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.