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Monthly Archives: November 2022
I do Regret My Profound Stupidity. “The She Marine” And Yes, I Am Painfully Aware: I’m An Idiot Moron. No Need To Verbalize it–Beat Me Over The Head With It. Fuk U Word-De-Pressed
I am struggling, struggling, to catch up.
To Catch up With My Life.
It seems to be running away from me.
As Fast as it can,
Not Un-Like A Scalded Rabbit
***
I still love her And Always Respect Her
Unlike…
Not too pretty
But a beautiful smile…
“Outside the sun is up
And the wind blows me like a paper cup
Down the Highway”
***
Hazel eyes…
I still love her
August 26, 2021
From my recent posts on facefuck:
I have been asleep for the past eight hours. I am scrambling to catch up. Marines are dead? WTF has happened?
Marines are dead? What happened? Sailors (Me) and Marines (them) oil and water. But Gd’damn it! Brothers/ sisters in arms. Fuck happened? I am struggling to catch up.
Transcribed from a Facebook IM Chat session I recently had with my best (perhaps only) Friend:
“Talking to you about Great Mistakes Naval Training Center reminded of a pleasant memory…
Of A Woman—I know—difficult to fathom while listening to all my other ‘Sea-Stories’, but this one is a ‘no-shitter.’ Just trust me.
There were no less than two-thousand sailors stationed at Great Mistakes… but only one Marine: a beautiful young She-Marine.
She stood out!
Far From The Madding Crowd!
Easy to spot from half a clik away—she wore camouflaged fatigues.
Now, you can only begin to understand the fascination this young She-Marine held for the rest of us…
(I may need to write more on her Odyssey. She was the quintessential elusive butterfly—two thousand sailors just wanted to get close enough to speak to her—during the six months she was there—I hope she landed well)
To my knowledge, no one ever got close enough to discover her name; we just always called her “The Marine.”
No one, and I mean no ONE, ever accosted her.
For if someone ever had, that moment would have been his last.
For you see, we were all very protective of her.
And she was protected.
Very well protected, even if she didn’t know it.
(Turns out, she finally did–come to know it–thanks to a moron.
Which moron?
I’ll give you three guesses, but you’re only gonna need one)
None of us harbored any vain fantasies regarding her.
She had become everyone’s…
To respect and keep safe & sound & sheltered…
From an always respectful distance.
****
On my very last morning at Great Lakes Naval Training Center, before I was to muster out and ship off to San Diego/Coronado for BUD/s – SEAL training, I found myself in the Chow Hall for one last ‘delicious’ Navy Breakfast.
If memory serves it was about 0630 hrs.
I went through the cow, er.. Chow- Line, grabbed a cuppa Joe, or Fred, or Jane—don’t matter—it all tasted the same.
Walking about, looking for a table, I spied MS Marine, seated all alone, laconically, rather absent mindedly, stirring her scrambled, powdered eggs (a Navy delicacy).
I Thought, ‘What the hell?’
Walked over to her table and asked, “May I join you?”
She looked up and said, “Yes. Yes, of course.”
*****
Now, please allow me to explain something.
At this point in my life, I had already been around the world.
I had seen, loved, and un-loved more women than it may be prudent for me to admit.
But this one, this Lady Marine—actually not much more than a girl—full of hope and promise, was not terribly beautiful, but she had that ‘certain charme’ –en Francais.
Kinda semi-short blonde locks, ‘bout five foot nothin’, wonderful blue eyes, and she smiled at me.
She smiled at me!
****
I took a seat across from her, set my tray down, extended my hand and said,
“My name’s Lance.”
She took my hand, smiled again and said, “My name’s Mandy.”
(Of course it is, I thought—fits my ‘Mandy’ Profile—see my ‘Mandy Post’ for read –more-about-it-info)
“Nice to meet Y’all Mandy”
Yeah, I like to dazzle ‘em with my Texan-ness—My only claim to fame.
I continued, “Mandy, pardon me for being so bold, but I am compelled to ask you something, if I may.”
