Bella, Edward, Jacob and french fries at lunch

I had lunch at the food court on post last week. Charlie's has these grilled sub meals that come with a drink and a side of fries. Italians have no respect for french fries at all. They make sure to put your french fires in the bag first. By the time your sandwich is ready your fries have been sitting in the bag for five minutes so they are nice and cold. The very opposite of how I like them. More on the morays of fast food Italian style in a later post.

While I was waiting in line for my lukewarm fries, a burly soldier holding his young daughter's hand caught my attention. She looked about 11 years old. She was chatting with him about nothing in particular, but I honed in on their conversation for two reasons. The first because I did not want to think about how confusing it would be for the Italians who work at Charlie's if I asked for my fries to go in the bag last. They don't like change back there. The second reason the father and daughter caught my attention was because a big guy like him in uniform holding his daughter's hand is beyond cute. That's why I heard her ask him: "Daddy, do you like Twilight?" She immediately had all of my attention. Time stood still for a few seconds as looked up at the soldier. He smiled brightly and nodded yes. She asked if would take her to see the new movie when it comes out next week. Again he nodded and smiled yes. I exhaled deeply. I was holding my breath in fear that he might say no in which case I would step in and offer to take her next week when I go to see it for the second time.

The movie premiered last night in Italy. I went with an Italian friend in Verona. The movie comes out in English on the base next week. I could not wait that long so I watched it dubbed in Italian last week. I am not ashamed to admit that I loved the movie so much that it made me cry. It's that good if you love the books. I imagine it is a very strange experience watching without having read the books. The movie was made for Stephanie Meyers' vast legion of fans, and it is more accessible to adults than the previous installments of the series. It deals with a complex issues such as sex, intense romantic and platonic love, motherhood, abortion and of course life and death. All this set against the backdrop of a host of supernatural characters. It will be a sad day at the end of part II. All will be resolved and we will never see or heae of Bella and Edward again. A sad day indeed.

Find your own cure

I'm not one for holistic medicine. If I'm in pain give me an Aleve. I don't believe in herbs, teas and natural remedies. My entire childhood was plagued with food allergies. My parents stuffed me with supplements and teas from the the South American bush in hopes of a homeopathic cure. None of it worked for me. Eventually I out grew some of my allergies. I had to learn how to manage the others.

All that being said I began running hard core three years ago. Not for any particular reason...Well perhaps there was a particular reason. I was looking for something physical to throw myself into. I was fresh off of a break up, and nothing frees the mind of dark memories like intense physical activity. I was running from my past. I'm all about mind over matter. Even when my body begged me to stop I pushed it beyond its limits. I achieved my goals, but at a t price. I strained my hip muscle, badly.

My visit to my primary care physician got me a referral to a sports orthopedist who suspected me of being a closet anorexic running herself to death. Fortunately for me he believed me when I said I was naturally thin, and loved to eat. He prescribed an analgesic and gave me a prescription to see a physical therapist. I hate physical therapy. It hurts, and that guy reduced me to tears. He didn't say I would never run again, but almost. I eased up on the running. I worked out. I stretched. I went to physical therapy twice. I cried. I fell in love. I got married. I interviewed Arianna Huffington. I quit my awesome job. I moved to Italy. I suffered though, because the pain did not go away through any of it.

Then I became obsessed with my hair. I spent a lot of time reading about haircare and came across two supplements that have changed my life: Silica and MSM. Since I began taking these over the summer the pain has subsided and my hair looks awesome. Why didn't any of doctors I saw tell me about natural supplements that could help me? The truth is I might not have been ready to hear that message or perhaps they wanted me to keep coming to see them. Through my own research I found a natural cure for my joint and muscle pain. I wonder what else Mother Nature has in store for me...

