The world is an eggshell upon which I step with bare feet and go "ouch."

Word up g-dawgs!

Yep, I'm getting there with my gangsta-speak lessons, little by little.

Today's vocabulary word is: SHEEzy.

As in, "For SHEEzy, I want some cheesy poofs!"
_______________________________________

My newspaper is now completely DONE (chorus of "Hallelujah!"s breaks out in the heavens above as the clouds open and Christ Himself comes down to give me a hearty slap on the back)

... until next week when I start it all. over. again.

This issue was actually pretty easy, for some reason.

Maybe because everyone who attempted to interrupt my hard work was met with an Icy Stare Of Impending Doom for their efforts.

See, whatever works, right? Nobody needs to be a shiny happy person all the time; they'd never get crap done.
_______________________________________

Speaking of nothing to do with Husband, I still haven't heard from him.

It's now been ... hmmm, let's see ... more days than I can calculate in the time it takes to write this sentence, so it's a given that I'm pretty anti-happy at the moment.

You know, honestly ... I really don't know what to do about Husband. I feel like he doesn't appreciate me as much as a man should appreciate his Wifey.

What's a gal to do? I love him more than I love ice cream (and you guys know how much I love ice cream) but I can't help but feel like I should be doing something differently, or whatever.

Maybe I'll just accept the fact that Husband is an insensitive, selfish, non-supportive asshole.

Albeit one who will take me happily to bed when I arrive home in 17.25 days.

Of course I had to throw that in there, didn't I? Yes, I did.
_______________________________________

Accomplishment of the day:

I managed to weasel (Tee hee! I made a punny!) my way out of having to take pictures of people running and sweating this morning at some Morale Boosting 10K.

I wouldn't mind it, but the thing is, if I were to take pictures of people running, I'd have to be running alongside of them, and that just wouldn't be pleasant.

Since I try to do mainly pleasant things, this particular activity just doesn't work with my overall attempted schedule.
_______________________________________

It's getting to be about the temperature of Satan's sauna over here. I think we've been in the 100s for about a week now.

Now, I am an original native of the frigid northern wasteland of upstate New York -- Syracuse, to be precise.

In Syracuse, we say that we have four seasons: Early Winter, Mid-Winter, Late Winter, and Construction.

So naturally, Hell Saunas just aren't my bag.

I mean, I'm going to have to start carrying around a bucket to catch all the sweat cascading majestically down my face.

But the thing is -- and this is really a bitch -- I don't think sweat buckets are In this season.

Gar!
_______________________________________

That's all for now ... the Phrase-To-Say-To-Irritating-People Of The Day is, "Yes, I'm sure you need me to do that for you, but why don't you go get hit by a truck?"

Loves!

Rocking the Suck

Today somehow reached an all-new level of Suck without any particular suckish thing happening. Just, nothing was good, and all of the mediocre things kind of banded together and morphed into a large Super Suck force field, which subsequently prevented anything good from penetrating it.

However, I did just get a little inner happiness out of the fact that I used the word "suck" and the word "penetrating" in the same sentence, which had nothing to do with sexual activity.

I think my subconscious may be trying to tell me something, though.

Subconscious:"I'm telling you to get some ass, you poor, deprived nympho! Holy shit, what do I have to do, bring you a dick?!"

Me:"YES."
______________________________________

Evil Bosses have been dangling the Night Shift above my head, cackling wickedly as I leap not-quite-high-enough toward it.

Night Shift would be a dream come true for me, because it would mean I would NEVER have to see said Evil Bosses except for maybe an hour in the evening when my shift begins and before their shift ends.

Heaven, I tell you.

Unfortunately, the likelihood of it happening is right up there with the possiblity that wings will sprout merrily from my ass and allow me to fly home.

Pretty un-fucking-likely.
______________________________________

I've had that song "America" from "West Side Story" in my head all day, and I have to say, I've really been MEANING the lyrics as I sing them annoyingly to my co-workers.

Everybody!

"I want to be in Amer-ee-ca!
Okay by me in Amer-ee-ca!
Everything free in Amer-ee-ca,
For a small fee in Amer-EE-ca!"

Know what's not free? Government money.

Yep, ask for a few bucks for college and they ship ya to Iraq.

Conniving little goons.
______________________________________

Lastly, I want to tell you something that I really LOVE:

I LOVE when I have the newspaper 95% complete on Tuesday, but then it takes until Friday for the motherfuckers contributing the other 5% of material to actually turn it in so I can lay it on a flippin' page and get RID of it.

I really LOVE that.

Oh, and I also LOVE when I haven't heard from Husband in THREE. FUCKING. DAYS.

But I do sincerely love you guys. Have a wonderful awake-time!

I'm boring! Whee!

Okay, so I really should be passed out under the covers by now, but I'm staying up to wait and see if Husband e-mails me tonight.

Wow, I just realized how needy that sounded. Let's try again ...

I should be fast asleep at this point in time, however, I have been invited to a sizeable kegger at Johnny Depp's place, plus Johnny Depp said he wanted to do me, so I'm awake right now getting ready to become drunk and laid.

