Camp Taji

You can all rest easy that I did not fall off the face of the planet. No, instead I moved! I moved to Camp Taji, which is about an hour north of Camp Liberty, where I was living before. I got to move because I quit my job! Well... not really quit my job. I was removed from my hellish existance working for the brigade command group to go back to my medical company, which I was ripped away from 10 months ago.

Yay! So goodbye bitch missions for the Brigade Command Sergeant Major (ie: dropping off his dirty laundry, picking up his clean laundry, getting to-go plates from the chow hall, getting gas in the Explorer, finding salted potato chips in mass, creating arts and crafts projects with lots of Raider shields, listening to stories about Panama without ripping the skin off my face....)! I've moved back to the 702nd Brigade Support Battalion to work with Charlie Med.

And I've never been so content with having a retarded job with virtually no purpose in my whole life. I am in the evacuation platoon. Which means I work with the vehicles instead of with patients. It's a rough job because the ambulances are just as old as me, but in far worse shape. I was promoted to Corporal upon arrival. Of course, it's quite possibly the worst rank in the Army. I was given no pay raise, but my responsibilities have increased and I am considered a Non-Commissioned Officer now. Some would say that I got the poopy end of the stick, and that's atually very true.

(Corporal Williams sounds goooood.)

Now that I'm back with 702nd, I'm back with my medic "family" and it makes me really happy. I forgot how happy being with other medics makes me.

PT: Physical Training

Special Population PT. Loser PT. Fat kid PT. Retard PT... whatever you want to label it, that's what I'm having to do: extra PT because my Worst PT Test in the History of PT Tests was a score lower than 250 out of a possible 300. I suck, I get it. But I passed. And now I'm being thrown in with all the fat dudes and old dudes and failures to do improvement PT. I've never been punished for passing. Leave it to the Army to punish you for not passing good enough.

It's secretly boosting my self esteem, though. I am the Soldier who is in the best shape, the thinnest and the most awesome who attends this daily PT session. I run circles around everyone else. Being the best at Special Pop PT is like being a winner at the Special Olympics, but I don't care. Let me have my small victory!

It's Getting Hot Out Here

I went running this afternoon. That was a horrible mistake because 1) running sucks and 2) it's almost 100 degrees outside today. And me being me, of course I'm dehydrated. Is there any other way to be? I choose apple juice over water at all meals. I was sucking out there today in the hot, hot sun. I always try to let my mind wander away from the task at hand when it totally sucks (like the before mentioned running in the sun, but it also works for loading connexes in the sun, firing at a range in the sun, and sitting around wearing way too much heavy gear doing absolutely nothing in the sun-- and of course "sun" is interchangeable with rain, snow, wind and any other natural element that generally sucks, but the Army exposes you to all the time). Today my mind wandered to Basic Training...

Once upon a time, long, long ago in 2002 I attended Basic Combat Training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. I attended this training from July to October. I guess I wanted to experience the suck in the heat and sun at full capacity first thing in my Army career.

It was unthinkably hot. Words can't even describe how hot and humid my days were. All the running, jumping and climbing trees while wearing camouflage face paint and carrying a weapon. My poor little lazy civilian body didn't know what hit it! But through out all the crap I went through at Basic, one thing stands out beyond the rest. Army training is kind of like girl scout camp and prison mixed together. So there was singing, oh yes, singing to go along with our training to kill. We'd have to recite all these incredibly embarrassing chants before we did almost anything, like doing a right face, or coming to attention. That being said...

When a Drill Sergeant would yell, "DRINK WATER!" or "TAKE A KNEE!" that meant (the obvious) get down on one knee and drink some freaking water because it's hot. Before we could drink the hot water out of our canteens we had to chant the most embarrassing thing ever. In the summer of 2002 Nelly's song, "Hot in Herre" was a hit. Go ahead and recall that gem... now that it's stuck in your head. This is what we had to yell out:

It's getting hot out here,

So take out your canteen,

I am getting so hot,

I want to drink some water!

I was singing that to myself on my run through the seventh circle of Hell this afternoon. I sometimes wonder how our Drill Sergeants could be so cruel to make us do that. They were out there suffering in the heat as well, so I suppose that was just a way to keep themselves entertained.

Me circa 2002: I was just an 18 year old baby!

JSS Muthana

Baghdad has a lot of wall art. I'm not going to call it graffiti because I think it's supposed to be there. And the drawings would be super weird if they were gang affiliated in any way. I saw one today that I was lucky enough to get a picture with!

We were at JSS Muthana (Joint Security Station) taking care of some business this afternoon. US Forces gave over JSS Muthana in May 2009 to the Iraqi Police. We're still there, but they run the show. We're basically just there to correct them when they're wrong and to teach them things they don't understand. And if shit hits the fan, we're there to save their asses. Basically, the US Army has turned into the parents of a troubled teenager.

So the compound is crawling with all sorts of Iraqi Army and Iraqi Police. All of them in a different uniform from different eras. I love it when I see the dudes who wear pointy dress shoes with their combat uniforms instead of boots. I swear, one of these days I'm going to bust out some heels and parade around in full combat load like that. I'd probably break both my ankles, but it would be worth it to show them how ridiculous they look. Women are a rarity out there in Muthana. I got stared down by these dudes like I was Pamela Anderson. Once I started miming the wall art, laughing and cracking jokes, they disappeared. Apparently women are still to be seen and not heard around these parts.

Nothing Happened.

