The frequency of my opportunities to fuck is inversely related to the frequency of my use of the word fuck. It's very strange. I reread my blog to observe the new year tradition of looking back over the past and I noticed that the longer I go without being able to fuck my husband, the more I say fuck. Coincidence? I think not. I think that this is just one bit of further proof that I am indeed sexually deprived and that my mind is slowly slipping ever further into the toilet bowl of life.
Seriously. In my first three posts, I use the word fuck, fucking, fucked, and other variations of this glorious word ONCE and only once. How the hell did I manage that? In the last three I've written, this most versatile of words makes TWENTY appearances! Now that is fucking phenomenal! Who knew that I had gone from being such a sweet little girl to being a cussing prodigy? I don't know whether I should be ashamed of myself or damned proud that I have achieved such a level of infantry foul-mouthed-ness.
Now that I've finished bashing my head into a wall from my depravity (or patting myself on the back, I haven't decided which) I have an actual point to make. Deployment is finally drawing to a fucking close. Plans are underway to get the boys home. Shit is moving along and packing should be commencing. THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO DECIDE THAT OPSEC IS NO LONGER IMPORTANT!!! It will not stop being important. When in doubt, keep your fucking mouth shut and for God's sake, don't post anything about homecoming on Facebook.
My hubby's first deployment, the Taliban found out about the homecoming flights and T's pilot had to take evasive measures when the flight was taking off to come home!! Fantastic. The man lives through deployment and then fucking dies on the airstrip trying to come back. How fucking fucked up would that have been? Thank God for crazy pilots who know their shit and an enemy with shitty aim.
My point is this: My use of the word fuck may have increased dramatically over the past year during this godforsaken deployment, but one thing has not changed: my love for and concern for those boys. And make no mistake: in the company or no, those are MY fucking boys. Maintain OPSEC from now until the moment he steps off the tarmac and you have him in your arms. Let's bring them home, ladies.
And then rape them. . .
29 December 2010
New Year's
I had no idea why it is that people make New Year's resolutions, so I googled it. Apparently, it dates back to Roman times with the infamous Julius Caesar who made a new resolution every year to honor the god Janus. Janus has two faces which allow him to look to the past as well as to the future. Whatever. People make them now and the success rate is fucking pathetic. That's why I have never done it.
Now we do have a tradition in this house that I follow every year, mostly because it is way too fucking fun NOT to do it. We pick a member of the family to literally throw out of the house. And let's face it, watching your teenage son or daughter fight while their dad throws them out the door at midnight is too damn funny to pass up. You see, the idea is that you throw the old year out of the house with the family member and then you welcome the new year with the person when they ring the bell to come back in, yelling "Happy New Year!"
I think we military wives need to come up with our own tradition for New Year's. Like getting shit-ass drunk, dancing naked it the moonlight, and blowing up blocks of C4 with notes attached to them symbolizing all the things we hate about the Army. You know, things like deployment, no sex, husbands getting shot at, the names of officers and NCOs who are shitty beyond all belief, stupid paperwork, crap pay, etc. Did I mention deployment and no sex? I think that would be fan-fucking-tastic and just plain old fun.
I have no idea who would join in, nor do I have any idea how the fuck I could even get a hold of C4. Damn it. Oh well. Since that won't work, here's my New Year's resolution: I will be a happier person in the coming year. This will be easy to keep after February-ish, because I'll be getting laid again!! I would also include that I will not swear so much and that I will quit smoking, but let's just face reality. Neither of those is ever going to fucking happen.
So good night. Happy New Year's. I'm going to go open that bottle of wine and have a fucking cigarette.
Now we do have a tradition in this house that I follow every year, mostly because it is way too fucking fun NOT to do it. We pick a member of the family to literally throw out of the house. And let's face it, watching your teenage son or daughter fight while their dad throws them out the door at midnight is too damn funny to pass up. You see, the idea is that you throw the old year out of the house with the family member and then you welcome the new year with the person when they ring the bell to come back in, yelling "Happy New Year!"
I think we military wives need to come up with our own tradition for New Year's. Like getting shit-ass drunk, dancing naked it the moonlight, and blowing up blocks of C4 with notes attached to them symbolizing all the things we hate about the Army. You know, things like deployment, no sex, husbands getting shot at, the names of officers and NCOs who are shitty beyond all belief, stupid paperwork, crap pay, etc. Did I mention deployment and no sex? I think that would be fan-fucking-tastic and just plain old fun.
I have no idea who would join in, nor do I have any idea how the fuck I could even get a hold of C4. Damn it. Oh well. Since that won't work, here's my New Year's resolution: I will be a happier person in the coming year. This will be easy to keep after February-ish, because I'll be getting laid again!! I would also include that I will not swear so much and that I will quit smoking, but let's just face reality. Neither of those is ever going to fucking happen.
So good night. Happy New Year's. I'm going to go open that bottle of wine and have a fucking cigarette.
27 December 2010
I'm On Profile!!
Ever heard of being on profile? In Army lingo, that means that you are broken, hurt, insane or whatever that prevents you from performing your job fully and gives you time to recuperate from said ailment. I don't even know all the kinds of fucking profiles you can get. A PT Profile. A No Running Profile. A Pregnancy Profile. A Psych Profile. A Temporary Profile. Shit! They even have a No Shaving Profile!! Fantastic.
Well, I've thought it all out and I have a solution to the deployment problem. My husband just needs to get a profile. A profile that will send him home. A profile that no one can possibly dispute the validity of and that all my boys can use. You call it the No FUCKING Deployment Profile and I have very specific criteria to qualify to be on this profile.
1. You must be able to show that you are sexually deprived. For infantrymen, that means no pussy for a period longer than 12 weeks.
2. You must have a wife or girlfriend of long standing from whom you would normally be getting sex on a regular basis. Divorce having been filed disqualifies the soldier.
