"It's a quarter after one. . ." Literally. As per the usual state of things during deployment, I am all alone and God do I need the hubby around about now so I can get laid--just like the song says. Fucking Deployment Insomnia!! I'm am more exhausted than I can even try to explain, but sleep is not forthcoming. And it is only getting worse the longer this stupid, shitty, fucking deployment goes on. I just want to sleep. Maybe if I was getting sex, I could sleep. But sex isn't happening either. Fuck.
Apparently, I should be on drugs to be able to fucking calm down enough to get to sleep, but drugs would likely render me comatose and I can't do that with a baby in the house and two kids to wake up at 0600 for school. I've tried exercise. Reading. Watching infomercials. Hot showers. Alcohol. And nothing will fucking just knock my ass out! I haven't fallen asleep before 0300 in probably a good month and that is just unacceptable!
Stupid doesn't being to describe this sleeplessness. I don't sleep when my husband is home because he snores like a damned freight train, but I can't sleep when he's not here because he isn't fucking here! Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! I cannot go another 3 months like this. Sleep is necessary to maintain sanity and I don't have a lot of that left to go around. Have you seen Star Trek and the episode about not dreaming leading to psychosis? Well, beam me up, Scotty. That's where I'm headed!!
Unfortunately, the only cure for this shit is a plane full of men in uniform landing at the airstrip here at Fort Campbell and giving me back my goddamn husband!!! I think I should should start holding nightly coffee-less coffees at my house for all the ladies who are here and still awake at zero-dark-thirty. It's five o'clock somewhere (and not 5am!!).
So I'm off. To another night of staring at the ceiling, wondering why I am awake, and wishing the hubby was around to fuck my brains out and maybe wear me out enough that I can go to sleep!! My love, prepare your penis. I'm going to need it when you get home.
30 November 2010
29 November 2010
Spanking the Monkey
Sexual deprivation is a part of every deployment--an exceptionally shitty part, but what the fuck do you expect to happen when you are married to a soldier? That he's never going to have to leave? That he will always be there? If you married a soldier and honestly believed any of this could ever be remotely within the realm of possibility, then you're just fucking stupid!! We all have to live with it and figure out a way to overcome it (and that does not ever excuse fucking around!!!)
The boys have to deal with the same issues and luckily for us infantry wives, females are pretty slim pickings overseas. Oh, there's the occasional "desert rose" or "Kandahar cutie" but when you haven't seen your wife in 12 months, these particular native "beauties" are considered such because they still have all their teeth!! So not really too much to worry about there.
My husband has his own way of dealing with his frustrations. He gets a LOT of Victoria Secrets catalogs in the mail (because you can't send porn to a Muslim country and VS is about as risque as is safe to send.) And since he's a senior NCO, he has been able to establish what he likes to call "the designated shitter." It's the port-a-potty that you may not use for its intended purpose. No pissing, no shitting. It's a strictly jerking-off only area. And the boys keep it nice and clean and fully stocked with whatever porn they can get a hold of, tissues, lotions, and potpourri so it smells nice. And that was one of the strangest requests I've ever gotten for a package. I'm amazed he even knew what the fuck potpourri is!!
So that's how the boys manage to vent. They are all very good friends with their hands. We wives on the other hand seem to fall into one of two categories: those who have lots of toys to alleviate their tension and those who have none and don't. I am of the latter party. There are nights I REALLY wish my husband was home so I could rape him, but generally speaking, unless he's here to rape, I just don't care about sex. At all. Maybe I'm strange. I just have no emotional attachment to whatever toy might be available, and get nothing out of the experience.
We're down to double digits now and that husband of mine better be using that time to rest up. Because God help him when he gets home. . .
27 November 2010
Can We Shoot Them?
Having spoken yesterday of the need for friends who will tell me to shut the fuck up, today is the list of people who either need to start doing the right damn thing(and/or just quit being assholes) or fucking drop dead where they stand. But NO, we cannot shoot them (however fucking much we may want to.) Now I would LOVE to suggest colourful alternative methods by which they are free to accomplish dropping dead, but I will allow everyone's imaginations to flourish and relish the weapon and/or method of their own choosing. I will, however, mention that my personal fave involves bamboo, duct tape and a grenade.
Here is my "hit list":
1. wives who fuck around on their husbands
2. FRG volunteers/leaders who do nothing
3. ass kissers, both soldiers and their spouses
4. spouses who wear their husband's rank
5. soldiers who try to fuck married women
6. liars
7. NCOs and officers who screw over their men
8. yes men, officer and NCO (different from the ass-kisser. These assholes are too stupid to understand they should say no sometimes!)
9. wives who bitch about the FRG but do not get involved
10. soldiers who do not know how to wear a fucking beret or their uniform correctly
11. military wives who do let their children run wild (officers' wives are especially bad about this)
12. disrespectful sons of bitches (especially the ones who disrespect veterans like our Golden Rakkasans)
13. officers who carry the concept of RHIP way to fucking far
14. anyone who works at housing
15. that horrible person who decided blood rank was too mean and invented this gay velcro rank
16. e-4s in general. arrogant, lazy, stupid
17. mps
18. cadets
This is by no means a comprehensive list of people who should deserve to be run over by a tank. Just a sampling. But generally speaking, not one of these mother fuckers has an ounce of moral fortitude or sense of honour. When you are in the Army, you should live by the Army values. They should be second nature to you, like cleaning your weapon is. Well, maybe not to a pog. But you get my drift. And if you are a military spouse, those same values should be something you aspire to. I try to live by them. Whether I succeed or not I leave to you who know me and are witness to my life. My husband eats them for breakfast and I don't think he could NOT follow them if he tried.
I get it. The Army kills enemies of America. It seems like an oxymoron to suggest that a group of organized killers could be a morally sound group of individuals. But that is what the Army is and should be.
The Army values: read them, learn them, live them or get the fuck out!
Here is my "hit list":
1. wives who fuck around on their husbands
2. FRG volunteers/leaders who do nothing
3. ass kissers, both soldiers and their spouses
4. spouses who wear their husband's rank
5. soldiers who try to fuck married women
6. liars
7. NCOs and officers who screw over their men
8. yes men, officer and NCO (different from the ass-kisser. These assholes are too stupid to understand they should say no sometimes!)
9. wives who bitch about the FRG but do not get involved
10. soldiers who do not know how to wear a fucking beret or their uniform correctly
11. military wives who do let their children run wild (officers' wives are especially bad about this)
12. disrespectful sons of bitches (especially the ones who disrespect veterans like our Golden Rakkasans)
13. officers who carry the concept of RHIP way to fucking far
14. anyone who works at housing
15. that horrible person who decided blood rank was too mean and invented this gay velcro rank
16. e-4s in general. arrogant, lazy, stupid
17. mps
18. cadets
This is by no means a comprehensive list of people who should deserve to be run over by a tank. Just a sampling. But generally speaking, not one of these mother fuckers has an ounce of moral fortitude or sense of honour. When you are in the Army, you should live by the Army values. They should be second nature to you, like cleaning your weapon is. Well, maybe not to a pog. But you get my drift. And if you are a military spouse, those same values should be something you aspire to. I try to live by them. Whether I succeed or not I leave to you who know me and are witness to my life. My husband eats them for breakfast and I don't think he could NOT follow them if he tried.
I get it. The Army kills enemies of America. It seems like an oxymoron to suggest that a group of organized killers could be a morally sound group of individuals. But that is what the Army is and should be.
The Army values: read them, learn them, live them or get the fuck out!
Shut the Hell Up!
I would sincerely hope that the people I call friends would have the balls to tell me to shut the fuck up if I need it. Or that I'm full of shit. Or that I'm just out of my damned mind. I make it a point to surround myself with hateful people--you know, bitches who don't take shit from anyone and would just as soon knock you out as to have to tell you repeatedly that you are as wrong as two boys fucking. I like hateful people. They're fun. But they are also fucking honest!
