Conversations With the Man (Part III)

Don't worry, despite all the moving and new job and such, we're still having the most obscure conversations....

The Man [while hanging a poster board]: "I think I may have warmed up this sticky-tac a little too much."
Me: "Is it extra sticky?"
The Man: "Sort of. It kinda has the consistency of the cheese on a Giordano's pizza."
Me: "Wow. That's quite a specific description."
The Man: "I wanted to make sure you could picture it."

The Man [sound asleep]: "Ha ha ha! Oh I have to kill you."
Me: "Honey, are you ok?"
The Man: "They have to go over there."
Me: "Honey, are you sleeping?"
The Man: "No."
Me: "Are you sure?"
The Man: "No."
Me: "Maybe you should go back to sleep."
The Man: "Ok."

[At P.F. Chang's with prospective couple friends]
The Man: "I don't think I'll like anything."
Me: "There are plenty of meat options, spicy meat options."
The Man [to the waitress]: "Can I order this without any vegetables?"
Waitress: "So you just want a plate of meat?"
The Man: "Yes, please."
[30 minutes later]
The Man [whispering]: "That did not fill me up."
Me: "That's because you only ordered half the dish."
The Man: "I want McDonald's."
Me: "Shh! We can swing by McDonald's on the way home if you're still hungry."
The Man: "This is why I like Cracker Barrel. Plenty of food."
Me: "Next time we'll pick the restaurant. It'll be ok. Just shush!"

[WARNING: The following post may be offensive to some readers. It was an amusing, yet very informative and serious conversation. Please don't judge us.]

The Man: "We learned today that the (electronic identification system -- I can't remember the acronym) can be very specific in recognizing physical features."
Me: "Oh yeah? Like tattoos and piercings and stuff?"
The Man: "Well yeah that. And missing parts. And extra parts."
Me: "Missing parts? Like a leg?"
The Man: "Mm hmm. Or a penis."
Me: "Missing a penis?!"
The Man: "Yep."
Me: "Isn't that called a woman?"
The Man: "Not if it's been cut off. There's also missing testicles."
Me: "Yeesh. Is there anything for a missing hoo hah?"
The Man: "No. You can't see a woman's hoo hah. It wouldn't make sense to have it in the system."
Me: "Yeah I guess you're right. Wow. I hope you never have to encounter any of that."
The Man: "There's also extra left, right, and center breast. And extra nipples, too."
Me: "Did you guys specifically look up all of the dirty options?"
The Man: [no answer]
Me: "I am so proud of you."

Gonna Gitcha

Big news in the Heller house: I am composing this blog post from the comfort of my very own couch in our very own townhouse. I am sitting in my fat pants (after a thorough butt-kicking from P90x), chugging water, and listening my neighbors scold what I hope is their dog ("Go potty, Chance! No, Chance! Go pee, Chance! Chance, no!").

I have not yet found a job in the Louisville area, and since the Man and I are living on one income, our budget has tightened significantly. Despite our super-tight budget, I managed to convince the Man that my emotional well-being depends on my connection to the outside world via the Internet. Plus, I was spending just as much per month on coffee alone and those sweet concoctions are laden with fat and calories. SO...not only will I reduce the number and frequency of big noisy fusses, but I will be skinnier. I get to Skype my mom, and he gets a less emotional and more attractive wife. Everybody wins.

As we're slowly settling into the area, we're also learning more and more of the southern vernacular. For example, the Man came home the other day and taught me the meaning of "gitcha" and "gettum." The police aren't going to get you, they're gonna "gitcha." And they're not going to apprehend the suspect, they're gonna "gettum." Very important phrases. Also, it's important to differentiate the pronunciation of "Po-lice" and opposed to "Puh-lease." Apparently some perps just think the cops are being polite when they bang on the door.

The Man just finished his defensive tactics training at the academy, much to my relief. As tough as he is, it's hard to see him come home with bruises, cuts, and taser burns all over his body. He walked in the door the other night and was asleep on the couch by 6:45pm. Poor guy was exhausted. I guess beating the crap out of each other for 8 hours a day will do that to a person. Although my sympathy promptly ran out when he started chasing me around the house with his taser. Thus is the life of a cop's wife.

So in closing, we have internet, the Man is as snarky as ever, and I haven't yet cried this week. Oh and did I mention my mom is coming to visit in one week and two days? Life is good.