She picked up her coffee and said, “Sure. Go ahead.”
“First of all, you do realize you are unique here, yes?”
“Not sure I get your meaning,” she replied. “I am not the only female stationed here.”
“This is true Mandy, but you are the only Female Marine stationed here.”
“You said you had a question?”
“Uh, yes…” (I could tell ‘The Corps’ had already installed into her a very good, state-of-the-art, ‘Bullshit Detector’—and little patience for doe-eyed Sailors)
“Uh…yeah. I… just, it seems… uh, it seems you are a bit ‘down’. Why?”
She looked me dead in my eyes, and as any good, steely-eyed Marine would, with nothing to fear said,
“You said I was unique here. I concur. I am. I am ‘unique’ in the fact that none of the men ever talk to me here—for six months—I am a normal girl. Nothing wrong with me. I see the sailors talking to all the female Navy Corpsmen Students. Laughing, carrying on. Yet I am left alone. Why?”
This is when I realized that by worshiping this young girl from the distances, we had done her an unkindness, or worse.
I tried, poorly, to explain how all that had happened.
She glared at me, briefly. Then I caught a trace of tears in her eyes.
She picked up her coffee once again, took a sip, set it down, abruptly stood up, grabbed her tray and said,
“Thank you for telling me Lance, but you should’ve told me months ago. Good luck with your Naval career. Oh, and by the way, I noticed you many times. You seemed to be a leader, with some maturity. I often wondered if you would ever come and speak to me. Guess you were never in a hurry to do so.”
I stared at her back as she was walking away.
And I was suddenly saddened.
We, all of us, had done this wonderful young woman a horrible disservice.
To this day, I still remember her lovely face and her brief smile at me.
And the way she carried herself so well.
And her piercing parting words as she disappeared forever,
Except from my memory.“
*****
There must be a lesson somewhere to be learned here.
******
This could’ve been my fulfilled vain fantasy.
With Mandy-the-Marine
If I had just opened my eyes.
For a moment.
***********
Doesn’t really fit my narrative.
But it could.
If we had hooked up.
****
Flash forward ten years:
She still young at heart and still a Marine.
Me, older, not still a Sailor. And boring to her.
Linda, “Hasten Down The Wind”
**********************
Addendum, final thoughts,
and…
Bonus ‘Added Value’:
First, I love MY Country.
Second, I was honored to Serve My Country
Third, Even though Marines & Sailors mix like oil and water, there is a mutual respect shared there.
Fourth, I never let any Marine I ever met forget that the USMC ‘works’ for the U.S. Navy.
(Got my ass kicked more than a few times for relating that paralyzed fact)
Go Navy!
Beat Army!
“Hey Jarhead! Fetch me a water!“
With true Marine efficiency, I got three, count ’em, three bottles of water immediately bounced off my dome ever’ time I said that.
(And from three different directions!)
But, I’d keep sayin’ that!
“They Opened Their Mouths & OUT Came Talk! Talk! Talk! They Used to Have Faces! I am BIG! It’s the Pictures that got Small!” Some Lenny Included too!
Today’s Daily Lenny
Message Movies:
“Miami Beach is where neon goes to die.”
–Lenny
A More Beautiful Woman…Cannot Even Imagine.
Thanks for stopping by.
More Lenny Here:
http://texantales.com/category/lenny-bruce/
I Have Offically Lost My Mind. But I Found it. FOUND IT! “How Little They Know”
Ferret’d Away Under My Mattress. HAHAHA! Older Version, But Who Gives A Flyin’ Fuk At This Point? This Begs A ‘Re-Look’ “Anybody got a Match?” A Lit Match To Torch This Stupid Post
Bertie Higgins – “Key Largo”
I Had It All, But As Usual, I Somehow
Managed To
Fuck Things Up
Lauren Bacal
So Stunningly Drop-Dead Beautiful
“Anybody got a match?”
Yeah, I got a match:
Bogie and Bacall.