3. The following symptoms are proof of sexual deprivation:
a. Your penis is chafed, chapped, or otherwise damaged due to the frequency of masturbating without lotion and in a sandy environment.
b. Your penis and hand now have matching callouses.
c. You are desperate enough to jerk off in front of another man.
d. Your bunk has a neon pink sign above it that reads, "Do Not Disturb. Work in Progress."
e. The "desert blossoms" are making you wonder what's under that berka.
f. Camels humping gives you a hard-on.
g. You have constructed a pocket pussy out of 550 cord.
h. You keep hearing 9 Inch Nails singing, "I wanna Fuck You Like An Animal."
i. The HUMVEE's tailpipe is looking mighty tight to you.
j. You seriously considered going the last time Hadji asked you to take a walk to "watch the sunset."
k. You have fucked your boots because you walking 12 hours a day in them has made them smell like fish.
l. Your wedding band has been worn through and your penis has developed an allergy to gold.
m. Your eyepro now serves the alternate purpose of protecting your eyes from cum-shots.
n. Your Blackhawk gloves are no longer black, but white (and crusty).
o. "Clearing your weapon" has taken on an entirely new meaning.
3. Should these symptoms be exhibited, the soldier's qualifying time to be classified sexually deprived will be rated according to the number of children he has sired, with each child earning a reduction of one week. Hence a soldier with 1 child can be declared deprived after 11 weeks rather than 12.
I don't think the Army is going to go for it, but I think this profile idea is fucking brilliant!! And by my calculations, my husband should have been home in April. Four kids mean after 8 weeks, he's deprived enough to be placed on a No FUCKING Deployment profile. If you don't have kids, I'm sorry--not really--but this works for me!!
I like this plan. Go me. Fuck you, Army.
Well, I've thought it all out and I have a solution to the deployment problem. My husband just needs to get a profile. A profile that will send him home. A profile that no one can possibly dispute the validity of and that all my boys can use. You call it the No FUCKING Deployment Profile and I have very specific criteria to qualify to be on this profile.
1. You must be able to show that you are sexually deprived. For infantrymen, that means no pussy for a period longer than 12 weeks.
2. You must have a wife or girlfriend of long standing from whom you would normally be getting sex on a regular basis. Divorce having been filed disqualifies the soldier.
3. The following symptoms are proof of sexual deprivation:
a. Your penis is chafed, chapped, or otherwise damaged due to the frequency of masturbating without lotion and in a sandy environment.
b. Your penis and hand now have matching callouses.
c. You are desperate enough to jerk off in front of another man.
d. Your bunk has a neon pink sign above it that reads, "Do Not Disturb. Work in Progress."
e. The "desert blossoms" are making you wonder what's under that berka.
f. Camels humping gives you a hard-on.
g. You have constructed a pocket pussy out of 550 cord.
h. You keep hearing 9 Inch Nails singing, "I wanna Fuck You Like An Animal."
i. The HUMVEE's tailpipe is looking mighty tight to you.
j. You seriously considered going the last time Hadji asked you to take a walk to "watch the sunset."
k. You have fucked your boots because you walking 12 hours a day in them has made them smell like fish.
l. Your wedding band has been worn through and your penis has developed an allergy to gold.
m. Your eyepro now serves the alternate purpose of protecting your eyes from cum-shots.
n. Your Blackhawk gloves are no longer black, but white (and crusty).
o. "Clearing your weapon" has taken on an entirely new meaning.
3. Should these symptoms be exhibited, the soldier's qualifying time to be classified sexually deprived will be rated according to the number of children he has sired, with each child earning a reduction of one week. Hence a soldier with 1 child can be declared deprived after 11 weeks rather than 12.
I don't think the Army is going to go for it, but I think this profile idea is fucking brilliant!! And by my calculations, my husband should have been home in April. Four kids mean after 8 weeks, he's deprived enough to be placed on a No FUCKING Deployment profile. If you don't have kids, I'm sorry--not really--but this works for me!!
I like this plan. Go me. Fuck you, Army.
Don't Say It!
"Cut down a tree with a herring?? It can't be done!"
"Don't say that word!!"
"What word?"
"I cannot tell! Suffice to say, is one of the words the Knights of Ni cannot hear!"
Thank you, Monty Python, for once again having a sketch relevant to my topic of conversation which is simply this: Suffice to say that "It's almost over" is one of the phrases the Kate of Rakkasans cannot hear!!
I am so fucking tired of people saying "It's almost over. . . " like that makes everything OK. Because it fucking doesn't!! It just makes me want to kill the bastard who said it and then go fucking suck start a pistol after chugging a gallon of wine. We are well into the months of "It's NEVER going to fucking end" and there is not one goddamn thing you can say that is going to make me feel better.
So shut your fucking pie hole. The only words that are going to make me happy are "The plane is on approach. Please feel free to go outside and greet your soldiers as they de-plane." Unless you are telling me this, I don't care what you have to say about redeployment or how I should feel or how it will be OK. You do realize that we still have KIAs? WIAs?
Until he is home and in my arms (or pants), do not even attempt to make me feel better. I am, in my own twisted way, content with being a bitter bitch. Don't like it? Fine. Don't fucking talk to me. And that actually works out really well, because then I wouldn't have to listen to some stupid FUCKTARD tell me constantly that "it's almost over!"
Life isn't tiddlywinks, bitch.
"Don't say that word!!"
"What word?"
"I cannot tell! Suffice to say, is one of the words the Knights of Ni cannot hear!"
Thank you, Monty Python, for once again having a sketch relevant to my topic of conversation which is simply this: Suffice to say that "It's almost over" is one of the phrases the Kate of Rakkasans cannot hear!!
I am so fucking tired of people saying "It's almost over. . . " like that makes everything OK. Because it fucking doesn't!! It just makes me want to kill the bastard who said it and then go fucking suck start a pistol after chugging a gallon of wine. We are well into the months of "It's NEVER going to fucking end" and there is not one goddamn thing you can say that is going to make me feel better.
