Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Where Does My Husband Live?
Much to my ever-loving chagrin, I managed to marry an army officer. I don't talk about it much online because he has taken enough of a liability by taking my mouthiness as his lawful wife. Plus, I think I may be just the sort of thing the current crop of terrorists are against and I don't want them finding me. Operational Security (OP SEC) you know.
Now you may have heard since 9/11/2001, our people in armed services have been pretty busy. Half the time I don't know where my husband is, and sometimes when I do, I don't want to know -- ignorance being bliss. When your spouse is home all the time, you just take little stuff for granted, like knowing where he lives. While trying to figure-out "Census: 2010", which they say should take about ten minutes to fill-out, I was totally stumped on question number one. It read something like: "How many people live in your home?" Me, the Bulldog (I don't call my hubby that, but his friends do, so we will go with that here.) and four cats. Now I know the government does not give a rap about my cats, so I wrote down "2". Then I read the instructions. It said something along the lines of: "If a member of your family is living in prison, in the armed forces, or elsewhere on April 1, 2010, do not include them in your count." (I find it so interesting that "prison" and "armed forces" often find themselves in the same sentence, but that is another blog for another time.) Once again, the Bulldog is at training for a few months. I don't think he is even attached to a particular army unit at this time. I scribble out the "2" and wrote "1". This "Census: 2010" was way harder than I thought is was going to be. Right now, I know where my husband is, I just don't know where he lives.
Not wanting to get in trouble with the Federal Government, unsure as to whether or not it was "1" or "2", I decided to call the Bulldog. I do not know how military spouses did it before cell phones and Internet, but sometimes all that has stood between me and going completely off my nut is the cell phone and the Internet. I rang-up the Bulldog: "Hey honey," I said "I have the census form." He started laughing. "Um, where do you live?" He didn't really know either, but being the decisive sort, and being in the military, which sort of makes you king of filling out forms, he decided he lived with me even although they sent him a form at his temporary residence. "My form was addressed to "occupant", he said. "So I guess I live with you." I take it as proof positive that life as an army wife is slowly driving me over-the-edge because after almost seventeen years of marriage, I do not know where my husband lives.
Normally, we get stumped on the ethnicity part, because our last name is Irish and my husband's great-great-etc. grandfather was a Spanish Don. Last time we took the census, I believe the category was "Hispanic", and if you are from Spain, not Mexico, Puerto Rico, or someplace like that, you are NOT considered Hispanic. The Bulldog is NOT Hispanic. This year, however, to add to the census confusion, was a category called "Spaniard". Now, I know I am a big 'ole white girl, in fact I may be the whitest woman on the planet, but what portion of your genetic background has to fall into one of these other categories to be considered NOT Caucasian? "Aw, just put down "Caucasian", otherwise they send me a bunch of EEO stuff." the Bulldog said. (I told you he was decisive.) I did not realize that being a member of a minority involves a whole bunch more paperwork, and for that, as one of the biggest white girls in the world, I would like to apologize to all non-Caucasian ethnic groups across the United States.