Random Crap

Things are really weird and hectic this week, so I thought I would throw up some random crap and see what sticks.

Why is it that any juxtaposition of a bag of shaved cats and a jar of peanut butter just sounds -- well -- dirty?

Women are more proactive than men. A woman will think, 'I am starting to look old and wrinkly,' which will probably spur her into buying 100s of dollars of beauty supplies - am man will go golfing.

I won't wear those butt floss type underwear. I spent way too many years picking my panties OUT of my buttcrack.

Who in the world was it that first looked at a lobster (which look a lot like a bug to me) and thought, 'a little butter and that sucker would be YUMMY.'

Mascara is a weird concept when you really think about it. Women are always trying to get rid of hair be it by shaving, waxing or plucking. We generally aren't into the whole thicker darker and longer thing.

Why are all good looking women's shoes so damned painful? Is there a law against attractive and comfortable shoes? If so, where is it written and how can we overturn it?

Why are squirrels cute and rats ugly? Is it all marketing or is the tail really that important?

How many days in a row can a man wear the same pants before people start thinking that he is weird?

How come a man's suit will stay in fashion for ten years, but if I wear last year's suit it is painfully obvious? Can't we find a 'look' and stick with it? I choose black. Lots and lots of black. It matches everything and is slimming, sort of like Garanimals for adults.

What do you say when someone shows you an ugly baby picture? What if they can tell if you are lying?

Does any guy look good sporting a Fu Man Chu mustache/beard thingee? If so, who?

Am I wrong in thinking that any guy using a handicap placard shouldn't be jogging at lunchtime every day?

Military Justice

The military is ingenious at meting out punishment. They are endlessly imaginative in the ways of discipline. Here are a few I remember quite clearly:

Love Rocks and Pocket Rocks
It is a rule in the military that you cannot put your hands in your pockets, nor are PDAs (public displays of affection) such as holding hands allowed. Trainees found breaking these rules can be given either the infamous "Love Rock" or the equally embarrassing "Pocket Rocks." The Love Rock is carried with the trainee everywhere they go and never set down, except perhaps in their lap. The trainee is often stuck with this rock of love until another trainee is unfortunate enough to screw up in a similar manner, at which time he will inherit the stupid rock. Pocket rocks come in pairs and are smaller, they fit in the front pockets and are generally carried around for a few days. At least this punishment isn't painful.

The Gum Tree
A soldier caught chewing gum was forced to dig a hole in the red sandy soil of South Carolina. He was then told to chew the gum real good to "water it" then bury it in the hole and mark the spot. The next day, the Sergeant check the spot and said, "Well, that gum tree sure ain't growin' the way its supposed to, guess you didn't water it enough." At which point the soldier was forced to dig up the gum and chew it some more in order to 'water' it some more and make it grow. This could go on for days until the sergeant lost interest or found another trainee to torment.

The Grease Pit
The chow hall stoves have a grease trap. This is a 2x2' hole in the concrete where cooking grease gathers. A very popular punishment was to make soldiers clean the grease pit out with a spoon. Often more ended up on the unfortunate soldier than in the trash can. It would take days to get the smell of rancid grease off your skin and hair. Smiling or laughing at anyone sentenced to the grease pit only got you a matching spoon.

10 Stop Drop
This was a favorite. The Sergeant would have a recruit run to a predetermined spot and back. Every time the counted to ten, the recruit had to stop, drop and count out ten push ups (thus the name, not imaginitive but very ). Sergeants can count to ten mighty fast when they want to.

I was once sentenced to the grease pit for failing to close the lock on my locker, but I cried so pitifully that the Sergeant told me I was worthless and weak and ordered me to get out of his face. Sometimes it pays off to be a girl.

I did once have to do scuba , but that didn't hurt, just got my uniform all wet. In South Carolina in the summertime, that isn't always a bad thing.

The Hardest Part

People often ask me wht the hardest thing about basic training was. I thought about that for a long time and came up with some contenders

The Push-ups sucked, but you sorta get used to them after a while.

Running 2 - 5 miles every morning really wasn't my bag of tea, but you get used to that too.

Getting Yelled at is no party either, but you grow a thick skin

The Shitty Food is even okay, if you get enough of it.

The hardes thing was the 24/7 aspect of the whole thing. You never get a break. You never get to be alone, even on the John. The four stalls don't have doors, so if you have to have a 'sit down' you get to do it right out there in the open under the auspices of your fellow trainees.

