<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819059511796038228</id><updated>2024-09-01T02:09:52.882-07:00</updated><title type='text'>BOOT CAMP FOR WOMEN</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Sergeantrom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17821485119508653347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://i195.photobucket.com/albums/z244/sergeantrom/PILOT.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>5</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819059511796038228.post-7952561778958111713</id><published>2008-02-29T19:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-08-23T07:46:59.053-07:00</updated><title type='text'>GOOD NIGHT PRIVATE WADE</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcxUc6R7cIq4OfxpklKSgmkf5Uyof34kKu9hvoH7r3YqZyRhoFzaMtaeyN-2siCEpXBs_AQwZ8Vzg7zeOqgHyIBNUhYUuA_JulDCE0uj7lm8N155FAzfJeYk3CAkOsrRDFkVWq-zcm5qlD/s1600-h/slumberparty.jpg&quot;&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&quot;Hey Rom, where you from?&quot; she heard a voice whisper. Rom pretended not to hear so she could drift off into a deep sleep. Not socializing was definitely not a problem for her. She didn&#39;t know about the rest of them, but she needed her sleep; Rom enjoyed sleep. Perhaps that&#39;s why she always had a weight problem all her life. &quot;I&#39;m from Alabama&quot; she whispered as she proceeded to have a conversation with herself. &quot;It&#39;s a very small town, blah blah blah (fill in the blanks) and the only choice I had was work at a restaurant, at the &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_0&quot;&gt;Walmart&lt;/span&gt; or join the Army. My momma was a waitress and &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_1&quot;&gt;hur&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_2&quot;&gt;mamma&lt;/span&gt; too. I wanted more for me and my son.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_3&quot;&gt;Hur&lt;/span&gt;? Oh Lord, just what she needed a country &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_4&quot;&gt;bamma&lt;/span&gt; for a &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_5&quot;&gt;bunkmate&lt;/span&gt;. And she had a son. She didn&#39;t look over twenty. Although Rom was dead tired, she just had to ask. &quot;How old are you Wade?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&#39;m nineteen&quot; Wade said excited that Rom had joined in the conversation. &quot;I know what you thinking cause mostly everybody think the same thing when I tell them I have a kid. His name is Brandon and he&#39;s two. And yes I got pregnant when I was only sixteen. I was gonna marry his daddy but after I got pregnant he started cheating on me with other &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_6&quot;&gt;gurls&lt;/span&gt;. My momma said he was too old for me anyway. He said he would help with Brandon and be there for him like a daddy should but he never had no time for us. I love my son and he means the world to me. He all I got and I promised him we would have a better life. That&#39;s why I joined the Army. He with my momma now but once I get settled I&#39;m gonna send for him. I&#39;ll show you some pictures of him tomorrow when I unpack my stuff. My momma put together this whole picture book of him since he was a baby.&quot; (blah, blah, blah)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Rom lay in her bed, she dreaded starting that conversation. She had the feeling Wade was not going to let her get any sleep. She heard Drill Sergeant&#39;s words ringing in her head &quot;No socializing soldiers&quot;. Rom just knew there was a good reason he told them that. &quot;Wade I don&#39;t mean to sound rude but I really need my sleep. I&#39;m not used to getting up at 5:00am. I really need to sleep now.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Oh no problem Rom. I appreciate your honesty. We can talk tomorrow. I really need the rest too. I wanna make a good impression on Drill Sergeant tomorrow morning. I can&#39;t wait to get our uniforms! I will feel like a real soldier then. A real soldier in the Army.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Goodnight Wade&quot;. There was no way Rom was gonna ask about that psycho comment; and risk another long drawn out conversation with Miss Alabama herself. &quot;Night Rom&quot;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was that a bugle Rom just heard? Sounded like marching band music. She must be dreaming so she just laid there and tried to go back to sleep. &quot;SOLDIER! Did you not hear that bugle?&quot; Drill Sergeant barked in her ear. &quot;That means it&#39;s time to get up. &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_7&quot;&gt;Yall&lt;/span&gt; must have stayed up all night socializing. Rise and shine soldiers. Let&#39;s go! I want those beds made right now. After you make them stand beside your bed for inspection.