Wookie & Co.

Let me just cause a cackle...

2012-02-09T17:51:00.000-08:00

In an effort to express the snark is trying to come back...I just had to post this...

Parents, all sets, don't hate me. But this is a hilaaaaarious. #ginger'sback

Ummm, yeah...are you back yet?

2012-02-08T18:58:00.000-08:00

Mrs. Wookie...you're cool...you really are, but are you done being all sad and stuff? I mean, I get it...January was tough on you. But come on...I need laughter. You're killing me here with all your existentialism and enlightened outlook on life. I need angry back. I need hostility. I need eff-bombs. Get your shit together. There are people who compare you to..well...a crazy, Ginger blogger. And they need some loving. So put down that damn wine glass and get to gettin'.

So yeah....I need to come back.

And I mostly have. I just haven't known what to say. After that day in January happened, I just wanted to take a break from chronicling every fart, snort, loogie, and wine bottle cork added to my collection. I knew Mr. Wookie was leaving, and starting the long schedule of being here and gone (and gone and here and gone), and I really just wanted to spend some time with him. So I did that. Can you blame me? I can't.

But now Mr. Wookie's practicing his defense of freedom and I'm left here to...pick my ass.

Last night I hit the "I'm bored" mark. Oh shit. It's less than a week in and I'm waiving the "Can I please have my Jeopardy teammate back?" Never mind the 16-minute phone call I got where I actually got to chat with him while he was between work and scrounging for dinner. I had this hit to my ego. I now just want to take care of the boy. I can't believe it. My pride...gone. This fem-Nazi (me!) is asking for her Mr. Wookie back so she can gladly bask in the "Can I get you a cocktail, babe?", "No, I'll do the dishes, babe.", or "Want me to make some dinner, babe?"

What the heck is wrong with me??

This is not right. This is not 1950's. And he's not Don Draper.

Last Saturday I had a mission for the weekend - I wanted to create a semi-meal plan for what to do for the next week. I needed something to keep me healthily fulfilled other than Honey Nut Cheerios. While I usually catalog meal plans into the cultist behaviors of Stroller Mafias, I knew I didn't have a chance to make it a full week once I drag my tush home from work, chill with my dog, pour a glass (or three) of leftover Super Bowl merlot and then creating a lavish 4-course meal. No....I need a plan.

So as of this weekend, I've actually made real food for dinner. And you know what?? IT'S EFFIN' BORING. I knew cooking for one would be the lamest thing since Steven Hawking's chances on Dancing With the Stars. And I'm right. Although I will say having zero Mr. Wookie in the house lent itself to a joyous Kardashian marathon on Saturday...or Sunday....one of those days. Have I mentioned that I've had wine in the house? ;)

So long blog post short...I'm bored, I'm trying to stay busy, but I think the key to my issue is the need to stay mentally busy. I'm physically busy. Now I just need a project to keep my head "in the game" - or at least out of the wine cabinet.

Or not. I mean, let's be honest. Wine is healthy. Who am I to deter doctor's orders??

Work-ups: Navy's training wheels.

2012-02-05T11:50:00.000-08:00

I wouldn't turn down this work-ups cycle by any means. I was mostly calm as the days ticked down to where he'd be leaving for weeks. It was in November when I thought February was so far off, because it was actually months away. We still had Christmas to tackle and enjoy, and there were a million wake-ups together with kisses and cuddling before the first command detachment of this pre-deployment cycle. But now that time is here and I'm (so far) calm with it all. Well...at least until Murphy shows up and annoys me. She's never been kind in the past, but I'm planning on restocking the bar...so Murphy, bring.it.on.

That morning he left, I only asked one thing: please let me know when you get there. As he was initially slated to transfer with the aircraft, plans changed when he was told he wasn't moving with the bird. Did he care? Meh. Did I? Well...it meant I got one more night with him versus those that moved the planes. So obviously I enjoyed that extra 24 hours of having another human in the house. One more night to sleep next to him, one more night to tackle all the laundry he may need, one more night to stew over the weather of his destination and how expansive it can be (freezing to frying), and one more night of co-cooking with him. And let's not forget one more night of a Jeopardy mate.

