Raging in Georgia, Part III

Saturday was absolutely wonderful. Young SGT had made a tee time for us at Ft. Benning; you have no idea what a treat it was for me to golf in March. It would have been nice if the temperature had been up a little, but I’m not complaining. Honest to God, I had one of the most consistent games I’ve ever played, and I have a theory about that. I’m figurin’ that what body parts haven’t been sliced and diced, are most certainly getting’ creaky, and it’s slowed my swing down- I have to be very deliberate. The result is that almost every shot I made was right in the middle of the fairway.



My son had a hilarious incident- well, Diana and I thought it was hysterical, I’m not sure Young SGT was quite as amused. He’s got a bit of a slice, and one shot ended up in a tree. Normally it drops out, or bounces away or something, but never have I seen a golf ball look more like a pinball. It hit one branch, then another, and another, and just ping-ponged itself down the tree in slow motion. Once it landed, it rolled over to the cart path and, just like it did in the tree, zigzagged back and forth across the path, bouncing side to side until it finally stopped right by the women’s tee box. The whole thing took probably close to two minutes, and by this time Diana and I are howling with laughter and my son just keeps repeating, “WTF! No way! WTF!”. I wish I had thought to grab my camera and filmed it- just one of those things you would have to see to believe.

DISCLAIMER: RAGING MOM IS IN NO WAY, SHAPE OR FORM A RACIST. SHE IS, HOWEVER, FROM HICKSVILLE NORTH!

I had to say that, because we had lunch at the clubhouse and were the only white folks in there. Excuse me if it sounds…whatever…but you just don’t see black gentlemen on the golf courses up here in the sticks. You actually don’t see a whole lot of black folks period, but the clubhouse scenario made me feel like I was having a “Well my goodness, Henry, would you look at that!” moment. I am such a hayseed at times.

We drove around for awhile afterwards, then went home so I could make my daughter-in-law apple pie. Excuse me, that’s Apple Pie™ and you don’t need a fork, you drink it. Not my best ever batch, but it did make me glow a little. Young SGT grilled out, then after dinner we headed over to a local bar, Bill’s Pub. What a dive- I was in heaven! Again, the regulars in there didn’t talk to us or anything, but the bartender was pretty nice and I hope she put the tip money we left aside for her denture fund. The entertainment for the evening was Kamikaze Karaoke; whatever song comes up randomly is what you have to sing. It was friggin’ hilarious, because these folks either COULDN’T sing or really thought they were God’s Gift and weren’t.



It’s probably a good thing we didn’t stay too long. Knowing me, I would’ve had a few more beers and thought getting up there to sing was a good idea- and trust me, in my case it NEVER is- and then I would’ve got my Yankee ass whupped.

My son was good enough to make breakfast before I had to leave for the airport on Sunday. Diana dropped me off and other than having a few young lads with short haircuts ask for a light off my cigarette (Yep, they got my matches before I left) I had an unremarkable trip home. The kids were more than gracious while I was there, and I so enjoyed getting away for awhile.

Oh, and my son was good enough to let me get a new picture of him in his uniform:



Oh yeah. I’m proud.

Beagle or Heeler?

Over at Og's, there's a lively discussion going on about the merits of beagle pups. Now, Old Sarge and I have often discussed getting a dog once our VF*nW responsibilities taper off, but have never been able to agree on what breed. He wants a beagle:



and I want a blue heeler:




So, what do you think? The first person to give me the answer I'm looking for could receive that faggoty Jeff Gordon cooler I've been trying to get rid of.

Prayer for the Day

Dear God,

Would it be terribly bad if, on the day my job finally pushes me over the edge of sanity, to answer the phone:

"Nuthouse, Macadamia speaking."

Thank you,
Raging Mom

Raging in Georgia, Part II

My son and daughter-in-law adopted two stray dogs when they bought their house. Although they are starting to become a little domesticated, they didn’t take kindly to the strange lady in the other bedroom rolling out of bed to use the bathroom. Jeebus Kee-rist, can those dogs bark! After making sure that everyone in a three block radius was awake, we had coffee, waited for an electrician to come and confirmed that, yep, the light in the ceiling fan in the living room is fucked up, we went downtown to the River Walk. Columbus is right on the Chattahoochie River, and the city has developed a really beautiful riverfront park.



