Shake the glitter off your clothes now.

I'm a pretty good girl. I don't cuss very often. (Even when I'm telling a story about someone using a curse word, I still say "bad word". Like a six year old.) I pray and read my Bible on a (somewhat) daily basis. I don't get drunk every night. I'm without question faithful to my husband. I respect my elders and treat others they want to be treated. Clearly, no one can be so perfect all the time. I must have a vice, right? Oh, I do.

VEGAS, BABY!

That's right. I love to gamble. The call of the slot machines with all the bells and whistles are like a siren. I hear that "Wheel! Of! Fortune!" and my heart starts to beat a little faster. And when I win? 

Thrills galore!

You know what else I love about Vegas? You can see the world without ever leaving the Nevada desert. (Have I seen most of these places- Monte Carlo, Venice, Rome- in their true locales? Yes. Is it still cool to see them in the bright lights of Vegas? Yes, again.)

Our home for the weekend.

Now if my husband had been there, loaded down with suitcases,

it would have been just like our honeymoon.

I've never been to Paris, but I imagine

it's got to be as pretty as this.

I don't remember the horse being quite so menacing

at the real Trevi Fountain.

God bless the U.S.A.

I'm also not much of a hard drinker or crazy dancer in my normal life, but Vegas seems to change a lady...(But not too much change! No poles were involved in any of my dancing.) 

This was the party bar...

...and this was the party tub.

Gold! Glitter! Stilettos! Nothing I would

wear to work!

Get it, gurl!

OSU Gurl.

These shoes were not made for walking...or dancing...or even standing.

The only bad part about Vegas? Leaving. 

Helloooo, traffic.

The commo's wife (...that would be me)

brought walkie talkies (Ahem...radios.)

 They were a huge hit. HUGE.

Mountain. Mountain. Desert. Mountain. Desert. Mountain.

Aaaand now...the world's tallest thermometer!

The sun sets on another fabulous Vegas vacation.

My wallet is a little lighter, but my gambling fix has been...um...fixed.

And my happiness level has been reached.

Until next time, Sin City!

(Not that I sinned. Unless slot machines count...?)

How do I love thee?

You know what? I like Valentine's day. A lot. I'm not just saying that because I have a man in my life (and have had him in my life for the past eleven years). I like the cards and the chocolates and all the red and pink hearts everywhere. (I have a pink heart tattoo, for crying out loud.) I like the cute decorations and the childrens' books covered in  hugs and kisses. I wore my red shirt and red earrings and heart necklace today and stood out as the lone "festive" bookseller. It irks me when people say, usually quite smugly, "Oh, we don't celebrate Valentine's day. We show our love for each other every day." I mean, really? Is that your way of saying I don't show my love for my husband every day because I do celebrate this holiday? "It's a Hallmark holiday." Great! Sell me a card, Hallmark! Even when I wasn't dating a special someone on Valentine's day, I still had my family. My dad would bring home roses for his three girls and we would all buy cards for one another. There was usually a dinner out for all of us, too. It's just a day to love and be loved. Sure, just like every other day, but on a way more public scale. Do I need Christmas to remind me that the Savior of the world was born? Nope, but I celebrate it nonetheless. Because it's fun. And it's happy. And it makes me feel good on a day that would otherwise just be.another.day. My husband is deployed (No! Really?) so I am without my Valentine this year. I'm okay with that. I have friends coming over tonight and we're going to watch sappy movies and eat all of the yummy chocolate I received today. I don't need my man to celebrate. Yes, the main focus of this holiday is a romantic love and it's not called "Singles Awareness Day" for nothing, but love is love. And I'm a lucky girl to have SO much love in my life.

So I wish all of you a very Happy Valentine's Day, whether you're with the one you love romatically or the one you want to love romantically. Whether you're with your best friends or maybe just with your best cat (or dog). It's a day to celebrate love so CELEBRATE.

It also didn't hurt that my very awesome husband

sent me flowers and a box of Godiva while I was at work.

     

As is the mother, so is her daughter.*

Today is my mom's birthday. (It's also Super Bowl Sunday, but I didn't watch a single second of it. Well, that's not true. I taped it, fast forwarded to the National Anthem, saw my husband's regiment being filmed live from Afghanistan, and then deleted it from my DVR. Loved me some RCT-5! Oorah!)

The ultimate multi-taskers: Protecting the country AND watching football.