There were four showerheads and three trainees would use each one all at the same time. You learn to wet, step back, lather, rinse, stepback, shampoo, rinse. You learn to do this really fast in cold water.

They don't call you G.I. (Government Issue) for nothing. The military owns your ass lock, stock and barrel. Getting a sunburn can net you an Article 15 for damaging government property.

I still work for the Government, so I guess they still own me, but at least I get to go home at night.

*searches for spy cameras*
*puts on tinfoil hat*

Military Shower
Why is it that in any platoon of the Army there always one Hollywood, one Private Benjamin and one Gomer Pile? There is also one pathetic loser that reminds me of that guy from "Full Metal Jacket."

Ours was a meaty redhead that, having escaped the clutches of some Middle America baloney scarfing family, decided that showers were now completely off the menu.

(note: nothing against Middle America or baloney, but this soldier looked like she was carved out of the stuff. Normally, most of my Middle America soldier friends were clean and neat until they had one too many at the bar.)

Summer in South Carolina is hot and humid, which is some sweat including, body funk inciting weather to be sure. With sixty trainees stuffed into bunks in a WWII army barracks without no air conditioning, tempers were short to begin with. The only thing cold was the showers, they never fixed the hot water heater the entire time we were there (12 weeks).

About two weeks into basic training, we were learning CPR on those "Resusci-Annie" dolls. I was *shudder* right behind Stinky, our literal example of the great unwashed masses (or mass if you prefer). As the Sergeant was swabbing Annie's mouth for my rescue attempt (thank god for alcohol!) she said to the three of us who were still in line.

"That solder is disgusting and unsanitary. I don't care what you have to do, but that soldier will be clean in the morning or else."

We knew the score. If there is one thing true of the military, they are fond of punishing the whole squad or platoon or even company for the actions of a single soldier. They use peer pressure very effectively.

It didn't take long for word to get around, and that night after everyone else had showered (which didn't take long when there is no hot water) We confronted Stinky in front of her bunk.

We reminded her that it was shower time
No Luck

We told her that the Sergeant ordered it
No Luck

We yelled at her to get her greasy ass into the shower
No Luck

Finally, totally disgusted, tired and ready to write our letters home, we carried her into the shower, stripped her to her personals and scrubbed the living daylights out of her squirming, cursing form.

We tossed a towel to the not so stinky Stinky and let her know that she would be getting more of the same if she stopped bathing ever again.

We only had to do that once.
Until the crabs incident...

Be All That You Can Be
...to which we would inevitably reply, "Cold, Wet, Hungry, Tired."

I was lucky. I was in the Army during a time of relative peace. I was trained by men who served in Viet Nam. These were men who understood why the military exists and how to survive in a very hostile environment. These were guys that, given an officers sidearm (which is what Medics are given) will take the first M-16 that is left behind by a comrade who has died.

I got to hear stories about buddies gutted like frogs, traumatic amputations (that is when a limb is blown off by a mine) sucking chest wounds, small entry wounds and big exit wounds, all viewed first hand by my instructors.

These are military men that were trained to both kill and save lives. These were career military men who served to make sure that we could live in relative safety here at home.

I have a great respect for career military. I almost went career military myself. What I don't have respect for is any administration that would take their sacrifices lightly. That would commit them to an unwinnable war for a people who DO NOT want us to be there. (If you doubt their unhappiness with the occupation, please feel free to read the links at the left, these are educated Iraqis who have a pretty decent grasp of world events).

I don't like to show my softer side, but I have a very difficult time reading the truth about what is going on in Iraq. It makes me physically ill. It makes me want to weep and vomit at the same time. I do not have a weak stomach, having worked in military hospitals for a time, but my entire being rejects this war.

I apologize if this sounds political. I didn't intend for it to be, in fact I was going to tell really amusing Basic Training stories for y'all. Mabye tomorrow I will.

Kill That Turkey

It is fast closing on that long standing tradition, Turkey Day, when all the family comes to eat of much goodly goodness, drink too much, doze in front of the television and argue about who was more wronged in Junior Highschool.

I personally hate Thanksgiving. I hate having to buy the food, cook the food, clean the dishes, clean the house, or even talk to the family. Normally, I like a nice out of country vacation instead. Year before last I was having surf and turf while watching the sun set on the Caribbean instead of having family over. Why couldn't I be that smart again?!