There, that sounds better.
______________________________________

Got bitched at today at work for playing Spider Solitaire on a government computer.

Is it just me, or is that game more addicting than large quantities of crack cocaine?

Seriously, I've been told at least five kabillion times to not play the stupid game at work, and EVERY TIME I just keep going back to it. It's perpetually minimized on my computer, just in case I get the hearts-and-spades urge.

The funny thing is that nobody seems to have any issues with me updating this diary on a government computer, even though I'm sure much more potential damage could be done here than among a bunch of sliding cards.

Have I ever mentioned that Army logic, smartness-wise, is right up there with a lobotomized Paris Hilton?
_______________________________________

My roommate has strep.

Yep, we all know what that means ... no sooner do I get rid of Rufus The Hideous Inflamed Neck Lump than I become exposed to additional throat-related disease.

I think I must be God's Jackass Of The Year or something. He's sitting up there in heaven going, "Hey angels! Jesus, get over here, check this shit out!" POW! "See, now look at her writhing on the ground in agony like so many salt-sprinkled slugs! That's gotta be at least 50 points."
_____________________________________

Nothing from Husband yet -- er, I mean, Johnny Depp just called to say he's on his way, but running late.

He's gotta pick up the kegs, the ice and some big plastic trash cans first.

I can just see you all, nodding, smiling, and dialing 911.

Either that or you're not even concerned, which you should be because I just fabricated an elaborate drink/fuck date with Johnny Depp.

What's that? Oh yeah, I guess that is kinda normal for me.

So before the REAL rambling of mental instability kicks in, I'm gonna go ahead and get to sleep.

Think of me when you're happily fucking your significant others ... I'll be snuggled up with my frigging teddy bear, listening to my diseased roommate snore.

(Dejected sigh)

Still ... 19 days, motherfuckers! Woo hoo!

Yay! It's stupid story time!

Even though I just got to work and am currently dodging the Evil Boss Radar, I just have to share the one bright spot that magically appeared in my day.

I was walking down by one of the buildings on my camp, and saw that there was a large hole dug out behind it.

I asked about the reasoning behind the hole, and I was told that the Iraqis are digging it so we can have a little satellite tower behind that building.

Hand-digging the hole. As in, tools = shovels.

So that would have been retarded enough for a slight chuckle, but then I ventured nearer to the hole, and before I tell you what I saw, you're going to need some background.

Here on our base, we have a multitude of Iraqis who perform all kinds of manual labor for us on a daily basis.

However, wherever there is a gaggle of Iraqi workers, there must always be at least one sullen soldier supervising whatever work is being done.

The sullen supervising soldiers hate this, especially if their main job is something like, oh I dunno, being in the infantry, and they've been degraded to Haji-sitting in 113-degree heat.

So, suffice it to say that there had been disgruntled troops hanging about the enormous hole for just about the entire time it was being dug.

And (getting back to the real story) by the time I sauntered up to the work in progress, it was clear that one of the Guardians Of The Dig decided it was about time to have some fun with the non-English-speaking little grunts.

So they put up a sign next to the giant hole ... a sign that said:

"COMING SOON:
MUQTADA'S BAIT, TACKLE, GUNS, LIQUOR AND DISCOUNT TOBACCO SHOP"

And then they just stood there smirking in the heat, watching the diggers continue to toil away for their imaginary redneck convenience store.

I think in this world, it's the little things that count.

And if those poor motherchickens got some joy out of mocking a bunch of people who had no clue they were being mocked ...

... what can I say? Freedom of speech is currently alive and well in Baghdad.

America! Fuck Yeah!

Hey, how about some randomness? Thanks, don't mind if I do!

Alrighty, I realize that my Angsty Work/Marriage-Related Bitching level is at an all-time high lately, so I'm going to take a break from all that to do some regular, everyday, what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-people bitching:

When I am walking in a crowded room, especially while carrying a spillable object in my hands balanced above other precariously situated object, and some rude motherchicken decides to bump into me, spill my long-anticipated tasty lunch on the ground, and then continue on his bumbling way, I should be able to sentence that person to eternal damnation.

It's only right.
_____________________________________

Next item: why do some people continue to talk when you obviously don't give a shit what they are saying?

And in the same vein, why do those individuals insist on becoming excited to the point of orgasmic exhaustion over things like there being one cookie left in the bag and they are SO HAPPY because they've been wanting that cookie ALL DAY and it doesn't even matter that there is an entire additional BAG of IDENTICAL COOKIES in the cabinet because they REALLY WANTED THAT ONE COOKIE and let's have a fucking PARADE for the cookie now?!

It just doesn't make any sense.
_____________________________________

Pause from non-angsty bitching to completely change subjects:

I'd like to invite you all to the crowning of myself as the Queen Of Newspaper Layout because well, I'm about to beat my deadline by three whole days.

I think that's about royalty-level, don't you?
_____________________________________

In other news, I've learned to eat a slice of banana via sucking it through a straw.

This is quite a monumental accomplishment for me, partially because I can now say that I suck some good banana without any innuendo involved AT ALL, even though I also suck some good banana with innuendo included.

