Merry-Christmas-and-Happy-Feast-of-St-Steven-the-Protomartyr!

There, now I'm not behind! Hurrah!
So what can I write about that hasn't been written about regarding Christmas? Pretty much nothing. So, in the absence of new subject material, I will go after some older material, after I air one grievance-
The lyrics of 'In Dulci Jubilo' are FAR superior to 'Good Christian Friends Rejoice'. It is NOT 'hard Latin' and it has substance, where 'Good Christian Friends Rejoice' is a fuzzy bit of marshmallow fluff. Only not even that because marshmallow fluff is kind of tasty (while being simultaneously disgusting- think of how much sugar that is!!). I don't think it's a huge stretch to say that lame hymns are a contributing factor to people leaving the church. Why? Because I've found people remember bits of songs far more easily than say, the Eucharistic prayers. I've found myself randomly humming bits of the Divine Liturgy and I've quoted parts of it (sometimes while singing it) to people who ask me about 'my faith and what it means to me'. If you have good solid doctrine in your hymns and not just fluff, people may find it easier to understand aspects of their faith. What a thought, right?
Okay, rant over. Promise.
So Christmas in the vicinity of Ft. SINYF. It's SNOWING! What the heck? Not complaining, just shocked! I thought it wasn't supposed to snow here! The locals seem for the most part to have taken the smart course of action for them which is to stay indoors and cower. This strange precipitation from the sky might be a harbinger of nuclear winter or something. I mean, it's sooo weird... It's like rain but not!
Seriously people? It's not even accumulating. You don't get to complain about snow unless there's two feet of it outside, you are completely snowed in with intermittent power, and your mom decides to make 'colonial herb bread' with the last of the food in the pantry. Then and only then may you complain that said bread tastes like sand and was probably the sole reason for a high mortality rate in the colonies.
Yesterday and Christmas Eve, I had people over for food/games/socializing. The food was good if I do say so myself as the person who bought and prepared almost all of it. The exception was a strange sort of salmon quiche made by one of my guests with the salmon I bought but didn't have time to prepare. The rest of said salmon will probably be my dinner tonight. Yum!
So what else... we played a rather outdated game of Outburst which was still fun, even though we had to remove from play cards like "Famous Baseball Pitchers 1960-1990", and "College Football Team Nicknames". This second was more due to the guests than the age of the game. On the whole, we are not sports fans. That would be far, far too normal. What is normal anyway? Why should I care about sports? I don't know any of the athletes personally. I feel a sort of... not quite patriotism, but I guess a sort of back-yard nationalism... ooh that sound bad too. Um... micronation-sentimentality... No, that won't do either. Regional pride sounds daft. Er...
You know, that feeling about a geographic region that you either currently inhabit or have inhabited or have relatives from, that you feel a sort of fondness for. You'd like to go back and vacation there, maybe even live there, but you can't say truthfully that you're FROM there. Whatever.
Anyway. When did this get to be about sports? Sorry... back to party stuff. I think everyone had a good time. I'm not much for hosting parties. I mean, there was a housewarming party ages ago, and then this. And I forgot so many things that I meant to do or get before it started. Planning a party is complicated. I think it requires more free time and energy than I actually had. But all things considered, it was not bad. I think people enjoyed themselves and that's really the main thing.
All right, now I'll turn to a more serious thing. Today is the feast of St. Stephen the Protomartyr, and according to the New Rite, also the feast of the Holy Family, more on that later.
St. Stephen was the first martyr, hence the title protomartyr. It struck me today that this is pretty interesting. I mean, there were twelve apostles and St. Stephen was 'just' a deacon. You'd think that one of the apostles would be the protomartyr- maybe St. Peter because he had a history of doing rash things (hacking off an ear?) and saying rash things ("I'll never deny you!"). You could just picture St. Peter saying the wrong thing to the wrong person at the right time and getting martyred for it. But it was this other guy, St. Stephen instead. So what do we know about him? Not a whole lot, I don't think. He understood that Jesus was the son of God, he was a deacon, he was tried by the Jewish religious court and sentenced to death for blasphemy ("God forbid that God should have a son..."). St. Paul acted as a coat-stand at his martyrdom, not actually getting his hands dirty in this instance but complicit. Did the memories of that stoning come back to haunt him during his conversion experience? Did St. Paul's temporarily sightless eyes see a young man dying a terrible death for the truth?
Looking a little further ahead on the calendar, we can see the feast of Holy Innocents. I love to think of them as Jesus's honor guard, his _comitatus_ (the Old English sense of the word, nothing to do with Hungarian counties or Bulgarian administrative units).

People want to celebrate the joy of Christmas and Christ's birth, but if you leaf ahead a little, as it were, you can see that it's not going to be all eggnog and presents. It's going to get very, very bad. Innocent people will die for the crimes of existing and telling the truth. But when it's bad, think about Christmas and Christ's birth. He was the only one who was ever born to die, to set us free, to open the gates of Heaven for us. With Him, our suffering and even our deaths will not be in vain.

NB: Yes, I know, some people move St. Stephen's feast to the 27th. I still say it's the 26th, because I think Boxing Day is lame. All right?

Additional NB: Perhaps this should have been several posts instead of one large post? Thoughts?

DADT Repeal: Rant

So much to say, so little inclination to actually write....argh. Okay, here goes...

Regarding DADT, its recent repeal and the implications of aforementioned repeal

I wish I could give some people at the highest levels of my chain of command a small piece of my mind. I wish I could give them a deck-plate view (I used deck-plate therefore I am steeped in Navy traditions..), but they clearly aren't interested in getting it. Not once in all the media hype and coverage surrounding this 'historic' event that I have seen, has anyone interviewed a literate, currently-serving member of the armed forces who is opposed to the repeal of DADT.
On the whole, the armed forces have been portrayed as anywhere from apathetic to whole-heartedly enthusiastic about an instant repeal of DADT...
To my fellow servicemembers who approve of the repeal: think of the GMTs, people. If NOTHING else, think of the hours of your life that you will never get back doing GMTs (sensitivity training/annual training/'awareness' training for you civilian readers). Don't we already have enough GMTs to do?
If that doesn't motivate you, little will.

Here's a thought, Washington and Assorted Brass- the reason why you didn't get most of those surveys you sent out back is because the vast majority of us are too damn busy doing our jobs to fill out anything that won't directly affect our pay, housing or access to food. You think I'm joking but I'm not. If you REALLY wanted to know what everyone thought, you'd send that damn survey to every single servicemember out there and make it MANDATORY to return it. 100% contact. We do that with NMCRS donation forms every year. It can be done. You won't do it though, because the news will be depressing. I heard somewhere that about forty percent of Marines surveyed said they won't re-up. I'd say probably half that number are not in a financial position to decide that- but that their numbers will be made up for by people who haven't yet realized the full impact that the repeal of DADT will have.

Here's what I want and what I won't get- I want to get out and keep my bonus money and my GI bill because I signed up for a different Navy. People who disagree with my point of view may say "Get out, we can't get rid of your bigoted kind fast enough."
My answer? I have some very specialized skills that I'm taking with me as I leave. To train up my replacement will take you two years, minimum. My departure will impact mission readiness. But if it was free pass to get out, I know I wouldn't be the only one to take it.

But that won't happen. I'll grind my teeth and fulfill my contractual obligation. I'll be damned if I re-up though.

Now I'm done shooting my mouth off.
Bring it on.

What class today felt like

Sweaty palms, clenched toes (of all things), sloshy stomach, aching head, ringing ears, knotted chest- no deep breaths, hyper-awareness of every sound, smell of fear, stiff back and neck.
Worse than thesis semester? Yup. Worse than previous school? Yup. 4-5 weeks left to go, three tests next week? Yup.

Happy St. Nicholas Day!

Happy feast of St. Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, Defender of Orthodoxy, Wonder-worker, and Holy Hierarch! He is the patron saint of children, Russia, sailors, the Navy, archers, thieves, students, and the cities of Aberdeen, Amsterdam, Barranquilla, Bari, Beit Jala, Fribourg, Huguenots, Liverpool, Siggiewi, and Lorraine.
He also punched Arius and we've got the icons to prove it!

St. Nicholas is a truly awesome saint. According to something I read, in life he was only about five foot tall and may have had a broken nose (I wonder if Arius punched him back...) yet his generosity has been remembered for a very long time now. In his memory and in honor of his name-day, I brought lots of chocolate for my class. We're having a tough week. We have a big scary test tomorrow and another one tomorrow. I'll be hitting up the Wonderworker of Myra with my prayers for the octave after his feast!

In other news, class has been extended into next week. Argh. etc.

Are we there yet?

Okay, I was going to post a rant about lunchtime on base but I decided to save that for another day. I'm too tired for that now. I have a test tomorrow and then two more next week. Big, scary, important tests before I finally get to take a well-deserved break. Oh crap... I just remembered I didn't get my leave chit in yet. I have to do that tomorrow. Argh. One more thing. There's always something else. I cannot wait for this break. It cannot come fast enough. Just three tests left. Just have to keep the brain in gear a little bit longer... argh.

If you can't say anything nice...

