Ridiculous People

Quote of the Day: "The only man who never makes a mistake is the man who never does anything."

- Theodore Roosevelt

Friends and Family,

Today I decided since this place is essentially one big beach missing an ocean, I would do the next best thing and go where there WAS water. Namely, the Red Sea.

I had overheard Kate, one of the Aussies here at the Compound (Russ, her husband, was the one who donated a DVD player to me that actually played my DVDs), mention she was going to the beach so this morning, I wandered over to her house and asked if I could tag along. She was going with her neighbor, a Filipina woman, and her daughter, a half Filipina and half French teenager, and was happy to have me along.

I packed a bag and met them at the bus stop for the 45 minute drive to the Intercontinental. That’s the auspicious name they give the beach and reminded me of that SNL skit with Christopher Walken (“The Continental,” I think).



The bus ride was yet another perspective of the insanity that is driving here. The ratty bus churned away as we rumbled down the street and at one point, it looked like it was going to break down which spawned the comment from Kate, “Not again.”

AGAIN?

What “again”?

The bus driver got it going again and we just barely missed another sideswiping in the Roundabout of Death. If I get out of here without one of those damn things buying my lunch, I’ll consider it divine intervention.

We got to the beach and it was absolutely gorgeous. It was a sandy beach with little tables, shades made of straw, and beach chairs. Here is the picture that says it all:



We got set up and then Kate took Melanie (the French teen) out to snorkel while I sat in my beach chair, listened to my iPod, and read my book.

It was quite literally, a day at the beach.



When it was my turn to go out snorkeling, I didn’t know what to expect. This way my view from the beach:



… which, while beautiful, did not convey what was underneath.

I had been snorkeling years ago in Hawaii but it was not all that spectacular since I didn’t have very good equipment and got ripped up by coral. But THIS, this was beyond spectacular. The surface hid a world of unimaginable beauty made of clear water, gorgeous coral formations, and an array of fish that was just unbelievable.

I felt like I was flying. It never got more than 15 feet deep but I was floating above a world of beauty and life. With the rhythm of my own breathing through the snorkel, I was lulled into a state of pure relaxation. For an hour that seemed like mere minutes, I floated around partaking in a visual feast.



At one point, I swam through a school of really tiny fish that seemed to move as one. I found myself right in the middle of them and it was like I was joining their little parade. They didn’t seem to mind that this big fleshy giant was among them and they showed no fear.

In the coral were some protective little bastards, though. I swam up to the cliff and they started getting agitated and darting back and forth. These were smaller than the palm of my hand so what was the big deal, right?

They started darting at me a little and I thought it was kind of funny.

When I got closer, they started to charge me and giving me little bumps with their heads. I couldn’t believe how brave they were but still, what were they going to do? Bring it on little bulldogs. I am the big fleshy giant, if you didn’t notice. Top of YOUR food chain, in case you missed that one too. What are you going to do?

What they were going to do was to get around me and attack me from all sides. Now it’s one thing when you see the little bastards charge from the front and nudge but it’s a completely different situation when they get at your flank and behind you.

This different situation freaked me out. They were hitting me from all sides and suddenly, I envisioned a piranha situation. The hunter had become the hunted and the hunted jerked back and flailed with all limbs to swim away backwards.

Little bastards.

But at least I kept my self-respect in tact. Sort of.

Little bastards.

Soon, I then found myself on a beach chair enjoying the beach away from the mean little fishies.

We ordered lunch and I had a ham and cheese sandwich that I’m pretty sure was not ham but I was hungry. Being attacked by Devil Fish makes a man hungry.

The relaxing day wore on and before I knew it, it was time to head back. I had sat in the shade most of the day or wore a water-shirt so the only thing that was exposed for any significant time was my legs which, coincidentally, was the only part of my body I didn’t put sun block on.

So I walked to the bus stop with red lobster-legs and waited for the bus to arrive. We were all covered in salt and sand so the only thought was of getting back to the Compound and getting a shower.

During the discussion, Kate had made it a habit of throwing in the French words she knew to not only practice her French, but to make Melanie more comfortable since Melanie spoke French and only broken English.

Here is a snippet of the discussion:

(Melanie rubbing her shoulders with disgust on her face…)

Kate: Is the salt sticking to your skin?

Melanie: Oui, want to take je show-wer when we return

Kate: ah, douche

Melanie: Oui, douche

Jason: (no sound, just a look of utter shock)

OK, before we go any farther, maybe it will help if I announce that the French word for “shower” is actually “douche.”

This little factoid is something I would have like to have known a split second before I thought I was privy to a conversation I really didn’t want ANY part of.

When Kate saw the look on my face, she realized what it sounded like and burst out laughing. She was sitting next to me and explained.

Me: “Really. Douche….really… really?”

We continued laughing about this and Melanie had no idea of what was going on. She gave us that confused French look and asked what we were laughing at. I turned to Kate and said “This one is ALL yours, Sport.”

Kate tried to explain as diplomatically as she could but was struggling as we walked toward the bus. At one point, Melanie turned to me and said in her French accent “Do you know theese? What she is speaking of?”

“Yes, (heavily accented) I (heavily accented) know exactly what she is speaking of but (heavily accented) I (heavily accented) am not going to tell (heavily accented) YOU (heavily accented).”

She was so comically confused at this point that I felt a little sorry for her. Kate finally got it across by the time we boarded the bus which was good since it’s really not a conversation you want to have on a Saudi bus full of people.

I had planned on having a quiet night at home and sat down to watch a movie when I remembered that Kate had paid for the passes and her and Russ were going to be gone for two weeks so if I wanted to reimburse her, I had to do it tonight.

So I walked over to their villa and found their door open. Seems they figuratively AND literally leave their door open all the time. I walked in and started talking to both of them. I paid Kate the money I owed her and they ended up inviting me over for dinner since they were ordering a cumin dish and there was enough food for more than just two.

They also made me look through their DVD collection (it didn’t take much coaxing) because they were leaving tomorrow for two weeks and they said I could borrow some while they were gone.

So with a handful of DVDs, I left to say goodbye to Linda and told them I would be right back.

There’s not a lot of “being right back” around here.

Case in point, I left and decided to stop by my villa to drop off my booty. The DVDs, you pervs!