Sometimes I may come across as a cold-hearted bitch or as some fucking nutjob who thinks she knows everything. I am neither, nor do I wish to appear that way. I'm just very business oriented, believe in taking care of shit NOW and completely, and I have 15 years as an Army wife, so I do know quite a bit. And I can damn sure promise you that if I don't know something, I'll find out pretty fucking fast!
Oh, another quality that I have and use: I'm pretty fucking fearless. If that means going into battalion to grill rear-d, then I'll do that. They may not like me up there, but they damn sure jump when I ask a question. Some of those boys look like deer in the headlights when they see me walk through the door and I've only seen men scatter to the four winds like that when the 1SG was going througha divorce.
And being fearless also means that I am not afraid to piss people off. Housing and Tricare know me and fucking hate my guts. Last deployment, I was up at housing for four different wives no less than twice for each to find out what POA they needed to get on-poste housing. What the fuck!?! How hard is it to get a straight answer? I'm not asking for the moon; just the right goddamn form to get their names on the fucking list. S1 had one, legal had another, BDE had a third and none of them was the right damn form. So I screamed and yelled, chewed out the housing manager, and finally got my wives on the list. But housing now hates me. Oh fucking well.
So maybe I come across as arrogant or bitchy. Doesn't bother me in the least. Think what you will of me. I really couldn't give a fuck less. I do my job. My harem knows they can count on me for whatever they might need and that means their husbands know that their shit will be taken care of. If the boys don't have to worry, they can do their jobs and come home ALIVE! So fuck you very much if you have a problem with me.
Sometimes I may come across as a cold-hearted bitch or as some fucking nutjob who thinks she knows everything. I am neither, nor do I wish to appear that way. I'm just very business oriented, believe in taking care of shit NOW and completely, and I have 15 years as an Army wife, so I do know quite a bit. And I can damn sure promise you that if I don't know something, I'll find out pretty fucking fast!
Oh, another quality that I have and use: I'm pretty fucking fearless. If that means going into battalion to grill rear-d, then I'll do that. They may not like me up there, but they damn sure jump when I ask a question. Some of those boys look like deer in the headlights when they see me walk through the door and I've only seen men scatter to the four winds like that when the 1SG was going througha divorce.
And being fearless also means that I am not afraid to piss people off. Housing and Tricare know me and fucking hate my guts. Last deployment, I was up at housing for four different wives no less than twice for each to find out what POA they needed to get on-poste housing. What the fuck!?! How hard is it to get a straight answer? I'm not asking for the moon; just the right goddamn form to get their names on the fucking list. S1 had one, legal had another, BDE had a third and none of them was the right damn form. So I screamed and yelled, chewed out the housing manager, and finally got my wives on the list. But housing now hates me. Oh fucking well.
So maybe I come across as arrogant or bitchy. Doesn't bother me in the least. Think what you will of me. I really couldn't give a fuck less. I do my job. My harem knows they can count on me for whatever they might need and that means their husbands know that their shit will be taken care of. If the boys don't have to worry, they can do their jobs and come home ALIVE! So fuck you very much if you have a problem with me.
26 November 2010
Here's a Quarter--
I meet all kinds of people in the Army: from single Joe to the 1SG and his wife. One thing all military people have in common, regardless of rank, is we can all find something to bitch about. Always. And 99% of the time, the Army gave us that thing to bitch about. You know, shitty pay, paperwork fuck-ups, waiting for something to happen, the fucking hospital and doctors, the jackass in charge. Whatever. We all bitch.
And then there are the people who you see are calling and you want to dig a hole, fill it with cement and jump in just so you don't have to fucking talk to them. And all you want to say to that person, before they can open then mouth to start whining (because this person doesn't bitch) is, "Go fuck yourself. Please. And for God's sake, quit being such a whiny little bitch!"
Like the wife who tells her deployed husband she wants a divorce. They've been married about 16 months and have a 2 month old (and she's fucked at least 3 other men). Then she calls me in tears when he changes his bank account, revokes her POAs, and only gives her BAH-II and what the state estimates his child support will be. Like I can fix it. Ummmm. . . You made your bed, fucked another man in it, and now you are SOL, psycho whore! Don't come whining to me. Nothing I can do for you, honey. He's giving you everything the Army says he has to.
Or the soldier who is always at sick call because he has an ingrown toenail. Or who calls his sergeant to say how everyone picks on him or he can't leave his wife alone to do his fucking job or that the other sergeants hate him and he wants to kill himself (please, just get a knife and stab yourself). You know, if you have a legitimate problem, I'll be the first one to help. But when a soldier whines at me about something at work and how horrible it is, I ask him what the fuck he did wrong to deserve it, and usually the soldier did do something. Like never fucking do what he's told! Grow the fuck up. Get a pair. Be a man, you fucking whiny pussy!
I cannot stand whiny people (she said whiningly). They bother me. But I have a, idea for combatting the fucktards who insist upon complaining for nothing. From now on, when whiny people call me, I'm going to invite them to come to my house. I'll have an actual coffee with actual fucking coffee (as opposed to my coffee-less coffees--good times!!) And we will all sit around and all of them can fill out the following official military form to be turned in to the appropiate piece of shit officer:
And then there are the people who you see are calling and you want to dig a hole, fill it with cement and jump in just so you don't have to fucking talk to them. And all you want to say to that person, before they can open then mouth to start whining (because this person doesn't bitch) is, "Go fuck yourself. Please. And for God's sake, quit being such a whiny little bitch!"
Like the wife who tells her deployed husband she wants a divorce. They've been married about 16 months and have a 2 month old (and she's fucked at least 3 other men). Then she calls me in tears when he changes his bank account, revokes her POAs, and only gives her BAH-II and what the state estimates his child support will be. Like I can fix it. Ummmm. . . You made your bed, fucked another man in it, and now you are SOL, psycho whore! Don't come whining to me. Nothing I can do for you, honey. He's giving you everything the Army says he has to.
Or the soldier who is always at sick call because he has an ingrown toenail. Or who calls his sergeant to say how everyone picks on him or he can't leave his wife alone to do his fucking job or that the other sergeants hate him and he wants to kill himself (please, just get a knife and stab yourself). You know, if you have a legitimate problem, I'll be the first one to help. But when a soldier whines at me about something at work and how horrible it is, I ask him what the fuck he did wrong to deserve it, and usually the soldier did do something. Like never fucking do what he's told! Grow the fuck up. Get a pair. Be a man, you fucking whiny pussy!
I cannot stand whiny people (she said whiningly). They bother me. But I have a, idea for combatting the fucktards who insist upon complaining for nothing. From now on, when whiny people call me, I'm going to invite them to come to my house. I'll have an actual coffee with actual fucking coffee (as opposed to my coffee-less coffees--good times!!) And we will all sit around and all of them can fill out the following official military form to be turned in to the appropiate piece of shit officer:
22 November 2010
Good? Bad?
"I'm the guy with the gun!" If that moody asshole continues to call me at insane hours from 10,000 miles away just to give me a list of shit he's pissed off about or that he wants me to do, I'm gonna be the BITCH with a gun! And I'm bringing it to the Welcome Home Ceremony, baby! Leave me the fuck alone!
Maybe it's just me. Maybe I bring out this psychotic bi-polar side of my husband or maybe it's his NTBS (no tolerance for bullshit) kicking in and I just happen to be in the line of fire. All I know is that one phone call is "OH, baby, I love you and I miss you and I'm so proud of you and I'm so lucky to have to you." Blah, blah, blah. And the next call is, "What the fuck did you do that for? And where's my goddamn dip? Didn't you send it?"
MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND!!!
