Wednesday, March 31, 2010

And You Thought Your Job Sucked...


Employment in J-Vegas can be hard to come by, especially in these tough economic times. Despite the proclamation via bumper sticker that Marine Wives have the toughest job around, there are much worse ones to be had. Take this one for example:



The Liberty Tax lady

I see this poor old lady every afternoon on the commute home. She has to be over sixty years old, yet she spends her near twilight years on the corner by the Commissary and Exchange dressed in a cheap polyester version of the Statue of Liberty, waving at bored Marines and their spouses in order to entice them to use Liberty Tax's services. The greater J-Vegas metropolitan area (*snort* ... that was fun just typing that term) is no stranger to street corner hawking. There are always people with signs proclaiming low monthy fees at Gold's Gym (totally a scam, by the way), BOGO deals at pizza shops and no waiting for an oil change. Still... the Liberty Lady strikes me as sad.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Blooming Torture

My mother used the saying "you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear" quite a bit. While driving down the tree-lined streets of J-Vegas in the spring, sneezing and hacking due to all the pollen floating in the air and rubbing my blurry eyes, her favorite old mantra springs to my mind. I suppose some brilliant urban planner thirty years ago attempted to beautify Jacksonville by lining the streets with an assortment of dogwood, azalea, cherry and pear blossom trees, thus detracting folks from all the pawn shops and strip joints.


No, no... don't look at all this!


Look at the pretty blooming trees instead.


Now look back at me...



Friday, March 26, 2010

Invasion of the Backpack Mafia

Happy Friday and welcome to another weekend in J-Vegas. Not only will you have to endure an hour long wait to get in to swanky eateries such as Olive Garden and Logan's but you will find traffic along Western Blvd. at a stand still. While waiting at a stoplight behind a SUV loaded up with half a dozen kids and the ubiquitous I Heart My Marine and His Boots, Her Flops bumper stickers, take a moment to view one of Jacksonville's unique subcultures roaming the streets.


The Backpack Mafia

Their ranks consist of young Marines without wheels. Itching to get off the base, they descend upon Jacksonville in droves by piling in to a Tarheel Taxi that they are splitting the fare with their buddies. The Backpack Mafia receives its name from the backpacks they wear strapped to their backs, loaded down with changes of clothes and a toothbrush (you know... just in case some toothless stripper has a sitter for her four children that night and invites him back to her lovely trailer park home), Ipods, a few energy drinks and room to spare for whatever spoils of war they might pick up that weekend. The Backpack Mafia can be distiguished by their fresh High and Stupid haircuts, Tapout t-shirts and... oh... what's this?... a military issue web belt or pair of Birth Control Goggles? Way to proclaim your greenhorn status there!

No worries. The Tarheel Taxi driver will kindly drop them off at their first stop, The Jacksonville Mall, where the misled youth can pick up a new belt at such choice stores as American Eagle, Aeropostale or (for the more adventerous ones) Hot Topic or head over to Sears Optical for some new frames. After catching a movie and a bite to eat at Red Robin, most Backpack Mafia will move on the Barnes & Nobles to get a Starbucks coffee and make failed attempts at picking up on a Sergeant Major's sixteen year old daughter.

Tiring of these activities, the Backpack Mafia makes its slow descent down Western Blvd., stopping at Skin Art to contemplate getting a sweet new tribal USMC tattoo, running in to other Backpack Mafia members who heard about a bitching party at the Sunset Inn and stopping at Hooters to oogle some other Marine's wives wearing orange hot pants.

Sunday usually finds the Backpack Mafia sitting dejectedly on the curb of Wal-Mart after picking up some essential odds and ends, stuffed with Taco Bell or Waffle House chow and waiting for the Tarheel Taxi to return them to base. Poor kids.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

The Bro Hug

I get it: you and the other members of your unit are a band of brothers. You have deployed together, endured long stretches of boredom and been in some fucked up situations that most Americans can never fathom. You are bonded for life.



Having said that, is it really necessary to wrap your arms around your brothers and loudly serenade them for an entire concert, only coming up for air when it is time to get another round of drinks?

The Bro Hug is a ritual that is alive and well in Jacksonville, particularly amongst the active duty military population. The bar scene most nights are rampant sausage fests (see Exhibit A above, taken at Hooligan's this past Friday night). Perhaps it is the lack of female companionship or the feelings of displacement after returning from a recent deployment that leads so many men to pound Jagermeister, throw their arms over another's shoulder and sing songs off key and at the top of their lungs before dissolving in to a simpering mess of "I fucking love you man!" Either get a girlfriend or get a room... enough of the Bro Hug.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Country Bumperstickerkins

What is it about military wives in J-Vegas and their damn bumper stickers? Ancient civilizations used tattoos to show belonging, rank and status. While the Desperate Housewives of Jacksonville feel that same urge to proclaim their allegiances, they are far too lazy to trifle with the ink and needles. Much easier just to slap a trite bumper sticker on the back of their vehicle in order to free up their days for Wal-Mart outings and tanning sessions.

