It's now the best time of the year!

First order of business: Take Nate Berkus' Holiday Decoration Style quiz. Now go. Because what's better than  lounging at home, not being a Black Friday sit-in-lines-at-10pm-for-Midnight-openings crazy shopper?? Well...holiday quizzes, that's what.

So go. Take it. And report back. Were they right?? Or are they off their rocker?

My results were right on the ball. I keep a small collection of boxes and bags to use each year so I don't have to buy them (eco-conscious and a tradition). I love making the same cookies each year that my mom's made for millenia. I think that's one reason why Mr. Wookie stayed after that first Christmas - first Christmases are always awkward. What to you get someone that you barely know?? I wrapped up a Rocky poster and a couple DVD's. Thank goodness for those cookies. They probably kept him around. I also tape the holidays cards received onto the wall so you can see the collection grow with each card.

The holidays are about bridging the childhood with adulthood. There comes a time when you can't make it home, hopefully your parents understand, and hopefully they know that you're rocking the traditions still in style. This year is that time. We spent last year with my family, which meant a lot to them, and they understand that you have to share holidays with extended families when families are spread throughout the country.

This holiday season is something special anyways. We're soaking in everything festive and fun since next year will be spent with Mr. Wookie on the USS Not Home For Christmas. We're making the most of it. Everyone sacrifices time for deployment. It's our turn. But we're not going out without a rockin' Christmas season to last us through the upcoming military separation.

But enough of the drag down, it's time to decorate this place up. That st00pid holiday in the way of today is gone. Yes. Now it's sleigh bells, garland, researching where to get a tree when you live in permanent-sunshine land, and the furniture tetris needed to add said Christmas tree to the living room arrangement.

Cue the Pandora Christmas channel. Cue Mariah Carey. Cue ZERO Justin Bieber.

And the upside to the season....holiday packs of your favorite libations. Because what's $5 more for a bottle of Maker's Mark when it comes with a team of low ball glasses? ...even when you sacrilege it with a vodka tonic.

I'd like to sayThanks for the Giving!

Tuesday evening marked a load of questions as I approached my door stoop. Why did UPS just leave a Crate & Barrel box at my gate. Why is there one by my door also? Why are they addressed to Mr. Wookie???? And what the heck is going on???

Facebook was alit as people prompted me to open them up, but knowing that opening another person's mail IS A FEDERAL CRIME, and my dad is The Sheriff (not really, but really), I waited it out. I waited a patient 17 minutes before Mr. Wookie came through the door with, "What the heck are these?"

Umm...buddy...they have your name on them. Playing dumb with presents only works when I'm 7 - that time I had to "pick out a toy for my cousin," but it turned out to actually be a toy for myself and my mother was snatchingly brilliant in her ploy of making us feel like dumbasses for being so greedy.

I love Crate & Barrel. It's like Pottery Barn, but not douchely overpriced. It's like Target, but a step up in the modernity. If I could live in a C&B store, I would. I had never heard of C&B until Will & Grace, when "Just Jack" mentioned he worked there. Well....if a gay man approves, then I approve.

So with an adequate amount of intrigue, Mr. Wookie begins the assault into the boxes. And once there, we find a card atop the clutter of bubble wrap and cushioning.

Awwwwwww. Wait. How'd she know we like Crate & Barrel??

Because when your son doesn't call you, you're forced to read a blog written by his awesome tenured female to which she drones on-and-on about bullshit and stupidity where you can sometimes pick up useful information like she likes C&B. Der. Wow. Smart, I am.

The boy didn't even waste crucial time changing out of his flight suit before opening up the boxes. He was intrigued. What all arrived? After I though bedding...because the boxes were huuuuuge. But then out comes delicately wrapped martini glasses. Ohhh.....we like us some martinis.

Please aww then ignore the mayhem that is "Movember." Ugh. It's gone. Thankfully.

Then came the second box. Good golly...it doesn't end!