I have ‘swerved’ once more into Lauren ‘Bacal’ (Jewish spelling of her name before Hollywood COERCED her into changing it) and Bogie whirlwind of late.
****
Lauren Bacall, who died Tuesday (Aug. 12) at 89, had mixed feelings about her Jewishness. In “By Myself,” her autobiography, (Which I have read, cover to cover–twice)) she wrote that she “felt totally Jewish and always would,” yet chided herself for not being more open about her Jewish identity.
Below, five facts about Lauren Bacall’s Jewish life and — in her own words — how she felt to be Jewish:She was born Betty Joan Perske.
Bacall was born in Brooklyn to a Jewish family, but her Jewish-sounding name just wouldn’t cut it in the Hollywood of the 1940s and ‘50s. She changed it to a version of her mother’s family name, Weinstein-Bacal.
“It was a period when people believed that you demonstrated your Americanization by Americanizing your name, and very frequently, Americanizing your nose,” said Jonathan Sarna, professor of American Jewish history at Brandeis University.
“She did not hide the fact that she had these Jewish origins, but it was expected in Hollywood at the time that you would have an American name and persona,” he added.
***
Fun Fact:
I once wrote a term paper for the head of the English Department at ETSU. Unbeknownst to me, he was writing an autobiography on Humphrey Bogart at the time. Had I known this, I most probably would not have written my term paper on Bogie and Becall.
But then again, I probably would have anyhow….
And I received an A++ on my paper.
My Prof loved it. Probably ’cause he was a Russian Jew.
Or Maybe not.
It was a great paper.
And he loved it.
(Of course I was drunk when I wrote it)
Took me all of 45 minutes to write.
That is how I ‘rolled’ back then.
Always waited until the very last ‘minuet…’
Bogie was forty-five when he met Bacal.
She was nineteen.
Perhaps there is hope for me yet…
Bogie an’ Baby
If there is just one thing the Navy taught me, it is this:
“No never means no”
“Nothing is ‘written’.”
This is how I got back into SEAL training when I was two years too old…
***
Oh
My
God!
She was/is beautiful!
***
One last ‘fun fact.’
In her book, Lauren described how she came up with
“The Look.”
She recounted of how she was so nervous…
when she played along side Bogie, she had to keep her chin tucked into her chest to keep from shaking uncontrollably.
She also tells the story of how the director, Howard Hawks told her she would have to sing in the movie.
She was mortified.
Lauren cannot sing.
She knew this.
But she did it anyway…
It was in the script.
And she was charming.
***
Anybody Got A Match?
Great article. link below:
Must watch this below.
It relates!
Here is a clue
And some Nickles:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uy9R3ukJ64
***
Had to Add:
Street Cred for Vid: Somewheremaybe
LancBe Gone! iS El Stupido! aSSHOLE! A Stupid Ass-Hole! Commentary… SEAL Training: Psych Eval–Mitsy–Try To Gain Her
Fuk Them Navy Psychiatrist Pukes!
While stationed at Great Mistakes (Errrr…Great Lakes) Naval Training Command, I did my due diligence and qualified for BUD/s (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training in Coronado, California)
After passing the physical physical and clearing all the other stuff (mostly based upon my ASVAB scores and my ability to swim like a dolphin), A Final Task faced me: I had to pass unblemished through an interview with a psychiatrist. Just a formality, right? (Last hurdle: “Lance, do NOT fuck this up.”)
Sailor Lance
“This should be fun,” I recall thinking as I waited for my interview.
I was eventually summoned and sat my ass down in front of a geeky, mouse-eyed shrink. He obviously had ‘issues’ of his own. This I could discern straight-away from his limp-wristed demeanor. And obviously the only SEAL he had ever met was in some vain dream fantasy.
No matter. I was there just to get my ticket punched.
After a dozen or so stupid questions about such things as how did I feel about my mother, have I ever killed anything (Uh, do frogs count?), the price of tea in China, ad nauseam, he came to his pièce de résistance:
“Seaman Marcom,” he broached, “If you were ordered by your SEAL Team Leader to go in and clear a room whilst on a mission, and you burst into this room only to discover an elderly lady in a rocking chair reading a bible, what would you do?”