Okay, so I'll prefix this with the warning that it is out of chronological order. The incident I'm talking about took place on Wednesday, but I still feel the need to blog about it so here goes.
So on Wednesday there was a frocking ceremony. For those unfamiliar with Navy ways, it means people get to wear their shiny new insignia but won't actually get paid for it until the great powers that be in Wherevertheheckistan feel like paying them. (I'm serious- sometimes it takes multiple phonecalls and several months!)
Anyway. It's a big deal, everyone's dressed to the eights, lots of clapping and 'job well done'-saying.
So I got there absurdly early to get a good seat and before the ceremony starts, I start overhearing a conversation behind me. I can't help it, it's just how I'm wired. If you put a cereal box in front of me and say "Don't read this", I'll still read it. It's like a reflex action. Likewise, hearing the conversation of other people if they don't actually make the effort for me to not overhear them... Not proud of this, it's just how my ears work.
~
She: Argh. It's so frustrating to see these people getting advanced! How many of them really know their jobs? They're going to go out to the fleet and get people killed because they think they know what they're doing and they don't have a lick of sense between every five of them! Argh!

He: Mumblemuble>toughjob.butIguessyou'reright.
She: It drives me nuts to see them just handed this! Anywhere else this MEANS something. Here, people get on my case because I'm _just_ a first class! They think I'm a screwup who could have made chief already >rant revealing obvious insecurities goes here<.
~
It was longer and more heart-felt than that, and what I heard on the plus side was that there is a very concerned first class who's worried about the future of the Navy. On the negative side... that wasn't the time or place for such a rant. It's a ceremony about recognizing and advancing these people for their hard work.
Yes, I know, some of them haven't done the job yet. But some of them have. I know some of them will take this 'easy' advancement and abuse the hell out of their shiny new insignia. But some of them won't. I know some of them are lousy sailors. But some of them aren't.
And that first class's comments were an attempt on her part to cheapen what was happening. It was neither the time nor the place for such commentary. If this was such an issue to her, why didn't she write someone who cared? Why did she have to bring her issues to their party?
I should have been up there. Bad luck and a bum calendar kept me from that. I know quite a few people in a similar situation. Some of them are a little bitter about it. I'm not. Honestly, when I get there, I'll be better prepared than I would otherwise have been. But my not being up there didn't mean I had a right to criticise those who were as being inexperienced or lacking in professionalism. The first class's behavior was unsat. Oddly enough, it did nothing to further her 'cred' in my opinion. Prior to her tirade, I saw her as an established professional in our field and someone who I could learn from, even if not in a mentor-protege type situation. I felt that I could just talk to her about what we do in our jobs and that would be fine. Now, knowing her unabashed opinion of some of her juniors, I realise that while she may be an established professional, I wouldn't really want her as a mentor and I'm not sure if I'd want to ask her questions. She'd probably say "Look it up already, slacker!"
Newsflash- if I'm asking a professional question it's because I've already done the research and can't find what I'm looking for.
Argh.
Anyway. We are all human. We all have our failings and our weaknesses and our bad days. But advancement ceremonies/weddings/birthdays/major holidays are times when we have to strive to put our personal feelings aside and think of the other people around us. We have smile and be nice even when we don't feel like it. If she'd said that same rant over dinner in a restaurant to a friend, or even in the parking lot afterwards, it wouldn't have seemed so off.
I don't want to be like that, ever. If I ever do something like that then call me on it, okay?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving sort-of snuck up on me this year, but I have to say so far it's been amazing! For breakfast today I had sweet-potato pie (one of the few regionally southern things I appreciate so far). I then proceeded to clean the bathroom and do two loads of laundry. It felt very productive for a holiday so I had to make up for it by watching Dr. Who while folding the laundry.

Then I went to the command Thanksgiving party. It was an experience! Next time I won't get there quite so early. It's weird to be somewhere too early because you thought they might need more help and they don't but you're standing there awkwardly looking for something to do while people much older than you with much more energy run around doing a million and two things and won't let you help out... Tasty, tasty food and lots of it- turkey, ham, casserole, mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables, more pie and cake than you could shake a stick at. The guy who put it together was a professional chef prior to Navy life and it showed. The Important People showed up and shook hands all around, and despite them the mood was still festive though sadly non-alcoholic.

After the festivities, I volunteered to join the group taking the leftovers to the watchstanders and that was nice. It was awesome to be able to surprise people with plates of still warmish food. There were even a few whole leftover pies. They had leaf decorations on them made out of crusts- detailed to include lines on the leaves. Really magnificent presentation.

On a more personal note, on Thanksgiving I am particularly thankful for:
My family (near/far, sane/otherwise)
My friends (the family one gets to pick!)
My coworkers (peers and superiors- don't have any subordinates)
My domicile (which will be even cleaner by the end of this four-day weekend)
My roomie (who has the patience of one of the beatified if not a saint)
My job (hurrah for gainful employment)
My car (which will also be cleaned this weekend)
My health (which aside from another round of shinsplints couldn't be better)
My faith (which praises the often forgotten virtue of gratitude)

All in all, it has been a wonderful day.

Wikipedia Random Article...

is reading my mind and it is kind of creepy.
But it's kind of nice too, that the random article feature even exists. I use it frequently on breaks between classes. I rarely feel like I have time to dash over to the coffee shop -even though I could probably get away with it- and the coffee shop is the only place near enough that I could even hope to get to on a break. I think I need to start bringing a non-class-related book to read over the breaks, because my poor little brain is shrivelling. It's soo unhappy right now. I can see why a lot of my more senior colleagues have taken to drinking. But wikipedia random article is sustaining me for now. I've learned all kinds of useless things about many places and things, and even people sometimes. I have read about sports teams, a monument in China, Olympic athletes, bugs, inventors, my former area of expertise (FAE) and many, many more things.
Most of it is completely useless. All of it is random, so if anyone's taking note, they are going to think that I am very, very strange.

I wish I had more interesting things to talk about, especially because I think I might actually have a readership right now. But whatever. Got a visitor coming from Savannah today- not getting here until five. Not sure what we're going to do this evening. Whole thing's a bit awkward.

Test on Monday- argh. Looking forward to the holiday weekend, will probably go to the command T-day party and then help bring food to the people who are standing the watch.

Armistice Day

IN FLANDERS FIELD

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
-Lt.Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army


"Rain"
Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying tonight or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be for what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.
-Edward Thomas. 1878-1917


Pray for the living and the dead.

It figures

So we have a command run today to commemorate the fallen. I hate command runs with a passion, even ones that happen for causes more worthy than 'Because I said so'. Oh well. I was totally resigned to the fact that I would have to drag my stupid body over three miles at something like speed at an ungodly hour. Until I woke up at five twenty with the cold shivers.
Oh yes.
Mandatory flu shots happened less than a week ago. So I now have the cold shivers, the sore throat, the achy limbs, other less mentionable symptoms and no appointment. Because at 0615 all the appointments are gone already. Yay, free healthcare.
It remains to be seen if my chain of command decides to take mercy on me. Because if not I guarantee this will be one time that I'm not falling out due to shin splints.
Details to follow.

Really, sir? Really truly?

When your SEL is giving you the hairy eyeball, there is probably a reason why. And part of that might have something to do with you saying "I will personally inspect my entire command" when said command consists of slightly over one thousand souls.
I might add that this is after said command has already been inspected by division heads. So chiefs and senior chiefs have already given up what could have been a normal morning to inspect everyone in the near dark at a different location than usual. Everyone's done this already in recent memory.
Why are we repeating this evolution?
I guess we clearly have nothing better to do than get up at oh dark thirty on the Monday after Halloween weekend to go to a place we've never been before with the rest of our department and get there an hour before he does and get heightlined by an OCD first class.
Yup.
Oh- and this isn't going to be a 'Good shoes, hm... you'll do' inspection. This is going to be a "What is your seventh general order?" inspection.
Again, really?
With all respect, the vast majority of us have been out of bootcamp for more than one year, will never stand such a watch and have our heads filled to the bursting point with other JOB RELATED bits of info that will help us carry out the mission.
Rargh.
'Cause this guy wants to make admiral. Or he hates us all or something. I mean, there were something like five DUIs right after he took command so I could see why he'd be pissy, but consider the fact that all of those people are on the way out- and we're not! We're the more-or-less good ones who can be trusted to show up for work on time, do our job and not complain until we get home.
And then he goes and does something like this....
It's just a little contrary to good order and discipline if you ask me. Which of course no one has.
Also, it doesn't say much about his faith in his department heads- doesn't he think they can be trusted to do a good job?
It's special. So very special...

The hiatus

So... yep. It's been almost a month since I've posted on this blog. And I have a perfectly good excuse- class has been trampling me into a fine paste. Well, that and the unfall. Seriously not cool.

So what's happened in the past month? I had my birthday- a midweek birthday so not a whole lot to shout about. I didn't even have a drink on my birthday as I'm prepping for the upcoming PRT on Tuesday- probably.

And the accident... I'm not going to forget that in a hurry and I wish I could. I really wish I could. It wasn't my fault, I wasn't hurt and Roderich's still driveable, but...

But every time I have to hit my breaks, or every time a driver on these stupid roads around Ft. SINYF fails to indicate/rides my rear/does something incredibly stupid, I break out in a cold sweat and start to think my time may have come- again. It was really bad, the week of the incident. I couldn't drive. Thankfully it was my carpool's turn anyway, but I couldn't have driven if my life depended on it. Even now, I can still remember what it felt like. The feeling first, the noise of it second, the terror throughout.

