So the other day, I leave my house. And get an offer I don't want.

I did something I'm quite proud of. I didn't expect it to happen. But it did.


So you know Mr. Wookie is gone. But dammit, I put my hair in rollers, donned some makeup, and got myself a date for dinner. By the way, Mr. Wookie knows all about this - so no secrets, mmmkay. Who was I 'dating?' Oh, just one of our good college friends who's stationed in Virginia, who we haven't seen in 2+ years (and 2 deployments for our friend), and I wasn't going to let my solo status rain on the parade of Oregonian hospitality.


Just because Mr. Wookie is gone, doesn't mean my social life is dead. Our friend (in a sister E-2 squadron) who's in town for training, needed some dinner company (who am I to be a bitch?). So I was determined to show our friend where Mr. Wookie's and I's place in the world exists. How the beach is a living entity, how the weather is just about perfect in late July, and how the scent of cocktails on the ocean better be served with a cuppa chowda and the perfect seafood entree.


I love my life and I love that I'm able to be the extended hand of our life and welcome our friends to Southern California with open arms. While I love it more when Mr. Wookie is here, I know he's in mostly great hands of some very dedicated and skilled pilots. Plus, there's the possibility for overlap with Mr. Wookie and our friend from Virginia, so don't feel bad about anything. In fact, feel bad for me. ;) Our guest room will be occupied and late night movie fests will be had by the boys. All while I go to bed 'early' at 10:30m.


So in to town came our friend. And into his phone came my offer for dinner, views of the beautiful Pacific ocean, and a promise for a night where college would be jealous. He gladly accepted. There's something about a friendship than spans a near-decade built on a solid foundation: Beaver football, both our fathers being in law enforcement, and the simple knowledge that Oregon is the best place to retire only because it's where we come from (plus fishing licenses are dirt cheap, biodiesel is easy to find, and damn...have you met me?)


The night was simple. Dinner at a local pier focal point. Then a move to Downtown for drinks. Where (honestly, shockingly) we ran into further (other) sister squadrons in the E-2 community (ones we know very, very well), which merged into a party like rock stars. There was was dancing, there was tall boys of PBR at 1:30am, and there was the questioning to ME from some random guy of, "Wanna get outta here?"


Ummm....I know what that means.


Ummm....


NO.


Sorry buddy, a.) Have you met my better half? b.) Eww. c.) You're shorter than me. d.) NOOO.


That was the highlight of the night. Seriously, getting asked to leave a shady bar and do unmentionables with this guy. I honestly thought it was hilarious in the moment. Have you met me? I'm a handful. Seriously. I'm a Ginger, so that's going against me. Then I have this resident Cavemen that I live - who you'll have to beat away with a stick (seriously). 


But either way, I was quite proud of myself. I got hit on. And I didn't even try. Not because I was dressed suggestively or putting out the signals that I wanted someone to take me home. Instead, I knew it was because I actually looked gorgeous for once in a long, long time. Normally my appearance sans-Mr. Wookie is more lesbian than anything - because why try when not necessary? So "toot toot" own horn. But seriously - 'gag' to his offer.


Although, I just kinda feel bad with how I answered the question, because in my right mind (which was....umm...altered), I didn't exactly sugarcoat it. "Nope." Not a, 'Oh, yeah, you actually probably know my boyfriend, Mr. Wookie.' Or 'I have a longtime boyfriend, thanks.' Just 'NOPE.' He probably had no idea - but I bet you he learned who I was afterwards (not to say I'm anything special - but our community is veryveryverysmall, so the information of Mr. Wookie has probably made it to him by now and he feels like a JACKASS). Next time buddy. Maybe then the girl will not be attached to a part-ape aviator who's growing a killer detachment 'stache.


So who's ready for Mr. Wookie to be home?? I know I am. It used to be because I missed his cooking, now I miss his bodyguarding skills in our local bars. Come home, Mr. Wookie, come home.