Throwback Thursday: Hawkeye Ball, East Coast 2014

It's very common in the aviation community to be not be fully understood by the surface, sub, or nuke pipelines. They're routinely thought of as Prima Donna types, semi-lazy for having something resembled children's pajamas as a daily uniform, requiring 8 hours of sleep without question, and the ability to throw a golf tournament in honor of an aviator lost in the line of duty. I'm fully aware of this, yet I embrace it. 

So while it was a bit of a surprise when we attended our first Hawkeye Ball in 2009, I've now come to love the mayhem and foolishness that it entails. There's always a West Coast and an East Coast Ball, with a lucky few able to attend both (so jealous). And since his time through flight school and first sea station,  there are long-lost friends that have moved on to other locales (i.e. Pax River in Maryland, Fallon in Nevada - both bonafide spots to procreate because there's not much else going on there) and many names/faces forgotten at this duty station because being back on the East Coast is. just. so. many. people!

This duty station can either embrace you or lose you in the action based on its size alone. While I love working as a small fish in a big pond, I prefer my living situation to be small fish within a small pond. I don't like being the New Girl and am trying my hardest to "date" the ladies here. Thankfully I filled my 'hug tank' this year with my long-lost friends of Navy's multiple duty stations. And I just now wait for fellow West Coast-er's orders for Norfolk to show up.

My handsome dinner date and I - and my hair was something else. I wasn't loving it, and it wouldn't cooperate. So I rocked some tousled beach-like waves and called it a win. Also, I only drank Sauv Blancs until I changed since ivory chiffon + red wine = oh. shit. And the salmon for dinner was a wise choice as Mr. Wookie's prime rib looked more like "homeless man leather sneaker" than bovine. And yes, that's a real bowtie - he watched 20 minutes of YouTube tutorials to not be a 29-year-old shmuck with a fake.

Mrs. Wookie's Hawkeye Ball Etiquette + Survival Guide:

1.) Do the "I can eat" and "I can sit" test in your dress. VERY IMPORTANT.
2.) While it's okay to acknowledge you're wearing Spanx, please don't let them expose themselves. Last year, an O-4 wife didn't test that by raising her arms...her Spanx exposed at the knee. Woops.
3.) Please don't drop an arm-and-a-leg on one dress for just 4 hours. My thoughts are the same on wedding dresses also. What happens after the wedding? It sits in a damn box and no. one. will want to wear your dated design. Stop wishing upon a star.
4.) The length doesn't matter of the dress - there's always equal knee-length to floor length ratio.
5.) Stock your hotel room with post-party snacks and pajamas. Derp.

Last year I missed my handsome man, oh so much. And our C(ommanding) O(fficer's) W(ife) connived us Junior Officer attaches to attend en masse as a support for the squadron and an establishment to the remaining squadrons that our men have the watch, while us ladies have the wine in glasses. We did so with heavy emphasis of "Our men are missing, we should get unlimited champagne." But I was glad to tout the faux-burden of being the homefire burning; I play the martyr very well. And I'll take that champagne.

My first West Coast Hawkeye Ball in 2010. Oh man, I didn't even know. I was berratedly interrogated by a Department Head as Mr. Wookie was the FNG in the squadron. So why aren't you married? Want me to have a talk with him? I can make things happen. Uhh...(where the f**k did we move to?). Also, short hair is a bitch to style when you're in the I'm-trying-to-grow-it-out-like-a-California-gurl phase.

West Coast Hawkeye Ball in 2011 - the year of the broken wine glass. Woops. I got a little carried away when summoning for more wine by tapping my glass. I needed to get out of the weight room, for sure. And did you notice this is the same dress as last year?? This was the squadron's best year as they brought home the trophy for "Hawkeye Pilot of the Year" - this is an amazing honor for the skilled pilot who's been selected early for Department Head and has a great continued career ahead of him.

West Coast Hawkeye Ball in 2013 - the last of the glory years with sunshine and my handsome man. This dress was the bee's knees for multiple reasons. a.) It has POCKETS. b.) It's JCrew tall. Boom. c.) It's fabulous and taffeta (my favorite). d.) It fit the theme for the year: "Mad Men." Move over, Joanie - there's a true redhead up in here!

