Things my Mom taught me (Part II)

Mom pretty much always cooked a real meal for us. I never knew what an undertaking this was until I got a husband. They always want to be fed. And they always want a Real Meal. Most women I know, in the absence of their men, have no problem subsisting on cheese, candy and fruit.

My husband, though, likes Real Meals. And for some reason, he expects me to care. However, I learned how to handle this from Mom (because Dad also likes Real Meals):

Men will eat anything you feed them.

Thus, when Mr. Abby came home at lunch (ever heard the old expression, "for better or for worse, but not for lunch?" - he hasn't), and gave me that pathetic look...I was able to say, "How about some Ramen with eggs? And look - I have SPAM!"

Jesus. I mean, how nasty is THAT??? But he hoovered it right up and was a happy little camper when he went back to work.

Mom was right. They'll eat anything. Mostly because they're just too lazy to rustle up their own food if they can get someone else to do it.

Women in Combat

[deep breath]

I am so FREAKING SICK of hearing the media simpering about "women in combat." The latest round of this was caused by the loss of 2LT Emily Perez, a West Point standout who was KIA recently in Iraq.

First - condolences to the family of Lieutenant Perez. By all acounts, this was an outstanding woman and a fine young officer. The Army and the country are less for her loss.

Second - CNN, this is directed at you. THERE IS NO LAW AGAINST WOMEN IN COMBAT. None. I will try to explain.

Women may not serve in occupational fields the primary mission of which is to engage in direct ground combat with the enemy. Women may not serve in these UNITS below the brigade level (note there is a difference between "job" and "units" - field hospitals have supply sergeants).

Thus, there are no female infantrymen. None. Nor are there female tankers, artillerymen, amtrac guys, and a few other small and odd jobs. There are no female Rangers, SEALs, Green Berets, or Force Recon Marines. There ARE women in the US Army Special Operations Command(psychological operations and some civil affairs). There ARE women in fields labeled "combat arms" (an example being the females who handle ordnance in the Marine Corps).

There are female admin clerks. Some of them are in, say, the 82nd Airborne. They are Airborne qualified. They jump out of planes. They may serve at the Division level, they may serve at the Brigade level. You will not find them in the infantry battalions or rifle companies.

There are female mechanics, postal clerks, combat photographers, civil affairs specialists, etc etc. If there is a position IN an infantry battalion for one of these people, it will be filled by a MALE. If, however, a small group of...oh, I dunno, say...civil affairs soldiers are ATTACHED to said battalion, or IN SUPPORT of said battalion, there may very well be women.

Let me further elaborate on this one, because it could be confusing. We will use the examples of an infantry battalion and a civil affairs company, because that is one with which I am intimately familiar. There exists a document called an MTOE - this is a Modified Table of Operations and Equipment. One exists for every unit in the military (although they may go by different names). This is the big list of what makes up a unit. If you look at the MTOE for say, an Army Infantry Battalion, it will be a list that would go something like this:
Lieutenant Colonel, battalion commander, 1, 11A;
Major, executive officer, 1, 11A;....
Captain, company commander, 4, 11A;
Sergeant first class, supply NCOIC, 92Y, 1...and so on and so forth.
Now, we know that none of the positions that start with "11," that is, the field identifier for "infantry," will be filled by women. However, NOR will the position of "supply NCOIC." Although there are female E7 92Ys (a lot of them), they may not fill a position on the MTOE of a unit, the mission of which is to engage in direct ground combat with the enemy, below the brigade level. Got that? Now, if Higher, in all its wisdom, decides this infantry battalion needs to be augmented by a civil affairs company, that company has its own MTOE, and no restrictions on where females may serve, as it is not a unit for which the primary mission is to engage the enemy in direct ground combat. Do we have that cleared up? Good.

Of course, there are many non-combat arms units out there. Let's talk about, oh, we'll say...a Division Finance Company. Let's put them in Iraq. Now, they have a mission that is not necessarily to "locate, close with and destroy the enemy using fire and manuever." Of course, they're American soldiers, so they will do this if they must, but it's not why they're there. They are there to do MONEY STUFF.

Of course, part of that involves moving money to outlying camps so the grunts and support folks out there can have cash. So the finance company puts together a convoy. Maybe they can borrow a couple of gun trucks from their local infantry unit, or maybe not. Either way, the finance soldiers are going to be manning a couple of those vehicles. And by manning, I mean provinding a vehicle commander (TC), a driver, and a turret gunner.

There are lots of women in finance companies. Now, enough of these convoys are out rolling around, and one gets ambushed. Some soldiers are hurt, and some are killed. Some shoot back, some provide aid and some call for medical evacuation.

