The Square Peg

ROUND ONE!
When we found out we were moving to Germany, I knew big changes were coming. I knew our family would never be the same again; not in a bad way, just that major evolutionary changes were on the horizon. Little did I know, nearly ten months (at the time of this writing) and two grandbabies on their way later, and voila! The changes are here!

ROUND TWO!
I'm making my way around yet another corner. That's right, you're about to witness my foray into the world of higher education. After a 25 year hiatus.

I'm taking two classes this term: German and Intro to Psych. I need a foreign language credit, so why not now? It'll help me navigate my way through Germany as well as meet a requirement for my degree. I love efficiency. I chose to take Psych because it's a subject I'm interested in.

Today was a day of firsts. The first day of the week. The first day of the month. My first day of college(!). The first time I sat in a classroom and *didn't* have to spell, pronounce or otherwise clarify my last name to a teacher. (Last time I was in school, my surname was McElyea. It wasn't a bad last name, but let's be real: you write Miller and there's no question as to how it's pronounced. Ah, it's the little things in life...LOL)

I like my professor. Her expertise and experience are quite impressive. And I realized that my life isn't going to be the same again. Starting today, and continuing for a long, long time, I will be a student. Hello, homework; goodbye, life!

I feel about going to college the same way I felt about moving to Germany: I am excited about the new opportunity, nervous about the unknown, and keenly aware that things will never be the same again. That's not to say they won't be good. But I hope I embrace the opportunity to further my education as easily and with as much zeal as I have embraced the incredible opportunity to live in Europe.

Stay tuned.

Dear Jack,

Our time together has come to an end, and I want to tell you what a great car you've been. I will miss you, Jack. You've been reliable and I appreciate reliability. You are sexy, too, and I appreciate sleek, sexy cars. In fact, I'm convinced I was sexy simply because I drove you because sexiness just seemed to ooze out of you. I appreciate the teamwork and your helpful attitude over the last 2 1/2 years, too. Thanks for the times you reminded me that you were thirsty (even if you only wanted premium fuel), you needed an oil change, the headlights were still on, or that my passenger hadn't buckled his/her seat belt. Thanks for locking the doors behind me when I left them unlocked.

Some of my fondest memories of you include:
Driving around town together with the sun roof open to let in the fresh air and Georgia sunshine.
The way your heated seats warmed my tushie on the few cold days that Georgia gets each year.
The quick way you'd pick up speed when I was in a hurry. You never let me down, dude. Never.
Your incredible, thumping stereo. You made even ME sound good when I sang with Mac Powell and Freddie Mercury.
Driving on the interstate with you. 90 mph in an Acura feels remarkably smooth.

I hope your new owner treats you well, as I know you'll be good to him or her. Best wishes, Jack. You were the best, most fun 40K miles I've ever put on a car and I'll always think fondly of our trips to Florida, Louisiana and Tennessee because you safely got me to and from the people I love.

You'll be the standard by which I measure all of my future cars. Perhaps someday I'll again drive an Acura.
Peace out, Jack.
PS: I'm really sorry about that time I said the TL Sport was sexier than you. I didn't mean it.
Love,
Eva

