Today I put away my feminist card for a caring, loving person.

Pot roast has been in the slow cooker since 10:45am and the house smells divine.

Mr. Wookie spent the night with squadronmates out camping....in a night sky of clouds, rain, and wind.

I've been over-zealous in wanting to organize our garage that there are piles for the Women's Mission, Men's Mission, and Goodwill. What's a better Christmas spirit than giving when you don't wear/use things anymore.

Mr. Wookie, upon returning home, hasn't met my over-zealous ambition with anything remotely close.

We've been debating the, "When do we get the tree?" question for the past 4 days.

Although, the delay isn't too bad - we still don't know where we're going to put it. Since becoming a non-dog household, the front room has been rearranged and the 'old spot' no longer exists. So we still debate, dwell, and discuss.

But on an upside, our purchasing plan for our families is almost complete (at least for my side of the family). All that's left is actually pulling the trigger on the goods. And that's the easy part.

The house gets deep-cleaned tomorrow thanks to a Groupon purchase for a house cleaning. :)

It's rained for 3 days in a row and is starting to feel like Mr. Wookie and I are back in college (College Town is rainier than Seattle, if you can imagine that). Although this time, we live together, have jobs (and money), and I don't have to buy him liquor anymore since he's finally over 21.

I'm anxiously counting down the days until December 21st. I loooove the Winter Solstice - because then you know Spring is coming, which means beach weather, hammock time, ice cold beer on our back patio while golfers enjoying the change in daylight, and backyard BBQs with friends.

Oh, and let's not forget about that deployment that's coming up. Eventually. If Uncle Sam doesn't keep changing schedules. I swear, sea tours are meant for...the sea. But apparently Mr. Wookie's squadron isn't supposed to deploy on time. They like to keep us guessing.

Starting December off right: With blogging.

As we come into the holiday season, I need to remember to express the love and happiness that's been made by friends, family, and Mr. Wookie. And the Navy, when they do actually do something that's worthwhile and uplifting. While the blog has been very quiet, it's not for lack of life here in the real world. Instead it was that life required extra care and attention as things were changing, the boys (and few girls) were out on work-ups and then returning. There were wine nights with the ladies, fashion shows with the kids, and potlucks because sometimes cooking for one (again) is something I'd rather not do. And work's has somehow been more stressful than recent - and I'd like that to go away soon (the stress part).

So happy First Day of December!

Here's to the holiday season - I look forward to our Christmas tree, baking, and taking off those "football 5-lbs" that finds my ass each season as I rock 12-oz beer curls, hot dogs, and chips. Merry Christmas (and Happy Haaaaaanukkah)!

So...he was home from work-ups in time to celebrate our anniversary.

Yes, he's laughing. Hysterically. So much my nose is shaking.

Yup, we had a big fat anniversary thus the bubbly. Say hello to, "9 years together." It's kinda awesome.

What's the best way to gain another year?? With friends and family.

Let's just say 'uneventful' would not be the way I would sum up this birthday. It was filled with intense laughter, one tear, a headache (though not mine), Orange and Black, donuts, new purchases, a stuffed carry-on bag, and the Travel Gods that were unbelievably kind.

Yay to another year with health, happiness, and the ability to take life by the horns (impending deployment and all). I've taken for granted the ability to tell my story as I fumbled through my soul-searching thoughts in September. I still don't know why the fall is the time frame to trying to find myself (yet again). But luckily that cloudy sky has passed for much greener, more beautiful, pastures.

Nay to United being a terrible form of travel. Nay to the email notification of flight delay. Nay to the buzz that was wrecked with that information (we were at the Rogue Brewery in PDX, Concourse D representin' y'all!). Nay to the knot that my stomach formed when I dreamed of being forced to sleep in SFO on our layover and missing work today (we connected to avoid paying the $200+/ticket prices that were running around for non-stop flights). And Nay to seeing the clock tick, tick, tick as we descend into SFO and realize our chance of making our connection is zero.

Yay to the Travel Gods for holding our flight (without request) as we're the last two passengers to board. And thankfully only had 2 gates to speed walk to with the meager questioning, "Have the doors closed yet?" Although an extra hour of layover would have given us time to eat - so instead we went hungry on our original connecting flight.

Yay to getting into the 10th Layer of Hell (LAX) on time.

Nay to the hour-plus drive from LAX to Casa de Wookie & Co.

And nay to the less-than-5-hours-sleep that was had. It made for a very interesting day today where I dreamed of toothpicks, naps in my car during my lunch break, and the glorious sleep tonight.

Yay to the mini-vacation that was had before this next stint on the boat. There's a certain routine that's come about each time he leaves dry land for the USS I'm Tired of Work-Ups Already. There's always lots of hugs, kisses, and dinners out to the favorite eateries since boat food resembles prison food. And the last night is no exception as we fine dine on local pizza since, "You can't get good pizza on the boat." Plus this allows me leftovers for a few days while I rock the sweat pants and sing, "All by myyyyssseeelf" Bridget Jones-style.

It's official: We're less than 48 hours out from 29. *gasp*

My heart yearns to be unattached to Uncle Sam and to live in the state that will forever call our names.

My heart fills with joy as I make it another year older while cringing at the mirror noticing the subtle eye wrinkles that are starting to formulate their non-departure status.

My heart worries as travel plans always require utmost patience as traffic happens, delays happen, and the bar might be full.

My heart is excited to see my family tonight after many months of merely Skyping.

