It's been so long.

6 years.

Six years of extreme ups and downs.

I finally got to a place in myself where I left all hatred aside.

Hatred of myself and other people.

And I'm back to square one.

I'd say "You'll be sorry!", But you won't.


I tried. I really tried. I fought for others. I fought to help. I helped myself. I have done everything I can.

Yet, it's not enough.

It's not enough for others. It's not enough for me. I can do better than this. I AM BETTER THAN THIS.

Nope.

Yeah. You'll miss me. For a minute.

You'll miss my banter. You'll miss my hugs. You'll miss how I helped you through bad times, when you never knew who the fuck I was.

Eventually, You will stop. You'll forget that I built this place. You'll forget that I stood up and said NO.

You will forget me. You will forget what I've done to shape who you are today.


And all I will be is someone you "met one day".

My career

This incident should have given me a clue that no matter what I did after this, my military career was at an end. After this I still had five years left.



One day in Iraq, I was working the Operations Center, and we got a call from one of our patrols. They got hit by an IED. Thankfully, nobody was hurt, and there was very little damage to the patrol itself. They came back to base.

What got me was where they got hit: In the middle of a field.

Usually, IEDs in that area were set by the side of a major road to hit a 'target of opportunity'. They wait for a military vehicle to come by, and they set it off. Since this one was set off in a field, it means that they knew our patrol route, and were waiting for us.

So, I tell my Battle Captain about this. I advise that she let the Battalion Commander know that they need to vary their patrol routes. NOW.

She asks a couple of questions, but doesn't understand the answers, so she basically blows me off.

I figure that she will at least do her job and let somebody know about it. Either that, or the next shift would see what happened, and after I explain it to them, they would do something about it. Neither of those things happened, but I didn't know that. 

A few weeks later, that same patrol got hit by yet ANOTHER IED in the exact same place. Our guys didn't vary their route at all. 

There's a saying that I learned a long time ago: "Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action." I didn't want this to get that far.

This time, I told the Battle Captain, the Major in charge of our shift, and the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the OC. Something else.... Nearly every morning, I made coffee for our Brigade Commander. He'd get a cup, go out on the back porch, and watch the sun come up. So, I managed to talk to him about it, too. I told him that he should get his underlings in order, otherwise, someone was going to get killed. He agreed, and told me that he would take care of it.

I assumed that he was a man of his word. I was mistaken.

About a month after the second incident, we got yet another call saying that the same patrol got hit in the exact same place. One change, though. A soldier was killed. The IED flipped the truck, and it landed on the gunner. 

When the letters K I A were spoken over the radio, the entire room fell silent. 

The shift NCOIC, a Master Sergeant, looked at me for a minute. He just stared at me. I could feel his stare in the back of my head.

I turned around and asked him what the problem was. His only response was, "What happened to our Intel? This shouldn't have happened." HE WAS BLAMING ME. I looked around the room, and saw that most of the people there seemed to agree with him.

I immediately stood up, walked over to him, looked him in the eye, and told him to fuck off. I had been telling all of them for over 2 months that something bad was going to happen, and that the people in charge needed to talk to one another and figure out how NOT to get a man killed. 

I went outside, and started smoking. I must have smoked a half of a pack in 30 minutes. My battle Captain came out, and tried to talk to me. I told her to go away, or I would knock her out. I was done working with or for her, and I would have a replacement the next day. I finished up my shift, talked to my bosses, and let them know that I was no longer working in the OC. The Master Sergeant never said another word to me.

A little while later, I got word that the powers that be wanted to see me.

It turns out that they wanted to charge me with gross negligence, demote me, and have me kicked out of the Army. Their version was that I withheld vital intelligence that command needed to know, which resulted in the death of a soldier. Thankfully, I was writing a journal at the time, and had dates and times of the conversations I had with them about the incident. Plus, I had the backing of our Major who was in charge of Brigade Intelligence. I had told him about all this, too.

There was actually paperwork charging me. Can you believe that?

In the end, the paperwork disappeared. Mostly because I threatened to get the media involved, and tarnish the name of the Washington Army National Guard. If I or they had gone through with the Court-martial that I requested, I would have come out a little worse for wear, but still kept my rank. However, I would have made sure that at least 5 higher ranking officers and NCOs would have been busted down.

