How the Navy enables my OCD habits.

Who's up for secrets?  Well, I am, obviously, since Monday.  But I'll let you in on another secret.  I'm a planner to the Nth degree.  Considering I'm in events, people should know how this sort of sick, sadistic OCD behavior works.  So when you add the Navy to my life, well I go into overdrive.

After learning that July would be my last working month until who knows (thank you email from Mr. Wookie while I'm OUT OF THE COUNTRY), my brain has gone into overdrive trying to plan out what I'm taking with me, how the turtles will suffice with the trip across (we are not those assholes who give up pets just because we're moving - but that's a soapbox stand for another time), what route we'll take, will Mr. Wookie and I be able to caravan together?, how much will this run me?, will I still be able to indulge in Denver breweries?, and when am I leaving?

Well any plan I had quickly flew out the window Monday as Mr. Wookie came home with different news.  His new people in California wanted him ASAP because of some projects in the very near future that they wanted to baptize him a la fire.  Like screaming across the country with smoking wheels ASAP.  No, No, No, NO, NO, NO.  I don't like this plan.  Dear Navy, my way was just fine, thank you.  Why do you have to fuck with my shit?

Well fucking with my shit they did.

So as of last night...there's a new plan.  And this plan may actually stick.  Oh, and just how OCD I get with all this.  After learning about the new plan, I completely rearrange my plan for getting across.  It's like chess in my mind, except I need severe therapy.  Maybe this is why my liver is so exceptional at its job.  Because I have to deal with mini nightmares in my head.  If it were up to me, the next 2 years would be planned out.  I know where I want to vacation.  I know where I want to be for holidays.  Just let me do my OCD thing, Navy, and I won't piss on your parade too much.  You'd still get Mr. Wookie for work-ups, deployments, and surge tours.

Mr. Wookie will need to be in California in matter of weeks.  He'll meet up with his new people and be baptized a la fire.  And life will begin for us then.  Kinda.

But there's me, which is who you really care about since you're here reading MY blog.

I'm soooo not on that timeline of Mr. Wookie.  See, this blogger....doesn't want to couch hop while finding a place to live in Ventura.  With just Mr. Wookie, he can easily spend the night with some male buddies while seeking the Casa o' Wookious out.  When you add a female to the mix, it just gets stupid.  Because as hard as you try, bachelors just don't see the need in...lots of things.  An undiseased-ridden apartment for starters.  And I completely trust Mr. Wookie's secret-inner-gay-diva behavior.  He picked out the place we're in now (which then we didn't know I'd be losing my job/moving out East with him), and it's faaaaabulous.  And yes, he knows he's a closeted gay as much as the next Clay Aiken fan.  So minus a few pictures that I'll expect to see from him during his search, he knows what we're looking for ultimately.

So I'm driving back to Oregon for a short stint of family, mountains, maybe some fishing, definitely some hiking, seeing old friends, maybe meeting up with some new blogger-turned-stalker friends, and collecting the last of my storage unit (hello blender!) before I officially break my possessions from my hometown.  This'll take...as long as it needs to.  Because it's been over a year since my boots have graced a mountain trail head and I'm dying to reconnect with nature.  This hippie was meant for nature.  And a Subaru.  And a yurt.  And polypropylene grocery bags.  Too much?  Suck it up.

But what do I know.  This could all change again tonight.  Wouldn't surprise me.  I'm used to this.  And Mr. Wookie is used to my irrational re-planning of our lives because the Navy likes to throw wrenches in my perfect world.  I live for this.  I definitely wasn't meant to live in one town for 20 years.  Mr. Wookie = severely nomadic. His longest stint was college.  And that was 4 years.  But it was a good 4 years.  He met me.  Then his mama met me.  And after I was baptized a la fire from her, I was golden.  Otherwise this blog may revolve around my stripping career in Vegas under the code name Glitter.  Oh wait, no, that's a failed Mariah Carey movie.  Can't have that.  I'll think of another stage name later.  Fail.