So I'll let you in on a secret. A big secret. I gave my 2-weeks notice today.

Yes, I did.  Yes, this is the same girl who cried boohoo when a downward economy in a faltering part of Oregon left me with not a job in the future and a boyfriend who'd just relocated from Pensacola to Norfolk.

I've said it before, I'll say it a million times again.  Moving out East was a great decision.  I went from sulky psuedo-single Ging to independent, financially-rockin' Ging.  Not only did I end the long ass year-and-a-half in long distance between Mr. Wookie and I.  But I scored a great job where I cackle at work almost every day.  And I say "cackle" because them bitches I work with are supa funny.  Yes, I went to the Hood right there.

But I'll say that turning in my notice was a nerve-wracking experience.  I barely slept last night.  I barely ate my Cheerios this morning (okay, that's a total lie).  Lunch was hard to force down as the butterflies in my stomach were evicting any sort of nutrition I was trying to establish.  I typed up my resignation letter after eating a few roasted veggies and brown rice, because I don't have a printer at home to use.  I intended to type it up this morning, but I got lazy.  So after that I went down to my boss' office, sat down, then just blurted out, "So I'm moving to California."  And doe eyes formed.  And now you know.  In the shortest form possible.

Oh, but you want details???

Well we're moving.  Oh, you got that already?  Okay, well we move the first week of August.  Ish.  Our timeline is incredibly unknown at the moment.  As anyone affiliated with the military may know.  That and we may not even be traveling in the same caravan as recent developments may have Mr. Wookie racing across the country.  So we'll see.  But we don't really have a firm clue at anything, only that we're moving.  Yay us.

Where are we going?

As I mentioned before: California.  Cali.  SoCal.  Not NorCal.  The sunshine state.  Oh wait, that's Florida.  Okay, the lacking-in-water-defying-Prop-8 state.  The Governator State.  Oh, you want more details??  Okay, it's this little town called Ventura, California.  You may have heard of the town just South called Malibu, California.  Well they're pretty much cousins.  But enough of cousins to where you get pregnant and it's all deformed and shit.

And who can you thank?

Well, that's an obvious answer.  The Navy.  Thank you, Navy.  Even though it's not Washington.  Or Oregon.  Or Alaska.  Or Scotland.  It's a superb destination for us.  And we're excited.  Okay, I'm super excited.

So will this blog become a celebrity stalking website with Malibu being so close and Mrs. Wookie being oh-so-nosey?

I dunno.  Guess we'll wait to see about that one.  Hope so.  If not, expect to hear from TMZ about a rabid Ging running around Malibu throwing panties at Fox Mulder David Duchovny while filming Californication.  I wonder if underwear can be considered a weapon?

So the details we need to work out?  Oh just...when are we leaving?  What route are we taking?  How long will it take to find housing?  How long will it take us to visit Santa Barbara for wine tasting?  How soon will it take to see the Prehistoric Lifeform of Pam Anderson on the Malibu Beach?  And how long will it take me to adopt a cat?

Who knows.  Details shmetails.  All I need to know is Viva California!