Chicken Mind Nuggets. Hosted by Wifey Chickenmindnuggets.com chickenmindnuggets@gmail.com @mindchicken References for this episode Introduction music graciously provided by Music from https://filmmusic.io "Thinking Music" by Kevin MacLeod (https://incompetech.com) License: CC BY (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/) Show script: (may differ slightly from spoken word) It was back in 2008 I had just joined the military and I was clueless about what military life was like. I got on the plane from the Great Lakes recruiting center (lovingly named Great Mistakes) and headed to San Diego for Sonar training. I was slated to be there for about 9 months so I could complete basic A school before I got sent off to a ship. At that point, I have never been to San Diego, and it was one of the reasons I chose orders to be a Sonar Tech. I arrived in San Diego, looking like shit. Let me describe this to you. Before I joined the military, I had a pixie cut. I was a little overweight, and I let myself go a little bit. When I joined the military, my hair was out of regs, so I had to let it grow out into regs. The problem was I couldn’t cut it, because that would be out of regs again, and my command said I could go to captain’s mast. I had to grow out my pixie cut in all the awkward stages of its horrible glory without any maintenance, which left me with a rat’s tail and awkward growth all over my head. On top of that, the Navy had the utilities, which consisted of a baggy blue shirt and high-waisted dark blue pants which gave everyone a fupa. It was not my best look. I started smoking again because everyone did and it was a way to escape the long hours of sonar training while getting to know people. When I was in the Navy, you didn’t get a break unless you smoked, which is what I learned early on in A school before even heading to a ship. You also got to meet new people because they would come by and hang out at the smoke deck to catch the roach coach or sit at the picnic-style tables that were nearby. There weren’t many women in A school, and I didn’t care for many of them because I got along better with men. I tried to be friends with some of the women, but I never felt 100% comfortable. Luckily, that was about to change. In comes Boiled. OK, her name isn’t really Boiled, but I’ll get to that in a minute. We hit it off instantly. If you were to meet us at face value, you wouldn’t think that we would belong together. I smoked, drank heavily, hung around with fun, but awful people, and was making some pretty bad decisions. Boiled was (and is) beautiful, didn’t smoke, didn’t drink much, and is a preacher’s daughter. Lifestyle-wise, we were the opposite, but we became friends with a bond that didn’t break even after a 12-year separation. Remember I said her name wasn’t Boiled? It’s not, it’s Boyle. In the military we go by our last names. She started hanging out with me, and that meant going to the bar. A lot. And going to Ocean Beach. And sometimes the two were combined and sometimes we tried to get to Ocean Beach from the bar at Point Loma, but we were too drunk so we offered strangers $5.00 to let us ride in the boat they were towing so we could get to Ocean Beach. Sometimes we stayed at the bar, because it was male stripper night, and when it is male stripper night, you don’t party lightly. Boiled had never experienced male strippers before, but it was not my first rodeo. I put $100.00 on top of the bar and told the bar tender, whatever she wants, she gets. We put dollars in strippers’ underwear, and the look on her face as crotch was dancing from the left side to the right side of her head, was epic. To say it was a bonding moment, would be an understatement. She asked me what an orgasm felt like, and I don’t remember this, but she told me I described it to her. We did a lot of late night, hard partying, drunken sailor shenanigans for months. We even went to Ocean Beach and got tattoo’s. Boiled got one, then another, then another. I got my chest tattooed, and Boiled got another. Boiled even got a boyfriend! We suffered through PT together after being freshly tatted, we suffered through mandatory study hall time because the class wasn’t getting good grades, we suffered through weekly Friday night lectures about not going to Tijuana, we suffered through command uniform inspections and impossible shoe shines unless you had Vaseline, we suffered through the unspeakable drama of a building filled with women sharing rooms and bathrooms with showers that had no barriers. But we also suffered through beautiful west coast sunsets, amazing food, lots of laughter, first time experiences, hanging out at lib hall, and becoming amazing friends. So after being indoctrinated into the world of drunken sailor shenanigans in San Diego for over 8 months, Boyle, became Boiled. And I became Tanked. ...
