Hangar Queen

Wuh?

2009-12-09T03:30:00.005-05:00

Please excuse my Rip Van Winklesque sense of displacement.

I seem to have taken a nap sometime in mid-November and woken up in a fecking Budweiser ad from 1985. I had a Swine 'flu induced fever dream of a really pleasant Thanksgiving ( I must have been dreaming because my kids and my in-laws were with me and we all had a good time) and another one involving endless turkey sandwiches.

It's a bit careless I know but I seem to have misplaced an entire month.

There's a fucking fir tree in my living room,three feet of snow on the ground and very dodgy jumpers emerging from naff sleeper cells. It can't be. I mean it really can't be.......can it?

Under the tree we have a nativity scene with dinosaurs, sea lions and zebras. Joseph is eyeing the T-Rex and thinking "I'll put a saddle on that yoke and get the sprog to ride it around..it'll be fucking awesome."

Mary is all "Uh no you did-ENT homeboy...no...you REALLY didn't" while Baby J. is all chill in his crib an' shit dreaming about growing up and turning water into Ribena and staying the fuck away from large crosses.

I mean he would have to be chill wouldn't he. He's bollock naked in a stable (Now there are times when being bollock naked in a stable is a good thing. This isn't one of them.) surrounded by velociraptors and creepy old Johnny Foreigner types. At least one of them brought some bling.

I make a pot of tea before I lose the run of myself completely only to have every drop guzzled by three small humans who claim to be my offspring.

Ha! Bolloxes! Charlatans! My three don't like tea. Away from me fiends.

"We do now Paddy...can we have some more?" All delivered in an Oliver Twist you around our little fingers tone.

I glower,grumble and harumph like a post-operative Scrooge and reach for the kettle again. Absolutely,secretly,thrilled with this early Christmas gift.

Wait a second. It's really Christmas then?

Shit.

In Vince Veritas

2009-12-04T01:34:00.007-05:00

Ah yes. Vince Masuka never fails me.

Unlike my health which has taken quite the shoeing over the last few weeks. Swine 'Flu had it's sweaty,aching way with me and I'm still not right.

In an attempt to finish me off Herself has signed me up for an indoor footie five-a-side league that starts in January.

Hmmm..maybe I can get the 'flu to come back and help me lose about three stone before then.

Normal (whatever the hell that is) service will resume shortly.

My Beautiful Friend

2009-11-21T23:27:00.002-05:00

Just seeing you this evening restored me better than any medicine.

It's been the best part of a year since I saw you last and my heart nearly bursts with happiness when I see you in the hotel lobby.

I point to the scrum of navy blue clad flight crews at the check in desk and the laughter wells up in me.

"Still living the dream?"

You laugh at my stupid joke and tell me I'm beautiful.

Your smile and your embrace fold me in and for the rest of our evening together I believe it.

You return several books I have pressed upon you at one time or another. I insist that you hold on to a certain 'old friend'. That one means so much to both of us. I'll see it again. Of this I am sure.

We completely dwarf the two Russian pilots in the lift.

After dinner we have Sticky Tea in your room and you let me rant on and on.

All too soon our time is up and my heart is put crossways in my chest for the second time this night.

Back in to the endless November night for me. I parallel a jet on final for Dulles as I make my teary way up 28.

I love you and I miss you.

Bad Boys

2009-11-11T23:09:00.002-05:00

So there I am in the back seat of a Buick trying to get a bit of sense into the freaked out fuckwit behind the wheel.

"Howareya" says I.

"PLEASEDON'TFUCKINGKILLMEOHPLEASEPLEASEPLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" says he.

His plea was not entirely unreasonable as there were six police officers surrounding the car with weapons drawn. All pointed at said perp.

"OK...We're not going to hurt you. Will you let me help you?"

"pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaseeeeeeeeee"

"Keep your hands on the steering wheel and don't so much as fucking twitch."

