What happens when I go home?

I have not written many posts regarding my deployment. That has actually been intentional. It isn't for a lack of great blog fodder, it is because I have a sensitive job and I would rather err on the side of caution than perhaps write about something that may compromise anyone. Don't get me wrong, I am not James Bond. But better to be safe than sorry.

That said, I have been doing a job that is pretty fricken useful for a lot of people. I have a purpose over here. Opinions on "big picture" aside, the folks that are here need what I am providing to them.

But what happens when I get home? I already knew going in that 90% of what I do at home is bullshit. I am working hard to try and reason it out in my head that I am putting effort into an AFSO21 meeting or some other such malarkey that can only be created by those who have no real mission and must justify their own existence with such drivel, because if I don't I will be unemployed.

I have been trying to build a mental bridge connecting something, ANYTHING, that I do day to day at home, that added any value to the service that I am providing here. I have found none. Nada. Zip. Believe me, I have REALLY looked. Even if just in some small way I could see that what I do back in the clinic directly impacts the mission I currently support. I used to be pretty good at finding that link. Explaining it to the young Airman who worked for me and paint a picture for them about how what they are doing that day adds value to the big picture mission.

But I believe at the job back at home we have lost our way. Lost sight of where our focus needs to be. Lost sight of the question "What value does what I am doing at this very moment add to the mission downrange?"

I am sure this isn't true for everyone. I can't just blanket-label all aspects of the military. I can only speak to what I know and the job I do when I am not deployed. I have long felt this way about the job I do at home, but even I didn't realize how right I was until I got downrange. I guess a part of me hoped I was wrong, but I wasn't.

I have to work. I have to stick this thing out for another 8 and a half years until I retire. I can't just quit. Especially not in this economy. I am grateful to have employment at all. Perhaps that is where I will have to dedicate my focus. The one that will get me through to the finish line while keeping my sanity in tact.

See that? Sometimes just banging it out on a keyboard helps me see the light...

"Coupons on a first date?"

Y'all know me. I just love headlines. Then I like to just run with them, often times without even reading the accompanying article. Today's headline was no different. The headline said "Coupons on a first date"? At first, I thought "HOW TACKY! He better not break out coupons on our first date!" But then I thought (as I am getting better at doing as I get older,) well, so what if he used a coupon? If you are on a date with a guy who uses coupons, why would you want him to be something he isn't because he is on a date with you? Doesn't that just amount to his being fake?

I have always had a real problem with people putting on fronts. Pretending to be someone they aren't for the sake of appearances. I realize this is one of the biggest reasons I will not get ahead in this world, corporate or otherwise, but I stand true to who I am. I am the person who will call the baby ugly. Take it or leave it.

When it comes to dating, lord knows I am no expert. Eric is the first guy I had "dated" in over 10 years. However I am a pretty good listener and REALLY good at human nature. One thing I would hear time and time again from both men and women is that a person 'changed' once you began a relationship. "He used to make dinner for me, but he doesn't do it any more." "She would want to watch football with me on Sundays. Now suddenly she not only doesn't want to watch it, but she doesn't want ME to watch football either! WTF?"

I got news for you folks, the "change" was dating YOU. They were simply unable to keep up the act and slowly became themselves again. He wasn't the kind of guy who made dinners, and she never liked football to begin with. They were only doing these things to lead you to into believing they were something they weren't from the very beginning.

I was guilty of such things when I was much younger. 20 years ago I led a guy I was dating to believe I liked football. A disservice to myself that I have never repeated. I think, now that I am marrying a man with whom I was friends with before we ever started dating, I can totally relate to the concept of 'friends' making the best couples. There were never any periods of being on our best behavior for the sake of appearances for the other. I didn't wear makeup when we were just friends, and I didn't start wearing any when we became a couple. It took 3 trips to 3 different stores and a weeks worth of research before Eric decided on the right TV for his house. A little much, maybe, but that's ok. It's his TV. He can take whatever time he wants to research it.

I also wouldn't have cared if Eric broke out the coupon book when we went out to dinner after we started dating. If he was the coupon-type, I would have known that already. And that would have been fine by me.

Actual conversation...

So this is an actual portion of an IM conversation between myself and my sweeter than honey, albeit ultra-geek fiance:

Eric: xoxo
Oh yeah, one more thing

me: yes baby?

Eric: meant to share this comic with you. This guy has some great geeky comics, so feel free to browse his site, but this christmas one was pretty good...though a warning, it's probably one only a computer geek can appreciate

me: Oh, this oughta be good...clicking now.




me: hmmm...

Is it a flow chart?

I don't get it.

I think you were right...only a computer geek could UNDERSTAND it. No matter what it was suppoesd to be, I can totally relate to his parents!

Eric: In comp sci, trees and heaps are technical terms for data structures, and would be drawn like they are in the comic lol!

me: Oh my.

Sending Email When You're Angry...

As most people who know me realize, I am deployed right now. Things are not quite as easy when you are deployed as they are back home. There are many things that you just don't have regular access to and take for granted when you are home. Things like scanners, faxes, and reliable internet.

