I know. I was shocked and disappointed, too. I really thought this was my year, but Military Spouse magazine had other ideas. Yes, this is a real publication and no, I do not write for it… yet (CALL ME).

I’m sure this Lori character is nice and all, but I want my tiara! It’s my special day!!

So it may be a little premature, but I am officially starting my campaign to become the 2011 Military Spouse of the Year. It’s about time I got some recognition for all my dedication and hard work. I probably can’t nominate myself (it would not demonstrate my “servant’s heart”), so I look to you, my fine word jockey friends.

Help me put together the best darn one-sentence nomination those judges have ever seen and show them why I am “equal parts grit and grace.” Bonus points if you mention my tot-baking abilities or if you Photoshop me doing something wholesome. Triple bonus points if you actually have a photo of me doing something wholesome.

You may submit responses in the comments. My favorite gets a mention in my acceptance speech and a bottle of R&R whiskey.

Brian is approaching his fourth year in the Navy and the end of his second sea tour. This February, he will be moving to a shore duty assignment, a two-year gig that actually means what the name implies: he will have a job on shore, not attached to a ship, not deploying, not leaving several times a month to go underway. This means we will get to live together all of the time like normal adult married humans. This is good news.

Now we just have to figure out where we’re going to live.

Photo courtesy of stromo’s Flickr photostream

For the last year or two, we’ve been dreaming of the awesome choices we could have. Anything in Western Europe would be ideal since we are both itchin’ to live abroad again, and there are sometimes opportunities in Italy, France, Germany, Spain… it all depends on what’s available at the time. Hawaii is also amazing, and it would not be a punishment to stay here another two years. We’ve been eagerly waiting for Brian’s slate, the list of possible billets and their locations, for months now, and it finally arrived last week. And… it’s OK.

It’s a pretty sparse selection of places we are excited about. There are only two jobs in Hawaii, and it turns out the odds of getting a good international billet are much higher if you sign a piece of paper vowing to stay in for a ship’s department head tour after shore duty (which Brian is not prepared to do). We can still put a few of those options (in Italy, France, Chile and Germany! WANT.) down on our list of top 10 preferences, but who knows what our chances are.

There are still a few other domestic choices we would be fine with– San Diego, Monterey, Bremerton (near Seattle)– but it’s hard not to be a bit disappointed with the idea of returning to the West Coast when Italy and France have been sneaking into my dreams lately. I feel spoiled and guilty even being picky when we’ve been so lucky with our location so far, but Navy life has been a bumpy ride at times. The Navy could try to make it up to me by buying me some flowers, a nice bottle of cabernet and paying for me to live in Europe for two years. Is that really so much to ask?

I also feel a little insane because, throughout all of this, I get really sad when I think about leaving Hawaii. I’m happy here. I love our friends, I love our town, I love being able to swim in the ocean in the dead of winter. Two more years of this would be incredible. We could settle in more, and we wouldn’t have to start from scratch making new friends in a new place. But… if we had the chance, I couldn’t resist the temptation of moving to another country and potentially learning a new language. That clever north wind is always trying to lure me to the next adventure.

Ultimately, the final decision isn’t up to us anyway. We put in our preferences, roll the dice and see what the Navy decides to give us. It’s crazy to think that this list will determine the next two years of our lives, but maybe it’s a good thing we don’t have to make the tough decision ourselves. Our final list is due at the end of the month, and we should have our answer by the middle of July. Fingers crossed, let the billet roulette begin…

This post on happiness made me particularly happy (check out her professor’s note: gold) and inspired me to focus on all the things that make me happy. There are so very many, but since I just got through dancing in the streets for Bay to Breakers, I’ll start there.

I love Bay to Breakers. It is San Francisco’s version of Mardi Gras and perhaps the best costume party ever (and you know how I feel about Mardi Gras and costume parties). Gold lamé hot pants, Madonna tunes and cocktails before noon? Yes, please!

Here’s the full post…

For the last 15 years, I have kept a journal through my hardest and happiest times. The journals have looked different over the years, from crumpled spiral notebooks to sleek black sketchbooks, but they have always served the same purpose: to give me a safe place to vent, gloat, rage and muse about everything important phase of my life. My first journal helped me survive the dramatic ups and downs of middle school, and my latest has chronicled several cross-country moves and my first year of marriage.