So shut your fucking pie hole. The only words that are going to make me happy are "The plane is on approach. Please feel free to go outside and greet your soldiers as they de-plane." Unless you are telling me this, I don't care what you have to say about redeployment or how I should feel or how it will be OK. You do realize that we still have KIAs? WIAs?
Until he is home and in my arms (or pants), do not even attempt to make me feel better. I am, in my own twisted way, content with being a bitter bitch. Don't like it? Fine. Don't fucking talk to me. And that actually works out really well, because then I wouldn't have to listen to some stupid FUCKTARD tell me constantly that "it's almost over!"
Life isn't tiddlywinks, bitch.
25 December 2010
Nice or Naughty?
Thank God, Christmas is finally over! Santa, that fat fucker, didn't bring me what I wanted--my husband. Damn it. Seriously though, the holidays without the hubby suck ass, even if you have an amazing family like mine to spend them with. I love the fact that I can be a bit mopey and no one asks me, "Are you OK?" Or that Christmas waits if the husband calls, because he supersedes any and all activities of the day. Very nice.
And with Christmas gone, I can move on the new topics to bitch about, like the fact that I just discovered that I am NOT in on the latest and greatest gossip? How the fuck do I get left out of the loop on all the newest juiciest shit going on? I'm a woman--I want to know what all the other bitches are up to so I can prove to myself how much better than them that I am! Hello! That's why we gossip to begin with. I need to know who's being naughty!
I asked my friend why it was that I am not in the know and apparently, people do not want me to think badly of them so they do their damnedest to make sure I don't know the shit they are up to. What?!? How the hell did I become someone that people look up to? I'm just Kate. The old lady in the unit. Everyone's go-to girl. I do NOT want to be looked up to or whatever it is people seem to think of me. Fuck! I am no one to be admired. I am a BITCH!! And pretty damn hateful, too. What the fuck is the point in having a harem when they won't dish out the dirt on what the other crazy bitches are up to?
Whatever. I miss being a Joe's wife. I knew EVERYTHING that was going on then. The NCO wife shit and no one giving me the goods is BULLSHIT and completely fucked up.
And with Christmas gone, I can move on the new topics to bitch about, like the fact that I just discovered that I am NOT in on the latest and greatest gossip? How the fuck do I get left out of the loop on all the newest juiciest shit going on? I'm a woman--I want to know what all the other bitches are up to so I can prove to myself how much better than them that I am! Hello! That's why we gossip to begin with. I need to know who's being naughty!
I asked my friend why it was that I am not in the know and apparently, people do not want me to think badly of them so they do their damnedest to make sure I don't know the shit they are up to. What?!? How the hell did I become someone that people look up to? I'm just Kate. The old lady in the unit. Everyone's go-to girl. I do NOT want to be looked up to or whatever it is people seem to think of me. Fuck! I am no one to be admired. I am a BITCH!! And pretty damn hateful, too. What the fuck is the point in having a harem when they won't dish out the dirt on what the other crazy bitches are up to?
Whatever. I miss being a Joe's wife. I knew EVERYTHING that was going on then. The NCO wife shit and no one giving me the goods is BULLSHIT and completely fucked up.
24 December 2010
Dear Santa
I have come to the conclusion that you are a useless sack of shit and that I hate your guts. How fucking hard is it to fit one 5'11", 190 pound man somewhere in that sleigh of yours and deliver him to my house? That's the one and only thing I asked for for Christmas and you are going to be a prick about it and not give me what I want!! You can fit toys for every fucking snot-nosed brat on the planet in that sleigh of yours, but you can't find room for ONE soldier??? He's infantry. He can handle the trip!
Maybe in some twisted, fucked up way you are trying to teach me about the spirit of Christmas and that I'm being selfish wanting my husband home. Well, FUCK YOU, Fat Man! You work from home every day with your little Army of elves who actually do all the construction while you sit and compile lists of names. . . Oooh! That's a hard fucking job, with your wife right there 24/7 bringing you milk and cookies and giving you head whenever you want it. You do actual work ONE NIGHT a year! My husband's been gone for TEN months! SO FUCK YOU SANTA!!!
I am going to go eat the cookies we made for you, open that bottle of wine and load the 22. You have a good night Santa! I hope you freeze your balls off. And if you show up at my house empty handed, well, let's just say that it would be wise for you to have emergency services on speed dial.
Maybe in some twisted, fucked up way you are trying to teach me about the spirit of Christmas and that I'm being selfish wanting my husband home. Well, FUCK YOU, Fat Man! You work from home every day with your little Army of elves who actually do all the construction while you sit and compile lists of names. . . Oooh! That's a hard fucking job, with your wife right there 24/7 bringing you milk and cookies and giving you head whenever you want it. You do actual work ONE NIGHT a year! My husband's been gone for TEN months! SO FUCK YOU SANTA!!!
I am going to go eat the cookies we made for you, open that bottle of wine and load the 22. You have a good night Santa! I hope you freeze your balls off. And if you show up at my house empty handed, well, let's just say that it would be wise for you to have emergency services on speed dial.
20 December 2010
Celibacy
With the husband 10,000 miles away, the military wife is left to her own devices in all manner of this. And in sexual matters, a wife has but three choices: fuck around, buy some toys, or accept the imposed celibacy that deployment relegates you to. Simple. I've opted for the third of these through all four deployments and it seems to be working for me. However, my choice of terminology in referring to the other wives may lead some to believe that I have been having a string of lesbian affairs.