Either I'm the greatest thing since the wheel or I'm a useless ass-wipe. Decide. You are making me insane! And believe me, I do NOT need any help with that! I am perfectly capable of becoming insane on my own, fuck you very much!
I love my husband. . . I love my husband. . . I love my husband. . . I love my husband. . . I love my husband. . . If I keep repeating it, maybe I won't yell at him next time he calls or try to kill him when he gets home. That would be bad. There are lots of people at Welcome Home Ceremonies--hence, lots of witnesses!!
I do love my husband. I really do. And when he is good, he is very, very good, but when he is bad, he is HORRID!!! And then I hate him. And want him to die. Slowly. Painfully. In front of me.
Oh well. Another day, another chance for a phone call from my love. And who will it be today? The good one? The bad one? It's like playing Russian roulette picking up the phone when he calls. It could go either way.
So today was happy day. In fact, he used the word "chipper" which is fucking scary. Who the hell are you and God help me the next time you call. I'm sure it will be Asshole Husband calling and not Nice Guy Husband.
Fuck me.
Maybe it's just me. Maybe I bring out this psychotic bi-polar side of my husband or maybe it's his NTBS (no tolerance for bullshit) kicking in and I just happen to be in the line of fire. All I know is that one phone call is "OH, baby, I love you and I miss you and I'm so proud of you and I'm so lucky to have to you." Blah, blah, blah. And the next call is, "What the fuck did you do that for? And where's my goddamn dip? Didn't you send it?"
MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND!!!
Either I'm the greatest thing since the wheel or I'm a useless ass-wipe. Decide. You are making me insane! And believe me, I do NOT need any help with that! I am perfectly capable of becoming insane on my own, fuck you very much!
I love my husband. . . I love my husband. . . I love my husband. . . I love my husband. . . I love my husband. . . If I keep repeating it, maybe I won't yell at him next time he calls or try to kill him when he gets home. That would be bad. There are lots of people at Welcome Home Ceremonies--hence, lots of witnesses!!
I do love my husband. I really do. And when he is good, he is very, very good, but when he is bad, he is HORRID!!! And then I hate him. And want him to die. Slowly. Painfully. In front of me.
Oh well. Another day, another chance for a phone call from my love. And who will it be today? The good one? The bad one? It's like playing Russian roulette picking up the phone when he calls. It could go either way.
So today was happy day. In fact, he used the word "chipper" which is fucking scary. Who the hell are you and God help me the next time you call. I'm sure it will be Asshole Husband calling and not Nice Guy Husband.
Fuck me.
21 November 2010
Happy Thanks for Nothing Day
More commonly heard among the civilian populace as "Happy Thanksgiving!" but I definitely prefer my version of greeting for this upcoming holiday. I am grateful for my children, my health, my parents and siblings, and my friends, but the overwhelming feeling on this specific holiday is piss off. Stateside we spend a week baking and cooking for one meal, when the boys overseas are lucky to even get a hot meal. Thanksgiving does nothing but remind me of what the boys are missing: family, friends, holiday goodies, gifts, not getting shot at. . . It's only the beginning of a holiday season that I would rather fucking ignore, but that I have children and can't.
Here we are entering yet another fucking holiday season with the hubby 10,000 miles away in a shit hole country dealing with a stupid fucking CoC and the ever present opportunity to come home in a body bag. Fuck the holidays and FUCK THE ARMY!
I am so over this deployment shit. And I get to attempt to yet again put on a happy face for the sake of my kids when I would much rather crawl in the bottom of a bottle for the next two months. Why can't I just be semi-comatose and wave at the holidays as they roll on by. Or can we just skip the fuckers altogether? Wave a magic wand and arrive in January? That would be fan-fucking-tastic!
So Happy Fucking Thanksgiving to you all! There are many things to be thankful for, but the Army likes to fuck people up the ass and repeatedly leave families without their soldiers for these "family" holidays. Not much there to be thankful for--unless you want to discount the whole distance thing and just run with the fact that at least he's still alive and one day closer to getting his ass back where it belongs: with his family! Morbid, I know. But Thanksgiving without my husband really is just another fucking day in this fucking deployment.
Here we are entering yet another fucking holiday season with the hubby 10,000 miles away in a shit hole country dealing with a stupid fucking CoC and the ever present opportunity to come home in a body bag. Fuck the holidays and FUCK THE ARMY!
I am so over this deployment shit. And I get to attempt to yet again put on a happy face for the sake of my kids when I would much rather crawl in the bottom of a bottle for the next two months. Why can't I just be semi-comatose and wave at the holidays as they roll on by. Or can we just skip the fuckers altogether? Wave a magic wand and arrive in January? That would be fan-fucking-tastic!
So Happy Fucking Thanksgiving to you all! There are many things to be thankful for, but the Army likes to fuck people up the ass and repeatedly leave families without their soldiers for these "family" holidays. Not much there to be thankful for--unless you want to discount the whole distance thing and just run with the fact that at least he's still alive and one day closer to getting his ass back where it belongs: with his family! Morbid, I know. But Thanksgiving without my husband really is just another fucking day in this fucking deployment.
20 November 2010
Ass vs. Hole in the Ground
Definition of Ranks:
General--Leaps tall buildings in a single bound, is more powerful than a locomotive, is faster than a speeding bullet, walks on water amid typhoons, gives policy to God.
Colonel--Leaps short buildings in a single bound, is more powerful than a switch engine, is just as fast as a speeding bullet, walks on water if sea is calm, talks to God.
Lt. Colonel--Leaps short buildings with a running start and favourable winds, is almost as powerful as a switch engine, is faster than a speeding BB, walks on water in indoor swimming polls, talks to God if a DA-4187 request form is approved.
Major--Barely clears a Quonset hut, loses tug-of-war with a switch engine, can fire a speeding bullet, swims well, is occasionally addressed by God.
Captain--Makes high marks by trying to leap buildings, is run over by a locomotive, can sometimes handle a gun without inflicting self-injury, dog paddles, talks to God.
1st Lieutenant--Runs into buildings, recognizes locomotives two out of three times, is not issued ammunition, can stay afloat if properly instructed, talks to walls.
2nd Lieutenant--Falls over doorstep when trying to enter buildings, says "Look at the Choo-Choo," makes a wonderful target on the range, plays in mud puddles, mumbles to himself.
Sergeant--Lifts tall buildings and walks under them, kicks locomotives off the tracks, catches speeding bullets in his teeth and eats them, freezes water with a single glance, HE IS GOD.
Disclaimer: There are exceptions to very rule, and we've all met some of those exceptions--from the LT who kicks ass and takes names and the colonel who couldn't find his ass if you gave him grid coordinates and a GPS to the buck sergeant or sergeant major who is not God (even though he thinks he is), but Satan incarnate and needs to have a 203 round dropped on his head.
All I'm going to say is that my sergeant, the love of my life, the man I married, is God to his men--not God in his own mind--and would die (or kill) for any one of his men. This is for the boys (and I hope the definitions made you laugh): we are here for you if you need us. We truly love you all. And for anyone who would hurt our boys, we will FUCK YOU UP!! Just saying. . .
General--Leaps tall buildings in a single bound, is more powerful than a locomotive, is faster than a speeding bullet, walks on water amid typhoons, gives policy to God.
Colonel--Leaps short buildings in a single bound, is more powerful than a switch engine, is just as fast as a speeding bullet, walks on water if sea is calm, talks to God.
Lt. Colonel--Leaps short buildings with a running start and favourable winds, is almost as powerful as a switch engine, is faster than a speeding BB, walks on water in indoor swimming polls, talks to God if a DA-4187 request form is approved.
Major--Barely clears a Quonset hut, loses tug-of-war with a switch engine, can fire a speeding bullet, swims well, is occasionally addressed by God.
