Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Rockin' Roomie
I was just about to talk about shitty public transportation in my lovely city here, but then my roommate, Rebecca, came to my rescue. You see, the Norfolk/Virginia Beach/Portsmouth/etc. area is kind of like the DFW metroplex. There are 7 cities that have all merged into one big one. Everything is spread out, though, so it takes a car to really get around easily. There is a bus system here, but most of the time it'll take me almost 2 hours to get somewhere that takes no more than 30 minutes to drive to from my apartment. So I avoid taking the bus as much as possible. Sometimes it's out of my hands, though. Like today....
I need to go to my hospital to pick up some paperwork and get some counseling on my forthcoming medical board. The hospital is in Portsmouth, which is about 30 minutes from here by car. So if you read the paragraph above, you'd know that it'd take almost 2 hours by bus. That is, of course, if there were a bus route that took me any closer than about 5 blocks from the hospital. And the buses only pick up once an hour.
Rebecca to the rescue! She is taking off of work (big sacrifice, I know, getting out of work for an hour or so) to drive home and get me, then drive me to Portsmouth. Then she's going to pick me back up when she gets off of work. She has unselfishly done this kind of thing since she returned home from deployment. Lots of times, I don't even ask. She comes up with the plan that may inconvenience her, but will help me. How many people do you know who will do that without pouring on a side of martyr with it? I don't know many.
So thank you, Rebecca, for everything you've done for me these last several months. One of these days, I hope to find a way to repay you.
I need to go to my hospital to pick up some paperwork and get some counseling on my forthcoming medical board. The hospital is in Portsmouth, which is about 30 minutes from here by car. So if you read the paragraph above, you'd know that it'd take almost 2 hours by bus. That is, of course, if there were a bus route that took me any closer than about 5 blocks from the hospital. And the buses only pick up once an hour.
Rebecca to the rescue! She is taking off of work (big sacrifice, I know, getting out of work for an hour or so) to drive home and get me, then drive me to Portsmouth. Then she's going to pick me back up when she gets off of work. She has unselfishly done this kind of thing since she returned home from deployment. Lots of times, I don't even ask. She comes up with the plan that may inconvenience her, but will help me. How many people do you know who will do that without pouring on a side of martyr with it? I don't know many.
So thank you, Rebecca, for everything you've done for me these last several months. One of these days, I hope to find a way to repay you.
Friday, January 14, 2005
No Justice!
I finally received my Cruise Book tonight. I've been looking forward to getting it for a long time. It's kind of like a high school year book for deployments, I guess. Each department has a section, in which the divisions are shown with individual pictures of all of the sailors. I'm not in any of them. ANY OF THEM!!!! Eight freakin' months....nothing! It's like I fell into the cracks of the pages between turning over a division and taking over as assistant department head. There are two, count them two, pictures with me in them in the whole damn book:
Picture Number One - group picture of all of the officers on the ship.
Picture Number Two - there was a night in Jebel Ali, UAE, when everything went wrong on the ship. The engineers were on the pier with IVs because of dehydration. I was completely drunk, but I ended up walking around taking water to all of them, trying to help out. I turned myself into Molly Pitcher. Literally. But the picture of me from that night - do you think it's of me giving water to passed out sailors? NO!!! I look like I just puked from being so drunk and my friend Jim pulled me up and told me to smile for the picture. He has two beers in his hands. I have a new roll of TP in mine.
So that is my legacy. That is how I will be remembered 30 years from now when someone pulls out their USS NASHVILLE cruise book from 2004. I guess it could be worse. My friend Chuck, who was the dentist until he left the ship mid-cruise, is not shown with Dental Department. He's shown in Aviation Department, and his name is ABH2 Allen Brown according to the caption. He's really LT Charles Truncale. Who do you think has it worst? Probably Chuck. True, I have no identity, but he has someone else's.
Picture Number One - group picture of all of the officers on the ship.
Picture Number Two - there was a night in Jebel Ali, UAE, when everything went wrong on the ship. The engineers were on the pier with IVs because of dehydration. I was completely drunk, but I ended up walking around taking water to all of them, trying to help out. I turned myself into Molly Pitcher. Literally. But the picture of me from that night - do you think it's of me giving water to passed out sailors? NO!!! I look like I just puked from being so drunk and my friend Jim pulled me up and told me to smile for the picture. He has two beers in his hands. I have a new roll of TP in mine.