Not on my watch you don't

The Army, like most large organizations, loves its acronyms. I learn a new one almost everyday. My most recent favorite is BLUF:Bottom Line Up Front. I use that one every chance I get, which just is not often enough. Last week my boss asked me to review our JSOP, Joint Standard Operating Procedures, document. It's 48 pages detailing how we collaborate with the other agencies on the installation. The very first section defined domestic violence as any use of force or threat of use of force between members of the opposite sex who are married, were married, have a child in common or living together for 30 consecutive days or more. The paragraph continued for another few sentences, but all I could focus on was the phrase about members of the opposite sex. These guys obviously did not get the memo about DADT being over. I promptly removed the offending phrase about members of the opposite sex. This discrimination will not continue on my watch. Same sex couples who are in crisis have the right to all the services mixed couples receive.

I called Jerry's attention to this immediately. I had serious doubts about him when I heard he an older, white gentleman who spent all of his life in a small town in Arkansas accepted the position as the Family Advocacy Program Manager. I was prepared for all manner of culturally and racially insensitive comments. I wish I could say my preparation was unwarranted. He did say things that made me and other women I work with uncomfortable. Perhaps it was my preparation or the combination of how much I love my job and refusal to quit, but I was determined to make it work.

So when he he told my female colleague to hush and asked me about my religion during his first week on the job I was worried but, undeterred. Eventually he and I came to an understanding about each other. He may have some preconceived ideas about black people, women, homosexuality and interracial marriage, but through exposure he's learning more about human nature and the importance of doing the right thing even if we do things differently around here.

He agreed with my decision to remove the phrase about couples of the opposite sex. He was said he was shocked to see it in there, I don't think that's true as it one of the first you lines in the document and I assume he has read at least the first few pages. Nevertheless, he agreed to my changes and at the end of the day I made a significant change to standard operating procedure in the Army. Today was a very good day.

About the knife he bought me

Last season on Dexter Julia Stiles played Lumen, Dexter's love interest. Towards the end of the season Dexter bought Lumen a silver pocketknife. Buying a woman a pocket knife is an eccentric way to say I love you. It expresses a very personal affection. It says I know you understand who I am and what's important to me. It says you are important to me. A man who buys you knife is deeply in love with you. Yes diamonds are nice. Any jewelry is nice to have, but a knife? That's a true expression of love from a former military, outdoorsman, guys-guy like the man I married. Nothing says I love you more than knife. I can't wait for the opportunity to whip this bad boy out with purpose.

Now about the the knife he bought me. It's approximately seven inches when fully extended. The blade is itself is three inches of cold, hard steel. (In case you didn't know, any knife worth having is made of cold, hard steel.) Ryan has the same knife with one major difference. Mine has a pretty rainbow finish. It gives it a very feminine touch. I cannot believe how happy this man makes me. I'm so lucky.

I am so touched by his thoughtful gift. Nothing says I love you like cold hard steel.

The inside track to Italian style

I have had a lot of good Saturdays, but yesterday was terrific in a new way. I have a list of things I want to do with my life. Things that are important for me to look back on with satisfaction. It all started two weeks ago as Ryan and I strolled arm-in-arm down Corso Palladio, Vicenza's main pedestrian artery. I like to look in all the shop windows, but Max Mara is my favorite. I get inspiration on what colors, cuts and lengths will be in for the season. Two weeks ago I saw an exciting array of camel colored, calf-length coats. The window looked like this I went home fantasizing about all the things that would match with a camel coat. My fantasy looked like this On Friday I decided to move out of the fantasy lane.

I have always wanted to find the inside track to Italian style. The Italians have an impeccable sense of style. They pair beautiful things effortlessly, and it costs a lot of money to do that as well as they do. I have suspected that they all don't have that many Euros on hand for shopping. I was still at a loss for how they accomplish so much style with store prices being so high, especially at stores such as Max Mara and Bruschi. Those are the big names on Corso Palladio. (It's a small town. Don't judge me.)

I asked Andreina for help. She is the most stylish Italian I know. I just came right out with it Friday: Nice jacket. Where can I get a nice winter coat? She paused. I approached the border with that question. Now I would have to see if the relationship I built with Andreina over the last year would grant me entry to Italian fashion secrets. She eyed me suspiciously then said: "Max Mara. They have very nice coats there." My heart began to sink as my ears listened for the finality in her voice. It was not there. Then she asked,"Do you know Diffusion Tessile?" This was it. The moment I had been waiting for. I was about to crossover into the heart of Italian style territory. I had to be careful though. I could not be appear too eager or excitable. Casually I responded, "Where is it?" Within minutes she drew me map with three roundabouts off the major highway in Vicenza.

