Halloween: The night I met Mr. Wookie

You may know...but you probably don't. Halloween is always one of my secret holidays because of its effect on my life. Without Halloween back in 2003, there'd be no Wookie & Co. And thanks to this guy (the groom) for drinking a full fifth of liquor, passing out on my couch, and leaving me with a young Mr. Wookie to join me at the jungle juice party (that night was...legendary).

I remember the night like it was yesterday. What I wouldn't give to relive those few hours of mayhem and foolishness. Although I'd probably be impressed with my abilities, embarrassed by dance skills, and curious who most of the people were that were there. And I don't have the outfit anymore (not that it's appropriate at 28 24 anyway...).

My jaw drops when I think about being with him for 8 years. It's nauseating. Eight years. Ten minus two. Eight times 365. But that's what happens when you get old balls and keep reliving your 24th birthday...the years keep increasing despite your best efforts of kidnapping the Oregonian governor and forcing a forged ID so I'm still 24. I'm old. He's old. We're gaining years together like Joan Rivers has face lifts.

I've always been enthused by Halloween and costumes (minus the one year where I got screwed with massive projects the day after Halloween, where I couldn't partake in the festiveness and drink myself into oblivion). I've ranged from a Playboy bunny, to (above's) PTA Mom, to a naughty Catholic school girl, and a woodland nymph (the fairy...not the sex-crazed personality).

But this year, it's different. We don't feel like it's Halloween. I'm having a difficult time realizing that this night, many years ago, my life crashed into the future with the Navy. I didn't think we'd stay together longer than a few months. Really. I was amazed at 6 months. Now I can't imagine life without at least being associated with him (whether he's on the boat, TAD, or hogging the small chunk of bed I end up not sprawling over).

Mr. Wookie's at least carved a pumpkin for tonight. It almost had a mustache. Almost.

Thank goodness it doesn't. #nooffenseDad

And we've only had 3 trick-or-treaters....which is more than we expected considering we live in a gated community. #gatejumpingteens

Wookie & Co. Junior Year Spring Ball

Let's hope the trick or treating ends soon. Because we have Kit Kats in the bowl. And those are my favorite. Mr. Wookie is a close second.

Lastly, my nephew, Little Man, as Brobee from Yo Gabba Gabba. I don't know what this is, but Nephew is adorable. Here's to collecting lots of candy, and then seeing his Reese's peanut butter cup stash dwindle because of his dad. He won't see it coming.

YOU totally want to help SOCAL BULLDOG RESCUE!

Y'all should know Miss Sweet Pea's sad rescue story until she found the dashing home of Wookie & Co. where we spoil her with trash cans of paper to sneak her muzzle into, Kong bones of peanut butter and Beggin' Strips, and a shared bed when Mr. Wookie's gone.

Oh, you don't?? Well read here.

I'm asking a massive favor here. Have a Twitter account?? You can help!!

Go to: "The JDHF" twitter page :http://twitter.com/#!/JasonHeiglFound (Blogger wouldn't hyperlink it for some reason this morning...#douches).

Type in: "(Handle) is following @JasonHeiglFound for #scbr!!"

Then actually follow them (please...you can delete them later. I will.).

SCBR is about 30 votes behind the leader NOW IN THE LEAD! Let's do this!

The very rescue group (SoCal Bulldog Rescue) that took in SP when first abandoned is in heavy competition for $7,000 that they could really use. Like really. They have 50+ bulldogs in rescue, some requiring ear ablations or cherry eye surgeries (which aren't cheap!), and would be more than grateful for the funds for their crusading work. None of it goes towards salary - all are volunteers who merely have a heart for dogs with former butt-puppet owners. #assclowns

Please. Pretty please. I did it. Let's make it like a game. I'll help #scbr if you will. And I did. So it's your turn. Long onto your Twitter and follow the instructions. I'll love you "fur-ever."

Double, double, banana bread trouble.

