Ramblings from the outside of nowhere

This is being written with Google docs & spreadsheets.

Haven't had much to write about the last few days or so. I guess the next two months are going to be rough. This coming Tuesday would have been Travis's 28th birthday. Then, through July the second, he and his brother would be the same age. They were eleven months apart. Last year I went to Arlington. I may go back, but what I really want to do is have a party for him. Sounds crazy, maybe. But, what the hell. He is located in section 60, and, let's face it, that is where most of the new funerals are taking place at Arlington these days.

I wish I had been in Arlington when Bush made his big speech. I would have brought a big bag of dog turds and chucked everyone of them at him.

The other night I walked across to a neighbors house where they were celebrating in the garage, and there sat a young marine in full dress blues, drinking a Heineken, chilling. Of course I had to do my routine, thank him for his service to the country, and beg him not to go back to Iraq. He said he had already volunteered to go back. And, of course, it is because his unit is still there. His buddies. This is why they volunteer to go back. They have such guilt about coming home and leaving their comrades there. I don't know if it has been like this in all wars, but in this war, the bonds that are being forged in battle between these young men are unbreakable.

As I sat there with these young people they eventually started talking about politics, and Bush, and they asked this young marine if he had voted for Bush, to which he replied yes. He quietly affirmed his support for the war. He listened to everyone telling him basically what an idiot he was without saying a word, and when I left to go home, I whispered in his ear the only thing that I could say in way of comfort to him. And it came straight from the mouth of Spadoman, who says it better than anyone. I told him that no matter what people think about this war, we honor the warrior, not the war. It wasn't enough. I don't feel you can ever do enough for these young men and women. But it was all I could think to say. Regardless of how I feel, he's the one over there, fighting, doing what he feels is right. However much I wish he wasn't, I respect his motives, which have nothing to do with Bush and his ilk.

And, now I will segue into something a little more lighthearted. See how smooth that was. Sometimes the words just flow. The Dish network guy came out to do some fine-tuning and damn, I wish it was me that needed some fine tuning. He had an accent, which I always love. He had salt and pepper hair, blue eyes, was about 6'3", and a wonderful build. He was definitely a rugged manly man, with a giant big-ass wedding ring on his finger. It's not like I was gonna put a move on the guy or anything, but, who knows? Oh, hell, its been so long now, I wouldn't even know how. But, it sure was a treat. My son was here, and had to listen to me ooh and ahh. I told him I wanted to keep him, and he said he didn't want to talk about it.

When I was over at the party with neighbors, a young man named Lorenzo was talking about how he did the 'helicopter' for his girlfriend. I said, (because I don't care), what's the helicopter, and all these young men got embarrassed. So, I looked at my neighbor, and said, Oh, that's where they they make there dicks spin around in a circle, isn't it? My son said, Mama, don't you need to go home?

This morning I told my son I would like to see the dish guy do the helicopter. He got up and left the room. I did find out this gorgeous man is from Uzbekistan, part of the Soviet Union, which probably why he said he was from Russia. Russia!! So exciting, especially for someone from my era. You know, the spys, the cold war, the fall-out shelters, the cloak-and-dagger bullshit, the let's practice hiding under our desk in case we're hit by an atomic bomb era...a lot of good that would of done, right?

But, I digress. The more I think about it, the more I want to see the Russian dish technician do the helicopter. A wondrous thing to behold it would be.