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Rom gave her bed one last sweep, she noticed Wade had already made her bed to perfection and was standing there beside it. She kept her word of making a good impression. Drill Sergeant commended her on a job well done. He instructed her to go line up at the door for breakfast. &quot;What&#39;s your name soldier?&quot; Drill Sergeant was right in Rom&#39;s face nose to nose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Teresa Rom, &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_8&quot;&gt;Sss&lt;/span&gt; Drill Sergeant&quot;. Whew! That almost slipped, again.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Private Rom. I sure hope you&#39;re not going to be a trouble maker. Are you a troublemaker Private Rom?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;No Drill Sergeant I am not&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;So tell me Private Rom, what&#39;s wrong with your bunk? Were you paying attention to my demonstration last night? Oh yeah, now I remember. You&#39;re the daydreamer. Ain&#39;t that right Private Rom?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Yes Drill Sergeant&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;So you admit you&#39;re a daydreamer?&quot; The Army does not have time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;No Drill Sergeant. I didn&#39;t say I was a daydreamer&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Did you just interrupt me solder? I know you didn&#39;t just cut me off? AND you just called me a liar. I just heard you say you were a daydreamer. Are those tears I see in your eyes Private Rom? Pull yourself together soldier. Remake that bed then go line up for breakfast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Rom was confused from sleep deprivation and drained from fighting back her tears. Was it her imagination that he was deliberately picking on her? She saw no way out of that situation. He would have yelled at her no matter what she said. The bottom line was the bed was a mess. She really should have paid more attention to that demonstration. As Rom proceeded to the back of the breakfast line, she noticed the look of disappointment on Wade&#39;s face. All she could do was look down at the ground. She had disappointed herself. &lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/feeds/7952561778958111713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/5819059511796038228/7952561778958111713' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/7952561778958111713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/7952561778958111713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/2008/02/good-night-private-wade.html' title='GOOD NIGHT PRIVATE WADE'/><author><name>Sergeantrom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17821485119508653347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://i195.photobucket.com/albums/z244/sergeantrom/PILOT.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819059511796038228.post-7578076277125394042</id><published>2008-02-23T19:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-08-23T07:47:16.860-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MESS HALL AINT FOR SOCIALIZING</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_mTjymnkjv4NsalC4bi7nw-RS_qTBHhxwOYcii_JkZgj2l-ho9PRIYnZPDrtiRDVoTY5WWzqyXugC_wcwethhIAESkHDjUcSQiESZj3Uay4X7IiNRY89Bn2dUfxG0opOj9OWkyFIWBjj/s1600-h/COOK.jpg&quot;&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Rom&#39;s &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_0&quot;&gt;bunkmate&lt;/span&gt; was Private Wade. She was a small framed black female, reserved and very intense. Her hair was neatly in place bun style. She had just a hint of makeup on, just the right amount. If she had to describe her in one word it would be librarian. Rom couldn&#39;t imagine why she joined the Army.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rom had joined for the GI Bill. The recruiter said she would get over $30,000 once she signed up; a signing bonus he called it. Well she signed the papers and still didn&#39;t have her money. What the recruiter forgot to tell her was Rom had to finish her service time, file more damn forms and even then she didn&#39;t get the money in one lump sum. It was more like tuition reimbursement; she paid for her education first and then the Army would reimburse her. Didn&#39;t sound so exciting with that explanation huh? While Rom lay on her bunk resting, Wade spent the rest of her time practicing making the bed. Now that was dedication, but at that particular time, Rom thought it was just plain psychotic. Drill Sergeant Anderson was gone and the test was over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drill