Friday, April 29

royal wedding!

I'm up!  How in the world?!?  1:30am is so early!!  But let's get this Royal Wedding started.  While I don't consider this monumental history, I am in great celebration from the couple.

There's something about not rushing into any formal relationship.  I admire them completely.  While plenty of people give them huff for spending so many years together, marrying so late, there's something to be said for not cannon-balling into the decision.  But as a royal, they don't get to do what we do.  We get to maintain our privacy and independence while they don't.  Okay, maybe not the privacy since I blog about us.  


Yes, they've had their ups and downs, their separations and their helicopter landings, but I respect them for shoving tradition.  They're like the Marshall and Lilly of England.  I love it.


Obviously I'm a fan of not being a lemming and jumping into marriage the day after college graduation.  I'm a fan of indulging in 5 Hour Energy in order to cheer these 2 on on their day.  I'm a fan of 5'10" ladies (ahem, Miss Middleton).  I'm also a fan of of whole nights of sleep.  But I'll get that another day.


Yays and Nays

Nay to waking up so damn early.  Really, that was such a rude wake-up call.


Yay to her looking GORGEOUS!!!  I saw a hint of Grace Kelly in it.  And I could tell how skinny she was since reports said she kept dropping weight because of nerves.  Girl, time to carb up.


Nay to the long-ass ceremony.  I was over it - an hour?  Really??  I wish there was a Cliff's Notes for it because I struggled to not take a bathroom break.  But then again, weddings kinda bore me.  Now the reception is where it's at.


Nay to the children's choir.  I swear, everyone had a mole on their face.  The collars were very fluffy.  And all I thought about was how Michael Jackson would love them.  The boys, not the collars...although he may like the boys in the collars.


Yay to the hilarity of the percussionist - he really got into his tympani.


Yay to the random 5 Hour Energy we had in the pantry.  I don't know what I would have done without it.  Oh wait, I do know.  I would have fallen asleep on the couch.


Nay to Victoria Beckham's hat.  It looked like...a crowning vagina (I went there).


Nay to the 2 princesses (Prince Andrew's daughters) behind the Queen.  They reminded me of the ugly stepsisters.  They could have used a stylist.  Stacey?  Clinton?

Thursday, April 28

the headache of SoCal

Have you ever woken up with a headache?  Have you done this a few times a week?  Have you gone to bed with a headache and woken up with a headache?

Welcome to Southern California.

The past 2 weeks have been ridden with headaches - and I wasn't sure why.  It'd be a minimally as ever other day and as frequent as the morning right after the evening.  But now I know I'm not alone either.  My running buddy has been dealing with them as well, hers more specifically right behind her eyes.  Mine, all over.

I'm glad I wasn't alone.  Although I did think initially it was diet related.  I upped my water intake hardcore.  I cold-turkey coffee.  I nixed adult beverages.  I got my usual 8+ hours of sleep.  I snacked to keep the blood sugar at bay.  I was the epitome of a healthy, traditional California with the wink of Oregon hippie.  And a touch of Mormonism.

Obviously waking up with a headache, it crutches any desire to run in the morning.  Instead, I want to scratch the ibuprofen from the beneath-the-sink Rubbermaid drawers, pop 2 or 3 pills, downing more water, and crawling back into bed until it takes effect.  It was annoying.  And Mr. Wookie was also confused.

The worst thing about it, I missed coffee so much.  I felt extreme guilt for not indulging in it.  I felt like it made me an incomplete Oregonian.  I missed it more than I missed bacon during Vegan Week.  That's saying something.

But now that I know I'm not alone in my pain, I'm relieved.  And so are my legs.  Because it's been inconsistent in shoving my feet into the running shoes.  And I'm glad I'm wrong.  I should have known.  I suffer from weather-related migraines (like when the barometric pressure drops rapidly, I suffer from light sensitivity and need a dark room, drugs, a half a Coke, and a 20 minute nap), so this should have been a no-brainer.

So much for living in beauty along the coast of Southern California.  Now I know that life's not perfect here.  Along with high gas prices there's something in the air that causes pain in my skull.  I hope this shat clears up.  Because we have a week and a half until our relay race.  And I need to bring my A-game...to the finish line.  Hydration's important.

Sunday, April 24

Easter as an adult.

When you get older, you really have to put effort into holidays otherwise they'll just pass you like a crop-dusted fart in a crowded bus.  Oh wait, no, those just linger.  My bad.

But you know what I'm saying.  Without the effort of hunting down a tree, garland, lights, a wreath, eco-friendly wrapping paper (it's called newspaper), and fruit cake (no, really, Mr. Wookie loves fruit cake), Christmas is really just another day.  It may feel like something should be happening there, but without getting your ass off the couch - it's just another day of the week.

