Operation: WTF (168)

Motivated Maniac

Motivated! Motivated! Downright mo... okay, you get the point.

It is going to be a brutal two weeks, I am telling you that right now.  I’m just not up for the antics; however, even though I say that I am determined to make it out of here alive.  I am not one for shaming myself or those I represent (even though that is not usually reciprocated).  I would never want to go back and say that I failed at anything.  That is just too embarrassing.  Even though this is lower than the ninth ring of hell, it’s geared towards the average third grader, making it virtually impossible to fail out unless I purposely try at it.  That’s not me.  I went into that classroom today with my game face on.  I am a motivated maniac.

It’s just like faking an orgasm.  I’m so good at it you can’t even tell.

On a more serious note, it really is not that bad.  Don’t get me wrong, I would pay anything to get the hell out of here.  My feet hurt like hell and I swear Betty gained 10 pounds when she was in lock up.  When we were Up There, I don’t recall my shoulders hurting from having to carry her old ass around all day.  I feel like by the time I get out of here I am going to have shoulders like a linebacker. It also doesn’t help that no one else seems to want to be here either.  You think I am unmotivated and depressed, these people are borderline suicidal.  Almost everyone has a “I don’t give a shit” attitude.  I don’t want that to start infecting everything otherwise our laid back instructors might crack down on us.

The classroom training is surprisingly useful and interesting.  The two instructors have a wealth of experience between them.  I think one of them has deployed like three times.  I begrudgingly admit that I have actually learned something in the two days I’ve been here, but then again, school-type learning is my strong suit and I never really shy away from any kind of study.  Actually one of the lessons learned didn’t come from the classroom.  I might be a little black raincloud, but never let it be said that I can’t actually learn and grow from my mistakes.  The jury is still out on the practical exercise portion of this class, however.  I am just not up for all that running around and carrying on; thank God it isn’t hot yet.  Whoever put me on this list to go first, thank you so much.  It’s the little things.

Right now I am exhausted from the follicles of my hair all the way down to the end of my toenails.  I had to stop and take a few minutes to put this down for memory.  I’m okay, today, this second day of class.  Check back with me in a few days and let’s see if I can keep this spirit up.

Operation: WTF (Day 165)

News From the Front

Uncle Sam wants you to be his valentine.

About 50 times a day we receive emails from the base command regarding the status of things around post.  The emails can be anything from “the hospital is closed until further notice” or “the chow hall has run out of food.”  Most of the time the information does not pertain to me so I just delete it, but every now and again they send out something that is truly important.  I received an email the other day stating that certain facilities will close early in honour of Valentine’s Day.  I was rather taken aback by this because I did not know that Valentine’s Day is a federally recognised holiday.  I am not one to begrudge anybody some time off, but I just thought it was peculiar, particularly in this environment.  This is not like we’re back home and you can get off an hour or two early to take your sweetheart out for some fine dining and a moonlit walk by the bay.  Perhaps those particular offices are having a sweetheart dance, or maybe the extra hour off is so they can take their deployment wives to a free movie at the theatre tent.  Nothing says romance like his and her PT belts.

Hey kids, the rat poop is gone, so stop by for a slice.

In other news, it has been reported that the neighbourhood pizza place is back in business.  Employees were seen cleaning rat traps just two days ago, indicating that they may have cleaned up whatever made them fail inspection in the first place.  No news on whether soldiers are actually allowed to eat at the place.  We may only be allowed to stand around outside to take in the wafting aroma of cat meat in tomato sauce.  It is possible that health inspectors will have to do another walk through, followed by taste testing to determine the safety of the food.  All privates report to the pizza place immediately.  If they float then they are not witches like we thought.

Inmates get their own rooms while soldiers sleep 50 deep. That seems fair.

Sunday I will be transferred to a supermax prison facility for a period not to exceed 14 days.  At first I was excited but then I realise exactly what I got myself into.  It’s like this guy I once knew who got into some minor trouble with the law.  Since he was a single father with all these kids to support the court system sentenced him to 20 weekends in jail.  Monday through Friday he worked at his thankless job and then Friday nights he reported to the county jail where he spent the entire weekend, only to be let out to start the whole charade again.  I never heard of such a thing until I joined the army and I realised it was called drill weekend.

I will update my blog via carrier pigeon if necessary.

Operation: WTF (Day 164)

How to Effectively Wear Your PT Belt

When wearing the PT belt, common sense need not apply. The belt is all you need.

A battle buddy and I had the opportunity to wear civilian clothes today, and for whatever random reason she stopped to ask if she should be wearing her PT belt.  I blithely asked, “Why?  It’s 8AM and there is sufficient daylight.  What do you need a PT belt for?”  She was concerned that there might be a regulation that required the wear of PT belts when it civilian clothes.  Yes, we both underwent the same briefing when we arrived here, but I could not seem to remember that little bit.  As with every military installation I have ever been on since I was a child, this installation requires the wearing of PT belts when in the PT uniform and also with the ACU after dark.

We talked it over for a few minutes and we both decided that it was completely illogical to wear a PT belt in broad daylight simply because we were in civilian clothes.  We seemed to let the matter drop but a few seconds later we realised, “Wait a minute, this is the army.  We can’t just disregard the completely illogical because the completely illogical is probably Army doctrine.”

Let us examine this further.

It is not safe to operate a tactical vehicle without at least TWO PT belts.

