I'm a Scuber! I Scube!

Monday, Oct. 23, 2006, 11:25 p.m.

It is supremely chilly in my bedroom at the moment, and because I am unwilling to remove my feet from underneath the covers in order to Go Forth and spread the news, I decided to just let you guys in on it.

Also, I figured that now, since I finally went and bought my own computer, I really don't have an excuse to continue being SuperSporadicUpdaterWoman.

I got this new computer about a week and a half ago, and since then I have been voraciously rebuilding my iTunes library (recently eaten for breakfast by my now-defunct iPod, which subsequently burped, blinked, made a frowny-face and promptly click-wheeled its way on up to that shiny Apple Support Center in the sky), which means that at any given moment, I am likely to burst into any given song. Be ye warned.

If you stretch your memory waaaaay back to sometime in early August (before Husband and I did that whole let's-not-live-together-anymore thing), you may recall that I was in the early stages of learning how to be a Scuba Babe (way down there on the list of young girls' Halloween costumes, as you might imagine -- somewhere between "Werewolf" and "Box of Thumbtacks").

My Scubing education took a short break while I was moving (and also due to the fact that my instructor is a friend of Husband's), but I picked it back up a couple weekends ago, and finished this past weekend. Which reminds me ...

Things To Never Do While 35 Feet Underwater

1. Forget how to breathe through your nose (leads to PANIC! HOLY FUCK BREATHING NOT HAPPENING! AM GOING TO ACTUALLY DIE)
2. Try to talk (result: "Blrrrggh. BLRRRRRGH. Brmph!")
3. Forget how to use a compass (although the entertainment value of watching someone attempt to explain said usage without using words is immeasurable)
4. Sink rapidly (let's hear it for exploding sinuses!)
5. Flail
6. Smile and/or laugh (water in mask -- this brings me back to #1, re: certain death)

Of course, I did not do ANY of these things. I am telling you about them based on what OTHER PEOPLE have TOLD ME. (I mean, I certainly know how to use a compass, being in the Army and all. That is certainly not a skill I would have forgotten in the four and a half years since the last time I used one. Ahem.)

Anyway, as soon as I send in my signed "You Did It!" papers and get back a card with my picture and a special number on it, I will be a certified Scuber, and that is a giant accomplishment for me. (And a ... small step for, um, mankind ... ? I have no idea where the fuck I was going with that.)

Place of diving.
(I am not actually in this picture, but that is because I was the one holding the camera. You'll just have to imagine me down there.)

Thank you to those of you who suggested various ideas for my post-Army occupations/dwellings/drunken exploits! I will definitely be heading out on an extensive road trip to further my research. I'm sure that somewhere between Vegas and Boston and everywhere else in the world, I will find the perfect place for me. Or at least get arrested several times in the attempt.

Oh, but first? Let's all go ahead and say a prayer to any and every god we believe in, because a nasty rumor around here is saying that I just might end up stop-lossed and headed back to Iraq next year. If that happens ... well ... well, trust me -- I am not above learning the Canadian national anthem. If you get my drift.

Since I have been horrible about updating, I have a consolation prize for those of you who've stuck around. Except it's not really a prize. More like a desperate grasp for a conclusion to this entry that doesn't include "The End." Either way, I give you ...

JABBA THE BABY! Didn't I have the awesomest jowls EVER?
(Photo courtesy of My Dad)

Thank you and goodnight.