The good lady over at Marrying the Navy had a great post today, sharing her readers with the link to other military-affiliated blogs in the chance of getting to know others in our same situation. This is brilliant! Coming from someone who doesn't know a soul outside of Mr. Wookie's classmates in this area code, I could definitely use the blogosphere to expand my horizons. Who knows!?! Maybe I'll meet a fellow Norfolk-er while dabbling around. If so, Hi there, I'm Mrs. Wookie, and I love countering the testosterone of Flight School stories with trips to beach, pedicures, and shoe shopping. Please, indulge me!
So for those who've stopped over from MilSpouse, let me catch you up on Wookie & Co.
Mr. Wookie and I are your blog fodder. But I'm the writer about our life, because face it...men suck at keeping people informed. So both our sets of parents turn to the blog to see how he's/we're doing. Otherwise, Mr. Wookie would have to talk on the phone. And we know how much he loves doing that.
We live in the bubblin' Navy village of Norfolk, VA. He's in the final leg of Flight School for the E-2 Hawkeye, and yes, it was the bird of his choice in the end. Back in Pensacola, he longed for the P-3. Partly because it's an awesomely never-deployable aircraft. Always land-based. And home would have been WA. We love nature. But sadly, the students with the lower grades got the aircraft. Mr. Wookie = CRUSHED! So he turned to the E-2. And he's glad he did. He claims it's like playing, "Command and Conquer." And I'm just going to take his word for that.
I'm a born and raised Oregonian (of the Southern variety - Medford, represent!), who ventured to Oregon State University for the coveted Bachelor's in English. Yes, I'm asked what I do with that degree, because we all know it's not a cash cow. My reasons: I can make fun of you with big words, I always find the grammatical errors in menus, museum exhibits, and the newspaper, and because writing's easy. There, I said it.
Mr. Wookie was a Navy Brat who was born in San Diego, but came to Oregon State by way of New Orleans, Louisiana. He saw the light. The light of the Northwest.
We met by complete chance. I was hosting a Halloween party. He happened to tag along with friends to a random party. My party = that random party. He was Death. Though he claims he wasn't. But really, he looked like Death. I was a Naughty Schoolgirl. His Catholic school upbringing got the best of him. The rest is history. Well, kinda. I had to get talked into being given his number/calling him because I didn't think he was cute at all. But good thing I did. Thanks Ben.
So there you have it. This is our life as played out in the Hub of All Navy Action (Norfolk). I should bet on more bloggers from my neck of the woods, but you never know. But please, leave a comment and a link, and I'd love to check out your life. At worst, you have another blog stalker. But at best...welcome to the Christmas Card List. It's a coveted list. Mainly because I even shock myself that I get them out before December 24th. So thanks for visiting! And happy weekend!!!!!
Friday, April 30
Wednesday, April 28
What's better than sickness? Little Man!
It's been too long. Time for some bobble-head action of the nephew. Enjoy!
I can't wait until June. Then I get to inform the Little Man of all the life lessons he has in store. Like the green cup Slurpee is the perfect size for toddlers. Beer is meant to be opened with a Oregon State fight song bottle opener. The only place for green and yellow together is in booger color. And that one day you'll love naps.
Tuesday, April 27
So...the Dr. will see you now.
"Good morning. Or not. I just read your blog and I think it's time to go to an urgent care facility." - Mama Ging's text this morning.
Umm, I don't want to go. Doctors suck. Paying a $20 co-pay so they can tell me I'm sick. Snore. I could think of other ways to spend the money (not that I'm hurting financially, I'm just frugal/stingy as hell).
So with a little more coaxing, I called my doctor's office. I wanted a 6pm appointment because getting out of work on time is IMPOSSIBLE. What I got was different. I got a 3:30 appointment, because my doctor is out today and the person who is covering her patients has a life and doesn't want to stay until Midnight. Hi Boss, know how I've been just-a-tad-bit sick? Well I'll be leaving at 3pm for a doctor's appointment. Have someone monitor my email for the updated catering agreement for tomorrow's event and forward to the appropriate parties. Thanks.
And it's not that I was avoiding the Doctor. I just don't feel it's necessary to go when the cold was viral. There's nothing to do about it. You have to wait for it to clear or develop into something else. Well, I guess a little green booger action is the "something else." Translation: I don't run to the Doctor with a skinned knee. I wait until it's a full-blown compound fracture so it's worth their time/earn their money.
And today's timeline o' Ging...
3:01 - Leave work!
3:24 - Check into Dr.'s Office
3:36 - Get walked back, take height/weight...
3:38 - Pulse/blood pressure/temperature taken (running a fever - shocked me!)
3:42 - Meet with Doctor. She apologizes for not wearing her jacket. She explains she's menopausal. I nod in understanding/explain my jealousy for her getting to save $8+/month on female products.
3:45 - Doctor checks ears/nose/throat/lungs - ears/lungs clear (awesome!), throat "irritated," nose full of green boogies (der!)
3:49 - Prescription written for Amoxicillen/faxed to pharmacy
3:52 - Check out of Dr.'s office
Get in car, drive home, talk with Mama Ging about prognosis. High five myself for clear lungs.
4:45 - Walk to pharmacy.