I reach forward between the seats and put the car in 'Park' with my right hand and hit the door release with my left. By the time I settle back in my seat perp-boy is gone. My "colleagues" wasted no time in pulling him out of the car and sticking him to the wall.

While Smith and Wesson bracelets were being administered and rights were being read I stayed in the car. Too drained to get out immediately and more than a little worried about where we just were. They were going to blow that kid away.

For fuck all.

It all started when I caught the call to check out a suspicious vehicle at the gate to the hangar. I was the nearest available 'unit' and even though it was technically Airport PD jurisdiction on that side of the perimeter it could become our problem in very short order.CCTV showed a late model Buick at one of the entry lanes with it's lights on and no-one in it. I asked dispatch to have a look with the camera in the lane but a spider had set up shop right on the lens. Sod's law making an early appearance.

Right so. My nearest back-up was Big T. but he was a few minutes away still so I decided to have a closer look. I ditched the jeep and approached the car from the left rear quarter. I could not see anyone in it yet and quickly dabbed the trunk to leave my fingerprints on it. Just in case.

Engine was running,lights were on, brake lights were lit up and the driver was slumped low between the wheel and the door. He was just about invisible from any angle except straight down. He wasn't moving and he looked very,very pale. I scan around him looking for injuries or bloodstains while calling it in. Fuck this for a game of soldiers. Send in the cavalry. The car's transmission is in 'Drive' but Pale boy had his foot on the brake. The car was stopped about 10 feet from our gate and between two booth 'islands' so the only way out would be to back it out. Eventually the airport rozzers arrive in full Sturm Und Drang mode and one of them parks his cruiser right behind the Buick.

I was just about to put the rear window in with a breeze block I had found when I noticed the driver was actually breathing. OK then. Hold off on that for a moment. I give the airport types the details and they proceed to fuck everything up in an impressively short time frame. Lights,sirens, screaming and roaring and a rather embarrassing attempt to break the glass with an ASP ensue. Big T and I look at each other and edge slooowly out of the light.

Now imagine for a minute you are some youngfella that's had too much to drink or you are,as was the case here, high as a motherfucker. You also have a wholesale size bag of weed that could get you in deep shit with the Five Oh. So what might your reaction be when you come to and find yourself surrounded by said Five Oh and some of them being very shouty indeed. Adrenalin will have it's way with you and as you are a lover not a fighter you'll probably try to flee.

And try he did but as I had rolled small boulders in front of the front wheels he didn't get very far. This wasn't much to the APD's liking though and guns came flying out of holsters.

No fucking way. The kid was boxed in. He couldn't move in any direction and these fuckers were going to off him? My Imp Of The Peverse kicked in and I ran to the car.

"I'm going in. DON'T SHOOT!!" I made eye-contact with the others and what I saw was more than a little scary.

Somehow in all his foostering around the driver had released the lock on the right rear door. Big T yanked it open and I dived in to the rather nice leather upholstery. I scuttle across to get directly behind the drivers seat and introduce myself.

And that's where you came in.

The kid was wasted, had a good quantity of shit on him and was clearly bombed out his tree. He made some stupid choices when he got lit up but none of it justified a bullet.

Few things do.

I Wish I Was The Full Moon Shining Off A Camaro's Hood

2009-11-10T00:36:00.002-05:00

I'll never forget the smile on her face when she heard that line for the first time.

Dee Cee

2009-10-16T17:14:00.002-04:00

Well it only took 10 years, 3 kids and a fecking sex change.

How's the form Abe?

"G'WAAN Mah Son!!"

2009-09-28T02:07:00.003-04:00

We couldn't be watching the footie in the sunshine now could we?

Once the deluge got us all nice and fucking soaked we settled in to watch the U-8s chase the ball around the pitch. It has to be said that American soccer parents can be more entertaining than the actual game. Especially Southerners.

"GAWD Dang!! That goddanged rowferee is blinder'n mah ol' coon hound!"