But I have good shipmates- they found me after my hysterical phone call once all the cars were safely off the highway. Greg7 and BigScaryJ showed up and I'd never been so happy to see them before. Greg7 hugged me and told me everything was going to be fine. I hugged him back. I was so upset and scared and unhappy and just knowing that there was a friendly person right there that I could hold onto was very comforting. The police actually asked if we were married and made some comment about my ring and I made a shaky, angry comment back about being married to the Navy. There were a lot of phone calls to/from chain of command people, but the most important thing was that Greg7 and BigScaryJ were there when the cops wanted to throw me in jail for driving without insurance. Needless to say I DID have insurance, but my insurance company had failed to communicate adequately with the DMV. Without Greg7 and BigScaryJ there, I don't think I would have had the presence of mind to ask the police to call my insurance company- which they did, and immediately found that I DID have insurance, just like I said.

BigScaryJ drove my car somewhere safe and Greg7 gave me a ride to the party I had been going to- the one that he had left to come find me. I drank some horrible tea that was surprisingly enough a pretty good remedy for shock, and spent the whole party in a daze on the couch- not really asleep but not really there. Not concussed, just really, truly freaked out. But I have good friends. They made sure I got home and everything was fine. I don't think Greg7 really will ever know how helpful he was and how glad I was to see him. He can be a difficult person to deal with/understand sometimes, but I am glad that he is one of my shipmates.

Dinner: Much more difficult than it looks

As I write this, I am sipping on a protein shake. Not for any special love of protein shakes, mind you. It is Friday and on Fridays (and Wednesdays for that matter) if I remember, I go meatless. It took me a while to find this particular variety of shake mix as I wanted one with no artificial sweeteners- which I found out was more or less asking for the very-difficult-though-not-impossible. But I am not here to talk to you about protein shakes, or about the expensiveness of organic milk (which, for three and a half dollars a half-gallon had better be taken from a cow who has a better diet than I do!), but of the wacky differences between people- most specifically between me and my roomie.
You see, we are very different people.

Roomie cheerfully gets up at oh-dark-thirty on a non-pt day to go mow grass.
I drag my sorry self to pt three days a week, whinging all the way both in real life and on this blog.

Roomie is a neat-freak with a neat-freak's room.
I am relieved to find out that my carpet is under there somewhere.

Roomie thinks [s]margirine[/s] [s]margerine[/s] [s]margerin[/s]... FAKE BUTTER is just as good as real butter in cooking and baking.
I think that stuff is not far enough away from plastic in its chemical composition.

Roomie watches work-related stuff on the weekends and studies for job-related stuff.
I watch the Last Airbender and MST3K.

Roomie puts away the blender as one cohesive whole.
I put it away in four, sometimes five parts.

And therein lies the tale.... Perhaps you guessed it when I dwelt at length upon the difficult-to-find protein shake, or the expensive milk. So.
When I put away the blender in four or five parts, I do so because I thoroughly clean the blender. And because, truth be told, we have plenty of room in the kitchen cabinets. Returning for a moment to the thorough cleaning of the blender and its bits, there is a rubberized plastic ring that goes between the spinny bit and the glass bit. This ring is pretty much all important in the proper running of said blender. This afternoon when I reached for the blender, I saw that Roomie had put it all together- but I wasn't so easily fooled! I'd seen my mom drop the bottom part of the blender on her foot* because she thought it was firmly screwed into the base and it wasn't! So, I pulled out the top part of the blender (spinnything, glass part and lid) first, and then the bottom part. I put the top part securely back onto the bottom part and got a banana and the milk from the fridge. I poured the milk- and I'd poured almost a full shake's worth before I realized that it was spilling all over the counter. Yep. You guessed it. The all important rubber bit was not where it was supposed to be. And there went the lovely organic milk. There went my dinner. I was too fed up to do anything more with it, ironically enough because I hadn't had anything to eat. So I said "Screw it, I'm going out!" and I went out and got chik-fil-a. Good idea.
You know, this whole thing seemed a lot more blog-worthy when I began it...
Whatever.


* I must specify here that I can't remember if it was my mom or my dad** who did this, but on the whole I think it's more likely that my mom did this. It's the sort of thing she would do...
**Lest you think my home life was even weirder than it actually was, I will point out that I have a memory like a steel sieve. I know this incident occurred, in my house. Exact details escape me. Aren't you glad I don't have jury duty?

A Mess of Contradictions

Because I'm human. I'm a Trad who wears pants. I'm a Gregorian chant lover who listens to metal. I'm spiritually aware enough to know that I was at the back of the line when awareness was being handed out. I'm right handed but I do random stuff left handed.

I will not be put in a box and classified according to someone else's definition of who or what I am. I will not compromise. I will not lower my standards. I will not be consumed with regret about the past or with fear about the future. I was created by a loving God Who has a good plan for me. To Him, I am beautiful and special. That should be all that I need. I will never forget my dreams, even if I have to put them aside for a while. I will strive to keep a clear head in the present and to do my job to the best of my ability at all times and in all places. I will accept my current limits and love myself while striving to improve myself. I will learn from the past, but I will not allow it to hurt me. I will seek to know God's will in my life and to carry it out.

As promised...

To probably my ONLY reader... I am going to post what I was thinking earlier. For the rest of you (haha... who else is out there?), please enjoy as I try to demonstrate something that happened earlier today. I am trying to post this in pictures- something I rarely do because it takes a lot of effort and I'm not sure it's worth it, because I suck at things involving photos and the internet. Anyway, here goes.

So you're minding your own business and going to Mass when you happen to notice this guy sitting in front of you.



Directly after Mass (because you _never_ get distracted during Mass, not even by guys like this!) you ask your friend the important questions. To the best of her knowledge, is he...





Whew! No poaching! But you were so distracted by this face:

that you completely failed to notice his hands!




As far as your friend knows, he's not engaged! Okay, hate to ask because this is one that's kind of more between the guy and God than the other two, but...





You stare at this new guy for a bit longer.




You scrap together a little courage and walk over, trying to simultaneously smile and not to trip over your own feet. You hope the humidity hasn't gotten to your hair yet. You wonder if your makeup is okay...
"Hi!" you say, too brightly. "I'm Bolyongok*! What's your name?"



And he says....


.
..
...
....
.....
......
.......
........
.........
..........
At which point, you are thinking "Really, God? Really?" Well, that and "I wonder who I can borrow a copy of 'Polish in 20 Easy Lessons' from?"
NB: The cutie whose photo I borrowed is in fact Polish footballer Rafal Boguski. I'm pretty sure he's taken, but I'm not ACTUALLY losing sleep over Rafal Boguski. I'm just using him as a placeholder. I'm fairly certain he was not harmed by this blogpost. He's cute, isn't he?


*Actually you wouldn't say 'I'm Bolyongok', but we'll leave it as an example. Cool? Cool. So why are you still reading this? I really haven't got anything better to explain down here and I could go on for a while. I went on for something like forty-eight pages of my thesis so seriously don't put it past me!

Soo slow...

So, a cooperative project... no, scratch that, TWO cooperative projects, one recently revived the other brand new, are currently moving slower than molasses. It's very frustrating because I feel there's nothing I can do in either case. Well, that's not strictly true. In the revived project, I could write something more. But in the new one I'm really waiting on other people and I find this hugely frustrating, because I'm pretty sure that as soon as I start class everything will pick up and it'll get frustrating to keep all ducks in their correct rows.
On a more positive note, I had amazing homemade enchiladas for lunch today, courtesy of Svenska, whose apartment looks a lot more put-together than mine does. We discussed the possibility of a shared birthday party after the PRT. We'll see what happens. I'd like it but I'm not going to hold my breath. I'm also kinda annoyed that my birthday probably will fall in my first week of class. Yippee. On the upside, Navy Day Ball should be FREE this year! Meaning my only expense will be getting a room for staying after! And I'm seriously thinking about doing that because I fully intend to drink, dance and have a wonderful time! And unlike Sunny Point, the safe-ride program here seems woefully inadequate. And if I did safe ride, I'd have to come back and get my car the next day. So all things considered, I think the hotel room would be the cheapest option. Now I need to find someone to split the costs with because I think it's dumb to book a two-bed room if you don't have AT LEAST one other person staying with you.
However if it comes right down to it and I can't get someone else, I will just eat the expense and call it part of my birthday present to myself.

Rifle-Qual!

