How Not to Put Your Wife's Mind at Ease

On the phone this morning:


You can’t ever tell anyone in the Park Service what I’m about to tell you.

OK. I promise.

Yesterday I got really close to a bear and it chased me down the beach on the quad.

You’re kidding.

No. It was really exciting.


I bet it was.

It's Not OK to be Mean

I just got home and I’m out of breath. It’s my nerves, not my heart.

The Spouse Support Group is selling no PT chits. For five dollars anyone in battalion can buy out of PT and spend the time lounging at home, the beach, or in the arms of someone dreamy. Mad Dog let the entire Det buy out of today’s PT and every one of us spent our money. That was yesterday. This morning he came in while he was on leave, dressed in civilian clothes, to tell us that we didn’t have to go to PT but that we had to sit in the office until noon.

On Fridays PT is at 10:00 and we finish work for the day by 11:00. Sitting in the office until noon not only defeats the purpose of paying your way out of PT, it actually makes your day longer. He didn’t give us anything to do but told us that he would come back to spaces at noon to make sure we were all there.

He has a smile like the Grinch.

I have never spent time with a group of people suffering from such low morale. I couldn’t take it. This morning Mad Dog crossed the line from overly strict to absurdity.

The Command Master Chief walked into engineering after PT, still in his shorts, and asked, “What’s the matter EA2, are you to good to PT with the battalion?” I explained to him, in detail, why I was in my uniform and still in the office. He looked at me for a moment while he processed my story and responded, “Do you have Chief’s phone number? Never mind. I have it in my office. I’ll call him from there.” Ten minutes later he made his way to the Det Cuba spaces to tell us that we were secured for the day. Everyone was shocked. My platoon commander asked me if I threw him under the bus. I told my story quickly and succinctly with a steady and intense tone and then announced I was going home. I walked out the door to men saying, “Hoo-Rah EA2.”

And here I am.

BCGs

This morning at inspection I have to bring two pairs of eyeglasses. Failure to do so will result in, well… failure. Honestly, I don’t think there’s any punishment. But we all do what we’re told anyway because it's the path of least resistance.

In my search for two pairs I found my big, round, burnt orange boot camp glasses that everyone affectionately calls Birth Control Glasses (BCGs) for obvious reasons. I always liked to think I pulled them off. But it was boot camp and I was delusional.

I Trapped a Spider Under a Glass One Week Ago and It's Still Alive

Last week on Friday I woke up, body groggy and eyes out of focus, to find a huge brown spider on the floor in the bathroom near the toilet. I'm usually a big believer in catch and release when it comes to arachnids, but for some reason this one was different. I wanted to inspect it. So I trapped it under a pint glass and left it there, waiting for it to die. And this morning, after a week of fasting, he's still alive.

It's a little spooky.

Women

This is what I wrote before I went to the pool this afternoon:

My Lieutenant talked to me today about choices. She’s of Chinese and Indonesian dissent, around five feet tall, and has a huge dark bubbly mole on her chin. She wears bright pink frosted lipstick. Her voice is loud and strained with an Indonesian accent and is like nails running down a chalkboard. She isn’t popular unless you count imitation as flattery; everyone has a Lt. M imitation that they love to whip out at the slightest provocation.

But today in her office I identified with her and the connection was strong. She showed me photos of her boys, ages 11 and 9, told me about moving around with her husband, some of the things she had learned in her forty years of life, and explained why she might or might not stay in the Navy. And then she told me that her husband, a lawyer, stays home with the kids because having a parent at home full time is something they both value. And tears started welling up in my eyes.

I’ve never been one to wish for something I didn’t have. But that changed last summer when for the first time I admitted to myself what I wanted, and now I’m sitting at home still wishing. I thought it would go away. I thought I could stomp it out, could distract myself, and then pretend that what I have was what I want. But it’s not. And I don’t know how to change it.

In the Lieutenant’s monologue proper choices are the road to happiness and they are the result of careful logic and an iron will. I disagree.

And now that I've spent a few hours knittin' with the women I'm feeling much better. Not fixed, but not in a funk. It might just be that I had the chance to show off the girls (rave reviews, all around) but I think it's more than that. Women, as a group, fuel me. Men, in general, not so much.