22 - The # of years (to the day) ago I went on a blind date (set up by my co-worker) and met Moose.
21 - The # of years ago I married him. I was 21. He was 23.
20 - The # of years the Air Force has been moving us around.
19 - the # of times in the day he tells me he loves me, my butt looks good in my jeans, or that I'm hot. I never get tired of hearing any of those things.
18 - The # of couches I think we've had that have been used and abused by my men wrestling on it.
17 - One of the anniversaries he missed because he was deployed. I was particularly sentimental about this one...17 years on the 17th...and it fell on a Saturday, the day of the week we married.
16 - The age Ryan started driving...and we learned there was a whole new dimension to praying, loving and worrying about your kid.
15 - The # of TDY's Moose has had.
14 - This how old Ryan was when Moose taught him to shave. It was a serious dad moment for Moose; he came out of the bathroom a little teary-eyed. His little buddy was rapidly becoming a man.
13 - The # of vehicles we've had...Chevy Sprint, Toyota Tercel wagon, Plymouth Grand Voyager, Chevy Luv, Ford Ranger, Ford F-150, Honda Accord, Hyundai Elantra, Chevy Suburban, Chevy Trailblazer, Ford Ranger, Hyundai Sonata, and an Acura TSX, whom I affectionately call "Jack".
12 - The # of months we spent in marriage counseling. Cost us $100 a week and thousands of $ in credit card debt. Dr. Scott's rule that our session couldn't be discussed for 24 hours (smart man), left us with no choice other than to go to Sears to anesthetize our pain. LOL Took us 3 years to pay it off. It was worth every, single penny.
11 - The # of houses/apartments/trailers we've lived in.
10 - The # of years we had a teenager under our roof. We survived, but not without accruing our fair share of gray hair.
9 - The # of jobs I've had.
8 - The # of dogs we've had: Beemer, Samantha, Mickey, Misery, Dixie, Willow, Mocha and Zoe
7 - The # of hours it takes to drive to TN to visit our family from Georgia. Closest we've lived since joining the AF.
6 - The # of times we've changed bases. Illinois, Washington, North Carolina, Georgia, Texas, and Georgia. 
5 - The # of wedding bands I've bought Brian. He bent 3 at work (to the point of being unwearable), lost 1, and then I got smart and bought one made out of tungsten. I couldn't get it engraved, but it's pretty much indestructible.
4 - The # of candles on Drew's birthday cake when we gave him a new bike. He broke his arm an hour later.
3 - Ryan's age when Brian adopted him. They celebrate their anniversary every July, sometimes in big ways, other times in small ways.
2 - The # of kids we had on our first wedding anniversary. We lived in Spokane, thousands of miles from home with a 3 year-old, a newborn, and no babysitter. It was a cozy celebration indeed.
1 - The number of months until we move to Germany and start a whole new adventure...just the two of us.

Did you know American Bulldogs were equipped with a built-in thermometer? At least, ours is. When Zoe's cold (or way too hot), her normally pale pink skin brightens up so much it begins to resemble the color of the stuff you drink when you're nauseated. Her display panel is pretty easy to read though: no pink color = no worries. Bright pink color indicates warmth (or cooling) is needed. And apparently, I have the deluxe model American Bulldog because mine also has a state-of-the-art 'tired barometer'. That handy, little gadget measures how tired she is. Its display is easy to read, too. The farther out her bottom lip sticks (compared to the top), the more tired she is. On a typical day, her skin hovers at a shade of very pale pink, and the barometer doesn't engage until around 9-ish each evening. (No, the barometer doesn't really have anything to do with this post; I just included that bit of information so you'd have it. You know, in case you ever need it. 'Cause I'm generous like that.)

I've never been a fan of animals wearing clothes. It creeps me out and makes me question the emotional stability of the person who wants to dress an animal like a human. It's not like they aren't already covered with fur, hair, feathers, scales, or whatever, right? However, Zoe the wonder dog has short, thin fur and she's always cold. It probably doesn't help that we practically keep our house cold enough to hang meat. (What can I say? We're a hot-blooded bunch.) I don't even fold the blankets that we keep in the living room any more because Zoe is usually lying on or burrowed under one of them. But Old Man Winter has finally come to middle Georgia and we've had to bundle up when we head out for our evening walks. (And you know it's cold when I wear a scarf AND gloves. I didn't even wear gloves when we went hiking in Alaska in December a few years ago!). And ever since OMW arrived, Zoe's skin has been bright pink.

So, I caved. I kicked and screamed all the way, but I caved nonetheless. Zoe the wonder dog now has 3, count 'em, 3 coats. The first one is waterproof for evening/wet walks. It's also reversible. You know, because we wouldn't want her to get tired of wearing the same, old thing all the time, right? Yeah, right.

The second is a fleece hoodie (with sleeves for her front legs) in red and black, so she can represent the beautiful Georgia Bulldawg Nation wherever she goes. You know, because she loves football so much. Yeah, right.

