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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Ben's LiveJournal:

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    Saturday, November 4th, 2006
    2:39 am
    Tuesday, May 7th, 2002
    8:40 am
    The problem I always wanted to have
     I went to the gym last night with SSG Shields and got quite the workout. It felt pretty damned good. We're supposed to do the same thing tonight. I have to remind myself next time I'm sitting in my room drinking that working out feels pretty good.

    Those chicks that Hammond and I were supposed to go out with canceled at the last minute. The girl that he likes is a nurse and she said that the hospital called her and said that they needed her to come into work. Maybe somebody called in sick or there was an overload of patients or something. I don't know. Hammond's trying to set it up again for this coming weekend, but I don't know. His plans are always so damned skethcy. They never work out. I was half expecting something like this to happen, and I honestly expect the same thing to happen this weekend. And besides, any plan that involves me finding girls is doomed to fail anyway.

    Do you know what these chicks want to do? They want to take us back to the nurse girl's apartment and cook us dinner. Of course that sounds great. But why don't they just say what they really mean? "Hey fellas, let's just skip all the intermediate steps and just go back to my place. All we really want to do is fuck, so let's quit beatin' around the bush." I swear, these European chicks sure are sexually liberated, aren't they?

    Of course, this puts me in a bad situation. I've been strong thus far (twenty-one years) and it might just be the hardest thing ever to say no if I put myself in a situation like that. Isn't this funny? It's the problem I always wanted to have. Well, we'll see. Something tells me that I'll fuck everything up and drop the ball and I won't have to worry about some German girl defiling me. I'll solve my problem through my own imcompetence.

    Current Mood: excited
    Current Music: 'Hands Clean"-- Alanis. Yes, the same song as last entry.
    Sunday, May 5th, 2002
    11:55 am
    A weekend of regret
     I committed a cardinal sin three times this weekend--I allowed myself to fall prey to regret. I've said it before-- I can't afford to walk around thinking about what I could've, would've, or should've done. One life is all I've got to live.

    Let's start with Friday night. Raymond came home late from Wurzburg because he had to drive the colonel and the sergeant major up there. He said it was the worst day of his life. That was probably an exaggeration, but it must have been pretty bad.

    The two of us hopped in a cab and headed for the Schiwmmbad as usual. I'm feeling the need for a new hangout because I'm getting really tired of that place, but I'm not really sure where else to go. It's the best club in town. Of course I could go up the road to Mannheim, Frankfurt, or Stuttgart, but I really don't ever feel like going that far.

    The night was really bad. Early on, I got myself into a dark mood. I was bitter at pretty much everything and everyone, but the female gender especially. I was really getting tired of their shit. I didn't even want to talk to any of them, because I figured 'what's the point?'. It's the same fucking routine every weekend; I get dressed up and psyched up and go home feeling pretty horrible. Mostly I just felt like going home and getting started on a really mean drinking streak.

    I kept asking Raymond to go home, but he wanted to stay. I was in a horrible mood and tired as shit. I guess I could have ditched him, but I knew he didn't have any money, so he'd have no way home, and I wasn't going to do that to him. Even if he can be a really selfish JDB (that's jock douche bag; I just came up with that acronym. What do you think?) he's still my boy. Besides, he was dancing with this one chick all night, and I was really happy about that. He seriously needs to get over his last girlfriend, Sylvia. She got in his head something fierce. In fact, that's why I think he dumped her--because was scared that she was getting her hooks in him and because he needed to prove to the world and to himself that he's a stallion and no woman can tie him down. He's been complaining lately that he's having a "dry spell" (meaning he ain't gettin' any; in fact, he hasn't gotten any since he broke up with Sylvia) but I think that the dry spell has been almost purposeful. Perhaps he's only been doing it on an unconscious level, but I think he's been getting in his own way when it comes to gettin' some.

    Toward the end of the night I did manage to cheer up a little though. I tried talking to three different chicks. The first one "didn't speak English" (quote fingers would be appropriate here), the second one (who I think was the sister of the girl that Raymond was with, but I'm not sure. There were four of these German chicks and three of them were sisters and one of them was just a friend, and I'm not sure exactly who was who) really just seemed disinterested in talking to me.

    Raymond finally decided to leave, but then that girl he was with tugged him off in some other direction. I was getting kind of perturbed when all of a sudden this really good looking girl comes over and sits near me. I said fuck it, might as well give it a try and I started talking to her and to my surprise she actually made conversation. She seemed really nice and we talked and she said she was one of the contracted guards for the American base but she mostly worked at the Heidelberg Army air field. Her name was Simone; I have to remember that in case I ever see her working, which I doubt because I never go over to the air field. I just don't have any business there.

    Eventually I ran out of things to say, and conversation trailed off. One of my buddies from the barracks was sitting next me. Yeah, we ran into Wright and Sooter down there. (Sooter claims that he's related to Johnny Cash, but I think he's full of shit. He says that his great aunt or something was born a Cash.) I turned to him and I was like "Hey Sooter, what the fuck do I say now?" "Well, ask her what's she's doing tomorrow, dude." I nod my head yes and take a few seconds to figuratively grab my balls to give myself courage.

    But I hesitated too long. That's where the regret comes in. Almost as soon as I was ready to say "hey Simone, what are you doing tomorrow?" some other American dude came over and started talking to her. I'd seen this guy before, and I think he was with this other chick who was friends with Simone, so I figured it was just freindly and that he wasn't trying to move in on her. Dammit, I saw her first. So I'm just sitting there calmly waiting for this guy to leave, when Raymond comes back over and is like "hey man, let's go."

    I considered telling him to go fuck himself. I waited for him, now he could wait for me. But then again, I was still tired as shit, and who knew how long it would take before this guy would go away? And let's face it, I pretty much expected rejection. I had no intentions of waiting around for twenty more minutes just to get slammed. So Raymond and I just went home.

    The part I regret isn't that I went home, it's that I didn't seize the moment when it came. Sometimes it's like that. I missed my chance, that's for sure.

    Yesterday Hammond and I went to Mandy's and I got some shrimp fried drice to go and he got his fried chicken (why's he always have to reinforce my stereotpes? I've never seen anybody eat so much fried chicken in my life, and sometimes I ask him why he likes it so much. "I just do", he always says. Geez, you try not to stereotpe people and then they have to go and act excactly the way you expect them to.) I lost sight of him for a second, but I knew just where to find him. On the way in he had seen these four girls in the window eating their food in the pool hall area of Mandy's and he had waved at them and they waved back and they loved him because he's black and he smiles a lot. I knew he'd be in there hitting on them.

    That's exactly where he was. I went in there and he introduced me to this one girl and gave me a look that said "come on Duff, here's your chance." He was looking out for me, as usual. A person needs friends like that. Hammond's got a lot of flaws and he pisses me off sometimes, but I can't ever seem to stay mad at him.

    But of course I dropped the ball. All I said was "hi" and then I was like "Hammond, let's go," so we left. About twenty minutes later I was kicking myself. That was regret number two for the weekend.

    Alvear from next door was throwing a big Cinco De Mayo bash in the barracks. He was down in the kitchen cookin' up a storm and people were out and about drinking in the barracks. I participated in that for a little while before Hammond and I decided to go to Los Amigos. We've been there before and we didn't really like it too much, but I figured it would be really crazy with Cinco De Mayo and all. Technically it was Cuatro De Mayo, but I don't think anybody really cared.

    So we headed over there, Hammond and I. When we got there he really pissed me off because he tried to pull some stupid shit with me. You see, Hammond never has any money (and I've never been able to figure out why. I always joke with him that he's got child support payments that he doesn't tell anyone about, but sometimes I think that might really be the reason). He spent his last dime on fried chicken. Not that it's any of my business where his money goes, but I'm fucking tired of having friends who are poor and Hammond's the worst. I'm tired of never being able to go places with Hammond unless I loan him money or just pay his way. I'm fucking sick of it, man.

    The worst part is that he knew that the place had a cover charge and he knew he didn't have any money and then he pretended that it just dawned on him when we got there. He was expecting me to say "Oh Hammond, it's okay. Here's some money." But this time I decided I just wasn't going to do it, just on principle. He needs to do something about his financial situation quit being such a leech.

    But I really didn't remember a cover charge at Los Amigos, so I said that we would go up to the door and if they wanted money then we would just go home. As it turned out, it costed three euros to get in. Three euros is chump change, but I wasn't going to give it to him because I was tired of giving him money. I can't count the amount of times I've loaned and or given him money.

    So we were riding home and we pulled up to a stop light. I was dazing off as I tend to do at a stop light when suddenly Hammond was like: "Duffy, look! It's chicks!" And indeed, through the foggy window of my car (it's been raining non-stop around this joint) I could see a taxi cab in the next lane with some German girl hanging out of it motioning for me to roll down my window. She was damn near falling out of her window with a bottle of something-or-other in her hand. This chick was ridonkulosuly drunk and she was yelling at us to follow her and her friends to the Nachtschicht (another club here in Heidelberg).

    A car load of drunk chicks? Yes, please!

    So we followed them over there and it turned out that there were three of them. The one hanging out the window was trashed as I said, but the other two seemed sober enough. The other two looked like they were probably mullato and they were twins. They were also pretty cute. I would have hooked up with either one of them and just the fact that they were twins was a big turn-on. We were standing around outside of the club and I asked them why we weren't going inside. They said they were waiting for somebody. Eventually some Turkish guy showed up (and I think it was drunk girl's boyfriend, I'm not sure) and it was like Hammond and I were old news. Pretty soon the two of us were being totally ignored as drunk girl, the twins, and Turkish guy blabbed on and on in German.

    The drunk chick and the Turkish guy disappeared inside the club for a second, but the twins didn't go with them. I really preferred their company anyway, so I hung around more outside with them. They said that they were waiting for one of their girlfriends, so that was pretty cool. More chicks! I mean, this never happens to me. Ever. The girl they were waiting for showed up and the next thing I knew they were making a mad dash for the club. I think they expected us to run after them, but I didn't really see the point considering the fact that you had to stand in line anyway. But then I saw them cut right in front of everyone and the bouncers just let them in the door.

    Well, I knew full well that the bouncers wouldn't let us do that kind of shit. Besides, Raymond claims that the bouncers there are really racist and that he never gets in when he's with any of his black friends. I don't know if that's true, but it cast a doubt on whether the two of us were going to be able to get in at all, even if we did stand in line. And again, Hammond didn't have any money, did he? That fucking bastard. So we called it quits after that, went back to the barracks and chilled for a while like we always do. But one more time I was left regretting the fact that I didn't seize the oppourtunity to talk to those twins when it was just the four of us. I barely said anything, and now I feel pretty stupid.

    There was a piss test this morning. Who's ever heard of urinalysis on a Sunday morning? I haven't. But they like to keep us on our toes. It was okay though because I was the second one to piss in a cup. After that I decided not to go back to sleep. I like when I wake up early on the weekend rather than letting the whole day go to waste.

    Hammond and I are supposed to go out with these chciks tonight. Yes, I am lame. I need all the help from my friends that I can get, because I just ain't hackin' it on my own. Isn't there a Beatles song out there that goes something like "I get along with a little help from my freinds?" Yeah, that song was written about me. I'm a bit worried about this though, because something tells me this chicks are expecting Hammond to show up with another black dude. I swear, these German bitches will do anything for the black dick. Hammond always pretends like he doesn't know that and that he just happens to meet all of these girls and they like him for who he is.

    I'm getting tired of him always giving me advice on women and making it sound so simple. He's always telling me that it's easy and that all I have to do is talk to them and ask them their name and just seem interested in what they say. Maybe that works for you Hammond, but that doesn't work for me. They don't even care what you say, Hammond. You could say anything. And there's nothing simple about picking up girls; for me it's some bizarre ritual with endless intraccies. It's really just a big game with contradictary rules that always seems to leave me on the losing end.

    But maybe I should cheer up and not be so negative. I'm already expecting these girls to be dissapointed in me (yes bitches, I am the blue-eyed devil and you can suck it if you don't like it) and I haven't even met them yet. Maybe I should adopt a positive attiude.

