the cheese stands alone

Leaping Out Of the Cake As We Speak

Today is the GM1's birthday. He's out afloat in a great big boat, but not with a goat.
Or a stoat.
Sorry, too much Dr. Seuss earlier....
I was going to write a big mushy historical post on how we met, but realized that mushy is not my style, it certainly isn't the GM1's, and so I've got to just content myself with delayed spankings, the neato present I sent him, and hopes that you all will wish him Happy Birthday in the comments so he can see.
A big Thank You to my mom-in-law, for uncrossing her knees and letting that old water break so I could be as lucky as I am now.
Happy happy birthday, sweetie.

Deficit

The GM1, on learning that TBS will be showing reruns of the HBO-departed "Sex and the City": "Well, that'll be ten minutes well spent."

I mean, c'mon, this is the station that censors "Grease".
I can't wait to see what they do if they get hold of "The Sopranos". I've got three minutes to kill.
Pfffttt.

A Polite Discourse

Comment made by me to the GM1 as a political discussion threatened to go nuclear:
"Look, you're a bleeding-heart liberal pussy, and I'm a warmongering semiconservative bitch.... let's just leave it at that."
Comment from eavesdropping salesclerk:
"Bandaids are in aisle nine, just in case."

Delayed Reaction

Whilst in the throes of the recent plague, I took to describing my ongoing symptoms to the GM1, graphic detail by excruciating graphic detail. He said I must have been the type of child who pulled the wings off flies.
I then began to refer to him as "Angel Crotch."

He just got it.

Visiting the Attic

On this, the wedding anniversary of GM1 and I (16 years ago, thank you thank you), I notice that I've been blogging for over a year. My blogaversery came and went during the season of plague and I didn't feel the breeze.
So let's play a little catch-up and see how the Cheese began, starting with a post from exactly one year ago today......

Cactus Joe and Other Prick-ly Things

Today sucks and it's not even 6:00AM here. I call that efficient.
It sucks for two reasons.

Reason one: It's our anniversary, the GM1 and I. Fifteen years together in a state of matrimonial splendor, as they say on the Lifetime channel. We also have another anniversary, in November, commemorating the day we met, which is coming up on seventeen years ago. And today the GM1 is all the way over in San Diego. The only one who will benefit from this will be the phone company.
We'll celebrate when he gets back, but for now it sucks.

Reason two: Today is our Pre-Inspection prior to moving out. Pre-Inspection is the torture routine where Housing sends the Physical Housing Manager (wonder if there's a Metaphysical one? A guy that come to inspect your aura before you leave, perhaps?) to tell you all the little nitpicky things you have to fix up before the military will "release" you from your assigned Housing. I always get this image of being handcuffed to a mop, with a prison matron standing over me barking orders to swab the deck or NOBODY'S GOIN' NOWHERE.

Our PHM is Cactus Joe. Joe has the reputation of being the biggest jerk anyone has dealt with. Joe is such a royal pain in the ass that the other people in Housing are actively campaigning for him to take early retirement. Everyone I've talked to despises Cactus Joe.

He's called Cactus Joe because he hates "unauthorized" plants or shrubbery in the yards. During one family's check-in, he discovered the previous tenants had left a cactus growing in a corner of the back yard, a nice large one. He went berserk, shrieking about "dirty trash left behind" and ripped it out of the ground with his bare hands and flung it over the fence. Then he danced around screaming at the family to "get the goddamn pricks out" of his hands.

I've had my run-ins with Cactus Joe before. There is a young tree growing just past our fence that developed a severe break in the trunk, from the neighborhood hellions climbing on it. I called Housing to say it needed cut back or whatever tree guys do when trees go bad. They transfered me to Cactus Joe, who stopped me in mid-sentence to snap "I know all about it. It's taken care of." Then he hung up in my ear.

That was in December. The tree droops in three pieces just past the fence. I have several bets out that he'll try to tell me it's my responsibility to take care of it. Sorry, Joe, I have the official word from Housing... it's your baby.

