Moxie has joined the Army and Day 8 of International Randomness

I say Day 8 but really it’s only been my team here for 7 days and then the countries just arrived yesterday. So technically today is Day 2.

I figure either I attempt to update this thing about what’s going on here or I don’t write for a month and considering my Good Husband’s Guide earned me an insane about of readers (and a stern talking to at home by my own husband), I need to keep at it or no one will care about all things Heather and random anymore.

So. I’ve been here for 8 days and nothing too crazy has happened. Moxie and I are doing our own thing. She comes to work with me every day and she sits and naps under my desk, snoozing and looking pretty. We snuggle together every night, under the scratchy, rayon, thin as fuck, hotel comforter that I’m sure I’d never want to see under a black light, as we watch AFN movie marathons, which are nothing more than the most extremely biased, American self promoting, proud to wave a flag and drive a tank, flicks. It’s kinda nauseating but we are just happy to have cable so GO USA! Anyway, back to Moxie’s attitude adjustment since being on an army base—She thinks she’s the belle of the ball here, since everyone is paying her so much attention, stopping in the office to see her and patting her in the hall when we walk by to run an errand. She’s not really impressed that people keep referring to her as a fat piglet or a fat raccoon or a fat puppy, but really, it’s probably just a good wake-up call for her to put a little pep in her step and get moving. Does like mother, like daughter, translate into the dog world? Fuck if it does. So that’s what she’s up to…lots of nothing but impressing foreigners who have never seen any dogs besides a lab or a slinky ass shepard.

Now me. Somehow, I am leading a very quiet and boring life here at CE so far. Could be because I live on the opposite side of the base from the countries and would have to drive through a gate to get to my room which means no drunk driving which means no drinking. Well, at least on this side of the base, where 1550 of the 1600 people are staying…so, good behavior it is. For now.

Last night some of the countries gathered in the fest tents, set up outside the barracks, for a little happy hour fun, compliments of the U.S. Here are a few things I discovered.
1. I’d say 90% of the people sent from the reserves in NY are 18. They make up a huge part of our staff, something like 150 people.

2. 83% of them have a horrible NY accent and 70% of the girls draw in their eyebrows with black eyeliner and look like they’ve killed a bitch just for giving them the side eye.

3. Two of them explained this whole, get married the minute I join and have a baby as soon as possible for money mentality. I had to laugh at their reasoning, because they did admit no one likes each other. And I for one can’t get over the fact that I saw some chick in line at the PX that looked like she was wearing size 12 kids jeans but shopping with her husband. Not a day over 17. So. Bizarre.

4. 17% of them don’t have a horrible NY accent but only because I think they speak Spanish.

5. The Danish fucking love bread. My friends Scott, Tom and I had a thirty minute long conversation with a guy named Anders (which translates to “donald duck” in his language, or so he says and no, Google doesn’t support this so I’m left to wonder if it’s true or not) about how he cannot live without this bread in his country called Rugbrød. (which in googling for a picture, I find is just RYE bread. Why in the world do these people not make it easy for me??) In fact, everything they do seems to revolve around this bread and as far as I could tell, it was junk and so hard it could probably break teeth. Anyway, we tried to tell him that the real way to go if you’re going to be all carb crazy is to get yourself something warm and soft, like sourdough or french or I don’t know, some sort of ciabatta, but no, he loves this hard bread. I knew I couldn’t trust him when he followed up with, “It is best with liver paste.” Oh fucking no. No, now your bread opinion is worthless, liverpaste on bread my ass. (which to me seems like a foi gras/catfood paste, which we all know I can’t get behind)

6. The Americans have taken on the responsibility of teaching the foreigners two great games: 1. Beer pong and 2. Flip cup and they are showing great enthuisiasm in doing so. It’s nice to teach the countries something of social value to take back and spread across the world. I hope to be tagged in a photo of someone’s page in Turkey one day, me, smiling and playing international pong. I only say Turkey, actually, because I heard a lot of talk that they are currently the country to beat. And, considering this came from some hardcore girl from NY that then threw a gang sign and said, I got Turkey, yo, as though she was going to singlehandidly put the smackdown on a whole country, I feel like I can trust the information.

Speaking of smackdowns. That brings me to 1. my nickname in my office, which is not all that flattering but appropriate and 2. the first incident where I was taken in the hall to have a talking to for my behavior.

Chokeslam. Yea, that’s my nickname. Awesome, and anyone that knows me probably doesn’t even think, huh, wonder why? So here’s how I got that little nickname.
I may or may not have been involved in an argument with someone in uniform one day that was over something stupid but pissed me off. So, being the even-tempered girl I am, I went back to my desk, slammed my hand on the wood and busted out with, If that (expletive) fucks with me one more time, I am going to chokeslam them.

And then my boss walked in with another director, both of which are easily amused and happen to be friends and wanted to know what the hell I was talking about. Considering they are both Navy, making them obviously awesome, they love a good showing of aggression and so I told them that chokeslamming was a signature move I’ve been known to make and it’s pretty lethal. So the actual move is just a swift hand thrust at someone’s throat, slamming them by the throat grab up against the wall. It’s best if it’s shocks the person you do it on and it’s also best if you perform it on someone the same height or shorter than you. This move never works on someone taller than me, as you have to kinda lift the choke move to get it to the wall.

Now, here’s the Undertaker, performing a great chokeslam, but he uses the mat, whereas I like to use a bar wall as the landing spot. To each his own….

And no, I don’t perform this a lot, just actually once on my sister and it was a huge misunderstanding which resulted in a lot of drama and my favorite bartender Trey leaping over the bar yelling, “Smith! Cut the shit!” That resulted in my sister looking like I tried to actually murder her which almost resulted in a flight change and most certainly resulted in a hole in the wall that she punched after I choked her, which I think she just did to be equally dramatic but I don’t tell her that because wow, she was bullshit that I choked her at a bar.

So that’s how I’m choke slam. NOW. How I got in trouble.

Someone in my office got lippy with me about using a password that I didn’t feel I had to give up and so I refused and when he pushed the issue, I asked him if he wanted a smack down. It was at that point that I was asked to step into the hall for a little talk about physically threatening people in uniform.

It’s at this point that I wondered if they hand out vaginas and egos when they hand out uniforms in the, I want to be in the military, store.

Every day at CE is a learning experience.

One thought on “Moxie has joined the Army and Day 8 of International Randomness

  1. Alex says:

    Heather, i would be glad to read your personal and Honest comments about Armenian delegation and armenians in general. Its really interesting for me )))

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