We know are the proud owners of a new full set of barware. 12 wine glasses, 4 margarita glasses, 6 martinia glasses, 4 pilsners, and 6 champagne flutes. All here. And now....no where to be stored. We've hit the issue of needing a credenza to house this new accumulation and the China we inherited last Christmas. With our former small stash of drinkware, we could fit things into a narrow cupboard without issue. Welcome to adulthood, now get your ass a sideboard that'll hold linens, Great Aunt Mildred's ashes, and 50-year-old Scotch.


Everything stayed on the table for 2 days. I didn't know where to put it. Then I pulled up the credenza I was eye-balling this time last year. Silly me. With only China acquired, it wasn't necessary for us to drop on another piece of furniture. But with this haul, I feel the need. The need for speed something...and we'll add it to our list of Things For The House.  Maybe we'll have better luck with a horizontal hutch than patio furniture. Maybe...

So from Wookie & Co, we toast you. Thank you Mama Wook for the great present. We really appreciate it. In fact, one of the wine glasses was christened that night with a local cabernet sauvignon. It was delightful. I felt pretentious holding it while telling Sweet Pea to, "Outside. Bathroom." Like she'll listen even more now. Oh, my owner...she's got these new wine glasses...gotta step my game up.


Have a great Thanksgiving y'all. As "squadron strays," we're moseying over to Running Buddy's house for mealtime. We're bringing the bubbly in tow. Because that's the way strays do it. Everything in moderation overkill...

Mrs. Wookie's Friday Night math

Mr. Wookie + Vegas + college friends = Mrs. Wookie in her pajamas as soon as she got home.
Mrs. Wookie - Mr. Wookie + Sweet Pea = still shared body heat at night.
Mrs. Wookie +/- Mr. Wookie = she still makes the coffee in the morning.
Mrs. Wookie + Sweet Pea + squadron family with a new puppy = training day for said new puppy to get experience when not all dogs go to heaven are friendly.
Mrs. Wookie + cocktail + remote that won't work = Mrs. Wookie cavewoman-banging the remote on the floor.
Mrs. Wookie - personal chef = nachos for dinner.
Mrs. Wookie + broken remote = Monk. ugh.
Mrs. Wookie - clean cups = cocktails out of coffee mugs.
Mrs. Wookie + rum + Coke = happiness and ice cubes.
Mrs. Wookie + math blogpost = I'm tired. Time to go bash the remote until something better comes on.

Uh oh. New blog design itch. Must scratch.

I will say I went quiiiiite awhile with my current design. But alas, it's time for new. So let's hold on tight like it's the thrill of your lifetime. And I'll lead you with a tidbit o' fun.

Last night was calm. It was a sweet night together, dinner at a swanky high-class restaurant where we were the last people to leave. The weather'd black man on the keyboard playing Jazz was perfect. We stuffed a $5 in his jar. I ordered the rack of lamb. It was just right. The leek and potato hash... caramelized and tender. I so wanted to grab the rib and chew the fleshy remains, but I refrained. Instead I took home the half i couldn't eat, including those meaty ribs, so I can savor the delicacy from the comfort of my own kitchen.

My Cabernet from Washington State was a hefty pour. But at $10/glass, you expect the over-indulgences. I sipped my wine throughout the dinner. We were the only ones in our area. The conversation was on money. On our dreams. And how we'll travel the world. We expect life to only get better. We know there'll be more trips to us. They probably won't contain the ability to sock away $20 million into Swiss accounts and live beyond Warren Buffet's wildest dreams, but we'll at least work hard for what we want. I'd die to drop everything because of a trust fund to support me. But then again, the value of a dollar and my self-engrained stance on getting the best deal on life wavers the dreams of going to the airport and hopping a random flight to somewhere exotic.

I've never flown first class. And I never want to. I know people who have. Mr. Wookie. And he says it pains him to fly couch since that experience. Although he does, because it was his mom who sprung for that first-class ticket - he's just dreaming of the high life.

Oh yea...my story.

We finished the night with champagne. A pop. A pour. A kiss. And a "I can't believe it."

