Vacation Request: Approved!

It's official, bitches, this blogger is hitting the West Coast in less than a month!!

I put in my vacation request in this morning. It was confirmed 10 minutes later. I started prepping for leaving my station for those 3 days (having it covered by my team). It should be grand. My first trip back in over 100 days of being on this coast. And people are coming out of the woodwork to meet and greet me. I'm missed, what can I say.

The plan: Fly into PDX and take either the Max or have Baby Sister pick my ass up. Next, hit up McMenny's for beer and burgers. Then skip class both Thursday and Friday, make way down to Corvallis. Enjoying more McMenny's beer with newly-21'd Middle Sister, while Baby Sister looks on with anticipation towards March '11. Hit up Local Boys (hawaiian food) and Shogun Bowl (ajian food!). Maybe purchase some more Beaver Gear (can you ever have too much?). Enjoy a cinnamon roll at New Morning Bakery with Katie. Have Baby Sister make jello shots for tailgating. Reminisce about college. Repeat how I'm glad I'm no longer in school. Deflect any talk about wook & I in regards to white dresses, aisles, and DeBeers campaigns.

It should be a super great weekend. As long as I can get some great beer and good food, this blogger is happy. Okay, so the great beer is enough to make me happy.

I think this calls for a toast. A New Belgium classic, maybe. Even though I totally went to Happy Hour at Snappers and had a Vodka Tonic. Don't judge. I'm allowed to celebrate. No matter how excessively. There's always ibuprofen by my bed.

The Shirt Doesn't Lie

My blog post title doesn't lie. And neither does this shirt off Cafe Press.

And since we're on the subject of Cafe Press and awesome shirts...

Well, I was born there...does that count? And I realize it's a bag, not a shirt.

Just for you, Mommy McD. Cue the banjo, one stop light, and the missing teeth.

Okay, I kinda like this. But do I want a shirt. Or a hoodie. I don't know yet.

I like this one since it incorporates Wash/OR/Cali into the mix.

And for those still in the best college town in Oregon, a toast to you. Jealous.

Friendship Over Until Midnight (PST)

There are few things that I just don't like in the world. Shots (the medical variety and the alcoholic). Snakes. My mom's Psycho Cat. Bad beer. East Coast drivers. Crotchity old people. Plastic grocery bags. And the color combo: green and yellow.

Yet after the vast time I've known/educated/recruited Santo Kerbina for the Orange and Black, she can't seem to turn herself away from the dark side.

So here's her new sweatshirt. I guess I'll let this one slide since she's needing all things familiar and American since she ships off for Vienna, Austria in less than 2 weeks.

But seriously, Santo Kerbina, I thought we were making progress. I thought we were showing you the Light. The All That Is Orange And Black lifestyle. The Righteous.

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner!

Who's the lucky winner for another 4 seats at a Norfolk Tides game on Sunday?????

This blogger right here. My mom says I should buy a lotto ticket. Eh, how about I just enjoy these killer seats at the game? What a way to start off the weekend.

Any Ideas?

Apparently last night I woke up, both myself and wook, with a hysterical fit of laughter. Like omg-this-is-so-funny-I'm-losing-all-my-marbles laughter. At 3am.

Wait, huh? I agree, I made the same face.

I vaguely remember having a dream, but what I remember more was that wook thought my maniacal laughter was excessive crying. No, not last night's dream. I must have been lost in something too funny for words. Or at least too funny for my memory. Who knows.

I wish I remembered this dream that made me lose my buttons. Or even the part about waking up in the middle of the night. I usually remember my dreams and then hit Dream Moods for interpretation. This time, I wasn't so lucky.

Does anyone have a clue into any of this? Heard of this? Experienced this? Can recommend a drink for being told I did this? Anything?

Much appreciation via the blogosphere.

And hopefully tonight is a bit more passive than the 3am-wake-up-mixed-with-hysterical-laughter-category-for-$400.00,-I'll-make-it-a-true-Daily-Double,-Alex.

Dr. Wookie's Prognosis: A Summer Cold

If that doesn't sound like a complete crock of redundancy, I don't know what is. But that's what wook's estimated call was last night as I plopped onto the couch last night, begging for some chicken noodle soup, a tranquilizer, and lots of blankets. I just wanted to pass out and wake up better. Too bad the illness fairies don't work like that. Damn illness fairy union.

Yesterday wasn't all torture. But the hours did seem to drag on as I was praying for 5:30 to hit. Then I went to Kmart for some Nyquil because I refused to be awake for another night of tossing, turning, post-nasal drip, and such. I also increased my stash of men's handkerchiefs (because, well I soaked through the 2 I had in less that 24 hours. How's that for a faucet nose?). And I also got some Kleenex with lotion. And so more throat lozenges (in lemon lime!) since I left the other pack on my desk.

But then I forgot wook's Twizzlers. Woah is me to forget that boy's candy when I want to be run over by a Big Rig on a runaway path down the Siskiyous. (And for note, he didn't have any gruff about the candy, it was more me that I forgot to get them for him.)

