Mrs. Wookie, your padded room is ready now: The story of a Ging and the Navy.

Less than 12 hours later, my life has changed.  Again.  Oh, yay me.  But I can't complain too much.  California, California, California.  For those who guessed that the lovely plan I executed via blog this morning, that life would take those lemons and throw one on the ground was right.  That lemon that was dropped was my financial lemon.  Let me explain...

Before, this morning, I said I wanted to do a cross-country roadtrip to see wonders of our world that only the trooping kind could survive.  Well, as of today, oh-sometime-this-late-morning, that won't be happening.  Because it turns out that doing a separate jaunt across this vast countryside will cost me some hefty coin.  Nearly the price of shipping my freakin' car across (like I did last year here).  I don't wanna do that again.  It's super convenient, but it's like raping my wallet.  And my wallet likes lube, soft music, a candlelight dinner, and froyo.  I especially don't like forking over that fundage when the horizon of job hunting in California has me spooked.  I just don't know if I'll be as successful as I was out here.  Because scoring the gig I did in 5 weeks is pretty ridonculous.  The Unemployment Gods were definitely on my side.  Or they pity the Ging.

Anyways, back to the money issue.  I have this great saving accounts, with a nice pretty number in it, and a certain quantity I'd like to use to get my ass across to the side of the world I belong.  I still agree that it's weird facing the Atlantic Ocean.  I keep wanting to say, "I'm facing the wrong way!"  That and the water is way too warm - it should be illegal...it's so good. :)  From my experience, hippies belong out West.

So this morning I was crunching out the numbers of how much it would run me to take an independent joyride across the States in order to play in the Land of the Oregon Hippies.  And holy shit...the number shock.  I. don't. wanna. pay. that.  By not joining Mr. Wookie on his goverment-funded escapade to California (recall I was going to meet him in California after the Navy owned him for a bit and after he found a place), I'm using my own money...not Uncle Sam's.  Well....I'd rather use Uncle Sam's....than mine.  No offense to anyone.  Y'all understand.  At least, you should.  So the new plan = suck it up and screech across with Mr. Wookie.  When it's time for his baptism, I can be halfway to Oregon with the prospect of home-cooked food on the horizon...after a 12 hour drive.

Obviously this lovely plan will foil and be changed a handful of times.  Because this is how it goes.  But it'll be good.  At least the end result will be good.  There'll be an ocean, the close proximity to authentic Mexican food, the rumor of a 2-story Target, Mr. Wookie's promise of taking me to Safeway in Malibu to celebrity stalk, the potential of Santa Barbara Half Marathons, and weekend trips to Las Vegas.  Just so you know.