Curmudgetante Podcast

When I didn’t make any plans for myself, this opened the door for someone else to make plans for me. Plans I didn’t care for at all.

Problem-solving mode is not exactly the headspace you want to be in going into a honeymoon.

It’s spring and summer 1999, and everything for a destination wedding in Las Vegas is ready to go. Well, everything except the bride. But I’m too focused on getting the wedding across the line that I don’t realize the depth, or truth behind her reluctance.

I was barreling toward 1999 in my usual M.O.: making decisions in the moment and not worrying about the ramifications or consequences. Sometimes this would somehow work out, but most times, it was a tried-and-true recipe for disaster.

1998 was a sweet spot of a year. No Y2K worries yet. 9/11 was still three years away. No financial bubbles bursting or killer pandemics. By today’s standards, it was extremely chill.

I even have an official Massachusetts driver’s license.

Making friends on my daily commuter train ride home from Boston.

After six-years in the Army, three years of college, a divorce, and not getting fired on my second day at a new job I moved across the country for, I thought I knew what adulting was—until I bought my first home near Boston.

Before I’m even completely unpacked, I make a really, really bad mistake at work that could get me summarily fired. I know, you’re thinking HR violation, but surprisingly it’s not that.

It’s late March 1998, and I’ve accepted a job 2,500 miles away in Boston with a very short window to wrap up things in Reno and start work.