I'm not surprised. I'm not sure anyone is. Now we'll just have to watch and see what exactly these 3500 guys can add to the mix.
http://www.army.mil/-news/2006/12/27/1131-gates-approves-82nd-airborne-division-deployment-to-kuwait/
Friday, December 29, 2006
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Ummmm, no.
I just attended a baby shower where the guest of honor spent over an hour discussing the cosmetic surgery she will have once she finally gives birth. Apparently, she has scheduled a c-section already -- why wait for a medically necessary reason to do so? -- and her doctor is willing to give her a tummy tuck at the same time. After all, why worry about the health of the baby or have a vaginal birth for a quicker recovery time when there might be cellulite and a few extra pounds to contend with?
Anyway, this sparked a conversation about the rumor that the military, wanting to train its doctors on the finer points of plastic surgery (with the idea that it will help with cosmetic surgeries on burn and blast combat casualties), has allotted one free procedure to all military spouses. Every woman in that room went on to say what they would have done -- boobs, liposuction, cheek implants, nose jobs -- you name it, someone wanted it. I was the lone dissenter.
First of all, I've never heard anything to make me believe that this rumor is true and I doubt very much that it is. But more importantly, why on earth would anyone submit to a *free* cosmetic surgery so an inexperienced surgeon can *practice* on them? C'mon now. That's like letting the kid next door take apart the engine of your new Porsche for his freshman auto mechanics class.
In truth, I don't believe in plastic surgery. I think this world does enough to make women feel bad about their bodies. And given that I have a few friends who do indulge in nips and tucks, I've never seen a procedure help with those body phobias. I've only seen it compel them to do more unnecessary and potentially dangerous surgeries to perfectly healthy and beautiful bodies.
I'm not one to blow smoke up your ass and say that any body problem can be solved with diet and exercise. As someone who naturally had a big ass before my kid and then an even larger one after, I know it can only do so much. But it can do enough. Enough to make you feel strong and good inside, which will reflect on the outside. Perfection is unattainable. I don't know why it's so hard for us as women to understand that.
And as for the free plastic surgery, I'm guessing most of the women at that party won't partake. I hope not. But if they do, here's hoping that the military is willing to offer some kind of discount on any follow-on procedures. After all, what's a pair of new boobs without a new ass to match?
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
The reason why musicians should not be politicians.
Have you seen this stupidity? "Not as seen on TV?" C'mon, now. This is what Bono and Billie Joe think that the military could have done in New Orleans?! And what good is an aid drop like the one at the end of the video that FALLS IN THE WATER?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNpfVNOW-Uw
And don't get me started on the stealth bomber. Complete and utter bullshit.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNpfVNOW-Uw
And don't get me started on the stealth bomber. Complete and utter bullshit.
I changed my mind.
*THIS* is the perfect Christmas gift.
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/05349/622923.stm
"I thought it would add that extra sparkle to our marriage"?!?! What the hell is she going on about? Why can't she do what the rest of us do for a little more virgin sparkle -- just lie on the bed, eyes closed, missionary position with knees as close together as possible, with a few winces of pain while whispering, "What time did you say your mother was coming home again?"
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/05349/622923.stm
"I thought it would add that extra sparkle to our marriage"?!?! What the hell is she going on about? Why can't she do what the rest of us do for a little more virgin sparkle -- just lie on the bed, eyes closed, missionary position with knees as close together as possible, with a few winces of pain while whispering, "What time did you say your mother was coming home again?"
Stories left untold.
Like many soldiers, CPT Dick didn't really talk much about his deployment in Baghdad. He simply summed it up as, "It sucked ass," and saw no need to elaborate further. I think the most descriptive he ever got was in one letter back home after he had been there for a few months. He wrote, "The city smells like a combination of sewage, diesel exhaust and more sewage...the sand gets everywhere, including behind your balls." Poetical, no?