I spent the afternoon at Diffusione Tessile. It's the factory store for wait for it: Max Mara! It is an amazing one room, one floor, freestanding building with boots, bags, coats, underwear, hats, suits, belts and gloves. They have everything. The quality and variety of clothing and accessories housed in there is staggering. The prices were pleasing reasonable. I left Diffusione Tessile with a fabulous camel coat and dark brown gloves to match at less than half the price of the Max Mara options on Corso Palldio. I am beginning to really like it here. Pictures of me and my coat to follow...

What do my fantasies about this place tell me about this place

When I was little I wanted to be Diana Ross. More specifically I wanted to be Diana Ross in Berry Gordy's Mahogany. It's the story of a inner city black girl played by Diana Ross who becomes a top fashion model in Italy. I wanted to be discovered, and be paid copious amounts of money to frolic in Roman fountains while Anthony Perkins took hundreds of pictures of me.

As fate would have it I grew four inches shy of a leggy super model and had to find other ways to get to Italy and frolic. When I turned 20 I got my chance. My semester abroad was my first experience on Italian soil. I don't recall frolicking in fountains, but I certainly had the time of my life. The reality of Rome lived up to to the Italian fantasy. The place has a heartbeat, a vibration that you feel even after you walk away from the subway. Average everyday things are spectacularly beautiful: women, ice cream, architecture, shop windows, everything. All of them treated to Roman touch of glamour and the unexpected. All of my subsequent visits left me with that effervescent feeling you have when you realize the love of your life loves you back.

I expected Rome to change my life, and it did. It was the first time I felt exotic. It was the first time people asked about where came from because of the way I looked. Where I come from there are lots of girls who look like me. Those heady days prepared me well for Vicenza. Although the people here are not as warm and welcoming as they were in 1990s Rome, they are genuine, curious and eager to engage in American customs such toga parties, drinking games, Thanksgiving, Halloween and the Fourth of July.

The funny thing about living abroad is that you learn more about yourself as result of your hosts curiosity about who you are and why you came.

On becoming superhuman

As part of my DIY hair journey I have taken a keen interest in how what I put in my body affects what comes out of my body. Unfortunately I have have a plethora of food allergies that result in unsightly skin reactions such as hives, eczema and the occasional welts. This keeps me keenly aware of the ingredients in the foods in my diet. I know what not to eat, but I was not in the habit of researching TO eat. I know fruits and vegetables are part of a balanced diet, and a daily multivitamin helps to fill in the the gaps, but I hadn't bothered to learn about the vitamins and minerals that can improve your skin, nails and hair.

A few years ago, I went to Iquitos, Peru and spent several days in the Amazon. One of those days included a healing ritual with Cesare, a well known local shaman. At the time I didn't realize it, but my life was about to change. I returned to my job in finance a week or so later. Nothing much had changed at the office. What had changed was how I felt about my body. I wanted to make it better.

I began taking Trader Joe's hair, nail and skin vitamins. I didn't pay much attention to the ingredients, but my mom encouraged me because one of the primary ingredients was biotin. She lives by the biotin code. I did no observe any difference other than hair sprouting on my toes after a few weeks, so I stopped taking them.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Because I have not honed my DIY hair regimen, I decided that it is necessary to grow more hair than I lose as I experiment with new products and solidify my regimen. Last month I learned about an important mineral called silica. My preliminary research revealed it helps to maintain connective tissue within the body. Further research revealed it also has powerful effects on hair, nails and skin. Ryan already had a multivitamin which contains trace amounts of silica, but silica is most potent when consumed in gel form.

