The backyard. Wanna visit?

This is the last picture I'm told I'll receive until I jump across the States and welcome myself to our house. Man, he's mean. All I want to do is know EXACTLY where everything is so I'm not a freakin' stranger around my own possessions when I arrive. And he prefers to egg me on with little to no information as to the decorative status of our home. I was told to, "Get better and get here." Oh, right. Because it's quite simple to scream through the next few days that are my last in my office before boarding a tormenting cross-country flight to a State that has non-California weather all with a smile on my face? And have I mentioned I caught ANOTHER cold that's kicked my ass? Seriously. So much for being a beacon of health in my last days as a "Californian." But hey, this means I'm the culprit on the airplane that's going to be hacking up a lung. Maybe the seat next to be will be clear.

My bags aren't packed. I'm not ready to go.

My heart raced through my chest as my boss came into our department and shut the door. The look in her eyes were saddened. She rolled the empty hair into the room and took a seat. I knew what was coming next.  They didn't. She drew in a big breath...

She explained things were changing in the next week. I watched and listened, my heart still pumping beyond necessary speed in my body. My coworkers jaws dropped. My life plan for the last four months was team fodder. They asked questions, and I answered with complete honesty.

My boss's eyes quivered when she looked at me. I told her, "Stop it! It's not like I'm dying." But then I realized...it is like I'm dying. I'm the life of my team - I'm the energy, I'm the entertainment. Monday morning after I leave will be a somber event commemorated with an empty desk and quiet coffee pot chatter. No one will be there to joke about how I don't take customer calls until after a cup of "anti-bitch juice." And the YouTube videos of playful Bulldog puppies won't draw the shrill of excitement as my puppy ovaries are prepared for 2014.

Instead I'll be working the other coast's hours and barely overlapping with my old crew. It's going to be different and I don't know if I'm truly ready. Maybe Bailey's in my coffee will help. Yes, that should do it.

My replacement desk. It's like the loaner PE clothes from junior high. Gah.

What it's like to stay behind.

It was a difficult day when he dropped me off at the airport for my journey back to California while he began the long journey to our (again) new zip code. We spent a week gallivanting around California as a mini-vacation between stations since this state is absolutely amazing (ocean, mountains, trees, lakes, and more). I bravely walked into the counter to get my ticket and make my way like a Baton Death March to the United gate XX at Reno International Airport and Tire Care.

I broke down once the doors were closed to the airport and I tried to shuffle to the security area.

I don't do well when it's my decision to leave. It's something I can't explain. When Mr. Wookie took the bus down to San Diego to ship out on the USS 'Bout Time, it was a sad morning...but nothing too overwhelming. I knew this was just the band-aid rip for the year and he would be home before I knew it. But when our lives are upended for my career, I feel more - I feel more pain, I feel more guilt.

So it's no surprise when my "mopey-ness" was at it's peak last week. I didn't see it when I was in it, but my boss saw it a million miles away. I was called into her office. I sat down. We agreed. I need to finish my preparation in California and schedule my shift to Virginia. So that ticket is purchased and my extraction date is set. I'm ready but damn, I don't want to go. This place is magical.

Why are my lips blue? I don't know. But there has been one benefit to staying behind and being mopey - there's been some super shopping to help perk me up. I've picked up super long sweater tanks, new summer dresses, linen pants, JCrew shorts, and a cute pair of anchor boxers for my gorilla. Now how am I going to get all this to my new home?? Maybe I should have thought about that before the debit card was raped.

Mrs. Wookie + 48 Hours + Vegas

Nay to flying Southwest Airlines and their inability to hit an on-time departure (and subsequent arrival time).

Yay to befriending two delectable looking Australians in Southwest's neck of LAX. (Shocker) I was ordering a margarita when the bartender asked me if I wanted a menu for dinner. "No thanks, I'm drinking my dinner."

"'eah Mate, did you just say 'I'm drinking my dinner?'"

"Uh, yes."

"F*** yeah, Mate! Cheers!" (Australian then walks over to talk...and I leeeeeet him!)