    I don't know. But what I do know is that I can't afford to add to my list of regrets for the weekend. If I see a good pitch I'm going to have to swing at it, am I right? And dammit, where are we going to go and what are going to do if Hammond doesn't have any money? I guess I'll be stuck paying for his ass again. You can't see or hear me right now, but I'm grumbling at that prospect.

    Check you later, loyal readership

    Current Mood: pessimistic
    Current Music: "Hands Clean"--Alanis Morrisette
    Friday, May 3rd, 2002
    4:37 pm
    A low, slow, high
     Yesterday afternoon I trekked an hour and ten minutes to Wiesbaden to meet up with Morataya and Sieranski. I was kind of worried about being late, just because I like to punctual, you know, but I guess there really was no reason. When I got up there, they were nowhere to found, so I waited around for a few minutes. And waitied, and waited and waited for forty minutes until I started to get really pissed off. I couldn't decided whether they had toally forgotten about me or they were really ditching me on purpose or what, so I sent an SMS to Sieranski asking them where the fuck they were.

    Sieranski answered back that they were still on the highway in France and that they wouldn't be into Wiesbaden for two whole hours. Needless to say, I was kind of pissed about that, and I considered just going home. I didn't though. At that point, I had already travelled an hour and ten minutes, sat around waiting forty-five, and would have to spend another hour and ten minutes driving home. That, plus the tank of gas that would have gone completely to waste convinced me to stick around for a while.

    So I was killing time. I pumped a whole bunch of quarters into the Tekken 4 machine. I was the Tekken Tag all-time grandmaster back at Fort Lewis. I shudder to think how much money I put in that damned machine. This Tekken 4 is a little different though, and I'm not so good.

    For a while I was just sitting there at one of the tables when I saw Hrubes's ex-girlfriend walking my way. She and Hrubes met when they were humvee mechanic school in South Carolina. Anyway, she's totally hot even if she is a complete head case. I mean seriously, a real fucking whack job. It isn't really evident at first, but hang out with her for a while and you'll see. Eva's a much better girlfriend. A whole lot more emotionally stable. Anyway, I saw her and I wanted to see if she'd remember me so I just sat there saying nothing. Miraculously, she did remember me and she came over and said hi. Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm a forgettable person.

    She asked what I was doing up in Wiesbaden. I said I was there to meet some girl from far, far away. She errenously assumed was some kind of romantic thing because she had this look like "awww...isn't that just the sweetest thing?" Thinking on my toes of course, I said "you know, you could make her REALLY jealous if you'd just come over and sit next to me." Come on, I thought that was fucking smooth, don't you? I was just kidding of course. Buddies' ex-girlfriends are on the no-no list. I've had experience with that. Besides, like I said, she's kind of loopy.

    Two hours passed and they still didn't show up, so I sent Sieranski another message. I told him that I couldn't wait around much longer and then awaited a response. None came for a while, so I just said fuck it, I'm going home.

    But I was hungry. I had been waiting for them so that I could offer to treat them at a restaurant. Taco Bell was right there, and even though I had sworn it off for a while, I decided to be weak. It was getting late and I really didn't know where I was going to find anything healthy anyway. Besides, have you tried those new club chalupas? They're awesome. Just as I ordered my food, I got the message. He said that he was only about twenty minutes out of Wiesbaden, so once again I decided to stick around.

    So they finally showed up and we went out to the parking lot to show off our cars. Sieranksi's got a 2002 Cavalier, but let's face it...mine's just plain sick. You can't fuck with the Opel.

    I offered to buy them dinner anyway. We went over to some little Italian place where Sieranski says he eats all the time and they got food. Then we just sat around and talked. I really expected there to be a lot of uneasiness to the whole thing, but there wasn't. I had no intense feelings of good or ill, just the low slow high of hanging out with old friends and catching up on what's going in their lives.

    She told me about what's happened to my old platoon. It's amazing how much has changed in a year, but that's life. That's especially life in the military. Nothing ever stays the same. A few examples-- SGT Garcia's in Saudi Arabia now. Most people hate Saudi, but he's got the hook up. He's over there training some civilians on something and he has his very own town house, Chevy Suburban, and computer, all courtesy of Uncle Sam. Shuty's getting chaptered, but Morataya really didn't know why. There are just too many possible reasons that he could get kicked out. I'm pretty sure it's the fat boy thing. He just doesn't meet Army body fat standards. The last time I saw Molinar he was packing his Ford Ranger full of all his earthly possesions so he could drive home to Texas and be a civilian. But the word on the street is that he joined back up and now he's in 69th Chemical company in Hanau, Germany. SSG Sexton's going to be an officer. Morataya herself is going to Korea now. And there's more too. Everything's different now.

    After dinner, we parted ways. I was about to leave and Morataya said "come back here and give me hug. I just realized we haven't ever hugged." And it's true. Not even when I left for Germany. Mostly because there was always so much uneasiness there between us. I think she thought I wanted to kill her. I guess the uneasiness is gone now, I don't know.

    She still has a hot voice. I think she'd make a hell of a phone sex operator. It's kind of little-girlish sometimes, so maybe she could work the "barely legal" line. But seriously, the whole obsession thing is long gone. I'm glad about that. I was really worried about my sanity back then. She's a really nice girl though. I hope I didn't make her sound evil in the last entry. The whole point I was trying to make is that I could see the goodness in her and yet she could just piss me off to no end with the way she acted sometimes.

    I figure maybe Sieranski and I should hang out sometime. He told me about some club in Kaiserslautern that sounded pretty cool. Get this-- it isn't a booby bar, it's a dance club, but the girls just feel free to get naked whenever and wherever they please. Show me the way, Mr. Sieranksi! I might have to go down there some night really soon. For edge-a-macational purposes only, of course.

    After that I drove home in the dark and rain. I was driving way too fast and wrecklessly for the weather conditions, but fuck it, you know? I've got one bad ass guardian angel, I know that. I only have to count my blessings to see that there's somebody up there looking out for me.

    It's still raining. It's been raining all day. Usually my mood goes straight to shit when I'm deprived of sunlight, but I'm doing okay right now. My lieutenant let me off really early today because there really wasn't anything to do. SSG Shields wants to inspect my room tonight and do some PT, so I have to go home and clean up a lot.

    It doesn't really feel like Friday, does it?

    Current Mood: hyper
    Current Music: "You're Just a Baby"-- Belle and Sebastian
    Wednesday, May 1st, 2002
    6:46 pm
    Rockin' the Jock Knot
     The following entry requires some background information to really understand, so I guess I'll have to fork over that background information first.

    Way back in the day (about a year ago) when I was just a crazy private first class at Fort Lewis, I got orders to hike my ass across post from my job in the infantry to the chemical company. It was pretty weird at first, because I had become used to my old unit. There weren't any women there; it was all schlong all the time. That was actually pretty cool sometimes, although every once in a while the testosterone level in the barracks on a Saturday afternoon would just get to me and I just wanted to get away from it all. But like I said, I got pretty used to that sort of thing.

    There was some girl in my new platoon who caught my eye named Morataya. She was a pretty little Latina girl who seemed realy sweet and had this really hot voice (not a hot accent; she spoke English just like anyone else despite the fact that her first language was Spanish. She just had a hot voice that's all).

    Eventaully I had it so bad for Morataya that I was scaring myself. I mean, I just wanted to get her out of my head, but I was helpless to do so.

    But that feeling soon went bad. Part of it was the frustration that I felt that I wanted her and couldn't have her. As I've said before, I think that sort of shit is really unprofessional in a work environment, especially in a military work environment. People need to leave that shit at home and come to work to work, you know what I'm saying?

    She also had some jock douche bag for a boyfriend who didn't treat her very well. That's pretty much the story of my life. All of the best girls always end up with all of the worst guys and for some reason these girls feel the need to come cry on my shoulder about their boyfriends like I want to hear their shit. As far as I'm concerned, it's nobody's fault but your own if you stay with the guy. Can I get an Amen?

    Her jock boyfriend used to love rolling around Fort Lewis in his Chevy Blazer, wearing a wife beater so that he could lean his bare arm out the window and show off his horribly-cliched tribal band tatooed bicep to everybody. Didn't everybody get one of those tribal band tatoos back in like '98/'99? Now I guess that anyone who got them will be marked a bandwagon jumper for life. One of my buddies called his tatoo a "jock knot" because he said all of the jocks had 'em, and we all thought that was pretty funny. After a while we just started calling him "Jock Knot" like it was his name or something. Even Morataya thought that the name was pretty funny and it was her boyfriend. I must admit however, that I was probably pinning on him all of the hate I've ever felt for all of the jock douche bags I've ever met in my whole life. Yes, I still hold high school grudges. That probably isn't fair because he never really did anything to me, but his cockiness always rubbed me the wrong way. And dammit, why do guys like that always win?! Nice guys finish last, I suppose.

    There was more to my anger though than just that. I liked her a lot, you know, and that's why she got under my skin so easily. She could drive me up the wall sometimes the way she would act. I wasn't the only guy around who liked her and many of them had no qualms about shameless flirting on the job. She'd flirt right back of course.

    She also seemed to be the recipient of a lot of special treatment. I'm not saying that she sought it out, but there was always somebody out there who was singing her praises or giving her an award or promoting her or letting her out of work to go to some much-desired school. Don't get me wrong, she was a good soldier and a hard worker, but it sometimes it just seemed that she could do no wrong. She always acted like she didn't know why everyone was always so nice to her. She'd be like "wow, isn't life grand? Everybody's just always so nice to me and does all sorts of things for me! I guess I'm just a super likeable person!" Yeah okay, honey. Pack on forty pounds or have some disfiguring accident and then see how people treat you differently. They don't like you; you're just eye candy for this company of horny dudes.

    She really knew how to push my buttons all on her own, anyway. She had a knack for seeing what people are self-conscious about and exploiting it. Then she'd take evil delight in watching you get pissed off as she teased you.

    I think that after a while she got used to being the center of attention all the time too. It got to the point where she NEEDED to be the center of attention, and she just wasn't happy until all eyes were on her. Sometimes I went out of my way to be mean to her just to tear down her ego a little.

    We still correspond by e-mail, Morataya and I. I must say, she's a lot easier to like when she's nine thousand miles away. She said in an e-mail once that she really thought that I hated her to the depths of my soul. Little did she know it was just the opposite and that I couldn't stand to see her act so stupid all of the time because I cared about her.

    I was really glad to close that whole chapter of my life back last June when I left Fort Lewis. It was just too much of an emotional rollercoaster ride. Funny thing is that old Jock Knot himself was on the plane ride over here with me because we were both coming to Germany at the same time. I hear he's in Baumholder. I bet he's still rocking the Jock Knot out the Blazer window too.

    Jock Knot had a roommate and friend who came to Germany about a month before that named Sieranski. Sieranski was a really cool guy though. He really had his shit together, but he wasn't an egomaniac. He always seemed the strong silent type to me, and there's something to be said for that. I'm pretty sure that all of the girls wanted his dick, but he never let on that he knew. He's also a good New England boy (Rhode Island) and he's familiar with the words 'wicked' and 'package store', so he's all right in my book.

    Enough background information. Let's cut to the chase.

    Anyway, I was taking a leak down in the bathroom last night when my phone beeped that I had one of those cell phone text message things. I don't know what they're called in America (because I never had a cell phone in America) but here in Europe we call them SMS. So I had an SMS, and I pulled it out of my pocket (mid-wazz) and it said "hey Duffy, it's Sieranski. I used to b with you at Lewis."

    Yeah, that caught me by surprise. I had no idea how he could have gotten my number, especially since I only got my phone like two weeks agao. Well I read the rest of the message and it said that he and Morataya were hanging out in Paris and that she wanted to talk to me. So I called him up and I talked to him and Morataya for a second (and her voice is still sexy) and we planned to all meet up in Wiesbaden tomorrow at Taco Bell (my idea) and hang out.

    It's just so weird for people to call you up from out of the blue like that. I didn't even know that Morataya was in the same hemisphere and I never thought I'd run into Sieranski again. It's still so bizarre.