Still and all as much as I make fun of them sometimes they are they ones on the sidelines in all weather cheering their kids and their teams on. You can get more of a crowd here watching 6 year olds than you would at a League of Ireland fixture. It's fucking awesome actually.

Finn has been getting his game with a local team and while he hasn't come to the attention of the AC Milan scouts yet he has been improving steadily these last few weeks. He's a scrappy little bollix and not in the least bit afraid to get stuck it. He's not the biggest or the fastest but he is always there plugging away. He's also got a bit of passion for the game and he fights for everything.

I hardly need reminding that he's my son but one incident today brought a knowing smile to my face. Finn goes for a 50/50 ball towards the end of a tight 1-1 match and it's unclear who it came off when it rolls into touch. The ball rolls under the opposing teams bench but that doesn't doesn't stop Finn. He blems his way right into the middle of their subs and coaches to grab the ball for the throw-in. About 6 of the other team decide that it's their throw-in and decide to relieve him of the ball. He's having none of it and eventually the ref (like refs everywhere in the world-myopic and smelly) gives it to them and I can see the snarl on Finn's face.

I know exactly how he felt. That was exactly how I played when I was a kid. I gave up nothing and scrabbled for every throw-in, corner, drop ball and free kick. I would argue everything (lots to argue when you had 20 a side games on the street with no refs and goalposts that were a few rocks or a thrun down coat) and more than one match ended in a fistfight.

" Yer fuckin' claimed pal"

And so on. None of that today though. Just a warm fuzzy to see that in this one aspect the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.

Wrong On So Many Levels

2009-09-24T23:44:00.002-04:00

I'm still going though.

Ram's Head, Baltimore next Wednesday night. Who's coming?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5tl2_K-d-g

Bastarding embedding disabled by request. Worth the click though.

Advance To Contact

2009-09-18T20:00:00.003-04:00

The platoon scouts had indicated the officer’s presence long before I reached him. With an inner sigh I hoped was conveyed along with the sign language I told them to move on and ignore him. Captain Squirrel thought he was the top boy at infantry tactics and I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Fucking officers. A few minutes of careful progress up the road and we were level with his position. I cheered up with the thought that one of the recruits might actually be startled enough to wallop him with a rifle butt or batter him with an e-tool.
Now don’t get me wrong. As officers go Squirrel wasn’t the worst of them. That honour would have to go to the Short Little Fat Lieutenant who was in nominal charge of my platoon. But Squirrel was plagued by being keen. This sometimes manifested itself in ‘surprise’ infiltrations on tactical exercises like the one we were on. This would have been OK had he been any good at it but the poor man made more noise in the forest than a skeleton in biscuit tin having a wank.

So when Captain Squirrel leaped out of a bush into our midst it was to a platoon primed to feign astonishment.

‘Aha..Sergeant! This is the six o’ clock position!…You’re all dead by the way’

“Er..does that mean we can go home then... sir?”

“ Ha…jolly good.Afraid not…carry on there.”

It goes without saying that Captain Fuckwit’s practical military skills (such as map reading) were not up to the demands placed upon them by his military ambitions. After all that’s what sergeants are for.We waited for a few minutes for Squirrel to get back into position to confuse the next platoon and then resumed our advance to the real six o’ clock position.* ( A three section infantry platoon would be deployed in a triangle with one section to each arm.All sections enter the triangle through a single access point.The 6 o’clock position.)

Eventually we get set up for the night and I order rations to be prepared before dusk. Stove fires are way too conspicuous after dark.Before long we are dug in and fed and I survey my realm from the middle of the triangle. My radio man is with me and we are still blessedly officer free. Short Little Fat Lt. had swanned off into the woods the minute we got out of the trucks and left us to our own devices. No bad thing in my opinion but it couldn't last. The inspection team solidified out of the gathering gloom and was gunned down(with blanks) by one of the pickets. He was a bit fast on the trigger and gave them a good hosing before they had a chance to give the password.

