It's Always a Competition

This past weekend J was required to go to a housing run. I decided to tag along in order to test my running skills on the open road. Since it was only to be 5 km (approx. 3 miles) I thought it would be a good comparison to the four miles I usually do on the much easier treadmill. I also thought I would suck. Well, I didn't. I came in first. Not that it was a race, but I feel pretty proud of myself anyway because naturally I saw it as a competition. Granted J's group had to run in formation and their trainers were probably trying to stay with them in order to shout whatever it is they shout, but in my mind, I won. I rule.

So I'm staying until the end of September. I decided that J's ceremony was too important to miss. It cost a bit of money (ouch! It must be important for me to spend money!) but not as much as I feared. I am also staying for the ball. And now I have an excuse to go shopping. I've been very disciplined this summer re: shopping so I deserve a reward, right?

I went to Siracusa today with some American friends. We found this beautiful park (photo on the right) that reminded me of the yard of St. Paul's church in Norfolk and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, the movie that made me fall in love with the south. Ya ya, it's cliched, I know.... keep it to yourself.

For the first time all summer, J and I rented a couple of movies. His pick, "Benchwarmers." Ugh. He accused me of stifling laughter in order to prove to him that it was a bad pick and then watching it again the next day while he was at work in order to release my pent-up uproarious laughter.... but let me assure you, there is little to no laughter warranted by that film. Ugh.

I chose "Munich." Meh, it was okay.

The only movie I've seen this summer that has impressed me is "V for Vendetta," mainly because I hardly saw any previews and thought, because of the title, that it was going to be a videogamesque version of "Blade." It wasn't. It had quite a few political messages but I won't go into them because as a Canadian married to an American (and the military apparently) who one day hopes to live and work in the United States I think it's best if I keep my mouth shut. The only ideological revelation I will allow is that by canadian standards I am seen as somewhat conservative but by american standards I think I'm viewed as a tree-hugging left wingnut.

Dictatoressa on Her 27th Birthday

Self-Reflection of Myself

I forgot to mention that at the karaoke night, J and I got pulled aside to do an interview for AFN re: what we think about the inclusion of families into certain events during this transition. A part of me feels like we're the king and queen of the base because we've already been on the front page of the newspaper (as spectators at comedy night) and now this, but the bigger part of me knows that it's probably because we have friends that work for AFN. Unfortunately I did not see said newspaper, nor have I seen or heard the spots on TV or radio. What good is it being queen if you can't see the evidence? If any of y'all out there have access to AFN, please enjoy our spot and marvel at how benevolent we must be as dictators.

I made the interviewer promise not to ask me any questions, assuring him he didn't want to hear what I really thought, but then he broke his promise and asked me anyway. Naturally, being used to the public eye, I spewed out some crap that won't ruin my husband's career. Though I don't know if my words were good enough to air. I only heard that J was seen/heard. Lemme know if you see me! I wanna know about me!

Tonight I went to the spouse academy. Most of the stuff I already knew. Surprisingly, despite my Canadian citizenship, I know more about the navy than most spouses that have been married to it for years. One notable quote from the evening, uttered by one of the grand poobahs, (John, you're gonna love this) "they self-inflict it on themselves." Do the two selfs negate each other? Does the double use of self act like a double negative?

Karaoke Pic: J is the one with the microphone. (They were forced to wear wigs so that's not his actual hair.)

Pictureless..... Again

Okay blogger, what is up yo? No pictures again today? Argh, guess I'll have to keep trying. I am going to post a picture (hopefully) of J singing karaoke. Last week the selectees and their families attended family night at the NEX. All selectees participated in karaoke. It was unbelievably bad.... no really. Not only could no one sing (save 2 guys), but they also had less than no rhythm. Despite their selections being incredibly popular (ie. "Stand By Your Man"), no one could figure out where to put the words, let alone how. It was hilarious and I'm proud to say that J's team won. Not because they were better singers.... dear me no.... but because they had a bit of a dance routine going and had, if nothing else, incredible charisma. Congrats guys.

Sicilian heat has finally returned to Sicily. Yesterday was so stifling I actually used the air conditioner a couple of times. I'm sure it won't break the bank as I only let it go for about 40 minutes at a time. Unfortunately this means only 40 minutes of relief because the minute you turn it off, the cool disappears.