Well, you are reading the blog of one of America's finest who just qualified as a sharpshooter. Yep. Go me!
Good things come to those who persist and do NOT give up, even under threat of heatstroke!
Honestly though if Mr. Highmountain hadn't offered me a waterbottle before we started, I probably would have keeled over before the qual...
So, I stood there in the entirely inadequate shadow provided by the range and I listened and I tried very hard to absorb everything that was said by the four instructors. It was harder than it might otherwise have been because I didn't actually have a firearm as I was listening to the explanation and some of the more kinetic learners were fiddling with the fiddly bits of their firearms while I was trying to listen.
So things got sorted out and we all got our stations and I DID get a firearm then. It was lighter than I expected it would be, which surprised me. It was also, I found out very quickly, not inclined to kill me via recoil, which was very nice.
I should quickly point out here that my previous experience has been entirely limited to plinking with a .22 at the end of a safety course and then shooting a handgun in Nebraska to the derision of my brother, his friend and his friend's father. My own dad just stood by looking a bit embarrassed for me. Neither of the two experiences did anything for my confidence. Then there was Boot and contrary to what you might expect, I didn't get to shoot anything there because I was waiting for a piece of paper that would declare me to be sane.
(By the way, I think it's important for my readership to know that I'm listening to Men of Harlech right now and am humming along under my breath. Yeah, I'm a little proud of myself...the reward is wicked awesome Welsh men's choral singing)
Anyway, there I was. I sat on my bench and helpful people fiddled with a box on my bench that was supposed to help me steady my rifle. I was grateful for this. And then they used very complicated and formulaic words to basically tell me "Fire at your own pace and take your time so you don't screw up." I took my time all right. This turned out to be a sort of test round. We did... five of these I think.
Anyway, at the end of the five, I was pretty proud of myself but also kind of tired and heat-sapped (heat-sapped is my own oh-so-original way of saying that because it was hot I was really tired and didn't want to do anything except die of overheating).
Little did I know that the true qualification was just beginning!
I cannot say I have ever been formally introduced to the prone, kneeling and standing stances for firing a rifle. I have been pushed into them, but not formally introduced.
First there was prone.
I will say this for prone- I couldn't fall over and that was an improvement in some important respects from the other two. The really bad thing though was my inability to breathe and fire my firearm with any degree of accuracy. I lay there on the concrete thinking "How the hell do I line everything up and fire without my safety glasses falling off of my face and blinding me? And how do I breathe?"
It was difficult, but somehow I got through it.
I kept making dumb mistakes- no 'breaking blue', but stupid things like leaving the safety on for longer than it ought to be.
Then there was kneeling. Kneeling was... odd. I didn't like it very much. Towards the very end of shooting kneeling, I sort of got the idea and got much more steady. I thought it was probably too little too late.
At last it was time for the standing position. This was not much fun either, but we apparently had ten minutes for it. I had resolved that it would not, in fact could not take me ten minutes because I had a mission to accomplish- get a good sight picture and don't screw it up by moving my firearm away from my head. I honestly had difficulty understanding how someone could _take_ ten minutes for ten shots. Somewhere in the middle, what with holding my breath and all, I would invariably lose count and despair. In my despair, I apparently relaxed enough to do well, at least this was according to one of my two coachs. I can't really thank this one guy enough though. He was kind enough to help me reload my magazines. That was about the one thing I was pretty sure I could do without screwing up too badly, but about half-way through the whole qual I got pretty badly rattled, I'm not sure by what, and I couldn't even load a magazine. I felt like a completely useless berk, but he patiently helped me out. I owe him cookies or something.
The whole thing was an experience. It was overall a good experience and I'm glad I didn't quit the handful of times I felt like quitting would have been more productive than not. I learned a lot, and I would very much like to go back at some date in the far distant future and improve my skills. But I really think I need one-on-one tutoring with someone who is very, very, very patient. Like St. Monica patient.

Of bills and deadlines

So I'm pretty good about making sure the bills stay paid. I pay my phone bill on the fourth of every month because for whatever reason that seems easy for me to remember. I have an electricity bill now that I try to pay after my second paycheck though I still haven't fixed a date for that. I have an automatic payment set up for my car the day after my second paycheck. And this month, my student loan, my biggest, baddest concern, may or may not have gotten away from me. You may ask, how did this happen?
I'll tell you.
So, it was about the eighteenth of this month that I tried to pay my student loan online. I hadn't had to do that in a while. Usually I pay via money order or check- more frequently by check these days. But in a fit of stupidity, I had packed my checks and mailed them in one of the boxes to my parents' house. Ooops. And my mailing address had still not quite caught up with me. So there I was, without my checks. I tried to pay online. I submitted all the information correctly, I thought and called it good.
Then today, on a whim, I checked my bank account balance. It said I had a lot of money. This was both surprising and alarming, because the vast sum of money I had in it, I had already designated for paying off my student loan this month, and in fact had thought I succeeded in that. I called them today, at quarter to five and asked if the payment had in fact gone through and they told me... drumroll... No. It hadn't. Something about the account number being wrong.
But had they told me or notified me in any way? No.
I was just going to proceed under the assumption that all was well until I got an angry letter from them, apparently. Good thing I checked today, and not at minute too soon.
I got back into my account and tried desperately to right things. I resubmitted a vast sum of money to them and got a screen telling me that my payement would be processed as paid today since it wasn't five yet, but as I now know from my previous experience that could be totally useless if I have mistyped a number or have some kind of incorrect account info.
ARGH!
Why didn't they notify me?! Why?!
You know what? The important thing is now I know that doesn't work. And I've learned- if I have a suspiciously large amount of money in the bank for too long, something has probably gone wrong and I should see to it.
Even if the worst happens and I get in trouble for paying this stupid thing late, I have learned a valuable, painful, costly lesson. Even if I don't get dinged for cash, this is playing merry hell with my nerves. I don't know how I'm going to eat that delicious dinner I smell cooking right now. Argh... Frustration.
Fear.
Unhappiness.

Y-M-C-A!

So I signed up at the local Y. You might ask, doesn't Ft. SINYF have something like nine gyms? Why on earth would you pay money for another one? I would tell you- because the PRT is coming up. And sometimes I don't feel like driving all the way back to Ft. SINYF just to PT. Speaking of which, I have set myself the laudable-but-we'll-see-how-it-goes goal of going to the gym every single day until the PRT. I already know it's not going to happen over the long weekend. If I'm especially good, I might get up early on Friday morning, but they'll probably be closed anyway so it doesn't really matter too much.
Also talked to the parental units today about upcoming trip. They're disappointed it won't be for longer, of course. I tried to explain, but it wasn't good. I understand that they love me, we just can't be around each other for any length of time.
Maybe some day I'll be able to tell myself that it just doesn't matter any more, that holding on for any longer to a bad memory of the past is only going to hurt myself more.
But I can't stand it when people who know me and say they love me can think the worst of me with no remorse and no memory of doing so.

Awesome German food!

So a bunch of us went out for awesome German food last night! I'd like to take all the credit for finding a place that everyone really seemed to like- and disavow anything to do with everyone getting horribly lost. It's Google's fault. _I_ corrected that as best as I could, texting people the correct address as soon as I realized the problem.
The food was really, really awesome. I got the Jagerschnitzel and it was soo nice. It was probably the best German food I've had since being in Germany!
A good time was had by all, though one of the company was a bit lonely since he's not in exactly the same job as us and he might have been feeling a little lost. I hope that I was a good hostess (in so far as one is ever a hostess when your party is out at a restaurant...) and helped him fit in. I'm not sure how successful I was at that though.
We played another two rounds of 'Who Am I?' (first I was Napoleon (elected ruler, technically not French) and then I was Werner Von Braun. I got both and had a wonderful time. My two mystery people were Cleopatra and Louis Armstrong :D) over at DrunkLeprechaun's house, and that was fun. His cat is a complete and total spaz and it was hilarious to watch the cat interact with him and everyone else there. His wife is also a little spazzy, though perhaps the prank FB update that someone made was crossing the line. If I was her, I'd sort of expect it from his loony friends by now, but that's just me. Whatever.
We drove the non-car owners back to their respective barracks, after a long, thoughtful conversation about personality types. It was a good time. The conclusion? Most of us are introverted peeps. That wasn't a huge revelation somehow... But we all managed to get out and have a great time. Except for the losers who didn't show. Oh well.
And soon a bunch of cool people are going to go away and I'll have one less useful thing that I can do in my copious spare time. This means I'm going to have to novel more and procrastinate less. Bother.

Rant Alert

I've had a thought- not very original but here goes: "Blogger- for when your rant won't fit onto Twitter!"
I don't mean to use this place solely as a soapbox from which to complain and shout about the injustices of the world at large or my job in particular. It's just a relatively safe forum in which to do so, when I need to. So the topic of this rant is technology and chits.
In the olden days, you filled out chits by hand. For obvious reasons I'm glad we don't have to do that any more. Many trees died some pretty needless deaths as a result of that. Then we progressed to Adobe and had chits you could fill out and then print off and route to your respective people. One shot, one kill. If you forgot to put down something important, you'd have to do it all over again. Oh well. You'd use another piece of paper and deforest some more rainforest. Now, we have an improvement! It's a difficult to navigate, hella confusing, poorly laid out improvement! We all hate it! I think everyone on up to the highest levels hates this. It's as though the people who designed it never tested it, they just threw it together while drunk and at three AM and called it good!
Okay, no more ranting, end rant here.

On a more positive note, I'm getting caught up on my novel. On a less positive note, as we all start finding different extracurricular things to do, our carpool may be drifting apart. It happens. It was nice while it lasted. Who knows, it might still last a while?

AugWriMo

So I should be working on the WriMo, but I don't want to. I've been reduced to having a character of mine work in thinly disguised bits of real world history. None of these characters have turned out quite the way I thought they would. And honestly my attention is kind of being stolen by the party in the back of my brain that claims that they ALL fell down some stairs and hit themselves upside of the head on both sides. Really. Dangerous stairs in this port. Very dangerous stairs. Except for the one clever cloggins who insists that he hit himself repeatedly while drunk. Nothing to see here, sir. Nothing at all.
They intrigue me. They really do.
But I will be strong! I will stick to one story at a ti- oh we know how well that's worked in the past... But really. Tonight I will break 10k if it kills me. And then I just have 20k more to go because I'm not going for the big 5-0. I couldn't, not now anyway. Maybe in September if I'm still stuck on the 'let's weed with screwdrivers' team. So now, I shall stop procrastinating and get back to work!
Oh, for any amongst the readership that cares, the whole babysitting thing this weekend went off well and without a hitch. Much fun and ever so grateful to be single and childless still!