While it was chillier than I had hoped, it was great for me at least to be out walking around in just a light jacket.

Now, I’m not really picking on Southerners. God knows you can find plenty of shit here up North that causes WTF moments. But this???



That’s sheet metal riveted on to replace a window. In all fairness, the car had Alabama plates.
We went out for lunch, just so I could amuse the children by spilling my soup down the front of my shirt not once, not twice but dingdingding! Three times. Dinner was Red Lobster, being the good (cough cough) Catholic ( cough!!) I am, I still observed Lent. Not much of a chore when Lobsterfest is going on. We had to wait about 40 minutes, during which I chatted with a very nice lady whose son had just graduated RIP training. He was going to be going to Ft. Stewart, where one of my other boys is at, so we had a lot to talk about. OH….she is from LOMBARD.
After dinner, we went to the Columbus VFW. This was something I was looking forward to. It can be a hoot going to other Posts, talking to people, gambling or whatever. I can just about walk into anywhere and know everyone in there within half an hour. That’s just me. So, we walk in and there is a $5.00 cover charge; they’re having a dance. No big deal, but they didn’t ask to see a membership card. Okay, maybe this club is open to the public. We sat down at the bar and waited. And waited. Waited some more. There were maybe half a dozen people tops sitting at the bar, so there’s no way the bartender COULDN’T see us. Except we were getting treated to the full back assault. Finally after fifteen minutes, we were able to get her to come over, but there was absolutely no friendliness going on. Come to think of it, nobody in there wanted anything to do with us. It just blew me away, because that would never happen at a VFW up here. I left a little note as we were leaving. Figured they might as well know who it was they were being rude to, though I doubt if they gave a shit.

Memo to self: maybe not the best idea to go to a Southern bar wearing a Bears shirt.

The 3ID was having their Homecoming on Friday night. Diamond Rio was playing, and it was supposed to be a big deal. God knows with all those soldiers sitting on the concrete, scrubbing the sidewalk with a toothbrush, it should have been!

Thus ended day two in Georgia.

Raging in Georgia, Part I

Nothing screams "Howdy, I'm from Hickville!" louder than walking into O'Hare and realizing that getting checked in by a human being has gone the way of the dinosaur. I managed to get my boarding pass and get rid of my luggage with plenty of time to spare- I thought- to sneak downstairs and have a smoke or two before going through security. Nothing makes you want a cigarette more than knowing you can't have one! That accomplished, I got in line at the checkpoint. It took close to an hour to clear it; I thought at 4:30 in the morning it couldn't possibly be bad, but I was wrong. At least my underwire didn't make the machine go crazy and single me out for special attention. Yep, that's happened before! I get to my gate just in time to grab a Starbucks and a book, and off we go.
Now, I've mentioned that I am deathly afraid of flying. Hate it! I no sooner got settled in my seat, before we even leave the gate, and I am sound asleep. Lights out, good night, that's all folks. I never woke up until we were on approach to Atlanta. I would fly more often if that happened too. Once we're off the plane, I see immediately past our gate is a SMOKING ROOM! Hallelujah! I darted in for a quick one, and there are a few soldiers from the 101st in there. Their lighters were confiscated at Customs, they'd been on a 17 hour flight from Kuwait and I think of all the welcome homes I've given in my life, passing out books of matches has got to be one of the oddest.
After talking to them for a few, I headed for baggage claim. At another gate entrance, a nice lady from the USO was handing out US flags to some kids coming in off another flight.("They want matches, honey, give them MATCHES!") I got my bag, met up with my daughter-in-law, and off we were to Columbus. First on the agenda? In the last eight years, I have never had a pair of tennis shoes that weren't from the PX. And I DO wait until I can get to one before buying new ones. So I get my new sneakers and we're off to have lunch with Young SGT. He works in MG Wojdakowski's office, and it's a very impressive place. One thing I noticed that was odd- the Marines all had the new digital uniforms, but the soldiers? Not so much. Some were still in BDU's, and no two had the same boots. Others were in DCU's, and still others in the new ACU's. No uniformity to the uniform, so to speak. My son said the MG wanted me to have his coin. That may even be true! So the next time I'm in a coin challenge, I'll be in good shape. After lunch, Diana and I did a little more shopping and headed home. I opted for a nap, and it must have been a dandy because Diana could hear me snoring.
We went out to eat at Buffalo Wild Wings and my son and I opted for a 50 wing basket, split between mango habenero and the next hottest sauce. There will, however, be no descriptions of the Dance of the Flaming Asshole in this post. Afterwards, we headed for the Benning Brew Pub. It wasn't too busy, I imagine everyone might have been holding off til the next night. We first tried a Steamboat Stout. Gag! That stuff was awful. Young SGT even gave the pitcher away to another table; at the end of the night, THEY returned it full to the bar. I tasted their Irish Red, blech, then their pilsner, blech, and we settled on a pitcher of Miller Lite and called it good.


