A quick break from the freak-nasty that is my vacation

Well hooooowdy ho!

Is it sick and twisted that I've missed you guys so much? (tear)

I'm glad that at least I was able to provide some joy via los photos hot-os of Mr. Toby Keith, or as I like to call him, Big Sexy Hunk O'Man.

But that's beside the point, isn't it?

The point being, I have been enjoying my OWN sexy man for the past week or so, and despite the fact that God decided to have a little fun and nudge Auntie Flo in for an early visit, I have been, how do you say, enjoying the FUCK out of being home.

I'm not really very good at dishing the dirty details (nice alliteration there, eh?) so go ahead and let your filthy little minds conjure up whatever you please, and I'll just say that it's probably about right.

But just in case it isn't, fill me in on the conjurings, and I'll go ahead and make them true.

That way, we all win!
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And now, a little recap ...

It took me Four. Full. Days. To get home.

I arrived at the Baghdad Airport on May 18th at 7 a.m.

I didn't leave the Baghdad Airport until May 19th at 9 a.m.

This gave me plenty of time to experience all the amenities that an outdoor, third-world air terminal can offer.

Namely, the concrete ground.

Oh, and a cot.

But mostly the ground.

Yep, the ground and I sure got in some quality bonding time.

Note to anyone who cares: Body Armor can make for a dandy little pillow in a pinch.

I was with a group of about 60 other people from Baghdad to Kuwait. Our bags traveled with us on a C-130 to that point.

(That was a bit of foreshadowing, in case you couldn't tell.)

When we landed in Kuwait, our bags were taken off the plane.

Then we got onto a bunch of buses.

Then, because not everyone in the world is blessed with at least one working brain cell, our bags were loaded back onto the plane and taken back to Baghdad.

But since we had already been taken away on buses, we had no idea of this until we had been waiting for our bags for three hours.

That is, until we had been waiting for our bags for three hours, outside, on a beautiful Kuwaiti day, full of sunshine, wind, and approximately 110 degrees.

The bags finally showed up later that night, so that worked out okay.

But still, it would have been neat if there'd have been someone to sue for pain and suffering.

Har!

I ultimately made it to Joe-ja on May 21st, mid-morning.

So, about four full days of travel.

But how much you wanna bet, when it's time to get us back there, it'll take a day and a half, tops?

I don't really care right now though, now that wild sex has re-entered my life.
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I know you all are just DYING to know how Husband has been behaving since my Triumphant Return.

Let's see, we've had our good days and our days of "Obviously you're schizophrenic or you wouldn't be talking to me this way."

I've discovered that threatening to leave him won't change anything.

In fact, it seems that nothing I do will make him any less of an insensitive, selfish prick.

HowEVER ... bracing myself against the angry feminists ... I do realize that he is still capable of love and affection, and just has a lot of growing up to do.

Which he will hopefully do before I have to whomp him soundly with a bat.
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Okay, Nature has been calling me for about 10 minutes now, and since I'm not trying to make a huge stinky scene in a public place (since that's where this computer is), I'd best be heeding the call.

More later, hopefully sooner ...

Love to all of you! Mwah!

Oh Toby, why didn't you put your ass closer to my hand?

Since this is officially my last entry till I go home on leave tomorrow, I'd like to tell you guys all about my Toby Keith Experience.

Unfortunately, I'm in a mad rush, so you'll just have to get the bare details.

First ... no ass-grabbing was allowed. I asked. Boo. But I did mentally grab his ass, and that was all that really mattered.

Second ... the man is HUGE. Here's a picture of him next to my 5'4" self:

Third ... what a GREAT FUCKING SHOW!

Since I'm a Public Affairs Person, I was up on stage -- yes, you heard me right, UP. ON. STAGE. -- throughout the entire performance, taking pictures.

Here's proof:

Toby also had a better fricking audience than Michael Jackson at a NAMBLA convention, because not only was he playing to a bunch of soldiers who'd had no entertainment to speak of for three months, but he was also playing Let's Hate On Terrorists songs to a bunch of soldiers who'd had no entertainment to speak of for three months.

And that, my friends, is a recipe for success.

You play a song called "American Soldier" to more than 1,000 American soldiers, and youse gonna getcha some applause.

Toby's Evil Publicist Lady tried to keep me from interviewing him, but eventually I was able to convince her to allow it ... since, you know, it's my job.

And she's on my turf.

And that's Toby fricking Keith.

So I got my interview, took about 200 photos (yes, I will post more eventually), and got a huge boner from being close enough to El Sexy Famoso Singer-o to illegally grab his ass.

It's the thought that counts, right?
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A large THANK YOU goes out to all of you who expressed your concern as to why I haven't beat the living crizz-ap out of Husband yet.

I don't know why, either.

He finally called last night after I had left work and wasn't able to talk to him, but I haven't heard a peep since.

If I have to take a cab home from the airport, it really won't be pretty 'round the Meany household.
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To sum up life in general ...

* I'm going home tomorrow
* Toby Keith should have allowed me to grab his ass
* Husband is still a rabid dillhole
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If I can, I'll update when I'm home, but if not, I'll see you lovelies in a few weeks.

Watch out, mattress! I'm a-comin' home!

We're sorry. We are all out of titles. Please try again later. Thank you, and remember that we care about your title-reading needs.

Brace yourselves for the deafening shriek of joy I am about to emit:

(DEAFENING SHRIEK OF JOY)

I'm going home the day after tomorrow!

However, (brace yoursleves to be thrust into the depths of despair) I will most likely not be updating while I'm gone.

(Sniffle)

This is because I am technologically-challenged back in Ye Olde Apartmente, and I do not have the internet.

Or a computer, for that matter.

Or (what the hell, why not spill it?) ... cable.

Go ahead and judge me and my backward ways now.

Done?

Good.

Anyway, I'monna be here for one more looooong day, so that'll be long enough to tell you about my interview with Mr. Famous Country Singer Star tomorrow.

And of course I will attempt to grab his ass for anyone who wishes to live vicariously through me.

You know, I bet if I asked him, he'd let me.

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Grotesquely Famous Country Singer Star, a couple friends of mine want me to grab your ass. That's okay, right?"