So that morning, after I threw myself on the couch in my pajamas, sleep deprived from the early wake-up to send him off, I hunkered in for a short nap - drawing the comfy blanket off the back of the couch, kicking it out over my feet, and waiting for Sweet Pea to realize oh, okay, nap time....then closing my eyes.

The house is now quiet. His computer shut down to avoid drawing the unnecessary power. His desk littered with documents that didn't need to make this trip. And his nightstand empty. No phone power cords. No laptop next to the bed as nights can be spent tapping away at the keyboard. With his job, work doesn't end at 5pm. No, work ends (at the squadron at least) when the Skipper signs the next day's schedule. Whenever that may be. And even then, there still may be more to do...but all he wants to do is leave work. So in my training, I've learned to fall asleep to the sound of the Navy's need of burning the midnight oil.

He did mention one thing before he left. He's going to be very busy. Early mornings, late nights. Briefs, flights, de-briefs, sims, and more acronyms than I care to ever know. So while he's technically on land, it's more like he's at sea. But this will always be good training. I hear pre-deployment is worse than actual deployment (which I don't know if I believe that or not...yet). And since it's been years since we've had to navigate the long-distance relationship dance, I'm feeling nostalgic for my strength when he was in the beginnings of flight school in Pensacola and I was enjoying my life in Oregon. Will that strength return? Will time fly by? Will being settled in our duty station make it easier or harder? How soon will I make this deployment my bitch? Military separation - where holidays and celebrations will come and go, a card and care package will be sent off, and the long travel time for shore-based affections to reach its sailor.

But there's always a silver lining. The same day he left, I kneeled down, in my hallway, peering into my linen cabinet. I spied the yellow happiness that lay folded on the top shelf. My flannel sheets. A mark of military separation. There they were. Just waiting for me. They felt so happy sliding onto the mattress. Their bright yellow hue - the color of cheer - I can't not be content when I slide into them after a long day of talking to myself, the dog, the fridge, the TV, the Santa Anas, and my dad's phone (which doesn't like to connect via a call - I don't get it...it apparently hates me and is competing for the trust fund also).

The emails from the fellow ladies have been in full. There's a scheduled Valentine's Dinner (with margaritas!) during that week. There's our monthly get-together, which brings the new wife of the wedding we attended (whom I've made it my point to give her the welcome I didn't get). And there are pedicures. Yes.

So while this may not be a multi-month separation that's coming thanks to Uncle Sam - it's here. I want to wish that deployment farther away with every breath I take, yet I want it here now so we can begin the deployment already. I'm not ready for him to be gone, to an undisclosed location, operating mission's potentially in harm's way, and being a man I'm so proud of. But I've never been more ready. He loves what he does and he's good at what he does. He's only going to do great things while deployed. And no, that doesn't include the mustache. Lest forget the 'stache....

Mrs. Wookie...militarily single...

2012-02-04T11:15:00.000-08:00

It was this week. My alarm screeched to life at 4:30am. I pop up my head from drooling on my pillow, turn off the alarm, and let gravity take my head back down...and somehow avoiding the slobber that had found a new home. Then I panic...what if I fall back asleep?

10 minutes later...his alarm screeches to life. I scoot over to the middle of the bed and wrap my arm his back while he reaches to shut off the alarm. I hunker in for a fumbling hug, mixed with tiredness and the reality that this warm body next to me will be leaving in an hour.

Now the birds are gone. The maintenance team. The command. All gone.

It's surreal having the house to myself. The holyshitthey'reactuallygone reaction hasn't set in.

What's on the agenda? Well there's the grocery store to hit up for soy milk, butter, cereal, and produce. There's the meal plan to write up since I'll be eating solo for a chunk of time. There's the house to clean. There's my office to straighten up. And there may be some thrifting thrown in as I need more food storage but don't want to buy Tupperware - plus Goodwill usually has old school Corningware for pennies on the dollar.

And depending on the weather and wind of today, there may need to be hammock time.

This is the post where I say we're doing much better here.