Easter is no different.  Although Easter as a twenty-something sans offspring, it really isn't as memorable as it is when you're a kid.  Because thanks to modern marketing, Easter is about Cadbury eggs, chocolate bunnies, egg hunts, candy, money, and baskets.

Downward Peeps

I remember Easters around our house.  Growing up, my parents would tackle the daunting task of getting 4 kids ready for church, shoveling 4 kids into the minivan, behaving 4 kids in church until it was time for the kids to leave, then lugging 4 kids home from church so they could change out of their Easter-ware and start the hunt on for those plastic eggs with shat in 'em.

One year, the Sheriff was particularly lazy in hiding the eggs.  He just wasn't up for it.  Maybe his morning coffee called a bit more than usually since he just helped lug 4 kids to church.  So I did it.  I was maybe 10.  And I was AMAZING at it.  I searched out some freakin' hidden spots.  Middle Sister was probably about 5, and Baby Sister was probably 4 - so it was on to connive really hard places for them to find since I'm the bitchy older sister. :)

Come Mama Ging finding out I hid the eggs.  She was pissed.  And disappointed.  But when it comes time to believing in the Easter bunny at 10, there's a time to quit it.  And 10's a fine age.  Just don't cut off me from Mr. Money Bags aka the Tooth Fairy.  I'll knock myself out like Mike Tyson for money.  I still will.  Although the teeth now won't grow back.

I loved our Easter baskets back then.  Because Mama Ging made it a stylish point to have new sunglasses in each basket.  That may be the memory I miss the most.  The sunglasses.  It's always the little things that make you smile.  Or we started Peep War-ring in the microwave.  That makes me smile too.

Last year we were in Norfolk, Virginia for Easter.  We got dressed up for a nice brunch, since that's family tradition.  Well brunch was a rip-off, a whoppin' $60 a person, and I felt like I was at a really bad family reunion with second cousins, great aunts, and uncles that are registered sex offenders.  No, we didn't actually go out with family.  We went out with a large group of flight student friends.  And no, neither Mr. Wookie and I have family like this.  Thank goodness.

So this year, I'm going to the farmer's market, picking up some eggs, coming home and making my version of an Easter brunch.  We'll have champagne, mini omelets, some fruit, and (of course) bacon.  And we'll be thankful for what we have.  We have our health, we have our family, and we have love.

Office Olympics

I hope your Easter is going swell as well.  If not, there's always pajamas to crawl back into while pulling out a new book and snuggling into the couch.  Or you could join me for laundry.  After all, it is Sunday...which is laundry day in our house.

Nephew gettin' his egg hunt on.  Nephew needs to visit Southern California more.  The same invitation goes his parents.  Disneyland is oh-so-close.  And I'd be willing to babysit.  Although contracts will be drawn up over additional costs for diaper changes and hankies for tears.

Thursday, April 21

sometimes i get nervous

Last Saturday was a hefty 6 miles as we start the climb to 12 miles before the 13.1 on June 5th (you guys better cheer for me!).  You remember my great water bottle purchase, doncha?  Well I'll probably tote that bottle along for the run tomorrow as I tackle 7 miles.

A lovely outtake from my photo shoot with Running Buddy's kids.

Some days I get kinda nervous.  OMG, I have to run __ miles tomorrow.  But then I sometimes realize, You've run a half before.  This is no big deal.  Lately my long runs have been alone, which I'm okay with.  Running with someone is great.  Running alone, with just the music, or the waves crashing, is equally awesome.


It is daunting to see on the calendar: 5-6 miles with hills


It's daunting the first mile as you find your pace.  It's daunting as you hold steady through 3.  And it's daunting as you crawl past 5.94 waiting for your Garmin to tick the extra .6 miles so you can be done (I can't cheat!).  But once I'm done and the dog starts licking the sweat off my legs (can't deny the girl her love), I love that I'm able to scarf a spinach smoothie and a post-run snack without guilt.


Sometimes it's hard to get up early enough to beat the sun and the heat and still get ready for the day's responsibilities.  That's what happened Tuesday.  I meant to get up early, but failed.  Miserably.  Instead, the run was scoffed off until this weekend.  I'm very partial to my sleep, and I only got 7 hours of sleep.  That's not enough.  This here blogger lives for 8-9 hours.  I'm not joking.  Maybe I'll have kids.  Yes, I'll hire a nanny.


Instead, I'm preparing early.  By saying good night super early.


So if you care to join me running...but in your neck of the woods, it'll be 7 miles tomorrow, 5 miles on Saturday (I'm switching the long run to tomorrow - because I feel like it), then maybe 3 miles on Sunday (to make up for Tuesday's).

Monday, April 18

flexin' those militarily single muscles

This past week was surprisingly pleasant considering I knew where Mr. Wookie was, what he was doing, and hoping he'd be home for dinner promptly at 6pm Saturday night.


