Coffee, Tea & the Inability to Pee

So in the Army, or at least in the Army in the 80's (not sure what they do now) they did random urinalysis testing for drugs. Now some of it came down from --I don't know --some higher up place but also the 1SG could order the company to be tested. Sometimes it was truly random and other times the 1SG was trying to bust someone he suspected using. This day the entire Division was tagged for random drug testing. We were called to a division formation, much like the formation we had when SSG Newsome lead division PT and then each Platoon Sergeant was given a list of names of whom should report for testing (peeing in a cup). Glory! My name was called out.

No problem, it was still very early in the morning so I'm sure I can pee, get this over with, and get back to work and this certainly wasn't my first urinalysis test in the Army. We had to go into the NCO club, which was situated just behind our formation. From there we showed our ID, signed in, etc. I had been tested before, nothing new here. You get tested every time you go to a new training or randomly or whatever --grab the cup, pee, hand in the cup --simple process. What I didn't know is there was now a new process.

You see, the Army was really cracking down on drug usage and DUI's but for every new policy the Army tried to enforce, the more creative soldiers would get. When urinalysis testing started those that knew they would come up "hot" (positive) found ways to get around the testing. First they'd have someone else pee for them. Turn that urine in as their own. Done. So then the Army figured out they were doing that so they decided you'd have to go into the bathroom stall to pee then come out and hand your bottle over. There have to be a chain of custody in that, every single person that touched, handled or processed that bottle had to sign a paper. So soldiers got more creative and decided they'd take in with them some urine in a bag when they went into the stall empty the bag into the bottle, pee into the toilet. Done. THEN that was discovered so then you'd have to have all of your pockets empty and not take anything with you into the stall. Soooo --the soldiers would put bags of pee in their underwear and rig up some tubing so it appeared they'd be peeing but really still just dumping someone else's pee into the bottle.

I mean, I could go on all day with the different ways soldiers came up with to get around a urinalysis test --none of which was stop smoking pot!

I was handed a cup and then assigned a female Lieutenant. Huh? What exactly is going on? I wasn't sure but I also wasn't too keen on female lieutenants so --I basically ignored her and went into the bathroom --and in she followed which I still ignored until I went into the stall and still she followed.

Excuse me? May I help you?

"I have to watch you pee."

Okay listen here --I have done some pretty strange things in the Army. I was made to live outdoors and everything and anything I had to do during that time had to be done outdoors. You figure it out. I was made to eat with filthy dirty hands and no means to wash them. I had male drill sergeants and NCO's go through ALL of my personal things for an inspection --including my underwear. I had to eat and sleep when and if I was told to. I had to shower and use the bathroom with no stalls or privacy. I had to share a two-man tent with a total stranger. I had to do cold weather training (putting your "buddy's" feet under your shirt and against your skin to keep warm and prevent frost bite), they took my blood and my urine any and every time they wanted---------------not to mention the numerous times I had to endure sexual harassment and inappropriate language and behaviors by male Sergeants and now THIS?

I don't think so.

By this time there were other females in stalls too and roars were rising from each stall like the crest of a rolling wave on the sea. One soldier yelled out, "Oh no! My momma told me to never let anyone look there!"

I stormed out of the stall and bathroom and into the hall where the table was set up for the processing. Guys were filing out of their bathroom, urine bottles filled to the rim. Easy for them, I thought, they pee in front of each other all of the time. I went to the table and voiced my compliant, "Um, excuse me kind (perverted) Sergeant but see, I'm not going to pee while someone watches me so uh --can we just do this another way or perhaps you can take my blood or something else?" I was informed that under no circumstance would anything be acceptable other than my urine deposited into cup whilst being observed, "The Lieutenant must be able to see," I was informed, "the pee coming from your body into the cup. It's the only way we can be certain its yours."

I was offended on so many levels I can't even explain it. First of all I DON'T DO DRUGS!!!! I begged and pleaded and was told there was no other way and in fact, I was already out of line because once we entered into the bathroom we were not supposed to leave until the Lieutenant had our urine.

SHUT UP! I hate the Army. Send me home!