Not that that has anything to do with anything.

If you have a problem with my innuendo fun, why don't you just go ahead and suck a fat banana?

Tee hee!
______________________________________

Thank you times a JILLION to you sexy studmuffins who are going to mail me goodies!

Now the only thing I need is about ten straight weeks of quality bedplay, and all will once again be well with the world.

Speaking of bedplay ... there are now 20 days till I head home to fulfill three months of pent-up sexual fantasy!

(Commence Happy Dance, complete with extra booty-wiggling, as I sashay off into the sunset)

Why do I feel the need to come up with an entertaining title for every entry? What's WRONG with me??

I want you guys to know that you bring out the warm, fuzzy side of me.

Seeing as how normally I'm a ruthless combat killer, and all.

"Ruthless combat killer" meaning, "person who has never killed anyone."
___________________________

Although you have all assured me that I am right and Husband is wrong in the ongoing battle of the two-week leave, I'm going to just have to accept it as a moral victory, since he'll never change.

But of course, I love him anyway, because he's a damn good lay.
_____________________________________

I've begun rating my days on a scale of "How Shitty Is Today Compared To Yesterday?"

Today: not quite as shitty as yesterday, but the potential was there, and I smoked almost a pack of cigarettes.

The last couple of days here have been fairly uneventful ... actually a good thing, because it means I've managed to stay out of Evil Boss Radar range.

I wrote my required collegiate-level paper on Respect and turned it in this morning.

Kind of funny how every single Army publication talks about respect as something that should be given to lower-ranking soldiers, rather than the other way around.

I tried not to sound like too much of a smart-ass as I relayed this information in the Essay O' Hierarchal Oppression, but it was kind of difficult, seeing as how my research all but prodded me to waltz up to my superiors and sing, "Nanny nanny boo boo! I was right and you were wrong!"

Some may call my attitude arrogant, but I would have to call it confident.

Or bitchy, depending on what day it is ... but whatever.
______________________________________

My leave dates had to change, so now the countdown is 21 days till I depart this wretched hole of mental sickness to spend two glorious weeks in the Home Of The Brave and the Land Of The Free-to-join-the-Army-thus-giving-up-any-previous-freedom.

I will be spending nine of those days with Husband, and he will be spending the other six at work.

I've given up trying to figure out why this must be, and I've decided to just concentrate my efforts on having a wonderful time with him while he's not being the Army's bitch.

Ah well, you win some, you lose some.

But dammit, I want to win them ALL.
_____________________________________

Okay, right now I'm about to do something ENTIRELY against my Secret Agent Code.

Since you guys have lured me to do this via promises of care packages (and I do love me some care packages!), I will now divulge the True Meany Identity And Location:

Whoops, you were too late! I've already deleted it, but if you really wanna send me stuff (which is cool if you want to, but if not I love you anyway), e-mail me and we'll see what I can do.

Nighty night ...

Semi-drunken hazes make for good journal entries

Today wasn't as much of a dismal failure as it could have been, thanks to my buddy Russ and his smuggled vodka.

Nothing like liquor to perk up a dreary day.

______________________________________

I talked to Husband on the phone this morning, and asked him why he wouldn't be allowed to take leave when I was home, seeing as how (in my mind, at least) nobody could be so heartless as to deny a man two weeks off during the ONLY two weeks his wife will be home for the entire year.

He said, "Well, we're really busy next month."

So?

I asked him, "What's more important to you, me, or the army?"

Pause.

Continued pause.

"Both are important," he finally answered.

Okay, that's the WRONG answer.

The correct answer is now and will always be, "You're more important, my sweet package of loveliness!"

Husband just doesn't seem to get it.

So yeah, that was how my day started out.

After that conversation which made me feel like utter shit, I went to talk to the chaplain to see if he could offer me any advice or a ticket home.

Nope. He recommended I go to Mental Health and be tested for Depression.

Oh, please! May I have some drugs to numb the pain? Because that's all you can offer me, you non-helpful booty-droppings!

Of course I'm depressed, that's why I need to go home. A depressed soldier is never a good soldier.

Oh, and they only take you seriously if you tell them you're suicidal.

Why didn't I tell them I was suicidal, even though I would never try to kill myself because I don't feel like suffering in Hell for all eternity?

Because I have Integrity, dammit. Which is more important than Respect.
_____________________________________

I've been attempting to write a Mother's Day commentary for the next issue of our newspaper.

It's hard when you can't just come out and say, "Mom, I'm sorry I cut up all your clothes with scissors when I was in a teenage rebellious rage, but I swear I love you now."

By the way, can you tell I'm a bit tipsy as I'm writing this? Because I am.
______________________________________

Thank you dearly to purpleworm (who I am too retarded to be able to link, apparently) for the generous offer of thousands of letters and/or cookies. I do love me some cookies.

Anybody who really wants to hook me up with any type of liquor, sex toys or homemade food, just let me know.

I usually wouldn't trust anyone with my real name/address, but when it comes down to the essentials, I may be able to make an exception.