4:48 - Walk home with drugs.
4:52 - Open beer, swallow first dose of medication. 10 days = 10 beers? We'll see.
Umm, I don't want to go. Doctors suck. Paying a $20 co-pay so they can tell me I'm sick. Snore. I could think of other ways to spend the money (not that I'm hurting financially, I'm just frugal/stingy as hell).
So with a little more coaxing, I called my doctor's office. I wanted a 6pm appointment because getting out of work on time is IMPOSSIBLE. What I got was different. I got a 3:30 appointment, because my doctor is out today and the person who is covering her patients has a life and doesn't want to stay until Midnight. Hi Boss, know how I've been just-a-tad-bit sick? Well I'll be leaving at 3pm for a doctor's appointment. Have someone monitor my email for the updated catering agreement for tomorrow's event and forward to the appropriate parties. Thanks.
And it's not that I was avoiding the Doctor. I just don't feel it's necessary to go when the cold was viral. There's nothing to do about it. You have to wait for it to clear or develop into something else. Well, I guess a little green booger action is the "something else." Translation: I don't run to the Doctor with a skinned knee. I wait until it's a full-blown compound fracture so it's worth their time/earn their money.
And today's timeline o' Ging...
3:01 - Leave work!
3:24 - Check into Dr.'s Office
3:36 - Get walked back, take height/weight...
3:38 - Pulse/blood pressure/temperature taken (running a fever - shocked me!)
3:42 - Meet with Doctor. She apologizes for not wearing her jacket. She explains she's menopausal. I nod in understanding/explain my jealousy for her getting to save $8+/month on female products.
3:45 - Doctor checks ears/nose/throat/lungs - ears/lungs clear (awesome!), throat "irritated," nose full of green boogies (der!)
3:49 - Prescription written for Amoxicillen/faxed to pharmacy
3:52 - Check out of Dr.'s office
Get in car, drive home, talk with Mama Ging about prognosis. High five myself for clear lungs.
4:45 - Walk to pharmacy.
4:48 - Walk home with drugs.
4:52 - Open beer, swallow first dose of medication. 10 days = 10 beers? We'll see.
Throwing up twice, before 5:05am is a rough start to the day. What else can happen?
It's this damn cough. Yesterday was a bit more brutal in the pain department as my lungs spasmed to expel their unwanted guests. It was a never-ending trail of snot and mucus running down the drain in the shower as my powerful snot rockets and hacking up odds and ends kept me entertained for awhile. This is when the behemoth brown festering sack of mucus made it's debut. Which was cool because it weighed so much that the water pressure couldn't move it. I had to wiggle it towards the drain until it's own gravity aided in assistance.
Why tell you all this? Umm, because it's my blog, and I want to youenjoy suffer along with me.
So this morning, I thought was going to be a different one. Nope. Once vertical, my lungs began their craze of seizure-like movements. But this time, it wasn't semi-liquid tenements. They were chunks. Or chunk-like, either way. The first one that crawled past my gag reflex did just that. I gagged. Then I couldn't get the latter chunks off my gag reflex, so I threw up thinking that anything in my stomach would bully it past (too bad there wasn't anything in it). And of course, because one time wasn't enough of this wonderful experience. Again, my lungs begin the game of Let's Bring Up Dried Chunks of Sickness...introducing your host, Mr. Bob Barker!
Again, the foulest experience known to Man. I'm pretty sure actually throwing up spaghetti when you have the flu is better than this because at least you know when it's up. And spaghetti slides out rather easily thanks to the sauce. Just ask my Brother. I still remember the time he opened up the door, yacked at the corner of Bora Bora and Cedar Links, wiped his mouth, and we kept driving. Yes, that's my family.
So now that I've eaten my hefty bowl of Cheerios, I'm paranoid that another chunk-filled terror attack will force me to re-visit my breakfast. Instead, I'm using my empty bowl to house the filth and excrement that come up with my coughing fits. Delicious.
And, of course, I have to be in at work super early. Only a few coworkers know I'm battling lung inhabitants and will occasionally have to utilize my desk trash for the escape route of a few unwanted items. Thank goodness my office is away from others. Otherwise how gross would that be? Because blogging about it is TOTALLY different. *cue beaming smile, tilted head*
But now the shower is calling. Because I must get ready for the day. That and dying in the shower is a lot cleaner than dying elsewhere. The water just rinses away any liquids that are expelled upon death. Maybe that's my only option to survive this horrible chunk-filled episode of this cold. I can't remember the last time I was sick like this. It's been years. So much for my hippie immunity system. Yuppie germs don't recognize it.
Why tell you all this? Umm, because it's my blog, and I want to you
So this morning, I thought was going to be a different one. Nope. Once vertical, my lungs began their craze of seizure-like movements. But this time, it wasn't semi-liquid tenements. They were chunks. Or chunk-like, either way. The first one that crawled past my gag reflex did just that. I gagged. Then I couldn't get the latter chunks off my gag reflex, so I threw up thinking that anything in my stomach would bully it past (too bad there wasn't anything in it). And of course, because one time wasn't enough of this wonderful experience. Again, my lungs begin the game of Let's Bring Up Dried Chunks of Sickness...introducing your host, Mr. Bob Barker!