Being instrumental

in things.
Humans are funny critters, and I'm allowed to say that because I am one. We crave affirmation, acknowledgment and love, and we'll go to great lengths to get these things whether we realize it or not. We want this good stuff from our friends and family, from work or hobbies, and from God. Only one of the aforementioned will always give it to us. We collect stars or certificates that say we're good at things. How often do we think or realize that it's less about us and more about God working through us?
Granted, you probably wouldn't think about this as you're solving some incredibly difficult maths equation, or pulling people from a burning building or whatnot. I wouldn't know since I haven't done either. I think it's normal to not realize at the time that what you're doing that people are acknowledging is something you can do because of the gift from God that is your brains or your brawn or your training or any combination thereof.
The key is this, once you realize it, try to remember to thank God for it. That's much, much easier said than done. We want to take pride in the things we do. A little pride is a dangerous thing, as is false humility. And it sounds weird and forced some times to say "God gets the credit here", like if you just solved the math problem. Burning buildings on the other hand are considered more or less publicly acceptable times to credit God for His help.
I think another important thing that you have to do, that's part of this, is recognize your instrumentality. God picked up a tool from the toolbox and that tool was you. He needed a lugwrench and you were the right one for the job. Should you be proud that you were the right thing in the right place? Thankful maybe but not necessarily proud.
This was your random philosophical thought for the day- brought to you in part by Pope St. Nicholas I, who wrote a very thoughtful Response to the Questions of the Bulgars*!
More on that soonly!




*The people, not the grain. I can't see the grain having many questions...

Cooool!

Warning: Inner Child has breached the perimeter and is seizing-

Hihi! Its meee! Bolyongoks Inner Child! this is so coool she nevre lets me post anything! and now shes listning to stupid muzik its all gothik and depressy with a ladie who sings tooo high. my outer gronup is silly sumtimes! shes mad b-caz 2 days ago theye made her weed a walkway with a scroodrivr and she waz lik 'how dum, i no 2 langwadjes and am very smart and i am stil a gardnr. i thot it waz fun but i dont hav to polish the boots. i wonder iff pols mind that polish and polish is the same. i thot it waz weird... my outre gronup thinks i am bing a... its a big word...
anywayz! so cool! we r gettin a baby!! itz not ours of cors. we ar borrowin one and haf to give it bak on sun-day. she iz sooo cute!!! but outre gronup saz she wont get ny sleep caz the baby is very small and needs lots of help. i will help! i will tell the baby storys and watch it!
outre gronup saz no you will go asleep rely fast caz you will get bored but i say that iz not true at alll!
And shez riting a book agan witch is rubish and borin. i kan say this caz i am also n inner kritik. thers another but shez meen and rubish. i like my outre gronup but rit now shez not much fun. we hav tintin books agan but theyr all sqiggls and weird. she saz its anothur langwitch but i think ENglish is hard enuf.
anywayz outregronup iz all weird and nott happy with the weathr. i told her 'cheer up, we can go to a cool place for Krismas' but she saz thats hard now with work. i am glad i am thee inner child coz i get to go plaices without papers and thiyngs. beein an outregronup iz hard work.

Improv + packages= NOT cool...

Okay, I have to rant here because if I do it in real life it'll get messy. WTF...
I asked my parents to send me some uniform items that I had to ship to them in the messy/confused process of moving myself and all my earthly goods to Ft. SINYF. I gave them specifics- coveralls, NWUs, ballcap. Nothing more, less or other, please. Then I remembered that I still had a package I was waiting for- a small one that I'd had sent to them. It was a custom made keychain. I asked for that to be included. For some reason unbeknownst to God or man, my dad thought I needed my crocs.
Let me elaborate on these crocs. They are a hideous shade of green- like Kitchenaid green. I bought them for about five dollars when they were no longer the hip thing. I bought them not because they ever were the hip thing, but because I was going off to summer camp and needed some shower shoes. Recap: they are cheap, hideous and not-cool. Why the hell did he feel the need to add them to the package and NOT my keychain?
Noobody knows...
I'm not happy about this. I called and asked my mom if I'd mentioned crocs at any point in the list-making process and she said no, but that Dad thought that I needed them. My dad has a history of thinking I need things that I have no earthly use for. He has the best intentions but it drives me nuts when his thoughtfulness is so completely screwy. I mean, I will never forget what happened when I was in first grade.
I was not a fan of breakfast at that age, I never really had time for it, I thought. A large part of the morning was Mom running a comb through my hair to get all the knots out and braid it so I could go to school looking halfway decent. I didn't need or want breakfast. At all. I might be persuaded to eat some oatmeal but that was it. My dad was concerned.
It was a day like any other. I picked up my pink backpack with my name written on it in shaky red sharpie and headed off for school. My lunch was in my lunch box and I was a relatively happy camper. I took the bus to school, stuffing my backpack between me and the side of the bus for added comfort. I dropped said backpack a few times at school because I was a clumsy kid, and then I hung it up and forgot about it until it was time to go home. And then the most irritating kid in my class, a white-blond twerp who probably thought that 'tact' was something you used to put up posters said "Hey, your backpack pooped!"
I stared at the nasty looking brownish smear on my beautiful pink backpack and a horrible feeling filled me. Something of mine was defaced, and not by me! The injustice of it all hit me like a hammer. I'd ruined things on my own more than once. I regretted those things, I felt so miserable when that happened, but it was my fault, I'd been the sole instigator. That another person with the best of intentions but the very worst of execution had ruined one of my things brought little me perilously close to tears. I came home and yelled at my dad for ruining my backpack. Now I feel a little bit bad about that, but still kind of not. If he'd treated me like a grownup, asked me if I wanted breakfast, what I'd like for breakfast, if I minded if he packed me a breakfast, I would have told him: "I would love some awesome organic dry cereal, or maybe a granola bar. That would be very yummy. You can put it in my lunch box and I'll eat it on the bus."
But there was no asking. There was no communication there was just a perceived problem and a messy, unfortunate solution, because I was a child.
When stuff like this whole package shebang happens, I feel like a child again. And I hate it with every fiber of my being.
Update: This post was going to languish forever in my 'edit posts' page. I thought I'd overcome my baser nature and decided to give the parents a pass as they're old and senile and if you want anything done right you've got to do it yourself. I was going to do that until I opened the other bags in the package.
They sent me a Navy ballcap all right. A Navy ballcap with an elastic headband and '1-800 Navy' embroidered on the back of it. I don't remember getting it from my recruiter but it probably came in my Navy backpack that I got for free after signing up. That was the straw that pretty much broke the camel's back. We'd packed all my earthly goods into four boxes that we shipped (at their expense, so I should try very hard to be more charitable) to their house. In one of those damn boxes is my actual Navy ballcap, the one I went through Battlestations to get. I know it's not a trident. I know it could be worse- they could have mailed me my 'Recruit' ballcap. They could have... I dunno. It's just so damn frustrating. I was really looking forward to getting to wear my coveralls at long, long last, but no such damn luck. I called, ready to give them a piece of my mind, but the phone rang and rang, so I called Tbro instead and ranted to him. He told me (pretty nicely) to quit whining and that he'd call and ask them about sending me my ballcap... at this point I think I may just buy a damn command ballcap. Or forget about it until the fourday when I can go and get my damn ballcap. I just want to throw a temper tantrum. This is as close as I'll get to doing that. I desperately want to though, I'm so pissed off that I'm not sure this is going to be enough. I seriously want to go out there and start hitting things.
Oh- and one final insult. In another well-intentioned but completely stupid gesture, they sent me my purse. I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it. I have TWO damn purses out here, and none of the THREE that I have now is within the damn regs. Not a single flipping one. I've had it, I've had it, I really would like to run around screaming now. I know, I sound like a complete and total ingrate, but I don't care. I'm so sick of being treated like a child. I know, part of the way to avoid being treated like a child is to stop acting like one. I know that having the temper tantrum I want so desperately right now would be part of acting like a child. I know I need to get everything I own from their place because right now that's still a dependence on them- free storage. I just don't want to move the books! They need to stay somewhere temperate and safe. I don't know what to do. I can't have that much stuff. I know I'll be able to downsize once I get there. I'm thinking of pulling everything that I hate but have kept because of Mom or another relative and taking it to the thrift store. Get rid of the ugly, get rid of the guilt, get a good dinner afterwards. I think that's a pretty awesome plan.
I hate improv in packages.
Gentle readership, it is HIGHLY unlikely I'll ever ask you to send me random crap that I've left at your house. And honestly, since you're not family and you don't treat me like a child, if you DID send me the wrong stuff, I'd be sad, but I wouldn't be pissed like this. Honestly.
And if you ever just want to send me random stuff, that's cool too. I gladly accept books, sweets and cash. ;)

Navy Heritage/Pride/Show-Up-In-Whites Day...

