Flying Jellybeans

I hate flies in Iraq. They are giant black jellybeans that sound like they are carrying chainsaws. Do you need a visual? I've got something for that:

These things don't die. We have a bug zapper in our office (delightfully white trashy; it casts a purple hue in our office that makes me feel like I'm at a rave). Some of these giant mutant flies actually get caught in the zapper and get electrocuted several times in a row and the still do not die. They may have lost a foot in the battle for freedom, but they LIVED. The saying goes, "Freedom Isn't Free", and that goes for our insect counterparts as well.

Sometimes I'm too lazy to shake them off because if I shook every time one landed on me I would look like an epileptic or someone with a serious nervous tick. So I watch them a lot. Flies are even more disgusting upon closer investigation. They're always rubbing their filthy little hands together. I think they're plotting against me when they do that. Obviously they are waiting there collecting data on me. These jellybean flies are sent as forward observers on a known suicide mission which brings great honor to them in death. They are skilled and trained in evasion and masters in the art of annoyance.

They all abort their mission once the fly swatter comes off it's hook in the wall. How do they know? Iraq flies are out of control. And they are a 365 pest. No wintertime break from these flying jellybeans.

Beautiful Eyes

I met a little boy with the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen while I was in one of the poorest neighborhoods I have ever seen. He was embarrassed when I told him they were beautiful, but I just couldn't help myself! Look for yourself:

It's not too uncommon to run across an Iraqi with blue or green eyes. But it's still startling, and these were by far the prettiest I've seen.

Kids and Poop

The kids are out of control in Iraq. When they set eyes on our convoys they come running from their houses like American kids do for the Ice Cream Truck. If I were the mothers of these children I would sooner faint than let them tear out of the house in hot pursuit of foreigners with guns. Cultural differences.

Children are demanding little devils. They all want something from us. Chocolate and pencils mostly. I don't carry either. They all look at me like, "Well aren't you just a waste of my time", when I tell them I can't meet their demands. Today I improvised with the masses and I gave them a roll of medical tape and a few pairs of exam gloves. I practically started a riot amongst the children. They all wanted the gifts I bestowed upon them. Once the original gifts were carried away, more children took their places and demanded items from me. I carry an aid bag full of treasures, and I'm constantly swatting dirty thieving hands away from its zipper.

Most of the kids are cute for about 2.5 seconds before they just become pests. Grubby hands are always in my face. My hair gets pulled because they don't see "yellow hair" very often. They want me to give them my patches and my sunglasses. They know the English word No, they just play dumb and keep yelling in your face.

SPC Perez and I backed ourselves up into a corner today and were immediately ambushed by a group of about 7 kids. A few of the boys were laughing and pointing at our feet. I ignored them for awhile, but after they shouted, "MISTER MISTER!" few hundred times, I looked down and saw a huge random animal turd next to my boot. I said, "Poop." That drove the children into hysterics and immediately I had "poop" echoing from all their mouths. Leave it to me to introduce that word into their limited English vocabulary.

It goes to show that potty humor is popular with kids in every culture.

Superbowl Sunday

And so passes another Superbowl Sunday. Don't ask me who won. Don't even bother to ask me who played. I had a much more important subject on my mind: BEER.

Deployed Soldiers are not allowed to drink any kind of alcohol while in a combat theatre. Except for Superbowl Sunday, when we stay at work until 1am for kick off and get to crack the first of two long awaited beers.

Beer is a big part of every Superbowl celebration across the United States. As a deployed Soldier, it's even more special. It's magical. It's the one time the Army will pay for you to have beer and carry a gun at the same time. There is a 2 beer maximum (unless you know some folks, if you know what I mean). After being alcohol-free for 5 months, two beers will have you feeling pretty nice!

Beer + Guns + On-the-clock + Me = AWESOME.

Or does that equation equal "redneck"? Either way, cheers to beer!

It's All About Location... But Not In Iraq.

Real estate is jacked up in Iraq. When this:

Can be across the street to this:

The system has serious flaws.

But it's like that everywhere over here. Where the hell are the zoning laws? I bet even the really nice homes are cheaper than dirt. Maybe I'll retire to Iraq someday and be the richest person in the country. Of course, I'll have a shanty on either side of my palace (severely dropping the resale value), but all the garbage that collects on my front yard will surely distract me and future buyers from the adjacent shacks.

Maybe I'll wrap my yard in C-Wire and have a mule chillen out there, too. Why not? Everyone else is doing it.