10 reasons I'm happy we're moving 3.7 miles...

1.) We'll actually get a signal in our house to call/text anyone. Right now we live in a 3-story condo building where to find signal, you have to walk to the balcony. Awesome, right? Ever called your mom at like 9pm while outside? It can get a little cold. And dressing for Everest while we live a mile from the beach is hilarity.


2.) Our camping gear won't be stored in the "pooping room" (we have a separate commode room), the Christmas decorations won't be stored in the pantry, and Halloween supplies won't be in the laundry room. Bring on that garage!


3.) We'll have a guest room! While we don't have guests that often, Mr. Wookie wanted a place for any visitors to lay down their hat. Besides at some point in life, you need to stop offering a blow-up mattress to your sister and her husband, your friends, or his family. This isn't the dorms (not that I lived in those), or a frat/sorostitution (those neither), so we're stepping up on our game for anyone willing to fly into LAX, Burbank/Bob Hope, Long Beach/Ghetto, and Santa Barbara...just not Ontario.


4.) We're forced to get a barbeque. Ahhh...shucks!


5.) There will be a yard. EEEeeeeek.


6.) Our new new neighborhood still maintains the pretentious living with a community pool and tennis courts so I can take out my frustration on Uncle Sam, a dwindling liquor supply, or that I'm out of Seventh Generation laundry detergent (gotta save the water supply here in California!).


7.) We won't have neighbors upstairs that walk like water buffalo stampeding across the Sudan.


8.) It slightly shortens Mr. Wookie's commute.


9.) My commute is seriously shortened.


10.) Unloading a Costco trip will require backing up the vehicle to the garage, unloading the contents, closing the garage door. Instead of requesting a camel at check out to pack everything from the basement parking structure to our condo. Easy peasy.


Happy Sunday night folks! Night ops continue here. Good thing I napped today.

Badassery of the Summer: Hiking Mt. McLoughlin

When you're back home in Oregon for a mere 6 days, you tend to cram/pack the snot out of it to make sure you leave tired (and thusly can nap while Mr. Wookie drives the 11 hours to Southern California). And the Wedding Week of Middle Sister was no different. Although there were plenty of activities to keep us busy (a golf tournament for the boys, nails for the girls, rehearsals, dinners, and picking up dry cleaning), we decided to take the one free day (Wednesday), and tackle this beast of a mountain.

As you can see below (and yes, I'm from Medford!) there's this tiny mountain that lurks from the Eastern side of the city. That first knoll is no more than 1,000 feet above sea level. That snow-covered peak...misses the 10,000 foot level by a few hundred feet. Yes, it's a bitch. Yes, I've been wanting to hike this for years. And yes, I got my chance. And yes, my dad was able to join us!

Source

I'll be honest, I was a little nervous. I hadn't hiked up past 9,000+ feet in a handful of years. It's not a forgiving altitude for those who live down in Southern California and are only accustom to beach air. But that Wednesday morning, at 6:09am precisely, we headed the 47 miles to the trailhead to take Mother Nature head on.


Nay to it being 38 degrees at the trailhead.
Yay to there being Forest Service-maintained restrooms at the trailhead.
Nay to the Sheriff not having Purel in his car.
Yay to the Sheriff having baby wipes instead.


The first 3 miles were cake. The trail was well groomed. We were the first ones on the path. Plus we were warming up since we didn't expect the temperature to be so low! And we were holding 25:00/miles (yes, this sounds slow, but trust us...we were zooming). The board said this hike was about a 4 hour trek upwards, and with our great time, we assumed we'd be summit'd in less than 3 hours. 


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH.


Enter that nasty elevation...where breathing through a straw sounds like a better idea.

We knew from the thinning trees that we were coming up on the tree line where it transitions from a mosquito-filled jungle of evergreens to the sheer rocks and boulders that you have to traverse for another 2 miles. Here is where it got sporty.

With more than an hour left, the summit was in site. No, I didn't document this process of seeing it so close but so far away. Sorry. I was too busy fighting altitude sickness where I was getting extremely dizzy, nauseous, and needing to stop every 20 steps to try and grab air. This is really a joke because you can't ever feel like you've caught your breath. By this time, we were being passed by 2 people and their dog who are holding a long-winded conversation like they're Nepalese on vacation in Oregon. I wanted to shoot them.

But finally, we made it. 4 hours, 6 minutes after setting off for glory, we summit'd.

