File Under W for "WTF?"

Nothing much to report tonight, but I will tell you that iTunes is officially the weirdest thing ever. I wanted to listen to "Mama Said Know You Out" because -- well, do I need a reason? Anyway, being the laziest person in the world, rather than scrolling through for the song, I just typed "LL Cool J" in the search bar. "Mama Said Knock You Out" indeed came up, but it was at the bottom of a list of 33 other songs, all by Green Day.


BFFs?

Good in the Hood

I've been checking my Enlisted Record Brief for my orders. I've been checking regularly. Frequently. Enthusiastically. Obsessively. Whatever you like. I finally got my assignment this morning, not through my diligence, but through my Platoon Sergeant. I heard on PNN (Private News Network) that the PSGs had the assignment lists. I pestered mine the very first chance I got, which was at 0515 this morning. And -- drum roll, please -- my projected duty station is Fort Hood, TX!

On the whole, this is good news. Fort Hood is the largest Army installation in the US, so I imagine it'll be the most like living in an actual city. We already have friends stationed there, so possibilities for such things as pot luck dinners, Christmas cookie exchanges, and whatever else neighbors do are endless. We'll be a mere six hours by car from Fort Polk, my brother, my sister-in-law, and their as-of-yet-unborn first child, so it'll be too easy to make visits with them a semi-regular thing. And Kevin was really hoping for Texas more than any other state, so at least I'm not dragging my doting husband to some desolate wasteland (here's lookin' at you, Fort Leonard Wood!).

So around mid-August, c'mon down to central Texas and say howdy . . . or whatever the hell people in central Texas say. I still plan on saying, "We're from Chicago. Go fuck yourselves!" People in the south are gonna love us.

Super Genius

I took the National Registry and nailed it! I am now officially an EMT! So if this whole Army thing falls through I have yet another vocational certification to fall back on.

It was one of those computer smart tests that tailors itself to you and how well you're doing. It has easy, medium, and hard questions, and it gradually gives you harder questions as you select correct answers. If you get an answer wrong, it'll give you a question from the next lowest difficulty level. Therefore, if you finish the test quickly, it means you either nailed it or got way too many questions wrong right off the bat and it terminates you out of mercy. The trouble is (for most people) that it doesn't tell you which pile it threw you in, you just get the "TEST OVER" screen. I of course wasn't worried when I finished the test after answering just 70 questions in 40 minutes; some of my peers were there for nearly the entire two-hour time allotment and answered close to 200 questions. We can't all be intellectual giants, I suppose. Kidding.

So that's that. EMT side is done! AND I exceeded the academic standards to the point where, on my end of course counseling, my instructor recommended me for honor grad status. Holla! Now we just have to see if my stupid profile is going to prevent me from going to the Whiskey side on time with the rest of my company. Think anti-inflammatory thoughts for me, please? As cool as it is to cane around like Dr. House, it's not actually cool at all.

Edit: And a special message from Natalie Dee to my peers that didn't pass today:


nataliedee.com

My Husband

My foot is injured, and I was in more pain this morning than I've ever experienced. The x-ray pretty much ruled out a fracture but gave no more information that that. All I wanted to do when I got back from class today was lie in bed, cry, and complain about how sweaty I was, how much I hurt, how worried I am about how this will affect my training. But then my husband showed up, and now all I can think about is how great he is, how much I love him. My husband

- moved from his home, family, friends, and life in Chicago to move to San Antonio to be near the wife with which he can't even share a bed.
- drives on post all the time to see me for sometimes as little as an hour at a time.

- insists on getting me out of bed while I am feeling sorry for myself so he can bring me all the things I can't get for myself because I can't walk: dinner, fresh cherries, Ziploc bags to use in icing my foot, Coke from Mexico (made with sugar instead on corn syrup because he knows I like that kind so much better), tasty treats, and Vitamin Water in my favorite flavors.
- wears a look on his face that would lead anyone to believe he's in as much pain as I am in, but his anguish is all at seeing me struggle even the tiniest bit.
- holds me even though I'm sweaty and smelling from hobbling around on crutches all day in the Texas heat.
- tells me I'm beautiful even though I'm sweaty, smelly, and struggling with every step.
- is the most incredible man in the world.
- has an extremely grateful wife.

I'm back! Now leave me alone!

I know you have been missing me. I could hear the sound of you crying yourself to sleep all the way from Fort Jackson. It was barely audible over the sound of me crying myself to sleep at Fort Jackson. Kidding. A few updates before I get into the real meat and potatoes of my griping:

Basic Training was a like Stripes, G.I. Jane, Major Payne, and Full Metal Jacket all rolled into one, but at the same time it wasn't like any of those. The DoD is trying to build a different kind of Army, one that doesn't blindly follow any orders given because of rigorous brainwashing. We we, of course, encouraged to follow orders with motivation, precision, and a sense of purpose, but we were also encouraged to ask questions -- as long as we did it standing at parade rest. A lot of running, jumping, climbing, shouting "die, motherfucker, die!" while shooting really big guns, obstacle courses, and really terrible food. But there were no blanket parties, no one shouting in my face that I'm a miserable piece of maggot shit or similar, and I didn't invade Czechoslovakia with Harold Ramis. What a rip off. All in all, BCT was a very positive experience despite the near-constant bickering of my fellow soldiers-in-training and the absolutely constant homesickness.

Now I'm living in San Antonio and am finally in the Department of Combat Medic Training school, which is why I raised my right hand in the first place all those months ago. I still live in a bay with 60 or so other female soldiers all in bunk beds, which brings us to the gripe for which you have been waiting so patiently. Here we go: There is something about the Army, apparently, that renders a person incapable of picking up on the subtleties of body language. You would think that living in such close quarters would make a person better at reading such things, but you would be more wrong than two boys making out in church on Sunday. Here's the deal, guys. I have lived with you in a giant, bunk bed-filled bay since January 20. And because of the Army's battle buddy policy, I literally have not been alone since . . . I don't even remember the last time I was totally alone. Maybe since the last time my husband took a shower before I shipped out. My best course of action is to assume universal "I'd prefer to be left alone" body language.

I lie on my side facing toward the wall with a book.
Hey, battle buddy! Look what I bought today!

I lie on my back, eyes closed, with ear buds in.
Yo, Lester! Do you want a cashew?!

I sit with my computer in my lap.
'Sup, Battle! Don't you think that sergeant is cute/a real prick/super funny?

I sit facing the wall, computer in my lap, ear buds in my ears. I only remove one of the ear buds to respond to you, and only after I pretend to not hear you for the first 5 seconds you're speaking, and I immediately replace the ear bud after giving you my answer in as few words as possible.
Ugh, Battle, I am so annoyed with my boyfriend!

I failed to mention that each of the italicized sentences is delivered while my fellow soldier is sitting on my bed. Now, I generally have an open door bed policy when it comes to hanging out with and talking to my battle buddies, but I don't know how to make it more clear that it's not a good time for visitors. I fantasize about shouting, "Can't you see I'm ON THE INTERNET?!" I realize that makes what I'm doing seem very trivial when compared to actual human interaction, but come on. Everyone needs to be alone sometimes. It's hard to take a crap when your battle buddy is up your ass, yaknowwhatimean? Not that I do that. Because I'm a lady.

Anyway, glad to be back. Now leave me alone once in a while.