The skewed reality of military life.

You may have seen themes like this popping up on Facebook and I find them hilarious. Let's join in...

It's all about perception.

You mean Mr. Wookie doesn't Captain a ship as an English Naval Officer??? Not that I like Russell Crowe (he seems...dirty), but that's a GREAT movie. Shouldn't everyone be a Lord Nelson fan also!?!?

Considering a lot of our friends are military (strange how civilian friends can whittle their way out of your life?), I'd hope most know what Mr. Wookie actually does...considering many are in the air community also. But the few SWOs (Surface Warefare Officers) we know may not have a clue what he does, and that's okay. I mean, they totally drive the boat, right? ;)

And while I'd love to be whisked away in my dress, so pretty much gravity makes the back of the dress hang down so my ass is just welcome for peering eyes...I'm pretty sure I wasn't working in a iPad factory like Officer & A Gentleman. Instead I was freshly 19 and meeting this meek boy from Louisiana (OMG, please tell me you haven't married your cousin before??) and we'd have lunch dates (and a few dinner dates - face it, we weren't rich in college) at the college eateries and usually hang in for dinner. That and the boy can cook! Plus he lived in the dorms. Unless I wanted to deal with his weird roommate, the sluts down the hall, and the sound of porn coming through random doors...we skeedaddled to my place.

But I'll give Mr. Wookie complete credit. He wanted to be an aviator. And he is.

Now he's spending his time as NAS Practicing Defending Freedom racking up his "sortie completions." Babe, what the heck is that? "It's a completed operation flight." Oh...why not just call it that!??!! You say 'sortie,' and I think 'shortie' and that you'll be rapping T-Pain with an autotune mic.

Although Wednesday night did make my day with a Google Chat session. It was over 2 hours! Somehow he de-briefed early enough to make it "home" (the lovely BOQ) for a reasonably-hour'd dinner and to power up his laptop to chat with his favorite lady. EEEEEeeeeeeek! Oh the little things that make my heart skip beats. That and when the wine bottle drips empty.

"My husband's in the shower."

Last night was my first run-in with OMG, what if I get mass-murdered and Mr. Wookie's not here to defend me, help kill the guy, and dump his body in international waters?!?!


The night was like every other night. If every other night involves single-person dinners, a couple glasses of wine, a dog that thinks she's entitled to lick the top of my feet right off, and the back door open. Remember, it's California. Our game of 'play ball' can extend out the back door, into the grass, and around the corner of the house. Why run the 100 meter dash when you can run a marathon, right?


All of a sudden, Sweet Pea takes off. BARK, BARK, BARK, BARK towards the front gate.


Oh shit....."Sweet Pea, come here....here....come here....here here...."


And like any good dog...she doesn't come. She just barks. So in my bare feet I follow the circular step stone path around the side of the house. "Sweet Pea?" And there she is. Tail not wagging. Aggressive stance. She's got someone cornered outside the gate. Good girl. There's a reason why I like having her around. She just proved her keep tonight.


Long story short....I'm being peddled. "Do you have a table in your house we could sit down at?" Umm....buddy. That's a mega red flag. You obviously didn't pass How to Murder 101. You don't ask to sit down at my table unless you're pouring me a glass of wine and we're discussing the socio-economics of Serbia in the 1960's.


So I give you my front light near my gate. That's all you get. Now what are you selling again?? Children's books for low-income families. Okay, I'm listening. You'll throw in a car wash. I'm listening. It's tax deductible. Der. But I'm listening. How much do the books costs? Wait, I'm sorry. I was listening. $55 a book?? Wait, what?? And you want me to buy 4 books??


Umm....sniff sniff


Ahhh, yes. Let's weave in a story about how your dad's a Marine, and how he's making you pay your education. Umm...shouldn't you? Otherwise you're just another golden-spoon child who hasn't earned anything. But go ahead...I'm listening. Oh, let's weave in a story about how you grew up in Oregon (really, you're just toying with my heart)...cute that you actually know cities in Oregon, maybe I actually believe you on that one, but still...sniff sniff


And yes....let's discuss how you got engaged last night...Valentine's Day.................