Elevation: 9,495 feet. Trailhead: 4,555 feet. Gain: 5,000+ feet in 5.5 miles. Yes, we really did hike 11 miles for fun. Yes, it was fun....when it was over. Would I do it again? Yes, with Mommy McD. She's jeal...

Mr. Wookie enjoying his Clif bar...

And if you can squint, you can see a cloud-covered summit in the distance. That's Mt. Shasta (that large ass mountain we drove past on our way up!).

So naturally I needed a picture with it. Yes, that's a half marathon technical shirt I'm wearing from my PR effort in June. It's all I had to wear that wouldn't be cotton for this mission. Sorry, fashion folks. I'll do better next time?

The rocks you see is literally how the last 2 miles are...rocky and difficult. The next day my back was sore from having to mountaineer up and down these things.

Yes, that's a dragonfly investigating the Sheriff.

And thanks to one successful 10-second self timer action that we were able to capture our success before ravaging our backpacks for snacks. We enjoyed a beautiful 38 minutes at the top before it started to get crowded (one guy hiked his father's ashes up in a ziploc bag....uhh...okay, it's windy...I'm going to leave now).

Our hike down was sporty too. The Sheriff almost biffed it a few times. I did biff it a few times. The Nikon survived...obviously. We had to refill our 100 oz. Camelbaks (this is the biggest size they make, people!) with snow (yes, snow in August...it's 9,000+ feet!).

And we learned our lesson: Pack up cold beer to enjoy on the summit. It's refreshing and fuel. Lesson learned for sure.

But 3.5 hours of scaling boulders down (and randomly running into one of Middle Sister's wedding guests [seriously, small world!]), we made it to the truck. We downed a warm Gatorade each, I peed for the third time, and we headed for home. Once there...we "hydrated" some more. Okay, okay, this time it was hefty vodka tonics. We deserved it. Plus we were thirsty. So win/win. Then we looked up our calorie burn for the effort.

Mrs. Wookie @ 142 lbs: 4,500 calories

Mr. Wookie @ 210 lbs: 5,200 calories

The Sheriff @ 215 lbs: 6,000 calories!!

So you can imagine our post-hike meals...they were legen...(I need a refill)...dary.

The end.

Day #1 of a 3.7 mile relocation

Yes, I did make a non-Pam Anderson home movie for my family to tour my new digs and relay our new address of Home With A Yard. So she can now mock the kitchen tile, cringe at the lack of grass (it'll be sod'd), and giggle at the panting dog who doesn't know what to think of a yard and tried to eat the long blades of grass (really dog?).

Screen shot of my home movie. I had to rummage the boxes for a make-shift bowl for the pooch since it was a little hot and she was panting like crazy. Can't be a bad owner, can I??


But let me complain about how easy I thought this move would have been...


1.) We live in a very anal HOA where you are required to have a visitor parking pass, so I found out today how many people you'll see in the elevator when you try moving boxes mid-day. So my new plan is NIGHT OPS.


2.) If I have to yell one more time, "Dog, get the f*** outta my way!" I will lose my mind and she might lose her life. She's paranoid she's being left behind so she's tailingmyeverymove.


3.) I ran outta tape.


4.) Flip-flops aren't appropriate moving shoes.


5.) It's supposed to be a "nice weekend" here in just-North-of-Malibu. Just what I need...sunshine and sweat.


6.) It's a bitch to load things out to the car. Unlock car. Load things in car. Re-lock car. Walk back into building. Paranoid much? Yes. Remember, we have neighborhood security because the outlying area is a little sketchy.


But the good now...


1.) Within 5 minutes of my first delivery, I met the neighbor across the street when she saw me unloading golf clubs. Sadly, they were Mr. Wookie's so I think she was bummed I can't join her for a round robin.


2.) I did remember to bring over one roll of toilet paper should nature call and I didn't want to be unprepared.


3.) We have a yard to which Miss Sweet Pea marked 3 times but was still confused where we were and why I was calling it "home."

Mrs. Wookie joins the Friday Fill-In this week!

Party people, you know what day it is?? Yes, that's right. It's Day #1 of starting to move. Our Christmas supplies, camping gear, barware, and more are packed ready for the cross-town move to a house that's 300 squarefeet smaller but bodes a garage and yard for us. Yes, the barware is really packed away. That's why God invented beer in...bottles.

Mama Ging, I'll do a short video for you (if I remember) so you can see it before it's done.