Then I woke up the next day with a slight hangover. One glass of wine. A glass of champagne. That's all it took. Note to self. Stick with just the champagne....

7 years, 11 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days + 1

My camera is dead. I've been having too much fun trying to figure out the fun variables.

So there are cell phone pictures...of our bubbly. An aged bottle of Korbel from our 3rd anniversary together. In our chic...uh...wine glasses, because we don't actually own champagne glasses. But it beats coffee mugs (haha, right Collin??)...or maybe it doesn't. We're eye-balling flutes...but they're at Crate and Barrel. And that's a good 60 miles away. And I'm too frugal to pay for shipping and handling when I could easily buy half the store while there. So what I need is a trip to visit Middle Sister...after my anniversary, that is.

Tonight is about the awesome. Us. How many people do you know that hit 8 years together, no Uncle Sam-involvement, no offspring, just two people...who are awesome.

And that's all I'm going to input for this post. We're enjoying the moment. The awe. And the pilot of "Running Wilde" - because Will Arnett can cure cancer. My illusions, Michael.

Did you know Wookie & Co. started on a futon?

Tomorrow is our anniversary. Tomorrow is the anniversary of a weekend spent lounging on a crummy futon that actually belonged to my roommate (who I'd hear routinely having sex upstairs with random people probably once a month - yeah, so awesome...). Mr. Wookie and I were in the throes of having known each other for 2 weeks, finding each other increasingly cute, and realizing our taste in movies is legen...............dary and that starting a relationship with a 2-day movie marathon is a solid foundation.

What's better than spending our anniversary than Mr. Wookie being in all-day top-secret training and getting out of work late???

Well...anything. :) But hopefully tomorrow involves a bottle of wine, a great dinner, and fabulous company. If not...I'll enjoy a bottle of bubbly...myself.

So that's what a mild depression feels like...

The time was 9:03pm on Friday night. I'm lounged on my couch. My half-eaten pad se ew sat on the coffee table. It was in a styrofoam container, my chop sticks were beside it, but I can't convince the restaurant industry to not use the toxic project. That meal is my favorite take-out here. Number 41 from #1 Chinese, this clean hole-in-the-wall at a shoddy Mexican shopping center. It's less than 5 miles from us. And the perfect capstone.


It was 9:12pm...I had a cocktail on the side table. It was almost gone. But I couldn't have made a better celebration drink. It had been a long week. And it had been a long time since.... I keep repeating myself to Mr. Wookie...


"I'm actually really happy now."


No one likes to reveal to people, people they love let alone, that they just haven't felt themselves lately. But with last week's upswing in emotionally happiness, I realized I had been down in the dumps for weeks and just didn't know it. But then I think about this time last year. We were newly Californians, there was immediate boat time for Mr. Wookie, and I didn't know a soul here. How I was clinically depressed, I don't know.


It's amazing what a year can make in life. And while it's been a long year in the making, I'm glad it's happened. I've learned so much about myself, and what I can encounter and withstand. There's only been a few mental breakdowns, but duly warranted.


So now I'm starting our second year here with the firm foundation I so wanted when we first moved here. I always want instant-success. I want my dream job NOW. I want our dream house NOW. Just call me Veruca from Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. I'm so demanding of life when it reality, life is meant to be slow and enjoyed. I dislike the initial unfamiliarity of it all. Now I know it takes a rough year to enjoy the new.


I guess I was swept from Virginia before I could make it truly mine. We were barely there for a year. And it still seems like a dream. We couldn't have had a better start to living together. Flight school was stressful, but the confines of stress ended at 5pm. Happy hours were plentiful. Friends were enjoyed from Oregon who were also in the path of flight school. And a good friend lived 3 hours North who I'd routinely visit.


