I’m on a very full flight that started in crappy Fayetteville, NC and am on my way to wonderful San Diego. It’s hot, my connecting flight was delayed and I will have to take a cab to get to my co-worker’s house when I arrive. But I don’t care; partially because I have included a stash of Vodka mini bottles in my carry-on to make a far less expensive bloody Mary (or three)… But mostly because I have escaped my jail cell and I can taste freedom!
Dramatic much? I am, but I seriously feel that way after recent my high of my beautiful San Diego June wedding, a honeymoon in Italy and then, BAM! Back “home” to my hubby’s current duty station, Faytteville, and back to work in my dark little home office.
I know what you’re thinking: What a spoiled little brat. Who complains about working from home? And who complains when her husband is the one protecting and serving and taking care of you?? Well let’s just set the record straight right now, you judgmental, assumptive meany-head!
- If I were to be found to be a spoiled brat, I would certainly not be a “little” one; I’m big. In fact, I prefer the term Amazonian. I’m 5’11”, my hands are longer than my husband’s, I wear size 12 shoes and my arms have a wingspan of a Boeing 757.
- And besides being a giant, my husband is not the only one who “protects and serves.” I was in the Marine Corps for four years and am now a Reservist. That said, don’t eff with me.
- After the Marine Corps, I landed a friggin’ sweet job in the Wine industry in the middle of downtown San Diego. It was sunny, there were beautiful people, great restaurants and beaches everywhere; I was in paradise. But my company is so annoyingly wonderful, so they permitted me to work from home so I could be with Army Guy (that’s right, he is in the Army and I’m a Marine. I’m a badass.) So now, I sit in my dark office, alone, only leaving to go to the gym, to Wal-Mart or, like today, to the airport.
I’m excited to arrive but I’m also a little worried that I’m going to have a huge case of “Verbal Diarrhea” when I get there. Other than clients and online chats, I really don’t talk to anyone in Army Town. I basically just wait by the door for my husband to come home for any social interaction. And on the occasion, when I’m forced to play Army Wife and go to little Army dinner parties with him, I have been awkward. I know this because my husband told me so, (jerk). Apparently I just wait for my turn to talk and don’t really listen to what is being said by others anymore. Way to go, Andee.
So, I’ve decided I need a change. My job, BTW, is awesome. I literally drink for a living. I taste wines and I decide if they are right for my clients. That’s the bare bones of it. It is a lot more fun and a lot less sad; however, if you are drinking it in San Diego with a group of people in your office around a tasting table or at your desks than in your dark apartment alone… Anyway, time for a change and here is my plan: I’m going to share my job with you and to brave each Army Town, USA that we land in, searching for people, places or alcoholic beverages that don’t suck.
Seeing what I have seen already, I know this will be hard to do, so I will also be using this blog to bitch/make fun of/boast/entertain myself/etc., as much as I want. So there.
Well the flight attendants have almost reached me with the beverage cart and I need to reach into my purse and stealthily position my mini bottles in my lap prior to receiving my Bloody Mary mix. Goodbye for now but more posts to come. Stay tuned this week for shots of the good life during my brief furlough from hard time.