I will say that everyone I talked to at the Pub was pretty friendly. Shame their beer was such a disappointment. Bad yeast, maybe.
Thus ended my first day in Georgia.

The Art of Barbeque

I was searching my recipes this morning, looking for my favorite barbeque sauce. In my humble opinion, a really great sauce has neither tomatoes or ketchup in it. Alas, I oculdn't find it, and was searching the web for a good molasses/vinegar sauce when I found this from the North Carolina Barbeque Primer:

The hog roast, or "pig pickin'", is perhaps the heart of North Carolina culinary culture. The process begins in the wee hours of the morning, when one or two stalwart souls (usually men – for no particularly good reason pig roasting is an art dominated by men) dress the hog carcass and light the fires. For the last hundred years pigs have been roasted over wood and charcoal fires, but for the last two decades more and more barbecuers have switched to cleaner burning propane flames, which some argue deprive the pork of its traditional smoky flavor. For either method the roasting is almost always done in a "pig cooker", a fuel oil drum which has been sawed in half, welded to an axel and a trailer hitch, and otherwise altered for the purpose. These cookers can get quite elaborate, and almost as much breath is wasted on the merits of particular designs as on the proper way to roast and season the hog. The hog is laid upon the grill over the flame, doused with sauce, the lid is closed, and at that point invariably someone breaks out a bottle.
For the remainder of the day the roasting team stands around the big black steel tank and "watches the pig" – though little actual watching goes on. Every hour on the hour the lid is raised and the carcass is again liberally doused with sauce, inspected for progress, and then closed up again. The men spend the time between inspections chatting about the news of the day, the weather, sports, politics, and all other subjects that arise from the confluence of roast pork and hard liquor.

I couldn't have said it better!

Hi Honey, I'm Home!

Back from Benning, already am despairing of ever seeing the bottom of my desk again! Once I get caught up with work and what not, I'll tell about my trip, but for now, I'll leave a little teaser that will probably piss off a few readers from Down There. My general impression is that SOME people from Georgia, and the Columbus VFW in particular, can take their famous Southern hospitality and shove it up their ass sideways.

Yep, I'm back alright!

New job description

Here in the exciting world of Bedrock, where we make little rocks out of big rocks, I am occasionally asked to think outside the box, as it were. My new task today? Get driving directions to the Metrodome for my boss. Something about basketball this weekend, I don't know. Is there something going on with basketball?

My contribution as an outstanding employee? I found him ten bars within half a mile of the Metrodome. Sometimes you just have to know, if you're going to go the extra mile for someone, which direction to take.

Man, I better get Employee of the Year.

Prayer for the Day

Dear God,

I have to fly tomorrow, and You know I really hate it. I'm pretty resigned to the fact that if it's my time to go, well, it's time.

