Vet Art

2004 National Veterans Creative Arts Festival

Can't Quite Get It Right

I have a friend, Harry*. Harry and I dated for a few months in 2002, but we realized that we were much better suited as friends and have remained good friends since. He is a down right good human being. Honest, sincere, and very simple.
He's very good with money, but not so much with women. Twice divorced, all he's ever wanted was a wife and child that he could love and take care of. His first wife was a young love, and after a couple years they parted ways amicably. Just wasn't in the cards. Harry joined the Army, flew to Saudi Arabia for 8 months and served his country proudly.
When Harry returned to Puerto Rico, he met Jane. Jane was beautiful, intelligent, and had a young boy who needed a dad. Harry fell in love with both of them as they were exactly what he was looking for, and because he knew his squiggly little epididymides (I checked- that's definitely the plural) had quite a hard time getting the boys to the egg. Harry and Jane dated and married within a few months. At this point Harry had decided to stay in the Army to give his family a better life. In doing this, he re-enlisted to go to Germany, which rocks, because he had always wanted to be stationed there, and now he could share this experience with Jane and baby. Sadly, Jane had other ideas. Jane-baby-daddy was not as absent as Harry was led to believe. In fact, Jane and Papa were in the midst of a custody battle. Jane would have lost custody because she had no job and wasn't a stable provider, but now she was married to a soldier! The day after the judge awarded custody was the last time Harry saw her. It was also the last time Harry saw half his bank account.
.....

Fast-forward 7 years to Alabama, September 2004. Harry, happily teaching at the ammunition school, meets Mary, a nurse from Tennessee. Mary is amazing, Mary is perfect, Mary HAS A 4 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER. Mary is divorced. Harry called me around Christmas to tell me how happy he was and that he was thinking of asking Mary to marry him, as he was going back to Germany in June 2005. I advised Harry that I was not the expert, but I would at least wait until after the holiday to avoid holiday relationship meltdown. I never discouraged him. I told him that I didn't think 3 months was long enough to gauge the next 50 years, but again, I am not Harry. Of course, true to form, he was married cubed by the middle of January. Marital bliss became Utopia in April when harry found out Operation Conception was a resounding success! Could this be it? When I congratulated him, I knew he had done it this time.


To recap, Harry and Mary wed in January. Harry, Mary and daughter were due to fly to Germany mid July. Harry was required to attend a school in Florida from May through the second week of June. While Harry was in Florida, an old friend from Germany happened to be in Miami. They had lunch. When I say that Harry is an upstanding person, I am not exaggerating. Helps old ladies across the street and everything. They had lunch. Anyway, a week after the lunch visit, Mary turns around and accuses Harry of cheating. She also proceeds to tell him that she's going to get an abortion and she signed papers promising her ex-husband that she wouldn't move out of a 100 mile radius until their daughter turns 18. Refer to the previous paragraph to realize how utterly fucked that is. She also wants Harry to allot money to her because she is married to him and he needs to support her.

This is the phone call I received.

Harry's decided to file for divorce and will allot her money if she will keep the baby. He said he's going to try to get custody once the baby is born.

I don't want to have an ugly soul, and when I feel anger and hatred, that's what I am. Ugly. And sad. Just like the things that make me feel that way.I find it so hard to accept that the people who spread lies and hatred could possibly believe in their causes. How can you look in the mirror? That's how naive I am. I've never been able to accept that there are bad, rotten people, truly deep down dead inside. How is that possible? It saddens and disgusts me to tears.

I am so annoyed there are no clever titles today

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Um, yeah, so I got a ticket for urinating in public once. Classy gal that I am, I was in New Orleans for Mardi Gras in '99 and the fascists chardge you to use public bathrooms, and I REALLY had to go. At this point most of lowere Louisiana had seen my luscious breasts anyway, so my modesty was out the door. It doesn't help that I'm a medic often attached to platoons with 30 to 40 guys. So I wobbled my drunk ass into an "alley" and proceeded to take the most relieving piss of the decade. Unfortunately said alley was in fact an entryway to an apartment and an amused police officer was standing behind me when I finished. He almost ticketed me for littering (tissue), but I think he was too amused. He said I was the only girl that night to get caught peeing. I had to pay $65 but it was worth not having it run down my leg. It was also worth the numerous strangers I made out with. And I still refuse to pay to use the bathroom.