2012-01-27T20:30:00.000-08:00

That Monday is a distant memory. Time it took to heal, to reflect, to grieve, to clean the house from a long weekend away, to put the head down and work hard at a job after tearfully telling the boss you'll need a few hours on Thursday for a memorial service. Since then, there've been less and less tears, more wishful thinking on life and its capabilities, the painful reality that the human body can turn on the soul that it keeps, and the solid increase and invested foundation of hugs and love that will remind each of us how lucky we are we have each other, our health, and (for right now) the same zip code.

I can't imagine not being here in 3 years. But in the world we're in today, that could be a reality. I keep thinking back to the great life our friend lived. And I want the same. Minus the ocean boat.....I don't do deep waters.

But this afternoon I felt like my golden self. I reigned my verbal tirade in the blatant stupidity of teenagers riding their bikes in the middle of the street with their helmets haphazardly flopping on their skull. I'm back to talking to the back of vehicles as I crawl my way along the California freeway systems knowing failure in turn signal use results in most accidents. That's a nice way of saying California drivers are stupid. Not aggressive like on the East Coast, just stupid.

Growing up I wanted to be the one who traveled in the family. I saw the world as this amazing place of culture, history, natural beauty, personality, and excitement. I just needed an accomplice.

With Mr. Wookie as my designated travel partner, we've had a chance to do just that. And I feel incredibly lucky for all we've been able to do. There have been so many trips that, looking back, have been the foundation to my dreams. At the dawn of my change in employment last year, I felt a sense of accomplish then. Until then, I didn't see myself as having aptly pursued my dream. I wanted to have passport stamps that rivaled UN Ambassadors. I wanted to send postcards home, with the foreign stamps of exciting foods and ample drinks. I wanted my family to know the tokens of lands faraway isn't a way to rub in my lifestyle choices, but a standing verbato that I love them, miss them, and wish them the best in life. This is what I wanted for my life - I just want to share it.

Then an epiphanial moment caught me off-guard. In my inner core I felt the sense of satisfaction. Inner happiness not in a smug way, but in a sucre bleu! My dreams are there, a reality.

So if I have yet only 3 years left on this Earth. It's been a good one. I am quite happy.

Thank you to everyone for your thoughtful words as we decompressed from an emotional journey.

The week that pained our hearts.

2012-01-21T08:42:00.000-08:00

It was Monday morning. We barely cracked the door to our home a handful of hours prior, thanks to a slight delay from Dulles to LAX. But we scrounged for dinner and then crawled into bed. Our bed. That set of sheets and comforter, with an extra blanket on my side for warmth, that would allow us a re-coop from our long weekend of travels. We were exhausted, but exhilarated to be home and able to sleep in on a holiday.

The sun rose later, breaking through the clouds and streaming into the bedroom. I didn't want to acknowledge it - but it was there. Like an unfortunate and unwanted 'good morning, Mrs. Wookie' even though it didn't make me coffee. I laid there quietly hoping sleep would drift me under again for a few more hours of rest and relaxation.

But it didn't. The sun streamed steadily through the half-moon window informing me that it's beyond late and that I needed to rise for the day. The house needed cleaning, laundry was piling up thanks to our suitcase, the dog needed to be fetched from the boarding hotel, and today was the day to recharge after skipping across country and back.

So out of bed I crawled, fumbling for my phone that had lost battery power mid-night, and scrounged for the wall charger. I made my way out to the kitchen when a voicemail popped through....

Wednesday evening was spent performing an unwanted task. The Service Dress Blues were removed from the closet and inspected closely. The LT JG insignia clearly displayed on the sleeves. Mr. Wookie had brought the new material home from the NEX for LT stripes. So with my sewing kit and the knowledge of a glass of wine in my future, I got to seam ripping and deconstructing. I didn't want to sew the new stripe on. I didn't. Because that meant it's real. And tomorrow is coming.

