Friday, September 30
Thursday, September 29
Here I am. 27. Getting ready to rock at Middle Sister's wedding.
I've never liked the concept of getting older. Just like how it falls into "change" - it's something I could do without. How did someone so spastic about not being in control of her life come about? I don't know. Obviously I blame my parents. But I don't know which side it came from. So until someone throws the other under the bus - or it's announced I'm the milk man's baby (which would be hilarious when I clearly look like my dad with his huge eyes and I look like my mom and her ginger hair) - I blame both.
Muhahaah - competition between the 'rents...
Anyways, back to my birthday. It's in exactly a week. For the last couple months, I've been excited. It seems like I've always had better "even" birthdays. 27 was different in that we just relocated cross-country, I wasn't working, employment was looking scarce, and I was just feeling overall left out from the great career chase that so many get to do that aren't attached to the military.
But maybe my tune has changed. 28 is feeling like a lucky number. That and it's the last even number before my balls drop super saggy and I hit that nauseating age of 30 where you're expected to have everything together, never get drunk, and keep the best house.
Umm...how about none of those?
Life will never be perfect since my job will change more than Kevin Federline has children, Mr. Wookie will be here for some holidays and gone for others, and my mom will always consider me old (umm...jokes on her...).
There is an upside to my birthday though. Christmas is right around the corner. Even with that pesky we-gave-infected-blankets-to-the-Natives holiday is in the way.
Let's get this birthday week started. I want a bottle champagne, a steak dinner, and a small cake to celebrate. That's it.
Yes, I'll share the steak and cake. I don't know about the bottle yet...
Saturday, September 24
We're trying again. Come on, football team. Can we get more than 3 points on the board? It's sad when people not involved with Pac-12 sports know your team is sucking hard.
But despite the piss poor season we're expecting, we rock the Orange with pride. Those degrees mean a lot to us - although mine is lost in my parents' house (thanks mom). But at least I have it in this paltry California economy, where a Bachelor's gets you a dollar over minimum wage. Yay. Not for me, but for others, yes.
And with my family's season tickets, I always wave at the television - I hope they see me.
Thanks Baby Sister for the surprise gear earlier this year.
I'd be pouting and wanting my mom's lap if I was an Oregon State player too. Stop sucking.
Sunday, September 18
On this blog, I'm usually honest. I may hide my unhappiness for certain things, and put on a fake aura of perfection, but it's usually when I'm super sensitive and don't feel like throwing a pity party on the blogosphere.
As someone who occasionally runs because it's cheaper than a gym membership or yoga studio, I don't really think about the potential for what could happen when I'm running on the coastal highway, around my neighborhood, or within the confines of base. I assume I'm perfect, my form is ideal, and the only injury I could face would be a rolled ankle from pot holes. No one wants to think about being rolled by a car. Pretty much.
So after months of mocking up a RoadID slim bracelet - I finally pulled the trigger. It may also be part of the motivation from this blogger's incident that scared me into spending the $15 to potentially save my life. We're getting real around here. Mr. Wookie recently filled out the mountain of paperwork since deployment is slowly approaching. Nothing is more sobering than end-of-life decisions. And we don't like sober. We like cocktails. Just kidding. Sometimes.
Oh, and thanks to the previous tenants for the NEX flyers. Umm...how awesome can mail day be?!? Okay, yes, I could be #winning the Publishers Clearing House - but sadly, that hasn't happened yet. And probably never will. So until then, I'll dream big. And by that, I mean dream of a dating an old man with billions in trust fund accounts that will be left to me after he quickly croaks. Anna Nicole knew what she was doing. And that's #winning.
Friday, September 16
Today happens to be the dear birthday of a dear blogger who's known me for dear too many years, pooped out some dear adorable children, and moved away to the dear East Coast. Today we celebrate!
There's a reason I "promote" her blog on my sidebar - the bitch is awesome.
And there's a reason I haven't personally sold her to Russian Nationals in order to swipe her children into coming to live with me - because they're much more entertaining when she's around. Plus, she can discipline. I can merely laugh in my head when one brother steals a Gogurt and their superhero cape as an evil villain complete with booming laugh.