WAR WAR WAR WAR (but not for you, young lady, go fetch me my slippers)

Bill to bar women from direct combat

I'm going to get on my soapbox after work.

why bother putting fresh flowers on the sink if the toliet is stained and the bathroom smells like pee

Yuck. We went to D.C. for a doctor appointment yesterday, so that means I got to experience the glorious rest stops on I95 from NJ to lower Maryland. Nasty, nasty, nasty. Worse patrons than Walmart. I'd rather piss on the shoulder than in those potties, but I really don't want another ticket.

The love affair

Think long and hard before renting from a private owner

I moved into my apartment in September. It's a two-family house on a "residential street". I live in an urban area and I love it. There's always salsa and merengue playing, there are lots of kids, and it's accessible to all of the major highways. I took the apartment because it was very cheap, closer to the boyfriend, and I have a dog. The owner, who happens to live in the house next door, is a nice gentleman in his late fifties and my downstairs neighbor is a single woman, also in her fifties. (Of course, I'm now realizing why she lives alone. She's a fucking wretch who has no concept of human interaction.) When I moved in we had a few conversations with them about our lifestyles and it seemed like it would be a dream come fucking true. My dog is wonderful. He's not aggressive at all, but he does enjoy barking. He doesn't bark at night, but during the day with traffic and whatnot, of course. For the past 2 months, the whore has been either leaving me notes taped to my door or telling the owner that he's disturbing her. I leave for work at 7am and I'm home by 6:30pm on average. She is a secretary at a school, so I'm assuming she leaves around 8 and is home around 4. Are you seriously fucking telling me that between 4 and 6 my dog is torturing you? I asked old boy and he said it happens when she's pulling up the driveway. Imagine that. A dog barking at a car in his driveway. So multiply this by 60 days or so. She likes to slam her door in my face also. So I get home from work yesterday and they're just finishing up a conversation. Yippee. He asks me for the hundreth time if I can find somewhere for my dog for a while. NO. I got him from the spca and I'm not putting him anywhere. He's the best dog ever. So then he goes into this whole thing about how they've known each other for a million years and she's been renting from him for ten or so and that she's his priority tenant because I'm not going to be there forever and he made an exception by accepting the dog in the first place and he can't keep getting complaints from her and not do anything. So I asked him why he doesn't see that this is the most ridiculous bullshit ever, and he couldn't answer that question. I either have to find a situation for my dog or hit the skids. I looked in my lease, and there is a part about the terms of the agreement being entirely dependent on his determination about what is a bother and so on. So I've been looking for another arrangement for a few weeks anyway, but nobody wants to rent to you if you have a dog in New Jersey. Or the rents are outrageous. There's an apartment by the boyfriend, but it would be 90 FUCKING MILES! ONE WAY! I don't think I have it in me to do that 5 days a week. I'd be traveling through New York City every day to and from work. I'm not giving up my dog. He was at the shelter for 2 years before I got there. This blows.

ffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuccccckkk

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Uh, No?

I don't claim to lean lef tor right, politically speaking. I'm not a believer in labels when it comes to these things, so I do make a solid effort to look both ways. Having said that, I really don't know what to make of The Huffington Post . I'm all about free speech, but I've always agreed with the opinion that having a microphone in front of your face as a result of celebrity does not automatically entitle you to presenting the convoluted ramblings that escape your embattled psyche to the rest of the world as expert thought. Leave that to us, please. --Stepping off soap box-- Um, so yeah, as I was saying, my personal experience with famous people has helped me to the conclusion that 90% have no concept of the life of the common human. So where, pray tell, do you, Mr/Ms. famous for whatever reason, get the notion that I can relate to anything you say or do? I'm pretty sure that it's been many moons since you did a few loads of laundry at the laundromat, or paid a cell phone bill yourself, or got into an arguement with the evil wretch that hates your dog. It's just another fine example of the better-offs trying to feel "common" by researching trends and trying to "be down". Go shit in your hat.

What I did at work today

Monmouth Message News Brief- Chaplain Dies in Kuwait

I was tasked to be a part of the rifle team to honor the chaplain with three volleys of 7 and Taps. I've never been tasked with this before because it's normally left to males- a tradition that I hold no issue with, as it's always been an infantry type event. Anyway, I was honored and the eight of us practiced at length for the past two days to sound and look good.