I’ve often said my journal is my personal therapist, and I’m not exaggerating. During happy periods of my life, I check in occasionally, writing brief, scattered posts about trips I’ve taken or goals for the future. During challenging times, however, I write a lot and I write often. It is the only place I allow myself to be completely honest about how I’m feeling, and it is indispensable.

One example of these difficult periods is the year of 2005 to 2006. I graduated from college in New Orleans in May 2005, and everything was going perfectly. I was in a great relationship, I had a fantastic group of supportive friends and I had been accepted into a program teaching English in France for the upcoming school year. I was nervous about moving far away from my loved ones for so long, but I was excited for the new adventure.

Those crazy Loyola kids

On August 29, two weeks before I was supposed to fly from New Orleans to Paris, Hurricane Katrina hit and everything changed. All of a sudden, instead of attending farewell parties, I was scrambling to evacuate the city with my passport, camera and a couple days’ worth of clothes. A few weeks later, my friends were scattered across the US and I was alone in a foreign country to cope with the sadness, anger and guilt I felt as one of the lucky survivors of the storm. I was terribly lonely and homesick, but for the first time ever, I knew it wasn’t possible to go home.

Istres, France

I started writing in my journal every day as a necessary form of therapy. Each night, I scrawled page after page, trying to identify and sift through all of my conflicting emotions. I desperately missed my boyfriend, my friends and my city, and I was clumsily trying to move past the culture shock and make a home for myself in a new place. It felt incredibly cathartic to tell my journal everything I couldn’t even tell my closest friends. It was the perfect confidante; I could let it all out without fear of being judged for appearing weak or ungrateful or self-indulgent.

Just another day of sheep running through the village

My posts ranged from the frustrated…

I just really miss my people and I feel so isolated without a phone or Internet. During the good moments, I think, “I can do this. My French will eventually catch up to my brain. I’ll be glad I stuck with this.” During the bad moments, I think, “Why am I here? I’m bored, I’m lonely, I’m far from everyone I love and I sound like an idiot when I speak French.”

… to the downright hysterical…

I hate France. I hate Istres. I don’t know why I’m here. I just want to go home. I’ve been sobbing uncontrollably all day and I can’t stop. I just want a freaking phone—is that so much to ask? I hate France Telecom with every fiber in my body. They screwed up and now it will be almost three weeks before I get a phone installed. Kill me. I’m in small town hell, and I hate everything French.

I shed a lot of tears over that journal for the first few months, but I also started using it to record my small victories. I wrote about the wonderful new friends I was making, the successful lessons I taught my students, the colorful French slang I was learning and the amazing food I was discovering. I now had stories to tell about my six-year-old students delightedly learning the words and motions to “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” and the day I spent harvesting olives and eating a two-hour mid-day feast at a local farm.

Gerald and Carmen

I pasted train ticket stubs and postcards and photos in the pages and started keeping lists of new words and phrases I wanted to remember (favorites that are appropriate to repeat are “C’est marrant!” – “How funny!” – and “Pas de soucis” – “No worries”). I even began writing half of my posts in French, which became easier and easier as the weeks progressed. Very gradually, my enthusiastic entries began to outnumber the tearful ones, and I was surprised to find that I was actually happy.

Hannah and me

Even though it was a difficult year for me, I look back on that journal fondly. It was a good friend to me when I needed one the most, and it helped me turn a painful time into a character-building experience. This is an excerpt from my final journal entry before I came back home:

In the end, I can honestly say that I don’t regret this experience. At times, it was almost unbearable because I was so frustrated or isolated or sad. But it’s all part of living abroad, and I’m proud of what I’ve done. There are people and things I will miss, but I am ready and happy to go home. Et voila, it’s the end of this adventure—till the next!

Writing this post really struck a chord with me because I see a lot of parallels with my life at the moment. I was living far from both of my homes (the Bay Area and New Orleans) and navigating all the heartache and craziness that go along with a long-distance relationship. Now Brian is deployed again, and as always, I’m surprised by how hard even three months apart can be.

My situation right now is much easier than in France because I have already established a strong network of friends in Hawaii, and I’m able to keep busy with work and fun activities. Also, I can usually understand the local language without a dictionary. But there are still rough patches, and writing this post reminded me how important my journal is during those times. Blogging and Facebook and Twitter have tried to replace my journal recently, but though those are all great tools for expression, they don’t serve the same purpose at all. They’re public ways of communicating my thoughts, and my journal is the raw, uncensored, as-crazy-as-I-wanna-be medium for working through my issues.