My Bisquick coffee cake is out of the oven and smelling divine for my lovely coffee date tomorrow on base. I missed this month's Wives Group meeting so I'm catching up on details with a fantastic wife willing to verbal vomit Tuesday's night's happenings.

But let's get to those questions. Because's Friday's don't blog themselves.

1. My spouse long-time Wookie and I rarely agree on roadtrip snacks (he has a personal vendetta against my love for sunflower seeds on roadtrips), but always agree on being thirsty at 5pm. ;)
2. If I could use one word to sum up the way I feel right now, it would be YES! Can you tell I'm excited to move?!?!
3. One of the things my spouse long-time Wookie does that grosses me out is how much he sweats when he runs. Then he tries to hug me...
4. My readers may think I’m crazy for doing this, but I really love to cropdust? I've got nothing, people...
5. Frankly, my dear, I don’t not recycle.

Sorry for the delay. We've been busy.

There's been hiking. There's been a wedding (and a reception). There's been traveling (too much). And there's been spent money (way too much in the form of a security deposit and first month's rent...in cashier check or money order form...so thanks to the local post office for a hook-up for us USAA bankers).

But today we got keys and signed another year of our life away as Californians. I had my list of questions ready for the guy...
Has a carbon monoxide detector been installed?
Were the exterior walls painted?
Was the yard tended to [the previous tenants didn't understand the concept of watering and weeding so it resembled Hanoi]?
Was it professionally cleaned?


To the last question: No. They wait to confirm they have tenants in case the property sits for months. So the local cleaners had a 4pm appointment for this afternoon (which is fine since we're not ready to move yet) - I wanted to start tomorrow anyways.


Total distance to move: 3.7 miles


And yes, this will be a solo effort for the first half. Uncle Sam can't make things easy (no!). But I'm okay with this. Because then I get to take my time and I have complete say in where things go (muahahaha!). That and I'll have use of Mr. Wookie's Jeep.


So with the HOA CC&R's already read, the City of just-North-of-Malibu contacted for a trash quote ($23.96 for 64 gallon trash, recycling, and yard waste containers), all we need now is tomorrow to come. But even then moving will have to wait until after my coffee date with another wife. I have a social life after all. :)

Gettin' 'er done in Hometown, Oregon

Sorry we've been a little away from it. Days have been pretty booked with "wedding week" so our free time has been limited.

But the best thing about being back in Oregon besides seeing family? Well...for us...tax-free shopping! Considering we drove up, we have some room to take some things back home. And with us moving, we're needing new furniture items for things we need to decorate...like backyard furniture! And since it's the "end of the season" for summer furniture here....let's hit it up!

Between 4 stores in the area, sadly...this was the only option we found that met our criteria. Our criteria: Either a chaise lounge or seat with foot rest (2 of either) with a cocktail table in the middle. Mr. Wookie doesn't want anything "Nantucket" and I don't want "Walmart plastic." But even then, this set wasn't the quality we were looking for. With a price of $102, we were worried that it would only last a year before needing to be replaced. So we passed. At least we know what we don't want now...

Eeeeekkk...gray water barrel! Sometime between my college graduation and now, gray water became legal! Woooo! Yay for Home Depot for supplying!

On our last ditch effort out of Sears (we were looking at lawn mowers since we'll soon be the proud owners of grass!), we stopped into Ashley Furniture. While we're looking for end tables, Mr. Wookie began drooling over this bar instead. While I'm all for a bar in the home, they're not exactly as useful as end tables for the front room. That and the price tag...errrr....I don't want to drop $1,000+ right now on a bar.

We do need a rug...but those on the left might be a little big to bring back home....

And since we're on vacation, we of course had to restock supplies for the Sheriff (and ourselves). So thank goodness this great liquor store was right across from Sears and Ashley Furniture, so we popped in for a gander. Okay, more than a gander, this is my family's standard store for spirits.

This is how great the selection is...unlike the "Most Incredible Man in the world" who only drinks Dos Equis, we like to drink from the source too. Ours may be a bit stronger in proof, and supports an awesome economy of trees and nature.

Somehow this week has flown by...and we don't know how. I think we need another week here. And some fishing licenses. And some early mornings on the river catching dinner. 

It's not Ore-GONE. It's Orygun. Learn it.