    It took me a second to realize that I sent my new cell phone number out to damn near everyone who corresponds with me via e-mail in one mass sending. I just checked every name in my address book, knowing full well that most all of them would never call me and not caring if they did or didn't. Morataya was one of those people I thought would not be calling me.

    I was telling Hammond this and his face lit up and he said "you gonna hit them skins?" (That's Hammond's way of saying "Are you going to have intercourse?") That's Hammond for you. No Hammond, I really really doubt it. There are so many reasons why, but I know full well that I'm meeting her tomorrow as a friend and that's all.

    I bet she's with Sieranski. I mean, come on, she flew nine thousand fucking miles for this guy. What's up with that? Well, if she is, I think that's pretty damned cool. It's nice to see nice people come together. Anybody would be better than Jock Knot. If they're just pals, that's cool too.

    I know it's been less than a year, but it does seem like eons ago that I left Fort Lewis. I've noticed that when things change as fast as they do in my fast paced exciting life, a year ago can seem like forever. So much has happened, so it's really a blast from the past for me.

    Battalion run this morning. I should have done better, I think. I'm still trying to get back into shape after going on leave and shamming out in Wiesbaden for two weeks, but I did okay. There were gale-like winds in my face the entire way out, and then as soon as we turned around and started to run back, the winds died down. Ain't that always the way it works?

    I lost my wallet today for like an hour. It was horrible. My whole life is in there. I was sweating it, I tell you. You never realize how fucked you would be without your wallet until you lose it. It turned out that I left it in the bathroom and somebody picked it up.

    I have a reputation for losing and forgetting things. It's always the way I've been. I guess it's just absent-mindedness, but it can make your life so painful sometimes. I'm always losing my glasses or my keys, and today I lost my wallet. I was so angry with myself, because I knew it was my fault alone.

    Daniela went home yesterday. I know because she told me she was leaving Germany on the last day of April because that's when the contract she had with the family she works for (she's a nanny) runs out so that's how long she got her visa for. Somebody smack men for even talking about her. She should be the last thing on my mind right now. I would like to say though, just for the record, that I don't have any hate in my heart for her. I think she did me wrong, but I don't hate her.

    Current Music: "What I can Do for You" (Unsure of title)-Sheryl Crow
    Saturday, April 27th, 2002
    2:13 pm
    The third wheel
     Hrubes came back from Montana yesterday, so that was cool. I was over at his barracks just chilling when Eva (his girlfriend, but any loyal reader of my life story knows that) came over with her freind Betty (hot mama, see previous entries) and her boyfriend Callahan (previous roommate of Cron, who asked to be moved because Cron is off his fucking rocker).

    They were all going to Heppenheim to hang out with Eva's parents who were taking everyone out to dinner. I kind of got the feeling that I wasn't invited, so I kind of stepped out really fast. Not that I was offended or anything. I was feeling sort of third-wheelish anyway (or fifth wheelish, you might say because there were two guys, two girls, plus me with my dick in my hand). I know all about being the third wheel, and it sucks. Trust me, you'd rather just get on your merry way than be all uncomfortable all night.

    Besides, I had a feeling that after a long sojurn in Montana, Hrubes and Eva were probably going to want to rub their happy spots together at some point during the night. It wouldn't surprise me at all if they did it at her parents house. Europeans are like that. It's kind of funny; they're really uninhibited when it comes to sex. Their attitude is just kind of like, "sure, you can fuck my daughter ANYTIME!" So where was I going to be while all that was happening? Yeah, so I mashed it out of there.

    Then Hammond and I hung out. Raymond wanted us to go to the club. I told him I wanted to get up early to go running, Hammond just wanted to chill. We rented Kingpin, which I've seen before but he hasn't. Pretty funny stuff. At some point during the night I decided that sobriety can lick my balls and I poured myself a drink. I didn't drinkl too much, and I still got up ansd ran this morning, but I didn't maintain complete sobriety.

    Here's some good conversation that occurred in Hammond's hoopty BMW on the way back from getting Kingpin:

    Hammond: "What do you say we dedicate next weekend to straight pussy?"
    Me:"What's wrong with this weekend, Hammond?"
    Hammond: "No. This weekend is dedicated to ass. And last weekend was dedicated to tail."

    Hammond said he'd cover for me on the twenty-sixth, but Hammond isn't very reliable. I'm considering asking someone just in case he tries to back out at the last minute. We'll see.

    Raymond went to the club without us and boy was he bombed. I know when my roommate has gone over the dege, and he was over the edge last night. And you know what kills me? He says that there were two girls there last night who were totally digging him. I don't doubt it one bit, because that always happens when he goes out. But why? Fuck, he was a bumbling drunken idiot last night and he still does so much better than I would ever do on my best night. Can you taste the jealousy?

    I need to do something today. I need to go somewhere. Maybe on foot, on train, in a car, or on my thumb. I'm not sure yet. We will have to see.

    Current Mood: optimistic
    Current Music: 'Dancing Queen"--Abba
    Friday, April 26th, 2002
    5:10 pm
    All of those chalupas catching up with me
     It's Friday now. I guess I should be happy. Not that I'm not looking forward to two days off, but it's been one of the worst Fridays on record. Today's the twenty-sixth, not the thirteenth, but twenty-six is two times thirteen. So the way I figure it, it's twice as bad.

    I had a PT test this morning. While I was away on leave, someone was looking through the records and discovered that I was way overdue for a PT test, so I had to take one this morning. Making me take a PT test after fifteen days of leave and two weeks in Wiesbaden is kind of fucked up if you ask me. But then again, they didn't ask me, so that just about settles that.

    I won't get into the details, because I'm not very proud of this PT test. Let's just say that I passed, but it wasn't pretty. I haven't done that badly since...I don't know, like basic training? Yeah. Then there was the weigh-in. Same sceanrio; I passed, but it wasn't pretty. I guess all of those chalupas are catching up with me. Not to mention the hard cider, the rindcurry mit kokonussmilch, the special sausage sandwiches, and the tacos espeziales. What about the hefeweizen? That shit's like nine thousand calories a glass. Germany's been good to me, but it hasn't been very good FOR me.

    But it isn't where you are, it's where you're going. There's another PT test in three weeks. I just had to take this one because I was so overdue. So I have a chance to redeem myself, and I know I can do a lot in three weeks. Now all I have to do is discipline myself. I'll have to put Taco Bell on hold for a while and (gasp!) maybe even quit drinking (so much). besides the fact that alcohol can make you fat, it also takes away all motivation to get my ass out of the bed and work my body. So even though it's Friday night, I might just have to maintain some level of sobriety. Dammit, this sucks.

    Work sucked too. Not even close to the worst day I've ever had, but still a drag. My boss, SSG Shields, is on leave, so I have to do both our jobs. Every month we have to prepare a report for the general on the corps's chemical defense equipment. Normally that's SSG Shields's job, but I guess now it's mine. It's just such a pain in the ass.

    I got my car washed today at lunch when there wasn't a cloud in the sky. When I left work this afternoon it was pouring rain. Figures.

    Besides all of that, I have to work on the twenty-sixth of May, which is when my aunt is flying all the way over from the states to see me. It's also a Sunday in the middle of a four day weeekend. As you would imagine, I'm trying to get someone to cover for me because I can't have my aunt fly all the way over here and just say "hey, I gotta work. Hope you like Germany!". No, that would just not do. Except nobody else wants to take my duty either. I asked Mendoza (yeah, the same Mendoza who walks around everywhere like she wants to be defiled in a major way) if she would cover for me if I paid her thirty bucks. She said okay, and then backed out of the deal a half hour later. She forgot she was going on the trip to Spain that BOSS organized (BOSS= Better Oppourtunities for Single Soldiers; Nice organization with a somewhat self-explanatory name). Raymond's going too. I have a feeling that a lot of people are going to tell me to go fuck myself because they're going to Spain. But I have a month to find somebody, so wish me luck.

    What's the good news? The good news is that I think good buddy Hrubes comes back from leave today. When I came home last week I went looking for him and one of the guys over at his barracks told me that he went back to Montana on vacation and that he wouldn't be back until the twenty-sixth. I'll have to go looking for him again. That mo'fo is like my best friend over here in Germany, and I really miss him in a manly, completely heterosexual sort of way. Not that you needed that sort of disclaimer or anything. But I can't get all tore-up drunk and stay out late with him because I have to get up early tomorrow and go running before it gets too hot.

    Bible study is off for tomorrow. Hammond says that he saw what's-her-name (blue jeans girl who was looking for the drunk drivers last weekend. You know who I'm talking about. Polezzee, yeah that's her name) with some dude and he's pretty sure it's her husband 'cause she's got a big old rock on her finger. But oh well, I ain't swetain' it. The whole thing was Hammond's idea anyway.

    Current Mood: awake
    Current Music: "Ms. Jackson" --Outkast? Ludicris? Unsure. I'm such a honky.
    Tuesday, April 23rd, 2002
    6:44 pm
    Cranberry vodka, Jack Spratt, and the marriage made in hell.
     I was pretty much wiped out after work yesterday, so I went directly home and decided to take a nap. Okay, that's not entirely true, I actually went to Taco Bell in Mannheim first to stuff my face. But after that, I went home and crashed out.

    I fully intended to wake up after an hour and a half, but when my alarm clock went off, I just said "fuck it, reset it and sleep on till the morning."

    But then I became haunted by bad dreams. Not really nightmares per se, just dark and uncomfortable dreams. I woke up at around twelve thirty and found myself unable to go back to sleep. Maybe it was the grilled stuft burritos giving me the bad dreams, I don't know.

    I tossed and turned for a long time in bed, just thinking. I thought mostly about girls; not neccesarily about sex, although it probably did cross my mind a few times (isn't like every nine seconds or something?). But seriously, I just sat there thinking about the female of the species. They're really fucking weird. I mean, I'm weird, but they're just really fucking WEIRD. I've got girls on the brain, I tell you. That's probably normal and healthy for a guy my age, I suppose. Let's hope so.

    Finally I got up and mixed myself up a mug of cranberry juice and Finlandia cranberry vodka. I went down the hall so as not to disturb Raymond, and drank my drink while reading my autobiography of Johnny Cash. Did you know he was an amphetemine junkie in the sixties and a morphine junkie in the eighties? I think the vodka did the trick, because when I finished it, I slept like the dead until the morning.

    At nine I had to go to another one of those boring ass chemical conferences over at the Pavillion. I swear, we never run out of conferences here in Heidelberg. Anyway, they were unveiling all of the new cool equipment that we're going to be getting here in Europe pretty soon. Actually none of it is really that new, it's just that our troops in Europe always seem to be last priority to get new equipment. It's kind of ass backwards of course, because we're the closest to some of the world's biggest hotspots, and often get called first to go there (the Balkans, the Middle East).

    But anyway, I ran into some folks there whom I knew. The first was SFC Smith, formerly known as (the man, the myth) Drill Sergeant Smith. He's working for some engineer brigade in Schweinfurt now. I haven't seen him since those long ago days in Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri (or Fort Losst-in-the-Woods, Misery, take your pick). I was dissapointed to hear that he's going to get out of the Army after this enlistment because he's just so frustrated with the military. Don't get me wrong; I feel the same way, and I'm going to do the same thing, but it's just sad how so many of the best soldiers get burnt out and leave. I think SFC is a real assest to the Army, and he's going to be a real loss when he walks away.

    SFC Smith also seemed to have a bit of a gut on him too, which is funny because he was always so fucking skinny and he LOVED to pick on the fat privates. Public humiliation was one of his favorites. He'd say things like, "Private Duffy," he'd give an amused little snort, "LARGE, and definitly NOT in charge." And then he'd make up cadences while were doing pushups or side stradle hops (jumping jacks to you civilians) or whatever and he'd be like "Private LaForge, you are lethargic". Another one was, "You! Yes, you! You need to lose some FAT! Not some weight, you need to lose some FAT!" And then we'd go into the chow hall and he'd come out with a huge plate of food and scarf it all down in front of all of our starving asses and he'd never gain a pound. I guess the funniest part of all was that we got a look at his wife one time, and she was a whole lotta woman. I mean those two were like Jack and Mrs. Spratt.

