jexxblog

Full Disclosure: When I was younger, my drink of choice was the truly awfulest of Port Wine. This was a drink so mean it would slap your face and call you an asshole with every sip. And I would buy the cheapest bottle. Why would I do this? Why subject myself to a fortified ass-kicking?

Well…nobody stole my booze, that’s for sure, and that could be a real problem in the circles I traveled (poor students, drunk and loosely scrupled). Port was a means to an end, a sloppy slip sideways from self-conciousness into wobbly sincerity.

I’m a grown-up now, too responsible to take in that much alcohol, too old to deal with the consequences of inarticulate conversations about the nature of deity and the Fibonacci numbers. Um, seriously, mama’s got shit to do.

So, no more nasty port wine for me. Getting knocked up’ll do that to a girl. Add a driver’s license and the responsibility for two tons of metal, well, no time for drinking, too busy, too much obligation.

Once The Boy grew to an age of relative self-determination (can feed and clothe himself, and knows how and when to dial 9-1-1), I became comfortable with liquor again. It had been a long, dry ten years, with occasional Bacchynalian New Year’s Eves. Had I become unused to the lure of liquid pickling?

Well, I’ll tell you one thing, I’m a much cheaper date. I don’t have the stamina of my whirling early twenties, but liquor’s no longer the means to an end, either. I don’t drink to get drunk, and have learned how to be undignified while sober, so why turn to the vine now?

Oh, because it’s lovely, and sits so softly in my veins. Plus, it makes my face feel funny. Thank goodness I found a vacuum-sealer cork apparatus so that I don’t have to pour half a bottle of wine down the sink every night!

Mad Housewife Wine–Deliciously Apropos!

I’m having a crisis of personality, and I get it, I know I have to go through this, something’s breaking inside, like breaking a bone to set it straight, but it’s confusing and painful and is going to require much hard work on my part and I am directionless right now.

Just three days ago, just even yesterday, I was so self-satisfied I was hard to be around.  My house: excellent, dogs: healthy, grocery store: handy and cheap, husband: not deployed–but something inside is cracking like Alaska’s breakup–the between time from Winter to Spring when everybody goes a little crazy and the air crackles with catalysm and muskeg.

So, I went to the Education Center here on base to check out what I need to do in order to get back into college (I miss school!). I talked to a counselor from a Community College and she asked me piercing questions about what I really want to do with this amount of education under my belt. Ugh. If I take 5 more classes with this particular college, I will be able to get my Associate of Arts Degree, which basically sets me up to transfer to a four-year college, and nothing else. If I concentrate on Web Technologies, I will have a lot longer to go, with classes that I probably won’t enjoy, but I will have a marketable 2-year degree at the end.

So, crisis. Catalysis. Breakup felony-grade moon energy.

There’s really no choice here. I am not going to continue with Web Technologies, there’s simply no joy in it for me. But am I too old to be this undecided? If I get a two year degree with the aim to getting a four year degree, what will I focus on? What the hell is my MAJOR? The sensible thing would be to go into education and teaching, but those of you who know me well (I’m looking at you mom, no matter your protestations, you know this to be true) know that I will never do such a thing. I honor and respect our educators, but I can not put myself in the horrible position of being in charge of 20+ children and expecting results from them.

So, I’m going to go to college, because I really like school. But I’m getting a different faculty advisor. She was right to ask me what my end game was, but she wasn’t very nice about it. I like bossy people, but I’d like to talk to a bossy person who actually seems to like me and have my best interests at heart.

Poor President. He’s trying so hard to fill his cabinet with respectable people! At least those candidates found delinquent in their tax-paying are bowing out with dignity (publicly, anyway). And President Obama is taking responsibility for missteps he might have made in nominating them for consideration. I like it. It must be hard to find experienced people to fill these positions who have relatively clear pasts. Especially in Washington, D.C.

I wasn’t going to watch the Inauguration Ceremony of Barack Obama, I’d get the highlights later, right? The ceremony and speech were bound to be boring.

Here I stand, half an hour later, tears streaming down my cheeks and a grin on my face. The grin is because of the closing Benediction given by Reverend Joseph Lowery , the co-founder (with Dr. King) of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, so instrumental in the Civil Rights movement. He’s an elderly man and gave a bang-up funny ending.