I am not a fucking deployment whore, lesbian or otherwise. I DO have a harem, but that's my way of dealing with all the idiots who know nothing about an FRG or a POC and who look at me like I have eight heads when I mention "my wives." Polygamy is right up there on my list of things not to do along with fucking around on my husband and becoming a lesbian. Not happening. My wives are all the girls in the platoon/company that I try to help get through deployment. Harem is a more all encompassing term, allowing me to include all the parents as well. Besides, let's face it, it is just way too fucking funny for a little girl like me to announce that she has a harem!!
So, to my harem, be warned. Apparently, there are jackasses out there who think that I am fucking half of the company's wives, having drunken orgies with all of you, and inviting parents over to join in the fun. Isn't that fucking fantastic? And a complete load of bullshit. I have a couple more months before the celibate life will end and I'm going to be getting laid by anyone, and I'm sorry, there will be a penis involved--the one attached to my husband. Sorry ladies!
I know I'm hot. . .
I am not a fucking deployment whore, lesbian or otherwise. I DO have a harem, but that's my way of dealing with all the idiots who know nothing about an FRG or a POC and who look at me like I have eight heads when I mention "my wives." Polygamy is right up there on my list of things not to do along with fucking around on my husband and becoming a lesbian. Not happening. My wives are all the girls in the platoon/company that I try to help get through deployment. Harem is a more all encompassing term, allowing me to include all the parents as well. Besides, let's face it, it is just way too fucking funny for a little girl like me to announce that she has a harem!!
So, to my harem, be warned. Apparently, there are jackasses out there who think that I am fucking half of the company's wives, having drunken orgies with all of you, and inviting parents over to join in the fun. Isn't that fucking fantastic? And a complete load of bullshit. I have a couple more months before the celibate life will end and I'm going to be getting laid by anyone, and I'm sorry, there will be a penis involved--the one attached to my husband. Sorry ladies!
I know I'm hot. . .
19 December 2010
Hell Week
Place your wager: Will Kate make it through the rest of this deployment without killing herself, beating her children bloody, and still somewhat sane? Because with the week I've had, I'd say the odds are 10:1 against. At some point, an inanimate object is going to have to suffer the consequences of simply existing and face the wrath of Kate. I am about to lose my fucking mind. This shit has got to end--soon.
Here's a slice of my life: teething baby up all fucking night for week #2, making candy and Kolachi for my entire family so on my feet in the kitchen for hours on end, Christmas is coming and crowds and the fun and the boring as shit battalion party that I went to for the singular purpose of getting pics of the boys with Santa, a KIA with two fucking months left to go in this goddamn shitty deployment and a memorial service that made me cry (and I never fucking cry), a CoC whose mission in life seem to be to fuck my hubby over, assholes who make more red tape than God Himself could work His way through, and trying to smile through the mouthful of shit sandwich that this past week has been.
Please tell me I have finally hit rock fucking bottom! Because if anyone tries to tell me I have further down to go, I'm going to need a fucking shovel!!
I know that these feelings are simply the by-product of a combination of "feeling sorry for myself" holiday blues and "is this deployment ever going to fucking end" anxiety. Happens to me every time he goes and it always seems to hit about now. Last time, I cut off 18 inches of my hair just so I could watch something die. Not a good frame of mind to be in when you have children. . .
The long and short of it is that this has been one fucking shitty week. The Class Six had better be fucking stocked up on Golden Rose and my cigs, or I will not be responsible for my actions.
Here's a slice of my life: teething baby up all fucking night for week #2, making candy and Kolachi for my entire family so on my feet in the kitchen for hours on end, Christmas is coming and crowds and the fun and the boring as shit battalion party that I went to for the singular purpose of getting pics of the boys with Santa, a KIA with two fucking months left to go in this goddamn shitty deployment and a memorial service that made me cry (and I never fucking cry), a CoC whose mission in life seem to be to fuck my hubby over, assholes who make more red tape than God Himself could work His way through, and trying to smile through the mouthful of shit sandwich that this past week has been.
Please tell me I have finally hit rock fucking bottom! Because if anyone tries to tell me I have further down to go, I'm going to need a fucking shovel!!
I know that these feelings are simply the by-product of a combination of "feeling sorry for myself" holiday blues and "is this deployment ever going to fucking end" anxiety. Happens to me every time he goes and it always seems to hit about now. Last time, I cut off 18 inches of my hair just so I could watch something die. Not a good frame of mind to be in when you have children. . .
The long and short of it is that this has been one fucking shitty week. The Class Six had better be fucking stocked up on Golden Rose and my cigs, or I will not be responsible for my actions.
18 December 2010
Death by Stupid
In case you couldn't tell by all the references throughout my blog, I love Monty Python. Love them. Fucking brilliant. And the opening scene of "Meaning of Life" has got to be one of my faves. There's a man who's running through this village being chased by topless women on roller skates. The scene follows him just running from these women and running some more--right off the edge of a cliff and falling from some ridiculous height into the grave below which already has the vicar and mourners waiting to participate in his funeral. He's a criminal who's been sentenced to death and this is the method of execution he has chosen. Love it.
Now given the choice, I would have to say that this man's particular choice wouldn't be high up on my list of ways to die--but then I don't swing that way. Nothing really springs to mind as a great way to die in fact, but one thing I know for certain is that DEATH BY STUPID is the very last way I want to kick the bucket. Fuck you very much.
Dying by stupid is a rather vague way of putting it. There are so many stupids to choose from!! And they all seem to be ganging up on me right now, threatening to do what suck-starting a pistol would do in a much nicer way. There's death by stupid children who are teething and up all night causing insomnia dementia to set in or the more general version of stupid children who don't fucking listen to their mother. Then there's death by stupid husband who is nice one second and then fucking Satan the next. And the there's death by stupid wives (not you, my harem of lovelies) who act like fucking two year olds. And let's not leave out stupid in-laws who seem to think my world revolves around them. But by far, the number one method of death by stupid is the stupid fucking bastard asshole Army, which seems more concerned with protecting pieces of shit fucks and pretending it gives a damn about family than it does about doing the right thing!! FTA!!