    But I guess that beer and schnitzel can make anybody fat. I've put on a few pounds since arriving in Germany. Bust mostly, I'd say that I've gotten flabby in the mind more anything. I used to be straight killer, I tell you. I was one hundred percent soldier. I was also completely fucking miserable, but I was still one hundred percent soldier. These days, I'm so much more chill. I feel almost like a civilian in a uniform.

    I sure know how to bitch, don't I? Here I am complaining that I have it too good. Well fuck it, maybe I'll just be happy about it. So here goes, I'm going to proclaim it to the world--I'm livin' large and I'm proud of it. I mean really, it don't get much better than this.

    I also ran into Chung, one of my buddies from Fort Lewis. When I saw him, the first thing he said was "oh man, I need a cigarette so bad." Yeah, that's the same Chung I used to know, smoking like a chimney until he runs out of money and then walking around being all irratible.

    I asked Chung how his wife was just so I could hear those three magic words--"we're getting divorced". That's exactly what he said too, and it took every bit of my self restraint not to say "I told you so". Man, his marriage was just so made-in-hell, and so dumbass-soldier-gettin-married-way-too-young-for-all-the-wrong-reasons. But we told him that a year ago before he tied the knot, and he didn't listen. Then he went off to Germany and left her, and next thing we knew she was pulling up to the barracks in his car, doing heaven knows what behind closed doors.

    My assesment of the situation (and I'm not alone on this one) was that that private lost his doggone mind when he got laid the first time. Yeah, he met this chick (who actually worked at Taco Bell, by the way) and then they were snogging and he was coming into work with hickies on his neck and a big grin on his flat, Korean face. Pretty soon he couldn't stop talking about her and we just wanted to smack him and tell him to shut up. Then, after like two and a half months, they got married. But then Chung found out that they would make him stay longer in Germany (and thus longer in the Army) if he brought a dependent with him. He didn't like that, so he left her (with his beloved Honda, which she crashed by the way) back in Washington. What an idiot.

    Other than that, nothing much is new. I've been thinking a lot about college now. Perhaps I should refocus myself and remember that I'm still in the Army for another year and three months. But still, I think that I'm also going to apply to the University of Vermont and Brigham Young. Both have geography programs.

    I'm still fabulously rich. Yeah, Robin Leech is coming by the barracks next week to check out my pad. No, but seriosuly, it is nice to have money. I just wish I had somebody to spend my money ON. Okay, that last remark was corny, but it was the truth.

    So much to do, so little time. I have to go running tonight. I'm waiting for it to cool off a little bit more.

    Current Mood: Feeling like I need to wazz.
    Current Music: "You Know My Wandering Days Are Over"--Belle and Sebastian
    Sunday, April 21st, 2002
    11:46 am
    I went down swinging
     Upon arriving in Germany, I felt the need to get reacquanted. I hopped in my Opel (which started right up by the way. Don't tell me she don't love me, cause I know she does, doggonit!), and cruised down the autobahn to Taco Bell. I was having withdrawl symptoms back home from lack of chalupas. No, I'm just kidding. I actually almost forgot about Taco Bell entirely.

    That was lunch. For dinner, I went over to Mandy's. Nar was there. She brought me my food, smiled, and said hi. All of the standard shit. Oh man, what am I going to do about that woman? Absolutely nothing, I suppose. I figure that I must be barking up the wrong tree here.

    I was actually trying to get some sleep in that night, to recover from the jetr lag a little, but that pursuit soon proved to be futile. The guys in the barracks were having a big party. There was one room with a keg of Heidelberger on tap, and another room with every type of hard liquor known to man, and somebody put up crazy red lights in the hall. It was mostly a sausage party, but there were a few girls there.

    So I figured that I might as well join them if I wasn't going to sleep. I hung out to the side with my keg cup, kind of quiet. I really don't hang out with many of the guys in the barracks. I think most of them are fucking morons and have no desire for their company whatsoever. There are exceptions, of course.

    Mendoza was there. Just to refresh your memory, Mendoza was the girl who went with me to the bar on Saint Paddy's Day. Yeah, her situation hasn't changed a bit. She's still pretty damn cute, and she still works with me, she still has a hot accent, and she's still causing some sort of internal conflict inside of me. I'm trying to see her as a soldier, but no matter how I try, I keep seeing her as a girl. Yeah, pretty weird. Raymond once said: "Mendoza? Yeah, she's a virgin, but she walks around this place like she desperately wants to get fucked."

    I'd say that's a fair assesment of the situation. I really don't know anything about her sexual history, nor do I know what's in her head, but that is the way it seems. She has a strange innocence about her, but it always seems like she's just dying to lose that innocence. I have no doubt that somebody around here will take it off of her hands soon enough, if someone hasn't already. I mean, if the girl wants some deep-dicking, she's going to get it, no? I'm definitly not the man for the job because my mother raised me better than that. But still, she is enough to make a fellow like me go "hmm..."

    I woke really late yesterday. Must have been the jet lag or something. Hammond and I got a pizza and rented Zoolander. Yeah, that movie sucked. I really didn't have super high expectations for it, but I figured it couldn't be that bad because Ben Stiller (it's all about the Benjamins, baby) is in it, and he's pretty good. I was wrong. It was awful.

    After that, we headed over to the Schwimmbad Musik Club. Yeah, that's the regular haunt. Hammond and I got split up for most of the night. He was down on the second floor watching the reggae band and I was up on the main dance floor. I've said it once and I'll say it again--German girls are fucking hot. The place was packed full of ridonkulously good looking women. Even an average girl who would almost blend into the background and look sort of plain-janeish is still totally hot. Unreal.

    For most of the night I just sat there all quiet, paralyzed with fear. I swear, I must have some sort of disorder or something. Either that or I'm just a walking vagina, I'm not sure which. I just have no courage when it comes to talking to women. Funny, isn't it? I'm not afraid of guns, C4, chemical warfare agents, hitchhiking, picking up hitchhikers, or traveling alone in Europe, but I am afraid of girls. All night I saw girl after girl whom I really wanted to go talk to and never did.

    Then Hammond came up from the second floor, and I think he gave me a boost of confidence. We were just chillin' there, right and I saw this really outstandingly gorgous girl. She looked so good that she even stood out there at the Schwimmbad where damn near all of the girls look good. Of course I thought she was totally out of my league, but then I remembered my good buddy Greg Seligman and his girlfreind from Assumption (the totally gorgeous one). I asked myself how he got her, and then it struck me. It was so simple. He reached down, grabbed his manhood, and went and did the deed. He also got really fucking lucky, but he wasn't afraid of a little rejection, and that's really the point.

    Anyway, this beatiful girl was sitting there at a table with one of her girlfriends who happened to be rather large. Then the idea came to me. I was like, "Hey Hammond, look! There are two of use, and there are two of them, so let's go talk to them. Except I get the really hot chick, and you get to talk to the big girl. What do you say, Hammond? Come on, take one for the team, will you? I'm sure she's got an awesome personality!"

    Hammond agreed, so we both walked over there. The only problem was that he started hitting on the really hot girl instead of the big-boneded one. I was thinking to myself "Wait a second, Hammond! That's not the way it's supposed to work. You're supposed to talk to the fat girl. No deviation from the plan is authoprized, fuckface." I just sort of stood to the side and watched Hammond work his magic. I totally expected her to melt into his arms as all of the girls do, but she didn't. A minute or so later he came back. I asked him what happened. "Oh, she doesn't speak English," he shrugged. I've gotten that one before. Knowing what I know about the German education system, I find that very hard to believe, but oh well. It's just another one of those let-you-down-easy rejection devices. If a girls says she doesn't speak English, it usually means "yes, I speak English quite well, I'm just not interested so please go away and leave me alone."

    But I was feeling courageous. A few minutes later, in another corner of the Schwimmbad, I turned to my right and saw a cute looking Arayan babe standing there looking all lonely. I approached her started to talk to her. She answered my questions in as few words as possible and kept lloking away from me. Dammit, I hate that. After about two minutes of trying to make conversation (and failing miserably), I left her alone. I guess it's just the way it makes you feel when they act like that. It makes you feel all perverse, like you're doing something wrong, you know? For crying out loud, I'm a young guy trying to meet a young girl, what's so wrong about that? It's girls like that make you want to put your fucking fist through a wall.

    I retreated, like I said. So Hammond and I were just chillin' there, and then I saw another girl behind me, at roughly my seven o'clock. There she was, cute as hell, and looking alll lonely like she really needed a friend. I commanded myself to get back on that horse. After a few minutes of wrestling with myself, I went over and talked to her.

    This girl was a lot better. I didn't get the feeling that she was particularly interested in me, but she didn't make me feel like a creep either. Her English wasn't very good, and think she was a little bit embarrassed about that, but I didn't mind. I think she would have talked a little bit more if she hadn't been so self conscience about her English skills. I asked her if I could call her, and she said no. Then she showed me her hand, and there was ring on her ring finger. "I am married," she said.

    Oh shit, my bad. Yes, I do believe that marriage is sacred. I thanked the lady for her time, did an about-face and marched right back from where I came from. No sense in messing with married chicks. But dammit, she was just so adorable. Why'd she have to go and get married?

    About that time, one of Hammond's buddies came along. I swear, Hammond knows fucking everybody. It's because he's so damned charismatic and outgoing. He makes friends so easily. Anyway, this guy was a guard at the American bases here in Heidelberg, and Hammond knows all of the guards so he knew this guy. Then this guy starts motioning to me, and then motioning to this totally hot girl and back and forth and back and forth. I figured he wanted me to meet his friend. Turns out that he never met this girl in his life, he just thought that I should go talk to her, which I did.

    This girl was pretty damned cool too. Her English was a lot better, and I almost sensed that she was interested. She was really friendly and all. After asking her name, I was like "you aren't married, are you?" She laughed. No, she said. "She is," I said, pointing to the other girl that I was hitting on like five minutes before. "I know. I am with her." Yeah, turns out that they were friends. When I asked her if I could call her she told me she wasn't married, but she did have a boyfreind.

    So that was three strikes, and I was out. I finished my Hefeweizen feeling pretty good. At least I went down swinging, right? Just like back in rec league baseball, there ain't no shame in striking out as long as you went down swinging. You can't just satnd up there and watch the pitches go by, am I right?

    Hammond and I left after that, and we gave his buddy (the guard) a ride home because he wasn't really fit to drive. That guy lived quite a ways out of our way, so I had plenty of time on the ride home to ponder the events of the night. Suddenly I wasn't so happy anymore. Sure, I went down swinging, but what the fuck does that mean? Ain't no shame in it, but it's nothing to be really proud of either. When am I going to step up to the plate and smash a home run? When am I going to really hit it off with some really awesome girl? Fuck, I was pissed.

    On the way through the gate to Patton Barracks (where I live), there was a young female MP checking for drunk drivers. Hammond knew her too (because Hammond knows everybody) and they talked for a second. Her name was Polezzee, but I didn't get a really good look at her, but I guess I should have because Hammond said she was totally hot.

    The two of us studs went back to the barracks anc cooked up some Velveeta and Shells with the high speed packets of little broccolli bits. Then we sat there getting our grub on, and the whole time Hammond just couldn't stop talking about Polezzee. Apparently he knows her from my Bibble study and he was really positive that she was right for me. "Duffy, you've got to come to Bible Study next week to meet this girl. She'a good Christian woman, and I think that's what you need. Plus, you have got to see her in a pair of blue jeans."

    Well, I couldn't agree more. Seriosuly, I think I do need a good Christian woman. And looking good in a pair of blue jeans is a plus too. I said that I'd go to Bible study with Hammond next weekend.

    So I'm going to Bible study to pick up chicks. Yes, I am fully aware that I'm going to burn in hell.

    Humorous bit of conversation with Hammond:
    Hammond:"Duffy, I'm telling you, when you see this girl you're just going to say 'God Damn!'"
    Me: "Hammond, you can't take the Lord's name in vain at frieking Bible study."
    Hammond:"It ain't in vain. God made her, right?"

    I guess you had to be there. It was hilarious.