You've probably seen this beauty of a picture before. Oh, that's Mrs. Wookie and Mommy McD back in the day. I don't feel like doing math, but Offspring #2 was mere months old (Offspring is going to be 4 - I think - this November). I drove up from my Hometown, Oregon to her Hometown, Oregon (3 hours total - and always worth it) and spent some time with her and 2 of the (now 3) bambinos that exist. Hubband was playing Navy and somewhere important. And nevermind those extra pounds we're rockin'. She just had a bebe (totally legit) and I was drinking myself through long-distance with Mr. Wookie (again, totally legit).
Happy Birthday to my pygmy blogger/partner in cross-country crime! I wish I could be there. But with your birthday comes the butthole-quivering that mine is right there too. And I'd much rather be turning 26 with you than turning 28 on my own (mother-effin' GAG). But I have a bit to sulk before my boobs sag another inch towards oblivion.
Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday and new shoes from Hubband, Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuu! Feel free to comment on the lady's blog that 26 is one of the BEST ages of the 20's and she'll rock out with her...nevermind, again.
Thursday, September 15
This whole not-having-carpeting bit is an interesting one. I've definitely inherited my dad's inability to tolerate dirty floors/things sticking to my feet. Since we've moved to the new digs, I've lasted 3 days before needing to vacuum the wood floors. So yes, doing the math, we vacuum twice a week here. Or should I say I vacuum twice a week.
At any rate, any more than 4 days and I'm about to take the Sweets to get waxed.
And I knew there would come a day where the entire house would need mopping because flight boots can track in crap, dog paws can track in muck, I can track in ginger genes, and the wind can blow in leaves (as SoCal residents, the weather here is perma-gorgeous...so them doors stay open). I've been researching steam mops lately in the apprehension for battling such a square footage, but haven't necessarily found them necessary when a little elbow grease can suffice.
But to bring the post point to view, that day has come. Time to break out Mr. Mop.
So outside the resident canine and her shat goes, because as much as she loves the vacuum...dog hair + wet floor = itWILLbe5o'clockbecausei'llNEEDacocktail. Her bed, her toys, her blankets...pretty much everything of hers is outside like it's an episode of Cheaters. She will then park her ass on the mat, stare in the window, tilt her head, and eye-plead to come back inside.
Oh, Mr. Libman Wonder Mop. You should be named "Mr. Libman
No Wonder My Back Is Breaking Mop. Do they make mops for tall people or do I just have to stoop over for all eternity as payment for having a uterus and being made to keep house???
No, not bitter at all.
Actually, it's gladly done in exchange because Mr. Wookie prefers to clean toilets.
So I hump and I shlump and I rock out with my...anyways. I finish this doozster of a house. And I'm happy. I've done'd it. I totally stalled for 3 weeks in mopping since the floors were done right before we moved in. Why squash the professional cleaning crews good work, right? Even if the little bitch stole the left-by-the-previous-tenants hand soap.
I catch a glimpse of the flooring by the door. What's this???? One...mucky...left behind...stinkin'...(where's my cocktail??)...paw print.
And thusly, time to ask my awesome bloggers, "
Consumer Reports threw their panties at the Eureka EnviroSteam Mop for under $75. Middle Sister got the Shark (cue Jaws music) for her bridal shower...Sister, thoughts?? And Mommy McD snagged one after she realized her house of a 45,000+ square feet is too much for a Swiffer. McD...who do you have??
Ready, set, RECOMMEND!!!
Tuesday, September 13
Days go by and I forget I don't blog. I don't know how. But it does. Maybe this is a peek into how life will be during Mr. Wookie's upcoming deployment. Stay busy, stay busy, kill the rum, hang out with fellow squadron families, sleep in, slobber with the pooch, baffle my neighbors when I take her for a run (yes, this bulldog can handle a 1-mile run), hit up farmer's markets, and cry at my football team when they can't grace points on the board. This football season will be riDICulously long.
Mr. Wookie left last Thursday on a roadtrip to a long-standing tradition in the naval community. My only requests when he goes TAD/TDY/roadtripping...let me know when you get there. That's it. We're completely kosher going incommunicado the whole time he's gone. Just let me know you arrived with a pulse. A steady pulse. And are not looking at signing a DNR anytime soon. K?awesomethanks.
So he was gone and left me to my own devices on Friday. So when 5:08pm rolled around, I was bored,...and the sailor on the bottle of rum was giving me the stink-eye. Can you guess our rum of choice?? So I made a cocktail. 30 minutes later, I made another. Then I thought, "well shit, might as well kill that last ounce and welcome comfortable pajamas on the couch." So I did just that. I killed the rum. And felt fantastic. I watched Jeopardy. Cuddled with the pooch. And made leftover tacos for dinner because cooking for one is so lame/annoying/time-consuming/not-worth-it. Then I crawled into bed at 8:30pm without anyone nagging that it was the bedtime of the elderly. Seriously....Mr. Wookie thinks that if you're in bed before 11pm, you're sack-less.