And what's even better - I'm set for Hawkeye Ball 2015 thanks to a winter wedding in the Palm Springs area in February. Hello floor-length (what!) and wine chiffon into the mix. Can you get what I'll be drinking that year?

The travel itch.

"Not all those who wander are lost." -J.R. Tolkien

We were dutiful sea-going-station inhabitants as we put ourselves through an extended work-up cycle, a pushed-back deployment, and compressed work-up cycle again, and then his lil trip to sea. We squeezed in trips where we could and I kept the turtles alive when he did his trips to Fallon where I would hear from him every few days (Fallon has a true O-Club experience...thus the lack of communication). We got a dog, experienced a "family lifestyle," and grew to be home-bodies on the couch with our favorite Jeopardy.

But it's been awhile since we truly went away for a we-have-no-plans trip, like Raleigh (above, and the cute lil French cafe where we enjoyed each other's company and expanded our waist line with a plethora of butter in the croissants!). There's something about impromptu trips, made on a Thursday night, and executed at Noon on a Friday (which takes an early email to the boss - "Yo, you need me this PM?"). Mondays are bitches to miss at work, but sometimes you just have to stop giving a shit.

And to think...it's been years since my Passport's had love and attention. It was 2010 (I think) when my family trekked Eastward, cross the pond, for some English and Scottish beer, landscape, a bit o' family fighting (because what's a vacation without conflict), and plenty of souvenirs (and again, a slight expanding in the waistline thanks to the delectable brew). Mr. Wookie had his own trip to NYC for a handful of days. We separate, experience life, come together, and then plan more trips. Sometimes my family overwhelms him and I just need to soak in more dysfunction to make the heart fonder from farther.

Mama Ging and Castle #427

 Dad, we're leaving you!

Of course there's been some dabbling of vacation when moving from station-to-station, but what fun is it when you stay in some lackluster locations (i.e. Oklahoma City) that wouldn't be your first or fifteenth choices for a night away? I need a triiip to rejuvenate. I need damn-good breakfasts. I need museums, and art galleries, I need skylines, and a cocktail promptly at 5:01pm. I'm on vacation. I require no reason.

And now that we're back in "East Jesus Nowhere" from my family, Beaver Nation (moment of silence for their season this year), and all things "the West Coast is the best coast," it's time to plan our escape from the Navy's Armpit. And I'm thinking quarterly.

The boys are attempting to mount a trip to good ol' West Virginia this winter for skiing, but I'm hesitant on a few concepts. First off, it's West Virginia. Secondly, I'm not exactly a "car trip" person. My limit is 3 hours; unless I'm allowed a wine bottle...then it's 4.5 hours. West Virginia is at least 5 hours; so I'd have to take Thursday, Friday, and Monday to make that a worth-while time investment. Why don't we just go to Chicago?? That's only a couple hours via plane, a Kimpton hotel reservation Downtown, and a PLETHORA of excitement. How's Spring sound? Perfect. BOOM. We're in.

And the remainder of my above thought is that West Virginia barely has hills. I need mountains.

Where else is on our plan for next year?? Well...it's a list. You ready??

January: I'll be possibly making the trek back to Oregon for a BABY SHOWER! Yes, Mine. Lolz. No.

February: I'll be whipping up a party as a BRIDESMAID in the Palm Springs area. Hello Temecula wine country, hello. And yes, I'll be staying behind in lovely California for a WEEK while I work from my division's office just 12 miles from the beach.

We're eye-balling the above Chicago trip sometime between February and May.

May: We'll be hosting an invading Mama Ging and Sheriff for a week before they venture off to Chicago themselves while we bust semi-South to Memphis for another country bumpkin-style wedding.

July: Mr. Wookie's BIRTHDAY PARTY!! We be going away! Hopefully...

September: Hello GUVNA! And top of the morning to ya, lass.