I spend a lot of time here at my desk in my bedroom and at work contemplating current events and constructively criticizing our silly government, but taking part in these events reminds me of the love affair I had with the Army until recently. There's so much pride and tradition, and there are many of us who try to hold onto the romance way passed the deadline. If I could participate in funeral honors, color guards and flag details all the time I'd probably still be as naive about the real deal as I was 4 years ago. In the past two weeks 2 Sergeants Major have retired and our company had a change of command, so I've done a lot of standing still and handing bouquets to wives. I always enjoy the songs and honors. I'm a nostalgic old fart. I think I might be my grandpa reincarnated sometimes.

I'm having a very difficult time dedicating am emtry to the past ten years. It's hard to face demons, as well as the fact that I demand total candor in my blog unless it's intentional and there are certain parts of the story that don't coincide with "Sam" of now. I'm such a fucking coward.

**edit**
It's sad. It reminds me of running into an old boyfriend and trying to spark the flame and realizing that you're holding onto a ghost

an epiphan-ette from the other day

bliss, however long it lasts, can never be more than a small bitty thing you put in some corner and take out and roll around in your hand every so often to smile at, like a shiny pebble. It's untarnished and perfect, so there's no point in ruining it with mediocrity and insecurities. the inconceivable opportunities that create smiles and ecstasy are puffball dandelions that you still pick out of the grass at a backyard party and stop, if only for a split second, and smile, maybe sigh. you go through your day-to-day, up and down up and down. And it's deserved, and it's real and lasting, and it isn't stagnant or dreary and you're happy with the complexities and drama because it's like an onion and that's also good. so your little pebble exists within the churning ocean waves and the water and the salt and the sun are your blanket and when the light hits just right, like it always does, that seemingly insignificant moment shines bright for that eternal split second, because that's what it was there for the whole time, and there is nothing that can ever be wrong with that.

Seriously, I will... I don't know when... Soon!

I need to sit and focus and tell you about my decade of combat boots. I said I would for the beef bringers . I always wanted to lay it all out there and put it nice piles anyway, but linear thought is not my forte, mes amis. I definitely will do it. Maybe tomorrow. How shitty is the fucking weather today?! I walk 6 blocks to the train from my palace and about 2 miles to my job from the train, and it managed to drizzle the whole fucking time. Joy. I want to update my list o' blogs I'm digging as well. It'll happen.

The details of my life are quite inconsequential.

Very well, where should I begin?
My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims, like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. A sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.
My childhood was typical.
Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. If I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds.
Pretty standard, really.

through the looking glass

The more blogs I read, the more I want to read. Other than those closest to my heart in real life, there have never been too many people i've related to. I want to thank anyone I've ever commented to on their blog for making me feel less alone in my random neurotic ramblings. Anti (John?) , the detox (Angelina?) , tanky, paxgitmo, true, little spanish eddie (James?) , and those are just from today. I'll html it later, but more importantly, now, here's to you.

it isn't always bad

The setting sun reminds me of how much it needs the grass to validate itself. I notice the reds above the rest as the sunlight dips behind the clouds and also the horizon. I had to keep looking so of course I found green, but the blues soften in dusk, as blues tend to. The water reflects silver from the sky and clouds that play against the window I look through, quite literally. I changed into myself on the way home like I used to on the Bx 8 when I didn't want roll a blunt in my uniform after school. I fit in and stand out. Notice me but not really. Sense my mystery but not my nature. I've always enjoyed the train ride home.

Six Things I Like

Because it would do everyone good to like these things as well.


lopsided head stick figure drawings

Shel Siverstein

Yeungling Beer

Aqua Teen Hunger Force

Blogs

Monty Python

music

I love music. Good music doesn't pull you to it, good music comes into you, like it was always there, a track in your life's movie. When I left for a desert vacation a lifetime ago, I needed to bring my music with me, so I burned 25 cd's of my "favorite" songs from a collection of about 700 cd's at the time. A good song stops time.

hmm, let's see

My dog and Monica's cat are retarded. If anyone can explain why he insists on nibbling her neck and pinning her to the floor- why she lets him?, please let me know.