Well...I am - both figuratively and anatomically.
Saturday morning was spent grunting and groaning at the television while my team couldn't find any effort for a mere field goal. For those who are aware of the MASSIVE loathing between Oregon State (the good school) and the University of
Phil Knight Oregon, it's mega. Facebook is like Vietnam, minus the DMZ. Well since we're in the column to suckawholelotthisyear, the mud slinging has been quiet. There is no fun at defending the short bus. We're not looking great this season, so we're going to just deal with it. So can I get a side order of hankerchiefs to go?
But Mr. Wookie came home from his "trip" in one piece, although not without stories.
So now we're whole again until the next time Uncle Sam wants him for actual training.
Here's to us, pooch. Next year will be interesting.
Saturday, September 10
Lame sauce as it may be, but I like to mentally remember how long we've been
almost loyal owners to this rescue canine that drools more than Teri Schiavo. People do it with their can-be-ugly babies, why can't I with my definitely-can-be-ugly dog?? And this past week marked 7 months of dog ownership for this almost former cat person. From only wanting to scoop liter boxes and have bell'd cat collars, I'm now capable of wiping facial folds, cleaning ears, bathing, picking up poop, and lugging the 50-pound bag of over-priced dog food home from Petco (it's where the pets and Wookiees go).
She's adjusting well here. Okay, well almost. Minus needing you to hold her paw while she pees, she is completely content with having free range to the yard. And as you can see, she tried to get into every photo from the first part of the tour. I expect Accidental Olympian/Alaskan to want to smoosh this face too - she's a dog person, she gets it.
Yesterday she did her best attempt at aggression yet. I was expecting the UPS delivery guy at anytime. So when I heard the barking galore, I expected someone to be at the gate quivering in fear. Yup. Guard dog. Finally. At least when it counts. She doesn't bark when Mr. Wookie comes home from night flights, but at least she recognized that it was a stranger at the property and worth vocal use. It's also worth mentioned the delivery guy was black. And for some reason, she's got issues with tan/black/not pale people. Where's Cesar Luther King when you need him? She's not yet evolved past the Civil Rights...oi ve...and this behavior coming from Wookie & Co. being independent voters, who don't mind gay marriage, who think having 19 kids and counting is kosher, who eat organic salads with their greasy pizzas, and don't mind owning guns. We're accepting of just-about-everyone. Umm...minus Zuckerburg. That guy just looks like a douche.
Friday, September 9
You didn't think I've forgotten about you? No, of course not. But when you attend a wedding with professional photographer, you put down the camera and let The Sheriff's hard-earned dollars work for you. Besides, it's hard to operate champagne flutes (yup, plural) and a camera and dance your butt off.
source: Bella Jane Photography
Middle Sister is still going through the bazillion photos to put together a blogpost herself. Then I'll steal her thunder to my readers, with a little bit of snark. Because while she was busy eluding post-reception the frat-boys-turned-guests because boys are known for stupid antics involving honeymoon suites, we were busy loading presents into the car and swiping a few champagne bottles for the road. No, not really 'for the road.' The family totally pajama'd up once home and cracked the bubbly while watching a movie. Ahh...the life of a wedding guest. Almost torturous...
Thursday, September 8
good neighbor, State Farm is there nagging mother, my own mother, Mama Ging, has been not-so-subtle dropping hints that she hasn't seen any pictures of my new digs. Mom, been busy. Between spending the weekends running around trying to spend money (like on the barbeque) and working during the week (last night, I got home an hour after Mr. Wookie), we're closing in on a 100% completed house. 48 hours after move-in, we were 90% settled. It was real. This is "home."
The first night in the new place left me sleeping light. But I do that in new places. I'm not a creature of change (har har, welcome to the Navy). But by Night #3, I was feeling more use to this joint. It could have been the champagne we cracked that night since we were almost done unpacking - probably - but this place had me lounging on the couch with my tie blanket watching a movie.
And today marked the first guest to the new place (Running Buddy - she was nosey and wanted in on the model home), it got the mark of approval. Sweet.
But let's get to the tour....