So I stop by Farm Fresh (supermarket) to pick up some chicken noodle soup, some bread, and those elusive Twizzlers. Campbell's soup? Check. Bread? Check. Twizzlers? Nope. Only "pull-and-peel."

And then I had a familiarity of home.

Apparently while standing in line to check out, I must have looked so miserable and sick and just wanting pajamas, a couch, and a frying pan to the skull, that the Starbucks guy waved me over to ring up my purchases. And oh my, was he cute. And 17, he says. And gay. My very own Bradford. So adorable. And he even let me in one the new releases for travel mugs of Starbucks. I'm so in! I would have shook his hand, but let's face it...I'm apparently ill at this point.

Fast forward after a full belly of chicken noodle soup, a full dose of Nyquil an hour earlier, and I'm starting to fade. Thank goodness. Relief. So I text my mom that I'm crashing for the night, and crawl my way upstairs.

But then the inevitable happens. I wake up. At 3:something. Nyquil worn off. Freezing! Dying. So I go downstairs for not 1, but 2 allergy pills. Some of those lemon lime throat numbing lozenges. Go back up to bed. Then I hear my damn phone making the "I'm dying" beeps. Ya, you and me both, phone. So back downstairs I trek. Still cold as a popsicle. Phone's now plugged in. I crawl back into bed. I try and steal feet heat from wook, but that's a no go. Instead, he makes a move down to the couch. Apparently I was roasting, a tossing and turning, and gagging on drip that he couldn't handle it anymore. So he moved. I go from feeling awful to worse. The poor boy who has an early start time too can't get a wink of sleep next to the snoring, sneezing, wailing Ging.

So now it's 20 minutes before I have to be out the door myself for an early call time too. And the hair's still wet. Still in pajamas. Still cold despite having blankets all up on my feet and legs.

I need to get moving. But I'd prefer it be towards the back pasture. With the farmer following. Double-barrel shotgun in hand.

August = Allergy Season?

I think I may very well die on the couch with a crusty snot rag in my hand.

I thought the days were gone of living in the Grass Seed Capital of the World (read: Corvallis - no joke, look it up). But I'm thinking that today may be my death bed experience.

Pray for my sinus and my soul.

I haven't felt this bad in forever. Like pounding face, itchy eyes, mucus out of every facial orafice, sneezing galore, wook screaming, "Female, shut up!" (I have a tendency to overemphasis my sneezing in the thought that the more effort put in, the more intruders sneezed out). I tried to decompose in the shower, hoping that the steam would break up the mucus pack in my face. But nope. Still oozing down the back of the throat. Still sneezing away half my brains cells at a time (yes, I realize the math on that, and I'm currently working in a deficit).

I'm almost debating what other illness I'd rather be stricken with. Migraine? Dealt with them before. Some Excedrin, a Coke, a shower, and a nap. I've got the migraine relief plan figured out (up there with the hangover relief plan). But allergies are a different story. I have to hunt down those darn allergy pills. Then wait for them to kick in. But that's after I wash them down with a glass of Chardonnay. Then I have to restock my hankerchief stash since I've damn-near soaked through one already.

And lastly I have to hope the allergies doesn't explode into a stupid sinus infection.

I honestly didn't think I'd have issues over here in the allergy department. Sweating? Yes, it gets humid on this coast. But grass allergies? That's a curveball. Swing and a miss.

So let me leave you with an image. Crazy, air-dried hair. Pink nose. Watery, red eyes. Left nostril oozing. Throat numb from mucus sludge. Crusty hanky in hand. Blogging about how much I don't like dealing with allergies. I wish I had a Qualude. Or a Rufie. Anything.

Please.

Brother & Wife: Making A Home

Congratulations to Brother and Wife for their successful closing on a house. Yay!!

A shot of the happy couple, with Brother carrying the Wife over the threshold.

From the pictures, it looks like a great house structurally. Just some standard home-improvement projects needed to modernize it to the new family.

The day after the keys were handed over, Amber and her sister were busy sprucing the place up with new paint and accessories (goodbye purple wall!).

Nice patio. Place for a BBQ. Maybe an OSU cover for that BBQ. And chairs.

Big backyard for Lila Boo (she's a Boston Pug mix) to run around and terrorize.

Great place. I hope pictures are forwarded once all the renovating and updating is done. Have to see how the Neic-phew and family will be living.

But until then, congrats again!!

Hello Billy Boy!

Whether you guessed it or not, I'm talking the hurricane swirling off the coast.

You can kinda make out the "Nor" of Norfolk, that being me. And from the Resident Weatherman (aka Mr Wookie), he says that we have a pressure band pushing back on Bill which will divert his course further up the coast. Whether that's true or not, it's the weekend and I have nowhere to be. Wook does have to venture the 3 blocks to the theater for an afternoon showing of Inglorious Basterds. Me, I'm holing up in the Casa de Wookie cleaning. Why is the female responsible for cleaning? Because the female is entirely responsible for the mess. I'm kinda like a hurricane myself. I make messes and move on. Clean up? What's that?