I was ordered back into the bathroom. So then I decided to appeal to the Lieutenant herself. I explained to her I didn't do drugs and I was not afraid of being hot but I was very uncomfortable with the situation and if she would please just let me go on my own I'd promise not to tell anyone." She wouldn't budge! No one in that bathroom was happy. Soldiers were yelling and swearing --all were complaining h0w utterly ridiculous this was --but they were all going. I decided the only thing to do was to get this over with as quickly as possible. When I went into the stall with the Lieutenant, we quickly discovered there wasn't room enough for both of us and to shut the door --so we had to leave the door open. GREAT! You can stand and watch me and then we'll just gather an entire audience here too.

First attempt. Fail. I couldn't go. No problem, I told the Lieutenant, I felt the urge to go so this shouldn't take too long.

Second attempt. Fail.

Third attempt. Fail.

Fourth attempt. Fail.

The Lieutenant asked me to go out to the table with her. She told the NCO's, "She can't go so I need to get her some water." There was a drinking fountain near by so they asked me to get a drink. I drank. I drank and I drank.

Fifth attempt. Fail. By this time I was the only female left who had not gone. The others, despite their protesting, were able to complete the task and move on. As badly as I wanted to go and get this over with and as badly as I needed to go, I could not. After several trips out to the drinking fountain I was finally given a cup and told to use the sink in the bathroom to drink water from. The problem here is because of that chain of custody, those that were administering this testing could not leave until all of the urine was accounted for. I could not be out of the presence of that Lieutenant and she nor I were supposed to leave that bathroom.

Hours passed. Everyone was getting a little upset with me. They started bringing me all sorts of liquids to drink; juice, coffee, tea, water, soda . . . I drank ALL of it. I peed out none of it. My stomach was full and sloshed around like ocean waves lapping up the side of a ship. My bladder felt like it was going to explode! And yet, each attempt to go to the bathroom was a failure.

The Lieutenant and I were allowed to sit out by the table because other than the toilets themselves, there was no place to sit in the bathroom. They finally called a nurse. She arrived and asked me a few medical questions, just to be certain there wasn't a medical problem then she said, "Well, we call this having a shy bladder. Its pretty common in woman." Great! We have a name for my condition, the kind nurse will explain to these idiots I simply cannot go and I'll either be allowed to go alone or not at all. I asked the nurse if I could go alone. She laughed. She said, "Eventually your body's need will over come your shy bladder so we'll just wait it out."

These are the most stubborn people I have ever met in my life!

More waiting. Hours later, I had not reported for duty at SJA so the NCOIC sent a private out to find me. He showed up at the NCO club and inquired about me. They told him my problem and he went back to JAG and told them my problem. THANK YOU VERY MUCH! NOT ONLY DO I HAVE TO PEE IN FRONT OF AN AUDIENCE, THE ENTIRE DIVISION NOW KNOWS.

Finally I was able to pee and not as much as I needed to but enough to get into the cup. The Lieutenant was happy. She signed to take "custody" of the urine, we washed our hands and left. Happily, she turned the cup over to the Sergeant in charge. Thinking he was going to be more than happy to finally be done with this I was surprised, shocked and ticked off when he said, "I"m sorry, that's not enough. You have to fill it to this line here."

I was just under the line but he insisted it reach or exceed the line. Back into the bathroom we went. Not thinking and still ticked off he wouldn't accept the urine, I went into the stall and dumped it all. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING????", the Lieutenant asked. I explained to her it wasn't enough and she said, "But we could have still used that! Now you have to fill that up all over again."

Oh, I didn't think about that. Here we go again.

Hours later, and I do mean hours later, I finally succeeded. The whole fiasco had begun at 6am and it was now passed lunch time. As news travels quickly in a small town and our Division headquarters was much like a small town, everyone knew poor little Dodge was in the NCO club bathroom with a shy bladder. When I finally got back to the JAG office everyone clapped for me saying, "Yay! You peed! Good job!" You know, like a Mommy cheers on her potty-training toddler only I was 20-something, not 2!

Great! As if hearing about my panties for weeks and weeks after my grandmother divulged that information on the customs label on my Christmas package, now I get to hear about me peeing for weeks and weeks.

