Champagne High

"Man...if we had beer right now, somebody would probably die."
-- Rob on this weekend

I had a FANTASTIC weekend. My company, against my wishes, sent me to Freedom Rest, which is a hotel complex in Baghdad where soldiers can...hm...let their hair down and relax for a few days. I thought it was going to be the height of lame, which just goes to show that even I am occasionally full of shit. The hotel had foozball tables, a movie theater, a 24-hour ice cream bar and an enormous pool with three diving platforms at 3, 10, and 40 feet. It was just like being on vacation in some exotic tropical locale, except for the M1A1 tank that had its main gun pointing directly at my window. Come to think of it, that actually sounds a bit like Cuba.

Random Thought: Can you IMAGINE trying to explain away a negligent discharge as a tank commander? Ka-BOOOM! "What was that noise, soldier?" "Sir, we just vaporized the Falanaiko Inn!" "Er...whoops."

Anyway, we arrived at the complex Sunday morning. There were 11 of us -- me, my friend Matt (who, btw, looks so good in a bathing suit it makes your teeth hurt), my friend Caleb (who gets my vote for most likely to die before 30), Captain Jenny, Captain Rob, and his sidekick Jim, plus 5 random people who don't count because one was a chaplain and the rest were his minions and really, God has no place on my vacation. Jim is 41, and when he found out I was born in 1982, flipped his shit because that's when he joined the army -- "I'm old enough to be your father! Come to think of it, where were you born? Is your mother hot? You're from Virginia? Holy shit, I could be your father." I tried to explain to him that my conception involved my parents, a cold January evening, Air Florida's crash into the 14th street bridge (and for some strange reason, a turkey baster), and I told him I was quite sure he wasn't involved. I'm not sure he believed me.

Highlights from the weekend:

1) Rob teaching me how to play Nothing Else Matters, Shook Me All Night Long, and Wonderwall on the electric guitar. I am officially a rock star.

2) Caleb perfecting a move called "The Squirrel" off the diving platform. Despite catcalls from the Peanut Gallery, Caleb explained much alcohol would have to be involved for him to transition the move to the 40-foot platform, and that emergency medical personnel really would have to be standing by. Despite begging and bribe attempts, and the fact that the pool was open 24 hours, he refused to even entertain the idea of "The Naked Squirrel." I leave that one to your imagination. I maintain it would've been frikkin' hilarious.

3) A Quentin Tarantino film festival at full volume until 2 am with enthusiastic recitations of one's favorite lines (If any of you sons-a-bitches got anything else to say, now's the fucking time!), photo shoots with fuzzy leopard print blankets, freebasing red bull and diet coke, and Sniper Attacks with Mike & Ike candies will in fact piss off the hotel staff and earn you a stern talking-to from the guy in charge.

4) Jim getting his picture taken with one of the staff members, whose shirt read "Yes I work here...don't ask me for shit."

5) Me & Captain Jenny sitting on the 10 foot diving platform for a half-hour, having a philosophical discussion about why we didn't want to jump off (because really, we had nothing to prove) at full volume with the guys on the ground. One of the staff members leaning his head out of a window and yelling, "jump already, you are ruining our soaps!" Coining the phrase "my cojones are not in question here."

I'll post some pictures later as soon as Rob emails them to me.

Now I must go a meeting -- more fun recappage later.