So that is my legacy. That is how I will be remembered 30 years from now when someone pulls out their USS NASHVILLE cruise book from 2004. I guess it could be worse. My friend Chuck, who was the dentist until he left the ship mid-cruise, is not shown with Dental Department. He's shown in Aviation Department, and his name is ABH2 Allen Brown according to the caption. He's really LT Charles Truncale. Who do you think has it worst? Probably Chuck. True, I have no identity, but he has someone else's.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Practice Like You Play
My sister had a post on her blog on the subject of children's education these days, and I was amazed at how many responses she got. I started to comment, but when I started typing, my fingers went crazy...too crazy for a response. So I transported her subject to my blog and to this post. I look forward to your further insight.
I'm not that old, I know. I just turned 25. I've often wondered exactly what marks the end of one generation and the start of another. I still don't know, but I do know that I am at the end of my generation. And might I add, on the better side of the gap. Several weeks ago, I was discussing this with a friend. We were talking about the differences between our generation and the next. She and I both work in the Navy. You would not believe the attitudes we encounter from young sailors - both enlisted and officer. They don't work, yet they expect to get paid. They sleep all day, fall behind in their studies, and then get angry when they are called out for being behind in their studies.
Last night I went to dinner with my roommate and a friend of ours. We went to a Japanese steak house/hibache place. At our table was a woman with her three children, aged 12, 4, and 6 months. They were the most well behaved children I had seen in a long time. They didn't run around like most little brats; and when they did act up, all it took was one snap of the fingers from their mother and they were sitting back down, no arguments. What amazes me more than this sight, though, is that this sight amazes me at all. How is it that we live in an age where children can call child protective services at the drob of a hat...literally?! If I acted up as a kid, I got my butt spanked. I'm not psychotic. I don't need therapy. I'm perfectly happy, and when I'm not, I don't blame my parents. There are real children in the world with real problems. Children who do have horrible parents. Children who do have horrible experiences. Children who have to live with those horrible experiences for the rest of their lives. Now every pansy-ass brat abuses the services that those truly troubled children really need.
Kids and parents, both - grow the f%*# up and deal with life. Keep score. Give grades. Show discipline. You practice like you play. If you let kids skate through life for fear of inflicting some kind of weird psychological damage, then those kids won't know how to deal with life on their own. Practice like you play. Teenage years are practice for your twenties, which is practice for your thirties, etc. Do you want to be living with your parents, earning an allowance, when you're 40? Think about it!
I'm not that old, I know. I just turned 25. I've often wondered exactly what marks the end of one generation and the start of another. I still don't know, but I do know that I am at the end of my generation. And might I add, on the better side of the gap. Several weeks ago, I was discussing this with a friend. We were talking about the differences between our generation and the next. She and I both work in the Navy. You would not believe the attitudes we encounter from young sailors - both enlisted and officer. They don't work, yet they expect to get paid. They sleep all day, fall behind in their studies, and then get angry when they are called out for being behind in their studies.
Last night I went to dinner with my roommate and a friend of ours. We went to a Japanese steak house/hibache place. At our table was a woman with her three children, aged 12, 4, and 6 months. They were the most well behaved children I had seen in a long time. They didn't run around like most little brats; and when they did act up, all it took was one snap of the fingers from their mother and they were sitting back down, no arguments. What amazes me more than this sight, though, is that this sight amazes me at all. How is it that we live in an age where children can call child protective services at the drob of a hat...literally?! If I acted up as a kid, I got my butt spanked. I'm not psychotic. I don't need therapy. I'm perfectly happy, and when I'm not, I don't blame my parents. There are real children in the world with real problems. Children who do have horrible parents. Children who do have horrible experiences. Children who have to live with those horrible experiences for the rest of their lives. Now every pansy-ass brat abuses the services that those truly troubled children really need.
Kids and parents, both - grow the f%*# up and deal with life. Keep score. Give grades. Show discipline. You practice like you play. If you let kids skate through life for fear of inflicting some kind of weird psychological damage, then those kids won't know how to deal with life on their own. Practice like you play. Teenage years are practice for your twenties, which is practice for your thirties, etc. Do you want to be living with your parents, earning an allowance, when you're 40? Think about it!