A health obsessed-colleague has joined me on my quest for radiant skin and luscious hair. She placed an order with Vitacost for silica gel. It arrived last week. Within a few days the quality of my complexion improved dramatically. My body felt different in a way that is difficult to describe. I felt spungy/cushioned, more sturdy inside. It feels as if I am infused with moisture inside my bones, and the increase makes me feel stronger. I feel better obviously, and I was not at all sick when I started taking the silica. If these are the effects after a week, I am certainly on my way to becoming superhuman in a month.

We did my hair all day

The weekend was kind of a big deal. There was the dinner party for my friend Ellen at Osteria i Monelli, and there was my hair. Some of us have hobbies. Ryan prefers building model planes and helicopters. Once upon a time a time I was an avid runner, pounding 30 miles a week at the gym but, mostly on the Williamsburg Bridge. I still enjoy running, but the passion for it has diminished since I arrived in Vicenza.

Over the past three months I have taken up a new hobby: my hair. I have always been interested in my hair. I was a weekly blow out girl in New York, entrusting my haircare needs to professionals most of my adult life. That changed drastically when I moved to Italy last year. Getting a Dominican blowout is impossible here. The Italian blowouts leave my strands vibrant, silky and full of body and bounce, but the heat damage and the price tag are deterrents. I was forced to take matters into my own hands, well Ryan's too. I am developing a healthy DIY haircare regimen that is teaching me many things about my health and self sufficiency. I'm not completely self sufficient yet, I still rely on Ryan quite a bit.

Ryan is a meticulous man. He demonstrates this in his work ethic and in his hobbies. This made him an ideal companion for my healthy hair journey. I just just wasn't ready for everyone at Ellen's dinner party to know about it.

We sat across from Becky and her husband James at Osteria i Monelli. There were 13 of us and the the Romanian waitress was overwhelmed just looking at our table. James, originally from Guatemala, tried his Italian. He hoped this would make things easier for her, but she responded to him in English despite all his efforts. Once all of our orders were taken, we settled into getting to know each other better. Becky and James told us about the volksmarch they were going to the next morning. After awhile they asked what we did all day. Ryan said Mickie's hair. I was proud of him, but also a little embarrassed to admit we spent the enitre day doing my hair.

Their hostility was barely contained

When I was in college I almost joined ROTC. Wooed by my father's adventures in the Army, and seeking a sense of belonging I did not find in HS, I thought the Army might be the answer for me. My college roommate's mom found out about our interest in the Army and instilled us with fear and dread so fierce we forgot the whole thing.

My one year anniversary of being in Vicenza will be in here in about a month. I gradually increased my direct exposure to soldiers and all that goes along with that. There have been times that things have gone faster than I expected. Like the time my boss felt confident enough for me to present to 200 hundred soldiers recently back from Afghanistan. Of course I did a great job but, I won't soon forget the terror I felt when all those uniforms stared at me.

These days I don't think twice about standing up in front of a room full of soldiers. Yet new challenges appear that shake me out of my comfort zone often. Challenges that make me silently thank my roommate's mom for talking me out of ROTC.

Today I found myself on the other side of the table in a Chain of Command meeting. I was not providing them with essential information for their unit or company. I was there to advocate for a soldier in their company who wants to move to another base. They want her out of the military. Full Stop. They are bearing down on her with the full force of what I heard female soldiers in infantry units dealt with in the bad old days.

Those guys were on their best behavior. Soldiers guys that intended to chew her out today. That was their plan until I showed up. My presence held them accountable for each word that fell from their lips. Their hostility, however, was barely contained.They don't want her to be there. They didn't want me to be there as they told her how hard it would be for her to stay in the unit and pull her own weight. I shielded her today from what would have been a very unpleasant and unfair experience. Life sucks for her right now, but my actions today made it suck just a little less. I will fall asleep with her on my mind tonight. I will drift off peacefully knowing I helped to get through today.

