Worldrunner3's Blog

July 15, 2010

My Apologies to the Colonel, or, the most awkward side hug I’ve ever bestowed.

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 1:39 pm
Tags: , , ,

Well, that got your attention, didn’t it?

I’m really trying to laugh about this. Honestly. If I don’t laugh, I’ll curl up in a ball under the covers and never leave the apartment again, not even to go to the pool; Kevin can do all of our grocery shopping on the weekends! (Yeah, right; kid would come home with boxes of Pop-Tarts and cheese danishes from the bakery, and we’d have no veggies or fruit in the house.)

Let me explain. Yesterday, some other wives and I went to an all-day-informational-extravaganza-session-marathon-of-ridankulousness that was focused on TBS wives. At the end, with my brain full to bursting with information, and my blood sugar level hovering just above the soles of my shoes, I was ready to get the heck out of there. Unfortunately for my stomach, we still had to listen to our guest speaker, Colonel A., who is the commanding officer of TBS. He was very nice (but as another wife explained it, “totally bad-ass”). After a brief Q&A, we had to go up, one by one, shake his hand, and get a “diploma” for managing to sit and behave ourselves all day long. Honestly, we only did that for 16-18 years of our lives already-it’s called school. Most of us already have our bachelor’s degrees, and some have their masters or law degrees. My point is, we didn’t get a certificate for every day we went to school and didn’t catch the girls’ bathroom on fire. To add insult to injury, we also had to get our picture taken with the colonel. I’m not even sure the man likes photo-ops to begin with; it was hard to tell.

From my vantage point on the side, I couldn’t see what he was doing with his arm nearest the wife who was getting her certificate. I thought maybe he was putting his arm around them. I’m a touching kind of gal myself, and have really no issues with patting someone on the shoulder, hugging someone if they look like they could use a good squeeze…you get the picture. When my name was called, I went up, made eye contact, shook his hand, and got my diploma (woooo….). So far, all was well. Then the photo.

For a moment, he looked like he was going for the reacharound side hug, so I did too….but he wasn’t.

It was a fake-out, where he tricked me by doing an exaggerated stretch of the arm, and putting it behind his back. Uh, well, crap, so here I am with one arm around him, he has both hands behind his back. I have two options at this point. I can either remove my arm, making an awkward situation worse, or, I can keep my arm there and act like I meant to do that the whole time.

I went with option 2.

So Colonel, if you’re reading this, (no shame if you are, I Google myself regularly and there’s no harm in it), I’m really sorry for hugging you when you probably were in no mood for it. I’m just a hugger. (Of course, if there is a merciful God in heaven, and I firmly believe there is, the colonel will never remember this even happened.)

The saving grace was that Kevin laughed until he couldn’t speak when I told him about it last night. I’m glad he isn’t mad that I side-hugged his boss’ boss.

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July 7, 2010

Um, no.

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 6:40 pm

Yesterday, I had to run an errand for Kevin-he had a minor issue yesterday with the tailor at the exchange. Surprisingly enough, when a tailor sews name tapes on uniforms, it actually matters that the right name tapes go on the right uniforms. (It makes quite a difference to the wearer, actually.) When I walked into the tailor shop today to pick up the (thankfully) right uniforms, the man behind the counter, who is admittedly a rather tall, lanky fellow, said, “Man, you are SMALL. Ah, I’m just kiddin’.” We conducted our business and I went on my merry way.

But honestly, this time it felt different. Everyone has talked to those friends who say that they feel younger than they are (“I still feel like I’m in high school, how can I be a college graduate/a mom/somebody with real responsibilities and a life that doesn’t involve remembering a locker combination?”). I think I had that problem, but now I don’t. Maybe living so far away from my parents has helped me to feel and act my age. Which brings me to my point-I actually feel like enough of an adult, an officer’s wife, a paying customer in this shop, whatever, to say that this was not appropriate. It used to be that I would giggle and think it’s funny, but now…it’s not.

And when I got the uniforms home, they were still wrong. I had to get on the phone all day today and get it all worked out, and tomorrow after the spouses’ picnic, I’m going back to the tailor shop to get a refund. For the record, this was a tailor shop that is operated under the MCCS on base, so the manager above the owner of the store was very helpful. I saw that some of the searches for this blog are “Marine TBS”, so if anybody who is reading this is near or around Q-town, be a little careful of the tailor shop at the exchange on Mainside. I’m sure they will be more careful now, but we have decided that Kevin’s uniforms are going to The Marine Shop. It’s just not worth the headache!!