This was combat. The soldiers there are Combat Veterans. The wounded are Combat Wounded Veterans with Purple Hearts. The dead are Combat Losses (also with Purple Hearts). And some of them are women.

Women are in combat. This is indisputable, and this is not a violation of law, or a travesty of justice. The finance company women, the transport women who move materials and go out to retrieve damaged vehicles, female MPs training the Iraqi Police, the postal clerks moving mail. All of these women are being employed in accordance with all applicable law, and all of them can be, at any moment, "in combat."

This is an issue that a lot of people feel very strongly about, and it's even more detailed than I made it sound here (wanna know why you'll find female Marines on helicopters in situations where you wouldn't find female Soldiers? - no, you probably don't).

Like most complex issues, and like absolutely everything involved with our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, this one doesn't benefit from over-simplification. It's not that difficult to understand, and the media and our government do all of us a disservice when they fail to take the time to help people understand what's really going on.

Lieutenant Perez didn't die doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing. She didn't die because she was employed in violation of the law. 2LT Perez died doing her duty as an Army Officer, and we shouldn't minimize what she gave all of us by pretending her involvement in our national mission was a mistake, or that she was a helpless victim of a big cruel Army.

That is all. Dismissed.

Casey says, "C'Mon! Stop typing! Feed me and take me for a WALK!"

Range Time!!!

So, at the end of Errands From Hell yesterday, I managed to talk Mr. Abby into some range time. I love range time. I love to shoot. It's relaxing.

Relaxing? What's relaxing about a loud room with lots of people firing wildly, you say. Relaxing is...walks on the beach. Meditation. Aromatherapy. Or maybe kittens. But not firing ranges!

Story Time!

Long ago and far away, at Marine Corps Boot Camp, they taught me to shoot. Now, I already knew how to shoot. But the Marine Corps taught me how to shoot anything, and well. The Marine Corps being the Marine Corps, this was made very simple.

1. Position your body to facilitate gaining a quality sight picture.
2. Maintain proper sight alignment.
3. Focus on the clear tip of the front sight post.
4. Squeeze the trigger. Make the weapon go "bang!" without screwing up 1,2 or 3.

If you do these things, you will hit what you are shooting at. Of course, there are find points and details, but if you do the four things above, consistently, you will hit what you are aiming it.

Huh. How 'bout that?

Now, I was THE ADD kid. And I have grown into THE ADD woman. I focus about as well as a broken TV camera. It's just who I am - I'm used to it. I like my thought process, even though occasionally I fnd swiss cheese on the pasta shelf, where I obviously set it while distracted.

But when I shoot - ah...then I FOCUS. I HAVE to. You can't cheat on that. If I'm thinking about my Spanish class, and not doing the four listed things above, I get lots of little holes all over my target. If I think about showing off and shooting well because Mr. Abby is at the range with me...again, lots of little holes. But if I FOCUS, ignore everything else in the world, and do the four things above, then I get targets that look like this:



Not the best shooting I've ever done, but it's the target on my wall. Incidentally, that's at 20 yards with an old "beater" .45 manufactured in 1943.

This works with a pistol, but it's most fun with a rifle. I just adore the clarity I get when I'm shooting. Can't think about anything else. Just do a few, simple things again and again.

And yes, I did shoot better than Mr. Abby (after I settled down and stopped trying to show off).

Day off

yesterday. Well, not really, but it turned out that way. I went to the Math Class of Satan and the World's Most Silly Humanities Class. Then Mr. Abby called and said that, because Certain People had taken the day off, he had nothing to do.

So we made a day of it, running exciting errands including Tampa Police Department so he could get fingerprinted. I can never find that building on the first try, and Tampa, like most other big cities, has only one-way streets and less than helpful signs in the downtown area (the aquarium? I don't need to know how to get to the aquarium! How about some DAMN SIGNS pointing me to city services????).

Also had a fun trip to the Dept. of Motor Vehicles to replace the registration on his motorcycle. While there, it occured to me that the Jeep needs new registration (this is one of the ways that Florida makes money - you pay to register your vehicle when you buy it, then you re-register it again shortly thereafter. Bastards). So I have to go back to the DMV later today.

Then, just to keep it fun, we went to the range. More on that later.

Good Riddance

New information tells us that the Sub Human Piece of Shit (SHPOS) who shot two Lakeland County deputies, killing one, and also a K9, was whacked with extreme predjudice when found (with the dead deputy's sidearm) by our fine LEOs.

It sounds as though this SHPOS slaughtered Dep. Williams in an especially coldblooded manner. This is vile, and heartbreaking.