So as long as the power stays on, we'll be good. If not, maybe we should have gotten that bazillion candle-watted flashlight at Costco. And a raft. And 2 paddles.

Mrs Wookie, Movie Critic

Tonight's Red Box choice: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

Good. But odd. A little weird. I was freakin' out at how good they made Brad look (and by good, I mean too close to Thelma & Louise good). I'm still not convinced Cate Blanchett is that classically trained in ballet to be able to pull off fuetes (not that it's a bad thing, wook just seemed to think that it was really her and not CG effects). An Oscar winner for make up, that's for sure. Amazingly crazy talent.

Would I watch it again? Ehhhhhhhh.....................

And what's with people giving birth in their beds? Don't you know you're going to ruin the mattress? Or is that something I only think about? Gross.

Survival In Many Forms

I got home late last night. 8:45pm late. But...I came home with opened wine. Excellent opened wine. And some finger foods. And the desire for some Coach episodes. And a foot rub. All I got was a glass of wine. Okay, 2 glasses of wine. But no Coach. And definitely no foot rub.

Then today, someone brought in cupcakes. CUPCAKES! Oh my, so good. So unexpected. So delicious. So chocolately. So sugary. So omg-the-carb-crash-will-hit-in-13-minutes-WATCH-OUT! It was gone in 2 minutes. Complete with all the sprinkles on it. What a way to start the weekend off.

And my weekend has officially started. As of 4:00pm. That's what happens when I go into work early some mornings. My Fridays get compensated most graciously. Jealous? You should be.

So now I'm in my chair. The boys are talking Boston. Literally, the city. They're planning a roadtrip. That far of a roadtrip. All the way to Boston. Umm, I'll take Woodbridge. And D.C. That's about it. Unless there's money at the end of that ratio (like a trust fund).

What's next? Not sure. Either a vodka tonic with lemon or shopping. Or a nap. Or some dinner. Actually dinner sounds good. Maybe a steak and baked potato. That actually sounds really good right now. Wook agrees. Steak and potato it is. Oh, Farm Fresh Market!

Happy 21st, Middle Sister!!

It's official. I'm getting old. Tracer is officially 21. The 21. Wow.

Tracy, have fun. Remember as much as you can. It's Vegas. Live it up. Let the guys pay for all your drinks. Dance in the cage. Dance on the bar. Dance on the sidewalks. "Wooohoo" as much as you want. Take in the Bellagio fountains. Don't do drugs. You can sleep when you're dead. You'll love my gift. Tell Court hi for me. And Neeners. Don't lose anyone. Or anything.

Happy Birthday. Happy 21st Birthday. Love you!

Say It With Me Now: Namaste

That's right. As of last night, this blogger is returning to the world of the yoga mat for some much needed chilling out/zen/quiet time/brain colonic. Finally.

The rough part was filling out the paperwork and handing over that hard-earned cash to appease the Gym Membership Enrollment Fee gods that hover over Norfolk.

The cool part. Getting the military rate on the monthly fee.

"Are you married?"

"No."

*long pause*

"Well...(fishing for ways to help a sister out?) do you live together?"

"Yes."

*long pause*

"Okay...I'll give you the discounted rate."

SCORE!

But now I gotta get changed, my put my cancer threads into a ponytail, walk the 75 yards to the gym, and sweat myself crazy. Thank goodness it's not a pansy yoga class. I can't handle those. I come for a workout. Not a slight stretching class. I can do that at home. When I'm trying to loosen up jeans after you wash them (you know what I'm talking about!).

Yogi Ashley returning to Active Duty status, sir! Here's to the first 2 weeks back on the mat. May they neither break my spirit nor my skeletal structure. Namaste.

Viva Las Vegas

The Countdown: 1 day, and a wake-up

The Party: Tracy & Friends

The Setting: Vegas

The Plan: Celebrate Tracer's 21st in style

My Hope: Don't get arrested, don't get caught in a barfight, don't lose all your money, don't break any bones, don't end up naked in someone's trunk, don't fall asleep by the pool w/o layers of sunscreen, don't end up in the ER trying to shiv someone, and just don't die.

The Itinerary Galore via email from Tracer:

Wed, Aug 19th

6:30pm: Leave Corvallis for Gresham, OR (of course get DB on the way)

8:30pm: Arrive at Anna's parents house, eat some dinner and hang out

Thurs, Aug 20th

5:45am: (wow) Wake up!

6:30am: Leave for PDX

6:50am: Arrive at airport

8:30am: Courtney and Tony land in LV from Seattle

8:35am: Flight departs PDX (Southwest Airlines, nonstop)

10:45am: Land in Las Vegas (Dane, Tracy, Matt, Anna, Nicole and Ryan)

Get luggage, grab a Taxi Cab

11:30am: Arrive at penthouse condo

12:30pm: Ben lands in LV (Nicole and Dane are chillen at Airport and waiting for him to arrive)

Whitney arrives in LV, driving from Orange County, CA

1-5pm: Get settled, sight-see, go grocery shopping

5:50pm: Jenna and Jess land in LV

7:15pm: Birthday Dinner at The Lavo in the Palazzo Hotel and Casino

9pm: Head back to penthouse, then out on the town!

