Let me preface this with a whole lot of expletives. SHIT DAMN FUCK COCK-SUCKING SON OF A FUCKING CUNT BITCH!!!!!@#$%^& 

A fire broke out aboard the carrier George Washington on Thursday morning as it transited off the west coast of South America, according to a Navy spokesman. One sailor received first-degree burns and 23 others were treated for heat stress.

Yes, that’s right, a fucking fire. Everyone is safe, but I am pissed off because communications are now down. Maggie called me this morning to let me know, and then I got a call from Adam. How was he able to call me? The emergency line, I guess. It was good to hear his voice for the first time in what seems like forever, but unfortunately it was straight to business. He was calling to give me a list of numbers to call to let some wives and parents know that communications are down. Then he said it could be for weeks.

Shot through the heart! Ouch! Email has been crappy as is for the last couple weeks, and now I have suffer through no email at all? I am a certifiable nutcase–there are more than a couple psychiatrists that will attest to that–and daily emails from my husband are what keep me sane during these long deployments. Just the stress of knowing I probably won’t hear from him until he calls from San Diego already has me climbing the walls. My poor mom even had to listen to me bitch forever about my devious plan to somehow blackmail the CO into fixing the way things are done on the George Washington. Obviously that’s not going to happen, though. Even in theory the plan is horrible and would only result in a giant disaster for Adam and me. (Don’t worry, US Navy. My husband didn’t marry a liability. I have a solid conscience and all the respect in the world for my husband’s career. I have no intentions of fucking it up for him. However, I do feel I deserve the right to express my extreme disgust for the obvious incompetence in your ranks. Oh, and fuck you for making me feel like I need to add a disclaimer.)

Add to that the stress of having to call strangers. What? No! I don’t do that. But, I had to, and I did. Not even really knowing who I was asking for, too, made it especially awkward. “Uh, hi. Is this so-and-so’s wife/mom? Yeah, my name is Lynn and I’m your husband/son/daughter’s LPO’s wife. I’m just calling to let you know there’s been a fire. Everyone is okay, but communications are down and probably will be for a couple weeks.”  Sure, that sounds fine and appropriate, but remember who was making the call. Throw a few instances of “shitty” and “sucky” and, in one of the calls, a “fucking sucks,” and you have a far more accurate depiction of what these poor family members were probably woken up by. I am so not the person to rely for the appropriate passing on of shitty news. 

The thing that really puts a fire under my ass (horrible pun intended) is the huge possibility that this wasn’t just some freak accident. I’m willing to put money down saying the fire was the direct result of some jackass not doing his job properly. A carrier is like a giant floating city, but a fire is still extremely dangerous. They take certain precautions to prevent them, and I’d like to think it’s nearly impossible for some random fire to just start on its own. So, if in fact the fire was caused because someone fucked up, I’d like to kick them in the balls. Not only did they risk the lives of everyone on board, but now they’ve also affected all the families at home. I really hope if one person is at fault, it’s the person that suffered first-degree burns, and if not, I hope the person that suffered first-degree burns kicks the person at fault in the balls. Ball kickings for everyone!

With all the talk about how important relations are with Japan, I seriously wonder why the Navy chose the George Washington to send over there. From what I can tell, the GW seems to be least competent of all the carriers. If it’s not, then the Navy apparently is far more flawed than I think anyone is willing to admit.

I’m well aware I may possibly be overreacting, but it’s just in my genes. I like everything to run like a well-oiled machine, and if it doesn’t, I fix it. The Navy runs like–I can’t even think of an appropriate analogy–and I am powerless to fix it. So what do I do? I BITCH! I bitch and I bitch and I bitch, and that is why I need to be able to at least receive emails from my husband because HE KEEPS ME SANE!