Is it weird that I actually feel like a legit milblogger when he leaves??


I feel like I have a point in complaining that no one is here to walk the dog/check the mail (our lives are very busy, you can tell).  Otherwise it's me against the millions of Army milbloggers who face year-long deployments. Ladies, you are, by far, amazing women.  I couldn't do that for all the trust funds in the world....I would do ANYTHING for a trust fun...who am I kidding???


Mr. Wookie is no longer the "FNG" (aka the "fantastic" new guy...which the term is being outlaw'd but that's opening a whole different can of worms that I will DEFINITELY blog/bitch about later).  There are 3 new aviators to the squadron to join the mix.  But Mr. Wookie still needs the many qualifications that come with his aircraft.  The Navy isn't like college where you get a degree and you're done.  Nope.  They pour time, sweat, and tax dollars into your training, by golly you're going to learn how to be even more awesome at what you do.  Sometimes this resembles bending over, grabbing your ankles, and saying, "Please sir, may I have some more..."  Or sometimes it just takes having quizzes signed off by Top Gun graduates.


But all has been well at home.  Oh, wait, nope, it hasn't.  There was one minor fun time to be had Friday morning.  That was something I'd like to never relive.  I will gladly hold someone's hair after they've had too much to drink.  But Friday morning made me CRINGE more than Madonna's bicep's popping veins.


Next year will be more of this military singledom.  Lots more.  It rhymes with "shaployment."  Although the air pipeline of the Navy doesn't call it deployment.  They call it "going on cruise."  Maybe it makes being on a floating city more bearable?  Who knows... But I will care package the shit outta that boy.  And I'll email.  And I'll blog.  And I'll stay busy.  And I'll wait patiently for his return.  And I'll look hot for his return.


But in terms of this year, we're still waiting on what May will bring.  Each first of the month divulges his new schedule and whether he'll be home or away.  Then there's always the chance for last-minute changes in schedule that can take him away at a moment's notice.


And obviously if we don't know May, we don't know June, July, or August.  We'll see if we can make a friend's wedding in June in Monterey, California (anyone know if there's a BOQ there?), we'll see if Mr. Wookie is around for his birthday, and we'll see if Mr. Wookie will be my handsome date to Middle Sister's wedding.


Then there's the important question as well: Will Mr. Wookie be there to cheer my sweaty ass on in the half marathons this year?  Because that might be worse than the rest.  I need support - and more than just my $62 sports bras (big tatas cause for big price tags).  I need someone to hold my shat when I take off from the corral.  I need someone to take pictures of me.  And I need someone to pour me a beer post race.  Because otherwise that's drinking and driving.


Just kidding.  We don't condone drinking and driving AT ALL.  In fact, I'll club YOU like a baby seal if I hear you do that.  However, tail gating post-race is HIGHLY acceptable.  In fact, I'll pack extras in case you join me.  And you're more than welcome to join.

Sunday, April 17

sunday celebrity action w/ chambanachik

Holla at cha' girl over guest blogging...

chambanachik blog

Then come back to me.  I promise.  It'll be worth it.  Because you can't read more until you go first!  Now go!  Okay, refill that coffee cup.  I'll wait.  Okay, and pee too.  Grab some Cheerios while you're at it.  Okay...continue ahead!!

Saturday, April 16

milbloggers stick together.

Most milbloggers know the sad news from MisAdventures of an Army Wife - Annoyed Army Wife acquired an address so we could send cards of our thoughts!

I'm just doing my duty.  We're meant to stick together, over the branch lines, through deployments and shore tours, bitch fests and tears of joy.  I have a quick trip to Vons for stamps (it's like a 21-second walk) and this card will be off to a girl who's in a dark place.  I never followed her blog, but that doesn't mean I can't offer words of comfort (and slight humor - the card was a sunburned zebra).

7 things thanks to 6 miles

The smell of donuts is enchanting - and this morning was no different as I hit a mile into today's 6 miles.  While they're not the healthiest thing to eat, once in a blue moon will NOT hurt anyone.  I've been trying out a thing where I have 4 donettes pre-3-mile runs (that way in case they don't sit well, it's an easy turn back home).  So far, so good.  The simple sugars are a quick energy...plus...I get to eat donuts.  Dur.  That doesn't take a CaveWookie to figure that out.


Fun fact: I don't like Krispy Kreme (watch as followers un-follow).  I'm a cake donut person vs the yeast-based like Krispy Kreme.  And it kinda skeezes me out that they're warm.  Turds are warm.  Not donuts.


