Nature, Victory, and a few questions

Wednesday, Jul. 19, 2006, 11:24 p.m.

Since Husband is hard at work tonight, helping people to efficiently and safely jump out of perfectly good airplanes, I finally have some time to write about ... well, about whatever comes into my head between now and the time I get tired. Hooray!

I'll start with this past weekend, which began like this:

"Let's go camping up in midwestern Georgia!"

and ended like this:

"Wasn't that a fun time we had in northeastern Florida?"

And now I will insert the middle part, so that it all, somehow, makes sense.

You see, Husband and I, as I mentioned a few entries ago, are in the process of becoming certified Scuba People, and we recently acquired, for more money than we really actually had, a whole bunch of gear that we will be using to complete our certification -- wetsuits, snorkels, fins, masks, and cool little waterbooties that you wear with your fins.

Because Husband is the type of person who, when he buys something, wants to use/wear/eat/drive/watch/listen/sleep on it right away, our next course of action was to decide where we could go to try out our new stuff. We had heard there were interesting places a few hours northwest of us (some lake or something; I actually have no idea where we thought we could snorkel in the dead center of Georgia, especially seeing as how we live practically on the fucking shoreline), so plans were made to go up there and camp and be nature-loving water people.

Oh, yeah -- remember how I said "plans were made"? Yeah, that actually means, "we made a semi-sincere verbal agreement that we would probably get in the car and go somewhere other than our apartment sometime between Friday night and Monday morning." Because that is how we roll.

Friday evening came, and I asked Husband, "So, when/where are we going to that place?"

He answered, "Well, we have to go buy a tent and some other stuff, and then we have to figure out how to get there, and then pack everything up, and then go sometime in the morning."

"Okay," I said. "I'll find the directions. What's the place called?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "It's some lake up near Macon. You can find it online, honey, you're good at that kind of stuff."

Note: I totally am good at that stuff. But still -- come on.

We can go ahead and fast-forward through the next six or so hours, during which I discovered that the place he had in mind 1) was four-ish hours away, 2) was really touristy and kind of lame, and 3) cost money. Add those three elements together and you get a non-weekend-destination.

During those six hours, we also figured out that anywhere worth going in Georgia was too far away to drive there and home in less than 36 hours. This led to trouble.

Husband: "Maybe we should just not go anywhere."

Me: "But we bought the tent already! I want to camp! In the north!"

Husband: "I don't know, maybe we should just go down to Jacksonville [Florida] for the day and snorkel, and then come home."

Me: "But ... camping! Tent! North!"

Husband: "I know, but there isn't anywhere to camp. Everywhere is full; you looked it up."

Me: "WE WILL CAMP."

Husband: "MAYBE."

So we eventually reached a compromise – with the tent in the trunk, no clothes packed and a vague destination in mind, we drove south until we got to A1A, Florida's pretty coastal highway, where you can find plenty of rich people and beaches, and also a Whataburger, which we drove south on until I happened to see a sign for kayak rental.

"Kayaking!" I yelled happily. "Let's kayak! It'll be fun!"

Husband had never kayaked before, but since he is a good sport (and was also, I imagine, ready to be Not Driving for a while), he agreed to try it out. He quickly learned that people with strong arms are very good at kayaking ("Look at me! I'm FAST!") and since we brought our snorkel stuff along with us, we were able to stop at a little sandbar down the river and splash around at each other for a bit.

(During that time, I should add, I also discovered that when you are breathing through your snorkel and your face is underwater, people can still hear you abovewater if you happen to be grunting the "Jaws" music as you swim toward them. Good times.)

Afterward, we managed to find a place where we could set up our tent for the night for ten dollars, and as the bugs swarmed around us and our lovely campfire, which was obviously not such a good idea because bugs are evil, we both agreed that this was not a bad compromise at all.

And here you guys thought this was going to be a story that ended with violence -- aren't I just chock-full of surprises?

In my last entry, I mentioned -- nay, crowed -- that a commentary I wrote last week unbelievably made it into print exactly the way I wrote it. Remember? We celebrated! Yay!

Except, I learned today that it was actually a total accident -- none of my higher-ups had really read my piece. They had just skimmed it and signed off on it, thinking (foolishly, since they know me) that all would certainly be well.

My editor (and sometime cohort) told me today that, whoops, the colonel never originally read it, and was also not fully pleased with it when, today, he finally did read it.

In other words, my victory is now even sweeter, for I have Slipped One Past The Man.