The third item is (ironically enough) a pepto-bismol pink sweater embellished with a snowman, snowflakes and bling. Yes, bling. On a dog's sweater. I know, it's totally ridiculous. But the dog needed something to keep her warm when we walk and when she lies around the house all day goes into her undercover stealth mode as she faithfully protects her turf every day, so she might as well look good, right? Yeah, right. Actually, I don't give a rip about the cute factor but I do give a rip about the ugly factor. And they had some *fugly* stuff out there for dogs. Didn't argyle die around the same time as Babe Ruth? Well, it should have. What is WRONG with pet apparel designers, these days?! There were designs and colors in the store that humans shouldn't be wearing, much less putting them on our beloved pets.

Huh.

So I guess if what they say about dogs beginning to resemble their owners after a while is true, then it stands to reason the old man/woman who likes to wear argyle would want to dress little Fido in it, too. And I would, of course, want Zoe to be trendy and fashion forward in her dress.

OK, so maybe I care a little more about the cute factor than I realize or am willing to admit. But I'm drawing the line at jewelry and all that other crap. Because it's ridiculous.

I'd like to go on record: I still think it's creepy. But since all the bald and/or balding men I know wear hats in the winter, there's bound to be some kind of wisdom in covering a non- or thinly-veiled outer surface that makes it copy-cat dog worthy.  (Sorry. I couldn't help myself.)

Being the good bloggy chick that I am, I'm posting a couple of pictures. Go ahead and laugh; I did.
Those little, tiny dots are iridescent sequins. Which is fancy-talk for "bling". Ridiculous.

Here we have Zoe (who is sawing some serious logs) in her fleece hoodie. Her waterproof, reversible jacket is above her.

















Have a ridiculously doggone good day, y'all.

Moose and I went to a college football game at the University of Tennessee last weekend. It was a belated birthday gift for him and we had an absolute blast. And this former cheerleader was in her element. I LOVED seeing all the fans dressed up. There's nothing quite like football, bands and fans in the crisp, fall air. Nothing. FYI: old cheerleaders never die, we just let out the waistbands of our skirts. And we always know how to accessorize our outfits to show our S-P-I-R-I-T spirit (clap, clap). My orange eyelashes and T's were rockin! BEHOLD:
I know what you're thinking. But don't hate me because I'm beautiful. *snorts*

My mom was here this past week helping me get some things ready for our move and I was so glad to have her expertise since she's done this overseas thing a couple of times. (I recalled how bossy she was when I was growing up and knew she'd be good at keeping me on task, but I swear I think that little woman carries a whistle and a whip in her purse.) Kidding aside, we actually got several things done this week that previously felt overwhelming to me. Moving overseas is a whole different ball of wax than a stateside move, lemme tell ya. There's still so much more to be done, but I'll get there. Eventually.

The house was in decent shape when Mom got here, but now that the sorting, cleaning, clearing & purging has kicked into high gear, walking into the house reminds me of Waffle House hash browns because everything in here is scattered, smothered, or covered in one way or another.

 Peace in your 'hood, people.

If you're one of those people who doesn't like talking (or reading) about *ahem* 'body parts', it's probably a good idea for you to skip this post and stop by some other day.

You may have heard about the NFL players who have been wearing pink shoes and gloves during the games in support of October being breast cancer awareness month. Well, I couldn't help but wonder why there isn't a 'check-your-nuts' awareness month. I did some research and it turns out there is. Sort of.

The Get A Grip! campaign is one week long in April. I'm not sure what's up with testicles getting a week of awareness while breasts get a whole month (unless it has to do with their general size differences), but I digress. Did you know that testicular cancer is the most common cancer among men ages 12-50 and it out paces breast cancer deaths by women in the same 13-34 age group? Neither did I. This is important information that needs to be passed on!

Since a time of awareness has been instituted though, why don't women wear some type of blue item(s) to show our support? Cuz, you know, tit for tat and all that. Oh! That wasn't intentional but since I stumbled upon it, it's staying in this post! *This is part of the 'twisted sense of humor' I've told you I have.

