I'm a Brat, Part I

Some may argue that I'm a brat in more than one way. However, today I'll be discussing my military heritage. My mom has been suggesting for a long time that I write what it was like growing up as the child of a Marine. It is a different way of life than how most non-military kids grow up and I am having a hard time figuring out where to start. There are so many things I could go on and on about.

I guess I'll start with what it's like to be on a military base. Jason got his first taste of this when we visited my parents in Okinawa in 2007. The buildings are strictly functional. Most are low warehouse-types, all painted the same color, with big block lettering painted on as their "address." Office buildings are of the same type, except with windows. Amenities are also provided on base. Gyms are, of course, an important member of society and usually have everything one would want for working out. Mess halls (cafeterias) and fast food are dotted around, normally near the barracks and central places of work. Commissaries (grocery stores) are available for grocery shopping and there are normally small businesses such as tailors, barbers, bank branches, recreation stops, and hobby stores. Housing is available for rent so families can live on the base.

The Marines themselves are a sight. Unless they are PTing (physical training) they are in their camis. (ooh la la) Boots, pants, jackets, covers (hats). Camis have each Marine's name and rank sewed and pinned on so everyone knows who everyone else is. Normally they are going about their respective work, though sometimes they stand in formation for drills or special occassions. Marines pride themselves on having the best physical fitness of any of the military branches. (And from what I've seen, it's true.) Group PT is a must and they also must pass regular fitness exams to make sure they're operating at their peak. Humping (don't laugh gutterheads, it means hiking with all their gear) is common and is a challenge especially for those in bootcamp and the infantry. My dad is great at keeping inter-military ribbing alive by pointing out how fat the Air Force and Army let their servicemen get. Granted, my dad works out almost everyday and is in better shape than ANYONE I know (not exaggerating!).

This is a Marine base in a nutshell. I miss the order and cami-clad young men; it gives me a bit of nostalgia when I go back to visit.

Hairy Situations

I know I'm not the only one out there that has to wax my eyebrows. Note: me waxing my eyebrows = cheapie Sally Hansen strips that you rub between your palms and then cut out your own shape. Every once in a while, Sally doesn't quite cut it (no pun intended) and I have pay for professional help.

The last time I had a salon experience, it was quite interesting. I'm always a little self-conscious going to the salon because it's normally very obvious why I'm there. One look at the lawn growing out of my forhead and the stylists whisk me to the back room and break out the weed-wacker, all the while hoping the shrapnel doesn't pierce their aprons. The stylist on this particular day was very friendly and had some good conversation. Eventually, she was comfortable enough to start telling me a little about her family. I learned that every member of her family is hairy. I got to hear the details about how they all (male and female alike) need to be waxed on a regular basis. It was at this point that I started wondering why it was taking so long to get my eyebrows done, and how in the world had she gotten on the subject of her family's, er, furry little problem? I start mm-hmming and uh-huhing hoping she'll figure out I just want to be done and have decent looking brows. Finally! She hands me the mirror and I see that she's done hardly ANYthing! She cleaned up the peripherals but nothing else. Now my dilemma: do I (1) tell her to keep going and fix it while hearing more about her family follicles, or (2) take it the way it is and run?

I ran.

$10+tip later, I'm sitting in front of my mirror with trusty Sally.

Another funny eyebrow saga: when I lived in Okinawa, I used to go to the salon on base to get my hair/brow care done. The first time I made an appointment to get my eyebrows tamed and I get this cute little, old Okinawan lady. I lay back and she goes to work. It ended up taking about 30 minutes to get done. She had used all of two wax strips and spent the remaining 25 minutes plucking, one by one, til I felt there were no brows left. Zip to a month later. I make another appointment. There're only about 500 ladies that work in the base salon, odds are I'll get someone different. NOPE! Same lady, same 30 minute process. **Mom, I believe you had the same experience with this lady?** So funny! She did a pretty good job, she just wasn't going to rush herself. I would hate for her to hurry and wax my entire face off.

TMI? Yes.

Funny? Yes.

Why? I looked in the mirror this morning and saw I'm in great need of a lumberjack. Preferably one with washboard abs--oh, and a chainsaw.