On a completely different note, anybody want to know what we’re having for dinner?

Ok, probably not, because you’re wondering what on earth YOU’re fixing for dinner.

Never mind that. Remember that you’re here to read my blog. Worry about your own problems out loud on your own blog.

Juuuust kidding.

For serious. I have mentioned my love-hate relationship with Hamburger Helper. It’s a real issue, folks. The convenience…the unpronounceable ingredients that make it not really food…the need to feed my husband…the need to feed us something good. It’s a stressor.

Enter real skillet dinners, that are just as easy as Hamburger Helper, but you know what is actually in them, instead of combining meat, pasta, water/milk, and the ambiguously labeled “sauce packet.”

skillet dinner

Yum: ground chicken, onion, tomatoes, garlic, basil, oregano, whole wheat rotini, and lots and lots of cheese. (When in doubt, melt cheese over everything.)

June 18, 2010

This would happen. Really.

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 7:57 am

My last post was horrifically ambitious. The (unspoken, but still there) idea in my mind was that not only was I going to avoid processed foods and make all kinds of yummy goodness, but I was going to try all kinds of new recipes.

Well, when you’re not a terribly accomplished cook, this can be dicey. Add in the fact that my darling husband gets home late and wants a “real meal,” (i.e. not sandwiches to make up for the fact that dinner is fairly inedible), and you have a recipe (haha, NOT FUNNY AT ALL) for some serious conflict. 🙂

Yesterday, I decided that I would not let cooking beat me. I went to my Betty Crocker cookbook (fairly reliable and useful, honestly), and pulled out the Italian Tomato Sauce recipe. I might have almost doubled the garlic asked for, but that’s because I’m a garlicaholic. A recipe calls for 2 cloves, I use 3…or 4. Especially in Italian food, because if other people can smell your breath and not pass out, you were gypped.

I really enjoyed cooking it. I cooked a chopped onion and several minced garlic cloves in olive oil for several minutes, then added a large can of petite diced tomatoes that had gotten put in a moving box, 2 small cans of tomato sauce, and a WHOLE lot of dried basil, oregano, a little salt, a little fennel seed, and some black pepper. I don’t usually use fennel, but I knew it would really finish out the flavors. I brought the sauce to a boil and let it simmer uncovered for about 45 minutes while I did laundry.

Omgoodness. That stuff smelled amazing. I was drooling. Drooling like a teething baby who sees chocolate. After the sauce finished, I grabbed the pound of ground chicken I had in the fridge and cooked it with another chopped onion and a couple of minced garlic cloves. drained the fat, and added it to the sauce. This all cooked for a few minutes, and I tasted it to make sure it was good.

It was.

I put it in the fridge for later, and baked a half-batch of lemon shortbread cookies. (That is another post. Nom nom nom!)  Closer to 7:30, I put water on the stove for our whole-wheat pasta, and I waited.

And waited.

Kevin calls when he’s on his way home, and it only takes 10 minutes. I wanted to cook the pasta after he called, so he could have nice hot pasta. But after 8:00, I was so hungry. I cooked a large amount of whole wheat pasta, heated the sauce, and put it on a plate with some awesome shaved Parmesan cheese. I had a Romaine salad with some olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, and pepper.

I was in heaven. Dinner was amazing, and I knew Kevin would love it. He deserved it, after putting up with my kitchen disasters.

After 9:30 (!!) I finally called him to see what was up. He told me he would call me back, and after 10:00 he did call and broke the news that he wasn’t coming home, but would instead stay in his BOQ. By that point, it was very late, and his on-deck time was 5:30 AM. Staying there would allow him to get more sleep than coming home.

At least I have really nice leftovers waiting for him. And the good news is that I have reboosted my confidence in the kitchen. I think part of it is finding reliable recipes. Some of the cookbooks I was using were good and other people like them, but they don’t really work for us. I have used them before, and sometimes gotten good results, and other times not. For now, I might stick with my Betty Crocker and allrecipes.com. Also…measuring. I want to be one of those cooks who can just eyeball stuff, and make up stuff, and blah blah blah. At least right now, I can’t. Girl’s gotta measure. And that is ok. If the food is good and gets on the table when it needs to, that is fine.

