I'm a hot blonde who drinks far too much coffee and has a few too many ambitions.
I'm in the Navy; four years down, two to go. For me, being in the military is like being in an on-again, off-again love-hate relationship. Or maybe a bad marriage that one sticks out for "the kids". In our case, however, the Navy and I don't really have children per se, so it's really just the legal binding contract and fear of going to prison that makes me stay. What can I say, he's just such a charmer.
Ok, maybe that's not totally fair. There are things I like about being a "servicemember". The guaranteed paycheck (higher-ups will warn you from referring to it this way, but if you're not a complete idiot and you stay off the CO's radar, you're pretty much golden), checking bags for free (like everyone used to be able to do...I think gas prices came down already, airlines...what are we still doing paying $1100 per bag?), and the 15% discount at places like Rudy's (best BBQ in TX, don't listen to Doc). Oh, and the pijamas for uniforms. Those are pretty nice, if not a pain in the A to put on.
But, sometimes recruiters lie. Or don't tell the "whole" truth. (Got news for you, recruiters, that's still lying). Sometimes they don't tell you you'll be working in a building with zero natural light and a cranked A/C in the dead of [Texas] winter. Which, let me tell you, folks, is still cold. It snowed for 15 whole minutes last February.
And sometimes, big government organizations have rules (or appoint people who makes rules) that plain-and-simple do not make any damn sense to anyone.
For example: When I'm awake for 24 hours in a row, I think it's reasonable to want to go to sleep afterwards. However, when playing the rank game, E-7 beats E-5 every time, any way you slice it. So when all you want to do is let your body rest after working a mid-shift, your Chief wants you to attend an assembly of the "entire command" at an All-Hands Call. This is where a bunch of Admirals and other various officers that have no consciousness of their audience blather on about things that people who are just coming off a mid-shift will never understand unless they've had a metric ton of caffeine or some f-ing sleep.
Although, as a desk-jockey, I admittedly do not have to tolerate life aboard ship which would otherwise be customary for a "sailor" such as myself.
I get to sleep in my own queen-sized bed with the realized expectation that I will be the only one sleeping in it at any given time. There is a common phenomenon that occurs out at sea called "hot-racking". This means that there may be only enough beds for half the crew, and since they generally work in shifts, the beds are shared. While one sailor works, the other sleeps and so on, leaving the "rack" "hot" at all times.
Uh, can you say gross? Who changes the sheets? Do they even get changed? Where do you think bedbugs come from?
Also, I hear from the saltiest that the food on ships is pretty terrible. If you're lucky enough to get any, the coffee's burnt and the food is about what you might expect from a school cafeteria in West Virginia.
Not that I'm a great chef, but I can cook well enough to keep myself alive and happy for a few hours. And, if I don't feel like cooking (more like "compiling". See also: "lasagna"), I have a wonderfully epicurean boyfriend who kicks the shit out of Marie Callendar AND Aunt Jemima. Yea. I said it.
I guess it's not SO bad, the life of a sailor in Texas (God save you if you call me a Texan sailor. I am from Nebraska. Represent). Especially since I've recently traded in my 2001 Cavalier for a honest-to-goodness Texas truck, so now I get to play "Get out of my damn way or I'll run you over. Bring it on, Dodge Ram".
I love that game.