Today is also Kitten Camouflage Day. It's part of CJ's rep that he also hates cats and will try to push through paperwork to make cat owners pay for an exterminator to come dust the house for fleas, even though there are only tile floors and the cat is perfectly clean. He also allegedly rounds up any friendly strays and takes them to the "Humane" Society... which in this area is a strict "kill everything stray" facility. So before he shows up, I have to try to round up all the strays I can and hide them in my neighbor's garage, along with my indoor cat, Squeeks. As far as Cactus Joe knows, there hasn't been a cat in any of his realm since 1976. This is because everyone is in on the concealment procedure.

There are rules that have purpose, there are rules that were made to be broken, and then there's Joe.

He's so lucky it's not a pms day.

And just for fun, I have three friends lined up to come back to my ex-back yard once we move... and plant a huge, nasty cactus. Have fun, Joe.
(previously posted on Blogspot)

Memorial Day From My Perspective

Over the years of my marriage to the GM1, I've taken a bit of flak from those in my family who are lifelong civilians.

(Backstory: The GM1 entered the military at age 18, this having been his goal from childhood. Now, after 20-plus years, the GM1 is leaving on the final deployment of his career. He's going to the Persian Gulf, and other ports to and from, and his mission is as always- to serve his country, to maintain honor, and to protect the citizens of the United States of America.)

And yet there are those who delight in giving me shit about it. Please note, however, that they are not demented enough to give the GM1 shit.
Examples:
Cousin A: "So you keep saying he's been gone on deployments and assignments that add up to being away from home for about 1/3 of your marriage. So what? Travelling salemen are gone all the time!"
My answer: "Yes, but he's been gone protecting YOU. "
Aunt B: "Okay, he gets hurt from time to time at work, injuries that might aggravate him for years afterward. So what? Carpenters bang their thumbs all the time!"
My answer: "Yes, but he was hurt protecting YOU."
Uncle C: "He gets calls in the middle of the night about problems at work. He gets called in on his days off. He gives up his free time to help his shipmates. So what? Plumbers get midnight phone calls all the time!"
My answer: "Yes, but he gets calls and helps out to protect YOU."
Cousin D: "He makes less than most secretaries. He owns very little material wealth. Poor people scrape by all the time!"
My answer: "Yes, but he makes substandard wages for constant overtime work so he can protect YOU."

They don't get it. The GM1 has served his country for all of his adult life. He's given up personal goals and altered idealistic plans and devoted his life to protecting our country, our citizens, and our way of life. He's the biggest, brightest star on the flag- the man who didn't just talk about it.
He did it.

Memorial Day is the day we commonly remember and celebrate the lives given in service to our principles of freedom, democracy, and equality. Let's also remember and honor the lives given for this by those who are still with us.
There are millions and millions out there just like the GM1.
Let's remember all of them too.

Message

This is the GM1. LeeAnn is ill and won't be able to blog for a while. She asked me to tell you all this so you will not think she has quit and not said goodbye.
Thank you.
GM1

When the GM1 Gets It Up, People Take Notice

For those of you who wonder what exactly the GM1 does, he's provided a visual aid.

I'm suitably impressed, myself. And perhaps just a little turned on.
I'm just glad he doesn't bring his work home with him.
(He tells me this was taken during a telemetry shoot of anti-aircraft missles off San Clemente Island and not, as I alleged, a failed attempt to toast marshmallows.)

MK Ultra, the Home Version

I woke up this morning with the entire lyircs of "Every Sperm Is Sacred" firmly lodged in my head.
I can't find the tape record, but the GM1 looks a bit too innocent.

Trading Cases

Tiffany is doing some Bob Villa-esque home improvement, and she's gone all out and posted a little video tidbit for us. She has an accent warning on it, but what I found amazing was how calm and confident she sounds.
If you caught sight of me with some kind of power tool and a massive remodeling project looming, most likely the only sound you'd hear would be shrieking, cursing, and small animals running away.
Speaking of small animals... yeah, nice segue... anyway, while I was watching the vid, the GM1 pokes his head over my shoulder.
"Wassat?"
"It's Tiffany sanding her hallway."
"Oh.... huh, is that one of the bloggerettes?"
Bloggerettes. Makes us sound like we should be standing in the wings, waiting for Ike Turner to smack us.

