Sunday, January 31
First I thought Nashville during Christmas of 2008 was balls cold. It was 26 degrees. Then I hit 23 degrees with Mommy McD this New Years Eve weekend. And my ovaries protested.
But before you ask, "Can it get any colder?" It can. And I'll be inside with my jammers on, book in hand, and probably hot chocolate on my nightstand. Because I like my internal organs not freezing, picketing, protesting, or hitching a ride to Florida. That's why.
While it's only 6 inches that's covering Downtown after Saturday's continued snowfall, the fact that everything's closed and the wind is beyond cold is enough to keep Wookie & Co. indoors.
We did venture out yesterday. To take in the sights around the neighborhood.
And we ventured along the water, which wasn't that windy (to our surprise). But we did have to cross a wooden bridge to get back to the street. "Hopefully this thing isn't rotted through. I mean, I'll survive, but you probably won't." Thanks Wook.
Now here is where it gets windy, when we're on the streets of Downtown Norfolk. Obviously, I'm barely surviving with a hat on, my hoodie, and the top of my jacket. Brrrrrrr!! I don't know if I could survive in a Bostonian climate. That may be a bit extreme for me.
When you get near the buildings is where the wind whips the most. It was like getting pelted with needles in the face. Not a happy Mrs. Wookie. Then outside the Union Mission (Men's shelter), 2 bums were fighting. While I told Wook to take a picture of it, he suggested we cross the street to avoiding dealing with them. Sold.
So now that we confirmed yesterday that it's miserable outside, I was so bored that I caught up on my housework. Dishes done. AND unloaded. Laundry bin empty, minus a half-load of reds (but I'll save the water and wash them when I have a full load). Emily Post biography over halfway read. Body washed and hair dried. And the "Wookie & Co. Pregnancy Questionnaire" emailed to the S.I.L. Amber. Only thing left is to make dinner. But I think I'll let Mr. Wookie handle that. He needs a break from studying. Aren't I a nice roommate?
Saturday, January 30
Screw the posts that I had intended for this weekend. Screw the plan I had. Screw everything. Because we actually got snow last night. I don't know how, but the little mecca of my world, which is on the water, and ZERO feet above sea-level on the Eastern Seaboard got the white powder world of Boston/Alaska/Chicago/DC, etc. Okay, maybe not that extreme, but holy shit...
It started to flake just past 2am. I was just home from a Girls Night Out while Mr. Wookie had spent 12 hours barhopping. No, not a typo. 12 HOURS. Champion, I tell you.
While I was tired because it was late, and had adequately fed the guys who were clamoring for drunk food, I PJ'd up and hit the sack.
Mr. Wookie went out for pictures. So I've at least warned you of his sobriety level during his 2-hour trek last night around Downtown Norfolk.
So this is a side street off our building. Not much to be seen. Just the snow accumulating in the trenches, because the wind Downtown can be an uber bitch. A lot.
During their trek, our friend Scott (to some, "Mr. Appetizer" - the man can't eat a meal without an appetizer) works on his America's Next Top Model look.
And Mr. Wookie smiles despite the blistering cold that it was being out last night and on the Waterside. One wrong move...
I don't know how long it took for Mr. Wookie to realize I had my camera on "night shots" (it's a super long exposure so night shots aren't as dark) because when someone's getting frisked/arrested/escorted to the patrol car across the street from my Girls Night Out, you take pictures. But that event is obviously beaten by SNOW!
Starting to have some snow stick to these streets. Not too shabby. This is about as much as Medford, Oregon, would get. I think I had 2 snow days in school. Ever. Lame.
And like any law-abiding citizen, the prerequisite standing-in-the-middle-of-the-road-for-a-shot-of-the-stupid-people-who-haven't-made-it-home-yet photo. That's my boy.
Fast forward 5 hours of sleep for this blogger who woke up thinking it was much later. Makes sense. Snow is white. White is reflective. I thought more morning had passed.
But like any good child, I put on my 40-degree running tights, my snow boots, a sweatshirt, and puffer vest, just to step out the doorway and snap some shots.
