A Series of Big Days...

It was Kate's birthday yesterday and we had a lot of fun this weekend. Saturday night Kate and I went to a pub and had quite a few stiff adult beverages and then took a cheap cabride home. When we up early the next morning (10:00, early for us) to get the car. We of course really enjoyed the winery Kate talked about in her post and the Sangria we made that night. It was, how do the French say..."muy delicioso!" We also had to drive all over S.A. to find the movie Sideways after the winery. I think we only went to four stores. It was good though and we also got two zombie movies. That way Kate and I can scare the hell out of ourselves whenever we want. We are scary movie sissies or at least I am. We got Dawn of the Dead and Shaun of the Dead, a really funny British film. We also made delicious, illegally grilled, New York Strips. How do the Spanish say "tres exquis." Nothing like grilling illegally on the balcony to make dinner that much sweeter...

Well, tomorrow after eight months of Nav school, I should find out where I'll be assigned after this. It has been an extremely long and arduous eight months that I would not wish on anyone. Well, maybe there are a few...Anyways, Kate and I hopefully will receive (drumroll please!), Nebraska!!! Yeah!!! That's right folks, we're shooting for the stars here! The land of corn and more corn! I would say something else, but I can't think of anything. Kate and I were joking about how other friends of ours are like, "I hope I can go to Boston, or maybe Vegas, or maybe Italy." Then we're all like, "Hey, Nebraska sounds like hoot! We went to college in Alabama! Yeehaw!" We don't really sound like that, I would sound more like "yeaahaww!"
Seriously though, I think Omaha will be good for us. I of course am totally shooting for NE and if it doesn't work out I'll be pretty upset. We should find out tomorrow.

23

Yay! Happy Birthday to Me! Yay!

Dominic took me to this vineyard in New Braunfels for wine tasting. Most of the wine I tasted was excellent. Much better than the seven dollar special at Wal-Mart. We bought three bottles to take with us, one a foot-stomped red to make delicious sangria tonight.

Other presents I got were ten golf lessons, the new Weezer CD, wrinkle cream, and a card from the cat that said, Meow Bitch! Our cat can write? Amazing, I know. She's a little furry virtuoso. What about the wrinkle cream, you say? Well, I've been picking up and putting back the drugstore brands for quite some time now because I've become totally obsessed with the fine lines around my eyes. I don't want to look like I'm 45 when I'm 30, and with my fair skin I fear the worst. I doubt I'll ever be able to afford Botox, so I figure I'll do some maintenance starting now. So yeah, the big two-three will be forever synonymous with the year I tried to learn how to putt correctly and also began the life-long fight to keep myself looking youthful and full of collagen.

Get back to me in ten years. I'll have probably sold my soul to the devil for young-looking skin. Also, I predict that I will still not really know how to play golf. The cat, however, may be composing operas by then. I will sell them for Botox shots.

What The River Taketh, It Does Not Necessarily Give Back...

I have gone to the river, and I have learned this lesson so that I can return to you all and say this. Lo, and there was water and a cooler full of ice cold delicious beer. And the river did churneth in a mighty way, causing all who cherished the beer to be flipped into the river along with their cooler of ice cold golden lagers. Then returning to the surface the river floating people wailed and smacked their hands on the surface of the water crying 'Why, O river hast thou caused me to spill my beer and left me bereft of any others?' The river answereth not, and another cried 'The cruel river has also taken my tube, sunglasses, one shoe and washed my wife away down the river! What did I do to deserve this?' Then like only the river can provide, the man's sandal floated by him, and an empty tube he did not recognize as his own, and beer much like those he had lost. Collecting them he left, cracked a cold beer and left the other tuber for dead wondering not who's tube he had taken. He had after all lost his sunglasses. Again.

Short Short

Sister and her boyfriend came to visit this weekend, so no, I have not fallen off the internet; I've just been having too good a time to post.

Right now I just want to take time to apologize to boyfriend Matt for getting lost immediately after picking them up from the airport, then for being confused by the parking deck downtown and having to climb over a wire fence to access the car, then for getting lost once more trying to get out of downtown, then for freaking out while driving to Sea World, then for freaking out while driving from Sea World, then for creating a scene with my husband when he suggested that I drive to the Guadalupe River for tubing on Saturday so that he could study in the car (I did NOT want to drive anymore), then for the fact that--the river being as high as it was in springtime--there were several places with, like, class three rapids that almost killed us all. I'm sorry, Matt. That said, I think you're cool.

Okay, that's all for now. More to come later.

Math Papers Marked Careless

After the second burned-beyond-recognition dinner in a week I'm beginning to wonder what's wrong with me. I've never been a great cook, but then I've never been a fire hazard either. Also, this dinner was burned for THE SAME REASON. I mixed up my burners. Ugh.

Here: I'll tell you what it's all about. Some kind of screwy spatial reasoning, a conflict between the left and right parts of my brain, the way I can't ever tell my left from my right. I guess I'm smart enough to really, really think and wonder about the ways in which I just might possibly be stupid.

I've been mixing up too many things lately. Really, isn't 23 too young to already be slipping into dementia?