BUT...if it ISN"T my time to go, could You please make sure I'm not sitting next to the poor bastard whose time it IS?

Thank you,
Raging Mom

Ignoring The Obvious

It seems that T1G may have a job prospect! While that is WONDERFUL news, I can't believe he hasn't yet ceded to Raging Wisdom for what would be the best use of his considerable skills:



Beer Tester!

Prayer for the Day

Dear God,

Please make me go deaf before another Melissa Etheridge song comes on the radio.

Thank you,
Raging Mom

Antithesis

I was reading something on another blog regarding Cindy Sheehan's interminable disgraceful antics, and I came across a description of how Casey died and the names of the other soldiers that were killed that day. I'm sure I've read that before, but this time it nearly made my heart stop when I read on of the names.

CPL Forest Jostes

I know that name. And I know his face. One of the hundred faces in my "garden". In his basic training picture, he doesn't look any older than twelve years old, baby face, glasses, innocence.

All I really knew about Forest was that he was an Illinois veteran. I did a little research, and found out there is much more to his story than just serving with Casey Sheehan. This is from Families United Mission, an organization of Gold Star families, Blue Star familes and veterans.

“When we heard that Forest would be going to Iraq, we were concerned like any parents would be whose son was going into harm’s way,” explained Diane Ibbotson. “Von and I knew when Forest signed up for active duty after the September 11, 2001 attacks, there was a distinct possibility he would be serving in a war zone. We were not surprised when he participated in Operation Iraqi Freedom.”

Forest Jostes joined the National Guard at the age of 17, and served during his senior year in high school. While in boot camp at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, he was the youngest and smallest of all the men serving at that base. “He told me that he learned a lot about what it meant to ‘soldier on’ during boot camp,” remembers Mrs. Ibbotson.

The Ibbotsons’ son, Army Cpl. Forest Jostes, was killed while on a volunteer mission to set up a medical evacuation point for fellow soldiers wounded and trapped in an abandoned building. The 16 soldiers were on a routine patrol in Sadr City, Iraq, when they came under enemy fire and called for an evacuation unit. Two rapid response teams answered the call.

“From what we learned later, the first team made it through; my son was in the second team,” recounted Mrs. Ibbotson. “There were four men in his group. Enemy fire wounded two men; the third member of the team assisted one of the wounded. My son, the fourth team member, was wounded and died while engaged in battle with the enemy.”

Cpl. Forest Jostes died in battle side by side with Casey Sheehan, son of anti-war activist Cindy Sheehan. He was 21 years old when he was killed on April 4, 2004.

The firefight between U.S. soldiers and the enemy went on into the night. Unarmed Iraqi civilians went into the line of fire to assist the wounded U.S. soldiers and bring them to safety.

“The day we received the news that Forest had given his life for his country, my family determined that we would continue to serve God and country. We would pick up the fight against terror that our son gave his life for,” stated Mrs. Ibbotson. Originally, the Ibbotson family set up a scholarship fund to assist those with military interests.

However, the night before Forest died, he had called home and spoke briefly to both of his parents. In that last conversation, Forest and his parents had the opportunity to say “I love you.” Forest ended the call because he had only one minute left on his calling card and he didn’t want the call cut off.

“When we thought about that later,” described Mrs. Ibbotson, “we realized how important and valuable that last phone call was. We wanted other soldiers and their families to have the opportunity to talk as often as possible. So, we began to collect calling cards to send to the men and women overseas, and to the wounded soldiers at Walter Reed Hospital,” explained Mrs. Ibbotson.

It's too damn bad that people like the Ibbotsons get so little press for their truly good works when the media fall all over themselves for a whore like Cindy.

Weep for me...

The weather forecast has changed for this week. It's only going to be in the low 60's in Georgia. Damn- no idea how to pack.

Happy Birthday Beloved

My dear husband turns 50 today. You would be hard pressed to find a more decent, caring man. My life has always been...extraordinary, to put it kindly. Sort of like flicking your Bic next to a powder keg, or standing in the eye of a tornado. Old Sarge brings some much needed balance to Raging World, when I let him. Life's a whole lot better since he's been in it.



