New Template

I decided to shake things up on my blog and change the template. I had the old one for 3 years. I'm not sure I like this new one, but the old one is lost to cyberspace now. So this is what I've got!

 

I still think a rename of the blog is in order since there isn't really any chance I'll ever be going to Iraq again, thus making it impossible to be dubbed Iraqi Jackie ever again!

 

Maybe being Iraqi Jackie can be retro and I'll just keep it the way it is. (That's lazy speak for, I'm too lazy to change it.)

 

Enjoy this picture of Picasso while you're here:

 

Cheers!

 

Iraqi Jackie still?

Well, since we went ahead and pulled out of Iraq (prematurely, in my opinion (what a sexual sentence that became suddenly)), I'm left to make a decision involving my blog. Do I continue to keep the alias of Iraqi Jackie? Not a lot else rhymes with 'Jackie'....

Khaki Jackie? I'd like to think my personality is more colorful than that.

Lackey Jackie? Oh come on, that sounds like a bad Disney villain.

Tacky Jackie? We're getting a little closer, but do I want people to think I dress like an old Asian lady?

Wacky Jackie? Theme park. Definitely a water theme park.

As of now, I'm staying with Iraqi Jackie. Not just because it's familiar and safe, but because I've made it my log in ID for Game Center on my iPhone. You can't just change something like that on a whim.

America, Fuck Yeah!

My Iraq deployment 2009-2010 is finally finished!

I left Kuwait in the wee hours of the morning on the first of September. It was a pretty rough trip for me because I kept getting motion sick. Motion sickness is something new that my body has started to do since I've gotten older. I shouldn't be falling apart at 26, but it is what it is.

Also, I think I had a brain aneurysm-- a couple of them in fact! Every time the plane landed, something that can only be described as intense snaps of horrific pain flashed through my brain over my left eye. It happened 4 times. I hope this isn't going to be a nifty new sign of old age.

It just isn't traveling in the Army if you aren't asleep on the floor of an airport at some point.

It feels great to be back in the United States. Even though I currently am homeless, vehicleless and basically jobless thanks to this Labor Day 4 day weekend. Food tastes good in this country. Americans are fat for a reason, and I'm going to gorge myself of deliciousness until I have to go back to reality and start a work routine again.

**On a side note, since I am no longer in Iraq, it seems a little wreckless to still call my blog Iraqi Jackie. I am, however, still Jackie, so I don't want to switch things up too much. Any suggestions for a new blog name are much appreciated!

Lizard Tales

The Clinic and the Evac Shack are covered in lizards. They've always been there but it seems like within the last week or so they've grouped together to form a more organized attack. They're stupid critters and will let you get really close before running away. Their camouflage actually works (unlike the camouflage I wear) so I end up flushing several tiny lizards out of their hiding places with every step I take.

I think the lizards are adorable. None of them have attempted to sell me car insurance, so I feel a little cheated. Most of them look the same: sand colored and slim.

There is a different kind of lizard who lives in the sandbags around the Evac Shack. He kind of looks like a snake when you see him out of the corner of your eye-- and that's how you always see him because he's faster than Hell and scares the shit out of you every time he makes his mad getaway. Half of his tail is missing, so he's got some street credibility. I imagine him as an evil dictator ruling over the other minion lizards. If he were a pirate, he'd have a peg leg. I don't mess with him.

On my first deployment to Iraq in 2003 we didn't have air conditioning in our aid station for the longest time. So in the afternoon when it was 120 degrees, I'd sit on the side of the building on a slab of cement in the shade and read or take naps. Every afternoon I had a visitor. He was a giant lizard, much bigger than the ones I see now. He'd come crashing through the weeds and grass about the same time every afternoon. I could hear him coming a mile away as he had absolutely no grace what so ever. He'd sit on another slab of cement in the sun and blink his eyes at me. I'd like to think we were friends.

I am not friends with the evil dictator that lives outside the Evac Shack.