'Cause you guys rule. And I'm not just saying that because the illegal vodka is coursing through me as we speak.

Seriously, I want to thank you ALL for the uber-encouragement you've been sending my way.

Life sucks over here, but you guys just help make it better enough that I can stumble through.

Kinda like weed, only it doesn't show up on a piss test.

On that note, time for me to find my way to beddy-bye.

Oh, and if anyone happens to run into Husband, will you remind him that getting married means you have to stop treating your woman like she's just a fuck buddy?

Thanks. I knew I could count on you.

Here's a grateful leg-hump to send you on your way: Uh! Uh!

Yeah ... that's good.

Getting not-better all the time ...

Having resolved to stay in the slump of Non-Happy, it's been a fantastic last couple of days.

I come up with new responses to the passing "How's it going?" during my spare time.

Here's a few:

"Shitty."

"Bad."

"I feel like Britney Spears just took a dump on my face."

"Well, the world just started using me as its ass-pillow, but other than that, great!"

"You have something hanging out of your nose."

So far, nobody even cares if they have something hanging out of their nose.
_____________________________________

I'm currently procrastinating on a necessary and bullshitsome essay I have to write about ... da da da DUM! Respect.

Since I have lost all respect for everyone I work with, especially those fag-munchers who assigned me this worthless piece of time-stealing crap, it's probably going to do me more harm than good.

Introduction
"Seeing as how I think all of you are ass-kissing yes-men, I've resolved to show you exactly how meaningless the concept of 'respect' has become to me over the past several months."

Yes, I can see this working out beautifully.
____________________________________

Husband's bosses aren't going to let him take leave while I'm home for my 15-day mid-tour fuckfest/drunkfest/away-from-Iraqfest.

What kind of heartless bastards deny a soldier leave when his wife is going to be home for exactly two weeks from a thirld-world country in which she must spend the remainder of the year?

This is why I love the army more and more every moment.

Head on down to your local recruiting station today!
____________________________________

So, it looks like as long as I keep my sorry ass out of trouble for a few more days and get this waterheaded essay done by the 27th, I won't get kicked out of my job.

Which has a plus side and a minus side:

Plus side
I get to continue doing the job that I came into the army for the sole reason of doing, but which I am slowly learning to hate because of my superiors, who make it Un-Fun.

Minus side
I get to continue working for the asswipes who are forcing me to write the Essay Of Worthlessness and continue being treated like an inferior specimen and continue being shat on by any and all who choose to do so, because that's what MAKES a good soldier, By God!

My life rules. Even my plus side is a minus.
____________________________________

Last but most certifiably not least, I want to let you all know that I am showering love down upon you from afar for being the best disembodied buds a miserable chick like me could find on an online diary website.

Smooches!

All verklempt

Oy.

You know when the quarter-Jew in me comes out, it's been a bad day.

I was informed today that my lack of military bearing (which I have fully acknowledged and accepted) is about to royally screw me without any K.Y.

In a nutshell, if I don't get some tact, I'll be kicked out of my section (meaning, no more writing) and possibly get some rank and money taken away, thus removing the only reasons I joined the Army in the first place: money and journalism experience.

Since I am not, by nature, a tactful person, and I doubt I will become one within the next seven days, I'm really feeling shitty right now.

Honestly, you'd think I'd learn somewhere along the line that being loud and abrasive doesn't pay, but apparently my personality isn't all that easy to change.

Man, I feel like a failure as a person.

Who gets kicked out of their job in the ARMY? NOBODY, that's who.

Except me.

I suck.
___________________________________

One bright spot in the black storm cloud that has been Wednesday:

I'm going home on leave in 16 days!!!!!

Home to Husband, home to Family, home to HOME for 15 beautiful days!

God, I need it.

Maybe I'll just get up tomorrow and run around nude, shrieking about hamster falling from the sky or something.

Now THAT'S some military bearing, that's some tact.

The kind of tact they send you home FOREVER for.

The kind of tact that's usually spelled "p-s-y-c-h-o."

But hey, I can live with that.

Fucking hamsters.

Goodbye, Rufus!

I am pleased to inform anyone interested that Rufus has now packed his lumpy little bags and moved out of my neck.

But apparently, a bunch of little men in sharp shoes carrying hammers learned of a vacancy in my head and took up residence there shortly after Rufus said adieu.

Bastards.
___________________________________

Every moment I have spent at work since getting over The Sickness has been more disastrous than the one before it.

I'm usually the one in charge of putting together our division's newspaper, but since I was gone, Remarkably Incompetent Co-worker did it instead.

Have I ever mentioned that I HATE when a job I usually do well is done by someone else poorly, and the poorly-done job is just as well-received by those in charge?

At least, I like it about as well as Paris Hilton would like a convent.

Anyway, when I told the Incompentent One that he had done a lazy, sloppy job, I was chastised for it, and told to go easy on him.

"He's trying," my superiors said.

Yes, well, he's been "trying" for more than a year now. If he can't get his job right, he shouldn't be allowed to do it.

Then, of course, I get chastised because of course I shouldn't be holding poor little Incompetent to the same standards I hold myself to.