June 15, 2010

6 Months of Real Food

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 10:34 am
Tags: , , , ,

My mother is an adventurous cook, and rarely meets a new recipe she isn’t game to try. I was raised eating meals that were at times delicious. At other times, they were, charitably described, unusual. One meal that immediately comes to mind is her “Athenian Stuffed Cabbage.” Looking back at the meal, I am forced to examine it through the taste buds of a 7-year-old. Frankly, it wasn’t terribly delicious. Maybe I will always have a strong aversion to raisins and cabbage, at least when they are combined.

Mom never lets these failed forays bother her. Her motto is, “There are too many recipes out there for me to spend my time worrying about this one.” She moves on, and dinner the next night will be something wholly different. I admire her for being so casual and playful in the kitchen. I am not like her.

When I got married, I had plans to spoil my new husband with delicious (but also nutritious!) food every night. He would always be blown away by the perfection of my cooking, and everything would be made from scratch. (Also included in these plans was the our-home-will-always-be-spotless clause, the I-will-never-wear-sweatpants-past-8:00-AM clause and the we-will-never-argue-about-anything clause.) Unfortunately, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and my cooking turned out to be like my mom’s, except without tasting good. It was always adventurous, especially for my poor husband, who had to try to eat a little before he gave up and put a pizza in the oven as a last resort against starvation.

I finally discovered the wonders and joys of…the boxed dinner! With just a pound of beef (or chicken, or a couple of cans of tuna) and some water or milk, I could create some dish that tasted like food. I got all the satisfaction of “cooking my husband dinner,” and my husband got all the satisfaction of having a meal he could actually eat.

Fast forward several months, after turning to boxed dinners and frozen pizza each appearing on the dinner menu at least once a week. I read the most amazing book on the way to Virginia: Michael Pollan’s “In Defense of Food: An Eater’s Manifesto.” This book reads like an extended essay on the intangible (and admittedly tangible) benefits of eating real food in the context of traditional diets. Pollan observes that many of the items filling the shelves at the grocery (or grocery section of your local supermarket) are not actually food; they are edible food-like substances, manufactured by scientists who cannot quantify the benefits of eating an apple, a carrot, or a small piece of beef. The fact is that many foods and the chemicals in them interact in ways when they are digested by the human body that scientists cannot reproduce in laboratories. As one scientist was quoted, “You can’t do a study on broccoli.” (But you can do one on folic acid, or beta carotene, or omega-3’s!)

I have been inspired to cook real food, and to cease relying on boxed dinners or frozen pizza to keep us from starvation. Bye, chemicals whose names I can’t pronounce, and high-fructose corn syrup. If the item isn’t what it says it is on the label, better not to buy it. Over the next few months (let’s say 6) I will post what I’ve been cooking and how I am doing with avoiding processed food. I will probably have a few posts unrelated to food, because I don’t exclusively think about cooking. (Or I try not to. Yeah.)

May 25, 2010

The uniform

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 5:50 pm

Kevin and I had a full weekend jam-packed with wedding festivities, which was tons of fun! The bride and groom are good friends of ours. The groom was the man I can thank for bringing Kevin’s focus back to his faith when he was young and somewhat adrift in college. He was our best man at our wedding. Friday was the wedding rehearsal dinner, which we got an invite to (score!). Kevin had been asked to be a groomsman, but since we were supposed to be at TBS by that point (oh, I love the schedule changes inherent to my new life), he had to decline. It was a really sad thing. We were so happy we could make it to all of the events, though. Kevin went to the bachelor party the next day, and didn’t roll in until 2:30 in the morning. I tried my darndest to wait up for him. I did. But we’re old people, and don’t really keep those kinds of hours anymore. It’s amazing what getting married does to your body clock. (E.g. we went to bed at 10:00 last night, and we were perfectly happy with that.)