Yes, I'm the Queen of Doorstep Shots. Who wants to ruin the snow? Not me. I'm a purist also. See, you guys are learning a lot this week.
So, here's to not going to the gun range. Or out to frozen yogurt.
Friday, January 29
Let's take a look at the Weather.com Weekend Forecast for this neck of the world.
But until I see that white shit stick to the ground and accumulate, I don't believe it.
Edited to add: It's 2:00am. Still no snow. But there are frost-bitten toes and fingers on the way home from the bar this evening. 19 degrees is a bitch. And pajamas it is.
Wednesday, January 27
It's been a long day at work at World Headquarters, the Sheriff needs to start winding his day down. And how does he do that? A healthy glass of Zin from Trader Joe's.
And some quality time with his ol' friend Ben Bailey of Cash Cab. I sure do miss this.
Tuesday, January 26
Today and tomorrow are very busy, stressful, long days at work. I'll be coming home from work tired, dying to just get my miles or cross-training out of the way, hoping my roommate has dinner made, so I can crash before 10pm just to start it again on Wednesday.
So if I'm able to post during this time, it'll be amazing.
If I don't, please have a tasty adult beverage in my honor.
And think of mental footrub for my poor feet which will most likely end the day by breaking off, grabbing signs, and picketing outside my closet.
But for now I'll enjoy my coffee in the quiet before the storm.
See you on the other side. Hopefully. If not, it's been swell. I just hope that people have the courtesy of burying me with Beaver Gear. And a vodka tonic in a sippy cup. With a headstone that says, "Here Lies Ging." Amen.
Monday, January 25
Middle Sister's new favorite drink. And the crowd goes wild. Okay, maybe just me.
But seriously, an honor. Truly, an honor. I've lit the way. I've established the path. I've Yoda'd to her Skywalker. And the torch has been passed. Continue on, oh noble Middle Sister. You're on the path of excellence. And it will only get better. Rock on.
I feel jipped. I feel screwed. I feel like I deserve a whole weekend in which to regain my sanity, finish my laundry, and stretch out my calves that are decidedly tighter after my long day run.
Friday afternoon started like this...
I almost left my phone on the back of my car. Great, right? Nothing would piss me off more than donating my wonderful Orange and Black phone to some punk-ass bitch who's failing out of Community College.
And this was at 3:00pm on Friday. Yes, I was out of work at 2:34pm. But there was a catch. I had to work Saturday morning: 7:30 - 9:30am. That's okay. I don't mind sacrificing a Friday afternoon not at work to be in for 2 hours on Saturday.
So this is where I was promptly after coming home. Hello gorgeous! Miss me?!?
Saturday night was a return to the college days. No really. I went to a house party. Like a full on gaggles-of-people-in-the-hottub, beerpong-in-the-front-room, drinking-Jenga-game-near-the-sofas. The only thing missing were Greek letters. And the cops raiding. But there was the old man who dropped by without warning. Apparently the neighbors there are very friendly.
And Sunday was spent channeling my inner-Sarah Palin. Where Russia go? We went to the gun range. Talk about lame. No, not the part about dispelling ammo like I'm Ah-nold tracking the Predator. I'm talking about having to pay to use someone's basement to blow shit up. Umm, where I come from, we drive out to the mountains. My targets are usually Spongebob posters. And there's fresh air, trees, and the one-time Sheriff dropping by to check out our cache.
And now it's raining something fierce. I just got a warning from Weather.com about this crazy systems that pouring along the coast. It's the perfect day to stay in, curled up in my chair, reading my Emily Post biography. Agree? Oh, rain, I've missed you. It's only been 3 days. But you seriously make my day. Is it so wrong to feel like I'm back in the greatest College Town, Oregon ever? Minus I can't skip work like I skipped class. Not that I ever skipped class. No, not me, honor student here. Promise.
Sunday, January 24
Put away the crash cart, I'm alive. I've dreamt about my bloggings for the past few days, but life prevented me from venting my frustrations, admirations, and "Wtf?" moments. I apologize.
I have in the pipeline posts about...
- My MLK weekend of Dude-Fest 2010.
- Working my first Saturday morning.
- A housewarming party gone insane.
- And the future of Wookie and Co. homebrews.