Anyway, as I’m going back to my villa, I run into Mike and his roommate who inform me that the poker group is on their way over to my villa.



I was kind of stunned and said “Um, they are NOT playing poker at my place.”

Visions of cigarette smoke hanging in the air and the place strewn with “tea” and bottles filled my head.

“No, Sir, they are coming to get the chairs and are going to have it at Dave’s house.”



Within a few minutes, I had a bunch of guys at my villa carrying chairs out so I helped them over to Dave’s. I didn’t really want to donate my money to the cause (no chance of actually winning) but I hung out for a few minutes.

Talking to Dave, I mentioned that someone had told me he had the collection of Scrubs. I hardly finished the sentence before he handed me the first two seasons.



OK, now I have a dozen videos and the first two seasons of Scrubs. Back to the villa to drop off my winnings.

Finally, I made it over to Linda’s who was running around packing for her trip. While I was there, a Saudi family she knew came over to say goodbye and their house was, up to the end, just like it always was: full of people, conversations, movement, and chaos.

I found a moment alone with her in the kitchen and gave her about the only thing I had to give. If I would have had more time, I would have ordered her something but I had to make due and gave her a coin with my rank on it and the Marine Corps symbol on the flip side. I told her I hoped it would remind her of me and Mike even though we just got here.

She seemed to like it and I could tell she was not used to being on the receiving end of such sentiment. She is just one of those people that give and give and give so are at a loss when it’s turned around on them.

I said my goodbyes to her and the two boys. It was tough and as I walked away from the house, I couldn’t help but feel a bit empty. I had just got here and just met these people but already, I felt like I was losing friends.

An hour and a half after I was “going to be right back,” I was back at Russ and Kate’s. The door was open (of course) and they had already ordered dinner. Not only did they order dinner but because I had mentioned that curry might be a bit too spicy for me (although I was going to try it), they ordered a tin of spaghetti.

These people are ridiculous.

Before I knew it, they put a plate in my hand, offered me something to drink, and popped in “Miami Vice” with Jamie Foxx and Colin Ferrell. Russ has a huge flat screen with the full speaker ensemble not to mention the Blu-Ray. So I forced myself to eat good food and watch a movie on an awesome set up. It was tough but I managed.

After dinner, they offered ice cream and when I turned that down, out came the popcorn.

I repeat, these people are ridiculous.

The movie ended and although it was late, we got to talking again and I discovered that I can talk to these people for hours. Not out of obligation but out of true interest. I don’t know what I did to deserve meeting these kinds of people but I’m not questioning it. I’m just trying to do it again!

I thanked them for a truly enjoyable day. With the beach, the dinner, the movie, and the conversation, I was deeply thankful of their hospitality but once again, I am losing new friends, at least for a couple of weeks.

But they said they would leave the shed open out back and I could raid it to borrow the snorkeling gear if I needed it while they were gone.

I repeat yet again, these people are ridiculous.



Free FML for Today: “Today, in the spirit of Christmas, I let a spider live in my room. I normally kill them, because I'm scared of waking up with one on my face. I woke up with it on my face." FML.”

Finding Stuff and Losing Friends

Quote of the Day: "You can't have everything. Where would you put it?"

- Steven Wright

Friends and Family,

I found out today that they found my stuff I had shipped over here.

Where has it been all this time? Well, I think it’s been sitting in Riyadh since July 2nd but others would have me believe otherwise.

You see, I had it shipped right after I left so that my stuff and I would meet up here in Jeddah about the same time. When I got to Riyadh, though, they said they had never heard from the San Diego folks who were supposed to call them and let them know my stuff was on its way.

So what did the fine people in Riyadh do? You suggest they call up San Diego and straighten this out? Funny, that’s what I would have guessed too.

They simply sent an email and were shocked when nothing happened no matter how much I called up and bitched about it.

“We sent the email. Do you have the tracking number?”

“No, I can’t get it but it’s your system and I kind of doubt that you have hundreds of shipments from a Major Grose leaving San Diego en route to Saudi Arabia. Tell you what, if you look in your little system and you see ANY shipment from a Major Grose leaving San Diego en route to Saudi Arabia, yeah, that will likely be it. You can go with THAT tracking number and I can almost guarantee you that will be my stuff, Sparky.”

The perfect storm was that the information they needed in Riyadh was safely with my wife who, as it turned out, was vacationing in Seattle. The paperwork, meanwhile, was in San Diego.

So she just got back, made a phone call, sent me the information, and I forwarded it to Riyadh, also known as “doing their friggin’ job for them.”

Then I get a phone call that miraculously, my stuff arrived in Riyadh yesterday.

Yesterday.

How convenient if not an outright lie.

They tried to give me some BS about it just arriving yesterday because they consider it “received in Riyadh” once it makes JFK and they had to send it to Germany because of some plane problems blah blah blah …

“Look, where is my stuff right now?”

“Here in Riyadh, Sir.”

“Very good, now, when do I get my stuff.”

“It has to be processed and then a deliver has…”

“WHEN do I get my stuff. It’s a simple question.”

“Hopefully next week but if not, the week after that.”

“Bug them every day and give me updates as they occur. Out.”

It took my wife making a call to put a fire under people and then suddenly it was all set.

Why?

Why did it take my wife to get this machine to work? Meanwhile my stuff has been baking somewhere in a Riyadh warehouse probably with a goat sitting and shitting all over it.

What pisses me off even more is that this is almost expected. The process would SEEM to be easy in theory: you have them pack up your stuff, they send it to Riyadh, they forward it to Jeddah, and I get my household furnishings.

But everyone will pessimistically tell you: “Oh, yeah, you’ll be lucky if you see it within your first two months. SOMETHING will happen.”

Oh, it got hung up in New York. The plane had problems. We can’t find the paperwork to trace it. Our head swelled up so we can’t quite get it out of our asses until the new shipment of Vaseline arrives…

I don’t buy it. I don’t accept that.

Am I the first friggin’ person to have his trash shipped over here? I don’t think so. Why is there ALWAYS SOMETHING when it comes to this?

And the kicker is that this is not the Saudis fault (everything over here is blamed on them which 99% of the time is correct). This is American idiocy and inept jackassery at its best.