Again, the foulest experience known to Man. I'm pretty sure actually throwing up spaghetti when you have the flu is better than this because at least you know when it's up. And spaghetti slides out rather easily thanks to the sauce. Just ask my Brother. I still remember the time he opened up the door, yacked at the corner of Bora Bora and Cedar Links, wiped his mouth, and we kept driving. Yes, that's my family.
So now that I've eaten my hefty bowl of Cheerios, I'm paranoid that another chunk-filled terror attack will force me to re-visit my breakfast. Instead, I'm using my empty bowl to house the filth and excrement that come up with my coughing fits. Delicious.
And, of course, I have to be in at work super early. Only a few coworkers know I'm battling lung inhabitants and will occasionally have to utilize my desk trash for the escape route of a few unwanted items. Thank goodness my office is away from others. Otherwise how gross would that be? Because blogging about it is TOTALLY different. *cue beaming smile, tilted head*
But now the shower is calling. Because I must get ready for the day. That and dying in the shower is a lot cleaner than dying elsewhere. The water just rinses away any liquids that are expelled upon death. Maybe that's my only option to survive this horrible chunk-filled episode of this cold. I can't remember the last time I was sick like this. It's been years. So much for my hippie immunity system. Yuppie germs don't recognize it.
Monday, April 26
Your tax dollars hard at work.
Mr. Wookie's text: "I'm bored up here."
Mrs. Wookie's text: "You're flying anld texting???"
So yes, Mr. Wookie had a little time on his hands while he was galavanting around the Virginian airspace. And because I love to see him in his uniform - I requested photographic evidence.
He's never too happy about my picture requests.
Curious about Mr. Wookie's aircraft? He's an E-2 NFO. One of 3 guys in the back of the aircraft responsible for communications, radar, and such. He's been in Flight School since 2007, having spent time in Pensacola (Florida) before coming to Norfolk, Virginia. And since Winging in December of last year, he's finally in the last parts of the syllabus of Flight School. Finally. I can't wait for Graduation. Neither can Mr. Wookie.
The shower is my science lab.
Up until 9pm last night, I thought I was recovered from my illness. I felt great. Crawled into bed to watch DreamGirls (I felt Jamie Foxx failed to bring to this role - and I kept wondering if Sasha Fierce was going to make a dramatic entrance). But then a cough started.
Not like a baby cough, oh excuse me.
Like a MAN COUGH. I AM PHLEGM, HEAR ME ROAR!
So the chest pains started. And started. And started.
And before I could get into the shower this morning, Now batting Mr. Big Brown Phlegm. This disgustingly large, squeeshy (yes, I touched it), half dollar-sized piece of mucus debuted onto my shower floor. And this is how my day started.
How cool would it have been to take a picture of it??? Okay, maybe most wouldn't care to see the discarded chunks of a cold, but it was awesome because it was finally out. So we'll see how long this mucus phase will last before I'm back to normal. Because it better be quick. I start trying for my 8K (June 19th!) this week, and I'm not sure I want to be running while hawking mucus. Because my nose snotting is enough of an issue for one runner. I don't need both ends of the orifice going crazy. TWSS.
Then hopefully I can post pictures from my weekend away to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Stay tuned. Unless I choke on a hunk of phlegm at work. Then that's totally getting documented. Because a picture is worth a 1,000 words. And I'm curious how many versions of "gross" we can think of. Happy Monday!
Not like a baby cough, oh excuse me.
Like a MAN COUGH. I AM PHLEGM, HEAR ME ROAR!
So the chest pains started. And started. And started.
And before I could get into the shower this morning, Now batting Mr. Big Brown Phlegm. This disgustingly large, squeeshy (yes, I touched it), half dollar-sized piece of mucus debuted onto my shower floor. And this is how my day started.
How cool would it have been to take a picture of it??? Okay, maybe most wouldn't care to see the discarded chunks of a cold, but it was awesome because it was finally out. So we'll see how long this mucus phase will last before I'm back to normal. Because it better be quick. I start trying for my 8K (June 19th!) this week, and I'm not sure I want to be running while hawking mucus. Because my nose snotting is enough of an issue for one runner. I don't need both ends of the orifice going crazy. TWSS.
Then hopefully I can post pictures from my weekend away to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Stay tuned. Unless I choke on a hunk of phlegm at work. Then that's totally getting documented. Because a picture is worth a 1,000 words. And I'm curious how many versions of "gross" we can think of. Happy Monday!
Friday, April 23
Please excuse the blog silence.
This week has sucked. I've been sick. And not just achoo sick. Like snot-oozing-out-of-every-orifice. Like only-the-right-side-of-my-throat-being-sore. Like frontal-lobe-headaches-that-would-bring-a-grown-man-to-his-knees. And I'm not the only one. The Mommy McD offspring have the same shit. I blame Chuck E. Cheese. One big cesspool of germoids. And lackluster pizza. And no bar.
Tuesday evening, Wednesday evening, and Thursday evening have all involved me hating life, lounging on the couch with a multitude of blankets to warm my fever-ridden body, de-mucus-ifying in the shower with the water at a bazillion degrees, and sleeping in a fit of tosses and turns because I just can't get comfortable.