That night I put in the efforts to transform his SDB's into LT gear. With each step, he checked it to ensure accuracy and perfection. He was impressed and ever appreciative of my skills (this isn't the first time I've had to sew insignia on uniforms). Then with the final check, he swung one arm into the jacket and then the other. With soft fingers, he slowly buttoned up the jacket. One by one. He looked sharp. And crisp. And I started to cry again. I wasn't ready for this. I didn't want him to wear these. But we didn't have a choice....

That voicemail that popped through on my phone lingered in my ears as the message kept replaying subconsciously. I set down my phone and walked the eternal distance of 2 rooms to the bedroom. I didn't even make it without crying.

It was happening. Our friend, our squadronmate.....was succumbing to his long, arduous journey with cancer and wasn't expected to make it through the day. Tears streamed down my face. I couldn't help but fall into Mr. Wookie's arms expecting a mere hug to help solve my cries.

He went to his phone - unaware of the messages attempting to come across since both our phones ran out of battery sometime through the night - and saw the importance to this morning. The squadron was forming an expedited caravan to the hour-away hospital where our friend was clinging for life in his fight of the moment. With a quick kiss, Mr. Wookie was out the door. I then shlumped to the couch, sobbing, my heart breaking...

That day was so long - but so short.

I needed to take my mind off this moment. The pain, the heartache was overwhelming. So I went to my refuge. I crawled into the shower and cried some more. For once, I felt the intense guilt for not rushing off with Mr. Wookie to the hospital. I felt selfish. I felt sick. And the tears didn't stop. I felt my emotions would overshadow the emotions of those people that really matter - his family. I felt I would be more hinderance than help. My tears being not as worthy as his mother's. So I prayed our friend would forgive me for my choice. My tears mimicking like shower water.

And then somehow, I felt a sense that I was understood. My soul felt at ease.

So as I sat on the counter, wrapped up in robe and towel, trying to wrap my head around this morning.

It didn't work.

I walked back to my phone. A text was there. Unread.

Our friend, only 31 years old who fought an amazing battle of melanoma, lymph node removal, brain surgery, intense medications, and ever-aggressive cancer, had passed a mere ten minutes prior. The rushed caravan never made it to the hospital. The final goodbyes went silent. And just like that....our Monday morning was shattered.

Thursday at 3pm came. We parked the car outside the base church as I checked my purse for tissues. My heart raced as I stepped out of the Jeep. Each day had gotten a little easier since Monday, but the tears still formed. The disbelief that he was gone still hadn't set in. We made the 50 yard walk from the parking lot to the front door, the mere sight of military dress had me attempting to reign in my emotions. Sandwiches.... cobwebs..

With my arm linked in Mr. Wookie's, he stoically escorted me to my pew. My eyes welled with tears as the slideshow displayed our friend's great accomplishments, the camaraderie of the squadron, and just how great at life he was. He was something else. He lived life big. He fought a good fight. And his spark shined until the end.

The service was beautiful. There were tears. There were laughs. There were people from all over the country. Fellow Academy grads. His family. An outpouring of love from those currently deployed, who couldn't be there, and will instead hold memorials at sea for a sailor lost too young. And there was the tale of his father's emotionality of remembering when his son was born, breathing in his first breath, and then 31 years later...holding his son's hand, consciousness fading, as the last breath was drew.

This week hasn't been easy. But each day is a little better.

LAX is a layer in Hell. Welcome.

2012-01-17T22:13:00.000-08:00

It started at 5:00am last Thursday morning. It started with a knock on the door. And it started with a phone call. The knock on the door was from 1/4 of the vehicular party to LAX. The phone call was from the other 1/4 of the party. The knock on the door was on time. The phone call was not.

"Hey, I just woke up."

Our driver. Overslept. His alarm.

There's a reason why I don't like to travel with people. I don't trust people. I don't like to wait on people. My maneuvers are much better choreograph'd around timely airport arrivals, necessary beer stops, snacks galore, and zero stress as I deal with old people, strollers, and foreigners in my tornado-like path through security.

His cut-off was 5:30am. Then, we were leaving his ass. He shows up at 5:27am.

