I got yer short description right here!

Tuesday, Feb. 13, 2007, 9:00 p.m.

Preparing for a deployment is like eating boiling hot soup with a fork: it's not an impossible task, yet it's extremely annoying, and you would rather not be doing it in the first place. When you begin said preparation a mere five or six weeks before the deployment is supposed to take place, it's like taking the fork you're eating the soup with and periodically jabbing yourself in the face with it.

In case you're not familiar with this process, there are a myriad of tasks that go along with getting ready to go overseas. There are several hours of briefings to sit through, classes to take, skills to learn (do you know how to find hidden objects on a female detainee? Fear not, for I am now skilled in the art of Cleave-Searching), immunizations to be shot up with, weapons to get qualified on, new equipment to sign for, duffel bags to pack and spray-paint, forms to fill out, household goods to store, powers-of-attorney to have notarized, wills to prepare (just a precautionary measure! No freaking out allowed), leases to cancel, phones to shut off, mood-altering drugs to somehow get prescriptions for, etcetera. And I do mean etcetera -- there are new things getting invented every single day that will soon be forcibly at the very top of our priority lists. I wouldn't be surprised if by tomorrow at this time, my Number One Mission was to just stand around for six hours, spend ninety minutes engaged in productive activity, and then go home.

Oh wait, that was today.

Today we went to the M16 range to make sure our rifles were correctly calibrated and to confirm we were actually capable of using them for their intended purpose, rather than just as shiny, heavy sticks. We arrived at the range at 7:30 a.m., hoping to get in the front of the line and finish early.

If you have finished dying with laughter at our foolish optimism, I will continue.

By about 9:30 a.m., we had finished going over the four fundamentals of markmanship (steady aim, good sight picture, controlled breathing and proper trigger-squeeze), the procedure for overcoming weapons malfunctions (SPORTS), the ideal way to shoot from the prone-unsupported position (preferably as painlessly as possible), the unsatisfactory performance of British-made bullets (they keep jamming up), the effectiveness of a .50-caliber machine gun (BOOM, motherfucker!), whether or not Bradley Fighting Vehicles have "soft spots" (NO) and how easy it is to get Privates to believe that they do (very easy), the necessity of having a designated "trash pocket" on one's uniform (mine is the left cargo pocket), and the most reasonable method of carrying a $2,000 camera -- along with lenses and flash -- while also carrying an M16 and wearing body armor (attach a D-ring to the body armor, along with extra ammo pouches for the lenses). We hadn't yet been called up to even zero our rifles, much less complete our target qualification.

By 11 a.m., we had discussed the weather (fairly pleasant), our growing hunger and the nagging feeling that we were going to be waiting around all day, seeing as how we still hadn't zeroed our rifles.

As noon crept around, we had exhausted all civilized conversation and had moved on to strictly bitching and moaning, punctuated by extended moments of frustrated silence.

Finally, at about 1:30 p.m., we were called up to the line to zero our weapons. Forty-five minutes later, we had successfully zeroed. Another forty-five minutes later, we had met the standard of at least 23 targets hit out of forty (I shot 23 exactly, having never been much for the pressures of being an overachiever). And then we were done.

Oh, how I love the Army Way.

This coming weekend is a four-day weekend for military personnel (hooray for Presidents' Day! Good thinking, America!), and due to the short preparation time we've been given for this deployment, it has been designated as our division's Block Leave. Although it blows balls to only have four official days off to spend with family before we head out for a year (if that can even be arranged at all on such short notice) instead of the customary week to two weeks, most of us have been dealing with it. I, for example, have made plans to visit Husband at Fort Blargh, and my mom is flying down to meet us there so that we can spend at least 24 hours together before I take off next month.

Oh, except that as of today, we've been told "not to count on that four-day -- we might need you to come in and work on Friday or Monday."

Again -- the Army Way. Have I mentioned how I adore it so? I mean, we all expect constant change (seriously -- we won't even know when we're actually leaving until, oh, six to twelve hours before the plane hits the runway), but it's really starting to wear on me. Which reminds me, maybe the mood-altering-drugs thing needs to be pushed higher up that priority list.

Related Quote of the Day, contributed by my cousin-friend, Grangela:

"Wow, the Army is really gaying out these days, huh?"

Before you start to think that I've been spending my time wallowing in a sea of depression and manual labor, I should probably tell you about the giant chalupa.

After I got off work on Saturday (which is a whole other topic that we will not get into because it makes me want to inflict pain on living things), I drove down to my friend's place in Jacksonville. We determined that since I would likely not be able to visit her again for quite some time, our only intelligent course of action was:

1) Find karaoke bar
2) Drink irresponsibly
3) Sing songs into microphones

Which, of course, we did. But on the way to the bar, my friend happened to look out her window (as one does, I suppose, when one is the driver) and shout, "A dancing chalupa!" and after I was done thinking, "Hallucinogens!" I looked out my own window to assess the situation. And yea, she was not on LSD, and there was much rejoicing.

I especially enjoyed the Dirty Sanchez quality that is so highly emphasized on this particular giant chalupa.

The other Adult Element of our weekend activities involved a "family" game called Pass the Pigs, which is played by rolling two pig-shaped dice and accumulating points based on the various positions the little guys land in, and I think we can all imagine what's coming next. All aboard the Juvenile Train to Immaturity Land! Yes indeed, it's ...