Do I Get Danger Pay For This?

Yup, going to a wedding.

Unfortunately, the above pic was nixed as a potential wedding gift. Thought it was kind of funny, myself...

My last opportunity of squirming out of going was likewise nixed by the doc's verdict today. Been feeling kind of 'bleh' the past few days, I was kind of pulling for strep, but alas, the ole crusher-of-hopes informed me that it was the end stages of the crud that's been going around pretty much everybody this time of year. He gave me some meds and the all clear for travel.


Awesome.

No, I'm not (completely) serious about the above. There are in fact a few things that a regular guy like myself can get into when it comes to weddings. As a single guy, it's an excellent place to take a date. Seeing extended family you haven't seen in awhile is always good, meeting new family is cool, too. Free food is great. Free drink is even better, when it comes to seeing folks that can't handle their alcohol... trying to handle their alcohol (there's always one).

Kind of got me thinking about some good advice I learned in my earlier days, re: weddings.



Whether or not there's an invite for my namesake, it's a good bet he's gonna show up at some point in the festivities.

'Country' can be an interesting theme for a wedding.

'Police response' is almost always not a good theme for a wedding.

If you're single, might want to think about taking a date. If you don't have a date and you're wearing the Blues, you'll find a date at the wedding. Hopefully, she's not married...

Leave no keg behind.

Just because your marching orders from the bride the evening before included not allowing the groom to get sloppy drunk didn't mean that you had a free pass. Now you have a hangover. Here's a straw, suck it up.

Good luck sentiments from strippers is ok; good luck sentiments from strippers written with permanent marker all over the groom's face and body is not.

When it comes time for the sword arch and the 'Welcome to the Corps' pat on the ass (for the bride- heck, for the groom too, if they're into that kind of thing...) might want to establish if the brides tail bone is fully healed from that car accident awhile back...

That's Gotta Suck

Stove Shoots Woman, Story At 11.

Hmm, I knew that me and stoves are a dangerous combination...


I've even heard of attack journalism before, but I think this is getting out of hand. Whod've thought that you can now also think of newspapers as a deadly (eek!) weapon? Hopefully, this incident will lead to studies, resolutions, safety measures, and laws for 'common sense' journalism.

Doing The Mostest With The Leastest

By the time grunts actually get set free to go out looking for that which needs blowin' up and those that need blowin' away, they are the friggin' Yodas of Adapt & Improvise. This is due to a traumatically ingrained memory of having next to nuthin', throughout most (if not all) training.


'Butta-Butta Jam, anyone?'


The inevitable result of this are a near constant tendency to use items for other than their originally intended use. Some of the more well known items might be things like;


crazy string as a trip-wire detector.

entrenching tools used as ass-props whilst 'dropping bombs'.

zip-ties for damn near everything.

skivvy-shirt sleeves as emergency t.p.

remote-control trucks as a c4 delivery devices.

flash-bangs for wayward local national drivers.

shelter-halves used for Hummer tires' traction in mud (good times).

vacant mortar base-plate holes as recliners and as personal *ahem* 'drop zones'.

MRE shells as barf bags, wound covers, and storage bags.


Of course, nearly all of the above can, has been, and will be used for practical jokes of one sort or the other, but that's like noting that the sun is bright or the sky is blue. With the short above list in mind, a pic.

Neat lookin' (actual technical phrase) aircraft abandoned outside Camp Cupcake.

Anyone venture to guess what the above was used for, during my time?


1) Source for spare parts and as a training aid for the '04 Iraqi Air Force.

2) Reference point when travelling through the Area of Operations.

3) Prime real estate for a morning constitutional.



You get three guesses, and the first two don't count.

Humps, Tender Tootsies, and Comfort Is King

I've tried to explain my love/hate/hate relationships with humps to some friends and family, with varying success.

'What's the big deal?', some think, 'it's just walking around with a pack... kinda like hiking, or something'.

Or something...

I try to explain it by suggesting they find someone roughly 1/2 of their own body weight. Have that person hop on your back, or boost them up so they can kneel on your shoulders. They are now your pack. Have them hang so that they inflict maximum pain and discontent on your lower back, upper back, baby got back, neck, everywhere else, and generally make life as miserable as possible. Go out and find some hills - now 'hike' for say, 10 miles. For added fun, break out into a run every once in a while. Bonus points for having your friend talk trash about how fat and nasty you are throughout the hump- er, sorry - 'hike'.