To Him I Would Go For Help

No longer that middle child, I was planted into Germany by Uncle Sam to sprout my own roots and wings and grow into Melissa. Not Val's little sister, not the middle child, not the scrawny mop headed barefoot girl --just Melissa with no strings attached.

That kind of freedom was liberating and yet, I wasn't even aware I had it. I wasn't afraid to get off the path most trod but instead took baby steps into the weedy over grown field that laid beside it. Just the fact that I even ventured off into the Army signified I was brave and different. I was me. All those daring feats, climbing out of windows and inventions have now served me well. You know, I was well prepared for climbing over the wall on the obstacle course during basic training or being able to configure my poncho into 146 other uses.

With that freedom I admit I did not always make the best choices or do the right thing. Some of those were after-the-fact realizations like, "That didn't turn out quite like I expected it." but others were intentional blazon choices to do the wrong thing, "Yeah, I shouldn't do this and yet, I I'm going to anyway." And always I'd suffer consequences of my actions and always, I'd pick myself up by my combat boot straps and move on --sometimes to repeat same said stupid thing --other times having learned a valuable lesson.

Point being, I was for the first time me -- no barriers, not boxed in, no expectations of being something or somebody other than me. Who I was knit together to be was formulating -- and I was oblivious to it all. My little sheltered Midwestern life was exposed. It was shredded to pieces only for me to take each piece, every so methodically and carefully put back into the life I wanted it to be --or the lift I was intended to live.

With that I had absolutely no reservations about the huge divide in Newsome and myself --not just in skin color but culturally and in many other ways. The fortresses that had previously been built around my heart were now gone and that left me open to love in ways I never had before.

Newsome and I weren't exactly seeing each other but we weren't ignoring each other either. I was very much attracted to his strength, physically and otherwise. He made me feel safe and that was a feeling I rarely ever had. In his presence, I was worry free and I absolutely had never felt that way with anyone before because you see, I finally learned to be me --just me. I wasn't a little sister, a cousin, a student . . . and with Newsome I wasn't even a girlfriend. I wasn't white or black. I wasn't GO! ARMY! crazy because I learned, that just wasn't me. That was very refreshing for me.

So the days and weeks were spent travelling with Connie, occasionally seeing Newsome and having a sense of marking time --waiting to get back to the states. I didn't particularly like being overseas but I wasn't miserable (much) either. My NCOIC's, the ones appointed over me, as I have stated before, did well to look after me. I had made rank to E4 and was recommended to appear before the E5 promotion board. I was also recommended for PLDC, Primary Leadership Development Course. It was like --an advanced basic training. You know, going beyond the basics and learning how to be a leader in the Army. Both were wonderful opportunities for advancement for me but they were also huge challenges and obstacles to over come.

But I knew one thing for sure --there was a certain Army Staff Sergeant that knew everything there was to know about the Army and training. If I ever needed any guidance or help in any Army ways, there was a certain Staff Sergeant whom I knew would never let me down.

So to him I would go for help.

Connie's Lipstick

As you can see from the pictures, Connie was an attractive young woman. She had smooth brown skin and a bright smile. With her great sense of humor she laughed a lot and when she did, her eyes lit up.

One day we were in our barracks room during our lunch break and getting ready to go back to our offices. Connie opened her wall locker and took out some lipstick and put it on. On her it was a a hint of color, very subtle and just enough color to slightly brighten her lips. It was pretty so I said, "Hey, can I use that too?" She told me no. I asked why and she said, "Just because. Just because I said no." I mean it really wasn't like me to settle for such answers as, "Because I told you so" and such so this was no exception but other than that, it kind of hurt my feelings. I mean, there wasn't one thing of mine I wouldn't have shared with her and I thought that was a mutual feeling. We were close as friends could be and if there was good reason she didn't want to share, why couldn't she just tell me so?

So I pressed the issue and asked her again. She still refused. I'd ask her why not and she'd just say because . . . I kept going and finally broke her and she handed me the lipstick and said, "Fine! Here, use the stupid lipstick, Melissa."