But until then, it's past my bedtime and I have to work tomorrow. My top priority: liquor inventory. My life is rough. Real rough. Good night folks!
Wednesday, January 20
Don't do it. Motivation will be lackluster. Topics, scattered. Readers, confused. Storyline, non-existent. And it'll barely be 9pm. So there you have it, folks.
But to justify my mid-week boozification, I just got back from dinner with Mr. Wookie and a friend. A delicious dinner. I had the duck. Delish. They had the Kobe beef steaks. Astoundingly delicious. And the vodka tonics weren't half bad either. You know they have a great vodka when you can drink it on the rocks and swear it's water. Maybe that's where I went wrong. Or right.
Anyways, to rectify my Sainthood, I'm home while the boys have continued on. Yes, I was walked home. And yes, I'll be throwing my cotton pajama pants on soon and calling it a night. And yes, I hope I'm not woken up by the sound of a movie at 2am, because Mr. Wookie is intoxicated and desiring bloodshed.
Tuesday, January 19
Coworker, mumbling: "So why do you eat healthy?"
Ging: "Why do I eat healthy or how do I eat healthy?"
Ging: "I don't know, I guess I've just grown up like this."
Coworker: "Oh, so your parents eat healthy?"
Ging: "Yea...(getting really excited)...my dad used to make granola, and you can add flax seed or nuts or wheat germ."
Coworker, completely uninterested in making granola: "Ohhhhh..."
Monday, January 18
What's in store for Wookie & Co. for the coming year? Let's see....
The family can't wait to welcome the first grandbaby/niec-phew to the hysteria that makes up our world. Boy or girl, 10 fingers or 11 (just kidding)...as long as it develops a great sense of humor, it won't be banished to living on an island in exile. Just remember, kid, postcards from your Aunt are priceless.
Baby Sister is one year closer to the getting-caught-drinking-but-it's-okay-'cuz-your-legal age. This worries me while makes me proud. If we go out in Medford, should I be responsible and make sure we get home safely? Or should I have fun with Baby Sister and then call our parents for a ride home? I'm thinking Plan B.
Middle Sister dons that ugly, tent-like gown that makes Commencement "official." But seriously, another Beaver Grad to the family just makes us look good. And I look forward to another trip to Awesome College Town, those still in there, and my favorite building in college: McMenamin's Hall.
While I definitely look forward to jumping the Atlantic for a little "'Ello Govna," the 4th of July just won't be the same. Hopefully I can find some ex-pats to grab a pint with while indulging in some fish and chips. And maybe some biscuits. Happy Birthday America, from the Land of Those Who Got Their Asses Handed Back To Them.
Another year older? Really? Why? I don't see the need in this at all. It should really stop. 24 years is great. End scene. I don't want to hit 27. Then it's just 3 years till 30. And while 30 means NYC with Mommy McD, which sounds great, wrinkles and old age are not in my Top 10 list of things I want to happen. What is? Awesomeness. I know, how awesome is that?
After 2 years away for the holidays, I'm coming back home baby. It's in everybody's interest, really. Middle Sister can make some awesome scones. Baby Sister throws down a killer pie. And I can make a deadly mimosa. Round that out with the Sheriff making 2 pans of Monkey Bread, and Mama Ging never having her gifts wrapped until Christmas Eve when she has to implement a Nike Sweat Shop of her daughters to get everything done...home is where the heart is, where it makes me happiest, and where I can be myself. Because I'm the Ging, that's why.
Friday, January 15
There are times in this modern age where technology can be taken a bit too far. No, I don't need you to tweet while you're 9cm dilated, or twitpic getting that mole on your ass checked out, or a Facebook update that you're still hungover. (Okay, well maybe that third one is allowed, but that's only 'cuz it's funny - you, drunk, you.)
I'm debating whether or not to bring the laptop this weekend. To blog...or not to blog...blog...not to blog...?
But...I'm on vacation...technically...but the blog is a constant form of information/entertainment...but I'm on vacation...and will I actually have time to dedicate to you, my faithful readers, while I dole out aspirin and gatorade like it's Jonestown?
Not to mention I'm not even packed yet, and we leave tonight.
