Words I wish I had written

“Pop music does not grow and mature alongside you. The pop stars of the 90s who sang songs about chasing girls and falling in love for the first time when you were chasing girls and falling in love for the first time aren't going to suddenly start singing songs about how your liberal arts degree was worthless and it's weird that all of your friends are getting married just because you're 26 and going through that now. The Backstreet Boys will never become The Backstreet Men. All you can do is cling to your favorite artists and pray they never stop releasing new music. Also stay away from pop radio. It's terrifying out there.”

This is the kind of thing I think about. This is the kind of thing I wish I’d thought to say. This is the kind of thing that I wish had MY name on it, instead of Daniel O'Brien’s. Then people would discuss how witty and apt my observations are, and someone somewhere on the internet would read what I had written and laugh. This is, perhaps, why I was so determined to get my bullshit BA in English. Because I want to be some kind of she-Klosterman. And now… sigh. I simply think these thoughts to myself and sometimes have similar debates with Hubs, which never end well, since he and I think so differently about music and culture. Ironically somehow we play in the same cover band. Go figure. Well, at least I’m aware that I’m doing it ironically. Him, I’m not so sure.

However, with all of that being said, I do love me some Cracked.

Courtesy of: 4 Pop Culture Arguments That Need to be Retired | Cracked.com http://www.cracked.com/blog/4-pop-culture-arguments-that-need-to-be-retired_p2/#ixzz2AfuJp9ET

He Said:

“I don't think marriage should be a loveless financial contract between a whore and a war hero.”

…said hubs to me earlier today. Wanted to share but not necessarily spam facebook. I also think it is hilarious and a big part of the problem with the relationships I see out here. There’s beauty in the simplicity of that statement. I told him it was one of the most romantic things he’s said to me.

Emotions are illogical.

Which is probably why I hate them so much. Also, I hate how they can simultaneously stack, conflict, draw focus, weigh a ton, distract, dove-tail, and of course, meld.

Hubs went in for another surgery yesterday. He is out and doing ok, all things permitted. That makes 3 surgeries in 18 months, if I remember correctly. He should be pro by now. I only worry because every time he goes in, he ends up hitting the ER at least three times after he comes home. Usually in the first couple weeks. Also, we thought he was doing really well last time and had made progress. Turns out, nope, not so much. Doc fused some of his foot-bones together, hoping it would make him stable enough to walk. He was recovering well and the fuse was holding, and it did make his foot more stable, but somehow he still carries the weight on the outside of his foot. 

This means that for some reason, he needs another surgery to fuse other bones? I don’t really understand how that’s going to help, but that’s because I wasn’t there to listen to the doctor this time. He’s back on painkillers, recovering at home. His mom should be up in a few days to help him out. I don’t look forward to the recovery… he had just starting getting out and about alternating crutches and cane. Now we have to go through it all again.

But everything today was compounded by a realization. And here is my attempt to track my train of thought, which tends to jumble and ramble and double-back in on itself. I was logging my recent workouts in a more logical way—a spreadsheet! Oh god do I love spreadsheets—when I realized that I have about two weeks left to lose the last two inches. Now of course logically I knew this. And in fact, I have lost roughly an inch in roughly the last week. Mentally, sure I could look at a calendar and see, “yes, that is roughly fourteen days until weigh ins”… but something about the way it clicked in my head was terrifying and depressing. The voice saying, “jfc, you’ll never manage to do it. You should just give up.” But you see, if I give up now, it’ll be just like everything else I’ve ever [not] done. Stubbornly tough it out until it’s too close to back out, and then give up at the last minute, causing me to fail. I never see things through [okay except maybe college as a whole]. I say dismissively, “well, I don’t want to starve myself!” and “well, I don’t want to work out!” but really, if this shit goes down and I don’t make it… well, skip back to last paragraph and recall that hubs just had surgery. I’ve been working my ass off with minimal results. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I can handle the fact that I weigh almost to the pound what I did when we left WA. That’s not a big deal for me. But thinking about what I’m gonna have to do, what crazy lengths I’m going to have to endure, to make it these next two weeks… to stay in, to be surrounded by people I hate and disrespect, and who treat me like I’m an idiot… but, if I don’t… but it would be SO much easier to come home. Oh god, I would love to. I’m afraid I wouldn’t get a job though. But, if I don’t… how does hubs keep seeing doctors? How do we get by? The thought of mailing home my stuff… conflicting emotions.

I guess put bluntly, I’m tired of waiting to see what’s going to happen. I know it’s all on me. It’s my problem and I have to figure it out. Now, do I continue sitting here eating everything in sight because I feel bad for myself? No, I shouldn’t. Guess I just wanted one last hurrah. But how does spending two hours a day in the gym NOT pay off?! I have feeling discouraged. Discouraged makes me want to give up. Giving up is what makes me fail. constantly failing is what makes me feel discouraged. I wish I could fast-forward to Nov. 13. I also wish I could suck some of the fat out of my butt and put it in my boobs, or redistribute it to my poor butt-less girlfriends. But anyways. None of that is possible.