Now, back to wearing blue for that week...there should be a blue dye exclusively created for the items. And I've narrowed my ideas down to three items that are key to a woman's life. In no particular order:

1. a single strand of pearls--earrings coming soon (because you know how we love jewelry and accessorizing)
   
2. temporary spray to paint a streak in our hair (this would, of course, provide excellent coverage for color-resistant gray--cuz I need that) and finally,
3. a purse (supportive and practical since some women carry their husband's...never mind).

The Get A Grip! marketing department totally needs to hire me as a consultant, don't you think?

Peace out, people. And whether you're a guy or gal, don't forget to check your stuff. Your life could depend on it.

So I was cutting up an avocado for my sandwich a while ago and noticed the sticker on it read "green acorn". After briefly wondering why an A.C.O.R.N. sticker was on my avocado, I realized what it was really from: the green acorn squash I bought at the store yesterday. Upon closer examination, I discovered the following:

My spaghetti squash had an avocado sticker on it
my green acorn had a "lite slimcado" sticker on it
my butternut squash had a spaghetti squash sticker on it
and my 'lite' avocado had a butternut squash sticker on it.

Based on my past experience with things like Aqua Reefer, Epileptic Testicles and Wordless Wednesday, I suspect this is the work of the inked and mischievous Drewby. If you see him, beware. He'll mess with your food & food lists. Don't say I didn't warn you. Oh, for those who don't know, here's what he looks like.

Actually, it's August 24th's big thing, but I wanted to put it up anyway. Enjoy...

After talking to friends, acquaintances, watching TV and movies, surfing the internet, and overhearing conversations while standing in various lines, I’ve come to the conclusion that Hell is amazing and its properties are quite complex. Here’s why:

It’s mathematically visualized.· For real; just type in 7734 on your calculator, turn it upside down, and you’ll see hell.

It’s descriptive of personalities:
· funny as hell
· romantic as hell
· mad as hell
· stupid as hell
· dumb as hell
· cheap as hell

and degrees of talent:
· run like hell
· sing like hell

It's involved with the impossibility of things:
· “It'll be a cold day in hell before I do that again” (is this where global warming originated?)

· Snowballs aren’t welcome there (“He doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of taking her to the prom”)

And in case you didn't know:
· it has the ability to 'break loose,' thereby wreaking havoc in a situation
· bats apparently exit hell more quickly than other creatures because nobody ever says "he ran like a cheetah out of hell"
· it equates with being as challenging as high water with regard to keeping you from doing something you want to do – “Come hell or high water, I’m going to that concert!”
· if you want to travel there comfortably, go in a handbasket like the rest of the world
· according to the Newboys, breakfast isn’t served there
· you can catch hell, which is never good (is it molecularly structured like a hot potato?), but I can’t seem to get an answer of whether or not one needs a special glove to catch it (like with baseballs) or if you use your bare hands
· bad days, weeks, and sometimes months at work come from there: “This has been a week from hell”
· the weather tries to copy it - “it’s hot as hell out here”
· young adults want to raise a little of it
· Mothers only have the upper body strength to do that once – “I’m the only hell my Momma ever raised.”
· sometimes it comes on wheels (like a skateboard? or bigger, like a motorcycle?)
· it’s the first installment in the hell, fire, and brimstone trilogy
· bad tempered, spiteful women are cats originating from there (hellcat is in the dictionary)

It has relatives in the real estate market:· “Where the hell is my toothbrush?”
· Georgia is apparently annexed to hell - “I’ve looked all over hell and half of Georgia for you”

But will never be featured on the Travel Channel as a “don’t-miss” destination:· “I’ve been through hell and back with that woman” (he said after the divorce was final)
· “I won’t work with them again. Doing that job with them was like driving through hell on an air-conditioned bus with a six-pack of Pepsi.”

It’s used to express confusion, disbelief and general wonderment:· “What the hell did she do her to her hair?”
· “What the hell did you do that for?”
· “What the hell just happened?”
· “What the hell is going on here?”

And finally:
Giselle is from there (according to her user name on twitter). Seriously. Twitter GiselleFromHell; you’ll see.

The first time I had an ALTOID®, I loved it. For the first ten seconds. Then the flavor became so powerful I had to rescue my mouth from its intensity. A few minutes later, I put it back in. And took it back out. I was able to embrace its flavor to the end on the third try.

