I love my job, but

Oh how I wish this were edited. Here it is: the first and thus far worst Sicilian Sunburn I've Sustained. I'm pretty aware of how generally awkward this photo is, angle wise and beyond, but I just needed proof that I lived through that sunburn, peeled, and am presently still red. My poor, white, Oregonian, sun-kissed skin is begging to peel a second time. Let's hope the Aquaphor, (aka: glorified petroleum jelly) I've been lubing my entire body with three times a day will pull through for me in this final stretch.

Living on a U.S. Naval Airstation has high points and low. I get this sneaking suspicion that a lot of people don't actually know what I'm doing here, where I live, and the circumstances which brought me here, so I figured I'd take this time when I'm not sleeping, working, eating or wishing I was sleeping or eating to clear the confusion, if I may.

It's hard to know where to approach in tackling the massive, pulsing culture, lifestyle and silent undertones that lick one's toes no matter where they go. It has come to my attention that many people don't know exactly what an International US Military Base is (those of us lucky enough to be without family members fighting for our grand ol' country) so go educate yourself on Sigonella... I'm working off the assumption that link will be in English. My computer is very much aware that I'm in Italy and has dutifully changed every website I go to to Italian for me. Gratzia.

Tying in the aptly named title of this particular post, "I love my job, but... I hate giant, naked pregnant bellies." I can quite honestly say that I have never seen so many pregnant bellies in my entire life. I actually asked a friend that recently, "Why am I so weirded out/surprised when I see a massively pregnant stomach?" Every single person on this earth was once roofed under a belly, so it REALLY shouldn't surprise me. Yet...

Pregnancy here is an epidemic. To be frank, Navy men come in on the ships to their wives/girlfriends/current girlfriends and soon to be shotgun-wedding-style brides, after months abroad and what do you know? 9 months later a new crop of babies has surfaced from the wake of many-a-womb. So right now, I can look at the dozen or so women who come to the pool and are about 7 months pregnant ("Granted, gynecology is just a hobby of mine, but it sounds like she's crowning." I love you Jason Segel, I'm so incredibly attracted to you) and pinpoint the date that a fleet came home.

A fun trick they taught us at training is to just ask kids you're working withwhen their birthday is, because a fat chunk of them will be all scattered around the same time ;). Ba-dum chhh (my attempt at a drum sound?) But I digress...

I am so uncomfortable by giant naked pregnant bellies I have to sacrifice many womens' safety whilst guarding and avoid looking at them, as to not put the rest of the pool in danger when I start hyperventilating. In all seriousness, how is that not the most disgusting thing you have ever, ever seen?

In summation, there are so many young kids, babies and pregnant woman it's enough to make anyone's head spin. I suppose that's why we're here though. The life of a military wife/husband is not one to be envied. I've gotten to know a couple of women who's first and most stressed piece of advice is to not fall in love with anyone in the military. Thanks ladies, I'll do my best? The adopted mom that we're given when we get here to help us adjust is a sweet girl, barely older than me and often jokes about the shopping sprees she's going to go on when her husband, also a really cool guy who works with the k9 unit, as therapy through the loneliness when he is deployed for a year.

I could ramble on and on; the dynamic here is one of stress, sadness, deep love and strength, with that quiet glimmer of hope. I can't get over it, I keep running around trying to take it all in, but I'm far to overwhelmed by it all

I'm getting bored of writing about this, so I'll wrap it up. I live on a hotel on a military base in Sicily, Italy. I volunteer 8 long hours a day 5 long days a week and get evenings and weekends to travel this odd little island.

It's hard to describe how it is different from mainland Italy, so I guess that if I'm going to be stereotyping Italian culture from now on I try to say Southern Italy. It's very similar to the North and South of the States though. An Oregonian would probably be offended if compared to a Texan. We are worlds apart, language, food, lifestyle, culture. The same, but very different. Same goes for all 7 regions of Italy. Each speaks a different version of the same Italian, each with new variations of the same dishes, bla bla bla. I've officially bored myself to my limit.