More Michelle! G’damn! How did I Manage to Fuk This One Up? I Musta Really Worked Hard At It.

On First Meeting Michelle—Did Not Go So Well–It Got Better, But Then I Screw’d It Up. As Is My Usual Wont.

There Seems To Be A Pattern Developing Here

The Beatles Live- Michelle My Belle:

Cred for Vid Share: Maco939

******

It Got Better, But Then I F*#ked It Up. (As Usual) And if You are Assuming, Presuming, It Was Physical Abuse, Then You Are Deluded. And Have Not ‘Read’ Me—It Was ‘Neglect’ On My Part: Michelle Expected More From Me Than I Was Capable of Giving.

That Was It. I am An Idiot! I Threw Away The Love of A Good Woman and a Kindred Spirit. She Was My Chance to Grasp That Brass Ring! A Military Woman–Whom I Respected! A True Patriot! And A Bona-Fide Sailor! And Like A Fool, I Just Let Her Walk Away.

I Know This Photo Below Is A Brit She-Sailor,

But I Love Her Face

And

She Is ALMOST As Beautiful

As

“My Michelle”

Michelle, ma belle
These are words that go together well
My Michelle
Michelle, ma belle
Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble
Tres bien ensemble
I love you, I love you, I love you
That’s all I want to say
Until I find a way
I will say the only words I know that you’ll understand

Author’s Note:

This Was Yet Another Relationship That I Managed to Mangle & Fuck Up.

&

Let Her Slip Away

Yes! I Have Regrets!

In The Recruit Training Command at That time There Was A Volunteer Program We Could “Volunteer” For. It Was Called “Saturday Scholars” One Could Get Out of Saturday Duty if one Signed Up.

Michelle and I Signed Up.

The ‘Program’ Was to go to The Inner-City Ghettos of Chicago and Tutor Poor Black Kids. Michelle and I Were actually Very Sincere About This ‘Work’ and We Bonded Every Saturday as we rode the Bus To Chicago.

We Wanted to do Good Work–Serve The Community–Honorably Represent Our Navy.

Which We Both Loved Equally

I loved her very much–Even More Than The Navy

We Were Cut From The Same Cloth, I Thought, but as I said,

I Eventually Managed to Fuck That Up Somehow

I am very Good In This Regard

Call me An ‘Overachiever’ If You Must

South Park: In the Ghetto:

*******

Elvis Presley – In the Ghetto

*********

Dateline: Late 1985

Time: 0800 hrs.

Geographical Location: Great Mistakes Naval Training Center—Just south of Chicago.

Venue: A Navy Auditorium

Suspect: One Ricky-Recruit, AKA

“Marcom-The Moron”

*Slips now into first-person narrative*

I had arrived just a little later than was prudent.

Hence, no seats in the back of the venue.

Searched about. Scanning…

Only open seats were in the front row.

****

I took myself up-front, found a seat next to a serious-looking blond she-sailor, decked out in freshly pressed dress blues. AJ-Squared-Away, she was.

Old Military / Sailor Saw: “Never sit up front and never volunteer for nothin.

I had already broken the first rule. I was about to Break The Second…

****

I was in dungarees—not pressed. Certainly not ‘AJ-Squared away’… slightly hung-over, if I am aiming at honest narrative here.

‘Under-Dressed’ does not even come close.

I had plopped down to her starboard.

Risked a look at her.

(I had already lost myself in her eyes)

She sensed my gaze, looked me dead in my eye and said,

“What are you staring at Sailor? Hi. My name is Michelle. What’s yours?” She said as she extended her hand.

I shook her hand and was surprised to experience a very firm grip/handshake.

A Naval Officer took to the old, very old wooden podium and began his spiel, trying to sell us on ‘Saturday Scolars.’ and drag out some volunteers.

Michelle went Eyes-Front: Intensely paying serious Military Attention.

I did not.

I kept gazing at her…

To the point of being too obvious.

Oh! And BTW, it did not escape me that she was a 3rd Class Petty Officer.

And an ‘ET–Electronics Techincian’

An E-4

She seriously ‘out-ranked’ me–in Brains and Beauty

And, obvious to me:

Out-Classed me.

In the Nav, we called them ‘IPO’s

“Instant Petty Officer”

If you Graduate from the ‘Right Navy School,’ you are auto-magically promoted.

I was, my own self, enrolled in such a school, but the successful end game—of MY Graduation—was tenuous at best.

Not my intent to bash Y’all over the head with a not-so-subtle…

But this do serve my narrative.

Serves it well…

Oh Well….

Credit: Ethereal Music

To be continued…

Previously

NO! Lance Don’t! Just Do Not Do it! Speakin’ of Leavin’ & Grievin’ & Drinkin’ & Sneezin’ & Thinkin’… Too Much… I Shoulda Left Las Vegas! (& Louisiana)

Naw! I Love Las Vegas/Or, As More Frequently Referred:

“Lost Wages!!!”

I Love Louisiana Too!!!–

See Be-low! —

Elisabeth Shue—

Screw You Too!

“I May Drink Too Much!

Smoke too Much!

Stay Out Late Out Late At Night Too Much!

But You Can Bet Your Butt

I’m Gonna LIVE Before I Die

Elisabeth Shue!

Who Coulda Knew?

That I’d Fall So Hard For You

Please Marry Me!

I Promise To Be True!

To You!