I'll just leave it at that. You, my dear readers, can assume my mental monologue that occurred with that gem of information. Actually, let's try something new. You tell ME what you thought I was thinking with that gem of information... Use the comments. Please. Best response gets a high five. And a cocktail of their choice. When they visit my County (see how I did just that...especially for some people with family out here...*coughcough*).


"Do you have any information I can look over before I make my decision??"


Oh....you don't.....you "have to turn it in tomorrow." I thought this was for your application to culinary school. And so if this is your dream, why are you waiting until the very last night to accomplish this??


Sniff sniff.


Do you smell something fishy?? I sure do. Who doesn't have information their fundraising?? A form, maybe some contact information, and ....you know....maybe some Tax ID numbers...not just one laminated (shittily) page. And why are you waiting until night?? Do you know how unsafe that makes me feel while you try and rip off people?? Yes, I'm quite glad I had my vicious attack dog with access to my front gate. While she's not trained to bite male genitalia (yet), she at least made his butthole pucker.


So I bid him adieu, saying I don't make impulse purchases without waiting 3 days (no, really...I don't). And he walked himself to the yard's gate. I heard the gate close. And I walked inside my house, calling my guard dog behind me. I quickly locked the front door. I walked straight to the back door. I locked that too. I don't trust people. I just realized I was alone tonight and could die without anyone knowing (minus the whole not showing up for work the next morning). My (great) neighbors do know Mr. Wookie is active duty and not home at this moment, but is that enough?. Would they know my screams meant business and an intruder was invading?? I don't know. And I don't want to find out. I realized tonight I need a way to make it look like Mr. Wookie is home. Because I don't know if people believe the whole "my husband's in the shower" (because the whole "my awesome lifetime domestic male partner is in the shower" is just too long to say...).

Yup, those are tampons in my cart.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm wired the way I am. Why my cynicism is so strong, how I couldn't give a bigger bird poop on a Ferrari about Whitney Houston, and why I'm so stubborn against gender roles...I have no idea. But I'm not complaining at all. I like being independent. I can care for myself. I can make my own money. And I have a boy that knows I'm not after his paycheck, the lifestyle, or child support. All I really want is a trust fund, but barking up that tree just leaves you with a sore throat.


I was on my lunch break yesterday. I'm fortunate to work 12 miles from my home. So with that, there are some lunch breaks that I take advantage of and do a little grocery shopping at the nearby Vons to help make better time of my daily schedule. Yesterday was kinda that day - although the need was something a bit more pressing and unedible. Yup, it was purchasing those lady items.


There's been only one recorded time in the history of Wookie & Co., that'd I'd ask Mr. Wookie to pick up those unmentionable items that men shan't dare view, touch, nor purchase. Really, guys!?!? I'd be willing to pick up any remedy for a boy (whether athlete's foot, jock itch, or back waxing strips - not that I've had purchase those - those are just the items I think of when it comes to dudes....), but stop the blog presses should a guy pick up a darn box o' tampons (ensuring it's the brand AND size she wants).


I remember girls in high school, and even college, being sooooo embarrassed with buying tampons, mattress pads (known as maxi pads), and everything else meant for the nether regions. Seriously. Buck up, ladies. It happens. Which is worse: buying tampons or cigarettes?? Hello, tampons actually help, don't cause tuberculosis, and are cheaper than a cigarette habit.


So yesterday in all my glory, I throw (literally) the goods on the conveyor belt. I wait patiently for the woman in front of me trying to return her sacks of groceries otherwise the check would bounce (and I shifted between feeling sorry for the girl, since I don't know the back story, and feeling like she should realize you can't return items without a receipt - for all they know you stole the stuff!). But then she got the clue that a Ginger on her lunch break was trying to buy items of necessity and got out of my way.


Cashier looks at goods on belt. "So how is your day?"


I wrestled with how to answer that...Crampy? Just peachy? Avoiding babies like the plague? Why don't you carry Playtex Ultra? You wouldn't happen to have any chocolate would you? You really should stock wine near the tampon aisle, just sayin'... I'm on my lunch break buying tampons, how do you think I am??


"Fine."

Happy Hallmark Profit Day!

[via]

While I decompose on my couch, let's do 10 random facts on Sunday!