Lately, I’ve been avoiding my journal because I simply don’t feel like dealing with the thoughts and emotions it forces me to face. It’s a whole lot easier to zone out to my DVR queue than write honestly about how I feel, but I miss journaling. And I know it will help. I’m going to start writing in my journal at least once a week again, even if it’s just a few lines at a time.

What about you? Do you keep a journal? Why?

I already love to cook, and I cook a lot, but sometimes I get a little safe and predictable. Fish, pasta, stir-fry. Lather, rinse, repeat. Dinner parties push me to be bolder and more adventurous in the kitchen, and there is nothing better than enjoying a home-cooked, five-hour-plus feast (and many bottles of wine) with a group of friends.

Brian and I decided to get ambitious last weekend. We invited a bunch of people we know (and some we sort of know) over to our wee apartment for our very first Saturday night supper club. The concept is simple:

1. Send out an invitation to a bunch of people and accept the first 10 to 20 who can make it (we capped ours at 15 because there’s no way we could cram any more into our place), friends of friends and plus-ones more than welcome. Ask people to bring whatever they want to drink, a $20 donation and an empty belly.

2. Create a menu, preferably based on a theme (you know how we love themes). We were originally going to do a Carnival theme in time for Mardi Gras, but scheduling and procrastination got in the way, and it became a Lenten theme (Are you giving up something for Lent? Too bad! We’re probably serving it.).

3. Make the apartment presentable, cook like crazy, eat, drink and be merry!

I’ve been fascinated with supper clubs for a few years, after reading about underground versions in big cities and attending a delicious event thrown by The Ghetto Gourmet, a “wandering supper club” in San Francisco. I love the idea of taking a bunch of foodies– some friends and some strangers– and throwing them together at the same dinner table.

I had toyed with the idea of starting one here but always came up with excuses not to: we don’t really know that many people here, it sounds like a lot of work, what if no one wants to come, that sort of thing. Then Melia and Darren sent us a copy of Forking Fantastic! Put the Party Back in Dinner Party, written by two hilarious women who have been hosting Sunday night dinners twice a month for years in New York City. Their attitude is refreshingly unpretentious and approachable, their recipes and tips are great and their bottom-line message is: you can do this, so stop being a wuss and just give it a shot. That sealed the deal. We had to do this. Read this excerpt from their book and tell me you’re not inspired:

We do it because at every meal, our extended social community reknits itself in a fascinating way: The former priest turned calligraphy professor sits next to the design-school student; the hedge fund guy chats with the environmental activist. Neighbors drop by and meet people who live on the other side of the city. Sometimes they’re all crammed on a sofa together; sometimes they get to sprawl out in the yard and spot lightning bugs in the grass. But our “hungry kiddies” (as we’ve come to call them in our email invitations) always surprise us with their willingness to eat just about anything we throw at them and their enthusiasm for talking to whoever winds up sitting in the next chair. We know from experience: Some of the best friendships are forged around the dinner table– and in the kitchen.

Food, wine, community. These are the things that make me happiest. We had 10 people at our first supper club, and everyone had a blast (or they’re very good at faking it). The food was pretty darn good, the wine and mint juleps flowed generously and the guests got along swimmingly. It was a relaxed, decidedly un-fancy affair, with mismatched plates, plastic folding chairs and brown butcher paper in lieu of tablecloths. Martha Stewart would have had a heart attack, which means it was exactly my kind of party. I’m looking forward to making this a monthly affair, and I hope we’ll continue to have a fantastic mix of people and food.

Check out the complete menu and a few recipes here. Brian is going on a three-month deployment in a couple weeks, so we’ll have to wait a bit for another supper club event, but I’m already brainstorming ideas for the next theme. Suggestions?

I have only three rules for these quasi-reso-whatevers:

1. They must be fun.
2. They must be flexible.
3. They must not inspire guilt.

That is all. In other words, I will only aim for goals that make me happy, I will change my fickle mind any time I like and I will not starve myself to lose 30 pounds by bikini season (HA, it’s always bikini season here so that’s just silly).

Resolution #1: Get Scuba Certified

I’ve talked about this one for a long time, and I’m both exhilarated and apprehensive about the idea of exploring the depths of the big bad ocean.

Pros: seeing incredible marine life, reefs and even shipwrecks. Cons: The movie “Open Water.” Since I refused to see “Open Water” under any circumstances, the pros win.