Now given the choice, I would have to say that this man's particular choice wouldn't be high up on my list of ways to die--but then I don't swing that way. Nothing really springs to mind as a great way to die in fact, but one thing I know for certain is that DEATH BY STUPID is the very last way I want to kick the bucket. Fuck you very much.
Dying by stupid is a rather vague way of putting it. There are so many stupids to choose from!! And they all seem to be ganging up on me right now, threatening to do what suck-starting a pistol would do in a much nicer way. There's death by stupid children who are teething and up all night causing insomnia dementia to set in or the more general version of stupid children who don't fucking listen to their mother. Then there's death by stupid husband who is nice one second and then fucking Satan the next. And the there's death by stupid wives (not you, my harem of lovelies) who act like fucking two year olds. And let's not leave out stupid in-laws who seem to think my world revolves around them. But by far, the number one method of death by stupid is the stupid fucking bastard asshole Army, which seems more concerned with protecting pieces of shit fucks and pretending it gives a damn about family than it does about doing the right thing!! FTA!!
15 December 2010
Tired of HMFIC
"'The time has come,' the Walrus said, 'to talk of many things.'" Of boots--and guns--and kicking ass--and cleaning kits and slings--and why the guns are smoking hot--and whether angels have wings." OK. That's not very good poetry, but you try parody-ing Lewis Carroll and see what you come up with. I think I've beaten PTSD until it's a dead horse and it's time to move the fuck on.
Every time I think that I have the Army figured out, I get another curve ball thrown at me which completely fucks up my entire world view. Example: You can only get fucked over so many times before something has to give. Wrong, wrong, wrong! FUCK this CoC. Their motto isn't 'Ne Desit Virtus'--it's "BOHICA because RHIP so Fuck You!" Bastards. How can you in good conscience screw over a soldier who always does the right thing, takes care of his boys, and lives by the Army values? If even half of the rumors flying around about this CoC are even half true, this unit has gone to shit and these fuckers have been using everyone under them to wipes their asses.
Anyway, I need some serious fucking prayer here. I am more angry than I have been in a long ass time and I swear that no one important better be at the homecoming ceremony. At the very least they will get an earful and with my mouth and lack of filter, that could be one fucking huge no-go! OK. It would be a completely and total no-go, no "could" about it. On the other hand, with the level of my anger and the assinine shit continuing to go on, I'm thinking 12-gauge or Yeti beater, but I'm am leaning toward the Yeti beater.
Less jail time for assault than attempted murder.
Every time I think that I have the Army figured out, I get another curve ball thrown at me which completely fucks up my entire world view. Example: You can only get fucked over so many times before something has to give. Wrong, wrong, wrong! FUCK this CoC. Their motto isn't 'Ne Desit Virtus'--it's "BOHICA because RHIP so Fuck You!" Bastards. How can you in good conscience screw over a soldier who always does the right thing, takes care of his boys, and lives by the Army values? If even half of the rumors flying around about this CoC are even half true, this unit has gone to shit and these fuckers have been using everyone under them to wipes their asses.
Anyway, I need some serious fucking prayer here. I am more angry than I have been in a long ass time and I swear that no one important better be at the homecoming ceremony. At the very least they will get an earful and with my mouth and lack of filter, that could be one fucking huge no-go! OK. It would be a completely and total no-go, no "could" about it. On the other hand, with the level of my anger and the assinine shit continuing to go on, I'm thinking 12-gauge or Yeti beater, but I'm am leaning toward the Yeti beater.
Less jail time for assault than attempted murder.
14 December 2010
Open Mouth, Insert Foot
During the Civil War, it was called soldier's heart. WWI introduced the term shell shock which was carried through about two years into WWII. After General Patton's infamous slapping incident, the term exhaustion started being used by the US Army. (If you will recall, he slapped a private hoping to "shock" him out of his shell shock. Oops.) That wording got changed again during Vietnam when it was renamed battle fatigue and traumatic war neurosis. PTSD is just the latest in a long line of words and phrases that all describe the same psychological problem.
I've been ranting and raving (the entire fucking point of this blog--hello!!) about PTSD and the Army scaring wives, and I suppose some of you think that I think that PTSD isn't real, isn't a problem, or is just plain old bullshit. In other words, I opened my mouth, jammed in my foot and kept right on shoving until I'm chewing on my own ass. Me thinking PTSD isn't real is not the case and I hope that no one takes my opinion about a briefing and what I feel is overstating and exaggeration of the problem as that I just don't give a flying fuck about the boys who do come home with issues. Because I do. I really do. And probably a little too much because those boys flat out break my heart.
Those men over there are all heroes and anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves. I've seen guys that have PTSD and are on meds out the ass, guys who pretend to have it (fuckers), but mostly men who are fine with some new quirks in their behaviour. All I'm trying to say is that there is no need to panic or freak the fuck out over something that probably isn't even going to be an issue. Just enjoy the honeymoon period (I know I'm going to) and then get ready to really start getting things back to normal.
I've been ranting and raving (the entire fucking point of this blog--hello!!) about PTSD and the Army scaring wives, and I suppose some of you think that I think that PTSD isn't real, isn't a problem, or is just plain old bullshit. In other words, I opened my mouth, jammed in my foot and kept right on shoving until I'm chewing on my own ass. Me thinking PTSD isn't real is not the case and I hope that no one takes my opinion about a briefing and what I feel is overstating and exaggeration of the problem as that I just don't give a flying fuck about the boys who do come home with issues. Because I do. I really do. And probably a little too much because those boys flat out break my heart.
Those men over there are all heroes and anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves. I've seen guys that have PTSD and are on meds out the ass, guys who pretend to have it (fuckers), but mostly men who are fine with some new quirks in their behaviour. All I'm trying to say is that there is no need to panic or freak the fuck out over something that probably isn't even going to be an issue. Just enjoy the honeymoon period (I know I'm going to) and then get ready to really start getting things back to normal.