Fri, Aug 21st & Sat, Aug 22nd

9-11am: Wake up?

11am-5pm: Lay by the pool, walk the strip, eat yummy good, maybe gamble?

5-8pm: get ready for dinner

8pm: Dinner out in Las Vegas

Sun, Aug 23rd

2pm: Jess and Jenna's flight leaves LV for Eugene, OR

3pm: Dane, Tracy, Matt, Nicole, Ryan and Anna's Flight leaves LV (Southwest Airlines, 1 stop in Reno, NV),

Lands at 6:45 in PDX.

5pm: Ben's flight leaves LV for PDX.

9:35pm: Courtney and Tony's flight leaves LV for Seattle, WA

8pm: Arrive back in Gresham, load the car and head back home for Corvallis :-)

10pm: Home in Corvally and ready to probably sleep!

Words of Wisdom: The itinerary is great, but if things don't go accordingly to plan...that's life. Just remember. Gatorade. Excedrin. Bagels (no smear). A frying pan (to knock you out when that headache gets too rough). Sleeping pills (to put you out of your misery if you're not feeling the frying pan to the skull). Sunscreen. Change of clothes. And extra blankets.

And before I forget, your present from me is in World Headquarters.

So Trac, have fun, be safe, don't die. It's fun. It's hot. Just don't take the flyers on the BLVD (they're pointless wastes-of-trees that just have Asian chicks with big knockers trying to get your try the latest nightclub and maybe catch Hepatitis - not worth it). Nap as much as you can before your birthday outting because sleep is always worth having on your side.

And I'd like as much documentation as possible. You can throw in some good "drunk eye" shots also. They're always worth a good laugh. But yes, have fun, don't get sunburned, and I'll see on the other side. What's the other side? The downhill from 21. It's a quick one. It was just yesterday that I was hungover until 5pm, barely sniffing my Subway sandwich w/o getting sick. And now I'm on the downhill to 26. I mean 24. 24! I'm not aging. I'm maintaining.

FUTURE HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the Trac-Lobster, the Trac-er-ama!! Woohoo!

Mission: Shopping

Photo documentation of the exceeeeellent purchases made this afternoon. Stellar finds. Great stuff. And that's just on her end. I also scored some fabulous work gear.

But first, let's get the kids and husband off on their own errand of getting cookies.

Skinny pants, can we work those? Yes. Yes we can. Just look at the perky booty.

Working it. Not bad for 2 trolls later. I'd do ya. Oh wait, I am your fill-in husband.

Oh wait, another call on the Bat Phone. Nothing critical. Mission continues.

Jeans #2. Your standard boot cut (I think). AE works for the shorter folks. Yay.

And a dress to romp around in. Just hope the boys don't lift the back end up.

And we thought this was a great find for a jacket. But oh...we were very wrong.

Now this is a jacket. A fabulous bell coat. Fabulous. Purchase.

And the icing on the cake. This jacket. Gorgeous. I was on board for purchase ASAP.

Grand finale: a split Clucks and Fries. Oh, you know it. Pajaro Rojo. The end!

Happy Berfday!!

Yes, today the other half of my gene pool (the shorter, gingy side) is a year wiser.

Another year older, but who's counting? Here's to another year of experiences. Another year to adding to your traveling escapades. Another year of entertaining clients at work. Another season of Beaver games. And another year of blog reading!

I wish I were there for the festivities. Because seriously, who can turn down the family brunch at Red Lion?? Delicious. Happy Birthday, Momason.

All In One Morning

So I'm sitting here on the floor in the McD kitchen, checking my e-status because I can't not be connected, with B-Rox next to me. The things that boy says.

Just a few B-Rox-isms:

Brax: "Mommy had a cat and a dog on her Facebook."

Brax: "These are naughty duckies."

Me: "Why are they naughty?"

Brax: "Because they bite people."

Me: "Ahh, dude, you just sprayed me."

Brax: "Ya."

Mommy McD: "You should go up and give daddy and big raspberry."

Brax: "Ya! Aunt Bop can come!"

Brax: "Time for Olive Garden." (at 7:42am)

Brax: "We're going to a pumpkin patch today."

My First 100 Days

Seems like yesterday. It was that cold morning of Cinco de Drink-o.

Shocking. I never would have guessed it. Neither would wook. But that's exactly how long it's been since I stepped off the plane, after a 2-hour delay in Philly (it's okay, I found a bar), with only a carry-on and 2 checked bags to my name. And a boy who would voluntarily let me mooch via groceries and accomodations until I was (hopefully) back on my feet.

There's been many emotions carried throughout this trial phase of living cross country, with a boy, away from my family, nearer to the McD clan.

The first 2 weeks was sheer playtime. Wook didn't have nearly the responsibilities now. So we took daytrips to the beach, Downtown, strolling, catching Starbucks, taking pictures of building (okay, that was me), sending postcards (me again), engulfing The Office, realizing how much fun it is to see someone in which you're in a relationship with for more than 6 days every 8 months.

