Army Values Redefined

I know the Army Values. Most Army wives do. And a good soldier does his damnedest to live by the Army values. It's not fucking rocket science here. The Army values just boil down to plain old common sense, having some morals and a little bit of "intestinal fortitude." Well, apparently, the current leadership doesn't feel the Army values are as terribly important as I seem to think they are and so I am revamping the values to meet the CoC's expectations for the soldiers under their command. Enjoy.

Loyalty:
The old: Showing faith and allegiance to the Constitution, the Army, your unit, your fellow soldiers, your family and friends. (Please notice, self is not mentioned.)

The new: Loyalty to the CoC comes first and foremost with loyalty to yourself coming in second. You are no longer required to have unit pride. Your loyalty to the unit will only be called into question if the CoC wants you to do something that you think is wrong.

Duty:
The old: Fulfilling your professional, legal and moral obligations to the best of your ability. Taking responsibility for your actions and those beneath you.

The new: It's now OK to do as little as humanly possible so long as you don't leave a fucking paper trail. Just look busy. And it's also perfectly acceptable to blame your fuck ups on the soldiers under you or on whoever the CoC doesn't like or.

Respect:
The old: Promoting dignity, consideration, fairness, and justice

The new: Also known as ass kissing, cock sucking, RHIP, and buddy fucking. Enough said.

Selfless Service:
The old: Service to the nation, the mission, and the men under you comes before serving yourself.

The new: Buddy fucking is acceptable. It's OK to take credit for something you didn't do, and the CoC might even get people to lie on sworn statements for you if you can suck a golf ball through a straw or are willing to take it up the ass.

Honor:
The old: Live up to all the Army values.

The new: Do what the CoC tells you to do, don't ask questions, kiss their asses, and maybe you won't get fucked over by them, too.

Integrity:
The old: Do what is right morally and legally.

The new: The CoC will decide what is right and what is wrong. This is subject to change at their whim so be on your toes. And right and wrong do not apply across the board. It may be OK for everyone but you if you aren't an ass kisser. And the legal end of this gets a bit fucking hazy under the cloud of the CoC's personal friends who will ruin anyone who stands up for what is right. CYA is the rule of the day.

Personal Courage:
The old: Showing physical and moral courage. Having the courage to take a stand for what is right.

The new: Pussydom and ass kissing are encouraged. Do not take a stand for what you think is right. The CoC "knows people" and they will throw you under the fucking bus.


This is the current command climate. What the fuck happened to my Rakassans? I was told recently that people would really understand if I didn't like the Rakassans anymore after everything that's gone on. What? I love the Rakassans. Twelve years in the Rakk and I love those mother-fuckers. CoCs will come and go and they are NOT the Rakassans. Fucking tourists. The Rakassans are the men of the 187 and them I love with all my heart. The current CoC can go fuck themselves. Karma's a bitch and when you convolute the Army values like this to such a self-serving fucked up way of thinking, well, the CoC is just begging to get fucked in the ass.

Sleep or Sex?

So I thought that having the hubby stateside meant that I would be having sex and not sleeping because of the frequency and duration of said sex, but I have children who hate me and want to ensure that their mother never gets laid ever again! We spend the first day he's home waiting and waiting and waiting some more for the damn unit to release them, but some stupid fuck lost a bag. And rather than just fill out the fucking paperwork and count the damn thing as a lost cause, they decide it's more fun to torture everyone and make them wait some more to take their soldier home. Wasn't deployment long enough?? We really need to extend it any way we can? Assholes.

So I finally get him home and have dinner with the family. Lay the baby down. Get the 5 year old off to bed. Teenagers are in their caves, never to be seen again and just starting to think that sex-time is approaching, when we discover a screaming baby in a pool of vomit and a diaper full of something approaching the texture and consistency of chocolate milk. Yay! We're up all night with the baby who is sore and tired and puking his guts up. And then the five year old gets up at 0500 and vomits all over, but seems to be fine after so at 0630 he's on the bus to school. T left for reverse SRP at 0600. Baby goes down at 0700 and I'm stupid enough to think I might get a power nap in. Yeah right!