OK, I’m done with this for now and all would have been the makings of a crappy day if it wasn’t the masalama for the Brit’s wife who is actually Irish.

All her friends in the compound gathered to celebrate. She had made so many friends here and was probably to biggest “mother hen” to everyone in our group that it was hard for everyone, especially her. She wanted to stay, believe it or not. She was really depressed about leaving.

We all drank, ate, talked, and laughed by the pool. Ali had brought the food and it was a Turkish affair with chicken, beef, and lamb kabobs. There was rice and lamb chops, bread, and ice cream.



But most of all, there was love and camaraderie. Like I’ve always said, when you are stuck on a desert island, you get to know the other castaways well and this was no exception. In fact, Linda seemed to have become the central hub to many of the social events in the Compound so it was hard for everyone to say goodbye.

I stayed until 1:00 in the morning as we sat around and talked. Ali and I were the only two who were not drinking tea so it was easier on us to stay up late. A few who I will not name (Mike) had to be helped back to their villas and will have a very restful day tomorrow.



In the short time that I’ve been here, Linda has been a welcoming, friendly, and comforting presence. She never failed to offer us a drink or whatever she was baking that day the moment we walked through her door. She instantly adopted Mike and me from day one and fed us more times in the two weeks we’ve been here than we have fed ourselves.

The Compound will be less without her.

Much less.

So I say to ye, Linda….

“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand."



Free FML for Today: “Today, I was stuck crouching over the toilet after a night of drinking. My fiancé walked in, gathered my hair, and held it out of the way. When another wave of nausea hit me and I leaned in, he shoved my face into the bowl and ran out, laughing and yelling, "That'll teach ya!" FML.”

Pistol Shoot Day 2

Quote of the Day: "We don't know what we want, but we are ready to bite somebody to get it."

- Will Rogers

They moved the show-up time back on us by an hour so my wake up time was 0330 this morning. I thought I was going to puke.

Got up in the dark, got ready in the dark, mustered in the dark, got to the Consulate in the dark, and was heading into the desert by the time the sun made its ghostly appearance on the horizon. You can imagine every sunrise and sunset is filtered through sand and deceptively serene.

Back out to the middle of the desert for another day in the sun shooting weapons. But today we got to wear out civilian clothes which meant I got to completely soak my civies in sweat instead of my cammies. Lovely image, I know.

Today I actually had to be one of the shooters and once again, I was amazed how much better the Marines are than the other services, even me who is on the short-bus end of the spectrum for Marines shooting pistol.

I didn’t start out auspiciously though. We had to make our targets today and the others were struggling with putting the paper on the cardboard and stapling it so I put mine on the ground and did it from there. I slapped the staples on and one of the Army guys said “Looks like you’ve done this before” which I really hadn’t but again, I wasn’t about to tell him this.

Ironically, it wasn’t 5 seconds after he said that when I grabbed the outer part of the target, curled my fingers around, and shot a staple through the paper, through the cardboard, and right into the pad of my middle finger.

I tried to play it off but the blood was coming out in big drops. It stung like a bastard but I needed to get the blood stopped before we shot. I put it in my mouth, but that only resulted in me drinking a good mouthful of my own blood. My hand was completely red and I was starting to worry that I wasn’t going to be able to stop the bleeding without a bandage.

I tried to wave the blood off with a shake but that only caused my pants to get a good splattering. Finally, I let it bleed and clog, then used my shirt to apply pressure. I got it stopped just in time to start the course.

Great start.

We ran through the drills against targets that, comically, had a picture of a very Arab-looking cartoon. We did failure drills (two to the chest, one to the head) and my first group were close in his chest and the third hole was right in the middle of his forehead. One of the Army guys looked at my target, looked over at me, looked at my target… I saw all this in my peripheral vision as I was staring at the target, waiting for the next command.

His target showed that he gave his Arab an earring hole.

After we were done, the Gunny from the Consulate came up to me and asked if we wanted to cook off some shotgun rounds. To tell the truth, all I wanted to do was get out of the heat and blowing sand but when a Marine Gunny asks you if you want to shoot free rounds, it’s not a question.

He gave us a quick class on how to use the shotgun but kept peppering his explanations with phrases like “but you already know this. All of you are experienced and have shot the shotgun before.”

I was not about to tell him, in front of everyone, that the Marine Major had never shot one before.

Ever.

Thinking about this, I must have fired one at TBS 10 years ago but I really don’t remember. All I know is that I don’t like firearms in general and the famous kick of a shotgun is not exactly on the top of my “What I Want To Experience” list.

But I couldn’t back down. I just listened intently so it wouldn’t look like I was Barney Fife out there.

The Gunny was so happy bringing us the ammo. Like a big kid, he carted a box out to us…with 160 shotgun rounds!!!

To be shot by 4 people.

See ya, shoulder.

We set up some plastic targets we knew wouldn’t last long and started. I had never even loaded a shotgun so it was a new experience, especially after the first few when your hands were shaking and sweat was dripping into the breach.

I put the butt of the shotgun in my shoulder, leaned forward, and pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

Yep, it’s a kick but not as bad as I thought.

Then about 10 rounds later, I started to change my initial assessment.

A few times, I had the buttstock in the wrong position and it came slamming back into my shoulder like a donkey kick.

The final blow was something I didn’t expect. I thought I had it positioned deep in my shoulder but when I pulled the trigger, it hurt more than any other shot. I think I hit a nerve or something because it was instantly obvious that it was going to be my last shot. It just friggin’ HURT.

We finally finished up, not even shooting all the rounds but completely annihilating the targets.

But the Gunny was not done. He wanted us to shoot the rifles the guards were using so he gave two of us them. I was really put on the spot because although I was a multiple expert on the rifle, I hadn’t shot one in a decade. Everyone, to include the guards, were watching and I felt a lot of eyes on me. We had been off to the side and not treated as harshly as them the whole range and not to mention, we were U. S. Marines so a “Major” screw up at this point would not be good.

He handed me a mag and I hoped to God I was putting it in the right way and when it clicked, I was relieved. But that relief was short-lived because I had to actually send the release home and I realized I hadn’t done that in quite a long time.