The PT belt (or in layman’s terms, the reflective belt) is always worn with the army physical fitness uniform (APFU), and not just when you are conducting PT.  If you are wearing your APFU and walking to the chow hall at high noon the PT belt will provide added protection in case broad daylight is not enough.  Also, you might randomly begin to conduct PT and then you would be wrong because you do not have your PT belt on.  Everyone knows you cannot conduct PT without a PT belt; it is an essential part of the process.

The PT belt is particularly effective when PT is conducted in a formation, especially a company run.  Even though the company run is already holding up traffic and everyone can see soldiers running en masse down the middle of the street, the myriad PT belts will provide a glaring reminder as to why all drivers stuck behind the formation will be late to their own formations.

Wearing the PT belt was the 11th Commandment.

The PT belt makes perfect sense if you are a lone runner on a busy road way during daylight hours. Drivers may not be able to see you, even though an hour later when you are in ACUs and walking that very same route on your way to work, they suddenly can see you, even though you do not have a PT belt on since the PT belt is not required during daylight while wearing ACUs.  It is more difficult to spot a runner who is not wearing his PT belt than it is to spot a walker wearing a uniform designed to make him less visible.  The fact that the stenciled letters on the APFU are also reflective is not important.  The PT belt is added protection against all dangers.

For maximum effectiveness, wear as many PT belts as possible.

In fact, you do not have to worry about anything if you are wearing your PT belt correctly.  You can run heedlessly in the middle of the street or in dimly lit areas at night.  You are free to conduct PT mindlessly as long as you have your PT belt on.  Its reflective powers should ward off all dangers even if you are in a high traffic area.

The belt is most effective at night when there is absolutely no light, natural or artificial.  Forget about the fact that reflective material only reflects light.  Wearing the PT belt at night is required on most Army installations and therefore it is deemed to be effective, even if you are in a location where there is no possibility you could be hit by anything.

Other helpful hints:

If wearing the PT belt over the shoulder, wear it to the right.  Wearing it to the left has been scientifically proven to be less effective.

A conscientious civilian concerned about his safety.

Wear the PT belt with civilian clothes at all times, otherwise no one will be able to see you.

Wear the PT belt inside the gym.

To avoid wearing the PT belt, conduct PT while wearing ACUs, just not at night.

Only U.S. soldiers should concern themselves with these rules, not contractors or civilians working on Army installations.  Since Sam does not have a vested interest in contractors and civilians they are expendable.

If you have never understood the purpose of the PT belt, I hope this had shed some light (no pun intended).  Remember that the Army is not necessarily concerned about common sense, but your safety is paramount.  The top generals in the Army have spent numerous taxpayer dollars on Powerpoint presentations discussing the finer points of soldier safety.  After several committees, huddles and briefings the PT belt was determined to be the solution.  It was designed with your safety in mind.  Wear it with pride.

Operation: WTF (Day 154)

The Protector

I know it might sound a little bit weird, but I have often referred to the Army as my abusive boyfriend, Sam.  This whole enlistment has sort of been like an abusive relationship.  You want to get out, but you know deep down he really loves you and wants to change.  He just needs help.  Think about it:  Sam has done a lot for you.  He gives you money and sometimes a place to live.  He takes care of you by making sure you eat.  He gives you clothes.  He even let you get on his insurance and paid for your education.

Sam

But Sam has a dark side.  He doesn’t give away all this stuff for free.  He expects you to pay for it, and he’s going to take it out of your ass.  He has you up all hours of the night, doing crazy stuff.  Sam does not care what kind of conditions you work in either.  He treats you real bad and sometimes humiliates you.  He makes you get on a scale once a year, because Sam’s girls have to look right.  If you’re the slightest bit overweight, Sam puts you on a diet and makes sure everybody knows it too.  You want to leave him, but you can’t.  You think about all the stuff he’s given you and if that isn’t love, what is?  Sam knows he has you, too.  Because as soon as you try to leave him, he dangles something in front of you.  He says if you stay with him for another six years, he’ll give you money and maybe a cool new job.  Sam promises he won’t treat you bad anymore, so you agree to stay and the cycle starts all over again.

When you’re deployed, Sam can more like an overbearing parent.  He is very concerned about his girls.  He doesn’t want anything to happen to us, so Sam comes up with all kinds of crazy rules designed to protect us from ourselves.

For example, Sam doesn’t like us to wear our headphones outside.  Sam is afraid that we might have the music up too loud and not be able to hear that HUMVEE that is aiming for our hind parts.  Even though the rest of the American population is perfectly capable of using headphones outdoors, we aren’t.  Somehow, by putting on the uniform, my IQ drops by 10% making me less aware than everybody else.

It was because he was listening to Lady Gaga. Anything else, and he would have survived.

Oh, I know the reason the rule exists is because some soldier, somewhere on an Army base was killed while wearing headphones outside and that is why Sam is nervous.  Even one soldier is one too much.  Not to make light of that soldier’s death (whoever he is), but Sam went about it the wrong way.  Instead of banning outdoor headphone use, Sam should have banned outdoor vehicle use.  After all, it was the vehicle that killed the soldier.  The soldier did not run into the vehicle.  The vehicle ran into the soldier.

Or at least that is my method of thinking.