All the preferred bumper stickers offer up a heaping serving of Semper Stupid motivation (especially considering that most of these wives are riding the coat tails of their beloved husbands) but what do they really tell you about the woman behind the wheel?

1) His Boots, Her Flops: A Perfect Pair


These girls are the new freshman class of Marine wives. Their brand new shiny husbands told them that they would begin their marriage in a quaint little hamlet by the sea named Jacksonville.

A quick glimpse in to her mind: "OMG! Isn't my hubs like sooooooo smoking hot?... especially when he is in his blues. LOL! Marines totally have the best uniform. So glad I didn't marry that kid who joined the Army. Can't wait for the next Marine Corps Ball. I am gonna look like freaking Cinderella. Totally going to start working out and get in shape so I can post the pics on Facebook and all the girls back home will be jealous. HATERZ!! Maybe I will start running on the beach. Yay beach! When hubs told me we were coming to Jacksonville, I was all OMG it is like right on the ocean. I can wear flip flops year round. Of course, Jacksonville isn't quite what I expected. There are a lot of pawn shops and some weird dude who does karate on street corners. Nobody wants to hire me at McDonald's cuz there are like 50 million other Marine wives around here. Maybe I will start throwing Passion Parties for all of my new friends... that will make some dollar$. If not.... well... I hear the Driftwood is hiring. LOL! Just kidding. My hubs would like totally kill me if I did that. Speaking of, isn't my husband sooooo hot?"

Where to find them: affixed to the bumpers and windows of Honda Civics, Volkswagen Jettas and Ford Mustangs parked at the mall (natch!), Chilli's, nail salons and the beach.

Honorable mention: His Boots, Her Heels, His Boots, Her Boots (hers being cowboy boots), I put the Ooh in his Oohrah!, I Heart My Jarhead, I Heart My Grunt and I Heart My Lance Corporal.

2) the stick families


The fairytale is over for these ladies. They have been through a deployment or two. Being a military wife is now all about the politics of the Family Readiness Group and picking up the husband's uniform from the cleaners before it closes. It is also serious baby making time. What good is having an ID card and all this free medical care if you don't pop out a kid... or ten?

A quick glimpse in to her mind: "Ughhh... why is he up so early? Oh right... he said something about duty last night but I could barely hear over the wails of Baby Susie. Poor thing is teething right now. Maybe he'll be quiet and not wake... oops. Too late. Toddler Billy just came in to the room and is jumping on the bed. Of course, my husband expects me to get up and take care of those heathens. First order of business is coffee... which he expects me to make, of course. So insensitive! I mean, I got up at the crack of dawn yesterday to feed the kids. Got the school-aged ones off on the bus then dropped the three youngest off at the neighbor's house. Spent three hours at Wal-Mart shopping for groceries and stuff. When was the last time he did anything like that? What the hell does he do all day long? Gawd, I hope I am not pregnant again. Should definitely look in to birth control next time I go to the doctor. Maybe I will invite mom down next time he goes to the field. She should really spend more time with her grandkids. This girl needs a night out on the town!"

Where to find them: haphazardly slapped on Toyota Camrys, Ford Explorers and Kia Sedonas parked at Wal-Mart, Ci Ci's Pizza and the Naval Hospital OB/GYN.

Honorable mention: There are actually several different varieties of this type of sticker. The most Moto is the family swathed in camouflage but other popular options are a pair of flip flops or Browning deer heads for each member of the household. Some mix it up by showing each person's unique personality with soccer players, cowboys and even scrapbookers. Bonus points for including the pets... just don't forget the goldfish and hamster!

Or you could do this:


Still haven't figured out if this was a joke or if they really did name their kids Smith and Wesson. Anything is possible in J-Vegas...


3) Marine Wife, Toughest Job In The Corps


We have now reached the Varsity of Marine wives. Or should I say Marine Wives, since this kind feels that Wife is an occupation and should be capitalized.