Obama’s speech seemed to center around work and personal responsibility, about doing the job. This hits me right in the sternum and makes me think “he gets it”. Pragmatic. Beautiful. He is America’s “Boring Dad”. And that is just what we need.

Bless.

I woke up early this morning, as is my wont. I like it when everyone else is asleep and I don’t have to mess with anyone else’s needs before my own. I like to drink coffee and read and putter. The problem lately is that we are living in a hotel, and I can’t turn on the light without waking anyone up. Luckily, if I turn the computer toward the front door, there is little light pollution. I hope that my typing doesn’t stir anyone.

The reason that I woke up this particular morning is because I moved my feet in bed and made the little dog scream. He has a blister on his shoulder from the truck fire (among other still-healing wounds), and it hurts him when you jostle it. It is a terrifying noise, and made me feel very sorry for him (which is probably his point) and I couldn’t go back to sleep. Also, I had a bad dream where I had neglected the big dog to the point of near-starvation and general wretched dirtiness and I was sandwiched between the two guilts, smothering in worry. So I woke up and checked on both of them. Rocky is snoring right now on the hotel couch, and The Demon is asleep in my spot on the bed. So, I guess everything is well.

He looks like a creature in this photo, but there’s nothing I can do about his super-reflective retinas. Red-eye removal doesn’t work on yellow eyes!

I told Rocky last night that soon he will have his own couch back. He will also not have to go on an elevator before being allowed to go potty. Who puts a guest with two dogs on the third floor?? I must say, the dogs have performed admirably, considering. Rocky still wants to head-butt everyone he sees (in the spirit of Genuine Boxery Friendliness), but I put him between my knee and the wall when that happens, and he’s only startled/scared shitless a couple of people. One was a child at his exact eye-level, so that doesn’t really count. Children are afraid of so many things!

I must have bad fast food karma. I always get my order later than the rest of my family because it has been messed up. I don’t know why this keeps happening, as I was an extremely good drive-thru waitron at the McDonald’s (ask anyone) and am, in general, extra polite to food service workers.

So, I’m at Burger King, which I hate anyway, but I figure I’ll get a salad because how bad can it be. The boys leave me at the counter to order and pay, and I am stuck in line with the smell of urine wafting towards me from the restrooms. Oh yeah. I’m really getting hungry now.

I can barely understand the waitron at the counter, but I give Burger King points for hiring the disabled. I’m pretty sure I ordered my salad correctly.

I got back to the table with the boys’ food, and my presumed chicken salad, only to open it and there is no chicken.

Fuckit. I don’t care. I am STARVING. So I start eating, and a waitron (not the same one) came out and asked if I was supposed to have a chicken salad. Yes, it is determined, so she says that she is going to get a pouch of chicken for the salad. This sounds ominous, but I don’t eat too often at Burger King, so I let it slide. Baby carrots and romaine lettuce are going into my mouth I do not care.

The lady waves from the counter and I sadly leave the remains of my salad to go get a pouch of chicken. Only when I arrive at the counter, the lady is gone. I wait. And I wait. Finally, I read one man’s name tag and address him thusly, asking for my chicken. It is sufficient. I return to my table and I am eating it. CR remarks that it looks like this food is angering me.

Then I cry.

Yes, the food is angering me. I told CR that I am just tired. That Man I Married is not noticing until I choke back an audible sob. Then he asks, “What’s wrong with you?”

Why do they fucking DO that??? Do they think that is HELPFUL?

Sonuvvabitch.

Sometimes I cry. It is my way. Deal with it.

Okay, first of all, everyone’s okay. If my camera were working, I’d show you. If my camera were working, I’d take a picture of The Demon wrapped in a towel, watching CBS Sunday Morning with the Man, Rocky on the floor next to me, and CR sleeping in his bed. (Lazy lima bean!) But yesterday morning, just as we were leaving Redding, CA, the heater in the back of the truck (ostensibly to keep the dogs from freezing) caught fire.

Caught.

Fire.

To be fair, it wasn’t the heater’s fault, it was the wiring splitter connecting the heater and something else to the power jack back there, but I blame the heater. I hate space heaters. They are fiery deaths just waiting to happen.