 

It’s a good thing they issued us these wonderful giant straws in bootcamp, so we can SUCK IT UP. [tee hee, also, it’s in the cow’s butt! So I made a double entendre.]

Boat Recipie #3

Last Ditch PB&J

-take 1 Nutrigrain bar from mess deck [I prefer the apple or strawberry]

-cover top in peanut butter

Tadah! It’s like an open-face version of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!

Also. I want to highly suggest the Pocket Yoga Builder app for ipad. It’s pretty freaking awesome, especially if you are experienced in yoga or have friends who are. I had her send me a flow focused on back stretches for post-Row machine, and input it manually into the app because I was afraid I’d forget how it goes. There’s a few hiccups in the app… I wish you could search by pose name, or copy and paste sequences, but you know what, it’s a helluva neat little thing. My main problem with it is “ooh that looks neat! Too bad it doesn’t fit here, gotta remember that one for later…” Can’t wait to try out this flow! Now if only I could find the time…

Boat Recipie #4

Ok, granted, I need to go back and write the other handful of recipies I’ve come out with while underway [one of them is the infamous tuna, rice, & rooster sauce]…

But anyways. We are blessed with a microwave, a coffee pot, and a hot water kettle. We rule.

1 cup o’ noodles [beef flavor]

Cut up a beef-stick

Prepare as directed

Garnish with the Roostah

Ta-dah.

I’m sure it’s better than the Seafood [Whateva] they had for dinner.

I still don't regret it...

I’ve had a reoccurring thought to myself as of late.

I look around, and you know what? Tattoos just don’t look as good as they used to.

A couple years ago, I would find them very attractive, interesting. Now… every Tom, Dick, and Sally has one, and they’re getting old. [as in, played out, not as in Sally herself is old and what used to be a cute kitten is now a floppy lion] Maybe now that they’re a dime a dozen, especially in the military, maybe they aren’t interesting any more. Maybe that’s why I liked them. I’ve seen so many bad ones—and I mean not only just absolutely stupid, meaningless tattoos, but also, the ones that were poorly done or not taken care of—that really, they don’t have the same effect on me. People just don’t care any more. I see a girl with full sleeves now and then, and instead of thinking “Man, I’d really like to check those out! I wonder what the theme is!” I just think “Meh…. Ew?”  I can’t tell you how many Koi & Water Asian Themed half-sleeves I see. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with the art, the tattoos are done well, but… where’s the creativity? Come on, people. You’ve been in the military for a half a second and went out and got some nautical themed tattoos, aren’t you clever. Sigh. [on that note, do you think Davy Jones could be considered a zombie??]

Having worked at a wonderful tattoo shop for a couple years, I understand not only the passion that an artist can pour into a piece, but also the pride with which some people wear them. I don’t get that feeling out of most of the people I see walking by now. Tattoos are just a piece of skin, an every day occurrence. Nothing fantastic or amazing about them anymore. Everyone has one. This type of thinking very much saddens me, and I’m quite surprised to find myself feeling that way.

But you know what? I still love all of mine and I don’t regret them at all. Well, except maybe that one… but mostly, I forget I have them, and I’m shocked when people don’t know they’re hiding under my uniform. Apparently I don’t look like a tattoo girl “on the outside.” [wow, since when?!]

Another Day, Another Disappointment

This was originally going to be a somewhat jovial post including an exchange between myself and my boss a few weeks back. It was humorous; he managed to compare me to a trebuchet in an almost completely serious way. This pleased me greatly.

However, I did an unofficial measurement today for Fat Camp. [It’s not lookin’ good, Bob, back to you for the story.]

Thanks, Chuck. Over the past 2 or 3 weeks, I have lost an inch. Unfortunately, that inch is split evenly between my neck and my waist. Now, the formula used to determine if you are actually a fat-ass or not [for females] is this:

hips + waist – neck = total  = body fat percentage vs. height

So. At a whopping 5’3” tall, mine looks like this:

44 + 29.5 – 13.5 = 60 = >35% body fat

Now for those of you who don’t know, I’ve already screwed up twice so I’m on thin ice. If I don’t get under 32% body fat, I will be, shall we say, forcibly excused from my contract with the service. So I have to get down to a “57”, which means losing 3 inches in any combination… unless it’s from my neck. Apparently I need to grow jowls.  

Here’s the problem with this arbitrary and archaic system of judging people’s physiques. I am extremely pear shaped, to put it nicely. I’m quite literally built like a cartoon. I am not “fat.” However, this means jack shit to anybody. Genetics? P’shaw. I have been going to the gym and dieting and have toned up most of my major muscle groups quite nicely and quite quickly. However. None of this really does me any good because of this stupid math equation.

Imagine, if you will, the following scenario. Look, I am so serious about this I even drew you a lovely illustration using MS Paint. Hey man, resources are limited. And apparently I don’t believe in legs or arms. They’re overrated anyways.