That's better --I mean, we were very close, like sisters and that's exactly how I would have treated my sister and that's exactly what my sister would have done --finally just gave in. Pleased as punch, I took the lipstick and without looking in the mirror applied some to my lips. I think Connie could barely contain herself --but she did. She said, "You happy now?" Yes, yes I was very happy. Let's go back to work.

So we parted our ways and as I was walking across the parking lot back to JAG I noticed I was getting an awful lot of strange looks. Apparently, I thought, they never saw such gorgeous lips in such a pretty color. Thanks, Connie, for the lipstick. I went back to my office and one of the guys I worked with, SGT Y, looked at me and said, "WHAT IN THE WORLD IS WRONG WITH YOUR LIPS?"

Why is everyone making such a big deal about my lips I mean granted, I hardly ever wear lipstick but its not that big of a deal people! I told SGT Y it was just lipstick and he asked, "Where did you get that from?" I told him from my roommate and he told me I better go look in the mirror. I went into the bathroom and OH MY WORD WHAT HAVE I DONE?

You see, on Connie's smooth dark skin the lipstick was the perfect shade. On my pale face? Not so much. My lips were a deep BRIGHT red and I looked like an absolute idiot --a clown --like a 4 year old girl that got into Mommy's make-up. Well no wonder, I thought, Connie was so insistent I didn't wear her lipstick! I tried to get it off but unfortunately it stained my lips. Some of it came off but my lips were still bright and red and silly looking. For the rest of the afternoon people would walk into my office and either pretend they didn't notice or blurt out, "Dodge! What happened to your lips!"

Outside of the embarrassment of it all I did learn a lesson, well actually two lessons. First of all, not every woman can wear every shade of make-up. What looks good on one person might not look good on another.

Secondly and most importantly, I learned this lesson --that for the first time in my life I was color blind. When I saw Connie I did not see brown skin or notice a difference in us. She was Connie, that's it. When I asked to borrow her lipstick it never occurred to me the shade would be too dark because it never occurred to me we were different. She was who she was, I was who I was and together we were the best of friends and before or instead of seeing the color of her skin I saw her heart and soul.

I didn't realize we couldn't share the same lipstick.

Still Growing Up

I miss that little girl I described yesterday; her sense of adventure, lack of fear, imagination, creativity. Where did she go?

I came from the most non-military family imaginable. The only relatives of mine that served in the Armed Forces were distant from me, people I never really ever knew. Growing up the only thing I really knew about the Army was what I learned from the Vietnam reports I'd see on the news each night. I can recall hearing about war protests and even remember the Kent State shootings and in my young mind, equated all of that to the Army being full of bad people. You know back in the day you'd hear of young kids getting in trouble and be given a choice of jail or the military. So to me the Army was full of bad people that weren't quite bad enough for jail but not quite good enough for society.

As I grew older and came to understand that wasn't really true, I began a new train of thought about the military. I thought it was a place for people to go if they couldn't get a "real" job or weren't smart enough or have the money to go to college. I guess maybe since my parents were always trying to direct us to the path of college, I thought the order of preference was college, job, military. You know, military being your last/only option. I wish I grew up with a whole different perspective. It's not that it is what I was taught by my parents but its what I gleaned from what little I saw and heard about. I had bits and pieces of the story and I filled in the blanks. Wrongly so.

After floundering my way through high school and college and a few jobs here and there, I began to take an interest in the Army. At the time I think I did see it as my last/only option but honestly, I think that little girl that I wrote about yesterday was dying to come alive again. After years of getting in trouble for breaking things, ruining things, messing things up, repurposing things, being too loud, too fidgety, too obnoxious, too "bad" I tried to put that little girl to rest. She did me more harm than good, so it seemed.