All reservations aside, there is absolutely no better time to take the plunge (tee hee). I live in Hawaii, which is surrounded by some of the most beautiful dive spots in the world, and the Marine Corps Base 15 minutes away is offering a winter special for $159 per person. It would be crazy not to do it. Brian and I paid our fees today, and we start classes Monday. You’re mine, ocean.

What are your fun goals for 2010? More of mine to come…

Matsumoto’s shave ice in Haleiwa

We all agreed that we don’t need to spend more money or receive more things, so instead of exchanging gifts we have been treating ourselves to some amazing meals together. It’s a tradition we’ve been moving toward the last few years, and I fully support all future gifts being offered in caloric form.

Yet another classy toothless photo of Brian

I’m a little bit sad I won’t be in Sonoma for Christmas (through all my moves over the years, I have always made it home), but I’m mostly relieved to be able to stay put for once. No flying from coast to coast or trying to pack a dozen dinners and happy hours into one week; no frantically shopping for gifts at the last minute because I am a horrible, horrible procrastinator. Just taking it easy in my new home with some of my favorite people.

The biggest challenge of spending Christmas in Hawaii will probably be convincing myself that it is, in fact, Christmas. It’s a bit of a tough sell when it’s 80 degrees out, I’m planning a boating trip for next weekend and Brian recently got a vicious sunburn at the beach.

And no, I am not complaining about living in a tropical paradise; I am not a cold weather person, and I am absolutely OK with wearing flip-flops (I’m sorry… “slippers”) in the dead of winter. But there is something a little off about decorating a tree, listening to “White Christmas” and drinking egg nog when every fan in the house is on full blast and I’m in a full-body sweat. It’s already December 15 and I am nowhere near the holiday spirit. This will not stand, man. I need some Christmas cheer and fast. I propose a three-pronged plan of action:

• Carols. Lots of ‘em. There is nothing like “All I Want for Christmas is You” and “Santa Baby” on loop to set the mood. Melia brought our family staple, Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas,” and I just purchased our childhood favorite, New Kids on the Block’s “Merry, Merry Christmas” (we have it on cassette back home). We may or may not dance and sing along to “Funky, Funky Xmas” every single time it comes on. Brian and Darren are in for quite a treat.

• Cookies. Our mom makes some unbelievably delicious Christmas cookies every year (one recipe is called “butter dream cookies” if that is any indication) and brought a huge container of them all the way to Hawaii for us. Brian and I got a KitchenAid mixer (read: the appliance I have lusted after for years) as a wedding present, which means I can finally make Lil Mom’s crack-filled cookies away from home for the first time ever. Good thing we burn so many calories dancing to NKOTB.

• Decorations. Brian’s parents sent us a beautiful wreath for our door, and every time I walk by it, I have to bury my nose in it and breathe in that glorious pine smell. My neighbors are starting to ask questions. I absolutely need to buy a Christmas tree that I can sniff to my heart’s content and decorate with the pipe-cleaner-and-clothespin ornaments I made in elementary school and have been saving until I had a tree of my own someday.

It’ll be a blend of new and old traditions this year, which I suppose is fitting for my first year as a bona fide grown-up married lady. Happy holidays, everyone. I’ll be sure to drink a mai tai and have an extra funky, funky Christmas for those of you who are far away.

These are the basic rules to what can only be described as the greatest drinking game of all time. Now before you get all preachy on me about how drinking games are juvenile and contribute to unhealthy habits, hear me out. It’s called Dawson’s Drink, and it’s based around the best angsty teen television series EVER, “Dawson’s Creek.” (If you disagree with that last statement, we can clearly not continue our friendship. Move along now.) Yes, the dialogue is ridiculous, the clothes are atrocious (I was sooo much more stylish in 1997), the acting is shaky, and yet it creates the perfect storm of hilarity and drama and genuine entertainment. In other words, it is the ideal canvas on which to paint a masterpiece drinking game.

My brilliant friends and I came up with it one hot and humid night in New Orleans last year, and it has evolved beautifully as we add new players and progress through the series.

Don’t wait. Go play Dawson’s Drink right now.

The Number One Rule:

Every player must choose one of the four main characters (Dawson, Joey, Pacey and Jen)– it’s OK if more than one player is assigned to each character. Every time that character says something no teenager would ever say, drink. New players must be Dawson at least once during their first game. *As other pivotal characters are introduced to the cast (Andie, Jack, etc.), feel free to add them to the mix.