Captain--Makes high marks by trying to leap buildings, is run over by a locomotive, can sometimes handle a gun without inflicting self-injury, dog paddles, talks to God.
1st Lieutenant--Runs into buildings, recognizes locomotives two out of three times, is not issued ammunition, can stay afloat if properly instructed, talks to walls.
2nd Lieutenant--Falls over doorstep when trying to enter buildings, says "Look at the Choo-Choo," makes a wonderful target on the range, plays in mud puddles, mumbles to himself.
Sergeant--Lifts tall buildings and walks under them, kicks locomotives off the tracks, catches speeding bullets in his teeth and eats them, freezes water with a single glance, HE IS GOD.
Disclaimer: There are exceptions to very rule, and we've all met some of those exceptions--from the LT who kicks ass and takes names and the colonel who couldn't find his ass if you gave him grid coordinates and a GPS to the buck sergeant or sergeant major who is not God (even though he thinks he is), but Satan incarnate and needs to have a 203 round dropped on his head.
All I'm going to say is that my sergeant, the love of my life, the man I married, is God to his men--not God in his own mind--and would die (or kill) for any one of his men. This is for the boys (and I hope the definitions made you laugh): we are here for you if you need us. We truly love you all. And for anyone who would hurt our boys, we will FUCK YOU UP!! Just saying. . .
17 November 2010
BOHICA!!
We've all met them: soldiers who think that the more rank they have, the more god-like they are. Dirty, back stabbing mother fuckers, the lot of them. What is it about gaining rank that makes some jackasses think that their shit doesn't stink? Or that they fuck other soldiers in the ass at their whim?
A good soldier, a good NCO and a good officer all have several qualities in common. They take care of the men that are under them. They use their rank and authority to protect the men they serve with and to better the unit they serve in. They are the first one to show up at work and the last to leave. They will take being screamed at if it means doing right by their men. They never ask another soldier to do what they are not willing to do themselves. Advancing their own career is an afterthought--in fact, being promoted and being put in a position away from the men makes them angry. They live, eat, breathe and sleep the Army values. These are the qualities of a great soldier.
And then there are the other kind. Pieces of shit. Bastards. They live only to serve themselves and will fuck over (or literally fuck) whoever they have to if it makes them look better. They use their rank as bait to attract people who normally wouldn't give them the time of day. They have their nose so far up higher ranking people's asses that all they see is brown. And if you are unfortunate enough to be lower ranking than them, they will use you as a footstool to advance themselves or a scapegoat to cover their own fuck-ups. These kinds of soldiers can only be called pieces of shit! Complete and utter disgraces to the uniform they wear. Worthless fucks who don't give a damn about morals or the Army values.
Fuck them all to hell and back again.
All I can say is : Karma's a BITCH!!!
A good soldier, a good NCO and a good officer all have several qualities in common. They take care of the men that are under them. They use their rank and authority to protect the men they serve with and to better the unit they serve in. They are the first one to show up at work and the last to leave. They will take being screamed at if it means doing right by their men. They never ask another soldier to do what they are not willing to do themselves. Advancing their own career is an afterthought--in fact, being promoted and being put in a position away from the men makes them angry. They live, eat, breathe and sleep the Army values. These are the qualities of a great soldier.
And then there are the other kind. Pieces of shit. Bastards. They live only to serve themselves and will fuck over (or literally fuck) whoever they have to if it makes them look better. They use their rank as bait to attract people who normally wouldn't give them the time of day. They have their nose so far up higher ranking people's asses that all they see is brown. And if you are unfortunate enough to be lower ranking than them, they will use you as a footstool to advance themselves or a scapegoat to cover their own fuck-ups. These kinds of soldiers can only be called pieces of shit! Complete and utter disgraces to the uniform they wear. Worthless fucks who don't give a damn about morals or the Army values.
Fuck them all to hell and back again.
All I can say is : Karma's a BITCH!!!
16 November 2010
I Hate Him. . .
OK. That's not true at all. There are times when I want to fucking kill my husband, but I really do love him. I'm just remembering all the phones calls I got before deployment from wives wanting to know what the fuck was wrong with their husband because he was being a total asshole. And before deployment, the guys do turn into assholes. Well, bigger ones than usual anyway.
The guys act like assholes because they are doing their damnedest to distance themselves emotionally before they leave on deployment. And I don't think they even fucking realize what they are doing. As they said in Boondock Saints II, "Fuck it! Do it all I say! Do you think Duke Wayne spent all of his time talking about his feelings with a fuckin' therapist? There's no fucking way he did!
John Wayne died with five pounds of undigested red meat in his ass. Now that's a man! Real men hide their feelings. Why? Because it's none of your fuckin' business!
Men do not cry. Men do not pout. Men jack you in the fuckin' jaw and say...
Thanks for comin' out."
My husband doesn't typically start acting like an ass before deployment. He finds things to keep him busy and distracted from the impending separation. This last time, it was the Impala. For two weeks before they left, my husband had boys over nightly, playing with a welder and putting new floor pans into the 1966 piece of shit Impala in the garage, which he swears will be awesome and worth $50K by the time he's done with it. Whatever. Working on the car meant that he could distance himself from the family, get drunk with the boys, play with power tools, make a HUGE fucking mess, and then come in exhausted and go to sleep. The two weeks before a deployment, I can pretty much guarantee that I won't be getting laid. Every fucking time.
I mention this because redeployment is fast approaching and the guys do the complete opposite of what they did before they left. It's another fucking honeymoon. For a month or so. . .
And then the shit will hit the fan. Asshole mode times ten! They all do it. And we all become bitches, the kind of bitch we would punch if the face if we met her. He has to readjust to being in the real world and we have to learn to let go of being in charge of everything. Easier said than done. I know a LOT of people who have made it through deployment only to get divorced after that honeymoon stage is past. It sucks but it's true.
So ladies, remember that your husband isn't the only one who is going to have to readjust to life as part of a couple; you will too. You have to let him be a part of your family again, and not just the fun parts--you know, playing with the kids, going out, vacation, watching movies, company. You have to let him take back some of the things he used to do that you have been responsible for for a year now. It's not easy, but marriage isn't always flowers and champagne. I promise, it's worth the effort. Fifteen years and counting. . .
And I still love the bastard and call him my best friend.
The guys act like assholes because they are doing their damnedest to distance themselves emotionally before they leave on deployment. And I don't think they even fucking realize what they are doing. As they said in Boondock Saints II, "Fuck it! Do it all I say! Do you think Duke Wayne spent all of his time talking about his feelings with a fuckin' therapist? There's no fucking way he did!
John Wayne died with five pounds of undigested red meat in his ass. Now that's a man! Real men hide their feelings. Why? Because it's none of your fuckin' business!
Men do not cry. Men do not pout. Men jack you in the fuckin' jaw and say...
Thanks for comin' out."
My husband doesn't typically start acting like an ass before deployment. He finds things to keep him busy and distracted from the impending separation. This last time, it was the Impala. For two weeks before they left, my husband had boys over nightly, playing with a welder and putting new floor pans into the 1966 piece of shit Impala in the garage, which he swears will be awesome and worth $50K by the time he's done with it. Whatever. Working on the car meant that he could distance himself from the family, get drunk with the boys, play with power tools, make a HUGE fucking mess, and then come in exhausted and go to sleep. The two weeks before a deployment, I can pretty much guarantee that I won't be getting laid. Every fucking time.
I mention this because redeployment is fast approaching and the guys do the complete opposite of what they did before they left. It's another fucking honeymoon. For a month or so. . .
And then the shit will hit the fan. Asshole mode times ten! They all do it. And we all become bitches, the kind of bitch we would punch if the face if we met her. He has to readjust to being in the real world and we have to learn to let go of being in charge of everything. Easier said than done. I know a LOT of people who have made it through deployment only to get divorced after that honeymoon stage is past. It sucks but it's true.