I had a blast. I played house. I cleaned. I did laundry like the good Mrs. Draper. I cooked dinner (and by that I mean the favorites that I grew up with). I loved every minute cuddled with wook on the couch as we watched episode after episode of How I Met Your Mother and The Office. It was like college again. Minus the homework. And no roomies. Just us. Marshmallow and Lilypad.

Then I started the job search. I was impressed with the quantity out here. But then I think about how here I'm in a real city, and back home..is...well...back home. It's not a big city. It's a specialized medical community. One of the best. If you're a nurse in Medford, then you're in a good line. If you're working in an admin position when the economy tanks, well you better have an alternate take on life and reality. I did. It's called traveling. And it was great.

I even told my dad that the quantity of Craigslist administrative position posts alone a day equals what Medford gets a week. But it's just the story of big pond vs. little pond. There's always pros and cons to each.

So I was feeling good. I was putting out resumes. I was feeling brilliant in my cover letters. I was liking where I was going. I was getting responses. Some would fizzle. I'd get a couple interviews. Then life would go stagnant again. And just when I was about to breakdown into a frazzle, a call would come in because my resume piqued someone's interest and I got that ever-so-coveted interview.

Yes, there was one time I doubted my ability to hack it outside the Nest. It was cozy living at home. I didn't have rent. My parents are pretty cool to hang out with. I saved a boat-load of money. I got to play in the real mountains. There were all the comforts of home. Right there. Just not the comfort of seeing this boy I'd been attached for the last 4-5 years. That was a different story. The deciding factor. Well, a swaying factor let's say. If I hadn't not had a job in Medford, who knows where I'd be. But because I came to the crossroad of No Job Street and Not Working Avenue, I had to go on a week-long cruise with my family to Mexico (where my dad and I polished off a fifth of Sailor Jerry ourselves, among other liquors)...life took a change of course. Shucks. I hate vacations.

But alas, I boarded that plane. I decided to fly the coop. I thought I could handle the 2 connections. The showing up in Virginia with nothing more than could fit in the back of the Yeep. And the hopes that maybe I could find something here. If not a little bit of excitement from stepping outside my comfort zone to the other coast. I kept telling myself, I'm young. If I don't do it now, when will I have the chance? Do I think I'll stay out here for the rest of my life? Probably not. The PacNW is where it's at (whether it's Oregon or Washington State).

But then the world fell together. I got a job. And not just a job. A job. A real job. A great one. A fun one. One where I don't dread going to work each day because it's "Corporate Accounts Payable, Nina speaking...just a moment." It's a blast. I laugh every day at work. Always something. If it's not hysterical movie quotes, it's a sneaked-in "That's what she said." Despite some early call times, late hours, and being constantly on my feet.

So surprisingly things have come together. After settling in to the new digs, which I thought was going to be an experience in learning to co-habitat with the opposite gender, things are going smoothly. Kinda surprised. Okay, very surprised. There are still the times where things go wrong because you're living with the other gender. But that's okay. My bras are on the end of their line so it's not life-or-death whether they accidentally made it into the dryer. These things take time to learn. And in return, I'm becoming a better cook. Notice I said cook. Not chef.

And incase you ever wanted a glimpse into what it's like to live with a wookie, well here it is. I'm currently blogging my heart out. Always attached electronically. (I hear my mother now, she's just like her father. I like it!). Wook just turned off the clippers. He's in the bathroom tidying up his hair. Because he's awesome and likes me a whole lot, he'll grow his hair just a smidge longer than he prefers. What a champ. But there comes a time when it just gets too long. Meet today. It's a sad day, but I realize there are regulations on his sanity with his hair. Too bad. He really does look adorable with the you-can-kinda-see-the-curl-that-could-eventually-make-it's-way-out kind-of hair. I call it his Boy Meets World hair. He calls it I-need-a-haircut hair.

Season 3: Starts Sunday

If you haven't jump on the bandwagon of Mad Men, you need to put on your shoes.

Where will I be on Sunday? At a cocktail party. In Mad Men's honor. Drinking a Gimlet. Or maybe an Old Fashioned. Channeling Joanie (above). I love it.

Where'd They Go?

Yesterday, all the blogs I followed were mysteriously missing from my Dashboard.

Today, they're back as they should be.

Was I stressing? Well, silently, yes. What if I couldn't remember all the blogs I stalk?

So this weekend's chore. Put the blogroll back on my side bar.

But that's after I visit the Mommy McD household for time with the munchkins.

Eet Mor Chiken!

My idea. Plan out an entire work week's menu for meals. Great, right?

That way there's no 'come home from work, berate the cabinets for ideas for dinner, wait an hour while something comes to fruition (if we haven't succumbed to eating out), eat, realize it's late, watch 2 episodes of Coach, fall asleep.'

So tonight was Crockpot Chicken. It's this secret family recipe which includes chicken, Campbell's Cream of Celery soup, and a crockpot. Mad science, I tell ya.