If you are an avid reader of this fabulous blog, you know that this Friday is MIDDLE SISTER'S WEDDING! Woo!!! Well...when you add up airfare per person to be $250+ each, the shuttle service down to LAX to be $150 total (which is way cheaper than parking your car), and the Canine 4 Seasons puppy hotel....your butt hole puckers at the thought of shelling out one thousand dollars in just travel costs.

So.....ROADTRIP!

That's 732 miles from Wookie & Co. headquarters to Mrs. Wookie's hometown which cost us less than one ticket from LAX to Hometown.

In total, it was nearly 11.5 hours in a car where I got fat feet (I suffer from mad bloatage when traveling). We went through one pack of jerky, a box of Jujufruit, half a pack of JollyRanchers, half a PowerBar, 3 travel mugs of water, half a pack of sunflower seeds, and plenty of XM radio (a must!).

And I may or may not have lost it mentally after the jerky kept falling on my feet from sharp mountain turns that I chucked it into the back of the Jeep. Bitch.

But we got here. Finally.

Somewhere 3 hours South of the Oregon/California border is where the land transitions from the depression-inducing mid-California landscape of flat as a pancake and brown. We hadn't been that happy in seeing landscape changes in awhile (maybe Northern Arizona during our PCS to California?). There's something about seeing real mountains, trees, and 2 Oregonians getting "nature boners" from the excitement of being "back home." Fun fact: Mr. Wookie hasn't driven back to Oregon since he left post-college on his first PCS to Pensacola, Florida for Naval flight school! That was almost 4 years ago...to the day!

The car's mood definitely changed when we started driving around the mountains. Oregonians belong in the wilderness. Unshaved legs and all.

On a sad note: Near Woodland, California (somewhere in the middle of the I-5 corridor), we passed the most atrocious accident we've ever seen - it gave me goosebumps! The Southbound lane of I-5 was shut down after a fiery multi-car accident. And what made us feel worse, we later learned from the Sacramento news that the baby was in a separate vehicle than the 2 adults that were killed. Gah. No bueno.

But to lift our spirits to the fact we were gaining elevation, trees, oxygen levels, and higher quality beer in Oregon, I started to play with the camera.

This huge cloud-covered mountain is Mt. Shasta. Elevation: 14,000+ feet. So bad ass, you need a base camp to summit this bad boy. It's teetering on my "bucket list" of whether I want to hike it. How much will it cost me? And how cold will I be and for how long? But one perk...it's a mere few hours drive from my hometown. Hometown = free lodging!

But alas, our beloved home state welcomed us with a tiny sign I almost missed and am thankful for having a camera that can keep up with the last minute shots. Ahhhh.... Orygun.... the land of gas attendants who pump gas for you, where there's no such thing as sales tax, and where Subarus are as common as fake tits in Santa Monica.

30 miles over the border and we were home....where we belong. Okay, that's not my house. Just kidding. But omg, can you imagine?? That's a LOT of vacuuming. No thanks.

 

Okay, now we're home. Thanks Baby Sister for lurking. Baby Sister was awesome in running the dinner/beer errands for us so when we got home all we had to do was open a bottle. Baby Sister's concierge service is now open and taking appointments!

How to lower your expectations in California.

When I began the vast search for a new home mid-July, I was pretty adamant in staying with the same quality of life that we had. We're creatures of comfort and moving into Little Guadalajara is not my idea of a great idea. But to give any house a viable shot, I'd tour it because then I could drive the neighborhood looking at cars as well as tour the property.

And because I can have a better work schedule to take tours, I did just that. I was the Entrance Exam tour guide. If it didn't pass me. It didn't require Mr. Wookie to take a long lunch to quickly walk a property. 

Our current home when we moved in last year.

So my plan was to tour a property, take pictures of every aspect, pretend we're interested, then bring in Mr. Wookie if he was needed. Mr. Wookie only toured 2 places, that's how minimal it was. I toured somewhere over half a dozen (our pesky dog was a huge factor on that number, even when I tried lying, "Oh, we have a cute little English bulldog, she's about 28 pounds" - hahahahahahaah, she's more like 60 pounds!).

I agree with Mr. Wookie, it's all about location, location, location. You can have a great home, in the middle of GhettoVille, and have your car broken into (true story, not us though). So with every property I contemplated, I pulled up the police blotter because a milblogger can never be too safe when Mr. Wookie won't be around next year.

But let's pretend you're on my tour too, and we find a beach house that's a mile from our current place and available mid-August. Walk with me...will you?!