At least, that's how it would have went in my head. I probably would have made a big scene, and they would have just quietly given me an Honorable discharge from the Army.

Either way, my career was over at that moment. I was never promoted because I have an "attitude problem", and every year on Veteran's Day, I raise a glass to SPC Donald R McCune for what happened to him. I wish I could have done more.

Geek Convention

Holy crap, do I love me some geeks.

For the past few years, I've been able to attend several conventions in the Seattle area. Most notably Norwescon. If you don't know what it is, Google is your new friend. Basically, it's a Science Fiction/ Fantasy convention held at Double Tree Hotel in Seatac each year. I've only been to the last 2 or 3. There have been 35. There's also Rustycon, Westercon, Crypticon... The list goes on.

Here's why I love these things:

I'm more normal than 90% of the people that go there, and because of that, I'm a freak. It's wonderful. Plus, I get to dress up like it's Halloween. It's pretty fun to try and figure out what you're going to wear at Con.

A few years ago, I met some of these people in a bar in Lynnwood called O'Finnegans. They think that they're an Irish pub, but really they're just a sports bar with karaoke every night. Me being a karaoke whore, of course I went there.

Suddenly, I get, well, almost accosted by a group of people. I was wearing my fedora, and they seemed to like the hat. So, they asked me about it, and I told them the story. If you don't know the story, read about it HERE. Most of the people who read this actually know me, and are probably tired of hearing/reading the story. 

Anyway, we hit it off immediately, and had a great time that night. I sang some songs, drank a bunch, and one of the girls took me home. A good night all around.

I found out that night that these people were part of a party crew that goes to most of the conventions around Seattle.  They rent out one of the rooms, set up a bar, have a few of their own DJs, and party it up all weekend. So, naturally, I started going to the conventions. Especially since they "adopted" me the first night we met.

This past year, I managed to wear my kilt, and borrow a peasant shirt from a friend of mine. I didn't look like anything special, just some ginger in a kilt and tan army boots. They asked me to bartend for a shift at the party. Of course, I will always take a shift for them. Midway through my shift, a woman comes up and takes my shirt off of me. So, I'm bartending half naked. Bare chest, kilt, and boots.

At one point I shout out "AM I PRETTY YET???" The whole room chimes back "YES!!!!" To which I respond, "THEN YOU'RE ALL CUT OFF!!" We had a nice laugh at that, and we went back to drinking and trying to get laid.

A little later on, a woman that I had been hitting on, who is now obviously drunk, comes behind the bar and slips her hand up my kilt. I just kept on serving drinks. She tells me that she's not going to stop. I reply, I always win at Chicken. The bouncers eventually came and got her because she wasn't supposed to be behind the bar. Oh well. I guess no handy for me.

We all have a good time that night, and I go back to my hotel room alone, much to my chagrin. The next day was full of games and panels and whatnot. Good times. That next night, I put on my leopard print onesie.

That's right, I have leopard print adult footie pajamas. They are the toast of the town. Or, if you'll pardon the slight pun, the Cat's Pajamas. When I first wore these things to Con, one of the Biohazard guys asked me what was wrong with me. He and a couple others started making fun of me, but not as an attack, just lighthearted stuff about being a "Furry". Not three seconds after that, four women walk up and ask me if they can pet me. "Of course!" I say, with a knowing look to my friend. I give him a wink, and say, "That's why".

Adventures in bus riding #1

This is a short tale, but I nearly laughed hard enough to spit my drink out when it happened.

When I first moved to Seattle, I didn't have a car, so if I couldn't get a ride from a friend, I had to ride the bus. One day, I noticed a woman about 24 years of age, with her son in her lap.

She was staring out the window, contemplating life, and looked down to notice that her son was sucking his thumb. She scolded him for it, and hit his hand out of his mouth. A little harsh, but hey, I'm not going to tell her how to be a parent.

As she was staring out the window, her own hand started creeping upward, and her thumb seemed to make it into her mouth.

The little boy, saw this, and hit her hand. Poetic justice, I thought.

But, it doesn't end there.

