The fascination with boys never ends...

So a little while back the Afghans threw a big party for everyone here. It was a pretty big event and they brought local clothes for soldiers to wear, they even got dresses for the female soldiers. It was a big event, and everyone had fun, although a little later on when the locals started getting drunk(which is illegal, more on that another time) they got up and started dancing with each other. All the guys started dancing with each other. Ewwwww...

Then one of the male soldiers started dancing with them! hahaha, the First Sergeant wasn't too happy about that, he said something about him having a little sugar in his tank.

That wasn't the point of the story though, so here we are, a few months later talking to the local contractor boss. We'll call him 'Rocky.' And Rocky was watching the female medic we have here, saying that he thought she was cute. She has short hair, and is sort of small all around. We asked why he liked her and he said it was because she looked like a small boy, and that for the next party he was going to get her a boys outfit to wear so all the guys would like her.

Disgusted yet?

The last ANA (Afghan National Army) unit that we had here seemed to be filled with a lot of very young men. Now that's not terribly unusual, since most of these people don't know how old they are, and they just sort of pick numbers and birthdays. Plus with a new unit it's not unusual to have young soldiers since the Army is so newly formed. We don't really work with the soldiers too much, mostly we deal with the command element. One day we went to their part of the base to do some things and we couldn't find their commander. We talked to the US Soldiers who advise them and they said, "oh yeah, he was raping his soldiers so they got rid of him." Apparently it's a common occurrence here. double ewwwwww....

Living Flame

Living Flame

My entry for the photo contest over at A Cowboys Wife

I've always loved taking pictures, and sometimes people even get to see them! The theme for the contest is colors, and being in a desert where everything is brown kind of limited my options.

Good luck to everyone who entered!

P.S. It didn't show up very well in the blog, but it looks way better if you shift click it!

For the Fallen

I've attended far too many memorial ceremonies since I joined then Marines. When I got out, I thought I would never have to go to one again. About a month and a half after I got here, I attended my first one as a civilian. And I attended another one today.

When a Marine or Soldier dies in combat, it's sad. But it's accepted. Or I should say, it's acceptable. When we sign take the oath, for whatever reason we are doing it, we understand that the cost of those words may be our life. None of us want to pay that price, but we are all willing. So when you're in the war zone, and someone dies, it's sort of expected. Maybe not that person at that time, but the entire time you are here there just a quiet knowledge that it's going to happen to someone. And so when they pull you into that quiet little room, and they tell you that we have just lost one of our own, the thought isn't, "Oh no!" It's, "I hope it's not someone I knew well."

And this wasn't someone I knew well. In a base of around 100 soldiers it's hard to get to know everyone. But he was one that everyone knew. One of the soldiers at his memorial described him as the glue that held his unit together. He was always walking around, laughing, joking with people, mocking and ridiculing people (a favorite pastime amongst the military.) When I heard he had been killed, I was confused, because his job didn't really take him outside of the base that often. Here's the real kick in the nuts, he was home on leave. He wasn't killed by a roadside bomb, or by jumping on a hand grenade to save his fellow soldiers. He didn't die in a firefight defending a country that couldn't care less for the blood that is shed for them. He was killed at home, by some piece of shit kid that doesn't deserve the air he breathes.

The worst part of the ceremony for me has always been the final roll call. The ceremony starts out with an invocation from the chaplain, then various soldiers speak. When all that is done, there is the final roll call. Everyone stands, and the First Sergeant calls out some names of soldiers, who all answer, "here First Sergeant!" The last name that is called is the name of the fallen soldier. The name echoes through the ranks, and silence answers back. They call the name three times, and the First Sergeant reports the loss of a soldier to the Commander. They fire the 21 gun salute, and Taps is played. That song still gives me chills when I hear it.

Then everyone, in pairs and threesomes, walks up to the display. It has a picture of the fallen, boots, a rifle, helmet, and dog tags. They kneel, then stand and salute, then walk away. I never know what to say to people who are in mourning, and in this case, as in all military funerals, no words are needed. No words will comfort, and no words will replace the loss of a friend, a brother. I shake their hand, give them a hug and a nod, and they understand. We've all shared the same pain. No words will suffice.