Except for the whole cross-dressing, stripping-on-the-golf-course episodes, he's just perfect!

Love you honey! Happy Birthday!

Renewed Love

Thanks to Silent Warrior, I have found a love I thought was long lost.

Huh? NO not that! Christ, what are you people thinking??

As Old Sarge and I were stocking up on groceries last Friday, we did something we rarely do- paused in front of the beer cooler. Being St. Patrick's Day and all, we thought we might have a few at home. As I was picking out a six pack of Guiness, I saw a particular brand of beer that SW has lauded on his site, fron the Point Brewery. And not just one, but four varieties. What the hell, said we. From the White Biere, Pale Ale, Special and Amber, we chose the Amber. Oh. My. Goodness.

I haven't drank beer regularly in years. I think that may have changed. Wonderful stuff! We can't wait to try some of the others. Thanks SW!

On Ex's and Idiocy

This isn't exactly news, but Old Sarge and I were both married before; we each had two boys and a girl. In the years since we've been together, we've pretty much integrated our families into one, at least as far as we are concerned. Unfortunately, our extended families have yet to read THAT memo. Mine isn't so bad, I guess- they ignore my kids blood and bond alike. But my husband's family just seems to want to stick it in and twist every chance they get.

Old Sarge's ex-wife is a bitch; there's just no other way to say it. How much of a bitch, you ask? Well, my youngest son carries neither my genes nor Old Sarge's, that's how much. I admire him so much for raising and supporting a child he knew wasn't his, and God knows it doesn't matter to either one of us. When we first got married, this woman made it a habit of coming over unannounced and walking right in the house. Needless to say, that didn't go over well in the World of Rage, and after a few tumultuous years, she's kept a respectful distance.

What gripes the hell out of me is Old Sarge's family still invites her to Christmas; brings her up in converation constantly. She made my husband's life hell for years, was unfaithful to him, ruined his credit and wasn't much of a mother. Last night, we all had pizza together for Old Sarge's birthday. His mother and sisters had put together a photo album for him, baby pictures, service pictures...and wedding pictures. Ahem...I assure you the woman in those pictures were not me.

Not one word has been said about this. I wouldn't even know where to start.

Odd...

I can't seem to access about half of the blogspot blogs I read everyday. Hmmm...

Did I piss someone off?

Blockage

I've had the strangest thing going on lately. I used to love sitting at the computer and popping some short fiction, sometimes what might be just a chapter in a never-to-be-written book, and could do so effortlessly. Now? Not so much.

It's as if I look at the keyboard, ideas pounding at my head to be let out, and I might as well be looking at a piano keyboard- I can't remember what to do. For the life of me, I can't make the clever turn of phrase swirling around in the old grey matter complete the transistion to cursor and screen.

Anybody else ever have that happen?

B*S*

There is a satellite dish outside my window, with a monitor right at my desk, that tracks the latest weather. It has become my de facto job to be the weather gal.

FINE!

I commented last night when I was having Tammi Time that I didn't see how we could possibly be getting all the snow that was called for. When I got up at 3:00 this morning, there was nothing, nada, zip.

And even though we haven't gotten anything worse than a few flurries today, my phone has rang off the hook with people wondering when it's going to snow.

It. Isn't.

Sorry, that's my final answer. It isn't going to drop a foot of fucking snow on our fucking heads. Ain't gonna happen.

Now quit calling me!

Slainte!

I'm going early with my St. Patrick's day post, hope no one minds.



Here are some very old and occassionally funny Irish jokes:

As soon as she had finished parochial school, a bright young girl named Lena shook the dust of Ireland off her shoes and made her way to New York where before long, she became a successful performer in show business.
Eventually she returned to her home town for a visit and on a Saturday night went to confession in the church which she had always attended as a child. In the confessional Father Sullivan recognized her and began asking her about her work. She explained that she was an acrobatic dancer, and he wanted to know what that meant.
She said she would be happy to show him the kind of thing she did on stage.
She stepped out of the confessional and within sight of Father Sullivan, she went into a series of cartwheels, leaping splits, handsprings and backflips. Kneeling near the confessional, waiting their turn, were two middle-aged ladies. They witnessed Lena's acrobatics with wide eyes, and one said to the other:
"Will you just look at the penance Father Sullivan is givin' out this night, and me without me bloomers on!"

Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut and bruised and he's walking with a limp. "What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender. "Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight," says Paddy. "That little shit, O'Conner," says Sean, "He couldn't do that to you, he must have had something in his hand." "That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it." "Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself, didn't you have something in your hand?" "That I did," said Paddy. "Mrs. O'Conner's breast, and a thing of beauty it was, but useless in a fight."

Three Irishmen, Paddy, Sean and Shamus, were stumbling home from the pub late one night and found themselves on the road which led past the old graveyard. "Come have a look over here," says Paddy, "It's Michael O'Grady's grave, God bless his soul. He lived to the ripe old age of 87." "That's nothing", says Sean, "here's one named Patrick O'Tool, it says here that he was 95 when he died." Just then, Shamus yells out, "Good God, here's a fella that got to be 145!" "What was his name?" asks Paddy? Shamus stumbles around a bit, awkwardly lights a match to see what else is written on the stone marker, and exclaims, "Miles, from Dublin."

An Irishman who had a little too much to drink is driving home from the city one night and, of course, his car is weaving violently all over the road. A cop pulls him over. "So," says the cop to the driver, "where have ya been?" "Why, I've been to the pub of course," slurs the drunk. "Well," says the cop, "it looks like you've had quite a few to drink this evening." "I did all right," the drunk says with a smile. "Did you know," says the cop, standing straight and folding his arms across his chest, "that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?" "Oh, thank heavens," sighs the drunk. "For a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf."

Brenda O'Malley is home making dinner, as usual, when Tim Finnegan arrives at her door. "Brenda, may I come in?" he asks. "I've somethin' to tell ya." "Of course you can come in, you're always welcome, Tim. But where's my husband?" "That's what I'm here to be tellin' ya, Brenda. There was an accident down at the Guinness brewery..." "Oh, God no!" cries Brenda. "Please don't tell me.." "I must, Brenda. Your husband Shamus is dead and gone. I'm sorry." Finally, she looked up at Tim. "How did it happen, Tim?" "It was terrible, Brenda. He fell into a vat of Guinness Stout and drowned." "Oh my dear Jesus! But you must tell me true, Tim. Did he at least go quickly?" "Well, no Brenda... no. Fact is, he got out three times to pee."

Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears. He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary my dear?" She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. My husband passed away last night." The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible. Tell me, Mary, did he have any last requests?" She says, "That he did, Father.." The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?" She says, "He said, 'Please Mary, put down that damn gun...'
An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman all went to The pub together. The Englishman spent £30, The Irishman spent £50 and The Scotsman spent a very pleasant evening indeed.
An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman were in a pub one night when a politician came in looking for votes.
'I'll buy a pint of stout,' said The politician 'for whichever of The three of you gives me The best reason for voting for The government.'
I'll vote for your government,' said The Englishman, 'because it is my democratic duty to do so.'
I'll vote for your government,' said The Scotsman, 'because I hate The opposition.'
I'll vote for your government,' said The Irishman, 'because I want that pint.'
An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman were confessing their secret vices to each other.
'I'm a terrible gambler,' said The Englishman.
'I'm a terrible drinker,' said The Scotsman.
'My vice is much less serious,' said The Irishman, 'I just like to gossip about my friends.'
An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman were playing poker together but The Irishman had no luck at all. He lost game after game after game until his money was nearly all gone. Then finally in The small hours of The morning he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that he had drawn four aces. As The stakes rose higher and higher The tension became too much for The Scotsman who lurched forward across The table -dead.
'What will we do?' said The Englishman.
'Out of respect for The dead,' said The Irishman, 'I propose that we play this hand standing up.'
An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman were in a noisy pub one evening.
'Will you lend me £10?' The Scotsman shouted to The Irishman.
'You'll have to speak up a bit,' said The Irishman, 'I can't hear a word you're saying with all The noise in here.'
'Will you lend me £10?' screamed The Scotsman at The top of his voice.
'It's no use,' said The Irishman, 'I still cannot hear a word you're saying.'
'Look,' said The Englishman,' standing beside them, 'I can hear him quite clearly.'
'In that case,' said The Irishman, "you lend him The£10.'