But being in Cairo did prompt him to tell me a few stories about his Iraq experience, albeit a few years later. Maybe it was all the sand (still getting behind his balls, I'd imagine, given how much I found in Munchkin's diaper), or the pervasive smell of sewage, or perhaps the crazy drivers always asking for a "baksheesh."
But as we were being taxied around Cairo by a particularly insane driver, CPT Dick laughed to himself and finally told a story. He said that while he was in Baghdad, there was a suspicious vehicle that was called in by a patrol. The guys at the base were asking for details about the car: make, model, distinctive characteristics, etc. The soldier calling in described the car in detail and was then asked to provide the license plate number. The soldier paused, sighed dejectedly, and then said, "Squiggle dot, squiggle squiggle dot, circle squiggle dot." He couldn't read the Arabic script and just did the best he could.
As I laughed at the story (because I certainly could do no better in deciphering Arabic script, especially on a dirty, banged up license plate), I thought about how strange it must be for soldiers to be in Iraq. How completely foreign it must all be. Different world, different culture, different language and different alphabet. For us, on a leisurely trip to Egypt (where everyone speaks English, at least to ask for some money), the foreignness was part of the allure. But for someone going on a year tour, I can't even imagine how completely and utterly unsettling a world of squiggle dots must be.
As I prepare for CPT Dick to make a year's return to that foreign land, I hope I remember how strange it all can be and be more patient with him.
But being in Cairo did prompt him to tell me a few stories about his Iraq experience, albeit a few years later. Maybe it was all the sand (still getting behind his balls, I'd imagine, given how much I found in Munchkin's diaper), or the pervasive smell of sewage, or perhaps the crazy drivers always asking for a "baksheesh."
But as we were being taxied around Cairo by a particularly insane driver, CPT Dick laughed to himself and finally told a story. He said that while he was in Baghdad, there was a suspicious vehicle that was called in by a patrol. The guys at the base were asking for details about the car: make, model, distinctive characteristics, etc. The soldier calling in described the car in detail and was then asked to provide the license plate number. The soldier paused, sighed dejectedly, and then said, "Squiggle dot, squiggle squiggle dot, circle squiggle dot." He couldn't read the Arabic script and just did the best he could.
As I laughed at the story (because I certainly could do no better in deciphering Arabic script, especially on a dirty, banged up license plate), I thought about how strange it must be for soldiers to be in Iraq. How completely foreign it must all be. Different world, different culture, different language and different alphabet. For us, on a leisurely trip to Egypt (where everyone speaks English, at least to ask for some money), the foreignness was part of the allure. But for someone going on a year tour, I can't even imagine how completely and utterly unsettling a world of squiggle dots must be.
As I prepare for CPT Dick to make a year's return to that foreign land, I hope I remember how strange it all can be and be more patient with him.
A belated Happy Holidays.
My apologies for the lack of contact in the past week. We spent in our Christmas in Egypt -- well, why not? -- and I stupidly thought I'd be able to update from there. Let's just say that "state of the art" wireless Internet access does not mean the same thing here as it does in old Cairo. And sadly, I'm so addicted to the WWW that I found myself actually surprised at that development. What's wrong with me?
But Happy Holidays, everyone! I hope that Santa was good to everyone and wish you all the best in the coming year.
But Happy Holidays, everyone! I hope that Santa was good to everyone and wish you all the best in the coming year.
Monday, December 18, 2006
To get us in the holiday mood.
Tomorrow, we're leaving for the week. We're headed to a place about as far away from Christmasland as you can get but it will be nice to sip Mai Tais and enjoy the scenery.
I left CPT Dick at home with Munchkin to do some last minute shopping and came back to hour 3 of "Das Boot." When I raised an eyebrow, CPT Dick said, "Nothing says Merry Christmas more than 'Das Boot'!"
Again, he's dead serious.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
The burden of knowing too much.
The other night I attended a wives' party. Usually, these parties feature Pampered Chef, Tastefully Simple,Tupperware or, at this time of year, some god-awful Christmas decoration manufacturer.