I'm trying desperately to find the balance between staying busy (both mentally and physically) and dusting off the cobwebs of this dear blog. It's important to continue to speak my mind and express how life is while he's away since I'm trying to stay busy.


But let's have 10 fun facts inspired by my Baby Sister!


1. I cleaned the Master Bath's toilet yesterday. While it wasn't as torturous as I remember cleaning a toilet, it's definitely not my favorite part of cleaning the house. But this is definitely something that Mr. Wookie prefers (cleaning bathrooms versus vacuuming, anything else) - who am I to take that away from him?


2. I've set a new goal for detachments, boat time, and deployment. I will enjoy a bottle of wine a week. Red wine is healthy....so who am I to turn away something for my health?? Right???? And it goes without saying this week was a double dose of health. I've added TWO corks to my stash...


3. I'm trying desperately to unEarth my vehicle from the layers and layers of dog hair that has imbedded into the back and front seats (who am I to keep Sweet Pea from riding shotgun while we roll around around town)...so far I've tried wet sponges, velcro, and tape. Last ditch effort: kitchen gloves....


4. I don't like coconut. I think it tastes foul. Although I'll eat it in German Chocolate cake because that's The Sheriff's favorite cake - who am I to lower myself on the ladder for a trust fund later in life??


5. While Tuesday I was mentioning that I was ready to hang up the military lifestyle because I was tired of the loneliness-inspired separation (hahahaah - Ginger....so soon!), I think 72 hours is my breaking-in point. Because after that night, I settled into my own routine. (Maybe the wine is helping...)


6. The Vow looks terrible. Awful. I have zero desire to see it.


7. There's nothing like crawling into crisp, freshly washed flannel sheets. I did that last night. I got home from my monthly "Wives" meeting, put on some flannel pajama pants (see a trend?), poured a glass of wine, watched some Iron Chef America, then called it a night before 9pm. Throw in my electric mattress pad on heat setting 6, and it's heaven. I'm surprised I even crawl out of bed at all....


8. I haven't made coffee in my house since he left. And so with that, I...uh...hadn't cleaned out the coffee filter since then. Uhhh.....gross. Time to clean the coffee maker....because I'm pretty sure a touch of moldy coffee grounds isn't the same hint of flavor that Bailey's provides...


9. It's obvious I don't live the same lifestyle as the Duggars (hello...my name doesn't start with a "J"), but I love them. Not that my vag wants to pop out 19 children, but I think it's an entertaining family with great morals, decent fashion sense (come on! It could be a whole lot worse!), and fabulous attachment to their siblings.


10. Have you seen the blog Advanced Style??? These women are FABULOUS. I can't wait to rack up the years and be as stellar as they are. So here's taking care of my health with fruits, veggies, healthy foods....and wine.....right??? It's all about those antioxidants... ;)                                                                             

Let me just cause a cackle...

In an effort to express the snark is trying to come back...I just had to post this...

Parents, all sets, don't hate me. But this is a hilaaaaarious. #ginger'sback

Ummm, yeah...are you back yet?

Mrs. Wookie...you're cool...you really are, but are you done being all sad and stuff? I mean, I get it...January was tough on you. But come on...I need laughter. You're killing me here with all your existentialism and enlightened outlook on life. I need angry back. I need hostility. I need eff-bombs. Get your shit together. There are people who compare you to..well...a crazy, Ginger blogger. And they need some loving. So put down that damn wine glass and get to gettin'.


So yeah....I need to come back.


And I mostly have. I just haven't known what to say. After that day in January happened, I just wanted to take a break from chronicling every fart, snort, loogie, and wine bottle cork added to my collection. I knew Mr. Wookie was leaving, and starting the long schedule of being here and gone (and gone and here and gone), and I really just wanted to spend some time with him. So I did that. Can you blame me? I can't.


But now Mr. Wookie's practicing his defense of freedom and I'm left here to...pick my ass.


Last night I hit the "I'm bored" mark. Oh shit. It's less than a week in and I'm waiving the "Can I please have my Jeopardy teammate back?" Never mind the 16-minute phone call I got where I actually got to chat with him while he was between work and scrounging for dinner. I had this hit to my ego. I now just want to take care of the boy. I can't believe it.  My pride...gone. This fem-Nazi (me!) is asking for her Mr. Wookie back so she can gladly bask in the "Can I get you a cocktail, babe?", "No, I'll do the dishes, babe.", or "Want me to make some dinner, babe?"