Back home, I always run with headphones on outdoors.  I don’t typically turn the volume up so loud that I can’t hear anything around me, and this actually doesn’t have anything to do with vehicles.  Whether the volume is up full blast or not, if that driver doesn’t see me, I’m still getting run over.  I don’t need to hear a vehicle approaching, I need to see it—that way I can avoid it.  The reason I don’t turn the headphones up too loud is because I don’t want some creepy lunatic to sneak up on me and snatch me off a jogging trail.  Creepy, kidnapper guys or negligent drivers, whatever, it’s called common sense.  Sam doesn’t think soldiers have common sense, and that’s why he’s looking out for us.

Sorry kids, no pizza parties till we clean up the rat poop.

Sam is also very concerned about food poisoning.  Sam does not want us getting sick by eating food that fails health inspection.  Recently, the pizza joint in our neighbourhood was deemed OFF LIMITS because the place had failed a health inspection.  The sad part is that the pizza is pretty much one of the few edible items in this whole place.  I’m actually really upset about this because I was planning on having a slumber party and what’s a slumber party without pizza?

As long as it doesn't get up and walk away, you should be fine.

At any rate, I wonder if Sam has given much thought to the average chow hall?  I know that Sam has a lot of rules and regulations governing the handling of Army food but I wonder when was the last time he actually ate at one of his own establishments.  Runny eggs, undercooked meat, raw vegetables with weird brown and white spots (or is that just seasoning?) are hallmarks at many a chow hall.  Spilled food ground down into the floor, downtrodden by somebody’s boots.  Some guy sticking his hands up into the ice machine.  Some other guy digging through the bread bag right after he sneezes.  Or what about the food service workers, wiping the spilled food back into the serving dishes?  And to say nothing of the taste, but I know that Sam is not inspecting based on taste.  We’re not even going to get into that.

What about piles of dirty rags and trays with half-eaten food left out while flies buzz around?  Or the filthy black “safety” curtains at that other chow hall?  I am almost positive that is some kind of health violation and I’m not even a real doctor.

I know that Sam is doing his best to take care of me, but sometimes I wonder where his mind is and what reasoning he used to apply these different policies.  He can be so over protective sometimes.  Just because one person was maimed or mortally wounded, doesn’t mean there needs to be an Army wide policy banning that one particular activity.  Since Sam is so fond of briefs (and we need more briefs, because there just aren’t enough briefs), he could easily put together a 52-slide deck presentation on how to wear headphones and eating unsafe pizza while outdoors.

Operation: WTF (Day 149)

Highs and Lows

Believe it or not, the past couple of days have been pretty good.  It’s obvious that I’m going through some things right now, but I am on the road to recovery and maybe by the end of this deployment I will no longer be an angry black woman.  I can’t make any guarantees, but I do promise to put some effort into it.  I am sure it is far more amusing to read the half-psychotic rants of a lunatic, but this is not for your entertainment.  It’s my therapy.  I was told that nobody would be interested in reading anything positive I have to say.  Sad to say that this is evidenced by my hit count.  All the posts that have half a page of curse words have over 100 hits, while any post that says, “I’m happy” has zero.

Thanks for your support.  Way to help out a battle buddy.  And please note the heavy dose of sarcasm.

If you’re not interested in reading any of my positives, get lost.

Bet you didn't know your doctor did a bullet up at Sing-Sing for armed robbery and assault.

So, the first good thing that happened is that they started the French classes.  Half an hour into it, I had learned all of the more important swear words and I am now almost completely fluent, speaking like a true Parisenne.  Okay, maybe not.  She taught us the days of the week and some numbers, basically refresher for me since I took six years of French in junior and senior high school.  I’m sticking with it because it’s something to do.  It was advised that we should get hobbies and do something to better ourselves.  Sure, why not.  Like an inmate, I don’t have anything on my hands but time.  Until they changed the laws, those assholes were leaving prison with law degrees and PhDs.  No reason I shouldn’t do the same.

The second good thing is that I found one of those lame ass Harlequin novels in the Store.  These are absolutely the worst novels ever written.  So why, do you ask, would I be happy about finding something so dumb?  I don’t know.  I’ve always like to read them since I was a teenager.  Sure, they set women’s liberation back about 50 years and the male hero is usually an abusive misogynist that manages to find love in the last four pages of the book, but what’re you gonna do?  At least I’m reading.  What are you doing with your time?

Side note:  Whoever sent those in a care package, can you please send some more?  The ones from the early 80s are the best.   Usually I find them at the thrift store.  Also, the trash.

The third good thing?  I had a talk.  I believe that everything happens for a reason and that God does not ever put more on you than you can bear.  No, I’m not about to start waxing philosophical, but I truly do believe that.  All these events took place at the right time so that I could have this talk that I so desperately needed.

First, I’m grateful because it was actually positive.  It could have gone so much worse.  This could have taken place three weeks ago, and only the good Lord knows how that would have turned out.  It could have ended with me initialing here and signing there, and then some missing stripes and a few zeros off the end of my check, but it did not go that route.

I felt like someone was actually listening to what I had to say, even though I am clearly a lunatic right now.  I’m also glad that I did not go crazy.  I knew that something like this was going to happen eventually and I feared that I would go off the wall, like I usually do.  I somehow managed to maintain some dignity and say what I had to say without losing my cool.