My heart is thrilled to meet up with old friends, sharing in the love that is college football.

My heart skips a beat knowing Mr. Wookie and I are going back to our roots.

My heart knows I must bring my "A game" to properly celebrate my birthday (at least in our family).

My heart is thankful for the birthday love already received (thanks Dad #2 and Tay, love you guys!).

My heart realizes that these trips are becoming limited with that looming deployment.

But my heart couldn't be happier. I'm turning 29 with style, some kick-ass confidence, a liver meant for business, family who (usually) loves me, and a boy by my side. 29: Let's do this. Let's make it legen-dary.

Why hire the military wife?

The words, "She's a military wife, just moved here." rang out...and I froze.

We're interviewing a Navy wife. Oh, my, I remember my first post-PCS job search. It's nightmaringly stressful, but completely self-imposed. I know what it's like to want to just find a job. You just want income. You don't care where.

But then, you find a job and it absolutely sucks. So you quit with a simple email. Because two-weeks notice was not something I was going to even give them the courtesy of. They didn't deserve it, just like I didn't deserve being lied to in the interview process.

We're interviewing a Navy wife. Wait, what? We're interviewing an open-to-revealing-her-transient-status military wife? Man, that's ballsy - I never dropped that piece of knowledge in an interview. I wonder if she's had better luck with that move? Maybe I should try that next time I'm trolling for work. Maybe she's on to something.

We're interviewing a Navy wife. But what if I want to be the only military-attached at my job. What if I want all the sympathy and glory about "my sacrifices?" What if I don't want to share?

We're interviewing a Navy wife. Oh snap, what if we hire her...and she knows everything about the lifestyle...and starts dropping the knowledge bombs about order-cutting timeframes, etc. I've made my words very carefully to not ever make assumptions to my duration or potential moves. And I won't until it's that time. So what if she sells me out...or starts asking too many questions...or...or...or...

We're interviewing a Navy wife. Now I start feeling conflicted - on one hand, part of me wants to make sure she's taken care of and finds new work after her move. Then on the other hand, I feel like special circumstances shouldn't be given to her just because she moved. I believe that finding work post-PCS is about your credentials, skills, and meshing with the right job - not just any job. That's how unhappiness is bred.

We're interviewing a Navy wife. I wonder what base she's attached to, what her husband does, how long he's been in, and what awesome travels they've had.

We're interviewing a Navy wife. 

Good thing I don't actually make the decisions to hire - I don't know what I would do. And I feel terrible for actually wanting to discredit a woman solely because of her husband's occupation, but I now "get it" - although my opinion is more on the side of wanting to keep the lifestyle slightly muddled. When you finally join the "real Navy," outside of flight school and moving every 6 months, things settle down and you're able to have more of a real life - as opposed to being a Kmart checker for 6 months (I'd honestly rather die, quit, and work at Target instead - hello, discount!). I honestly thought our part of California is so rare for military action that I wouldn't see another military girlfriend/wife looking for work post-PCS. Well hello, I was wrong.

Welcome military-attached lady, best of luck to your job search - may you find something that you love at this duty station.

The boys (and few girls) are back in town.

This week, the "tri-walls" were packed back up and the crew and team all cheerfully packed their bags and said, "I f***ing hate you NAS No Man's Land." Or at least that's definitely what Mr. Wookie thought as he POV'd home on Thursday. That place is no place for sanity (so sorry if you're stationed there - you know who you are!). But it's official - that was his last time there before we leave California.

It's all so surreal. Time. is. limited. Albeit we still have a year-plus should Mr. Wookie get extended (fingers crossed!).

For the past few weeks, I've been lost in a funk. But like last year's funk...I don't realize it until I've snapped out, lol. How smart am I? And I don't really know what it is about September that really sours my mood. Is it the constant aging that happens in September? I go from rockin' at 28 to SLIDIN' INTO EFFIN' 29. I'm so delusional about my age that I routinely keep writing "27" at places like the eye doctor, dentist, Alcoholic's Anonymous. Okay, two out of three of those places is correct. You guess which it is.

Obviously last year was well warranted since I was making ZERO money at my other job. Not that there's anything wrong with not making money....oh wait, there is. It's called, "What can you do in life without money?" Umm...nothing. You can live in your car. And that sounds just peachy.

But we've moved up and on - and I'm more entertained with my job than anything. I mean, there's nothing wrong with working at Petco for minimum wage (hello, discount!), but for someone with a love for marketing, social media, and e-communications, that's just not the place for me. I'd prefer to be someplace that gives me dual monitors, customers, and a place to use my college degree (which is in English, by the way, so I'm that douche that picks out your typos and tells you that the product code, "MOUNTIT" has the word "tit" in it. Some people just don't assume everyone is a pervert.

But slowly life is returning in the couple weeks Mr. Wookie he's home. Then it'll be back to a one-human household. BUT LET'S NOT FOCUS ON HIM LEAVING....AGAIN.

Let's focus on the fact that he was able to come home a day earlier than everyone else. Eeeeeek.

That was nice. I drove us to dinner to keep it a secret. He enjoyed two beers at dinner. And then we came home to watch the marathon of Big Bang Theory that was on TBS. It's the little things in life that are worthwhile.

And the little words - like "Bazinga."

I don't even know what to say about myself.

Hi. Have you missed me? Let's pretend we're on a date. But a cute local cafe, and not a chain restaurant. Mmmkay?