I mean, how could he refuse a woman in uniform?
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I called Husband today, since I gave up on waiting for him to call me.

Isn't that just so sweet?

I asked him why I hadn't heard from his sorry ass since the night he was on his way to go spend money to look at titties, and he was like, "I passed out when I got home and forgot."

For two days?

Oh, no, but the next day he was "busy doing stuff, like getting my hair cut."

Yeah, I can see how getting a haircut is a much more pressing matter than calling your wife in Iraq.

Especially when she left you a message asking you to call her, oh, two days ago.

I can just feel his love for me ... or maybe that's the air moving around the dead silence of a non-ringing telephone.

It's so nice to know he cares.

How many votes do I have for "He's Cheating On You"?

Or even worse, "He's Not Cheating On You, He's Just An Asshole"?

Yep. That's what I thought.
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Okay then, so I'm about as antsy as a frat boy in a whorehouse, so I think I'll shut my yapper for now.

Maybe I'll go run around outside in the dust.

Whee! The desert is Fun!

If you can't solve your problems, ignore them

I've decided that my best course of action, as far as the blatant disregard for freedom of speech goes, is just to avoid giving up any information until everyone's forgotten that I haven't done it yet.

This, I've discovered over the years, is a remarkably efficient way to get out of doing just about any worthless task.

You see, if something really needs to get done, nobody will forget about it. They will hound you and hound you until finally you just do the thing to get their annoying ass away from you.

However, if the job at hand is really nothing but busywork or something that some cotton-brained suckwad just dreamed up for the hell of it, it will -- sooner or later -- fall by the wayside.

Since it wasn't necessary to begin with, nobody will notice that it hasn't been done.

And the world is a happier place.

However, if I am forced to comply, I will most likely take my new pal Maven's advice and send the bastards cheerily off to ratemypoo.com.

I mean, it's really right up their alley anyway.
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Here's a fun little quiz for you guys, based on how well you think you know my marriage:

1) When Husband returned from his week-long training mission, did he
a. call me
b. not call me
c. not call me, and then go to a strip club

That's right! The correct answer is "C." Let's see how well you do on the next one, shall we?

2) When I called Husband this morning to see if he had arrived home safely, he
a. was on his way to the strip club
b. didn't ask me how I was doing AT ALL
c. told me he'd have to call me back when he got back from the strip club
d. all of the above

You got it! The answer, of course, is "D." One more:

3) Between the aforementioned phone conversation (8 hours ago) and right now, Husband has
a. called me back
b. not called me back
c. not called me back, and not answered his phone when I called him

Right again! "C" it is. Are we sensing a trend here?

Yeah, I thought so.

And this is the man I'm so anxious to go home to in only 4 days.

Sigh.
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The newspaper will be out of my hands for the last time (for three weeks, at least) by tonight.

Each issue seems more and more determined to drive me completely batshit.

Or maybe it's just the Higher-Ups who determine what goes in the paper, and who appear to receive all their guidance via radio signals from little green men on Zorbax, The Cast-Off Planet Of The Intellectually Devoid.

Either way, I feel like quenching my thirst with a large glass of cyanide at the end of each day.
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I didn't end up playing volleyball today because apparently only one and a half teams showed up, and those who were in attendance were the kind I would have had to play dead for.

Oh well. Maybe I'll form my own team.

I can call it The Suck Factor.

Our motto? "We Play To Make You Feel Better."
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Well, dear ones, it's time to get back in the chains with which I am bound to thankless labor.

Holler!

Make up your own damn title, I'm busy getting ass-raped by The Man.

Fresh from the Big Brother Is Watching You Department:

I was informed today that everybody here in our division who blogs is now required to provide their URL to their company commanders to be "reviewed."

First of all, I think commanders just might have better things to do with their time than read about how badly I need some dick.

Second of all ... well, I have other points, but they mostly just boil down to What The Fuck.

I mean, unless you have reason to believe that SOMEbody is blabbing highly-classified information all over the fucking internet, why waste all that time, energy and effort?

I think they just want an excuse to go looking for some good, non-filtered erotica.

MESSAGE TO COMMANDERS:
If you are looking for some hot, sexy words to jerk off to at work instead of doing your job, check out surrenderme and purpleworm for a good start. That is all.

If that doesn't solve this whole dickshit fiasco, the only thing I can think of is that someone noticed that Morale had gone up among the Bloggers ("What?! You're saying they have a way to VENT their FRUSTRATION? This will never do!") and decided that action must be taken. ("We must monitor, monitor, monitor until all of the joy in their lives has been drained out like so much semen from a post-coitus cock!")

Because the Army takes care of its soldiers.
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Tomorrow I'm going to be in a camp-wide intramural volleyball tournament.

Mainly because it'll get me out of the office, since my volleyball skills are right up there with Ashlee Simpson's vocal abilities.

I used to go into every sports game I played in thinking, "It doesn't matter if I have the skills of a mentally-handicapped chipmunk, because this is only a game."

Hoo, boy!

It turns out that according to the Association Of People Who Really Want To Win, my theory is on a par with that whole "flat Earth" idea.

Hence, my new rules of How To Not Be Hated By Everyone On My Team:

1) Don't get in the way of the people who know what they're doing.
2) If you must get in the way, become injured immediately.
3) If they get pissed at you anyway, play dead.
4) As you lay nearly motionless on the ground, let your mantra always be "Don't let those motherfuckers score."

Wish me luck!
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Husband returns today from packing parachutes in Arizona.

I haven't heard from him since he left last week, so hopefully he's still in one piece. At least, you know, that parts that matter.

And which, I must add, will matter a whole lot more when I go home in 5 days.
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Incompetent Co-worker told me he took some Addera11 last night.

I guess there just wasn't enough time in the day for his non-Addera11-prescription-having self to fill his Incompetence Quota, so he needed to pick it up a bit.

Ah well, if you're gonna be a retard, you might as well be a hyperactive one.

After all, there's nothing more entertaining than someone who can fuck things up reallyreally fast.
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On that note (since I always like to end this shit as positively as possible), I shall bizz-ounce to the crizz-ib.