Afterward, I felt gads better.  Like you just don’t even know.  What I took away from this is that eventually there is going to be some change for the better.  I think it might take some time but we’ll get there.  I don’t think we’re going to get CHUs with en suite bathrooms and I don’t think the order to go home is going to come tomorrow, but there’s other things out there that might make this a little more bearable.  I’m just going to hang on to that for right now.

And perhaps the best thing to happen today is that every port-a-pottie I went into was clean.  What???  No, seriously.  You have to count this as a good thing.  You know what I’m talking about.  You just finish lunch and you need to take care of some business and then there’s THAT staring up at your face, reminding you of the Pork Adobo you just stuffed in your craw.  Or perhaps you stumble out of bed at 3AM because nature calls and when you open the door it’s SURPRISE!  I have a present and it’s for you.

Who needs that?  I didn’t even have to make random side trips over to the main building (where there’s indoor plumbing) to do my business.   It’s so serious that it makes you wonder who the hell these people are and what is going on in the privacy of their own homes.  I shudder to think.

Yeah, so that’s it.

Operation: WTF (Day 147)

How To Be a Better Battle Buddy

Many of us have not had the opportunity to share close living quarters with other people before.  The few short weeks spent in basic training was somehow not enough to prepare us for an extended period of time staring each other in the face.

I have prepared a comprehensive guide to being a better battle buddy.  Hopefully, this will help alleviate some of the problems we are having.

Standard issue alarm clock for all soldiers. It's also designed to play Reveille every 15 minutes starting at 0400.

1.  In the morning, set your alarm clock as early and loudly as possible.  Even though you may be the only person that needs to get up at 400AM, you should set your alarm clock at deafening levels, ensuring that you will wake up everybody else.  Also, it helps to set your alarm clock and then walk away from it.  You are actually helping your battle buddies.  If you set your alarm clock and then leave to take a shower, then you are ensuring that someone else will have to get out of their bed to turn your alarm clock off.  That person will remain awake until they have to get up, thus they will not oversleep their alarm clock, which is also set at maximum levels.  If you have to be up at 6AM and so does the person who sleeps next to you, it does not make any sense to use the same alarm clock. You both should have an alarm clock that goes off at 6AM.  The alarm clocks should compete against each other in loudness.

2.  Any time you leave the building, slam the door as loudly as possible.  It does not matter whether if it is day or night, lights on or lights off.  Matter of fact, don’t even shut the door.  Just leave the door wide open, allowing flies and the smell of the ripe port-a-potties to enter the living space.

3.  During lights out, talk in an unnecessarily loud voice.  If you need to have a conversation with the battle buddy that sleeps across from you, just shout from your bed to hers.  This way everybody will be able to hear your conversation and inviting others who sleep six beds down from you to join in on the fun.  When you come in from outside, keep talking in your outdoor voice and completely ignore everyone who may be sleeping or resting up for their shift.

4.  If it is lights out but you still need to see, get a lamp with a 200-watt light bulb and then shine it up at the ceiling, illuminating half the room, or just shine it directly into your battle buddy’s face.  Lay in bed, watching a movie on your laptop with the light still on, because you need to be able to see your laptop screen with a bright surgical lamp beaming down on you.

5.  Quiet time is the perfect time to start rummaging through all of your bags and tough box.  Do not use lights-on time to search for things you may need later.  Only search for stuff when it is lights-out and people are trying to sleep.  Shuffle through your duffle bags, making as much noise as possible, even turning the bag upside down allowing all contents to bang all over the floor.  Make sure to dig through your tough box as well.  Don’t forget the locker.  Jiggle the locker door for a few minutes, then dig around inside the locker.  Slam the locker door when complete, then reopen it to make sure everything is still in there and then slam the door once more.

6.  No matter what time of day it is, be sure to have your music blasting out of your headphones so that everyone on the other side of the room is able to hear what you’re listening to.  For best results, sing along to the music in an off-key tone in a voice loud enough to drown out the music coming from your headphones.

Eventually this will reanimate and take itself out to the trash.

7.  Try to bring a full meal back to the tent as often as possible.  Make loud smacking noises while you enjoy your food, then when you are done, leave the trash next to your bed for at least a week.  Only once the ripe smell of rotting chicken bones has permeated the air, then can you take the trash out.  If the trash can is overflowing, do not attempt to take it out.  Just leave it for the next person.  If you see any trash laying around on the floor, ignore it.  Also, do not sweep your area.  Allow piles of sand and gravel to accumulate.  Actually, it might be better to sweep the trash into your battle buddy’s area.  Let her deal with it.

8.  Since water is at a premium in this location, do not bathe more than once a week.  If you can go longer without a bath, please do so.  This way no one will complain there is no hot water.  Also, don’t waste water by washing your sheets or clothes.  Leave all dirty clothes on the floor.  Only go to the laundry when your laundry bag is about to burst, and then ask your battle buddy if she would not mind taking your laundry for you.

9.  If you have a cell phone for “official business,” let everyone know how important you are by having the ring tone set to its loudest setting.  Also, the later you receive a phone call the more important you are.  For best results, have someone call you at 2AM then proceed to have a lengthy, loud conversation.  Then have that same person call you back 10 minutes later.  Don’t even think about getting out of bed and going outside to have your conversation, especially if it is late at night and other people are sleeping.

Throw a blanket over top of it and you should be all set.

