We found out Friday we are NOT getting the house we want.  So I figured the best reaction would be to have a few beers in the front yard with our soon-to-be-missed neighbors while Pretty Bride cried and readied for the next day’s garage sale that was supposed to be the precursor to an anticipated new beginning instead of just a chance to get rid of some shit we didn’t want to pack up.

By Saturday about 6:30am, however, I realized that not getting to move right away to the house we want isn’t that big a deal.

The building in which I spend my drill weekends was without air conditioning, and it was in the high 90s outside.  I thought, “I’m glad I get to go home to air conditioning and a cool shower when this day ends,” and that made 10 straight hours of profusely sweating balls more endurable.

Today, I spent nearly 2hours in a training session targeted at preventing servicemember-on-servicemember rape.  I thought, “I’m glad I haven’t been forcibly sodomized during my 14 years in the service.”

This afternoon, I went to a memorial service for a 30-something NCO I knew who went in for routine surgery last month, but complications killed him.  He left small children and a wife with inadequate insurance coverage.  I thought, “I’m glad I’m not dead.  But if I were, at least my orphaned and widowed survivors wouldn’t have money as their initial concern.”

When I got home tonight and found only a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli in the pantry left over from 7 years ago when I was single, I heated that bad boy up, tossed in some shredded cheese and hot sauce, and went to town on it.  I thought, “What the hell am I doing letting my bride prepare fresh, locally grown vegetables and meat for dinner most every night, when I could still be having this hefty chunk of delicious instead?”  Or maybe I didn’t.  Perhaps I marveled at how I stayed alive in my 20s.

And then not knowing where we’ll live in a month seemed quite wonderful.

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  1. This reminds of a Zig Ziglar speech on attitude that I just linked someone to on Twitter today.

  2. I think you need to post an update to this tomorrow, after the Chef has bypassed your small intestine and treated your colon like a ride at Six Flags.

  3. How many beers did you have?!
    Just kidding – loved this. 🙂

  4. In my twenties, I used to get drunk and throw half my kitchen into my omelette. Completely random stuff. Everything but Nutella went in, pretty much.

  5. I think you mean “forcibly” rather than “forcefully”.

    Otherwise, you might be implying that you could quite enjoy a gentle poke in the tush.

    I somehow don’t think that’s what you meant.

  6. Way to keep it all in…well…perspective. I think we all need to do that from time to time. Unfortunately, there’s always somebody that has worse than you or me.

  7. Pretty Bride

    Here ya go–nine minutes well-spent:

  8. Sup Muskrat,
    Hold it together. I’m in the middle of the EXACT same thing. We’re out on June 30th. Our dream house to rent was denied. We’re trying not to panic and O.D. on Chef Boyardee ravioli. I too don’t know how my body ever survived my 20’s. I’m a walking Twix bar.

    Chef Boyardee ravioli
    The Cheeky Daddy

  9. Boy we would be eating good in the neighborhood every night if it weren’t for our wives, wouldn’t we?

    I tried that one night when she was gone too and thought “man, that is nasty”

    Oh, how times and marriage changes us.

  10. Your dinner description has my mouth watering.

    Oh, wait; that’s vomit. My bad.

    The house thing’ll work out. Sorry you didn’t get the latest one you wanted … but you’ll find another that you want just as much, I reckon … and you’ll get that one. 🙂

    Just call me Mr. Helper.

  11. It’s amazing how a little perspective can make you remember to be thankful for the shit that’s not happening to you.

  12. Your title says it all…

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