Mr. Wookie has also put his name on the list as a "farm out" option to the East Coast deploying squadrons. So should he be joining deployed forces in European and Middle Eastern port calls, I'll be cannon-balling my own vacation plans. I don't need him to be here for a trip; I'll make my own plans. Iowa? Sure! I got a friend living there; I didn't just pull it outta a hat.

I just threw this in a reminder of times a-loggin' mad miles and skinnier jeans a-fittin'. 

What would it take for Mr. Wookie to get NPS in lovely Monterey (which would boost morale tenfold as it looks most like Oregon)? Many things. The aviation pipeline is pretty limited for fun-and-games. They prefer you make the scheduled steps through sea station, then Norfolk for instructing, then a "dis-associated" tour (i.e. it's when a naval aviator is forced to work with...gulp.. the Army, Marines, or Air Force), and yada yada yada. Does he want a Command? Hell-to-the-no. Does he want to have fun with his career in a flying capacity? Yup.

I would give almost anything to be back in this great state; minus my income. I mean, I could probably find something comparable in project. But what about the EXTREME LAZINESS I have of working from home now?? This gig is legit and hard to beat. I can Google vacation destinations, respond to my family, keep up with my sales calls, orders, and customers, all while sipping on some coffee and wearing pajamas.

But a move back to the PacNW would provide much more weekend entertainment for us, beyond the sniveling at the windows as the lack of terrain brings a depressive state to our home. I've come to realize that I love where we live in Norfolk and the amenities our DINKdom requires, there's just not much entertainment here to suffice our needs. 

So we need to get out. It makes perfect sense of why people choose this duty station. It's proximity to all-things-historic-and-awesome. As mentioned above, we've made the trek to Raleigh, to his dad's in Asheville (just not the Biltmore yet), D.C. likes it's going out of style, Ocracoke, Charlottesville during our first visit to the 757. But now that we're back, it's time to cross more off the list: Baltimore, Pax River (for friends), Savannah (I'll bring 2 bottles of wine on the drive), NYC, Boston, PHILLAY (and the Mudder Museum), and across the Pond as we have English and French connections to a great time.

I like my vacation a mix of I'm-not-moving-from-this-lounge-chair and yes-please-refill-my-drink to cultural and educational enlightment! Whale's Vagina has beaches and Balboa Park, Charleston has Downtown and Ft. Sumter, D.C. has Russia House in Dupont and the Mall, Nashville has Downtown and Downtown (lolz), Pensacola has beaches and inbreds, Vegas has the Strip and the Nuclear Museum...and so on and so on.

All this West Coast camping supplies, and no hills to entertain us.

Help me, Obi Wan Wookie. You're my only hope. Put in that leave chit. And let's travel some more. Yes.

Meow Monday

This picture still cracks me up as I should know never to leave a water glass with enough room for a snout to invade. She'll hijack anything that'll fit the whiskers; then drip water as she moves onto the next.

Happy belated Halloween.

"Most of us don't need a psychiatrist therapist as much as a friend to be silly with." -Robert Brault

Since settling into Norfolk again, there's been a range of emotions from longing for California and my salty friendships from yesteryear's deployment, to begrudgingly attending the Knives Meetings when everyone already has their friendships intact from flight school and East Coast duty stations. So like a moth to a flame, I've been extra clingy attentive to spending more time together and trying to navigate he-in-the-instructing-pipeline and I in my working-from-home-sponsored-Vitamin-D-deficiency.

I literally can't thank the world enough for sending fellow West Coast brethren to live in this now-frigid location that's not quite as chic as The District nor as classic Southern as Charleston. It's Norfolk. Le Navy's armpit. And yes, I know there are sketch parts to both D.C. and Charleston, but let's be honest - you think we'd live in less than glamorous places?? No. No. No.

Thankfully this Halloween we were able to celebrate in style and warmth as I rocked my 30-degree leggings beneath the made-in-China penguin suit with my fellow West Coast transplants. It's been a very rocky transition back here. It's obvious as I fall off the blogging wagon, hunker into my bed before 9pm each night, and eat myself into feeling better (hello slightly-bigger-butt). I sense that I'm failing at this military move mindset and can only watch myself trudge through the motions. Thank goodness I have tickets already for California. We're going to need a bigger boat checked back for the return trip.