My name is Mrs. Wookie. I like half hour naps on my hammock (15 minutes front, 15 minutes back) in my swimsuit. Yes, we live on a golf course. Yes, Mr. Wookie yells at me that I'm going to blind the golfers. Haha - very funny.

Oh wait, we're on a date.

Let's make it a girl date.

So I've been with Mr. Wookie for many years, although we're just now facing our first cycle of work-ups and his upcoming deployment. And...I'm just trying to find myself. I want to strike that perfect balance between he's got all the love and affection via text and email, and I've got all the projects necessary to keep me from OD'ing on Real Housewives marathons.

It ain't pretty 'round here. But you ladies know this.

Oh, and I haven't had wine since Saturday night. Aaaand, I may have gotten a contact high from my friend's downstairs neighbors (we spent the night killing 2 bottles of wine, watching cheesy television, and later realizing we were really hungry).

[If you are a friend on Facebook, you know we also woke up to the smell of pot in the morning.]

So yeah...that was my Saturday night. I woke up 2 hours before she did, so I made a cup of tea and read Food & Wine magazine. Oh, the things you do during deployment: sleepovers, brunches, dinners, picnics, shopping, beach trips, sewing projects, picking up turtles off the floor (seriously), new electronics, yard work, and not washing my car.

More about me?

I like having shorter toe nails. I don't keep my fingernails long either. I only shower every other day. But I love dry shampoo (because of this). I prefer not to cook, but to chop everything necessary for dinner. This is where Mr. Wookie comes into play. He's the chef in our home. So when Uncle Sam requires Mr. Wookie's ability to work in an aircraft, reality sets in that I HAVE TO COOK ALL MY MEALS.

Le sigh.

I have a Size 8 shoe. I used to rock 3-inch heels for fun, but now I prefer shorter heels and flats so the midgets in my life feel adequate when they stand next to me. That and Mr. Wookie is a mere inch taller than me. And I don't like to squat to kiss.

Any questions? Will my blogging be more routine? I know, tell me about it. I'm trying....

Baby Sister is one smart cookie, to know me like this.

You have no idea how much I like wine. Okay, you probably do. But so much I had to purchase a Goodwill-find 5-gallon drink vessel for retention since I outgrew my old cork container? Well now you do. Shucks. Some call it a dependency. I call it 'stimulating the economy.'

Labor Day: Cue the BBQ, beverages, and lawn mowing.

It's early afternoon and I've already been up, made my dish to share for a BBQ (zucchini salad), attended said BBQ, stared intently at toddlers wondering what in God's green Earth they're mumbling (I don't speak Toddler), and hoping there'd be enough cupcakes for the rug rats and me. Yes, I wanted a cupcake. And thought sometimes the adults should be fed first when it comes to the little things in life.

I didn't want to wait for all the kids to put their grubby hands all over the frosting. Does a 2 year old really need a cupcake like a hormonal Mrs. Wookie does?? No! But I patiently waited and hoped the kids would lose interest and see something shiny instead. Kids would grab a cupcake and run to tell others, "Hey, there's cupcakes!" Why are you telling others there are cupcakes?!?! It's called not sharing. You should try it.

Le sigh. But thankfully I got one. Life's rough when you don't have wine AND there's the chance you might not get a cupcake either. And that'd be a crime against humanity.

But with the remainder of the day, I'm realizing that we're getting into the 'time off' season of the year - my favorite!

Today is a day that honors the American workforce - because basically we're badass (what up, 'Merica!). I'll be honest, there are just so many days that are not applicable to me (International Mustache Day, I Don't Drink Day, Anti-Redhead Day), that I embrace the day that celebrates my staunch feminist grasp on attempting a career. Yay, I 'labor' at a computer desk 5 days a week. Give me a day! So they do. Thanks Congress.

For some Labor Day signifies the beginning of fall, but my Californian address has no idea what fall is...colder temperatures? Turtle necks? Huh? Ohhhh, you mean pumpkin beer. Now I'm with you.

But back to the "time off" season...

Next month comes my *holy gulp* birthday. Mr. Wookie is so lucky he's missing the month-prior's anxiety-fueled panic of getting another year older. Uncle Sam, you sneaky employer... November is the "We gave smallpox to the Indians" celebration (blargh, Thanksgiving). And lastly December is the best season ever with the holidays, real Christmas trees, stocking, 5-lbs weight gain, and Christmas spice beer. :)

Wait, where was the blogpost going?

I don't know. Either way, Labor Day has been excellent so far. I've been fed. What more could you ask for?

Oh, wait, on that note. I'd like to ask for the yard to be mowed. But I'm pretty sure that I felt a rain drop outside. And that's a sign from the Wine Gods to, Mrs. Wookie, the lawn can wait a day. Why don't you stay inside today, finish the laundry, make the bed, and finishing dusting the house?

Wine Gods, you drive a hard bargain.

You know you really should never trust cheap wine.

So I have pension for pinching pennies when it comes to my wine. Yes, I always order a Stoli and Tonic while out cruising the bar scene in my area (gotta love the Russian mastery), but when it comes to vino...it's go cheap or go home. Because when you can kill 2 bottles of wine a week...by myself...I don't need to break the bank keeping that homefire burning.

But when the wine is self-described as "easy to drink," I chuckle to myself in Vons (it's Southern California's version of Safeway), load 5 other random bottles of cheap wine, and mosey to the cheese aisle - I need shredded cheese so I can make quesadillas tonight. I have leftover taco meat and I don't want to eat enchiladas two nights in a row. So obviously a different Mexican dish makes all right in the world.