Looks like I have to go back in 17 days. I didn't find a way to stay longer because legally I'll be maxed out on Italian hospitality. Did you know that you can only be in the Schengen region (region that includes France, Italy, Spain and a few others) for 90 days out of 180? Who knew... I certainly did not. The days of border hopping to avoid deportation are over. Oh well, I guess the sooner I get my Canadian affairs taken care of the sooner I can come back and not have to worry. My sponsorship is pending a few more signatures, hopefully it will be approved soon.

This week I might actually be getting out a bit more. Here's the tentative schedule: Tonight: Dinner with J's coworkers in Taormina. Tomorrow: Pool in Motta. Wednesday: Coffee with Ewelin, "Spouse Academy" on base. Thursday: Dinner with spouses and grand poobah. Friday: Gym, Yoga and new ID. Hopefully this will be my last trip to the ID issuers for a while. This will be my fourth in 2 months.

Oh yeah, I'm officially the first Canadian that married an American to have her health insurance actually improve. Well maybe not the first but I'm especially happy cause now I can go back to all those wanks that said I was stupid to want to live in America and be with an American due to the lack of public health insurance. Naturally this lack would have forced me into a life of crack-whorism in rat infested alleys. Phew! Dodged that bullet! For now........

Bittersweet Intoxication

I'm all riled up and suffering from a bit of ADD, so bear with me as I bounce from one stream of consciousness to the next. After years of late-night ranting and thinking better of it the next morning you'd think I'd have learned by now, but I haven't. So bounce along y'all!

Where do I begin? As J's spouse, who is, as we all know, being put through a long "transition" in his career right now, I have been invited to several family events. I've attended two so far and so far, I've felt like an alien. Reasons? I feel about a billion years younger than any of the other spouses. I may not be, hey, there might even be some younger than me, so I don't know what it is that makes me feel this way. It's not that most of them have kids.... I have plenty of friends with kids.....is it that I'm immature, just a kid at heart? I don't know. I have a friend with a baby that has felt the same way when she attends yoga classes and the like for mommies and babies. Sure, she has a baby, but she doesn't identify herself as a "Mom." Maybe I don't identify myself as a "wife." That's not to say I don't enjoy being a wife. Marrying J is the best thing I have done to date. I'll expand on that later. Maybe I just can't accept all of the stereotypes that come with being a wife.... hence, I still refused to be called "Mrs." "Ms. aint' no good either. I'm stuck in name purgatory.

I did meet one seemingly like-minded wife. I briefly attended a party tonight and spoke to her a bit. Naturally she's moving away next month. I guess this is how it will be in the military. The minute you meet someone that has the potential to be a kindred spirit, (only Canadians who have memorized the movie or book, "Anne of Green Gables," can truly understand that term) that someone will most likely be on his/her way to a new post.

Amazingly I'm not tired. I got up at 6 am, despite tossing and turning for a couple of hours as usual last night. Because J is so tired, he goes to bed early and I, liking to fall asleep with him, try to as well. Early bedtimes and nightowls do not mix. So I end up stressing about my imminent trip back to Canada. I really do not want to go back. I'm going to start investigating the possibility of delaying said trip. It may cost some money (ouch! my cheapness cringes at the thought) but I would be able to be here for J's pinning - I get to pin him! and the ball. Ah, the belle of the ball. Oh sorry, where were we?

Anyway, I got up at 6 to catch a ride with a friend to base. I spent three hours at the gym running, cycling, ellipticalling? and yoga-ing? It was great. I was starting to feel like a useless blob of panini, so it was just what I needed. I then met up with J to follow him to his evening activity. Car wash. Sure I was a bit bored and a bit out of place but it was oh so much better than being at home by myself nearly licking the screen windows like a dog waiting for its master to return. Sadly this is what most evenings are like. I, the wonderful, hot, funny, and talented musician/pedagogue am no better than a golden retriever.

I wouldn't trade it for the world. Why? Because it's real. Like I said, marrying J is the best thing I've done. It's the best decision I ever made. Scariest decision, but the best decision. I have a few staunchly single female friends that think this kind of outburst is beneath a "successful woman." But I've been an independent woman, I've had success. Sure it was great. Yes I loved it. But I will know it again because neither J nor I will ever let me abandon my ambition. Whatever it may be at whatever given time.

I will never stop being the queen of my own universe. And now I've got someone that actually shares in the belief that I am queen. Even when my makeup is smearing, when I'm feeling bumbly, when I'm in such a deep, though usually groundless and/or melodramatic, pit of despair, I can see my potential reflected in his loving eyes. He smells right. He does right. I couldn't have found a better partner in crime and/or life.