And I call myself a planner. Well, packing planner is obviously not my calling.
But enough of the chit chat. Work calls. And so does coffee. But coffee first.
Thursday, January 14
Translation: Thank god it's almost Friday, but I still need to pack!
Like I said before, once this blogger peaces out from work tomorrow afternoon, she's headed outta town towards a "Sunriver-esque" type location. But don't think awesome, high in elevation, and in Oregon. Think measly, 3,500 ft in elevation total, and still on the Wrong Coast.
But it's 3 days away from responsibility with a gang of rowdy boys.
Yes, I'll most likely be Mama Bear-ing it up while the rest are down for the count with hangovers/dehydration/other issues. Just pray for zero broken bones. Sprains I can do. Compound fractures, I do not. Besides, compounds will require me to waste my previous vodka on sterilizing your damn wound. Waste. Of. Sustenance.
And like someone who's way too prepared for life, Mr. Wookie is forcing me away from the blog so I can pack before we crash tonight. And like those who know me, Mrs. Wookie packs best when under pressure. Just hope I bring underwear. Because it's too cold to not.
Let's just hope this damn cabin has wifi. Otherwise, HELP ME! I won't survive!
But first off, I'm still kinda butt hurt about how people don't answer my calls. Yes, Ginganoia is a real and documented medical condition (see comments from previous posts) - but seriously, it's way less intense than say BEING A GING...so suck it up, people!
Anyways...it's Thursday!! One more day until Friday! Yes!
And Mr. Wookie has made coffee this morning, so I get to indulge in some delicious java before braving the elemental cold that continues to lurk on the Eastern Seaboard. Seriously, I'm over this shit. It's balls cold here. No, I take that back, it's ovaries cold here. Balls can't survive. Neither can my innards. I've never been so cold ever than when I ran home from the bar, yes, slightly impaired, and it was still cold enough to slap my alcohol-induced desensitization. Then we Weather.com'd it, and it was "26 with a wind chill of 14." Check please.
Wednesday, January 13
Boo to you. Mama Ging, the Sheriff, and Mr. Wookie all missed at least one of my calls today on my drive home from work. Since when did an embargo go out against my calls? Seriously.
So instead, I'm having a glass of leftover Zinfandel. How do you like me now?
Monday, January 11
Officially sliding over the age of 3o, Brother's ponying up for the downhill slide to 40. Hopefully not before giving it a good kick in the ass. We don't age without a fight. And a little bit of lying, also. Of course.
So let's uncover 31 fun facts about Brother. You know you're game. Even if you're not. Suck it up. I'm not asking for a kidney donation. It's just my family, that's all.
- Brother taught me to always implement a "Finder's Fee" when buying underage college students alcohol. Always give credit to your services, I agree.
- He used to get chased around elementary school because the girls loooooved to rub his "high top" haircut. Oh, the 90's.
- Even though it took 6 years, the man still graduated from Oregon State University. Go Beavs!
- He's got less than a month until "Daddy" becomes a part of his life. The little niec-phew is due February 10th - and the family's excited!
- He taught me that there's nothing like relief of the Spins like the cold bathroom floor.
- Brother used to use a large plastic trash can as a laundry hamper - perhaps he still does - we may have to check with the wife. ;)
- His first car was a Volkswagen Rabbit - and it was a P.O.S. that left him stranded on I-5 numerous times.
- He was born in 1979 and graduated high school in 1997 - weird.
- I barely made it back for his wedding, as I was traveling the country on my post-college "I'm so burned out right now" phase.
- The only time I've ever seen green poop was by his friend, Travis Harvel.
- We're less than 2 inches apart in height. He feels very jipped.
- In 2009, Brother & Wife become homeowners!
- If you ever ride in Brother's Jetta, you'll swear it smells like crayons. Because it does!
- The video game F.E.A.R. nearly made him poop his pants - swear!
- He lives approximately 5 miles away from the Sheriff and Mama Ging.
- Brother was the pioneer in the family in working on a wildland handcrew to help support the funding for college. Second in line, this blogger.
- He got his first shoulder-mounted black bear last year.