10.  Plug in your water heater, microwave, laptop, and cell phone charger all into one surge protector, then plug that surge protector into another one that has your lamp, blow dryer, and the surge protector of the person that sleeps next to you.  Plug all of this directly into the wall and turn everything on.  Every time the power goes out, act confused and then blame it on someone else.  Don’t call DPW to report the incident.  Just leave the room and pretend like you have no idea what happened and you don’t know why the power has been out for six hours.

11.  If you see something that does not belong to you, just take it and put it with your stuff.  If someone asks you about it, you can either lie and say you didn’t know it was theirs, or you can say you thought it was yours.  If you break something that belongs to someone else, put it back and pretend you have no idea what happened to it.  Say that someone else used it after you and it was probably them that messed it up.  Also, if you need clean clothes and all of yours are dirty, just borrow someone else’s uniform and then put it back after you’re done.  Don’t wash it though.  Actually, don’t even put it back.  Just keep it.

12.  When you get on Skype or Google Chat to talk to your loved ones, make sure you speak really loudly.  Your family will not be able to hear you if you are not shouting into the microphone.  Then when the connection goes bad, start to complain about how the internet sucks.  It might be possible that someone in the room will be able to do something about the crappy internet connection.

If you follow these rules you are sure to maximise your deployment experience.  You will be well-liked in the barracks and no one will have a bad thing to say about you.  If you remember that everything is about you, and no one else, you should not have any problems.

Operation: WTF (Day 145)

The End of the Line

When you are far away from everything that is comfortable and familiar, you have to make do with what you’ve got.  Pops told me that in order to cope better out here, I need to make a life for myself.  Get a hobby, get into a routine, find something that’s enjoyable.  Sooner or later the time will pass and then one day it’ll be time to go home.  I took his advice.  I found a piano in the USO and even though I suck at it, I decided to go in there everyday and play for an hour.  I heard they are offering French lessons soon, so I signed up for that, plus some college courses.  All that study should keep me busy.  And then of course, there’s running.  I honestly enjoy running now that I’m somewhat decent at it.  I’m not the fastest runner and I will never come in first but it has become rather enjoyable for me.  Before this deployment, I was running a road race almost every weekend, so I was very happy to know that they had 5Ks and other races here.

Since I’ve been here my 5k time has improved dramatically.  I’m not at my goal of sub-25 minutes, but I’m working on it and that is helping me pass the time here.  I know that is not much:  shitty playing on the piano and running, but that is all I’ve got to go with right now so I am clinging to it.  I am not magically cured, but it’s been working for me.

But what do you know… these people are doing everything in their power to strip away even the most minute happiness I can find.  I did not think it was even possible.  You never have much freedom in the army; you have even less when you’re in a war zone.  I knew that coming here, but little did I know that I would be treated worse than any prisoner in a maximum security penitentiary.

When we first arrived they put out a memo (you got the memo, right?) about the civilian clothes policy.  The long and short of it is that we are not permitted to wear civilian clothes.  I’m kind of annoyed at it, but I guess I’ll wait till next summer to prance around in my daisy dukes and bikini top (since that’s all I packed).  There were a few exceptions to the policy and even though I thought it was stupid, I figured it was a compromise in a system where everyone on the bottom is a piece of shit and you just have to deal with it.

I don’t really need to quote the whole memo but one of the exceptions is that we could wear civilian clothes to MWR events.  One such MWR event is the monthly 5K run.  There’s a weekly fun run, but the monthly run is usually in honour of some kind of holiday and they give you a t-shirt for it.  Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Martin Luther King, Marine Corps birthday, whatever they can find, they’ll have a race for it and you get a t-shirt if you finish in a reasonable amount of time.  Sure, it’s the same route every time and there’s a whole bunch of shitheads with poor race etiquette, but the point is for me to find something to focus on other than being depressed.

They have the races at 6AM and the whole thing takes like 30 minutes, if you’re a somewhat decent runner.  When the race is over you get some breakfast or you get a shower and then you put on your uniform and return to your regularly scheduled program.  Nobody is trying to hang around in their sweaty running clothes all day long.

They have issued a new fatwa, or rather they claim to have clarified a previously issued fatwa. You may not wear civilian clothes at the MWR races.  This is what makes me want to stab myself in the eye.  This is what demoralizes me.  You should be happy that people are getting out of their fucking beds at that ungodly hour to do any form of physical exercise.  When they made us do mandatory PT back in Texas, you should have heard the complaining.  It was godawful.  Now you have people willing to get up on their own, without being forced, to do something physical and there’s a problem.  This shit is not required.  I’m doing it because I think it’s good for me, both mentally and physically.  I think as you should be saying, “Well, at least they’re doing something constructive.”  We’re not getting out of our beds at 6AM to shit in the fucking shower, or to rape, burn and pillage.

The crazy part is that this is like the fourth race I’ve run in civilian clothes and suddenly now everyone wants to clarify things.  I am not the only one; there’s several of us and we are all dressed decently, in running clothes.  No one is coming out in a thong or an offensive t-shirt, or something that will cause alarm.  Which they should be fucking happy, because I normally wear either teeny-tiny booty shorts or some skintight obscene pants.  I put some thought into what I would wear while on an army base, serving on active duty.  That is what eats me alive is that they didn’t give any of us a chance to show that we know how to act like civilised human beings.  They automatically assumed that everyone would go ape shit.  The civilian clothes policy was idiotic from jump, but now it’s just an example of sheer lunacy.  I know it is ridiculous but I get this mental image of some jackass watching from afar, like, “Hmm, I think I see a little bit of happiness.  I MUST CRUSH IT!!”  Everyone claims they understand the reasons why we’re not being allowed to wear civilian clothes.  I’ve heard everything from a fear of anarchy to a fear of sexual assault.  I’m sorry, but I think my chances of being gang raped in the middle of a 5K race is low.