Now we're Californians and we're both in unfamiliar waters. We're less than a year out to deployment. Work-ups are interesting as just as I get used to him being gone, he's home. And once I get his laundry caught up, he's gone again. I hear this cycle is the worst. And I'm not complaining yet...or at all. It's just unfamiliar. I'm quite glad we're here for a couple more years. I'm just now experiencing the beauty that makes Southern California desirable and it's turned winter on me. I long for the summer days where I can get sunburned in January after a 4-mile run. These long "winter" nights just make me feel like I live in Fargo.


I can't explain the fog I experienced over the last month-plus; I can only describe it as my birthday happened...then I snapped out of it. And it wasn't a deep fog...just a blanket fog - like my mind had evolved into Eeyore. Noooo bother.


But I'm back. Back with a vengeance. Back to enjoying life like a Ginger should. Back to caring about my health (hello back to running - that break was....depressing...PUN INTENDED!), and back to my usual antics. So yes, I take my glass of mead and toast ....well...myself. Because I'm awesome. Awesome enough to not realize I'm a sad sack of pale genes until my new-found spirit kicks me in my pubic symphosis.


Now let's get ready to ruuuuuuuumble! That and I'm gassy today. Don't know why. Just am. You're welcome. I love sharing this information with you. It truly reveals I'm back.

The makings of our Veterans' Day...just no day off.

His alarm went off way too early this morning. I rolled over, sensed him get up, heard the shower, and I fell back asleep. I had to work today...but I like money, so I don't complain. Today was a national holiday (even though I forgot and totally checked the mail when I got home from work  - haha, woops!). But unlike most Marines, sailors, soldiers, and airmen that had today off, not Mr. Wookie - he had a special task today...which is the reasoning behind the early wake-up.

Instead of he being the one to roll over when he hears my alarm go off for work, and being able to enjoy the holiday that celebrates his career at the moment, he was actually scheduled on a flight. Ooooooo. What kind of flight??? Well...a test flight of the latest and greatest version of his aircraft that's coming out.

Sounds fancy, right?? Anyways, this week his squadron was notified that the test pilots wanted a "trunk monkey" of the E-2 to give 'er a whirl during their 4-hour test flight. These test pilots do just that. Test aircraft. That's their job. They get to fly all sorts of planes, trial versions, pre-fleet ones, and some of the planes are pretty weird looking in their modifications. But whatever, they get paid. They can't complain. Plus, they're at NAS NorthOfMalibu also, so seeing them fly around is pretty shnifty nifty.

To me, it only makes sense to bring along a fleet aviator that's on a sea tour, gearing up for deployment, to give an honest opinion of the new version. I've heard about this new plane for a couple years now - and all I've heard is the negative. But maybe a test flight would change minds. And a realist is a good choice for a test flight.

So Mr. Wookie was the lucky victim. The poor sap who had to wake up at 0430...on a national holiday...for an 0600 brief. Whether the test pilots knew they got an NFO (Naval Flight Officer) that knows both of the radar technology systems, I don't know. Mr. Wookie graduated flight school knowing the "Windows 2007" system, but was reporting for a squadron with the "Windows 2000" version - so he had to spend a few more weeks learning the other system, thus stalling our PCS but giving me more time at my old job to make that money. Can you tell I love money????

But seriously, what's better way to spend your Friday morning than an O'Dark Thirty wake-up, right?? I mean, you can sleep in the next day, right???

And I asked how the flight went this afternoon...he said, "Gucci." Translation: Damn.

Happy Veterans' Day from our flight suit family to yours. Whether brown boots, black boots, BDUs, poopy suits, Johnny Cash's (I love these!), or Marine PT shorts (hello!), we're all in this together. Just not the Navy PT gear...yellow and I don't go together.

That birthday present that's been camera shy.

So I haven't exactly shared the cou de gras that made my 28th birthday epic...legendary...and magnanimous. It had me squeeling at the UPS delivery guy like he was wearing a Chippendale uniform, and asking him, "OMG, what is this?!?!?!?"

"Uh, Ma'am, it looks to be a hammock."

"WHAAAAAAAT? EEEeeeekkkk...it's my birthday present!!"

"Uhhh (backtracking)...it could be anything!" Nice try, buddy.