Smooches!

Mississippi gaba!

Today one of the translators we have here taught me how to say "Fuck you, bitch" in Arabic.

My life is now complete, seeing as now I have met my four Main Goals In Life:

1) Lose 20 pounds
2) Marry a man who can fuck me in more positions than I knew existed
3) Grow my hair out
4) Learn how to tell Saddam to go fuck himself in his native tongue

I swear, those are it. I can die happy.

For anyone interested, I can't spell it, but it sounds something like "Mississippi gaba."
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Annoying Boss almost got elbow-dropped today.

She has yet to grasp the concept of "shutting the fuck up."

Apparently to her it means "continue talking until you are physically unable to, and then continue attempting to talk until you are physically dead."

She didn't like the DangerMix, either, she told me it was "annoying."

Heh.

So I said, "Listen, you verbal-dysentery-having control freak, this music drowning out your obnoxious voice is the only thing keeping you alive right now. So please refrain from subjecting me to the constant flow of what-the-fuck-ever, and I will spare you. Mmkay?"

And then I woke up from my lovely dream and turned down the music.
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The swimming last night was the bombdiggity, according to my Big-Azz Book O' Gangsta Werdz 'N' Shizz-nit.

The water was perfect, the night was clear, and I only had to smack eight trillion bugs off of my face.

The stillness of the evening was disturbed only by the small-arms fire across the lake.

Aaaah ... that's what I call relaxation.
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Fun fact: The Army has a brigade (or a division, can't remember which) whose patch is a Rainbow, and they call themselves the "Rainbow Brigade Or Division."

And they say the policy is "don't ask, don't tell!"

Now I know where all the gays go when they get "kicked out."

They have their own little Rainbow Brigade Or Division!

As a buddy of mine said, "They don't give salutes, they give hugs."
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Husband gets back from Arizona tomorrow, yippee!

And 6 days from now, I will be on my way home to him.

The day after our glorious reunion, I will most likely not be able to walk without using my hands.

And, as Martha Stewart would say, "That's a goooooooood thing."

One more week! Holy Shit!

I feel so loved.

Not loved, like, wow you just made me come five times, but more like the kind of love, like, when you're in Iraq and you get some brand-new magazines from ebm and the totally SWEET DangerMix from Dangerspouse, and since mail is the best part of your day, you get all warm and fuzzy inside.

That kind of loved.

THANK YOU!!!
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Apparently, there have been like four ass-licking jizz-munchers who have almost managed to weasel (tee hee! did it again!) their way through the gates of my camp, so if there's one more, everyone will have to wear full battle rattle all the time when we're outside until it's deemed "safe" again.

"Full battle rattle" means Kevlar helmet, body armor, body armor plates, load-bearing vest ... pretty much all the stuff I was wearing in the picture of me on the moped.

In other words, the sweat, it would be a-flowin'.

As if it's not already ... it's hot enough to boil the Arctic over here.

But I don't care, because I'm going home on leave in 7 days!!

I'm spending a week in The Northern Homeland and a week in The Southern Place Of Transplantation.

If any of you guys are gonna be in upstate New York from the 23rd to the 30th, drop a line, cuz the Meany Dad is throwing me a huge-ass cookout on the 27th, and our motto has always been "Feed them all! Whoever they are!"

So yeah, give a li'l shout out, g.
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I'm going to go swimming tonight in the Aussie pool on one of our neighboring camps, which will kick ass.

I get to show off all the muscle-weight I've lost, since all I do is sit on my ass around here in the office.

Blecch. Who loses muscle on a deployment?? I feel like such a blob.
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Now I shall leave you, wanting more as always, with the Quote Of The Day, spoken by one of my inspirational noncommissioned officers.

Background: My division's nickname is the "Marne" Division, after some battle it won on the Marne River in WWII. Also, everyone in my division hates it, because the division tends to treat all the soldiers in it like the red-headed stepchild of a crackwhore.

And the Quote is:

"In this division, there's recreational sex, there's screwing, there's grudge fucking ... and then there's getting Marned."

Couldn't have said it better myself, Sergeant!

Peace outside, dawgs.

The Continuing Story Of I Don't Give A Shit

It's weird ... my days aren't getting any better, but since I'm going home in 8 days, I've somehow stopped caring.

Hooray for apathy!

Annoying Boss continues to be annoying, Incompetent Co-worker continues to be incompetent (but is not physically present most of the time, which is a plus), Scarecrow Boss continues to be a Grade-A Dumbass, and the Evil Bosses continue to be not here (until He-vil gets back, at which time I will be leaving).

Hooray for monotony!

This camp perpetually sucks asshole, the sun is getting hotter by the second, and I've still got The Crud.

Hooray for misery!
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I'm about two-thirds done making the newspaper this week, which is not bad, as long as the rest of the articles get sent to me on time.

This is the last newspaper I have to do before I go home, which to a Muslim would be like the last pilgrimage he has to make before he goes straight to heaven to collect his virgins.

I did end up writing an opinon piece this issue (since they always get published because I'm the one who lays out the paper, bee-yotch!), but it was not about how I wish all the men around here would get castrated.

It was about how I wish all the rude, obnoxious idiots would get punched in the face.

Eh, good enough.
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I've eaten approximately 8,639 Thin Mints in the past two weeks because some blessed souls have been donating them like the devil wil own them if they don't.

Which is fine with me, because I can eat Thin Mints like nobody's business.

In fact, if there was a business devoted to eating Thin Mints, I would be the CEO.

The fat-ass CEO, but the CEO nonetheless.
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Husband still in Arizona. Blech.

One of my buddies thought it would be funny to talk about foot-long sausage for like an hour last night.

He kept saying, "Footlong, footlong, footlong!" apparently to see if it would eventually make me weak-willed enough to just drop to my knees right there or something.

So after a while, I just gave in and choked it.

Or NOT. Geez, who the fuck do you think I am, "Debbie Does Deployments"?
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By the way, a large heap of gratitude goes out to eBeth for getting her bone on in my honor.

The world would be a better place if everyone made a little extra whoopie for the Troops.