I sat behind the driver's seat, since he's a staggering 5'6", this provides ample leg room than sitting behind Mr. Wookie. I impatiently watch the clock tick a minute and another minute as we're cutting the morning close to hit our flight. The street lights pass, faster and faster, as we pace the Sheriff's Deputy on his morning commute somewhere important. With each Church we pass, I pray we make our flight. I've never missed a flight. And I was not going to now. My eyes singed into the back of his skull. I couldn't have been more irate, more concerned, more annoyed, and more irritated.

We check the rental car (would you believe it's cheaper to rent a car and ditch it at LAX than park your actual car?), and hit the shuttle. The driver slowly churns his sweet time through the 7 gates of LAX. Each one mocking us as we pass it. Each minute ticking by closer to the boarding time to our flight. Each stomach cell ulcerating, eating away at my patience, my silence a tale-tell sign that I'm stressing and unsure that I won't murder someone for being late with their alarm. It's not my fault. I was up at early. I showered. I was ready.

But we make it through. I praise God for all of that. We made it. Somehow. With a few minutes to spare. Then as a collective unit of 7 (half of JOPA plus me), we boarded our flight. We tetris'd seats to force the late guy to sit bitch. And I got to snuggle up to the left bicep of my adorable Mr. Wookie. I dug out my trail mix since I don't fly without snacks. Because a hungry Ginger is a snarky Ginger. Oh wait, I'm always snarky....

But wait, this morning gets better. Much better....

How to survive a 3-day bender...

2012-01-16T11:06:00.000-08:00

Have you missed the crickets over here? Probably not since I'm never full of anything more than hot air, or hot methane, or Ginger locks on the floor as I shed more than a warthog - when really, I need those delicate locks since I don't want to resemble Smeegle.

Mr. Wookie and I ventured away to the land of the 757. And we threw it down. We love this city. The moment that the doors of the Marriot cracked and we strolled down Granby Street feeling the excitement in the air for the past energy felt, it was magic. There we were. On a vacation meant for the books. We were invited a squadronmate's wedding, a 3-day event, and a cross-country adventure for half of the JOPA that was not-quietly granted leave for this event.

What happens when you take away half of the flight crew in a Command?? Well they'll pay for it tomorrow. But between last Wednesday night and tomorrow morning, we intended to (and did) rip this city up.

What I didn't miss?? The ear-piercing wind of Downtown. The cold that will rot your bones despite the drinks.

What did I love?? Stepping into a bar that wasn't my favorite back when I was a local, where there's a live 2-man band, the keyboardist with a killer half sleeve, and she's rockin' our "Ur So Gay." Umm...yes. This is my night.

But for now, it's laundry, picking up a pooch from the dog hotel, a sinkful of dishes that we left for post-vacation, and a backyard with a hammock calling my name.

Her adoption day that came.

2012-01-10T10:38:00.000-08:00

I don't know what to say about her adoption day. That time last year I can't really remember what I was feeling. I guess to say it was uncertainty as we brought home a dog with a checkered past. I guess there was the thankfulness that Mr. Wookie had previous dog owning skills. I relied solely on my ability to live with a cat. So yes, that means she succumbed to behavior correction like one would with a cat - with a squirt bottle. And yes, she responded accordingly.

In a year's time she's lost weight and gained weight. She's had dual ear infections that we had to wrangle her for her ear drops because she's better perfecting Houdini's escaping methods while you try and keep her head still. We've tried to trim her nails. She's whined. So we've allowed the lovely pavement to its job on walks. We've barked at dogs, lunged at dogs, tried to chase squirrels and birds. Oh, and the one time she fell down a waterfall. Yeaaaaah...Mr. Wookie was on dog duty that weekend while I was in Oregon. Apparently she thinks herself to be a Golden Retriever, was out camping with Mr. Wookie and squadronmates, saw a squirrel, took off, chased it up a rock cliff, lost her balance, and tumbled into a swimming hole.

Mr. Wookie froze, beer in hand, saying "Mrs. Wookie is going to kill me."

Instead, she swam to the edge, shook herself off, said 'Shit,' and moped back over to the group knowing a rock wall defeated her past life as a mountain goat. No bruises, just a bruised ego. And now we know this dense dog can swim. Olympics 2012, here we come.

