Mrs. Wookie's last Friday Fill-In at 27. Wah wah.

1. I always feel like I’m 24 years old, but in reality, I’m less than a week shy of 28. Thanks to college and the Navy, I can party like a total rockstar. Never in my wildest dreams would I think that I could still throw it down to 2am on the brink of 30. But yup...I can. It's rare that I have to break out my skills, but they're there in my back pocket. Instead, I'm more proud of my ability to crawl into bed at 8:30pm, drink my Metamucil, and drop my dentures into the glass. I'm 27 going on 80. Now where's my Rascal scooter?
2. I wish my family mom understood better when I tell them her I don't need to start popping out kids. While yes, I'm getting closer to 30, I'm having way too much fun being me. I'm enjoying piecing together a career around duty stations, I look forward to continuing my travels, and I LOVE having boobs that aren't deflated sacks of skin that used to resemble a human body. Once you have kids, you can't just drop everything for Hawaii...or Vegas...or wine country. Even with the dog, we have to make extra plans before enacting a spur-of-the-moment trip. Plus, I hear "I wish I would have waited to have kids" far too often. I'm enjoying my life waaaaay too much. So enjoy the nephew and soon-to-be-niece...and gimme a few more years before I retire my liver for 9 months of incubating offspring. Unless Amazon.com comes out with e-uteri (that's plural for uterus)...I'm so on board with that.
3. If you saw me when I pick up his stinkin' PT gear to put into the wash, you’d think I was a total girly-girl, but if you saw me when I'm hiking and camping, you’d think I was a tomboy through-and-through - I have zero issues pooping outdoors, burping my ass off, and sweating like a man while blazing trail.
4. I feel like I’m in a totally different universe when I hang out with the Wives Group - EVERYONE has kids, doesn't work, and is 30+ years old. I can hang out with JOPA, drain free-throw shots like a champ (no, really...I had a 93% accuracy in high school), and drink dark beer with the best Oregonians. I assimilate as best I can, tune out my ear to the topics of diapers, and ramp up the conversation when it comes time to talk happy hours at the park - I'll pretend to have a kid while I bring a bottle of wine to the  playground.
5. In honor of this being MFF #60… 60 months ago  (exactly 5 years ago, so September 30, 2006) I lived in the college town for Oregon State  and my life was totally different because my team was on the brink of a great season.  I was mere rows from the team, liquor heavily on my breathe, a rowdy student section as our team ran to victory over top-seeded Trojans. We then scaled the wall, dropped the 10 feet to the field, and took a run for the middle in amazement! I was within spitting distance of the QB and Mr. Wookie held onto me for life as the riot of student-induced mayhem had authorities fearing for the goal posts. It. was. amazing.
   
   
   
   
   

Someone's getting older soon.

Here I am. 27. Getting ready to rock at Middle Sister's wedding.

I've never liked the concept of getting older. Just like how it falls into "change" - it's something I could do without. How did someone so spastic about not being in control of her life come about? I don't know. Obviously I blame my parents. But I don't know which side it came from. So until someone throws the other under the bus - or it's announced I'm the milk man's baby (which would be hilarious when I clearly look like my dad with his huge eyes and I look like my mom and her ginger hair) - I blame both.

Muhahaah - competition between the 'rents...

Anyways, back to my birthday. It's in exactly a week. For the last couple months, I've been excited. It seems like I've always had better "even" birthdays. 27 was different in that we just relocated cross-country, I wasn't working, employment was looking scarce, and I was just feeling overall left out from the great career chase that so many get to do that aren't attached to the military.

But maybe my tune has changed. 28 is feeling like a lucky number. That and it's the last even number before my balls drop super saggy and I hit that nauseating age of 30 where you're expected to have everything together, never get drunk, and keep the best house.

Umm...how about none of those?

Life will never be perfect since my job will change more than Kevin Federline has children, Mr. Wookie will be here for some holidays and gone for others, and my mom will always consider me old (umm...jokes on her...).