So now it's Friday. I'm off work. Obviously. And I'm headed out of town. Well, to be more specific, we're heading out of town. The Wookie & Co. blog will maintain silence as we're escaping to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for the weekend. And there's no wifi. Which isn't a bad thing, because I have a great book to read (thanks Mommy McD for the books!).
Yes, I've missed you. But my main concern has been overpowering my body with Vitamin C in hopes of eradicating this germ like Napalm in 'Nam.
See y'all Sunday. Blogposts to come of our weekend away. Bye!
Tuesday evening, Wednesday evening, and Thursday evening have all involved me hating life, lounging on the couch with a multitude of blankets to warm my fever-ridden body, de-mucus-ifying in the shower with the water at a bazillion degrees, and sleeping in a fit of tosses and turns because I just can't get comfortable.
So now it's Friday. I'm off work. Obviously. And I'm headed out of town. Well, to be more specific, we're heading out of town. The Wookie & Co. blog will maintain silence as we're escaping to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for the weekend. And there's no wifi. Which isn't a bad thing, because I have a great book to read (thanks Mommy McD for the books!).
Yes, I've missed you. But my main concern has been overpowering my body with Vitamin C in hopes of eradicating this germ like Napalm in 'Nam.
Where we'll be. It's called "Island Stylin'."
See y'all Sunday. Blogposts to come of our weekend away. Bye!
Tuesday, April 20
Pap smears are the new American Dream.
This morning I had tears welling in my eyes. I was reclined in the dentist's chair, while the topical anaesthetic took over the left side of my mouth (a few cavities were found at last week's appointment - I was back to fix them right up). Foolish for letting a dentist belittle me for not being responsible for my teeth every 6 months.
"So what's going on here?"
Umm, you're a snarky dentist who doesn't realize that just because someone works full-time doesn't mean they instantly get any medical benefits...EVER...AT ALL. So I jumped a coast. But I get tired of telling everyone and their dog that, because I don't want to be a sap story, but dammit I should have shit my story all over your lunch. Because then maybe it would have gotten through to you.
"It's been a couple years since my last appointment, so I'm taking care of everything now that I have insurance."
"MMMMmmmmmmm." (Dumb brunette. Sorry other brunettes, nothing personal.)
But she didn't get it. She doesn't realize what it's like to be one of the bazillion people without insurance. The last time I saw my dentist back in Oregon, my parents paid out of pocket for an appointment because it had been a similar timeframe since my last check-up before that one. Teeth take the back burner when YOU DON'T HAVE INSURANCE. Do you want to pay $100+ just for someone to poke around your teeth? That doesn't even count the possible for follow-up appointments for cavities, x-rays, what-have-you, etc.
No, I'm not your Welfare case. I went to college, graduated, and have persued full-time employment. It just takes working for a huge company to get decent coverage. There's nothing that says an employer has to give workers coverage. So while you think people complain about not finding work...is it really worth it to find full-time work when you don't get shit for medical care? Which is the hot topic these days.
So while this soapbox stand is tame compared to other's, I just don't think I deserved to feel like I did this morning. I'm doing what I can to catch up. I shouldn't be hating life before I even get into work. Save that for afterwards, when I go for a run, and then my stomach has issues. Just leave me with some good drugs and I'll keep coming back for more. Now I understand why people go dentist/doctor shopping. Because this dentist...that's a big, fat NEXT!
And speaking of doctors...my annual exam last December had the complete opposite reaction. I've never had a medical professional so glad that I was able to transition from unemployed to employed/insurance, so I could stay atop my health. Because what's more important...cavities or cervical cancer? Yes, her happiness could have been based on the notion that she'll gain more patients if she has a better word-of-mouth credit. But maybe she's been in my situation also. If so, congrats to her. We've made it.
"So what's going on here?"
Umm, you're a snarky dentist who doesn't realize that just because someone works full-time doesn't mean they instantly get any medical benefits...EVER...AT ALL. So I jumped a coast. But I get tired of telling everyone and their dog that, because I don't want to be a sap story, but dammit I should have shit my story all over your lunch. Because then maybe it would have gotten through to you.
"It's been a couple years since my last appointment, so I'm taking care of everything now that I have insurance."
"MMMMmmmmmmm." (Dumb brunette. Sorry other brunettes, nothing personal.)
But she didn't get it. She doesn't realize what it's like to be one of the bazillion people without insurance. The last time I saw my dentist back in Oregon, my parents paid out of pocket for an appointment because it had been a similar timeframe since my last check-up before that one. Teeth take the back burner when YOU DON'T HAVE INSURANCE. Do you want to pay $100+ just for someone to poke around your teeth? That doesn't even count the possible for follow-up appointments for cavities, x-rays, what-have-you, etc.
No, I'm not your Welfare case. I went to college, graduated, and have persued full-time employment. It just takes working for a huge company to get decent coverage. There's nothing that says an employer has to give workers coverage. So while you think people complain about not finding work...is it really worth it to find full-time work when you don't get shit for medical care? Which is the hot topic these days.
So while this soapbox stand is tame compared to other's, I just don't think I deserved to feel like I did this morning. I'm doing what I can to catch up. I shouldn't be hating life before I even get into work. Save that for afterwards, when I go for a run, and then my stomach has issues. Just leave me with some good drugs and I'll keep coming back for more. Now I understand why people go dentist/doctor shopping. Because this dentist...that's a big, fat NEXT!