Thanks to the farm stand for the dead bananas. They couldn't have had a better sign, "FREE." That's the way it should be with dying produce. Don't throw it away to rot in the landfill. Give it up to those who are technically allergic to the potassium-heavy fruit, but are more than capable of enjoying their baked bounty. So I grabbed two 6-fingered clumps of 'nanners and rung up the rest of my produce.


What recipe did I use?? Just the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook that I got going away to college. No need to fancy up banana bread to me. The ol' fashioned works!

And because a slice o' bread isn't worth it until there's a heavy smear of buttah. Because we need to grow heavy coats in this part of the country. It's cold here. Brrr....


Excuse me while I lick the bread knife clean.

Douchebag Property Mgmt, here to screw you.

It's been 2 months since I let loose a steady stream of tears that Native Americans would have considered not canoeing down because they were treacherous and emotional. I was a mixture of irritation and bitchiness. And I cracked.


In regards to our previous condo, we had given notice like good tenant informing that in 31 days we'd be vacating the dwelling we called home for 370 days (our lease was prorated). Our landlord understood, no hard feelings. I may have also forged the vessel saying we were 'moving on base' because of a housing deal they had going on. Why? Because people are less likely to try and convince you otherwise when it's Uncle Sam's involving. So we lied. We wanted new digs. The end.


We hit the snag when it came to the property management. Snatches.


They required you fill out a form to move out (seriously??), you have only a 4-hour window to move out (wtf??), you have to pay to move out (SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!?). They maintain it's to ensure there's no damage to the building upon moveout. Riiight.


So yes, the almighty property management charges you $75 to move out during the week and $125 to move out on the weekends.


But let's get back to the crying...


First, don't think we didn't try to fight this every which way, because when a Ginger gets angry....watch.out. We kept maintaining that it wasn't in our lease, so we weren't going to pay it. We were alone in that fight. The property management says it's the "tenants' responsibility," so take it up with your owners. So I went to our landlord..."It's not in our lease." Sorry Ginger, dickhole says we have to pay it. What.the.FRONT.DOOR?!?!


Then we found out, pay up or risk being assessed a $500 fee for an "improper move-out."


$125 > $500


With Mr. Wookie doing all the calls to trying to get us out of this, there wasn't anyway Uncle Sam would let him leave work to fork over our funds.


So I'm forced to leave work early. Forced to drive down to the property management. Forced to sign over money and an application with our intentions (umm...move out of this Communistic place?). Forced to not 300-style kick the pregnant lady for being the snatch that's all cheery in taking my money. And forced to wrap my head around this short window to move an entire home out of the old place.


Phew. That's in place. We're ready to move the next day. I call Mr. Wookie to confirm the news that we got the time frame on Saturday to put 3 JO's to work being our slaves. Then...a call comes in, unknown, so I let it roll to voicemail.


"Hi Ashley, this is Mary (her real name - bitch), from Douchebag Property Management, we've received your application, but unfortunately it seems to be too late to process. Your move won't happen this weekend. We're closed now. Please call again Monday."


F*** you! I absolutely lost it. After all the emotion put in to fighting this issue, and finally surrendering to the douche-ish ways that were to be with this move, and having to pay to move out of our building...we lose...again. I was red, I was blotchy, I was blubbery, and I was all sorts of Mr.-Wookie-didn't-want-to-see-me-cry-because-it-just-makes-him-angrier.


So Mr. Wookie sends an email to Mary (muahhaha - bitch). An email he wouldn't let me read (must have been bad, eh - bitch!). But I know he was furious. After being the point of contact throughout this whole process, you don't leave a voicemail for the other party stating your intentions. So 20 minutes later, we have a response. "Your move has been processed for Saturday. Have a good weekend." (Suck it - bitch!!).


Wookie for the win.


So we moved out, without too much further hassle. The JO's were wonderful for their muscles. And I even researched Small Claims Court, because I don't like being man-handled. But it just wasn't worth it to us to go after the owner, the landlord, and the court system for the small amount of money that'd be left post-fees. So we're washing it under the bridge. We're the better people. We know it.