- My gift to Brother & Wife for their wedding was ceremony programs. Because I have an English degree, and I thought the wedding needed programs. Well, I liked them. That's all that counts, right?
- While he's not exactly Asian, he gives a killer foot rub. Oh uh, cat's outta the bag. Pregnant wife at home. Sorry, Brother!
- The punk once charged me $20 to borrow his CD player for a week - what I used to do to listen to a new Mariah Carey CD.
- I used to beat him at leg wrestling (you know, where your backs are to the armrests on the couch, and you try to push your legs out against the other person). He'll probably claim he let me win. I know, it's because I'm awesome.
- Oh ya, how could I forget this one? Brother is a Youth Pastor/Children's Minister, and is quite good at it. He makes the boys do push-ups when they're unruly. Sounds about right.
- His Christmas/birthday list comprised of everything hunting, as the man's an avid outdoorsman.
- I still believe he owes me a fishing trip since we never got around to it after I returned to Oregon.
- He and Wife believe the niec-phew is a boy. I have no hunch. I just feel it'll come early. Gender has yet to come to me in a vision quest.
- Brother is the only male offspring from my parents. The rest of the family is comprised of this blogger, Middle Sister, and Baby Sister. So no pressure on making sure you're family name goes on, right?
- For Christmas, I got Brother & Wife 2 years of the Parents magazine since they're adding to their brood (and infants do not come with Owner's Manuals).
- And he almost always borrows the Sheriff's Birkenstocks for the Christmas-time play, as he deems them periodically accurate. And might I add, comfy!
- When he ran for President of his elementary school, I helped put up his signs around the school. And when I say helped, I mean that I was too weak to rip the duct tape so I just carried the signs around until I was needed.
- I got my first email address in junior high just so I could email him while he was away at college in Portland. Yes, I emailed religiously. I hope he didn't mind.
- I still owe him a present, but it'll be coming shortly. Do I get points for having the card purchased a week and a half in advance?
Happy Birthday, Brother! Hope your day was easier and more fun than trying to list 31 fun facts about your ass. Not an easy feat! I'll let you know what I find for your birthday and when to expect it.
And after the Niec-phew arrives, we'll work on a schedule so the cool, traveling Aunt can come home and teach the child all the important lessons of adulthood (like don't believe Daddy when he says that red licorice will give you anal cancer - it's just an excess of Red Dye #40 that turns your poop colors).
Love you two-and-eighth-ninths! Can't wait to see you soon!
Sunday, January 10
This weekend was the most entertaining and the most calm weekend in a while. Is that right? Not that I want to relive certain parts.
I fell asleep last night on the couch at 8:37pm, while Wook watched FanBoys (4 teenaged Star Wars fan plot to drive from Ohio to California, to break into the Skywalker Ranch - it was....interesting). Mr. Wookie proceeded to wake me up sometime later as he was heading to bed, so I could sleep upstairs. This is always a heavily debated issue as I'm sometimes a raging bitch when I'm woken up from a deep sleep. But if you look at the other way, I'd be a huge pain in the ass if he just left my ass on the couch to sleep. You can't win with me. Sorry.
Friday night was legendary as my night started with 2 margaritas and a shot of tequila. My Facebook status launched all sorts of quotes and quandaries as I didn't know how the night would end. Well it ended, after the boys stole a poster from the Irish Pub. By hiding it in my purse. Umm, excuse me, I will NOT be an accessory to thievery! Douches.
And yes, shots are making a comeback in my life. Proud? Kinda. To be honest.
I spent a handful of hours yesterday looking for a new template for my blog. It's been about a year since I've had the current layout. I'm just looking for something different. And hopefully without Times New Roman as an option. I hate that font. It's ugly. So ugly.
Friday, I went into work at Noon. It was great. Although I feel like it was a partial day wasted since I only worked 5.5 hours. Is that what part-time feels like?
Today will be another day that Mr. Wookie spends looking for cabins/homes for the MLK weekend trip. We're in the works of planning a weekend ski/board trip in the "mountains" of Virginia. Well, skiing/boarding for those who do that. Innertubing for this blogger.