Anyway, so last night I had taken out 6 chicken tits (my mom loves when I call them that) out of the freezer to thaw overnight. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Come this morning, they were nice and thawed on the counter but had left a little puddle o' chicken juice beneath them. No biggie. Move bag to fridge. Wipe up mess. Spray counter with disinfectant. Good as new.

So come this afternoon, wook got home later than expected but still early enough to start dinner...so he does. Stellar guy, right? And for him to follow one of the Favorite Family Recipes, and not concoct some out-of-this-world meal plan, is a pretty cool step. I mean the boy can make just about anything. From scratch. He may look at a recipe to make sure he didn't miss an ingredient. But unlike how I meticulously dwell over recipes like I'm a monk copying hieroglyphic code, he throws caution to the wind and creates perfection on a plate. Jealous.

So I get home from work. The usual. Just past 6pm. Walk in. No one here. Wook must be at the gym. 15 minutes later, he returns. Sweaty. From both working out and walking the block home (today: 95, according to Weather.com it "felt" like 105!).

I don't know how we got on topic, but he said he had the Crockpot on High and had turned it to Low before he went to work out.

"Why was it on High?"

"Cuz the chicken was frozen."

Turns out he didn't notice me taking out chicken last night. Contemplating 6 pieces or 8 pieces. Putting it in a gallon ziplock. Didn't see it on the counter, thawing. Not before going to bed. Not in the morning after making coffee. No chicken. No ziploc. Not even the pink-ish flesh in a ziploc that stared back at you from inside the fridge.

So now we have 6 well-thawed pieces of chicken.

Next time: Mrs Wookie, leave a note on the counter detailing the steps you've already established within the dinner routine. This will make it easier on both parties. But we like how you've thought ahead in how to use the already-thawed chicken to your advantage.

On the menu for tomorrow evening: chile chicken enchiladas, black beans, and a veggie (not sure what yet). And Wednesday's: blackened chicken salads (w/ fixin's).

Webcam With The Fam

Let's photo-document the webcam session that occured with the family today.

My dad got my Box o' Beaver Gear to ship out to the Commonwealth, but first decided he had to model the paper helmet that lists the 2005 football season on the back.

And there's nothing like a drool session over the King of Drive-Thru Coffee in Oregon (and parts of California, Washington, and I think Idaho).

OH NOOO! The Sheriff is being man-handled by a black bear!! Okay, so it's really the shoulder mount of the black bear my brother got last year. But still, the terror!

And the shirt is a Dad's Weekend shirt circa 2008, with Hay Buggy and T Baby.

And Hay got new glasses. Loooove them. "Don't I look smarter." Oh, Hayley.

And it's not a webcam with the sister without retarded faces to each other. Love you!

Tides Tickets Giveaway Winner: Me

So the other Friday was a stellar one. This blogger was the winner of not 2, but 4 Tides tickets for that evening's game against the Indianapolis Indians. What do I do?

Screaming voicemail to the Sheriff. Screaming phone call to the wookie. Screaming all around in excitement for pulling off victory, resulting in a few bloody and burst eardrums, a couple strained vocal cords, and some swerving on 264 because I couldn't get home fast enough.

So the 4 guests of honor. Me, duh...wook, Joe, and Sean. Quadro-date. And it seemed like I kinda had to beg/plead/whine to get those boys to drop their plans of nothing and join me for some of America's pasttime. Gosh.

A little thumbs up on the 4 tickets o' glory while we "tailgated" at Gators. And we had looked up our section, but didn't really know where we'd be sitting.

But OMG, looking how effin' close we were. Those beers are on the dugout. We're right there. Right there! Best tickets ever. I can't believe it. I could have spit on the coach. And squeezed the catcher's butt (I have a thing for catchers). I want to win again.

And it's a pretty nice stadium. And it was only our second outting. I know, I know. What gives? Umm, well we've been busy. There's been birthday/cocktail parties/etc on our schedule. And I'm not sure how much of the season is left. But now that I've sat in these seats, it'll be hard to join the ranks of the Plebes many rows up like before.

Not too bad for Triple A league in a psuedo-city setting (say that 3 times fast).

"Speak on it." Omg, these seats are amazing. You speak on that. You better.

And the Tide. Because he looks like a tide. A body of water. With fur. And this badonkadonk of a butt. Kinda like the lovechild between Cookie Monster and Grover.

Then he stole this lady's snacks and proceeded to offer them to other patrons. The kicker: Other people started eating her snacks. Ya, she was slightly butt hurt. But look where you're sitting, lady. Damn near in the dugout. I'd let the Tide eat my snacks. But then again, I always bring extra in my purse. You never know when hunger will strike, do ya?

Feet on dugout. Yuengling in 24 oz. cup. Flippee floppees on. Rain jacket in the bag (which was donned around the 4th inning due to some incliment sprinkling - as an Oregonian, I'm usually prepared for wet weather and proud of it). Got off work early on a Friday. Won the tickets to the Tides game that night. Perfect.