I just stared at it for a second as I felt a thousand eyes bore into me. I hit the lever and if rode home with authority.

Whew.

The instructor had his hand on the back of my collar along with the guy next to me and urged us forward as we shot, and then backwards. The targets were already riddled so there was no way they could tell if I was hitting anything which was a relief since I was more worried about firing than I was aiming. Although I claimed I hit dead center each time. Of course I did, I was a Marine, right.

Shhhh!!!!!!

When we were done, we “smelled the barn” and couldn’t get ready to go fast enough. The thing is though, we had spent a good portion of the day sitting in an air-conditioned car bemoaning the fact that it was stupid degrees outside and yet we were still wiped out. The others had been out in the heat the entire time so they must have felt quantum levels worse.

We really needed to stop by the Consulate to get our badges but I was tired, burnt up, dehydrated, and starving so stopping by to play reindeer games with the Consulate was out of my skill set at the moment so I made the command decision to just go back to the villa.

In a moment of silence, Mike uttered, “I ain’t working out today, Sir.”

This is the point that I should have said “The hell you aren’t. We gotta keep the schedule.”

Instead, it came out sounding something nearer to “Good, because I really didn’t want to either.”

When the going gets tough, the tough scramble back to their air-conditioned villas, take showers, and nap for a few hours.

I would have slothed for the rest of the day and night if it wouldn’t have been for the Brits inviting me to go horseback riding.

Sure! Sign me up.

It was the last outing we would do with Linda before she left for good so I really didn’t want to bag on it. That’s why Mike felt really bad when he got snagged to ride along with someone else to pick new people up at the airport. He had to bow out so it was just me and the Brits.

On the way out, when I had only seen my life flash before my eyes 39 times due to J’s driving, we came across some camel herders on the side of the road. So J whipped the car around, violently, of course, and we pulled up to get a picture.





In broken English and hand signals, we got across the fact that we wanted a picture and they gave us the OK. At least I THINK they gave us the OK and I HOPED they gave us the OK because I started snapping away (you can see it on my Flickr).

Then one of them came up to the door and motioned to see my camera.

Crap.

For a moment, I thought he might have been offended but it ends up he just wanted to see the picture. I pulled it up and he gave a big rotting-tooth smile when he saw himself sitting on his camel. Then I think he wanted us to buy some camel milk but I intelligently declined.

I guess the camel milk is sort of an aphrodisiac of sorts but it also causes tuberculosis so that would be kind of a bad thing.

“Honey, I got good news and I got bad news…”

When we got to the stables, I was surprised at a couple of things. First, it was about 10 degrees cooler out where we were and there was a breeze that actually felt good. For the first time since I got here, I was outside with jeans on and I wasn’t sweating like a glass of iced tea in Alabama.



The second thing was the stables. Unlike many (all) places around here that wasn’t insanely ornate, this place was clean, well-kept, and organized. When we went to the stables, the horses were utterly gorgeous. It was obvious they were well cared for and all of them were friendly enough to walk up to and pet.

What I WASN’T surprised at was J’s comments and comparisons about the general size of the horses and their body parts.

Paul, the Brits’ son, had his riding boots and riding cap on, looking like the most stereotypical little British lad you will ever see. They brought out a horse for him and he rode it around a running ring.



I watched them for awhile and then they brought out a horse for me. I had made the mistake of telling them that I rode before but what I MEANT was that I had ridden a few times as a kid and once or twice as an adult.

I was really hoping I would be able to get on the horse and ride it around a little without hurting myself, the horse, or the spectators. Any combination was possible.

This can’t be all that tough…

Famous last words.

Actually, I did OK only because I convinced myself that it was intuitive. You get up on the horse, you kick the bastard a little, and crank the reins in the direction you want him to go, right?

I had a better attitude than that and I was hoping I was being gentle but confident. I was trying to be the alpha of the situation and not show fear.

I guess it worked to some degree because I got it to go in circles in basic directions I wanted him to. I even got him to gallop which, since I never really got the rhythm down, was pretty much a continuous attempt by the horse to cram the saddle clear up my ass.



“Fine horse! Had a great ride. Are we through here?”

(to the horse as I walked off…) “call me…”

After the riding, we retired to the same routine that is so prevalent around here. We sat around and drank tea while talking about not much of anything.

Eventually, we said our goodbyes and got back to the Compound despite J’s Mad Max driving.

Tomorrow should be a sheer joy. The aftermath of a couple a dozen shotgun firings and a horses flailing attempt to lodge a saddle where the sun never shines will be interesting to experience. Wish me luck.

Free FML for Today: “Today, my girlfriend asked me to hold her purse while shopping. All of a sudden, a robber punched me in the face and took her purse. She started crying about her purse and told me to get off the ground because I was embarrassing her. FML.”

Pistol Range Day 1

Quote of the Day: "The question of whether a computer can think is no more interesting than the question of whether a submarine can swim."

- Edsger W. Dijkstra

Friends and Family,

I have been asked to put a rating/warning on these posts, and I quote:

“Dude, you should start these things with a warning meter of a 1 to 10 rating. 1 being "may cause a smile" a 10 being "make sure your bladder and bowels are empty before reading." Please, for the sake of my pants.”

My response: “OK, all my entries are 47s then. Except the depressed ones.”

And now, for today’s post:

This morning was the first “early morning” because we had to get up, make it to the Consulate by 0600 to follow them out to a range in the middle of the desert.

I guess we are supposed to fire off 50 pistol rounds every 3 months to keep up our proficiency and of course, the Marines run the range for these guys. Never mind that we just got here, we were in charge and everyone (including us) were just fine with that.

Ironically, it was the first time in awhile that I slept decently and it was cut short.

We met at the Consulate and caravanned way out into the desert for an hour and a half where we found ourselves at a range, or more commonly known as, the side of the dirt road in the middle of the desert. The final few miles were so bumpy that everything in the car rattled violently, to include our teeth fillings.

We were just a “tag along” group. The shoot was actually to qualify the guards for the Consulate which I can’t go into detail but these foreign guys are of a higher caliber of the average TCN guards you see around here since the Consulate was attacked a few years ago. As a result, they pulled in some pretty hardcore guards led by some people who have next to no patience with them.