A very small measure of comfort can be taken from the fact that our LEOs killed the living shit out of SHPOS.

http://www.tbo.com/news/metro/MGB5CVXVQSE.html

68 rounds sounds highly appropriate. Casey points out that she believes being ripped limb-from-limb by K9s would also have been appropriate. I agree.

Things my Mom taught me (Part I)

I remember going to Grand Rapids with Mom when I was a kid. We had a few places we'd normally stop, and we always did them in a certain order. At one point or another I learned that a major reason behind this was Mom's Theory of Angst-Free Urban Driving:
Thou Shalt Not Try to Make Left Turns in Heavy Traffic Without the Aid of a Light.
The City of Tampa needs to start a televised PSA campaign with this as the theme. I drive on a major road every day (Dale Mabry Hwy), which, in all too many stretches, lacks a left turn lane. Now, this is a 4-to-6 lane road, so there's really no reason for the lack of a left turn lane, but there it is.

Now, in Florida, U-turns at lights are OK. Really. And they're not hard to execute. I mean, wait for the green, and then turn left. Really sharply. I saw a guy in a Dodge Ram do one today. He was pulling a cemement mixer on a trailer.

But NOOOO...there are people, evil, bad, shithead people, who insist on coming to a DEAD stop in a regular lane of travel, putting on their left blinker, and then waiting. Waiting for the opposite lanes of a major thoroughfare to empty out.

And these are rarely daring motorists. Can they dart through a small-to-medium opening? No - they can not. Turning their minivan requires approximately two miles of open, visible road.

And where are they going? Well, if it's a blond woman in a giant SUV talking on her cellphone, she's going to some trendy little lunchspot. If it's the woman in the minivan or the old person, they're going to the Kute Kountry Kraft Store.

Jesus.

Plan your trip. Drive up Dale Mabry to WalMart. I know - Kute Kountry Krafts is ON THE WAY, but listen - it's on the other side. Do your thing at Wally World. Exit Wallyworld into the southbound lanes with the aid of a light. See, now Kute Kountry Krafts is on your RIGHT. Easy in, easy out, and the woman in the Jeep behind you isn't dreaming about snapping your neck.

Abby's Mom says, "Use lights for left turns."

Abby's Mom is RIGHT.

On the news...

The crawl tells me there were more car bombs in Baghdad and that things continue to be rough on the Afghan border.

You know, since I've been back, I've felt like I'm on borrowed time. I was lucky and every day here is gravy. It makes wasted days really chafe, but the good things - man, I enjoy them.

God, I hope it's a good day for all the folks "over there." I know it probably won't be, but a gal can dream. Please, guys - be careful. Do the little things right. Make it back to the FOB in one piece.

Meanwhile, I'm going to dream up a reason for a little more top-down cruising in the sun, because I can. And yeah, I'm going to appreciate it.

La clase de espanol es...

CANCELED!!! Yipee!

It's one of those first nice Florida days since I've been back - warm but not HOT, and low(er) humidity. So I walked out of the Class that Did Not Happen, took in the weather, thought, today is too nice to be driving around with the top up.

Ahhh...rolling in the Jeep with the top down, wearing a BRAND NEW HAT (khaki with a tactical company logo, of course), Dropkick Murphys up loud enough to piss off my fellow motorists at the stop lights...life is good.



What an absurd vehicle, but how happy it makes me. :)

Happiness is

A new squeaker toy! Poor little guy was starting to look like the neighborhood poor kid, sadly gnawing at an old, worn out blue Squeaker Rat with, alas, no working squeaker. So I brought home a new, shiny, Chew Monkey. Hell, I feel like a hero.


Poor Casey is still...(forgive me, I gotta make the pun)...pooped.

Maybe I have a problem...

So, during today's cleaning festival, I realized the gun cabinet had sort of... puked all over the living room. And the entryway. And since we need photos for the insurance rider that covers this weirdo hobby...



It gets worse...

We're not as weird as this looks. I promise.

Good Times

So there we were, standing in the backyard, sipping coffee and having the morning smoke after mopping (four times) and doing dog poo removal.

Mr Abby looked at Casey, who looked bummed.

"Can't be mad at a dog for that," he said. "Poor girl."

"True," I said. "She didn't even try to wake us up. That was as bad as the great Grape Poo of '01."

He agreed, and we dubbed this the Great Pork Juice and Cheddar Cheese Poo of ought-six.

Are our lives exciting or WHAT???

Ick.

So I made the call last night to put off my Spanish class until tomorrow and get a much-needed sleep-in.

