[Insert title here so I can just go to fucking sleep at a reasonable hour]

Thursday, Nov. 02, 2006, 10:47 p.m.

When I got to my Mandatory Physical Fitness Session Of Gayness this morning and discovered that our exercises would be concentrated on our abdominal muscles (or, in my case, "muscles"), I was pleased. I have been trying to tighten up the ol' gut for quite some time now (it may look flat in pictures, but be ye not deceived, for my powers of Sucking It In can be matched by no living being), so even though my first waking hour was full of intense pain in the form of rocky sit-ups, two-second crunches, leg-throws, Russian Twists (just as horrifying as they sound) and frog-kicks, I actually began my day in a relatively good mood.

But then I went to work, and found out that the Army (and the individuals it owns) sometimes requires you to be a total fucking idiot in order to maintain said good mood.

Like, if I was a total fucking idiot, it wouldn't have bothered me so much to be informed that my co-workers and I were to "get ready to be given a class about giving a class."

I really am not shitting you. I swear.

Seriously! If you don't believe me, LOOK:

Dear God, how I wish I had staged this. Yet, it is not staged, because the universe seems to be blatantly mocking me these days.

We were forced to take notes on everything that was written down on that piece of paper.* We were asked to participate, and at the end, we were tested.

The boss of mine who gave the class to the three of us (we'll call him Bi-Polar Boss, for his personality indicates that he is certainly avoiding some key Issues) is the kind of guy who takes himself more seriously than a surgeon takes a tumor. He highly enjoys being in charge, and at first glance seems to be the sort of person who would probably get a real kick out of human suffering in general. He claims to have once had a box of bolts dropped upon his head, and I will say, for the record, that I do not doubt him.

At this point, you may have a clue about how the class went. After it was over, we were asked our opinions about what we would improve upon, should the class on giving a class have to be given again.

The thing that I maybe should not have done in response to that question, I think, was answer it honestly. Because when you are getting angrily lectured by a crazy boss to whom you have just used the daring phrase "more relaxed learning environment," you can be pretty much guaranteed that any remnant of your good mood will be instantly shattered.

*I made the mistake of not taking notes at first, and was subsequently instructed to write down everything on the board so far -- while in the push-up position, balancing on my legs and non-writing hand. Not to say that anyone in charge of me ever overreacts, of course.

One thing that did help to perk me back up is my new acquisition of something like 15GBs of new and exciting music, thanks to one of my co-workers. I am a music junkie and will listen to anything at least once, so an entire library full of tunes that, for the most part, I had never even heard of, let alone heard, very nearly made my eardrums leap for joy.

There was, however, one artist whom I seem to have discovered on my own (unless one of you lovelies sent me her songs on a mix CD, in which case I adore you on a much higher than average level and feel bad that I don't remember who you are). Her name is Julia Haltigan, and she seems to be relatively unknown, which is a sin of the vilest sort. This link describes her as "Nora[h] Jones with a mix between Tom Waits and Nancy Sinatra," which I think is fairly accurate. If you hunt around a bit, you should be able to find her song "Green Shirt," which I can only classify, technically, as "fucking awesome." Go find it, and go then find her and beg her to put out a full-length album so that the world can be a better place.

A few of you asked, after my last entry, why I have been spending time with Husband again. Without going into hugely personal detail that would really take me ages to write out, I can tell you that since he has decided to stop being a jackass, I have decided that it's okay for us to hang out on the weekends sometimes. Our relationship, as it is, has taken a healthy step up from "pure, unbridled, fiery, mutual hatred" to "pretty cool." And I am fine with that. It doesn't mean that we are or are not getting divorced after we get out of the Army next spring, but it does mean that the overall tone of both our lives is far less hostile (pleasant, even) since we stopped living together. Since that, I believe was the entire point of our separation ... well, I'm satisfied.

Lastly, I would like to thank each one of you (ummm ... and you and you and you and you and you and you and you you) for your stellar support and suggestions on dealing with my dictatorial bosses. They will rue the day they stopped short at censoring my online diary, that is for damned certain.