So ladies, remember that your husband isn't the only one who is going to have to readjust to life as part of a couple; you will too. You have to let him be a part of your family again, and not just the fun parts--you know, playing with the kids, going out, vacation, watching movies, company. You have to let him take back some of the things he used to do that you have been responsible for for a year now. It's not easy, but marriage isn't always flowers and champagne. I promise, it's worth the effort. Fifteen years and counting. . .
And I still love the bastard and call him my best friend.
13 November 2010
The Kate
Today I got reminded that a hell of a lot of people stand in awe of me for some reason. One of my very good friends ran into another wife from the company (who I have never met, by the way) and mentioned that she and I were friends. The wife's reply? "Kate!?!" with a look of awe that my friend was on such good terms with me. Apparently, I am famous in the unit. Probably infamous would be a better word.
This incident, related to me by my friend with a good deal of laughter (Fuck you, E), got me to thinking: why do people hold me in such high regard? Am I just that fucking awesome? Is there something about me that inspires confidence or do people just think that I'm a bitch you wouldn't want to cross? What? And I have come to this conclusion: it isn't me. It isn't Kate that people look up to or admire or fear. It is the personae of an Army wife who is tough yet caring. It has nothing to do with Kate the person.
SO what exactly are the qualities of an outstanding Army wife?
1. Tough- She can run her house, deal with kids, juggle bills, and tackle any situation even when her husband is 10,000 miles away. Nothing ever seems to catch her off-guard. She is a rock.
2. Rank schmank- She doesn't care what rank her husband wears or what rank anyone else wears. Rank is used only as a means of addressing a soldier. She knows she is just a wife like all the other wives and that all of us have the same worries and problems. And she lets it be known that those wives who do try to wear their husband's rank can go fuck themselves. She has no tolerance for the whose husband's dick is bigger game.
3. Proud- She is proud of her soldier and proud of his unit. Nothing can change this: not the rumor mill, not the chain of command, not a jerk NCO. Her husband is her hero and anyone who says otherwise gets a "FUCK YOU!" to the face. Done. Now, if her husband does fuck up, she'll be the first one to tell him he's a piece of shit.
4. Compassionate- She actually gives a damn about the soldiers and families she meets. Not an "I'm so sorry. Now go away," but a genuine concern for whatever problem someone may be having. The kind of wife that will tell off housing for being fuck-offs or call out the CoC for dropping the ball. She won't just stand by while people get fucked over and she will go that extra mile to do whatever she can. She also has the entire platoon over for Thanksgiving when they can't get leave or for a weekend BBQ and lets everyone get piss-ass drunk (after she steals their keys!)
5. Knowledgeable- All the time she's spent as an Army wife are years she's spent learning how the Army operates and she'll use that knowledge to mentor new wives. You really can expect her to have the answer or to able to get an answer. She just fucking knows it all. (And if she doesn't know, you can damn sure bet that bitch will have an answer by 1600 that day!)
I really think that's what people see when they look at or talk about "Kate." They don't really see me. If they did, they would know that I am a psycho bitch and would run screaming in the opposite direction. I am far from being this exemplary Army wife. I try to be all the things in that list up there, but I am not sure how successful I really am at being all those things. I certainly don't deserve any kind of recognition or admiration. I'm just an Army wife trying to make it through deployment and trying to make sure my harem makes it through, too. If we all come out the other side sane, I say MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!
This incident, related to me by my friend with a good deal of laughter (Fuck you, E), got me to thinking: why do people hold me in such high regard? Am I just that fucking awesome? Is there something about me that inspires confidence or do people just think that I'm a bitch you wouldn't want to cross? What? And I have come to this conclusion: it isn't me. It isn't Kate that people look up to or admire or fear. It is the personae of an Army wife who is tough yet caring. It has nothing to do with Kate the person.
SO what exactly are the qualities of an outstanding Army wife?
1. Tough- She can run her house, deal with kids, juggle bills, and tackle any situation even when her husband is 10,000 miles away. Nothing ever seems to catch her off-guard. She is a rock.
2. Rank schmank- She doesn't care what rank her husband wears or what rank anyone else wears. Rank is used only as a means of addressing a soldier. She knows she is just a wife like all the other wives and that all of us have the same worries and problems. And she lets it be known that those wives who do try to wear their husband's rank can go fuck themselves. She has no tolerance for the whose husband's dick is bigger game.
3. Proud- She is proud of her soldier and proud of his unit. Nothing can change this: not the rumor mill, not the chain of command, not a jerk NCO. Her husband is her hero and anyone who says otherwise gets a "FUCK YOU!" to the face. Done. Now, if her husband does fuck up, she'll be the first one to tell him he's a piece of shit.
4. Compassionate- She actually gives a damn about the soldiers and families she meets. Not an "I'm so sorry. Now go away," but a genuine concern for whatever problem someone may be having. The kind of wife that will tell off housing for being fuck-offs or call out the CoC for dropping the ball. She won't just stand by while people get fucked over and she will go that extra mile to do whatever she can. She also has the entire platoon over for Thanksgiving when they can't get leave or for a weekend BBQ and lets everyone get piss-ass drunk (after she steals their keys!)
5. Knowledgeable- All the time she's spent as an Army wife are years she's spent learning how the Army operates and she'll use that knowledge to mentor new wives. You really can expect her to have the answer or to able to get an answer. She just fucking knows it all. (And if she doesn't know, you can damn sure bet that bitch will have an answer by 1600 that day!)
I really think that's what people see when they look at or talk about "Kate." They don't really see me. If they did, they would know that I am a psycho bitch and would run screaming in the opposite direction. I am far from being this exemplary Army wife. I try to be all the things in that list up there, but I am not sure how successful I really am at being all those things. I certainly don't deserve any kind of recognition or admiration. I'm just an Army wife trying to make it through deployment and trying to make sure my harem makes it through, too. If we all come out the other side sane, I say MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!
11 November 2010
It's Greek to Me. . .
Now, if you don't know me very well, you probably don't know that I was studying to go into the ministry when I met my husband. You probably don't know that I cuss like an infantryman. Or that my husband now kills people for a living. Ironic, isn't it? But I think the thing that would really surprise people is that while I am not racist, hearing the words "Praise Allah!" makes me laugh my fucking ass off!
This whole War on Terror kills me. Just makes me laugh. And not because I think that it is not a noble or honorable cause or that the fuckers who brought death to America's shores don't deserve to die in a hail of gunfire. . . I am 110% behind the cause of this war and the men who are boots on the ground fighting it. It's the Islam thing that gives me the giggles. And I swear I am not a racist.
Let me explain: In college, I had to take Ancient Greek for my religion major. I was the only female in a class of about 25 guys and I am not an ugly female. Every week we had vocabulary tests, just like you do in French or Spanish. The particular week I have in mind, we were learning articles and conjunctions, like as, but, for, and and. Absolute hell. Did you know there are 30 ways to say the word "the" in Ancient Greek. It depends on singular or plural, gender, and usage in the sentence. Complete and total mind fuck trying to remember that shit.
Anyway, we used the same stupid tricks anyone trying to learn a foreign language uses. Repetition. Rhymes. Word Associations.
It's the word associations that got me into trouble. We're all trying to remember that "the" is ho, hay, ho, hoy, hi, tah. . . and ki means and, and alla means but. I sit in the front row and after our prof released us, I headed on out the door followed closely by 25 men, to include my husband, when I hear a commotion behind me. I turn to find 25 guys on their knees, bowing down screaming, "Praise alla!"
See?? I am not a racist. I just happen to have a very nice ass. . .