Steam so thick I could barely breathe

I lead an international multicultural life. I live in Italy and work on an American Military base. Want more proof? Fine. Here's your proof. The girl who does Ryan's Italian, German, Swedish, Irish toes is Serbian. Sandra, the Serbian also does my toes, fingers and bikini. Last week while getting my toes done, she told me, in Italian, that she still didn't know how to operate the Turkish bath. She wrinkled her nose and winked at me when she said it. Wide eyed I leaned over and whispered,"What's a Turkish bath?" I have heard of Turkish bathhouses and the like but, this was not that kind of place. She described a fantasy worthy steam room that left you feeling refreshed, showered even. "I want one.", I said before she finished describing it fully. "When can I get one?" She thought for a moment then asked if I wanted a massage after. Yes, why yes I did want a massage after my Turkish bath.

The date was set and I arrived ten minutes early to prepare for the experience. After a brief wait, Sandra asked me to follow her into a pleasant room with a stand up shower. It sort of looked like one of those futuristic space pods or a disabled person shower. There was just enough room for one person. Sandra told me she would knock on the glass when I had five minutes left. I slid the doors shut and steam rushed in at me. I began to think this might have been a waste of time and money as the steam was not much more then the clothes steamer my family sent me for Christmas. My mind drifted to the female soldier who called me Sergeant Mac today. What a laugh that was. I corrected her but, I think she thought I was just being informal when I told her to call me Mickie. That lady thinks I am a solider. What a hoot! That's when it happened. I opened my eyes and it was white hot everywhere. The little hearts I drew on the glass were gone. The steam was so thick I could barely breathe. I started to panic could I suffocate from steam? Would a die a steamy death? I took several deep breaths and calmed down, enjoying the hot clouds as they entered my lungs and freed my pores from gross toxins. I stood there naked sweating for a long, long time when Sandra gave me the five minute warning. How long had I been in here I wondered an hour, a few days? It was about ten minutes.

The monk with the toilet brush

Ryan's airsoft team is part of our Italian family. One of them invited the key members of the team to their wedding. Ryan only thought to mention we were attending an Italian wedding a week prior to the event. I have only been to one other Italian wedding. It was about 15 years ago and I had a different sort of Italian family then, but they welcomed me into their hearts just as warmly. It was a delightful evening on retired ranch. There so many happy people in such a beautiful place. Even the brown pit bull with the pink bow seemed happy that day.

That story is for another day. As I stared at Ryan trying to get him to understand that I needed to go shopping immediately he made an astute observation. I have plenty of cocktail dresses. There was no need to go shopping for something to wear. A few days later he decided he didn't want to go the wedding after all. Saved me the shopping trip. Our weekend was busy enough without adding a wedding into the mix. He gave money for the present and signed the card.

Things changed again when we had pizza with the team and they insisted we attend. I began putting together my look in my head as I sat in front of my pizza. There were drinks after pizza. The bunch of us strolled through Piazza dei Signori talking about nothing in particular when I spotted some friends from the base. We ended up chatting well past midnight. They convinced us to go to the reception the next day.

The reception was at Villa Canal. Even the parking lot of this place is beautiful. The eight of us stood around trying to find a way into the close knit affair. Ryan and I hung back leaving it to the Italians to navigate the cultural morass. One of us, I can't be sure who, made eye contact with the Bride and we were in! We handed over the massive box with a beautiful vase inside. We all told her how beautiful she looked and found a table. We took turns going to the bar and enjoying the evening when the guy dressed as monk began chanting. His wig was lopsided and his robe way too short. Then I saw the toilet brush and the bowl in his arm.

Some traditions involve rice, bubbles or petals. At this party, they hired a guy dressed as a monk to throw water at guests using a toilet bowl brush. He chanted a blessing as he gave Ryan a few extra splashes to his groin. At least we got the family jewels blessed.

Hey, there's a bra in here Part I

This weekend I accompanied Ryan on one of his Airsoft adventures. The game was a a simulation of a British invasion of a Chinese village.

I was reluctant to go on this adventure but, Ryan told me I didn't have to participate this time. Last time he handed me gun, some beebees, and told me it would hurt really bad if I got shot. He said this game was being played in a beautiful field. I imagined a remarkable field in a valley, nestled in the mountains. We would set up camp in this idyll and I would frolic in knee high flowers with purple petals so vibrant that they would stop in me in my tracks. I would whisper to myself, "This is breathtaking! I am so lucky to see all this magnificent beauty!" After my stroll I would roll around in our tent, eating sandwiches and fruit while Ryan commanded the British forces to march into the Chinese village.

