No need to be concerned.

I've just been busy. This whole FRG thing is bleeding me dry -- we have a lot of young wives on their first deployment who just don't know how to cope outside of getting themselves drunk, laid or arrested -- and I am still trying to figure out how to find the best balance. Add to that some new work, a toddler with enough energy to power a small metropolis and a family visit and you have no time to blog.

Forgive me.

What have you been up to?

A good reminder.

"Despair wasn't a guest, you didn't play its favorite music, find it a comfortable chair. Despair was the enemy."

-Janet Fitch

Update on the Stage 5 clinger.

So I talked about S., my stage 5 clinger. Here's the update.

I tried to do the right thing. I explained that I could not help her. I put her in touch with her POC. I gave her the numbers for the military family life consultants and the chaplain. But the calls continued.

I finally lost my cool with her -- which was wrong, I admit -- but it did stop the calls. At least it has for the past week. Unfortunately, it has not stopped the drama as, in my absence, she's started calling everyone else.

It's going to be a long deployment. *sigh*

Sisterhood of the traveling porn.

About 10 years ago, I worked at a dot.com start-up with a group of really cool, really fun women. Though the company did not last long, our friendship has managed to last. Those long working hours and all that creative passion has created a very strong connection between us all, even now that life and love have scattered us to the winds.

Back then, we were all young and single. But when the first of us fell and accepted a proposal of marriage, we did the only thing we could think of to celebrate the milestone. We headed to the local sex shop to buy the nastiest, dirtiest porno movie we could find to give to her at her bridal shower.

I remember specifically being the one, full of some liquid courage, asking the balding, creepy store clerk for the "grossest, most out there" video they had. I should have known that the bar was set pretty high when he had trouble deciding.

Anyway, we bought the video -- I think it was called Bukkake Twins or something like that -- and laughed our asses off when K. opened it up in between crockpots and 250 thread count sheet sets.

But K. had the last laugh. When the next of us succombed to marriage, H., guess what she received at her shower?

And since then, every momentous occasion -- weddings, babies, promotions, a divorce, the decision to leave a job to travel for 6 months -- has been celebrated with the gift that keeps on giving -- nasty porn.

So I should have known when I received an unexpected package from S. that there were shenanigans afoot. But I was so busy entertaining my family, who had been staying for a few weeks, that it didn't even occur to me to be suspicious. Instead, I said, "Oh! How awesome!", touched by the unexpected gift, and then handed the package to my mother to open, as Munchkin was running amok.

"Here's to a Busy and Satisfying Deployment!" the card read, covering a DVD with a gaping vagina and erect penis on the cover.

I don't think my mother will ever recover.

Is there nothing you can't find on the Internet?

Try not to waste time on Manbabies.com. I dare you.

I'm so tempted my make own. Not for the site, mind you, but for the mantle.

Military millionaires in the making.

You know, I read CNN's Millionaires in the Making blog for the comments. People are damn snarky. Mix that with stupid and you get an instant recipe for laughter.

This week, they covered a married couple who both happen to be active duty Captains in the Army. I was not disappointed. The comments go above and beyond my expectations.

Stage 5 Clinger.

Yep, I have one. My very own FRG groupie.

She calls about 6 times a day. She then proceeds to tell me about every second of her life, even if she already went through the bulk of it when she called two hours earlier. Then she calls again because she forgot something. And worse, it's clear from our conversations that she has some mental health issues.

I'm all about supporting spouses and being open to folks calling when they need something. But is the implicit meaning that I'm going to be someone's new best friend? That I'm the person they should be calling to vent about how long it takes macaroni to boil? I don't think so.

I have no idea how to gracefully extricate myself. Bleh.

Thrown.

I was floored by Owen Powell's Modern Love essay this week, entitled, "May I have this dance?"

It was one of the runner-ups to their college essay contest and after reading the winner, I can safely say that this one should have taken the prize, hands down.

And after reading Powell's work, all I can say is that I hope that CPT Dick has a Natalie Portman. You know, just as long as she's not quite as cute as me.

Well, that'll learn 'em.

"I've been asked to ask you to send some photos from downrange of the guys."

"Photos? Photos of what?"

"You know, the soldiers doing their thing. In good lighting, with smiles on their faces and in relative safety."

"Gotcha. But we don't have the connectivity for that right now."

"So any advice on what I should tell them?"

"Tell them to rent 'The Terminator.' We're pretty much living in those broken-down post-apocalyptic buildings that the humans are hiding in while fighting the robots. If that doesn't warm the cockles of their wee hearts, I don't know what will."

I really should be more upset.

Today, while out at a park with my son, someone patted my belly and said, "So will your husband be able to come home for the birth?"

And yet, after lunch, I still ate that 11th Oreo.

It's funny. The last time CPT Dick deployed, I lost around 30 lbs. I spent an hour each day walking my dog following by 2-3 hours at the gym. It was kind of my thing. Some people cry. Some people lay in bed all day. Some people have affairs. I worked off my deployment angst on the elliptical trainer and on the weight floor. In retrospect, I think it became such a good distractor because of gym people. I mean, you don't really see gym friends outside of the gym. Gym friends really don't know much about who you are. And gym friends are friendly and make you feel like you are connecting without actually asking you anything about your life. And when everyone in your family and at work are constantly asking when you've last heard from your husband, bonding over different hand grips for a hammer curl can be quite seductive.

This time around, I just don't have the time for that kind of thing. I'm running a business. I'm raising a child. I'm doing this whole FRG thing. So though I'm trying to get myself to do something -- anything! -- physical 5 times a week or so, it's definitely not a priority.

I'd like to lose some weight. Honestly, now that Munchkin is three years old, I can't really get away with saying my pooch is baby weight. Responsibility belongs solely to creamy sauces, good pastries, several good local wineries and, of course, me. But it's hard to find a middle road when you know how well the extreme worked last time.

So maybe next time I'll find the willpower next time to say no to those damn cookies. You know, provided I never have to say no to beer.