’t act right if their lives depended on it.

Granted, Thunder Butt is adorable.  And sweet.  And affectionate.  Which is all well and good, because Lord she’s a doofus.

And I ended up buying her this.  Because she kept yanking it out of the toy tower and because I’ve got no spine whatsoever where she is concerned.

When did I become such a damn pushover?! 

And that was the fun part

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TLC’s AIN’T 2 PROUD 2 BEG.  I remember seeing this video the first time, and asking my mother why their jewelry was both round and square. 

And… I had my first slow dance to this song.  Holy crap.  I’m suddenly back in middle school, trying to make sure I don’t step on his toes.  And yes, I find it hilarious that my first slow dance was to a song about cheating.

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We typically have a bag full of weapons at the ready, and an SUV.  Or we know people with SUVs who can help us dispose of your corpse.

Not that we think of these things.  No, we’re kindly sweet women who live in a land of rainbows and unicorns that fart glitter.

Okay, a lie that big, is going to send me straight to knitter hell, where the only yarn available is Red Heart SuperSaver that sheds on everything it touches.

Friends don’t let friends use bad yarn.  (If we’re military friends, we just low crawl across the room when you’re getting lucky and ask if we can join in)

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The poor man just can’t get away from women who point out his gray hair.  I’m going to wake up one day with my head shaved and my eyebrows dyed blue in a ninja act of revenge.  And yes, I do sleep heavy enough that someone could probably shave my head without me noticing.

I realized that A) I’m older than I want to admit and B) when “my” generations music takes over the oldies station, it’s going to be Limp Bizkit and Tupac.  It’s a little weird to know that the stations that used to play Diana Ross and the Jackson 5 are going to be taken over by Nelly and Biggie.

Granted, I called a song from 2000 “old school” last night, and made myself feel really old.  I don’t like feeling old.  It makes me run and go check for gray hair. 

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I can’t wait to see the Google hits today’s title brings. 

I’m going to be very boring this week, as things are going on around here which need my attention ASAP or they’ll blow up.  Starting with the chemistry set in the kitchen (word to the wise: never give me anything that can go boom.  But, the damage is done, and I’m going to make pretty colors with the chemicals)

No, I’m actually studying for national certification.  This way, I can poke people all over our great country and no one can get mad.  Except maybe the people I poke, as I know I hate be stuck with anything sharp. 

And, if I’d known that world-class choreographers would go to prisons to teach inmates to dance, I’d have gotten my ass sent to prison.

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I’m never again getting my picture taken with him.

Childhood memories, destroyed.

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Thank Bob its Friday.  This week has been… interesting.  It’s been up and down and sideways and I think we even hit inverted zero-G at some point.  I did not like it.

I did get a little bit of good news this week, and I’m going to ride that wave of “yippee!” for as long as possible. 

I feel like I’m back in the Arctic Circle when I step outside; the temperature here has dropped considerably from when I came back down South, and while my dog loves it, I hate that stabby-cold that attacks my ears and the tip of my nose.

And, quick show of hands, how many women have cut their own hair?  I’m not talking about trimming up your own bangs, no no, I’m talking a full out attack on your head.  Last time I did damage to my own locks, it was about five and a half years ago, and I took my buddy’s trimmer to my head.  Hair all over the bathroom- it looked like I’d killed Big Foot in the room. 

I’ve since gotten over the urges to cut my hair during stressful situations, but I’m just wondering if anyone else has ever succumbed.

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