Hahahaa, women soldiers.
We've come a long way from Brunhilde, baby!
http://lifestyle.msn.com/mindbodyandsoul/womenintheworld/articlemc.aspx?cp-documentid=5550421
"In February, I went to a base in Kuwait, where you had to wait in long lines no matter where you were: in the mess hall, bathroom, shower. You were never alone. At night, I put on headphones and played Norah Jones to block it all out.
One of the most important things I brought from home was a photograph of me and my mom. I'm 1 or 2 years old in the picture, and I'm wearing overalls and a red shirt. My mom is holding me, and she's wearing a beaded necklace. When I was feeling homesick, I'd look at the picture. I also had a bright-orange University of Illinois T-shirt that I slept in at night. As soon as I got to Kuwait, I regretted not packing my flatiron. My hair gets so frizzy when it's hot outside - and over there, it was always hot. I finally had my mom mail me one.
In the military, they try to make things equal. Mainly, that means women are supposed to look like men. You can't wear earrings. Makeup can't be excessive. I didn't wear any, but I always carried ChapStick. Once, a friend sent me nail polish. She wrote, "There probably aren't many times you can feel like a girl. If you have some downtime, have a pedicure party." During off-hours, we watched TV. I got everyone hooked on Sex and the City."
"One of the soldiers was shot in the back. The bullet came out of his stomach. I dumped out a medical bag and pressed on his stomach to stop the bleeding. Trying to calm him down, I told him to think about the green grass back home.
From the corner of my eye, I saw six insurgents running across the field with grenades on their weapons belts.
What was I thinking while I was shooting? "Hit them before they hit you." There's no emotion involved. You just pull the trigger. There were so many bullets flying that day. There were 50 insurgents, and 27 were killed. I was awarded a Bronze Star.
Afterward, we found little pink pill packages on the bodies. They were all on something. They had left a row of seven cars - all with the trunks open - on the side of the road, with flexi-cuffs and rope inside. They had planned on taking hostages.
We captured three insurgents, and two of them were placed under my guard. I ordered them to lie on the ground and kept my 9-millimeter pointed at their heads. One was wearing a Walt Disney T-shirt with Mickey Mouse on it. The other kept saying, "I love America!"
I spent nearly a year in Iraq. How do you go back to normal life after something like that? You can't just turn it on and off. Home looks the same, but I'm not. I'm harsher; I'll get in these moods where I go from happy-go-lucky to "get away from me." I have nightmares. I can't stand it when a balloon pops. I'm less trusting.
My husband works part-time at Wal-Mart, and I'm not working at all. After everything I've been through, I can't concentrate. I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder last fall. I'm not looking to the future anymore. I look at every day and how I'm going to get through it."
I rest my case. BACK TO THE KITCHEN. XO
Especially that second one. Embarressing as hell. One battle and she's fucked for life, and one they WON. Weep for the future. No wonder the US military is trying to develop supersoldier shit, their own are fucking WORTHLESS.
http://lifestyle.msn.com/mindbodyandsoul/womenintheworld/articlemc.aspx?cp-documentid=5550421
"In February, I went to a base in Kuwait, where you had to wait in long lines no matter where you were: in the mess hall, bathroom, shower. You were never alone. At night, I put on headphones and played Norah Jones to block it all out.
One of the most important things I brought from home was a photograph of me and my mom. I'm 1 or 2 years old in the picture, and I'm wearing overalls and a red shirt. My mom is holding me, and she's wearing a beaded necklace. When I was feeling homesick, I'd look at the picture. I also had a bright-orange University of Illinois T-shirt that I slept in at night. As soon as I got to Kuwait, I regretted not packing my flatiron. My hair gets so frizzy when it's hot outside - and over there, it was always hot. I finally had my mom mail me one.
In the military, they try to make things equal. Mainly, that means women are supposed to look like men. You can't wear earrings. Makeup can't be excessive. I didn't wear any, but I always carried ChapStick. Once, a friend sent me nail polish. She wrote, "There probably aren't many times you can feel like a girl. If you have some downtime, have a pedicure party." During off-hours, we watched TV. I got everyone hooked on Sex and the City."
"One of the soldiers was shot in the back. The bullet came out of his stomach. I dumped out a medical bag and pressed on his stomach to stop the bleeding. Trying to calm him down, I told him to think about the green grass back home.
From the corner of my eye, I saw six insurgents running across the field with grenades on their weapons belts.
What was I thinking while I was shooting? "Hit them before they hit you." There's no emotion involved. You just pull the trigger. There were so many bullets flying that day. There were 50 insurgents, and 27 were killed. I was awarded a Bronze Star.
Afterward, we found little pink pill packages on the bodies. They were all on something. They had left a row of seven cars - all with the trunks open - on the side of the road, with flexi-cuffs and rope inside. They had planned on taking hostages.
We captured three insurgents, and two of them were placed under my guard. I ordered them to lie on the ground and kept my 9-millimeter pointed at their heads. One was wearing a Walt Disney T-shirt with Mickey Mouse on it. The other kept saying, "I love America!"
I spent nearly a year in Iraq. How do you go back to normal life after something like that? You can't just turn it on and off. Home looks the same, but I'm not. I'm harsher; I'll get in these moods where I go from happy-go-lucky to "get away from me." I have nightmares. I can't stand it when a balloon pops. I'm less trusting.
My husband works part-time at Wal-Mart, and I'm not working at all. After everything I've been through, I can't concentrate. I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder last fall. I'm not looking to the future anymore. I look at every day and how I'm going to get through it."
I rest my case. BACK TO THE KITCHEN. XO
Especially that second one. Embarressing as hell. One battle and she's fucked for life, and one they WON. Weep for the future. No wonder the US military is trying to develop supersoldier shit, their own are fucking WORTHLESS.