The Iraqi Challenge

Alot of people have been on my mind as of late. My son, Paula, Liz, Chris, Xavier, Fed and Steph. The list goes on and on but these are what seems to come and go the most. My son for obvious resons. Paula for reasons I cannot entirely explain right now. Those of you who know me and have know me for quite a while do understand. Liz is a true dear friend that I care lots about. Yeah she's a gimpy softball player but it's not 'entirely' her fault she broke her leg. It was dark out. Chris a true friend and the last person from Oregon I had spoken with before flying out. Weird how it wasn't any of my immediate family. Professor and Fed, to friends, or I should say family that I wish well, and care lots about. They are more family than my family will be. And Steph. Mainly because she's the mother of my child and people keep asking me what happened and how fucked up it was. Yeah it was but, I'm tons happier now.

On another note I want to talk about the bathrooms. I said it. Let me describe to you the experience.

Lets start with showers. You have a total of 15 gallons, they say, of water to shower. Which they call 'combat showers'. I have never done any type of combat in the showers, those some of the sexual experiences have been quite a battle. You must turn the water on, rinse, turn it off. Oh and mind you the shower are about 40 feet from the tent where we stay. Lather up. Turn the water on rinse, turn the water off. And your done. The water is barely potable, some people have gotten the runs, not from the showers but from brushing their teeth.

The toilets are a whole nother venture. The nearest toilet is about 70 feet from the tent and it's a porta-potty. Which are pretty gross. No grosser than the porta-potties you would seen anywhere else mind you, but the whole thought is disgusting. And the smell. That's for another blog. Majority of the porta-potties do not have toilet paper so in the even you are going 'number 2' you are announcing to the entire FOB what you are doing. Then there are what we call, the nice bathrooms. They smell like out house when you walk up to them, inside they reak of urinal mints and piss. But they have actual toilets. I wouldn't go as far as to say they have running water but you can crap in a bare toilet, flush it down a whole with little water and wash your hands. Probably the best thing about the porta-potties, if there is a best thing is the poetry and drawings on the wall. People getting desperate to "eat any pussy" or the crude drawings of tits and ass, which seem to be on the same side of the body. Last I knew they were on opposite sides. Strange these military folk. Though I'm willing to bet the drawing is from a marine.