Where's Jeebus?

Trying to keep up with the adventures of The Almighty lately has been a full time job! Since he's departed our little acre of God's Country, he's been to see Bloodspite, AWTM, Bou, Zonker, RSM and now Eric.

I can't get the guy to drive fifteen minutes to have a beer with me.

And since that makes me, ya know, rage a bit, I'm going to do something very vile to him.
That's right, T1G, I'm bringing you home an ARMY shirt!

I Miss This Man

On my old site, I stated for the record that I am a Goldwater Republican. (At this moment, my children's eyes are rolling back in their heads!) In my opinion, some of the most common sense remarks about America and her government came from this man. Just thought I'd inject a little Barry in honor of our upcoming elections:

The income tax created more criminals than any other single act of government.

We, as a nation, are not far from the kind of moral decay that has brought on the fall of other nations and people...I say it is time to put conscience back in government. And by good example, put it back in all walks of American life.

I don't like being called the New Right; I'm an old, old son-of-a-bitch. I'm a conservative.

You don't have to be straight to be in the military; you just have to shoot straight.

Bet you didn't see that one coming! And my very favorites:

Extremism in the defense of Liberty is no vice. And moderation in the pursuit of Justice is no virtue.

A government that is big enough to give you everything you want is big enough to take it all away.

10 Day Forecast

Oh. My. Goodness!

I just checked the 10 day forecast for Ft. Benning. Lows in the mid-40's, highs in the low 70's. While that is absolutely wonderful, it does cause a dilemma:

Do any of my summer clothes still fit?

Young Sarge, when not busy writing the next Great American Novel, seems to have my trip pretty well planned. Infantry Museum, FDR Park, golf, Benning Brew Pub....and he's found a VF*nW nearby. I'll be in Heaven!

One more week, I can hardly wait! And just think, I get to leave Old Sarge and Young Corporal (eldest son) alone together for the whole weekend!

Um...

In my excitement to leave for Fort Benning next week, I have managed to overlook one unpleasant detail.

I have to get on an airplane.

My fear of flying is HORRIBLE.

My Garden, Cont.

This weekend I had the chance to do a little more on my poppy project. I don't think I'm ever going to get a great picture so that you can see the detail, darn it. But at any rate the "garden" is planted and I'm waiting on Old Sarge to help with the rest of it:



I'm thinking there will be an "entrance" or something on either end. Need a name, or theme! Field of Honor? Help me out please!

I love Ben Stein

I was checking out a colummn of Ben Stein's over at The Spectator in which he discusses Hollywood, the Oscars and the Long War, and there was one sentence in particular that jumped out at me:

"Basically, the sad truth is that Hollywood does not think of itself as part of America, and so, to Hollywood, the war to save freedom from Islamic terrorists is happening to someone else."

Did you get the salient point there? "...the war...is happening to someone else."

The war is happening to someone else.

I think that just summed up why I hate 80% of the people I have talked to in the last five years.

Please read the entire article if you are so inclined. Mr. Stein makes very good points about Hollywood in general, something I personally try not to give a fuck about. But he is a real stand up guy for our military, and I respect him for that.

The Great Smoke Out Continues...

Talk about disgusting! I just washed at least ten years of nicotine and piss off the bathroom walls in our office. It was...yellow. I work with all men for the most part and there are no his/hers facilities. Well, now that the walls are clean I'm thinking of wallpaper and potpourri; that's BOUND to piss someone off.

Speaking of which...