All I really wanted to do was have one run where I am actually comfortable.  I don’t have the stupid army shorts crawling up my ass, or cutting off my circulation, or the too-hot army PT shirt rubbing my skin raw.   For 30 minutes once or twice a month, I am a human being, a normal human being.  When I am running, no one is talking to me.  There is no one else but me.  For 30 minutes.  And now I do not even have that.

But whatever.   There’s not much I can do about it except rebel in my usual fashion.  I will no longer participate in any of the 5K races.  I will stay my fat lazy ass in my bed.  I don’t need to get up when it’s fucking freezing cold outside to run no-goddamn-where, to collect a whole bunch of T-shirts that I’m not allowed to wear anyway, and I’ll probably just set those bitches on fire when I get home so I can erase all memories of this living abortion.

Operation: WTF (Day 140)

The Out-of-Towners

Wow, I think I have something positive to say.  This actually might not turn out to be a depressing bitch fest and I’m going to do my best to maintain that today.  What a change.  Or maybe my happy pills are kicking in and I’m just deluding myself into thinking that I have something positive to say.

At any rate, this weekend I got a chance to do some travelling.  I had an appointment at another location so a few of us got the opportunity to make the drive out there.  There’s really not a whole lot to see once you leave the safety of T-walls, armed guards and laser beams.  It’s just a lot of sand and nothingness.  This is actually the third time I’ve been able to leave and when I left that first time I had this vision that there would be a Bedouin encampment right outside the gate and I’d see belly-dancers and camels everywhere.

Yeah, I’ll grant that I’ve been watching far too many movies. 

I slept most of the way, anyway.  As you all have figured out, I don’t sleep at night.  By the time I dozed off around 4AM, it was time to get up.  An endless stream of sand grains put me to sleep real fast, but eventually we got where we were going and my appointment did not last long.

We were instructed to conduct our business and then to spend a reasonable amount of time sightseeing.  Since it was our off day anyway (yeah, we get those in the army), it didn’t really matter how long we stayed as long as we didn’t overdo it. 

You know what I felt like?  I felt like some backwoods hilly-billy coming from the stone ages to the big bright lights of the city.  All right, yeah, I am exaggerating again, but we really are getting shit on.  Sure, it’s an army base and army bases typically suck, but when you compare to how we’re living right now to what we went to visit, there’s just no comparison.  I’ll put it like this, you’re staying at the Motel 6 on Route 40 while everyone else lives it up at the Hilton on the Chesapeake.  You’ve been to Route 40.  You know what I’m talking about.

It’s little things in life that you really start to appreciate once you’re forced to do without:  like indoor plumbing and the ability to take a crap without having to get fully dressed first.  Or real silverware and a glass to drink your water from.  Something you probably don’t even notice back home:  SIDEWALKS.  Seriously, we have to walk everywhere and I don’t give a shit about that, but a sidewalk would be nice so I don’t get gunned down in the streets by these lunatics. 

The three of us were like, wow… look at that…trees.  Oooh.  A movie theatre that isn’t out of focus and you can actually hear the sound properly.  Aaah.  Paved roads.  Yeah, it was sad.  We wanted to eat in the dining facility (which I find so laughable).  We had been in there before and the only reason why we wanted to eat there is because they have real plates, and knives that won’t break when you try to cut that shoe leather they call steak. Isn’t that some shit?  Unfortunately, due to time constraints we were forced to eat at one of the fast food joints.  I’m not real big on fast food and my pizza was super greasy.  I ended up eating the cheese off it and then throwing the rest away.

We went to a bazaar, which is not entirely different than the one they have here, but it just seemed to be more fun and more interesting because we were somewhere else.  It was crazy because we went into the PX and even though they have the same shit (actually, a bit more selection) I had this strong desire to buy shit even though I didn’t really need it.  I just wanted to be able to say, “I bought it at the other base.”  I practiced restraint though.  Someone has already taken note of my spending habits.  (I’ll bitch about that in another blog.)

To rest up for the trip home, we sat down in the MWR, which is way nicer than ours.  Too bad we weren’t stationed here.  Maybe I wouldn’t feel like an illegal immigrant.

On the way back, I started thinking about what someone had said to me.  I don’t do too much complaining in front of other people.  Yes, I bitch a lot here and my facial expression pretty much lets everybody know how I feel, but for the most part I just mind my own business and keep to myself.  But someone asked me what I thought of this deployment and I had to tell him straight up, “This sucks monkey balls.”

He proceeded to tell me about his previous deployment where they ate MREs most days and they slept on cots, in some kind of makeshift building that was either too hot or too cold.  His battle buddy ending up having to sleep in the field because of whatever mission they were on.  You know, I really hate when people say stuff like this to me:  “when you think you have it bad, think of someone else who has it much worse.”

We can always play the “someone has it much worse game.”  So, this guy was sleeping in a draughty building and another guy was in the field.  I pointed out, yeah, that sounds shitty, but what about homeless people?  Their lives suck too.  So which is worse?