And Yes, The GM1 Is Rather Chewbacca-ish

:: how jedi are you? ::
(forced away from Robert....get it? Forced....the Force.... ah, man, I crack myself up.)

Can't Buy Happiness? Try Being Happy Without It

"Our checkbook has addition deficit disorder."

- the GM1, watching me play with the calculator and mindlessly scribble random figures balance the checkbook.

Linguistically Loose

The GM1 and I went to the Wild Animal Park last weekend. We went to the Bird Show, where they have lovely hawks and owls and emus and parrots doing neat tricks. One of the bird trainer guys had an accent. So I blame the following conversation on him.
Youa culpa, bird guy.

GM1: "Oh, listen to that... another Aussie."
Me: "Is not."
GM1: "Is too. Listen to the accent."
Me: "I am, and he's not from Australia."
GM1: "Oh yeah? Then where?"
Me: "Scotland, maybe? Sounds so.... familiar? Hmmm."
GM1: "Listen, he just said 'one off' and 'thick as two short planks'. That's Aussie talk."
Me: "Is not. That's Brit-speak. Or thereabouts."
GM1: "You're the one thick as two short planks. He's a Steve Irwin clone."
Me: "Bah."
Random audience member to bird trainer guy: "Excuse me, but where are you from?"
Bird trainer guy: "Wales."
Me: "Ha! Knew it!
GM1: "Yeah, uh-huh, how did you know it?"
Me: Because his voice made me want to...er.... spread my legs."
GM1: *dead silence*
GM1: "Accent slut!"
Me: "No, you dink. My very first gynecologist was Welsh. I kind of mentally imprinted that, I guess."
GM1: *nodding wisely* Ah.... like an emu."
Me: "Yep, an emu with a yeast infection."
GM1: "Two short planks... I'm tellin' ya. "

The Gentle Art of Conversation

So the GM1 comes home with this pile of forms to fill out for the upcoming retirement, and promptly drops them on my desk.

Me: What's this?
Him: Some stuff I have to fill out.
Me: And it's on my desk because.....?
Him: Well, your handwriting is better. Mine sucks. You tell me all the time mine sucks.
Me: (in full bitch mode after a hard day of slinging fairy floss) Yeah, but it would have been nice if you'd asked me and not just assumed I'd do it. When did I become your personal secretary?
Him: (missing the chance to point out that I usually demand to do all the form-filling-out because yes, his penmanship sucks bad and in addition I am a near-pathological control freak who needs to do everything... but he skips this step and skillfully goes right for the guilt) I'm sorry. I didn't mean.... *accompanied by accomplished downcast yet extremely cute demeanor*
Me: (now wracked with remorse at my obviously wifely neglect) No, I'm sorry, I was snarky for no good reason and....
Him: Are we going to go see that movie?
Me: *whiplashing at subject change* Wha? What movie?
Him: You know, Snarky and Hutch?
Me: Starsky. It's Starsky. "Snarky" is a blog thing.
Him: Oh....yeah. But the new one, with Owen Wilson. He's the cool Hutch. The other guy was just.... I dunno, too cheesy.
Me: Hey, watch it! Cheesy is a good thing.
Him: Debatable.
Me: Who would know better? I mean, I AM The Cheese, you know.
Him: You aren't really The Cheese. You just play one on the internet.
Me: How burned exactly do you want your dinner?
Him: You da Cheese, baby. You da Cheese.

The GM1 Speaks Yet Again

Me: "Okay, just take this Chexmix away from me before I eat it all."
GM1: "You want it locked up where you can't get at it? Is that the deal?"
Me: "Oh hell yeah, lock it up."
GM1: "Hmmm... we don't....
Me: "What?"
GM1: "We don't seem to have a vault."
Me: "Why on earth would we have a vault?"
GM1: "If this were the Batcave, we'd have a vault."