Exact words out of Dumbass Boss' mouth?

"Well, I'm sorry we can't meet your high standards."

Since when does a boss say that to one of his employees?

I'm quite enraged.
____________________________________

Thank you to all of you who stopped by to cheer me up during my unbearable illness, especially those of you who offered erotic literature as a substitute for good health.

It was highly appreciated.

I love you.
______________________________________

Know who else I love?

Husband.

He sent me a glorious letter of the handwritten variety, complete with a drawing he did which I like to call "Husband With A Huge Cock."

It's a work of art.
______________________________________

Since I'm once again chained to a desk in Hell's Front Office, I won't be able to provide many fun pictures for you guys for a while. But I'll try, I swear.

Till next time, stay your wonderful selves!

Or, shit, morph into whomever you damn well please ... who am I to say what'll make you happy?

Tales from my melodramatic sickbed

This is going to be a short entry, dedicated entirely to a heartwarming description of my current debilitating illness.

I woke up Tuesday morning with shivers, shakes, body aches and a sore throat.

Also, I couldn't swallow.

Anything.

Even that, you perverts ... shit, it's not that good for you.

Have you ever noticed that no disease is ever quite as serious until it's diagnosed?

Because until I went to the Army doc and he told me I had a temperature of 103 and a possible ear infection, I really didn't feel as shitty as I have since.

That could also be because he gave me the wrong diagnosis and the wrong medicine for it.

But, whatever. I was put on "quarters" ("lay in sweaty sleeping bag on uncomfy cot in creepy room") for a couple days, during which I got worse, so I went back to the doc.

Who was a little irritable, because two seconds prior to my arrival, a couple of bombs had exploded in the vicinity of their clinic, and even though I was the only patient there, I was the least important.

The docs were busy worrying about the potential patients, and I didn't want to stand in the way of the invisible people, or anything.

So I went to a different clinic today, and they told me I have some sort of Mystery Growth Of Nastiness on my tonsil, which has caused the right side of my neck to mutate in recent-nuclear-waste-dip fashion.

Anyway, they stuck a bunch of IVs in me, and we're seeing if that works.

So I feel like a Bucket O' Pretty, wrapped up in daisies, as you can imagine!

Now I'm off to attempt to sleep. The lump in my neck (which I've named "Rufus") says to tell you goodnight.

Goodnight!

You can just call me "bad-ass"

I'm about as tired as an asthmatic who just won a blowjob contest.

Wanna know why? Okay!

Remember the awesome story I was hinting about covering this weekend?

Well, now that it's over with, I can tell you about it. Yay!

Here's what happened: I went on a raid with some of the infantry guys last night in Al-Doura, one of the yucky sectors of Baghdad.

They go on raids a lot, but this was their biggest one yet, and there were more than 70 targets. All of the bad guys they were after were like ringleaders or suppliers of IED-making materials, and they give money to the people who set the IEDs.

In other words, some pretty shady characters.

I went with a PSYOP (Psychological Operations) team for the main part of the raid in the neighborhood. I got to go in with them to all the houses they were searching and everything.

The only thing that would have made the night any more cool would have been if the guys I was with actually found any of their targets (their section was only assigned a few people to get). We went into maybe 4 houses, and "nobody knew anything" in any of them.

We were with a bunch of the Iraqi Army soldiers, and they were all psyched to get these guys, but unfortunately, we never found anything or anyone of consequence.

Apparently, the intelligence which had been gathered hadn't accounted for the fact that since these are bad guys, they're probably not gonna chill in the same place for any extended amount of time.

But the Iraqis did have a fun time breaking doors in and crap if the people at the Supposed Bad Guy Residences didn't answer a knock. (Shh, don't tell the media!)

All in all, even though my group didn't get anyone, everyone managed to bring in a total of 72 people (42 were the targeted ones, the others were like bonus bad guys that they weren't even looking for) -- pretty good, for a raid of that size.

We were actually surprised that all the people hadn't already figured out we were coming -- you know, it's kinda hard to move (or to plan to move) a veritable shitload of Bradleys and humvees into a quiet neighborhood in the dead of night and expect nobody to get wind of it.

So, anyway, that was my weekend. I met a bunch of really cool people, and got to go places that most females in the army don't get to go. It was a great experience. And we didn't even get shot at!
_____________________________________

A funny thing happened to me on the way back from the Green Zone PX ...

I went there with a couple of guys who didn't know the area very well, and on our way back, we got a little lost.

As in, "drove out of the Green Zone" lost.

I saw the street sign that pointed to "Airport" and I was pretty sure that was a bad thing, but I was positive of it until the two sergeants I was with simultaneously said "Oh, shit!" and started locking and loading.

We managed to pull a quick U-turn, but when we were passing through the Green Zone checkpoint, the guards were looking at us like we were insane.

They were like, "One vehicle? You only have ONE VEHICLE?"

And we just kind of had to say, "Yeah, we fucked up," and continue to haul ass back to safety.

Come to find out, out of the three of in the vehicle, I was the one with the most ammo.

