we took an adventure Archives

Apparently going to a fancy shmancy party thing like we did last night has a strange effect on Rabbit and me. Because we don’t really know how to behave at things like this, we seem to regress into some less-than-normal conversations.
It’s kind of like when you’re a kid and it’s your first time sitting at the grownup’s table and you are trying to act older but it just isn’t working so you give up completely…

Yeah. Like that. Only it isn’t our first time at the grownup’s table. And we’re not kids anymore.

Me: There is something missing from this table.
Rabbit: What’s that?
Me: A unicorn. A small unicorn.
Rabbit: What is it with unicorns all the time? Hey, look, Superman must have been here.
Me: What? What the heck are you talking about?
Rabbit: He left his crystals all over the ceiling.
Me: How come you can talk about Superman but I can’t talk about unicorns?
Rabbit: Because UNICORNS. AREN’T. REAL.
Me: Yes they are. They’re in the Bible
Rabbit: No they’re not. Narwhals are real. Unicorns are mythical. Big difference.
Me: Yes they are. It actually says unicorn in the King James version.
Rabbit: That could mean anything. That could mean rhinoceros.
Me: But it says UNICORN not rhinoceros.
Rabbit: Unicorn means one horn. Or one… corn? That’s weird.
Me: Narwhal means one-toothed unicorn. Or something like that.
Rabbit: What? That’s stupid. What does it have to do with teeth?
Me: The Narwhal’s horn IS a tooth.
Rabbit: No.
Me: Yes.
Rabbit: So you’re telling me he’s got a tooth that comes out of his head?
Me: No. That would be dumb. It comes out of his mouth. It’s one long tooth but he doesn’t use it for getting food. He more sword fights with it.
Rabbit: This is awesome. Here, let me joust you with my one tooth.
Me: I see your tooth is as big as mine.
Rabbit: You know what’s weird is how you know so much about Narwhals.
Me: I watched Elf.
Rabbit: And seriously, why is it called a uniCORN? Why not a uniHORN?

This is about when we realized the entire table was looking at us and I said to Rabbit:
Remember the last time we were caught being completely goofy in our own little world? It was at the Haddings and, coincidentally, we were talking about corn then too. Jimmy Crack Corn… or some variation of that song.

But actually I was wrong. I don’t know what I was remembering about Jimmy Crack Corn but while visiting our friends, the Haddings, after a pretty stressful week preparing for Kait’s graduation, Rabbit and I were de-stressing by laughing about hanger-nails, not cracking corn. Don’t ask because, honestly, I have no idea.  We’re like ginormous children. Except nobody has to remind us to brush our teeth.

P.S. You can’t actually learn anything about Narwhals from watching Elf so don’t go out and buy the movie hoping for a good homeschooling lesson. You’ll be disappointed. Probably.

Expensive food has never tasted so good.

I’ve eaten at a 5 star restaurant before and found the food to be marginal. Pretty, but not so tasty. Like mildly flavored art.


The steak is good though. Not very substantial, but good.

Kind of like a tiny little sampler that is just enough food to make a person hungry but not enough to be considered a meal. Unless you’re a tiny person.

Update: The dessert was all fancy-like and tasted like packed dry pudding with jelly on it. I didn’t eat but just a bite. If I’m going to ingest sugar-laden confectionaries, it’s most certainly not going to be that.

So, this shindig is pretty fancy shmancy I guess. There were even hors d’oeuvres on trays being carried around by people in loose oriental-yoga attire and we could just take what we wanted and put our empty glasses and fancy skewers back on the tray like in the movies.


And then we sat down at the dinner table finally and are now waiting for dinner to be served and there are more than a half dozen pieces of silverware to choose from.


Who needs this much silverware? Really? It is just a three course meal.
And Rabbit just started talking about the Superman crystals on the ceiling and I realize now more than ever that we are definitely far outside our element.

P.S. I totally had to look up the spelling of Hors d’oeuvres.

Nobody else here reads good. Apparently.

Valet freaking parking, people. They totally parked our giant 12 passenger van for us.


Also, apparently nobody Googled cocktail attire (specified in the invite as afternoon wedding type dress) except for me. Although I’m dressed well, I’m certainly not dressed formal. But instead of feeling like an idiot, I feel more like the only one smart enough to read directions. I should win something for this.

There will be more. The evening is just getting started.

Rabbit and I have a mandatory semi-formal function to attend tonight. Mandatory for him, anyway. Highly suggested for me. Usually if they highly suggest that I show my face at a military function I don’t go to make the point that I’m not in the Navy and they should ask nicer if they want wives to participate. However, we didn’t get to go to the Navy Ball this year because Rabbit was at sea so this is my chance to get dressed up in my best cocktail dress and eat very expensive, and likely dry and tasteless food.