Really, a person can only base their feelings off their own experiences.  I’ve never slept in the street.  I have never slept in the field (except that one day in basic).  Prior to my arrival here, I’ve never had to share anything with anybody, but now I’m forced to sleep in close quarters with people I would cross the street to avoid in my regular life.  For me, this is rock bottom.  I can’t relate to what it was like for him to have eaten MREs for six months straight.  I can’t even imagine. 

I have more to say on how that particular line of thought related to my trip but I remembered that I mentioned that I wasn’t going to bitch in today’s blog.  At any rate, I’ll say that I’m glad that I was able to get away from everyone and do something different, even if it was only just having a greasy pizza and strolling through the PX.  I was sad to have to come back and I hope I get more opportunities, but I know I got to share the wealth.  There’s so many of us who need a chance to get away.

Operation: WTF (Day 68)

Son, You’ll See the World

…or so that’s what they plug when you go to an Army recruiter’s office.  I’m definitely seeing the world, all right…. one airport at a time.  We have at long last begun our international adventure.  They’ve released us from our minimum security prison in Texas and unleashed us to the four winds.  It took about three hours to get to Maine, a state I’ve always wanted to visit.  Unfortunately, even with the extended layover, we were not allowed to leave the airport.  I did, however, have one of the best veggie burgers I’ve ever eaten in my life.  It was so good, even with the cheese on it.  I got my picture taken by the USO guys.  I keep forgetting to logon to see how horrific I look with mushed up airplane hair.

Then we did something I’ve been wanting to do all my life:  we crossed the Pond.  We flew over the Atlantic into Ireland, another place I’ve always wanted to visit.  I was a huge Cranberries fan as a girl and I’m in love with their accents and the beautiful greenery of the Emerald Isle.  How disappointing for me that we should land at night and I’m not even afforded the slightest view of what the country had to offer.

The flight itself was positively ghastly.  They did us so dirty with that “fill’er up from the back.”  Apparently I had a seat right on the exhaust pipe.  I didn’t think that airplanes had internal exhaust pipe but I managed to find it.  My nose is incredibly sensitive.  I can smell anything from any distance.  Whatever noxious fumes were emanating from the plane had me turning green.  Every time someone passed me they kept asking me if I was all right.  I think the flight attendants were nervous I was going to vomit.  Finally, I begged to be moved and they put me up further in the cabin where I discovered that every man had two seats to himself.  Yeah, sorry for the bastards in the back packed like sardines.

I slept most of the flight to Ireland, but when we arrived the flight commander said, “Hey guys, you’re authorised two beers maximum.”  Ever since Day 1, General Order No. 1 has been in effect:  NO ALCOHOL.  I spent most of my life dry so I’m not fazed by this, but I had recently come to enjoy a glass of wine or three.  I’m not frothing at the mouth like some of my battles are though.  When the guy said we could have a beer I thought it was an excellent opportunity for me to try one out.  I’ve never had a beer before so I thought it would be interesting.  Unfortunately, before we could be set loose upon the airport for the layover, a very mean sergeant-major returning from Afghanistan put the kibosh on that real quick.  No beer.  Oh well, there’s always the ride home.  Hopefully we’ll stop in Germany where I hear the beer is particularly good.

There wasn’t much else to do but explore the duty free shop where I bought the most delectable chocolates I’ve ever eaten in my life:  Butler’s – Purveyors of Happiness.  Oh my goodness, I’m salivating just thinking about it  I’m going to see if I can order online.

The next leg of the flight was overkill.  I’d been sitting for hours.  My butt had lost all feeling.  I made the mistake of watching Paranormal Activity 3 on the plane.  It wasn’t as good as the first two, but it was still pretty fucked up and scary.  I was hiding under my blanket most of the time.  The guy next to me, a soldier from my hometown asked me what I was watching because it looked like I was looking at something pretty frightening.  Then I fell asleep and had nightmares that the evil little girl was standing over me.  It wasn’t the little girl but the flight attendant.

At long last, like 50 hours later ( maybe not that much) we landed in Kuwait.  The heat is behind us so it was rather pleasant outside.  They let us hang out for a little while before we got on a bus to be transported to the base.  By then I was just assed out tired.  There wasn’t much to look at.  The whole terrain is a sandy dessert.  I didn’t see any trees or anything that could indicate life, except a few lights out in the distance as we approached the base.

In true military fashion, despite having flown halfway ‘cross the universe, they made us attend a briefing so that we know how to behave in a warzone.  Really, some of that stuff could have waited but I guess it had to happen at some point.  Then we trucked ourselves over to our living accommodations.

So this is where Sam really fails as a boss.  He is always going on and on about how he takes care of soldiers but I think that he has forgotten the most basic thing:  people really care about how they’re gonna live and how they’re gonna eat.  If the living situation is horrible and the food situation is intolerable, you’re gonna have problems.  Yeah, I get that this place has become a refugee camp but you really can’t have American citizens who are used to Xbox and Starbucks living in such squalor.  I mean, really.  We are in a tent with approximately 50-70 individuals and expected to remain in such a fashion for the better part of a year.  Moreover, we don’t have real beds or any place to keep our stuff.  Am I bitching about it?  Yeah.  Is anything going to change?  Probably not.  It just makes me feel one per cent better to whine about something.