So it's a good thing we turned around when we did, because I'm not trying to have to shoot some shit up, y'know? That's just not my thang.
______________________________________

I'll have some more photos for youse guys before too long, but unfortunately, I have to do some actual work now.

Smooches!

The entry of short

I don't have a lot of time for a real entry today, since I'm supposed to be meeting with important person or other about the story I'm covering tonight.

It's gonna be a GOOD story. I can't say anything more about it till after it's done, but trust me on this ... it'll be a doozy.

To prepare for this story, I had to go down to a different camp to meet up with the people I'm going to write about.

Here's the thing about the relationship of Army Public Affairs with everyone else in the Army: They think we're pussies who don't work.

So, when we go out to cover, say, an infantry unit's mission, usually they're about as prepared to receive us as Dubya is to hear the word "No."

So, we end up getting handed off from person to person, as far as the whole "taking care of us" goes, because nobody wants us around.

Which is why I slept in a tent last night, on a bare cot, while everyone else in the camp slept in a nice little room on a bed.

So I'm kinda cranky today.

More later, I swear.

Time to go to work now ... kisses!

My sight-seeing tour of Baghdad

Well, I finally got to go out and cover a REAL story today, now that I'm away from the Office Of Sickening Insanity for a week or so.

I went out on a patrol with one of the infantry units, whose job includes helping to train the Iraqi soldiers to do their jobs, so we can get out of here and come back home eventually.

Or something.

The Iraqis, most of them, at least, are still pretty new at being functional, ("herding cats" is the term one of our guys used to describe the training process) so they need lots of help, but everyone training them seems to think they're coming along nicely.

On the patrol, we went to quite a few places.

The first one was some kind of garbage dump next to the Tigris River (but then, a lot of places in Baghdad look like a garbage dump) where the soldiers looked for unexploded ordances and other fun stuff.

They found a couple of old log books from the Special Republican Guard, Saddam's boys, among other things, like defunct RPGs and rusted ammo.

I got a souvenir of my own: an old Iraqi army helmet. It looks pretty beat, but now when I get bored at home, I can put it on and pretend I work for free for a ruthless dictator.

After the dump, we went to an ex-theater, which you could tell was once pretty amazing, but is now a bit of a wreck.

How much of a wreck?

Well, there are people illegally living in it, and since they don't have any electricity or plumbing, they made a huge hole in the floor, into which they put all their excrement and garbage ... it's about 7 feet high.

The smell almost knocked me over when I walked up; it's such a sobering thing to see people actually living like that.

There were some little children living there in the vicinity of the Massive Shitpile and they absolutely LOVED my camera, especially when I took pictures of them and let them see themselves on the display. I hated to walk away from them.

After we left, someone told me that the kids were the siblings of one of the Iraqi soldiers with us, and that the soldier lived in that place.

Talk about bad military housing ... this guy lives a few feet away from a steaming dooky mound.

We then took a little jaunt over to Saddam's private prison ... possibly the most unsettling place I've ever been.

The cells were maybe 5 feet by 3 feet, and used to hold 25-30 people at a time, they said. There was a tiny window in each cell, which was the only source of light, and a hole of about 1 foot in diameter served as the toilet.

All over the walls you could see where people made scratches to keep a tally of the days they had been there, and notes that said things like, "I beg the prophet Mohammed to help me."

We were told that we didn't need to be afraid of insurgent attacks while we were at the prison, because they're all afraid to come near it, even though it's completely empty, and mostly destroyed, by now.

I can't even imagine being afraid of an inanimate object, but I guess that speaks volumes for the horrible things that used to happen here.

We visited a few other places around town, and in the process, I almost was slain by the driver of my humvee, who kept pretending to try to run people over and laughing maniacally at every turn.

When we passed the whorehouse ("the world's oldest profession"), everyone pointed it out, which I found a bit scary ... along with some of the other "sights of the city:"

A prostitute

A well-meaning street sign

The tomb of the unknown soldier

A really fucking cool bridge

The weekend is also going to be pretty interesting ... I'll tell you about it when it's over.
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While I'm here, I'm living in a room in Saddam's palace (I think the main palace, but I'm not sure), and even though there's holes in the buliding everywhere from where we bombed it, it's an amazing place.

Here's me in front of one of the ginormous holes in the building

The room I'm staying in, however, is nothing palatial -- it used to be a bathroom, I'm told, on the very top floor of this huge building.

There are no elevators, and each flight of stairs is more like three flights of stairs, so by the time I get to the top, I feel like I just got done having amazing sex, except you'd replace "amazing" with "painful," and "sex" with "seizures."

Oh, and the bathrooms we use are ALL THE WAY ON THE BOTTOM. Needless to say, I don't drink much water before bed.
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Must be going for now ... here's one last parting shot:

Me on an Iraqi soldier's moped ... whee!

Check ya lata, dawgs

Why Michael is the coolest, and some tidbits that keep me wondering, "Why, God?"

I just feel so loved.

My buddy Michael gave me a nice little pick-me-up in his kick-ass diary (which you should all read, because he's funnier than a midget in a pole-vault competition), and it greatly improved my mood.