    I got up early today for some reason. I'm weird like that. I only got like three and a half hours of sleep last night, but I feel fine. I went to church this morning. Now I'm wondering what to do today. I'll probably go to the gym. Then I figure that I'll go walking down the river because it's warm out and there will probably be topless chicks out there. I also have to clean my room. Not really looking forward to that, but it's definitly substandard at the moment.

    'Till then, peace out mo'fo's.

    Current Mood: happy
    Current Music: "You Never Met a Motherfucker Quite Like Me"--Kid Rock
    Wednesday, April 17th, 2002
    11:39 pm
    Home is where the heart is
     It's back to the Fatherland tomorrow. And even though Germany is fun as hell, I'm really not looking forward to it. I'm feeling like a civilian, and for once I'm feeling like I am at home. This trip has made me understand two things-- first, that Western Massachusetts is definitly not where it's at, and second, that it's still home no matter what.

    Not to bring up the name Daniela (the 'D' word), but this does kind of remind me of her situation. She left Bulgria for a better life in Germany, for a higher standard of living, but Bulgaria would always be home. I could tell that she always yearned for a place not-so-alien, where she could find people and things she could relate to. Well, I'm not Bulgarian, but I understand.

    Which leads me to my next thought-- where should I go to college when I'm done? It's not so far off now, and it's time to start making some decisions. My desired major kind of thins out the pack. Very few schools offer four year degrees in the field that I want to pursue.

    So I've narrowed it down to three choices: UMass (Um...ass?), Plymouth State in New Hampshire, and the University of Washington. All of these have their advantages and disadvantages. But strictly on the basis of distance from home, they can be weighed individually. UMass is in my own backyard (which is cool), U Dub (that's the University of Washington, in case you didn't know) is so very far away on the West Coast (which is cool), and Plymouth State is somewhere in the middle (which is cool). So now it's time to make painful decisions again. I guess it would help if I weren't such a walking fucking contradiction. All my life, I've had contradictory feelings on everything. So should I stay with what's familiar or should I strike out on my own to somewhere somewhat alien? Washington isn't too foriegn to me of course, considering the fact that I lived there for a year and a half. But still, I'll be damned near all alone out there. My incle lives there in Seattle, but that's just not the same.

    Home is where the heart is, I guess. I can make a new home wherever I want to make it. But there would always be the painful transition process of it all.

    After a big meat 'n' potatoes dinner with the fam tonight, I hung out with Ernie. We went to three package stores looking for Woodchuck Hard Cider before we found it at Phipp's in Westfield. For some reason Ernie has a personal problem with Phipp's and only agreed to go there after he got tired of looking elsewhere. He didn't tell me why. I can only imagine. We're talking about Ernie here.

    Memorable bit of conversation that occured while we were between package stores:

    Me: "So are you metting any girls at Westfield State?" (Ernie's college)
    Ernie: "Yeah, there's one, but I'm not really sure if I want to pursue her."
    Me: "Why not, Lempke?"
    Ernie: "Well, because I'm kind of after this other chick who goes to Worcster Sate. I asked her if she wanted to go out. I'm not really sure if she understood me, because she said yes."

    Oh Ernie, you're a fucking hoot!

    Once I finally got my beloved cider (one six pack of regular Woodchuck, one six pack of that awesome Granny Smith cider), we went over to see Geoff Metcalf. I really had a problem with that guy for a while back in high school, but he seems all right now.

    So we were shooting the shit over there, gettin' our drink on. Everyone was being vulgar and talking about penises and vaginas (and encounters betwen the two), and it was all pretty standard issue. Metcalf's out of college now, but I don't think that he knows that. From the sounds of his stories, he still hangs around the college parties trying to get laid.

    Yeah, Southwick is depressing. But like I said, there's no place like home, there's no place like home...

    I'm supposed to go to breakfast tomorrow with the family. After that, it's time to step on the plane and fly back across that pond. It's been fun, and I wish I could stay longer, but I can't.

    I've got some really liquid plans for the weekend. I figure I'll head down to Baden-Baden just to check it out. It's the richest city in Germany, and home of the oldest casino in Europe. I hear it's like Monte Carlo without the beach. Could be cool. We'll see.

    Current Mood: thoughtful
    Current Music: "I'm Like a Bird"--Nelly Furtado
    Tuesday, April 16th, 2002
    11:15 am
    Dead with a smile on my face
     If I were a hunter, I'd starve to death. If I were a pilot, I'd crash and die in a giant, all-consuming, fireball. But I'd die smiling.

    Let me explain. Yesterday was pretty uneventful (just cruisin' in Ma's Van, making dangerous lane changes on the highway only to realize that Ma's Van is a lot bigger than my little Opel, looking for a carton of Kamel Reds for my buddy Hrubes because you can't get those in Germany) until about late afternoon.

    That's when I suddenly got a miracle infusion of courage and decided to call some girl named Mary who used to hang with my sister back in high school. Anyway, I think Mary's really pretty, and she's definitly a sweetheart, and for some reason I almost think that her parents (particularly her mom) like me. Don't they know that I'm an asshole?

    So I called her and was like "So, you want to go out tonight?" I was nervous as all hell. My fucking glasses were getting fogged up, if you can believe it. I'm just a sally, I guess. As best buddy Greg would say "Doofer, will you quit being such a gaping fucking lovehole!"

    She said that she was going to the movies with her parents (they're a really tight-knit group over there at their house) but afterwards would be fine. So I asked her to call me when she got back with the fam.

    Of course I should have felt really happy. I was a little bit happy, I suppose, that I had even called her, because that wasn't easy to do. But somehow I knew that something was really wrong here. I was right.

    Mary did call me back. She said that her family had decided to extend their little family outing by going out to eat and then visiting Gramma. So I asked her what she was doing the next day. "Oh, I'm working tommorrow night. Yeah, you know me, a real working girl."

    Yeah, Mary. We sure are busy aren't we? Just busy, busy, busy.

    Okay, well there's a good possibility that she was telling the truth. Like I said, her family's big on a family outings like that. But still, I've heard variations of that line a million times before. I mean, FUCK...insult my intelligence a little more, will you? I know that the "I'm busy" routine is probably just letting you down easily and that it's probably better than being really rude and cracking up laughing or whathaveyou. But still, it only really serves to innocuate the whole thing when the rejectee really believes the line.

    But I still clung to a little bit of my sense of triumph for even calling her up. No more could've/would've/should've, am I right? Life is entirely too short for regrets. So there I was, all dressed up with no place to go, but still not entirely sour on life. My little sister Maureen asked me if I was going somewhere. I kind of snapped on her a little and was like "No! What would make you think that?" "Well you're dressed kind of nice," she said. "I'm just a fuckin' stud that's all, okay?" I said.

    I didn't feel much like a stud.

    But anyway, it really didn't matter, I suppose. In fact, it's better this way. I also had a feeling that she was going to try some sort of "let's-just-be-freinds" routine even if we had gone out. It's not that I was trying to get in her pants or anything, so I figured it probably would have been a lot like two friends going out, but that's beside the point. The point was that I wanted it to be more like me taking a girl out than two friends going out. Can you see the massive distinction here?

    Anyway, fuck it, fuck it all.

    So Maureen (my youngest sister) went out and rented a movie. She got Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, which is probably one of the worst movies I've seen in a while. Not that there weren't a few funny parts, but I'm glad I didn't pay eight bucks to see it at the theater. I'd probably charge the ticket booth afterward demanding my money back.

    But there were these four really hot girls in the movie who pick up Jay and Silent Bob when they're out hitchhiking. Why do I always get picked up by smelly people with teeth that jut out of their heads and weirdos who shave their heads so that you can see the tatoos on their scalps? I have never been picked up in van with four hot chicks. Never.

    But the point is that these four hot chicks really set me to thinking. I thought that maybe I should just go back to Germany and find some really dirty, nasty slut and take her back to the room and do all sorts of things to her. And really, why even wait to get back to Germany? Why not just call up some slut I knew from high school and be like "So (insert name) are you still turning tricks? 'Cause, you know, I've heard you'll do anything with anyone."

    But no. No I wouldn't do that. That ain't me. Eventually I just drank a few glasses of ruby red grapefruit juice and grain alcohol and turned in. The Ruby red and GA is pretty good, You should try it some time.

    Current Mood: bored
    Current Music: "Midnight Train to Memphis"--Kid Rock
    Monday, April 15th, 2002
    10:41 am
    Rugby and Booze
     I've been busy here lately. I'll give you a brief summary of the events of the last few days.

    Thursday: Mother Dearest and I rallied up to Amherst to see Kathleen play rugby again against some club team from Springfield. There were a whole bunch of injuries, and my mom kept getting all nervous that they were beating up her baby. Springfield won, but Kathleen says that's onnly because they put their best players up against UMass's worst players.

    We went to dinner after that--me, my mom, my dad, my sister, one of her friends from the rugby team, and K's roommate, Beth. With just minutes to spare, I tore out of that place in ma's van (I think I should start capitalizing it now. It almost seems like a proper noun, you know, like "Ma's Van".) and jammed over to the package store. Yes, I am from New England and I will probably say 'package store' until the day I die. I went in, got some cider, and a fifth of rum that was for a later date Kathleen said. Then we returned to Kathleen's room.

    Her friend from rugby didn't want to hang out so it was just me, my sister, and Kathleen's roommate. We didn't do anything really spectacular, but I'm sure that a good time was had by all. Sort of a quiet night of drinking and shooting the shit. Kathleen trips me out and Beth's pretty cute, so that was cool.

    In the morning, I was supposed to go over to the admission office and ask them some questions. I tried to avoid this by just calling the admission department because I really don't like people. I don't really like people on the phone either, but face-to-face is even worse. Yes, I am a misenthrope, and it's really becoming a problem in my life, you know? But it soon became abundantly obvious that the phone was getting me nowhere, so I drove up there to the admissions department and got some good info that made me feel a lot better. Seriously, geography really is a good career field for me, I think. I was just bitching and compliaing the other day because I want what I want, and I want it NOW. Yes, it's very childish, and I think I should be a little bit more grateful of the oppurtunities that I have. There are plenty of people in this world whose prospects are much more limited.

    Then it was time to go meet Aundria at KFC. Aundria gave me the tour of Hampshire College, which was everything I expected it to be. In case you didn't know, Hampshire College is a very expensive, very liberal college in Amherst, Massachusetts. Its known for its hippies, artsy-types, and left-wing radicals. Yeah, the whole place was nauseating, but I was prepared for it you know. It didn't come as some big shock to me that there were hippies out watering their "communal gardens" ('communal'? Isn't that word related to communist? Why, yes it is!) and hippies spinning around in circles on the grass because it was a beatiful day (yeah, I'm sure she wasn't on anything).

    A whole bunch of my old crowd showed up and we went to dinner at Judie's in Amherst. Then we came back to Aundria's place and got drunk (well, maybe that was just me) while talking about The Old Days. Of course, The Old Days weren't that long ago, we're young and so each year seems like an eternity. Also, I suppose, it seems like such a long time ago because things have changed so much. Nostalgia is okay every once and a while, I guess, but should be kept to a minimum. It can become a disease if you let it. For reals dog, the time is now and the place is here. I'll sit around being nostalgic when I'm old and tootheless, staring at whitewashed nursing home walls and I really don't have anything better to do. Until then, I'm going to continue going out and building the memories that will get me all teary-eyed later on.

    So I got pretty drunk and hung out with Aundria, Rena, Littlefield, Renee, and Karl. Karl is not from the old crowd. Aundria met him at Hampshire College, but I can forgive him. He's an Eagle Scout and he likes Gun 'n' Roses, so he can't be all bad. I think I pretty much made an ass out of myself a couple of times, but that's okay. These people know me, and it's not like I haven't done it before in their presence. I seem to remember yelling a lot of things that might have been offensive to leftward-leaning Hampites, molesting Renee because I can't get it through my head (even after four years) that it's never going to happen, and just saying stupid shit over and over that hardly seemed to have any signifigance the first time. That grain alcohol is the devil, I tell you.