This whole War on Terror kills me. Just makes me laugh. And not because I think that it is not a noble or honorable cause or that the fuckers who brought death to America's shores don't deserve to die in a hail of gunfire. . . I am 110% behind the cause of this war and the men who are boots on the ground fighting it. It's the Islam thing that gives me the giggles. And I swear I am not a racist.
Let me explain: In college, I had to take Ancient Greek for my religion major. I was the only female in a class of about 25 guys and I am not an ugly female. Every week we had vocabulary tests, just like you do in French or Spanish. The particular week I have in mind, we were learning articles and conjunctions, like as, but, for, and and. Absolute hell. Did you know there are 30 ways to say the word "the" in Ancient Greek. It depends on singular or plural, gender, and usage in the sentence. Complete and total mind fuck trying to remember that shit.
Anyway, we used the same stupid tricks anyone trying to learn a foreign language uses. Repetition. Rhymes. Word Associations.
It's the word associations that got me into trouble. We're all trying to remember that "the" is ho, hay, ho, hoy, hi, tah. . . and ki means and, and alla means but. I sit in the front row and after our prof released us, I headed on out the door followed closely by 25 men, to include my husband, when I hear a commotion behind me. I turn to find 25 guys on their knees, bowing down screaming, "Praise alla!"
See?? I am not a racist. I just happen to have a very nice ass. . .
Grace Under Fire
OK. So Army wives don't technically come under fire, but fuck me, isn't all the shit we have to deal with comparable in some ways to being in a war zone?? Don't the terror we experience for our husbands, the psycho wives we encounter, obnoxious children we wrangle, the headaches we get from the Army being stupid count in any way toward us being able to say that we are under fire?
Deployment is a constant battle for spouses left behind-a battle to maintain our sanity, stay strong for our families, to make a somewhat normal life for our children. We struggle with these things for a year at a time with no loving husband to hold us in his arms and say, "It will be OK." Who do we have to lean on?
Some people pray and that's all well and good. I pray myself. A LOT! But I find that God is a poor substitute sometimes for a shoulder to cry on or another person to vent at. There are times during deployment when it seems like life would be easier if there was no husband to worry about and no kids to try to control. Sometimes it seems like it will never end and we will be stuck at the bottom of this shitty rabbit hole forever. And it's times like these when we wives need the strength and courage of our friends and fellow Army wives to pull us through.
I have seen wives who cry at the drop of a hat and wives who can't seem to take charge of their own lives. I have seen women hide in their homes and try to deny what is going on and others who bury themselves in a bottle to ignore the fact that they are alone. I have seen it all. Drugs. Fucking around on their husbands. Near suicidal behavior. Neglecting their children. But I am happy to say, that these women are the exception to the rule.
Most of the wives I have met this deployment are handling the shit storm that is deployment with immense grace and integrity. They go out. They take care of their kids. They may have the occassional drinking binge or smoke like a fucking dragon (that would be me), but they are handling their business. They manage to juggle bills, kids, school, jobs, loneliness, and fear with only sporadic contact with their husbands. And when it all gets to be too much, they find another wife to cry to or bitch at.
These women, these great wives, are the unsung heroes I would like to honor. Army spouses usually get a bad rap, but these women are outstanding human beings and deserve far better than the lot they have drawn (a lot which any one of them would tell you they wouldn't trade for the world). In spite of all the shitty circumstances and the overwhelming emotions that a deployment inevitably brings on, these women not only survive: They inspire other wives to not just make it through deployment, but to conquer deployment.
So, to my harem, you are my heroes! You inspire me to do more and be a better Army wife. Thank you all and Happy Veteran's Day to the unsung hero: the Army Wife.
Deployment is a constant battle for spouses left behind-a battle to maintain our sanity, stay strong for our families, to make a somewhat normal life for our children. We struggle with these things for a year at a time with no loving husband to hold us in his arms and say, "It will be OK." Who do we have to lean on?
Some people pray and that's all well and good. I pray myself. A LOT! But I find that God is a poor substitute sometimes for a shoulder to cry on or another person to vent at. There are times during deployment when it seems like life would be easier if there was no husband to worry about and no kids to try to control. Sometimes it seems like it will never end and we will be stuck at the bottom of this shitty rabbit hole forever. And it's times like these when we wives need the strength and courage of our friends and fellow Army wives to pull us through.
I have seen wives who cry at the drop of a hat and wives who can't seem to take charge of their own lives. I have seen women hide in their homes and try to deny what is going on and others who bury themselves in a bottle to ignore the fact that they are alone. I have seen it all. Drugs. Fucking around on their husbands. Near suicidal behavior. Neglecting their children. But I am happy to say, that these women are the exception to the rule.
Most of the wives I have met this deployment are handling the shit storm that is deployment with immense grace and integrity. They go out. They take care of their kids. They may have the occassional drinking binge or smoke like a fucking dragon (that would be me), but they are handling their business. They manage to juggle bills, kids, school, jobs, loneliness, and fear with only sporadic contact with their husbands. And when it all gets to be too much, they find another wife to cry to or bitch at.
These women, these great wives, are the unsung heroes I would like to honor. Army spouses usually get a bad rap, but these women are outstanding human beings and deserve far better than the lot they have drawn (a lot which any one of them would tell you they wouldn't trade for the world). In spite of all the shitty circumstances and the overwhelming emotions that a deployment inevitably brings on, these women not only survive: They inspire other wives to not just make it through deployment, but to conquer deployment.
So, to my harem, you are my heroes! You inspire me to do more and be a better Army wife. Thank you all and Happy Veteran's Day to the unsung hero: the Army Wife.
07 November 2010
Down the Rabbit-Hole
"The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well." Lewis Carroll
That's deployment in a nutshell. It goes on and on and just when you think there's a light at the end of the tunnel, you find yourself falling down a very deep well of depression. You start off deployment in a state of denial and then into depression, then anger and then the halfway mark hits. And oh the joy that floods my soul!! Seriously. That halfway mark is the best part of deployment. It's exciting to think that it's half gone and then reality comes back and bites you in the ass. Fuck! Especially about now.
Month 10 is the "Is this Mother Fucking Deployment Ever Going to Fucking End?" Month. God, just kill me now. I can't do it anymore. The fucking thing goes on and on, like a goddamn carnival ride. Up. Down. Up. Down. Fuck me sideways. I nearly cry every time he calls, and I don't fucking cry. I am a rock, but I swear it feels like he's never going to come home. The end is in sight, but the bastard Army won't tell me when exactly that end will be. If I had a date to mark on the calendar, it might make things easier. But the Army's 2 favorite games are Hurry Up and Wait and It's Fun Fucking with Wives.
So we aren't just waiting for them to come home. We're waiting for a date. Wait and wait some more. And don't ask questions that require specific answers, because the Army won't give them. So it's fucking depressing and everyone is going through it. Months 10 and 11 are the worst. Month 11 is "Just fucking tell me already" Month. So hold on tight. We get to enjoy these two joyful months along with the holidays that we have to celebrate alone. Fuckers. How the hell am I supposed to get motivated to celebrate a family holiday with the best part of my family 10,000 miles away? I know how. I'm going to get fucking drunk, piss a bunch of people off, and smoke like a fiend. Hello, Katie Hyde.
On an happier note, we only have 2 months, give or take a little with the Army's timeline, before we will have a more concrete time frame for the boys to be home. Oh goody. I can hardly wait. Until then, ladies, crawl in the bottom of that bottle, stock up on smokes and tissue, and prepare for the shit storm of emotion to hit if it hasn't already. Or grab some wine and head on over to my place. Bring the kids! We can drink and bitch at each other. We all know the Army couldn't give a fuck less how we feel. Might as well have a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.