0715 the phone rings and I am informed that I need to go pick up the kid from school because he has puked on the bus and himself and his shoes. . . I get my oldest up to pull guard duty on the puking baby (who is still asleep), tell my daughter to have a good day when she catches the bus at 0730, and drive in a semi-catatonic state to the school to get my other sick child. Nice. I get home to a still sleeping baby and I'm still wanting that nap, but of course just as I get comfy, the bugger wakes up and pukes again. And the diaper is nasty again.

That was day 2. Day 3 and 4 have been more of the same. I am subsisting on 1 or 2 hours of sleep whenever I can catch them (and they are speedy fuckers who don't like to be caught), washing load after load after load of laundry that has bodily emissions on it that I don't even want to think about, trying to ensure the baby is never ever not being held or he screams bloody murder, and keeping candles burning so the smell that is permeating my house doesn't make anyone else vomit, all while attempting to find an opportunity to maybe get in a quickie with my husband.

When you have a choice between sex and sleep and you haven't had sex in a year, I would think it wasn't much of a choice. But I'm really leaning toward the sleeping thing and that's just fucking sad.

Boots on the Ground

This wretched fucking bullshit deployment is nearly at an end. One more flight. One more mother fucking flight and all the boys will finally be home so we can put this bitch to bed! All the Rakkasans with boots on the ground. Fuck, yeah! Only thing left to do is reverse SRP and a sham schedule until block leave. And these men deserve it after the hell they've dealt with for the past year.

The cluster fuck that has been deployment and redeployment will be over once those wheels hit the ground with the last of the guys. So we ladies can kiss sexual deprivation, deployment drunkenness, chain smoking, anxiety, single parenthood and insomnia GOOD-fucking-BYE and get on with life again. Time for my harem to stand up and say, "Fuck you, deployment! We kicked your ass, you bitch! Go to hell!!"

So, my beautiful harem and faithful friends/readers/stalkers, it has been my great honour to have had you all partaking of the insanity has been my blog over the past year. And it has also been my great privilege to be able to help those of you who have called and emailed me needing advice or a question answered or a problem solved. I hope that I have been helpful to you all, whether directly by telling off rear-d or answering a question or by making you laugh with some stupid story on here.

Enjoy your husbands and sons! Deployment isn't quite over for me and some of the other ladies, but I hope within the next twenty-four hours to have re-joined the ranks of Rakkasan wives who are getting sex. We'll just have to wait and see whether method #1078 to fuck up a deployment rears its ugly head: forget to bring one of them home. . .

Meet the Parents

My phone has been blowing up for the past couple of weeks. Between wives and parents calling and texting me at all hours of the day and night wanting to know when the fuck these boys are coming home and me trying to tell everyone that I don't fucking know either, it's been fun. Not really. It's frustrating to want to help and not be able to, but I unfortunately do not have the rank required to make rear-d and the CoC give me a damned roster. It has, however, done one very important thing: angry and frantic wives and parents help me stay busy enough that I don't have time to remember how fucking pissed off I am at the Army, the CoC, rear-d and life in general.

So I've been going to every single homecoming that I can get to if there is an Angel on board that plane. I missed one and I feel like an ass, but four kids don't allow for the necessary flexibility to up and run on demand. Little shits fucking up my plans. . . Best part of going is that I finally get to meet the people who go with the voice on the other end of the phone calls I've been making all fucking deployment! Now I admit that getting to finally meet the parents of all our Angels finishes a distant second to the prospect of getting laid again sometime this century, but it really is one of the best things about redeployment. Let's face it--most phone calls to the POC from wives and parents are, "Fuck!! Fix this shit for me, Kate!" and I'm happy to help fix that shit. It's just a nice change for the better to have elated people want to talk to me.

So apparently I'm not just everyone's favorite pain in the ass. I'm not as useless as tits on a bull. The guys' parents actually like me!! And want to thank me for my help? And hug me. And cry on me. And introduce me to their sons/heroes. And take me to dinner (I think they forgot the 4 kids that I have in tow and how much that would cost.) And take my picture while I'm sticking my tongue out at them. It's fan-fucking-tastic! Brilliant! A total blast!

