Migrating & Florida.

BRACE YOURSELF. Well, fall is in the air. You hear Canadian Geese honking for the right-of-way on their flight South, Robins are making a short stay on your lawn as they follow the Geese to warmer weather, and the walls of your home becoming more and more bare. Wait, what? Yes, folks, it’s military PCS season! PCS is permanent change of station, i.e., GTFO North Dakota. Father Air Force seems to give their people a ticket to freedom during two seasons, summer and winter. Lucky for me, I pushed for a fall, because I can’t do anything by the book. Plus, I don’t want to drive 1,800 miles in snow and ice. From living three winters in North Dakota (or NoDak, as the locals seem to have coined it), I have earned the following skills: +200 frost resistance, but -100 harmony with spouse while trapped inside eight months each year. Anyway, it looks like I’ll be migrating too, I am leaving the second weekend of November! I just have to convince some family to let me crash in on their Thanksgiving. Or, bottle of wine and Skyrim. I mean bottle of Argonian Bloodwine and Skyrim.

FLORIDA. Larry and I escaped the North and visited family in Cocoa Beach, Florida for a week. We basically baked on the beach most of the time, which gave us a lobster-like glow. Well, not really, but it was fantastic to see so much sunshine again. Larry also couldn’t believe that the only pair of casual shoes he needed to bring was one pair of flip-flops. No, really.

I arranged lunch with only two of my friends from high school/college/whatever because they are the only people with whom I really remain in touch. And a good idea it was; it was a great time to meet up with Stephy and her gentleman friend, Jon. I was a little wary that Jon and Larry wouldn’t have much to talk about and just kind of stare at each other… Larry looks like the ultimate square in his teal polo shirt (complete with sailfish logo) and shorts, and Jon with his long beard, septum piercing, and copious amounts of tattoos. But you know what? That shit don’t matter. They were as cackley and clucky as a brood of hens about all manner of things that really matter in life: guns and politics. Stephy is still beautiful and kind and trying to make her mark on the world, one day at a time.

My family is well, and Otto got along great with the five other dogs we were staying with (three were my aunt and uncle’s Jack Russells, two were my cousin’s labrador-sized love sponges). I also got these shoes.

BREAKIN. In more positive news, the hold music for this moving company is the funkiest I’ve ever heard. Oh man, almost makes waiting a joy as I bust out the hustle. Perspective: It sounds like WaveRace64. Oh, and here is my design for the Squadron’s Spouses cookbook. It has a special section for the B-52H’s combat oven.

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