The inspection team consisted of a few regular officers and our own Battery and Quartermaster Sergeants. The Ruperts were quick to note S.L.F.Lt's abscondidness.

' And where is your officer? '

I could barely contain my glee at this chance to poison the well for Shorty. I adopted the Stolid yet Unimaginative mode that the denser officers expected of the Other Ranks.

' Dunno sir. Last seen heading to the high ground with the Red Group.' (the smaller team that was to act as 'aggressors' throughout the exercise)

At this the officers huffed and puffed a bit and made a show of inspecting the position. Once they dreamed up imaginary faults to correct they soon fucked off and left us to get on with it. Our senior NCO duo stayed with us.
With a broad grin the Q shakes his head and offers his take on the matter.

' You're some cunt do you know that?'

'Fuck him Mick. I'm not his fuckin' babysitter although I can see how you'd make that mistake.'

'Oh yeah. Yer so fuckin' maternal there.'

Now as we were engaged in this delightful little banter I came to realise I was automatically touching up my camouflage make-up. Much to every one's amusement it was perfect.

'Ha,ha,ha,haaaaaa...D'ya know you have very feminine features there?

A platoon of strangled guffaws and stifled sniggers bled out into the new night. Of course to leave it at that would have been slagging suicide. I needed a reply.Preferably non fatal but I was festooned with things that went bang,boom and rat-a-tat. I settled on fast pitching a smoke grenade at his head. The fuckers just fell about laughing.

I was feigning Offended Macho on the outside but on the inside I was laughing too.

For a very different reason.

In Memoriam

2009-09-09T23:21:00.003-04:00

A friend has died.

He was 36 years of age and even though I hadn't spoken to him in years I felt this one. It hit hard. Surprisingly so.

We served together when it was unfashionable and thankless. We expected nothing and by Christ did Davey get that. I took my big wad of nothing to America and Davey kept his in Limerick.

There wasn't a single uniform at the funeral. Yet lots of military personnel attended. How does that happen?

Lig amach na h-O.N.C !

Rest easy Davey. If there is an afterlife for 'old' soldiers then Monty is already there drinking the place dry , Heaney is manking it up and Tommy C. is moaning about the grub. Give them all a kick in the fork for me.

Abhaile

2009-08-23T23:53:00.004-04:00

Fucking train stations.....again.

Where am I this time?

Sounds like Gdansk but looks like Liverpool.

Fuck. I'm home.

A worried flock of Mormons scurry away from the blast radius around me in double quick time. They weren't here for me. I didn't maim them too professionally. They don't seem too out of place in the Mook parade outside the station. Even with the usual scabby wino/junky/god botherer /taxi driver slurry fermenting the place didn't seem too bad. The sunshine helped. I look up to the unusual blue and spy an Air Corps Cessna doing Lazy Eights.

Odd that. Scorning the mobile I hit up Bock on a landline. As I wait for it to connect I see the combined police and army teams pull up front. The Cessna was flying top cover for them. Just in case the Wright Bros came back to life and decided to attack them...with a paper plane.

My call goes through.

"I'm here"

"What's the weather like there?"

"Lovely. A bit warm for you maybe."

"Agreed. Have you much luggage?"

"No."
"Go out the gate and turn left. Go up Hyde Road.There's a pub about 50 metres down on the left. Wait there."

"Vehicle?"

" You'll know it."

I did too.

Harumph

2009-08-10T00:22:00.004-04:00

Was a grouchy few days here in the Hangar. My car shit the bed in a rather tedious manner. The driver's side electrics went tits up.

No power for the windows. It was stuck down of course.
No locks.
No trunk release.
No fuel lock release ( My low fuel light just popped on. Naturlich)
No wing mirror indicator,heater or power.

Add a missing cell phone to that pile and it sort of rounded off into a brown steamy one.

