Monday, January 31, 2005

See You Auntie

I'll post once more tomorrow, before I bravely trek to MEPS to wait.

That said, being that I haven't figured this blogmonster out just yet (see? I'm not even a good nerd...) I'm going to have to ghetto-link someone else's blog until I can pull my head out of my ASSessment of my current state of idiocrity (and yes, that is a new word copyrighted by me, use it at your leisure, kiddies).

The blog I'm talking about is the blog of an Iraqi, and one whose English seems to be better than mine. I'm going to go ahead and post this URL right here,

and for everyone that has told me, "But Bush iz stoopid! The Iraqians don't even lyke us an' they dont want us there! LOLZ!" Please, read a few entries, and rethink your life. Imagine people with slightly educated opinions, wow, wouldn't that be something to see? That being said, his blog is a bit inspiring, not to mention refreshing. I could also link someone's news blog, someone Gilliard or something like that, but that would be counterproductive. If I wanted nothing but bad news and negative outlooks on the overall situation, I'd watch CNN. But hey, Gilly, as long as you're doing your part to inform the people and make a difference with your pessimism, as opposed to taking SOME form of action and trying to physically make the situation better, more 'power' to you. But just to play fair, I'll read more of what you've written, and if I DO find something uplifting in there, then I will post a follow-up to this and will clearly state that I WAS WRONG. That is, if I can wade through your spirit-crushing reports without asphyxiating myself with an oversized sandwich bag first.

"Ok, Ryan, shut your stupid mouth about all that stuff that no one cares about. Get to the GOOD stuff! Tell us about your day! We want to know! We can't get enough of you! MORE! We are RAVENOUS FOR RYAN!!!"

Fine fine, ok, you win.

I awoke early in the morn, while birds sang and cherubs played their harps for me, and Michael Jackson decreed that he would receive a fair trial. What a great day. The paper talked about the SUCCESS of the Iraqi elections. If Al Qaeda were smart, they'd see the error in their ways (and how much time, energy, money, LIVES they are wasting) and give up, and take up.... I dunno... ship-in-a-bottle building or something. Follow the French national slogan, "We surrender." Just kidding, France. I'm jus playin', y'all know I love you.

My car has officially been sold, got that title changed over. Waited for a notary for an hour, and once she finally arrived, she told us that the previous notary-ationismness was still valid, and we didn't need her. I could have clubbed her with a baby seal for that one.

Met with my recruiter, cool guy. I felt compelled to harass him about his 103* fever, and why he bothered to come to work, or why he wasn't atleast golfing or something, but then I realized that this is the dude that's going to count my pushups, situps, and time my mile run. So I played nice. All bets are off tomorrow though, pal.

Pushups? Sucked. Did I get the minimum? Ha ha ha ha ha, yes. And then some. And by some I mean SOME. Leave it at that.

Situps? He stopped me after one minute and said that I was good to go. I've never had a problem with situps. But personally, I felt I could have done a lot, I KNOW I could have done a lot better, on all three tests.

The mile? Come on, I'm a skinny dude with long legs, running is no ordeal. Wait.... Oh yeah, I hadn't eaten all day, and hadn't COMPLETELY totally given up smoking altogether (though it had been a few days, so that's no excuse...). So there I am, running my little heart out, feeling good about life and how unbelievably man-gorgeous I am, and I finish my first lap, and I'm thinking to myself, "Well shit, this is gonna be over before I know it. That kind of sucks." And pretty soon, I hit my brick wall. And I can clearly see the writing on the wall. It said thus:


And so I'm still frollicking down the track, the drawstrings from my hoody hitting me in the face due to all the fucking wind. At this point, I decide to set a pace for myself and maintain it so that I dont totally die. The rest of the mile was pretty uneventful, aside from one point at which I decided it was necessary to spit that sticky shit in the back of my throat out. They say hindsight is always 20/20, and it proves true in this case. It would have logically been a good idea to consider the direction and force of the wind along with my momentum and inertia. Long scientific explanation short, I spit, spit hits face, Ryan feels stupid. It wouldn't have been so traumatic, had it been NORMAL spit. That stuff doesn't cling like a frightened child at a drive-thru daycare. Check-A-Child.

But since I am incredibly resourceful, I managed to wipe all the spizzit from my fizzace, much to my disgrizzace.

Now, NORMALLY I don't like to eat. Sorry, I just don't care for it. Fuck food and fuck you. Its a pain in the ass. But as I left the recruiters', I stopped in at Kicker's to kick it with Rachie, and that compassionate and kind soul offered me free food. I put that food down like Old Yeller.

I am so going to get my shit rocked in basic. There's my post and I'm sticking to it. More to come tomorrow.

Oh, and looks as though I'm starting to get more traffic. To those of you who don't know me that are checking this totally tubular website, welcome. Feel free to post comments, even anonymous people can. Those that know me, leave your name in the post. Those that don't, if you want to leave your email address, go right ahead. And here is my civilian salute to you.


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