Land vs. Carrier...

...good thing I don't have to make that decision. (If that were the case, there'd be an air station and a nuclear reactor in Oregon. Gotta look out for us Oregonian women and our boys we so fondly adore.)

Anyways, back to the good stuff...

But first a preface...

This weekend was full of entertainment, from hiking one day to walking slowly because my hip flexors are sore now the next, from cleaning my room to doing taxes. Thankfully I kinda forgot about the looming piece of information that wook, and I, and everyone else, was waiting to hear.

And so as I woke up to my alarm this morning, I noticed I had a text that said, "Looks like I'm sticking around a little longer."

Not really wanting to jump to conclusions, I asked what that meant. ('Cuz after all, it could mean that he had to pick his butt between sessions and was in transition). But unfortunately he texted back, "Means I didn't get P-3s."

He had heard that there was a rumor about a p-3 draft, and apparently kinda got his hopes up. I've learned to never get my hopes up, that is until my ass is taxi-ing to the gate at the airport and I know wook will be there to get me. The navy, and life, has a way of playing by their own rules. Boo, I know. But that's life...and the navy.

He also said something that the bottom part of the students were the ones to get P-3s. Well hey, if that's the case, you can't be too mad for having a pretty darn good score. Besides, I wouldn't want someone with sub-standard scores trying to operate a multi-million dollar aircraft on a stamp in the middle of the ocean. So as much as he's let down, "I'm alright. Just pouty.," I know that he has what it takes to do it.

I, however, don't have an iron stomach and am perfectly okay playing supportive girlfriend. My job is to follow behind where ever the Navy throws him. Why behind, you ask? So I get to look at his cute lil butt in that Naval Onesie (aka the flight suit). :)