Life is Just a Tire Swing!

Hitch Yer Wagon to a Star!

Martha Tilton

Cred for vid: Croonr1

**********

Jimmy Buff–Aye!

OKAy!

Yay!

“I’m Just a Tired, Worn-Out, Broken Swing!”

C’est Moi!

Tired Swing!

Cred: OutdoorChautauqua

Thank You!

This is Such a Charming Video!

Huh???

Really??

Nother Fun Fack:

Lance is A Dumb-Ass With No Class!

Cred: Jimmy-Some-Guy

Gotta Make a Livin’

*****

I Love You Emmylou!

You Are So Beautiful!

And So Much Class!

Such A Classy Lady!

Liz Shue

I Love You!

GODDoddm-nIt!

Gone-Damn It!

This HITS

Way Too Close to my-HOME!

(Fun, Pointless Fact: Those Are Baby Koi Carp in That Fish Tank)

I know My Fish! Trust Me On This!

****

Las Vegas
And pondering why I love the TV show, ‘Nashville’ so much.

Here goes:

Many a time while stationed in San Diego, I would make a spur of the moment decision to drive the five hours to Vegas.

Occasionally with a buddy or two after closing down a bar somewhere downtown San Dog. Once or twice with a female accomplice,  but usually alone.

(Not Many were brave enuff, or stupid enuff, to get into my car at two a.m.)

“It’s OK. We (I) can sober up on the road. We’ll get to Vegas about sunrise.”

Would just show up, never having the wherewithal or forethought to reserve a room so I’d just nap in my Tornado if necessary.

But then, I never really slept while in Vegas anyhow. Why would I need a room?

Too bad I was born too late to experience “The Rat Pack.” Maybe if I accumulate enough good Karma, I can come back as Sammy Davis Jr. Or Frank Sinatra.  Stranger things have happened, in the night, eh?

Dean Martin, caught in a Gravity Storm. 

Priceless.

Continue reading

Lance Ain’t Stupido! SEAL Training: Psycheir Eval Ha Ha And Ha! Fuk Them Eval Pukes! I Failed Their g’D’amn Tests.. Their G’Damn Tests. So I Pass’d. Fuk them!

 

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

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!”

 

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.

Oh, And BTW, This All Happened: I Don’t Write Fiction. “Speakin’ of Leavin’ & Grievin’ & Drinkin’ & Sneezin’ & Thinkin’… Too Much… I Shoulda Left Las Vegas! (& Louisiana)”

Naw! I Love Las Vegas/Or, As More Frequently Referred:

“Lost Wages!!!”

I Love Louisiana Too!!!–

See Be-low! —

Elisabeth Shue—

Screw You Too!

“I May Drink Too Much!

Smoke too Much!

Stay Out Late Out Late At Night Yoo Much!

Elisabeth Shue!

Please Marry Me!

I Promise To Be True!

To You!

Life is Just a Tire Swing!

Hitch Yer Wagon to a Star!

Martha Tilton

Cred for vid: Croonr1

**********

Jimmy Buff–Aye!

OKAy!

Yay!

“I’m Just a Tired, Worn-Out, Broken Swing!”

C’est Moi!

Tired Swing!

Cred: OutdoorChautauqua

Thank You!

This is Such a Charming Video!

Huh???

Really??

Nother Fun Fack:

Lance is A Dumb-Ass With No Class!

Cred: Jimmy-Some-Guy

Gotta Make a Livin’

*****

I Love You Emmylou!

You Are So Beautiful!

And So Much Class!

Such A Classy Lady!

Liz Shue

I Love You!

GODDoddm-nIt!

Gone-Damn It!

This HITS

Way Too Close to my-HOME!

(Fun, Pointless Fact: Those Are Baby Koi Carp in That Fish Tank)

I know My Fish! Trust Me On This!

****

Las Vegas
And pondering why I love the TV show, ‘Nashville’ so much.

Here goes:

Many a time while stationed in San Diego, I would make a spur of the moment decision to drive the five hours to Vegas.

Occasionally with a buddy or two after closing down a bar somewhere downtown San Dog. Once or twice with a female accomplice,  but usually alone.

(Not Many were brave enuff, or stupid enuff, to get into my car at two a.m.)

“It’s OK. We (I) can sober up on the road. We’ll get to Vegas about sunrise.”

Would just show up, never having the wherewithal or forethought to reserve a room so I’d just nap in my Tornado if necessary.

But then, I never really slept while in Vegas anyhow. Why would I need a room?

Too bad I was born too late to experience “The Rat Pack.” Maybe if I accumulate enough good Karma, I can come back as Sammy Davis Jr. Or Frank Sinatra.  Stranger things have happened, in the night, eh?

Dean Martin, caught in a Gravity Storm. 

Priceless.

Continue reading

Laughing My Ass Off! Loud An’ Way Too Fukkin’ Proud! Out Loud! SEAL Training, ‘Selection Process’: The Psych Eval. This Post…Well, Yu Already Know–Don’t Waste Yer Dime.

They Had To ‘Evaluate’ Me, You See–Just To Determine-X If I Was Just Crazy Enuff To Volunteer Lose My Sanity! For NAVY Seal Training

****

Just Yet One More Hurdle Yet To Clear!

Hurdle!

To Clear!!

SEAL/s Instructors

Are All Assholes.

Ever’-Single One Of Them!

 

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

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!”

 

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.