There is an upside to my birthday though. Christmas is right around the corner. Even with that pesky we-gave-infected-blankets-to-the-Natives holiday is in the way.

Let's get this birthday week started. I want a bottle champagne, a steak dinner, and a small cake to celebrate. That's it.

Yes, I'll share the steak and cake. I don't know about the bottle yet...

The Wookie & Co's Oregon State mascot.

We're trying again. Come on, football team. Can we get more than 3 points on the board? It's sad when people not involved with Pac-12 sports know your team is sucking hard.

But despite the piss poor season we're expecting, we rock the Orange with pride. Those degrees mean a lot to us - although mine is lost in my parents' house (thanks mom). But at least I have it in this paltry California economy, where a Bachelor's gets you a dollar over minimum wage. Yay. Not for me, but for others, yes.

And with my family's season tickets, I always wave at the television - I hope they see me.

Thanks Baby Sister for the surprise gear earlier this year. 

I'd be pouting and wanting my mom's lap if I was an Oregon State player too. Stop sucking.

The RoadID that came.

On this blog, I'm usually honest. I may hide my unhappiness for certain things, and put on a fake aura of perfection, but it's usually when I'm super sensitive and don't feel like throwing a pity party on the blogosphere.

As someone who occasionally runs because it's cheaper than a gym membership or yoga studio, I don't really think about the potential for what could happen when I'm running on the coastal highway, around my neighborhood, or within the confines of base. I assume I'm perfect, my form is ideal, and the only injury I could face would be a rolled ankle from pot holes. No one wants to think about being rolled by a car. Pretty much.

So after months of mocking up a RoadID slim bracelet - I finally pulled the trigger. It may also be part of the motivation from this blogger's incident that scared me into spending the $15 to potentially save my life. We're getting real around here. Mr. Wookie recently filled out the mountain of paperwork since deployment is slowly approaching. Nothing is more sobering than end-of-life decisions. And we don't like sober. We like cocktails. Just kidding. Sometimes.

Oh, and thanks to the previous tenants for the NEX flyers. Umm...how awesome can mail day be?!? Okay, yes, I could be #winning the Publishers Clearing House - but sadly, that hasn't happened yet. And probably never will. So until then, I'll dream big. And by that, I mean dream of a dating an old man with billions in trust fund accounts that will be left to me after he quickly croaks. Anna Nicole knew what she was doing. And that's #winning.

I need more cowbell for Mommy McD's birthday.

Today happens to be the dear birthday of a dear blogger who's known me for dear too many years, pooped out some dear adorable children, and moved away to the dear East Coast. Today we celebrate!

There's a reason I "promote" her blog on my sidebar - the bitch is awesome.

And there's a reason I haven't personally sold her to Russian Nationals in order to swipe her children into coming to live with me - because they're much more entertaining when she's around. Plus, she can discipline. I can merely laugh in my head when one brother steals a Gogurt and their superhero cape as an evil villain complete with booming laugh.

You've probably seen this beauty of a picture before. Oh, that's Mrs. Wookie and Mommy McD back in the day. I don't feel like doing math, but Offspring #2 was mere months old (Offspring is going to be 4 - I think - this November). I drove up from my Hometown, Oregon to her Hometown, Oregon (3 hours total - and always worth it) and spent some time with her and 2 of the (now 3) bambinos that exist. Hubband was playing Navy and somewhere important. And nevermind those extra pounds we're rockin'. She just had a bebe (totally legit) and I was drinking myself through long-distance with Mr. Wookie (again, totally legit).

Happy Birthday to my pygmy blogger/partner in cross-country crime! I wish I could be there. But with your birthday comes the butthole-quivering that mine is right there too. And I'd much rather be turning 26 with you than turning 28 on my own (mother-effin' GAG). But I have a bit to sulk before my boobs sag another inch towards oblivion.

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday and new shoes from Hubband, Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuu! Feel free to comment on the lady's blog that 26 is one of the BEST ages of the 20's and she'll rock out with her...nevermind, again.