And speaking of doctors...my annual exam last December had the complete opposite reaction. I've never had a medical professional so glad that I was able to transition from unemployed to employed/insurance, so I could stay atop my health. Because what's more important...cavities or cervical cancer? Yes, her happiness could have been based on the notion that she'll gain more patients if she has a better word-of-mouth credit. But maybe she's been in my situation also. If so, congrats to her. We've made it.
Monday, April 19
My name is Aunt Bop and I have an Oregon addiction. "Hi, Aunt Bop!"
I only had one glass of wine, but I did purchase 2 pairs of shoes. Although one pair are causing me grief. They're Naturalizer's version of the Birkenstock Milano. They don't fit as exceptionally well as a real pair of Birks would. But they were only a quarter of the price. But post-purchase, I'm feeling the need for real Birks. So the bullet may have be bitten. This summer. Lest not drop $125 on impulse.
But onto more important matters...pictures from Middle Sister!
We're slightly biased in our state love.
And we're slightly biased about our latest family addition!
Sunday, April 18
Chuck E. Cheese sterilizes, ergonomic shoes kill my wallet, and Catholic Mass could use naptime.
You may know her as Mommy McD. I know her as a built-in therapist, with a side of shoe shopaholic-ness, and the ability to pour a good glass of wine. Welcome to my weekend. Please, stay awhile.
Saturday was spent at a 3-year-old's birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese. One word: Painful. The pain didn't stem from hanging out with my favorite family on the East Coast, but by spending multiple hours in Babyville. Preschool this, ear infections that. Bor-ing. As I said at the party..."I like my eggs fried with a side of bacon, not fertilized with a side of morning sickness."
Highlights: The McD offspring were beyond adorable and well-behaved. This cannot be said about other offspring in the facility. I swore I was going to twist a knee trying to avoid all the "pet humans" (as the Sheriff calls them [children]). Parents, please pay attention to your Proof of Procreation. Because I don't mind continuing to walk in my path while your child plays chicken with an oncoming train. I won't stop. And in the game of who's bigger, Aunt Bop vs. 5-year-old...I'll win. And no, I won't care I ran over your child. They're called leashes, implement them if you have to.
Lowlights: Getting smoked by Mommy McD in ski ball. The woman knows her bowling motion. I think I'd get better with a beverage. But Chuck E. Cheese is not a Dave and Busters. So next time I'll need to flask it.
So today, Mommy McD and I went shopping. Well, in all actuality, we went purchasing. Because the Shoe Gods were with us this time and blessed us with multiple pairs of ergonomic shoes. Because we don't like our knees to hurt. And hips to hurt. And heels to hurt. Because we run. That provides us with enough pain as is. No need to add insult to fashion injury. Because I'd even give myself dirty looks for using Ben Gay for the aches and pains from a pair of cheap shoes.
And have you ever been to Catholic Mass? I haven't, until this evening. It was...interesting. I knew it had a lot of up and down, down and up, kneel, and stand, hands up, shake hands with strangers, crackers and juice, head nod, and over. And that was pretty much it. Except the part where the speakers/preacher/priest/head robe-wear-er bored me to sleep. Almost. This guy...not a keynote speaker. If it weren't for the workout of the Catholic Mass, I would have started snoring at 20 minutes in. Thankfully Mommy McD and Daddy McD were in agreeance, so I'm not just talking out of my ass too much.
But enough of the yacking, time for photographic documentation of 2 of my 3 favorite babies (the Little Man is now an honorary member of such a lucky club even if I haven't met him).
Because mohawks are awesome.
I'm laying on my back while he stabs my knee. Awesome.
And the stipulations of an Aunt Bop piggie back include 3 emo pictures...starting now.
Then Mommy McD takes over the camera...
He doesn't quite get the "blue steel" reference.
So I'll be heading home tomorrow. Yes, a Monday. Because I have the time off available (it's amazing the time off you can accrue from all my overtime), and why not spend it on a vacation? Even if the destination is only 2.5 hours away. And I'm a firm believer in having a 3-day weekend at least once a month. It's a necessity in my book. Because otherwise the cranky Ging blogger would live on. And there are enough angry bloggers in the world.
Saturday, April 17
It's the simple things in life I love.
Friday's schedule: Work. Hair appointment. Road trip. Additional plans: Wash my car!! Because pollen is a bitch in these neck of the woods and can completely coat buildings/cars/bums sleeping in parks unless tackled.
Smurfette was in serious need of a bath.
One happy Ging.
Because you really did need to see all facets of the car wash.
Work ended. I bounded home at lightning speed, ready for my hair appointment and trek up to the Mommy McD household. But in my travel between home and salon, I stumbled upon a slightly inebriated Mr. Wookie.
Who happened to purchase a pipe.
And cigars and pipe cleaners.
And pipe cleaner art commenced.
And then turned phallic.
