I'm Coming Out!

I haven't posted in a while. A long while. My original plan for this blog was for my identity to stay incognito: just some anonymous person who lived in Jacksonville and loved to skewer its idiosyncrasies. At first I found the cloak and dagger act fun but soon discovered it to be a detriment, especially while wading through emails and comments from irate readers and trying to defend myself from those wanting to know just who the hell I thought I was talking about poor Marine Wives and their love of idiotic bumper stickers (according to Blogger data, my post popular post by far).

And then I got called a coward who hid behind a keyboard. A coward! Them's fighting words.

So people want to know just who the hell I think I am. Please indulge me while I dig in to my bag o' hate mail and use the greatest hits as a springboard to answer your questions.

"I don't care what you say. Jacksonville is a great town. I grew up here and am raising my kids here. I don't know why you hate it here so much but why don't you just go back to Texas or wherever the hell you are from. We would be better off without you."

As much as I would like to blame Texas (because who doesn't love to blame Texas?!?), North Carolina claims me as one of her own. I was born and raised in one of the "Vuhls"; Fayetteville to be exact. Fayetteville is like Jacksonville's wiser big sister. Both are military towns saddled with derogatory nicknames (Fayett-Nam being the most popular choice for my hometown). Fayetteville is home to Fort Bragg and Pope Air Force Base. The place is crawling with soldiers, military spouses and military brats just like J-Vegas; just swap soldiers for Marines and rinse, lather and repeat. Unlike J-Vegas, Fayett-Nam gave up any illusion years ago that it could survive without the military. Under the old adage of "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em", Fayetteville caters to its entire population and reaps the benefits. Just visit Fayetteville's revived downtown area on Hay Street then take a stroll down Court Street in Jacksonville. There is a lesson to be learned there.

Now does this qualify me as a true Jacksonville local? As I have been told by numerous drunk locals in bars, Cumberland County ain't Onlsow County and Fayett-Nam ain't J-Vegas. Even though I speak with the same silly accent as them, I am not truly a local. So be it. And don't hate because I know how to properly pronounce Richlands.

" I was slightly offended here and there by what seemed to be a lack of appreciation and patriotism."
"All your talk... aren't you glad that there are people like my husband defending this great nation and allowing assholes like you to write whatever they want?"
" Too bad you never served or else you might have more sympathy."

First off, let me declare that I am indeed very grateful for the men and women who defend this nation and its ideals. Americans too often tout our rights while overlooking the fact that service members make sacrifices on a daily basis in order to ensure those very rights for us.

I do understand those sacrifices. I raised my own right hand years ago. I served* for four years and got out as a sergeant.

* In the Army. Yeah. That's right. Some of you may disqualify me right on the spot for this fact. I will just smile and say "Hooah!" I suspect some of the biggest whiners on this issue are the ones who haven't served a single day of their lives anyways (sorry but Marine Wife doesn't count as service, ladies) so I am still one up on them.


(after seeing a picture from the School of Infantry posted on my Facebook page) "You are probably one of the shitheads that shook the machine and made the 1stSgt file paperwork. You a 0311?"
"Please tell me you are a grunt."

Nope. Not a grunt. Bad enough that I was in the Army but I was also an intel weenie to boot.

"Why did you even come to Jacksonville if you hate it so much?"

After getting out of the Army, I began earning a living as a slimy defense contractor. I took a job at Quantico, which was my first exposure to the Marine Corps. After five years at Quantico, I transferred down to the Camp Lejeune office. Being a North Carolina native, I liked being closer to home. And I don't actually hate Jacksonville. I bought a house here and got married so it appears I am laying down roots. I think Jacksonville has its fair share of ridiculousness and am quick to point out its flaws but, all in all, I have a nice little life here.

"It is obvious that you have a hatred of women. We aren't all whores that cheat on our deployed husbands. But I hope you meet a woman who cheats on you cuz you deserve it."
"You left us hanging, bud. Whatever happened to the chick from the Tarheel? Did you at least nail her?"

This one makes me laugh because I am of the XX chromosome variety. Let me put that in J-Vegas bumper sticker speak: I R Female!

I don't hate my fellow women; I just hate dumb women. I can't stand a woman who acts like pushing a future Devil Dog out of her vagina is akin to curing cancer. I want to gouge my eyeballs out when women try to pull their husbands' rank on others. I want to throw myself in to the fire pit when I attend a party and women start every single one of their sentences with "Well my husband says..." But if you are a woman with her own accomplishments and are capable of forming an original thought outside of your husband, you are cool in my book.

Regarding the "chick" for the Tarheel, read that post over again and note that it is very gender neutral. I had to play a pronoun game while writing that one. True story but I had to work the verbiage as not to reveal that my dance partner was a guy and I was the female in the story. In fact, I played that game a lot with this blog, having to rework posts or completely delete them in order to ensure that people didn't figure out my gender.

So the "chick" from the Tarheel is actually my husband now. We got married last year. And, as a cheeky nod to how we met, we danced to "Fishin' In The Dark" at our wedding. The two-step, not J-Vegas style, as to not give the minister a heart attack.

"Wow!! It's so easy to throw stones when you are on the outside looking in. Thank you so much for completely misinterpreting every single military spouse decal you saw. Please, tell me what's it's like to be perfect and have the right to judge everyone else. The day you walk in these woman's shoes, is the day you get the right to say anything. You can't even imagine what's it's like to kiss your husband good-bye and not know if you will see them again"

The Bumper Sticker post draws the most fire, mainly from wives who say I know nothing about what they go through. Here is the biggest bomb of the day: I am married to a Marine, thus making me a fellow Marine wife (although not a Marine Wife because I refuse to overestimate my importance in his career and appoint myself to a proper noun status). Once upon a time, I was also an Army wife, even though I was also on Active Duty at the time. I grew up an Army brat and watched my mother be an Army wife too. Hope this qualifies me enough to be able to walk in your shoes (although I might have to take a peek at your His Boots, Her ??? sticker to know if I am walking in flops, boots or heels today).


I do really heart my Staff Sergeant Air Winger and he knows this without me having to slap a decal on my car. On his next deployment, he will know that I missed him (and he will probably figure out that he is going to get laid in a few hours) without me declaring it to everyone else driving past the air station via painted sheet. He is a hard-working Marine with many accomplishments that I am proud of... but they are HIS accomplishments. His rank belongs to him. I no longer wear rank on my collar. Sure I think he is a stud in his blues at the USMC ball but, recognizing the seriousness of the occasion, I don't try to compliment his uniform by wearing a red dress so low cut in the back that my ass crack is hanging out and a slit up to my womanhood. 


Sure there are challenges being married to a Marine: his hours are long and his schedule is irregular, he faces deployment at any time, the pay kind of sucks, we may have to uproot everything and move should he come down on orders. Here is the clincher though: I knew what I was getting in to when I married him. I have no right to bitch. If I wanted someone with good hours, I would have married a banker or a school teacher.

After receiving our official marriage certificate, it was time for the inaugural trip to the ID card center and DEERS office. Or, as I liked to refer to it as, my GI Man took me to the Land of the Big PX. Here is what I was greeted with in the parking lot:

GI Man just smirked at me and said "Welcome to the tribe." Indeed.

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.

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!