Preparing for the End or maybe the next bridge or tornadoes.

In a conversation with a friend about his new Cross Fit program, we wandered onto the idea of making a program called Z-fit, or Training for the Zombie apocalypse. I did some ogling around the net, and it appears I am not all that original. It has already been attempted multiple times. 

A current program is being taught by the people at the following link: http://zombiefit.org/

However, I was thinking, as with any horror thriller, the action is always accompanied by music.

So, you add in some spin bikes, push ups, and zombie killing themed exercises (cardio boxing?), with a fast paced and fun work out mixed with thrilling music to add to the atmosphere, you have a work out I might actually do. Plus, you're getting prepared for the Zombies to walk.

I should work up something and post it here, along with building some unlicensed tracks for the horror.

We will see what comes from it.

You might be an ass hat.

If the last time someone said you look nice, you and your date answered, "Thank you"........

You might be an ass hat.

If the last story you told included the statement, "I can't believe I made it home that drunk. I should be dead.".......

You might be an ass hat.

If you accelerate to keep the person from merging in front of you.......

You might be an ass hat.

If you have ever seen some who needed help and didn't help them.......

You might be an ass hat.

If you think your car can get you laid.......

You might be an ass hat.

If you have a name for any body part.......

You might be an ass hat.

This has been a Public Sarcasm Announcement.

Sarcasm Dies ~ Episode 3

I know my sea bag was in a trash bag. It was in a trash bag sitting on my rack in an empty, clean berthing. Now, it wasn't there. Gone, with my passport, travelers checks, civilian clothes and all of my clean coveralls, underwear and socks. It was a bad moment. Luckily I could brush my teeth, and I had soap. Shaving was out, unless I wanted to use my Leathermen multi-tool (not going to happen). Upon asking about my bag I was told there was a more important issue on the Swedish ship, they were sending a Helicopter to pick me up shortly, and I should* gather my things and get dressed.

[*Should: Indicates a strong dislike, for the rest of my life, for Estonia, and the people of that ship. A long line of profanities is running through my head. I will spare you that.]

 The emergency on the Swedish ship wasn't a huge issue. It took a few minutes to figure out and resolve. My room was awesome. Had to take an emergency escape test. Putting on the cold weather suit like they have on "The Deadliest Catch" and getting to the rafts was fun, if by fun you mean figuring out if the ship goes down you will survive. The food was better and the crew was awesome. Slept in, had a hardy breakfast, and went to talk with the days plans. He had already prepared the schedule for resolving the remaining ships issues, and had arranged a pair of spare coveralls and some assisted washing time for the clothes I had left. He also explained the Estonians thought my bag was trash. 

I bounced around on day three, and when I finished getting the remaining ships on the same page, I returned to make plans to get back home. The Captain explained that I would not be going home today because there was going to be some really rough water that evening, and he didn't want to risk his crews lives or mine just to do a small boat to Helo transfer. And besides, they had beer. That night we had a crew meeting (in Swedish), a moment of silence (in Swedish), a prayer (in Swedish), and then dinner. I talked with some of the crew and asked about how they liked their jobs and other social questions. It was a polite dinner.

The next day, during breakfast, the Comms Officer and I discussed the fact that NATO had declared me dead. I was part of the crew list from the night before and the small boat that was supposed to have been carrying me had overturned, all hands lost. A little bit flabbergasted, he explained they would be in site of the coast line of Poland tomorrow, and I could send an email to my ship to let them know I was still alive.

 [Since this happened, I have been looking for the names of the sailors lost at sea. I have not found them yet, and though I am glad I was not one of them, those lost souls are still some ones child, parent or sibling. They need their moment here as well. Fair seas and following winds]

 I spent day four helping inventory comms gear in the huge containers they kept in the areas that would have normally been parking for cars riding the ferry. Day five, we connected a large suction cup to the window, then to a cell phone then to a laptop, connected to an email server and..... damn you Outlook. I could not remember what any of the email address' were on the ship. I knew an HF frequency to get in contact with them but the Swedish vessel did not have enough antennas to support that. So, I guessed and sent an email to 25 recipients that I hoped would receive it. Later that day we checked the email for any responses, and we had received one email. They were glad to hear I was alive and they would have a helicopter waiting for me at 7:30, shortly after we were supposed to pull in. Finally, I had a ride home.