 

Me:       13” neck

34-36” bust

            29” waist

            44” hips

Right, so I’m kind of built like Jessica Rabbit, except five feet tall. Everything looks normal until you get down to the random badonk-a-donk… Anyways, because of my slimmer-in-comparison upper body, I am screwed.

Remember, 29 + 44 –13 = 60 = fat

Theoretical Fat Girl:        16” neck

                                    38” bust

                                    35” waist

                                    38” hips

So, this pretend girl would be built like an apple with several double chins. You know, where she has no curves at all; I would imagine this is what that 90s rapper would consider a “brick… houuuuse…” in my head. However, comma, 35 + 38 – 16 = 57 . Assuming this imaginary girl is also 5’3”, she would be within body fat standards. Yet when it comes down to it, who is more fit? Probably me. Who has more or less actual body fat? The world may never know.

Oh wait, just kidding, there’s like four other ways to measure body fat. All of which are far more accurate!!

Sigh. This is the problem. While I may be more aesthetically pleasing to some, “Honey, I like you the way you are” don’t pay my bills. And apparently spending 3 hours at the gym every day just affords me more of the same.

                                   

Things I Have Learned of Late

--I can tolerate Bleu Cheese dressing.

--Not so much with the swordfish steaks. They have skin and bones, which is ew.

--Worcestershire sauce is more than just a marinade, it is apparently a condiment as well.

--Worcestershire sauce is tasty on kidney beans and over-cooked salmon.

--After-dinner-coffee is always appropriate, and AWESOME.

--South Asia makes way better coffee than anywhere else I know. Sorry, Seattle.

--Everywhere has nothing on home. Except Thailand. Okay, but Thailand would have been WAY better with any of the folks I currently am missing.

--A thin long-sleeved shirt is sometimes cooler and more comfortable than a tee-shirt. Temperature wise.

--Just because you clicked ‘record’ doesn’t mean your device is recording.

--Just because you batch-converted something to mp4 doesn’t mean every episode in the season will play.

--Just because there’s a Starbucks, doesn’t mean there’s free wifi.

--Always charge your ipod. Like, every night. It is nearly impossible to work out without some form of entertainment.

--Sometimes it’s best to take initiative and own up for your mistakes. Sometimes, it’s best to keep your mouth shut, because someone has your back. AKA, it’s really hard to recall emails.

--My phone makes a terrible alarm clock.

--My alarm clock makes a terrible alarm clock.

--You can always judge a person based on the music in their library, but you can’t always predict the library by judging the person.

--If you go to a Hard Rock Café overseas, ask if they honor the 15% “I’m an American!” discount.

--iPads are pretty damn convenient, when you can get them to work right.

--I should make coffee about half as strong as I am used to in order to get it to stop tasting sour. Go figure!

--Buffets in foreign lands should perhaps be avoided, or at least regarded with extreme skepticism. O She of the Iron Stomach has fallen.

--Sometimes you just gotta grow a pair and step up.

--Sometimes you just gotta shut your mouth and fade in to the background.

--I make an incredibly effective prostitute-repellent. Tested, tried, and true! [Although not hawker-repellent]

--I need to either go to bed earlier, or stay up later. I haven’t figured out which yet.

--Be motivated, but be quiet about being motivated.

--Find a way to de-stress. Whatever that may be.

--Some songs never lose their relevancy to you on a deeper level. You always like them and they always connect, but sometimes you have to -facepalm- over how things have changed since the last time you had a moment. You gotta listen to more than just the sounds, sometimes it’s the lyrics that need attention.

Everywhere you go, there you are.

I was so excited to visit Malaysia.

Well, okay, I’ve always been excited to visit other countries. I love culture. I love food. I love seeing things and taking pictures and doing stuff. I love experiences. I love things that give me a good story to tell.

And you know what? I [mostly] got none of that so far.

So far, I have been to Singapore and Malaysia. So far, they have stricken [struck?] me as so similar to the US that it’s disturbing. I claim that I want the “real” culture… so we go to a malay market down the street where everything reeks. Not worth it. Singapore? Super clean version of the US. Malaysia? Super dirty hot version of the US, where it gets dark really early.

I don’t know. I mean, if I wanted to wander around a mall and go to a movie, I could do that at home and have a lot more fun doing so. Walking around town only kills so much time, and is seldom worth it. In a muslim/asian country, I had Italian food twice, burgers twice, and one curry dish. Really?? Okay so maybe I should've gotten the Laksa for lunch today, and at least my pizza had salmon and capers. I don’t know. Maybe this would all be more fun and exciting if I could share it with the people I care about.

And you know what else?? I can't see any stars. I saw maybe three in port. You'd think with less light pollution there would be more stars in the sky… but honestly, it's just not true. I don’t know why the rest of the world doesn’t have skies like the US.

I need more adventures. I need more pictures. I need more stories. This isn’t cutting it. I'm not… DOING much of anything. And I don’t have  a lot of chance to change that. Mostly, I guess, going somewhere else just makes me want to go home that much more. I miss home more than anything, and all I can do is think about how much I like Tacoma more than anything.

...okay well you know the coffee here is AMAZING. I'll give 'em that.