We love you too!
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On that note, time to go watch a movie till it's time to go to Midnight Chow (sounds elegant, eh?) because I missed breakfast, lunch and dinner today.

Hooray for hunger!

"I Need Some Ass," and other love songs

Q: Why am I happy I could spit sprinkles right now?

a) I won the lottery
b) I was told that I never have to come back from leave because the Army doesn't need me anymore
c) I received an assload of Bob & Tom CDs from Thatgrrrl in the mail today, providing me with hours of pants-pissing laughs

A: The answer is C, of course! What'd you think, you were gonna get a "d) all of the above"?!
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Let's see, my Horniness Quotient has now reached a point where I'm rubbing up on my rifle as I walk, just because it's the most affection the coochie's gonna get till I go home in 8.2 days.

But amazingly, it still hasn't surpassed the HQ of most of the men around here, who more or less just wander around looking for a hole.

I'm considering writing an editorial called "It Will Suck Itself Before I Give You Any, So Stop Asking, You Mangy Motherfucker."

But I think that might just encourage them.
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A guy I'm friends with out here (read: a guy who hasn't made me want to kick him in the balls yet) told me the other day that he and his wife were about to celebrate their fourth anniversary.

"That's great!" I said. "How has she been handling your deployment?"

"Oh, she's doing fine with it," he answered. "Even though we've only seen each other for about two and a half months in the last four years."

(Keep in mind, he also was on the first deployment to Iraq at the beginning, when the real war was going on, and that was only two years ago.)

"Well, I'm really happy for you," I said.

He smiled.

The next day, I shit you not, the VERY NEXT DAY, I saw the guy again, and this exchange took place:

"Hey!" I said. "How's it going?"

"I got an e-mail from my wife today," he replied. "She divorced me."

Dead silence.

What the FUCK do you say to that??!!

I went with:

"Can she even do that without you there?"

"Yeah, I guess so." He was on the verge of crying or killing someone, that's how scary the fake-grin was. "In Texas, they let you do that."

I'm sorry, but Fuck Texas.

How could ANYbody let ANYbody divorce their spouse while he is in the middle of a year-long deployment in the asshole of the world, AND he's about to come home on his mid-tour leave?

Some damn fools, that's who.

And they wonder why nobody's enlisting these days.

I'll tell you, it's a good thing for my buddy that they have regular Suicide Prevention classes over here.

Too bad they don't have any How To Not Kill Your Bitch Ex-Wife classes.
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Speaking of spouses (by the way, I have always thought that the plural of "spouse" should be "spice." You know, like "mouse" and "mice"? Just humor me here.), dear Husband is still in Arizona doing his whole training thing.

That's okay, though, when I get home, I'll have plenty of training to give him.

That's "training to pleasure me till my body is no longer able to orgasm," in case anybody completely lost the innuendo.
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Time to go to beddy-bye for now ... I have a big day of doing Jack Shit tomorrow.

Good ol' Jack. Maybe he can get me off.

A general feeling of Blarrgh

Once I've determined the retardedness level of an individual, I generally don't expect to have to rethink my decision.

However, a certain Boss of mine, who we'll call the Scarecrow, since he has about as many brains, forced me to drop him down from Mild Retardedness Level to Did Someone Drop You On Your Head And Then Beat You With A Hammer Level.

When I was asking him for the third time about being switched to the glorious Night Shift, he responded, "So, you really want to be on Night Shift, don't you?"

No, you empty-headed fucktard, I've just asked you three times because I'm training myself to deal with disappointment.

He then proceeded to give me two completely irrelevant "concerns" that he had about me switching to a shift that would make me a happier, healthier person, and as I systematically disproved his "concerns," he sat there nodding like an idiot.

Before saying, "Well, these are the concerns I have ..." and then REPEATING the same things I had just proved to be non-issues.

Which left me shaking my head and inwardly shrieking, Mugatu-style, "Am I taking crazy pills?!"

Thank God I'm going home in 10 days, or I might have to go insane -- you know, just to fit in.
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Since today is Sunday, I didn't have to come in to work until nine a.m.

What a treat!

The whole "day off" concept in my section goes something like:

1) If the person has been working without a day off for a month, give a day off.
2) If the person is an officer, days off are allowed whenever the officer feels like it.
3) If the person is on the verge of mental breakdown, reluctantly give a day off, then don't allow another for at least four weeks.
4) If the moon is at exactly a 30-degree angle with the division main headquarters and the sun is simultaneously shining brightly, someone might consider making a "regular days off" schedule.
5) Generally speaking, days off are Tools Of Satan and must be avoided like an 80-year-old, diseased, vermin-infested hooker with AIDS.

Let's just go ahead and load up the Car Of Disgruntledness with the Luggage Of Mental Instability and head off to the Land Of Unbridled Rage.
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Hey, who wants to know what kind of personality I have? Okay!

Your #1 Match: ENFP

The Inspirer You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends. You are also unconventional, irreverant, and unimpressed by authority and rules. Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives. You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're qutie the storyteller! You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist.

Your #2 Match: ENTP

The Visionary You are charming, outgoing, friendly. You make a good first impression. You possess good negotiating skills and can convince anyone of anything. Happy to be the center of attention, you love to tell stories and show off. You're very clever, but not disciplined enough to do well in structured environments. You would make a great entrpreneur, marketing executive, or actor.

Your #3 Match: ESFP

The Performer You are a natural performer and happiest when you're entertaining others. A great friend, you are generous, fun-loving and optimistic. You love to laugh - and you like almost all people equally. You accept life as it is, and you do your best to make each day fantastic. You would make a good actor, designer, or counselor.

Your #4 Match: ESTP

The Doer You are adventurous and risk taking. You act first, think second. You love being the center of attention. Chances are you were the class clown. Competitive, charming, and charasmatic - you have your own code of honor. You live a flexible life, bouncing between a series of activies that interest you. You would make a great salesperson, marketing director, or entrepreneur.

Your #5 Match: ENFJ

The Giver You strive to maintain harmony in relationships, and usually succeed. Articulate and enthusiastic, you are good at making personal connections. Sometimes you idealize relationships too much - and end up being let down. You find the most energy and comfort in social situations ... where you shine. You would make a good writer, human resources director, or psychologist.