To my surprise my fantasy was grossly out of touch with the reality of the weekend. Friday night we winded our way up the side of a mountain. The temperature dropped as we made are way up the switchbacks at a speedy clip. At the camp we met up with Ryan's teammates. We were in the "enemy" camp; a bad idea the night before the game. Giacomo, one of Ryan's teammates that we socialize with away from Airsoft, saw me and gasped in horror. "What on earth are you doing here? He brought you here?!" He said it as though I was a newborn baby wearing nothing but a diaper and summer bonnet. I smiled nervously as Ryan hurried me into the car.

At the proper camp, with the correct team, Ryan quickly set up our tent. We would sleep here tonight and head to the game site, AKA my idyll, in the morning. The British forces, they numbered 120, were preparing for the brief. Everyone was already dressed in their fatigues. Some of them practiced their British accents on me. I smiled politely.

Once Ryan set up the tent. I crawled in and got comfy while Ryan went to the briefing. There was a babbling brook nearby. The sound made me feel cold although I was perfectly warm. The next morning I woke up to distinctly male voices chanting, "Vafancullo!" It translates loosely to go fuck yourself up the ass. The guys were posing for pictures and instead of saying cheese, they said go fuck yourself..up the ass. It made them laugh because, as I later found out, their 120 voices echoed through the entire valley.

When Ryan and his buddies were done posing, it was time to pack up and get moving. I was still in the haze of the early morning when I stumbled out of the tent to look for a place to pee. When I got back Ryan was dismantling the tent. A few of his friends were within earshot when he found my bra. "There's a bra in here..." He said it as if he wasn't married and his wife hadn't spent the night snuggled tightly against him in a 8ftx8ft tent. Yes Ryan, it's my bra. He looked around and cradled it as if it was something illegal, yet precious and should be hidden from view when he handed it to me.

They flinch when I say vagina

Who knew saying the word vagina would make people so uncomfortable. By people I mean male soldiers. Every Tuesday at 9:30 you can find me briefing 10 to 50 soldiers who are new to the installation about the importance of obtaining consent before sexual activity, and dispelling myths about sexual assault. I wish I could tell you these guys, and a few girls, are excited to hear what I have to say. I can't though, because they are not. They have heard this information countless times before. At least one of them doses off while I am talking. I have sought to make the 45 minutes they spend with me more interesting for them and for me.

They snicker and complain when I emphasize the importance of consent. "Do I need girls to sign a contract before I sleep with them?", one soldier asked. His battle buddies high-fived him in approval. Their outrageous responses to sexual violence often challenge my authority and control of the room. Some of them mistakenly take my femaleness as shyness. Luckily for me I am not easily embarrassed, but to their surprise they are.

Last week I had a large class. There were about 45 soldiers, of these about four of them were women. The female soldiers tend to be very quiet during my briefs. I think the topic of sexual assault is to close to home for most. I got to the part of my presentation where I tell them there were 4 male-on-male sexual assaults on this installation last year. This week that fact got their attention. Many of them stared at me bewildered. "But how?", they said to me silently with their eyes wide. The female soldiers making eye contact with me for the first time. The sleepy fellow in the front row straightening himself out of his slumped over position.

I had their attention, and I intended to keep it. That's when I said it,"You don't have to have a vagina to be raped." A few of them flinched at the word vagina. Many of them blinked at me in quick succession. The women cautiously looked around prepared for a sign of potential danger. I responded to the tension in the room with my personal brand of candor,"Oops, I said the 'v' word." I looked around, "Is everyone ok?" The women were smirking. A few of them smiled at me. Yeah, I definitely have their attention now.

And then there were four

April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. In my role I am responsible for using this month to spearhead activities to raise awareness of this issue in the community. I have a number of initiatives happening, but none of them as controversial as the Public Serve Announcement on AFN is turning out to be.