Over 2 miles out, I passed a mini mart and mental-noted that I'll hit that place up for water on my way back (out and backs are what's up here).  Well just under 4 miles, I stop in and sweatily asked the guy, "Where's the water?"  I'm looking a little haggard.  It's about 9:30am and the temperature is rising (I debated putting off the run until tomorrow, but then I realized I'm making tacos for dinner...and yeah, no, no run will occur tomorrow post-tacos).


I find this cute little bottle that'll kinda go into my hand without me looking uber flail-ish.  Plus it has a brilliant marketing campaign.  Water...with magnesium.  Magnesium prevents muscle cramps.  Hello, great for legs post-run.  So I waive the water bottle, "Is this under $2.00?  That's all I have."  Enter next person in line..."I've got the rest!"  Screeech, say what?  Or AC Slater, say what?  This nice Samaritan pony'd up the rest of my water bottle cost.  Sir, you are amazing.  And I thank you.  So I hand over my super sweaty dollar bills (they were in my shoe...jokes on them) and drink a couple ounces and step back into the rhythm.


Poor girl's guide to compression socks...throwing your legs up the wall and letting the blood drain that way.  Okay, I may not be poor...just stingy...and I'm holding out until Uncle Sam loosens his wallet and kicks back what mama has coming to her.  Then maybe compression socks.  But the wall is cheap.  And it comes with a personal de-sweat-er.  It's called Sweet Pea.


No boys checked me out this time.  This route runs past a Coast Guard station and I always oogle.  And what's cuter than boys who don't deploy?  Umm...well, nothing.  They have the same cute uniforms as the Navy, except they play in the water...like those crazy rescue swimmers and such.


I'm still not eating breakfast or having coffee before running because I don't like to have my stomach in knots and I bow out 65% into my stint.  Instead, I hear relentless sloshing of my empty belly...so when I smell donuts, I really start drooling.  I'm going to experiment with white bread and peanut butter (in alternation with the donettes) since my usual 96-GRAIN-UBER-HIPPIE bread has too much fiber for me to handle.  Ahem.


My fuel packet today was a honey packet courtesy of KFC...from Virginia...from a year ago.  Yes, it was a little crystalized.  But yes, still delicious.  I like to keep things low brow 'round here.  Can't have people thinkin' I'm a high-horse riding Officer's lady friend who likes to stiletto dance over the poor, little, defense-less enlisted wives.  Umm, have you met some of those enlisted wives?  Yea...Master's degrees...traveling the world...they're hot shit.  Yes, some are 19 and haven't been outside their home state.  The same came be said for the O'Wives.  There's awesomeness in both pools; there's sludge in both pools.


I got new socks yesterday (score!).  I was at the mall looking for jeans, when all of a sudden Lady Footlocker appeared.  Clouds parted, angels breakdance'd.  Some people spend $20 on a single pair o' socks.  I hit up the LFL for the 3-pack of Asics for $10.  Holla.  Oh, what's this?  Buy one, get one 50% off.  Well shucks.  Guess that there is a purchase....with a 20% military discount.  Bad-ass mammajamma.


No, no luck with jeans.  Gap had some good stuff, but I wasn't sold.  American Eagle was a bit 'young' for me.  I'm 27, not 50...but still camel toe-rockin' skinny jeans....erm...my time has passed, thanks.


And tonight is Taco Night!  I don't know which I'm more excited for.  The tacos...or my dinner guest.  Tonight's menu was the ONE thing keeping me on my running schedule.  Thanks to Friday morning, my sleep schedule has been a little off.  So I briefly contemplated catching back up on my sleep this morning, and toughing out those 6 miles on Sunday.  Oh, what happened Friday?  Oh, you'll find out tomorrow.

Friday, April 15

is this what they call 'maturity?' (and a follow-up on those inserts)

Something has changed here.  Something I never thought possible.  [gasp]  I think I'm a morning runner now. [the horror!]  I know, I know.  After many moons of enjoying the stressful need to my day in order to hash out some miles, now I'm finding peace in running alongside the beach in the morning.  What happened to the real Mrs. Wookie?

Realization came to me yesterday.  I went to bed early on Wednesday, set my alarm, woke up at the butt-crack of dawn while it was still cool, and trekked out for 5 miles.  I was on base, in a "NO PHOTOGRAPHY" zone (thus no pictures), and I ran a new route alongside the airfield.  It was glorious.  It was just cool enough.  And the sun was enough over the mountains.

When did this happen?  I dunno.

Life used to be pretty stressful in Virginia.  And with that, I guess it was only natural to be cranky in adding a post-work run into the mix when all I wanted was a cocktail and dinner cooked for me.  But we're not in Kansas Virginia anymore.  We're in California - where time passes by a bit slower.  It's where you can go sit on the beach, swear you've been there 3 hours, but only 12 minutes have passed.  It's wonderful.

I know why people live here.  And it's not for the high sales tax or high gas prices.