Sunday afternoon was the wedding, so of course Kevin wore his dress blue bravos with his white trousers, which always look snazzy. (Dress blue bravos = the blue wool coat with ribbons, worn with either the all-weather blue trousers with the blood red stripe, or the white trousers, which are only worn in the summer.) I wore a sundress, and we looked hawt. Or something like that.

It is such a mixed bag of reactions when Kevin is among civilians and wearing his uniform. You get the old guys who approach him, thank him, tell him their life story. They smile, and Kevin loves interacting with those kinds of people. He didn’t join the military for accolades and stuff like that, but he does appreciate other people being nice about it.

Then there are the other people. The ones who make jokes about his uniform, and say, “That thing on the top of the hat is to show who to shoot!” (That quatrefoil on his cover was actually put there to eliminate the death of officers due to friendly fire. But good try.) The ones who say, “Oh, does being in the military make it easy to decide what to wear, like, oh, I can wear my Marine jacket?” I try to smile and be nice, and Kevin does an even better job than I do, but seriously? My Marine jacket? What are you, 5? It’s a uniform, not a windbreaker!

Look, I know there are things about Kevin’s job that I don’t understand, and don’t get right. And if I’m married to him and still don’t know, I know that there is a TON that other civilians with hardly any connection to the military won’t get. Kevin doesn’t expect everybody to be an expert; that would be silly. At the very least, show some respect. People die in that uniform. There are people who want the honor of wearing it, and will work incredibly hard, harder than most people ever work in their lives, just so they can be one of those few. So don’t joke. Ask a question if you want to know something. Those in uniforms are nice, they don’t bite, and they love talking about their work, just like anybody else.

May 20, 2010

BHG dreams…

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 3:34 pm

Saturday was my last day at Plato’s Closet, and wouldn’t you know it, but I’m still busy? I will tell you it isn’t quite as insane. Our home is SO much cleaner, which means I’m happier. I think I’m one of those unfortunate women who secretly wants her house to look like a spread in Better Homes and Gardens, even though it is completely unattainable. I try to pretend that I just want it moderately picked up, but deep in my heart of hearts, I desperately want it to be more than clean-I want it to look amazing. It might be a little easier to get it really gorgeous at our next apartment, since we are more than doubling our square footage. Omgoodness, can you imagine? The counter space! The ease of cooking that will ensue! I can get a wire rack, perfect for roasting, or cooling baked goods, or any number of jaw-droppingly exciting stuff! Moving out of the kitchen, imagine the storage space! There will now be no excuse for Kevin piling up 1/4 of his wardrobe on one chair, because there isn’t enough space to put it in the closet, the dresser, or that little clothing rack we set up. Things will go where they belong.

Maybe.

Or maybe I’m just making up crap and things will turn into a mess within 2 weeks of moving in. And then my head will explode.

April 5, 2010

On Good Customer Service

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 12:53 pm

I’m tired of being a good employee. There are some customers that simultaneously break my heart and stimulate my urge to drop-kick them out the window! One woman came in a few weeks ago, asking if we’d be interested in her son’s prison jumpsuit, seeing as he had just been released. As she wandered the store, asking if we “had shirts with boobs in them,” sitting on the floor to try on shoes in a manner that reminded me of a five-year-old that has been separated from her mother, murmuring to herself, another employee and I watched her, feeling somewhat nervous.

“Are you guys always this busy?” she asked unexpectedly.

“No, not usually!” I laughed as I plowed through another huge trash bag full of clothing another customer was trying to sell to us.

“You know, I miss having a job. I miss working. Does that sound weird? I’m just so LONELY.”

I couldn’t answer her. That comment cut me straight to the heart.

Unfortunately, this customer has been coming in a lot, always trying to sell us some stuff, talking about how she can’t make rent, etc. Whenever she does, we buy something because a few of her items are decent. However, she says things like, “Oh, you couldn’t take nothin’?” and always asks about a certain item that has been returned to her. I then have to explain that staining and DIY-bedazzling is just not “in” these days. I’m getting frustrated and short with this poor woman, who is clearly not altogether in her right mind.

Another customer came in on Wednesday. He’s one of those types who will go to the dressing rooms and stand outside them and yell up to us, “I need a fitting room!” Um, excuse me? Maybe you should come ask us politely. Please, thank you, and just plain not yelling at us like we’re beasts of burden go a long way in retail. But I helped him, and as I worked, he began chatting very awkwardly with me. I was already somewhat displeased with him, considering he was a yeller, so I had trouble making conversation. Then he asked, “Can you get me down that really generic looking Ed Hardy shirt up there?”

Really? I grabbed the hook and reached way up to try to unhook the mannequin that hung close to the ceiling. While I wrestled with it, he continued, “It’s just so generic-looking, don’t you think? I don’t know why anyone likes them.”

I replied, “Well, you’re asking me to get one down, aren’t you??”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

I pulled the shirt off the mannequin and walked away. He left almost immediately after without buying anything.

That night, Kevin and I went to a small group at our church named “On Location,” which is all about living your faith “where you live, work, and play.” On topic for the evening was Sodom and Gomorrah; as Abraham bargained with God, God said eventually that he would spare the cities for the sake of ten righteous men. The speaker’s point was that those cities were typically about 800 to 1000 people; 10 men is 1% of the population, so God can sometimes be willing to stay his judgment for the sake of a very small number of righteous people. Are we willing to be that righteous remnant?

And this is the sticky wicket for me; being a Christian at work, being righteous at work, means I have to treat all customers with love and grace, even the ones that are crazy, even the ones that are rude to me. That is hard. REALLY hard.

In other news, Kevin and I are en route to reserving our next apartment in VA. I am beyond excited; we’re going from 310 square feet to 780 square feet. I don’t know what we’ll do with all of that space. Seriously.

February 22, 2010

Of cooking, or: how I stopped worrying and learned to love Hamburger Helper

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 1:50 am

Seriously, folks. This has got to stop.

Many moons ago, at my bridal shower put together by my loving and wonderful aunt Libbie, I had a lot of dearly beloved female relatives give me cookbooks. Some of them had titles that involved some frantic call for assistance. I smiled and thanked them. I thought (stupidly, naively) that surely cooking was the least of my concerns. “I’m smart. I’ve got experience in the kitchen (I make a darn good batch of brownies). I can do this. Nooooo problem.”

Well, ha ha ha. And ha. Ha.

I have had many massive flops, some rather edible meals, and one or two rather glorious successes (posole, my first attempt at making Mom’s chili recipe; thanks Mom!). My most recent frustration comes from my two (count ’em, two) attempts to make tuna noodle casserole.

Wait, really? Tuna casserole?

Yes. Tuna casserole. Go ahead and laugh.

I wanted to make something really delicious and a bit decadent. A basic tuna casserole just isn’t fit for my hubby or me, right? Except for the fact that it had brie, and the texture was all wrong, and there were too many onions, and we don’t actually like brie. Wish I’d known that beforehand.

So Kevin, in all of his lovingness, tells me that it’s ok, I should try again. “But this time…something simple, right?” Right. I try again….Campbell’s should give me good results, right?

Dry? Tasteless? Demoralizing? Yes, yes, and oh my yes.

I have found that I make a darn good Hamburger Helper, though. We’re not starving, no worries; Olive Garden is 20 minutes away, and Walmart carries an excellent selection of frozen pizzas. Frozen veggies, too, which I am eternally grateful for.

So if anybody has a nice, creamy, delicious tuna casserole recipe they’d be willing to share, please pass it along. My tummy will thank you.

February 1, 2010

The wonderful world of music

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 1:50 am

My job as a keyholder at a store that markets to teens exposes me to certain media expressions, mostly Top 40 hits. There is one station in town that plays these songs, and we have it on from the time the store opens to the time it closes. When I work 3 8-hour shifts, I hear the same songs anywhere from 12 to 14 times a week. I have had the time to reflect on some of the songs, mostly the lyrics, and I have come to the conclusion that this music is directly contributing to the complete and utter idiocy of American youth. Am I being harsh? No, I think I’m actually being rather generous. Allow me to give a few examples of that which drives me insane every day that I am at work…

One particular song focuses on a young crooner lamenting his rather regrettable actions towards his girlfriend, namely cheating on her with some other girl. Sounds good; he is sorry for his actions, right? Well…the refrain contains the morally (and rhyming-ly) questionable “I know what I did wasn’t clever/But you and me were meant to be together.” Clever? Really? Your main regret was that your actions weren’t CLEVER, instead of ethically and morally bankrupt? (And if you were stupidly but honestly just trying to find something that rhymed with ‘together’, well then my poor dear, you might want to have your hearing checked or go back to 3rd grade.)