March 7th was Election Day in Iraq. And that's a pretty big deal, I guess. You know, if you're into all the politics about this country and why we're fighting a war here. I know it's ignorant, but I really try to keep my nose out of all that mess and stick to the soldiering. I don't like uneducated hate, however, uneducated indifference suits me well.

According to the news, violence erupted while Iraq voted. Well, I had a front row seat to the whole thing, and let me tell you, it was nothing like the media made it out to be. First off, the death toll is 38. 38 non-Americans. No Soldiers. No contractors. I dare ask, what modern country has ever had a revolution with no blood shed? 38 isn't a bad death toll if you think about the recklessness and disparity of the citizens here.

I got up at 4am to go out on this elections mission. We were anticipating a of violence. Our mission was to go to 2 of the 4 polling sites in Baghdad and check it out. Well, nothing happened. We heard some explosions out in the distance, but nothing close by. No gunfire. No VBIEDs. No IEDs. Hell, not even a dude with his hands in his pockets! We came back to base to grab some lunch chow and headed back out, this time looking for trouble. We cruised around for 3 hours all over the Baghdad area waiting for someone to blow us up or to get into a fire fight with us and nothing happened. I think all the Soldiers were hoping for something big to go off. We were pumped in anticipation to actually do our jobs as military service members. So far this rotation in Iraq has been a big let down in the action department.

So all this violence the media is playing up just seems like a desperate cry to validate the US Army's existence in this war. This war is so over, and it's time for us to pack our things and go... to Afghanistan.

6 Months

I'm pretty much over this stupid country and this stupid war. I'm not even going to call this "war". We're merely occupying at this point. This is basically just one big waste of my 26th year of life. I was looking at pictures from before I deployed and now I'm poopy-faced! I miss having fun, and having time off work. I miss drinking and partying and boys! I want to wear my hair down, fuck this stupid little bun on the back of my head! Very vainly I miss wearing make up and cute outfits. Let's face it, ACUs don't look good on women. I want to feel pretty again.

Today is the 6 month mark of my deployment. Yup, 6 months ago I was standing in the pouring rain in the parking lot of the barracks at Fort Lewis, Washington, kissing my boyfriend goodbye. Totally literally too, because he decided a few weeks later he couldn't "handle" my absence for a year and dumped my ass. Who does that!? The losers I like to date, that's who!

The worst part of this being the 6 month point is that there are still 6 more months to go. I'm only half done with this crap. Sigh. I'm going to continue to look at pictures of me having fun with friends...

Hmm, all the pictures I've chosen to represent me having fun are me while drunk. Hmm... so I'll quit being a Debbie-Downer now and get back to the soldier shit, hooah.

Anthrax!

I'm pretty sure I have contracted anthrax. I got my yearly anthrax booster shot yesterday, and I have a suspicion that it has caused a similar phenomenon in my body that the flu shot usually does: it gave me a mild form of the illness at hand. The flu shot always makes me feel poopy, and the anthrax shot made poop form in my arm.

Look at that thing!

It's obvious that lump is harboring the anthrax virus within it's golf ball sized sphere. It was put there by the US Government just to keep the man down. That's terrorism at it's best, folks. The symptoms I am currently enjoying are:

• A giant lump where the shot was given.
• Soreness, redness and itching where the shot was given.
• Warm skin where the shot was given.
  

And the symptoms I am most likely to enjoy later are:

• Sterility
• Birth defects
• DEATH! (Ahh!)

Of course, the anthrax shot is (generally) safe. Like any medicine, it is capable of causing serious health problems (like the before mentioned death, which I think is the most serious of all health problems), but for the average Joe, nothing is going to happen. This is a mild allergic reaction to the vaccine. I'm the only soldier in my unit to present with any kind of allergic reaction, but that's how I roll. I like to keep people on their toes. So now I'm toting around an EpiPen just in case my anthrax suddenly flares and causes my throat to close up causing the most unpleasant side effect listed: death.

When Nature Calls

I go out on mission for hours at a time. I do not have the luxury of peeing where ever I want like the boys do. There is a lot of careful consideration to be had when I have to pee in sector.

For instance, my vest easily weighs 30 pounds. Try squatting in that, without peeing on the stupid groin protector or your boots, and then standing back up. Without a wall or tree, it can be difficult to hoist yourself back up after a good long piss. If I choose to open 2 Humvee doors like a makeshift stall and pee between them, chances are an Iraqi kid is going to walk over to see what I'm doing. Then you have to contend with the river of urine that somehow always runs towards your feet. I can't pee in a bottle as easily as the boys do when we're on the road. The mouth of the bottle is too small and I have zero accuracy. I have to cut the top of the bottle off and turn it inside out to make a funnel. Then that damn 30 pound vest is in the way again. I can't see what I'm doing and if I miss the bottle then I have to sit in my own pee for the rest of the mission.

I want to put it out there that I will wait until my bladder is about to explode before I decide to pee. Bladder infections have nothing on my will to not deal with my femininity.

A fellow soldier medic offered a solution. It's called the Freshette. It's a little dish with a tube that you put in your pants to catch urine and then filters it through the tube like a tiny plastic and totally convenient 6" retractable penis. It even comes in a plastic zip lock pouch for easy storage. That means this thing is reusable. I'm not so sure I want to carry around something in my pocket that I've been peeing on all day. Nor do I want to face the torment and ridicule I will receive from the MPs once I bust this thing out and pee standing up next to them. Good try, my friend, but I'm going to continue putting my body through unnecessary bladder distress to save from the weirdness of this contraption.

The package has a disclaimer that reads, "Inquire for information on various lengths of tubing available." Hmm, I wonder what you may need a 3 foot retractable fake penis for?