In other news, like how we're running Halfs this year...

I cropped my butt-thigh outta the picture.  You're welcome.


What inserts?  These inserts...

You may remember the post, "I've got the runs" (I thought the title was HILARIOUS!) and I mentioned I was suffering from tight calves and aching arches.  Thanks to the little world of Facebook and being friends with both a real-life PT as well as a in-grad-school-PT (shout out to Middle Sister's Fi-to-the-ance!), it was mentioned I should look into inserts. I used to dance ballet a billion years ago.  And when dancing, especially en pointe, your feet go wonk.  Well that wonk caught up with me and so I decided an early intervention will hopefully nix that shizz in the bud.

Oh, and I also Google'd the shit outta my issues.  Thanks to WebMD, Runner's World, and Webtender.com.  Okay, that last website...not really.  Disclaimer: I don't claim to be a real runner.  I'm more of an enthusiast.  I enjoy it.  Sometimes.  Especially the beer afterwards. ;)

Apparently when you don't have a heavy heelstrike, and more of a midsole strike, it can cause arch pain (especially if they're already wonky).  Arch pain leads to tight calves.  Tight calves leads to Ben Gay and icing with cold beer bottles.  And that leads to more running.  We caught up?

Another disclaimer:  Take my Google-ing efforts with a grain of salt, a lime slice, and tequila.

Here are my current shoes.  Mileage count: 63 - so not enough for that to be the issue.  Let's blame those inserts that come in the shoe.  Goodbye thin-ass inserts!

These shoes.

The local running store had me try on a few options, with these totally-endorsed-by-a-real-runner inserts feeling the best.  I had debated driving the 45 minutes to Roadrunner Sports, but the price tag on "custom inserts" had my bank account flipping that store off.  So local it was.  And that shirtless dude...totally a published author.  So that has to count for something, right?  Minus being shirtless and delicious.  I'd lick my inserts...but...that'd be gross.  Where's my Purel?  Price tag w/ military discount (I'm telling you, I can swing things!): $42

As you can see, these puppies are a bit more robust in the form department.  The instructions are to pop them into the oven at 200 degrees, wait for the dot to turn black, throw them into your shoes, and stand in them for 2 minutes to set.  Sounds easy enough.  And nerd alert: They continue to form for the next few wearings.

And doesn't everyone do photoshoots by their Juliet balcony?  With their phone?

My new inserts are working great.  I popped them into the oven for 2 minutes, then into my shoes, and I've never felt anything more enjoyable. Maybe that's because I always have cold feet.  But new inserts have greatly reduced any tight calf issue so that's a good thing.  Just don't get expecting Big Sur Marathon PR's now.  I have standards.  And that's nothing more than 13.12 miles with beer to immediately follow.


Does this answer everyone's questioning of the magical inserts?  Bueller...

Wednesday, April 13

38.5 hours

I don't know what happens sometimes.  I get sucked into this time warp of holy shit, busy, busy, busy, what blog?, sleep, leftovers, miles, busy, Sweet Pea.  It's weird.  I'll have the best intentions of the world, but then something takes precedence.  Since when did California become such a product of needing to do a billion things at once that I can't even sit down to write about my life because it's time for Jeopardy and that's way more important?

Am I complaining?  No!

Oh, and that 38.5 hours...that's totally how long Mr. Wookie was home before heading off for his next top secret mission.  He was home shorter than the time before, even less time to decompress, have a beverage, wash his stinky-ass flight suits, watch Monday night's Jeopardy, make a fabulous stirfry, do the dishes, and kiss me goodbye.

Oh, he did walk the dog once.  Yay.  But she didn't poop.  Wah.

This month has really taken a toll on me.  I haven't been this busy in California since...well, never.  And I love it.  Although the blog is coming up dead last in the line of responsibility.  Sorry blog.

And not a busy like I was in Virginia - this time it's mentally busy (insert pun about needing a brain first).  I work in the marketing field, and marketing requires intelligence to write copy, edit works, and be all smart and stuff.  That is sometimes draining.  But what's more draining?  Thinking of something brilliant on the cusp of sleeping, waking up, cracking out the laptop and moving forward before it falls apart faster than the 4th level of dreams in Inception.

I love it.  I love my life right now.  But hot damn...it's on fire!

So don't think I've forgotten about you - you're there.  I'm here.  Just let me sift through the brain cells and lemon peels.

I'm still in search of a squeaker ball that won't die within an hour's time limit.  Although an adorable face and slobbersome kisses I adore, don't let her fool you.  When she wants to play, she means it.  Don't half-ass it with her. 

Monday, April 11

last night...I couldn't even get an answer

I'm sitting here....with this blank expression.  This PDiddy song wouldn't leave my head today.  Good thing I don't mind him.  And his billion kids.  And baby mamas.  And NYC Marathon time.