Dinner on the menu is homemade beef and broccoli, and it's been marinating since last night. Mmmmmm, I'm glad to have my roommate back. So is my stomach.
And Pete Carroll...really? You can't leave. You're the best lookin' thing out of USC.
How was everyone's weekend? Hungover? Starved? Shopped till you dropped? Newly pregnant? Ready to sell your children on the Black Market?
Thursday, January 7
Mr. Wookie lands tonight. Hopefully. On time, or not, the roommate is coming back. Oh shit, better get the house cleaned. And quickly.
I kid, but I kid not. It's not a nuclear wasteland, but it's definitely not something that'd be on Martha Stewart Living's front cover.
I'll just say it's a bit lower than Mr. Wookie's level of clean. But that's to be expected when you had the upbringing he had. He made his bed every morning, did his own laundry, packed his lunch. I slacked my whole way through high school with Mama Ging making my lunch, the Sheriff yelling at me to "make a path," and my closet getting the royal treatment of hiding everything so I could go out and play. Just 2 different worlds, that's all.
So until he gets back, I get to do his duties. Okay, well his duty. The only thing I despise is unloading the dishwasher. I call it "undoing," and it's more evil than giving an 84-year-old woman a pedicure. I'd rather babysit. And by babysit, I mean put some whiskey in the bottle/sippy cup and tell them there's a magical jelly bean in the closet and they can't come out until they find it. This is why Aunt Bop's the "fun one."
And let's just have some icing on the cake for this blogger right here. Half day tomorrow for me! Woohoo! "How?" you ask. By working almost my whole week's hourage in 4 days. And while I could have had the afternoon off, I chose to have the morning off. Because picking up Mr. Wookie at Uber:Late PM, I'd like some real sleep. So I'll be thinking of you when I wake up at 10am, with eye boogies galore, while you've been slaving for The Man since 8am.
Another day, another 4:30am wake-up thanks to the evil dancing cell phone on my night stand. I'm at an absolute loss for anything entertaining this morning because it's still too early to process the yummy Cheerios I just inhaled.
But great news, I get my roommate back tonight. And the crowd goes wild! You won't believe how excited I am. And how much more excited I'll be when I pick him up. My personal chef is back! My personal chef is back! My personal chef is back!
So on the agenda this evening, after work, is CLEAN, CLEAN, CLEAN.
I take the motto, "When Mr. Wookie's away, Mrs. Wookie will...not pick up a damn thing, leave piles of clothes everywhere, not touch a dirty dish."
Okay, okay, not entirely. But let's just say that the laundry pile has exploded upstairs. I've already done a load of dishes (only one person doesn't make much of a dishwasher load). The trash was taken out last Friday before I went on my mini-vacation to Mommy McD's. And I took out the recycling yesterday. Overall, I'm getting more used to handling the place without Mr. Wookie. But by no means, does this mean I want a deployment starting tomorrow. Nope. Thank goodness Mr. Wookie is still in the longest-flight-training-known-to-Man. Okay, maybe not NASA, but this is the longest flight path of any Navy aircraft. So no deployments until he's done. Yay.
And besides, even if I've left a pile of dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, DO YOU NOT REMEMBER "Turtle Tank '10!?!" Ummmmm, hello, Roommate Of The Year Award here! If not, are you kidding me? I'd rather hold someone's hair, while they profess their love for the Porcelain Throne Gods, after too many rounds of tequila/rum/whiskey/moonshine/sangria/Aunt Janie's punch/Capri Sun. Vomit, I do. Poop, I DO NOT.
Anyways, let's get today moving. I'm tired of being awake already, and it's only 5:28am. And 5:30pm can come as soon as it wants. In fact, I plead 5:30pm to come in, screeching to a halt. I'd skip my lunch to have today over in a blink. Pretty please. I'll give you one of my leftover peppermint Hershey kisses.
Tuesday, January 5
I need them for my eyelids. They're falling fast. And I'm fading faster. No thanks to that early call time for today's schedule. I'm debating dinner, but I don't think I'm up for much cooking. What I need is to just go to bed now. And what will help with that? Carbs. Hello, pancakes!