SideBar: I don't describe my childhood as having overbearing parents that didn't allow me to have fun. I was quite a bit to handle, I understand that and I had a stubborn streak that would make Hercules himself weak as a new born baby. I did the most incredible things and my poor parents were left to clean up the mess. For example, when I was about 4 I was supposed to be taking a nap and my bedroom was in the back of our apartment right off the kitchen. The living room was towards the front of the house, down a hall. So I couldn't sleep one day and decided I wanted a vanilla shake. Of course I knew I wasn't suppose to be up but you know, I wanted a vanilla shake. In my 4 year old mind I thought a shake was mearly semi-melted ice cream and how does one melt ice cream? With heat. I was a very smart 4 year old, of course. So as my mother was down in the living room watching her "stories" as she did every afternoon, I was ever so quietly making my way through the kitchen. I gave myself a heaping of vanilla ice cream into a plastic bowl and put my ever favored Tony the Tiger spoon in the bowl. Pre microwave days, I put my plastic bowl with spoon in the oven and turned the oven on! I guess I got sleepy or impatient or whatever because I then went back to bed and drifted off into a naptime slumber only to later be awaken by my mother's very loud voice. The plastic bowl and ice cream melted and left quite a huge mess in the oven. Why on earth did I even think it was okay to use the oven? I have no idea but these were the types of things my parents had to put up with.

I know it's taking a long to time to get to the point but this all lead me to the Army and significantly impacted my life while I was in Germany and also paved a way to a certain Staff Sergeant.

This Was Me

This was me.

As a child, there was never a moment when I wasn't a total mess. I distinctly remember at a very young age my mother getting me ready for church or to go out and she'd say to me, "Now go sit on the couch and wait for me and on the way there do not touch anything or do anything. Just go straight to the couch and sit there until I come get you." Inevitably, every single time, by the time she got to me I'd have holes in my tights, a missing button or two, hair a mess and possibly some dirt or stains on my clothes. Of course I'd have no idea how any of it happened.

I was a rough tumbler. I loved to catch bugs and climb trees and rummage through the garbage dumpsters. At every meal, and I do mean every meal, no matter how hard I'd try not to, something ended up spilled all over me or the table. As young as age 5 I was climbing trees that towered over a 2-story building. I loved to make forts and climb things and if there was ever anything too daring for the other kids to try, I'd be the first one to step up and volunteer. My friends and I once made an Evil Knievel ramp (out of an old discarded coffee table) and my first attempt at it landed me in the ER. In fact, many of my childhood escapades landed me in the ER beginning with my very first trip at age 2 having my stomach pumped after eating paint. I did many things my parents don't even know about to this day such as using the pipes in the basement as monkey bars (good thing I was a tiny little thing -- I used to hang from the pipes by my knees and swing back and forth to gain momentum then jump down and land on my feet) or climb out of my second story bedroom window not to sneak out but just for the adventure of it (hang out the window, drop down onto the porch overhang, step onto the mail box then onto the porch railing then onto the front porch --simple!). I'd gather the neighborhood kids around and say, "Wanna see me climb out that window?" I couldn't have been any older than 6 or 7. There was a restaurant that was off a main road from our house --I knew how to get to using the "backway" and even though I wasn't allowed to play there, I'd often find myself sneaking off anyway because the building had these huge beams on an angle from the ground up to the roof -- and I loved to climb up them and get onto the roof and walk all around the roof and go all the way to the very edge and peer over at my scary-cat friends looking up to me from the ground. On the playground I could climb the swing set and sit on the very top bar. That skill often came in handy when we wanted to lower or higher a swing --I'd climb up and rearrange the chains accordingly.

I hated wearing shoes and even if I was made to, as soon as I got out of sight off they come. I took pride in the fact I could walk across hot pavement barefoot or run lightening fast across the gravel. At the end of each day my feet were black as night. My knees were always skinned and I hated band aids so whenever my Mom would put on on me, I'd go outside and rip it off and sometimes blood would trickle down my leg and dry that way --never bothered me!! My mother always kept my hair cut boyishly short and no doubt because she got tired of having to rip through the tangled mess each day. After lunch and until I bathed for the night, I always had a kool-aid mustache on my face and much of what I had eaten that day on my clothes. Dirt and I were best friends --I could wallow in it like a pig.