Say What?

Camel what?? Another hilarious example that when Arabic is translated to English, it just doesn't always work out. This is a bus that passed while I was out and about in Iraq.

No Trumpets

The citizens of Mushada, Iraq kindly ask you to refrain from sounding your trumpet while you are within city limits.

Achy Breaky Jaw

The left side of my jaw has been killing me for the past week and a half. It aches all day long and it hurts to open my mouth wide. It's causing difficulty while I eat, and I won't stand for that. The pain actually forced me to go to sick call. (That's a funny thing about medics, we don't like to be the patient.)

I learned from my PA that my face is asymmetrical (!?!?) and I am stressed out (duh!). Those two things together are causing me to clench and grind my jaw while I sleep. I was given a low dose anti-depressant that has benificial side effects: mild muscle relaxation and drowsiness. It basically knocks me on my ass 30 minutes after I take it. It's awesome!

I also went to the dentist and had an ultra sexy bite block made up to wear while I sleep so I can't cause further damage to my teeth. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be able to keep the boys away from me with this thing on. It's clear plastic and is molded exactly to my teeth. Spit gets stuck in it. It smells awful. But the best part is, the dentist gave me the plaster mold it was made from.


Now I have a plaster mold of my upper teeth! Who wouldn't want such an awesome thing!?

Hopefully this bite block and the meds help ease the pain because my PA wants me to come back in 2 weeks for a check up. If there is no change, I'm going to have to get a CT scan of my skull to check out the damage I've done to the cartiledge in my jaw and get a steroid shot in the joint. Something about big needles being wedged between bones in my face does not excite me in the least.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Dad! I love you!

SGT Williams

SGT Williams... oh that sounds so sexy. And it happened! Finally!

I got promoted outside the clinic at 1400 this afternoon. I had a special guest come up from brigade to do the honors of stripping my Corporal rank and affixing my new Sergeant rank: Command Sergeant Major Huggins. It was a super big honor to have the highest ranking enlisted person in the entire brigade (that's like 2,000 people) to promote me. I used to work directly for him while I worked at brigade and we kind of bonded. I always jokingly refer to him as my dad because he's overprotective, he pushes me to be the best I can, he's a teacher and my mentor.

Also, he is absolutely terrifying and the definition evil. He can strike fear in my very soul like no other person can. But that comes with the role he has to play as the Brigade Command Sergeant Major. But today he was all smiles, and very proud of me.

It's Army tradition to punch a newly promoted person right in the rank-- which is located right in the middle of my chest. I took a few blows to the sternum today that made me fall back. I wasn't expecting some of the blows to be so hard! I'm a chick! Don't hit me in the boobs! That hurts! Damn all that 'equality' and 'fairness' the Army tries to enforce between the sexes.

I'm really happy I finally got promoted. I'm always proud to wear this uniform, but this makes me beam.

I Miss My Mommer

Today was a homesick day. They happen every once in a while. I really missed my mom today.

I was home on leave on Mother's Day this year. I went ahead and confirmed my white trashiness and got Mom and I matching tattoos as her gift. She was totally into it, too! My Mom is a super hip and cool lady.

My nickname for my Mom is "Mommer". It's a hybrid of "mom" and "mother", but it originated with my brother. He accidentally blurted out "Mommer" the first time while filming the yearly installment of "Randsom in Eagan"-- the drama my cousins and I wrote, directed and acted in every summer while growing up.

Mommer is a term that stuck.

I'm thankful I have a Mom that doubles as a friend to me. True, we are so similiar that we can easily drive each other up the wall with a quickness, but I wouldn't trade her in for any other Mom, ever. It's nice to have someone that I see myself in, to have someone to argue with, and to just hang out with. I'm a brat and don't call home as much as I should... so I'm just going to put it out there, that today I really missed my Mommer.

Oh, My Knees!

