Casualty of War

Part One: Casualty of War

     They said it was a game. I had never played it before.

      “You take the golf ball and throw it on the ground. If it hits the other person, they’re out.” Lizzie’s sister said it so matter-of-factly. She was older. She was the expert. With trepidation, I gingerly accept the golf ball. I was “it” first. No basic training, not even a “boot,” catapulted into a boondoggle operation. Game on; we scatter like rats, scampering for our lives, when the cook enters the kitchen. My operative: get to base-camp (the front porch) and through the beaten zone (the rest of the yard) without encountering a bouncing Betty (said golf ball) or the Viet-Cong (Lizzie’s sister). I sprint towards the back of the house to hide beyond the berm. Emerging cautiously from the boonies, I scale the perimeter towards the left. No good, possible spider holes detected. I adjust my sights and focus my recon to the right of the hooch. Bingo, I was scott-free, feeling like a skilled boonierat.

     Enter armed enemy sapper. Red Alert. Rock and Roll, she fires a shaped charge, no hesitation. I watch in slow motion, my thoughts the dead march. Analyzing my potential moves, one-by-one, I turn each one down. I was trapped. Her ammunition bounces off the drive-way hitting me square in the mouth. Man down. Blood everywhere, I’m screaming somewhere inside my head and for real. I’m not sure which of the two was louder.

     When Lizzie’s father comes storming out of the house, he yanks me inside commencing the bomb damage assessment. I can feel it. They are gone. A million dollar wound. A check in the mirror confirms the worst…my two front teeth: FUBAR. I was a casualty of war.

 

Part Two: Porcelain Shrapnel

     Slow motion moments. Eyes fluttering, nauseous, groggy, foggy. Just keep them closed. Where am I? That smell, I recognize it. It’s antiseptic, sterile with an indefinable mixture of cleaning fluids, anesthesia, rubbing alcohol and metal? Sit up? No, lay chilly. Just keep them closed. Damn, where am I? Cotton mouthed. Thirsty. Lost in the past, my thoughts pierce my stupefied state shrieking silently, “Are they still there? Chipped? Cracked?” Running my tongue along the marred porcelain, I bolt upright, roaring, “Get my fucking husband!” The nurses, dressed in their standard-issue clinic fatigues, shoot each other a knowing look of alarm. They’d known this was coming. Their fugazi patient awake, kicking and screaming, “Get my fucking husband! Now!”

     “Uh Ma’am, please. Please stay calm. We, um, we had a little problem with your procedure,” the doe eyed physician’s assistant putters. She’s a predictable hooch-girl with hair cut into a too-neat bob. My personal space alarm goes off…ehn, ehn, ehn. She was the first one I wanted to put in a Glad-bag, just because she was there. Restraining my inner hell-fury, I fire my best die-bitch-die look instead.

     “I know. I knew you were going to freak out,” in walks my husband, the moment’s knight-in-shining armor. “The anesthesiologist came out. An hour ago. He told me everything. I’ve been calling all over town. I found a guy who can fix it. I scheduled an appointment for tomorrow morning. It’ll be ok,” Cookie spews, a torrential rain, breathless. “So, while he was taking out your trach tube,” he continues the after-action report, breathing a little more regularly. “You came out of unconsciousness quicker than expected. You bit down on the tube, hard, nearly taking off his fingers. They went flying into the air. You almost took-out the head nurse. You sure-as-shit freaked out the anesthesiologist; he may require therapy.”

     Huh? I freaked out the Bac-si? He’s going to require therapy? I festered. Kill, kill, kill! I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the anesthesiologist, the orchestrator of my current cluster fuck. The reason I was lit-up. Oh I was going to give it to him. Porcelain shrapnel was only the beginning of my wrath. Fester. Fester. Who was I? What had I become? Fester, fester, fester. Why couldn’t I think clearly? My thoughts were rumbled, my mind racing. I’d known something was going to happen.