Right now this time is about him. I want nothing more than to support him since he has already supported me through so much of my own BS and will probably continue to do so in the years to come. I am so proud of him and even though he can't sing, I fall deeper in love every day. He is hilarious, smart, wonderfully handsome, and quirky. You should meet him someday.

Well, here's the dump truck I mentioned. Notice the proximity to the trash.

Foggy Wednesday

Apparently I'm not the only one that's a bit foggy today.... blogger won't let me post pictures. Ah well.

On Monday it was "ferragosto" when sicilians flock to the beach and camp overnight. I was fortunate enough to be invited by my friends Giuseppe and Asia to spend the day at a beach near Taormina. It was just what I needed. Sun, human company, no jellyfish and a layer of salt water all over my body. Ahhhhhhhh........ I also learned something that day. I learned that north american gas jockeys must be very sloppy compared to sicilians in the same profession, because why else would it not be prudent to sit smoking in your car while someone fills your tank? North americans must be spilling that junk all over the place cause I witnessed first hand that ten smoking customers in Sicily does not a blown up gas station make.

J and I learned something else the hard way last night. After frying bacon, you can't pour the piping hot grease into a plastic container. There's a reason your mother always kept a grease "jar" and not a grease "yogurt container." Yup.... grease all over the countertop. Maybe you all knew this and think we're stupid. Shut up. I have also observed that fat does not congeal here. Where I'm from, it's solid in very short order. If I had a scientific and curious brain, I would find out why but since I don't, all I wonder is where I should pour it, or should I chance putting it in a plastic bag after thoroughly checking for holes? Or maybe I can pour it in the dump truck!

Which leads me to the topic of the dump truck. A few weeks ago someone dropped off a dump truck beside the trash. The tires are flat, the windows and the front end smashed. What part of the dump truck being just as big as a garbage truck makes them think that it will be picked up? Or maybe they didn't think, they just left. They left us a rusted and permanent eye sore. Thank you.

Too bad I can't show you pictures. Maybe tomorrow.

How Some People Get to My Site From Google

These are some searches people have done that led them to my site..... I don't think it was me they were looking for. In some cases, I sure hope not.

1. "Brianne" (Wow, what are the chances)
2. "Brianne Poland"
3. "Polish Asha"
4. "Get a beautiful conky"
5. "The bachelorette ii"
6. "Brianne suits"
7. "lizard git'r dun"

Twilight Zone

Yup, I'm officially in the twilight zone. Or rather, the zone where Sicilian drum and bugle corps belt out their tunes from the nearby campo sportivo. Oh ya, did I mention that it's 22:30? Sure, I don't have to get up in the morning, but what about the people that do? What about the people that have to get up at 06:00, roll into work at 7:42 and stand around smoking and drinking cappuccino all day, passing the buck saying, "no no no, I don't fix, Salvo.... he fix.... but he go to Palermo.... he be back tomorrow"? WHAT ABOUT THEM?

The drumming ain't too bad (but really, how hard could it be?) but the trumpet playing, holy crap. So bad. Out of tune, barrel full of missed notes.....almost as bad as a band of bagpipers.

I'm assuming they're rehearsing for some patron saint festival and what not. I guess that's what the cannons that go off at 07:00 are rehearsing for too.

Tonight is my first official night as a navy wife. What does that mean, you civilians ask? It means I'm spending the night alone. Nope, he's not on deployment. He has to work all night..... at work. Poor guy. He has had 10 hours of sleep in the past 48 hours.... my heart breaks at the thought of his fatigue. Each day has started with either running or swimming at the crack of dawn no less.

R.A.T.

Finally! Something to make me feel better during these long, lonely days. As I was flipping through one of J's "transition" publications, I found a glaring R.A.T. (my newly coined acronym for Random Apostrophe Transgression.... you know what I'm talking about.... apostrophes used for pluralization or conversely, the lack of apostrophe when saying that one does not give a "rats a**.") Why does this make me feel better? Well, now while I spend the day worrying about the humiliation he may be facing at the hands of the already transitioned, I won't feel so bad about it, knowing that we are clearly smarter than they are. Not that we didn't already know that, but now we have irrefutable proof. Yes, this may just be a little sad. Oh well.