Friday Fill-In: Mrs. Wookie is back in action.

1. Right now, our weather is weirdly cloudy, but what I’d really like is sunny and 80 - the perfect weather for me.
2. I like to let my hair down and not worry about tomorrow's Hawkeye Ball. 
3. Mommy Rambles made a post about heroes… my hero is Barney Stinson, because he has the best "motivational" posters.

 

4. It’s a weird combination, but I swear cheeseburgers and Chinese (orange) shrimp sauce  are a perfect pair!
5. Some may see the glass half empty and others may see it half full, but I see it as Happy Hour.

Who wants to get steamy with Mrs. Wookie??

This whole not-having-carpeting bit is an interesting one. I've definitely inherited my dad's inability to tolerate dirty floors/things sticking to my feet. Since we've moved to the new digs, I've lasted 3 days before needing to vacuum the wood floors. So yes, doing the math, we vacuum twice a week here. Or should I say I vacuum twice a week.

At any rate, any more than 4 days and I'm about to take the Sweets to get waxed.

And I knew there would come a day where the entire house would need mopping because flight boots can track in crap, dog paws can track in muck, I can track in ginger genes, and the wind can blow in leaves (as SoCal residents, the weather here is perma-gorgeous...so them doors stay open). I've been researching steam mops lately in the apprehension for battling such a square footage, but haven't necessarily found them necessary when a little elbow grease can suffice.

But to bring the post point to view, that day has come. Time to break out Mr. Mop.

So outside the resident canine and her shat goes, because as much as she loves the vacuum...dog hair + wet floor = itWILLbe5o'clockbecausei'llNEEDacocktail. Her bed, her toys, her blankets...pretty much everything of hers is outside like it's an episode of Cheaters. She will then park her ass on the mat, stare in the window, tilt her head, and eye-plead to come back inside.

Then I took my trusty...erm...cooler. I couldn't find the one bucket we own. But anyways...one cooler full of hot water should be big enough to tote around and complete the 1400+ square feet of flooring. Okay okay, it took 5 rounds of water changes, but the cooler served it's purpose until the bucket can be found. Plus, it's Mr. Wookie's cooler. So what do I care.

Oh, Mr. Libman Wonder Mop. You should be named "Mr. Libman No Wonder My Back Is Breaking Mop. Do they make mops for tall people or do I just have to stoop over for all eternity as payment for having a uterus and being made to keep house???

No, not bitter at all.

Actually, it's gladly done in exchange because Mr. Wookie prefers to clean toilets.

Hismamatotallyraisedhimright.

So I hump and I shlump and I rock out with my...anyways. I finish this doozster of a house. And I'm happy. I've done'd it. I totally stalled for 3 weeks in mopping since the floors were done right before we moved in. Why squash the professional cleaning crews good work, right? Even if the little bitch stole the left-by-the-previous-tenants hand soap.

Wrong.


I catch a glimpse of the flooring by the door. What's this???? One...mucky...left behind...stinkin'...(where's my cocktail??)...paw print. Luuuuuucyyyyy....you have some 'splainin' to do!! All that back-breakin' hard work. And there's still remnants of Sweet Pea tormenting me while she's still outside the door. That lowly paw print. There to mock me and my Libman Wonder Why That Paw Print Is Still There? Mop.

To me, this is a sign. Time to bring out the big guns. Time to get a steam mop.


And thusly, time to ask my awesome bloggers, "Who are you wearing? Which do you own?"

Consumer Reports threw their panties at the Eureka EnviroSteam Mop for under $75. Middle Sister got the Shark (cue Jaws music) for her bridal shower...Sister, thoughts?? And Mommy McD snagged one after she realized her house of a 45,000+ square feet is too much for a Swiffer. McD...who do you have??


And remember Winnie remember, I'm a mega hippie (minus the whole drawing electricity to power a steam mop when I could break my back for an hour every 2 weeks mopping with a conventional mop), so a reusable sponge/pad/mop mat is a MUST.


Ready, set, RECOMMEND!!!