And after the cluster fuck that has been this deployment and redeployment, I needed to be reminded that in spite of my foul mouth and bad temper, I am a nice person. Holy shit!! Who knew??

Jealousy?

My husband has no fucking clue what it is to be jealous. Sometimes I love that about him and sometimes, it just makes me wonder if I'm so damned unattractive that he really doesn't give a fuck.

During the invasion, phone calls home were a precious commodity and if you got a chance to call home, you called and talked as long as you could regardless of what was going on. This kid had guard duty and it was his turn to call home, so there's a bunch of guys up there with him to take up the slack so he could talk. This kid calls his fiancee who was a rather large girl (huge) and is talking about how much he loves her and she's perfect and that if she wants to go on a diet that's fine with him, but he loves her the way she is. Blah, blah, blah.

At some point in this conversation, one of the guys in the room decides that this is just too good to pass up and it needs to be recorded. Somehow, somewhere, they find a recorder and tape this poor bastard talking to his woman. And apparently this conversation is something that SSG T needs to hear. So they find my hubby and let him listen to this recording.

"No baby. You're beautiful. I love you just the way you are. Don't diet for me; do it for yourself. I'll love you the same, no matter how big you are. But if you want to lose some weight, that would be wonderful. And if you could get as tiny as Mrs. T, oh my God, we are going to have the most amazing sex, because I'll be able to bounce you all over the place just like I bet SSG T does to his wife. . . "

No doubt the guys were anticipating the smoking this poor little boy was about to receive at the hands of SSG T for talking so infamously about his wife. No doubt they were imagining the delights in store for this foolish kid. And no doubt, they were really hoping that they would be there to witness the entire glorious torture of this kid who didn't know when to shut the fuck up. Well, if shame is torture, this kid got it in spades. My husband goes up to this kid, puts an arm around him and says, "Yes, my wife is fun to bounce around."

From Deployment to Dancing

Well, the boys are FINALLY fucking on their way home and will be filtering in in greater numbers over the next week, so now it's time to start shopping for that next ball gown ladies! April--Rakkasan Ball. Fun. fun, fun. Really. Rakk Balls are a fucking blast, but for goodness sake, fucking think when you buy your dress!

Remember: women are bitches. We LOVE to find fault and if you aren't careful, you will be on everyone's tongues and not in a good way. "Did you see what she's wearing? OMG!"There are always the big girls trying to look sexy by dressing too tightly or skimpily, the even bigger girls who think they can wear a yellow dress and not look like a tub of butter, the freakishly thin girls who think skanky is sexy, the girls who are ultra chic and wear a dress that they will never be able to wear again, the girls who "forgot" their underwear, the younger girls who think this is a fucking prom, the older ladies who forget that they have a baby roll and sagging boobs, and the just fucking scary girls who are wearing who the fuck knows what.

My first ball, having no clue what to do, I wore a plain black floor length strapless fitted dress. Completely forgettable, which is a good thing. Not so forgettable was the CSM's wife. When he came in alone, I was standing talking to a friend and our husbands were in line to buy a beer. Big surprise there. A minute after the CSM walked in, here comes this older woman. You couldn't miss her if you tried. She had on a beautiful tradition Korean gown, complete with jacket and shoes. Beautiful. Bright fucking fuschia and flaming orange. Very noticable.

When she came in, my friend and I immediately commented about how gorgeous her dress was. No sarcasm, because it was seriously impressive. But then her husband stopped to talk to someone and she stopped too about 10 feet behind him. In the middle of the floor, not near anyone, just stopped and stood there. OK. I am gawking at this woman wondering what the fuck is going on, and then she did it. When her husband started walking, she did this little hop to fall in step behind him and maintained that 10 foot distance.

I would have been fine if she just started walking, but the hop? I was on the floor, with my friend, dying! And here come our husbands. "Shut the fuck up! You're going to get us in trouble! That's the CSM. Stop it!" Yeah, OK. But when you wear flaming pink and orange and do that tradition the man is God shit, I'm going to stare and I am going to laugh my ass off. Sorry. No help for it.

My point is this. Think classy. Like old Hollywood classy. If you do anything to stand out in a bad way, whether it's your dress or your behavior, you could be the topic of someone's future blog. So dress nicely, avoid the grog and please, if you plan on getting drunk, don't wear a strapless dress that will allow you to reveal those boobs your hubby bought you to everyone.