Back in March (eek), I got tagged (eek) and got busy (eek) so it's finally hitting the blog as a formidable answer to being poked, prodded, and comment'd on that my shoddy handwriting will grace the 'sphere.



Write your answers to the questions on a piece of paper.
1. What is your name/blogger name?
2.What's your blog's URL?
3. Write "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."
4. Favorite quote?
5. Your favorite song?
6. Your favorite band/singers?
7. Anything else you want to say?
8. Tag three ladies to participate.



Yes, that's wine.  Yes, I have an ingrown armpit hair.  Yes, Ghandi is the MAN.


Answers after the jump...if you're blind...or the wine wonk'd up my writing.

Sunday, April 10

lazy Sunday

I think I've pulled the eyeboogers out of the corners of my eyes.  It's only been the first cup of coffee, so I could be wrong.  And Mr. Wookie isn't here to be grossed out and walk away.  So I'm still on my own to dig into eye mucus and string out the junk.


Yesterday I was tagged by Every Branch with 10 Things I Love!


The afore-mentioned 10 things I love...


1When Sweet Pea takes a deuce in the yard of a foreclosed house.  Because I feel zero need to pick up said deuce.  You couldn't pay your mortgage, I don't feel inclined to pick up her delivery.  Besides the house has gone to shit anyways...what some turds for accoutrement...?



Picnic time along side the South Umpqua river with Dr. Stacey Kervorkian

2My Z/2 Chacos in Basil!  Yes, I love my lesbian strappy sandals that are perfect for hiking, kayaking, boulder climbing, fishing, theme parks, traveling, etc.  I bought them for $90 before I went to Germany in the Summer of 2007.  I've not regretted the decision for one minute.  In fact, I wore mine Tuesday to meeting my running buddy.  She's wanting some too.  Can't blame her.

3(This one is a 3-fer!)  I love traveling...with my family...and eating at In 'N Out!

4. I love the outdoors and anything to do with nature.  This tent was put up after a few adult beverages - which turned out to be not a smart decision.  Set up camp first, imbibe second.  And always pack additional toilet paper.  Always.

5. I love a good, cheap, Asian pedicure.  You know what I'm talkin' 'bout!

6. I love myself. :)  I think I'm hilarious, a great friend, and I never take myself too seriously.  Unless there's a sale on shoes, vodka, lemons, Chippendale dancers with rockin' deltoids, or airfare to Oregon or Washington, D.C.

7. I love that we rescued a pet.  Sometimes you can rescue and have it bite you on your ass.  Not all animals are rehab-able.  With our big ol' girl, we feel like even her worst traits are minimal in the 'she could be so much worse' category.  Her worst thing is eating paper.  Weird, we know.  But we'll take it.  Oh, and there's her squeaker ball habit.  But that one is just costly.

8. I uber heart coffee.  I don't know what I'd do without it.  Seriously.

9. I [currently] love Brussels sprouts.  They're lean, mean, green little bundles of mini cabbage that are awesome, delicious, and hot-damn tasty.

10. I love that I was able to re-subscribe to Runner's World for less than $9 thanks to Amazon.com's magazine Deal of the Day.  After not renewing when we left Virginia, I felt a missing piece of literature in my reclaiming of being a Half Marathoner.  I just don't love waiting 6-10 weeks for the first delivery.

Now I'm supposed to tag 10 people.  10 people?  What do you think I am?!?  A mega blogger?  Maybe a mega-pain-in-the-ass blogger.  How 'bout this...you wanna let me know your 10, then link up below and I can lurk and gurk all day.



We take Sundays very seriously in this house.  Please, don't disturb the sleeping canine.

Friday, April 8

i've got the runs

This weekend starts the climb.  The climb where each weekend adds a mile to the long run.  Up until now it's been varying between 2 miles and 4 miles.  Because I've been feeling ambitious, I've upped a mile to some runs.  But then, due to nights out on the town, some runs resemble Phoebe's love child with Lindsay Lohan (that would be a hungover flailer, if you didn't get that...).

Thursday was spent on base trekking 4 miles during the California Spring Break.  Spring Break = kids in tow.  Well...kids in stroller...and one on bike.  I needed to document my zest for the day, and thankfully both kids were capable of taking pictures.  Wednesday was raging hot, but yesterday was cold and windy.  Lesbian layers it was...

The kid on the bike was our unofficial non-police escort.

I've been having issues lately that I've been trying to fix.  First my right calf was crampy, probably a couple weeks ago.  I stretched.  I heated.  I BenGay'd.  I pressed on.  Then....my right arch starting wonking up.  This was followed by my left calf.  Sooo.....high arch inserts it is.  They were slightly uncomfortable for the first 2 miles (exactly), but seemed to smooth into the shoe after that.  Whenever I can, I stretch my calves.  And with yesterday being a little cooler than previous temperatures, pants helped keep the heat.  I'm hoping early detection/prevention/aid will help me not search eBay for new lower legs.  But if I could, maybe some with tanning capabilities.

mid-run action shot!