    Come morning I had to get out of there so I could get my mother's van back to her. She turned in the rental car, you know. A few hours later we went down to some really rich town on the Connecticut coast to watch my brother play rugby against Northeastern. Tom's team won, so that was cool. I think he said that they're undefeated this season or something. Tom managed to really fuck some other guy's leg up badly. His knee now swings the other way, if that gives you a nice mental picture. I'm sure it does. He didn't do it on purpose of course.

    When the game was over, I went with Tom and his girlfriend Tiffany to Providence, Rhode Island. That's a pretty cool little town. There has been a lot of money invested in the downtown area to make it a cool, happening place to be. We ate dinner at Fire and Ice, which was a pretty interesting restaurant downtown. Then we went to a couple of bars and drank up, shot pool, etc. All in all, a pretty good time.

    So that's about all. I've got plans for today. I know I havea lot of things to do, and I think I'm going to have to make a list, and figure out what order I'm going to do them in. I must formulate my thoughts here. Until then, live long and prosper.

    Current Music: "In the Dark of the Sun"--Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
    Thursday, April 11th, 2002
    1:36 pm
    Back at the Crossroads
     Here I am again...at the Crossroads. Legend has it that Robert Johnson (the legendary blues singer) sold his soul to Satan at the crossraods one day just to learn to play the guitar like a real whiz.

    Now I'm there too. Dammit this sucks. My mom's pressuring me a lot to figure what the hell I want to do with my life. Not that my mom is bad for doing that, in fact I thank her, but still...

    So I went to Barnes and Noble yesterday and bought one of those big, thick, college guide books. Weird, I know. I was doing the same thing about four years ago. Now I'm looking through it.

    What to do? Yes, I definitly want to go to college. The Army's been cool and all, but I'm not reenlisting. I'm definitly not hanging around this one horse town and working at the frieking dump or the liquor store like so many people I know. I've noticed that this town is sometimes like a nest; it'll raise you and nourish you as best it can, but if you grow to maturity and you still don't want to leave, then it'll eat you alive. Since I got home last week, I've seen a lot of people I used to know back in school who are still kicking around this town. It ain't pretty. I'd probably shoot myself in the head if I were them.

    So what then? Get an education. But what do I want to study? The hell if I know. Just a few weeks ago I decided that my most realistic plan was to go into cartography. That's map making, if you didn't know. It seemed a good fit for me, and it's certainly better than the hitch-hiking, writing, or artist plans. I'm not much of a dream-chaser, you know. I'm way too down to earth for that shit. So I told my mom and dad that that's what I wanted to do, and now my mom wants me to do some research into the field to see if that's what I really want to get into. So I started by going into my slick new college guide and determining what colleges offer a major like that. Now I'm calling around to talk to these people, and I'm beginning to wonder if that's really what I want to do with my life.

    I've talked to a few schools so far, and two of them said that they really didn't offer a major in the field of cartography. I guess the college guide didn't know what the hell it was talking about. There really aren't very many colleges that offer such a major.

    I just got off the phone with some really annoying woman at SUNY Oneonta (SUNY= State University of New York) who was like "cartography? What's that?" (insert gum chewing noises). "It's like making maps," I replied. "Oh...I don't think we offer that. You see, we're a four year school, not a two year school."

    I didn't know that cartography was a two year degree. It's possible that the lady had no idea what she was talking about, but maybe it is a two year degree. And honestly, I don't know if I want to go into a field that only takes two years of education to qualify for. I mean, seriously, I want to be a real professional.

    But why? So I can make money? How much is enough? Aren't I happier than a pig in shit right now, thinking I'm rich even when I own nothing? True, but what about a family? How much can I be happy with? I guess I really have to start thinking about what I want out of life here really soon. Do I want to be middle class? Should I pursue a career in something that really doesn't appeal to me just so I can be filthy rich? Where are the jobs these days? Where will the jobs be when I get out of college?

    Even cartography is settling, if you ask me. It's not what I REALLY want to do, it's just something that I could stand to do.

    What a pointless existance that would be; going to a job that I settled for, living in a house I wish were bigger in rotten-to-the-core suburbia, watching the world disintegrate into shit in front of me. And if I settle for a career, won't I just start settling all of my fucking life? Next thing you know, I'll be settling for a wife, and then I'll be settling for every damned thing.

    You want to know what's really funny? Everyone I know says I should go into writing. Ha ha! It's like I'm the only I know who doesn't want me to follow my own dreams. Writing is so stupid! Everyone knows that people don't read anymore. Duh! And everyone knows that a writer is just a different variety of starving artist. I don't want to be a starving artist.

    It sucks having no direction in life. All I know is what I DON'T want to do. I don't want to be a soldier all my life, for so many reasons. I don't want to be a teacher because I know that I would hate the kids, the other teachers, and the obese institution that is public education. I don't want to be a cop, because I know that cops get burnt out and frustrated when they see so many social diseases and they realize that they're never going to catch all of the world's bad guys. I don't want to be a businessman, a lawyer, a doctor, or a tradesman.

    I just want to be happy, that's all. Whatever that takes. Whatever I need to do. Something inside of me yearns for fame, but I guess I could do anything as long as it made me happy.

    But that's enough of my bitching. Nobody wants to hear me. I'm supposed to go to Kathleen's rugby game tonight and then sleep over, maybe play some beer pong with the college kids. Should be cool. Wish me luck.

    Current Mood: confused
    Current Music: "Another Chance"--Roger Sanchez
    Monday, April 8th, 2002
    12:36 pm
    Gettin' rowdy at "The Hub"
     My big trip to the States has been a giant letdown so far. Looking back on it, some of its been quite comical, but that's only looking back at it. Let me elaborate.

    Let's just cover the weekend. On Saturday, I got all psyched up to go see my sister's rugby game. I thought it was going to be a real big event, you know, but it turned to look some kind of rec league thing played at some second rate field tucked away at the end of some tiny road in some forgettable Eastern Massachusetts town. I don't even understand rugby, and the whole thing look like chaos rather than an organized sport to me. I did get to see my sister play, and believe it or not, she actually looked petite out there. I'm pretty sure some of those girls were not really girls at all. There's just no way.

    My sister, Kathleen, invited me to some rugby post-game party, but I turned her down like an idiot. You see, I was already pretty close to my best friend Greg's college, and I knew he was putting on a musical that night, so I figured I'd head down there to see that and get rowdy afterwards. So I mashed it down there in ma's minivan, only to find out that Greg lives in the frieking ghetto. You've got to see this place; it's pricless. Memorable Greg quote from Saturday afternoon: "If you smell burning rubber, it's not burning rubber. It's crack." The whole place was depressing as all hell; it really looked like so many other decaying American neighborhoods which were once working class but are now just welfare class. Some people fail to see that distinction. Anyway, Greg lives on the second floor of what appears to have been a bar at one time (there are letters on the side of the house that say "The Hub". The hub of what? This is like the asshole of the world right here.) There are rusting washers and dryers on their sides in the backyard. The sidewalk going around the house is littered with losing scratch tickets and empty packs of cigarettes. There's a convenience store just across the street that looks like it takes in every dime of its money in the form of food stamps. Oh yeah, the place is sweet.

    When I got there, Greg explained to me that there really wasn't anything going on that night and there would be another showing of the play the next day. Seeing that, I kind of felt stupid for not hanging out with my sister and I mentioned something to that effect to Greg. He was just like "Fuck it, go hang out with your sister. That's where I'd be." So I said okay and called mys sister, but she wasn't in.

    I figured I'd call her again from a pay phone when I got close to Amherst. So I rallied all the way down the Massachusetts Turnpike, up intertstate ninety-one and into Hadley. I called her a few more times from a pay phone, but she never answered. She was probably already over at the post-game party getting lit with the girls from the rugby team. I bet you some of those bitches can beat out most guys at beer-chugging, belching, and peeing for distance. By then I was feeling pretty stupid for driving halfway across the state. I made the mistake once of letting her answering machine pick up and I lost fifty cents to the hungry belly of the pay phone. Can you believe that they want fifty fucking cents for a phone call these days? I noticed that some company called Verizon has taken over all the pay phones in the state and those motherfuckers are out of control.

    After I lost all of my change I went and bought a dinner at KFC in Hadley just to get some change for the phone. I was a little bit hungry too, but the main reason was so I could get some more change for the phone. The service at KFC was awful, and they had some immigrant guy working the counter (since when do we let Habib work at a fried chicken restaurant? I mean, where do we draw the line? Next thing you know, you're going to walk into a pizza joint and find Chinese people running the place. Then it'll be complete anarchy. There'll be cats sleeping with dogs and all sorts of abominations. They'll be sorry then, won't they?) I made sure to order something that would give me back change for the phone, but I completely forgot about tax. I haven't paid tax on fast food in like two years, so I totally forgot about it. Habib gave me back three pennies in change and I started arguing with him and he was like "tax, sir. You forgot dee tax." I felt pretty stupid, so I just asked for one of my singles to be given to me in the form of quarters instead.

    I decided to call K-dog (my sister) one last time before giving up on this whole idea and trying to find somebody else to hang out with on a fine Saturday night. So I called her up and this time her roommate answered. I asked for Kathleen and she said told me that Kathleen wasn't there. I was just like "shiiiit, I just drove halfway across the state to hang out with her and now I can't find her." Her roommate (Beth is her name) was like "well, maybe you can come hang out with me." The word on the street is that Beth is a real looker, you know, so I was like "well geez...okay. That could be cool. Yeah. I might like that." She sounded like a really nice girl and all, but she couldn't give directions to save her life. She made it so confusing, and she kept changing her mind and saying things like "wait..no. Go back. Don't turn left. I mean, yeah, turn left. Then turn left again. Well it's kind of a left. It's more like bearing left than turning left. Well it's kind of like a right. Then you come to this horshoe-thing."

    So I tried in vain to locate her dorm room for probably a half hour. I even asked students walking on campus if they knew where it was, but they were as useless as tits on a bull. One guy said he knew where it was, but then gave me some fucked up directions. Another guy didn't know. Then a third guy was like "Is that one of the Orchard Hill dorms?" I said yes. "Then it's that one," he said, pointing at nothing in particular. "Which one?" "I don't know." Then people were honking at me because I was stopped in the middle of the road, and it was all a big mess so I decided that I really didn't want to hang out with Beth that badly after all.

    But I was in Amherst, so I figured that I could maybe hang out with Aundria and them or maybe Chucky. I heard Chucky's got an off campus apartment that's a party all the time. Except I didn't know anyone's phone number (I left my little address book in Germany) and if I used fifty cents to call information than I wouldn't have fifty cents left to make the actual phone call. Can you believe this shit? It's like a comedy of errors. It was also cold as shit out there and I was getting really tired of standing at piece of shit pay phones that don't want to take my money and shivering to death.

    So then I figured I'd call my buddy Carl, except he lived in Connecticut. Just for shits and giggles, I called his number anyway to see how much it would cost. The operator said it would cost me like five dollars and sixty-five cents or something. Besides the fact that I didn't have that much in change, I was tired of businesses butt-raping me every chance they got so I didn't call him. Instead, I got back in ma's minvan and cruised down to Suffield, Connecticut to call him at the still-outrageous price of fifty cents. I even got to talk to Carl, but he said he really didn't feel like hanging out. He basically told me (not in so many words, but this was the gist of it) that he was going to get some lovin' from his girlfriend. Thanks Carl. I haven't seen that dude since last Christmas, but he'd rather go get his dick wet than hang out with me. Okay. I see how it is. Don't worry about it.

    So fianlly I said fuck it all, I'm going to bed. And that's just what I did.

    Come Sunday I went back to see Greg's musical at Nicol's college. It wasn't bad. Greg was the lead, and he played some dorky Catholic schoolboy with a crush on some fat girl in his class who really wanted to go into the convent and become a nun. Greg started to do some funny-ass improv stuff at the end that was pretty good.