I will say that Sam does know how to have a good time.  He has provided every amenity possible to make me forget about the fact that I will come home to a cot and 49 other triflin’ hoes every night.  There’s karaoke, salsa night, bingo night, a gigantic ass gym, SPINNING CLASSES, a place for me to run, even 5Ks and enough ice cream to sink my battleship, and guess where it’s from… BASKIN ROBBINS.  Seriously, and it’s free.  With lemon cake.  And frosting.

Seriously, Sam can keep all that (except the ice cream) if he gave me a real bed and a room for me (even a roommate, ONE roommate, would not be so bad).  Oh well.  It is what it is.

I know everybody has been watching the news and heard President Obama and his speech.  I don’t know what it means for me.  As long as it doesn’t mess up the money that Sam has promised me, I am okay.  I have plans for all those pennies.  I guess if I have to sleep on a cot in a detention camp on the far side of the world in order to get those pennies, then a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

Operation: WTF (Day 12)

The Cow Pie

One of my favourite army activities involves live ammunition.  I have always enjoyed shooting.  It’s something I learned about when I was very small and the army has provided me with an opportunity to release my stress in a controlled environment with no jail time.  So I am perturbed that the one thing I was looking forward to ended up such a hell.

We went to the range today and it was one of the worst ranges I have ever been to.  As far my as my old unit is concerned, I always make sure to attend the October drill and qualify first-time go so that I do not have to get on the range in August when it is too hot.  I have never done well with the heat and I don’t care how much water I drink, I always seem to get light-headed, faint or otherwise out of sorts.  I hate that everybody looks at me like I’m purposely dehydrating myself.  I cannot imagine that anyone would think that I enjoy falling flat on my face at random moments.

Anyway, let’s talk about this shitty ass range.  First, we show up at the crack of dawn and that is the best way to do things.  Get out there while the air is still cool, but what do we do with this nice, cool breeze?  We waste it, talking about HOW to shoot, HOW to wear one’s helmet, HOW to do this, HOW to do that.  Seriously, one of the first things you learn how to do in the army is shoot.  No matter what your job is you are a soldier first.  I don’t think we need a basic rifleman’s instruction course again.  By the time we lay out on the firing line, it’s already 830.  We wasted two hours of cool air talking.

I try to make sure that I am in the first firing order so I can get out of the sun.  I never have any problems firing and I zeroed in 9 rounds.  The problem occurred when it came time to zero our scopes.  I’ve never used a scope before.  I don’t know anything about it:  how to adjust it, how to mount it, anything.  Instead of teaching me how to put on my helmet, they should have instructed me how to mount the scope properly.  Then they should have had the right tools to do the adjustments.  Better yet, they should have done this back in the rear so as not to waste time.

They made me get off the range because of some technical issues regarding the scopes.  That’s the first problem.  I know I have problems with the heat.  I’ve long since come to the conclusion that I need to take precautions.  Drinking water is not enough for me.  Going first, making sure I stay in the shade, making sure I rest.  This is what helps me.  Another thing that helps me is removing my gear.  I have never been anywhere that I had to stay in my gear ALL DAY LONG.  When I came off the line I took my helmet off.  This man tells me I have to put it back on.  Seriously?  It’s 1000 degrees outside and even though I am sitting in the shade, I need to take the helmet off for a little while.  No.  The only place you can take all your gear off is over where the bags are staged… in the hot ass sun where there is no shade.  That totally defeats the purpose.

By the time I was allowed to get back on the line, it was almost 1130.  At that hour in Texas, it’s the same temperature as the surface of the sun.  Then they made me coach before I fired.  So now I’m out in the sun for about two hours.  I just can’t take it.  You can call me weak, a delicate little flower, lame, whatever.  I just can’t take it.  I was seeing stars.  People were talking to me and I didn’t even know what they were saying.  It was like nobody was speaking English.  Then when I tried to rest, somebody ate me up.  I went to stand in the shade while everyone was firing and the sergeant came and lit my ass up.  He said, “You don’t just walk off and don’t tell anybody.”  But I didn’t just walk off.  I went two feet to the left to get some shade.  By that point it was already over.  I was just delaying the inevitable.

Thirty minutes later I was removed from the whole process and told to go sit down.

It was just an awful experience.  I have so much to say about the situation but I’ll save that for my retirement memoirs.

So you might be wondering about the title of this blog:  Cow Pies.  So I learned that this base is not only federally protected land because it’s an army installation, but it’s a federally protected land due to the cattle that roam carelessly around the place.  Apparently, this land is co-owned by the army and some cattle ranchers.  It is a serious crime to harm any of the cattle that you might see, and when I say cattle I mean … BIG ASS COWS and when I saw BIG ASS COWS, I mean BIG ASS COW SHIT PILES everywhere!  You would be laying on the firing line and there would be a big ass plop of cow poop right next to you.  The only good thing about the heat is that it dried out the shit right away so there was no horrid stench or flies to spread disease, but it was still disgusting.  The piles were the size of small satellite dishes, and I wish I was exaggerating but I’m really not.  I wanted to take pictures but really, who wants to look at a picture of cow shit.  That’s just overboard.  It was just everywhere.  You had to strategically watch where you stepped because then you’d have dry cow shit caked in your boots.  It just wasn’t a good look.

They had the nerve to call this place The Great Place.  Yeah, fuck that.