So there I was, in the connex today, rumaging through boxes and boxes of medical supplies. The connex is possibly the worst place on Earth just because it's hot, dirty and guarantees heavy lifting. My task today was to pull out all the Ground Ambulance Sets and inventory them. There are 10 Ground Ambulance Sets. Each set has 2 giant boxes full of medical supplies that we never use, yet, have misplaced somehow. My job was to find the shortages and fill them.

Simple enough task. Except the motivation of the Soldiers is low because this is not the first time we've done this. It's not the second time, or even the third time! This inventory happens way too frequently because somehow the record gets lost. Now that I'm in charge of these Ground Ambulance Sets, I'll see to it that nothing gets lost.

I was so vigilant about working with the sets that I didn't leave their side all day. I let the Soldiers to go chow and I kept sabbing away at the inventory. It was such a beautiful day today that I didn't mind being outside working like a busy bee. Until the task was complete, and everything was put back into the connex, and I took a good look at myself.

I am so Iraq sun burned it's ridiculous! My knees look like cherrys. You can actually see where I had a folder on my lap all day recording the inventory:

It hurts soooo bad and it's really tender. My arms also got a pretty good burn, but nothing like the knees. I have a tan line from my watch and tan lines from my socks. Both are pretty sexy. I can't wait to show them off while I'm on leave (and I go in 2 days!!). 6 hours in the sun this close to the Equater should have inspired me to apply sun block, but it didn't even cross my mind.

Medics Fixin' Shit

The day's task was to wash the FLAs. Nevermind that we are in IRAQ and it's filthy and dusty every day, those damn field ambulances needed a bath! So down to the motorpool we went!

The first awesome thing that happened: we learned the emergency brake does not stop the vehicle from rolling backwards while parked on an incline. Good thing to know. The second awesome thing that happened: there isn't a proper wash rack. It's a tiny pressure washer that looks older than dirt in the Bible. Of course the pressure washer hose has a hole in it. Discovered the hard way. There was water spraying everywhere. At the same time, as if it was fate, a HemCon bandage blew by. I don't know why a piece of accountable medical equipment was blowing around in the motorpool, but it was, so we snatched it up. Those bandages boast the ability to stop even the most severe arterial bleeding.

Can you see where I'm going with this?

Medics being medics, my lovely assistant SPC George, fixed the pressure washer hose:

It actually was a good bandage. For about 1 minute. And then it started spraying water everywhere again. We continued to use the pressure washer anyway. Those FLAs needed to be clean. It's mission essential to have a clean FLA that is painted tan in the first place.

I guess it's a good thing the heart doesn't pump blood through our veins as powerfully as a pressure washer puts out water through the hose. This product would have never made it past the brain storming stages if that were the case... and my job as a medic would be horrifc, too.

Castle de la Evac

It rained a few days ago. It didn't seem like it was raining that much until the next day when I walked to work and had to avoid the ocean sized puddles that formed all over Camp Taji. For whatever reason, US Forces have refused to pave the streets on our FOBs. Instead, we get a kick out of trudging through sticky mud and stinky pools of stagnant water. I think the arguement against paving the streets is the absurd waste of money, like this whole conflict hasn't been an absurd waste of money.

The Evacuation Platoon does not have work space in the actual clinic. Instead, we are banished to a tiny trailer out back which is on stilts. Just high enough so when it rains, a mote forms around our workplace. For a while I pretended I worked in a castle and the mote was keeping the dragons from escaping and burning down the Aid Station, but once the water started to smell like poo, it lost it's magic and I just wanted it gone.

A poo sucker came by and drained the mote. Literally, a Port-O-Potty cleaner came and sucked the mosquito egg ridden water out from under the trailer. Nothing but the best around these parts. The water in Iraq always worries me. No matter where it is, when it forms, or how long it's been there, it's always yellow. And the local people drink that shit. They must have tummies made of iron.

P.S. If you've noticed my spelling going way downhill lately, my computer has chosen to spell check in Arabic and I don't know how to make it stop.

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.

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?

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.