What the heck is wrong with me??


This is not right. This is not 1950's. And he's not Don Draper.


Last Saturday I had a mission for the weekend - I wanted to create a semi-meal plan for what to do for the next week. I needed something to keep me healthily fulfilled other than Honey Nut Cheerios. While I usually catalog meal plans into the cultist behaviors of Stroller Mafias, I knew I didn't have a chance to make it a full week once I drag my tush home from work, chill with my dog, pour a glass (or three) of leftover Super Bowl merlot and then creating a lavish 4-course meal. No....I need a plan.


So as of this weekend, I've actually made real food for dinner. And you know what?? IT'S EFFIN' BORING. I knew cooking for one would be the lamest thing since Steven Hawking's chances on Dancing With the Stars. And I'm right. Although I will say having zero Mr. Wookie in the house lent itself to a joyous Kardashian marathon on Saturday...or Sunday....one of those days. Have I mentioned that I've had wine in the house? ;)


So long blog post short...I'm bored, I'm trying to stay busy, but I think the key to my issue is the need to stay mentally busy. I'm physically busy. Now I just need a project to keep my head "in the game" - or at least out of the wine cabinet.


Or not. I mean, let's be honest. Wine is healthy. Who am I to deter doctor's orders??

Work-ups: Navy's training wheels.

I wouldn't turn down this work-ups cycle by any means. I was mostly calm as the days ticked down to where he'd be leaving for weeks. It was in November when I thought February was so far off, because it was actually months away. We still had Christmas to tackle and enjoy, and there were a million wake-ups together with kisses and cuddling before the first command detachment of this pre-deployment cycle. But now that time is here and I'm (so far) calm with it all. Well...at least until Murphy shows up and annoys me. She's never been kind in the past, but I'm planning on restocking the bar...so Murphy, bring.it.on.


That morning he left, I only asked one thing: please let me know when you get there. As he was initially slated to transfer with the aircraft, plans changed when he was told he wasn't moving with the bird. Did he care? Meh. Did I? Well...it meant I got one more night with him versus those that moved the planes. So obviously I enjoyed that extra 24 hours of having another human in the house. One more night to sleep next to him, one more night to tackle all the laundry he may need, one more night to stew over the weather of his destination and how expansive it can be (freezing to frying), and one more night of co-cooking with him. And let's not forget one more night of a Jeopardy mate.


So that morning, after I threw myself on the couch in my pajamas, sleep deprived from the early wake-up to send him off, I hunkered in for a short nap - drawing the comfy blanket off the back of the couch, kicking it out over my feet, and waiting for Sweet Pea to realize oh, okay, nap time....then closing my eyes.


The house is now quiet. His computer shut down to avoid drawing the unnecessary power. His desk littered with documents that didn't need to make this trip. And his nightstand empty. No phone power cords. No laptop next to the bed as nights can be spent tapping away at the keyboard. With his job, work doesn't end at 5pm. No, work ends (at the squadron at least) when the Skipper signs the next day's schedule. Whenever that may be. And even then, there still may be more to do...but all he wants to do is leave work. So in my training, I've learned to fall asleep to the sound of the Navy's need of burning the midnight oil.


He did mention one thing before he left. He's going to be very busy. Early mornings, late nights. Briefs, flights, de-briefs, sims, and more acronyms than I care to ever know. So while he's technically on land, it's more like he's at sea. But this will always be good training. I hear pre-deployment is worse than actual deployment (which I don't know if I believe that or not...yet). And since it's been years since we've had to navigate the long-distance relationship dance, I'm feeling nostalgic for my strength when he was in the beginnings of flight school in Pensacola and I was enjoying my life in Oregon. Will that strength return? Will time fly by? Will being settled in our duty station make it easier or harder? How soon will I make this deployment my bitch? Military separation - where holidays and celebrations will come and go, a card and care package will be sent off, and the long travel time for shore-based affections to reach its sailor.