In funnier news, last night I was watching HGTV with Dominic and making fun of some poor woman's last name, which was LaPrairie, and Dominic said, "Hey, your last name isn't great either."
I said, "What's wrong with Gaskin?"
"It's a part of a horse's ass."
"Whatever. It is not. Look it up."
"Look, it says here," he said flipping through Webster's, "Gaskin, a part of the hind leg of a quadruped between the stifle and the hock--see HORSE illustration. So I guess it's more of the hind leg than the ass."
"Oh my god. Your last name means horse's ass," I said.
"You mean, your last name."
"My last name is Ferguson, fool."

Lastly, the evening was rounded out by Dominic observing that LaPrairie means "the grassy field" in French. Always fun times in the Gaskin-Ferguson household.

Incognito

Dominic is in a top secret phase of his training, which means he can't bring any of his materials home and has to study at the base, even on the weekends. Today, he was lamenting the fact that I can't even go with him and sit around and maybe read a book while he studies because, you know, the stuff he studies is so top secret and all. We were sitting at our table, splitting the last Diet (crack) Cherry (cocaine) Coke, as he was saying this, and then suddenly, he stopped and looked at me and said, "You're not, like, a Russian spy like in Alias, are you?"

I just looked at him.

"Are you sure your name isn't Katerina...Ferguslav?"

I just looked at him.

That's funny because my maiden name is Ferguson, for those of you who don't already know that. Actually, Ferguson is still my legal name because I'm a bad wife and haven't changed it yet after five months of marriage. It's all just systems, man, you know?

And this is unrelated, but let it be known that I am the so-far reigning champ of Scrabble after having handed Dominic his manly pride on a beat-down platter last night. Dominic even scored 54 points on ONE word (which, I might add is astounding) but I was so far ahead even that little piece of triple-word-score magic couldn't bring me down.

Next up: MONOPOLY. Be prepared for pain.

Black Sheep

Yesterday I went to a step aerobics class, mostly because my little sister is coming to town next Thursday and she teaches aerobics. My little sister is small and cute and peppy, gloriously physically fit and favored among our parents, and so I feel the need to prove that I can do things that she can, like wear a lot of eye makeup and have curly hair and be cute and talk about bowel movements a lot.

Because I have a smidgen of dance training, I always do well in aerobics classes where coordination seems to be key, and this time one was no different, except that I feel, today, as if a truck hit me sometime in the night and rearranged all my limbs. This, even on top of the resistance I've built up with my two mile treadmill jaunt multiple times each week. I'm actually a terrible runner, resembling something like a hybrid of an elephant stampeding out of the jungle and a camel in a tutu. But I try anyway, because my dad is a marathon runner and my sister and brother both ran cross country in high school and my sister now teaches aerobics. That's a lot of pressure there to be physically fit. Also, I come from a family of small people who are skinny. I'm a relatively small person myself, but once you factor in age and sex fluctuations I happen to be the heifer.

It goes like this:

Genetics tell me, "Hey, we're working for you. We're on your side, but honestly put back that brownie, now."

Sometimes I listen. Sometimes I don't. But, seriously, my sister is coming in less than a week. She is coming armed with lots of pep and cuteness and stories about bowel movements and also a red-headed boyfriend in training to be a personal trainer. So I have to get ready, right? I can't always have my little sister one-upping me. With her cuteness. And her frank talk of poop. So I went to an aerobics class.

Wow, am I glad that's over with.

Hide Your Cookbooks

It's official: I almost killed us with my cooking. There was an exploded plate, flames, paper towels going up in large, flaky ashes. No, nothing's damaged, and no one is hurt except the ring finger on my right hand which sustained a small cut during the picking up of the aforementioned exploded plate.

Then we went out to eat.

I am totally a junior amateur.

Back To The Grind...

Well after weeks of doing sim flights and failing them, and then retaking them and passing them I moved on to my next phase of training. That translates to about four weeks of straight academics and two tests. So far, I'm not very excited about the curriculum, but still it's so much better than doing sims! My old class is dropping(new assignments) on Thursday, so I'm totally jealous because I am dying to know where Kate and I will be going. Only a few more weeks though and we should have some information though. Not too bad...

Kate's birthday is coming up soon, and I'm trying to decide what to get her. She gave me an idea of what she wants,l but I think I can come up with something better. What does she really know about what she wants for her birthday? Just kidding! Seriously, JUST KIDDING! She wants to take a trip to Corpus Christi and eat at a fancy seafood restaurant. Speaking of seafood, for a city that's three hours or less from the Gulf of Mexico, seafood counters here extremely lacking. I went to a local market here and they had no fresh seafood. I was relegated to frozen shrimp. I know, dangerous...It worked out, but I am have been totally spoiled by living near the ocean. It's difficult to transition back to this dry-land lifestyle. I say this now when Kate and I will most likely end up in Nebraska. Steaks here we come!