The man I live with, call Mr. Wookie, am about to hit another year together as our anniversary is next week, has a sneaky way of recording conversations we have and filing them away as "Things to get her, she'll die and love me forever." Yup. Ever since moving into our new digs, I've yammered on and on about how the Sheriff had a hammock growing up. Each summer, we'd fight like siblings for the right to be in the middle. We'd have competitions about who could invert themselves on the rope hammock and stay attached. Like Cliffhanger, but an 8-year-old's version.

If we lost Dad, we knew where to find him. In his hammock.

I wanted that memory. Where if Mr. Wookie lost me...and my laptop lay silent...he knew where to find me.

While curing cancer and aiding people of the torment it takes on lives, there's nothing like basking in the California sun on a plush hammock that's concave arc faces away from the sun so you don't even need sunglasses. I lose myself in the moment. As I gaze up up towards the rugged California hills, I think we're pretty damn lucky. A year ago I was painfully accepting reality in this place. Now...I'm thanking my lucky stars we have 2 more years here. Years...that amount of time that sounds so far away...and is.

But before I could bask in the beauty that is one hell-of-a birthday present. I had to lug it around back. Now where's my Home Depot back brace and suspenders??

This is not my father's hammock. This is a hammock built on the foundation of the Nordic gods. A base that takes 2 people to move. And it hosts a quilted double hammock that can hold 450 pounds. So essentially it can hold me...Mr. Wookie...and Sweet Pea...except Drools McGee is not allowed on the hammock. Drool and peace do not co-exist. That bumper sticker belongs elsewhere.

So when my trusty parents made a long weekend trek down to Painfully Sunny, California, you'll never guess where my Dad went missing. "It's so warm here." Yes, Dad, yes it is. Now can I get you a refill on your gin and tonic? Because I think life's treating you a bit to unkind. You know, that fluffy perma-attached pillow that's behind your head and all.

But I agree - I just may be suicidal. I don't know how I'll ever live under these conditions. If you can see in the background, I live along a stretch of green grass that the Scottish would be proud to play. If you don't get that, then I'll spell it out for you. I live on a golf course. I know, right? Shoot me now. But hey, at least I'm not too stuck-up with my $12,000 engagement ring, team of illegal Mexican gardeners, and a Range Rover. Please. This bitch be flyin' tight with her Asian import car, freckles, and vodka dependency. Say what...[oh, and we live in the smallest house on the block - what up now?]

Oh and the only thing bad about this gift. No cup holders. So I have to hold onto my cocktail...ugh...take this gift back!

[This post is about an engagement ring.]

You're intrigued with this title, aren't you? Muhaha, I've got you now my pretties!


But don't feel like I'm going to interlude you into my story for today like I usually do. I'm going to take the shock and awe approach. Because it's Sunday. And I'm well rested thanks to that extra hour of sleep. Yup...I enjoy lacking children. Because I can do what I want, drink when I want (which is usually no earlier than 4:30pm on the weekends), and sleep as long as I want. I just haven't trained Sweet Pea to make coffee yet.


Oh wait...was that an interlude? Shit.


Anyways. I've got to tell you a story. A story of a man...and his filibustering commitment to love. I once met a guy. He was tall. He was in the Navy. And he talked of how much he loved his long-time girlfriend. His next step in life: get married. So he bought a ring.


Okay, joke's on you. This story isn't about me. But were you thinking it was? Because I'm a sneaky bitch on a Sunday night to tell hilariously false tales about glitter, unicorns, and engagement rings. Hahaha...oh my...how sick my humor is. But seriously, keep reading.


Last night I met a guy. Not like "met" a guy...but we were at a 30th birthday party, cocktail in hand - I was warming my cold butt by the fire pit when a conversation started with the fellow fire pit stand-er by-er. Yammer yammer...small talk. He's from somewhere on the East Coast that's not important because it's the East Coast. I'm from the booming state of Oregon where trees, deer, and trout probably outnumber the human race. Blah blah...he has a girlfriend of 4 years who's in Italy. I internally give mad props for those who conquer the long-distance dance. We did it. For a year and a half. And I swear it makes you sane once you remove the distance. There wasn't any awkward move-in phase - it was just "Dude...we live in the same state city zip code together!! Awesome."