Huh?
I'm confused. My handful of readers (probably only one) is probably not surprised. I've been confused a lot of late. I don't get it... I'm in a div. that does outdoor work A Lot. And when it's not outdoors, it's cleaning. Blech. So, having us all wear whites tomorrow (except for five poor people who are still stuck cleaning) means what exactly? A half-day? I'll take a half day. But I'm not sure what that has to do with Navy Heritage or Pride. Or why everything is about Pride these days. I mean, Pride and Professionalism? I know we're supposed to take Pride in the proper wear of uniforms and all that, I don't know why we don't just call it something else.
Now for some completely unrelated stuff.
-I haven't packed a lunch once this week. This is reaching crisis proportions because today I spent 11 dollars on lunch at Panera. It was delicious so I don't really have regrets, I'm just saying. Usually I spend about five at Tacobell. I wish they had a subway on base... sigh.
-I eat really bad for me crap on PT days because I reason that I've already burned a lot of calories so I should replace them. I don't think it works the way I want it to.
-My AugWriMo is progressing. That's about all I can say for it. Right now I'm a little annoyed to find that culturally the hill people are resembling some real world hill people that I don't like. I mean, I planned for the baddies to resemble certain baddies in real life, but the hill people were supposed to be annoyingly neutral- not unlike certain places at all, I guess. Whatever.
-I want a bagel. Now. And a beer. But I'm not going to have either. I'm going to be good and go clean... after all have company coming tomorrow.

Here a chief, there a chief, everywhere a chief-chief...

Ack. So I feel stupid but I think I can blame it on the near-heatstroke.
Today I had to do lots of stuff at the annoying place. Actually I didn't even have that much I had to do, but it took a REALLY long time. I was supposed to get a ride back with some guys instead of having to walk back across base. I got abandoned though. I was pretty pissed too, especially since it took me a while to figure this out because I didn't have my phone on me and couldn't call them to see where the hell they were. So after waiting about twenty minutes, I gave up and hiked back across base. Ft. SINYF is not like Sunny Point. Sunny Point was built on a fairly impressive hill but everything isn't that far away- it's just UP. On Ft. SINYF, everything is far apart. I feel for the Army newbs. Their life must really suck...
Anyway, I managed to get across base without dying of heatstroke only to present a copy of my Very Important Chit to the wrong Chief...
I should have realised there was something wrong when I saw that he was a chief not a senior chief. And I should have realized I was in the wrong building. Should have. Didn't. I blame the heatstroke. After profuse apologies, I made my escape. I really hope that chief doesn't remember I was also the idiot who turned up at oh-dark-thirty, hella early for a weigh in... I guess none of it is a very big deal. I mean, I wasted less than a minute of his time.
It's just I hate feeling stupid. I hate not knowing who I'm supposed to talk to or why.
I'd like to add in my own defence here that I was told to give this VIC to this senior RIGHT AFTER the run at morning PT. In my humble opinion, I think I did good remembering anything at all. It's usually all a blur until I get some water and walk around for a bit. Oh- I found a way to beat the morning run blues too! If it's at-your-own-pace, skip the five minute break and just start rolling. It's very psychologically satisfying to not be the dead-last person sometimes, and to not hold up the works. And to think for a few dizzy seconds that you managed to run the whole damn two miles and change in 16.__. In reality it was like 21 something. But that's not bad. And I got further without stopping this time than I did last time. Got all the way to the second corner! My goal for Saturday morning or Sunday evening is to the Fitness center!

Well, now I feel silly...

It was good to get that rant out of my system yesterday. I got up this morning and went to PT, to hear the four most beautiful words at a PT session (well, second most beautiful phrase since the first one is 'PT is cancelled') ''At your own pace'. Thank you, God!
So I at-my-own-pace ran the 'little' loop. It took me a while, but greatly to my surprise I was NOT the very last person! Shocker, I tell you! I was second to last, I think. There was an older petty officer back there, somewhere. He never passed me, therefore I was not last, right? I ran and I ran and I ran... I got farther than I did on Monday without stopping, much to my happiness. I was still hella far back, and still providing 'motivation' for the other people near the back. If it looked like I was about to catch up, they took off.
It's weird, really. Despite that rant and the fact that I'm dreading getting up at oh-dark-thirty tomorrow morning too, I don't have the special terror of running that I once did. Maybe it helped that Warrant didn't yell at us today. Somebody in the back was yelling, but it wasn't as frightening.
And then, at the very end, I got some good news. Warrant asked who was planning to bike or elliptical and told us that we would start machine PT on Monday. Thank you, thank you God! Finally! The bad news- and it's not very bad, is that apparently they supervise the bike/elliptical very strictly here so you can't get away with half-assing your pushups or situps. I'm not too worried about that. I'm good with both and I can only improve. And I will improve. Life has taken a dramatic turn for the better with regards to PT. When it comes to other Div. things, still not so much. But I got a lot of useful things done today and will continue to do lots of useful things tomorrow, hopefully. I need to make a list so I don't forget anything important...
And I'm now 4k behind on my AugWriMo...
I'll fix it...

PT! Good for me! Good for you! Aaarggh....

So, I am back on a more strictly regimented PT schedule. I hasten to point out to my dear readership that I WAS going to the gym every single day in the evening and biking or elipticaling my little heart out. Every single blessed day. I was sooo good. And then I joined the Div. And suddenly my time was less my own. I expected that. I did not expect Monday morning to be the most painful run I've had in a long time. Perhaps I should have, especially since I haven't run in a while. But then, I thought why bother?

I bike my PRT. Laugh. Go ahead and get it out of your system. It's hilarious, right? That we're allowed to plop down on a bike and burn calories for 12 minutes in lieu of a run. Well, stuff you. It's a damn good work-out and it's CARDIO which is what matters. Besides, would you say the same thing about swimming? Well, probably. But I'd love to see someone get horribly shown up- 'Oh, swimming's EASY! I don't need to practice, I'll just show up and PRT!" Hehe.. You die by lap eight if you do that...
I on the other hand, can just throw myself into the pool and push out 12 laps in the required time. I've done it. I don't recommend it, and I know I could have done better if I remembered racing turns, but that's neither here nor now.

The main thing right now is this- in less than 10 weeks, I'm supposed to do my real twice-a-year PRT. Does it make ANY sense to not practice how you're going to play? No. Not really. Is there any earthly reason why I shouldn't be doing machine PT instead of this running crap? Again, no. The only thing I've heard said for running is that it builds division cohesiveness. I fail to see how that works. Yep, everyone cheers for me when I 'do my best' and drag my dying body over the line in one last, all-or-nothing sprint, but there's less cheering in the first half-mile where I'm stumbling and kicking the person behind me.... Because the slow people run up front. I hate it, I hate it, and it's not helping me.

They might say "You'll slack off." Like hell. Honestly? I have my crows. That's supposed to mean something, I thought. Means that I can handle a little extra responsibility and can be trusted not to completely screw up if left unsupervised. At least that's what I thought it meant.

Anyway. Tomorrow at oh-dark-thirty, I will probably be running. If you think of it, say a prayer.

Oh yeah, one more thing- if you want to say something clever like 'You can bike in your own time' the answer is 'No I can't. My body is all-over-agony from yesterday's PT...'

A Historical Post/ Requiem For My Utilities

Wrote this a while ago, but am not going to retcon the date so as to avoid confusion. So yep, it's historical, not current.

Tonight I am writing a requiem for my utilities. In preparation for PCSing, I cut them up and threw them out. And I am sad. To those of you who wore utilities and didn’t like them, I don’t think there’s much I could say that would make you like them. Yes, the waistband hit around bellybutton level, and criticism was leveled at the ‘janitor’ look of the utilities. And tonight I’m not here to take on the idiocy of camo that blends you in with water when you go overboard (I've since been informed that when on the flight-deck or anywhere else that you could fall off from, you get a dye pack that is supposed to dye you and the water you end up in a a fetching and unnatural colour to help search and rescue, but I'm a skeptic). That’s for another post. This is a memorial of my utilities.

Utilities, blueberrys, janitor suits, they had many names- mostly unflattering. Mine were issued to me a distant February ago in a large room with watchful RDCs and inept people who told us our sizes. No sooner were we fitted than our utilites were whisked away to have our nametapes put on them for the purposes of laundry/identification/etc. We got them back a few days later and our little bootcamp selves were first of all, overjoyed to get out of PT gear, which was all we had worn for what felt like forever, and second of all, in for a world of hurt as far as maintenance went. Many nights I would spend staring blearily at an iron and willing it to iron my utilities perfectly without my actually having to move. But while some told horror stories of broken buttons and IPs, I was afflicted with neither in any of my four sets. We wore them with our highly polished boots for everything. You’d think then, that when I cut them up I would get some sort of delight and happiness at seeing the things I had clumped about in non-stop for two months and then at intervals for the next many months finally phase out. But you’d be wrong.
Because one of the good things that even the haters can agree on, I hope, is that when you got to put on that Navy ballcap, your perspective on everything shifted a bit. ‘Recruit’ was no longer literally plastered over your head at nearly all times. It now said ‘Navy’ and it was cool. Also, it was cool because it had your rank on the sleeve if you were a petty officer. And honestly, that uniform went through basic with me. It was kind of like the neighborhood dog when you were a kid. It barked at you and you had nightmares about it chasing your bike and biting you, but when you grew up, went off to college and came back, you saw that it was old and a softie and was more scared of you than you ever were of it. And with the utilities, you put in an effort. I saw lines that were the product of lots and lots of ironing that I did or bartered with others to do. And I thought of all that effort, all the painstaking little details, as I cut them all up.
All?
Well… perhaps not quite all. Sentiment has compelled me to retain one pair, perhaps for work around the house? Or something. I dunno. All I know is I have one perfectly folded pair of utilities that I can’t quite bring myself to throw out yet. And I don’t know how I ought to feel about that, only that it is in fact the case….
And that is all.
PS- I graduated today… Yeah. More on that later.