The main one is an Australian special forces type who couldn’t stream together more than three words without including the most vile, insulting, brutal language I’ve ever heard. It’s just the way these guys are trained. Fun to watch, not so fun to be on the receiving end.

We waited around for a long time, waiting for our turn to have the range for the 20 minutes it would take for us to cook off our rounds. The temperatures started in the 90s and crept up into triple digits by mid-morning. The wind kicked up also so it was hot, dry, windy, and sandblasted.

I continuously drank as much water as my stomach could hold but only had to go to the bathroom once. I was so happy to enter the small cement building that housed the bathroom and saw real toilets. Most of the time, there is just a porcelain hole in the ground and a water hose next to it. The idea is squat, do your business, TAKE YOUR LEFT HAND TO…..yeah, and then use the water hose to clean your hand.

Say it with me, people: SHIRT!!!!!!

For some reason, I was curious to see what was at the end of stalls and when I got to the last one, I saw something I couldn’t believe: urinals!!!!

Could my eyes deceive me? Real urinals? Here? What’s next, pork negligees?

I sauntered up to one of them like I was in the Wild Wild West (yes, I sauntered) and was happy to participate in even the simplest American pleasure: NOT pissing in a hole.

My reverie was interrupted when I heard running water.

Nearby.

Below me.

I look down and what did I see?

The bottom of the urinal where the hose should have been connected to something … wasn't.

It just ran right into the urinal, down the drain, down the tube, and onto the cement below me.

Now THAT’S the Saudi Arabia I know.

Of course.

Good thing I went into a cement room in the middle of a desert just to piss on a cement slab.

We waited around, mostly in our air-conditioned vehicles, until we were given the range and then Mike took over.

A couple of things were obvious:

1. Mike was the junior and newest man in the group

2. Mike was the highest qualified to teach basic marksmanship

3. The other military guys had very little experience with the pistol

4. Even though I am at the lower end of handling a pistol in the Corps, I was the second best pistolman in the group. By far.

Mike took them through some of the drills we learned in Quantico in the High Risk Personnel class. It seems that in the past, they pretty much just came out and cooked off 50 rounds and called it good. They really liked all the quick-reaction drills we had them do, the failure drills, the double-feed recovery, immediate action, etc.

I was not shooting, just helping running the course and it became evident that we shouldn’t get too sexy with the course of fire and the best we could hope for is that no one got shot. Neither of us expected them to be as shaky with the pistol as they were.

And it really highlighted the ability of the Marines. It was obvious that Mike was an expert but even I, who is at the shallow end of the pistol pool, knew more than I thought I did about the basics. Especially compared to the other service members.

When we got done, we headed back and was glad to get out of the sun. Being cooked and sandblasted all morning was not all that fun but we made it back, changed over, and hit the gym. Didn’t really want to work out but we did anyway.

Afterwards, I went for my haircut. I don’t know if my hair is growing faster over here or if he just didn’t get close enough last time. Whatever the reason, I had a white down all around the sides and back that I was eager to get rid of.

Free Advice: never tell a barber to use the straight razor from half-way down your head and then work from there.

Why?

Because he’ll use the straight razor from half-way down your head and then TRY to work from there.

I had chicken skin halfway down but to get rid of the line was obviously beyond his abilities. He gave it a good shot but went just a little high with the shave and couldn’t pull off the fade in time.

Oh, well, he’ll get another shot on Friday because it’s so cheap over here (about $6) that I can get two haircuts a week.

And it will be awhile before I need the top touched, ever since my encounter with Achmed the Butcher.

My big goal for the night was to get an alarm clock. I have yet another idiosyncrasy in that I wake up several times a night to check the time. At home, I had a clock radio on my dresser and one across the room just so I can see the time no matter what position I happen to be in my bed.

Yes, it’s that bad.

So when I got here and there was not alarm clocks in the bedrooms, I knew I had to get one but have not made my way out in town to get one. I have been using my watch and cell phone as alarms but each night, I wake up and have to open my cell or find my watch in the dark to see what time it is.

Been.

Driving.

Me.

Nuts!

So here was the set of events and how they unfolded:

I wanted to go to the eXtra store which is the big electronics store here (“Sony guts!!”), so I hear.

But I didn’t know where it was and I have to have someone with me if I go out in town. My thought was that I could ask Russ, who gave me the DVD player because he’s a tech guy.

I didn’t have Russ’s number and didn’t know exactly where he lived so where else but the Brit’s place was there to start? This ran a risk because I was afraid that if they knew I needed an alarm clock, they would just give me theirs. That’s just the way they are.

When I got there, another one of us military types (Navy) was there. We got to talking and I ended up asking him to go with me.

As we left, he told me that he had two clocks he didn’t use (what is WITH these people?) and I could have one. He took over the villa that belonged to the last Marine Captain so he gave me the one that belonged to him.

He must have bought it here because it’s like via 1970.

First of all, it’s analog.

Second, it has glow in the dark numbers that don’t glow in the dark.

Third, it runs on batteries.

Fourth, to see it at night, you have to push the snooze button and click it so a little bulb in the upper left corner lights up. So the left side of the face is nice and bright where the right side is progressively less lit up, kind of like those shots of the Earth from space where you can see nightfall creep across the globe.

But it was free and if I can’t live with it, I’ll end up buying one later.

The last adventure of the night was trying to watch one of the first-run movies that we get on VCR tape (“Vantage Point” this time). But I had only hooked up the VCR once (you have to make some plug connections each time you want to watch either the DVD, VCR, or TV) and couldn’t remember how, exactly.

There I am, Mr. Techie, and I was getting my ass handed to me by a VCR/TV set up. I tried a few different combinations before determining that Roomie must have taken the cable I needed with him, the bloody wanker… (damn Brits!).

The VCR didn’t accept three connectors (red, white, yellow) so I thought he had taken the two connector cable with his game box.

But then I figured out how to route the RF cable in and it worked just fine.

Well, about 15-minutes fine before I calculated that I would be getting about 4 ½ hours of sleep if I went to bed right at that minute.

Tomorrow, another hot day in the desert with another set of shooters.