So as much as I should hit the gym and log my 2 miles for today's training efforts, seeing a girl fall asleep on a treadmill isn't something I'd like to try.
But first, get butt out of La-Z-Boy. Mix batter. Cook pancakes. Warm syrup. Spread peanut butter. Inhale. Repeat, if needed. Upstairs. Pajamas. Text Mr. Wookie, "Good night." Zonk. Any questions?
There's still a very slight odor residing from the tank even after last night's festivities. Per Mr. Wookie's guidance, I won't be turning on the heat lamp today which should keep the water temperature cooler. Cooler water temperature = lower smell (hopefully). But from upstairs, no real stench.
Or maybe it's just because I'm incredibly tired that I can't smell it upstairs. Yes, the time stamp on this post is pre-5:00am. Because I'm nuts. Well, not entirely. I'm dedicated, that's what. And today will easily surpass the 10-hour workday mark. I just hope tonight doesn't turn into another tank project which forces me to have Cheerios for dinner. Because as much as I love them, there is a threshold.
And please let me know if anyone would like to sponsor Mr. Wookie to come home slightly early to solve this problem. I'd give an eternal blogpost shout-out.
Monday, January 4
Stab me. Please. I'll take a dull spoon to the jugular. Anything to improve upon the outhouse-like stench that has inhabited Wookie & Co. What I thought was gag-inducing yesterday is mere child's play today. I put on my ruby red slippers, click my heels three times, and the smell doesn't get any better. I swear, if this is a foreshadowing of life during deployments, I may be thinking twice about the 3 little prehistoric creatures that call the tank home. Not really, but a stepmother's love is only so much.
But let's talk about the 2 minutes of drama/stress/worry/panic that ensued before I agreed to start this project of motherly love.
Big Mama (the biggest of the 3 turtles) was laying in the corner, eyes closed, arms tucked in, not responding to the taping of my finger on the glass.
"OMG, WHAT IF SHE'S DEAD?
"Well poke her with a stick."
"I don't have a stick."
"Well where's the one?"
"It's in the tank."
"Well, reach in and grab it."
"Ewwwww, I'm not doing that. That's gross. OMG, Wook, what if she's dead? I can't have a dead turtle in the house till Thursday? What do I do with her? You need to come home, NOW! This is not in my job description!!"
TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP..."Come on Big Mama..." Eyes open. I can hear it now. "Bitch, you woke me out of a nap. How would you like if I did that to you? Not so cool now, is it?"
Okay, so 3 alive turtles, 1 stinky-ass tank, and 1 almost gagged-out Mrs. Wookie...
Thank you Mama Ging and Sheriff for supplying Mr. Wookie with a home-brew kit that contains a siphon and extra 5-gallon bucket. It comes in handy in emergencies like these. And just look at how truly f***ing disgusting the water is. And how? We don't know why. I fed the turtles the usual amount on Friday before I left, then came home to this mess of a water situation on Sunday. Somewhere in between, the "fit hit the shan." I think the turtles boycotted Mr. Wookie on vacation. Too bad it affected me instead. Communists.
And the motto of the cleaning session is: Go Empty or Go Home. So down to the very last couple inches I went. That's what she said. But seriously, the 3 turtles were freaking out thinking that their home was ending up like a rainforest. No, turtles, but because of some freak of nature, your home had to get a thorough cleaning. Okay, maybe thorough isn't the right word. It's me we're talking about. You're getting a psuedo-adequate cleaning. But it's better than nothing, so be grateful, you little shits.
The best part: Mr. Wookie says I'm "getting a nice dinner date for this." Amen.
Sunday, January 3
As much as I love 4-day work weeks, a Friday where I get to leisurely drive north to the Mommy McD abode, spend 2 days with 2 trolls in too cold of weather, I'm ready for my household to resume normality. I'd like my roommate home again. Please.
There's just something about coming home from work, Mr. Wookie already there, or if he hasn't made it home yet, I arrive first, giddy to see him strut home in his flight suit. We replay our day. And if it's been a stressful day to either party, we make a cocktail first, then divulge in how the day went wrong. And if it's a really bad day...well...it's ugly people. One time I came home sooooo fuming that I forced Mr. Wookie into running gear so I could force my frustrations into 3 miles. Ya, you know it's bad when liquor won't suffice - only a snotty nose in too cold of weather.