Mr. Abby's alarm went off and he got up at 0630-ish. [smooch] "Have a good day, babe" [Abby rolls over and goes back to sleep.] Mmmm...pillow.

This is the point where Mr. Abby ventured out into the kitchen.

"Uh...honey!"

"MMMph?"

"Your dog shit all over the floor."

After just a second of hoping that if I stayed in bed, he'd let me sleep and deal with it himself, I got up and we had Quality Couple Time cleaning up explosive dog poo from the kitchen.

And I do mean explosive. As in wrap-a-rag-around-your-face-and-dive-in-with-paper-towel-and-bleach explosive.

I didn't take any "before" pics, because that would have been disgusting. But I did take a pic during the "airing out" phase. And Casey is out in the yard with some water. And I'm awake. Grumble....

Even better than math news...

...is Army news! Or not. I joined the Army on 8 Sept 2003. For three years. Which means I'm done...well, heck, I was done 7 Sept. Now, depending on the 90-days-post-deployment stop-loss counts from, that could have been pushed back as late as maybe 16 Sept. Whatever - the date has passed.

So I got a letter in the mail on Saturday.



In case it's not clear, that's a letter from the US Army command to which I belong, explaining that since I'm not qualified for the position in which my unit currently has me slotted, they've administratively transferred me to some "holding pool" so I can be sent to school and, as the letter cheerfully points out, cleared for deployment.

[insert sound of me pounding my head against the wall]

OK, here we go:
1. I am out of the Army
2. I am a fully qualified Civil Affairs Specialist. I was one of our goddam class honor graduates. Just because I've submitted no fewer than (3) and possibly as many as (5) official "request for award of MOS" forms and the Army has IGNORED them all...well, not my problem. It certainly didn't seem to be a problem when I did the job for a year in IRAQ.

This, of course, required a phone call. I talked to a very nice civilian at Ft. Bragg, who understood and agreed to transfer me back to my most recent unit, with a notice that I need to be processed OUT, not sent to a school I've already completed.

As I pointed out to Mr. Abby, I may very well have enough time to RETIRE by the time I get these people sorted out.

Once a really mediocre student...

I am still NOT cut out for this. I got my first college algebra test back today. Contrary to what I'd thought, I did not get a 15%. I got a 71. Yea, Abby!

Even better - should our final exam score be better than any one of our test scores, the instructor will use that exam score instead of the lowest test score. So, since I feel like I understand this crap better every day, there's still hope for a decent grade.

But I can't quite get to the point where I really feel like this matters very much... Maybe there WAS a reason I was not a stellar high school student.

Next Topic

OK - We've addressed the name of the blog issue. I have two dogs, and they are Bad. Now let's address me, in a nutshell.

I live in Tampa, Florida, with my husband, who will henceforth be referred to as "Mr. Abby." He's an active duty military guy, which is how we ended up here. My official position on Tampa, FL is - hate this place. No offense to those of you who love it here, but I don't. Yes, I'm sure if you really wanted to, you could find someplace wonderful in Florida. However, we didn't. Save the "Florida is Fabulous" stuff for someone else. As soon as the DoD says we can leave this festival of hurricanes, killer reptiles and child sex offenders, we're outta here with big smiles.

As my subtitles implies, I'm recently returned from the Sandbox. I started my military career right out of high school with a little more than four years in the Marine Corps. I was a combat correspondent, spent two years in Okinawa and a year in 29 Palms, and got out as a sergeant in Spring 2001.

In fall of 2003, I was bored and we were at war, so I joined the Army Reserve for three years. I did an eight-month tour working at Major High Silly Command here in Tampa, then a 14 month mobilization that included 11 months in Iraq. I worked in Civil Affairs. It was a long year in Iraq, but we brought everybody home alive, and I remain very proud of that. I (very recently) finished my Army time as a staff sergeant.

It remains to be seen what will happen when I get bored again, and whether or not this will lead to another "hitch" in another service.

Since my return (in June), I've been rattling around. We've got less than a year left here, so I'm taking some classes at my local community college and conducting a half-ass search for a job that won't demand very much but will pay extremely well.

Let's try this

Hello, any/all. I think I'm going to give this "blogging" thing a try.

The title, in case you haven't noticed, is "Bad Dogs and such." I have two Bad Dogs - a Bad German Shepherd named Casey, and an equally Bad Yorkie named Sparky. Technically, the Yorkie belongs to my husband, but since I'm really not doing much these days beyond school and naps, they're both my problem the vast majority of the time.

You may note that they don't look very "bad" in this pic. Of course not - I drove them halfway across the state of Florida. And they LOVE car rides.