Sergeant was prompt as expected and they lined up once again as he called their room numbers. Five was a good number considering it put Rom at the front of the dinner line. The mess hall was within walking distance, thank God. Mess hall. What an odd name for a cafeteria. It was confusing and scary at the same time. This place was magnificent. Everything there was stainless steel and hospital clean. A faint smell of bleach lingered. Rom recognized that same smell in the barracks. Self service drink fountains, dessert bars and salad bars. Oh and the coffee machines, with real cream! She had been drinking coffee since age fifteen. A two cup per day habit for fifteen years. This suited Rom just fine though since she didn&#39;t drink or smoke. She hated the taste of alcohol and the smell of smoke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;You have twenty minutes to eat and then line up in front of the mess hall!&quot; What the hell? There were still some girls in the dinner line. When did the clock start? Rom just sat down at the table and she had a plate full of her favorite foods. Meat loaf, an extra scoop of mashed potatoes, corn and a stack of bread and butter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Mess hall &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_1&quot;&gt;aint&lt;/span&gt; for socializing. Eighteen minutes left soldiers. Plenty of time! From the plate to your mouth. Up-down, up-down. You can chew later.&quot; He paced around their tables the whole time. How the hell can anyone eat with that racket going on? As she looked around the mess hall, the other Drill Sergeants were shouting the same spiel to their troops. Rom was eating so fast she almost choked on her bread. This is ridiculous. Someone could get serious heartburn eating this way. How is speed eating supposed to be good for their health? Was this lesson two? Or maybe SPEED was the lesson, do everything so damn fast you don&#39;t have time to learn it. Rom truly understood that Army commercial now. No wonder &quot;they did more before noon than most people did all day&quot;. She thought that&#39;s how the commercial went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After dinner Rom thought of unpacking her stuff to put into the locker. Maybe clip her toenails and brush her hair before going to bed. Wrong, wrong, wrong! Drill Sergeant Anderson had other plans. First, they had to stand in the barracks hallway and get an itinerary for tomorrow. That consisted of getting up at 5:00am, mess hall for another thirty minutes and then going to get their uniforms and pt gear. What does pt stand for? Psycho training? Rom would never had gotten that extra scoop of mashed potatoes had she known they would have been standing afterwards for almost an hour listening to that lecture. The heartburn was killing her and she could hear the faint groans of the other girls while Drill Sergeant barked out instructions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Since this is your first day, thought I&#39;d take it easy and let you all turn in early. Don&#39;t stay up all night socializing. We got a busy day tomorrow and I don&#39;t want any problems. You got that soldiers?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Yes-Drill-&lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_2&quot;&gt;Ser&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_3&quot;&gt;geant&lt;/span&gt;!&quot; they all chanted. Well, they got that part down; only 100 more rules to go. What the hell was his problem with socializing? Are they supposed to stay here for two months without talking to anyone? Was that one of the rules? To be seen and not heard? Why don&#39;t they just tell them all the damn rules at one time instead of letting them stumble over them? &lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/feeds/7578076277125394042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/5819059511796038228/7578076277125394042' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/7578076277125394042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/7578076277125394042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/2008/02/mess-hall-aint-for-socializing.html' title='MESS HALL AINT FOR SOCIALIZING'/><author><name>Sergeantrom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17821485119508653347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://i195.photobucket.com/albums/z244/sergeantrom/PILOT.