Sunday, January 09, 2005
I'm not as think as you drunk I am!
This list was sent to me in an email. I just had to put in on my blog, though. It's Sunday afternoon, and it takes me at least two hands to check off the numbers below that I exhibited over the last two nights. Thank God for friends who love you enough not to give you endless amounts of shit the next morning...or for being as drunk as you are, so who remembers?!
20 Ways For Women To Tell That They've Had A Little Much To Drink
1. I have absolutely no idea where my purse is.
2. I believe that dancing with my arms overhead and wiggling my butt while yelling "WOO-HOO!" is truly the sexiest dance move around.
3. I've suddenly decided I want to kick someone's ass and honestly believe I could do it too.
4. In my last trip to pee, I realize I now look more like a homeless hooker than the goddess I was just four hours ago.
5. I drop my 3:00 a.m. submarine on the floor (which I'm eating even though I'm not the least bit hungry), pick it up and carry on eating it.
6. I start crying and telling everyone I see that I love them sooooo much.
7. I get extremely excited and jump up and down every time a new song plays because "Oh my God! I love this song!"
8. I've found a deeper/spiritual side to the geek sitting next to me.
9. The man I'm flirting with used to be my 5th grade teacher.
10. The urge to take off articles of clothing, stand on a table and sing or dance becomes strangely overwhelming.
11. My eyes just don't seem to want to stay open on their own so I keep them half closed and think it looks exotically sexy.
12. I've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.
13. I yell at the bartender, who (I think) cheated me by giving me just lemonade, but that's just because I can no longer taste the gin.
14. I think I'm in bed, but my pillow feels strangely like the kitchen floor.
15. I start every conversation with a booming, "DON'T take this the WRONG WAY but..."
16. I fail to notice that the toilet lid's down when I sit on it.
17. My hugs begin to resemble wrestling take-down moves.
18. I'm tired so I just sit on the floor (wherever I happen to be standing) and take a quick nap.
19. I begin leaving the buttons open on my button fly pants to cut down on the time I'm in the bathroom away from my drink.
20. I take my shoes off because I believe it's their fault that I'm having problems walking straight.
Send this along to all the girls you know who like to have fun. Make them laugh at themselves like you do. Life is what you make of it...kind of like playdough!
20 Ways For Women To Tell That They've Had A Little Much To Drink
1. I have absolutely no idea where my purse is.
2. I believe that dancing with my arms overhead and wiggling my butt while yelling "WOO-HOO!" is truly the sexiest dance move around.
3. I've suddenly decided I want to kick someone's ass and honestly believe I could do it too.
4. In my last trip to pee, I realize I now look more like a homeless hooker than the goddess I was just four hours ago.
5. I drop my 3:00 a.m. submarine on the floor (which I'm eating even though I'm not the least bit hungry), pick it up and carry on eating it.
6. I start crying and telling everyone I see that I love them sooooo much.
7. I get extremely excited and jump up and down every time a new song plays because "Oh my God! I love this song!"
8. I've found a deeper/spiritual side to the geek sitting next to me.
9. The man I'm flirting with used to be my 5th grade teacher.
10. The urge to take off articles of clothing, stand on a table and sing or dance becomes strangely overwhelming.
11. My eyes just don't seem to want to stay open on their own so I keep them half closed and think it looks exotically sexy.
12. I've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.
13. I yell at the bartender, who (I think) cheated me by giving me just lemonade, but that's just because I can no longer taste the gin.
14. I think I'm in bed, but my pillow feels strangely like the kitchen floor.
15. I start every conversation with a booming, "DON'T take this the WRONG WAY but..."
16. I fail to notice that the toilet lid's down when I sit on it.
17. My hugs begin to resemble wrestling take-down moves.
18. I'm tired so I just sit on the floor (wherever I happen to be standing) and take a quick nap.
19. I begin leaving the buttons open on my button fly pants to cut down on the time I'm in the bathroom away from my drink.
20. I take my shoes off because I believe it's their fault that I'm having problems walking straight.
Send this along to all the girls you know who like to have fun. Make them laugh at themselves like you do. Life is what you make of it...kind of like playdough!