It shouldn’t be too bad. I do get to wear a dress. A dress that says DRY CLEAN ONLY on the tag. Also, it’s open bar.
Bonus, y’all!

Update: We paid $65 a plate for this mandatory thing and Rabbit just informed me that it is, in fact, not open bar. What the heck, Navy?

Moving is awesome.  But only if you enjoy the feeling of being stabbed repeatedly in the the head with a table leg. Then feeling better. Then being stabbed again. Then having this happen over and over again so much that any time somebody mentions the word moving, or move, or box you duck, cover, curl up into the fetal position and gently cry, I don’t want it, I don’t want it, again and again.

We moved more than 2 months ago. The government paid for this because we were moving into base housing and so the movers came to our house and threw everything in boxes and then drove to our new house 10 miles away and threw everything out of the boxes and broke some junk.  They KNEW they broke stuff and didn’t even tell me. Also, they packed their cigarettes in with my toiletries (I don’t smoke), left bottles laying around with spent cigarettes in them (again, I don’t smoke), and left trash all in my yard at the old house and at this new one. Also, they failed to fully unpack us and I had to call and complain for them to come back and finish.
Yeah. I know.
Before the moving team left, head mover guy left me with some claim forms to fill out incase we found damaged goods. He said that I was not to file the claim with the Navy but I was to send the claim to the mover’s office – to the address on the form – within 70 days. About two weeks ago, on day 58, I had my claim forms filled out and ready to go and I called the company to make sure I was doing everything right. The call went something like this.

Me: I have my claim form ready and want to make sure that I’m sending it to the correct address.

Her: You don’t send that here.  You have to send that to the Navy.

Me: The moving guy said to send it to you guys.

Her: Oh posh. Those guys don’t know anything.
She was kind of chuckling.

Me: Oh.
I wasn’t surprised by this announcement.

Her: Look in the upper corner of the form. There should be an address. You are to send the form to that address.

Me: Okay.
I rattled off the address really quick.

Her: Oh. That’s our address. I guess you’re supposed to send the form here.

So I did. And I heard nothing back. So, on day 70 I called them to make sure they did receive it because, dang it, I was getting my full value replacement costs.  And here is how that conversation went.

Me: Hello. I sent in a claim form two weeks ago and wanted to make sure you received it.

Her: The claims person is out of the office until tomorrow. I can take a message.

Me: Well, today is day 70 and I really need to know that y’all received my form.

Her: Hold on. I’ll peek on his desk.

Me: Thanks.

Her: Yes. We received it last week, however, this isn’t the right form.

This is how wars get started, people.

Not only did head moving guy AND the gal on the phone both tell me to send in THAT SPECIFIC PAPERWORK, but apparently Mr. Claims Guy had my paperwork, my WRONG paperwork sitting on his desk for more than a week without calling me or anything about me needing to fill out and send in a different form.

And why did the mover give me the wrong form in the first place?  Was it because he knew the piano was broken? The full size electric concert piano with weighted keys that we bought USED for $750?

Well played moving guy. Well played.

But I’m still getting my money.

Today, after yet another call to the mover’s office, I got the new form they mailed to me filled out and in the mailbox but who knows what’s going to happen next. Because the only thing I’m absolutely sure about right now is that all six of my boys will look at me with slack mouths when I ask them who is responsible for the soaked dish cloths left in random places. Like in the corner of the hallway, in the downstairs bathroom, in a ziploc baggie under the kitchen sink….

And why?

So, a week or so ago the Rabbit convinced me to sit in his helicopter and I was sure I had gone 25 years back in time because it all looked very Atari and I decided right then and there that flying in a helicopter is on my least favorite things to do list because Atari was very pixely and unrealistic and I don’t ever want to feel like that. I’m not saying I don’t like Ataris, I’m just saying that I don’t want to be flying around in one.  So I sat there and pretended and the Rabbit took some pictures of me with my phone and I almost broke the Navy and now I’m typing this blog post a week later and I don’t have much else to say about the whole event except, dang I was having a good hair day.

And also, It has become obvious that the Rabbit doesn’t know me very well because this is how he imagines me to look while flying a helicopter:

This is how I imagine me to look while I fly a helicopter: (much more realistic)


I promise I was not really flying in either of these photos and if you look closely at each picture you will see strong indications that we are, in fact, still inside the hangar.  I don’t fly. And I have no desire to anger the government. You know, assuming the government reads my blog.