Life is carrying on one day at a time.

Days go by and I forget I don't blog. I don't know how. But it does. Maybe this is a peek into how life will be during Mr. Wookie's upcoming deployment. Stay busy, stay busy, kill the rum, hang out with fellow squadron families, sleep in, slobber with the pooch, baffle my neighbors when I take her for a run (yes, this bulldog can handle a 1-mile run), hit up farmer's markets, and cry at my football team when they can't grace points on the board. This football season will be riDICulously long.

Mr. Wookie left last Thursday on a roadtrip to a long-standing tradition in the naval community. My only requests when he goes TAD/TDY/roadtripping...let me know when you get there. That's it. We're completely kosher going incommunicado the whole time he's gone. Just let me know you arrived with a pulse. A steady pulse. And are not looking at signing a DNR anytime soon. K?awesomethanks.

So he was gone and left me to my own devices on Friday. So when 5:08pm rolled around, I was bored,...and the sailor on the bottle of rum was giving me the stink-eye. Can you guess our rum of choice?? So I made a cocktail. 30 minutes later, I made another. Then I thought, "well shit, might as well kill that last ounce and welcome comfortable pajamas on the couch." So I did just that. I killed the rum. And felt fantastic. I watched Jeopardy. Cuddled with the pooch. And made leftover tacos for dinner because cooking for one is so lame/annoying/time-consuming/not-worth-it. Then I crawled into bed at 8:30pm without anyone nagging that it was the bedtime of the elderly. Seriously....Mr. Wookie thinks that if you're in bed before 11pm, you're sack-less.

Well...I am - both figuratively and anatomically.

Saturday morning was spent grunting and groaning at the television while my team couldn't find any effort for a mere field goal. For those who are aware of the MASSIVE loathing between Oregon State (the good school) and the University of Phil Knight Oregon, it's mega. Facebook is like Vietnam, minus the DMZ. Well since we're in the column to suckawholelotthisyear, the mud slinging has been quiet. There is no fun at defending the short bus. We're not looking great this season, so we're going to just deal with it. So can I get a side order of hankerchiefs to go?

But Mr. Wookie came home from his "trip" in one piece, although not without stories.

#facepalm

So now we're whole again until the next time Uncle Sam wants him for actual training.

Here's to us, pooch. Next year will be interesting.

Happy 7 months with us, pooch!

Lame sauce as it may be, but I like to mentally remember how long we've been almost loyal owners to this rescue canine that drools more than Teri Schiavo. People do it with their can-be-ugly babies, why can't I with my definitely-can-be-ugly dog?? And this past week marked 7 months of dog ownership for this almost former cat person. From only wanting to scoop liter boxes and have bell'd cat collars, I'm now capable of wiping facial folds, cleaning ears, bathing, picking up poop, and lugging the 50-pound bag of over-priced dog food home from Petco (it's where the pets and Wookiees go).

She's adjusting well here. Okay, well almost. Minus needing you to hold her paw while she pees, she is completely content with having free range to the yard. And as you can see, she tried to get into every photo from the first part of the tour. I expect Accidental Olympian/Alaskan to want to smoosh this face too - she's a dog person, she gets it.

Yesterday she did her best attempt at aggression yet. I was expecting the UPS delivery guy at anytime. So when I heard the barking galore, I expected someone to be at the gate quivering in fear. Yup. Guard dog. Finally. At least when it counts. She doesn't bark when Mr. Wookie comes home from night flights, but at least she recognized that it was a stranger at the property and worth vocal use. It's also worth mentioned the delivery guy was black. And for some reason, she's got issues with tan/black/not pale people. Where's Cesar Luther King when you need him? She's not yet evolved past the Civil Rights...oi ve...and this behavior coming from Wookie & Co. being independent voters, who don't mind gay marriage, who think having 19 kids and counting is kosher, who eat organic salads with their greasy pizzas, and don't mind owning guns. We're accepting of just-about-everyone. Umm...minus Zuckerburg. That guy just looks like a douche.