Bhahaha.

Yes, sometimes I like to evil laugh by myself - like when I school Final Jeopardy (however rare).

So in case you're wondering, the Meridian Merlot in the above picture. It's just okay. While I only had one glass last night, I'm not really looking forward to coming home after work, throwing a straw in it, and stuporing it until Saturday morning. It'll be something I sip on while I fold laundry (although the laundry will be folded away from the wine since I flail more than a baby orangutan).

I do have a personal stance against the "2 Buck Chuck" from Trader Joe's - it's the ultimate cheap wine. And to me, it's just 'meh.' If I'm going to spend $2 (+ tax) on wine, I might as well spend another $1.50-$2 on some slightly better shitty wine. I mean, hello?? I have standards.

Bhahaha.

Sorry, two evil laughs in one post. I really should try and control myself.

So tell me, do you have a favorite "economical" wine? What's your beverage of choice when your better half is away? Are you willing to host me to prove your point? If you say 'yes,' you're totally awesome. If you say 'no,'...you stingy piece of work. I mean seriously, you wouldn't host me? Why not? I'm offended. Seriously. Off-my-Christmas-card-list offended. I'm awesome. I mean hello, I throw big dollars around. I'm surprised I don't have groupies. Just don't fake a pregnancy.

Is it safe to say that I'm boring most of the week?

Monday - I can't even remember Monday. I know I went to work, I came home, but what did I even have for dinner? Obviously it was profound since it's the highlight of my existence. But seriously, when did the work week get to be so entertaining that I can't remember what I do (and I don't think I even had wine that night).

Tuesday - yes, Tuesday. I remember you. Mainly because I got home super late from my post-work volunteering opportunity, then I had to have dinner with a fellow squadron family, and of course I had to bring a bottle of wine as courtesy (which promptly was emptied between the two adults). I know we had meatloaf, mainly because I had never had zucchini in my meatloaf before. It was fantastic (I put bacon in mine - because that's awesome).  And somehow it was 10:30pm and I was finally driving home to go straight to bed.

Seriously, Mr. Wookie, being a social butterfly is one way to make the time pass. You're welcome I'm not a nagging hen who can't handle being apart from you for more then 6 hours. I'd dump me.

Wednesday - yay. I always love Wednesdays, since we're halfway through the week. However, I do have a certain love for Thursdays more. Because the anticipation for the weekend is still high, weekend plans are coming together (like thrifting with my fellow Junior Officer attache), and there's that 3-day weekend that's just going to spoil me with sleeping in, coffee while I do laundry, and make a feasting lunch for a date with my hammock. Labor Day? Why yes, I labor over a keyboard, desk, and dual 19-inch monitors (gravy, baby). I'll take this day off, thankyouverymuch.

So happy Thursday to you. Remind me to go to Vons tonight for their 30% wine sale. I needs to restock.

The boys (and few ladies) are currently enjoying life at NAS No Man's Land, where the air is dry, Walmart has sad selection of liquor, and Mr. Wookie gets food poisoning before flights are even scheduled. Feel better, babe.

And Mrs. Wookie is back to her sans-Mr. Wookie status.

Obviously we knew this was coming exactly when his boots touched the ground those two-ish weeks ago. I prayed that our time together would crawl like molasses - and thankfully it did. Now while this is semi-how the Army does their little Rest & Relaxation mid-deployment stuff, I know it's not the same. But seriously - just when you get used to some ass clown in bed next to you stealing the covers, he's gone again. So then I'm left fighting the empty other side of the bed which launches the covers up and over me onto the floor.

Thanks Uncle Sam.

But I guess it's a good thing he left a mere 15 days after coming home, since I'm still salty with my established independence. Although once deployment actually rolls around, and subsequently ends, it's going to be a harsh reintegration. From June until the end of deployment next year, he'll never be home for more than a few weeks at a time. Good thing I have tequila in my bar since I'm so salty. I can't let it go to waste, can I?

Lots has happened in the last few days I enjoyed another human in the house - so hopefully the blogging can continue and I can catch myself up on everything. Good thing I have "Project ADD" (seriously, I have needle-point, a puzzle, books, and Pinterest all in rotation to keep me occupied) and can add blogging to the mix. Let's hope y'all don't sign me up for Ritalin (or whatever popular anti-ADD medication is hot to trot these days).

What is Mrs. Wookie reading on the World Wide Web?

Sometimes I just need to advise you of the stupid things that have shocked and awed me during my down time.

Junior Seau is dead???? Umm....when did this happen??

I seriously don't understand how some men lack a complete spine and blood flow from their d*** to not see that their girlfriend is a (to quote Wayne's World) "Psycho Hose Beast."

August 26th is National Topless Day. So does that mean strippers get the day off?

Meatball Bubble Biscuits just sounds amazing. Seriously.