I was on this bus for about 30 minutes, and every 5 minutes or so, one of the pair would smack the others hand out of their mouth because they were sucking their thumb. What I found particularly funny was that the mother didn't realize what was going on. She just thought that her son was acting out, and hitting her because she hit him.

Like I said, this happened every five minutes or so for over half an hour. Nothing quite like chastising your child for doing the same thing you are...

Richard Cheese is a dick

I wrote in a previous story about being in Las Vegas, and seeing Richard Cheese playing a show. It was a pretty damn good show, even though it was almost exactly like his live album. He played all the same songs that he did on the live album. Only the banter was different. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it very much. It just wasn't different.

Now, here's where it gets tricky.

Richard usually comes out front and gets pictures with his fans after the show. Pretty cool of him, I think. He signed some CDs, talked a little bit with the people, and all that. When it came time for my turn, everything went just as it had for everyone else.... Until picture time.

I put my hand on his back. Just a place to put it, I wasn't trying to molest him or anything.

"Don't touch me." he says.

I laugh it off a little bit, but put my hand back on his back.

"I said, don't fucking touch me." He doesn't sound angry at all, but he does have a certain look of disdain in his eyes.

So, I put my arm down, we get a couple pictures, then go on our way. We walked a few paces away, and I watched him take pictures with other people for the next 5 minutes or so. Every time there was a hot woman, he would put his arm around her, or let her fawn all over him. However, if there was a guy, he would make sure there was plenty of space between them. Either he's homophobic to an extreme I haven't seen before, or he's just a dick.

A couple months later, he comes to Seattle. I go with a few friends of mine, and we have a great time. When we walk in, his manager is at the front table selling t-shirts and CDs and such. She recognizes me and says, "Hey! What are you doing here? Weren't you in Vegas?"

"Yeah! I live here. I came to this show, too, because it's a friends bachelor party."

We exchange some more pleasantries, I give her my number, and we enjoy the show. Two of my friends are constantly talking and making comments during the show. So much so, that Richard notices, and points ME out. He tells the crowd to boo ME because I'm talking. One of the security guards comes over, and chastises me for it. I explain that it wasn't me, but my two asshole friends. (Who are still making comments, by the way). The security guard reminds me not to make comments, or I will be escorted out.

I don't say anything else during the show. And we have a pretty good time.

Afterward, we get pictures with Richard again.

I'm wearing the same suit as I was in Vegas, and he recognizes me. I don't touch him at all this time, and we get a picture. He then turns to me, and says, "Don't yell shit during my show." I try to explain that it was my idiot friends, but he wouldn't listen, and just walked off.

I went down to the "Green Room", which is the bar inside Showbox Market, where the concert was. I end up having some drinks with the piano player, Bobby, and the drummer, Frank. I even get them to sign a girl. Frank got the front, Bobby got the back. They were cool as shit.

Richard Cheese is a dick.

Dangerous intersection

I was in a pretty nasty car wreck when I was 17.

At the time, I thought I was a pretty good driver. And, to be honest, I was.

I had only had my license for about 6 months, but I had been driving various vehicles since I was 5. This particular day, I had stayed after school for Track Team practice. After it was all done, I went to my car, and headed home.

Instead of taking my usual route home, I decided to explore a little. I had a cassette tape of Metallica blaring on my radio, and it was a very nice spring day. I pulled up to the intersection of Ahtanum Road and Marks road. it was about 2 miles from my home. The part of the road I was on, was a gravel back-road, that didn't get used a lot, and had a pretty steep grade downward.

Ahtanum Road sloped down hill from right to left. Off to the right, was a blind corner about 150 yards away from me. To my left, it stretched on for at least a quarter mile. Marks road, in front of me, gently sloped downward for the next mile. Ahtanum Road didn't have a stop sign, but Marks Road did. So, I stopped.

When I pulled up to the intersection, I did as I was trained. I looked both ways. Twice. Coming from my left, I noticed my neighbor pulling up to the intersection. They slowed down, and waved to me. Part of me must have thought that they were being really nice and waving me through, because I started through the intersection.

Three quarters of the way through the intersection, I glanced to my right.

The grill and bumper of a Ford Aerostar Minivan was about 4 feet from my door.

Everything went into slow motion.

I turned toward the steering wheel, and screamed. That scream was cut off by my car getting hit at 65 miles per hour by the minivan. Everything went black.