And you better believe I had the world's biggest cocktail to help calm my nerves that day. But thinking about it now, I should have asked for an IV drip instead. Save myself the trip to the freezer for more ice and a refill.


So I can now join the ranks of the milspouses with good stories. I may need some Kahlua in my coffee if I keep reliving the nightmare though. Or maybe I should relive it...;)

Baby Emma: touching hearts 900 miles away.

Middle Sister isn't liking living away from family. With Little Man, she was mere hours drive time to be with my little nephew. Welcome to living afar when family life grows on. It's not desirable. In the perfect world where money grows on trees, or from trust funds, we could jump a private jet for Oregon to hang out with the little beauty. Instead, I have responsibilities here and the not-so-deep wallet for routine trips to Oregon to see family.

This is when Skype becomes so important. I'm so thankful for modern conveniences where I can webcam with my dad (Grandpa "part deux" as he calls it) and Little Man, and enjoy the child development of the family.

I talked with the proud Grandpa yesterday as we were discussing the photos that would be available online (we have a family/joint Photobucket account so we can mass-upload in events like these). She looks so angelic (and you know I'm not a fan of children, really). It must be the bow. Because my ovaries don't react in a positive way....ever.

Maybe...just maybe I could take 9 months out of my social drinking to grow a short version of a human. A couple years down the road. Because I'm already on a vodka pineapple juice...so it'll have to wait. Obviously.

But then I think about meltdowns when the child is 2 years old.

And I think about the vodka again...

So your burning question: "When will I meet the new addition?" Probably Spring Break. But I never point favoritism for just meeting a new child. I'm always a fan of seeing my Brother and Sister-in-Law also. Because without them, humping would never lead to little ladies who rock pink headbands and hope their older brother doesn't sabotage their dating career. That and they don't require diaper changes. Babies do...

Too early to discuss dating?

No such thing. Besides, Brother owns guns. He's already prepared for 16 years later.

Milspouse Friday Fill-In from SoCal!

1. I want a lot of things. But that's the difference between wants and needs with life. I want a fridge that stocks itself, a dog that walks itself, and dishes that are put into the cupboard post-wash cycle. I'd like a trust fund too. But that's a long shot. So until then, I want sheets that are half flannel and half sateen that aren't ridiculously priced. Yes, they make these.
2. I have  a dog that reminds me she's cute. I have a man that defends freedom. And I have a USAA bank account that doesn't charge $5/debit transaction. 
3. I wish teeth whitening strips didn't taste like ass.
4. I hope  we're able to find patio furniture that fits are 'wants.' We don't feel like our wish list is excessive. All we want: 2 chairs, with 2 ottomans, and a cocktail table in the middle...that's comfortable...and will last more than one summer season.
5. I wonder  if one is ever happy with life or if there's a constant need for the anti-stagnancy. I feel like since adopting the military lifestyle, I don't like being with the same schedule/lifestyle/arrangement for too long. It's like I itch for change. But then again, I cringe at change. So what the heck is wrong with me? Maybe because vodka companies keep their recipes the same, it's not big deal. ;)

Dear blog, sorry for the neglect. I still loves you.

In honor of the text dumps I've seen in the blogosphere lately, it's time for mine.

- Mr. Wookie survived his Kangaroo Court...to which he spent the night with the Junior Officers camping out on the beach. His perfect timing home was just as I was taking bacon out of the oven (yes, I cook bacon in the oven). So I had to share half my porkly squandor. ...wahwah...

- We are closing in on the weekend my parents will be visiting! Eeek!!

- The weather here has been beautifully Oregonian, with today being completely cloudy with the touch of sprinkling. Almost perfect.

- I still watch Extreme Couponing...and constantly yell at the television. I don't know why I watch. It's addicting. But I can't stop hoping people hear me - just because you have coupons for candy bars, doesn't mean you need them...

- I have less than 4 weeks until my Malibu half marathon. Am I ready? Heck no. Will I still run? Heck yes.

- I hope to see at least the backside of a celebrity as they PR.