My kitchen has been under construction since June and there are no signs that it will be ready in time for the big day. I still don't have doors on any of the cabinets and the drawers aren't back in yet. Two walls are nothing but drywall with no paint and only half the crown moulding is up. *sigh*

Maybe I should book us a table at one of the restaurants in the area, it wouldn't cost much more and there wouldn't be dishes to clean (worth at least $20 bucks all by itself!) but even if I pull off Turkey Day, I am still supposed to have Christmas at my house.

Time to get out the cattle prod and aim it at the contractor. I wonder where I should hit him first?

The Joys of Report Writing
Well, I have managed to get both reports that I put together out this week. Sometimes I think it is a miracle that anything ever gets approved and signed in any large size Bureaucracy. Every document is picked over both for content and presentation almost endlessly. Not only must no one be offended, nothing misworded, or subtly demean anyone in power, it must also be perfectly aligned, properly spaced and correctly indented.

The problem with this week's report was the the charts of page three are a different size than the charts on page four. Nevermind that those charts have always been that size or that they are carefully arranged to be exactly the same size as the other charts on the same page, or even that the text will have to be impossibly small in order for all the of the charts to have the exact same size. That is truly beside the point.

I sip my coffee and resize the charts, trying to remind myself that all of this amazing bullshit is well compensated. Maybe it is break time, yeah, that's the ticket.

Plastic Surgery

I was surfing different websites randomly. Sometimes I get on a subject or an idea and I follow it to its natural web conclusion. Today was Plastic Surgery Day. I saw before and after pictures, worst plastic surgery blunders and discriptions of plastic surgeries from a clinical point of view.

I have never been one to go in for plastic surgery in a major way, but I don't hold it against others who do. I just don't want anyone hacking on MY face like that and I don't want to risk looking like I am perpetually walking through a windtunnel.

Why do they call it plastic surgery? Is it because if you do it enough your face looks like it was formed out of plastic? Looks so phoney it could pass for plasic? The more I see of people who do more than just passing plastic surgery, the more I am inclined to give it a pass. They don't really look younger, just smoooother and somewhat alien.

Having said that, I was intrigued by a procedure that is called 'featherlight' plastic surgery. Basically you don't end up with staples in your temples or having someone nip off the raggedy extras around your ears after doing the big pull back (ewwwwwwwwwww). I guess we are all somewhat susceptible to the temptation of trimming off an extra few years, even if we don't like to think of ourselves as vain. But, truth be told, if I had the $3-5k it would take for the surgery, I would probably just waste it on a good vacation instead.

We all have to have our priorities.

The Internet - The Global Village
I love the internet. I love being able to speak to people from all over this country and all over the world. I have friends in a dozen countries and even more states. We can talk on the relative merits of football vs. soccer, best vacation sites, best scuba diving, the latest episode of Survivor, etc.

I love that I get to pick my friends by what they enjoy rather than happenstance and physical location. That is not to say that we agree on everything, that would be boring, but with many of them I know we have been to some of the same places, read the same books, watched the same movies, etc. etc.

The downside is that, just as you think of these people as friends and almost family, the distance becomes most apparent. You cannot pop by their house and drop off a bowl of soup when they are sick, pick their kids up from school if they are in a jam, or even give them a hug when they are feeling down.

This physical distance, paired with intellectual closeness is difficult for the mind to process logically, and it makes me wonder what other challenges our reptile brains will have to deal with in the next 50 to 100 years.

Of course the good part is that you can be as big an asshole as you ever wanted to be (and can't or you would get fired) and no one can reach across cyberspace and give you a well deserved spanking. Or maybe that isn't the good part...I forget.

Family Matters

Every family has its black sheep. I like to think that I am the unusual one in the family, but truth be told, it is my sister. Crispy (as I refer to her) lives for male attention and hasn't quite made the mental transition into her thirties, much less her late thirties. She still wears the big hair, the spikey heels that show off her ankle tattoo and tank tops with cute little sayings like, "Porn Star" (imagine a graphic of a star rather than the word star).

She is always in trouble. She always thinks the world is doing her wrong and she always shows up at my doorstep at the most inconvenient times (although, honestly, there is no convenient time to have someone eating up your groceries and bumming money from you).

Last time she showed up I was poorer and saddled with a cat. She showed up last night at my doorstep. What am I supposed to do, shut the door in her face? This being related stuff sucks.