A quick glimpse in to her mind: "My husband's success can be attributed to ME! I have made sacrifices. I was never able to have a career because we were always moving around so I became a Marine Wife. Look at that little princess married to the Boot over there. Babies! They just don't understand how hard the Marine Corps really is. And that frazzled woman with the five kids who hasn't even bothered to run a brush through her hair. Ha.. amateur! My life has been tough. I never actually raised my hand and took an oath or had to stand in the yellow footprints or went three weeks without a shower but Marine Wife is a tough job. I went to Jane Wayne PT once with my husband a few years ago and thought it was super fun and pretty easy. I even got up earlier than my husband did just so I could apply make-up. Sure, he does PT every morning but I power walk with the neighbor while pushing a stroller. That is hard core. I have never had to eat an MRE... well except that one time many years ago when my husband dared me to. It wasn't bad... especially washed down with a bottle of white zinfandel. So I totally understand all that he does to be a Marine but he has no clue how tough it is to be a Marine Wife. I am a member of an elite sisterhood. The Few, The Proud, The Marine WIFE!!!"

Where to find them: proudly displayed on Volvos, Lincoln Navigators and PT Cruisers. This kind is rarely spotted off Camp Lejeune and New River but, if forced in to town, they can be seen at Target, Wines and Wares and the USO.

Honorable mention: Anything that reminds you that HER husband and HER children's father defends your freedom, you communist bastard! Bonus points for a license plate frame that says the same.



4) Half My Heart Is In Iraq/Afghanistan/Haiti


Yikes! This one is the trickiest of them all. What probably started out as a sincere sentiment of longing for one's better half has now turned in to the equivalent of rolling out the welcome mat for extracurricular activities while the husband is deployed. That was a nice way of saying these girls are skanks.

A quick glimpse in to her mind: "So bored now that husband is gone. I can't believe he dragged me to this hell hole and then waltzed off to some foreign country. He is probably having the time of his life. This place sucks! I hate him! That's why I put on my finest tube top and my new sparkly lipgloss and am sitting on this barstool. I need to feel loved again. He didn't even call me today. Bastard! There are like fifty guys here totally checking me out. He doesn't even realize what he is missing. The guy next to me is buying me a shot every ten minutes and I can't even get one stinking phone call. Whatever! Shot Guy is way hotter anyways."

Where to find them: Hooligan's, Sharpshooters, The Tarheel, Alexander's, The O House, House of Rock, Priscilla McCall's and Victoria's Secret. No specific type of car.

** Big thanks to the mobile Viva J-Vegas Team for helping me gather pictures of all of these bumper stickers. I couldn't have done it without you guys.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Erin Go Bragh(less) in Jax

Tomorrow is Saint Patrick's Day. Since Emerald Isle and Wilmington already had their parades this weekend and the Jacksonville Chamber of Commerce has left its residents high and dry once again, most people will just end up hitting the bars and getting shitfaced while wearing green I'm Not Irish But Fuck Me Anyways t-shirts. Sensing this void, Jacksonville's premiere gentleman's club, The Driftwood, is offering up one of its most creative events to date.


If  creative = tacky + ridiculous

I must give credit where credit is due. The Driftwood (affectionately referred to as the Dirtwood) knows its clientele all too well. It is a grubby little hole in the wall on Hwy 24, just outside the main gate of Camp Lejeune and one short Tarheel Taxi ride away from the barracks. In a town where the men vastly outnumber the women, sex sells. If a guy can't get laid, looking at the boobs of an 18 year old girl who followed her Marine from Iowa only to get cast aside... well... that's almost as good as getting laid. Looks like tomorrow's festivities go a step further by catering to Jacksonville's love of all things UFC. In the few waking moments that Jacksonville's male population aged 18-29 isn't thinking about sex, it is entertaining homoerotic fantasies of pummeling another man in the octagon. Way to keep the bar raised high, Dirtwood!

I went to the Dirtwood once many eons ago. A group of us were sitting at a table just to the left of the main stage, running through buckets of beer. A young girl whose retainer gleamed when the strobe light display hit it just right was performing acrobatics on the pole. I noticed a slight swelling of her abdomen. "No way", I thought to myself, "maybe she just has a beer gut". I leaned over to my friend Laura, who came along for this excursion for her husband's birthday that we were celebrating. "Psssst...is she....?", I whispered. "Oh yeah. I am guessing about 5 or 6 months along" was her bored response.

Jesus! Not interested in seeing an on-stage miscarriage from the teenager still precariously twirling from the pole, I polished off my beer and hit the door, never to return again.

Guess who won't be at the Dirtwood tomorrow?

Sunday, March 14, 2010

The Punxsutawney Phil of J-Vegas

Winter is definitely not Jacksonville's best season. It is chilly and grey and tends to rain a lot. The beaches are abandoned. The residents of Jacksonville are grumpy and lock themselves indoors until the weather clears. The 5 minute wait at the stoplight of Highway 17 and Western Blvd. offers no entertainment.