Dude...Mrs. Wookie...what's with all the tangents tonight...???


I don't know, self. Sorry. Must be one of those kind of days.


Back to the story. Wah wah....continuing small talk...he says he recently called up his girlfriend's dad to ask her blessing. He said he got "permission" but not a "blessing" - so....he's pretty sure his girlfriend's dad loathes him. But he doesn't care. What he does care about...is the $12,000 engagement ring he bought her.


Twelve thousand.


One two zero zero zero dot zero zero.


I didn't know what to say. I can't really condemn the guy with my overbearing belief that DeBeers' success is merely a brilliant marketing campaign. I reigned in my soapbox, I did. I didn't want to blurb out that his ring cost more than my car (true story - a car is just a car to me and I buy non-luxury). I had nothing except, "You know you could go to Fiji for that amount." Fiji...a beautiful place...a nasty price tag.


I met my match. It wasn't even a deer in headlights moment. I was just dumb-founded that someone who spend that insanely high amount of money for a little piece of jewelry. Celebrities aside because they usually live in a bubble of vapidity, I feel like taking the 3-months-income theory is a load of hogwash and an idealized foundation to 1950's culture where the Betty Drapers will claw their way faux-aristocratic living however possible.


But I don't really want to brush off my soapbox for my theories on relationships (because I haven't had a cocktail yet, nor do I want readership to drop off the face of the Earth, that and everyone is entitled to their opinions and decisions just like this guy). It shouldn't be about dropping mad cash on squished carbon. It should just be about the people. If he wants to sever 5-digits from his bank account, and can afford it, I guess power to him. 


I don't know what else to write about this...I could go so many ways. My brain is still speechless with the amount of money he spent. What are your thoughts?


And sorry for the joke. I know it's not April yet. But come on...I'm Mr. Wookie-less while he's TAD and the humor just came to me. I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you. Come by for a cocktail. Because drinking alone is something only...well...Mrs. Wookies do.

So I quit my job this week. Yup. That's right.

This week some readers thought Annoyed Army Wife was on the verge of leaving her job, throwing in the towel, walking away...however you want to put it. But she didn't.


I did.


Last week I officially dropped the knowledge bomb that I, Mrs. Wookie, of somewhat-sound mind and pale body, Employee Extraordinaire, let my boss know that I'd be riding off into the sunset 2 weeks from then. The sunset of another job. Not a military move.


I've never given notice for another job before. And I was petrified. Petrified I'd be judged. Petrified I'd be condenmed. Petrified if you're making the right decision...


But let's not pretend this is my first job out of college. I've had the pleasure of temping and working in a variety of jobs. And I've had the honor of leaving jobs for many reasons.


* January 2009: I was getting the royal shove out the door thanks to a shitty economy.
* July 2010: I was curtsying my way across country because of Mr. Wookie's orders.
* October 2011: I'm bidding adieu on my own terms.


And what terms are those? Simple. I want more green. It's only human nature to want to be successful. Success to me is continual professional growth and cashing in for some coin. And for that, I have a list of ideals to be met. First moving out here, the local economy was 3rd-degree burned. We're talking 11+% unemployed. It took me 3+ months to find a job that I loved (until then it was menial temping with shitty hours, shlumpy managers, and gossip Queens for coworkers just to bring home thin bacon). There was a reason why I wasn't clicking my heels in happiness when we moved here. California was a bitch.


Then come Christmas break, I get the call I wanted. I was hired at a local marketing and design firm. Shazam hot shit. It's like Mad Men, minus the liquor...and the baby daddy drama...and the barefoot'd boss. I was the quintessential redhead, and (go figure) a military man on my arm, walking around like I owned the place (har har...it's funny, because my old coworkers know about this blog...and *hopefully* still love this blog...and me). Hi guys. So sorry to ditch the wagon.