12 December 2010
Whirlwind
And so it begins. . . The mayhem of the holiday season followed in rapid succession by the frenzy of reintegration briefings and the sheer stupidity that redeployment will bring. Christmas is doable, provided that you don't mind having to do the majority of your shopping online to keep the kids from knowing what they are getting and to keep yourself from going fucking mad from taking the kids shopping in the first place. Christmas decorating around here is a no-go. Number one: I have a 16 month old who I do not need to be attempting to keep out of the fucking tree and Number 2: I cannot reach the damned decorations anyway!! They are in the attic buried under mounds of his fucking TA-50 and other miscellaneous Army shit. So fuck it!
And then there's the "reintegration" brief. Used to be called a redeployment brief. But apparently, we all need to go to learn how to "reintegrate" our husbands back into our families and society in general. We also are going to have to learn about what to look for in our husband's behavior that would be a warning sign of PTSD. Oooooo. Scary. The Army can't leave anything alone. They have to be sure that everything is as PC as possible, even if that means scaring the shit out of people who don't know any better. The notes with the email they sent out about the brief went on and on about PTSD and TBI and sleep issues and how not to let it fuck up your marriage. . .
All the bastards at this briefing are going to do is manage to scare the shit out of some little new Army wife who is going to think that her husband is going to some home a fucking nut job and freak out every time he has a bad dream or gets angry or doesn't want to be around a bunch of people. Give me a break! Just say it like it is. THEY ALL COME HOME FUCKING WEIRD! And that's the long and the short of it. Deal with the weirdness. This too shall pass.
Now I will admit, there are the weak-minded pussies who do stupid shit or go way off the deep end or have waking dreams and beat their wives, but it's mostly just really stupid things which aren't even worth mentioning. But now we have that fucker on poste who I guess killed his wife and then went to work like nothing had happened, so you know that all the higher-ups are going to be ramming this PTSD shit down our throats. And completely ignoring the fact that the piece of shit in question was on fucking rear-d this whole deployment and is just an asshole who killed his wife.
And then there's the redeployment itself, which someone will manage to fuck up in some way or another. That's SOP. Whether it's maps to the unit and air field getting lost, or not enough buses, or the heat being off in the hangar, someone somewhere in this unit will somehow drop the ball and something will end up fucked up.
It just had better not be my husband's fucking flight.
And then there's the "reintegration" brief. Used to be called a redeployment brief. But apparently, we all need to go to learn how to "reintegrate" our husbands back into our families and society in general. We also are going to have to learn about what to look for in our husband's behavior that would be a warning sign of PTSD. Oooooo. Scary. The Army can't leave anything alone. They have to be sure that everything is as PC as possible, even if that means scaring the shit out of people who don't know any better. The notes with the email they sent out about the brief went on and on about PTSD and TBI and sleep issues and how not to let it fuck up your marriage. . .
All the bastards at this briefing are going to do is manage to scare the shit out of some little new Army wife who is going to think that her husband is going to some home a fucking nut job and freak out every time he has a bad dream or gets angry or doesn't want to be around a bunch of people. Give me a break! Just say it like it is. THEY ALL COME HOME FUCKING WEIRD! And that's the long and the short of it. Deal with the weirdness. This too shall pass.
Now I will admit, there are the weak-minded pussies who do stupid shit or go way off the deep end or have waking dreams and beat their wives, but it's mostly just really stupid things which aren't even worth mentioning. But now we have that fucker on poste who I guess killed his wife and then went to work like nothing had happened, so you know that all the higher-ups are going to be ramming this PTSD shit down our throats. And completely ignoring the fact that the piece of shit in question was on fucking rear-d this whole deployment and is just an asshole who killed his wife.
And then there's the redeployment itself, which someone will manage to fuck up in some way or another. That's SOP. Whether it's maps to the unit and air field getting lost, or not enough buses, or the heat being off in the hangar, someone somewhere in this unit will somehow drop the ball and something will end up fucked up.
It just had better not be my husband's fucking flight.
08 December 2010
Suck-Start a Pistol
This was in my FB status today and is for some reason, funny. OK. Unfortunately, the average wife of a deployed soldier will tell you there are many times where that phrase isn't so much funny as it is a perfectly viable idea. Even I feel like that sometimes and this is NOT my first pony ride. In 15 years of marriage, amongst the schools and field time and deployments and ranges and other really fucking stupid Army shit (Oh, I forgot EIB training, haha), I figure my husband has been gone about 7 of those years. Now ask me why I would ever want to end myself?
Now, it's a fleeting thought. And a rare one. Here's the thing. With deployment insomnia, if you lay still enough, long enough, and have enough alcohol in you, you will eventually pass out. But then there are those times, when you have lain there long and still and half buzzed and sleep has just kissed your eyelids down, and then the 16 month old baby announces his extreme displeasure at the molars that are attempting to force themselves upon him and he is fucking pissed!!!
This has been going on for a week! A FULL FUCKING WEEK!! ARGH! I love my son. I really do, but if those teeth don't break through the gum soon, I will not be held accountable for my actions!
Sleep deprivation can be fun. Just not when I am trying to be mom and dad and get ready for the holidays and answer questions daily about redeployment and PTSD and reintegration and rescue friends who are magnets for idiot drivers and homeschool and deal with a teething child !! FUCK ME SIDEWAYS! It just never fucking ends. Ever. And there are times when suck-starting a pistol really sounds good. . . Not really an option though.
I don't own a pistol.
Now, it's a fleeting thought. And a rare one. Here's the thing. With deployment insomnia, if you lay still enough, long enough, and have enough alcohol in you, you will eventually pass out. But then there are those times, when you have lain there long and still and half buzzed and sleep has just kissed your eyelids down, and then the 16 month old baby announces his extreme displeasure at the molars that are attempting to force themselves upon him and he is fucking pissed!!!
