Water, my love/hate relationship with

Friday, Jul. 07, 2006, 8:54 a.m.

It’s not you, it’s me.

I’m absolutely fucking terrible at doing any two things at the same time (unless we are referring to simultaneously talking and sounding stupid, in which case I am a well-oiled machine).

The thing is, when I was deployed, and my only waking hours were spent in front of a computer, alone, for 12 hours straight, I was a journal-updating FIEND. I mean, the only other options, in that situation, would have been to a) download porn or b) do actual WORK. And the porn sites were blocked.

So now, here I am, back in the good ol’ U.S.A. (which, Happy Belated Fourth, all you fellow Americans!), and I actually have shit to do, and unfortunately for the happy little journaller in me, all that shit needs to take precedence over my little online ramblings.

See, now I actually have to get in my car and drive an hour to work, then stay there all day, and then come back. And then Husband is here, and he gets all whiny whenever I get on the computer (but then, I do the same thing … there’s kind of a lot of whining in our house), so we sit around and watch TV for a while, and then we go to bed.

(The weekends, by the way, are reserved for sleep, sex, those big arguments we’ve been putting off during the week, and running errands like “Find lost wallet” or “Finally pay frigging electric bill.”)

What I’m trying to say is, if I go awhile without updating, it SO does not mean I don’t love you. It’s just one of those things that goes along with a major lifestyle change like “not being in Iraq anymore.”

So, what have Husband and I been up to?

We are planning our triumphant escape from the Army (in less than a year, if all goes well), by attempting to get certified as Scuba People. This is so that Husband can go and be an underwater welder, which at least is no more dangerous than jumping out of airplanes for a living (part of his current job description).

I decided to do the certification too, because I am a huge fan of playing with fishes underwater while wearing tons of protective breathing-and-floating gear, and also because I am a supportive wife. (I am. Really.) (Shut up.) So over the next few weeks, I get to learn how to be a certified scuber, and I hope you are all rooting for me to not drown.

While not learning to breathe and swim underwater, we also like to watch movies.

I rephrase: On the happy occasion when Husband’s choice of movie doesn’t look like it will make me have dreams about death, and my choice of movie doesn’t make him immediately proclaim, “GAY,” we like to watch movies.

On that note, “Superman Returns” kicked ASS, seeing as how Kevin Spacey = genius, New Superman Actor = HOT and Giant Plane Hurtling To Earth = fucking awesome.

“Underworld: Evolution” made me want to gouge my eyes out with a spoon and pop my eardrums with whatever pointy object happened to be laying around. Although it kind of made me want to go out and purchase a skintight pleather vampire suit.

“The Break Up” was only watchable because of Vince Vaughn, and all of you Jennifer Aniston fans need to shut the fuck UP, because she is and was only ever good at playing ONE character, and that character was RACHEL, and YOU KNOW IT IS TRUE. I have NO PITY because she is RICH and she could buy another Brad if she really wanted to.

“Cars” was cute. If you go to see it drunk, it will be cuter still. We did not see it drunk, but that thought just occurred to me and struck me as a fine idea, because most people who normally pay to see cars drive around and around in circles tend to do it drunk, right? That’s what I thought.

In between the time I started writing this entry and this moment right now, something happened. The town I live in demonstrated to me that its roads were designed by some kind of vindictive water creatures who think water ought to stay on the streets after a storm until people are forced to paddle their cars to their destinations.

In other words: the road got flooded; nobody closed off the flooded road; I drove down the flooded road; my car drowned in calf-deep water; people must PAY.

After I’d been sitting there, unable to start my car for about ten minutes, as people cruised by me without slowing down (they were actually causing waves. My car (my Honda, that is, the Mini was at home, safe and sound) was BOBBING UP AND DOWN in the WAVES), one woman drove by me in her giant SUV, and stopped.

“Are you stalled out?” she yelled out the window.

“No, you fucking moron, I just like to sit by the side of flooded roads with my hazard lights on,” is what I said in my head.

“Yes,” I yelled back to her.

“Well, the water isn’t very deep,” she said. And then she drove off.

And I died a little bit inside for not having voiced my first thought, as she obviously was a fucking moron.

Eventually, a nice man stopped to help me push my car out of the road, and then Husband arrived to retrieve me and pensively examine all those things under the hood.

“There’s water in there somewhere,” he said.

“No way,” I replied. “That’s impossible. Water?”

I called a tow truck, and we eventually got ourselves and my car home, where I am sure I got the message across to Husband that we will NOT live in another flat place EVER AGAIN because FLAT IS BAD.

“I know, honey,” he said. “Flat is bad.”

(He is learning how to placate me. Applause is necessary.)

So now, ironically, the only functioning car we own, having eliminated the ’93 GMC 4x4 pickup truck (needs a new clutch) and the ’97 Honda Accord (drownded), is the ’72 Mini. All we need is a front lawn to let them sit in for a few years, and we will officially be rednecks. Life is fun, isn’t it?