Then we carry on with the day. Because the mission comes first.

Rest in peace brother.

Well Done Google!

I have to say, when I first logged into my gmail account and saw this, I was like,"whoah, I'll never have to write another email again! Then I started reading it to my roommate. As I was reading it I realized what the date was. D'oh! April Fools Day! I've got to admit I am impressed with the work that Google put into their april fools joke, it doesn't stop there, check this out. And this She even has her own Youtube channel!

The lads over at Google put a lot of time and effort into their prank, so I say well done Google, well done!

Learn to aim!

Seriously, it's not that difficult. I'm a guy, I pee standing up, and I have about a 99.99% success rate of not peeing on the seat. It's really not that hard. Point and shoot. The .o1 percent is there because even the best of us drift off and start thinking of other things, it happens.

But seriously, every time I walk into the bathroom here someone has peed on the seat. I guess that's what you get when you live with 100 soldiers, but still ewwww. Clean up after yourself, am I right?

Why I run

I used to be a runner. I looked forward to my long runs on the weekend, and they could last several hours. I loved it. But the reason that I started was to get away from my roommates. I had a roommate that I absolutely couldn't stand, we were just fundamentally different. So I took up running after we would come back from our daily routine. At first that's all it was, time away from everyone else. When you work and live and spend your entire day with the same people it's nice to have some time to get away. So I ran. And eventually my short runs turned into longer ones, and the short ones got easier.

Then we finished our school and got assigned to different units. I moved in with roommates that I actually liked, and for a short time I stopped running. After a couple of weeks I realized that something was missing, so I started running again. It became a type of meditation for me. Throughout the whole day my mind is constantly running and analyzing things, and running is the 30 minutes to 2 hours a day that I could stop thinking. Or at least think minimally. Breathing? check. Legs moving? check. Heart beating? check. Uh-oh, here comes a hill. Still breathing? check. Legs still moving? check. Heart still beating? check. Repeat until finished.

Then I became known as a runner. It was part of my identity. People would ask me for advice on how to get better or faster and I would help them. It was a part of me. Then along came the hernia, and my hatred of doctors. Combine the two and I kept running through the pain until it got to where I couldn't run anymore. I kept losing fitness until I finally got to the point where I had to go to the doctor, and they recommended surgery. So I got it fixed, but it was another month until I could run again. And about that time I went and spent six weeks or so out in the field doing training for a deployment, and didn't have time to run. My fitness continued to decline. Then came the deployment, and saying that it was a high operational tempo deployment wouldn't do it justice, we barely got time to sleep, let alone spend time running.

Then I got out of the Marine Corps, and I was exhausted. Physically, mentally, the four and a half years really took it's toll on me. And I didn't run for almost a year. Finally a few months ago I started again. It's almost depressing to go from being able to run for hours to only being able to run for a half hour or so.

So now I'm running, again I started to get away from roommates and coworkers, but this time I have a problem. They run with me. It's the first time that I've ever had running partners, and it's weird. They're competitive and loud and it's so much the opposite of the peace and quiet that I'm seeking I don't know how to handle it. So now I'm starting to run farther, or slower, just so I can get time alone. It's still entertaining, but in a different way. I'm expecting them to not stay running with me for too long though. I give it a week or two and they'll stop running with me. If they don't then I don't know what I will do.

Smokers make me giggle

Ok, so maybe that sounds a little gay. Whatever

But they do! My roommate was trying to quit smoking a while back. He told me, "oh it's easy, it's all a mindset thing." With cigarette in hand he said, "I quit a few years ago and it was simple, I didn't have any cravings." Puff, Puff.

Two days later he was smoking again. When I asked him about the mindset thing he said, "yeah, well, uh." And walked away.

What's the magic phrase that every smoker utters, "I'm not addicted, I can quit any time I want."

Well Einstein, that's the whole point of addiction, you don't want to quit. You introduce foreign chemicals into your body that literally change the way your brain works, and it becomes dependant on those chemicals. It makes you think that you want to keep doing it, no matter how destructive it is to your body.

There are smokers who realize it though, and genuinely don't care. I have some respect for them, because they understand they are addicted.

But self denial amuses me, just like, "I'm not fat, I'm big boned..."