What's Your Personality Type?

See, and all this time I thought I was type Bitch From Hell, and I would make a good dictator.
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Time to take off for now, Annoying Boss just arrived and the unending drone of meaningless words is about to fill my brain, driving me to near-suicide.

Kisses!

You know, just some more rambling shit.

I never realized how much better I'd feel at work if I got a full seven hours of sleep.

I actually woke up BEFORE my alarm clock this morning.

Oh wait, that was because my roommate's phone rang at least 6,342 times in a row and whoever was calling needed to be shot.

But either way, I feel much less likely to pass out on my keyboard today.

Usually, though, if I need to sleep, I just tell Annoying Boss that I'm about to pass out and that I need a power-nap.

Then I find a comfortable slouch in my desk chair, and zone out for about an hour.

This isn't the Army Standard, it's just that they all know how I get when I'm over-tired, and ain't NOBODY that much of a masochist around heah.
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Somebody hit me with a water balloon last night.

That's kind of boring, let me try telling you in Bible-Speak:

"And when she neared him, she saw that he meant to do evil, and she grew afraid. And verily, she did strike him in the groin with her weapon's buttstock, and he felt much pain. As she rejoiced in her victory, he did smite her with liquid vengeance, and verily, her hair became soaked."

There, that's better.
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Apparently, the guys have the water balloons to throw at kids who crowd around their vehicles when they're out on patrols and stuff.

Before you start getting all, "Aww, but they're just kids! Why not just let them hang out?"

Because kids have been known to throw a grenade into your vehicle and then skip merrily away, that's why.

See, I love kids ... but only when they're guaranteed not to attempt to make me a quadriplegic.
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If all goes according to plan, I will be interviewing TOBY KEITH when he comes to do a show here in the semi-near future.

I like Toby. I like that he likes when we kick some terrorist ass.

And I LOVE me some famous people!
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Today promises to be absolutely suckalicious, and I am prepared to take on the Suck Storm only because I am going home in 11 days and I have already begun to block unpleasant things out of my consciousnesss.

As of right now, the only things I'm acknowledging are sunshine, flowers and anything having to do with exhausting bouts of creative sex.

And they say I have a bad attitude ... ha! I'll show them.
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Okay, I know you guys think life couldn't get better than it is right now, but it's about to, for this reason:

Our loveable friend Kaitlyn has her own little blog of 13-year-old goodness.

Quality entertainment, this!
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I leave you now with the ...

Quote Of The Moment -- a fellow Public Affairs (Propaganda Spreaders 'R' Us!) cohort on why we can't put a positive spin on an obviously negative story:

"This is the Army. We can't sugarcoat everything."

Why my life is so fan-fucking-tastic

Yesterday Most Annoying (but thankfully not Evil) Boss Ever returned from her four-day mini-vacation in the International Zone.

Her freakish over-excitedness permeated the atmosphere from the moment she walked into the office.

"Hey what's up how's it going how's everything what have you gotten done have you sent this out oh my God I'm so tired I had a great time so fill me in on everything that happened while I was gone -- ooh, CHOCOLATE!"

At that point she took a break to eat the chocolate that I, ever the devious temptress, put next to her computer especially for a moment like this.

During the two-second acknowledgement of food, I made my break.

But now the Madness has begun.

Whenever Annoying Boss is here, I get this feeling like that one you get when you REALLY have to fart but have to hold it in, either because you are polite or because you have been warned repeatedly not to fart at work, and your stomach gets all hurty and you just get angrier and angrier at God for making farts stinky and the world for having a sense of smell.

That's kind of the state of mind I get into.
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On the less-So Irritated I Could Put Thumbtacks Through My Eyeballs side of things, I FINALLY talked to Husband last night!

He's leaving for Arizona this morning on some kind of training mission, so I may not hear from him at all this week.

Grumpety grump grump.

BUT I will see him in 12 days, so I guess that'll make up for it ...

... and, you know, the rest of the year when we won't be together.

One of my buddies has been trying to convince me that Husband has a blonde stripper named Darcy living in our apartment while I'm gone, and that that is the reason I should have no problem giving head to anyone who requests it while I'm here.

According to him, I should hear "Darcy" and immediately think "I feel like giving someone oral sex. Hummers all around!"

Men just get more and more charming after three months of not getting laid, don't they?
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Last night, I was watching season 3 of "Friends" in my room (the episode where Chandler wears Julia Roberts' panties, in case you're interested), and I heard and FELT a pretty sizeable "boom!" outside.

In fact, if the "boom!" could talk, it probably would have said, "BOOM, MUTHAFUCKA! WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

So naturally, I had to see if this boom had landed anywhere near my trailer (which it hadn't), but as I poked my head out of the door, all the doors up and down my row of trailers started opening as everybody, prairie-dog-like, also poked their heads out and stepped onto their porches.

I'm tellin' ya, it was like a Holy War Block Party. I saw people out there whom I have never seen before.

"Hey what's up! You guys feel that?"
"Fuck yeah! How's it going? Hey, you got a movie I could borrow?"
"Dude, what the fuck, how close was that shit? Oh, yeah, I got a bootleg of 'Saw.'"
"Sweet! Well, shit, that better not get any closer. See ya later."

Don't listen to what people tell you -- soldiers CAN have good, clean fun.