But there's always a silver lining. The same day he left, I kneeled down, in my hallway, peering into my linen cabinet. I spied the yellow happiness that lay folded on the top shelf. My flannel sheets. A mark of military separation. There they were. Just waiting for me. They felt so happy sliding onto the mattress. Their bright yellow hue - the color of cheer - I can't not be content when I slide into them after a long day of talking to myself, the dog, the fridge, the TV, the Santa Anas, and my dad's phone (which doesn't like to connect via  a call - I don't get it...it apparently hates me and is competing for the trust fund also).


The emails from the fellow ladies have been in full. There's a scheduled Valentine's Dinner (with margaritas!) during that week. There's our monthly get-together, which brings the new wife of the wedding we attended (whom I've made it my point to give her the welcome I didn't get). And there are pedicures. Yes.


So while this may not be a multi-month separation that's coming thanks to Uncle Sam - it's here. I want to wish that deployment farther away with every breath I take, yet I want it here now so we can begin the deployment already. I'm not ready for him to be gone, to an undisclosed location, operating mission's potentially in harm's way, and being a man I'm so proud of. But I've never been more ready. He loves what he does and he's good at what he does. He's only going to do great things while deployed. And no, that doesn't include the mustache. Lest forget the 'stache....

Mrs. Wookie...militarily single...

It was this week. My alarm screeched to life at 4:30am. I pop up my head from drooling on my pillow, turn off the alarm, and let gravity take my head back down...and somehow avoiding the slobber that had found a new home. Then I panic...what if I fall back asleep?

10 minutes later...his alarm screeches to life. I scoot over to the middle of the bed and wrap my arm his back while he reaches to shut off the alarm. I hunker in for a fumbling hug, mixed with tiredness and the reality that this warm body next to me will be leaving in an hour.

Now the birds are gone. The maintenance team. The command. All gone.

It's surreal having the house to myself. The holyshitthey'reactuallygone reaction hasn't set in.


What's on the agenda? Well there's the grocery store to hit up for soy milk, butter, cereal, and produce. There's the meal plan to write up since I'll be eating solo for a chunk of time. There's the house to clean. There's my office to straighten up. And there may be some thrifting thrown in as I need more food storage but don't want to buy Tupperware - plus Goodwill usually has old school Corningware for pennies on the dollar.


And depending on the weather and wind of today, there may need to be hammock time.

This is the post where I say we're doing much better here.

That Monday is a distant memory. Time it took to heal, to reflect, to grieve, to clean the house from a long weekend away, to put the head down and work hard at a job after tearfully telling the boss you'll need a few hours on Thursday for a memorial service. Since then, there've been less and less tears, more wishful thinking on life and its capabilities, the painful reality that the human body can turn on the soul that it keeps, and the solid increase and invested foundation of hugs and love that will remind each of us how lucky we are we have each other, our health, and (for right now) the same zip code.


I can't imagine not being here in 3 years. But in the world we're in today, that could be a reality. I keep thinking back to the great life our friend lived. And I want the same. Minus the ocean boat.....I don't do deep waters.


But this afternoon I felt like my golden self. I reigned my verbal tirade in the blatant stupidity of teenagers riding their bikes in the middle of the street with their helmets haphazardly flopping on their skull. I'm back to talking to the back of vehicles as I crawl my way along the California freeway systems knowing failure in turn signal use results in most accidents. That's a nice way of saying California drivers are stupid. Not aggressive like on the East Coast, just stupid.


Growing up I wanted to be the one who traveled in the family. I saw the world as this amazing place of culture, history, natural beauty, personality, and excitement. I just needed an accomplice.


With Mr. Wookie as my designated travel partner, we've had a chance to do just that. And I feel incredibly lucky for all we've been able to do. There have been so many trips that, looking back, have been the foundation to my dreams. At the dawn of my change in employment last year, I felt a sense of accomplish then. Until then, I didn't see myself as having aptly pursued my dream. I wanted to have passport stamps that rivaled UN Ambassadors. I wanted to send postcards home, with the foreign stamps of exciting foods and ample drinks. I wanted my family to know the tokens of lands faraway isn't a way to rub in my lifestyle choices, but a standing verbato that I love them, miss them, and wish them the best in life. This is what I wanted for my life - I just want to share it.