This past weekend Kate and I went to a minor league baseball game with some of the people from my old class. It was a lot of fun. A really old man got slammed with a baseball and that was really kind of sad. I'm not sure if he got to keep the ball, they wheeled him out pretty quickly. That's right, wheeled...How sad is that? After that, we went to a bar and Kate continued to have a few more beers while I responsibly abstained from drinking. I am after all, Mr. Responsibility. However, on Thursday when my old class drops I promise to you, I am going to be ridiculously drunk at the Officer's Club and my wife will have to drive me home, and back again in the morning to pick up my car. This is my pledge to you. I deserve it!

Promises

I will go to the gym more often.

I will Cut Down On the Sweets.

I will wear a bikini instead of chickening out and grabbing the one piece.

I will take time to do special things for myself, like paint my toenails more often and wear perfume.

I will drink more water.

I will take golf lessons.

I will keep a reading list.

I will submit my writing to journals more often.

I will enter a contest.

I will try new recipes and cook even when I don't want to.

I will feel as pretty as my husband says I am.

I will do all this starting tomorrow.

Yeah right.

We Drank Red Stripe and Ordered Pizza

It should be known that Dominic passed his check sim yesterday, and not only did he pass it, but he totally MASTERED it and got his highest scores ever and his instructor said he'd only given out high scores like that once before in his three years of instructoring.

Dominic rocks.

This means that I'll be losing him soon to the next phase of his training, which is all top secret and stuff, and being so he'll be at the school house extra hours because he can't bring his top secret stuff home or I might try to sell his secrets to the Russians or the Iranians.

Just kidding, Government, if you are reading this. I would never do that. Sometimes I think zombism is a real thing. I'm obviously not that bright.

Signs of the Apocalypse

Okay, so then there's this (link courtesy sixfoot6.com).

It's a good thing Dominic and I have an Emergency Zombie Plan that is very detailed and involves stockpiling water and deadbolting our door as soon as we catch wind of the apocalypse. We live on the third floor of an apartment building so we figure we'd be safer here than anywhere else, and we can always eat the cat. Or the TWENTY-FIVE POUND BAG OF RICE Dominic bought last weekend.

Bring on the zombies!

*Disclaimer* I don't actually believe this. I think it's bogus, but I'm trying to figure out why the BBC would have it on their website. What do you think?

Everyone, quick, roll your eyes before you read this. You'll thank me at the end.

Oftentimes Dominic and I like to speculate on what our future children might look like. It's a game we can play for hours because, really, with our particular mix of genetics anything is possible from Mariah Carey to the Loch Ness Monster. Yesterday, as we were frequenting the local Krispy Kreme, he made me laugh really, really loudly by declaring that our chances of having Chinese babies were better than average. Please, let me explain.

Dominic is half Filipino, and though his eyes are faintly almond-shaped, he doesn't look particularly Asian for the most part, except for sometimes when he laughs, and I call him Laughing Filipino Man, which is something he loves. Trust me.

I, on the other hand, am white.

White white white white white white.

My heritage consists of a bunch of white people from the Continent breeding with other white people from the Continent for centuries and centuries, and with everyone in my family this is blatantly apparent...except, perhaps, for with me. Don't get me wrong. I have blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin. I'm like the Aryan Nation, but with love and tolerance for everyone in my heart. But, the shape of my eyes, they're...suspiciously squinty. I have narrow, almost almond-shaped eyes. They're blue, yes, but they hint at something more than Caucasian. It's not terribly uncommon for me to be asked whether I am in any way part Asian. The answer is no, not that I know of, but thankfully, my legacy to give to my future children will be a precise mix of races, almost like a recipe, and they will thank me that they have such a ready made answer (quarter Filipino, quarter black, half white) for every time someone cocks his head, squints his eyes, and says very rudely and blatantly, "What are you?" to each of them.

Also, they shouldn't have to worry so much about getting sunburned in the five minutes it takes to leave one's house and access one's car. See how I thought ahead when I married Dominic? If I'd married a white man the chances of my having albino babies would have increased exponentially. I'm a thoughtful person, indeed.

--Wait, I was explaining how Dominic and I might have Chinese babies, not albino babies. Okay, so this is how:

Dominic is part Asian, and I'm not but I look it from certain angles, and the color of our future babies will probably be somewhere in between both our respective skin colors now, which may result in something called "high-yellow," which is apparently a term Dominic's family has for really light-skinned black folks. Mix that in with the black hair they stand to inherent from daddy, and the narrow eyes they stand to inherit from us both, and voila, Chinese Babies!

It's true folks. I'm sure you'll all laugh now and be tickled like I was, and not offended that I've been going on so irreverently about race again.

P. S. Today, I found Dominic perusing mixedfolks.com to get a better idea of what our babies might look like. He's informed me we're screwed, because the closest person he could come up with is Mariah Carey, who's half white, a quarter black, and a quarter Venezuelan. I said that's okay; she was pretty when she was younger. Then he said, "OH MY GOD, Jennifer Beals from Flashdance is half-black!" and then, "OH MY GOD, Slash from Guns N'Roses is half-black!"

The lesson here, folks, is that it is possible to make Chinese babies without being Chinese and can you believe Jennifer Beals is half-black? Dominic sure couldn't. And neither can I.