And this weekend was great. Since Mr. Wookie wasn't around, I didn't feel bad in leaving the Loft for a friendly face near the D.C. area. What I didn't count on was hypothermia showing up and almost forcing us to abandon any activity outside the house. But we trooper'd on. We drove into D.C. for some existential education (we went to an art museum) before succumbing to the blistering cold that still enveloped the whole northern part of Virginia. Starbucks and home. Check and check. What wasn't on my menu: insane traffic ON A SATURDAY and an hour-long commute back.
But unfortunately for this blogger, I have a job that won't allow me ample time off to visit everyone. (Not yet, people, not yet). So I made the trek back home. And I'm here. And I wish I weren't. The turtle tank is starting to create a wafting smell around the lower part of the Loft. I'd fix it...but I don't know how. Plus, I'm going to wave the "Mr. Wookie, your turtles need attention." I didn't buy them. Yes, I love them. But honestly, I'm like a stepmother to them. No real responsibility. ;)
So while I'm hiding out upstairs doing my laundry, XMing, and wishing the days away until Mr. Wookie returns, the stench will probably linger. Along with the dropping temperatures. Oh yay, I love winter. But seriously, where's my rain? The Ging does not do cold.
Friday, January 1
So I had a post all written up last night. How New Year's Eve is a lame holiday. How overrated it is. How jewelery sales between the holidays and Valentine's Day account for 30% of the diamond industry's sales. How Dick Clark should really retire from any hosting gigs because the man can barely formulate a sentence. How it's just another night for myself. How I even contemplated not going out and staying in to do laundry instead. Good thing I went out.
I was talked into going out. And our plan was a Happy Hour Drink ($3-5), Happy Hour Food ($3-5), then ordering a second Happy Hour Drink before 7pm so it's still the Happy Hour price. All done? Okay, we leave then, call it a night, because I don't like being those people. The people who've been at the bar since they got off work, it's working it's way to 2am, and you're surprised they haven't fallen off the barstool yet.
But....then 3 people showed up, one of whom I know.
These 3 guys are hopping every hour to celebrate other time zones' New Year. They started at 3:30pm. It was now past 7pm. Or maybe it was 8pm. But besides having a shot on the hour, every hour, they had their usual beverage also. Great combination.
Well that next hour that came around, I got presented with a shot to help ring in Sao Paulo's New Year. Really? Are we doing this? Oh, I'm going to hate my life. I gave up shots after I got a little rowdy at Mr. Wookie's birthday. And now it looks like this shot is giving me the evil eye. Well, the shot smells nice. And we (the whole bar) count down from 10, and I sip it. Yes, I sip the shot. Why? It was soooooo tasty. This would have been a deadly drink. But it was delicious. Okay, maybe shots are back in my repetoire.
But then another hour pasts and it's time to celebrate Rio's New Year. Really, another hour's past? More shots? Well, I get lined up with another shot to ring in their New Year. Another countdown had, and I put this shot away. Complete with slamming the glass down on the bar. Yes, the Ging is bringing it back to the college days. BITCH, WHAT UP? Okay, not really, like I'd verbally assault our favorite bartenders. I'd be killing the bar. But still, starting to revert. I'm kinda proud at that moment, but then still wondering whether I'll be able to function tomorrow.
But as you can tell, I'm here, alive, Cheerios in belly, only 5 or so fell on the floor.
Somewhere past 11am, the 3 guys decided to leave for another bar, to ring in some other New Years. I decided it was time to mosey home since I had big plans for tomorrow (clean a little, 3 miles, pack a bag, head to Mommy McD's). I crawl into bed maybe 10 minutes before Midnight. Baby Sister texts me, "OMg, It's almost New Years, are you shit-faced?" No, Baby Sister, I'm in bed, having called it a night, and I'm texting Mr. Wookie about how his fishing trip went. Yes, a lackluster evening. I literally fell asleep at Midnight. But then again, the bright side, I stayed out much later than I intended/thought I would. I'd say points. And no need for Advil.