I miss being home to celebrate these milestones with my family. I've been around to celebrate just about every birthday anyone in my (immediate) family has had for the past thirty-two years. I miss the birthday dinners after church and the opening presents and the cake and ice cream. It's even more difficult now that we have a little one in the family who still gets to have birthday parties and doesn't understand why her Aunt Shoe (adorable nickname, right?) isn't there. It's just one more thing to accept when living the military lifestyle. I know I will never (never say never?) live in Ohio ever again. I also know that my family will probably continue to live in Ohio for the rest of their lives. At some point, though, I will live on the east coast again and that makes the distance now a little easier to bear.

So yes, today is my mom's birthday. My mom has always been my biggest fan, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. Really. I lived with my parents for a long, long time. We always got along so well. I loved our dinners out at whatever restaurant we could all agree on and I loved our nights when we stayed home and had dinner at the kitchen table. My mom would visit me all the time while I worked at my bookstore. She would stop by on my breaks, on my lunches, and just randomly passing through. (Mostly it was for the frappuccino discounts, but I think a little bit was to see me.) We loved going shopping together, and she could even convince me to go into Kohl's on occasion. (Anyone who knows me knows what an accomplishment that is.) Target, Old Navy, and a coffee shop (Starbucks, Caribou, or the local one down the street) was our normal, weekly routine. (I miss that!) My mom will go to the ends of the earth if she knows there's something one of her kids needs. I get my sarcastic sense of humor and my absolute need for a bargain from her. When I was getting married, she was the one beside me through every decision. Seeing her with my niece (her very first grandchild!) has given me a whole new appreciation for my mother. I knew she loved her kids, but you can see that love even clearer when she's with that Sweet Baby. I can't wait to have kids of my own so they can see what an awesome grandma (and grandpa- I never want to exclude my dad from that!) they have. My mom and I have definitely had our disagreements, but I have never for one second doubted she loved me. I know how lucky I am to still have my mom in my life. She's my texting partner, my shopping guru, and my good example. Thanks, mama. Happy Birthday from your littlest girl (the original Sweet Baby)!      

And she always wants to visit me!

(The nearby beaches certainly help.)  

* Ezekiel 16:44  

Survey says...!

Before there was Facebook, there was MySpace. I was so attached to that website, I refused to join Facebook, claiming it was a totally inferior social networking site. But as more and more users moved toward Facebook, and MySpace became a barren wasteland of lame music profiles, I followed suit and jumped on the Facebook bandwagon. (And I've loved it ever since. I feel no shame in admitting that.) What I remember most about MySpace were the silly quizzes my friends and I would take and post on our profiles. Quizzes that asked questions like "What was the last thing you said?" or "What do you see directly to your left?" You know, thought-provoking questions like those that really helped you dig deep into your psyche. (Or something like that.) It was mostly just a fun way to waste time. Since I have plenty of time to waste (I have tomorrow off! I never have Saturdays off! I'm so excited, I can't stop using exclamation points!), I thought I'd find one of those surveys and fill it out. For old time's sake, and in memory of what was once the Almighty MySpace. 


Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?
Closed. Always. I don't want my cat getting in there and rummaging around while I try to sleep. I hear enough random noises without his help. Also, the monsters can't get out if the doors are closed.

Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotel?
Of course. Isn't that why they're there?

Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?
Tucked in. Always. So the monsters can't grab my feet. (Do you sense a theme here?)

Have you ever stolen a street sign before?
I've been accused of stealing many salad dressing/bbq sauce/condiment ramekins from restaurants (and rightly so), but no street signs. Yet.

Do you like to use post-it notes?
I use them a lot at work. It's usually so I can write a note, telling people to read the other note I left in the official binder. A note for a note.

Do you cut out coupons but then never use them?
I never cut coupons. Don't even get me started on that show "Extreme Couponing". Those people are hoarders in disguise.

Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of a bees?
Um. Neither? Both sound equally horrific.

Do you have freckles?
Yep. They appear the most on the bridge of my nose during the Summer.

Do you always smile for pictures?
Absolutely. I have the ever-ready "Sally Smile".

What is your biggest pet peeve?
Customers with a sense of entitlement. Bad spelling and poor grammar. People who say "I don't read" as though they're proud of it. Crumbs on the couch.

Do you ever count your steps when you walk?
Yes! Is that OCD?

Have you ever peed in the woods?
I come from a family of hikers and campers. And I don't mean RVs with a bathroom camping. So yeah. I have.

Do you ever dance even if there's no music playing?
No. I'm not really a dancer unless there's some music and some liquid courage involved.

Do you chew your pens and pencils?
I chew my nails. A disgusting habit, I know. But I.Can't.Stop!

How many people have you slept with this week?
Well, this question seems too personal and completely inappropriate. But my answer is ZERO.


What size is your bed?
I think it's a Queen. Now that it's just me sleeping in it? Too big.