Rules for enjoying your California duty station.

"Just living is not enough...one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower." -H. C. Anderson

July 2013, rooftop patio in North-of-Malibu, California

mid-deployment

missing him, but definitely not needing him

about 2 blocks to the ocean

Tonight our plans will include a 'winging party' (hello new pilots and NFOs with those beautiful wings and their designation to Mr. Wookie's old squadron in California) which starts at 8pm (ugh - seriously?? so late!) which is a stone's throw from our home. I'm seriously so excited. I'm exciting to meet the guys, meet their ladies, and wish them the BEST on their trek to California and the plans for work-ups early next year, and a deployment shortly after (go team, go!).

California is a dream location and one should embrace it. I know it started slow for us there, but dammit...I would give $1,000 away to move back. I left amazing friends, amazing weather, amazing happiness for the outdoorsing type (that we are), and a lackluster BAH since Uncle Sam thinks California is cheap (okay that part wasn't great). And Mr. Wookie is still very missed as the 'squadron gentleman' and keeper of the team's JOPA spirit.

But at our departure, the squadron was undergoing a solid adjustment to more family-oriented lifestyles. The new check-in couples were either pregnant or had children and choosing to live on base. We're not those people. While we're not going to bash your choice to procreate, but it's apparent we're going to have different social schedules. You want to have playdates at the park before naptime; we're going to be up before the crack of dawn to hike in a National Park. And the only base housing I would accept would be O-6 Housing in Bangor, Washington - Mr. Wookie's mom's home back in the day was BEAUTIFUL. Just beautiful.

Rule #1: Embrace the culture - whether the mountains, museums, scouting out the real vs fake boobs, the Mexican food, SkidRow, migrant workers outside Home Depot, limited military exposure, the celebrity stalkings, surfing, and SUNSHINE!

Rule #2: Embrace the local entertainment. Yes, there may be a raging wildfire that attacks the Santa Monica mountains - but don't fret. It's due for a burn. It was 20+ years since it had been cleared to the dirt and, of course, it'll happen during deployment. So that week I took my lunch out to the grass and enjoyed the scenery. It's been over 10 years since that was my occupation, and I have the utmost respect for all involved. It's definitely a 'no sissies, allowed.'

Rule #2.5: Don't live in the California mountains. Der.

Rule #3: Embrace the ebbing and flowing of your family. One day, it may decrease with the sudden passing of your pooch. But then 10 days later, it may (unexpectedly) expand with a homeless little gatita. Then the man of the house may go to live on a boat for months at a time. Then you'll stop showering. And then you have zero water bill. ;)

Rule #4: Embrace the beach. Don't live in suburbia nightmare-ville when you can get that anywhere in the country. Aim for the beach. Or golf course. Or anyplace with a high enough rent that you avoid the riff raff. How many times will you have this opportunity in life? And no, Virginia Beach is not the same.

It's unfortunate I already have 2 trips(!) scheduled to be back in the land of In 'N Out, high sales tax, outlet stores, and friendships; I'll be couch-shlumping and proud. I like to think of myself as Glenda, The Good Witch - I invade on my friends with wine, stories of the frigid East Coast, babysitting of little girls I actually like, and painting parties. And I try to recruit them back to the Navy's armpit. Misery loves company.

Hello 31. Nice to meet you.

"It's a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy." -Lucille Ball

This was the start to my morning. Or actually the sounds of footsteps slowly creeping upstairs as to not slosh coffee about while I slumbered into a slow wake-up at the refreshing age of 31. I registered the mug setting down on the stack of books loaded upon my nightstand. I lessened my partial sleep when I heard the shower water gush into the wall and the slink of the curtain rings across the railing. I'm warm in bed, I thought. Do I move? Well yes, Ginger, there's toasting coffee on your nightstand. Can't let that get warm. 

And while I may just embrace this age since 30 seems so young and juvenile (cue laughing - but not enough laughing to deepen any wrinkles on my face). When we were out at the concert on Saturday night, I embraced my life, "I'm going to be 31 on Monday." 