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819059511796038228.post-5459147950368550831</id><published>2008-02-16T19:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-08-23T07:47:26.751-07:00</updated><title type='text'>B - IS FOR BULLDOGS</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsae7AcuIX_Me3YBk7ZuF_AKf4yn5L6-ABEbMy8Cl3ZQ7O4x-l_iUNeB2_mD5N9VAadguja43mF8xF-YOu7uXuda9exnlMZeT6jrhxtVXjR4eygyCzPx4v4I1qdDrJJG5CTARkvYAoSxCf/s1600-h/BULLDOG.jpg&quot;&gt;&lt;/a&gt;That was the longest damn walk in her life! She thought they would never get to their new home. Why didn&#39;t they just get back on the bus and ride over there? It seemed like they had walked a mile. Rom&#39;s legs were sore and her mouth was dry. It&#39;s their first day so maybe they might be given a break? No such luck. Now they were standing in a hallway of buildings. And standing and standing and more standing. Her legs were like spaghetti. Just when she felt like passing out, Rom heard her name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Private Rom&quot; barracks B. Drill Sergeant Anderson motioned her to walk toward the building with a big red B over the door and the word Bulldogs underneath. Bulldogs? Is this some sort of sorority or something? How stupid. She thought the Army was all about training. Bulldogs. Just wonderful. She was a bulldog. Yeah Team!&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once you get inside, everyone needs to pick a bed. Take your time choosing a bed because this will be your bed from here on out. Stand beside your bed until I tell you otherwise.&quot; Great, more damn standing! Well the race was on! The girls took off to locate their sleeping quarters. There seemed to be groups that knew each other already and were trying to find bunks together. How high school. Rom really didn&#39;t care which bed she got as long as it wasn&#39;t a top bunk. She thought about her spaghetti legs and knew climbing on that top bunk would definitely be a problem for her. She found the first available bottom bunk on the right side of the barracks. She only hoped her new roommate did not snore.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look on the floor to see your bunk number&quot; Drill Sergeant Anderson yelled. There were big red, of course, numbers on the floors. Rom assumed the color red was their school color. She was in room number five. &quot;Remember that number. NOW, I want room numbers one through five to come over here and watch this demonstration. I am going to show you soldiers how to make a bed.&quot; You have got to be kidding me Rom thought. Make a bed? What the hell did that teach her? She already knew how to make a bed. Or so she thought. Drill Sergeant Anderson made that bed so quick her head was spinning. She never saw someone make a bed so fast and so neat. He must have done that demonstration a million times because there was not one wrinkle on that bed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh God. Rom should have paid close attention instead of being sarcastic because she messed up already. What if her bed didn&#39;t look like his? Did she just break a rule? Oh shit! What&#39;s the punishment for breaking that rule? All these wild thoughts like military prison and different kinds of punishment starting going through her mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;You gonna make that bed today soldier or you waiting on a special invitation?&quot; Drill Sergeant Anderson yelled at Rom. &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_0&quot;&gt;Yeeesss&lt;/span&gt; Sir. She scrambled to finish making the bed. &quot;SIR? Did you just call me SIR? I work for a living! Listen up, all of you! MY Name IS Drill Sergeant Anderson. YOU Will Call Me Drill Sergeant Anderson. OR you can call me Drill Sergeant. BUT AT NO time will you EVER call me SIR. You all got that? NOW finish making that bed soldier.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Rom fought off the tears, her hands trembled while making the bed. She just remembered him smoothing the sheets with his hands in a sweeping motion so she just kept doing that hoping it would work. It didn&#39;t but luckily she wasn&#39;t the only one who failed the bed making test. There were only a handful of girls that passed and those fortunate souls got the duty of demonstrating to the rest of the failures how to make the beds. Drill Sergeant Anderson told them that he had made the bed quickly on purpose to locate those individuals who could teach. Except for the embarrassment of calling him sir, Rom felt much better. That tricky bastard! Was this the sort of stuff she had to endure? He couldn&#39;t have told them this beforehand? She was doing it again. Shut up Rom and pay attention! Drill Sergeant Anderson told them once their beds were made they could take a nap until dinner. Get familiar with their surroundings. Unpack their things. Do whatever they wanted as long as they stayed in the barracks. He would be back to get them at dinner time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let the slumber party begin! Everyone scrambled to find their lockers and unpack all their junk. Others sat on their beds and chatted and giggled up a storm. Of