One more segment of this story and it's all over. 

However, it is Friday which means its Evil Greeting card day!!!!!!
Today's card is for motivation... Well, that is what I call it. 

Front

If at first you don't succeed....

 Inside

You had one job...ONE JOB....just WOW

Sarcasm goes on a field trip! ~ Episode 1

It's called a blessed life, or at least our Mom, She who must not be named, says it is. As a result, I find myself on many little "Adventures". Some of which were actually life threatening. Others actually killed me for a few days. Well, at least on paper I was dead. 

We were working through a NATO Exercise in the Baltic Sea. Our main job was overseeing the preparedness and then tallying the results of the events. Kind of dull, unless you're me. I fix problems. On this particular exercise we received a message from a French mine sweeper who was having some issues with one of their communication systems. My Department then brought the message directly to me and stated he was happy I had volunteered for the job, and that myself and another technician (they didn't often let me have tools, for good reason obviously), were going to depart shortly and *should be back in a couple of days.

[*Should: In this case should was defined as the following - I have no idea how long you will be gone, what you will be doing, or where you are going, but I feel you have trained enough other people that we find you easy to replace. Enjoy your trip.]

I packed for a week, and went to get the technician from the Electrical Technicians shop. I was met by one of my favorite people (the division senior chief for the ET shop) and my best friend (to be called Kilo Papa from here on out). I explained to Kilo Papa what was going on and then turned to Senior, who shook my hand with the following statement, "We're a little busy with maintenance here in the shop, so you're on your own, but this **should be a minor problem from the sound of it."

[**Should defined here as: This is a Comms issue. We don't have time for this nonsense, but you are their golden-boy/man-whore and don't have choice. Don't die, but you're on your own. ]

I retrieved my bags, and went to the flight deck to wait for my ride. This included putting on a dry dive suit, pre-flight safety checks, helmet, comm check, and watching a text book landing. If by textbook you mean a small grasshopper looking helicopter ignoring the crew on the deck trying to land it, then almost hitting antenna's, landing, then rushing me out to the helicopter, then taking off again without following the ground crews instructions, you got it right. This trip was supposed to take me directly to Swinoujscie Poland. However, the pilot informs me that he is going on liberty in Gdynia Poland so instead will be dropping me on a British mine sweeper, and they ***should be expecting me.

[***Should: No, no, they are not expecting me. In fact, I will be dropped on the back of the mine sweeper in rough, freezing cold waters, with only the notice of, "Hey, we got this Yank who needs to go to Swinoujscie. Drop him off will ya? Cheers!"]

At this point I get the feeling deep in the back of my head that says this trip is about to be "Blessed" (capital B intended). As we approach the British mine sweeper they push a winch out the door, and connect a small orange under the arm winch restraint.

This goes across your back and under your arms

The instructions I get are that all I have to do is just hold my arms and legs straight and I will not spin to much. This was bullshit. The freezing wind and rain had me swirling around like a faulty YoYo. The scary part was when the back end of the mine sweeper passed in front of me going down, and then the helicopter swung me over the ship so it picked me up on it's way back up. I quickly untangle myself and wait for my luggage to be dropped on the back of the boat as well. I grab my sea bag and go to find an entry point. One opens in front of me telling me to get inside.

The crew is great. However, they are the bad guys in the exercise, which means in four hours we will be taking a rubber inflatable boat for a ride. I get a whole tour of the boat, some really good food, brush my teeth and move my toiletry bag into the ruck sack, then get my dry suit back on again.

This ends Episode 1!
 It's a long story....Tune in for more adventures...

Oh fuck it, show up to watch me die, I got better though.

Ballad of the wing-men..

I am not a follower of the "Bro" Bible as founded by Barney Stinson on "How I met your mother." In fact I have been out of the dating game for some time. Well, 12 years is more than some time, but that is a conversation for another time. But, as a married man, when hanging out with single men, you are going to be the wing-man 99.9% of the time, and it is a responsibility I take seriously. Unlike single men, married men have nothing to prove, and nothing to lose by walking up to an attractive women with the trademarked, "Ha-a-a-ave you met Ted?" If they shoot us down it doesn't effect our ego because we already have a beautiful wife we are committed to back home, so nothing is lost to us.