- Oh, Mr. Wookie left again Tuesday. Yup, we're in the throws of pre-deployment training. I feel so green behind the ears that I'm not fearing anything about this process. Yes, he's not here more times than not. But we're so weird in our relationship that we can handle weeks apart and zero communication that being separated isn't that big of a deal.

- So to answer the question, yes, Sweet Pea has been joining me during my unconscious episodes (and I intend for this to mean sleep, but then I realized that people will probably read that I drink myself into a stupor...which is not the case, at all. Promise. We always know when to call it a night. And that's before tequila is mentioned...).

- Oh, and this gem graced the world a little earlier than planned. Due November 12th, Lil' Emma joined her family late last night at 7 lbs, 1 oz. to the proud parents of my Brother and Sister-in-Law. Fully baked, this lil beauty will discharge tomorrow and continue rockin' her brunette hair (Middle Sister is so proud of this!) as the latest member of this family of four.

Waiting for Mr. Wookie

I'm on standby, waiting, right by the phone, in case someone needs a ride home. You see, Mr. Wookie is not home. Well...he is home...after being gone this week...(he got in super late and left super early, so I've seen him for maybe 20 minutes total), but he's not home right now. He's "away" defending his good name and title in a little Navy tradition known as the "Kangaroo Court."

Unbeknownst to me since our arrival, there's a board in the Ready Room that tallies everyone's "faults." Every time you get called out for a fault (say you get promoted in your khakis and fail to apply the new insignia to the rest of your uniforms...then you come in with the lower rank on your shoulders), BOOM...you're charged $5. This is the only thing Mr. Wookie has been charged with and will subsequently pay for.


Most other people aren't that lucky. In fact, Mr. Wookie's one of these lowest owe-rs.


So tonight was the mock trial where everyone can plead their failed case about taking phone calls from wives/girlfriends in the Commanding Officer's presence, not remaking the coffee after taking the last cup, locking the computer with your ID, or leaving your ID on base and requiring a chauffeur the following morning into the squadron. The charges range but the fines are the same. Pay up.


Plus the money goes to a good cause though - supporting the squadron.


So tonight we're $5 poorer as Mr. Wookie rocked his LTJG bars while a newly promoted LT while standing duty that day. Woops.

Please don't be food poisoning...

Last night I was forced to "indulge" in a brandy on the rocks...because thanks to Google, having a cocktail might prevent the onset of food poisoning.


Yes, this is Mr. Wookie's logic.


About an hour after I had my dessert (leftover birthday tiramisu), I started to feel off. I thought maybe my blood sugar was dipping since dinner, but I knew it wasn't enough time for that to happen. Then I thought maybe I'm still dehydrated from our weekend backpacking trip, so I got my water bottle and started pounding the fluids. Then I voiced the uneasiness of my stomach with Mr. Wookie.


"Yeah, I felt that about 30 minutes ago."


Screeeeeech. What!?!?!


We've both experienced food poisoning before. The other time was in college. We had picked up Chinese take-out from a restaurant up on 53rd (Baby Sister, so you know which place), and had taken it back to his apartment for movies and grub. Fast forward, I'm feeling really woozy. So Mr. Wookie rolls over to Safeway (aka Vons to us SoCal-ers) and picks up a vat of Pepto.


Fast forward an hour, Mr. Wookie has joined me in exchanging the Pepto bottle as we both lean our head on the toilet. It was then you know you can almost face anything together. Minus...when the food poisoning makes a disastrous "exit." That's just a whole different can of worms meant for different sides of the house.


So I had an ounce of brandy on the rocks, felt decent enough to try sleeping, so I did.


Now it's morning. And the underlying "blah" feeling is still there. Do I eat my obligatory Cheerios for breakfast for fear of yacking them up? Or do I play it safe with some toast?? Mr. Wookie doesn't feel a thing thanks to his iron gullet (or it could have been that he immediately combated the feeling of queasiness with Scotch on the rocks instead of trying to tough it out??), so he's dressed for PT and ready for the day.