     “Oh just sign, honey,” the intake nurse had crooned just four hours earlier. “We never had anyone have any problems with that. That’s just a legal formality, you know?” Sign I did. How could I resist? She afflicted me with intonation so silky, so smooth. Wooed me with her syrupy-sweet disposition; quelled my rightful concerns over the contents of the medical liability waiver and release forms. If I had a clacker or some foo gas right now I would have buckled the co-cong, but I felt like I was going to hurl.

     And let’s face it; I really wanted the damn things anyway. Having been inflated for nine months and sucked dry for thirteen, I was overdue. Tired of them flapping around like two deflated water balloons, compulsion drove me. I needed an upgrade. Now, for the second time in my life, I was a casualty of war.

     My scars are well hidden. I have two of them, one on each side. They are not very large. You would never know they were there, unless you knew me intimately. Even then, not unless I told you. Of course, you would wonder. It’s obvious they must be somewhere. But you wouldn’t ask me unless we shared a couple shots of tequila and swapped war stories. Some don’t like them. Some think they are expertly crafted. It’s a matter of opinion. Running my fingers across my battle wounds evokes vivid wartime memories. I have a feeling they won’t’ be my last.

If my life were a movie…

 “How I know I’ll Never be a Soccer Mom”
Produced by Weinstein Brothers
Directed by Oliver Stone
Starring Jennifer Garner

Traversing the Urbanola jungle isn’t easy, but someone has to do it. Enter the mercurial emotions and Botox dreams of a seemingly ordinary ‘urban-life-manager’ in a modern day “Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolff” meets “Baby Boom.” Go careening from the mundane (like unearthing the long lost PBJ strategically wedged beneath cookies’ seat) to stopping briefly to unravel the mysteries of the ‘bro-mance’ and how mini-me’s ‘butt-tawks,’ before veering into necessary retaliation of booby trapping aforementioned SUV and avoid future jelly-jam crises. Even though our laptop hugging, ‘True Religion’ loving heroine defines the PTA as ‘Please Try Again’ and would slash her tires to get out of the car pool, she’s got dreams (albeit many involve a skilled surgeon, abs of steel and a three inch stomach reduction…in no particular order). Longing for “Great Expectations” we find her tantalized (well of course… sex sells) and torn, in a saucy version of “Closer,” leaving her struggling to retain her marriage, regain her identity and maintain her last shred of sanity in this off-beat black comedy.

 

Urbanola defined

A sub-culture of contemporay persons who live, work and play in an “urban village” area of a city’s core, placing a high value on being a part of a “walkable” community.  They typically have an optimistic, environmentally conscious, open-minded outlook on life and place an emphasis on organic and natural living.  Characteristics include:  active, time-poor, city-proud, media-literate, brand-centric, trend-sensitive, culturally-aware. Urbanolas are enjoy being at the hub of a large, localized, like-minded, social network consisting of those that expect to live a meaningful, responsible, consumer-centric, experience-rich urban life.

left, right or center?

What’s good for the goose, the gander may choke…

Being a tad more liberal-minded than my extended family, doesn’t bode well in the land of urbania. Catch, convert, capitulate…the heathen….she that escaped suburbia! The random email assault pelts my overstuffed inbox. The latest a forward originating from my far-right “Aunt Bunky,” department of justice extraordinaire, passed on to Grammy before slithering uninvited through my personal electronic box. I’ve got mail. She’s learned though…Grammy that is…discovering how send to “undisclosed-recipients” will prevent my disparate opinion from reaching her country-club-clan. What can I say? It was an election year and they started it. I simply made use of “reply all,” lobbing the antagonist viewpoint to their campaign right back in their court. Truthfully, it was mostly for shits and giggles, to spark healthy debate. “Oy vey!” Grammy didn’t partake in the giggle part…it was shits all around. Branding me the wayward lefty, promptly becoming family non-grata, from a political perspective.