Then an epiphanial moment caught me off-guard. In my inner core I felt the sense of satisfaction. Inner happiness not in a smug way, but in a sucre bleu! My dreams are there, a reality.


So if I have yet only 3 years left on this Earth. It's been a good one. I am quite happy.


Thank you to everyone for your thoughtful words as we decompressed from an emotional journey.

The week that pained our hearts.

It was Monday morning. We barely cracked the door to our home a handful of hours prior, thanks to a slight delay from Dulles to LAX. But we scrounged for dinner and then crawled into bed. Our bed. That set of sheets and comforter, with an extra blanket on my side for warmth, that would allow us a re-coop from our long weekend of travels. We were exhausted, but exhilarated to be home and able to sleep in on a holiday.


The sun rose later, breaking through the clouds and streaming into the bedroom. I didn't want to acknowledge it - but it was there. Like an unfortunate and unwanted 'good morning, Mrs. Wookie' even though it didn't make me coffee. I laid there quietly hoping sleep would drift me under again for a few more hours of rest and relaxation.


But it didn't. The sun streamed steadily through the half-moon window informing me that it's beyond late and that I needed to rise for the day. The house needed cleaning, laundry was piling up thanks to our suitcase, the dog needed to be fetched from the boarding hotel, and today was the day to recharge after skipping across country and back.


So out of bed I crawled, fumbling for my phone that had lost battery power mid-night, and scrounged for the wall charger. I made my way out to the kitchen when a voicemail popped through....

LAX is a layer in Hell. Welcome.

It started at 5:00am last Thursday morning. It started with a knock on the door. And it started with a phone call. The knock on the door was from 1/4 of the vehicular party to LAX. The phone call was from the other 1/4 of the party. The knock on the door was on time. The phone call was not.


"Hey, I just woke up."


Our driver. Overslept. His alarm.


There's a reason why I don't like to travel with people. I don't trust people. I don't like to wait on people. My maneuvers are much better choreograph'd around timely airport arrivals, necessary beer stops, snacks galore, and zero stress as I deal with old people, strollers, and foreigners in my tornado-like path through security.


His cut-off was 5:30am. Then, we were leaving his ass. He shows up at 5:27am.


I sat behind the driver's seat, since he's a staggering 5'6", this provides ample leg room than sitting behind Mr. Wookie. I impatiently watch the clock tick a minute and another minute as we're cutting the morning close to hit our flight. The street lights pass, faster and faster, as we pace the Sheriff's Deputy on his morning commute somewhere important. With each Church we pass, I pray we make our flight. I've never missed a flight. And I was not going to now. My eyes singed into the back of his skull. I couldn't have been more irate, more concerned, more annoyed, and more irritated.


We check the rental car (would you believe it's cheaper to rent a car and ditch it at LAX than park your actual car?), and hit the shuttle. The driver slowly churns his sweet time through the 7 gates of LAX. Each one mocking us as we pass it. Each minute ticking by closer to the boarding time to our flight. Each stomach cell ulcerating, eating away at my patience, my silence a tale-tell sign that I'm stressing and unsure that I won't murder someone for being late with their alarm. It's not my fault. I was up at early. I showered. I was ready.


But we make it through. I praise God for all of that. We made it. Somehow. With a few minutes to spare. Then as a collective unit of 7 (half of JOPA plus me), we boarded our flight. We tetris'd seats to force the late guy to sit bitch. And I got to snuggle up to the left bicep of my adorable Mr. Wookie. I dug out my trail mix since I don't fly without snacks. Because a hungry Ginger is a snarky Ginger. Oh wait, I'm always snarky....


But wait, this morning gets better. Much better....

How to survive a 3-day bender...

Have you missed the crickets over here? Probably not since I'm never full of anything more than hot air, or hot methane, or Ginger locks on the floor as I shed more than a warthog - when really, I need those delicate locks since I don't want to resemble Smeegle.

Mr. Wookie and I ventured away to the land of the 757. And we threw it down. We love this city. The moment that the doors of the Marriot cracked and we strolled down Granby Street feeling the excitement in the air for the past energy felt, it was magic. There we were. On a vacation meant for the books. We were invited a squadronmate's wedding, a 3-day event, and a cross-country adventure for half of the JOPA that was not-quietly granted leave for this event.