Free FML for Today: “Today, I had a job interview. When I got there, the lady interviewing me shook my hand and said, 'Hello, I'm gay.' I found this strange and I didn't know what to say, so I stated, 'Aw, it's OK, I support you.' She looked pretty offended, and I realized why when I found out that her name was Gaye. FML.”

Admin Day and Dinner AGAIN!

Quote of the Day: "Television – a medium. So called because it is neither rare nor well done."

- Ernie Kovacs

Friends and Family,

Today I had to get my head on straight so I called Mike last night and told him we would do an admin day. This is a lot like skipping work but it ends up, I got more work done at home.

You see, we go out and visit different bases for the first half of each day and then return to do admin work in the afternoon which of course includes eating lunch, taking a nap, and working out. But there is plenty of paperwork and admin to do because we have internet connectivity which means, just like going to the leau (Brits, again), the work ain’t done until the paperwork is finished.

Since I’m still wading through all the passdown I got from the last guy and the fact that I have a ton of email to process, staying home to have an admin day, believe it or not, is a legitimate concept.

It was a little tough staying in my villa all day and I couldn’t quite do it. So starting at about 0600 (still struggling with the sleep thing), I took one of a dozen walks over the course of the day.

I met two of my friends going to their cars to go to work and had some of the minimal human interaction I would have until tonight. One of them was missing his wife who was on vacation for 3 weeks and he could empathize with my general mood. It’s funny how guys will open up a little more than they would once you initialize the concept. I have no problem with people knowing I am hurting (as you all know).

All day I answered email, took walks, did paperwork, took more walks, read over old files, and took still more walks.

But there was one thing that I had to get done. I had to make hamburger stew.

Last night, I couldn’t wait any longer to fry the hamburger I had thawed out in the refrigerator a few days ago. I was going to make something (what, I don’t know) but then people kept feeding me so the meat was sitting in there needing to be cooked.

So I browned it last night and today, it was time to make my wife’s famous hamburger stew for the first time since… let me see… BIRTH.

I pulled up the recipe that my wife sent and got a bit sidetracked when I cut and pasted ALL the recipes she sent into a Word document that I printed and will keep in the kitchen.

Here was the hamburger stew recipe I followed to the T:

Hamburger stew:

1 pound of ground beef

4 or 5 potatoes

2 carrots

1/2 of an onion

garlic

1/2 can of stewed tomatoes

1 chicken bullion cube

cumin, salt, pepper, garlic powder

1 can corn or peas

Brown the ground beef in a large pot, and drain the grease, peel the carrots and potatoes and cut them into small pieces. Chop onion into small pieces and add it and the garlic to the ground beef. Add the seasoning (as much as you want, probably about 1/2 teaspoon of each , but 1 teaspoon of salt.) Add the chicken bullion cube and the stewed tomatoes cut into small pieces. Cover the whole thing with water and bring to a boil. Once it starts to boil turn it down to medium and let it simmer for about 1/2 hour until the vegetables are cooked. Add the can of corn or peas and let it cook another 5 minutes until it's warm.

I checked and I had everything except garlic powder but had chopped garlic instead. I would manage.

I followed the directions except I accidentally dumped the corn in from the get-go instead of waiting until the end. The ONE time I looked away from the directions, I hosed it up.

That ruined it and I threw it all out.

OK, just kidding, I finished up, let it simmer, and called Mike to get over to my villa and eat it with me for lunch since we were going over to the Brit’s house AGAIN for dinner (God bless them!)

When I sat down to eat it, I was amazed: it tasted exactly like my wife’s. Funny how that works but it was such an odd taste of home.

The only thing that was missing was a sleeve of saltine crackers because it seems that if the Saudis had crackers over here, life as they know it would cease to exist. They have billions yet still wipe their asses with their left hand and don’t have something as basic as crackers.

We both had seconds which meant that Mike was not just being polite and I had enough for 2 or 3 more meals. Or one gluttonous pig-fest if I choose.

Once again, the Brits (sorry, Linda, the Brit AND the Irish) had us over for dinner. But we weren’t the only ones. It seems they invited half the residents of the compound as is their custom.

As you know, I received a package the other day from Jeanie and in it, unbeknownst to her, she included what is possibly my favorite candy of all time. Not just licorice but the Red Vines Original Red Twists in the rectangular box. As a kid AND as a grown-up, these particular treats have always topped my list and I can tear through a box in record time.

Yesterday when I went over to the Brits’ house, I brought a small baggy of Hot Tamales because they had never had them and I wanted to give some to Paul, one of their small sons. I felt horrible because it ended up that because of his braces, he could not have any and his mom thought they would be too hot for him after she tried one.

So I was hoping that the licorice would be OK. I grabbed the box at my villa and was going to open it to put a few in a baggie but then I remembered they don’t stay soft very long after they are opened so I thought, what the heck, I’ll give the kid the whole box.

When I got over there, I brought Paul over to me and explained to him how good they were. I mean, I really played it up before bestowing them on him and his eyes lit up when I handed them to him. Right then, I knew it had been the right move, even though his mother said he wouldn’t eat them all and then SHE felt bad for taking them from me.

Bullocks! If he eats one and throws the rest away, it was worth that look on his face when I handed him the box. Quite the Willy Wonka moment.

He promised to save me 4 anyway so we’ll see.

Now, you have read that I am very proud that I was actually able to throw together a hamburger stew that tasted just like home. I was even bragging about it once we got over there until I noticed the menu Linda had “thrown together.”

A turkey.

A ham.

Roast beef.

Two kinds of potato dishes.

Sautéed carrots.

Cheesecake

Jell-O (or what they kept wanting to call “Jell-E.”)

And that is just what I chose to lop on my plate. There was more such as cabbage, pudding, etc. that I skipped if only because my plate had 14 lbs (or a stone) of meat heaped on it.

I brought 2 bottles of wine that seemed to be a hit and even the Jell-O with fruit cocktail I brought got devoured.

It was more than a full holiday meal and every chair in the house was full.

What was the occasion, you ask?

Sunday.

After a very loud, funny, talkative, teasing, conversation-filled dinner, we were all stuffed. Jamie and Linda had done it again. These people are just relentless with their hospitality.

