Winding down

Friday, Dec. 08, 2006, 12:37 a.m.

If I had to go to work today, I would be tired as hell right now, but interestingly enough, the words "long weekend" tend to breathe new life into me -- as will the eleventy hours of sleep I'm planning to get as soon as I'm done with this entry.

One good thing about the Army is its propensity to hand out long weekends like banks hand out those tiny lollipops that you eat in one bite. When we're not deployed, we can usually count on at least one three- or four-day weekend a month to distract us from the fact that we work 60- to 70-hour weeks on a regular basis ("Give 'em enough time off and they'll drink their dissatisfaction away!" is the Army's motto). This particular three-day weekend is a reward from our commanding general for our installation going thirty days without a fatal accident on post. Apparently, every thirty days = one day off. There's probably some deeper reason behind it of course, like our leadership teaming up with area eateries and drinkeries to try to stimulate the local economy, but as long as I get to go an extra 24 hours without wearing a uniform, I honestly don't care. The general could be selling off our souls to Dubya (except, wait! He already seems to own them! Thanks, stop-loss!), but as long as I get to sleep through it, it's really all the same to me.

Speaking of stop-loss, I have an update to share regarding my upcoming barely-voluntary reenlistment (which I just accidentally mistyped as "reenlostment," which is probably more accurate): I will almost definitely be moving to my new duty assignment in Virginia sometime during February. There's an assload of paperwork to do first (can you believe it? The Army never drowns anyone under the suffocating weight of bureaucracy!) and then I have to actually reenlist, and then there is more paperwork, and then I will be able to attempt to pack up all my shit and relocate to a state closer to my favorite side of the Mason-Dixon Line. And even though I will still be in the Army, I will no longer be deploying to Iraq (not this summer, anyway, and not with the boss I have now, ever).

As much as I hate to admit it, this is really not the worst career move I've ever made. I mean, if I got out of the Army on time, yes, I would be happier in general, just because I have always thrived on the freedom to kind of ... do whatever the fuck I wanted. But seeing as how I am relatively broke, with no real job prospects or specific idea of what I'd like to do with the rest of my life (hi, me! Welcome back to being 18!), I suppose it couldn't exactly hurt me to milk the government for a few more years' worth of cash and professional experience. If I'm lucky, I'll even have a position that will give me enough downtime to work on a degree or two (for free) over the next three years. Not a bad deal, if I do say so myself. Admit it -- if it wasn't for the whole "being owned by the government" part of my job description, you would totally want it for yourself.

Since I did promise to continue the Saga of Humvee Horror that I so rudely interrupted in favor of not staying awake all night, I will go ahead and do that. As you can see, I did not manage to hurt myself (or anyone else, for the record) during my road test. Of course, when you're driving down a practically-deserted dirt tank trail in a vehicle that will only exert itself to reach 60 miles per hour if it's given the proper motivation (think "illegal turbo-charged engine"), you really have nothing to fear. Yes, even when I am the one driving it. Shut up.

So, Babymomma and I both passed our class, and we are now officially licensed by the Army to drive any and all of its High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicles. [Insert your best maniacal cackle here, and proceed with caution.]

Post Script to my father and any other concerned citizens: Don't worry. This is probably the safest vehicle I will ever drive. As long as you stay the fuck out of my way, all will be well.

Because I am a shameless Follower, I went to see both of these movies last weekend, and I can honestly say that as I left the theater, I did not exclaim, "Fucking HELL, why did I just spend eight bucks on that?" I knew why I spent eight bucks on that -- because it was good. And therein lies my movie-critic genius. Go read some other web site if you want real movie reviews; my cinematic vocabulary is pretty much limited to "Good movie. Me like" or "Bad movie. Me want to punch writer/director/actors in throat."

I don't know why anyone would need any more information than that, anyway.

Because I can think of no suitable segue into a bunch of random pictures, here they are:

The creepy full moon from Sunday night, captured as best I could with naught but a Sony point-n-shoot.

Boxes containing The Display. This truck could not have been loaded up without the help of my addiction to Tetris -- thank you, The Original Nintendo.

A spirited office discussion about -- you guessed it! -- politics. That's Incompetent Co-worker on the far left, getting lambasted by his supervisor for being ... well, for being on the far right. Fittingly, the one in the middle is our office's lone Independent. We are fiercely ironic like that.

A quick aside about Incompetent Co-Worker: there is now officially nothing he can do that we won't openly mock him about. Yesterday, my sergeant and I were discussing my vehicle-inspection paperwork that he had to turn in with my leave form, and I mentioned that I'd have to leave the space for my VIN number blank until I went to my car after work. He replied, in a half-heartedly sarcastic tone, "What? Are you saying you haven't committed your VIN number to memory? God."

Incompetent Co-Worker, always ready to back up the guy who is saying anything even mildly offensive to/about me, piped up with, "Hey, good one, Sergeant! Ha ha!"

I told him, "Dude, that was actually probably the weakest thing he could have said to me."

My sergeant: "Yeah, geez, what I said was totally lame. I wasn't even trying with that one."

And there it is -- our collective conscience has disintegrated to the the point where we can freely degrade a person for not distributing compliments correctly. I, personally, am swollen with pride.

Husband shows off his rock 'n' roll "Babyhawk."

That's all I have for now, seeing as how the rest of my week's activities have consisted of sitting on my ass, driving, and sitting on my ass. Don't forget to join me next week, when I will do ... probably the same exact thing. Cheers!