My dainty lady stomach - what the heck??

Celebrating my 28th birthday with Mr. Wookie, a bottle of wine, and fantastic home-made dinner.

The day started out like any other - minus I was woken up at 6:45am for a delicious breakfast (that even had Mr. Wookie's squadron mates impressed that he was up early to prepare such). In my day of birthday excellence, where I didn't even put on a bra for company (it was just Running Buddy), she spent the morning lounging away while we yammered on the upcoming boat schedules, flight schedules, dinners with other wives, and how her new neighbors on base may be selling some furniture (maybe a patio set!??!).

But before she left, the house wasn't complete without a Mylar balloon. My attitude about my birthday changed the more Facebook messages came in, Yes, it is my birthday - apparently I need to effin' enjoy this since it's only once a year...and that pesky 30 is coming closer. Gag.

But I ran my errands for the day, spent time in Target...because it's Target!, got my hair trimmed, and my nails did, then came home to a frantic Mr. Wookie condemning me to the bedroom. It was fine, we got some bills in the mail that I prepped for payment. But then he finally let me watch the Oregon vs. Cal football game that was on ESPN. Oooh, football on my birthday! Yes!! Unfortunately I didn't see LaMichael "I beat my pregnant baby mama" James get injured. Karma's a bitch.

Tangent over.

The evening started out with a Collection from Sterling Vineyards (we've been there in Napa, adored it, and constantly buy their wine).

With the wine, a cheese platter was made up to keep me distracted out of the kitchen. Yes, red wine with white cheese...it's my birthday - BTFU. This distraction was gladly accept because I hadn't eaten since BREAKFAST. I know, I know! What can I say?? I get excited when I get a crazy delicious mystery meal is being made for me!

What?? No red pepper goat cheese for me??

Tiramisu. I can die happy...

The sauce for the crab mac 'n cheese.

Once I got bored watching the team who can't match jersey tops to bottoms, I joined Mr. Wookie in the kitchen under strict orders to stay outta his way. Okay, that's fine, I'll just sit on the counter while the dog drools at the smell of AWESOME. And I may or may not have professed my love for him over and over again. He's a catch.

Hollandaise sauce.

Oh...my...goodness....soooo GOOD! He's a stinkin' professional in the kitchen. The man even put asparagus on the menu despite despising it. But he's willing to deal with stinky urine for 24 hours in the sake of my birthday and the nutrients in it.

My birthday. The big 2-8.

Thank you, you modest personal chef you. It was fantastic. I'm sorry I get all soft and mushy, but you really are my best friend. Thanks for all the laughs and tears since you've been around pre-21st birthday. Each year is awesome and you constantly out-do yourself. Now where are my stretchy pants...I think the tiramisu made my pants tight. Because it definitely wasn't the bottle of wine we split.

You may have heard today is my birthday.

Yes, it is. I'm gathering one more year on Earth as an awesome redhead with parents, siblings, adopted grandparents, parents, and siblings (I'm talking Mr. Wookie's crew).

But I never like birthdays. I mean, I do. Sometimes. When it's cheerful and happy, but then I realize that each day is one more day where a wrinkle will set in, gravity will havoc my flesh, and I'm thismuchcloser to Mr. Wookie trading me in for a new model (that's his joke since I'm actually older than he is - hmpphhhh!!!!).

But the party started early. On Tuesday to be exact. I came home from work with a homeless box on my stoop. Nope, definitely not a million dollars.

Holy peanut butter and fudgsicles, Batman! Shut your face. Shut the front door. What is this!?! Could my unabashed 'pinning' on Pinterest have led to the greatest Beaver Gear known to "eco-friendly people" (I'd say 'hippie,' but let's be honest - I shower. I vote (not just one party). But damn, do I recycle.)???? A bright-ass orange market basket for when I shop the farmer's markets. Do you know how difficult it is to load lettuce into a floppy polypropylene bag?? Darn difficult. But now I can load lettuce with ease. And poblano peppers, corn, eggs, strawberries, and radish shoots (no, really...delicious!).