Anyway, it was on The Demon’s side of the truck, and he had a blanket over his box that protected him. It was fucking scary, though, and he has some blisters on his haunch, singed fur, and occasional bits of plastic melted on to him. Oh, also, he was a little freaked out. Rocky was completely unaffected in any way. Neither one of them inhaled anything, as far as I can tell, not a cough between them (which is surprising in general, considering their brachioplastywhatever, short faces). Rocky stinks like burnt plastic, but The Demon got a bath at the hotel here (Vancouver, WA), much to his dismay, and so smells like orchid and coconut milk (courtesy my shampoo).

We are fine. I promise. Today we make our final leg of the journey to Ft. Lewis, WA. I hope it’s nice. If my camera weren’t frozen (because it had been in the truck all night, maybe), I’d show you how beautiful it is here in the Pacific Northwest. Google “Northern Exposure”, it’s supposed to be set in Alaska, but I have a feeling that most of it was filmed in Washington.

Near my mom’s house is a place called Trona. It is full of tufa pinnacles.

From 12-27-08

From 12-27-08

The smell is unbelievably punky. The reason for this is because the dry lake bed (Searles Lake) is saturated with minerals, from borax to sulfate. Yeah. Sulfate. Pee-uw!

So, these pinnacles were formed when the lake was still full of water, and they are fragile and porous and crumbly. They got to create weird shapes while in the water, and when the water evaporated over the years, they maintained their oddness. They are weathering away, of course, as every soft stone will when exposed to the elements, but stand for now, like alien edifices pointing to a giant, glassy sky.

From 12-27-08

The mountains loping against the lake bed are my familiar Sierra Nevadas:

From 12-27-08

Like a great, sloppy dog sprawling on the desert shag–big enough to kill you, but strong enough to fight the urge. The foothills are great paws lain as flat as they can get–no artifice in them–stripped bare–not hiding behind fuss and foilage or stepped with homes–patiently waiting for me to love them as I once did–with all of my eyes’ capacity, with my hands aching to hold them.

But, back to the desert. There are lots of things to fear in the desert—dehydration, venomous insects, and almost everything is very very sharp.

From 12-27-08

But if you fear your environment long enough, you pass through fear into acceptance. It’s just another thing that may or may not happen. Nothing bad happened on this day, and in fact, there was actual grass dusting the upper shore of the dry lake bed, festive holiday green sugar sifted onto chocolate cake. I also found this lichen:

From 12-27-08

and some desert holly:

From 12-27-08

I will stop now, even though I have yet to tell you about the Living Ghost Town of Randsburg and Fossil Falls, I’ve gone on long enough. Maybe tomorrow.

Oh, I almost forgot to put in the picture of Troma:

Hullo. I’m not dead. I am at mom’s house enjoying Boxing Day. I guess Boxing Day means playing the Wii with your son. Okay, no, not playing. Being forced to watch your son play the Wii. And also thinking of groceries that you needed yesterday when all of the stores were closed.

Enclosing a photo of us on Christmas Eve. Sending love and whatnot.

Well, tonight That Man I Married packs up our modems and cable boxes to take back to the cable company, so I will be in technology darkness. *weeps* I may have to actually play a card game with The Boy. I could always steal his DS away from him and play one of the Brain Games I bought for the trip. Hehe.

So, Friday, we start driving to Kingman to spend time with Chuck’s folks. From there, we will drive to California to spend Christmas with my parents. After then (about January 2nd), we will drive up to Washington to our new home!

The packers came on Monday to pack up our stuff, and since then, we have been living like this:

and also like this:

My books are in boxes, it’s like a special kind of hell for me, knowing that they are there, and that I cannot look at them.

The poor Demon was at sixes and sevens. They packed the basket that his toys usually go in, and he had to pile them up around himself to remind him that they weren’t packed, too!

I’m going to miss everyone here. It’s particularly hard, I think, because almost all of the people I know are civilians, and not used to the constant moving of friends (unlike military families).

Eliza gave me this cactus today:

It is an offshoot of the enormous cactus that she has in her house:

I love that she wants me to have some continuity in my life. She is a good friend.

So, goodnight, sweet internet. I shall try and blog on the road. But I’m not making any promises. I never do that (just ask CR!).