course the topic of conversation was boys. Rom had to constantly remind herself she was now in a roomful of teenage girls. Teenage girls with raging hormones and all the other issues that were part of being a teenager. Once again, what the hell was she thinking, joining the Army at age thirty! &lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/feeds/5459147950368550831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/5819059511796038228/5459147950368550831' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/5459147950368550831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/5459147950368550831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/2008/02/b-is-for-bulldogs.html' title='B - IS FOR BULLDOGS'/><author><name>Sergeantrom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17821485119508653347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://i195.photobucket.com/albums/z244/sergeantrom/PILOT.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819059511796038228.post-6541248195288501382</id><published>2008-02-09T09:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-08-23T07:47:40.842-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WELCOME TO FORT JOHNSON</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3ABTw36DT9wCIIYoTwuzfI34Yqmr01M2nLZ2_DXjdhdWCphhS5Z1V3h0mLQdeCUqHJtKuedaVeN9yMcDt0euwT0y09O7M3yNGtMIyjlQxAggT-I-qg05nJvGHHT9tB9V7k2LrQBZLQPG/s1600-h/bus.jpg&quot;&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;What the hell was she thinking? Joining the Army at age thirty. It seemed like a good idea at the time; at least her damn self centered husband thought so. Or was he just trying to get rid of her so he wouldn&#39;t have to listen to all the nagging about money? Teresa Rom wanted to own a home someday but her husband was spending money like there was no tomorrow. And never anything of real value; fancy clothes, leather jackets, designer shoes and name brand cologne. Appearance was a big deal to her husband and that was another incompatibility problem they had. Rom was a tomboy all her life. She could remember all the special occasions when she actually wore a dress. Anyway, she was here now. Thinking back a few days, she now realized recruiters were the scum of the Earth! They will tell you anything to get anyone to sign those papers. Once those papers are signed, those bastards disappeared like a sprinter in the Olympics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rom remembered all the scared faces on the young boys and girls getting off the bus to Fort Johnson, the official training grounds for the United States Army. She was terrified too but she tried her best to hide it since she felt out of place being thirty. Like looking tough would actually hide her age. Besides, she didn&#39;t really look her age, in the face that was. Her body was a different story. She was five feet three and weighed one hundred and sixty pounds. Most of the weight was on her hips and thighs so that probably qualified- as the pear shaped body frame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Get the hell off the bus NOW soldiers&quot; some very tall man screamed at them! Rom didn&#39;t even see his face it all happened so fast. She just remembered being pushed from behind and trying her best not to trip while exiting the bus. There was another man waiting on the sidelines, also yelling, and directing them to go and line up in this big field of grass. By the time all the yelling was done, there must have been over 300 soldiers, all in neat little rows. There was a weird silence for about two minutes. You could hear the grass growing or maybe those were the crickets. With all the yelling going on, either their eardrums had popped or they were just too damn scared to speak. They all just stood there in the grass, still and silent. It was a hot, sticky day and Rom&#39;s sweats were beginning to cling to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Welcome to Fort Johnson&quot; she heard a strong voice say over the rows of cowards. &quot;This will be your new home for the next two months. We have a few rules here at Fort Johnson and YOU WILL FOLLOW ALL OF THESE RULES. Now everyone look to your left at the person in the uniform. That is your Drill Sergeant. Your Drill Sergeant is responsible for teaching you the rules here at Fort Johnson. Think of your Drill Sergeant as your father, mother, grandmother, grandfather or whoever took care of you back home. Make sure you learn to pronounce your Drill Sergeant&#39;s name correctly because they hate when you mispronounce their names. Oh, they really hate that! Nothing pisses them off more than mispronouncing their names.