We're all a bunch of lying pigs.

May 4, 2012. The day, month and year of my last entry. Holy friggin' cow. Let's sum up some of life's happenings between the last to the now. Mark & I ended up in TX for a few, followed by some trips here and there, followed by a stay in NC, no big deal - had a baby - moved to England. Have a 2.5 year old. AND - I love my life. How many people do you know exclaim from the top of their lungs I LOVE MY LIFE? Not many my friends. I'll tell you why. We're a generation consumed with so much bullshit. There, I said it. Get off of your gadgets and breathe fresh air. Go MOVE your body. STOP living through the lives of others, and begin to live the life you are meant to live. This isn't a philosophical movement or grandiose novel idea. This is straight up old school way of living. Take a walk. Read a book. Go for a run. Have an intimate lunch with a friend. Talk about things that matter. Be honest. Be raw. Don't sit back on your aforementioned gadget, and pretend to have this super concocted social media picture book representation of life {perpetuated by the world at large}. Let me let you in on something: IT'S ALL A BUNCH OF LIES. One more thing: People take the time to edit their lives to display a perception of reality. One more time: People ACTUALLY take the time to EDIT their life. INSTEAD of living it. Taking the extra time to edit? Say whaaaaaa? Seriously, folks. Go. Do. Be. STOP.THE.INSANITY.OF.LIES.

Hair growth +10

What happened in this last year (Post-July '11 to NOW) that would keep me from making not a single blog entry? Well, let me tell you. 1) My hair has grown a few +some inches. Thank god. 2) I'm still living in Pensacola, FL. Mark is still living the dream. Still, operative word here. Thank God. (Capital G-od, this time.) 3) Friends are leaving me. Surely this isn't what they meant by military life. But sure enough, it's happening and I don't like it. 4) Un-em-ployed. AND, actually want to be working. I surprise myself sometimes. 5) Volunteering, so not totally sitting on my arse. All of the time. 6) It's getting hot. The South is hot. Muggy hot. Next. 7) Did I mention my friends are leaving? So it goes... 8) Mark (and I) will find out what aero-plane/location by mid-July and our destiny will soon follow. 9) I miss my family. 10) I'm not sure if they miss me though. Sad day. 11) Because 11 is legit, I'll stop here. Promise to post within the next year. (Pre-May '13) Toodles. xxoo

You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around.

As a young'un, I served as an Air Force brat (a child of a nomadic (military) subculture). My family moved around quite a lot, leaving room for many schools and many goodbyes to many good friends along the way. Fast forward a few years, and I'm now the wife of an Air Force Officer. The view from up here is different, the moving however, still a vital part of the life. It goes without saying, I'm no longer in grade school. I can no longer meet friends at recess. Well, I suppose I could try, but will venture to guess this feeble attempt would be quickly followed by a police escort off the premises. Simply put, it's not easy being an adult.

As previously mentioned, facebook wives groups have given me virtual friends - many of which are the spouses of. Candidly speaking, several of these virtual friendships are probably not the same friends I would have selected on the schoolyard. No offense to anyone, but I can't relate to staying home, raising kids, and living to cook for my husband as he arrives from a long day's work. I can't relate to blogging about my favorite recipes and how these same recipes can be great 2nd day microwavable winners for my said husband's lunch. I can't relate to the life getting sucked out of me attending coffee gatherings, chatter surrounding military life. Quite frankly, I can't relate to wearing my husband's rank on my OWN sleeve and living in the shadow of his career choice. Although I AM a support system to my husband's selfless job, I am NOT solely an Air Force Officer's Wife. On the contrary, I am an individual with my very own daily dreams, wants, desires, and shocker alert*, I am my own person living in a civilian world too.