And one dancing Tide with enough booty for an 8th grade dance. Enjoy.

Tagged In July, Posted In August

So I was tagged by Legs. Over a month ago. And am just now getting to it. Woops.

6 names you go by:

1. Ashley

2. Mrs Wookie

3. Aunt Bop

4. Ging
5. Auschwitz

6. Granola-Eating Hippie

3 things you are wearing right now:

1. purple Old Navy tank top

2. wook's red track pants
3. old lady slippers from Fred Meyer

3 things you want very badly at the moment:

1. personal trainer

2. more work clothes
3. a massage(?)

5 people who will fill this out (or at least those I'm taggin'!!!):

1. Mommy McD

2. Miss Olympia

3. Hay Buggy Buggy

3. Wookie(?)

4. Umm, I'm blanking right now...

3 things you did last night:

1. offended Sean

2. redeemed myself to Sean
3. high-fived Sean

3 things you ate today:

1. bacon

2. eggs
3. toast

3 favorite drinks:

1. coffee

2. good beer

3. ice tea

Happy lazy Saturday. But with a cocktail party planned for the evening. Yay.

Purchase of the Week!

For the stellar price of $3.98 each, I just had to lumber home with one in my arms.

(fyi, cellphone shot)

And my dish soap acting as a reference for size. The thing weighs more than Keiran. It took a solid two arms around the thing to assure that I wouldn't drop it.

Wook: "Umm, where are we going to put that? We don't exactly have the room."

Never fear. I read, somewhere, that until watermelons are cut into, they don't need to hide out in the fridge. And you know I'll be taking some to work tomorrow. Gotta share. So that'll leave us with only half a melon to hide out in the fridge.

Now where's my Purple Drink and Fried Chicken?

"Reader Of The Year"

What year did Caesar get murdered? When was Ghengis Khan born? Who knows.

Where did Kurt Russell grow up? Oregon.

And how close can 2 bloggers get who live on opposite coasts yet pictures can make their faces beyond recognizable enough to spot a psuedo-deployed husband wandering aimlessly?

OMG-you-have-no-idea.

I freaaaked out yesterday. It was better than a runner's high. Better than finishing Hood 2 Coast after 18 miles, even though it was time well spent with the Fajah. Better than graduating college. Or beating the infamous 21st birthday hangover.

I was driving home after getting off work an hour late. No big deal. Working late without notice is part of the job detail. Anyways, so I'm in my car, yacking at my dad (at least yesterday, I alternate which parent I call and annoy so they don't get uppity), was on my way home when...

all of a sudden, like time stopped...it was like a Bigfoot sighting...there's this tall-ish, redheaded guy, walking with 2 other dudes, alongside the road...(now said in slow motion) "OMG, I think I just saw Marrying the Navy's husband!!!!! I have to call Mommy McD!!!! Dad, let me call you back."

Too bad Mommy McD was eating dinner. So I had all this excitement, bouncing off the seatbelt, not even sure if I had the right NavyGuy...and no one to call.

I hate when that happens.

So out come the big balls. Cajones, I mean. I email Marrying the Navy. Why? I don't know. Could it have exploded into a million pieces, similiar to a pinata but with a lot less emphasis on candy and more on you're-bat$#!t-crazy-for-stalking-random-people's-blogs.

And what do I get? A whole blog post shout-out. Made my morning.

Wow, Good Luck Lady

So I'm not really into obsessing about gossip/news on my blog, but this is funny.

This woman is suing her alma mater for her not finding a job. After graduating 3 months ago. With a Business degree. And a 2.7 average. For $70K (her tuition). In this economic climate. Wow. Really?

Listen lady, there are people with extensive resumes out there hurting for work. I realize that college paints this glorious picture of hiring managers running through fields of poppies with your resume, ready to throw you a 401K, health insurance, and a corner office. But then reality sets in. You got a degree in English. Oh wait, that was me. You need to be creative in getting a job. And even then, things never work out as planned. Unemployment can be cozy (depending on your state and how much you can scrape in each week based off previous earnings). So in the mean time, travel. Start a freakin' hobby. Slut yourself out to make the bills. Something.

Read it: http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/08/03/new.york.jobless.graduate/index.html

This Definitely Made My Day

Thanks, Mom, for the email. Definitely cracked me up.

Quiz: Tracy, Hayley, what's the most effective way to kill a zombie?

Who's Ready For Work Tomorrow?

Not this girl right here. In my rush to get out of work on time (and by on time, I mean the 2 hours early that I got off work since I put in extra hours a couple days prior), I wasn't able to meticulously prepare for Monday's happenings. And now that's it 8:33pm on Sunday, and there's a bottle of Cab/Shiraz breathing on the counter calling my name, it's a little late to try and prep for tomorrow's shindigs. Tomorrow morning will be moving and shaking.

But at least I was able to tackle 96% of my laundry. There are still those few articles lingering that have to be "handwashed" (definition: delicate cycle, because this blogger is too lazy for actual handwashing), but I'll get there. And I picked up a few more hangers to finally put away the slight addition I've made to the corporate wardrobe. For once I won't wake up in the middle of the night and have to navigate the floor and stairs like a Vietnamese mine field.