Today I saw a sign of hope. While riding on Western to run some errands, I spotted a familiar figure in white sweatpants and a matching white warm up jacket walking towards that famous intersection. His jacket was already half unzipped to expose his bantam chest. The sun that had been struggling to burst out of the clouds all day gleamed off his bald head and glasses. Could it be? Is winter really over? Has Radio returned to entertain the gridlocked masses of J-Vegas?



It was him. I turned in to a giddy school girl, begging my car's driver to honk the horn, waving frantically and yelling his name.

The Jacksonville Ninja. Radio Rahim (or just Radio). His real name is Robert Mattocks. They say he walks from neighboring Maysville. Rumors of his death back in 2007 sent people in to a frenzy. Radio usually sets up shop on the corner of Western Blvd. and Highway 17 right by the Applebee's, although I have seen him elsewhere. Sometimes he carries a huge 80's boom box, sometimes he flies solo. He will be out there for hours, chopping and kicking, fusing karate with tai chi and throwing in some hip hop dancing.

I saw Radio for the first time on a trip to Jacksonville several years before I moved here. Shocked, I asked residents why there was a deranged man high kicking on a crowded street corner in 100 degree heat. The universal reaction I received was a proud smile followed by "Oh that's just Radio."

You rarely see Radio during the cold months. Maybe he hangs out in Maysville practicing this year's batch of kick ass ninja moves. I for one can't wait to see them. Welcome back, Radio and thanks for bringing the warmer weather with you!

Friday, March 12, 2010

The Ville That Puts the Action In Jackson


Welcome to Jacksonville, NC, a lovely little slice of heaven near the coast of North Carolina (although the flashing lights of the local Pawn and Gun, the snarl of traffic on Western Blvd. resulting from drivers from all 50 states bringing their bad habits with them and the signs beckoning you in to the dark recesses of a bar for midget wrestling may often lead to confusion that you have stumbled in to one of Dante's circles of hell instead).
Poor Jacksonville. It is saddled with several unflattering nicknames: J-ville, JAX, J-Actionville, and this writer's personal favorite, J-Vegas. Try Googling it and see how often it gets mistaken for its much larger cousin of the same name in Florida. This inferiority reeks from every pore of the town like a science nerd on his first date. Jacksonville is an oversexed teen aged boy with an identity crisis.
It has its local population, emphatically claiming it as OUR TOWN DAMMIT!!! There are the old land rich Southern families who attempt Southern gentility by hitting the links at the country club and throwing their daughters in to the cotillion circuit. Do a 180 degree turn and find the trailer park trash walking around Wal-Mart in their finest blaze orange and munching on pork rinds. The bond that bridges the socio-economic gap of both sides? The commonly held (mis)belief that Jacksonville would be a successful commercial fishing town even without nearby Camp Lejeune and New River Air Station. They don't need the military for anything.... except on the 1st and 15th of the month, when payday funds hit.
You can't talk about Jacksonville, NC without mentioning Camp Lejeune and New River. Tens of thousands of Marines and sailors, many of them bringing spouses. Not sure if it is something in the water or due to the free military medical, but they are baby making factories. Car dealers around here make bank selling mini-vans and SUVs just so families can load up their biologically produced fire teams in them.
Then there are the single Marines. Several years ago, Cosmopolitan magazine listed Jacksonville, NC and some podunk fishing outpost in Alaska as the two best places to find a husband. A quick peek at Wiki confirms that Jacksonville, NC boasts an almost 2:1 ratio in favor of the ladies. Median age is 22.9. Picture poor Cosmo readers making a pilgrimage to this town only to discover bars packed with heavily tattooed jarheads who charmingly chant "No balls!" to bait women in to shooting Jagerbombs, dry hump their legs and then offer them a chance to do the barracks walk of shame in the next morning's harsh light while he high-fives his buddies. And they say chivalry is dead.
Not to say Jacksonville is all bad. There are some really nice people here. It is close to the beach which makes it pretty boss in my book. Dig deep and there are actually quite a few fun and unique things to do. We even have a hometown hero who ninja kicks on the corner of Western Blvd. and Hwy 17, never failing to brighten my day (Radio!) This blog won't be all negative. I will try to point out the good with the bad... but mostly the arcane, ridiculous and annoying. Jacksonville has plenty to offer on all sides of the spectrum.
Many dear readers may be wondering just who the hell I am. Well... I live in Jacksonville. That's enough. It doesn't matter if I am male or female, military or townie, married or single. I am aiming for anonymity (mostly due to the death threats I hope to receive when I start skewering the chicks with the "Half my heart is in..." bumper stickers).
Feel free to comment and leave me critiques, encouragment, tips and even death threats. Until then... Viva J-Vegas!