It's sort of like having one foot in and the other out. My left foot supports my husband, with love for this country like no other patriot, while my right foot, continues to live in civies (regular street clothing) in good ol' Americana-ville. And since we're talking left and right, I can, and do, still stand for the same platform I've always stood for, despite what some in these circles believe. Staying true to this post though, back to the point: I'm grateful for the freedom my husband fights for, and am thankful this very same freedom gives me the choice to not live exclusively suffocated by this AFB (refer to previous post). I mean come on people, it's not me who's fighting the fight and flying with both feet on that plane. I just shop at Target like the rest of us and fly commercial, searching dubiously for the cheapest expedia.com deal. The only difference here, I receive the military discount.

Guilty.As.Charged.

unCONVENTIONAL Fakebook.

Social networking is not that real. Living in a new city and in, what I will continue to refer to as the "Air Force Bubble" (AFB), is a puzzle and at the moment, the pieces are still very much scattered about. I'll put it together eventually, or so I hope. Meanwhile, I can't help but be perplexed by the several online 'groups' that are meant to bring Officer's wives together. Problem is, we're not meeting in the flesh and nobody appears to be suggesting we meet in person. I'd consider myself a "go-getter" and have no issue taking the lead, but if I'm honest, I'm hesitant to take the lead on suggesting we meet up outside of fakebook. Fakebook is very real interaction and very real connection for some people. I don't know if I'd be making some women uneasy by saying we should exchange pheromones (wait...put in that way, it could potentially freak a few out!) More than ever, I'm finding social networking such a strange phenomenon. I'd be a fool to say it doesn't serve a purpose because it certainly does. In my case, it's a great tool to coordinate social circles, but it shouldn't stop there.

I suppose I'll sit in this authentic blog world and decide if I shall invite the faces in cyberworld to a coffee clutch. Until then, I'll enjoy solitude and lonerville a little while longer.

Bottom line: When did facebook become the conventional norm?

Wisdom teeth pulling. Bad wife.

My husband got them pulled today. He walked in looking like a chipmunk and I laughed. Then I realized I should be a 'good wife' and not laugh at him. He didn't appear amused and so, this blog entry.

I'm not that great of a wife, in the traditional sense, I mean. I'm no June Cleaver, nor am I Betty Crocker. I don't exactly dote on my husband, and I'm neither meek nor am I subservient. I am however, a strong woman who supports this man 100%. When he doubts himself, I don't let him. When he questions decisions, I don't allow for it. A pastor once called me the female Barnabas - the apostle/son of encouragement (translated "Bas"nabas - daughter of encouragement). I do proclaim to be an encourager by nature and am my husband's biggest supporter, which I believe is what makes our relationship ours. We support each other and understand one another, and fully accept who we are as individuals. Together, we make a solid team.

As I begin this Air Force Officer's wife journey, I can't help but question "what makes a good wife?" There's underlying strangeness in this bubble, of which I can't put my finger on quite just yet. Perhaps it really does just come down to my own insecurities. Besides, it's only been a few months of living this lifestyle, who am I to fully judge? My experienced vague weirdness though, although undefined, is probably why I've come to question if I'm doing things "right." Thus, the ponderings above. Thank goodness my husband doesn't expect traditional womanly roles from me. And he really shouldn't. He married me for me. My friends and family would never define me as a Stepford Wife, but more importantly, they'd categorically say I'm no 'sell out'. So why would I sell myself short and be a shell of who I am to prove that I'm a good wife? Who am I trying to prove anyway? I think Basnabus works for the both of us and although I'm no Martha Stewart, I certainly aim to be a Million Dollar Decorator. I love a fabulous throw pillow and can accessorize like no other.

Make a better place for you and for me.

I had a moment today - taken from several times spent wondering how things have come to be in my life. Today, it came together, following a deeply hard and heartfelt cry. I often get asked, "What brought you to your career?" And often, I don't have a clear cut response, other than, "My profession chose me, I didn't choose it." Truth is, there are many factors that led me to what I do, but it's a culmination of events throughout my young life specifically, that have brought me to my 'work'.

