Why I sometimes wonder why I married.

"When are you planning to run today? Before or after I go to the grocery store?"

"I was actually thinking of leaving in a minute."

"For how long?"

"I don't know...hour and a half. Maybe two hours. Then you can hit the commissary."

"But then you'll be back right at Munchkin's nap time."

"So?"

"Well, that means I'll be shopping while he sleeps and I won't get any sort of a break today."

"Sure you will. You'll get a break at the store."

Note that it is my husband who has asked me to go to the store. To walk up and down the aisles and stand in a half hour check-out line to buy items for him.

Well, I guess I knew this was coming.

We're still playing the waiting game with CPT Dick's orders. But my husband has some feelers out and is getting at least some ideas of where he might go, depending on when he gets the nod to leave his current unit. It's helpful intelligence but I want to know where the hell we're going definitively. And I want to know NOW. You know, so I can mail my porn and N*SYNC compact discs ahead of time so the military movers won't laugh at me.

But I guess hearing little trickles of maybe is almost as good. Not.

Anyway -- surprise, surprise -- yesterday, CPT Dick said that one of the places that the Army might send us is deploying this summer. And wouldn't you know that's the place that he *wants* to go. Of course, it's been a while since my husband has gotten sand in the crack of his ass so perhaps the fact that he was going to deploy was a no-brainer. But it still rocked me a bit. I've gotten used to having his dirty butt around.

I guess a deployment countdown is in my future. Time to get used to it. Time to figure out how I'll handle it with a toddler. And time to drink a lot of tequila.

But I don't need it now that I'm a Mommy, right?

Day 5 of the serious sinus-infesting ick. Today, after the ministrations of hot steam, I managed to blow a very solid chunk of something out of my nose. Sure, it was covered in mucus, but it was solid. I can't help but think I might have actually blown part of my brain through my nostril and I'm seriously considering digging the tissue I disposed it in out of the trash for further examination.

Good thing I don't use my brain anymore, I guess.

The private war of women soldiers.

Yesterday, Salon.com had an interesting article about women soldiers in Iraq. It's definitely worth a read and certainly the author raises a lot of good points.

But it was not a balanced account. What the author did not relate is the number of false reports of rape and sexual assault in the Army. Now, I don't know if this problem is rampant in the whole Army or just in our area but I've now heard of several incidents where a female soldier accused or threatened to accuse a male superior of sexual assault in retaliation for not being promoted, being punished for some kind of UCMJ infraction or to get out of deploying. Luckily, the new measures in dealing with sexual assault were able to easily and quickly clear the inappropriately accused parties. But it was still a mess for all involved.

Before I married my husband, I was all for women in the military and women in combat. But hearing and seeing CPT Dick's and his colleagues' experiences and reading articles like this make me wonder if it wouldn't be better, for all involved, if women were not in any deploying units in the Army. It's a tough question for me, because I do believe in equality, but I wonder if the situation in Iraq just makes it untenable.

I thought we finally buried her.

And yet, Anna Nicole remains a CNN top headline. I swear, they are going to drive me to Fox News where I can read about how Scooter Libby is not guilty.

On helping me get better.

"The window is open."

"I know it is. Strangely, it is the same window that I asked you to close before going to bed last night. Guess you didn't get around to it."

"It's not that cold."

"Yes, it is. I'm freezing!"

"But you are looking and sounding so much better this morning. Everyone knows that fresh air circulating is one of the best things you can do for illness."

"So you didn't forget to close it, you were intentionally trying to put me on the path to wellness?"

"Exactly!"

Sick, sick, sick.

My son has passed me his ick.

I'm running a temperature of 101, hocking lugies like a toothless, chain-smoking hockey player, and just all around miserable. And of course, CPT Dick is still away. So I get to try to suffer through this while entertaining a newly healthy and incredibly energetic toddler. Add to that a house that needs to be cleaned so Munchkin doesn't accidentally impale himself on a food-encrusted fork and a bunch of deadlines that have to be met today, and you've got real fun. Yeah, me!

So forgive me if I have nothing else to comment on today. I'm going to go sit in the corner and try to at least look enthusiastic.

So very wrong.

I've said it once and I'll say it again. Some people have way too much time on their hands.

Must I always be waiting, waiting on you?

Still no orders. Still no idea when we'll get them. Still no idea where we'll go once we do get them. Still no idea when we'll go once we get them. Still no idea when CPT Dick's current commander might let him go, thus making any orders received null and void if gotten too soon.

And my mother wonders why I drink so much.

Have you heard "The Secret"?

Now that Oprah has had not one but two shows about "The Secret," the book is flying off the shelf. The basic gist is that positive thoughts attractive positive events and that you -- and only you -- can make yourself rich, happy, beautiful, whatever, just by visualizing it. It's total crap. And as such, it's been the talk of every wife event I've had to participate in since the Oprah shows aired. Because, you know, it's, like, so true. I've been tempted to regurgitate my bean dip in response to these ad-hoc testimonials more than once. BECAUSE IT'S ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS.

But finally -- FINALLY! -- someone agrees with me that this book and the surrounding hoopla is bullshit. Thank you, thank you, Peter Birkenhead.

It kind of sounds more impressive out loud, don't it?

Zefrank makes a spoken word piece out of the kind of spam I get everyday. Hilarious.

My husband's comments on the Sadr City Sweep.

"Again?! Do you know how many times we could have killed that Moqtada al-Sadr fucker when I was in Baghdad? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES?!"

There are no words.

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me be the first to introduce you to Garden & Gun magazine. And I'm so not kidding.

The Right Wing Paris Hilton

Charming, isn't she? Someone needs to explain to me why the hell this woman gets to speak at these conferences. Hell, someone needs to explain to me why this woman gets to speak at all.

A picture is worth one thousand words.

Especially when those words are "guilty." I find it both funny, and rather sad, at how news agencies select photos that show what they really think of people. Photos of President Bush always have his mouth half-open and him looking confused, Vice President Cheney always resembles Dr. Strangelove and they always managed to find a photo of Scott Peterson smiling during his wife's murder trial.

It's no different today. They found this wild, woolly-eyed photo of Stephen Grant, who is suspected of murdering his wife, Tara, and dismembering her body.

Gosh, do you think that the news agencies think that he's innocent until proven guilty?

An evening out.

My husband's cel phone rings. As he answers it, he notices that it's Munchkin's babysitter.

"What? Sorry, it's loud in here. He threw up? Twice? Oh. Well, that's okay. He does that all the time."

"CPT Dick, give me that phone!"

"What?! I was about to ask her if she cleaned it up."