Some of the men went to the living room where the bongs were brought out. No, no illicit drug use, it was just flavored tobacco but smoked in these Arabian bong-like contraptions. I have yet to partake but I am assured I will before I leave. Trying to get one of those things back in the states should be fun if I get hooked.

Once again, Mike and I waddled out of their house so full that the few hours of sleep tonight will qualify as a coma. We were accused of leaving early (10:15 PM) but we had to get some sleep before tomorrow when we have a pistol shoot in the middle of the desert.

I know, it’s all a desert. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

About two minutes later, I was in my villa. It was dark and quiet which was quite a difference from where I had just been and it only highlighted the fact.

An empty house is a terrible thing to come home to. Maybe I should rethink the cat concept.

FML for Today: “Today, my co-worker insisted there must be an underlying, romantic reason for why I spend so much time teaching him everything, and that I didn't mean it when I told him that's what I'm paid to do. I'm actually supposed to train this guy for 3 weeks. 2 more weeks go.”/

Mail and Old Jeddah Sook

Quote of the Day: "One of the best rules in conversation is, never to say a thing which any of the company can reasonably wish had been left unsaid."

- Jonathan Swift

Friends and Family,

Feeling a little better than yesterday but not by much. Too much to write about to skip out on an update.

The big news today, of course, was that I got mail for the first time. I was up in the Detachment Commander’s office asking if I had to register with the APO office to make sure they know I’m here and he told me they knew.

That meant that I had not received mail because I had not received mail.

We talked a little bit more about things we CAN’T get here and Gatorade came up. He said he thought there was some at the Red Sea Mall and he was going there this afternoon but I really didn’t want to go out so I graciously declined.

Maybe later.

As I left and headed back to my villa, I ran into the guy who gets our mail and he was unloading boxes from his car. I offered to help (obviously a weird concept for him since he’s a TCN that’s used to be treated like crap) and then I discovered two of the packages were for me.

One from my friend Jeanie and one from Heather. I excitedly took them home and savored the opening as long as I could before tearing into them.

Ironically, Jeanie sent Gatorade powder so I am set for awhile with that.

She also sent candy, Ivory Soap, Burt’s Bees lip stuff, Kool-Aid packets, a couple of spices and tenderizer, a Starbuck’s gift card, and a cork screw which was the only thing I actually asked for.

She also sent a Cosmo with a note that said “Bathroom reading material.”

That’s Jeanie for you.

The other package was a huge decal that said “U.S.M.C. All Men Die But Not All Men Live” which happens to be my favorite line from Braveheart.

Of course I cannot put this on my car here because it might as well say “Hey, blow me up!”

But I will find a place for it.

Thank both of you for those much-needed morale boosters. They helped. Didn’t cure, but helped.

I also met a couple who hooked me up with a DVD player, although I already ordered one and it’s somewhere in the mail. Russ had an extra (being a gadget guy, he buys all the latest stuff which makes his “old” stuff superfluous and ripe for giving away). He would take no money for it and when I got it home, it played my American DVDs. “300” was the test and it passed with flying bloody colors.

I found it necessary to skip the weekly Saturday night soccer game because after working legs and shoulders, I could no more play soccer than flap my arms and fly to the moon.

Additionally, the Brit Family wanted to take out to the Sook or more commonly known as the Saddest Place on Earth to Buy Stuff. Jamie wanted me to label this blog “Traveling to the Bashee Heartland” and I was going to, until I realized that “Bashee” is very insulting over here.

Before we did that, though, they took us out to eat at Chilis and since our food took a bit long to get to us, I ended up munching on the “chicken nuggets” that the child Brit didn’t want. Granted they were huge but it killed what little appetite I had so when my burger came, I downed about half of it and I was completely stuffed.

I was exhausted (little sleep again last night) and was quiet most of the dinner until we started talking about the differences in words we use. It was a fun conversation and I learned the following translations that they found just as curious:

- “Bullocks” is worse than shucks but not as bad as bull$^&$

- “Wanker” should not be used in polite company

- “Bloody” is kind of like “damn” and can be used by young people

- Our “cookie” is their “biscuit” (Linda thought it was weird we used “biscuit” like “muffin.” They only use “cookie” for the sugary round cookies like Oreos)

- A “dribbler” is a bib.

- I forgot what they called a pacifier but when I called it a “binki,” they looked at me like I was nuts.

Another one I caught them saying when the phone didn’t work was that it had “given up the ghost” which took me a second to figure out. It means it died.

After dinner, Jamie would not let us pay.

Wanker.

If I thought Ali was an aggressive driver, Jamie the Brit was absolutely insane. I love the guy to death but it was obvious that he had lived here awhile and his natural aggressive driving tendency (so his wife told me he drives like this in England) had been Saudi-fied which means his big 8-cyclinder was bigger and badder than any car on the road. Here, that’s the acid test: size and aggressiveness with a willingness to use the horn almost constantly.

Jamie sped through and around traffic, completely ignoring lines, signs, safety, rules of physics, etc. My favorite line of the night was when he blew through an intersection because the turn lane was full, drove about 100 yards, and said “You gotta pull a bit of a dirty yewie….” As he whipped around and came at the turn from the other direction.

Mike and I laughed for the next 2 minutes over that one.

Almost as good as him driving COMPLETELY onto the island in a turn to get around backed up traffic.

By the time we got to the Sook area, we arrived right before prayer which means every vender was trying desperately to make their final sale before everyone shut down.

We found ourselves in a very narrow street with just enough room between the cars for our vehicle to fit.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the center lane of this opening was completely full of people, animals, and more people. It was as though we had driven into a street festival and were trying to get through with our huge SUV.

And no one seemed to mind.

Except Jamie who had enough of the stopped routine (my biggest Force Protection nightmare. An ambush waiting to happen and nowhere to go) and to my shocking horror, opened his car door, stepped up to see what the holdup three cars ahead was, and started yelling at people.

Mike and I thought that would be the final straw and we would be in the middle of a mob scene with a Brit, a woman, and a toddler.

Eventually we got out of there and I could somewhat breath again.

Jamie took us on a little tour where we got to see Chop-Chop square. This is where they…stand by to be shocked… this is where they do public executions in front of big crowds. Anyone can come and watch heads being lopped off, mostly for drugs. But there are also the occasional limbs chopped for stealing.