That's more-or-less the level of fun in boot camp. In your unit, it gets even more fun, due to the added weight from ammo (rifle and mortar), crew-served weapons components, bodily dragging the snivelers, etc.

Early on in my Corps life, humps weren't too bad. As I both aged and gained a bit of rank, I found that they sucked more, but I still didn't have any issues keeping up (physically, that is. Mentally, sometimes I felt like a whiny little turd). Even when I was away from the guys so as to attend a school/class (and therefore missing some of the shorter humps in the interim), when I would rejoin the unit, well, it sucked quite a bit but I still got through it. Getting notice that one memorable welcome back to the platoon involved SAPI plates and full combat load in addition to the regular gear was a bit of a gut check, I admit...

One thing that always helped me out was foot care.

This is a pretty big deal in training, and even more so deployed. As a Pfc, I would take note of boot brands that worked, and those that didn't. Foot powder always. I would always pack additional pairs of clean socks and change socks every time that an opportunity presented itself. I would roll the tops of my boot socks, as to avoid them slipping down and bunching up in the boots (don't care how it looks, if it's comfy and works, I'll do it).

Might want to make a note of that last sentence...

Another thing about picking up rank, is the fact that it's just a given that you take care of your Marines. Like I've mentioned before, while mission accomplishment is always first, troop welfare is always a close second. During breaks (both for rest and of bodies), the Corpsmen, many of the Staff NCOs, and Officers are all constantly on their feet, checking on their Marines. This pretty much mandated to me that as a Sergeant, I would also be on my feet, from start to finish of the hump. Every hump. There was always canteens to fill, feet to inspect, and stragglers to be threatened (with the infamous 'silver-bullet') during the breaks, so there was progressively less and less time to take care of my own footsies. Take a wild guess as to what started next...

I started getting some nasty foot issues.

Never really had any problems with blisters before I picked up Corporal, but afterwards -man!- I started getting some doozies. We're talking blisters that leaked (not dripped) when I couldn't take it anymore and popped 'em, blood-filled blisters that covered a fist-sized space on the bottoms of (both) my feet, and boots that eventually conformed to the shape of my blistered feet to the point where I couldn't even wear flip-flops to the shower, I had to put back on those stanky-assed boots.

Good training, huh.

After one particularly hellacious hump, I had some extra time to spend with Lovely. Upon seeing me hobble through the front door, she suggested some treatment for my tender tootsies. I gingerly took off my boots, peeled off my what-was-shortly-before-new, clean-socks, and whistled. My feet were... grody.

A brief word, re: my Lovely.

Lovely Love has a foot fetish like you wouldn't believe.

Hold on, that didn't sound right...

My Love looooves her some foot massages. Loves 'em. If you offered her a choice between a foot rub and chocolate-covered strawberries dipped in wine, sprinkled with crack and served on a tight-bodied cabana boy named Raul (¡Ole!), -let's be honest, here- she might think about it, but she'd choose the foot rub, every time.

If 'Raul' ever figured out how to do foot rubs, I'm totally screwed...

Lovely has all kinds of foot-oriented stuff. Lotions, oils, comfy footwear, foot-care tools, nail paints, the list o' crap goes on about as long as everything else does re: the ladies. Allow me a moment to grab some sack and thank every deity known and imagined for making me a dude... Ok, good.

One look at what passed for my feet convinced her that this was a moment for her portable Orgasmo-Ped 3000. This contraption was a sort of small tub that you filled with water, plugged in and apparently were immediately whisked off to the heights of... somewhere. The fact that she allowed me to use her nearly-most prized possession should indicate either that she really loved me or that she still had her uses for me - possibly even both.

So I sat down on the couch and stuck my feet in the thing. She filled it with hot water, flipped the switch, and I watched as the water started... buzzing(?) bubbling (?). The ridges on the bottom felt ok, I guess. It was relaxing, but I couldn't help but feel kind of guilty at the fact that apparently it didn't do nearly as much for me as it did for her.

Eventually, she got up and went to go grab some towels for when my feet were done. When she placed the towels on the armrests, she asked if perhaps I wanted a sandwich or something.

I love this woman.

We continued our conversation while she made herself busy in the kitchen and I dried and inspected my feet. Looked kinda shriveled, felt a bit better than before, probably just needed some additional airing out and they'd be fine. I shuffled over to the kitchen to wash my hands and for some strange reason she started to laugh at me!

See, as I was sitting on the couch, just after I finished drying off my feet, I noticed a pair of old slippers.

They were comfy. I wore them. The thought process was completely natural to me.

The fact that they were a pretty yellow color and had little duckies on them had no significance to me.