Michael Jackson's memorial took place today. I expected emotions, but nothing like what happened to me as I sat watching the televised coverage of this historical event. A few weeks ago when I discovered his death, via text no less, I was in a state of shock. This shock had persisted until today, when I was faced with his emotional memorial service. One filled with what I suspect Michael Jackson would have felt adequate and a true honor to his life. As it goes, most of my friends will tell you I never have had any qualms about expressing my love for MJ. In the midst of his hard times even, I stood tall and professed myself a fan. Without a doubt, Michael Jackson was a humanitarian and his music crossed racial barriers and connected to the hearts of millions of people all over the world. I can't recall anybody in my lifetime having an effect such as this. I'm skeptical another will.

Nevertheless, the remarkable memorial service evoked in me emotions I didn't even know were there. Shedding tears, I watched the remembrance of Michael Jackson's love, shared by people who respected and loved him as an artist, an entertainer, as a brother, friend, and as a son, but mostly as a human being who did for mankind with a sense of grace and dignity, not to be matched by many. As my emotions mounted, my recollections of my childhood came to the forefront. A vivid memory of me at five years old flashed before me as I watched USA (United Support of Artists) for Africa perform "We Are the World." The authentic and undeniable feeling at that time in my young life has never escaped me, one of being tied to this plight of service to the sick, hungry and impoverished children of Africa.

At eight years, this same little girl sat mesmerized by the "Man in the Mirror" video, a single, coincidentally released on my birthday, with footages of various news events such as the John F. Kennedy and the Robert Kennedy shootings, Live Aid - with unforgettable images of starving children in Africa -and notable people including Martin Luther King, Mother Teresa, John Lennon and Yoko Ono, Ronald Reagan, Mikhail Gorbechev, and Adolf Hitler. As the years progressed, I bought all of his albums and confirmed "Rock with You" to be my favorite tune of all time. Only later did I find out this was top of the Billboard charts the day and year of my birth. Perhaps just another coincidence. I'm convinced, however, I jived to these beats in my Ma's belly - and as they say, the rest is HIStory (1995).

No matter the case, I knew why I was crying with such great sensation, and with such sincere passion and affection - Michael Jackson, his music, the images of life (and strife) he provided the world, he handed directly to me, too. As a young impressionable girl, I received the gift and internalized it in a way that has helped me pave the path for my life. His inspiration has incredible meaning in my life, and it is in his death that I can safely say, his life gave meaning to mine. I'm not the only one, as millions upon millions will miss his presence, but thankfully he left behind a legacy - one that will indubitably stand the test of time. Love for humanity isn't a trend, and Michael certainly knew that. Although Michael Jackson was a true original, his life and impact were anything but.

"If you wanna make the world a better place take a look at yourself, and then make a change." I couldn't have said it better.

Old fashioned donut.

Upon meeting somebody for the first time, you never EVER get the real person. It's ALWAYS a display of what that person wants to reveal. And if somebody argues they're giving you otherwise, they're lying. They're either lying to you, or lying to themselves. Now I'm not saying people can't attempt at being fully authentic, but right from the start, all people have a defined exterior many continuously mold until they've almost mastered their outer shell. After some time has passed, various lengths for various folks, people typically begin to show the real them. I do believe this time of pretence is crucial, however. Perhaps many relationships wouldn't survive if the hormonal woman gave a dose of reality from day one. Scary shit, right boys?

But here's the real kicker, we're now living in a world where more and more people are living via computer screens. No longer are people lying at bars or somewhere else in public. The cleverly created 'about me' blurb and the magic of the delete bar makes way for a perfected displayed version of themselves most commoners manage to convey to a tee. Lamentably, the innocent exaggeration (aka deception) eventually comes to pass when the distorted blurb and photoshopped image - undeniably leading to false expectations - is sitting across from you at the safe-date coffee shop. Certainly in this day and age, many can relate to this aww-crap moment. Scary shit, right girls?

Boldly speaking, if you want to meet that person, it often takes figuring out who you are, genuinely displaying you as best as is humanly possible, and perhaps going about it the old fashioned way. Maybe try taking a stroll outside with a donut and cup o' joe in tow. I know, I know, how will veracity benefit our perfected artifice? Scary shit, right people?