But my night didn't turn out as planned. My hair appointment was pushed back a half hour. So I grabbed a drink with the boys. Not. A. Good. Idea. Ever gone to a hair appointment slightly buzzed? I don't advise this. Because trying to explain how you want your hair is not the easiest manner when all you want to do is put on some pajamas and curl up on the couch with a movie. Good thing I had a picture of a haircut that I thought was cute. Otherwise I may have walked out with a lesbian pixie cut.
So I made my way back to the bar to show off my new tresses...and was talked into another beverage. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a vodka tonic with lemon. And I was at my watering hole. On a Friday night. It's second nature. And so my 7:00pm take off was pushed back to 8:00pm.
But I made it. Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn't be blogging. Unless there's blogging in the afterlife.
Maybe tomorrow I'll be inspired to share the story of going to Chuck E. Cheese's for a birthday party and thus swearing off procreating. Because nothing makes you want to have your ovaries shrivel up more than a bunch of terrorizing children who are fighting with other kids to redeem their tickets. Oi ve. Good thing the McD offspring behave. There is hope in the world. That and they're adorable. Which doesn't hurt.
Friday, April 16
Yes, I'm running away this weekend.
Today should be one of those days where I could spill water/coffee/urine all over my shoes and I just. wouldn't. care. Because nothing can rain on my parade.
It starts like this. Wake up today whenever I feel like it. Remember how I said I was in way-too-early each day for the earlier part of this week. Well...I'm in at 11am today. Suck it, monkeys. And I still get to take lunch, which is just awesome. So a partial work day...I'm soooo in.
So I'm out of work at 5:30pm - something I bartered for. Because sometimes I just want to sleep the hell in. I don't want to worry about going to bed before 10pm. I want to go out, enjoy the night, then wake up without the use of my phone's alarm.
Too bad, yesterday was not like that.
Like any good "hobbyist runner," I went out for a 3-3.5 mile jog yesterday. It wasn't going as well as I had planned as my sweating level was not up to par. So I chalked it up to needing more water. Easy solve. Get home. Drink water. Shower. Get ready to go out for dinner and some beverages...AND THEN I FEEL LIKE CRAP. Welcome back, long-lost stomach issues. I thought you were done for. But apparently you felt neglected and needed to antagonize me after a measly 3 miles out. Why thank you.
So we didn't go out last night. Mr. Wookie was gearing up for cocktails at one of the fancier places in town. But we didn't/couldn't. No J. Crew-wearing night for him. Instead, it was chicken noodle soup, The Girl Next Door, and couch lounging after taking shots of Pepto. And to think, all I wanted was a short, stress-relieving run. No soup for me.
But back to today's schedule.
Out of work at 5:30.
I have me a hair appointment at 6:00. Yes, on a Friday night. Because I missed my appointment last week due to the guest speaker/seminar action. And so now i'm desperate for someone to get rid of the caterpillars over my eyes. It's a much-needed hour of sanctuary.
You're probably thinking that, Oh, hey, you'll have great hair, are you and Mr. Wookie going out tonight instead?
Ummm, not exactly. I have a date with my car to be exact. Since the weekend of the Half Marathon, we've had house guests for majority of the weekends since. I'm. Burned. Out. On. Houseguests. So I'm getting out of town. Becoming a house guest of my own...to the Mommy McD household. Because chasing children, lounging around reading, and enjoying estrogen while playing around Target will reestablish my chi. That and we're totally have margaritas this weekend, so who wouldn't want to go?
Yes, I still haven't packed. No, I'm not showering today because I totally did last night. Yes, I need to get gas before I get into work. Yes, I'll get up to Suburbia of the District at a relatively late hour. And no, I don't have snacks for the trip. But fear not. There's still time. It's only 7:30am now. I have plenty of time to work with. Jealous?
It starts like this. Wake up today whenever I feel like it. Remember how I said I was in way-too-early each day for the earlier part of this week. Well...I'm in at 11am today. Suck it, monkeys. And I still get to take lunch, which is just awesome. So a partial work day...I'm soooo in.
So I'm out of work at 5:30pm - something I bartered for. Because sometimes I just want to sleep the hell in. I don't want to worry about going to bed before 10pm. I want to go out, enjoy the night, then wake up without the use of my phone's alarm.
Too bad, yesterday was not like that.
Like any good "hobbyist runner," I went out for a 3-3.5 mile jog yesterday. It wasn't going as well as I had planned as my sweating level was not up to par. So I chalked it up to needing more water. Easy solve. Get home. Drink water. Shower. Get ready to go out for dinner and some beverages...AND THEN I FEEL LIKE CRAP. Welcome back, long-lost stomach issues. I thought you were done for. But apparently you felt neglected and needed to antagonize me after a measly 3 miles out. Why thank you.
So we didn't go out last night. Mr. Wookie was gearing up for cocktails at one of the fancier places in town. But we didn't/couldn't. No J. Crew-wearing night for him. Instead, it was chicken noodle soup, The Girl Next Door, and couch lounging after taking shots of Pepto. And to think, all I wanted was a short, stress-relieving run. No soup for me.
But back to today's schedule.
Out of work at 5:30.
I have me a hair appointment at 6:00. Yes, on a Friday night. Because I missed my appointment last week due to the guest speaker/seminar action. And so now i'm desperate for someone to get rid of the caterpillars over my eyes. It's a much-needed hour of sanctuary.
You're probably thinking that, Oh, hey, you'll have great hair, are you and Mr. Wookie going out tonight instead?
Ummm, not exactly. I have a date with my car to be exact. Since the weekend of the Half Marathon, we've had house guests for majority of the weekends since. I'm. Burned. Out. On. Houseguests. So I'm getting out of town. Becoming a house guest of my own...to the Mommy McD household. Because chasing children, lounging around reading, and enjoying estrogen while playing around Target will reestablish my chi. That and we're totally have margaritas this weekend, so who wouldn't want to go?
Yes, I still haven't packed. No, I'm not showering today because I totally did last night. Yes, I need to get gas before I get into work. Yes, I'll get up to Suburbia of the District at a relatively late hour. And no, I don't have snacks for the trip. But fear not. There's still time. It's only 7:30am now. I have plenty of time to work with. Jealous?
Thursday, April 15
If it were all up to me...
...I would have a trust fund, plain and simple. Because working for The Man is not nearly as cool as spending a lifetime traveling the world, volunteering my time helping people be better hippies, wearing pajamas all day, every day, and amassing one hell of a wine cellar.
...I would spend time in Nome, Alaska. Why? Because of this guy...
While Baby Sister plans her wedding to Captain Andy, I'd spend my time at the wedding hitting on Captain Johnathan. Because nothing is sexier than a mullet.
...the Wookie & Co. household would never run out of coffee. Because scraping the container for every last ground is terms of desperation. And desperation wreaks ofTiger Woods, the Oregon Ducks Football team, a morning not started right.
...Mommy McD and I would live in the sameapartment complex neighborhood again. While nothing was better than a 30-yard walk to my bestest at a time when I would sneak in courtesy of her husband, do her laundry (dirty clothes courtesy of a newborn), and sneak out, it'd still be nice to get a much-needed hug when I have no one other than Mr. Wookie in the same zip code.
...Mr. Wookie would own that tropical island he talks about. And yes, we'd be heavily invested in sunscreen. I'd probably be summoned to their Board of Directors with my level of commitment.
...the Norfolk, Virginia area would have a: Whole Foods, REI, Container Store, Crate and Barrel, IKEA, New Belgium Brewery Annex (just for me!), "Tall Bitches" store (it's the store I would open if I ever wanted to own a clothing store), Lucy or Lululemon, Nike outlet, Columbia outlet, and the list goes on...
And while there's a laundry list of other things that I want, my mind has gone blank. Must be the need to focus on my coffee. Because I scraped the bottom of the container for it, I need to enjoy it that much more.
...I would spend time in Nome, Alaska. Why? Because of this guy...
...the Wookie & Co. household would never run out of coffee. Because scraping the container for every last ground is terms of desperation. And desperation wreaks of
...Mommy McD and I would live in the same
...Mr. Wookie would own that tropical island he talks about. And yes, we'd be heavily invested in sunscreen. I'd probably be summoned to their Board of Directors with my level of commitment.
...the Norfolk, Virginia area would have a: Whole Foods, REI, Container Store, Crate and Barrel, IKEA, New Belgium Brewery Annex (just for me!), "Tall Bitches" store (it's the store I would open if I ever wanted to own a clothing store), Lucy or Lululemon, Nike outlet, Columbia outlet, and the list goes on...
And while there's a laundry list of other things that I want, my mind has gone blank. Must be the need to focus on my coffee. Because I scraped the bottom of the container for it, I need to enjoy it that much more.
Wednesday, April 14
Today, I wanted to go HOME.
I've calmed down. Immensely. But for a fraction of an hour, I wanted to pack my life back up and hitch the wagon West. While watching out for dysentery, fording the river successfully, and keeping Native casualties to a minimum.
It started with my taxes. Yes, I realize it's April 14th, thank you. Whatever. We'll file an extension, no problem. That's not the issue.
The issue was that the temp agency I used to find my current job failed to notice that I want to claim "Zero" on my forms, and not to pay attention to my x-ing of all boxes because I had no idea what I was doing! So, when my mom panicked because Virginia state taxes weren't taken out for 3 months, she had every right. Then of course, I panicked. Am I going to get fucked? Dollars down the drain! Virginia sues Oregonian for infiltration and extra payment of taxes! Instant panic cues. My mom told me the estimate she had me at, "but now she's not so sure." I see that dollar sign right down the drain.
And of course, it doesn't help that I had income in Oregon also. So we get to play the game of "I have income from 2 states." Oh please, let's get popcorn and watch this unfold.
I naturally want to write the State of Oregon, the State of Virginia, and President O, himself, because I should totally be cut some slack. I move across the freakin' country to a bigger job pool. 'Xcuuuuuse me for wanting to earn more money that unemployment can provide.
This was my starting point.
Then on my commute home, I hit traffic. Stand still traffic. And you know how the 2 right lanes are sluggish, and the 2 left lanes are hauling balls, and you just can't find a space to throw your little Asian car into the mix without getting pummeled between Big Rigs? Totally today. I burned out, narrowly missed clipping my nose into the back of a Ford truck, while weaving beside an 18-wheel who wasn't feeling generous with the dotted line. Phew. Right then, I hated Virginia. At that exact moment I questioned why the hell was I out here. Is this worth it? What if I just pack my life up and go couch-hop back in Oregon? I know plenty of people to make that work. And all these people we know who get stationed in Washington, why not us? Well because the Navy didn't feel it necessary to give Mr. Wookie his No. 1 aircraft, that's why. Assholes.