So does it take a certain personality to be a military attache?? I like to think that being a brazen pain-in-the-ass independent fem-Nazi makes me a prime candidate for wine-swilling "military-based singledom" much more than the "I've never not had a boyfriend because my dad left me when I was 3" type of person (please don't take this as a direct offense, but more as the typical psycho-analytic response to that behavior). But this is only my opinion. Yes, I moaned and groaned for the first few weeks with his latest round of detachment because it had been YEARS since I had to navigate the militarily separated status. Now, as he's leaving in less than a week until the end of September, I'm good. I've got wine, dinner dates with the ladies, my work, a jigsaw puzzle, Netflix, some frozen Bertolli Dinners For Two, no need to share the bed, newly purchased underwear so I can avoid laundry for longer. and a plethora of dust to gather on my razor. :)

Our Hawkeye/Greyhound Ball is quickly coming up on the calendar, and I'm thinking to myself, Can I do my own hair?? Usually for these once-a-year occasions, I do tend to spoil myself just a little bit just because how often does Mr. Wookie rock his Choker Whites? He looks absolutely fantastic, so as should I. I've routinely re-worn dresses from college because no one has ever seen them before and I did a pretty good job on choosing cost-effective dresses that are timeless. This year, I did something different. I bought a clearance Banana Republic dress. Because I wanted to. And I can't wait to wear it. :) So with that, I'm going to be Pinteresting ideas for my hair (to do it myself) since I bought a new dress this year. Gotta be productive with my money, honey.

Do you need to waste time and nearly piss yourself?? Check this out. Thanks SMD.

Happy Birthday to Middle Sister who turned a whoppin' 24 today (seriously, hands down, BEST year ever in my life since I traveled heavily, enjoyed life, lived off my savings, and delayed adulthood until absolutely necessary).

Next up: Me. *Gulp*

I've taken a two-day break from the beverages after this weekend. Although, I may start excluding Monday from my typical glass of wine. Not that I'm an alcoholic. But with Mr. Wookie creeping closer to the Deployment Date, I feel like a few random days off will definitely stretch my cheap-ass wine budget for the many moons he'll be gone over the next year (seriously, it's $5 or under for my beverage of choice. Go cheap or go home).

There's still more to cover! Back to "Glamour's 30 Things before 30" #1-5

In continuing the trend of Glamour's "30 Things Every Woman Should Have and Should Know by the Time She's 30", let's see how my answers stack up for the next 5 questions of this Q&A.

By 30, you should know ...

1. How to fall in love without losing yourself.
Yes, although I think the concept of love is ever-evolving (how existential, Mrs. Wookie!). The way I loved Mr. Wookie when we first me was something of bubbles and kitten whiskers, where as with each year together it continues to morph into a more soul-invasive love. And with that, I still make sure I know myself.

2. How you feel about having kids.
I turn 29 in October - which means, I have then one year to contemplate the existence of potential offspring. I'm torn though. I do feel the need to pass along the Ginger locks to the next generation. But then my inner feminist glares at the thought of being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, having given up financial freedom and a narrow waist for a child that will forever change the landscape of weekends, home decor, and my boobs.

And yes, we've been told to produce grandchildren. I'm curious what the starting offer is though.

3. How to quit a job, break up with a man, and confront a friend without ruining the friendship.
I've happily (I want more money!) and unhappily (We're PCSing to California!) left jobs which has taught me lessons in personal standards, the shitty job market in California, left the ol' bank account dusty, and determined to find quality, resume-worthy work.

Though sadly, this is way more common than my breaking up with men. My last break-up was via text. From him. How awesome, right? Oh well, he still lives in his hometown, was a car salesman (please, don't judge), and didn't have any ambition.

I'll take Mr. Wookie for $5,000, Alex.

4. When to try harder and when to walk away.
I have two rules of thought.

If you can't find the answer via Google, you're screwed.

And if it can't be solved with a $5 bottle of wine, some tears, and a hug, you're screwed.

5. How to kiss in a way that communicates perfectly what you would and wouldn’t like to happen next.
Practice makes perfect, right?

So, Mrs. Wookie, how was Middle Sister's wedding last summer?

So you know Wookie & Co. have a strict protocol when it comes to weddings.

a.) It's better if we don't have to crash it, so invite us. But only invite us if we don't have to sit at Table 9 with the family rejects. We do best in our habitat (other alcohol-related people), and enjoy the availability of good food (please no Cheez-Whiz and crackers).

b.) We. like. the. beverages. How else will we get up there and dance? Plus, how else will we find the "need" to find the ladies' room juuuuust about the same time as the bouquet toss.

c.) DO NOT FATHER/DAUGHTER DANCE TO "Butterfly Kisses." I will murder a baby.

d.) DO NOT HAVE THE READING OF "2 Corinthians..." I will murder an elderly person.

Yes, there are more, but these are the important ones. So Accidentally Olympian, take note!

So it was Mama Ging's 29th Birthday yesterday.

And like any good daughter...I posted a note on Facebook and called it good.

Mrs. Wookie, are you finally recapping Middle Sister's wedding??? A year later??

That's all you need to do in the modern day, right?

You don't need to call your mother to wish her a Happy Birthday. No. Nor do you have to schedule future pedicures with her upcoming travels to the Southern California coastline to visit the Wookie & Company household (sans Mr. Wookie though, he'll back on the boat for a couple more months). Nope. You don't have to talk about recovering the infamous Victorian chair that's currently rocking a duct-taped pattern that Chanel might use in next season's fashions. Nil. And there wasn't conversation about how usually the weather is just perfect for hammocks and iced tea (Mama Ging, not a big drinker) - and to not worry when our friendly neighbor pops his head over to chat. Nada.

So while any birthday antics will be belated as the 900-mile divide is a bitch in making for traditional Sunday dinners (and a beverage with the Sheriff), we'll easily make up for it. Plus, Middle Sister will be there and we're a fun force to be reckoned with. There'll be some IKEAing, home-cooked meals, sightseeing, celebrity stalking, shopping, and probably some Father of the Bride. We just have some movies worth watching over and over again...which is why the Sheriff always packs his laptop (he can't not find videos online like this).

