What's a Wizzel?

Last Sunday we had Jordan and Laura come for a visit.  Jordan had graduated from boot camp on Friday and is officially part of the USMC brotherhood.  Laura is his proud older sister.  Dave and Jordan had fun talking about covers, ribbons, blouses, and all kinds of other uniform parts while the ladies talked.  It always brings a smile to my face to see my Marine spending time with other Marines.  (No offense to those who aren't Marines, but they just relate to each other in a very special way that you have to witness to believe.)  During the course of the evening we brought out a montage of videos that Dave had sent to me during his deployment with the 22nd MEU.  One part of the video was a bus ride back to the ship from being out in port.  He introduced the Marines around him and asked if they had anything to say to "Wizzel."  Well, the guys who frequented our house on weekends were already familiar with my nickname, but on Marine was like "who's weezel, weezer, who?"  Then Goodson kindly explains, "you know like fo shizzle my nizzle?  She's Wizzel."  It goes on to show their conversions for the next 5 minutes or so, which at this point I should add they had indulged in a lot of alcohol while in port.  {Sigh}  I really miss those boys.

Last night I decided that I was going to make lasagna.  Lasagna is a meal I only make when we are having guests over for dinner because we don't really do leftovers well in my house.  I sent Dave a text asking if Jordan was back in town (he had driven Laura back to her home in New Orleans where she is finishing grad school).  He wasn't sure, but soon got back to me and said the Jordan would be coming over for dinner.  You see, lasagna is a meal for Marines.  They love it and almost always have seconds.  Hence my facebook status about making lasagna and wondering where my Marines might be.  It was nice to have a Marine over for dinner.  In a perfect world there would have been a few more Marine faces at our dinner table, but maybe some day I'll get them all together in one place for dinner again.  I really miss them.  (I know if I miss them, Dave must really miss them and vice versa.) 

Sidenote: My lasagna was a topic of discussion at one point during the bus ride video conversation.

Now for a complete subject change.  I was driving somewhere this week and my mom was along for the ride.  We were talking about people hoarding things or having too much junk.  I told her that I realized that I couldn't run away from home when I was younger-we've determined maybe around age 13 or so.  One time I made up my mind to run away and packed up all the stuff I wanted to take with me.  By the time I was done packing I realized I couldn't leave because I had too much stuff and I couldn't carry it all.  (This little story snippet tells you sooooo much about me, lol).