"No way. You look like 22."

Ummm, yes. I am. But I have the boobs, thighs and ass of a 31 year old. Trust me. And the mirror.

Thanks to my Ginger mama for the lack of pigment which forced me to slather with sunscreen since the age of 6 months while my chubby body enjoyed the Oregon summers. Sunscreen is your friend and helps you look far younger than the DH wives, XO wives, and CO wives you'll meet. This is a good thing. Life's about competition - they drive a minivan, I'm just now competing with crow's feet.

This weekend I also treated myself to an impromptu 'You want flowa?" shellac manicure at the salon.

"Bitch, throw the hairtie."

Eventually I crawled my ass out of bed and walked the 24 steps to my desk to begin 8 hours of countdown until I could get to presents and dinner. Because what's the point of growing a year older if I don't get cool shit to compensate for the decline in my skin's elasticity?

Mr. Wookie was exceptional this year as he was not only present for this event, but he strengthened the "happiness factor" that I felt was missing in my life. He's sensed and heard about my uncomfortable-ness with moving back here. My social circle is non-existent, minus the cat. The lack of sunshine, beaches, and In N Out is just cramping my style. So his sole effort was supplying a reason to "fall" for Virginia. I've also been complaining about the change in seasons.

So what did I get?!?!?

He bought me a new hammock - one that's not destroyed by the sun's rays after 3 years in SoCal beams. He also 'splurged' on the deluxe hammock pillow for that extreme laziness and relaxation. The best part? The hammock is navy and white...and my 'car blanket' is navy. [A car blanket is that shoddy/outside-okay blanket you keep in your trunk for baseball games, picnics, and galore that you don't mind getting dirty.] So my new challenge while being here is 'How long can I lounge in my hammock? At what degree will I force myself in?'

Stay tuned.

He bought me those shove-in-the-ground wine glass holders...and yes, I've already used them from my hammock's reach.

He bought me a new book...

(This trend is amazing!)

He bought me a stinking monthly trial subscription to Stumptown!! He mentioned that while it's crisp in the morning, we can warm up with fancy coffees to try - we're also buying a half-cord of wood, but that's not a birthday present...just a winter necessity.

And I'm still waiting on my finale gift, which is coming from overseas, and has to go through Customs. Damn. He's said it's the heaviest. Dun dun dun!

So after the pomp and circumstance of flowers on the table, wrapping paper on the floor, and a new Chilean Malbec in the decanter, we trekked the half-dozen or so blocks to a swanky little dinner joint over by the hospital. I had the duck; he had the tenderloin. We split the recommended wine for the evening. And we gawked at the amount of people still out at this hour (it was past 7pm - we're old, what can we say?).

So here I am, 31 and unbelievably happy. I never thought being this side of 30 would have been this great. Join me, will you? You bring the wine. I've got the wrinkle creams.

Goodbye 30.

"Our wrinkles are our medals of the passage of life." -Laura Hutton

My thirtieth year in life was an event. Last night was too - we crushed The Legwarmers at the NORVA.

The 30's. It's definitely not a young person's game. You have to earn 30 (gag). And I've never been happier to accept another year into this decade that was built with an amazing round of 20's. Yesterday I honored my birthday with a trip to Ulta and picked up of a couple things:

Clinique's Chubby Stick Intense Colour in Mightiest Maraschino

It's my thing to pick up a new lip color on my birthday. And at $16, it was a dollar cheaper than advertised. Hello fall-esque deep pink!

Roc Retinol Correxion Eye Cream

I'll gladly accept wrinkles based on one condition - they were earned for laughter and smiles. Though I won't accept them without a fight. Thank goodness I've still got time for the Real Housewives of Hampton Roads amount of Botox, fillers, lifts, lasers, and such.

Friday's Fun Facts

Let's keep this light and cheery because I feel like I've been mopey, bloggy lately. LET'S DO IT!