As long as there's explosions.
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Without further ado, here's that long-ass survey I promised you guys yesterday:

• My uncle once: sang in a barbershop quartet … and still does. He’s a tenor.
• Never in my life: have I eaten sushi. Don’t know why, just never was drawn to it.
• When I was five: I got a Strawberry Shortcake lunch box as a starting-kindergarten present. This is only weird because I was home-schooled and ate lunch at home anyway.
• High School was: a giant blur. Once you’ve dropped out of two and gotten kicked out of one, you tend to just try to put the whole experience behind you.
• I will never forget: the birthday cake I got for my 11th birthday. I had gotten hit by a car while riding my bike the day before, and my cake said, “Hope your birthday’s a smash!” My dad did it on purpose. Har!
• I once met: Gary Sinise, Colin Quinn, and this dude in a bar who TOTALLY looked like Stifler.
• There’s this girl I know who: is obviously a boy, but has yet to admit it.
• Once, at a bar: I fell asleep. I’m not the best drinking partner after I’ve worked a 20-hour day.
• By noon I’m usually: having complex sexual fantasies while pretending to work.
• Last night: was incredibly dust-stormish. Whenever the wind blows, it sucks. (Sorry, horrible joke that I couldn’t resist making!)
• If I only had: a margarita, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food, and a plane ticket home, all would be well with the world.
• Next time I go to church, I: will be afraid that God will smite me before I’m through the doors.
• Terry Schiavo’s: fucking life is over and everyone needs to just MOVE ON, DAMMIT!
• When I turn my head left, I see: a box of tissues, a photo of me and Husband, and a post-it note that says “CMYK the photos!”
• When I turn my head right, I see: a chair. Wheeee.
• You know I’m lying when: my story changes just a little bit every time.
• What I miss most about the eighties: being seven years old.
• If I was a character written by Shakespeare, I’d be: Mercutio; a smartass who would do anything for his dear friends.
• By this time next year: I had better be out of this fucking country.
• A better name for me would be: Everyone seems to think I should be called “Darlene,” because apparently I am “just like her! Oh my God, you are SO Darlene!”
• I have a hard time understanding: calculus. That shit is HARD!
• If I ever go back to school: it will look great on my resume’.
• You know I like you if: I allow you to make fun of me with saying something truly mean and biting back.
• If I won an award, the first person I’d thank would be: God. You can never be too careful.
• Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens, and Geraldine Ferraro’s: are in this survey because …?
• Take my advice, never: sing a Sinatra song on karaoke in the South, even as a joke.
• My ideal breakfast is: I enjoy the Rooty Tooty Fresh ‘N’ Frooty at IHOP, the Mecca of breakfast establishments.
• A song I love, but do not have is: “500 Miles” by the Proclaimers
• If you visit my hometown, I suggest: you don’t go swimming in Onondaga Lake. They pull eight-eyed, purple, glowing fish with legs out of there.
• Tulips, character flaws, microchips, and track stars: are too many things for my brain to put together this early in the morning.
• Why won’t anyone: actually take the offered quarter and use it to call someone who cares?
• If you spend the night at my house, don’t: be asthmatic. We smoke like chimneys in there.
• I’d stop my wedding for: um … well, that’s already over with, but if the Skippy Ice Cream Truck came around the corner a-jingling, you know I’d have to do my civic duty.
• The world could do without: sauerkraut. Who the shit invented that, and why is it classified as food?
• I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: have to come back to Iraq for another tour, like I probably will have to.
• My favorite blonde is: Me, when I dye my hair blonde.
• Paper clips are more useful than: appliances that don’t work.
• If I do anything well, it’s: pissing people off.
• And, by the way: I want a backyard with a hammock.
• The last time I was drunk, I: watched “The Incredibles,” then fell asleep wasted and alone.

Wow, what a picker-upper that last one was!

I love dredging up the miserable past.
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I be out fo now, yo.

See you tomorrow, if I haven't torn my body to shreds out of sheer annoyed-ness.

I Love Work!

Forgiveness can be a bitch

All you angry feminists can just calm the fuck down right now, because I'm going to forgive Husband anyway.

Apparently, the Bling Bill had been sent out prematurely, because he had already paid it way before I received the statement in the slow-ass mail.

The only thing Husband now needs to amend is the Leave Issue, which must be resolved before total forgiveness and happy-squishy feelings can be attained.

If I get home and find that Husband has still refused to take the full 15 days of leave during the 15 days out of the year I will be home with him, pissed-offness will be forthcoming.
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Last night I spent some quality chill-time with a couple of my buddies who had to stand guard at the Unnecessary Checkpoint for 12 hours straight.

I helped them pass the time by telling them horrendously cheesy jokes ("A man walks into a bar, and says, 'Ouch'" Haha!) and they showed their appreciation by demonstrating the correct way to point and laugh at someone who has just gotten caught in the concertina wire:

1) As soon as the individual has walked into the wire and been snared, loudly say, "This gate's closed. You'll have to go around."
2) While he is struggling to get himself free of the wire's evil barbs, shine your flashlight directly into the victim's face, blinding him, and then wave it back and forth around him quickly enough so that he couldn't see what he was doing even if there weren't large spots dancing in his eyes.
3) Wait until the person has freed himself, then calmly walk over and open the gate.

See, who says deployments can't be fun?!
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I've made a bunch of new Diaryland friends recently, and I must say they all rock the hizz-ouse.

You can check 'em out over there on the left where I've ingeniously figured out (finally) how to put some shit on the side of my page.

I filled out a survey from Beckers' diary, but I did it on another computer so you guys will just have to wait for your next dose of lovely survey-ness from Meany.
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In 13 short days I will be one step closer to my blissful 15 days of drunken revelry and sexual rampage with Husband!

But I gots ta go fo' now, you wonderful, amazing, talented, generous peeps o'mine.

Word.

Is it healthy for my marriage and my mind to be failing at the same time?

I'm starting to suspect that I have a huge, weightless, highly-visible-to-everyone-but-me sign on myself that says "IT IS PERFECTLY OKAY FOR WHOEVER THIS CHICK MARRIES TO TREAT HER LIKE ASS IF HE WANTS TO."

I've actually suspected this for a little while now, but yesterday it was like the Huge Sign Alert went off in my brain.

Why?

Well, because I got a bill in the mail.

Yes, my bills have followed me to war. How great is that??

But this wasn't just ANY bill ...

(While you're sitting there in suspense, I want to provide a teensy bit of background: When Husband brought me to the Sparkly Engagement Bling Store the day after Proposal, we mutually decided to put the aforementioned bling on my credit, because my credit was better. Keep this in mind.)

... this bill was from Sparkly Engagement Bling Store, saying that my account (his account) was a month overdue.

Husband withdraws close to $2,000 a month from my account.

This money supposedly goes to a)pay off his car, which I wrecked in November, b)pay rent on our apartment which he is still living in, c)make my car payments since I can't do that from here, and d)add to our joint savings account.