For the last 6 months, I have been working a contract with the US Navy as a Graphic Designer on board an Air Craft Carrier. With my civilian rank, I find myself spending more time with pilots and officers. This always guarantees a good time, and stories to share with the wife and friends back home. While we have been busy and have only stopped at a few liberty ports, I feel it is my duty to share some lessons learned as the permanent on hand wing-man.

First: Your responsibility as a wing-man (as it pertains to flying wing-man for Naval aviators; there is a difference trust me). Accept your call sign. Mine was "Cash". This is important to aviators. They will have entire conversations with you using this name. This is your new name, accept it, embrace it, and respond accordingly. You can miss very important details about the path your night is going to take if you do not pay close attention. For example: "Cash, you'll need to talk to the one with a mustache so she doesn't get bored and take all the hot women home with them." This small missed phrase almost lost my friends the chance to spend some quality time with very attractive Swedish teachers. It is called jumping on the hand-grenade. As the wing man, who has no interest in the pursuit, this is your responsibility to deal with. Be funny, interesting, and keep the pattern full. Once the the rest of your group has paired off and separated from the hand-grenade, you politely excuse yourself, or mention your wife and kids. Hand-grenade defused, you can carry on with the rest of your night filled with people watching, dancing, copious amounts of imbibing......or whatever your thing is.

Second: If you are all headed back to the hotel, and the cab only has room for 4 people, and you are the fifth, as the wing-man it is your responsibility to catch the next cab. As a note, this cab should not arrive at the hotel for at least 2 hours. Arriving early can cause some unsavory mind burning trauma, should you arrive too early and find your single room has been commandeered for the greater good. So, be prepared to have extra money for time at the hotel bar, or have a visual code, like the universally understood sock on the door handle, and make sure your roomies set your laptop by the door so you can at least peruse the inter-webs while they "Call in the alert 30 strike package." On a second note, if your pilots are slapped and left naked following an also naked, quickly dressing, British female down the hotel hallway after the last phrase is shouted during intercourse, it is in no way your fault if she makes it out the front door of the hotel and into a cab. Holding people any where against their will is kidnapping, and always will be. If you have to explain this, it is time to call in a replacement pilot. You do not want to be associated with this one anymore, no matter how funny it is to watch him try to explain to the military police and local authorities why he is bare naked on the street, screaming at a cab that left 20 minutes ago.

Third: Pilots should have respect for the wing man. I walked up and talked to the women first, kept the conversation funny and personable every time the conversation died, sacrificed sleep, and at times, pride, so that you could pursue your conquest of an exotic goddess in a foreign land. You owe the wing man. He lied, bribed, sacrificed, and sweated so you could have your fun. This is a list of things you should not ask your wing man to do.

#1: Permanent forfeiture of hotel room based on "falling in love". Quite frankly, "FUCK YOU". This is most important when you have been on a US Naval Vessel for the last 6 months. Get your own damn room if you are in love, and want to spend the last 2 days of liberty with your Spanish beauty you only met last night in that topless bar. You can't have my room. You wanted to share a room, and feel uncomfortable when your roommate walks in on you.

#2: If you order a round, you ordered the round, and therefore you pay for said round out of your money. Just because my call sign is "CASH" doesn't give me the ability to shit money and cover your idiocy.

#3: If you get her drunk, you have to clean up after her. That is not my job. If I have to, I will curse your name the entire time I hold her hair back as she pukes, while you try to pick up her friend down at the bar.

#4: Any failure on your part to close the deal is not my fault. I don't care how close you got, what went wrong, what you said about the hair on her nipples, or shouting random ass thoughts while in mid-coitus. NOT MY FAULT. This is not potty training, or summer camp. I am not Yoda. I am not going to call a time out and slap the shit out of you before you abruptly slap her ass and knock her off the crappy box springs on wheels they call beds in your small cheap ass room. However, if you wake me up, or approach me while I'm eating, to go into detail about what went wrong, right, or ask what an STD looks like, I will fucking stab you in the face.

#5: During the down time of the cruise at our hotel, if I am in my room, using the internet to talk to my kids, wife or mother, and you walk in and expose yourself to any of my family, punishment will be dealt out when you are drunk, and at your most vulnerable. For 50 Euros, most janitors will jump into bed with you while you are passed out. Many will do it butt ass naked wearing lipstick, and will kiss you awake for 150. While you sew your oats, I want the time to talk with my family. I respect your fun. Please respect mine, or suffer the consequences.