1.) I just got my first Norfolk Shitty, Small, Smelly Van Wyck Branch library card last night. I've been stalking the needs yesterday. So when I literally waltzed in like royalty yesterday, "Hey, I just moved here - so excited - where's my card?", the lady thought I was high/drunk/not normal with my excitement level (I would have documented with pictures, but the phone wasn't cooperating). But hey - it's progress to making me a happier person as the shift to "sweatshirt weather" begins.

2.) The effin' hammock is up, bitches.

3.) Tonight's date night includes (hopefully getting off early and) going EYEWEAR SHOPPING!! I've been eyeballing this expensive pair of Prada glasses, but can't commit before Mr. Wookie confirms it's the perfect nerd-slash-naughty librarian-youwon'tvomitifIwearthese. :) And then we'll purchase them online where I can save $100+ from Lenscrafters via a BBB-accredited, great rating, online eyewear company.

4.) MY PARENTS ARE VISITING IN LESS THAN 72 HOURS.

5.) With the incoming Sheriff, and his love for tempranillos, there are TWO BOTTLES(!) that will be cracked, indulged, and celebrated as the mosquito zapper sings in the background during its murderous rampage of our backyard. Seriously, this Southern bug shit just sucks.

6.) The Sheriff gets the wine, Mama Ging gets the pedicure action. *cue Angels singing*

7.) I've already purchased Christmas decoration...because I can. Back the eff off, hombre.

Sometimes I still wish my inner Chola was celebrated. Sadly being 30 means that I have to be even more socially acceptable since I'm an "established and giving member of society." Blargh. Can't I just go back to Timberland boots, flannel shirt, and hooker hoop earrings?? Oh, and can't forget the crumping. Ugh....Naval Officer life!

8.) It's been 43 minutes at work so far and NO emails yet. :) Today is starting out great (and calm compared to last Friday - I about ripped my hair out, threw my phone out the window, and hit the vodka). :)

9.) I'm juuuuust about out of my favorite Dermalogica mask, so that means I have to go to Ulta. Baby Sister, sad you can't join and haul with me?? Oh darn, retail therapy.

10.) And if I'm making the trek to Ulta, I might as well hit up Trader Jose's in the VB area (so far to drive!). And if I'm there, I may as well go to the fabric store. Aaaaaand if I'm there, I might as well go furniture shopping for that half-moon table we need in our "coffee shop" (aka breakfast nook). And then I go to the police department, for the rape report on my debit card. Or maybe the NFL Commissioner is better, since they don't give a shit. ;)

My Weekday Morning Routine

It typically starts around 6:45-ish, when the roar of the coffee grinder infiltrates the house. Mr. Wookie is up earlier than usual as his schedule is full from 8am - 3pm. I sense the pending happiness after the water boils, the crushed beans soak for 3.5 minutes (exactly), and I wait for the trail of feet up the stairs (cat sometimes included, "Mom, you up yet???"). But then I stay in bed because my laziness is in full force.

I work from home - where do I really have to be?

Some mornings I up with the sun and can make oatmeal with my Property Brothers before traipsing into the office for my customers. Other mornings, I don't feel like doing a damn thing - I barely throw on shorts and a t-shirt before stumbling over to check voicemail. Though thank goodness I did last week as the neighbor was getting their roof repaired. Why hello Mr. Roof Person...thank God I'm dressed more than usual today.

Sometimes I make the bed. Mostly I don't shower. Sometimes I eat breakfast. Mostly I drink more coffee. Sometimes the mornings are full of business, dollars, projects, and cheery East Coast customers. Mostly it's a slow start to the day as only one timezone is up and I can organize my desk after terrorizingly busy days.

There are days I long out the window for the happier climate of California. Shit. No, I wish that everyday.

My ebbing and flowing continues here at this duty station. So far the social scene is eluding as we're "those that took California orders" (BECAUSE WHO WOULDN'T???). We didn't stay in Norfolk, we didn't build relationships through flight school to keep them through sea tour to have them for shore tour. Nope. We ventured off to the land of not-East-Coast-living because...well...it's amazing. And while I still remember how DAMN EXPENSIVE it is to live on the SoCal coastline, I would do it again and pay more to stay there forever. So finding those like-minded people has been entertaining. Thank goodness my cat is back, people. And apparently there are people who turn down West Coast orders because it's "too laid back."