I waited for my dramatic pause, then said,
“Sir, I would shoot the bible.”*
Smiling, I observed him take his rubber stamp out and stamp “Approved” on my papers.
“California Here I Come!”
California! Here I Come!
Right Back Where I Started From
*Footnote:
In the Nav, we have bombastic bullshit ‘tellings’, euphemistically known as ‘Sea Stories’. These are always introduced with the mandatory preamble:
“Now, this is a no-shitter…”
The above telling (though completely factual) is a wonderful example of same.
It’s Memorial Day Weekend: Go find yourself a Sailor and say, “Hey Sailor, New in Town?” Then hug him/her.
Yeah, I am Lazy. I Keep Re-Postin’ Old Shite. Git Over It! “California on my Mind MINE? MiNd? No, I Don’t Mind! I No Longer Have The TIME! (NOR The Damn Dime Neither)”
So Let’s Just Call The Whole Thing Off!
You’ll Have to Scroll Down For Ginger;
I Got Distracted.
Yes; It Happens From time-To-Time
I No Longer Have One Dime.
Nor a Brain
Yet, Poverty & Ignorance is Bliss–
I am Blessed to Have Both
“Hey Brother, can you spare a dime?
I seem to have misplaced mine”
But Texas Always in my Heart?
Huh?
And OnCE A’GIN” fUK u word-de-Pressed! i CANnOT DeDIite This! Why Not? Why The Fuk NOT? Fuk U Word-Disstressed!
I have spilled’d way too
Much Virtual Ink on California Yeah!
I spent Above My ‘Income’
No Breakin’ News Nor Revelation
To Be Discovered There!
Yeah! I once spent a Night in The Hotel Del…Cost me a Month’s Navy Pay… Well worth it, even tho I DID NOT Get Laid… Story of my Life! Still Worth it.
“Welcome to Hotel Hell”
Back When, Way Back When!
When I was in SEAL Train’in’
So What????
The Hotel Del Did NOT
Impress Me!
Mother-fu*k California!
Jes Kidd’n
I LoVe Her!
Almost HALF as Much as I Love TEXAS!
But Not Quite.
Aerosmith – Crazy
GTT
More Texas
Less California
Loved it. Hated it. Few decades ago I could truthfully say, “Hey! I’ve spent half my life in California.” (See This Or This)
Now I can say, “Hey! I’ve spent most of my life in Dangerous Desolate Places.” (Middle East & East Texas) That worm did turn some. (Go Here or There)
I really don’t care at this point
****
As a Native Texan, I am supposed to always hate California and yes, Yes to all you Texans out there: I know this. I get it. Put the rope down.
Yet I more love than hate California.
In California I learned to appreciate music, art, science, literature, hippies, beaches and blondes. My first kiss was not in California, but I didn’t miss that milestone by much–In California.
In Texas I learned to appreciate drankin’ whiskey and beer , smokin’ dope, playin’ football, chasin’ cheerleaders, and Raisin’ Hell.
Arriving home to Texas late 1968 folks made fun of my ‘California Accent’ if there even is such a thing. (There were no Valley Girls in the Sixties as far as I know). My ‘accent’ was ‘just the way normal people talked’ as far as I was concerned. Texans sounded funny to me (Blasphemy!)
My Attitude Adjustment didn’t take long to take.
In California I was a Little League Baseball Star. In Texas no one gave two shits about baseball. I had to learn football. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing, but I had all those baseball skills which were not worth a cup of spit in Texas.
I love Texas and don’t get me wrong. But once in a while, when I see a photo or a news bit showing San Francisco, or San Diego, or a beach, or a blonde… I hear this guy singing:
Sometimes I even hear this blonde singing:
And I tear up. (Just a little bit) but then I throw on some Bob Wills and Remember Who I am.
And thus remembering, I go out and buy a case of Lone Star Long Necks and listen to this guy: