How do I feel today? Unemployed.

It's been 15 hours since I walked out of the office.  I locked all the cabinets behind me.  Took my lunch from the fridge.  Packed up the great "farewell gift" I got from my team.  Clocked out at 44.5 hours on the week.  And left knowing there was a margarita in my future about 15 minutes from there.

Apparently they were tired of hearing me complain about how I didn't have one.

It was surreal leaving that place.  I got on the elevator down...knowing I'm done here.


No more events, no more long hours, no more smiling and laughing at work, no more post-work drinks with my team, no more Halloweens with them,...just no more.


The margarita at 5:30pm numbed my thought process...thank goodness...because I have a tendency to over-think things and I didn't want to deal with that now.  I had a hard enough time Thursday night.  Maybe that's why I threw myself into making sure I had the best training manual I could write up.  Writing makes me focus.  So with that I wouldn't realize the scary situation that I'm dealing with.  I've never worked at a place where it pained me so much to leave.  My inner hopes and dreams that we could possible stay in the Norfolk area, get the house, live in the San Franciscan area, and have a backyard for dogs...vanished.  We're not getting that.


We're getting a roadtrip to California.


But I have to focus on what's next.  I can't dwell in the the now.


We'll celebrate 7 years together this fall.  I'm thinking a weekend in L.A.  But who knows what Mr. Wookie has up his sleeve.  He's sneaky and crafty like that.


I'll miss it here.  Everything we've had.  It's been great, minus the dis-repaired roads.  I loved a lot of it, minus the humidity.  I feel spoiled sometimes, especially how great the day was for the Shamrock Half Marathon.  I wouldn't mind coming back, but Mommy McD better still be in Northern Virginia.


It hasn't been bad, Virginia.  I've learned a lot.  Like how to road rage like an East Coaster. :)  But you still need to learn how to recycle like a badass.

Jumpin' on those MilSpouse Friday Fill-Ins! My first!

Thank goodness for this ever-expanding web of communication where I've met more milbloggers than ever (but whose fault is it really?  Come on Ging, you've been living in a closet!  I thought I'd just ride out this Navy thing on my lone horse.  Not anymore.  There are too many great people to know!).

So here's my first week joining in on Wife of a Sailor's Friday Fill-In...she posts questions on Thursday evening, then you post your answers on Friday while adding your link to the Linky List.  Get it?

What is your spouse Wookie's best feature?

Looks: eyes.  Personality: his hot-dang sense of humor.  I've been near bladder failure many times in our relationship.  He can cheer me up even in my most foulest mood.

Mild, Medium or Hot sauce?

None.  This Ging = WEANIE!

What is the worst uniform you had to wear for a job?

Hmmmm....well I referee'd for many years, so how 'bout that zebra shirt?  So hot...right?  That's all I got, people.  Sorry!

But if you ever think of taking on a gig like that, be sure you're not overly emotional when people yell at you.  Especially the tall, bald ones.  Yes, they may look like Jeffrey Tambor, but just know you have the whistle to send their ass outta the gym.  Bitch...

You have invisible powers… where is the first place you would go?

The movies.  I hate paying $10 for a movie.

What’s left on your “to do” list for this summer?

Get a moving date from Virginia.  We're still TBD on when we get to start our trek across to California.  I don't mind waiting though.  More time to organize before the packing!

I survived the storm, but will I weather the move?

This was written just as the power was going out last night.  The storm was pretty brutal.  Over 3-5 inches of rain in my area.  This was definitely a fun one.  But here's what I didn't get to post last night.

When I first lost my job back in Oregon, back last year, I felt like my soul was crushed.  I felt like my power had been taken away.  Here I was, a military single lady making good money and showing off my skills.  But once my flag was mutilated with a “we won’t be needing you,” I deflated almost immediately.

I don’t have that same tune this time around.

I’m sitting here by the big street-side windows watching the rain fell.  Yes, I’ve had a cocktail.  But that’s because Mr. Wookie told me I should (not like it’s peer pressure or anything).  I’m just watching the rain fall.  The storm outside is something fierce.  On my drive home I hydroplaned plenty and washed out a few times.  I think my butt puckered. Twice.

Now I’m home, and the internet’s gone out.  I’m just waiting for power to fail.  I hope my dinner can finish in the oven first.  I’m looking forward to eating.  It’s a classic.  Since we’re moving oh-so-soon, I decided to pull out a casserole made by my mother.  Last December.  Yes, it’s been in the freezer this whole time.  So we’ll see if it kills me.  But if not, then I know that I can survive anything.

I used to think when it rained that God was crying.  I came upon this revelation in elementary school.  I lived in Southern Oregon then, so God only cried a few times a year.  Thank goodness I lost that piece of knowledge come college.  Because God was crying 74% of the year.  Maybe this is how some people feel that God is female.  She’s obviously hormonal and in need of heavenly chocolate.  St. Peter should be fired, since he can’t pick up the clues.

This storm reminds me of the snow storm of 2004.  Mr. Wookie and I were barely a few months together when a rampaging storm hit Northern Oregon.  We had a massive 6 inches of snow.  And thermometers were clustering near 30 degrees.  I debating slaughtering the dog next door to stay warm.  It was debilitating cold.  And we didn’t see each other for 3 days because a dog sled team couldn’t even cross the distance of ¾ of a mile.  I don’t know how we survived that time, but we did.  I think that’s when I knew I loved him.  When he decided to not risk his life to visit me.  True love I tell you.

So I’ll tell you now that Mr. Wookie’s stuck not at home.  And I don’t know when he’ll be back.  But I do know he’s in good company.  He’s stuck at the bar.  And if weather doesn’t let up, I expect he’ll stay the night.  Can’t risk his life, mind you.  We have orders to respect.  And California to move to.

And tomorrow finalizes the decision I made so-very-long-ago.  The decision to give a ROTC boy a chance.  That we would make it beyond one Spring Ball.  To graduating college together.  To him moving away for Flight School.  To joining him after so long apart.  To making a home together.  And now to moving our lives back West, and experiencing what makes the Navy the choice of a lifetime.

I’m never shy with my emotions with him.  My heart’s on my sleeve.  He knows I worry about the move.  Where will we live?  What will I do?  What will change?  I go to sleep each night just thanking my lucky stars I have such a sane counterpart.  And the solid notion that many a couples before have navigated this path.  I’m just one of the chosen ones.  This must mean I’m special.

I wonder when the short bus will be pick me up?

End note:  The casserole was delicious.  I ate half.  The other half is lunch today.  Mmmmm...

Apparently I'm that blogger who gets an award, does the little dance, but brainfarts posting about it.

In the commotion of being on vacation (I missed the blogger scene  big time), coming back to reality, announcing we're moving, and now getting into the final week of work, I've FAILED big time in posting that I received a blog award a few weeks ago.  Yay me!  Pompons and Lady Liberties!


But I'm here, a little late, and am obviously jazzed to talk about myself.  Oh wait, I blog already...so does that mean I'm narcissistic or just extra good at talking about myself?  Or both??

This fantastical award came from a specific NavyGirl of Marrying the Navy.  She's from that cheese-producing state of Wisconsin, stationed in the PacNorthwest anchor of Washington (jealous), has a creative bone bigger than my femur (double jealous).  No really, I get creative by putting a lemon in my vodka tonic...or a sword of maraschino cherries in a rum 'n coke.  She can cure cancer with her Christmas cards only.  And because I'm the mood that I'm in, I'll hawk her Etsy shop too.  (NavyGirl, you can totally thank me later).  My Etsy shop would include you coming over, us cracking open a bottle of Merlot, a jar of glitter, artificial testicles, and a Lance Armstrong ad.  If we come out without our fingers glued to wine glasses, we've succeeded.  Who's signing up?

Now the rules:  Talk about myself List 3 things I love about myself...

1.  I love that the traveling bug has official hit the Sheriff.  It was my Dad's first time to Europe, and from our conversation yesterday on my drive home, it won't be his last.  Maybe I should get that "Caution: USA Driver" magnet for him for Christmas...

2.)  I love and am thankful for JCPenney's and their suit selection that helped me survive an East Coast ultra-conservative office experience.  Without their ample array of under-$75 suits, I'd be jobless.  Okay, not really...but I definitely didn't want to pay Nordstrom's prices for something I wasn't eager to wear in the first place.  Because have you ever worn a suit?  For more than just a job interview?  I'm not a fan.  Too hot.  Too anti-Casual Friday.  I really should have studied Enviro Science and been a Park Ranger.  But you live, you learn...

3.)  I love that we're moving to California.  Sometimes I have to talk myself into this PCS while other days I'm ecstatic we're moving.  And all I want to do is play the OC theme song, "California, here we come..."

.....then pass it along to 5 people!

In no particular order, these people light up my day...or night, depending on when they hit Publish.

1.) Ashley at the Accidental Olympian.  I don't remember how I stumbled upon her blog, but I did.  We were familiar stories.  Oh, what's this???  A pink slip...I love pink. WAIT, WHAT????  And now we're BFFs.  Okay, not really.  But I'm ready to camp out on her front lawn, next to the random flower bushes that pop up so she can take me fishing.  She may think I'm joking...

2.) Mommy McD at McDaniel Family Circus. Umm, her kids are cute shit, she loves getting pedicures with me, and they own wine glasses.  What's not to love?  Besides the fact I'm moving back across the country and will only experience her children when I call and they're shrieking in the background. Like they did today.

3.) Karen at My Goal is Simple.  This girl is awesome.  Although dealing with a lovely deployment currently, she takes it out on wine.  I like people like this.  Her son is also STINKIN' adorable.  And she's a fellow fell-for-a-ROTC-boy romance.  Plus she likes to find errors in other people's writing.  Yay, I'm not alone.

Oh, and don't let me forget...Ashley at Accidental Olympian likes wine thrice.  I guess I just surround myself with good people.  And good livers.  :)

4.) JG at Me And My SoldierMan.  Another blogger who excites me whenever she posts, especially about her feelings and moods with their recent PCS, because I know I will be in that same boat very, very soon.  She loves all things Disney and she rocks short hair.  We may be driving I-40 through Oklahoma, so I'll definitely wave at your peoples.  And I wonder if she likes wine...?

5.)  I'm going to open this up to readers.  Who am I not reading?  Please, let me know.  Who busts your nuts?  Or spleen?  Who will tear my innards to pieces?  Let me know!  I'm waiting on you.  Don't disappoint me.  And yes, they have to like wine.  Or at least grape juice.

I almost cut my fingertip off last night. But don't worry. It's still there.

One moment I'm jazzed to make the jump out to the other coast.  The next minute I'm on the verge of tears because I don't know what I'm doing, we don't have a plan, and this lack-of-planning bit is making my OCD crawl onto the wall and vomit purple all over.  If you're an irrational militarily-attached chiquita, then you know what I'm talking about.  


But this weekend I was back on the boat to gettin' the heck outta here (with no looking back) after the temperature topped 105.  Umm, ya, squeeeze me...my name's not Beelzebub.  I don't live in the 9th circle of Hell.  I don't play the Devil Went Down To Georgia.  I don't go looking for souls to steal.  In fact, I'm one of those crazies that enjoys the rain.  Other people get Seasonal Depression.  I get off.


We're still in the early planning stages of this whole PCS thing, I say "thing" because I'm still learning.  But we still need to schedule packers, I need to get my shit off the floor (every since coming home from England, realize we're not staying here, my willpower to do laundry and put things away has reduced to "Doesn't give a shit."), and I need to make one last trip up to the Mommy McD household to take part in sprinkler running, fort making, and overall mayhem and foolishness with the offspring I call my "nephews."


Night at the Museum 2 didn't work last night, dammit.  Umm, Dear DVD, We didn't Netflix this because we wanted to deal with a scratched version.  I want to see my sequel.  Then text my sisters the funny quotes like we did with NATM 1.  Because we're awesome like that.  And you're totally jealous.  Okay, maybe not.  Thanks, the Ging.


But back to reality, we have a tentative route still, which is good, but our leaving date is TBD.  We don't know where we're living (and this SHOCKS people at work), but we'll find something.  We've stalked online and we know what we want.  It's just a case of You'll Know When You See It.  And I don't have any type of work lined up.  I mean, I want to enjoy my little vacation just a smidge.  Like maybe 3 weeks worth, because then I'll probably be so bored I'm willing to be a Walmart Greeter.  Please sense humor.  But at least that's 3 weeks of getting back into the running swing of things.  Hopefully.  Maybe.  We'll see.  Then maybe I'll blog about it.


For now it's 4 more days of work.  And I don't even count Wednesday, because I have 2 events to work so I'll be super busy.  Then Thursday and Friday I'm training my temp replacement until work rehires my position, so there I'll be super busy.  And we're supposed to do July Birthday celebrations (a la The Office - And yes, I'm on the Party Planning Committee), so that'll be a mini going-away shindig for me, which I think I'd rather just avoid overall.  I'm not a "Goodbye" person.  Just let me and my horse ride off into the distance while the credits roll.  Unless you're Mommy McD.  We don't do goodbyes.  We just do "Well, I'll see you in 8 months, maybe we'll plan a race to do, if not, McHusband is taking the kids and we're going off to play."


So pretty much, I'm ready for next week.  Bring on the long drives.  Bring on the Non-Stop 90's Rock on XM.  Bring on the Ging's take on road food (a cooler full of healthy snacks, like grapes, carrots, etc.).  Bring on just getting there.  I'm ready.  Just not my fingertip.

Happy Golden Birthday, Mr. Wookie!!

And how else are we spending his birthday?  Well for the moment we're still in bed.  Downing water, and for him some Ibuprofin, thanks to the birthday shots that were not in order last night.  He maintains it's all for prevention, but we'll see when he stands up though.  I'm in tip-top shape though.  Because I'm awesome.  And all Gings have the working liver of a 50-year Scotsman.

Last night started with a nice dinner at one of our favorite fancy places.  The heat index along yesterday called for cotton and a dress to allow ventilation to the legs.  What I didn't ask for was enough wind to recreate Marilyn's air grate pose.  Not cool, Mother Nature.  Dinner was delicious and so we moseyed to our bar for a beverage before heading home for the night.

And with going to "our bar" came the need stay there until Midnight.  I guess I can put off my 10pm bedtime for one night.  The lesbian band was playing (it's like a mini Lilith Fair) so I was game.  I'd like to think I'm an honorary lesbian based on the facts that I knew/loved damn near every song they played, I love Birkenstocks, short hair cuts, dogs, hiking, trying to fix my own car, and the understanding that men are not always a necessary item in life.

But back to the festivities.

Before we got our first drink, we had a shot.  And before the night was over, there was a Jameson shot in front of me.  So by "Happy Birthday Mr. Wookie" it encompasses me also.  Oh, great.  How does this make sense?  But okay, bottoms up.  And I take it like a champ.  Then 30 seconds later I feel the hair growing on my peaches.  And I think some chest hair sprouted.  Gotta love the Irish.

And of course the night was capped with the worst health decision ever.  Greasy pizza.  But I maintained that I wanted to get it to go so I could eat in my underwear.  Because I didn't want to get stains on my dress.  Because that's how cohesive I think 2 drinks in (I totally milked them because they're of the 60/40 variety, 60% vodka, and I'm glad I did with the extra shots thrown in the mix).  So with our little take-out box, we moseyed home, turned on some Coach, scrounged some pizza, then called it a night.

But nevertheless, today is his birthday.  Today Mr. Wookie turns 25.  I'll make breakfast and coffee when he finally gets vertical.  Who knows how long that'll take.  Hopefully before Noon.

So I'll just tell him how awesome he is via blog.

While our running has been suspended since the heat index has risen, I'm hoping he's on board for potentially more running in the future on the West Coast.  That and this little gem of a race is in my sights for next year.

I love him for all things macho.  Movies, steak, and guns.  Without guns, he wouldn't know how awesome of a shot I am.  But then he wouldn't feel emasculated because of my accuracy.  So I guess this one is really a double-edged sword.

I love this boy for his nerdiness.  He's capable of sitting in that chair and reading for hours.  So come the random times when we unplug from technology as a whole, we're a great match in the enjoying of books and beverages.  Because that's so a Mew-garita in his glass.

Mr. Wookie's come to love my state as much as me.  So when it comes time to get out of the Navy (whenever that may be), we know we'll call Oregon home again.  Which is great because I really do miss having someone pump my gas for me.  I don't have to get out, get my hands dirty, and it costs maybe a few cents more per gallon. This is totally worth it.

Happy Birthday to the man who truly enjoys his job.  And his butt looks great in that flight suit.

I just want to thank him for all the fun in our travels, whether for Navy business or pleasure.  Napa Valley or Disney World, Washington D.C. or New Orleans, it's been fun and I'm excited for this next road trip.  Not the short amount of time we get to experience, but the notion that we're going back to a coast where we better fit in. 

And your friends kill me.  Especially their sparkly gold Vespa helmets.

You have great taste in beer and I can't wait until our home brewing can start back up.  It's a great hobby for you so let's see where it takes us.

So Happy Birthday to you!  You're a champion for putting up with my signing-up-for-random-race antics.  I promise there will be more of that in California.  Because there's no humidity there.  And no humidity = non-bitching Ging.  And a non-bitching Ging is a happy Ging.  And happy Gings come from California.

In honor of Mr. Wookie's Birthday Weekend, here's a list of things I want come California...

Totally fair, right?  It's his birthday weekend, but I'm totally holding this blog captive to everything I want in our new place (not necessarily that comes with our new place - wherever it is that we end up).

With the amount of red wine we enjoy, it's time for a decanter.  In fact, I've pigeon-holed a gift card to Crate and Barrel just for this purchase.  Mine, mine, mine!

It's been since 2005 since Mr. Wookie's had new pillows and duvet set.  I should know, I got them for him.  For his birthday then.  The pillows are now dead and the duvet set has seen it's fair share of washings.  I just don't know which is more eco-friendly (the goose feathers, since the darn thing is already dead - or - the down alternative, since I'm not sure which was the first thought in killing the goose [feathers or meat]).  I obviously have more research to do.  And no, I don't intend to have an all-white "Welcome to the Hilton Garden Inn" look.  It's just the best picture I could find, fyi.

Ever since I saw Middle Sister's kitchen with a knife magnet, I've been dying for one.  And it's been like 3 years, so it's about time.

Not to judge us, but we sooo don't have a dining room table.  In fact, we don't even have a dining room.  We're those classy people who pay the higher rent for a Downtown loft then eat their dinner while holding their plate over their lap.  Well, I actually jam the plate between my knees and collar bones.  It just hovers there during my severe ab workout so my plate doesn't fall in my lap.  If only we had one of those tables where we each get to sit at one end and not talk during dinner (like above).

It's my time to step up and rescue a pet.  Here I haven't had the space nor did we have the permission.  Our turtles are our secret.  Shhhh...  Our next place in California will be pet-friendly.  And I hope to be able to find a forever home for a much-needed feline.  Scratch that, no hope.  I know I WILL find a little guy or gal, who maybe has a brother or sister that I just CAN'T leave behind, that will love to be apart of our family.  Just as long as they're short-haired so Mr. Wookie's allergies don't kill him. :)

If you've followed the blog for awhile, you know I didn't have a dresser after I got here.  And I still don't.  I Craiglist'd for a bit but never found anything that someone wanted to not rape my wallet for.  But thankfully with moving back to the West Coast, I'm able to pilfer the 5-piece set I inherited from my grandparents.  And with a little love and attention (i.e. paint and update them), I'll be able to move out of those ugly-ass plastic drawers a la Walmart.  Yes, I know!

But I'll wrap this up now because this list is long.  And I have to get ready for his Birthday Dinner.  Because fabulous takes awhile.  Especially while I'm still lounging, with my hair in a turbin, bumbling around on Facebook, talking to Mommy McD about our last weekend together for awhile (Mommy McD, I'm thinking of flying back to visit you -slash- for the North Face Marathon Relay in June next year, thoughts?).

Anyone other bloggers down for joining in on the fun??

So remember that time I went to the UK??

Oh ya, so long ago, right?  OH, it was only a week ago that you were getting back?  Yes, yes it was.  And it was great.  In fact, I could have kept going another 2 weeks I like Scotland that much.  If only I could have found a laundromat because by the day we flew out, all clean clothes were dirty.  How's that for efficient?  Some people didn't fair as well.

So here's my screen after I've boarded my big ass plane in DC for across the Pond.  After my failed attempt at sleep on my last red eye flight, this one is making me equally nervous.  Who likes to sleep sitting up?  Minus narcoleptics?  That and the pilot was on such a kick that we got in an hour early...oh ya, this guy didn't know that I still had a few hours to wait until the rest of my family arrived from their coast.  Thanks ass clown.

But with the help of my travel pillow, my Cincinatti Bengals blanket, and my Half Marathon finisher shirt, I cozied up the best I could in "Economy Plus."  Because those extra 6-8 inches could help world peace.  At least with the tall tribes.  Unfortunately the guy next to me (an engineer from UVA, engineer = not a conversant) watched movies the whole trip.  Yay peace and quiet.  For a little bit.  Until one ass cheek goes numb then it's time to switch sides.

Dinner was impressive as I actually got a salad with dinner.  Yay, kinda healthy!

And some very tasty Balsamic dressing.  I actually would buy this in the store it was so good.  Oh, "Dear United, please send me the purchasing info!"

 But let's talk about Customs, shall we?  Oh, yes!  First off, Customs was a BREEZE in Heathrow.  Maybe this is due to the fact that we were practically the first international flight in for the day.  First flight = no lines. 12 minutes and I was outta there!  Oh, but it gets better.  So on my customs card I failed to write down where we were staying the first night, because I didn't know.  Oh, I'll just leave it blank.  They totally won't care.  Okay, to be honest, I didn't know what we were doing.  The Sheriff had planned the whole trip.  My job was to just show up.

Customs Official: "So I see that you haven't written down your address for this evening.  Where will you be staying?"

Me: "I don't know."

Customs: "Okay, are you staying with family."

Me: "Oh, yes!"

Customs: "Oh, okay, so your family lives here."

Me: "Oh, no.  They're flying in from California."

Customs: "Okay, so are you staying in a hotel in London?"

Me: "Umm, I actually don't know.  My dad planned everything, I'm just showing up."

Cue panic.  OMG, what if they think I'm some Gingy terrorist who's wanting to blow up all midget stores?  Or what if they think I'm a stripper by the name of Glitter wanting to upstage Dita Von Teese?  I've heard about these stories!  They're going to lock me in quarantine until my family gets here then interrogate us like Slavic nationals!

But I think they guy felt pity for me.  Poor Ging, her genes are totally being wiped out by stronger genetics.  Give her kind like 30 years before their extinct.  That'll teach them to travel to England without proper customs cards!

So I was finally granted freedom to enter their great country.  And by that I mean I still had to wait another 3-4 hours for the rest of the family to show up before our entourage was complete.  I could have ventured out then.  I could have gone shopping in the airport.  I could have indulged in a breakfast scone and cup of coffee while waiting for them.  Instead I just sat there.  So freakin' tired my eye balls were practically falling outta their sockets.  Red eyes are the devil.  I'd read some of my book, then head-bob so hard I had the opposite of whiplash.  And this lasted and lasted and lasted.  Then finally when I was about to impale myself on a coffee stir stick, the family finally graced their way through the arrivals gate.  Finally...I need a drink.

From the airport, we took the shuttle to the rental car company to pick up our ride.  It was a minivan.  But not an American minivan.  A Euro minivan!  It was sooo freakin' cute.  I could totally rock one.  In my 30's.  After I have kids and decide that I'm not longer capable of rockin' my little blue Asian-mobile.

Picture stolen from Middle Sister's Facebook

 Watch out: Tuning forks ahead.

And NO BOOMERANGS!

But we made it from the airport to our hotel without any serious injuries resulting from driving on the other side of the road.  Those first 30 minutes were hairy though.  I won't lie.  Although I was sitting bitch in the backseat.  So I would have survived any accident. :)

But as you know us, you know a beverage is in order to help regulate the senses and reduce tension, stress, and jet lag.  I've done my research.  Trust me.

And should you not be able to read the fine print, this is a bottle of Crater Lake's finest vodka.  Yes, Oregon's Crater Lake.  The national park.  The national wonder.  Now, the national distillery.  Hey, don't judge.  Just because we like to support our local economy. ;)

Middle Sister was all for a drink, however made the quick pass back to the Sheriff when it was determined that there was just way too much vodka in it.  Weak sauce.

Apparently this drink was much more her liking.

But after a relaxing beverage, we were all feeling the need to shove food down the hatch.

With dinner we enjoyed this fine English brew known as Tetley's with my garbanzo bean and sweet potato burger.  The burger was okay, the "crisps" were delicious, but the beer was awesome.  And with that we walked back to the hotel and crashed.  Hard.  My parents fell asleep with the TV blaring, shoes still on, and on top of the covers.  I had at least gotten outta the shower, put on PJ's, had my hair in a turbin, before I crashed for the night.  We all woke up around 9am wondering what the hell just happened.  Jet lag is a bitch.

So after we found breakfast for the morning and got ourselves moving, we packed up and headed out.  Nomadic style.  The first few days were one-sleep stays.  Just enough to unpack your bathroom container then throw everything back in.

Next Stop: That Pile O' Rocks (Stonehenge)!