And don't worry about Baby Sister, she's got her own plans in the works to visit.

Wordless Wednesday: Pearl Harbor at Departure

So remember that time we declared NEVER AGAIN on Bulldogs?

May was a very rough month for us. Sweet Pea's loss was Murphy's Law's most douchey thing ever. Seriously, Murph, you pull that stunt. You're an asshole. You kill off my FREAKING DOG less than two weeks from Mr. Wookie's freakin' boat date?? I haven't lost a pet since I was 14, and even then - it was Mama Ging's cat from right after she and the Sheriff hitched back in 1675, so I never really knew the pain of what it's like to lose your own fur-baby.

Losing a pet is fucking hard.

But time heals all wounds. Time allows us to reflect on Damn, bitch has a good life with us. When Mr. Wookie was away on business, she was my co-pilot on the other side of the bed. And should Mr. Wookie only be back for a few nights....well then she got her spot right in the middle. Nevermind if she accidentally flail kicked him in the nuts, which is hilarious by the way.

In the stinging aftermath of our loss, we knew there could never be another love like Sweet Pea. She was our first, she'll be our favorite. She was a snatchy ol' broad who was more like her mother than I ever knew. Don't like people? Who cares, me neither. Don't like other dogs? Me neither, they're not nearly as cute as you, baby girl. And just like that, she was my "baby girl." While I didn't bloat over 9 months and wreck my vagina to have her, I still poured my everlasting love (and money) into spoiling the shit outta her.

But time heals all wounds. I see her pictures and I no longer have the bitterness of a dog gone too soon. Instead, I have the incredible memories of making our home her last home. Our home, our love, our life...was hers. And she couldn't have fit more perfectly. The Junior Officers when they came over would shower her with affection (until she chased the beer pong balls). When it was just one of my lady friends, bitch would curl up on the sofa with me while I drink wine and we watch Say Yes to the Dress (I love my Friday night television!).

Now life is quieter. Life has less walks. Life has unopened bags of treats given to other families in the squadron with dogs. Life has three-week used dog bed in the garage that we can't dare part with. Life has her collar hanging on the key rack as a constant reminder of her place in our family. Life still has a half-bag of food that's waiting for a donation place to accept (I just need to reach out). And life has a re-arranged front room since my heart broke every time I saw the empty floor space where her bed, blanket, toys, slobber, paw prints, and green cloud of ass-gas would linger.

But now life has a new discussion. Life has re-emerged in the conversation of a future dog and how Mr. Wookie and I just can't let go of the breed. I'll be honest - his words caught me off-guard at first. But in reality they shouldn't have. After a month without her, we started to ease back into the future of us. What will we own next? We took every "What dog breed is right for you?" quiz one after the other, and our results clashed every time. He wants a Mastiff, I love Corgis, he'd like a bloodhound, I think wire-hair large terriers are cute, he'd punt a chihuahuah (so would I), and I think Bull Terriers are adorable with their weird-shaped snouts.

It's a good thing we've decided to wait until after deployment to bring another dog into our family, because we'd be those nightmare people with two dogs (a "his" and "hers"). No. We don't want that. We want an "ours."

But Friday night brought words that stung my heart...in a good way. Mr. Wookie's used the time on the boat to reflect about what he misses (hopefully me), what he wants out of life, and where he wants to go next.

"I want another Bulldog."

Is he serious? No way? Are you sure? Are we ready for another (potential) money pit? 

Without flinching, "I'm in." They say shot-gun reactions are from the heart.

So as serious as herpes, a heart attack, and trust funds, I can't wait until we freakin' check into our next duty station so life can SHOW ME THE MONEY ENGLISH BULLDOGS! Seriously. I can't handle my excitement. I need more cowbell snoring, slobbering, and farting...and not from Mr. Wookie. ;)

The short and sweet relief of Mr. Wookie being home.

Seriously, 10 days of grass growth. And a few hidden golf balls later.

Ahhhh, Mr. Wookie...back at home...back to (house)work...and back to lounging on the back patio, cold beer in hand, mocking (or being impressed) by the golfers just over our iron fencing. While there's not a lot to do in the short time he's home, there are some important things to figure out before the birds leave for more out-of-state training.

But overall, I'm enjoying the company over dinner, My Idiot Brother, cocktails with Mr. Wookie's fellow Junior Officers (I can't believe how much I've missed them), and the new magnet that graces the fridge.

I was lucky enough to get Friday off from work in order to spend some quality time with Mr. Wookie.

I couldn't have felt less emotion over missing work on Friday. Work shwork!

But now we're back to the grindstone this morning as we're both off to earn our incomes. It's still TBD whether the hours during the short time home will be semi-decent or hard-charging to keep up the pace until their next training exercise. So will we have next weekend together? Or will Mr. Wookie have weekend flights and a grumpy attitude?

Mostly this weekend has been reflective. It's hard to imagine, but we've been in the (semi) great state of California for just shy of two years. In that time frame, I've worked three different jobs (one as a temp that I kicked to the curb, one a real job that faltered with the economy - so I jumped ship, and where I'm at now - happy as a clam), we've welcomed a beloved pooch and too-soon said goodbye (and we love you), there have been dozens of wine corks, a few hangovers, and a couple broken picture frames (that was the last time we host Mr. Wookie's co-workers over). There have been countless tears, buckets of drool, sheer moments of happiness, and a quizzical first six months into this duty station.