One day it hit me: my personality is like an ALTOID®. I wish I could say I’m one of the milder flavors but that’d be a lie. I’m the original; too intense for some people, and small doses may be necessary to avoid feeling overwhelmed. Other people know the instant they taste the flavor they like it and want more.

It used to bother me that I was like this. I tried being another way…you know, palatable, pleasant, and mellow. But after I’m around people who are like that, I find myself itching for some flavor. Something with some kick. And I began to embrace the ALTOID® within.

Altoid® used with permission
© The Square Peg Mojo 2009

We got to tour the Casemate Museum at Fort Monroe while we were in Virginia earlier this week. It was pretty neat. Our tour guide was really great. Her name was Solveigh (pronounced “Solvee”). I like saying that. Solveigh. Solveigh. See? Fun. Solveigh knew a lot of interesting things about the history of the fort. And she carried a big, wide brimmed, colorful hat that she waved around sometimes and motioned with as she talked while we were inside the museum. She didn’t wave it around outside though; it was on her head keeping the sun out of her eyes.

The awards dinner was a lot of fun. Moose is the recipient of the General Jumper Warfighter of the Year award. I’m thinking about getting ”Warfighter of the Year” printed on a t-shirt for him. Wouldn’t that look cool?

I am writing this from a hotel room in North Carolina. Moose and I are on our way to Virginia for an awards ceremony. We took off this morning and will be home in a few days. Before we left, Tasha said that while she hoped nothing weird would happen, she did hope I’d find something ‘blog worthy’ to write about while I was gone. So far, I have the following blog-fodder to share with you:

We left the house around 8:30ish. By the time we:
1) filled up the car with gas,
2) got coffee at the Starbucks inside Kroger instead of our regular favorite stand alone store because Kroger was within the ‘errand group vicinity’ and would save us a little time, mileage, and gas,
3) ran into the bank to close our local accounts so we wouldn’t be charged another fee for accounts we don’t use anymore,
4 & 5) went to get breakfast & say good-bye to Drewby,
6, 7, and 8) got about 5 or 6 miles down the road before we realized the camera was still sitting on the charger in the house, turned around to go get it and got back on the road…

it was 11. And what we saved by getting our coffee from Kroger got wiped out by numbers 6, 7 and 8. We weren’t in any particular hurry (don’t have to be there until tomorrow) but geez, Louise, the day just felt really long.

We stopped to eat lunch at Western Sizzlin. Boys and girls, can you say “Fashion Faux Pas Capital of the South“? I am not even kidding you. I think everybody in that place had bad hair, bad teeth, wore overalls, too much make up, or a combination of all of the aforementioned faux pas. Or is it faux pases? Faux pi? ??? Somebody please tell me what the plural form of faux pas is! I don’t know; I’m not French! I swear I thought I entered the redneck twilight zone. And the music! Oh. My. Word. It was slap awful. Old, annoying, psychedelic, whiney, shrill; you name it, they played it. Moose and I stood out like sore thumbs. For one thing, we were dressed appropriately (khaki shorts, t-shirt & flip flops for him; yellow tank top–which matched my yellow toe nail polish thank-you-very-much, blue jeans shorts and sandals for me. For another, we didn’t know ANY of the words to the songs they played. They did…and they were tapping their toes and singing along.

We checked into our hotel (Holiday Inn Express), did a little shopping at an outlet (didn’t buy anything), browsed around Target (again, we bought nada), and had a late dinner. I think our waitress was the gal that played Half Pint in Little House on the Prairie. Hey, don’t judge; the economy SUCKS!

We were almost finished with dinner when Tasha called my phone. Now before I go any further, you have to know that when I leave the house I always remind Drew about 3 (or 10) times that he has to watch Zoe carefully if she’s not locked up because she will get into stuff. She is, after all, still a puppy. I never tell Tasha anything more than once because she pays attention the first time and heeds my warnings and instructions. But today she must’ve gotten distracted by something sparkly which caused her to momentarily forget the one thing I repeat so often, I probably mumble it in my sleep: you have to keep an eye on Zoe. You should also know that my 3 (or 10) reminders to watch Zoe annoy Drew. Eh, you probably guessed that already.