That's deployment in a nutshell. It goes on and on and just when you think there's a light at the end of the tunnel, you find yourself falling down a very deep well of depression. You start off deployment in a state of denial and then into depression, then anger and then the halfway mark hits. And oh the joy that floods my soul!! Seriously. That halfway mark is the best part of deployment. It's exciting to think that it's half gone and then reality comes back and bites you in the ass. Fuck! Especially about now.
Month 10 is the "Is this Mother Fucking Deployment Ever Going to Fucking End?" Month. God, just kill me now. I can't do it anymore. The fucking thing goes on and on, like a goddamn carnival ride. Up. Down. Up. Down. Fuck me sideways. I nearly cry every time he calls, and I don't fucking cry. I am a rock, but I swear it feels like he's never going to come home. The end is in sight, but the bastard Army won't tell me when exactly that end will be. If I had a date to mark on the calendar, it might make things easier. But the Army's 2 favorite games are Hurry Up and Wait and It's Fun Fucking with Wives.
So we aren't just waiting for them to come home. We're waiting for a date. Wait and wait some more. And don't ask questions that require specific answers, because the Army won't give them. So it's fucking depressing and everyone is going through it. Months 10 and 11 are the worst. Month 11 is "Just fucking tell me already" Month. So hold on tight. We get to enjoy these two joyful months along with the holidays that we have to celebrate alone. Fuckers. How the hell am I supposed to get motivated to celebrate a family holiday with the best part of my family 10,000 miles away? I know how. I'm going to get fucking drunk, piss a bunch of people off, and smoke like a fiend. Hello, Katie Hyde.
On an happier note, we only have 2 months, give or take a little with the Army's timeline, before we will have a more concrete time frame for the boys to be home. Oh goody. I can hardly wait. Until then, ladies, crawl in the bottom of that bottle, stock up on smokes and tissue, and prepare for the shit storm of emotion to hit if it hasn't already. Or grab some wine and head on over to my place. Bring the kids! We can drink and bitch at each other. We all know the Army couldn't give a fuck less how we feel. Might as well have a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.
04 November 2010
Liar, Liar
I fucking hate liars. And I imagine that people saw the title and are looking to get some good and juicy dirt on some stupid whore. Not the case, so you can quit reading now if you want. Some crazy bitch is a liar, but I wouldn't classify myself as a whore. Crazy, yes. Whore, no. However, I did manage to tell a lie. A huge one to myself and since I've been blogging a lot lately, I managed to lie to everyone who read this shit as well. Fuck me.
Here's my confession: If you are a regular reader, you know that I was bitching not too long ago about how I don't need a fucking man around and that I can do anything to include fixing major appliances by myself and men are assholes who are pointless, useless wastes of space. I think I said the only thing I needed my husband around for was sex. I have since come to the conclusion that I have been deluding myself and that while I may not need him technically, I do need him. Damn it.
Allow me to explain myself. Maybe then you can all forgive me. I don't need him around to do shit. I can take care of shit on my own. Whatever crisis comes my way, I can handle it somehow or someway. What I do need him around for is sanity, moral support, adult conversation, and nights like the past week's worth of nights when I am coughing up a fucking lung and have a houseful of sick kids, one of whom is 15 months old and is up 2-3 times a night for an hour at a time because he is teething and has enough snot up his nose to sink the fucking Titanic. I want to sleep and having the husband around to get up with the puking 5 year old or snag the baby would be fan-fucking-tastic!! But NO!!!!!!
The Army has him 10,000 miles away and I am stuck here alone in a river of snot, shit and vomit without a paddle and not a chance in hell of getting a decent night's sleep. Needless to say, I am bitchy to the nth degree. So fucking with me right now is NOT a good idea and my teenagers are doing their valiant best to never come out of their rooms where they might have to face the psycho bitch their mother has become.
So there it is. I lied. I DO need the motherfucker that I married to be here. I need my husband and I am wishing in one hand and shitting in the other if I think that I'm going to get him any time soon. Still a quarter of deployment left to go and if I'm still sane by the time he gets home, it will be a fucking miracle.
One more confession: I actually miss the son of a bitch, too. And not just his penis. I mean, I miss his penis, too (a lot). But I actually miss the man. My confidant, the other half of my brain, my friend. Fucking hell. God, deployment sucks.
Here's my confession: If you are a regular reader, you know that I was bitching not too long ago about how I don't need a fucking man around and that I can do anything to include fixing major appliances by myself and men are assholes who are pointless, useless wastes of space. I think I said the only thing I needed my husband around for was sex. I have since come to the conclusion that I have been deluding myself and that while I may not need him technically, I do need him. Damn it.
Allow me to explain myself. Maybe then you can all forgive me. I don't need him around to do shit. I can take care of shit on my own. Whatever crisis comes my way, I can handle it somehow or someway. What I do need him around for is sanity, moral support, adult conversation, and nights like the past week's worth of nights when I am coughing up a fucking lung and have a houseful of sick kids, one of whom is 15 months old and is up 2-3 times a night for an hour at a time because he is teething and has enough snot up his nose to sink the fucking Titanic. I want to sleep and having the husband around to get up with the puking 5 year old or snag the baby would be fan-fucking-tastic!! But NO!!!!!!
The Army has him 10,000 miles away and I am stuck here alone in a river of snot, shit and vomit without a paddle and not a chance in hell of getting a decent night's sleep. Needless to say, I am bitchy to the nth degree. So fucking with me right now is NOT a good idea and my teenagers are doing their valiant best to never come out of their rooms where they might have to face the psycho bitch their mother has become.
So there it is. I lied. I DO need the motherfucker that I married to be here. I need my husband and I am wishing in one hand and shitting in the other if I think that I'm going to get him any time soon. Still a quarter of deployment left to go and if I'm still sane by the time he gets home, it will be a fucking miracle.
One more confession: I actually miss the son of a bitch, too. And not just his penis. I mean, I miss his penis, too (a lot). But I actually miss the man. My confidant, the other half of my brain, my friend. Fucking hell. God, deployment sucks.
03 November 2010
The Big O???
You know when you're in the throes of passion, making love with your husband and then he's just done and you're left there thinking, "What the fuck? That was a waste of time." Yeah. Well, that's how I've been feeling about everything concerning this deployment lately. They get me all excited and worked up and then leave me hanging without getting my big climax. Who knew that the Army could leave you feeling sexually frustrated, but that's the only way I can think to describe it. Fuckers.
The big meeting was a waste of time and energy. No news beyond the usual hurry up and wait and the boys are in a shithole. Rear-d doing their usual we would love to help but we have no follow through. And the CoC doing the you aren't important enough to give a fuck about thing. Yeah. Completely useless and utterly disappointing. At some point you are going to have to give me my orgasm or I am getting a divorce.
Someday, someone will get their head out of their fourth point of contact and decide to bring back the glory days of the Rakkasans, when family really did matter and the main object of the unit wasn't to fuck over everyone else to make yourself look good. Maybe I'm just old-fashioned or my memory is faulty and things weren't as good as I seem to remember them. I am getting old.
And I know there are soldiers and leaders who do harken back to those good old days and still aspire to live up to name of Rakkasan. Just not anyone high enough to really bring back that esprit de corps (and in fact, those that are high up are just killing it!) I love this unit. It's home. I guess I'm just tired--tired of deployment, tired of having to physically do shit for wives myself because no one else will, tired of seeing good soldiers getting fucked over. . . Just tired.
I'm going to shut up now. All I'm going to say is that the day we have a COC ceremony, I am so there and you will hear me screaming from the back row.
"Oh God, Yes, Yes, Yes!"
The big meeting was a waste of time and energy. No news beyond the usual hurry up and wait and the boys are in a shithole. Rear-d doing their usual we would love to help but we have no follow through. And the CoC doing the you aren't important enough to give a fuck about thing. Yeah. Completely useless and utterly disappointing. At some point you are going to have to give me my orgasm or I am getting a divorce.