Poor Peter Cottontail got smooshed by the saggin' wagon....

Oh, and for those interested (highly unlikely, but you NEVER know)...that whole run:walk ratio...well I'm still trying it.  Mainly because walk breaks are like shots of whiskey.  I never turn them down.  Which would you rather do?  It's turning into the same pace, so I'll keep it on the experimentation station for the rest of this 2 week trial period.

Thursday, April 7

mrs. wookie...one, again.

He was here on Monday, late afternoon, but earlier than expected.  The boat didn't go as planned, aircraft didn't move as planned, and the weather didn't work as planned.  People CQ'd (carrier qualified), and some people didn't (the weather played a huge role).  I knew somethings mid-boat weren't happening, then I found out the rest after he got home.

Like this.

Mr. Wookie wasn't on the flight deck then, he just knew when he heard [code for communication blackout] while in his state room that shit when down.  And at least no one was seriously injured. And while I'll say I was shocked that such a calamity occurred, minor issues happen all the time.  And sometimes major ones.  That's why these guys train constantly.

And unlike other squadrons that got days off this week, not Mr. Wookie.  Tuesday morning began with 0700 PT, despite not recovering from the flight hours (they shifted working hours until up to 4am - gag!), and full days are expected out of the squadron this week.

But just as easy as Mr. Wookie rolls into town on his horse, he's gone again.  He was home for maybe 48 hours.  He did some laundry, packed up his things, and left again.

Oh the life of the Navy wife housemarm.  Not here today, not here tomorrow.

Tuesday, April 5

motivation...what's that?

*crickets on the blogfront*

I've got nothing for you, folks.  I feel like I'm failing my Blogger account.  But there's only so much awesome to be had when we're just nose to the grindstone around here.  There's been lots of working, lots of belly rubbing (on the dog, not on us), and lots of Jeopardy...although that may change.

Lately we've discussed canceling our cable account since I usually end up watching deliriously trashy television (hello Teen Mom and Real Housewives!)...but this means we'd say goodbye to our beloved Alex at 7pm.  We didn't have cable in Virginia, but we were all caught up on Netflix and Hulu for our regularly viewing pleasures.  So we'll probably end of nixing it but will have to severely befriend people come college football season.  We can't do Saturdays without the Orange and Black...despite their recent trend of win/loss records.

The allergies have picked up here to where the dog is getting eye boogers.  Yum.

Our race on Saturday may have inspired us to kick some ass at our June half marathon.  On Tuesday, I drove over to the hilly portion of the area to do hill sprints.  Crazy?  Yes.  Officially.

But life's pretty boring here.

Each night I make dinner, curse at the dishes, then eat an ice cream cone.  I crawl into bed before Mr. Wookie, look at the books on my nightstand, know I'm too tired to read them, so I just curl up beneath the covers and enjoy my way through 8 hours of sleep.  We wake up to either our alarm or Sweet Pea doing her morning stretch (that also clangs her tag).  We'll paper/rock/scissors dog responsibility vs coffee-making responsibility.  Then we go about our day.

The highlight may be the weekly trip to the grocery store for bacon, coffee, and soy milk. Then some how $1 protein bars will end in the cart, besides some microbrew...and before you know it we're hustling through self-check out to make it back for Jeopardy.

California is turning us into a lame bunch.  A lame bunch where the beach is the perfect background for hill sprints, date nights, and surfing competitions (where we spectate, of course).

Southern California.  Gas may be effin' expensive here.  But bring your sneakers and a beach towel.  We'll walk to the beach.  And yes, I'll bring the "hydration."

Monday, April 4

this vacancy has been filled

Happiest birthday to my sister-in-law, Amber!  May Brother rub your feet, make you dinner, and not crop-dust midst your vicinity.  Yes, it's a high order.  And yes, I do have leftover wine corks to aid in that last request.  And no, I don't have any petroleum jelly to assist with that last request.

If the news is on Facebook, it has to be true.

Her birthday is being spent grooming the future genetics of our family.  REDHEADS, REDHEADS, REDHEADS!  We found out this news in Palm Springs, I just didn't know when to spry it onto my loving readers.  Well...now's a good time!  And the greatest news of it all: They WILL gender it via ultrasound.  Yes!  So we'll know around the 18-20 week mark whether this kid'll learn to pee standing up on the back fence...or pee behind her car on a Friday night because she drank too much Slurpee and wasn't near her home.  True story by yours truly.


Estimated time of arrival: November 2011.