Gah. Enough. It's too hot for such nonsense. We've spent the last few days at the pool and the beach. I see no need to stir until Wednesday.

Books ! Coffee ! Democracy!

2009-07-27T00:12:00.006-04:00

So would anyone care to buy a share in my boy Sander's adventure* in Brooklyn? Hit the link and watch the short video.

There are still some available and the situation has improved since the CNN interview. I have impeccable sources.

Communal capitalism......you gotta love it.

* He's the kind of bloke that can make a trip to the dentist an adventure. Trust me.

Earth,Wind and Fire (in my lungs)

2009-07-24T00:58:00.002-04:00

I decided to terrify the wildlife by going for a run this morning. The state park where I inflict this terror is a bit west of the city and elevated enough to be cool (even in July) early in the morning. Low clouds and light drizzle made it cooler still and it was downright chilly at first in my running togs. I had the place to myself.

The first mile from the car park to the campground seems easy enough but it is cunning and patient. It whispers to me.

"Yeah...g'wan there now and burn it up going downhill at first....you'll learn."

A Captain's Guard of old growth flanks the dirt trail. Their boughs interlocking and forming a verdant canopy above me. Like old friends grasping each other by their arms they offer me shelter in their ancient greeting. I pound down the path with the all the tact and grace of a 1970s Cylon. The forest empties ahead of me.

Just before the campground the terrain tilts very definitely upwards and the rain comes downwards with equal certainty. The broad ,deciduous leaves continue their generous protection and very little of the rain reaches me. A single, fat drop strikes the inside of my wrist and a silver sliver of sensation arcs across to my spine and shivers its way to my brain. I am alive now.

A brief levelling-off through the campsite allows me to lift the head and pull back on the shoulders. My breathing is getting laboured and I need to look up and breathe properly. The path now becomes a glorified coyote trail and the footing is getting treacherous. A dendritic maze of rills and streamlets break off a swift flowing creek and forces me to jump from rock to rock for a bit before acquiring the path again.

I'm well into the second mile now and the path goes near vertical for a while. This isn't running. It's climbing at a high rate of knots and it's pure murder. The trees are doing me a kindness by keeping the rain off but I'm soaked in my own sweat anyway. I pass the point where I wanted to lie down and wait for Death last week . I don't feel like that now (give me five minutes) so I mark it as progress and plod on.

My lungs are on fire and my heart wants to batter it's way out of my chest but my legs are better today. I keep going. A short plateau before the final gentle climb brings my heart rate down reassuringly quickly and I lope along sucking in great,grateful lungfuls of the cool,misty air. I guess I still have those long lungs. The trees start to thin out near the summit and I emerge into an Alpine meadow that would have a spectacular view if it wasn't shrouded in a cloud. I am elated. An easterly breeze is pushing the cloud cover up the hill behind me and random zephyrs boom around my ears like a drunk opening drawers and trying to be quiet about it.

I begin the last mile. It's all downhill from here and contrary to the end I find it to be the hardest part of the run. A momentary loss of concentration here on the mist-slicked grass could have you tumbling down that hill. The constant 'braking' is hard going and my thighs are getting to the point my lungs were earlier. It wouldn't take much to do yourself a mischief here and it might be days before someone would find you. Or what was left of you after the bears were finished.

Eventually the trail loops back to my starting point. I climb a stile and am deposited back at the Captain's Guard. I slow down now to a sort of determined trudge for the last 1/4 mile back to the car park. I emerge from the cover and the meek, dove coloured clouds seem almost apologetic for releasing their payloads upon me.

I turn my face to the sky and smile.

R.I.P. Frank McCourt

2009-07-20T00:23:00.005-04:00

I heard Frank was doing a signing at a local bookstore about 10 minutes before it began. The store was run along the lines of a Prussian military academy and we were all issued with little laminated cards with a number on it. The run was limited to 400. I had 399(I am NOT a number!). We were limited to two books each and there were plenty of cries of "Schnell!" and "Raus!" flying from the staff to keep us shuffling forward.

