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So, the other day, I pulled on a pair of BDU pants that have been washed once since Iraq, and have been sitting in a duffle bag or a dresser drawer since. You know what I found in the pockets. Sand. _Middle_Eastern_ sand. Do you realize what this means? IRAQ FOLLOWED ME HOME! Can the Terrorists be far behind? Maybe Faux News was RIGHT... :-P
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Before I signed out on terminal leave, my LES showed me as having about a month and a half more leave days saved up than I really had. Apparently, they didn't realize I'd taken leave while in Iraq, and again when we got back. So, because I knew that they'd eventually catch this mistake, I did the honest thing, and I sat down with the finance people for 3 F*(%ING HOURS (allegedly) straightening this out. They assured me it was fixed. Riiight...

Apparently it wasn't, so they ended up overpaying my last paycheck by a lot. I didn't notice this, though you would have thought that bitter experience might have taught me to go over financial statements in detail; I have no excuse, really, save that sheer joy at escaping the Vortex of Stupidity overwhelmed me, and made me stupid in return.

So, now I gotta pay them back. Fair enough. But since I didn't budget for this sudden 'expense', I'll probably have to go without goodies for a while, including this year's Dragon-Con. Grrr... Maybe I should send _them_ a bill, for those wasted three hours, as well as 8 1/2 years of accumulated aggravation. :-P
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I never had any problems with allergies over in Iraq, probably because there are no living things farther than 2 miles from the rivers. Here, in verdant Georgia, there are vile plants _everywhere_, taunting me, insinuating themselves into my sinuses.... Tonight will likely be my third night in a row without sleep. Grr...
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I've had four of 'em since I've been back. The persistant back/neck aches from the weight of all the gear I had to carry in Iraq are almost gone. What's more, I've finally decided what the prime criterion for a future mate must be. Brains, beauty, wealth, and dominatrix tendancies are all of secondary importance; she/he/they must be able to give decent backrubs. Even a fully equipped evil-genius lair is of lesser importance.
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Man, I'm turning into a real lightweight in my old age. Still, I think I've killed sufficient brain cells (and made Jesus cry enough) for one debauch. Tomorrow, I guess I'd better get around to cleaning and re-inhabiting my apartment. I wonder how much I should bother with the unpacking, since I'm just going to be moving again in a few months. Still, I guess I should go through my stuff and figure out what I really need/want, and what I can just give away. Or possibly sell on Ebay.

Speaking of moving, I still have no real idea what I want to do when I grow up. Or rather, I have several hundred ideas, but none of them have enough going for them to assert primacy in my brainpan and compel me to go about pursuing them. I hereby solicit suggestions. Anyone? Bueller?
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When I'm drinking beer from a bottle, I habitually bend the discarded caps in half. This way, if I happen to step on one, it hurts so much less. Guess what brought that thought on?
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Well, I'm back. Don't expect much coherent thought out of me for the next few days.


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February 2013



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