I apologize for this interruption in what should be debauchery.

Dear Navy...


...Provider of Paycheck, BAH (housing fund), Uniform Inspections, and the Undying Need for a Heavy Liquor Stash,


Thanks (sincerely this time) for the advance warning in Mr. Wookie's schedule (say it Britishly...."shed-ual").  Good thing we've been slacking in the must-purchase-tickets-for-the-Pacific-Northwest movement [we've got a wedding to attend, then there's that "birth of our Lord" celebration that'll be spent with family this year as opposed to shoddy webcam images (yes!)], because we'd be S.O.L. for half of that travel.


Now, Mr. Wookie will be heading for Oregon from an entirely different location.  He found out shortly ago.  And will commence in a slightly longer duration (love that OpSec for obscurity).  And our forces will reunite like the Captain Planet team, minus the gawdy rings and spandexy uniforms.  And no camel toe.  So for now this leaves me traveling on my own for the first half.


And the questions remains.  Do I dare imbibe on the flight for fear of turning all loosy, goosy and wanting to curl up next to the person in the seat beside me because I'm reverting to the one time I got drunk entertained on a flight????  As much as I'm always in search of a trust fund, I'm not sure flying coach will land that big ticket.  Something just screams "Cheeeaaaap" about not even upgrading to Business.  Obviously, since I'm there.  It is cheap.  Minus my willing to fork over $8 for a paltry beer at the bar across from my gate.  But enough of judging myself.


The good thing.  At least there'll be an In 'N Out near him.  So at least civilization is respectable.  We're just not sure if the locals maintain a full set of teeth to chew said In 'N Out.


So here's to releasing the reigns and letting Mr. Wookie handle the new logistics for this holiday season.  I just get to sit here and bite my nails hoping ticket prices don't soar like Robert Downey, Jr. in the 90's.  Shit.  I don't have any nails.  I've bit them off long ago when we first drove across country.  Then when we got here.  Then when I started job hunting.  Then when Christmas plans were first materializing.


Maybe I should put that on my list.  You know, that nail polish that tastes like ass and is supposed to deter you from chewing off half your fingers.  Well, maybe they make one that tastes like tequila.  Because that'd do the same.  Well, until I starting dipping my fingers in lime juice.  I might just end up with nubs anyways.