Promotion on the High Seas

Big changes came on Friday. J got selected to go up in rank. Since I'm sure most of you are unfamiliar with the naval ranking system I won't bore you with the details. The major difference, well, at least to me, is that his dress uniform will no longer be the dixie cup and tie number that you see in the "attention" photo. Instead, he will be wearing a number similar to that of Mr. Gere in the other photo. Notice the love and happiness just a simple change of uniform brings to any couple.

After the results came out on Friday, I was immediately summoned to meet with one of the command superiors who warned me of the time commitment the six week "transition" demands of its selectees. I guess they want to make sure that my unavoidable rage at being put aside for the next month is tempered with, "I told you so."

Ultimately this is a very good thing for us and a real honor for J. In the short term, however, it may be very difficult. I'm neither the most patient nor selfless person around so I'm sure I will struggle.... but who knows, maybe I'll learn something.

Appreciation Reservist


We went to the comedy show last night. The lady from SNL turned out to be Ellen Cleghorne. She was pretty good. She spent a lot of time roasting the commodore and the rest of the executive table. We had seats near the front so I spent most of the time praying I wouldn't be singled out. Especially when she asked everyone to clap for all of the pilots. I like to reserve my clapping, thank you very much, even at concerts. Just cause everyone else is doing it, just cause everyone else gives a standing O, doesn't mean you have to do it. At least I don't think I should have to. If one does such things for every performance, what does one do when one actually loves something or thinks it is really special? Huh? Tell me that! So I quickly thought of a comeback in case I got picked on for not clapping. My response would have been, "I only clap for F-18 pilots and I ain't seen no hornets on the tarmac, yo." Good thing I didn't have to defend myself.... I'm new here and I don't want people knowing I'm a snob until they actually get to know me.

J and I are going to the gym tonight. This past weekend we did a mock PRT. I did well on the run (it's only 1.5 miles..... cake!) but not so well on the push-ups. I've always hated push-ups. Hurts my wrists. But I will continue to perservere and try to get my score up. If for no other reason than to say, "I could be a lieutenant commander in the navy, I just choose not to be." Though in actual fact it's not my physical shape that limits me, it's my citizenship. And my lack of marketable military skill. Even if I were American and won an audition with the President's Own, I'm not sure that I could skyrocket to lieutenant commander very quickly, if at all. But we'll just keep all of those factors to ourselves and go with the idea that I'm just choosing not to.

(My Town, Motta)

Tuesday Tidbits

So I've now done yoga twice. Ow. That 'bout sums it up. I'm going to keep going though, in the hopes that eventually, maybe in about 15 years, I will be more flexible. My 6 ft. tall brother with bad knees, 5 ft, 9 inch legs, and a 2 inch back can now touch his toes so there must be hope for me. I feel pain in places I thought could only hurt if one was kicked repeatedly. Anyway, it turns out that indeed I am the most inflexible person in the world. When the instructor, who is as sweet as pie, thank goodness, says, "ok, now if you can't grab behind your ankles during this pose, you can grab behind your calves..... that's okay too." Ya, try thighs. That's as far as I can reach. This friday is the next class so I have a few days to recuperate.

I spent the whole day on base yesterday in the hopes of enjoying the pool after the yoga class and later attending a step hip hop class. Well, yoga happened but the pool didn't open and no one showed up to teach hip hop. So I spent some time cycling and doing the elliptical (I couldn't run very long cause my strained chest muscles tightened with every step.) I spent the rest of the time people watching and getting enraged with every loud midwest accent I heard. If you check the news in Illinois, the Dakotas, and Wisconsin, you'll hear that their entire population has been displaced to Sicily. Yup, I was surrounded. For some reason the Fargo accent drives me bananas. Southern I can handle, in fact I love it..... but the midwest.... ugh. Ok, before you get all offended and say, "they can't help the way they talk!", just calm down a minute. I find the hick Albertan accent just as repulsive and being that I spent many a school year in small Albertan towns, it must have been part of my speech at some point. But I trained myself to speak more neutrally. So if I can do it, so can anyone else. Don't underestimate the strength of the Canadian hick sound. It's quite grating. Sure, when I'm speaking quickly or under the influence of strange liquid brews, it may slip back in from time to time, but for the most part Americans are disappointed when they meet me because they don't hear "eh" or "aboot" and thus, can't laugh and point at me.

Tonight we're going to a USO comedy show featuring some chick that used to be on SNL. I've never been to a comedy show. And no, for all of youze that attended the UofA, USO doesn't stand for University Symphony Orchestra. And no, there won't be any South Africans on the podium.