One thing I've been attempting to start up is unofficially making out a menu for the week. I get ideas, but they never really transpire. Then wook and I are too tired/hungry/lazy to cook for ourselves so we'll meander Granby St. in search of someone else to cook. I make the claim that I'm still in the learning process of functioning in an apartment, with another human being, financial responsibilites, housekeeping needs, and all that goes along with being a grown up. Living with my parents was awesome. Wake up. Eat Cheerios. Go to work. Come home for lunch. Go back to work (a 6-minute drive, mind you). Come home to the parents. Enjoy an adult beverage with the Fajah. Have one of the parents make dinner. Watch Cash Cab over dinner. Sample the Food Network/Discovery Channel/History Channel shows. Talk to the boy. Call it a night.

The real world is a whole different story. There's the milk supply to keep atop of (which to be honest, I still haven't gotten to the store after not having milk on Friday for my breakfast). The cooking to do. The dishes that come with that. And the cleaning, which is not my favorite thing in the world. And all while driving the 8 miles to work and back (which thankfully isn't in the stream of heavy rush-hour traffic). There are times when dishes have sat on the stove for a few nights. There's been some stinky trash that's been needed to be taken out, but it had to sit there for a bit before I was able to get around to it. It's been a shift in lifestyle, and I'm hopefully coming to the end of the breaking-in period of returning to the responsibility realm.

The last thing on my list is to charge my phone. It's been dead since Friday. I think. Maybe early Saturday morning. I don't remember. I just know it's sitting on the counter, no life, and I'm tempting to go plug it in so I can become reattached again to the world. But then I think how nice it's been to not have a leash. It's been awhile since I've dropped off the face of the world. If you would have needed to get ahold of me, you would already know how (and yes, I do accept carrier pigeons as a legitimate form of correspondence).

So for the rest of the evening, I'll be enjoying some time with my other favorite dysfunctional family. The Bluths (the Arrested Development family).

And hopefully I'll get to the store for that milk. I don't know how much longer I can go through Cheerio Detox before I jump ship for Cherry Coke in my cereal. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Where Did July Go?!?!

And now the Sheriff's probably going to text the family, "Where'd Russia go?"

But seriously, it was just turning July 1st. The traffic has barely become unplugged from the water-in-the-tunnel fiasco that threatened to keep us on this side of the bay, instead of rocking it out in D.C. for the 4th of July with the Oregonians we miss/love/adore/can't seem to get rid of.

But obviously that didn't happen, and we were to tear it up with both the Canadian (who I hadn't seen since his Commissioning, and the loveable Collin & Katie who had been my stomping ground in Corvallis and been my partners in crime for the good food and beer that our quaint college town offered to the student population).

Then wook's birthday jumped out of the woodwork with jazz hands, and I was NOT prepared for that. Nor was my liver. But let's no go there. We've been on the uphill since Saturday evening. Let's keep the progress steady.

Wook's birthday was good. He had a monster steak. We suited up (and be "suited," I mean I rocked my best Joanie from Mad Men - pencil skirt, fabulous accessories, sassy attitude). We played the Downtown scene. We had a ball. Most of us remember everything (minus Sean, who seems to forget life exists after Havana. How he makes it home surprises me.).

Everything else really is a blur.

Hopefully August won't be the same way. At least it shouldn't.

My only concern is Tracer's 21-er. In Vegas. Yes, that Vegas.

My Dearest Sister,

Please prepare for the 21st birthday outting as if this were World War III. Keep heavy stock of ibuprofin, gatorade, bagels, crackers, Pepto, hair bands, and a change of clothes. Not necessarily for you (because sometimes the guests of the Birthday Person get just as crazy, if not more so, than the Birthday Person).

Your vision may become hazy at some point in the night. Don't fight it. You're already too far gone. Just make sure that you have good friends to take care of you. And hopefully they don't have markers (just don't fall asleep with your shoes on). And when you wake up the next morning, don't rush to get out of bed. Have your WWIII stash on the nightstand. You'll thank me later.

Nothing beats waking up in the morning when you feel okay laying down, and then you get up and are forced to sniper crawl your way to the bathroom because you suddenly rushed your blood supply back to work when it really needed more recooping time.

One can say they've prepared a college-education's worth for their 21st birthday. Sadly, this usually has no bearing on how the night will turn out (which is usually awesome!).

So be safe, wear reasonably-sane shoes (Vegas block sizes are bitches), don't think you lose your phone even though you're talking on it (that happened to my old roomie...while she was on the phone...with me..."OMG GUYS, I LOST MY PHONE!...Katie, it's in your hand!"), and please, please, don't lose a tooth. But Mike Tyson's tiger is fair game.

Good luck, and don't take the porn handouts on the Vegas streets,

Your Older, Wiser, Been-There-Done-That Sister

Let's here it for July. You were a good month. August. Let's see what you're made of.