This was way back in the Long Ago (Sept. of 1999) and I was much fitter and....er..blokier than today so I wasn't too pushed about the wait. This wasn't the case with the rather elderly lady in front of me. Now I wasn't too sure if she was trying to escape the wait (Frank wasn't really playing by the rules and was taking his time with people,having little chats and posing for pictures) or flee from me but it was evident she wasn't going to get her book signed.

"Tell you what. Give us your book and I'll get it signed. I'll give you my office address. If you want it just come by some day and pay me for the book. If you don't then I'll get an extra signed copy. How bad?"

It turned out she (Her late husband was a senator and author and she had two sons in senate fights last November) lived about 5 mins from the office and was delighted at the possibility of escape. A bit of a win-win. Or so I thought.

I hadn't reckoned on the Book Nazis.

The lily-livered and faint hearted began to fall out of the queue and after no more than a hour I found myself in range of the desk. This was when the eagle-eyed staff member lamped my three copies of 'Tis

"I'm sorry (she was about as sorry as I was Jean-Luc Picard) but Mr.McCourt will only be signing two of those."

"Right. I know this is going to sound a bit mad but there was a honest to God little old lady in front of me and.."

This was when something very strange happened to her voice.

'Ah sure. Now where would we be without the little old ladies at all, at all'.

What.The.FUCK??? was she mimicing me?

I snapped away from her. raised my hand and shouted over at Frank.

"Oi. Frankie!! Any chance you'd sign another one for an aul' skin from Limerick?"

I was beckoned over to desk and ushered into the Presence.

"You from Limerick?"

"I am. Sorry about the books like but yer wan was giving me grief ."

"Wherabouts in Limerick kid?"

"Er...Moyross."

"Fair dues.Don't mind those fucking eejits. So what do you do here?"

"I'm with the Irish Peace Corps"

"Da wha'?"

"Irish Peace Corps. We're helping drag West Virginia into the 20th Century"

"Fuck off *Laughing* You'd want to hurry up for yeerselves."

This was how Frank McCourt and I defied the Book Nazis. The little old lady got her copy. I got mine (in 2005 he hooked me up with copies for all the kids) and he got a laugh.

Rest easy Frank. You lit a candle and I love you for it.

xx

C.S.I. Ireland

2009-07-16T06:41:00.001-04:00

The real ones are worse.

Intermission

2009-07-14T23:05:00.008-04:00

Today* is the first anniversary of my very first ever surgery. And what a debut surgery it was. I've been in two minds about even mentioning it. One mind says
"So Dr.M had a rummage around your bits and knocked out a new set for you. So what?"
The other one sort of screams
"You have got to be fucking kidding me. It's your real birthday.Bitch!"

Now we have a string of celebrations in our house at the end of June/start of July so it's not like we need another one. At the same time it was a pretty significant event. It's not like I'm going to pretend it never happened.

What I am certain about is this. The surgery was the easy part. It didn't 'make' me a woman. Nor did it mark my defection from the world of Men. Both of these were achieved without the use of a scalpel. To attribute such things to surgery is false.Yet,for me, the operation was an absolute must. I knew in my heart that surgery itself would not grant me happiness but rather the freedom to pursue and achieve it. The last 12 months have been the living proof of my theory. None of this makes someone who chooses not to go under the knife any less 'genuine' or committed. We all have our own trail to blaze.

The hard part is moving in to your new life without the excuses. Without the built-in reason to suck. Freedom from that all-consuming compulsion and focus had me behaving like those trained pigeons you see in India. They are so accustomed to the chain they cannot conceive of life without it and behave as if they are still in fetters. I say 'had' and 'like' because I'm like so over that phase. Plus I'm no fucking pigeon.

