April is Over.

Coming home from Iraq took 26 hours and 13 minutes. Actually it took 110 hours and 22 minutes but that includes C17 flights, bus rides, tent dwelling, and the semi-conscious two step that is the hallmark of military travel. Our flight plan was an absolute nightmare and had me convinced one of us had probably slept with the DoD travel rep's sister. How else can one explain being routed from Iraq to Kuwait, Kuwait to Germany, Germany to Iceland, Iceland to Canada, Canada to Chicago, and Chicago to Riverside? Clearly someone was screwing us for past wrong screwings. Redeployment is military speak for the process of going from point A to point B via points C, D, and E.

We arrived on base at 230 am on a Monday morning. We turned in our weapons and were greated in darkness with some signs, dozens of adorable midgets running to the arms of their fathers, and a big cake that read: Congratulations! But was spelled wrong. The crowd dispersed in minutes leaving behind myself, tossed signs, and a misspelled cake. I didn't have the heart to call my folks to warn them of the early pick-up, though I know they wouldn't have minded, so I grabbed a case of beer and went into my office. I opened my laptop, saw that I had 647 emails, closed my laptop, went into the passageway, sat on my sea bag and cracked opened an ice cold beer. Dark became light and sober became drunk. Coming home is an anti-climax. But no one cares, because we're home.

Soon enough I was back in the arms of my mom and sister and happy and on my way to a breakfast of waffles and mimosas.

I meant to sit down once home and write a thoughtful piece on Iraq. This is why that entry never happened. We'll start where any good story does, after a couple rounds of champagne and orange juice...

After coming home we were all granted 96 hours of liberty. I don't remember much from this time, but do recall that at one point I was finger painting a spaceship on my wall in a pair of tight blue underwear. I was immediately sent on a sight survey to set-up some training that is coming up in June. It was in Hawaii, so I didn't mind. Here I spent a week learning how to organize and coordinate a complex training package. I was also robbed by a blonde Nebraskan co-ed and got a sun burn. My flight landed on a Thursday night. I unpacked from the Hawaii trip and repacked for the next two weeks. I slept for 48 minutes. My head was swollen so I dunked it in a sink of ice, shaved, drank a coffee, and drove to work. I sat in on a few meetings, met with my team leaders, and laughed with friends. Next I drove to Los Angeles and checked in at the Chateau Marmont. I ran upstairs, poured myself a couple ounces of Jameson to calm my exhausted nerves, took it into the shower and thanked God I had made it this far...a driver picked a few of us up and made our way via surface streets to a medley of great hip hop to the Staples Center for the Brittney Spears concert. More on that later. We came back to the Chateau. This time I drank to quiet my head-ache. I ordered a fruit plate and watched an old Gregory Peck film. I left the hotel at 5 am and drove to the San Diego Airport. I went immediately to the bar, ordered two double Bloody Marys and boarded a 11 hour flight to Germany. I sat between Geoff and a plumb man who ran a gay travel agency in the Bay Area. I think I still have his card if anyone is interested in a gay cruise down the Danube. We got into Oslo later that day. I checked in the hotel, poured myself a drink and thought about writing a thoughtful entry on Iraq. Instead I went to a Scottish restaurant and ordered Italian. I'm writing now from my bed in an Oslo hotel room. My underwear is too tight. I smell like coach. I can't figure out how to work the shower and am too embarrassed to call and ask.

For the next two weeks I'll be attending the Norwegian Winter Warfare Course where we'll do all the things I avoided doing while growing up on the beach in San Diego like skiing, hiking, being cold or doing anything really that involves any degree of discomfort over any period of time. And so there it is, a brief explanation of why you and the five other people that read this column haven't heard from me in awhile...until that time comes, I hope you find yourself warmer than me, and in more comfortable underwear. And when I come home I'll write that piece on Iraq...but for now, April is over.