There is a system that myself and one other guy needs access to. It is not a big deal system or anything like that, just something we need that will make our jobs easier in the deployed location. There is a particular form that needed to be signed by three people in three different locations in two different countries in order to get this access. Fine. It took three days go get this done and sent back, even electronically, but we did it. Yay us.

Today, I get the following email:

Ilisa,

The copy that you sent was illegible and *** didn't want to accept it. Can
you please try to send me a clearer one? Thanks for trying.

Stan
************************************************************************************
As I am sure you can only imagine, here is the response I sent:

Stan,

I am not directing the following rant at you, obviously.

But are they SHITTING ME???? Do those people at *** KNOW where **** and I are??? They are lucky to have gotten ANYthing at all from us. It's not like we have faxes and scanners at our disposal whenever we want to use them. Neither **** nor I even have a dedicated workstation! I have to use my HOME laptop for half the shit I send out for crying out loud and I am LUCKY to have internet access at all! Half the time even THAT doesn't work!

I cannot believe that in a deployed situation, those people are going to give you shit and get anal about some administrative paper-pusher bullshit that was probably called out by someone who has to justify their existence somehow. Now *** and I, who aren't even in the same vicinity as one another, are going to be the ones forced to jump through hoops to get "legible" copies. IS THAT REALLY WHAT THEY ARE TELLING YOU??? My god!! It isn't like we are asking for the keys to Fort fucking Knox, here. Perhaps I will be better off sending the signed copies via CARRIER PIGEON.

************************************************************************************

Heavy heavy sigh. My public service announcement for the night...Don't send out emails when you're angry.

A night out!

Last night I had to opportunity to eat out at a restaurant. The place is called Monal and it is located 3900 feet up in the Margalla Hills in Pakistan. It is the largest restaurant in the country and the scariest drive I have ever been on.

Growing up in NY, there was a place in New Paltz that took you though some mountain roads as you went up towards Kerhonkson. There was one spot in particular that had a hairpin turn. Used to be a test of driving skills to make your way up. Then I got here.

The almost 4,000 foot drive up the mountain was like the hairpin turn of New Paltz on crack. I had to pop my ears about 7 different times, and I believe that I came close to heart failure at several points along the way (both up and down the mountain). To say nothing of the wild boars, monkeys (yes, monkeys), and foxes running in the road.

When we finally arrived at Molan, and got past the guards with automatic rifles, it took my breath away. It was the most beautiful restaurant I had ever been too. It was almost completely outdoors and we chose to sit at the farthest edge of the seating area with a spectacular view of Islamabad at night.

The food was excellent. I had a chicken spinach crepe dish that was scrumptious. As the night went on, we were all quite cold, even though they had fire lamp heaters at our table. So once we were done with eating, we were pretty eager to get to the warmth of our vehicle. Personally I spent the walk to the car mentally preparing myself for the journey back down the mountain. Eeek! My hands were sweaty even before we were half way down. hee hee!

I wish I had some pictures for you, but it was dark outside and I didn't bring my camera. We do intend to go there again at some point and I will take my camera for sure when we do. You could probably google some pictures of the place too.

Dear Abby

Yesterday I was reading the Dear Abby column in our local Stars and Stripes newspaper (which I enjoy reading when I am overseas) and while I will read it every day and 3 seconds after I am done with it the memory of the letters written are gone, yesterday's was different. I can't stop thinking about this letter.

A woman was writing in for some advice about her neighbors (on both sides of her home). The lots are tiny, separated by only the driveway and both sets of neighbors are smokers. They insist on throwing their cigarette butts into her yard. She has, until now, simply gone out with a trash bag and picked up the butts from her yard. I am thinking to myself as I am reading this, "Hell nah! You need to walk you ass over there and tell those nasty ass people to stop throwing their nasty ass butts into your yard!" The next part of her letter addresses my idea, although much less rudely. She said she had thought of saying something to them, but they are trouble makers and rather than stir up the pot, for the sake and safety of her two year old children who like to play in the front yard (and subsequently pick up cigarette butts and put them in their mouths which is where everything goes when you are two), she would rather not. The advice Dear Abby gave her was probably spot on. She told the writer (paraphrasing here) that she was smart not to confront the troublemaker neighbors. She needed to keep picking up the butts and just have her children play in the backyard with her keeping a close watch on them.

I was troubled by this on so many levels that I probably don't have the room to address all of it here. Now, normally I am a hard-ass when it comes to people popping out puppies that they can't afford to feed, clothe and shelter properly and safely. I am not really sure why I am feeling compassionate for this particular advice seeker. But I find her situation disheartening. To live in a place where you are forced to submit to the actions of others because you are too afraid for yourself and your family to ask that the people giving you issue refrain from doing so, must be just horrible. Her children can't go outside and play. I can't imagine what it would have been like as a child to not be allowed to go outside and play. My entire wonder-filled childhood memory bank is chock full of memories of me going off ALONE through the woods, the trails, or the streets and the shopping centers. Without fear. And I promise you that if my father even for one second feared for our safety he would never have allowed that wandering, or adventuring to take place. And we grew up dirt poor.