Oh, and of course, Husband also brings home his own paycheck, just about the same size as mine. So we really shouldn't be struggling for money.

Yet, somehow, he can't manage to drop a measly hundred a month on a ring which I didn't even bring to Iraq with me, for fear that something would happen to it.

But shit, if he's just gonna not pay for it, then I might as well have taken it with me.

Honestly, I'm getting pretty damn frustrated. If anybody has any words of wisdom ... please share!
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The latest source of loud bitching around my camp is the new "protective measure" that somebody with part of a brain particle thought up and had enough rank and position to implement.

What it is, is a barrier of concertina wire (like barbed wire, only meaner) around our entire living area.

Okay, first of all, if a bad guy can get past the armed guards at the front gate of our camp, past the armored vehicles a little further in, and past EVERY SINGLE SOLDIER HERE, all the way to our trailers, that bitch deserves to get a shot off.

Second, what I just said will probably NEVER happen, seeing as how the only types of attack we've had at my camp are IEDs and mortar attacks, which will certainly not be stopped by a little bit of coiled wire.

What makes this even more bullshit is that there are now three total "checkpoints" through which we can exit or enter the living area.

At night, there is one. And at night there are also guards at the other two to make sure to tell people they can't get in, for some reason unknown to me, them, God, and everyone else except the fucktard who decided to have the stupid wire put up.

All that this new "protection" is doing is making it harder for us to live life comfortably, and in the event that an emergency SHOULD occur, harder for us to evacuate, since instead of an open area, we now have a tiny little gate to go through.

Insult to injury? Okay!

I was one of the lucky individuals assigned to the crew that actually had to put up the wire.

In the hot sun, all day, for two days.

And the only thing ANY of us could think was, "We are, at this point, literally wasting time out of our lives on this mind-blowingly pointless task."

Maybe Emma can deal me some drugs to numb the pain of utter worthlessness.
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There's this civilian dude over here, a contractor, who I became friends with a few weeks ago, and although I've stressed my marital status to him many times ("Hey, how's it going?" "Great, I'm married!" "So what's up?" "Not much, I'm married!"), he seems intent on playing little "please will you fuck me" games.

But since he won't come right out and ask me so I can just say NO, he's always inviting me to go for walks with him, or meet him someplace, or just get down on my knees and start sucking.

Well, maybe not that last one.

Anyway, the guy takes it SO PERSONALLY when I say "No, I'm tired," or "No, thanks, I have to work late," or whatever.

The taking-it-personally pisses me off. What right does he have to get pissed? He has no claim to me!

Now, if he wants to pay off Sparkly Engagement Bling, we may be able to talk.
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I'm glad everyone enjoyed Young Blogger and his Loveable Sidekick Kaitlyn yesterday.

I think I'm gonna leave him a note and tell him he should break up with her and run away with me.

Ah, teenybopper luv!
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I guess I better go do some work now.

You know, since I'm technically "at work."

14 days till I'm wingin' my way stateside!

Come on, did you think I could go an entire entry without mentioning it? Of course not!

Peace outside, my homies.

Big fat kisses all around!

Way more than I usually write, so get your ass comfy

Yo yo yo!

That's the new gangsta speak salutation I just learned.

Others are "Word!" "Wassup!" and "Where you is, muthafucka?"

Anyway, it seems that sometime during yesterday I developed the Hacking Cough Of Intense Pain And Suffering, which sounds like a mix between a cat walking, claws-out, on a chalkboard, and someone sitting on bagpipes.

Many call it The Crud.

My voice has been transformed to resemble that of either of Marge Simpson's sisters, which is a good thing only when I want to freak someone out by approaching them with Devil Voice.

Me:"Pardon me, do you have a pen?"

Other Person:"AAIIIEE!"

Me:"Dammit."

And no, quitting smoking is not an option at this point.
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Okay, my brother sent me this little survey thing and asked me to do it if I got a chance. I posted it on my "Nice Meany" blog (which is where I send friends and family for cleaner, prettier updates), but now I'm gonna go ahead and throw it in here for you guys, too.

Oh, and be warned: some of the topics, well I just thought they were too boring, so I made up my own.

Extra cool points for anyone who can figure out which ones they are!

A to Z of Me:

A – Animal I would least like to be: A lemming. For obvious reasons.

B – Band I’m listening to right now: The Cranberries. I’m a sucker for Dolores O’Riordan’s yodelish howling.

C - Crush: I would like to crush people sometimes, yes. Preferably with a mallet.

D – Dorkiest thing I can remember having done: Danced to the 70s porn music piped in through the speakers in the base dining facility. Yup, believe it.

E - Easiest person/s to talk to: People who don’t have bad breath

F – Funniest thing I’ve ever seen someone else do: When my Incompetent Co-worker sent an insulting e-mail to himself by accident and then just brushed it off like this kind of thing happens all the time.

G- Graham crackers: I approve of them.

H – Hacksaw murders: They’re gross and I won’t watch anyone commit them in a movie, ever. Not even if it’s a zombie movie or a cartoon. Ugh.

I - Instruments: They sound pretty when played right, which sucks because I don’t play them right.

J- Junior High Crush: Blocked all those memories out, sorry.

K - Kids: ... was a long, pointless, yet absorbing movie.

L - Longest car ride ever: The one that FELT the longest was the one where I was woken up at 9 a.m., ultra-hungover (the day after my 21st birthday) after having slept a total of one-point-eight hours, and had to ride in the hot sun for 2 hours to Jacksonville, FL for a Buffalo Bills football game that I really wanted to go to. I puked like 8 times on the way down there. Yuck.

M – Mullets: Love ‘em. If you ever go to Bay Street Blues in Savannah, there’s a karaoke DJ there who has the king of mullets. He is my hero.

N - Nicknames: “Nugget of Love” (Husband), “Sister” (my brother, “Bruvver”), “Mrs. Whatever-Husband’s-Nickname-Is” (Husband’s friends), “Hey!” (people who don’t know my name), plus many, many more.

O - One animal I like: I enjoy a squishy ferret from time to time.