Happy 100 to Me

This is my 100th post.

It’s a throwaway, but I don’t have much time for substance this morning.

Thanks for reading.

I Just Scammed Out of PT

Football. And by that I mean American Football - the kind where they don't pass to me. Again. I couldn’t take it so I announced rather casually that I was going for a run and no one seemed to mind. And without even a pretence of stretching I set out and ran home: the long way, sure. But home. And now I’m brewing coffee, eating full fat yogurt, and cruising celebrity gossip websites.

Some Very Good Things Are Happening

This weekend, when I was talking on the phone with my mom, she asked me where I was going for deployment. I realized that I never told her about Cuba. The news made her obviously excited and then me frustrated because she was dictating the emotion set for my trip. I’m not excited; I’m disgusted. The men I’m deploying with are flaccid. Most of them have poor posture and are afraid to make a decision. Mad Dog, the man who is supposed to be leading the way with experience as his guide, is struggling with the prints. And with that backdrop of confusion and weak personalities my work will be easy: elevations and alignment for vertical construction. There will be few challenges.

I never told my mom about the deployment itinerary because I don’t want my life in the Navy to exist for anyone other than me. I’m embarrassed because the achievements that are easy for me to recite are devastatingly insignificant. If my traverse closes with minimal error or my building is square I’m not that proud because I know that these goals can be achieved by anyone who places value on precision and attention to detail. It’s a little shameful that my greatest hits, as I’m able to rattle them off, are composed of nothing more than a steady hand and a moderate tempo.

If shooting in a square building is easy then communicating what I am proud of is very hard. The Navy has changed the way I metabolize my world. And my new belief set, in my humble opinion, is of much greater value. I’ve often heard and believed that God’s work isn’t done by God, but by people. The same is true of the Navy: it’s a giant organization run by a swarm of well-trained people, each of them with thoughts and personalities. And I have realized that the mark I leave, not my legacy, but the residue that stays behind when I leave a room or a conversation is what matters. A thought, a mood, a sentiment, or a smile can infect a culture and cause improvement, pride, and worth. At it’s best, the Navy has the power to shift my focus outward, and to give value to my thoughts and actions inasmuch as the quality they impart to my subculture.

So when someone gets excited because I’m getting on a plane and heading to an island that houses a prison facility I don’t understand. And, unfortunately, I lack the conviction to try and explain why I am grateful for what’s been happening to me during the past few years.

Wonder Shape™

My boobs came in the mail this week and I’m a little in love. I wore them to inspection on Friday and felt like a sloppy tramp. I liked it. And this afternoon I realized they’re just what my June Carter Cash Palazzo Strapless Jumpsuit (JCCPSJ) needs to look its best.

I dig ‘em.

The Way to a Man's Heart is Through His Stomach

I brought the wedding invitation into a local frame shop thinking it would make a good gift. I’m not in the mood to shop for mixing bowls and spatulas; they don’t seem personal. And, quite honestly, if the happy couple ever does split I don’t want my gift to go with her. And there isn’t a cool kitchen item I could buy that she wouldn’t pack up and claim as her own. And then she might use it to cook for the next guy and warp his mind just like she did my brother's and the cycle would continue, in part, because of my generosity. I can’t have the misfortune of some innocent sap on my hands. The framed invitation seems thoughtful and I know she won’t ever be able to use it to woo another. It’s perfect.

The woman behind the counter in the frame shop was well-groomed and dressed in classic, tailored clothes. She had short grey hair and tasteful makeup. I set the invitation on the counter, we talked about a price range, chose a frame, and then matting. She pulled out something in pool and asked me if I wanted to use it. I told her that I wasn’t so into it, but that everything in the wedding is that color, including my dress, and that it would probably be a good idea. She laughed quietly and whispered, “It’s so dated.” She’s right. My dress is going to look like a powder blue tux in a decade or two. But pool matting it is. It will have to be ordered, because she doesn’t keep any of it on hand, I’m sure because almost no one wants it, but it will still be done in time for the wedding.