The Navy - it's definitely a learning period. Just when you think you have the hang of it as a domesticated attache, it throws you a new curve ball of new emotions.

So while it took me a good 2-3 weeks to find my "happy place" as Mr. Wookie was playing in the water, I finally did find something that was semi-comfortable. Although the Resident Caveman doesn't understand what all the hubbub is about. "You're home and you have access to alcohol." Ahhh yes, because that alone suffices my needs. I don't need human interaction, when I can talk to the TV. I don't need dinner company, because I enjoy slaving away in the kitchen for one. Instead, I fought with myself for those first few weeks knowing I could be alone, but not trusting myself that "I've got this." Up until that point, my inner monologue was whiny and wimpy. But then the pity party packed up and I found my routine of weekly library trips, cooking every 2 to 3 days of real food then just reheating leftovers to make life easy, and finding weeding the flowerbeds to be the perfect excuse for an ice-cold beer.

Let's just hope this happiness continues beyond his next bag is packed and he walks out the door.

Only when you're alone can you really learn your weakness.

"If the shoe doesn't fit, must we change the foot?" -- Gloria Steinem

If you've ever been concerned about my fashion sense, now's the time - seriously, Safari-esque jacket, tribal dress, thigh peekaboo, and leopard shoes. Trust me, I didn't leave the house like this. I just had to break in the shoes.

If there was one thing I learned in my time away from Mr. Wookie, it's that damn, nothing makes the month feel better than picking up a pair of new shoes. Now before you go all materialistic on my ass, just know I have a severe tendency to buy one pair of shoes, love the shit out of them, and wear them into the ground. I believe firmly that shoes are an investment (not Skinny Runner kind of investment), but an investment into the sanity of your body.

Fun fact: I don't buy non-ergonomic shoes.

Cue granny walkers and Metamucil.

I'm the crazy twenty-something that buys shoes with arch support, a heel cup, and dancing room for my toes.

And I love it.

So you're thinking to yourself, "Where in the world do you get ergonomic shoes without hitting up a retirement community? And do I have to go before my Denny's 4pm Silver Dinner Special??"

No, you don't. And they market towards the non-AARP crowd. Trust me. I'm a doctor.

My favorites are Naturalizer, Clarks, Birkenstocks, and Report, if you had to peek into my closet.

So when I was out shopping one lunch break, at my local Naturalizer Outlet store, needing another neutral color shoe for my wardrobe (since the warm-toned brown flats bought 6 months ago are starting to have sloping heels from excessive mileage), I about died when the leopard print shoe caught my eye. Why hello?? I didn't even text-versate with Mommy McD on this purchase. They were all MINE!

Shoes: my weakness. Why? Because my feet are a normal size. I don't have to shop at the TallBitches.com for clothes to fit my legs and monkey arms. I can go anywhere. Maybe this is why Mr. Wookie doesn't like going to the NEX- they carry Naturalizer. :) I'm a 5'10.789" female with a dainty Size 8 foot. Yes, my balance is terrible. Yes, I know this is compounded when I happen to drink too much. Yes, that's why I don't drink.

Bazinga.

BHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA.

So in the timeframe Mr. Wookie was gone, I brought home two pairs of homeless shoes. Without a dog, I'm left to evil devices. That's roughly a pair of shoes per month. Gasp. This is going to be bad. Mr. Wookie has a very long deployment coming up. And the closet is only so big. Looks like it's time to start rearranging things. And I know what you're thinking, Mrs. Wookie, you're so charitable in helping those homeless shoes. I do what I can - I'm the Mother Teresa of footwear.

Welcome Home, USS Summa Time

I've been a bag of questions since Mr. Wookie has been home - mostly, I'm curious how the rest of the squadron finds out when the boat is pulling in and their boots will be on the ground. I feel like being attached to a Naval Aviator (and thusly being an Officer), that I receive more privileged information due to Mr. Wookie's job. Apparently, that's not the case. And not to think I'm better because of Mr. Wookie's status, I honestly just thought that sometimes there are perks to his job. Nope. Everyone is equal in getting knowledge at coming home. The Officers just get the perk of leaving the boat days early since the aircraft needs to be home first (and a thanks to the neighbor squadron for landing them this week).

But after this week, there's no more need for coded discussion for dates, movements, and homecomings.

Mr. Wookie's entire squadron is safely home from the USS Summa Time

They've had a very busy summer of international training exercises with heavy-flying days, aircraft that needed maintenance, very important people on board (like the Secretary of the Navy - who met Mr. Wookie, asked where the Caveman was from, inquisition'd him, "Beavs or Ducks?," then congratulated him on his choice of education. Seriously.), two port calls, a handful of emails back home when the Internet wasn't down, and limited coffee since apparently right after pulling out of Pearl Harbor the stash was out. Again, seriously.

This squadron is working hard in the work-up cycle before deployment and have earned some days off. Lord knows they're leaving all too soon again. But hey, it just makes deployment's homecoming that much better. And maybe each mini-homecoming will make my cleaning skills that much better.

Does absence make the heart grow fonder? Or more independent?

But like a good book (or a shitty, boring book), things must all come to an end. The home has to be cleaned in order to not scare away the Resident Caveman into thinking I live like a slob when he's not here. There was the mad amount of laundry to be done (there were a few times I was THISCLOSE to wearing swimsuit bottoms - again, I had things to do and people to see - laundry was not a priority). And I had to restock the bar (very, very important).