P - Places I like to go: Anywhere but the place I am now (Iraq, “That Place With That Smell”). But I'd definitely go someplace where they have beer.

Q - Quote: “[Journalism] keeps us in touch with the ignorance of the community.” – Oscar Wilde

R - Reason to smile: That dude who just picked his wedgie and then looked around to see if anyone saw, which they did, and are now pointing and laughing as he hangs his head in shame and runs from the room bawling like a little sissy-girl.

S- Last food article I consumed: Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies. Those Girl Scouts are scandalous, making delicious cookies that sit on your hips like so many pairs of loose-fitting jeans.

T - Time I woke up [today]: As opposed to what, last night? Let’s just say I woke up 10 minutes ago with a keyboard imprint on my face, and leave it at that.

U - Unknown fact about me: When I was seven, I was in love with Michaelangelo, the master of mutated amphibious nunchuk slinging. I think it was the orange bandana that did it … also I was kind of sheltered as a child. But you could never call me racist! Or species-ist, at that …

V - Vegetable I hate: There’s something suspicious about artichokes … I mean after you’re supposedly DONE eating them, there’s so much left to throw out. I don’t trust food that can’t be completely consumed.

W - Worst habit(s): Some would say smoking, but I’d have to say my worst habit is singing along with Bob Dylan songs. There’s NO chance of being in tune there.

X – X-Men are cool because: Any given one of them can kick the crap out of any given one of us normal folk. If they were real. Which they’re not.

Y – Yellow things that are tasty: Bananas. Even though they can’t be completely consumed ... their only disappointing quality.

Z – Zebras are: White with black stripes. Obviously, look at their legs, idiot.

Wow, can anyone tell why I normally don't do these things? I must look like a TOTAL freak now.

As opposed to a PARTIAL freak, like I was before.
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Got an e-mail from Husband last night; short and sweet.

He misses me, I miss him, we will both greatly enjoy the large quantities of time spent engaging in sexual activities, etc., etc.

Husband's going to have to take a creative writing class when I get home for good.

Home ... where I will be going in 15 days!
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I am seriously giddy with excitement about all the great stuff you guys have sent/are sending me.

I will never be bored/hungry/sexually frustrated EVER AGAIN!

By the way, in case you all haven't noticed, I'm going to be thanking you at least every day, so go ahead and get used to it.
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So, yeah, that other "Nice Meany" blog I was saying about?

I just started writing in it the other day, you know, because it's the one my bro uses and I like to keep him updated on my wild and crazy office life.

I didn't really care if anyone else reads it. In fact, usually I just cleaned up whatever I wrote here and copied it over there because I'm that lazy.

BUT I discovered this morning that I had a subscriber to said blog who was not either my brother or his girlfriend (whom he calls "Girlfriend," by the way ... in case there were any questions about why Husband is "Husband").

This subscriber dude (who I of course looked up) was one of the creepiest, most faux-goth, most "What the fuck is wrong with you?"-type people I have ever seen.

First of all, how did I attract such a person?

Did something about my cynical mockery of the world around me make him think that he was excluded from the mocking?

Wait a minute ... nevermind. I got it now.

I mentioned that I was in the Army ... he must have thought I meant Satan's Army. There we go.

Either way, it made me appreciate YOU all even more.

A lot of the people at this other blog site are an average of maybe 13 years old and their entries are full of things like "omg i cant believe i kissed him he is soooooo cuuuuuute!!!!"

Many are ultra-cool, although they are still the exception, rather than the rule.

But you gotta check out this kid. You'll see why when you get there.
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Okay, I realize I have been carrying on here for quite some time now, so I'monna go ahead'n shut up now.

Quote Of The Day:
Boss: "Good morning Specialist Meany."
Me: "Good morning."
Boss: "Whoa, do you have the Crud?"

Why, yes, yes I do. Thank you.

A good day off is like a good burp ... refreshing, yet somewhat smelly

Yeah, so how about that day off I had yesterday?

Did it not rock the house?

Why, yes! Yes it DID rock the house!

I managed to go the entire day without exerting any energy at all on anything except for reading, which doesn't count because it comes naturally.

By the way, the book I read -- "Middlesex," by Jeffrey Eugenides -- I highly recommend it, if you're down with witty prose told from the perspective of a middle-aged hermaphrodite.

It was truly wonderful.
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Without further ado, let's find out how much of a geek I am!:

Your Geek Profile:

Music Geekiness: Moderate

Academic Geekiness: Low

Gamer Geekiness: Low

Movie Geekiness: Low

Fashion Geekiness: None

Geekiness in Love: None

General Geekiness: None

Internet Geekiness: None

SciFi Geekiness: None

How Geeky Are You?

Yay! Now that that's done, let's see what marvelous things I can recount from my last day or so ...

Well, here's a good one ... still no e-mail, phone call, letter, telegram, smoke signal, etc. from Husband.

That makes 6 days now. Which means I'm counting. Should I have to be counting? Yeah, didn't think so.

HowEVER, Husband can deal with my wrath personally when I fuck him senseless in 16 days.
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I watched that movie "Closer" yesterday as I lounged around like a drunken beached whale.

Is it just me, or is Natalie Portman actually a normal-sized person?

Because (and this may have just been the shitty portable DVD screen I was watching on) I could have sworn, in the strip club scene, that I detected the slightest hint of a cankle.

So now, Natalie Portman is my new favorite actress.

Sorry, Angelina. I still love you. Why don't you cry out your grief of losing me on those huge pillows which are your lips?
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Overheard Quote Of The Other Day Which I Forgot To Put In Here Before:

"There was another suicide bomb in downtown Baghdad today."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Just the guy who set it off (QUOTE ALERT) ... seems like another suicide bomber has succeeded in committing suicide."

Maybe that's not funny to you guys, but put into the perspective that most of these suicide bombers really do only manage to kill themselves, it was pretty freaking hilarious.
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HUGE "Thank you"s should at this point be reverberating off of any available surface in the direction of all of you for your awesomeness in the package-sending.

I'm the luckiest girl in the desert! (sniffle, tear)

Off to work for now, kisses and humps all around!