I get knocked down. . .

It finally happened. See, this whole time I've been secretly laughing to myself as it happens to everyone else. Some get about two "Beat It" moves in before hitting the ground, others simply have their feet float above their heads before landing not so smoothly on the incredibly hard ice. I couldn't explain why it had never happened to me, i thought maybe I had developed a POSE method of walking that was conducive to good balance. Maybe god just loves me more, always a possibility. Then it happened. I'm walking in front of an MRAP that's waiting for me to get out of his way, there's a good three or four other soldiers kind of looking at me like they know they're about to get a show. Next thing I know my right foot is up in the air, my arms are flailing like a retarded bird and luckily (not really) my tailbone was there to break my fall. God doesn't love me more. The world stopped spinning for a minute as I sat there thinking of all the good things that could come from suck starting a 9 mm. Then, as the pain and embarrassment begin to subside I find courage, and taking a page from the Chumbawamba book, I get up again.

Note: This is an anecdote of inspiration and heroism in Afghanistan.

Has it been too long?

I havent posted since well before I went on my first assignment back in November. If I remember correctly, The K had three mustache hairs before I left, which is less than the four he had by months end. I fully expect to run out of breathe before finishing a solid paragraph. So much has happened since my last check-in, most of it a healthy mix between hilarious and downright depressing. Example, an e-4 telling an LT hes so gay in a room full of other officers is hilarious. A conference call ending with individuals bitching about snowmen and soldiers being "in uniform" is so depressing. Being told by reps from brigade that we are not authorized to wear their patch when ive been telling people this for months is hilarious. I have fully committed to rocking double dragons for the duration of this deployment. Why wouldnt I? Its my unit patch. I am more proud to represent my own unit than I am to wander around looking for a daddy to let me wear his, but i digress. Coming to the realization that we are just mall security for civilian contractors has probably been the hardest part to digest. Youll never see a civilian wipeout in the ice because they all have the nifty little spikes attached to their shoes. Why dont the soldiers have these? Why did I just see a CW4 eat shit on the ice while a contractor walked by effortlessly? Why does my battle buddy have more scars from the ice than he does from combat while the civs take on the snow at a full sprint? The saddest thing about this is that when someone does crack their head open we will be issued spikes and ordered to wear them in the dead of summer. Sometimes the decision makers miss the point more than Nate Kaeding misses field goals that matter. Ill close with something I found hilarious. When the lab rats came to Aryan to try and make some sense of the "Aryan Rash" they concluded that the water was "hard" and that people needed to not shower everyday and apply lots of lotion. First of all, hard water? What the hell is that? Are you just making stuff up now? Secondly, people need to be told when to apply lotion? Isnt your body pretty straight forward when it requests some moisture? This part of my body burns and is starting to crack, I wonder what that means! Seriously? I know this was sloppy, but its good to be back.

or "Uhhh, hey, how about this weather? Snowy enough for ya?"

Finding it hard to sit down and write, but there is this:

Back in Cali, more or less snow? Son of a...

or "You Gotta Get...That...Dirt..Off Ya...Shoulder...and Upper Lip"

[Editor's Note: Yes, this is more than a month delayed. Hush your mouth. I don't want to present y'all with sub-standard product. Appreciate that. Sassy]

Movemember took us by storm. It was a month of relocation, readjustment, uncertainty, and horrendous facial hair. The time really did seem to pass faster, as our days were occupied in great part by discussion of how rugged or "Megan's Law" everyone looked (fair enough, probably in poor taste, but there were a lot of "Good evening Sir, my name is So-And-So, and I am required by law to inform you that I have just moved into the neighborhood" jokes. They were funny.)

At the end of it all, our efforts in lazy grooming raised over $100. The silver lining to this cloud of Tom Selleck dreams.

The debate connected to this entertaining event is: Did I win, because my childishly incapable flavor-saver was so poor that it prompted more cringing than compliment, but I stuck with it? Or did I lose, because of the aforementioned facts?

If a hearty mustache is the measure of manliness, well shit, I guess I'm left with sports cars, guns, and developing a rabid football/hockey alliance. 17 days into the challenge, one of the Soldiers from the unit we replaced crossed me in the hallway and gasped "Sir! What is that?" 17 days in! To add insult to injury, old JMiah decides he want to get in on the fun, on or around the 25th. Within 3 days, that swarthy son of a, had a legitimate Highway Patrol caterpillar growing, thick and full.

This all took place as we were:

1. Meeting the unit we were taking over for (didn't really care too much, they were going home,screw them)

2. Being introduced to our higher headquarters (not the best first impression, looking like a 14 year old that hadn't had THAT talk with his Dad yet)

Once the finish line was in sight, it got much worse. I felt like everyone I interacted with, in person, was staring at it like it was a new pair of implants. "MY EYES ARE UP HERE, you're a pig." It became a big self image concern. Do I have any credibility with this thing? Whatsoever?

You'll all be glad to know that this adventure cemented my lack of desire for excessive facial hair. Not a strength of mine.

I will offer a challenge though: Hair Hole April. If you are one of the lucky LumberJacks that can grow a dense beard that connects your chest forest, eyebrows, and around to the back of your neck, this one is for you. Invented by me and Secret Squirrel, it's a full mustache that continues all the way around your mouth. So moustache, soul patch, and whatever you can incredibly fill in between. We see a lot of Afghans in the chow hall, these dudes can bust out a beard, for better or worse. Let's just say, if smooth facial skin were real estate, these fine gentlemen would be dead broke. Foreclosure.

That's it. 2012 for life.