And as if it wasn’t bad enough that I was surrounded by snakes and had possibly murdered Santa I really had to go pee and the Rabbit forced me to use the men’s head because, There’s no girl’s head on this floor, and that doesn’t sound bizarre at all and I thought once again that this is really not somewhere I should be ever. 

But at least I got to fly. Pseudoly (can I say that?).

While I was visiting the Rabbit’s squadron last week he took me into this room that was filled with computers and a microwave and filing cabinets that had massive locks on them because they are supposedly filled with all of the Navy’s secret state of the union type stuff that I’m pretty sure is code for many-decks-of-playing-cards but whatever because right in the middle of everything was an empty Santa suit.

The Rabbit got busy ignoring me because he (allegedly) had ”work” to do so I just kind of poked around at Santa’ s clothes for any evidence of a left over person because I watch Fringe, people, and I know what can happen. 

Then I threw all caution aside and put the Santa suit on because, HELLO!  It’s a Santa suit y’all! Just laying around in the squadron! In July!  Who wouldn’t put this on?

Then I realized that my impulsive nature might have ruined me again when I remembered that when you find an empty Santa suit and put it on that makes you like the murderer of Santa or something and then you magically become the new Santa and that’s kind of scary because no way do I want to FLY AROUND ON A SLED IN THE FREEZING COLD. I know y’all are starting to think that I’ve gone loopy and you’re probably right but still. They made a movie about this so it must be legit.

At least I won’t have to feel guilty anymore about eating all the cookies.

Also, does this mean I get my own reindeer?

It was a bad idea from the start.

The Rabbit’s helicopter is kept in a very formidable garage that smells of an odd mix of metal, gray paint, and guy and seriously, I shouldn’t have even been in there and I had to keep telling myself that it was abandoned for the holiday weekend and, really, what could happen?
Well, either the place is haunted and/or I happened because it was either me and/or a ghost who pretty much ruined one of the helicopters. It practically fell apart right in front of me, people. Like an actual helicopter. A Seahawk helicopter. Like the Black Hawk only more Navy and more better.

My husband flies these things, yall. And they pay him for it.  He’s pretty much amazing.

So I don’t even know what it was or how it happened but I looked at this red thing which in turn made something fall off of the helicopter which in turn made this obnoxiously loud clanging noise that echoed for like 3 minutes and my first instinct was to run which is why I didn’t get a picture.

And the Rabbit was laughing a little and shaking his head and saying, It’s just the plug to the mission avionics cooling fan, but that only made the whole thing sound worse and I wondered why he wanted to rub it in that I was probably going to spend the better part of the rest of my life at Leavenworth but he leaned down and fixed it and this is why I love him.

I wish I could say that was all and nobody was the wiser but I can’t because the awful noise drew the attention of a severe looking young man in a camouflage uniform who didn’t say anything to me but definitely let me know he was there because he totally followed me like I was some kind of teen-aged hoodlum and the Rabbit wasn’t even in his uniform so we both probably looked like hoodlums.  

It was almost suspenseful.

Note to self: Stay far away from giant military equipment and/or avoid possibly haunted helicopter hangars.
Second note to self: Add EMF meter to shopping list.

So I tried to write this post like 6 times already and it’s just not coming together like I want it to.  I think it’s because I’m trying to squeeze too much awesome into one post and I blogged it late last night and I’ve modified it about 16 times since then and it had fail written all over it. Also, most of the revisions were done at 2 am which means I was insomnia-writing which means that most of it probably didn’t make any sense anyway so you didn’t miss anything but a probable headache.
So I’m writing it again and for some reason I’m feeling defensive about this so. I have issues, people. I know this.

What I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to blog about is a trip I took to the Rabbit’s helicopter squadron on Friday.  This is a big deal because the Rabbit and I have completely different ideas about what goes on there.  I’ve long been convinced that the only thing he does at work when he’s not flying around in his little helicopter is sit around and play cards and eat and he has long been trying to convince me that his helicopter is not little and he does actually do work at work and he never even has time to eat.

And I was so occupied with Santa Clause that I totally forgot to look for playing cards. They probably hide those from the wives anyway and I expected that and this only serves to prove me right when you think about it. 
And what are with the unrealistic snakes painted everywhere? And there is this one who’s even dressed in a flight suit and he’s smiling and has his thumb sticking up and that doesn’t even make any sense because snakes don’t even have thumbs.  Also, I’ve never seen a snake wear clothes before.

This is absurd, people.

Also, I almost broke the Navy. And I may or may not be the new Santa. Those posts are coming and I’ll make something awesome out of all this yet. Probably.

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