What I Did On My Summer Vacation.

I have never really been a fan of summer. Doubly so, since I have lived in Florida for the past couple of years. (I try not to stereotype, but there’s really no reason for anyone to actually live in Florida. Sure, a fraction of the general population leaves something to be desired, but nothing is helped by the fact that the Sun is essentially trying to kill everything that attempts to go outside between the months of March and December).

What also doesn’t help my general dislike of summer is the fact that it’s been designated as the time of year for vacations, as well as for kids to think that they should get a break from life. I’ve also thought that those two factors were absolute bullshit. Vacations should happen whenever it is appropriate and economically convenient for the person or people involved.

As far as kids thinking that they’re entitled to a break, fuck that noise. My kids don’t get a break. Every year, my wife and I have made a point of securing workbooks for our children for the grade that they would be entering in, in the fall. You know what? They have been consistently ‘better off’ for it. I’m not Hitler about it. They devote an hour a day and they also help out around the house. Other than that, they are generally free to do what they want as long as no one, and nothing, dies.

For the record, 2 out of the 3 have maintained ‘honor roll’ status (the 3rd has been a solid ‘B’ student). Point of fact? When I was a kid, my parents thought I should be able to “enjoy” my summer and “do what I want”. The following school year was always an educational nightmare for me because I retained little of what I learned the year before and no one was making sure that I was doing anything intellectually stimulating (defined as, the opposite of what I was doing: watching reruns of My Favorite Martian and playing endless hours of video games).

I digress. 

This past summer, through an unusual, but expected set of circumstances, my wife, a Captain in the USAF, received orders to relocate herself and her family to Japan.

That’s right: I am now littering the Internet from the Land of the Rising Sun. (Fun fact: while I haven’t confirmed this, I’m fairly certain that Japan is referred to as that because THE SUN RISES AT 4 IN THE FUCKING MORNING DURING THE SUMMER). Suffice it to say, there will be more writings about Japan, our journey here, and the usual drek I tend to prattle on about.

In sum, I will leave you with how I found out that we were moving to Japan. You may get a chuckle out of it, or it may confirm what you all ready know about me (that I’m an idiot). Regardless this is EXACTLY what happened. 

One day in the kitchen of my former, Florida abode, I was using our food processor to get down on some dinner prep before I had to pick up my kids from school. After I had cleaned up and was ready to leave, I go to put the food processor away and the damn thing slipped out of my hands and hit the floor. Rather than try to save it or perhaps catch it on the rebound, I got the fuck out of the way because it’s heavy as hell and can easily break a foot when it is in a gravitationally dangerous state.

After I regained composure, I surveyed the damage.

This is a present-day photo

Naturally, I was sweating bullets because my wife had bought this a while back. The name plate was popped out and, as you can see, there was a massive crack in the housing. My first thought was, “Welp: I’m fucked. There’s no way that this is going to work”. After I checked the remaining integrity of the base and popped the name plate back in, I plugged it back in to see how bad it was.

It worked perfectly fine. I switched out multiple attachments and it was still fine. My next move, I thought, was fairly obvious. 

I packed up everything nice and neat, put it in the one cabinet that she’d never go in, and buried it under other kitchen gadgets. All of this was done, thanks to the thought “I’ll blame it on the movers the next time we move”.

Five minutes later, I got a text from my wife saying that we were moving to Japan this summer.

Poopin’ 2.0

As I may have mentioned here before, I am an “Air Force Wife”. 

My wife occupies a position of prominence in the USAF while I occupy the home. That is not to say that I am a ‘laurel-rest-er’. If I didn’t stay at home, our children wouldn’t be as well-adjusted as they are and the house would be a pit of dirty dishes and full garbage bags. I digress.

Given the nature of my wife’s employment, she is sometimes required to go out of town for training. When those opportunities arise, my wife and I maintain contact through Snapchat. While I still don’t understand the point of Snapchat, I figured that it would be best if we used said service instead of texting back and forth. With texting (our primary method of contact when she is in town), that shit eats up a lot of space on your phone. Doubly so if you’re trying to stay in contact with your Boo because they’re out of town.

That is not to say that she is my only contact on Snapchat. Various people from my days on Facebook have added me, and I, them. Sometimes ‘snap’ back and forth.

One day, after the kids had been jettisoned at their respective schools, I decide to check my snaps and one of said Facebook peoples snapped me back.

They wanted to know what I was doing.

I was finishing my morning constitutional. The person contacting me was a fellow male. So I seized the opportunity to compose a tasteful snap of myself sitting on the throne.

Suffice it to say that the fellow male appreciated my candor. I don’t remember what all we talked about but he ended up schooling me on Poopin’ 2.0

The video is a bit on the long side but the science and the logic are there. Since my initial viewing, I have adopted the method and I must say, my constitutionals are wonderful!

Go ahead, give it a look-see!