—–Original Message—–From: Grammy: Sat, 25 Apr 2009 12:13 pm

THIS IS SO INCREDIBLY WELL PUT AND I CAN HARDLY BELIEVE IT’S BY A YOUNG PERSON, A STUDENT!!! WHATEVER HE RUNS FOR, I’LL VOTE FOR HIM. OUTSTANDING.
DIVORCE AGREEMENT

Dear American liberals, leftists, social progressives, socialists, Marxists and Obama supporters, et al:

We have stuck together since the late 1950’s, but the whole of this latest election process has made me realize that I want a divorce. I know we tolerated each other for many years for the sake of future generations, but sadly, this relationship has run its course. Our two ideological sides of America cannot and will not ever agree on what is right so let’s just end it on friendly terms. We can smile and chalk it up to irreconcilable differences and go our own way.

Here is a model separation agreement:

Our two groups can equitably divide up the country by landmass each taking a portion. That will be the difficult part, but I am sure our two sides can come to a friendly agreement. After that, it should be relatively easy! Our respective representatives can effortlessly divide other assets since both sides have such distinct and disparate tastes.

We don’t like redistributive taxes so you can keep them. You are welcome to the liberal judges and the ACLU. Since you hate guns and war, we’ll take our firearms, the cops, the NR A and the military. You can keep Oprah, Michael Moore and Rosie O’Donnell (You are, however responsible for finding a bio-diesel vehicle big enough to move all three of them).

We’ll keep the capitalism, greedy corporations, pharmaceutical companies, Wal-Mart and Wall Street. You can have your beloved homeless, homeboys, hippies and illegal aliens. We’ll keep the hot Alaskan hockey moms, greedy CEO’s and rednecks. We’ll keep the Bibles and give you NBC and Hollywood .

You can make nice with Iran and Palestine and we’ll retain the right to invade and hammer places that threaten us. You can have the peaceniks and war protesters. When our allies or our way of life are under assault, we’ll help provide them security. We’ll keep our Judeo-Christian values.. You are welcome to Islam, Scientology, Humanism and Shirley McClain.

You can also have the U.N.. but we will no longer be paying the bill. We’ll keep the SUV’s, pickup trucks and over sized luxury cars. You can take every Subaru station wagon you can find.

You can give everyone health care if you can find any practicing doctors. We’ll continue to believe health care is a luxury and not a right. We’ll keep The Battle Hymn of the Republic and the National Anthem. I’m sure you’ll be happy to substitute Imagine, I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing, Kum Ba Ya or We Are the World.

We’ll practice trickle down economics and you can give trickle up poverty your best shot. Since it often so offends you, we’ll keep our history, our name and our flag. Would you agree to this? If so, please pass it along to other like minded liberal and conservative patriots and if you do not agree, just hit delete. In the spirit of friendly parting, I’ll bet you ANWAR which one of us will need whose help in 15 years.

Sincerely, John J. Wall Law Student and an American

P.S. Also, please take Barbara Streisand & Jane Fonda with you.

_________________________________________________________

DIVORCE AGREEMENT – Amended Version

Dear righty’s, antiquated regressives, advocates of the dark ages, war mongers, fascists et al:

In response to your divorce agreement, we’ll agree with the following amendments. Yes, we have stuck together for far too long, putting up with your narrow minded, self-serving ways and chaotic decisions for much longer than we should have. Your desperate adjustments over the last eight years, seemingly driven by special interests and greed are more than we can handle. It became evident in the last election process, when you had trouble clearly branding yourself and even more difficulty identifying with our newest population of voters. In a word, your antiquated and we are far too different to remain united.

Here is an Amended model separation agreement:

Our two groups can equitably divide up the country by landmass each taking a portion. Basing the division on the electoral state each party won should make that relatively easy. We understand you don’t like redistributive taxes, however you find so many ways to hide behind corporate tax loopholes, were not sure why. We do wonder how you feel about public education? We agree to keeping the liberal judges and the ACLU. We’ve decided to hang onto women’s suffrage as well. Since we’re not crazy about guns and war, please take the firearms, the cops, the NRA and the military. We’ll be glad to keep Oprah, Michael Moore and Rosie O’Donnell, since we do welcome those that voice controversial opinions, as we tend not to follow the flock. Along with the OMR trio we choose Oliver Stone, Sean Penn and Robert Redford and all those that give without attending a plated-dinner black tie event. We demand you take the Royal Family of the country of Texas (we’ll throw in Texas too…in exchange for California and Florida), officers Koon, Powell, Briseno, and Wind (ask Rodney King), Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold of the Columbine massacre.