Black Ops

Enough bitching. Everyone is pissed about redeployment and me bitching about it doesn't do one damned bit of good. So fuck it.

One thing I've learned in all my years in the Army is that we wives get random phone calls at ridiculous hours from our husbands wanting stupid shit. Like the phones calls from Iraq when my husband tells me he needs as many stuffed Pooh bears as I can find. And a Harley Davidson tee shirt and mug. Oh, and a Barbie doll who is fully clothed. WTF?!? The Barbie is for a little Iraqi girl he fell in love with and plans to kidnap. The HD stuff is for their translator. And the Pooh bears? He wants a collection to pass out to the Iraqi babies because "no child should grow up without a Pooh bear." Whatever.

No big deal. I can send packages like a motherfucker. It's when I get a call at dusk from my husband who is in the field somewhere in the back forty telling me he has a mission for me and that no one can know about it. A black op. OK? What the hell does he want this time? Easy. Go to the store. Buy a cube of Mountain Dew. A cube of Pepsi. Honey mustard pretzels. Candy bars. A two liter of Dew and a USA Today newspaper for Daddy W. Fine.

Load up the kids, ages two and three. Go to the store and fight with the kids to buy all this shit. Then drive out to the back forty, get lost twice, finally find where I need to be and start checking the wood line for a platoon of soldiers in camouflage. In the dark. Yeah. I finally gave up. The kids are screaming. I'm tired. I can't find them. I'm going home. So I turn around and begin the hour long drive back home.

And then out of the woods comes this little boy, in camo with face paint on, who jumps in front of the van waving like a jackass to get me to stop. Fuck me. I'm surrounded! Six guys throw open the door of the van, grab the stuff. My husband yells, "Thanks. Love you!" the door slams shut and the bastards are gone!

Mission accomplished.

Fear and Loathing at Fort Campbell

The atmosphere here at Fort Campbell is thick enough to cut with a knife. Everywhere you go and everyone you meet has a distinct edge about them and it's brought on by fear and loathing of all things that fall under the category of redeployment. You know that Bible verse in 1 Corinthians about love? How it's patient and kind? Well, redeployment equals HATE and so I am "fixing" this to suit the mood I'm in and God can smite me down for convoluting His Word.

Redeployment makes us all fucking impatient. It is hurtful and intolerant. It exaggerates the truth. It is snide and overbearing. It outrages everyone and definitely makes us keep track of the fuck-ups. Redeployment is infuriating and loves to fuck with people's heads and hearts. It is neglectful, causes doubt and despair, and tries to make us surrender to its whims. Redeployment never fucking ends.

So now I can burn in hell for screwing with the Bible, but redeployment is, right now, the opposite of love. Love and redeployment aren't even in the same dimension! We get told to be patient, to be flexible and to start getting excited. But then no one can tell us what the fuck is going on and FUBAR is the word of the day; our questions are ignored or passed off. We've been told so many different dates to expect them home only to have that day come and go. Is it any wonder that wives are parents alike are at the end of their ropes?

Redeployment can go fuck itself. And so can the CoC and rear-d and everyone else who has a finger in planning or organizing this cluster fuck. I'm done. Just fucking bring them home and kiss my ass.

Migraine

I have had a raging migraine for the past week. Feels like something is inside my head and trying to beat its way out of my skull. I'm sure that a complete and total lack of sleep isn't any fucking help at this stage, but barring the consumption of a bottle of wine nightly, sleep is not going to be happening anytime soon. Fortunately, I do foresee an end of the pounding headache: getting laid and hopefully soon. But then again, the last welcome home ceremony was just further proof that the "Hurry Up and Wait" is alive and well. I'm just hoping to get the call sometime before hell freezes over, and if you've been tracking the weather at all, you know that we are fast approaching the freezing point of brimstone and fire. FTA!