In a year's time, we dropped some money on private lessons knowing we can't group train her. She came to us like a hot mess on Jerry Springer. But private lessons lasted all of a handful of months as by the time we got to the 'aggression training' of it all, it was merely her sitting next to a 'trainer dog' and constantly growling at it. "She'll progress out of it." I saw no progress and felt it better to can the lessons than proceed on pouring money down the drain. What we got out of the initial lessons was a better ability for her to respond to commands and be a better dog. And improve she did.

And in the first week of the year's time, we learned she was housebroken and could do tricks. While 'shake' still eludes us, we're content with the rest of her line-up. If only she understand, "Dog, put a cork in that asshole! You smell! You don't get to just cropdust the house."

I did really think a year would bring along the perfect dog though. But she's not. She still gets really excited on walks and wants to pull but then the martingale collar pinches and she (sometimes) backs off. If not, we changed directions until she figures it out. Yes, sometimes it's back and forth, but eventually she remembers that the Ginger walking her is in control and when she plays her cards right - treats.

In a year's time, she still doesn't like the wind and she'll sit outside the door to whine at night. The one time we let her in the room, bringing in her bed by my side, she fell right asleep. The other time she slept with me while Mr. Wookie away, she stayed at attention while the wind howled.

In this next year's time, her job will be a protector, provider, and therapeutic release. She can hear the front gate open and will respond with barking. She can come when called and will not deny hugs and affection. And she'll give plenty of kisses when she senses you're down on your luck, usually when crying emotions and Uncle Sam that just don't mix, and just need a (proverbial) hug.

We still don't have a keyword for her to attack male genital in case of a home invasion - but we're researching our home defense options. And we still don't have her standing on hind legs at the bar making mommy a cocktail. We definitely don't have her doing voiceover work to pay for her $.33 tennis ball habit (Play It Again Sports used balls....haha, I said used balls....hhahahaha, I did it again...).

But if she does that, she might as well pick up her own poop, mow the lawn, and unwind my hammock when the Santa Anas are douches and in town.

But until then, we'll renew her lease for another year. I guess so....

That ol' deployment crisis form.

2012-01-09T09:31:00.000-08:00

This weekend was all joy as I knew I had the Commanding Officer's Wife nicely asking for all forms to be turned in as soon as possible. I wasn't the last one to turn it in. Just the second to last. Although I beg to mention that the last one to turn in is a salty wife with many a cruises under her belt. So I'm just pretending I'm salty by being late with my homework. Right??

I've known about that darn form for months now. At the November Wives Group meeting I hosted (I'm honorary, in case you forget that we're those awesome people who don't have each other's name tattoo'd on our foreheads), it was brought up that they need to be 'turned in' before the TADs begin as you never know.

I was ambitious as one point, but then you read the questions and then you start to think that the world will implode, the dog will be left owner-less, and WHO'LL EVER CONTINUE THIS SHITTY BLOG OF VODKA SERVITUDE??

Seriously.

The questions began as generic as name, birthday, cell phone, vehicle description, and address. But then it got into the deep stuff. You know. Like pet care.

Then I started to think....what if something happens to me?? Who'll take care of my dog???? And I get misty-eyed. Not that our dog is the crown jewels. But she's our sap story of dismay and rescue. And no one else really can have their heartstrings tug like ours.

That's the bitch about Mr. Wookie and I being each other's best friends in a super small duty station. We're each other's shoulder, each other's crutch, and each other's barmaid. But when he leaves in a few weeks for a handful of weeks, the thought of Sweet Pea not having one of us to belly rub her into torturous oblivion was a bit depression-inducing. Because really, who'd take our dog?? Who's dumb enough to deal with her? She's our dumb dog. Our dumb dog that sometimes we'll let her sleep with us under the conditions that she sleeps at the end of the bed, doesn't fart up a storm, and doesn't try to sneak up near our heads because she feels a pillow is necessary for her slobbering jowls also. Because of her distaste for fellow canines, she can't just go with another squadronmate's family - everyone has a dog her. We just have the cunt of the litter.