To those who helped me close Volume One last year I offer my heartfelt thanks and love. If it seems I'm a little slow in opening Volume Two bear with me for a while longer. New shit is about to come to light.

* July 15th. I posted just after midnight on the East Coast but it's still the 14th on the other side of the country (where Blogger must live). Pesky time zones.

Rock Ness Monster

2009-07-09T13:13:00.005-04:00

Apologies for the crappy cell phone video quality but this boy is too cool for school.

R.H.I.P.*

2009-07-08T06:07:00.003-04:00

My car was looking a bit more squalid than ususal when I parked it in front of the Security Forces building. It had received a precision bombing run from a pack of winged vermin earlier in the day. I was on post to attend a squadron meeting and for some reason the four towering cadets in front of me were not being screamed at by NCOs or bashing the square.

It wouldn't be the first time I caught a few youngfellas arsing a crafty fag.

One of them looked like he swallowed the smoke whole when I rolled up.

Trying to break the ice another one flapped his arm at my car.

"Looks like you'll need a car wash Ma'am."

The words were barely out of his mouth before the other three began the inaudible moan that would turn to "Stoopid muthafuckah" as soon as I was out of earshot.

"Splendid idea Cadet! The four of you should have it done in no time. Carry on."

They did a good job too.

* Rank Has It's Privileges

Huck Finn and Deco Sawyer

2009-07-04T12:08:00.005-04:00

Happy Birthday America! X

A Heavy Day In DC

2009-06-23T01:48:00.005-04:00

I began my 'day' to this.

Herself was at work downtown and even though neither of us use the Red Line frequently you just never know.

Tragedy visits us here in Washington from time to time and this has not been the first time I've anxiously awaited a call.

I tried her cell and it dumped into voicemail . Nothing unusual there I told the scrabbling and as yet unformed fears that rose out of my mind like a miasma.

Then I tried her office. Same deal. No biggie. She might have stepped away for a minute. I leave a message asking her to call me back. You have nearly five and a half million people in the Washington Metropolitan area according to my rational mind. The trains were coming in to the city. Why would she be on one of them? Still though...

I can't help flashing on 9/11 and pulling up to the Springfield station to see her sitting on the kerb. Safe and sound. On that terrible day she had been at the Pentagon City station when the plane hit the Pentagon (one stop along the line). We held each other for a long time.

I'm snapped out of it by my phone and all of the fears and doubts are evaporated when I see it's her number.

"Hi..I got your message. I'm fine. What happened?"

"Hiya. Bad accident on the Red Line...I just wanted to...you know.."

"I know."

Afterwards I sat on the steps to our back yard with my tea and watched the fireflies in the twilight.

Update: Death toll is now 9 according to CNN

The Replacement Killer

2009-06-21T10:35:00.003-04:00

I don't normally leave my building during the course of my 'day'. The Entity I work for is a little touchy about security and a forgotten ID or proxy card can leave the inattentive out on the sidewalk. Managers have to be roused from their slumbers and promises of proper bollockings made before I make the sheepish trudge back to my desk.

In short it's a pain in the hole.

Every now and again though I have to deal with a complete fuckbake of a client and an escape becomes necessary. One of our people in the Middle East (can you guess which country?) wanted admin rights to install an unlicensed bit of software she had picked up in the local fucking bazaar. SMS push and/or diplomatic pouches being 'unacceptable and ridiculous options'.

Um...that would be a 'No'.

Half an hour of histrionics (from the client) later I deploy the I'm Telling Teacher option and all resistance is crushed. Sweetness and light is restored and there is suddenly a 'pressing need' and a willingness to 'take another look at the options'. What was previously ridiculous now became 'very doable' and I fucked off for a bit of a break.