My very first home that I bought with my own money was a condo in what used to be a fairly upscale part of Ft Lauderdale called "Inverrary". Over the past several decades it went from owner-occupied condos to renters. Because renters generally bring down property values (people just don't care if they don't own it) in the majority of neighborhoods, my neighbors were no different. I was in my condo one day and some new renters (one of MANY horrible neighbors) had moved into the unit one floor below me. I would sit out on my terrace and smell the pot as it wafted upwards (i plead the 5th on my opinion of this particular item), but what really bothered me was their music. It was so loud it shook my condo constantly. All day and all night. I remember taking my bar stools that sat at my kitchen counter and slamming them on the floor (his ceiling) in the hopes that he would turn it down so I could sleep, but it never worked. Finally I got fed up one Saturday morning and I marched my ass down to his unit and banged on his door. He refused to answer so I banged and banged and finally kicked the door over and over again for close to an hour before he finally opened the door and said "WHAT??!!" Well, the guy that stood before me was about 6' 1", heroin thin, prison tattoos, and had gold teeth. I actually hesitated for a second, but my stubborn ass wasn't going to let this go after coming this far.

I proceeded to tell him that his f'n music and his f'n pot smoking were making my life miserable and if he didn't believe it that he needed to come up to my unit and listen to what it sounds like from there so he could see what the hell I was talking about. He told me he can't come up. I asked him why not and he proceeds to lift up the leg of his pants and show me the police monitor bracelet around his ankle. Charming. OK then. But after all that, he agreed to turn down his music. And he did it. I imagine that the ankle bracelet kept me sort of safe because he couldn't really come up and kill me in the middle of the night without risking the alarm going off at police headquarters, but still.

My point is, obviously you can't call the police on someone for throwing cigarette butts onto your lawn because that is just a waste of police resources. You can't just tell her to move because we all know in this day, it is just not always that simple. I suppose she could do what I did and risk the consequences of asking them to not throw their butts in her lawn any more. But if she or the neighbors come of as confrontational, she could be putting herself and her kids in danger. I don't know if I have any better advice than what Dear Abby gave her. But I do know that I feel for her and how horrible it must be to live in a bad situation day after day and never be able to find a way out. Very few people love their job so most people will look forward to coming home at night. They look to their home as a sanctuary and a break from their lives day to day. This woman doesn't have that. Going home is no better than going to work. Perhaps she tried and for her efforts she got stuck with lousy neighbors. I am pretty darn grateful that I am not in her situation today.

3 Lobsters In To a 12 Lobster Tour

I arrived to this deployment on "lobster night". I had just gotten done with 34 hours of air travel, zero sleep and the feeling of dried salt on my cheeks from the tears cried after leaving the love of my life for the next 6 months. It was exactly 30 nights ago tonight.

After going through the drama of getting into the compound of my deployed location, and believe you me, it is DRAMA, I was finally met by the guy I replaced (whom I knew from several previous assignments) and we picked up the key to my bunk and went off to chow. As we were walking along in the dark, with the tiny desert rocks crunching beneath our feet, he says to me, "You got here on a good night. It's lobster night." I wasn't really thinking too seriously about what he said, because I really didn't know my own name by that point, but as we walked into the DFAC (military for chow hall), sure enough, there were lobster tails steaming away behind the counter. Mashed potato's and corn ON the cob too. I grabbed me a plate. This was fan-fricken-tastic. I don't have so much as a RED lobster where I live, but here I am. With real lobster tails on my plate. Oh, and lest I forget...drawn butter. GAWD!

As we sit down and I am stuffing my face with rockin' lobster I ask if we eat this good all the time? He tells me that lobster night is every other Wednesday and has been since he got there. Awesome.

A part of me is almost ashamed to admit how happy I have been since I got here. The food is good (even if it is not lobster every night) and the salad fixin's are always fresh, I have a room where I sleep that is in a solid building, I work in a place that has afforded me the opportunity to work directly with people that I would otherwise NEVER have the opportunity to work with in my career, and tonight was lobster night, yet again. What more could anyone ask? I clearly have it better than most who are deployed. Hell, I even have it better than those poor Spam-eatin' cruise ship passengers who are currently stranded out in the middle of the ocean.

Time is pretty relative. I think everyone who is deployed, happy or not, counts down the days until they can be back with the people they love again. While I am not a clock-watcher per se, I count down too. There are several ways that military people tick off the days on their calenders. Modern technology has made this pretty easy. There are several Excell spreadsheets out there that do it for you. "The Donut Of Freedom" "The Donut of Misery", "The Circle Of Freedom" etc. They all count down the days you have served, the days you have remaining, and as each day goes by a circle with a picture emerges. My picture turns from a desloate desert to a white sandy beach with each day.

But tonight as I was chatting with my love, happily telling him that it was lobster night, he was supporitvely cheerful right along with me and told me that I was now 3 lobster nights in to at 12 lobster night tour. I like his countdown clock the best. Only 9 more lobster nights to go!