If you'd like to read it, I've reproduced it in this entry, and you can scroll right on down a little ways and peruse my victory. If you don't want to read it, that's cool too.

But for all of you -- I'm stealing this from Sundry, because I'm not sure how soon I'll get to update again and it's a good way to keep all of us busy.

What you do is, you answer these four questions in my comments section:

1. Who do you live with?
2. What are some of the things you do at work ("work" includes managing households and raising children, of course)?
3. What are you proud of?
4. What are five things you love, and five things you hate?

... and I get to read your answers and think "Wow, they are way more interesting than I am."

If you are even the slightest bit bored with the whole downloading-porn-at-work or not-cleaning-the-house or coming-up-with-excuses-for-not-taking-a-shower-in-three-days thing, please do this! It's fun, I swear!

Oh, and one last thing -- I did, of course, manage to take a few pictures of us doing our vacation, but my flickr site appears to be momentarily down, so I guess those will be visible in a few hours or so, if you want to see our kayak poses.

Okay, now here is my commentary, slightly edited to protect the innocent but with its original headline:

Military parents, don't let your babies grow up to be weirdos

It's no secret that since [our division's] Soldiers have been home from Iraq, [our post]'s "expectant mothers" parking spaces have been packed.

Good for you, expectant mothers! Enjoy those parking spaces! And while you're at it, start preparing to throw themed birthday parties, like the one 3-year-old St. Paul,
Minn., resident Henry Schally asked his parents for in June.

According to the Washington Post, young Henry wanted his birthday party's theme to be PBS's "NewsHour With Jim Lehrer."

The Schallys supplied a birthday cake with a photo of the show's correspondents and a periodic playing of its theme music, the Post reported, and Lehrer sent along an autographed photo signed, as Henry calls him, "Jimmy Jimmy BoBo."

If your reaction to this newsbyte is similar to mine ("Um. Yeeeeah.") and you wish to avoid birthday "fun" which inspires quips such as the Post's "Do you want ice cream
with your Ray Suarez?" then I have a few birthday party suggestions that may come in handy for you, the military family.

Tank Tables for Toddlers
This one's perfect for [infantry division] families, who wake up on a semi-regular basis to the soothing sounds of tankers practicing their craft on one of [our posts]'s many ranges. As they arrive, party guests will be given ear protection and laceless boots in favor bags made from Nomex. Games will be "pin the tracks on the Abrams" and instead of cake, parents can serve pizza topped with sabot.

It's Stop-Loss Time
Once guests arrive, they are not allowed to leave. Party on, for an indeterminate amount of time!

Hurry Up And Wait-A-Thon
Your child's friends arrive on time -- 15 minutes early, even! -- but they are required to stand outside for at least a half hour. Right before they become annoyed enough to just glare at you and leave, invite them all inside and have them sit in your living room to "get ready for games!" Delay the game-playing until the threat of physical retaliation is visibly looming, and then break out the games. Repeat the same method with every activity until your small guests stage a rebellion or leave their gifts on the doorstep and flee.

"Happy Birthday, You're Deploying!"
Party guests, upon arrival, would be informed that your child is going to be deploying to Iraq that very day. Let each child take turns giving your son or daughter his or her necessary vaccinations and briefings. Pack all the birthday presents neatly in a duffel bag, then throw them into a conex, to be given to the birthday boy or girl
in "a few months or so."

Let's All Go Airborne
Give your guests bed sheets and throw them off the roof of your house. If they land badly, scold them. The ones who suffer the fewest injuries get the largest pieces of cake. The ones who cry are told to go home.

G.I. Party!
Give the children bottles of Windex, 409 and Mr. Clean and a roll of paper towels. Inform them that they have one hour to make the entire house spotless. If they fail, they must start over. The guest who finishes with the cleanest room wins. Your child gets to play [sergeant-in-charge], and if his friends no longer like him by the end of the day, consider the party a success.

As you can see, little Henry Schally and his buddy Jimmy Jimmy BoBo have absolutely nothing on the Army when it
comes to throwing a birthday bash. Oh, and I take payment in the form of cake.

There you go! Now I have to go rest up, because tomorrow I'm going to be shooting 5.56mm rounds at paper targets while roasting in the blazing hot Georgia sun, and I don't think it's usually considered a good idea to pass out while gripping an M16, you know?

Also (and lastly, I promise), I want to point out that I managed to say "fuck" only ONE TIME in this whole entry -- which, I am sure, is a sign of the Apocalypse.

Sleep tight!