I'm at a loss, people.

Damn, I'm also out of coffee now so I have to get up. Ugh. Why can't this duty station come with a personal coffee butler...one that's not in the shower so I can yell for more. I've still got 42 minutes until 8am - why ruin that by getting my own damn coffee?

Belated Meow Monday

Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.

Meow Monday: The latest in fashion.

"There's a fine line between genius and insanity. And I have erased this line." -Oscar Levant

It was a poopy day in the mental neighborhood last week when I forced myself into Target (a "level 3" in the ghetto to Stepford spectrum) and strolled around for anything that looked do-able in my cart. This cardigan was the bee's knees. And I also picked up a stylish mid-thigh trench for this season called "fall." I haven't heard of this season before. Is there a refresher course for it?

The grass at the end of the tunnel.

"The grass is greener where you water it." -unknown

It's been over 10 days since the backyard went from a carefully orchestrated design of "This will be the grass," "Here's the turtles," "Brick pathway here," "You can plant things here," and "We'll figure out the Italian wedding lights later" into holyshitwe'rereadyforseed.

Now in this horrible Commonwealth with all four seasons, they don't believe in providing sod at any given time. No. You have to order it from sod farms, meet minimums, pay for delivery, and then WAIT until they harvest. Umm...what ever happened to 'the customer is always right?' I want sod, and I WANT IT NOW.

So after Mr. Wookie emailed the shocking, "It'll be over $500 for sod, (for 200sqft)" we agreed unanimously - grass seed it is, BITCHES.

Grass seed is totally the 'poor person' thing to do with the backyard. After living in California for almost 4 years, where sod is sold in literally all home improvement stores, we're very much spoiled. You could get liquor with your groceries, and sod with your power tools. Listen Virginia, you have a ways to go. In California you pay large amounts of money to live on the beach (thanks Uncle Sam), but you pay ZILCH for sod. And now I have to wait for my grass to come in like hairplugs on John Travolta. Patience really is a virtue that I didn't receive in my genetics.

So here's our baby blades in all their glory. It's been 10 days since their initial layer, and we've only fought one major rainstorm that slurried off a quarter of our coverage (thus the super sparseness). But now the damn leaves are falling. Virginia needs to get with the program. We're used to perpetual sunshine and don't believe in seasons (despite this article here). I just want to be able to mount my damn hammock on my tree and sway in the gentle breeze on a Saturday afternoon. I want sun tea a-brewin', Mr. Wookie in his shop tinkering with the latest "I'm a man with powertools" project, and Little Girl (in 8 days!) basking in her latest kill of choice. Oh wait, nope not in Kansas California anymore.

Oh, the Virginia storms

"The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain." - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Mr. Wookie saw this rainstorm coming before it ever hit our house. I just sat in my office working until the world grew dark, the wind whipped the trees, and then the rain threw itself down the house...washing the new grass seed from the back yard (so close, but still so far from having a lawn). And now we're at 100% humidity this morning and the clouds still lingering, like a blanket fort without circulation. So I hunker inside until I have to leave at 5:10pm for my Tuesday night yoga class. California would never treat us like this. How rude, Virginia, how rude. 

Meow Monday

"What I love most about my home is who I share it with." -unknown

It's slowly ticking down the days until the house becomes a bit closer to a "home." We say we're still 'balls deep' into making this place 100%, but we'll settle for 90% until we need to start serious renovations. We're launching into a solid schedule of house guests starting with Baby Sister (and her transitting of la gatita), then our fabulous college friends, my parents, his parents, and probably more.

I hope she doesn't hate this place too much. Yes, it rains...but there are squirrels to chase, birds to eat, and an outdoor turtle pond to Meerkat from the corner while the strange reptilian children swim about for food. And let's not forget the plan for 2014: my (puppy) ovaries are bursting.

The great ol' pajama commute.