What is your Song of the week?
Ever since the Glee episode of Michael Jackson, there's been a lot of MJ recently. My all-time favorite of his? "Man in the Mirror".


Is it okay for guys to wear pink?
Sure? I doubt my husband has ever worn pink in his life, but I don't judge.

Do you still watch cartoons?
Yep. ("Has anyone seen Perry?")

What's your least favorite movie?
Hm. Maybe "Pinocchio". It's weird and kind of lame. (Sorry, Disney!)


Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some?
What if I tell you and then I get some treasure and need to hide it? I would have already given my hiding place away and you would steal my treasure. (Thief!)

What do you drink with dinner?
I try to drink milk because it's good for me...but usually Diet Coke.

What do you dip a chicken nugget in?
Sweet and sour sauce or honey mustard.

What is your favorite food?
Chicken enchiladas in green sauce with Mexican rice, complete with all you can eat chips and salsa. Yum.

What movie could you watch over and over and still love?
Every time "Last of the Mohicans" is on TV, I watch it. I have a love of Uncas. A very big love. Oh, and "Pocahontas". (Yet another theme.)

Last person you kissed/kissed you?
Another personal question which is also a little depressing. No kissing since August. Ask me again NEXT MONTH.

When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper?
Do the notes I write at work telling people what to do count as letters?

Can you change the oil on a car?
Ha! Not even sort of.

Ever gotten a speeding ticket?
Two, in fact. Both received when I lived in North Carolina.

Favorite kind of sandwich?
I heart sandwiches! My favorite is probably a Philly cheesesteak.

Best thing to eat for breakfast?
A scrambled egg and cheese bagel sandwich from my favorite breakfast place, Bagels & Brew.

What is your usual bedtime?
When my husband is home, it's usually early, around 10. Since he's been gone, midnight or much (much) later.

How many languages can you speak?
English, Espanol, and Canadian.

Do you have any magazine subscriptions?
I have three to my favorite magazines: People, US Weekly, and Entertainment Weekly. (Why yes, I do enjoy trashy info-tainment.)

Ever watch soap operas?
I've been watching CBS soaps ever since I was a little girl, watching them with my mom. There are only two left and I tape them every day, "Young and the Restless" and "Bold and the Beautiful".

Afraid of heights?
Not really. I'm a big fan of roller coasters.

Sing in the car?
Yep, especially if it's a long road trip.

Ever used a gun?
Sally Sure Shot, that's me.

Is Christmas stressful?
Do I work retail? YES.

Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?
A fry cook at McDonald's (so I could eat all the fries I wanted) and a cowboy doctor (Apparently, no one knew if that meant I wanted to be a cowboy who was a doctor. Or a doctor for cowboys. I'm assuming the latter.)

Do you believe in ghosts?
I believe there are evil spirits so I guess that would mean there are friendly spirits as well. Spirits = Ghosts (?)


Take a vitamin daily?
After being pestered by my mother, my husband, and my doctor- yes. I take a Vitamin D pill everyday.

Wear slippers?
I'm wearing my pink house shoes right now.

What do you wear to bed?
A USMC t-shirt that I've had ever since I first met my husband over ten years ago.

Nike or Adidas?
Just Do It.

Cheetos Or Fritos?
I lurve those Cheetos Puffs.

Ever won a spelling bee?
I've never been in one, but I'm an excellent speller.

Ever been in love?
Duh.

What was the last concert you saw?
My favorite Newfie band, Great Big Sea. They were awesome.


Tea or coffee?
Hot tea with Splenda and Half & Half.

Can you knit or crochet?
No, but I would really like to learn. I want to make cute scarves and hats! (Not that I currently live in a climate where I ever need said items.)

Do you want to get married?
I sure did and now I am (...finally).

If married, how long have you been married?
It will be two years in May...and I will be celebrating that special day with our cat.

Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way?
Am I five?

Do you have kids?
I have an adorable cat named Mateo.

Do you want kids?
Definitely sooner rather than later.

What's your favorite color?
Pink, of course.

Do you miss anyone right now?
Same person. Everyday. All the time. Without ceasing.

The freaks come out at night.