What happens when you take away half of the flight crew in a Command?? Well they'll pay for it tomorrow. But between last Wednesday night and tomorrow morning, we intended to (and did) rip this city up.

What I didn't miss?? The ear-piercing wind of Downtown. The cold that will rot your bones despite the drinks.

What did I love?? Stepping into a bar that wasn't my favorite back when I was a local, where there's a live 2-man band, the keyboardist with a killer half sleeve, and she's rockin' our "Ur So Gay." Umm...yes. This is my night.

But for now, it's laundry, picking up a pooch from the dog hotel, a sinkful of dishes that we left for post-vacation, and a backyard with a hammock calling my name.

Her adoption day that came.

I don't know what to say about her adoption day. That time last year I can't really remember what I was feeling. I guess to say it was uncertainty as we brought home a dog with a checkered past. I guess there was the thankfulness that Mr. Wookie had previous dog owning skills. I relied solely on my ability to live with a cat. So yes, that means she succumbed to behavior correction like one would with a cat - with a squirt bottle. And yes, she responded accordingly.

In a year's time she's lost weight and gained weight. She's had dual ear infections that we had to wrangle her for her ear drops because she's better perfecting Houdini's escaping methods while you try and keep her head still. We've tried to trim her nails. She's whined. So we've allowed the lovely pavement to its job on walks. We've barked at dogs, lunged at dogs, tried to chase squirrels and birds. Oh, and the one time she fell down a waterfall. Yeaaaaah...Mr. Wookie was on dog duty that weekend while I was in Oregon. Apparently she thinks herself to be a Golden Retriever, was out camping with Mr. Wookie and squadronmates, saw a squirrel, took off, chased it up a rock cliff, lost her balance, and tumbled into a swimming hole.

Mr. Wookie froze, beer in hand, saying "Mrs. Wookie is going to kill me."

Instead, she swam to the edge, shook herself off, said 'Shit,' and moped back over to the group knowing a rock wall defeated her past life as a mountain goat. No bruises, just a bruised ego. And now we know this dense dog can swim. Olympics 2012, here we come.

In a year's time, we dropped some money on private lessons knowing we can't group train her. She came to us like a hot mess on Jerry Springer. But private lessons lasted all of a handful of months as by the time we got to the 'aggression training' of it all, it was merely her sitting next to a 'trainer dog' and constantly growling at it. "She'll progress out of it." I saw no progress and felt it better to can the lessons than proceed on pouring money down the drain. What we got out of the initial lessons was a better ability for her to respond to commands and be a better dog. And improve she did.

And in the first week of the year's time, we learned she was housebroken and could do tricks. While 'shake' still eludes us, we're content with the rest of her line-up. If only she understand, "Dog, put a cork in that asshole! You smell! You don't get to just cropdust the house."

I did really think a year would bring along the perfect dog though. But she's not. She still gets really excited on walks and wants to pull but then the martingale collar pinches and she (sometimes) backs off. If not, we changed directions until she figures it out. Yes, sometimes it's back and forth, but eventually she remembers that the Ginger walking her is in control and when she plays her cards right - treats.

In a year's time, she still doesn't like the wind and she'll sit outside the door to whine at night. The one time we let her in the room, bringing in her bed by my side, she fell right asleep. The other time she slept with me while Mr. Wookie away, she stayed at attention while the wind howled.

In this next year's time, her job will be a protector, provider, and therapeutic release. She can hear the front gate open and will respond with barking. She can come when called and will not deny hugs and affection. And she'll give plenty of kisses when she senses you're down on your luck, usually when crying emotions and Uncle Sam that just don't mix, and just need a (proverbial) hug.

We still don't have a keyword for her to attack male genital in case of a home invasion - but we're researching our home defense options. And we still don't have her standing on hind legs at the bar making mommy a cocktail. We definitely don't have her doing voiceover work to pay for her $.33 tennis ball habit (Play It Again Sports used balls....haha, I said used balls....hhahahaha, I did it again...).

But if she does that, she might as well pick up her own poop, mow the lawn, and unwind my hammock when the Santa Anas are douches and in town.

But until then, we'll renew her lease for another year. I guess so....