Cody- Koh-dee, (N): Bad ass since 1985

So my apologies for not blogging in a while. Just been working for the most part and fiddle fartin around base. I successfully fixed my car and changed my fuel pump (its in the gas tank) and revived my dead car myself (thanks to Dad). iAll this while it was parked in the parking lot, I couldnt have been prouder of myself. Ive decided to take a train trip this summer before I leave Italy for good, so I am now budgeting and saving for that. WOOT WOOT, oh and I may be getting a new room, so disregard that last blog about my roomie, because I may not have one in 2 weeks. Oh and I get my braces put on Monday morning, little anxious but I know there will be an end to it one day (kinda like the Navy) all good things must come to an end right? Tuesday Im taking the ACT to improve my test score from last time, and so I can send it to the Naval Academy. If I get picked up for the Naval Academy then I will not go to Resp Therapy school, but spend the next 4 years going to school full time. Thats pretty much my life in a Nutshell, nothing too exciting. Oh they opened an Applebees on base, but no one speaks English so its kinda hard to order and they always get your order wrong. So thats about it, thats an update on me, nothing too exciting, just working and going to the gym. We have a Dress Blue inspection coming up, thats where we line up and the Commadning Officer walks through the ranks inspecting our uniforms, like she knows what to look for. Anyways, it takes hours and Im not one to enjoy standing in the sun in a wool zuit suit, I just hope I dont pass out.

My Roomie

Within my year and a half of being stationed here I have gone through 3 roommates, each having there own special thing to offer. My second roommate (we shall call him, I dunno... how about Sean R.) was the most interesting of the 3. He got kicked out for cocaine use, and I would often come home to him bumping nasties with some fat Italian chick (he had a bad habit of leaving his door open), putting me into a state of extreme nausea and burning horrible images into the back of my skull that would later reappear in a nightmare.

My current roommate is the most mellow of the three and is nearly a decade older than myself. He has been with the Marines and has been to Iraq not once, but twice! He is from Montanna and has several missing teeth, even though his hygeine habits are immaculate (40 minutes showers are a little much though). His room is almost sterile and its contents are nothing more than Navy issued linen and a framed picture on the desk of his dog in the back of a truck that his sister gave him. He sits alone in his room quietly everyday reading western books and war books. He listens to the radio (for the weather) only in the morning while he is getting ready (which is 5am ,7 days a week). Ive never seen any visitors, he gets mail on the holidays, and he doesnt even own a phone, nor a computer. He wears the same outfit almost everyday that is composed of; Jeans, Sneakers, White Tee Shirt thats tucked in, brown web belt, and an faded orange hat. He is a sad sad sad little man, and I have tried to get him to hang out with me with no prevail.

I however, am his yang, I am loud and listen to music 24/7. I have guests and visitors all the time and people often crash on my floor. Showers are hit and miss with me, I can only guarantee that I shower on days that I work or go to the gym. My room has so much clutter in it, almost like a garage sale from hell, and the clutter comes from ebay, which keeps my mail flowing at a glacial pace as it slowly trickles in. If Im not working, you wont know when Ill awake from my slumber, nor will you know when I will fall asleep. I believe dishes should be done when you need to use that certain dish, and its home is in the sink until then (thats why we have paper plates, another mutual agreement between us). My clothing varies greatly from day to day, and isnt limited by season, I am a firm believer that flip flops may be worn year round. The differences between us are many.

Now lets talk about the similarities, like you really even care. We have been roommates for 8 months now, and like two lesbian women living together and menstrating at the same time, we have developed something of the same sort. Our bladders have the same clock, and it never fails, that when I REALLY have to go pee, hes in there peeing. Whenever I am hungry and want to use our microwave/stove, low and behold its already in use, BY HIM. When I want to brush my teeth to go to bed, hes doing his 30 minute floss job. When I need to take a shower and go to work (ON THE WEEKEND, his off time) hes in there at the buttcrack of dawn taking a 40 minute shower, we are constantly stepping on each others toes in this tight space. I hate it when I have to make a B.M. and hes already in there doing it, its just ridiculous.

In the 8 months he has known me, he has said maybe 20 sentences to me. I wonder, is it me, or is it him. He's real quiet, and Im afraid he will go postal one day starting with me (post traumatic stress) and then go to work like nothing happened. I've spent alot of time with my grandparents, and I know how they are set in their ways and are creatures of habit, but this guy would put them to shame. Hes a real nice guy, just a little creepy, thats all Im saying!

Within the last week my 1980 something tool shed of a car decided to breathe its potential last breathes. I say potential last breathes because it is now relying on me to fix it and my handyman skills are questionable at best. My father however, could correctly fix anything on Earth that has a moving part to it, and I have always relied on him, and assisted him in fixing cars. Since he is an ocean away, I find myself being guided over the phone on how to revive my dead land yact, and things look glim from my standpoint. I am though impressed on how well my father knows me, and sort of scared on how he is telling me to fix my car. First off, he had me pop a spark plug wire off and "jam a screwdriver into it" while "having a friend try to start the car". My father knows me well because he said " hold onto the handle and not the metal part of the screwdriver" and he told me to look for flying sparks, which there were. Next my father told me to "bang on the gas tank as my friend tries to start the car", I guess thats Texas engineering or something. My father (knowing me) told me not to use a hammer to bang, for this would put holes into the gas tank. Yes indeed it would, and this would have occured to me as an afterthought, to me "hammer=banging" when it comes to fixing things, simple logic really. Lastly, (and most scary) my father instructed me to buy a can of choke carb cleaner (an extremely flammable canned chemical) and pop off my fuel rail (like I knew where/what that was) and spray it directly into the engine while my buddy sits "safely" in the car and tries to start it while I spray. While I bought teh carb cleaner, I picked up canned spray paint and repainted the flaking rust spots on the hood. Which until today were being held down with tape to keep them from coming off. I have my doubts that my car will ever run again, but its fun taking it apart right now and playing detective so we shall see.