They were comfy.

Got Zen?

"I started target shooting several years ago, because I wanted to learn more about my work. Now, I find it relaxing. You have to be so mindful of safety when your shooting, it concentrates the mind wonderfully. In the far East, some Zen practitioners use archery, I use a little Browning 22."


Can I get an Amen... for Zen? (Ha!)

Link.

It's funny, the whole zen as shooting concept, but something that I (try not to) think I understand...

Linky Love?

After logging onto Sitemeter, a quick impression of Keanu: "Whoa!"

Who linked to me back on the 29th? With that amount of traffic, you'd think that I'd have posted hot, freaky nekkid pics of me and Salma Hayek, or something.















Don't worry Salmita, those pics are safe with me...


edit: I suppose thanks are in order to my still-anonymous Stumble-buddy. Funny, I can't seem to find the page from their site, but the site-meter traffic suggests that someone got a kick out of this post.

If I Ruled The World...

I had a thought, recently.


Don't act too surprised, reader(s), they happen on occasion.

What we really need, when it comes to politics, politicians, and most people in general, is something like this.

Work with me here...

I propose that any time a politician lies, fudges the facts, makes dumb remarks, distorts figures, avoids the question etc etc ad friggin' nauseum, he, she, and/or it should get a good n' solid jolt - you know, to help them get back on track. They're always all miked up anyways, adding a coupla extra wires wouldn't be terribly complicated, and I'm sure there'd be plenty of volunteers to help with the equipment and administration.

Just imagine,

"Ah did not have sex with- *crrackcrrackcrrackcrrack!* ...Ungh!"

For more current events, I think it might be a good idea to institute a 'Zap List', or that is to say a list of words, suggestions, or situations in which the Taser of Doom would be wielded with gleeful abandon. I propose the following;


Any mention of;

Clinton(s)

Universal... anything.

Bail out.

"The One".


Any time;

Senator Biden opens his mouth (preemptive measure).

A musician, actor, or TV hosts spews their views ($$$, fake boobies, and inflated ego are no protection from my Taser of Doom...).

A politician answers a yes or no question with anything other than... wait for it... 'Yes' or 'No' (Friggin' amazing concept, that one...).

A politician opens his cake hole without sufficient knowledge of the question (Muahahaha....)

A politician makes dumb jokes (bombing other nations, shooting at other candidates, corner stores with funny accented folk, etc).


Any news updates showing (jolt for the news 'journalists' and all hands in the clip);

Whenever Obama fans cry and/or show their 'O face'.

Creepy Obama's-gonna-save-the-world music.

Fashion critiques on friggin' shoes. Shoes.


To be fair, I might consider credit on future taser avoidance as a result of someone being honest for once [chuckle]. Hell I'd declare a temporary (3o minutes, say) moratorium for anyone that might actually say, 'You know, I don't know, but I'll find out'.


Thoughts or suggestions are nice, but 'tase yourself' probably won't be taken into consideration...

I Just Killed The Internet...

*Whew*

False alarm, folks. Also, I just figured out this whole 'screen shot' thing, so yay me. I tell ya, every day on the 'net is an adventure when you have the computeristical saavy like I do.


[no ninjas or googles were harmed in the creation of this blog post]

Palm, meet Forehead; Forehead, Palm.

Ahahaha...

Looks like Jay G. decided to post a bit o' public mea culpa. Seems like the ole goober's been reading this li'l blog for awhile with not so much as a link... on... his... blogro-


*ring, ring...* [clue phone]

"Hello? Oh, it's for me!"

*smack!*


Hey everybody, guess what time it is?

Yup, blog love time!

MArooned is the cleverly titled blog of the above named author. Dad, gun-nut, biker, owner of what is possibly the best crazy-face with a shotty at the range that'll I'll ever see, and all around Masshole of the highest caliber (ha!). I've likewise been reading his blog for quite some time. 'Wicked Pissah' blog, Jay.


With a casual glance over at my feeder and blogroll, I note that I'm obviously not only in that particular same boat, but I'm the friggin' designer, captain, and ship's monkey. More blogs to be updated soon...

Blogvertising?

I was on the couch the other evening, 'sleeping well and dreaming of large women', when the television I had fallen asleep on - woke me up.

In the moments immediately after waking, still half-asleep, I caught the first part of the clip and thought to myself, 'holy crap, Rachel Lucas has advertising now? That's so cool!'





Oh yeah...

Anybody watch the show?

Me neither. Thought the ad was funny, though...