Last night was a whole lot of no fucking fun at all. Sitting at the hangar, waiting on the boys, listening to the brass quintet (who incidentally are fucking fantastic!!!)when someone comes over the PA to announce "The plane will be here in approximately 5 minutes. Please proceed outside to watch your soldier de-plane." FUCK YEAH!! Then another announcement, "The plane will not be able to land at Campbell Airfield tonight. Please return to your seats and wait while we figure out what the fuck is going on." Well, not verbatim, obviously. But that was the gist of it.

They diverted the plane to Nashville and had to send buses to pick up the guys. What the FUCK?!?!?!?! Who the hell is coordinating this shit? They couldn't have figured out that the landing strip was too fucking icy before everyone showed up? But no! Again, we are incapable of planning anything with any kind of forethought or consideration for others. It's way too much fun to fuck with people and dangle the boys in front of them and then laugh while we make them wait 7 more hours.

I've had it. My head is killing me and if stress doesn't give me a heart attack, hearing that a welcome home ceremony went smoothly just might do the job. I am staging a coup. I have never seen such fucked up, asinine, bullshit planning in my life and I can't take the stupidity anymore.

Good Morning, Bitch!

How sleep deprived and stressed out do you have to be before you can qualify yourself among the living dead? This past week has just about pushed me over the fucking edge. Between stupid emails, frantic phone calls, exploding computers, vomiting dogs, screaming babies and a generally pervasive stressful environment that prevents sleep of any quality or quantity, I am officially announcing my initiation into the world of videogame creatures where my son shoots Russian Space Monkey Zombies with his uncles. Wish somebody would shoot me.

I've already bitched about that shitty fucking email so I'll just let you peruse that particular posting at your leisure. But last night and this morning were the straw that fucking turned the camel inside out. There was no new bitch session from the infamous Kate last night because whilst checking her email, her piece of shit computer decided to lock up, make a hideous screeching hissing noise, and die. D-E-A-D. Dead. The whore won't even power on, so at 2200, I'm at Walmart buying a new machine. Fuck!

Then I spent the night worrying about the pics of my kids on the old hard drive which is the only thing I give two shits about and getting the new computer up to my usual standard of functionality. Finally passed out at 0400 and woke up to the alarm at 0610, which means I have 15 minutes to get my 5 year old up, dressed, lunch packed, coat on, and out the door for the bus. Tight timetable, but doable. However, on my way through the kitchen to turn on my tea pot for my morning cup of tea, I slide through a puddle of dog vomit. Fuck the tea. Reverse course and go get the boy up.

Unfortuantely, the baby is awake. He's jumping up and down in his bed, wanting to get up which isn't happening because of the puke pile. So I get the kindergartner moving, throw him his clothes, go clean up the vomit and start on the lunch. And then I hear the lovely sounds of the dog dry heaving and before I can so much as turn around, that little shit has vomited again and now I have the fucking Atlantic Ocean all over my kitchen floor.

Back to my room to grab towels. The baby, still in bed, sees Mommy run in and out again without getting him up and proceeds to start screaming. Running with towels to clean up the sea of sick. 5 year old butt naked in the living room. Dog standing there gagging again. So my teenage daughter woke up to Mom screaming, "Get the fuck out of my house!!!" while slamming the door behind the dog. She thinks she's in trouble, 5 year old still not dressed, lunch not packed, baby screaming, puke towels going in the washing machine, and at 0617 Mom is bleaching the kitchen floor.

0622. 5 year old dressed. Teenager in shower. Baby still screaming, doing his usual Picasso routine now, and rubbing poop all over his bed to further express his displeasure at being kept waiting. Lunch finally packed. Into lunch bag and then into backpack. Throw coat, hat and gloves at 5 year old, jam on my own to walk him out and 0625, here's the fucking bus. Out the door. hugs and kisses and straightening his hat as he boards the big yellow box with a laughing at his mommy bus driver behind the wheel. (Fuck you, bitch!)

0626- Baby up now. Into tub. Shitty sheets joining the pukey towels in the washing machine. Naked baby streaking through the house. Diaper, clothes. Cheerios and a sippy cup of milk. And now I can sit for 5 minutes until the next fucking crisis. By this point my main concern is where the hell is my fucking cup of tea?!?

And people wonder why I smoke like a fucking dragon!

Cluster Fuck

This is the email we got about homecoming. What the fuck?!?