At 3 AM the 7-11 on 19th St. is probably the best defended convenience store in the city. When I walked in the door I counted no fewer than 7 cops from nearly as many agencies. That Slurpee machine is se-fucking-cured ! It was like that scene in Reservoir Dogs when Tim Roth walks into the jacks filled with cops. Two University cops (GWU) were covering off the snack cakes and a Metro P.D. cop was throwing shapes with a couple of comely students. A Smithsonian cop was explaining to beardy student type that the exhibits don't actually come to life at night.
There was even a stormtrooper from the Secret Service in full ninja/batman gear in the queue with an ice-cream cone. Sort of spoiled the effect there.

The usual bum/wino/student matrix was a bit more subdued than normal because of this Peeler Party. I wasn't in the mood to be fending off panhandlers nicely but I could feel a pair of eyes on me all the same. Now if a have a bit of change I'll part with it gladly but there have been times when the two or three bucks in a bum's cup is a bit more than my net worth. Sometimes though you just don't want to deal with it. I did a quick circle of the coffee bar and fixed a Bill Hicks-sized coffee. Instead of a bum it turned out to be a somewhat familiar face in a very familiar uniform.

"Sarge? Is that you?"

This particular Pauncho Villa was the man who filled my old position back at the Hangar. He had lamped me right enough. Chalk one up for his observation skills.

"Not anymore Pauncho."

Then it got weird. He went from coffee grabbing slouch to the Field Interrogative Stance (hands loosely clasped over belt buckle yet very close to the things ON the belt, a slight turn to the side and keeping a very specific distance between us.) I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

"Like that now is it?" I ask.

"Like what?"

"Good luck to you now Pauncho. I'd say "Be careful out there" but I can see you already are."

" Aww Sarge....Don't be like that."

" I'm a Sergeant no more. Thank Fuck."

Contra-Versa

2009-06-19T23:46:00.003-04:00

This little list has been bouncing around in my otherwise empty head these last few days. I should say right from the outset that it is not meant as a whinge or a shopping list of regret. It was actually a bit of a laugh for a couple of them.

Just a few facts. That's all.

I am a woman until I speak on the phone. Then it's 'sir' 100% of the time.
Both my parents are alive but they have made me an orphan.
I'm an only child with two siblings.
I 've fathered three kids but I'm female.
I can be legally fired in 30 US states for being gay and/or transgendered. I do not work in any of the 30.
I can marry a man in Virginia but in Texas (of all places) I can only marry another woman. The Lone Clue State allows marriage between genetic males and genetic females. As my genes were not changed...........
I am Irish. Unless I'm being American that week.
I am physically burned out. Mentally I'm in better shape.
I am a blogger but increasingly have less and less to say.
I'm stone broke but in my friends I have a Golconda.
I am not alone but I am lonely.

Earlier this week I held my friend's new born baby in my arms and was completely present for them in their joy. There were no ifs, ands nor buts about my total happiness and sincere love for them all. I was no longer a partial presence, a bulky shade of myself, in my friend's contentment.

I have no rational basis for this but I am going to make it. Maybe not the way I had hoped or planned or even imagined for that matter. It might get messy and confusing and seven kinds of fucked up but that's OK. It's just stuff. No matter how bad it gets it cannot be as bad as what went before.

I'm a woman with a fucked-up past but a future of some type awaiting her. Just like everyone else.

The trick is getting past this stern present.

While We're Waiting

2009-06-17T20:55:00.005-04:00

This fella is also a bit handy at the fitba.

This ones for you Jimmy.

Little Miss Bloomsday

2009-06-16T02:07:00.004-04:00

Lauren fired off a text to me just before 10 o'clock.

It seems that contractions have commenced. I'm keeping vigil here at my office but will hop over when/if I'm needed. Besides the whiskey and cigars won't consume themselves.

Lauren and Scott are never far from my thoughts anyway but they are very much front and centre this night. I love you guys.

Massive love.

UPDATE!
All's well. Little Miss Thing took her own sweet time but has arrived safe and sound and is a fine child altogether. Guess it's Little Miss Bloomsday +1.