For those of you unfamiliar with AFN, it's the Armed Forces Network. It is the military's TV station. They show the most popular shows from home. For example Dancing with the Stars, Glee, NCIS, Grey's Anatomy, Oprah and Dr. Phil are on heavy rotation. Instead of commercials for detergent, cars or cell phones I see information relevant to Soldiers, Airmen, Seamen and Marines. PSAs on how to deal with PTSD, Stop-loss pay, suicide prevention and messages from the field.

I was given the green light to produce a PSA to address sexual assault in Army. Sexual assault is no less important than PTSD. That's where the post High School students come in. I thought it would be exciting to work them. Most of these kids have lived all over the world. I am interested in their perspective.

Not as many as I thought jumped at the opportunity to be on AFN. My core group is four young men. That was a surprise. I expected more girls would be interested, but the subject matter may have intimidated them.

I assembled my group and tasked them with coming up with a solid idea to present to the Chief of AFN at our installation. Our meeting was yesterday. My group of young men have chosen to write and act in a skit about a male-on-male sexual assault. I don't know if this community is ready for this but, so far all the powers that be (full bird colonels and the like) are impressed with these young men as well as their idea. I wait with baited breath for the script. It's due on Monday.

My chain of command voluntold me to be here

I'm teaching a class on sexual assault prevention this week. There are seven soldiers in my class, and it's my job to teach them how to be an emotional support for soldiers who are victims of sexual assault. They were voluntold to be here. It's extra work for them. Work most of them do not want to do. Work that their chain of command has tasked them to do.

I spent the afternoon teaching soldiers who are taught not to have feelings to empathize with victims who have experienced sexual trauma. Each time I say "feelings" they look like deer caught in headlights; ready to make a break for it in any direction where I am not. It looks like they receive a jolt of electric shock every time I ask them how something makes them feel.

Getting them to see the difference between sex offenders and homosexuals is a challenge. They see them as equals. They say the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell will put them in peril. They are terrified to be objectified by men. Welcome to the real world gentleman. The fairer half of the species lives with the reality of being objectified by men all of our childbearing years. And it may come as a great shock to many of them, but most of the gay boys will NOT be beating down the doors to sleep with most of them.

One soldier told me that he dreaded the moment his daughter would see two women holding hands at Army family functions. Curious about the depth of what I perceived to be his ignorance, I asked if he thought his daughter would become gay if she saw two women hold hands. His answer surprised me. He was concerned she would see women holding hands and she would think it was right to be gay. I asked if he thought it was wrong to be gay. He said, "Yes it is. At least in my house." His classmates chimed in their affirmations. "Yes, I agree. I'm Catholic," said one.

I have my work cut out for me.

Married woman seeks effervescent gay boyfriend

I miss a lot of things about New York. Most of them food, friends and family related. The food component is fairly easy to fix. If we can't find it, we make it. The friends and family I miss can't be replaced, but calling (have free long distance) and writing (this blog, email, Face Book) helps a great deal.

But what of the the special sparkle only a gay boyfriend can spread upon your path? There isn't really a replacement for that. I miss the drama filled, mimosa soaked brunches we shared on the Lower East Side. There's no equivalent for that kind of joy and comfort. I have been forced to actively seek new gay boyfriends. The old ones have no replacements. Replacements for someone who at a moments notice agrees to sing at your wedding is a tall order.

Finding new gay boyfriends is no easy task given my current location. Distinguishing straight Italian boys from gay boys has not been easy. Italian men don't have the natural American aggressive stance. They are disturbingly comfortable with kissing each other on the cheek in public, and personal space is non existent by New York standards. Don't ask how I know but, most of them wear briefs. It's long story that involves a camping trip with Ryan a few weeks after I got here. I was the only girl and 25 of his friends had to change their clothes in the woods. I only pretended not to look.

I think I may be on the right track with a lovely chap at the office. I have been courting him for obvious reasons. He watches Glee and is in the upcoming Godspell production at the Post Theater.