This has been going on for a week! A FULL FUCKING WEEK!! ARGH! I love my son. I really do, but if those teeth don't break through the gum soon, I will not be held accountable for my actions!
Sleep deprivation can be fun. Just not when I am trying to be mom and dad and get ready for the holidays and answer questions daily about redeployment and PTSD and reintegration and rescue friends who are magnets for idiot drivers and homeschool and deal with a teething child !! FUCK ME SIDEWAYS! It just never fucking ends. Ever. And there are times when suck-starting a pistol really sounds good. . . Not really an option though.
I don't own a pistol.
07 December 2010
Ho Ho Holy Crap
And so begins that most wonder-fucking-ful time of the year with my husband 10K miles away! Another holiday. Alone. Again. Reason number 1796 why sometimes I hate the fucking Army!!! I'm not sure why, but someone apparently objects to soldiers being home for more than 2 holiday/birthday/anniversary dates per year. If it's not deployment, it's the field. If it's not the field, it's a range. If it's not a range, it's a fucking school of some kind. And just to spice things up a bit and make a really asinine reason for him to not be around, if it's not any of the above, it's CQ!!!!
I know Christmas is the birth of Christ and all that. Got no problem with the Jesus part of the season. He gets a birthday cake at Christmas dinner and no presents get opened before he joins the Nativity scene that morning. Jesus is cool.
However, I cannot wrap my brain and my emotions around the idea of my husband being absent YET AGAIN at fucking Christmastime. It's annoying. And upsetting. And it fucking sucks ass!!! (Do you like how I segue from Jesus into a paragraph with the f-bomb getting dropped twice? I am so going to hell!) It's that Monty Python song (to the tune of Jingle Bells), "Ho Ho Fucking Ho, what a crock of shit!!" You're preaching to the choir, buddy.
Tomorrow begins the annual candy making spree. Oh God. I have at least 6 or 7 fun filled days of melted chocolate, peanut butter, caramel, rice krispies, nuts, pretzels and candy molds. The house will smell fantastic and there will be candy for miles. Just one minor detail in all this chocolate-coated chaos:
With my husband gone, who the FUCK is going to eat all this shit?!?!
I know Christmas is the birth of Christ and all that. Got no problem with the Jesus part of the season. He gets a birthday cake at Christmas dinner and no presents get opened before he joins the Nativity scene that morning. Jesus is cool.
However, I cannot wrap my brain and my emotions around the idea of my husband being absent YET AGAIN at fucking Christmastime. It's annoying. And upsetting. And it fucking sucks ass!!! (Do you like how I segue from Jesus into a paragraph with the f-bomb getting dropped twice? I am so going to hell!) It's that Monty Python song (to the tune of Jingle Bells), "Ho Ho Fucking Ho, what a crock of shit!!" You're preaching to the choir, buddy.
Tomorrow begins the annual candy making spree. Oh God. I have at least 6 or 7 fun filled days of melted chocolate, peanut butter, caramel, rice krispies, nuts, pretzels and candy molds. The house will smell fantastic and there will be candy for miles. Just one minor detail in all this chocolate-coated chaos:
With my husband gone, who the FUCK is going to eat all this shit?!?!
06 December 2010
The Big Girl Panties
Yesterday that particular pair of undies needed washed, but today they are clean and once more upon my fat ass! No more whining. Complain, yes. Whine, no. I am the wife of a RAKKASAN, a hard core, kick ass, shit-kicking infantryman. I am not the wife of some pussy fucking pog. This deployment is going down, even if that means breaking out the C-fucking-4! (And it only took half a bottle of wine and 2 packs of smokes to convince myself of this!)
FUCK YOU DEPLOYMENT! And I do not mean that in the "nicest possible way." I mean, FUCK YOU!
You will not bend me.
You will not break me.
You will not make me a bitch.
You will not make me cry.
You will end and when you end, I will be laughing all the way to the airfield to pick up my husband, you bitch.
My name is Kate. You took my husband away for a year. Prepare to die!!
So there it is, ladies. It's almost time to kiss this fucking deployment good-bye.
The Kate is back!
FUCK YOU DEPLOYMENT! And I do not mean that in the "nicest possible way." I mean, FUCK YOU!
You will not bend me.
You will not break me.
You will not make me a bitch.
You will not make me cry.
You will end and when you end, I will be laughing all the way to the airfield to pick up my husband, you bitch.
My name is Kate. You took my husband away for a year. Prepare to die!!
So there it is, ladies. It's almost time to kiss this fucking deployment good-bye.
The Kate is back!
05 December 2010
I Am So Fucking Done. . .
Done.
Unfortunately, I am not in a position to do a damned thing about it. I'm just stuck with the shithole that is my life as I "Hurry Up and Wait." As usual. Army motto. Get fucking used to it, because we are all going to be doing a fuck-ton of waiting. And waiting some more.
At this stage of the game, I swear that snowballs will grow in hell before my husband gets to come home. I am sick and tired of being mom, dad, disciplinarian, cook, cleaning service, accountant, driver, errand runner, and organizer day in and day out without a fucking break. A few hours away from the kids does not fucking cut it--in fact, it actually makes things worse because it only reminds me that those few precious hours haven't amounted to dick over the course of this deployment. I can probably count on my fingers and toes the total amount of time that I have had completely to myself. How fucking sad is that??
It's freaking pathetic. And I'm being a whiny bitch about it. I know that. But God help me, I want someone else to get up with the baby at night, to beat the 5 year old when he's being bad, to scream at the teenagers, to go to the commiscary or fucking cook dinner. Hell, even someone else to load the dishwasher without me begging them to would be heaven.