A bunch of guys are bragging in the bar about whose is biggest, who can pee the farthest, etc., all manner of manly things. They are making bets about who can leave the highest pee mark on the wall when an attractive young woman walks up and says she can beat them all. The guys all laugh and bet her that she can't; off they all go outside to decide the bet. The girl flips up her skirt, lifts her leg to the wall and makes her little mark about 6" off the ground. The guys all laugh again, and then the first guy steps up to face the wall, unzips and gets a grip on himself. At this point the girl says," Uh-uh-uh, no hands!"

The Unit- review

One of the most underappreciated phrases?

"Your brother made me do it!"

See, if it were ME that was drinking, that would require some snarky comments from family members and an apology on my part. But if it is another family member who has been drinking (and driving) and home late.....

I'm not vicious, no. I'm just keeping the remote.

So, I watched The Unit and was really hoping that this would be something I would like. There was alot I did like about it, and I feel a little weird saying this, but the family aspect of the show made me nuts. Damn, that FNG's whiny wife made me crazy!! If it's so tough to get into the Unit, you'd think they would do better personal-life-issues screening better. And the wife who's banging the Colonel? Cripes, was that really neccessary to the story? Just couldn't make a good series about Special Forces without a little infidelity thrown in?

Sorry, it seemed a little gratuitous to me. But I'll watching next week anyway. Dennis Haysbert is awesome, and I find myself strangely fascinated by Max Martini.

The name Martini has nothing to do with it.

Shameless Plug

...for the Illinois Lottery of all things!

If you play scratch tickets at all, please consider buying Veterans Cash tickets. The proceeds from these tickets go to various programs for Illinois veteran a very worthwhile cause, AND endorsed by the VF*nW.



Since I wasn't buying smokes this morning, I "invested" $10 and am happy to report that I won back $45.

This is Different

I was asleep, and as often happens, I'll wake up in the middle of the night for some reason or another. This first time:

Me: Hey! Let's get up! Go downstairs and have a cigarette!
Sleepy Me: No! We don't smoke! Go to sleep!

An hour later:

Me: I have an overwhelming urge for a Tootsie Pop.
Sleepy Me: Well, that's something new! Still not gettin' out of bed though.

I just had my first one of the day- Tootsie Pop, that is- and it was missing the Tootsie Roll Center. I sure hope that's my biggest disappointment today.

My Eyes!

You know, for a grieving mother, she looks pretty fucking happy every time she gets in front of a camera.

Monday Philosophical

How do you turn over a new leaf when the leaves have long since blown away and the tree is picked bare?

How do you start with a clean slate when the eraser is down to nubs of felt?

How do you get a fresh start with the stale odor of low expectations hanging over your head?

Oh For God's Sake!

Lt. Gen. Russel Honore



NOT General Honore!!

It really doesn't have to be said, does it??

Disturbed

Apologizing before I even begin, but I have had a bad case of Ass this week. It more or less started Sunday, when I called up to my parents' house. Mom almost never calls me, I have to call her,and even though we're 7 miles apart, I just haven't seen the folks much lately. It bothers me because I know my brother and sisters have a much closer relationship with them. At any rate, my nephew answers Mom's phone, and says they left for Mississippi.
Not a word. No "hey we're taking off for a few", nothing. I wasn't even worth a phone call.

So last night we had a Gathering of the Clan for Six-figure Salary Sister's birthday. Mom and Dad had just gotten back, and my husband and I were sitting on either side of my dad. Old Sarge was asking Dad where they had stayed in Mississippi, and Dad turned to me and asked, "What was the name of that town?"

I think he thought I was Mom.

I'm having a lot of conflicted emotions right now. I'm scared because my dad is failing so much lately, I'm pissed as hell that my mom makes me feel, no, excuse me, I perceive disapproval from my mom, real or imagined.

Hurray! I'm OUTTA here!

Well, not right this minute! But soon! I just made reservations to fly down to Georgia in three weeks. Can't wait- I've been needing to get away for awhile.

Now if I can just NOT gnaw my foot off or something until then...