No surprise to me.

At Ft. Campbell, we lived in buildings fill of mold, asbestos, roaches and worse. Exposed pipes? What, aren’t those normal?

I don’t recall the sewer backing up like they show on the story there. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

And yes, our buildings would have been condemned if they’d been anywhere other than an Army post, too.

At Campbell, though, the infantry had brand new nice barracks. We didn’t. So no one gave a shit.

Another easy post for me, courtesy of Wyatt.

Here are the rules if you decide to play along:

1) Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3) Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4) Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Okay! Here you go- the boozehound edition of this seven facts meme:

1. I’m a lightweight. No, I don’t just mean that I weigh 115 pounds (hey, that’s downright chubby compared to my pre-Army, two-kids-ago weight). What I mean is, I just can’t drink much anymore. I am drunk right now. Seriously. It’s 11 pm and I have had 3 beers and half a Bloody Mary- and I am toast.

2. I’ve never been so drunk that I puked. That won’t be changing tonight.

3. I wasn’t a lightweight before I joined the Army either. I once had eleven malt beverages at the bar while out with my good buddy L. She’s about six feet tall and curvy, so she kept getting free ones from a bouncer who had a bit of a crush on her- and she just handed ‘em over to me. I didn’t puke, pass out, or even get a hangover.

4. I have never “blacked” out (as in just keel over) but I have been so drunk that I fell asleep despite intense persuasion to the contrary. But so did he, so oh well. And I do mean my lovely lovely lazybones, of course.

5. My worst hangovers have been from drinking Bloody Marys. Including one memorable time when I had to deal with my snarky grandmother the following morning. She’s a chore for the sober, believe me.

6. I have to pee. Now.

7. I am sure I will feel rather silly for posting this tomorrow.

As for tagging, I am too drunk to remember seven names. So tag yourself if you want to.

XOXOX,
S.

Originally released in April 2001. Wow.
More info at Wikipedia.

I also enjoy the Irrational Exuberance version- that’s some classy Flash.

Normally I wouldn’t bother to even link to this kind of thing, but I really wanted to point something out.

When the people involved in these things mention that the tactics are used in SERE training (which they have all presumably had, in their line of work)- remember that all these things were likely done TO them during the course of that training. These bad, nasty things that are supposedly “torture”.

It didn’t disfigure them, or kill them- so as far as I am concerned, that kind of treatment is far too good. Too good for the filth that blow up and shoot our troops. Too good for pieces of shit who would come into our country and fly planes into our cities, murdering thousands. Way too good for these swine who refuse freedom for the people of Iraq and Afghanistan and would rather see their own children explode into a million pieces than to accept liberty.

Screw it. Just kill ‘em.

Of course, I don’t speak on behalf of our leaders. They’ll allow the media to vilify our fighting forces. Leaders who speak loudly and carry a… pacifier.

If we’re not going to fight to win against these despicable dogs, then it doesn’t matter who we elect anymore. The nation’s already sunk too low to be saved.

Thanks, you fucking hippie bastards, for taking a perfectly nice country (at the end of WWII troops were honored as heroes, now the only reports we get are about supposed “abuses” of BAD GUYS, whose rights the media believes are more valuable than ours) and ruining it with your sissy ways. You know what? Go ahead and give peace its “chance”. My bet is that peace will just roll over and show its soft underbelly to the wolves in this world.

When anyone starts believing that freedom is worth a fight, you know where to find me.

No, not more pictures of me without makeup- I got tagged with this meme by Wyatt, who has a green tea mug. *snicker*

For this one you must:
Post an image of your favorite drinking vessel.
Tag some other saps to do the same.

I love this mug because I got it at the first Starbucks I saw after leaving Iraq- which was in Kuwait. I took it as a sure sign that I was on my way back to my favorite lifestyle of all- being an overcaffeinated consumer. Also because Starbucks discontinued their “City Mugs” shortly thereafter. Lazybones used this mug the other day and nearly got beaten up for it. It’s one of those irreplaceable things that he has a tendency to break (like he did to one of the tumblers from our first MP Ball).

This is really my mom’s mug. She bought it while visiting me in Tennessee, while I was preggers with Ringo. She would often encourage the little beast to “kick mommy” and took great amusement from my lamenting that the child would surely be a football-headed homicidal maniac. I was horrified when she got the mug. So she left it there for me when she went home, and now it’s my favorite!