Another number counts up the ways a man envisions his future. It mostly consists of “popping bubbly” in the club and doing whatever he wants. He sees this as the be-all, end-all of his life; his highest purpose and goal. No freaking wonder our country has more black males in jail than in college (1). College is all about delayed gratification (working hard to get a degree that will allow them to get a good job, be educated, and contribute to society, hopefully), and these guys grow up listening to music that tells them they should be getting all they want right now. When they do not get their goals as immediately as they wish, they turn to other (quicker, more illegal) methods, which ultimately end badly for them. Worse, the goals they initially set for themselves are shallow and worthless. You honestly think you will find fulfillment in drinking champagne with people who only care about your money? Do society a favor; quit making music and get a “real” job with the rest of us “real” people. Doesn’t matter what it is; flip burgers, work retail, teach preschool, build buildings. Make an honest living, seek God, marry a nice person and raise a few kids. You will be a better person, and you’ll get more fulfillment than you will for all the days you get gas from drinking too much bubbly.

Finally, a song that Kevin and I like to mock relentlessly and constantly is a song written extolling the beauty of a lovely woman noticed in a social atmosphere, while simultaneously attempting to not offend her delicate sensibilities. Well…if only it were that polite. The singer talks about the attractiveness of the lady’s backside, and worries, “I’m trying to describe this girl/Without bein’ disrespetful” (no, that’s not a typo; that’s actually how he pronounces it). Is it honestly that hard to describe someone attractive without being blatantly rude, especially when you already commented on her butt? Little tip for next time; starting off by talking about a person’s sexual characteristics has pretty much destroyed any chance of not being “disrespetful.” Here’s the thing; there are a multitude of words that can be used to describe a young lady that are all perfectly respectful and polite. For starters, there is intelligent, attractive, sweet, spunky, fun, gracious, loving, thoughtful, and lovely. I’m sure you can think of others. If you are so completely brain-dead that you cannot think of this basic vocabulary, you don’t deserve this girl. Period.

What really upsets me about this last song is the way it is received by girls I work with. Some of the girls are still in high school, still impressionable, and they squealed when the song came on. “I love this one!” I couldn’t help myself; I gave them the same explanation I just wrote. It bothers me that they think this song is so great; after all, this sets the bar incredibly low for guys. If girls are conditioned to think that this is the highest expression of romantic love, of self-sacrifice, of plain human decency, they will put up with all kinds of crap from the men they date. No one will challenge the men to better, more manly behavior, and the women will develop a warped view of themselves and how God created them. After all, those created in the image of God are worth more than a guy who merely aspires (and poorly, at that) to avoid disrespect, instead of actively striving towards demonstrating respect.

(1) http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/2223709.stm

January 19, 2010

Working 2 jobs

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 12:04 am

Big news; I got hired at Plato’s Closet as a keyholder (which is essentially a supervisory position). I had an interview last week, but I didn’t want to write anything about it in case they decided not to hire me. I am nothing if not a proud sort, and I didn’t really want to embarrass myself by getting excited about a job prospect that had the bottom fall out of it.

I have spent several hours working there, and am going back tonight to help close. Eventually, I will need to be able to close the store without the manager or the other keyholders there. The training has been pretty intense, and we’re all working fast. Things move quickly, and there is always something to do. I am even learning how to work a cash register! So far, that is one of the most terrifying tasks for me. If someone approaches the counter with a few items and asks to check out, I agree to ring up their purchases. However, my knees tremble wildly and my armpits spring leaks. Attractive, no?

Funny story; another girl working there is a newlywed who married her Marine right after his graduation from boot camp. Yesterday, I was working in the guy’s section when she came up and asked if I was a military wife. I told her yes, and she asked, “Where do I get my ID?” I was suddenly, for the first time, experiencing the dynamic of officer’s wife and enlisted’s wife, trying to help out however I could. I want to write a post about fraternization, because it’s something I have been wrestling with ever since Kevin and I started dating, but since I am about to leave for work soon, this probably isn’t the best time to start it. Rest assured, I will write one and it will be awesome.

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