You may have all the uncontrolled capitalism your little heart’s desire, the greedy corporations including Enron, Haliburton, AIG, GM, & Ford and their respective CEO’s. Please take Big Oil, Big Pharmaceutical and the failed Wall Street fat-cats looking for handouts to supplement their overzealous company spending, unfettered expense accounts and bankruptcy bonuses. We’ll take open-market and free-market economics along with Microsoft/Bill Gates, Apple/Steve Jobs, Berkshire Hathaway/Warren Buffet. Take Wal-Mart & the Waltons, we’ll take Target, Ross, Marshalls & TJ Maxx. You can have Wall Street…we’ll take the Internet. You can have your beloved homeless, homeboys, hippies and illegal aliens. We’ll send the homeless and the homeboys to Area 52. The hippies to Camp David and the aliens to states that border Texas. And since your taking the military we’ll put those funds towards patrolling the borders of California & Florida and the borders of the states that border Texas. Oh Gee…you got us…it’s going to be oh so tough giving up Greedy CEO’s and Rednecks, but as long as you’re asking, by all means. In all fairness, we’ll throw in the KKK too. We’ll trade Hot Alaskan Hockey Moms for Victoria’s Secret (we like our miracle bras) and the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Models. As far as the Bibles go, you only get the Old Testament for NBC & Hollywood. If you want the New Testament too we’re going to need ABC, CBS, FOX (except the News), Broadway & Bollywood.

We’ll make nice with Iran and Palestine if we feel like it, seeing as invading and hammering places that threaten us doesn’t get us very far. Seeing as you still believe the mumbo jumbo about our way of life being under assault keeping the aforementioned right is at your expense. Since you would you like to keep your Judeo-Christian values we were wondering if you would you like a few more Crusades to top them off with? We’re not really into the whole organized religion thing, however remaining open-minded, we’ll take Islam, Scientology, Humanism and Shirley McClain (after all she is selling jewelry these days). We’ll take the U.N., we’d rather deal with that expense than the headache and expense of war.

By all means, do us all a favor keep the SUVs, pickup trucks and over sized luxury cars…while you’re at it you can keep the high gas prices too.

Go ahead, continue to believe health care is a luxury and not a right. We sure as hell hope your Greedy CEO doesn’t find someone half your age to do two times your workload, leaving you struggling to find an insurance company that will accept you. And if they do accept you, we certainly hope you feel the crunch to your wallet when you realize it costs the equivalent of a small mortgage payment every month. Take The Battle Hymn of the Republic and the National Anthem. We happen to like Imagine and John Lennon along with the Beatles & Bob Dylan, Jerry Garcia, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Bob Marley, Jim Morrison, Ravi Shankar, James Taylor, Jackson Browne. By the Way…Charles Manson is all yours.

Of course you want to keep practicing trickle-down (er voodoo) economics, however it hasn’t “trickled-down” in the 50 years it has been in practice, stimulated the economy or grown anything but the size of the deficit. But that was your intent, wasn’t it? And by now we’ve come to realize that no matter what actually happens in history you’ll creatively mold it to fit your idealistic and historical opinions?

So if you would agree to our amendments, please pass it along to other like-minded liberals and conservatives. And by the way which ANWAR are you referring to? The 2007 Hindi Movie or the Alaska National Wildlife Reserve?

P.S. Absolutely. We’ll take our ‘Funny Girl’ and with Fonda comes Turner. You can keep Barbara Bush and J. Edgar Hoover…we’ll throw in Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity too.