Jamie pointed out that it used to be just down the way a few hundred yards. Where the big PLAYGROUND now sits.

“So what you are telling me that they built a playground on the old execution site AND then only moved the spectacle a few hundred yards down?”

“The tykes must have somewhere to play while the parents are at Chop-Chop.”

S

H

I

R

T

We parked on a corner and I asked what the painted curb indicated. It looked like some kind of no parking spot but I was informed they don’t have “no parking” areas in Saudi Arabia. Furthermore, no meter maids to enforce them if they did.

Much like just about everything about this area, it’s either super strict or anything goes. As Jamie likes to say, they are 8 hours and 25 years behind the rest of the world. No more was this evident than when I saw a toy store and all of the toys were from when I was a kid.

I’m almost 40.

They had stuffed Pink Panther dolls. And their Barbie is Arab Barbie: she’s wearing a full agama on the box. Only her face is showing so obviously, she has Infidel tendencies.

Anyway…

At this point, we were on foot and I was more than a little aware that I was with a woman, a toddler, another Westerner, and a fellow Marine.

Head on a swivel because EVERYTHING was foreign and traffic quite literally could come from any direction.

We were in old Jeddah which was pretty much like the worst slums in Tijuana. Leaning buildings looking like they were about to fall over. A/C units just slapped on the outside. Exposed electrical wiring everywhere.

When I peeked into an open door, it looked pretty much like a crack house.

And it was about 100 degrees.

The last prayer started and all the shops closed down. We kept shopping, skipping over things like wooden twigs for brushing teeth, multi-colored chicks probably spray-painted different colors (bright pink, green, etc.)

What Linda (Jamie’s wife) was looking for was a bong.

Yes, a bong.

Well, that’s not what they call it but it’s what it looks and acts like. It has a glass tube and then a tube running off it to smoke flavored tobacco that I was assured contained no drugs, not even nicotine. It’s just for flavor.

Shirt.

I also got to see the Saudi bargaining process work and it unfolded just like they told me it would. They quote some outrageous price, we counter, they come down, we don’t and they wave us off. Until the second we hit the door and say we are going next door and then they agree. But then Jamie, of course, asked for something else thrown in and it all starts over again, all the way down to the point where we don’t QUITE have enough on us to cover the agreed upon price. They take it in disgust and we leave.

Out on the street again, we saw slaughtered animals hung up by hooks and I wondered when they actually cleaned those hooks.

And when I asked Jamie, in jest, when the street cleaner comes out and cleans up, he answered, “Oh, ‘bout every 2000 years.”

I could just never one-up him on comments and you all know me. I said “You gotta love a place where sweating profusely is socially acceptable” and he never missed a beat, adding “Apart from the bedroom, of course, aye Mate.”

Street after street I saw something that I would have never believed. It was a constant parade of sights, sounds, and odors that assaulted my senses. It was a bit much to take in, especially since I was still feeling pretty low.

On the way home, Jamie once again did his Speed Racer routine and when he dropped me off, I just had to smile and shake my head.

Crazy Brits. But what wonderful, caring people.

Free Advice for Today: “Today, I was sitting in my room watching TV when I heard my mother obnoxiously yelling for the dog. Minutes later she stomped into my room, swatted me over the head, and yelled at me for not answering when she called. She actually got my name mixed up with the dog's. FML.”

The Wave Found Me

Quote of the Day: "It's a recession when your neighbor loses his job; it's a depression when you lose yours."

- Harry S Truman

Friends and Family,

If you’ve been keeping up, you are probably thinking it’s all fun and games over here. And I really gave it some thought that I should shield all of you the not-fun-and-game times but if I’m going to carry you along with me on this one year adventure in Saudi Arabia, I can’t protect you from days like this.

I gave you the fun and there will be more but if I’m going to lay it all out there for you, you deserve to read about days like this if only to prove to you what we Marines sometimes try to hide: we are human.

I knew it was coming. It was just a matter of time. I have done this enough times to expect it but expecting it doesn’t make it any easier.

It’s like running into the ocean, thrilled at the surf, the sound, the beauty and then getting that first big wave hit you as though the ocean is saying, “If you go any further, I’m going to make you pay.”

Today, the wave found me.

Maybe it’s the first weekend alone. Maybe it had something to do with showing someone my family photos on Flickr yesterday. Maybe it was just time and my defenses were spent. Whatever the reason, I got my introductory “tough day” missing my family so much it physically hurt.

For the curious among you or those that have walked down this road before, this is how I reacted.

I had no appetite and forced myself to eat a can of chicken noodle soup for lunch. I even made a salad which I actually enjoyed chopping up, taking my time.

Then I didn’t eat a bite of it.

Probably a dozen times over the day, I stepped outside and walked aimlessly around the compound in the 100+ degree heat.

I couldn’t take a nap despite only getting a few hours of fitful sleep last night.

I cleaned the house, of course. I cleaned the inside of the car. I worked on work email for a few hours which seemed to get my mind off it just a little.

I kept checking my watch, waiting until the hour I could reasonably call them and got in touch just before they left for a funeral. Afterwards, they were heading south from Seattle to San Diego, their month vacation coming to a sad close.

Talking to them was supposed to help, right?

Afterwards it was like I swallowed a mouthful of razor blades.

After a few more walks, I decided to go over to a friend’s house just to have some human interaction. It was good to talk to them but I didn’t want them to know just how hard this day was (although they are reading this now). I think I saw some understanding in their eyes and they were gracious enough not to take me to task over it.

I wandered home and tried to finish off the last of the chili but I could only manage a few bites. I did eat the salad though.

Cleaning the kitchen was something to do and when I was done, with only the oven light on casting a soft glow, it saddened me again because it looked like how Carrie leaves our kitchen every single night.

Pristine.

I took my last walk at night and walked the entire compound. I found we have a koi pond and sat on the bench provided. But I found no joy in the beauty it showed me.

I am exhausted.

But I doubt if I will sleep much tonight.

The 31st day away from my family didn’t go so well.

FML for Today: “Today, the couple next door were having sex while moaning. Loudly. So, I slipped a note under the door saying "SHUT UP". Later, I found out they were actually crying because their son had died. FML.”