-End Historical Post-

Blackcurrant Juice and Tragedy

Yesterday at my local commissary I was shopping for the bare essentials necessary to keep body and soul together- fruit, protein bars, yogurt, things like that. And I happened to spot blackcurrent juice. It was on the bottom shelf, all by itself. I looked around the aisle but it wasn't the imports aisle. Impulsively I grabbed it. Mine, all mine! I thought, shocked and surprised to find a relic of my past in what were to me completely new surroundings. I would savour this, I thought, because Ft. SudanIsNotYourFriend is hot and horrible and sticky (but not as bad as the actual Sudan by all accounts). I would pour myself a nice plastic glass of blackcurrent juice, carefully diluted with water (I, unlike some people have learned from my childhood- if no more than 'don't drink the concentrate straight out of the bottle') and if I was feeling spectacularly patriotic, ice to differentiate me from the Brits.

But alas. I came home today after my run, dying for a jamba juice (or just plain dying if you want to be mean), and of course this being Ft. SINYF, there was no jamba juice. But then I remembered the temporarily forgotten blackcurrent juice! Just the stuff! I got home and carefully poured myself the correct amounts of syrup and waster and took a taste. It was wonderful. It transported me to the good moments of England- the gardens of Kent, Selfridges, Valerie's Patisserie and the 73 train to London Victoria. It was lovely. And then, because there was a lovely taste I couldn't place (Licorice? I wondered) I read the bottle. This is my mother's fault. She always reads the bottle, carton, package or what have you. It's really depressing to find out that I am my mother's child to that degree. Anyway, I read the bottle and I saw one of the dreaded words- aspartame. My heart plummeted within me. Did the Tommies of the first world war have aspartame in their immortalized (and loathed, I might add) tins of plum and apple jam? Did Nelson have aspartame in the port he was transported in? (Ooh... bad pun...) Did King Harold have aspartame in his kippers? (I'm not exactly sure he had kippers. In those days it might have been eels... Perhaps aspartame would have been an improvement for the eels. I mean, unagi okay, but eel pie??)

I strongly suspect the answer in all the cases I just mentioned would be a resounding 'No!' but I can't prove it. Anyway, today I am sad because I had to give away my lovely blackcurrent juice. Aspartame gives me a headache. Give me naturally occuring sugars any/every day of the week and keep your nasty aspartame, sucralose or other sugar substitute.

Sigh... is there no winning? I will keep looking for other imports from my past but this has been discouraging. Oh well. For one lovely glass all seemed to be well.

Grateful Single

Very recently I have started to see the penny drop with regards to my single state in life. I have a few things that I am particularly grateful for.
I don’t have to ask permission.
If I want to stay out later at night, if I want to go to a Goth club, if I want to wear my hair a certain way, if I want to talk to a male friend, if I want to go on vacation, I don’t have to ask for permission. Which is a truly beautiful thing. I know so many marrieds who conditionalize everything with “I’ll have to see what the wife thinks” or “My husband would prefer we stay in tonight.”
What I can take away from this as a longer term lesson is that if I am ever supposed to get married, me and the future Mr. Right had better have a very good understanding about such things. I don’t want to ask him for permission on a regular basis, and I don’t want him to have to ask me either. The ideal situation would be that we would specify things that were important- like a special dinner, an anniversary, or even just a ‘bad day’ where mutual support would be greatly appreciated. Other than that we could come and go like grownups- no asking for permission in a marriage of equals. Does that make sense or am I approaching this a bit too much like ‘roomies with benefits’? At any rate, this requires grown-up style communication skills- not sarcasm, not guessing games, not isolationism. If you’re not perfectly honest about what you want and need, the other person can’t know what you’re thinking!
I don’t have to worry about infidelity
Committing to marriage is a Big Damn Commitment, and one that for the right person I would undertake very gladly. But here’s the scary thing- we’re humans. Humans fall, make mistakes and occasionally even run off. A childhood friend of mine was sixteen when her dad up and left with a woman half his age. Granted, he was on mega-painkillers so maybe he wasn’t exactly in his right mind but it doesn’t change the fact that he did it and is responsible on some level. It was devastating to the wife he left behind to raise six kids. They had to sell their house and give away the dog, move to a terrible neighborhood, and the two oldest girls put thoughts of college on hold to work to support Mom and younger siblings. And that’s just the easily quantifiable bad stuff. He wasn’t there for his older teen daughters, when a dad is vitally important to help sort through potential boyfriends (whether or not the daughter agrees with that!). He wasn’t there for his younger teen sons, who at that age desperately need Dad to be a strong role model when peer pressure is strong.
If I ever get married, I’m a little afraid that a corner of my mind will always think I have it way too good and that one day Hubby will find a cuter, younger model and vamoose. Rational fear? Dunno. But it does exist. While I’m single, I don’t have to worry about worrying about infidelity. Yay! One less thing to worry about!
I don’t have to worry about my ability to have children
In this day and age when lots of people are choosing NOT to have kids, or ‘have dogs instead’, this may seem a bit out-dated. But I would like to have kids. In fact, I would so like to have kids that if I never marry I would rather like to adopt- if I can as a single parent… I think you must be able to somehow. I have a second cousin who did that and I think she and her daughter are awesome!
So, my worrying about my ability to have children. My mom miscarried at least three times that we know about. Both my brother and I were ‘miracle babies’. I have a friend who has recently dealt with a miscarriage. I am quite frankly terrified by the idea. As amazing as it must be to have new life inside of you, the flip side of the coin is if something goes wrong, someone died inside of you. That’s terrifying for me. And I think that I would not cope well with that. I might be too scared to ever try again.
But as long as I’m single, it’s not a worry! Hurrah! It is proper to me in my current state (especially in my state of employment at present!) to be childless. But that doesn’t mean I’m not called to be a mother. I’m called to be a spiritual mother at present. Weird, hm? That means I have to pray for people around me who are sort of like my family- in addition to my family of course. Or I could spiritually adopt some children in danger of abortion. Either way, I am responsible to pray for people and do other mom-like things in a spiritual way.
Weirdly enough a few months ago someone asked me if I had any children because I seemed like a motherly person. At the time I didn’t quite know what to think of that. When I seemed confused they said they wondered because I seemed pretty mature for my age… I get that a surprising lot but I also get the “You’re not really __ years old are you? _Really_? You seem a lot younger!” Maybe it all averages out or something….
I know I have many other things to be grateful for, but this is going to be the short list for now. More to follow as the ideas occure to me.

Letters to a Younger Me

Saw this on another blog, thought it was interesting so here goes. I might do letters _from_ a younger me sometime. Oh, and I also figured out back-dating on this so I'm doing that. And it's not cheating because when I wrote it I didn't have internet access but fully intended to post this. So there.

Dear Five Year Old Me,
Just because there are other kids around doesn't mean they'll be your friends. Kindergarten is not as neat as you think it's going to be. Dinosaurs are dead so don't worry about them. TBro isn't going to go away. I'm proud of you! You're the youngest kid in the class and you're doing just fine!
Love,
Me in 2010

Dear Eight Year Old Me,
You're right- you won't ever be like the other kids, so don't even bother trying. Some stuff is going on that you don't get, but that's okay. The chronic nightmares should go away in a year or two. I think you're adorable when you try to make friends with the big kids! Try and return some of your library books on time, okay? Or at least remember where you put them if you don't remember what day they're due! And just to let you know, your future self still loves the Air and Space Museum!
Love,
Me in 2010

Dear Eleven Year Old Me,
You'll meet someone very special soon, just when you're starting to feel like you're completely alone in a foreign country. Enjoy Guides! Earn badges! Go for walks! Eat toffee! I don't have to remind you to do that last one. And hey, try and behave for Mom. You really don't want to go to school in this country. Trust me! And buy more Biggles books! Your future self still doesn't have all 94.... Above all, don't fall into self-conscious behaviors! You don't need them!
Love,
Me in 2010

Dear Fourteen Year Old Me,
I know you think you're the coolest thing since the fridge since you've discovered you can fall asleep listening to heavy metal. Just keep a low profile on that or Mom is going to smash all your CDs. The theme you want to go for is low profile altogether. Otherwise you're going to run into trouble. I know, you think your profile couldn't get any lower, but some people are watching you and they're concerned about your friends or your lack thereof. I wish I could tell you more. Just please, please watch what you say and who you say it to! Right now it seems like everything's going more or less okay, but if you're not careful, things are going to come unstuck- horribly. Also keep writing fanfic! You'll be a better writer sooner if you practice more!
CAVU,
Me in 2010