Saturday, April 2

sometimes I write posts like songs

Sometimes I run...sometimes it's not according to my training plan.  I miss days.  I double-up efforts.  Sometimes I even run on vacation (and post a smokin' good time according to my standard pace).  And sometimes I'm curious at how a run:walk ratio can be more effective than straight running.  I'm like Hitler.  I run my runs.  But now I'm told about this run:walk ratio-ing like it's a good thing and that marathoners do it. Say what?  Isn't it cheating?  Like, you're being lazy?  So I tried it today.  3 miles-worth, at least.  And it maintained my standard pace...so I'm not yet convinced.  But I'm willing to give it a shot.  I did feel my legs were stronger at my kick.  But that could be because I haven't ran in a few days.  The jury is definitely still out on this one.


Sometimes I cry...but it's been quite awhile.  Somehow I missed the standard omg, the world is coming to an end before the redheads die out pre-Aunt Flow meltdown.  High five me?  But then some months I feel like I'm the St. Michael's Fountain in Paris.


Sometimes I'm scared of you...when I write Tolstoy-esque emails of the going-on's here at home.  I write maybe twice a day, getting detailed into the errands I ran, how much gas cost me ($48.25 for my tank!), how I got lost on the way to the Men's Mission to drop off his Spring Cleaning bag of old clothes (not the part of town to get lost in...), and how I miss you.  And in response you mock me - "I can't wait to see your fantabulous new hat."  No, really, I bought a 1950's beach hat.  It's killer.


But all I really want is to hold you tight...because sleeping diagonal in bed is so 2007 (that whole long-distance bit we thought was brilliant.  It actually was.  I don't regret it for a minute.  Have you ever visited the panhandle of Florida?  You'll swear procreating with your cousin was illegal.  These people make you debate that idea...).  I love when my feet have a space heater.  And I love having someone around to help make the coffee.  I love 50% of responsibilities.


...Treat you right...by making you steak dinners every time you come home.  Okay, I lie.  I'll buy the steak.  You are the man and know how to not ruin a cut of beef.  So the honor is yours.  I wouldn't want to overcook your Rib Eye.  And I wouldn't want to charbroil my New York.


Be with you day and night...until it's Monday morning again and you need to appease Uncle Sam.  Because you have a Constitution to uphold.  And flight suits to make look good.


All I need is time...to pass, until you're home again, but then I look on the calendar, and as soon as you're home, you're gone again.  It's nice to have you away, so I can eat my Spooners for dinner (you know, the faux Frosted Mini-Wheats...they were totally Buy One, Get One Free at Vons this morning).  And it's nice to have you home to make home-made meals for more than just one.  Because the nutrients in Spooners compared to fresh produce is astounding.  Although the ease factor wins on the Spooners defense.

Friday, April 1

april fool's jokes that are such lies

Good morning!  This week has been a mix of Gah, Mr. Wookie isn't here.  I've alternated from eating cold pizza, cereal for breakfast, and a real meal of stir fry, I've wanted to sell Sweet Pea on the black market for a trust fund as well as eat up her cute, little face of drool, slobber, and Bulldog folds.  


I've been wishy washy.  I blame it on my ability to write pointless emails to let Mr. Wookie know he's loved and adored while away from home.  In return, I get, "Hi baby, Things are good here. I have my own room, which is nice. Let me know how things are back home.  Love, me."


Umm....didn't you just read that I wrote War and Peace of an email to you?


Men....


Anyways...back to my meme.  I feel the need as someone who couldn't care less about this "holiday" to debunk anything that you may think is truth coming from this blog corner.


We're pregnant!  Mama Wookie would loooove this.


We're engaged!  Both mamas would looooove this.


We've eloped!  The Sheriff would looooove this (pay up, Poppy!)


We're adopting another Bulldog!  If Sweet Pea were a drooling epiphany of dog friendliness, I could entertain the notion.  So we'll have to wait until she kicks the bucket 23 years down the road before we could ever love another Bully like her.


I bought a Sarah Palin shirt!  I didn't want to throw a political jab in here, but it's funny...if you know me.  I loved her show, I'm just now that far right on my Republican politics (we're Independents).  If anything, it'd be a McCain Blogette shirt!


I've decided to enter rehab.  Always.a.joke.


I'm ditching Mr. Wookie - I'm tired of him.  I've come to realize I'll never have the trust fund I want, so I'm settling for love.  Although I'm still positive I could learn to love an octogenarian like the next Holly Madison.


It's just the same ol' shit around these parts of the California coastline.  I am very excited to get out of the house tonight and spend dinner with a fellow squadron family.  Oh, and there's errands to run: Bank of America, Office Depot, Vons, the Men's Mission, and the gas station.  That last one will bring me too my knees.
 
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