Yes, this was one home that didn't pass the test. Yes, that's yellow tiled counters. Yes, that's an avocado green electric stove. And yes, that's wallpaper. I was told that the old woman who owns the place was put into a retirement home. Buuuuuut I'm not quite convinced. I think she may have died there. No thanks.


This house had an amazing location of being 40 yards to the beach, but I couldn't shake the notion that we may need Ghostbusters to help tame the old broad. Plus, one room was fully engrossed in wood paneling. I hear wood paneling is making a comeback a la Apartment Therapy, but still no thanks.


These test failures were common. I toured a decent place, built in a mid-70's HOA neighborhood updated a few years ago with a magnificent kitchen, but at the end of the block was HUD housing (aka the projects aka low-income housing aka poo' folks). And it's not that we're judging, we just know that everyone wants to live in a neighborhood with similarly lifestyle'd individuals. You just want to fit in somewhere.


And we don't mind HOAs. If you don't know what an HOA is, it's a HomeOwners Association. It's usually a group of retired busybodies who don't have anything better to do so they make up rules and regulations for the neighborhood to maintain the aesthetics of it all. There's usually monthly or quarterly meetings, bylaws, blah blah blah associated with it all. We've never had an issue with following the guidelines and making sure our exterior fits the bill. Plus, we're guaranteed to never live next to a Hoarder: Buried Alive whose collection can't fit inside the house, or someone who decides to decorate with a broken-down car in their front yard.


Last night did have me slightly worried since I've already started to pack up things like books, camping supplies, Christmas decorations (things we won't need between now and finalized move). Miss Sweet Pea threw up a tineytinyamount. So I panic! I tweet for a dog whisperer and whether she's manifesting stress from seeing boxes appear in our home! And with massive Googling efforts, I find that a dog can vomit from stress and moving is stressful to them. 


"You did NOT just WebMD the DOG??!!?!"  --Mr. Wookie


Hello, can you ever be too careful with our furry friend??


"I'm pretty sure the Internet has articles that disprove gravity." --Mr. Wookie


I bet him $5 he couldn't find an article for that, mainly because I wanted to see if it was true but wasn't about to stop enjoying my cocktail since it was way past 5pm here.


But in my down and dirty research, I read that it's good to take the dog to the new location so she can assimilate 'home' with both places. So that's what I'll do. When I'm taking a trunkful over, she can join in and roam around the world frolic in a YARD!


Wait, how did this post get hijacked by Miss Sweet Pea again?? Wilma!!!

How can this post not end up on me? I rule this roost.

how to move in 3 easy steps!

1.) Find a new place to live. One with a yard, a garage, and a recycling bin big enough to hold an Oregonian's mass collection of plastic, tin, and glass.

2.) Give yo' landlord a 30-day notice. Bitch, I be leavin'. Okay, not really like that.

3.) Pack yo' shit up.

The bookshelf is going bare.

Thanks to some new Navy families in the just-North-of-Malibu area, I scored mad boxes from their PCS's. Amen. So I'm starting the long, arduous project of moving across the city today. Our plan is to move across slowly, making a couple trips a day, taking our time in the matter vs vomiting our possessions into the new home with rhyme and reason. Then we'll do a final move with all the appliances before abandoning this condo-shaped ship.

But we're still debating how to do that final push of appliances. I've had 3 different appointments by professional moving companies for estimates to do the big and heavy lifting. And so far I've had 3 estimates that would cost an ovary in some countries (and we're not talking a full-service move. We're talking 3 appliances, 2 dressers, and a furniture set. That's all). So Mr. Wookie is debating shelving the professionals for the time being and hiring his squadronmates. Because liquoring them up post-move along with Mrs. Wookie's DD service is a mere fraction of the professionals' costs. Now I just need to write up a contract about not throwing up in the Wookie & Co. drunk bus. You know never to piss off a redhead and a blogger, let alone both. ;)

*** more ***

Mr. Wookie is back on hiring professionals, because they're professionals. So far we have one estimate that's not around the $1,000 mark (for literally a fraction of moving our home) and is under $500 (happier price, although we were looking for just a smidge lower). I'll be inquiring for a few more estimates of local companies without websites (referrals from my non-military friends) to see who may have a great price and a non-lazy Mexican crew.


Why professionals (at least right now)? Because there's liability. When your friend breaks something, it's, "Sorry bro." When you use pros, there's insurance.

it's official: 30-day notice.