When I came to, Metallica was still playing, and I couldn't breathe. So, I unbuckled my seat belt as quickly as I could manage, and flopped onto the pavement, trying to get some air. My neighbor came over and checked on me. She thought I had been thrown from the car.

So, here's what happened from an objective viewpoint.

My neighbor had slowed down because she was turning onto the same road that I was on, and was waiting for the minivan to pass her, before she turned left. The minivan was speeding down the hill, and didn't see me until I was almost through the intersection. When we collided, we traveled about 50 feet. We ended up about 8 feet from a drop off to a field 20 feet below. My passenger seat was stuck underneath my seat, and my car was completely totaled. I had slammed into the steering wheel somehow, and that's why I couldn't breathe.

The woman driving the van worked at my High School. She was an assistant teacher for the Special Ed class, and was a very nice lady. She also had her 8 year old son in the van with her. He was not injured at all. In fact, he was more worried about his Game Boy than he was about anything else.

I spoke to the Sheriff, filled out some forms, got in my dad's car, and went home. They towed the wreck behind us, and dropped it off in our field. I used to think that I was going to tear that car apart someday, just for fun. I never got around to it, though.

That winter, I was coming up the opposite way on Marks Road, and there was snow on the ground. I thought I was driving carefully. I didn't speed. If I had to slow down, I pumped the brakes. I didn't over-correct.

Unfortunately, there was ice underneath the snow, and I couldn't stop. I looked to my left, and saw a car going way too fast from around that blind corner. The first thing I thought was, "Great. Now I get it from the other side. This is going to kill me."

I knew that I wouldn't have enough time to stop without getting hit. So, I did the only thing I could think of.

I stepped on the gas.

I managed to get up enough speed to pass in front of the other car, and not get hit.

They must have missed me by less than 3 feet.

After that, I never drove around that intersection again. I always took other routes. It was safer.

Shooting Craps in Vegas

I've been to Las Vegas a few times, and I love that town. Just the way things are handled there seem pretty cool. to me. I once walked from the Stratosphere Hotel halfway down the strip all the way to Binions on the north end of the strip. The whole way, I had a glass of whiskey in my hand and I was alone. I didn't get molested or fucked with at all, amazingly enough. I've heard stories of people getting mugged if they stray too far from the casinos.

On one trip, I was staying at the Imperial Palace, and after 2 days, I was down $800. I had gotten VERY drunk the night before, and went to bed around 5:30 am. I woke up at 8:30 am, completely sober and awake. I still don't know how that happened.

I decided that I was hungry, and went downstairs to the casino next door to get some breakfast. I still had about $100 left, and decided that if I lost that money, I wouldn't gamble any more. On my way to breakfast, I noticed my friend's dad, Gene, playing Craps. I had never played craps before, and neither had he. One of the dealers was giving him pointers, so I joined him.

After a little while, we were both up a little money, and were doing pretty well. People started gathering around the table, and joining in on the fun. My stack of chips started growing. Then, we got on a cold streak, and I was down to my original $100. I told Gene that if I lost that, I was done.

Then, we got on a heater.

There were 16 people playing on the table, and we were all winning. Normally, a player rolls for very little time. 10 minutes is usually a nice run for people to make money on. That's because it's pretty easy to "crap out" by rolling a 7 before hitting your point.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, look up the rules.

Gene rolled for almost an hour. He kept hitting point after point. Everyone on the table was winning. We won so much, that they had to refill all the chips. If you've ever passed by a craps table, you see a lot of chips by the boss. They almost ran out.

In 4 hours of shooting craps, I went from $100, to $1200. We had a great time, and made a bunch of money.

Another time I was down there with a couple friends of mine, Maureen and Jeremy. Maureen decided that they were going to take me to a concert as a surprise. They took me to see Richard Cheese. I'll tell ya, that guy can put on a show! He's an asshole in person, but that's another story.

We go to the show about an hour and a half early, and they wanted to look around. I, on the other hand, went straight to a craps table. In an hour, I turned $100 to $500. There were about 10 people on the table, and nobody would roll except for me and the guy on the other end of the table. We kept rolling, and people kept making money off of us. It was glorious.