Everything had a multi purpose to me. A sleeping bag could be slept in or -- you could go down the wooden stairs in it at roller coaster speed. A roller skate could be a roller skate or -- a car for your Barbie to ride in. A kitchen cabinet door could be a door or -- --you could open it and sit on it and pretend you were sitting at a food counter at the dime store. A canopy bed could be a little girl's fantasy room or --- you could swing on the poles like a fireman's pole. A coconut shell could be just a shell or -- you can use it to store treasures such as Cracker Jack prizes and trinkets from the gumball machine. Mom's flower garden could be the results of her hard work and labor to make our front yard beautiful or -- it could be a jungle you had to hack your way through with a stick to escape the pirates that were chasing you. Crayons could be used for coloring or -- as silver bullets to be "shot" at the vampires that were after you.

It wasn't that I didn't enjoy being a girl because I did but even with my adventurous spirit and dare devil ways, I was anything but athletic --not very sporty at all so often the boys didn't want to play with me, "You throw like a girl!" Sports were really of no interest to me and despite my inability to keep my clothes pristine clean like my sister did, I loved dresses and pretty frilly things. My very favorite thing to wear was my black shiny shoes. I loved how they clicked on the ground when I walked and I loved how shiny and pretty they were. Yes, I hated to wear shoes but I did make an exception for my pretty black shiny shoes. Playing "house" was one of my favorite past times and I always always was underfoot when my Mom was cooking. It was a thrill for me when she'd pull a chair up to the stove and let me stir something in the pot. I loved playing with baby dolls and when I didn't have one to play with (probably because I lost or broke the ones I had been given), I'd pretend my pillow was my baby doll and I'd rock it to sleep or sing songs to it.

Growing up I suffered greatly from Middle Child Syndrome of course, due to my birth order but also in part to my God given personality. I guess "suffered" is quite a strong word and perhaps better stated, experienced MCS. Born 2 years and 2 weeks after my older sister, I was the child that came along to break the molds. The second born to my parents and the 3rd born to my family (3rd grandchild on my Dad's side), I was unlike either of the two oldest whom were both the picture of perfection in every way. I doubt either one of them ever had a speck of dirt or dust on them. Their long curly locks stayed perfectly in place all the day through. They could quietly sit for hours on end looking at books or quietly entertaining themselves. They could sit at the table most prim and proper never ever spilling a glass of milk. For everything they were, I was not. For much of my childhood, it often felt to me like my parents and other adults were trying desperately to conform me into another Marsha or Val. And then, 4 years and 7 months after my birth, another one came along. My little sister was born and she was the most adorable baby our family had ever seen. She was cute and smiley all of the time.

And there I was sandwiched in between perfection and absolute cuteness. And there I was -- skin kneed, kool-aid mustache, spaghetti stained shirt, dirty feet me.

What does any of this have to do with my Army days or even Staff Sergeant Newsome?

Absolutely everything.

Another One

This is Elizabeth, a German civilian that worked in the Admin Law office. Nice "old school" phone, huh?

Behind that red partition was a desk for one of the Admin Attorneys. To the left of and behind those black binders was another Admin Law Attorney's desk. To the left of Elizabeth's desk is where my desk was when I worked in Admin Law and then behind me was a doorway that led to an office where our civilian secretaries worked.

Elizabeth's English was just about perfect though she did have a very heavy German accent but she was not very confident in her English speaking skills so she was reluctant to say words. When I'd coax it out of her, she'd be right 100% of the time. She was very shy and soft spoken. When she tried to talk to me she'd stop and say, "I don't know the word for it." but then like I said, she'd go on to say it just right. I'd ask her 10,000 questions a day about Germany and German culture. She translated documents for me, made calls for me, helped me with my German landlord (who did not speak a bit of English) . . . she was very handy to have around! She was as sweet as could be but rarely initiated any conversation between us. We had another German civilian that worked in our office and the two of them would often chit chat with each other but other than that (and trying to keep up with my constant barrage of questions), she was very quiet.

I remember one Monday I came into work and I asked her about her weekend and as if it was just an ordinary event she said, "Oh, I got married." It wasn't like a "Vegas get-away wedding" either. It was a huge wedding that she had been planning for months --but that's how little she talked to me --I had no clue she was engaged and planning a wedding. I asked her to bring pictures in and she did a few weeks later and explained all of the German traditions to me. I was so fascinated by all of it. For instance, they have two ceremonies (not necessarily on the same day either); a civil ceremony to make it lawful and a religious ceremony to make it well --religious. The tradition white wedding gown is worn for the church ceremony and the civil ceremony, which is a lot like getting married at the Justice of the Peace, you just wear ordinary clothes like --a simple suit or dress.