There are some things in life I'll ball-bustingly do. I'll kick that douchebucket in the balls. I'll slap an assclown. I'll tell my mom she's wearing "mom jeans" (if she did, but she doesn't because she's stylish). I won't lie and say your baby is cute when it resembles a tire flap. And I'll pour you a hefty shot after you have a pregnancy scare.


But there are somethings I won't - like give 30-days notice on our current place.


I can't believe we've been in California for almost a year. At this time last year, I was not working anymore with my cronies in Virginia Beach. I was reigning in my last moments as "Aunt Bop" to Mommy McD's (horribly stinkin' adorably cute) 2 out of 3 offspring (the latest was still in utero). And I was trying to wrap my head around a D(o)ITY(ourself) move. Long story short: By the time Mr. Wookie actually had orders cut and called the moving people that same day, because of all the Academy grad influx, there wasn't an available date for 3 weeks. And that didn't work when the boat needed him sooner than that.


It may have took us 4 days to find a place, but this town has tried to be good to us.


And then we got a dog. I'm trying to make this post coherent - no, I haven't been drinking.


If you go back to this post, you can see we live in a condo building where there's no direct and privatized access to a yard. We have to go outside the building, onto the huge lawns to walk the dog and let her drop a deuce. So you can imagine the fun to be had when Mr. Wookie's gone, and someone (me) has to leash up Miss Sweet Pea for urination every 4-6 hours. I'm over it. I've been over it for months. I've also been voicing my displeasure with the situation for months (much to Mr. Wookie's dismay). I've never been a fan of suburbia, but BRING IT ON!


So beginning mid-month I began the hounding process of finding new digs in a county where half of the housing is pure shit, the other half is Real Housewives material. First off, which houses don't allow dogs? That narrowed the list heavily. Secondly, which houses are in neighborhoods where the Crime.com reading is off the charts? Thirdly, he loves granite, I love hardwood floors, and we both love neighborhood security teams (no, really, we have that in our neighborhood now because the surrounding area is skeeeeeezy).


Unlike the last move where everything was handled by Mr. Wookie, I took the bull by the horns with this one. I made a Google doc spreadsheet with each house, their contact number and name, details on the property, thoughts post-tour, future tours scheduled, and ultimate decisions. I think I impressed that boy of mine.


After touring, discussing, touring again, further discussing, discussing some more, touring another property just as a last ditch effort, we found a new place. That means it's time to break the news to the current landlord - something I wanted Mr. Wookie to do because he's a boy and that's their job.


Too bad Uncle Sam told me to "Nut up and shut up." Mr. Wookie had to fly that day. So I gave the written notice myself. And it wasn't that hard. I know resisting Girl Scout cookies is harder...


So there you have it. We're moving. Mere miles away from our current home. And thanks to recently moved squadronmates, we've accumulated enough boxes to fill the Ark. Time to get packing. Now who else is for hire? I'll pay in beer. And you can walk my dog.

the downside to keeping them up.

If you know me, you know I've got some boobies. I've got cans. I've got a rack. I've been "blessed." Or "cursed," depending on how you look at it. Yes, boobies run in the family. And running runs in the family. And we all know running and boobies...uhhh...don't mix. I like to keep my boobs from saying hello to knees until at least retirement age.

For the last month and a half, I've been going rounds of purchases and returns in order to find the bra for me. I've tried my local department stores and shops, but unfortunately retailers (even in California!) don't carry my size. What's my size? Oh, a 30. What's the average size at shops? 32 and up.

I blame this reduced rib size on my training for a relay and a half marathon. Running burns mad calories (even when not trying to qualify for Boston). Trust me. I run and I eat. No anorexia here. Hello, do anorexics drink like I do? No. Those are empty calories to them. To me, it's therapy. ;)

But today was the day where I received my golden tickets. My bras that fit like a non-OJ Simpson'd bloody glove. The bras that I worked for a month and a half to find. The bras that took many rounds of returns, trying on sizes and styles, and sulking in the color choices of nude and black (wow...so stylish!).

Oooo...what's this? New toys? Man, those are big!

I've been able to throw my old bras into the get-rid-of pile and put these beauties into my drawer. Yippee!! For most women, bra shopping is torture. It's up there with swimsuit shopping. And forcing a Democrat to a GOP convention. But I have to be happy now. Mainly because I'm not tripping on the girls anymore.


Now if only my extra new sports bras would arrive (same story, different style). Wah wah.