Not only is she crazy, she also has horrible taste in holiday decor.

Jason is home!

He got back last Thursday. He was scheduled to arrive back in Lemoore at night, so I had planned to spend a few hours after work cleaning up the place and myself, and then going to pick him up looking super cute. Instead, he called from the airport here on base two hours before I expected him, while I was elbow-deep in dishwater. I scurried over there without putting on makeup, brushing my hair, or even brushing my teeth (I did chew a piece of gum on the way there so as to not be completely disgusting). Oh well. He was sick and had been awake for at least 26 hours at that point so he didn't notice. We went straight to bed.

When I woke up Friday morning, my poor man was sleeping at the very edge of our bed, scrunched up like he was still in his coffin-like rack on the ship. My heart just broke for him thinking about how uncomfortable it must have been. Since he's been home, he has been enjoying such luxuries as sunshine, soy milk, and sheets.

Over the weekend Jason witnessed another Crazy Navy Wife incident: he was out in the driveway when he heard her hollering at her son--and not a teenager, mind you, but a little boy--that he could never have his friends over to their house ever again. And just wait until I show you the Christmas monstrosity that is her yard.



Not only is she crazy, she also has horrible taste in holiday decor. From left to right, that's an inflatable Santa being pulled out of a chimney by a reindeer, an inflatable Santa on a motorcycle, and a light-up Santa hat-wearing dolphin that rocks back and forth. The front door is covered in shiny wrapping paper. It could be much worse. Luckily for the normal people on our street, hanging lights on upper levels and placing anything on the roof are strictly prohibited in base housing. Otherwise she'd probably have shit up there, too.

I'll be honest: I hate those inflatable yard things. Christmas, Halloween, Easter... I don't care what holiday they're for, they are beyond tacky. My cold, black heart swells with glee when I see one of them flopped over, half deflated and buried in snow. We don't get snow in this part of California, so some other arrangements will have to be made with Mother Nature. Perhaps some wind gusts? Hail? Locusts? Or maybe her son can just invite his friends over on the sly.