One time Elizabeth really helped me out was when a German dry cleaners "lost" my uniforms. I had 4 sets of BDU's (Battle Dress Uniform) so I'd put two in the cleaners and keep two then rotate them out. Well one time, for reasons I can't remember, I decided to put 3 in at one time and pay for next day service. I went the next day to get my uniforms and they did not have them ready nor could they speak English --Well, it had been my experience that when you were dealing with German businesses and ready to spend your money they spoke English quite well but let them try to cheat you or do something wrong and suddenly they just didn't know a word of English! I kept going back to the dry cleaners every day and asking for my uniforms and they'd go to the back then come up to the desk and just shrug. Since I only had one uniform to wear, I was getting quite desperate then I remembered my trump card -- ELIZABETH! The next day I went into the office and explained the problem to her and she asked me for my dry cleaning ticket. She looked at it, hopped on the phone and German was flowing out of her mouth a mile a minute. She then handed my ticket back to me and said, "You can go pick them up now." I never did find out what the problem was but sure enough, that day after work I went to pick them up and they were there.

Me and Connie

Me and Connie at the Rhan Falls in Switzerland. It had been raining all day long in fact, I think the sun only came out long enough to get this picture. I was soaking wet here!

It might appear we coordinated our outfits but we did not! Here we are in the Netherlands and that's a topless beach! I was very uncomfortable with the "scenery". We didn't actually go down onto the beach but we walked down the pier (where we are standing in this picture) and along the "boardwalk". We were only here for a short time because we were on a bus tour and this wasn't an actual scheduled stop so we had to move along.

We snapped these pictures while we were Christmas shopping in Munich. It was November and though no snow on the ground, it was freezing cold!

I'm Back

MAJOR computer problems last week both at home and work! I couldn't get anything loaded. How is it I'm having such technical difficulties BOTH at home and work? Am I the problem????

Be Yourself!

My grand plan of being "more Army" to attract more attention from the very Army to the core, SSG Newsome was faltering (and dumb). It's like I needed Genie from Aladdin to take on the form of a bee and buzz into my ear, "Just beeeee yourself."

Just be yourself, Melissa. You see, I wasn't hard core Army but I was a solider. I didn't need Airborne school or to toughen up. I didn't need to be anything other than myself and so my attempts to be anything other than that were futile (and stupid). I just wanted to be me; Melissa from Chicago serving overseas with the Army. That's it. And as soon as I gave up trying to be what I wasn't, even Little Miss Airborne didn't bother me anymore.

And with this new revelation I also discovered I really had no desire to impress one certain Stagg Sergeant. Staff Sergeant Newsome, that is.

Jones

Other roommates ----

I had one tough female black roommate that seemed like she had a chip on her shoulder --we'll call her Jones. I got along with her well enough but honestly, she scared me sometimes. She had that inner city tough chick kind of way about her. Unlike SL, she did talk about her family a lot however; it was never anything good. She had a whole host of brothers that I think were all in some kind of trouble; dealing, jail, etc. There was never any mention of a father and rarely words spoken about her mother. I was always so fascinated with everyone's family and home lives and the less they talked about them, the more curious I was.

I'll never forget one time as she was telling her "brother stories" she said she used to get so mad at her brothers for stealing her deodorant and soap. Connie and I asked why they took it or why that made her so mad and she said, "Because I bought that sh-- myself. They can buy their own." That really stuck with me because I thought first of all, she has to buy her own soap???? Secondly, why oh why would your own sibling keep stealiing your stuff? And lastly, why wouldn't she just share withe them? I knew hers was a world I was oh so unfamiliar with.

This roomate didn't stay with us too long. She eventually got married, made E5 and then was much too much importatant for us little people. But she was a soldier! Jones always looked sharp and always was on time and did every single thing ever expected of her. She was a hard worker and was determined to have a successful military career. I have no doubt that to this day, if she's not yet retired, Jones is at least an E8 soldiering like nobody's business --chip still on her shoulder and all.