There has been a change to how Rear D is going to identify flights going forward. They are no longer able to match the Main Body # with the Mission/Ceremony #. Flights are backed up at some point in Afghanistan and as a result some Soldiers are getting moved to different flights than they were originally slated for. There is also severe weather which will cause more delays and changes. There is a decent amount of confusion so we need your help to try to keep people informed of what is going on. The notification process we’ve briefed will not change. Rear D will call families 7 days out and again 18-24 hours out.

It is imperative that you let families know they will need to rely on the Mission/Ceremony # given to them by Rear D to know for certain what flight their Soldier is on. The Main Body # is just no longer reliable. People will be confused if they talk to their Soldier and get a Main Body # from them – that is the only information Soldiers have to identify the flight they will be on. Please let families know that the Mission/Ceremony # they get from Rear D is ultimately the only number that matters.

As I’ve said before – LOW EXPECTATIONS! Murphy’s Law loves redeployment… Out do yourself on how low your expectations can be. If you expect the worst then you can’t get too disappointed!


So in other words, redeployment has become an even bigger cluster fuck than it was previously when they decided to send the boys home in some random order rather than by company. Now, somehow that random order has become even more random and no one-not rear-d, the CoC or God Himself-has any fucking clue who is coming home or when or on what flight or if everyone is even scheduled for a flight! And someone decided to send out this email and scare the shit out of everyone, let everyone know how inconvenienced by the Army they are really going to be, and set up all the POCs (and me) to start getting bombarded by calls from angry, confused and irate parents and spouses at zero dark thirty this morning! Assholes.

And we are supposed to EXPECT THE WORST?? Way to inspire confidence that our husbands will be home sometime this century! Because my idea of the worst is that you fuckers will leave my husband behind in Asscrackistan! I mean, I know that the CoC hates his guts so what incentive do they have to bring him home beyond not looking like even bigger fuck-ups than they already do?? My poor hubby already is stuck trying to hop flights to get to where the main body flights are leaving from because no one bothered to schedule the trip for him. So should I just brace myself for him NOT coming home?

Maybe we wives should usurp the CoC--take this shit over ourselves. Because at the rate things are going, my five year old could plan this shit better than those dumb fucks!

Jackass- Army Style

The boys are working their way home and at the homecoming ceremony, we're all going to get to hear yet again about how they are all suffering from PTSD and are nuts. What I think everyone fails to remember is that these are infantrymen, not a bunch of fucking pogues! They were all out of their damn minds before they deployed!!

I swear that being an infantry wife is like watching a never-ending episode of Jackass. What stupid thing can we do today seems to be the question that infantrymen strive to answer on a daily basis, whether they are in garrison or in the field. Inch worm racing in the barracks--that's when you zip guys up in their sleeping bags and make them crawl like caterpillars. Then there's "private bowling," which takes place the day after a GI Party and the floors have been waxed to hell and back again. You collect all the beer bottles you can find, stack them, grab a private and use him for a bowling ball down the hall.

Then there are the idiots who insist on outdoing on another. Like the fool who wanted to fuck with his roommate and ripped the cord out of his toaster, attached the wires to the doorknob and the then plugged the fucker in! Or the trio who decided that repelling off the roof of the barracks with 550-cord would be good practice for air assault school.

But garrison time doesn't hold a monopoly on stupid human tricks. Field time requires a bit more creativity, but infantrymen are nothing if not inventive. There's "koala-fying"--everyone finds a tree, climbs up, hangs upside down from a branch and sees who can do this the longest. The "Parmalet Challenge" involves this fake milk shit that will keep in 110 degree weather for 500 years without spoiling. You have to chug as many of them as you can in 30 minutes and not puke. And by puke I mean projectile vomit. Oh yeah. It also makes you shit your brains out while you are puking your guts up.

And who can forget the foraging missions? One guy goes around collecting for the pool and a team goes out searching for ever kind of creepy crawly thing you can imagine, from grubs and worms to crickets and stink bugs. Whoever will eat all the bugs gets the pool. One of the guys (crazy sick mother fucker) ate a fucking LIZARD for $100!!

Can we really say that boys who act like this were really "normal" before they fucking deployed?? I think not.