Someday, someone will get their head out of their fourth point of contact and decide to bring back the glory days of the Rakkasans, when family really did matter and the main object of the unit wasn't to fuck over everyone else to make yourself look good. Maybe I'm just old-fashioned or my memory is faulty and things weren't as good as I seem to remember them. I am getting old.
And I know there are soldiers and leaders who do harken back to those good old days and still aspire to live up to name of Rakkasan. Just not anyone high enough to really bring back that esprit de corps (and in fact, those that are high up are just killing it!) I love this unit. It's home. I guess I'm just tired--tired of deployment, tired of having to physically do shit for wives myself because no one else will, tired of seeing good soldiers getting fucked over. . . Just tired.
I'm going to shut up now. All I'm going to say is that the day we have a COC ceremony, I am so there and you will hear me screaming from the back row.
"Oh God, Yes, Yes, Yes!"
02 November 2010
R. Lee Ermy and my creed
With the husband gone, watching war movies is so far out of the scope of things I can handle, that you might as well send them all to the fucking moon. Can't do it. And I love me some war movies! Hamburger Hill, Saving Private Ryan, We Were Soldiers, Band of Brothers (which is technically not a movie and it's about 506th, but it's still fucking phenomenal!!) Can't watch them. Scares the ever-living shit out of me when I think of where my husband is.
But, I have a 15 year old son who loves history and loves war movies. All those movies I can't stand to watch, he's glued to the TV when they come on. (I do make him watch the majority of them on TV because they are edited for language and content--I'm not that bad of a parent.) He's been begging me for years to be allowed to see Full-Metal Jacket, after he discovered that R. Lee Ermy was in it as a drill sergeant. That movie, unfortunately, you MUST watch in its full R-rated glory to truly grasp the brilliance that is Ermy's performance. He may be the one person on the planet who cusses with more grace than most people dance. "Who's the slimy little communist shit, twinkle-toed cocksucker down here who just signed his own death warrant?" Genius.
Since we own the DVD, I let him watch the first half of the movie, the part when the recruits are in basic training. The war part is totally off limits. I'm not completely out of my mind. The kid spent half of it with his jaw of the floor and the other half ON the floor, laughing. I'm guessing he liked it. I spent the time looking for fodder for my blog and with the plethora of emails and comments about how much my stupidity helps people know they aren't alone, I've found a choice bit from the movie that I am adopting as my creed. I mean, hell, I've already parodied the Bible and Monty Python. So fuck it. Here it is:
This is my blog. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. My blog is my sounding board. It is the sanity in my life. I must master it as I must master my sanity. Without me, my blog is useless. Without my blog, I am useless. I must write my blog with truth. I must write with greater strength than this deployment, which is trying to destroy me. I must bitch first before deployment gets to me. I will. Before God I swear this creed: my blog and myself are defenders of the rights of Army wives, we are the masters of this deployment, we are the saviors of sanity. So be it, until there is no deployment, but peace. Amen.
But, I have a 15 year old son who loves history and loves war movies. All those movies I can't stand to watch, he's glued to the TV when they come on. (I do make him watch the majority of them on TV because they are edited for language and content--I'm not that bad of a parent.) He's been begging me for years to be allowed to see Full-Metal Jacket, after he discovered that R. Lee Ermy was in it as a drill sergeant. That movie, unfortunately, you MUST watch in its full R-rated glory to truly grasp the brilliance that is Ermy's performance. He may be the one person on the planet who cusses with more grace than most people dance. "Who's the slimy little communist shit, twinkle-toed cocksucker down here who just signed his own death warrant?" Genius.
Since we own the DVD, I let him watch the first half of the movie, the part when the recruits are in basic training. The war part is totally off limits. I'm not completely out of my mind. The kid spent half of it with his jaw of the floor and the other half ON the floor, laughing. I'm guessing he liked it. I spent the time looking for fodder for my blog and with the plethora of emails and comments about how much my stupidity helps people know they aren't alone, I've found a choice bit from the movie that I am adopting as my creed. I mean, hell, I've already parodied the Bible and Monty Python. So fuck it. Here it is:
This is my blog. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. My blog is my sounding board. It is the sanity in my life. I must master it as I must master my sanity. Without me, my blog is useless. Without my blog, I am useless. I must write my blog with truth. I must write with greater strength than this deployment, which is trying to destroy me. I must bitch first before deployment gets to me. I will. Before God I swear this creed: my blog and myself are defenders of the rights of Army wives, we are the masters of this deployment, we are the saviors of sanity. So be it, until there is no deployment, but peace. Amen.
01 November 2010
Is It Over????
The long and the short answer to that question is this: NO. We still have months to go ladies and this is when depression really starts to set in, especially with all the rumors flying around that they will be home at such and such a time while the chain of command is sticking with the party line of "the orders are for a year." It sucks donkey balls, but if you just run with that idea of them being gone the FULL fucking year, you are less apt to get your heart broken. Sorry. There's no easy way to say it, but now is the time to break out the big girl panties and suck it up.
OPSEC demands silence on the whole redeployment thing. And there is actually a very good precedence for this line of thinking. My husband's first deployment to the Stan in 2002: on the plane to come home. They take off from Kandahar and the pilots have to take evasive measures because some mother fucking enemy asshole decided to fire an anti-aircraft gun at them. So, take your pick. Staying in the dark about homecoming until the last possible minute or having some Taliban fucker get the info and kill all the boys? Gee, let me think. . .
NO matter what you hear, no matter what your husband tells you, MAINTAIN OPSEC and keep it to yourself. This is not some bitchy wife who thinks she knows it all trying to tell you what to do--this is a serious safety issue first and foremost. But it's also a big morale issue. If a wife gets it in her head that her husband is going to be home for the holidays and he doesn't come home is absolutely heartbreaking. Towing the party line is the best way to keep our emotions in check. I'm about to have a nervous fucking breakdown. The anticipation is killing me and incessant phone calls from my harem are NOT fucking helping. I am NOT suggesting that I won't help you if you need help, but don't ask me about redeployment anymore. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHEN THEY WILL BE HOME!!!!
**Yes, I have a harem. I talk about my wives all the time because they are my source of sanity and I get a lot of funny looks from POGs who have no idea about the Army, so I've just decided it's more fun to fuck with them and say I have a harem than to go into a long explanation about FRGs and POCs that no one in their right mind could give a flying fuck about.
OPSEC demands silence on the whole redeployment thing. And there is actually a very good precedence for this line of thinking. My husband's first deployment to the Stan in 2002: on the plane to come home. They take off from Kandahar and the pilots have to take evasive measures because some mother fucking enemy asshole decided to fire an anti-aircraft gun at them. So, take your pick. Staying in the dark about homecoming until the last possible minute or having some Taliban fucker get the info and kill all the boys? Gee, let me think. . .
NO matter what you hear, no matter what your husband tells you, MAINTAIN OPSEC and keep it to yourself. This is not some bitchy wife who thinks she knows it all trying to tell you what to do--this is a serious safety issue first and foremost. But it's also a big morale issue. If a wife gets it in her head that her husband is going to be home for the holidays and he doesn't come home is absolutely heartbreaking. Towing the party line is the best way to keep our emotions in check. I'm about to have a nervous fucking breakdown. The anticipation is killing me and incessant phone calls from my harem are NOT fucking helping. I am NOT suggesting that I won't help you if you need help, but don't ask me about redeployment anymore. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHEN THEY WILL BE HOME!!!!
**Yes, I have a harem. I talk about my wives all the time because they are my source of sanity and I get a lot of funny looks from POGs who have no idea about the Army, so I've just decided it's more fun to fuck with them and say I have a harem than to go into a long explanation about FRGs and POCs that no one in their right mind could give a flying fuck about.
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