As for the tagging, I got nothin’.

Wyatt did a meme and didn’t tag anyone. That means it’s up for grabs, and I am all about recycling and borrowing blog posts lately. This one’s the six-word memoir; we’ll see how many dirty words I can squeeze in (ha ha). I have no illustration for this one, but any of you who have seen the photo of me covered in mud can just imagine that, or use the photo below as a guide.

It’s all about freedom and love.

So, you wanna play?
1. Write your own six word memoir.
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you want.
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere.
4. Tag at least five more blogs with links.
5. Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

Of course, as my completion of this meme was the direct result of a violation of these rules, I am going to continue the proud tradition and not tag anybody specific either. Just nab it if you want.

I also found this in the Wayback Machine.

Created by OnePlusYou

Snagged from Tyler, who apparently loves the caffeine as much as I do.

Found some bits of my old blog clinging to life out there in the vast interwebses of this wide world. A little blurb I tapped out about my darling Lazybones, about the time that he and I got engaged.

That’s why I hear it whispered in my ear when I’m being held close in the night, “I love you so much.” Because he knows that I feel the same way. That I’d do anything on earth for him. That he makes me happy even when I snap and growl and seem incurably grumpy. I know that when I am feeling like life slapped me in the face with a dump truck that he will squeeze me and tell me it’s okay. I know that he faced a major incident in our relationship (just a week or so into it, mind you) with uncommon kindness, dedication, and an extraordinary calm. I was climbing the walls and he reassured me. I fell in love with him then and there. I didn’t tell him right then. I remembered all the times I fell hard for someone and was faced with being shut out, or cheated on, or ignored, or just left there feeling like that dump truck must have been loaded with boulders this time. He showed me love, he handled my insecurities, and called me Bitchface. I loved him more every minute, I gave him ten thousand kisses every day, and I called him Fuckface. We wrote notes to one another on the paper placemats at IHOP, and passed them back and forth till our waitress thought we were nuts. We held hands, spent money, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. He wanted to move in together. Buy a house. Make babies. I told him that I was afraid of the M-word (mortgage) and he seemed afraid of the other M-word (marriage). I said that once one of us had to go somewhere for any length of time, he would miss me and decide that he wanted to marry me. (I wish I had put money on this one, I was so dead-on.)When he nervously started to hint around about it, I found myself crying, overwhelmed with how much I love him and how happy and good our life is.

I love my pain-in-the-ass husband. More now than I did then.

And yes… I know it’s pretty lame to dredge up old blog posts and recycle them, but this is the one part of that blog that is worth saving.

I’m still here, despite my complete lack of interesting shit to post.

So here’s a brief update about what I have been up to lately:
Nothing.

Seriously!

It seems I go days and days without accomplishing anything except changing diapers and shoveling food into the hungry mouths of my babies. Imagine a nest of gaping-mouthed baby chicks, peeping incessantly.

I got a new vacuum cleaner, and it sucks. I’m so happy I could cry. I might actually make it through April without sneezing myself into a coma.

Lazybones should be finally getting his long-overdue promotion around the time I have my birthday. By “long-overdue”, I mean the promotion he was supposed to get around the time we got married. The trouble is, if you’re unobtrusive and just do your job, sometimes they forget you’re there. Y’all may not believe me, but the best way to get promoted in the Army is to get a DUI, or get busted for adultery. I’ve also heard that sexual harassment and domestic violence can help too. Since my handsome life-partner only drinks at home, fears castration, is polite and never punches me unless I request it, he’s been quietly getting screwed by the Army for the past 3 1/2 years. Not that I’m bitter or anything. He sure as fuck doesn’t seem bothered by it, which only makes me more enraged. I threaten to go back on active duty just to get promoted over him sometimes. Maybe then he’d listen.

Bah, anyway.

I am increasingly annoyed by the news, and ignore it as best I can. If I sat here and started posting about all the shit I think is wrong with the nation/world/people in general, my fingers would be bleeding stumps before I got halfway done.

Anyway, this post is ending now, because it really was just a way for me to pass a few minutes while I drank my coffee and took a break from cleaning. Now I need to text my boy-toy and make sure he remembers to bring home a huge vat of laundry detergent when he gets off shift. And flower seeds, and a pizza, and beer. I feel like getting wasted tonight.