I said I'd go, mostly to get out of the house for a couple hours. But as I walked out the door, I yelled back to CPT Dick, "If the food isn't good, I'm so outta there!"
So imagine my surprise when I got there and realized that it was a Slumber Party. No, no. Not a slumber party with jammies and ouija boards and bras in the icebox. Oh, no. A fuckerware party. I decided I would stay for the entire event even if the food did suck. Maybe I'd win the free gift. A girl can never have too many pairs of crotchless panties, you know.
It was actually a good time, though it was a bit strange to see a Colonel's wife playing pass the vibrating double-dildo with such enthusiasm. Let me tell you, she certainly doesn't muster the same kind of excitement for raffles or fundraisers. But I suppose it's not a fair comparison. I ate a lot of food, laughed very hard and learned that a lot of wives that I thought were total sticks in the mud are actually a lot of fun. But there is one item from that night that is haunting me.
What do you do when you learn that a certain high ranking NCO, one that inspires fear and bedwetting in most 18 year old privates, one that attends church standing at the same force of attention he would for a three star, one who will go on and on about the sanctity of home and family if you let him, well, what do you do when you learn that the man has some rather unexpected tastes? How do you react when his wife tells you all about those tastes and why exactly she's tired of licking his ass hole after he sticks things in it (and, of course, is interested in a lubricant that might mask some of the aftertaste)? And knowing all this -- and even more, really -- how do you face him in the future with a straight face?
I'm still trying to figure that one out. Maybe I'll ask CPT Dick for his advice. But I'm afraid I might scar him for life.
I said I'd go, mostly to get out of the house for a couple hours. But as I walked out the door, I yelled back to CPT Dick, "If the food isn't good, I'm so outta there!"
So imagine my surprise when I got there and realized that it was a Slumber Party. No, no. Not a slumber party with jammies and ouija boards and bras in the icebox. Oh, no. A fuckerware party. I decided I would stay for the entire event even if the food did suck. Maybe I'd win the free gift. A girl can never have too many pairs of crotchless panties, you know.
It was actually a good time, though it was a bit strange to see a Colonel's wife playing pass the vibrating double-dildo with such enthusiasm. Let me tell you, she certainly doesn't muster the same kind of excitement for raffles or fundraisers. But I suppose it's not a fair comparison. I ate a lot of food, laughed very hard and learned that a lot of wives that I thought were total sticks in the mud are actually a lot of fun. But there is one item from that night that is haunting me.
What do you do when you learn that a certain high ranking NCO, one that inspires fear and bedwetting in most 18 year old privates, one that attends church standing at the same force of attention he would for a three star, one who will go on and on about the sanctity of home and family if you let him, well, what do you do when you learn that the man has some rather unexpected tastes? How do you react when his wife tells you all about those tastes and why exactly she's tired of licking his ass hole after he sticks things in it (and, of course, is interested in a lubricant that might mask some of the aftertaste)? And knowing all this -- and even more, really -- how do you face him in the future with a straight face?
I'm still trying to figure that one out. Maybe I'll ask CPT Dick for his advice. But I'm afraid I might scar him for life.
My prayers answered.
Earlier this month, I pined for Harry Potter. I did what any girl would do in the same situation. I re-read one of the earlier books. I watched the movies on DVD again. I scoured the Internet for nudie pics of Daniel Radcliffe from his new play (kidding! -- well, maybe). And somewhere, out there in the abyss, some kind person heard my cry and released the movie trailer for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Sure, some of you cynics may think it has something to do with Christmas marketing. But you can go scrooge yourself. I'm sure this release date was all about me, me, me.
In any case, the trailer looks pretty good. Hopefully it will do the 800+ page tome justice. And in the meantime, will this small token have the ability to carry me through to the movie's July 13, 2007 release date? Time (and how many times I can watch the trailer online before my husband starts an intervention) will tell.
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