Why does this matter to you?

Well, if I wasn't in such a nice mood, I wouldn't be as inclined to tell you about a funny little piece of my life which I am about to share right ... now.

I spent most of my morning doing Preventative Maintenance Combat Service checks on one of my section's humvees.

(That would be "making sure it's driveable" in Normal World.)

Before I even raised the hood, I was informed of "a few defects."

Namely ...

- none of the windows shut
- one of the windows are cracked
- the windshield wipers don't work
- neither does the emergency brake
- one of the doors needs to be held shut with a bungee cord
AND,
- sometimes when it runs too long, black smoke starts coming out from under the hood.

But other than that, you know, it's fine.

Much better, at least, than the vehicle with no roof, no A/C, no windows and no windshield wipers, with temperamental headlights and a steering column currently attached using zip-ties.

The vehicle I just mentioned has been "deadlined," that is, deemed unserviceable (Gee, ya think?), by the All-Knowing Seers Of The Obvious in our company's motor stable.

The ironic part is that we knew all this in Kuwait, yet were still made to tote the Worthless Hunk O' Scrap Metal all the way up to Baghdad with us.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Go-go Army logic!
______________________________________

She-vil Boss may be leaving for good, and you know what that means.

The merriment commences at dawn; bring your instruments, booze, and loose women for a Very Special "The Bitch Is Gone" Celebration!
______________________________________

Lastly, Incompetent Co-worker accidentally sent an e-mail to himself, and didn't realize it till two days later.

It was supposed to be an insulting e-mail to some guy he knew, but the guy obviously never got it.

Reason this is a priceless anecdote: Watching Incompetent Co-worker calmly realize what had happened, finally comment, "Man ... I've never insulted myself before. Damn," and then just go about the rest of his day as if this was a perfectly normal occurrence.

I just love my office.

And I love YOU!

Ding, dong, the witch has dental problems.

She-vil Boss is now gone to a dental appointment at some other camp for a couple days.

I hope they use the big drill.
_____________________________________

I went on another bike ride this morning, and my ass doesn't hurt quite as bad as last time.

Maybe because it's numb from all the anal raping it's endured from Evil Bosses over the past couple days.
______________________________________

Okay, I know I promised you a story about Incompetent Co-worker, whose actions are the reason behind most of my daily open-palm-forehead-smackings.

Incompetent Co-worker was telling me about his online journal the other day, and said the topic of his last entry was "A Shameless Promotion of My Availability."

Because, y'see, he's not too smooth with the laydees.

So I asked him, "What did you say to promote yourself?"

Since I'm always trying to find new reasons to laugh at him -- I mean, help him.

He said, "Well, I said if there were any interested females out there, they should let me know."

Commence forehead-smackings.

I look at him and said, "You realize you probably would have had more luck asking for 'hot chicks' than you'll probably get when you use the word 'females.'"

And he says, completely serious, "Hot chicks! Dammit, that's what I should have said!"

I now have a permanent forehead dent.

Somebody, please -- Lay this poor kid.
_________________________________

Must dash for now ... kisses!

Don't even think you can win me over with Twizzlers

So, Evil Bosses sucked up to me so much yesterday, I'm surprised my body isn't covered with hickeys.

I'm not sure why they did this, but I'm guessing it's because someone bitched them out hardcore for what they did to me, and instead of apologizing, they're choosing to kiss my ass and hope I forget about it.

To which I say, "Ha!"

Or in layman's terms, "Fuck that!"

Evil Bosses are made up of She-vil Boss and He-vil Boss. He-vil outranks She-vil, but whereas She-vil is a raging hell-bitch, He-vil is just a regular pain in the ass.

Anyway, as I was sitting at my computer busily working yesterday, She-vil speaks to me.

"Specialist Meany," she said, as the child of Satan burst forth from her loins.

"What?" I said, without turning from my work.

"Have you been in the Snack Cabinet recently?" she asked.

"No," I answered, without expression, as I kept my back to her.

(Clarification: The aforementioned Snack Cabinet is my office's stash of every single food that could possibly make your body eventually rebel from sugar overload, as well as turn you into a Gigantic Lard Ass.)

She-vil paused for a moment, her brain evidently unable to accept the fact that she had just been rejected by an inferior being.

"There was a reason I asked you that," she said, after I had been contentedly ignoring her for close to a minute.

Good God, please make her just stop talking!, I prayed. I hate to have to verbally and emotionally assualt people, God, don't make me do it!

Luckily, a full-on assault was not necessary.

I turned around slowly to look at her, filling my face with the most asshole-ish, fake-sincere look I could muster (which was kinda hard, since usually I'm pretty sincere) and said, "What would that reason be, Sergeant?"

"Well, there's Twizzlers in there now."

Okay, all together now: What. The. Fuck.

This overweight, overpaid, overattentive, over-annoying waste of life has spent the past two days giving me so much shit that I almost had a mental breakdown, and now she wants to make it better ... with Twizzlers?

Please.
____________________________________

Must be off now, Not-Evil Boss needs her computer.