Nay to getting into Vegas around Midnight and not getting dinner.

Yay to the delivery service of Starbucks by the one and only Sheriff! And super YAY to the extreme comfort that a real bed gives the soul. Damn, air bed living sucks. But hey, it could be worse...

Yay to Mama Ging and Sheriff capturing the hearts of Little Nephew with their photo op with the Minions.

Nay to the wear and tear of a single pair of shoes for 3 days (Friday at work, Saturday walking around Vegas, and Sunday walking around Vegas).

Yay to the new shoes purchased at DSW. I mean, Mr. Wookie...no new shoes were purchased. None.

Yay to the great times had with the parents during the rare trips. There was ample cocktails, ample people watching, just a scoot of gambling, and only one tranny encounter.

Oh and yay to catching some AMAZING stand-up by the one, the only...Tim Allen. He was truly entertaining and much different from his television personality of clean-cut comedy. I don't know who f-bombs more: Tim Allen or a sailor. He had me cackling while I sat between my parents and flailed with excess when his stories had my sides in stitches. Seriously. He's worth the pricetag. Plus, it comes with bragging rights with Mr. Wookie.

What happens in Vegas...

...stays as a lifelong lesson as you teach Mama Ging how to work the Texas Tea penny slots. Although this time I didn't donate my typical $50-100 to the Great City of Vegas. Instead we spent it on something more awesome and had a VERY jealous Mr. Wookie.

But let me enjoy this real bed for a moment. Damn, it's comfortable.

Mr. Kitchen, nice to meet you.

"Excuse the hammer." -Mr. Wookie

Every few days grant me another picture or two if I'm lucky of how my new surroundings are slowly developing from Box City to Home. And this gem of a photo has me "oooooh"ing and "aaaaaaahhh"ing more than some people in a shoe store. We're still unsure of my extraction date from California, but I know I'll gladly walk through the back of the house and enjoy the spacial living (at least spacial compared to living out of a suitcase, on an airbed, and in an office-like space). I mean, who'd choose an airbed over a real bed?

so wait, where are you living?

So yes, where am I living? It's an interesting story, it really is. Ready? Okay, we go.

I'm still in California, soaking up the sun, and living the dream....on an airbed. Remember that time where I was hustling like a pimp to keep my job remotely? Well, snap, this fish is still employed with her company! I'm "unfortunately" lagging behind in sunny, amazing California while he's caravan'd ahead to score us some digs and set up the Wookie & Co. Remote Office Space! It was a great mutual decision that technically leaves our family separated for a few months, but for the sake of dual income...WILL TAKE IT!

Woop woop.

The big news came after the New Year when I was called into the boss' office. I was told to take a seat and I was preparing for the worse. 10 minutes later my smile was larger than Kim Kardashian's ass and the text went off to the gorilla,

"Prep the champagne for tonight."

He probably assumed I scored another huge deal and just wanting to celebrate. [My other huge deal was a record for my department - can you imagine if they didn't keep me??? Record sales rep gone!] Instead we had even more good news and the brainstorming began for how we would tackle this new "challenge."

So until I'm ready to go across, he's hustling like a boss setting up our new home. Though he does have me to contend with. I'm kind of annoying...."Babe, how goes it? Pictures??" I want to feel included with the move-in, I want to feel like I'm helping and have a minute say in decorating (though not like I need it - he's gay in that department).

He's a punk and only gave one picture the day our shat was delivered. Doesn't he know I'm needy? I want to feel a part of the move-in, not that I'm just lounging in California, sipping wine, enjoying the beach, hanging with friends, and making eggs benedict - you know, that I have my priorities in life!

At least he's being honest with the unpacking - priorities first: decorate the fridge, the rest will follow.

new orders. new home. new blog?

i know things have been very crazy lately and this blog has gotten more dusty that a vacuum during deployment, but hey...i'm only human. right? his homecoming was insane, the holidays hit without warning, then our things were packed up faster than California could kick us out, and i was left homeless on the streets (okay, just kidding...but my accommodations revolve around an air bed). but life is looking up, in a lot of ways, and i need to share it with family.