Why I Always Have More Fun In The Philippines

Mom's Action Sweatpants

My mom owned one pair of beige action sweat pants.

Her beige action sweat pants horrified the Dent kids.

My mom armed herself with a duster, on action sweatpants day.

My mom taunted our favorite toys with the green lawn trash bags on action sweatpants day.

My mom didn't need words.

My siblings and I sprinted.

My siblings and I put way our toys on action sweatpants day.

We didn't want our toys to get green trashbagged (thrown away) on action sweatpants day.

Matchbox cars and plastic WWF wrestling guys survived action sweat pants day.

My mom threatened. She still had a heart.

Broken-Earred Barbie (my sister's toy) also usually lived through action sweatpants Saturday

My mom laced up the drawstrings to her action sweatpants on the first Saturday of the month at 9:00.

My mom's action sweatpants lost many battles.

Happy Meal grease, and red Gallo wine stained the front of my mom's action sweat pants.

Her action sweatpants still kicked plenty of ass.

With the action sweatpants on, and the toys cleared, my mom initiated the final stage of action sweatpants Saturdays

She started to untangle the 45 foot cord to the vacuum cleaner.

 Larue (my dad) fumbled his words.

Mom knew Larue tangled the cord from last week.

Larue dished out the heat on the kids

Streaks of our crayons also mangled the back side of my mom's beige action sweat pants.

The crayon marks on the action sweat pants formed the shape and color of Ronald McDonald's wig.

The beige action sweat pants looked like a hobo went to color for 6 hours at McDonald's.

Her action sweat pants still launched the Dents into action.

Larue's (my dad) I Don't Give A Shit Saturday Hoodie

Larue (my dad) lent people money for a living. The customers trusted Larue.

The First National Bank of Nazareth required Larue to shirt and tie it.

Larue obliged to the bank rules.

Larue still loved his 2 Moosehead Lagers, and shelled peanuts.

He loved simple.

He definitely did not like the shirt and tie.

My mom's action sweatpants horrified us. Larue's Saturday wardrobe symbolized his outlook on life.

Larue (my dad) rocked an I don't give a shit Saturday hoodie, on Saturdays

The washing machine didn't even try to clean Larue's I don't give a Shit Saturday hoodie.

Larue once forgot to take off his I don't give a Shit Saturday hoodie before taking a shower.

I just told you a joke:)

On Saturday mornings, Larue reached for the shirt at 4:30 sharp.

Larue paced up and down our driveway on Blue Ridge Drive from 4:40 to 4:45.

At 4:50 , the newspaper man, Steve Unger, greeted Larue with his Express Times

Larue always let us know when newspaper man, Steve Unger, didn't come at 4:40.

Larue returned inside after getting the paper. I imagine Larue sat on the wicker chair, that my mom made him buy. Larue hated the wicker chair, that my mom made him buy.

I imagine he already had a dip of Coppenhagen snuff in his mouth. I imagine he looked for the obituaries, the weather, and then the sports box scores. 

I imagine he was wearing his I don't give a shit Saturday hoodie.

Larue chatted about the weather and  who died with my mom. He told my brother and I how many hits Tony Gwynn (MLB Player) got.

We (my siblings & I) heard his paces get louder.

We heard him knock a bunch of shit over.

He tried to unlodge the archaic Webster's dictionary from our Encylcopedia shelf.

Then, he yelled Gawwwd Damnit through his grinded teeth.

It's now 7:00. Larue fought the afternoon beer urge. He had been awake for 3 hours.

Let's recap.

Larue already obliterated one Express Times newspaper, (including the classifieds) mauled the crossword puzzle, and fetched donuts for the Dent kids. He had a full day before anyone woke up.

The initial Saturday morning convo went like this.

Me (trying to drink my Juicy Juice)

Larue: " Tony Gwynn (my favorite MLB player) went 2 for 3 again the other night. Boy is he tough. Nooo kiddin"

Me: No words, my curiosity lusted for  my Juicy Juice, while Larue bombarded me with the news. I pretended to care...

Larue: " Boy it's going to be 75 and sunny all week . Like freaking San Diego weather, I love it.  Boy, you should see the women, and their bikinis in San Diego. Before I met your mother, I used to hitchhike all the way across the country. Boy, I never forgot it.

Me: Clueless & speechless, lusting for Juicy Juice, I pretended to care.

Larue: Bursting with pride.. " Boy, ill tell you what these crossword puzzles are too easy for me. "

Larue: sets crossword down so I can see he finished it.

Me: Wondering why the dictionary fell, and he yelled Gawwd Damnnnitt!!!

Larue: "I'll go wake up your mother."

The door unlocked at 11:30. Larue came back downstairs with his I don't give a Shit Saturday, hoodie.

7th Inning Stretch

Larue rocked his I don't give a Shit Saturday, hoodie.

Larue looked relaxed. My brother Ryan (whose practically a freaking saint) and I ran for the whiffle ball bats. Larue never resisted a game.

The game reached a natural break time, or 7th Inning stretch. . Larue needed his 2nd Moosehead Lager. Larue came back with A-treat cream soda for the underagers.

He liked to entertain with stories from his wilder says.

The shelled peanuts waited in the kitchen for him.

The stories revolved around him, and his brothers hitchhiking. He loved telling one in particular

His brother Dick had to relieve himself, #2 style. 

His brother Dick told the tough truck driver he better pull over. Larue tickled with pride.

As Larue put it, Dick just didn't give a Shit.

The details never got much dodgier.

Larue picked the grass with his bare hands as we sat in a semi-circle.

He looked at his sweatshirt with 3 holes on the right shoulder.

He launched into more stories about when his mother sent him and his brother to work on their Uncle's farm in the summer. 

He picked more grass, and said how much he loved the farm.

We knew Larue never wanted to work at a bank, or wear a shirt and tie

We knew he did it to feed us. He probably wanted to roam free on a farm, picking the grass with his bare hands.

To roam free, and be the one to pick the grass, that's what he seemed to want. (to me)

Somehow, he always pointed back to his sweatshirt. He always told us he doesn't give a Shit what people think of how he looks.

We enjoyed the shit out of the A-treat cream soda and the stories.

My I Don't Give  Shit About Vietnam Story

30 years passed.

Vietnam never screamed my name.

My friends screamed Go to Vietnam.

I bought a ticket.

I needed a Visa. 

Vietnam Airlines denied my entrance. I called them no good rotten motherfuckers.

Deep down, I wanted to go to the Philippines for a 3rd time. 

The Philippines is my Ocean City, MD of childhood.

I didn't book Philippines because I talked to others before the trip.

Other travelers told me Vietnam is way better.

Vietnam still wasn't screaming at me to come.

I wanted more time in the Philippines.

Others' words swayed me.

I worried about their thoughts. I'm not adventurous enough. I always go to the same place

Weak sauce, I didn't take my dad's words to not give a shit enough to heart.

I decided to go to Vietnam. My mom's action sweatpants didn't rub off enough on me.

Life is tough.

Now, I'm waiting for a plane to the Philippines. I'm beyond excited.

Topping my last trip to the Philippines will be a challenge.

I spent 3 scandalous days with a midget. She did not like small talk.

I always have more fun in the Philippines. 

I will tell you more tomorrow.

Thanks for listening.