“A mind troubled by doubt cannot focus on the course to victory.” -Arthur Golden

In my 100 days in Norfolk, I've had 100 days minus all weekends to adjust to what's known as the great "pajama commute." My day typically starts with the Jack Johnson alarm clock crooning in my ear. Of course I hit snooze a million few times because I like the indulgence of a warm bed and cozy sheets before I drag ass downstairs for the IV of Oregonian Happiness (coffee). There are times where I bound up instead and make the cups o' joe for Mr. Wookie and I; he's gracious in his 'thank you' as I plop the cup on his nightstand. Other times, he's the body who traipses downstairs for the coffee duty. Most mornings, we lounge in bed with coffee, discussing each other's schedules, time frames for him coming home, my schedule for the day (work, yoga, new Knives Group meetings, etc.), and hankerings for dinner.

Of course, I complain that "I have to go to work." It makes me feel like I still matter to the work force. Though sometimes I forget what it's like to be an applicable member of my office. I come in 3 hours ahead of California and have no contact with coworkers until 11am EST. Then it's full-force busy as I make things happen remotely to my customers, vendors, and team. And the worst part: 4pm EST is my I.WANT.TO.STAB.SOMEONE. time frame because everyone is back from lunch in California and they need everything done before I'm gone for the day. It's like a sample sale at Kleinfeld's. Watch out.

But who am I to complain? I have the incredibly lucky position to be able to work from home, in my pajamas, with my customers and contacts, while earning $__,000/year + commission. My 'complaints' are no different than anyone working in a conventional office. I just happen to get the perk of lunchtime laundry, meal planning, crockpot prep for dinner, and nahnahnahnah nahnahnahnah Batman HAMMOCK TIME!

Thursdays are turning into my favorite for multiple reasons though. 

a.) IT'S ALMOST THE END OF THE WORK WEEK. I love weekends just like the next working gal.

b.) There's an amazing, West Coast-born yoga instructor who kicks.ass.and.takes.names.

c.) I get excited for DATE NIGHT in the 757. There are sooo many great eateries in our douche-y little neighborhood and there's never a dull moment of bad food, poor drinks, shoddy people watching, a few homeless making their way from one ghetto to the other ghetto, and the sometimes run-in's with his new squadronmates.

So here's to showering every couple days and the debate to purchase more pajamas. Life is rough.

Meow Monday: Where is Mittens?

Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family. ~Anthony Brandt

It was a mopey day when Mittens, aka "Little Girl," was forced into the cage and onto a roadtrip of many hours to the Great State of Oregon. In our decision to live bi-coastally until Wookie & Co. Remote Office was up and running, and knowing we didn't have an 'end date,' we knew I couldn't keep her in California when I was couch-hopping like a homeless person; and Mr. Wookie couldn't make the drive/pit-stops for skiing with her in tow. It wasn't fair to shove her into a hotel room for 12 hours while he was skiing with friends. So Baby Sister was a SAINT and offered foster love for this furbaby. Who knows? Maybe this would spur her to want her own furbaby to love?

Poor thing. She's been a little 'what the f**k?' in terms of her location. She's sniffed out every nook and cranny of her new-to-her-but-temporary digs. She's been on plenty of cartrips between other houses for when Baby Sister needed to be away (Middle Sister + Husband watched a few times, and my parents watched a bit too). And while there's only been a few Skype sessions with both of them (Baby Sister and cat), we're FINALLY nearing the end of her displacement!

In a few short weeks, Norfolk will welcome the resident feline into the Wookie & Co. house. This future 'big sister' will have a solid 6 months (at least) before introducing the next four-legged furchild into the house, so she's gotta figure out her beans before learning where the high perchs are so she can stalk the flatulating new member from afar.

Thankfully it seems she assimilated well for the short 6 months she's been living with 'Auntie' Baby Sister. She's proved an excellent mouse-r in the semi-country living in Oregon. She's splayed her goodies onto the sidewalk to anyone walking by...'Wanna pet me, big fella?' And she's had a few meal choice changes. So in these last few weeks of solitude, I'll need to pick up the pace though. She's got neither meal dishes nor pooping box since we've arrived on the Other Coast. So we'll hook her up. And a mad ton of tuna fish. Bitch, be spoiled.