I wish I could speak like that to any person that had failed logic and directed it towards me, MM.

So here's the story on one of these cases, on which IDF and me battling one-on-one in an absurd theater. If I had said what I would really like to said in that situation, I'd found myself in army court in no time.

Scene: another guarding duty, one of my lasts. I got one of the better posts (where I can read, joy!). And suddenly, there's an inspection - the first I had in this kind of duty. Well, I'm kind of disciplined soldier, so all of it will go well, right? Oh look, a flying pig!

One of the mandatory equipment is a canteen. Now, my darling, I'm talking about a kind of canteen that perhaps was relatively new around 1970, and as far as I know, wasn't cleaned since then. It's going on the belt, in case we'll have to make a run (and "towards where?" is an interesting question, giving that I was serving in a base in the middle of freaking Tel Aviv. "The mall" is the closest answer, trust me). So in a case of "drink from it or die", I'd probably prefer the last. Still, instructions says it has to be full. So I'm filling it, just like the rest of the girls, just above half way through - it's not like we don't have other shit to carry, including an M-16 which leaves our legs filled with blue and black marks, due to proportion issues. Since the canteen is such an ick factor, I, of course, carry a water bottle of liter and a half with me to the post and two books.

And under these conditions I was found disobedient. An officer and his unbelievably stupid sock puppet came, and went by my gear, one by one, and found the canteen not fully filled.

Then the play begun. For about 20 minutes I was questioned with the same question over and over again: "why isn't your canteen filled to its end?". After answering it 5 times, it didn't help, and I had no idea what answer they're after. The officer stopped asking after 8 times, when he saw my answer doesn't change (I think I said something about that I don't drink from it, and I have three times the amount of water at my side, there, where they could see), and went talking with my officer that pretty much said the same. But for sock puppet it wasn't enough. For another 15 minutes, he kept asking me that question, enjoying every little moment of his station over me with a satisfied grin on his face. At some point I stopped answering, not having any other words to understand what's not to be understand.

That's the famous canteen story, which at my house became a phrase: no matter what's the situation, a very irrelevant "but why isn't your canteen full?" can slip into the conversation.

We have bins for garbage, recycling and plant trimmings. You put it in whenever.

That's the same in the big cities in Israel, only here the bins are on the street, and sometimes it takes some time until you find one.

Then the play begun. For about 20 minutes I was questioned with the same question over and over again: "why isn't your canteen filled to its end?". After answering it 5 times, it didn't help, and I had no idea what answer they're after.

In your shoes, I would have at some point not been able to resist the urge to answer, "With all due respect, sir, it is full. It is half full of water, and half full of air." And depending on how recently I'd watched a rerun of M*A*S*H, also said, "Just like your head." Which goes back to what you were saying about ending up in court.

MM, that is a moment of beauty. LOVE IT.

Well done, baby. Well done.

In your shoes, I would have at some point not been able to resist the urge to answer, "With all due respect, sir, it is full. It is half full of water, and half full of air." And depending on how recently I'd watched a rerun of M*A*S*H, also said, "Just like your head." Which goes back to what you were saying about ending up in court.

Court would usually bring to jail, so I didn't even asked them if they would have drink from it in my shoes.

I would've said it was full when I arrived, but I got thirsty. Let 'em prove I didn't drink from the old thing. At least, that's what I would've said if I could have avoided saying the thing that would've landed me in jail. Which... yeah, jail.

The recycling sitch is ridiculous. I can't believe the fucker would actually leave a note that basically says "I decided not to pick this up even though I could have because I hate my job, fuck you". If that were the rules around here, I'd just be hauling my own garbage, because I almost always forget it. They pick up every Tuesday, and their schedule has changed so they don't get to my house until about 10am. By that time I've remembered it's Tuesday. I have been hauling the bin down as they arrived, and they wave and take it. Best thing ever, though, is single-stream disposal. We can put recyclables into the regular garbage and it's sorted out at the other end. They didn't even make us give back the recycle bin, which is now a kitty shelter on my porch.

Dear Friend, I love you, I really do. And I like spending time with you. But when you invite me over to watch movies or something and refuse to commit to a movie or TV or whatever, it makes me suspicious. I suspect that it's because you don't want to commit because your husband is involved, and if I show up expecting to watch X and there is some disagreement, one or the other of us will be pissed. Me because I crossed the bridge in 20 degree weather and him because he wants to watch what he wants to watch in his own home.

so, either commit to a movie or talk to your husband. The idea of "show up and we'll figure out something to watch" does not appeal to me.

We're supposed to have our trash bin out by 6am. But he doesn't show up until 1:00pm. And we get crazy 50 mph winds out here, plus all manner of interesting wildlife. So I refuse to put it out that early, because it will get blown over and eaten by bears or something.

However, my trash man does not care, and I can drag it out there while he's driving around the cul-de-sac and he picks it up and waves at me while I wait for him so I can drag it away.

It is still much easier than on the reservation where we had to haul everything to the transfer station.

When I lived in Arizona, I lived around the corner from the family-owned trash-hauling company that I chose to pick up my trash. Unfortunately that meant I was always first on their route, and they started in the pre-dawn twilight in hopes of getting done before the worst of the heat. Luckily my trash can had handles that would latch over the lid, so it was safe enough to leave out overnight. Also, they were observant enough that at least sometimes if I didn't put the trash out, they would give me a partial credit on my bill. Nice people.