Anyway…
It seems I will need to get a new spool of thread to replace the new spool of thread I bought for a sewing project. Tasha said the CSI team is still investigating how Zoe acquired it, but the ME’s (medical examiner) report stated it only took Zoe a few minutes to completely and utterly obliterate 36 yards of 100% cotton thread. It sounds like the start of a bad joke, doesn’t it? “How long does it take a puppy to kill a spool of thread?” Ha ha ha

You wanna know what’s really funny? It’s funny how Tasha was hoping I’d have something blog worthy to share and ended up being the material for said blog. Way to participate and not just spectate, Tashy! wOOt!

Will staying at the Holiday Inn Express make Brian eligible to perform surgery tomorrow like they advertise in the commercials? “No, I’m not a doctor, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.”

Is the pillow inside the pillowcase that has “firm” written on it REALLY firm or is that just a marketing ploy to make me think it’s firm? And what's up with hotel drapes always being so ugly, regardless of the color, style, and swankiness of the hotel? Is there a rule about this type of thing? If so, how do we change that? Where are the Hotel Decor Police when you need them? Will tomorrow’s part of the trip bring more bad fashion? GASP! Will Moose wear socks and sandals without my noticing?!

Will the lunch people from Western Sizzlin read this blog and see the evil of their ways? Will they buy new wardrobes?

Or will they stalk and capture me, forcing me to wear overalls and let the polish on my toes flake off slowly as I’m tied to a chair and made to listen to bad music until my ears emit tears?

Tune in again to find out…same blog url, same blog BS.
The Square Peg would like to thank our sponsor, Tasha. Without her support, there might not have been a blog post today. We appreciate her generosity and will buy her Starbucks coffee (or tea) when we return home in hopes that she won’t pull her sponsorship from our program.

I’m writing a book and the subject is about sex. But I’ve been suffering from writer’s block recently and haven’t been working on my book, so a friend suggested I write at Starbucks. I wasn’t sure I’d like it or be able to concentrate, but thought I’d give it a shot and went yesterday for the first time. I was at Starbucks for about 2 hours and totally tuned out the music playing in the store while my fingers typed away. Until I was about ready to leave.

The music playing?
“Let’s Stay Together” by Al Green.

Followed by:
“Sweet Surrender” by Sarah McLachlan.

And the couple sitting across the store from me?
Having a mini-makeout session. Must’ve been the music.

If your life had background music, what would one of your songs be? One of mine would probably be the chorus of “Unwell” by Matchbox Twenty. For those who aren’t familiar:

“But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be…me”

OK, not really. But it did make me want to say bad words and single-handedly destroy a self check-out machine.

You know, one of my favorite things about Wal-Mart is that they have 50 check out lanes, 10 cashiers manning them, and half a million customers trying to get their stuff rung up. Every. Single. Time. I. Go. I decided to go through the self check-out lane. And after standing in one for 10 minutes, it was discovered to be broken...so I found another one.

It seemed that nearly every item I swiped across the glass didn't register its weight when I put it in the bag on the stand. And the machine kept stopping its price-calculating work to flash the little button at me that says "I don't want to bag this item", and it wouldn't allow me to do anything else until after I clicked on said button, forcing me to lie to the self check-out machine and say I wasn't bagging the item, when in fact, I already had! I can't get arrested for that, can I? Don't tell the po-po, k?

While I was at Wal-Mart, I bought the Zoe dog a new toy. It was one of those ropes that was braided and knotted for chewing. Yeeahhh, within 5 minutes she had the knot undone, all braiding unbraided, and left it in a slobbered on, ripped apart, tangled up mess of string. And she couldn't have been prouder of herself.

Notice that big, fat stick in her mouth? Clearly, she has now moved on to bigger and better things.

And now that I've made my public confession and prayed over and forwarded all those stupid, I mean totally legit chain email letters I get, I've been given another chance at heaven.

Peace out, people. But if you're a little on the impatient side and want to keep peace (& go to heaven), I recommend you stay away from Wal-Mart.

:)