But none of this whiny ass bitching is going to change things. I made my bed and now I get to lay it in. (Too bad, I'm not getting laid in it! That might make me a nicer person.) I married a soldier and a damned good one at that, and I knew from the get-go that he might have to go away. But that doesn't mean that I can't have one good bitch session about it after he's been gone for 10 months!!! So I'm being whiny and stupid and a cry baby.
I think I'm fucking entitled.
Unfortunately, I am not in a position to do a damned thing about it. I'm just stuck with the shithole that is my life as I "Hurry Up and Wait." As usual. Army motto. Get fucking used to it, because we are all going to be doing a fuck-ton of waiting. And waiting some more.
At this stage of the game, I swear that snowballs will grow in hell before my husband gets to come home. I am sick and tired of being mom, dad, disciplinarian, cook, cleaning service, accountant, driver, errand runner, and organizer day in and day out without a fucking break. A few hours away from the kids does not fucking cut it--in fact, it actually makes things worse because it only reminds me that those few precious hours haven't amounted to dick over the course of this deployment. I can probably count on my fingers and toes the total amount of time that I have had completely to myself. How fucking sad is that??
It's freaking pathetic. And I'm being a whiny bitch about it. I know that. But God help me, I want someone else to get up with the baby at night, to beat the 5 year old when he's being bad, to scream at the teenagers, to go to the commiscary or fucking cook dinner. Hell, even someone else to load the dishwasher without me begging them to would be heaven.
But none of this whiny ass bitching is going to change things. I made my bed and now I get to lay it in. (Too bad, I'm not getting laid in it! That might make me a nicer person.) I married a soldier and a damned good one at that, and I knew from the get-go that he might have to go away. But that doesn't mean that I can't have one good bitch session about it after he's been gone for 10 months!!! So I'm being whiny and stupid and a cry baby.
I think I'm fucking entitled.
02 December 2010
Leave Dates: It's about FUCKING Time!!!
Block leave dates are now finalized, formalized and officially disseminated for the families. SO why now? Is there a reason we couldn't have the dates a month ago at the FRG meeting? Is it really so difficult to keep the families in the know as to what the fuck is going on with OUR soldiers? They may have signed a contract so the Army may own their asses, but the Army swears up and down that family is important to them. Well, if family is so fucking important, why not keep us in the loop about shit like this?
It's not like block leave dates are a violation of OPSEC (not really, but I'll get to that). You aren't telling us the date the boys are boarding a plane to come home. No target is getting painted on the boys by releasing this info to us. The danger they are in isn't increased by showing a little goddamn common courtesy and telling us when they will be able to take leave.
And don't try to tell me that the Army just figured out when block leave was going to take place. They already know when the Rakkasans are headed back to the rockpile, and that is in a fucking year. Block leave is 3 months from now. Let me think . . . Is it within the realm of possibility that the Army can plan for more than a year out, but not know what the fuck is going on in a few months? I don't think so.
I'll tell you why I think it is that they withhold this kind of intel until they can't possibly keep it back anymore: they are trying to keep the boys from being too forward thinking. If the guys are looking too far ahead, their minds won't be on mission. Their morale will be too high to allow them to kill the enemy with extreme prejudice the way they are expected to. And it puts their lives in danger. It's only now when they are getting ready to pack up to come home that it's really safe to release leave dates. OPSEC in an ass backwards kind of way.
I get it. I really really do. But I am a wife. And I don't have to fucking like nor do I have to swallow the bullshit they are trying to sell when they say they just got the dates. Wives are trying to make plans for trips home and cruises and shit that require tickets that only get more expensive the longer you wait to buy them. We aren't all officers' wives who make $6-10K a month. Some of us have to budget.
So FUCK YOU, Army. We wives are not the pussies you seem to think we are. We are strong. We've made it this long without our hubbies and are still alive, kicking, and mostly sane. Just tell us the truth. "We have the dates, but are not releasing them due to OPSEC. You will have them as soon as we deem it safe to give out the info." Again, I may not like it, but given the choice between a dead husband and a more expensive ticket, I'll take the latter.
Just get his ass home to me in one piece (his penis, too) and then give me some time to rape him repeatedly. I'm good.
It's not like block leave dates are a violation of OPSEC (not really, but I'll get to that). You aren't telling us the date the boys are boarding a plane to come home. No target is getting painted on the boys by releasing this info to us. The danger they are in isn't increased by showing a little goddamn common courtesy and telling us when they will be able to take leave.
And don't try to tell me that the Army just figured out when block leave was going to take place. They already know when the Rakkasans are headed back to the rockpile, and that is in a fucking year. Block leave is 3 months from now. Let me think . . . Is it within the realm of possibility that the Army can plan for more than a year out, but not know what the fuck is going on in a few months? I don't think so.
I'll tell you why I think it is that they withhold this kind of intel until they can't possibly keep it back anymore: they are trying to keep the boys from being too forward thinking. If the guys are looking too far ahead, their minds won't be on mission. Their morale will be too high to allow them to kill the enemy with extreme prejudice the way they are expected to. And it puts their lives in danger. It's only now when they are getting ready to pack up to come home that it's really safe to release leave dates. OPSEC in an ass backwards kind of way.
I get it. I really really do. But I am a wife. And I don't have to fucking like nor do I have to swallow the bullshit they are trying to sell when they say they just got the dates. Wives are trying to make plans for trips home and cruises and shit that require tickets that only get more expensive the longer you wait to buy them. We aren't all officers' wives who make $6-10K a month. Some of us have to budget.
So FUCK YOU, Army. We wives are not the pussies you seem to think we are. We are strong. We've made it this long without our hubbies and are still alive, kicking, and mostly sane. Just tell us the truth. "We have the dates, but are not releasing them due to OPSEC. You will have them as soon as we deem it safe to give out the info." Again, I may not like it, but given the choice between a dead husband and a more expensive ticket, I'll take the latter.
Just get his ass home to me in one piece (his penis, too) and then give me some time to rape him repeatedly. I'm good.
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