Remind me to tell you an entertaining story about Incompetent Co-worker later ... I swear, that boy has fluffy bunnies living in his skull.

Love you! (SMOOCH)

Goodbye, Pope ... see ya in heaven

So the pope's dead.

Well, I'm not Catholic, but to all the mourning Catholics out there ... my condolences.
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On a lighter note, I'm glad to see that so many people liked my NAKED BOOBIES banner, but I'm admittedly unsurprised.

I mean, what's not to like about naked boobies?

Except for the fact that you won't find any here.

Sorry.

The fact that I update using a government computer kinda keeps me away from the tits.

So here's the deal: if you want to see some naked boobie goodness on this diary, you have to call up Dubya, call up Rummy, whoever you have to call, and get the Meany home!

And I am prepared to thank you with softcore porn.

Now, if that's not friendship, I don't know what is.
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Let's see, so Evil Bosses attempted to deliver me some shit yesterday, but I delivered it right back.

I refused to sign their little counseling statement, and told them I didn't respond well to liars who attacked my character for no reason at all, so my blatant disrespect toward them was nothing more than my natural reaction to someone who wants to treat me like shit.

Then I was told by Nice But Semi-Annoying Boss to go home for the day to "decompress."

But instead I went home and devised a few schemes to publicly humiliate Evil Bosses.

Since, you know, public humiliation is worse than death.

But then I went BACK to work at night, and was told that The Powers That Be are on my side.

Ha! That'll teach those conniving bastards to mess with the Meany.
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Must be off now, time to begin another entertaining work day.

Thank you dearly to all of you who've offered your sympathies about my currently ass-sucking life, and also thanks to Purpleworm, who I am unable to link (but you know I would!) for luring me to his diary of horniness.

Fucking teaser.

If anybody is interested in donating some really good vibrators to the Troops, just let me know.

Peace outside, g dawgs.

Last drop of sanity drained. Please return to your homes, this may take a while to clean up.

Today was possibly a worse day than it would have been if I had woken up and everyone I knew and loved had become a flesh-eating zombie.

I went to talk to the chaplain yesterday because I was so pissed about how I had to work a 24-hour shift and nobody else had to, and the fact that my bosses just generally treat me like unshaven asshole.

The chaplain said he'd try to talk to the aforementioned evil bosses, and I knew it would be a bad idea to let him open that can of worms, but I was so frustrated, I didn't know what else to do.

So my Main Bitch Boss comes up to me today and says, "I know you've been talking to people from other sections and complaining to them about your shift, and I want you to stop it."

That's fucked up in itself, because last I heard, there's no Army regulation governing who a person can and cannot complain to ("Yeah, that would be AR 1000-1, 'Bitching and Moaning,' section 3, paragraph A"), but whatever.

THEN, I told her I thought that the shift was bullshit anyway, and yada yada yada.

She practically yelled at me that SHE was counseling ME here, and if I didn't stop arguing with her about it, she was going to give me a written counseling statement (more or less a slap on the wrist, but still shitty because I didn't do anything wrong, and the thing still gets recorded) -- second fucked up thing.

So then I tell her I think what she's try to do is bullshit, and she drags me over to Secondary Asshole Boss, and they BOTH yell at me for supposedly "having a bad attitude"-- third fucked up thing, because I work my ass off for that stupid newspaper, and I have never complained about my workload before, except if Incompetent Co-worker is supposed to do something for me and doesn't do it, then I get pissed.

So I lost my temper, and started yelling back at them about how fucked up I think this all is, and how I'm being treated unfairly.

Oh yeah, yelling back at bosses is a definite no-no in the Army, just to clarify the full level of anger I had reached (Level Why Don't You Shut The Fuck Up And Leave Me Alone Before I Empty This Magazine Into Your Defenseless, Overweight Body).

Seriously, they said a LOT of untrue crap, and I was PISSED -- like, physically shaking in a human ball of rage -- by the time they let me go.

Then I went to my company commander Head Honcho about it (of course, I told them I was going to do that first, because that's the way shit has to be done here), and since the commander is a sane person, he was on my side.

He even told me he thought what they did was fucked up, and that he'd talk to them about it -- which is actually a pretty big deal. A commander doesn't come to a young soldier's rescue on just anything, especially if sergeants (Evil Bosses 1 and 2) are involved.

But in the meantime, the evil ones are still treating me like shit.

And yes, I almost took my own advice to Husband and punched them both in the face. Hard.

In fact, if my hands weren't clenched behind my back at Fake Respect Stance, I probably would have taken a couple swings at them.

Luckily, I didn't, 'cause these fists are made of STEEL, baby!

And also I probably would have gone to jail for assault. But the main thing is the Fists Of Steel.

This is why I hate the army, o my wonderful friends. The people who work the hardest get treated the worst.

Even the commander told me, "Shit, even in Kuwait you were the only one doing any work." So he's definitely on my side.

But I'm still pissed that this crap is going on.

If you see me on the news in the near future with a headline like, "Soldier Goes Straight-Up Crazy And Whoops Some Evil Boss Ass," you'll know it was me.

Off to bed.

Hopefully, at least my dreams will be good.