But lately I found myself wanting more. More of everything.


It was back in October, the day before my birthday to be exact, and I just felt mope-ish. I just wasn't professionally happy. And with Mrs. Wookie as a quasi-feminist, my overall happiness is very important. California life just wasn't stacking up to the great life I had in Virginia. And I loved Virginia life (minus the routine work stress from planning events). I'm always hyper-sensitive to the internal pulse of my happiness. So with a glass of wine in my system, another in my hand, I shyly told Mr. Wookie, "I think I want to look for a new job."


I think he could sense my turmoil. "Sure babe, whatever you want."


To be honest, I was kinda scared. What if I failed? What if a new job just wasn't in the cards? But then the reality hit...what if something comes along? What if you interview, maintain your personality, and hope you're the front runner?? What if you get a call the very next day asking when you're available to start?


I thought it would take awhile to find jobs, get the interviews, get the second interview, and play the waiting game of the job search. That's why I started so soon - I didn't expect to leave after 10 months, but I did. And I can't feel bad about it. I can't. We're only stationed in California for another 2 years or so. I don't have the time to waste in building my resume. I need what I want, and I need it now.


Letting the cat out of the bag turned my stomach inside out. I never like delving information that plagues people. I don't like to leave jobs where the people are awesome. But it had to be done. I had accepted another job's offer in 2 weeks, and I needed to make the segue. And so with my last day, came hugs, "I can't believe you're leaving," and a 4-page training manual that's at least well-written thanks to my English degree. To me, it's not "goodbye." It's "When are we meeting up for Happy Hour?"


So now I'm embarking on a new chapter of my life - getting back to where I was at in Virginia. I'm gaining the experience of a non-PCS job change and it's weird. There's no awkward explaining of why you have 3 jobs from 3 different states. It's just me...with a new learning curve...a new set of employees that I must bedazzle...and a new 18-minute commute. Here's to taking care of myself...

Happy November - is it Christmas yet??

Today is inspired by a dump of thoughts because I haven't had my coffee yet, it's dark out, and we're officially less than 2 months out to the Jolly Ol' Guy.


- We had officially 3 trick-or-treaters last night. That's 300% more than I expected. In our little gated community, it's mostly retired people. And the youngsters last night were middle/high-school aged. So they either have Grandma living on our street, or they jumped the fence. Either way, they were awesome. Mainly because a 6'-tall Gumby grabbed a Kit Kat. How you jump a fence in a full costume, I don't know...


- We still have most of the small bag of Kit Kats left. Yay. Here's to my ass...


- I can't wait for Daylight Saving Time. This darkness when we get up is not working for me. I need daybreak. I don't want to walk the dog without it. So hurry up November 6th. This is SoCal...not Fairbanks.


- Today is Mr. Wookie's last day as Command Fitness Leader (aka the Richard Simmons that runs the PT program for the squadron). He couldn't be happier to turn this over.


- I'm already working on Christmas lists to purchase and ship to my family in Oregon, decor we need around our new place, and my Christmas card list. That Christmas card list is starting to spawn itself extra categories like, "Former squadron families." I now know why people hate sending cards the next year. People have moved, new people arrived, and that doubles your standing list.


- If we're getting particular. I made my Christmas card list in October.


- Why don't I like Thanksgiving?? Eh...it's a holiday centered around food. Doesn't America have a 30% obesity rate?? Why are we promoting overeating? Oh, and let's not forget the small pox blankets. That was a class act. I do like that I get a 4-day weekend. Yay for that.


- The city we live in has a 40% obesity rate. Isn't California supposed to be healthy??


- I think that's it for now. I could tell you how I love dry shampoo, how I haven't had a cocktail since Friday, how I'm still trying to figure out how to corral Mr. Wookie's ever-growing laundry pile, or how last night I made hot turkey bacon sandwiches while shattering Jeopardy. But we'll save that...