But I've cooled down. I desperately needed a beverage during this time frame. In a travel mug, none-the-less, so I wouldn't be arrested for an open container. I'm above the law, my dad's the Sheriff.
And the frosting on the cake of today: I got a papercut. From a Splenda packet.
Happy Wednesday everyone. May your day be one panic attack less. Or at least, may your cabinet be fully stocked for your relaxation method of choice. I need some tonic.
Edited to add:
So I'm still here. A lot less fuming. Plus fed, which I think was part of the issue. Nothing makes me happier than leftover Costco pizza. That is unless it's the Sheriff and I making a run to Costco where they actually box your items for you. Two slices and a glass of Lipton Cold Brew iced tea helped me ease my destructive thoughts.
I'm pretty sure all I needed was/is a hug. But alas that's not going to happen. Mr. Wookie has another night flight and is scheduled to be home very late. So there you have it, my closest option: FAIL. And I'm delaying opening the bottle of red wine because I know how I love that second glass of wine...when all I want to do is go to sleep. Which, yes, 2 glasses of wine will do that...but then I'll want to stay up until Mr. Wookie comes home, which is great if I didn't have to be at work tomorrow, but then I'll be cranky at work tomorrow, which'll only be compounded on my drive home...and then, and then, and then. But I do have to be at work tomorrow. Because this week must go on and punish me. so I think that I'll hodge-podge around a bit more, then crawl into bed and read my Real Simple (yes, Middle Sister, I was so jealous of your subscription, I got my own!). Because going to bed after 8pm is totally acceptable at 26.
Good night.
It started with my taxes. Yes, I realize it's April 14th, thank you. Whatever. We'll file an extension, no problem. That's not the issue.
The issue was that the temp agency I used to find my current job failed to notice that I want to claim "Zero" on my forms, and not to pay attention to my x-ing of all boxes because I had no idea what I was doing! So, when my mom panicked because Virginia state taxes weren't taken out for 3 months, she had every right. Then of course, I panicked. Am I going to get fucked? Dollars down the drain! Virginia sues Oregonian for infiltration and extra payment of taxes! Instant panic cues. My mom told me the estimate she had me at, "but now she's not so sure." I see that dollar sign right down the drain.
And of course, it doesn't help that I had income in Oregon also. So we get to play the game of "I have income from 2 states." Oh please, let's get popcorn and watch this unfold.
I naturally want to write the State of Oregon, the State of Virginia, and President O, himself, because I should totally be cut some slack. I move across the freakin' country to a bigger job pool. 'Xcuuuuuse me for wanting to earn more money that unemployment can provide.
This was my starting point.
Then on my commute home, I hit traffic. Stand still traffic. And you know how the 2 right lanes are sluggish, and the 2 left lanes are hauling balls, and you just can't find a space to throw your little Asian car into the mix without getting pummeled between Big Rigs? Totally today. I burned out, narrowly missed clipping my nose into the back of a Ford truck, while weaving beside an 18-wheel who wasn't feeling generous with the dotted line. Phew. Right then, I hated Virginia. At that exact moment I questioned why the hell was I out here. Is this worth it? What if I just pack my life up and go couch-hop back in Oregon? I know plenty of people to make that work. And all these people we know who get stationed in Washington, why not us? Well because the Navy didn't feel it necessary to give Mr. Wookie his No. 1 aircraft, that's why. Assholes.
But I've cooled down. I desperately needed a beverage during this time frame. In a travel mug, none-the-less, so I wouldn't be arrested for an open container. I'm above the law, my dad's the Sheriff.
And the frosting on the cake of today: I got a papercut. From a Splenda packet.
Happy Wednesday everyone. May your day be one panic attack less. Or at least, may your cabinet be fully stocked for your relaxation method of choice. I need some tonic.
Edited to add:
So I'm still here. A lot less fuming. Plus fed, which I think was part of the issue. Nothing makes me happier than leftover Costco pizza. That is unless it's the Sheriff and I making a run to Costco where they actually box your items for you. Two slices and a glass of Lipton Cold Brew iced tea helped me ease my destructive thoughts.
I'm pretty sure all I needed was/is a hug. But alas that's not going to happen. Mr. Wookie has another night flight and is scheduled to be home very late. So there you have it, my closest option: FAIL. And I'm delaying opening the bottle of red wine because I know how I love that second glass of wine...when all I want to do is go to sleep. Which, yes, 2 glasses of wine will do that...but then I'll want to stay up until Mr. Wookie comes home, which is great if I didn't have to be at work tomorrow, but then I'll be cranky at work tomorrow, which'll only be compounded on my drive home...and then, and then, and then. But I do have to be at work tomorrow. Because this week must go on and punish me. so I think that I'll hodge-podge around a bit more, then crawl into bed and read my Real Simple (yes, Middle Sister, I was so jealous of your subscription, I got my own!). Because going to bed after 8pm is totally acceptable at 26.
Good night.
