Blogging the Relationship (10)

Look at that double-digit number! Ten posts about this here relationship! And the LT is still dating me!

Then again, he hasn't seen me in three days. Nor has he seen my apartment, which looks like an bomb of clothes exploded in it--seriously, we are talking a time capsule under pressure, here--nor has he kissed me since I stopped brushing my teeth dour days ago. And washing my hair. Hope he likes bugs. I have named the first one, "Fred".

Moving along. The Norfolk trip, The Rest Of The Weekend.

Number of times the boys laughed at me as I was throwing up WHILE I WAS TELLING THE STORY of throwing up: 17.
Number of times we went to Moe's: 1.
Number of hours we spent sitting at Starbucks afterwards: 65.
Number of times we had to remind ourselves that we actually had to attend THE WEDDING today: 16.
Number of time, at the wedding, LT and I got told we were the perfect match, usually by his Navy buddies trying to insult one or the other or both of us: 147.

(Submariners often hide their feelings in layers of sarcasm. It's a thing they do.)

Number of hours we stayed out the wedding night: moderate.
Posts I wrote: 1.
Number of minutes it took the boys to fall asleep after The Shining started: -5.
Number of things we did on Sunday: 4.
Number of those things that involved both coffee and alcohol: 3. (The order, though, is key. FIRST a maragarita, THEN the coffee.)
Number of those things that involved a nuclear submarine: 1! I got to go on a submarine!
Number of hours that tour lasted: 3. I think the enlisted guys thought I was moving in.
Number of strange looks I got as a LADY on board: 32.
Number of times I was referred to as a "defense contractor": 3.
Number of little thrills I got: 6. (Hey, I like my job, okay?)
Number of ways I looked like a defense contractor on that particular day: ...zero.
Number of cups of coffee I had on the submarine: 2.
Number of hours of sleep I got after talking with the LT for forever about racism, the South, civil rights, the women's movement, and my preceding terrible week at work: -2.
Number of times I fell asleep on the LT on the two plane flights: 15.
Number of cups of coffee I got once back in Seattle: 26.
And, finally, number of ways in which I'm happy to be home: 15,647!

Accuracy of some of the later numbers, above: ZERO. I mean, the relative magnitude is right...

And, finally, a snippet of conversation:

We're all standing around at the wedding after dinner, talking, the boys doing the usual joiking about how once they heard (submariners gossip A LOT) that LT had found someone willing to date HIM, they just HAD to meet her, etc. And there's quiet for a second, and I get this:

Navy Boy: So, you're vegan, I hear.
Me: Yep. Thinking: Here we go.
Navy Boy: How does that work with this carnivorous animal, over here? (Meaning LT>)
(Laughter)
Me: Oh, this guy? You know, if your girlfriend--assuming you could find someone to date you--ever cooked you a hot meal and put it on the table in front of you after a long day of being on the boat, with silverware and everything, would you stop to make sure it had meat AND dairy products in it?
Navy Boy: Hell no!
Me: Exactly.
Navy Boy: Okay, but how the heck did you get the LT to date you in the first place?
(Laughter)
Me: Oh, I pulled the ol' bait-and-switch. I wasn't a vegan when I met him, and then I became vegetarian right after we started dating, and then I went vegan almost the next week, but by that time, he was stuck!
Navy Boy, making the obvious joke that has to follow: Uh huh, that's what I heard!
(Laughter)

But for a more well-written and serious take on this issue, check out the Urban Vegan's post. It's very good, and very true.