You must also drink when:

• Anyone wears mom jeans
• There is a Steven Spielberg reference
• There is an allusion to Dawson’s future career as a famous filmmaker
• Jen’s grandmother calls someone by their full Christian name (Jennifer, Josephine, etc.)
• Jen’s grandmother brings up God or Jesus
• There is a reference to Jen’s sordid past in New York
• Joey climbs in or out of Dawson’s bedroom window
• Dawson’s parents are getting it on
• Pacey awkwardly tries to hit on girls
• There is an episode clearly ripped off from a movie plot (for example: “The Breakfast Club” or “The Blair Witch Project” episodes)

Optional rules (warning: these happen really frequently). Drink when:

• Joey makes that terrible smirk/pout/grimace/constipation face
• Someone is in a boat
• Someone is gazing pensively out at the water

Bonus rules for the true Dawson’s aficionado (these are from Mr. Chuck Alexander, whose pop culture prowess is damn near unbeatable):

• There is a stipulation that a two-thirds majority can vote to make the Pacey Designate drink whenever he actually says something a teenager would say (a good time to put this rule into effect is mid-Season 1 post-Ms. Jacobs hookup, pre-Andy McPhee).
• For Season 2 (though only Season 2 as they manage to drop this aspect of his character after the evil English teacher makes him out himself to the whole school by reading his poem aloud), drink any time Jack does something clumsy or mentions how clumsy he is.
• Any episode featuring Cliff:  a mandatory group drink any time he does or says something creepy (this also applies later to Michael Pitt’s character Henry, who is so creepy that I genuinely believe he collects dead squirrels).

I hope this inspires you to bring the wonder of Dawson’s Drink to your next party. Enjoy, and feel free to add your own rules in the comments section below!

No, a different two reasons…

Reason #1. I’ve been living the dream in Hawaii. Yes, you’re probably all sick of hearing about how beautiful and wonderful it is here, but well… I’m sorry, the truth hurts. I love the weather and the laidback pace of life and the postcard-worthy backdrop of mountains and sea. I love that I now have a list of friends I can call when I want to work/watch YouTube videos in a coffee shop or see the latest chick flick or declare “Margarita Wednesday” a legitimate staple of each week. I love that I’ve already had three fabulous visitors this summer, with many more to come in the next few months. I’m happy here, and now that Brian is home from deployment, life isn’t too shabby. There is still so much to see and explore, and it’s exciting to know we won’t have to move again for at least another year.

Reason #2. This summer has been a series of events I like to call “Teach Gill to be more Zen and less attached to material possessions.” In the course of a few months, I lost three cameras (including my beloved old Canon DSLR) and an iPod in an auto theft and my MacBook hard drive in a devastating computer crash. I lost a lot of photos and music, shed a few tears and wallowed in self-pity a bit, but I’m trying to bounce back and move on. The silver lining is that our renters’ insurance covered the cost of my stolen camera equipment, so I was able to buy a newer, more awesome camera (RIP, 10-D). I’m hoping it’ll motivate me to document more of our life here.

I may be missing a few snapshots from the last few months, but that doesn’t make those months any less fabulous. Here’s to happy times and fresh starts…

The YouthNoise ladies have a work retreat… and snorkel the heck out of Hanauma Bay

Kathleen and I have eight years of pictures of us making these faces

Tracey takes her BFF Molly out for a beer

OMG, Kenny Rogers goes to Creekside!

Chafee homecoming! Flowers for everyone

We get to celebrate Nicole’s birthday and the fact that we’re all on the same coast

Bad Lisa, no licking

We show that “Real World: D.C.” crew how it’s done

Beautiful wedding, beautiful couple

But not as beautiful as this couple

Brian and I bust a move at the first wedding we’ve been to besides our own

The after-party rages on in the hotel lobby

Margarita Wednesday on the beach

Tiff and Zac’s wine tasting party o’ fun (not to brag, but our wine may have won the grand prize)

It’s hot as hell on the way up Diamond Head, but the view is worth it

I’m pretty darn happy with it and am thanking my lucky stars I married a man who can A) design a kickass pirate-hula-girl-themed masthead and B) keep me from throwing my computer off the balcony in a frustrated rage. This is just the kick in the pants I need to start writing more often, so stay tuned for more in the coming days and weeks.

Smooches,

Gill