And yes, I swear there's artwork in the bathroom that ties in the red hand towel and the shower curtain. It's just on the same wall as the mirror. Sorry folks.

And an awkward side view of the basket. More like an awkward pose, but that's my issue. #NextTopModelfail I'm pretty sure you could fit a newborn in here. Let's try!

So on today's schedule is pampering. No working. Not for me. I have my standard 8-week hair trim today, so I'll get a mad shampoo to make me giggle. And probably champagne. Then I have a nail appointment, because I felt like being pampered some more. And sometime today, I'll mosey down to Macy's to hopefully score a free makeover while getting a new lipgloss (we're almost out of our favorite MAC hot pink gloss).

Today started out great though. And a little misty-eyed. I was summoned for breakfast of a Queen. All this, and Mr. Wookie couldn't even join me (squadron PT is his priority). Yes, that's a mimosa. Yes, it was perfect. *wink* So my belly started out right this morning with french toast, pig product, mostly champagne, a cup o' coffee, and my favorite: Gerbera daisies. I still don't know where he hid those!?! That sneaky boy!!

Shucks...do I need anything?? Well besides a hair cut, manicure, and lip gloss....well company for dinner would be awesome. Unless Uncle Sam has other plans, which wouldn't surprise me. But then again, there's always the opened champagne bottle in the fridge.

Mrs. Wookie: Birthday Party of One!

First comes air shows. Then comes deployment.

The Navy. It's a great branch sometimes. It has stations not in the middle of North Dakota (really, Air Force...who wants to live there????). The desert-storm flight suits can recreate GhostBusters costumes with ease. And you have the best pilots* (umm....yes...because only Navy pilots can land on a floating city).

Our current location has a rotating set of squadrons where one group is in each phase of deployment (whether it's surging, preparing, deploying, returning, standing by, or getting screwed with back-to-back deployments). We're thisclose to ramping up to "boat time" and so the schedule this month is much less time at home. Thanks to a couple texts today, my calendar includes much more "Mr. W gone -------------> Mr. Wookie home?"

The more I look at the calendar over the next 24 months, the more I get excited...and nauseous...and excited...and nervous...and "Oh my Gawd, we're actually doing this!!!!" We're finally facing a deployment. I say "finally," because flight school is such a process for the men and ladies to go through. It's years of dedication and a government wad of money. It's stress. And for those who STA-21 with families, it's even more intense.

It just has me thinking that it's been years since we've gone long distance. So this'll be a fun and learning time to readjust to being alone again. But even then, this'll be the real deal. It'll be me, and the dog, and the Wives Group. It'll be insane mailing schedule of "Are you bored yet?" packages, it'll be lots of cooking for 2 (can't forget lunch the next day!), and it'll be me in my house...alone...taking visitors (hint, hint).

Months ago, Mr. Wookie's squadron was in the 'standing by' position. This means they stayed busy with lots of public relations. A lot - whether flyovers or air shows.

If you've recently been to an airshow in this country, you may have seen Mr. Wookie! I would die the moment I get an email saying, "Oh my goodness!! Mrs. Wookie - I found him!! And he's even cuter in person!"

Okay, that last part I may have to whip your butt for comments like that. I mean, I agree...but come on...

And did you notice his arm patch? That's right. Representing...

I know that many of the blogs I stalk are amidst deployments, and many have welcomed home their hot, lover men from defending freedom, and there may be a few just like my cocktail-lovin' self that will wave off their sailors for months gone. I know I'm bright-eyed about this upcoming "fun," but maybe it'll propel me through a few days of it all before I turn into a whining bitch of cocktail-needing annoyance.

Time to whip out muffins tins to start freezing soup!

*Yup. Those guys are good. Are they any better than front-line Marines? No. Those guys are badass in their own right. The Navy just happens to make some excellent pilots, especially E-2 pilots (and COD) where the wing clearance is 2 feet on each wing. Yowzas!