It should be known that I am scared of the dark. I have been ever since I was a little kid. And not just scared of the dark, but throw in a set of stairs, and fear is definitely a factor for me. Having someone walk up the stairs behind me gives me the creeps. Maybe it's the anticipation of having something potentially happen to me while I'm not looking. Or maybe it's just sensing another presence behind me that makes me want to run as fast as I can. Of course doing that then makes that person want to run after me because they know they're freaking me out which therefore freaks me out even more. (Ahem. *husband*) When I was a kid, we lived in a house with a basement. The steps leading down to the basement had a small light that illuminated just that area. Once you descended the stairs, there was another light along the wall that lit the entire room. I, of course, would turn on the light at the top of the stairs to lead me to the light at the bottom. This way, I could turn off the light at the bottom and still have a light on to get me back up the stairs. And if someone turned off the light at the top? (Like, say, an ornery big brother?) Turn off the light at the bottom and run AS FAST AS POSSIBLE back up the stairs. When I still lived at home, we always had at least five (...or nine) dogs in the backyard that would bark at the slightest provocation. Instant alarm system. Not to mention, my dad is a hunter. If my parents went on vacation, I had a gun in the house. They don't call me Sally Sure Shot for nothing. (Not that I've ever shot anything more than a clay pigeon. But still.)

So it should be fairly obvious that the one thing I was most concerned about with my husband deploying for a year was the being home alone part. Darkness, stairs, empty house, no manly Marine to protect me while I sleep? Oh, the horror! I check, double-check, and then, right, triple-check the doors to make sure they're locked. Sometimes I'll already be in bed and have to run back downstairs to check just one.more.time. Also, make sure the garage door is down. Because you never know when you might shut it and then, magically, it rises without your knowledge. Now, I actually live in a pretty nice neighborhood. When Dan's car was towed overnight and I found it missing in the morning (another story for another time), I thought it had been stolen. My roommate laughed so hard, I thought she was crazy. Really, she just thought I was crazy for thinking I lived in an area that even had car thieves. Yet, I still hear noises every night. I swear people are walking up my stairs. There's someone hiding in the spare bedroom. My walk-in closet is not only storing clothes, but a serial killer. I don't have any dogs, but I do have a pretty fierce cat who meows (and, um...purrs) at anyone and any thing that moves. So I've got that going for me.

The keeper of the stairs.

I successfully scared myself last night while I was in the shower. (As all good horror stories start in the shower.) I shower with the bathroom door open so that Mateo and I can still see each other. (We're pretty attached. Don't judge.) I could see him in the large mirrors on the closet doors and I could also see the reflection of the bedroom door. So the thought occurs to me, "What if, while I'm looking at the mirror, I see someone sneak into my room?" Would the scary man head for the bed and nightstand? (Not that I have anything fancy over there. Just two Nooks and three "real" books. And a booklight. A lamp. A camera memory card. A Disney "Happy Birthday!" button.) Or would he hear the shower running and come straight for the bathroom? I couldn't just lock myself in there and leave my sweet kitty to fend for himself. I would have to grab Mateo first and then lock us in while calling 9-1-1 on my ever-handy iPhone. After much consideration, my final plan of action (which is pretty dynamite, if I do say so myself) is to sneak out of the bathroom, while keeping the shower running so as not to draw more attention to myself, put on my robe that hangs on the bathroom door, gather up my kitty, and then sneak out the fire escape. (California law: If there are three stories in a house, there must be an escape route.) Which then of course led to the fact that I've never actually been in the fire escape because...it's dark. And...there are stairs! My latest email to the husband? "When you get home, we're going on a tour of the fire escape. I also need a flashlight to aid in my getaway. And to make sure there are no dead bodies down there."

And this is why I'm no longer allowed to watch 48 Hours Mystery by myself.

Alternate use for fire escape door? Necklace holder.         

He ain't heavy, he's my brother.

Today is my big brother's birthday. He turns 36 years old (although, sometimes I'm not sure he ever really aged past eighteen). Because he was only four years older than me, we did a lot of growing up together. He taught me a lot about life; not only what to do, but also what not to do. Since it's his birthday, and because he was the second man I ever loved (my dad being the first, of course), I wanted to honor him with a blog post. ('Honor' seems a little self-important. But whatever. It's an honor.)

So this is dedicated to my big brother, the guy who...

*Called me "Boog" (as in, Booger) no matter how much it embarrassed me. I called him Matt-chew because, well, Matthew is a hard name to say when you're two.

Boog and Matt-Chew.

*Taught me all about sports. I was the little brother he never had, but probably never needed after he was done with my "tutoring". We played catch (of the baseball and football variety) in the front yard, kickball in the streets, basketball in the backyard, and golf on the golf course. (Although, after the "Golf Cart in the Pond" incident, he did the driving.) He quizzed me on football players until I knew their nicknames, their colleges, and the mascot of their current team. (So when that customer asked me for books on Marcus Allen? I knew exactly who she meant.)

*Was my protector, whether we were at school or a guy had broken my heart. "Who do I need to beat up?" was asked on more than one occasion.

Big brother imparting wisdom on graduation day.