    After the show we went back to "The Hub" and had a combination post-musical/post-women's rugby game party. Some chicks drove all the way to New Hampshire to buy insane amounts of alcohol because you can't buy alcohol on Sunday in Massachusetts, Connecticut, or Rhode Island. I totally forgot about that law. I started drinking some of my grain alcohol (190 proof. That's some good shit. It could probably be used for space shuttle fuel or some shit), and I started to feel really sick. I wasn't sick like normal drinking sick, but kind of queesy in a different way. I think it's because I haven't had that stuff in such a long time and I was drinking on an empty stomach. Everyone was smoking, and it was just making me so nauseous inhaling all of that second-hand smoke. I felt like complete shit.

    Aparently I was wearing a sign around my neck that said "I like 'em BIG" because I had two fat chicks really hitting on me. I feel really awful for being so shallow, but I think that everyone can agree that when it comes to relations between the sexes, nothing can happen without first having an attraction. Am I right? I don't know.

    One of the girls was Greg's love interest in the play (the one who wanted to a nun, remember?) and she came and started talking to me and generally trying to get me in the sack. Greg kept coming by and yelling shit like "Duffy's got a twelve inch man hammer that cripples the bitches!", "Duffy's hung like a fuckin' mule"! and "Duffy's dick's bigger than my leg!" I guess that's what friends are for. Needless to say, he was out of his tits.

    Eventually that chick left and Greg started getting mad at me. "She obviously wanted to put her mouth all over your cock. Why didn't you let her?" And the truth was that it was a whole lot more than just the fact that she was so big boneded. It was a lot more than that. That sort of thing just isn't my style, you see. But I guess Greg doesn't understand that because he really doesn't have any style.

    Greg's new girlfriend was there. Her name was Emily, or Emma or something, and let me tell you, she was DEAD SEXY. I don't know how he does it. I mean seriously, he's an unemployed college bum who lives in the 'hood in some shitbum Central Massachusetts town. Where did he he find this chick and what is she doing with him? But there I go again with the buddy's girlfriend jealousy thing. But I suppose I'm not really jealous because I AM happy for him, no matter how I sound. I just wish she had a twin sister for me. What a babe.

    I ended up crashing in Greg's room, but I couldn't sleep. I think I got maybe an hour and a half all night long. I was just sick as a dog, and thirsty. The problem was that I wanted to drink water so badly, but every time I attempted it, my stomach would turn. Some time around four in the morning I crawled into the bathroom and forced myself to yuke. I really didn't even drink that much, I just don't know what it was.

    I was already awake when everyone else started to wake up. Greg drank his breakfast as usual. Nothing like beer at seven in the morning. I made a run to Mickey D's for us. Those steak and cheese bagelwiches are the shit! McDonald's breakfasts in Germany suck ass. So there we were, just me, Greg, Emma (or Emily), and Greg's roommate Stedman. They all pretty much decided to skip class and veg out by the TV watching some talk show with the topic of "my three-year old weighs a hundred and thirty pounds!" You should have seen these fat little fucks. You could hardly believe that they really exisited.

    The whole place was trashed. There were Miller Lite cans as far as the eye could see. Greg revells in this sort of college lifestyle shit, but it was really beginning to depress me. It's kind of scary, but I think I might be growing up. So then I drove home and tried to get some Z's back here in Southwick, but I still couldn't sleep.

    I guess that's all. But as you can see, I'm kind of wondering why the hell I flew all the way across the ocean. It's been nothing but depressing since I've arrived.

    Current Mood: blah
    Current Music: "I Tried So Hard" (I think that's the title)-- Linkin Park
    Friday, April 5th, 2002
    1:09 pm
    Fire in My Blood
     Yesterday I caught my slick Lufthansa flight out of Frankfurt. It was a horribly long flight, and then going through customs in Washington was a pain in the ass. I thought I was going to miss my next plane, and I was hungry as hell. It turned out that my next plane was delayed by like twenty minutes, so I managed to find myself some extremely overpriced airport food at some little food stand run by some frieking immigrant. I bought the food and all, but I managed to harrass the immigrant a little and give him the evil eye like I was going to kill him or something. Yeah, that's right, motherfucker! Now you're messing with one pissed off white boy!

    Then I caught a United Airlines flight up to Hartford, and it was home, sweet home. Pretty crazy being back in Southwick. Every time I come home, it's changed so much, and yet it hasn't changed at all. It's hard to explain. It really is a nice town here, in its own wacked out, decay-lurking-just-beneath-the-surface sort of way. When I was eighteen years old, I would have done anything to get the hell out of Dodge and see the world. I think that was one of the things that the Army recruiter really used to his advantage. I think he could tell that I was restless and wanted to get out of Hometown USA, so he told me about all of the cool places he'd been and the cool stuff he'd done. It must have worked, because I took the oath and signed the papers.

    I haven't regreted it though. In my short stint in the Army, I've done and seen so much more than I ever could have done or seen if I'd just stuck around town and gone to Westfield State College or something. Nothing wrong with good old WSC, but I've got a little too much fire in my blood to be satisfied with that. I frequently need new scenery in my life to keep my attention. The Army has done very well in providing me just that.

    Lempke came over last night and we just shot the shit for a while. He's pretty much the same guy as always. He wanted me to tell him all about Germany, but I didn't have the enery to get into it in too much detail because I'd been awake for almost thirty hours at that point. Besides, I think I've told all of my best stories about a thousand times over.

    So now here I am, just kicking it in some relaxed clothing with nobody home on Tammy Lane. My parents are at work and I only have one sibling still living here (I'm sure my parents are heart-broken), and she's at school. My parents are going to be really nice and go rent a car for themselves so that I can have wheels this week while I'm home. They said that they'd let me have my mom's van, and even though I know that beggars can't be choosers, I'd rather have my dad's Buick. It's an old man's car, but let me tell you--that thing is Rally friekin' Edition! I love rolling through town in the 'B' and boggin down the back roads like a bat out of hell. I kind of feel like a doofus in the minivan. But like I said, it's going to be nice to be on the road at all.

    Current Mood: calm
    Current Music: "Castles in the Sky"-- Ian Van Dahl
    Wednesday, April 3rd, 2002
    5:57 pm
    A pawn in her little ploy
     I saw my roommate (Raymond) last night for the first time in almost a month. Sometimes I make him out to be a real asshole in this journal, but he's an okay guy. We're a lot different, you know, but that doesn't mean he's a horrible, no good person. In fact, I really don't blame him for his faults. He's just a product of his environment.

    Anyway, if you've really been keeping up with my awesome journal, you'll know that I haven't seen him in a month because he went back to Maine to visit his dying grandfather, then returned on the nineteenth just in time to go to the field in Grafenwoehr.

    So we were doing a little catching up, and he mentioned that he had one night to himself here in Heidelberg between the time that he came hom from Maine and the time he rolled out to Graf. He mentioned that he went downtown and then he said-- "and guess who I ran into?"

    I really could only think of one person.

    "Who?"
    "Daniela."

    Yeah, that was the person all right. Then he proceeded to tell me that she approached him and kissed him on the cheek and asked if he was still going out with "that girl" (Sylvia). When he said no, she told him to call her.

    I lost all respect for Daniela at that moment. I really can't believe that she would go crawling back to him after the way he treated her. I don't know what the hell's wrong with her. Don't get me wrong--she's a big girl, and we're finished, and she can do whatever she wants to do, but that doesn't mean that I have to like it and that I won't pass judgement on her. No, I'm beginning to think that Major Shuplinkov was right; maybe she is just another barracks queen.

    But worse than that, I lost a lot of respect for myself. The whole time we were together, I carried around a sneaking suspicion that I was just a pawn in her little ploy to get back at (or get back WITH) Raymond. Most of the time she put me at ease, but every once and a while she would do or say something that would lead me to believe that she was still thinking about Raymond. Good buddy Hrubes told me that he was pretty sure that she was using me. I should have listened In the end, I guess that I just believed what I wanted to believe.

    Now I see that she never forgot about him and no matter how much she said that he was "stupid boy", she still wanted him back.

    So, class, what have we learned today?

    A) Girls are stupid, wicked, and selfish (my esteemed female readership excluded, of course).

    B) Nice guys finish last. Don't treat a girl well. She doesn't want that. She wants an asshole who will make her his bitch. That's the nature of the woman. The nice guy routine never works. Women will always crawl back to a man who makes her feel like he's too good for her and she should feel lucky to be with him.

    C) I'm better off alone. I need to focus my attention on big and better things. I'm not sure what my life's mission is, but I'm pretty sure it's a solo mission.

    But that's enough of that. In all seriousness, I really don't care. I'll never see her again, and just like Raymond, I don't hate her for her faults. She's just a product of her environment. I almost have to pity her.

    The time until my flight home can be counted in hours now. Pretty weird, I know. SSG Shields is coming to pick me up at nine thirty in the morning to give me a lift to Frankfurt. Then I'll fly into Reagan International (great name for an airport, or anything else for that matter) and up to Bradley.

    The whole idea of going home does kind of make me realize something. It makes me realize that I'm not ready to coem home yet; not for good at least. I have way too much left to do and see here in Europe. I really need to hit the train tracks hard this summer. I'll never forgive myself if I spend two years in Germany and waste them sitting in my barracks room. Not that I've done that so far, but I could still turn it up a notch. Last summer and fall were pretty crazy, and I fully intend to make this summer even more memorable. It's going to be nuts.

    I got my tax return check yesterday. Two hundred and fifty-six dollars. Not a lot of money, and as a tried-and-true conservative I would like to mention that I definitly do NOT feel grateful toward the Department of the Treasury for giving me back what I have already earned, but still it's nice to open your mailbox and find money. It happens to me quite a bit. Just about every time I run across some money it makes me wonder what the hell I need more of it for. I have simple tatses, and I already have so much more than I know what to do with. Yes, I live in the ghetto that we soldiers like to call the barracks, and yes I drive a nine hundred dollar hoopty, but it's all I need.

    It feels good to be a fabulously rich. I think I'll go invest some of that money into some hard cider tonight.

    Current Mood: optimistic
    Current Music: "Rapture (Tastes so Sweet)"- Don't ask me who sings it.
    Tuesday, April 2nd, 2002
    1:44 pm
    There's no place like home
     So I'm back from Wiesabden. The entire two weeks up there DID suck (don't get me wrong) but they could have been a lot worse. As I've said before, Heidelberg is a cushy duty station, and our version of "the field" is the cushiest version of "the field" that I have ever seen. (Note to civilians who might be ignorant on the subject through no fault of their own: The field is when soldiers go out and rough it in the wilderness, practicing their skills the way they would if there were a war. Usually this involves some sort of scenario in which the United States is fighting some ficticious enemy force. Anyway, in a real unit, the field involves a whole lot of misery and suffering. Soldiers are usually dirty, hungry, wet, tired, hot, cold, sweaty, covered in camo paint, covered in diesel fuel, cut off from the world, and bickering with their fellow soldiers. I don't know if I can fully explain how much it really sucks).

    So I headed up to Wiesbaden and worked fourteen to fifteen hours a day in some tent city, tracking "the battle" with "Redland" on this huge complicated network of Army computers. ("Redland" was a thinly veiled Iraq). They put me on the night shift, which has its advantages. Like I said, not a whole lot of fun, but it could have been a lot worse. It took days and days to work all of the bugs out of the computers, the environment could get highly stressful at times, and I didn't always like the people I was working with. I guess I just need a good two week stint in the field with a real unit to make me realize how good I've got it. Maybe I need to go to Yakima and eat T-rats and pull guard in a hole in the middle of night just to make me shut the hell up and quit whining.

    We had some media player software that allowed us to watch Fox News on our computers. Hooray for UConn women. That was pretty cool. I'm getting the creeping feeling that we're witnessing the Beginning of the End now over in Israel. Not a great time to be in the military. There are just so many fires to be put out all over the world, and we always seem to volunteer to do it. I'm not sure what I think about that. People often call the United States "the world policeman". I just don't think that people understand that we don't want to be the world policeman, but who else will do it if we don't? It's really more of a burden than anything else . So we go around the world, poking our noses into everything, and sometimes we get burnt, sometimes we spread ourselves too thin, sometimes we make a complicated situation a thousand times more complicated. That's the drawback of being the world's last superpower.

    On a lighter note, there was a Taco Bell in Wiesbaden, and I ate there almost every day. Dare I say that I might be tired of tacos?