We knew the window of "fly in" dates for this summer-long exercise and I was praying for a miracle. Would I be there to make it? On the schedule at work was a multi-day conference for my division - where I being the newest employee, was the lone soul left behind. I, being there for 10 months, was in charge of EVERYTHING. I had my boss' emails forwarded to me, I had my co-workers' emails forwarded to me, I had everything in my control - this meant the good and the bad. And unfortunately life wasn't smooth sailing for those days.

And to make matters worse, we were given the estimated arrival time for aircraft arrival.

Shit.

I'm going to be at work. Timing couldn't have been worse. And emailing Mr. Wookie on the boat was heartbreaking. "Babe, I can't be there - I have to be at work. This kills me."

So with that, I made a plan. Well, if I can't be there for the fly-in...I'll at least have a goodie bag of beer and booze for his arrival that way he knows he's at least loved. I confirmed with a wife on when she would be going to the Hangar, and that I'd like my goodie bag to accompany her. Plan.

So that morning, the birds were launched. All en route to the mainland. All containing aviators whose families have missed them over the past months. All enjoying the phone calls from port visits, but those who wanted their men in uniform home for dinner, cocktails, and story time for those with kids.

For us without offspring, I just wanted another human in the house to talk to - because cheering at the Olympics is borderline crazy. And that's even before the wine consumption begins.

Once the aircraft were launched, the boat steamed towards land. And the ground crew earned a night of relaxation, popcorn, and some Scwartzing Be With Them. They deserved it. There's not a working plane without the killer crew.

But then I got to thinking. What if I can make the fly-in? What if the stars align so perfectly on my lunch break that I make their boots on the ground? Noo...it'll never happen. But I wouldn't know unless I tried.

So I connived with those able to attend - I want to be there, let's make it work.

At 12:10pm, late for my lunch break, but with my foot HEAVY on the gas I screamed my car towards the Navy base. Once past those gates of ID checks and judgment, the car properly drove the speed limit to the Hangar. That is until you heard this low, grumbling, deep noise...

VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

...directly overhead, unbelievably low, in formation, were three E-2 Hawkeyes, happy to see home land, more excited to put rubber on the ground and be welcomed home from their training exercise. My heart raced. No way, life can't be perfect. I can't make this fly-in.....can I??? Are you serious? Is this happening?? Goosebumps trickled my arms.

But then came the time to wait for all the birds to land, and I was anxious with fear as I had a limited amount of time to stand around before I had to make my way back to work. So I waited and paced. I paced and I waited. And I chewed my already nerve-wracked nails. Worry was all over my face.

12:26pm - another fly over in a different formation, each plane breaking to the left in order to descend for landing.

12:32pm - first airplane is down. 

12:46pm - all planes are down, but we were going ever close to my "I need to get back to work" time.

I, giddy with excitement, had the heart-wrenching thought that I would see all the action, but need to get back to work - missing the hug, love, and affection of a boy that's been off on a floating city for the summer.

Tick tick tick went the clock. The planes were parked(?) and reducing their engines. HOW LONG DOES THIS FREAKING TAKE??? I HAVE A SCHEDULE. I'm anxious, overwhelmed, annoyed, and longing to see the boy and make sure he knows he's loved. And apparently this aircraft requires a lengthy shut-down process, instead of killing the engine, rolling into the driveway, and cranking the e-brake - apparently millions of dollars is more involved than a shitty $500 Toyota Tercel with hanging head liner (my first car).

The wind is dancing around the Hangar space, where wearing a dress I began to regret it. 

But then with 10 minutes left in my window of opportunity, it was announced that it was safe to approach the planes. Engines were off. Hatches opened. Finally.

Slowly, one by one, pilots and back-seaters began to emerge from the cocoon of the aircraft. Tall, short, skinny, not-so-skinny....each camouflaged by flight gear and a sweaty head. All of us wondering who belongs to who. I stand next to the Commanding Officer's Wife, who's also curious which plane holds her better half.

I partially yell, "Anyone seen a Caveman?"

"He's in here!" was called back. Third plane.

I can't believe it. I'm here. I'm witnessing this. I'm welcoming home my handsome man home from a summer-long exercise and it literally feels like he just left. Life is in slow-motion as I walk towards him asking, "Hey babe, how goes it?" He looks fantastic - even cuter than I remembered. And I take my first mental images in a long time. This moment. This is what it's all about. Welcome home babe.

"I knew you'd make it." Obviously someone has extreme faith. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. If I wouldn't have been held up those extra 10 minutes at work, I would have left earlier - which means I would have had to leave earlier from the base, and would have missed his boots on the ground.

I thanked everyone who helped make my timely arrival happen and then I was off.

Then I raced back to work with a smile on my face and the utmost thankfulness for life to grant me that little piece of happiness. I got to be there for him. The one person he wanted to see - he got to, even if for a few minutes. And it doesn't hurt that he went home with a six pack of microbrew, a hug, kiss, and a suggestive offer, "Hey babe, wanna do Mexican food tonight? I'll drive." Yup, the boy deserves a couple margaritas if I do say so myself - I will gladly have water with lemon while he tastes the freedom off the boat.

Welcome home, Caveman. I've missed you.

Now let's have time crawl since you're leaving before month's end. I've missed you. And we have a lot of catching up to do: Cheers, steak dinners, movie dates, martinis, and Chinese take-out nights with Netflix marathons.