Dear Seventeen Year Old Me,
Told ya so. But that doesn't really help right now. I know you're feeling miserable right now so that's the first and last time I'll say you were warned. Take care of yourself! Take long walks! Work hard on scholarship applications! Don't let anyone see you cry! Get involved in volunteer stuff... like Civil Air Patrol. That's a really good idea. You'll like it lots, I promise! You'll meet new and interesting people! You'll go to cool airshows! I can promise you the pain and misery won't go away overnight. You're going to have difficulty dealing for a long time. But keep active and keep your chin up! Keep writing too, but try and open up some new genres! Work on original stuff!
Hang in there!
Me in 2010

Dear Twenty Year Old Me,
Well, you're finally at your first choice college! You're finally meeting great, interesting people who share your values! Isn't this awesome? It was worth it! Don't worry about boys- in fact, I know I'm asking the impossible but try not to think about them either...
And on an unrelated note, here's a warning you absolutely have to take to heart. Trust no one. Especially don't trust the people in your life who say that they love you. because they'll say that and then knock your feet out from under you.
Keep your eyes open and get things in writing,
Me in 2010

Dear Twenty Three Year Old Me,
See what I meant? Of course you do... Things will get better- kinda. At least you'll soon be out of the house and making money. Those are very important things. You're not going to get over that shit any time soon, just so you know. I think that's normal. You won't forget any time soon that anger and helplessness you felt. Anger, betrayal, helplessness, despair, hatred, apathy, exhaustion, frustration, sadness, fear, self-pity and claustrophobia will all take their turn on the spin-cycle from hell until you get out. Quite the range, hm? It wasn't what they thought, but that didn't matter, did it? Just to let you know, your current self is still not over the whole damn thing and has no plans on that changing any time soon.
On a more positive note, nice B-day party in Old Town! Wasn't that fun? Just so you don't forget, the year before (22) was the year you got Porfiry who can't say 'grapefruit'. The 21st was pretty unforgettable in Ireland and the one before that was a step up from a pity party courtesy of TexasTara
Um... to return to a difficult to understand subject. With regards to a certain individual (hereafter referred to as CI) You had unreturned feelings of CI. CI was special. And just so you know, you still haven't let go of CI. You've got to work on that. Let the dead bury their dead. You've got a cross to plant on that hill.
Taking the long route,
Me in 2010

A Stopover in the Midwest and up-date like things

I am still kind of in disbelief about passing my finals. It's over with. It's done. It was HARD. The second one was killer. On the break I felt sick to my stomach. I felt like it was a done thing and not in a good way at all. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to pass. My head hurt, my eyes hurt and I just wanted to be done. I wanted to go back in and answer all the remaining questions 'c'. But I didn't. I made myself take the whole break, then refocus. And I was there until the last five minutes and the last few questions were very, very hard to sit through. I did some serious educated guessing. But I made it. Non nobis, Domine!
Now all I have to worry about is re-certifying in a year... yipee...
So, then followed the epic packing out of DOOM. I'm gradually becoming more convinced that I was doing it wrong in some respects. Hindsight being what it is, I should have looked into getting a car a LOT sooner, but I didn't. And honestly, if what I am hoping for works out, it'll all be okay. I honestly don't see how I could have done things much differently. If I hadn't listened to TBro, I would have gone ahead and made plans to buy MarineWife's car a lot sooner. And then there wouldn't be this down-to-the-wire worry. But there is. And that's that.
Honestly sometimes I feel like if my life was going really smoothly and trouble-free I would start worrying that I was in a coma or a snow-globe world.
As far as all that goes though, my life has gotten a lot easier in some respects since I joined the Navy. Some people would say that the military gives you discipline. This is completely untrue. I know a lot of undisciplined people in the military. I'd say it would be more accurate to say that if you want to put your life in order, the military might help give you a framework in which to do so. If that makes sense. It's the difference between someone standing over you and shouting at you to clean your room and put everything on shelves and you being given a clean room with shelves and being told to have at.
I'm definitely in favour of the 'there are shelves but you actually have to have the inclination to shelve your books' school of thought. And some people would object, saying that if you have weekly inspections, you might as well have someone standing over you and shouting at you about cleaning your room but that's not really true.
There was something else I was going to say here but I can't remember what it was. All I can say is that I'm grateful for the shelving. Shelving is good.
As far as getting a car sooner... I know I am at the upper end of the average age of first-time car buyers, but oh well. I lived in the suburbs growing up, I lived out of the country for a while and I didn't get my full license until I was nineteen or twenty. These things happen. I'm not that weird. Really, in the past year and some change I have had no pressing and urgent need to get a car. The town I was living in had a better than decent public transit system, and the town itself was within walking distance from where I lived and safe to walk around. Occasionally I needed to get further afield and while I hate being dependent, I had a friend I could ask for a lift, or I could borrow or rent a car. I saved myself lots of money and was able to put a lot towards my student loan. That was really important. I'd go so far as to say that was the priority as far as spending money went.
Sometimes, I was irritated by what I saw going on around me. I know of not one but two fellow sailors (both younger and male) who went through two cars in their time there. What the heck?! I don't have the money to get into that kind of trouble! Granted, the one guy had a tree fall on his car so it wasn't entirely his fault, but still...
When I get something, I try to take care of it, and I try to use it until it is no longer usable. I realise that this isn't always possible. Trees happen, accidents happen, but I really try to conserve my resources. And as for the 'car-free living' types, I admire them but the ones who are living outside of a major metro area are deluding themselves if they think that the vast majority of Americans are ABLE to give up their cars. I know I don't really want a car, but by all accounts I will need to have one. Everything is so far apart that I apparently have no choice. And unlike Sunny Point, the base I am going to does not have an on-base bus system. This makes me very sad.
Wow... this post is getting to be kind of long... Maybe I should make it in two parts? Nah...
So anyway. Here I am in the Midwest's 'Biggest Small Town' (I think that's what they call it). Honestly I have missed it. There are nice places around here. Oh- and they have a bus system here which works well on weekdays but not so much on weekends. And the schedule is kinda hard to find. But anyway. I like it. I've kind of missed it. And I got to do some TAD here which was nice. Not hard at all. I really enjoyed it. Kinda sad I'll never actually get to be a recruiter. I think I'd like it, but I could be completely wrong. Having to deal with people day in and day out and the perpetually reputation my job would have for being dishonest might really get to me after a while.
What else?
Oh yes... upcoming wedding! The much anticipated nuptials of Tbro and May!
Man, I have never felt like more of a fifth wheel in my life..l. The parents are flying in today, and the happy couple is insanely busy. Tonight they have dinner with one of May's relatives. I'm cool with that. The parents are probably going to get their own dinner, then head to their hotel room. The parents want me to stay with them, and honestly Tbro's couch has been sufficient for me until now but it is getting a little old to wake up around three AM because the cushions are coming apart and I am falling into the middle of the couch... And Tbro wants me out of the house by Thursday night. I understood Friday night, and I guess I'm okay with Thursday night, and I may even just do him a favour and leave Wednesday night to stay with the parents. It can't be all bad if Uncle Alighieri and LittleA are going to be in town. Perhaps we could take LittleA mini-golfing?
I just feel pretty useless right now. The groom's family has always struck me as being... not exactly superfluous but not nearly as important as the bride's family. Perhaps this is my bias as having only ever been part of the bride's party. The groom's family has in my mind until now been the rehearsal dinner providers and that's about it. Well, now I'm part of the groom's family and am part of the bride's party only insofar as I will be wearing a dress. A green and pink dress. If I have any readers at all, and if they know me IRL, I really don't need to say anything more.
This is May's big day. I'm really happy for her and Tbro both. They are a lot smarter and more ready than a lot of people give them credit for. I really hope for the best for them. I think they will be happy for a very long time. They know what they're getting themselves in for. The first five years will have their moments of utter frustration, but they'll work through it and everything will be fine. I am very, very happy for them!
About the only thing I can honestly say I'm not thrilled about is that I know that Tbro will immediately equate marriage with instant maturity and at every possible opportunity will say something like "As a married man, I think you ought to..."
Which will be really irritating. But despite that, I'm happy for him.
And I'm going to be more alone than ever before. Tbro will have grownup status in our parents' eyes anyway. He is definitely no longer a kid as far as they're concerned. But me- three years older? I'm still a kid, sort of, and not in a good way. Occasionally Dad, who knows exactly how much money I make per month, helps me out a bit. And I appreciate that more than I can properly say. I'm not really a dependent any more, I file my own taxes and I have my own insurance, but I'm definitely not about to say no to a little help here and there. But I'll take the help. I won't take much else, especially from Mom, but that's neither here nor there.
And my closing thoughts for this lengthy post will be... odd.
I can sometimes obsess on that 'could have been's and 'should have been's of both history in general and my life in specific. I vividly remember some turning points of my life- turning points that were completely out of my control. I look back on them and wonder how my life would have been different or better (or worse) if things had gone the way I planned before my plans were smashed to bits. Most of the time, I try to avoid thinking about these things. I find them upsetting and I know it's not much use to dwell on the could haves. But then I follow a train of thought like this.
If I hadn't gone to summer camp, I wouldn't have met KTQ. If I hadn't met KTQ, I would never have visited the Midwest. If I'd never visited the Midwest, my parents would probably never have gotten up the interest in the diocese to move out here. If they hadn't moved out here, Tbro would never have met May and they wouldn't be getting married this coming Friday. When I think about things like that, I shiver a little because I think about plans I had that didn't make it. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it would have all ended in disaster. But I wish I knew.