    We got in this morning, washed the Humvees, fueled them up, and then met back at the office at thriteen hundred. We stayed for a like an hour, locked up the classified computer hard drives, and then they sent me on my merry way. There are a few things I need to do right now, but I think I'll still have time to do somewthing sort of outdoorish. Daylight savings time started on Sunday over here in Europe. I hear that in the states, it doesn't start until this Sunday. I'll be home this Sunday, so I guess I'll have to do the whole changeover thing twice.

    Come Thursday, I'm going to be catching a big old plane out of Frankfurt. It's pretty amazing. It's just about all I think about.

    Current Mood: excited
    Current Music: Not sure what it's called. Very Euro. It's on my newest CD.
    Monday, March 18th, 2002
    11:59 am
    The last human being on earth
     I couldn't find Alvear yesterday when I was going to go down to the bar, so I went to the next barracks over and asked Mendoza if she wanted to go. Mendoza's kind of cute, and she definitely fulfills the sexy accent requirement (she's from Nicaragua), but I've already decided that I need to get any crazy ideas about us out of my head. She is, after all, in the Army, and she works in my section. That could make for some really uncomfortable situations at work, and I think it's extremely unproffesional anyway.

    So I told myself that I was just going to the bar with another soldier who happened to be a female soldier. I mean, big deal, right? It'd be the same as me going with Hrubes. But oddly enough, it did feel kind of like a date, and I kept having the urge to pay for her stuff. Then I'd catch myself and remind myself that I wouldn't offer to pay for Hrubes's stuff, now would I? No, definitly not.

    The two of us walked down to O'Reilly's and I got some cider while she drank Coke. She doesn't drink alcohol. We watched some Irish sport on the big screen that seemed like a combination of rugby and soccer. I'd never seen it before. The blue and white team beat the green and black team.

    Captain Kepner was down there wearing some ridiculous leprachaun hat, hanging out with the missus. I'm pretty sure he was out of his tits on those pints of Guiness. He saw us, and I know he got the wrong impression of the whole thing. I can't wait to hear him busting my balls the next time I see him.

    "Oh...so how's your new girlfriend, Duff?"
    "She's not my girlfriend, sir."
    "Sure she isn't Duff. Sure she isn't."

    I got tired of O'Reilly's after a while so we both went over to Gino's to get a Taco Espcezial. Those things are the whodattotheshiznit. I can't get enough. I poked my head in to see if the Finnish waitress was working at Sean Og's, but I didn't see her. I really haven't been down there in a long time, so she might have gone back to Finland for all I know.

    After that we just walked back to the barracks. I caught myself flirting with her several times on the way home. I guess it just goes to show that you can't just "be freinds" with a girl you find somewhat attractive. It will never work. There will always be some amount of sexual tension no matter how many times you tell yourself there won't be. It's like a law of nature or something. There's an entire continent of women out there, so maybe I just need to veer away from army chicks. Yes, that would be smart.

    After watching "The Wedding Singer" for the third time this weekend, I tried to turn in. That was about eleven thirty. But for the life of me, I just couldn't sleep. I don't think I had ever felt less like sleeping in my entire life, so I got in my car and decided to just drive.

    And so I did. I drove around in random directions for about two and a half hours. It was so dark and quiet out there that I almost felt like the last human being on earth. For about the first forty-five minutes, that feeling was great. I felt so free. But then that slowly deteriorated into crushing lonliness. It was pretty bad.

    I realized then that all my life I'd been trying to prove that I can make it on my own, that one man can take on the world and win. It's a romantic notion, yes, but a whole load of bullshit. Nobody makes it on their own. I may be the world's greatest, but even I can't make it all by myself.

    But all of that seems pretty stupid now. It's a bright sunshiny day out there, people are bustling about, and it's hard to believe that just last night I was thinking that I was the last man on earth.

    I've got a lot of stuff to do before I go to Wiesbaden tomorrow. I never did get around to washing my car yesterday. I have to do that. I also have to mail off my state tax return, get my other American flag sewn onto my uniform, etc.

    Current Mood: busy
    Current Music: "Rebels"-- Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
    Sunday, March 17th, 2002
    2:19 pm
    Around Heidelberg on foot
     The big pre-Wiesbaden Saint Patrick's Day Weekend has turned out to be a flop so far. I just stayed in on Friday night after I discovered that the Storchennest was closed until the thirtieth of the month. I just didn't feel like going out so I stayed in and worked a little bit on the latest story I've been writing. That story has almost gotten away from me, you know? Sometimes you just lose the urge to write for so long that a story can just collect dust and then you forget about it and you don't ever get around to finishing it.

    Yesterday was okay. With all of my buddies out of town I wandered down to the Hauptstrasse and walked up and down it. Hauptstrasse means "main street" in German, but it's really only the main street in the oldest quarter of town, and it's not really a street at all because it's only for pedestrians. I haven't walked like that for a long ass time. My car is making me lazy. Then I headed across the river to O'Reilly's and had two pints of cider at the bar. Nothing too exciting was happening over there, so I headed home for a little while.

    Then I walked my ass all the way to the Schwimmbad. Of course none of you have ever been to Heidelberg, but I must tell you that all of this was a whole lotta walking. I got there around ten and discovered as I was waiting in line all by myself that I was horribly hungry. Then I remembered that I had only eaten one meal all day (Grilled stuft burrito, Gordita supreme, taco supreme). I went inside and had a few drinks. It was still early yet and there weren't that many people there.

    For some reason, last night seemed to be Jailbait Night or something. I mean, seriously, there seemed to be a high proportion of really young looking girls. I'm not going to lie, some of them looked damned good, but you know, I'd feel all perverse trying to go talk to them. Besides, no girl is worth getting hauled away in the pretty silver bracelets. I guess it kind of makes me mad because I feel owed. Yes, owed. I certainly wasn't picking up on sixteen year old girls when I was sixteen, and now I'm too old. Dammit, isn't there some kind of backpay scheme out there? There should be a rule that it's okay to hit on sixteen year old girls if you never got any sixteen year old girls when you were sixteen. Now that would be justice. ALl I know is that if I were sixteen again and some twenty-one year old chick was trying to snatch me up, I'd be all for it. Hell yeah, honey.

    But that's enough of that.

    After a while of just sitting there, I started to feel really sad and pathetic. I figured that I was probably emmiting a really sad and pathetic vibe, and nobody wants to hang around with somebody who is all sad and pathetic. People intimidate me anyway, particularly girls. I started to get a little itch to write, anyway. I concluded that I was really wasting my time there.

    So I got up and started to walk home with my thumb out. Some guy with stubble all over his face and teeth that jutted out from his mouth like you ain't never seen stopped to pick me up. He was driving a little red car with the Coca-Cola logo painted on the hood and the interior caked with cigarette smoke. He dropped me at the hauptbahnhof (train station)

    After that I just hoofed it over to Mandy's to get some rindcurry mit kokonussmilch. It was particularly good. Nar was in there, but she was working in the kitchen and I just barely caught a glimpse of her. I don't know what to think of her anymore. It's like she builds me up just to tear me down. A woman like that ain't no good anyway. I swear though, why does she always walk up to me and start conversations with me, and ask me how my day was, and giggle and flirt if she doesn't like me? Perhaps she just enjoys torturing me. Perhaps she does like me, but she thinks I'm too young for her. She is twenty-eight, after all, and I'm just twenty-one.

    So there it is, folks. Nar's too old for me, but the girls at the Schwimmbad are too young. It's a sick, sad world out there and somebody's cackling at me right now.

    After filling up on Thai food, I went home and tried to write some on the story. I guess I lost some of that inspiration somewhere between the Schwimmbad and the barracks, because I couldn't muster more than a paragraph or two on my latest story. And as always, if you have to force the words out of your brain and onto the paper, you know that they're probably going to suck.

    Today has been beautiful so far. I went to church at noon, and now I'm here, plotting out my day. On the ride over here from church I saw two girls in a Volkswagen from Munich just driving down the street. I honked and waved and the driver seemd kind of embarrassed, but her friend was all excited and she was waving back at me. I did some pretty crazy shit to keep beside them on the road for as long as I could. I was weaving in and out of traffic, speeing up, slowing down, honking, waving, and generally making an ass of myself.

    Life is good. I don't feel sad and pathetic at all right now.

    Plans for today: wash old girl Opel and get someone to take a picture of us together. Go to Sean Og's and/or O'Reilly's, possibly with Alvear, the guy from the next barracks room down. He said he might be interested in going, except that he got really shitty last night and he was thinking of taking it easy today.

    Okay, well it's almost two o'clock and I'm still sober. I'd better put myself in check. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm slippin'.

    This could be my last update for a while. Like I said, I'm going to feild here in Wiesbaden on Tuesday for ten days. You know what happens after that. That's when I fly home in a blaze of glory (and hopefully they won't find the explosives in my shoe).

    Happy Saint Patrick's Day, and remember: Friends Don't Let Freinds Stay Sober.

    Current Mood: excited
    Current Music: "Message in a Bottle" --The Police
    Tuesday, March 12th, 2002
    4:56 pm
    Chem conference, basic training, weekend ahead
     Today we had some sort of chemical conference over at the Pavillion on PHV. Yeah, it was stupid and boring, and the colonel got up and decided that everyone wanted to hear what he had to say and took every oppourtunity to glorify himself and brag about how he hangs out with guys who wear stars on their collars. But it's all good. I just laugh at him. Truthfully, I feel sorry for him more than anything. It must be hard being that out of touch with reality. There were also plenty of powerpoint slides, laser pointers, and people struggling to pretend that they're the least bit interested in the material.

    I didn't struggle too hard. I really didn't even have to care about what they were saying. The whole thing was a waste of my time, and the only reason I was really there was because it was my section putting the conference on. But it was a nice break from the daily grind, you know? Mostly I just sat there plotting what I was going to do this weekend. It's a three day this weekend, and then on Tuesday I roll out to Wiesbaden for like ten days for some field exercise. Therefore, I must rage it hard this weekend. Anything less would be unacceptable.

    The only problem is that I really don't have very many friends and they're all going to be gone this weekend. Hammond left for the field in Grafenwoher yesterday (the soldiers just call it 'Graf'), Hrubes leaves for the same place tomorrow, and Raymond's in Maine on emergency leave. Young, my old roommate from down the hall, always hangs out at the same stpid GI clubs and bars, and we had a little falling out last week anyway. When we see each other in the hall, we just walk uncomfortably past each other in silence. Cron's on extra duty, and even if he weren't, I should probably avoid hanging around with him too much. I'll probably end up getting arrested or something.

    Saint Patrick's Day is on Sunday, so I figure I'll drop by O'Reilly's or Sean Og's. Should be wild. I hope that the Finnish waitress from Sean Og's is working on Saint Patrick's Day. I bet that their whole staff will be on shift. She's just unbelievable. Nar ain't got nothin' on the Finnish waitress. She should be on magazine covers instead slinging mugs of Murphy's Ale, you know? Besides, I really want to express my Irish pride by reinforcing people's stereotypes that we're all a bunch of raging drunks.

    But that still leaves Friday and Saturday. Maybe I'll just do it old school and go on bar-hopping marathons in the Altstdat ("old city" in German) all by my lonesome. Maybe I'll put my endurance to the test, and see just how many bars I can hit up and still manage to stumble three miles home in the dark. I don't know.

    I ran into some guy I went to basic training with at the conference today. His name is Burt, and I think he's a pretty cool guy, though maybe a little weird. He's a little too hung up on the whole basic training thing. He kept talking about the other privates and the drill sergeants like it was some really important era of his life. Basic training was a long time ago, man. The whole thing was just five months of training in a dustbowl somewhere in the asshole of the world (aka Central Missouri), with people I didn't like and really don't care to remember. But it was nice talking to him anyway. I can't really remember, but it seems to me that he did something back in basic that was just so stupid it was funny. I don't know. There were a lot of people there and we all did stupid stuff. I guess that's why the words "dumbass" and "private" go hand-in-hand.

    Current Mood: mellow
    Current Music: "Turn the Beat Around"- Gloria Gaynor (?)
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