Big Noisy Fuss

If you've been following my blog for any length of time, you know that I'm not exactly the passive-type. I tend to voice my opinions quite strongly (at least online) and when I'm upset/mad/disappointed, you'll know it.

Which is exactly why I feel the need to apologize to my neighbors for my big noisy fuss the other night (remember, paper thin walls).

Reality has finally sunk in that I'm not on an extended vacation, and won't be headed back to Bourbonnais next week. This is our new home. The excitement of moving and getting settled has worn off, but we haven't made any significant connections yet. I know getting established and making friends takes time, but it's really hard to be patient when I spend 8+ hours a day by myself.

It also doesn't help when the Man is constantly busy with volunteer work, autopsies, ride-alongs, and speciality training. It feels like he's all I've got and when he's gone....life gets lonely. He's made friends and his job is so new and exciting, he doesn't have time to be bored. As a good friend once said, I'm like a puppy when he gets home: "Hi! I missed you! Come talk to me and play with me and keep me busy! I love you!" Poor guy doesn't know what hit him.

So I threw a big noisy fuss. Being the loving husband that he is, he held me close and just let me cry. He knows it's hard on me, but he also knows that it's going to get better. He kept telling me that everything is going to be ok and it won't always be like this. Although at the time, I just wanted him to own up that all of this is his fault; following his dream and dragging me down here. Oh well.

But really, I know that things will get better and it will just take time. The transition is harder than I thought, but I'll get through it. The Lord has been and will continue to be faithful to us. I just have to learn to make new friends. Welcome back to 2nd grade, Ramona....

Disconnected

This whole "not having internet at home" deal is for the birds. However, as I still do not have a job and our budget is tighter than ever, I'm back at Starbucks.

Not that I'm complaining.

We've been here for two weeks and we're adjusting fairly well (sans my two complete mental and emotional breakdowns -- I'm entitled to those). Instead of explaining each enlightenment, I'll make a list! Because that's what I do...

1. This Starbucks doesn't believe in heat. Brilliant for business, terrible for my poor frozen hands.
2. P90x is freaking ridiculous. It's a great workout, but if I hear Tony Horton tell one more corny joke, I'm going to "bring it" through the TV.
3. Our neighbors are not adhering to the "pet must be under 15 inches tall" rule. We've never seen the dog, but judging by the baritone bark and wall-shaking galloping, we're pretty confident it's a behemoth.
4. 25 MPH school zones are enforced 24/7 in Indiana, not just during the school day.
5. Beer cheese soup makes our house smell like a pub. Oh and I can buy beer now without worrying about losing my job. Pretty cool.
6. Chick-Fil-A is closed on Sundays. This is common knowledge, but it doesn't hit home until you have an intense craving for chicken strips and Polynesian sauce after church.
7. PNC banks do not have change counters, therefore we are forced to "roll change." I'm from Chicago; we don't do this. How do they know I won't stuff the roll with tin foil or washers instead of quarters?
8. Our hot water heater only has two settings: scalding and blistering. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it's not the other way around, but it's hard to relax when I'm afraid my skin is going to peel off.
9. Our walls are paper thin. Enough said.
10. We attended Southeast Christian Church on Sunday, otherwise known as "Six Flags Over Jesus." Ginormous doesn't even begin to describe it. Great preaching, if you can find your way back to the sanctuary from the bathroom.
11. We finally got a GPS, but it has rendered itself useless since the only places I go are Starbucks and Target. Oh well.
12. The Man has a new best friend in his duty weapon, Maxwell. Yes, he named his gun. And yes, he goes everywhere with us. Even to church.
13. The Man has made several friends in Academy, but since they are forced to address each other by last name only, he doesn't know any of their first names. This makes for great introductions.
14. So far I have successfully hung two pictures, a mirror, a towel rack, and a wall shelf without a power drill. I am awesome.

So that's that! Oh for those who would like an update on the Man (since he's the reason we live here) he's doing very well. He just finished his firearms training, which he passed with flying colors. Each night he comes home and showcases his latest war wounds from defensive training and then proceeds to practice on his unsuspecting and unwilling wife. Our fridge is adorned with shooting targets. Our living room is filled with ammo, magazines, combat boots, duty belts, and various pieces of his uniform. He's so happy and I'm so proud of him.

I'll do my best to get to Starbucks and update on a weekly basis. That is, until I find a job and we can afford internet again. But don't hold your breath -- sleeping in until 10am is a hard habit to break.