     

*Is the funniest guy I know. (No offense to my husband, of course.) My brother can still make me spew milk at the dinner table with one of his impressions (usually of said husband and his "Marine voice") or a sarcastic comment. (We look favorably on sarcasm in our family.)

Hi-larious!

*Made me love Michigan. Yes, you read that correctly. At one point in our lives, when we were young and deluded, my brother and I wore Michigan sweatshirts and even visited the campus in Ann Arbor. (Ann Arbor is a whore!) (Sorry. Reflex.) If my big brother was a fan then I was a fan, too. Clearly, we saw the error of our ways and became the Buckeye FANS we are today.

Even on my wedding day, we show our support.

*Used my computer on a nightly basis. We would talk and listen to the musical stylings of the BeeGees ("And where are you now, now that I need you? ...I cry me a river that leads to your ocean."), Guns and Roses ("Estranged". Longest. Song. Ever.), and our personal favorite, "On My Own". (I was Patti LaBelle and he was Michael McDonald. Epic.) 

*Always remembers to say "Love ya, babe" before getting off the phone with me.

Love ya, babe. I've watched you become a husband and now a daddy and I'm happy to say "you done good". Happy Birthday, big brother!      

What's my name again?

The other day, I was filling out a form at work and I signed my maiden name. I remember looking at it and thinking, "Why does that look weird?" It finally dawned on me that my last name is no longer that last name. (Duh. Married!) Because I'm a traditional sort of gal, I legally changed my last name to my husband's. I didn't even move my maiden name to my middle name, as my big sister had done when she got married. While I love my father a great deal and carried his last name with pride for thirty years, I felt the need to symbolically (and, eventually, literally) leave his household and cleave (now that's a Biblical term if I ever wrote one!) to my husband. It struck me that, had I left my name the way I originally wrote it, no one would know it was me. Oh, sure. I'm the only "Sally" that works there (and, really, I'm always the only "Sally") so they would have figured it out, but it was so weird to think that the coworkers who know me now only know me as me. Now. (Does that make sense? It makes sense in my head.) It's like in the movies where the high school girl moves to a different city/state and attends a brand-new school and gets to completely reinvent herself. (New clothes! More makeup! Ditch the glasses!) Except, in my case, it's not really like the movies because I did not reinvent myself upon moving to Southern California. (I didn't even do it when I was the girl being moved to a different city and attending a new high school where no one knew me. Maybe I just like myself too much to change? Also, it seems like a lot of work and I say no thank you to that.) But, maybe you consider an obsessive love of all things Disney, wearing Uggs when it's not really cold out, and smothering guacamole on everything, a reinvention?

I'm probably wearing my Uggs, too.

On the one hand, it made me laugh when I wrote my maiden name. It felt like a ditzy blonde moment (even though I stopped dying my hair years ago so I'm not really blonde-blonde anymore). But, on the other hand, it made me a little sad. Has this Single Wife (sallyannemcbridetrademark) thing gone on too long? It's only been five months and I'm already signing my maiden name! Have I forgotten what it's like to be a wife? My husband sends me photos of himself sometimes and I think, "Oh, right. That's what he looks like." (I always follow that thought up with "He's cute!") I don't like looking at a picture of my husband and having a small part of me feel like I'm looking at a stranger. I've been seeing his face for almost eleven years so I have it pretty much memorized. But now that he's been gone for SO long? I feel like I'm forgetting little pieces of it.

He looks exactly the same!

(Well, probably. I'm pretty sure that's him.) 

Now, I don't want to be too dramatic. He's not dead. He's coming back to me. (Soon! Thank you, Jesus!) When I see him at the airport for the first time, I'll definitely know it's him. But I'm starting to forget what his hug feels like. And his kiss. And I can't remember what he smells like (unless I smell his soap which still sits in the shower). (And I do.) (Don't judge me.) We have a joke that every time I pass the base, I'm going to stop and have one of the Marines give me a hug. They all look pretty similar in uniform anyway, right? (This potential scenario makes me laugh. I'm not sure the husband thinks it's too funny.) I haven't done it. ...Yet. It is a little disheartening to think that when we have kids, they will probably go through these same feelings and will be too little to understand the bigger picture. (Heck, I understand the bigger picture and I still get upset about it!) It's all for the greater good, right? (Yep. Can't wait to explain that concept to a child.)

But the smiles on these faces help. They remind me that he's gone for a good reason and he's fighting the good fight.

And not a rock thrower in the bunch!

(And then? That tiny selfish part of me? It says, "Screw you, kids! I want my husband!" But you didn't hear me say that. That little part of me is buried deep. Way deep.)