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;Rom&#39;s Drill Sergeant had a kind looking face and really brown eyes that seemed to twinkle. He was about six feet tall, maybe 250 pounds. She thought he lost a little weight because his uniform was baggy. Drill Sergeant Anderson was his name. She didn&#39;t remember the rest of the Commander&#39;s speech because she couldn&#39;t take her eyes off Drill Sergeant Anderson and those brown very brown eyes; he was quite handsome. She just loved a man in uniform.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;The next time you see me will be at your graduation ceremony here at Fort Johnson&quot; the Commander told them. She never saw what he looked like; just heard his voice. Wow! We get a graduation ceremony? Just like high school. How exciting she thought. Her mind started drifting off to her old high school days when she felt that familiar push from behind; nudging her to follow the other soldiers. They were to follow Drill Sergeant Anderson to their new home. They were like little ducklings in a row following their mother. Marching off into the blue yonder to learn about their new world called the Army. &lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/feeds/6541248195288501382/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/5819059511796038228/6541248195288501382' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/6541248195288501382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/6541248195288501382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/2008/02/welcome-to-fort-johnson.html' title='WELCOME TO FORT JOHNSON'/><author><name>Sergeantrom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17821485119508653347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://i195.photobucket.com/albums/z244/sergeantrom/PILOT.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5819059511796038228.post-3342871590964986618</id><published>2008-02-01T10:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T05:29:41.471-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WELCOME TO MY BLOG</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpI5ykBezST_XQiite9wxyXwho6P45NJ_ucjUjSd2Gg0n-Fqh7oIF4EX3rQCQmwouq2I9R5xGcewI_SEOX_BlQIJxLWdrJLy1v3wtyNfolkrWOt9jDXxy8PSsbCXto-sjHn2_X3gx2UGoY/s1600-h/WOMANARMY.jpg&quot;&gt;&lt;img id=&quot;BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172801129768398338&quot; style=&quot;FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand&quot; alt=&quot;&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpI5ykBezST_XQiite9wxyXwho6P45NJ_ucjUjSd2Gg0n-Fqh7oIF4EX3rQCQmwouq2I9R5xGcewI_SEOX_BlQIJxLWdrJLy1v3wtyNfolkrWOt9jDXxy8PSsbCXto-sjHn2_X3gx2UGoY/s200/WOMANARMY.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Tired of reading the same old boring soldier comes home to his childhood sweetheart stories? Read about what really happens in the military - from a &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_0&quot;&gt;female&#39;s&lt;/span&gt; point of view. There is drama in &lt;span class=&quot;blsp-spelling-error&quot; id=&quot;SPELLING_ERROR_1&quot;&gt;everyone&#39;s&lt;/span&gt; life, soldiers are no different, they are people too. However the military teaches them to tackle their problems head on and keep moving forward. There is never any time to look back. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align=&quot;justify&quot;&gt;Women have even more obstacles in the military to overcome and I want to use this blog to entertain, encourage and motivate women all over the world, to always keep moving forward. We are strong individuals and can do anything we set our minds to. Please also check out my &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color:#006600;&quot;&gt;HOME PAGE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; link for more inspiration and you can also contact me there too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color:#006600;&quot;&gt;Boot Camp For Women is not just about the military, it&#39;s about training - for your entire life!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/feeds/3342871590964986618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/5819059511796038228/3342871590964986618' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/3342871590964986618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5819059511796038228/posts/default/3342871590964986618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bootcampforwomen.blogspot.com/2008/02/welcome-to-my-blog.html' title='WELCOME TO MY BLOG'/><author><name>Sergeantrom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17821485119508653347</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://i195.photobucket.com/albums/z244/sergeantrom/PILOT.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpI5ykBezST_XQiite9wxyXwho6P45NJ_ucjUjSd2Gg0n-Fqh7oIF4EX3rQCQmwouq2I9R5xGcewI_SEOX_BlQIJxLWdrJLy1v3wtyNfolkrWOt9jDXxy8PSsbCXto-sjHn2_X3gx2UGoY/s72-c/WOMANARMY.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>