Thankfully I have a blessed soul that's my Middle Sister. She's literally our only hope. Should I become maimed while Mr. Wookie is on cruise, she's agreed to be a saint and take on dog ownership. I don't know if she'll ever forgive me. And I don't know if she knows what she's signed up for. But really, my instructions were easy. Food twice a day. Walk in the morning. Toys for her to chew. Belly rubs. Tennis ball habit. And a couple beds in the house since she doesn't like to doze off without one of her humans in eyesight.

But I completed my form and had it to the COW on Saturday night as we met over margaritas and Mexican food discussing the squadron's next movements, our next potlucks, movie nights for the kids, and potential plans for the unknown-to-us-yet port calls that may happen.

It's sobering filling out that paperwork. And that's just the Wives Group form. The first deployment meeting is in a few months where doomsday will meet Uncle Sam as the fates will be sealed that the boat is ready. Or at least, that's the plan. This'll be our first deployment and I just don't want to suck at it. No one wants to be the deployment bitch. I think the key is to just bitch at the deployment.

Dear Deployment,

This stinks. Although thanks for the extended time to not shave my legs. That's awesome. I can almost braid them. This is soo cool. Oh, yeah, bring him home in one piece, without a tobacco habit, a tattoo from Singapore, and a mustache. Especially not the mustache.

Much obliged,

Mrs. Wookie

Let's hope that envelope never has to open.

Don't call me the coffee bitch.

2012-01-08T08:40:00.000-08:00

For Christmas, I got a wonderful thing. So did Middle Sister. We both wanted, and received, electric kettles on our lists as they're a great way of having tea-ready water click off without having to run from the couch to the stove to pull off the whistling 1950's counterpart. It's great. With a short click, the water is hot and resting for a few minutes while I finish reading a blogpost, emailing Kim Jong Un about how he's now match for Gingers, or throwing a tennis ball for dumb dog to run off after and then not find because it rolled behind a paper bag (she's....dense).

Mr. Wookie didn't take into consideration the ramifications that an electric kettle would presume. Usually I wake up with him but he hops in the shower. So I mosey into the kitchen since I can't begin my day with an IV of Cheerios. And because I'm nice, I usually start the coffee so we're both not angry assholes at work just because our caffeine supply isn't there.

Well.... introduce the electric kettle....and goodbye morning coffee. I've been a mood lately for the past week or so that coffee wasn't what I was feeling. I wanted something lighter and less of a pain in the ass in the morning than dumping the grounds, rinsing the filter (we use the gold reusable one - what else do you really expect from Oregonians??), and make the coffee. Now tea involves wake up, stumble to kitchen, pet pooch, pour cereal, click down kettle, read blogs, slurp cereal, spill a little on my keyboard, hear water click ready.

Oh,....coffee?? You wanted coffee??

"That was a bad idea getting you that thing."

Well....yes and no. Yes, because my niceness in the morning has reduced to green tea, Yogi tea, or something sweet like a passionfruit or raspberry tea. You want coffee...well...if I get around to it. So now we've semi-stopped making coffee in the morning since Mr. Wookie can acquire it at the squadron and there's into too bad of a selection either.

I have a feeling that the coffee maker will come highly neglected come the upcoming TAD periods. Mr. Wookie will be gone for weeks at a time and with my new friend the electric kettle, my mornings are looking incredibly easier. The worst will be crawling my ass out of bed when there's a snuggling dog butt going crazy that she got to sleep on the bed. This is awesome. But the daylight is slowly increasing so soon we'll be back to our 5:30am wake-up calls for longer morning walks - because this bad owner has difficulty waking up when the stars are still out. Good thing pooch doesn't mind evening walks.

I think Mr. Wookie will like my new toy though. I've made him a quart of iced tea this morning. Maybe he'll see it is for good, and not all evil.

It's almost that time. Almost 1 year.

2012-01-07T11:29:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is the big day. The big day when we didn't tell anyone we were on our way to a small adoption event for English Bulldogs just looking to browse and see if there any we could meet on a one-on-one basis. Instead, our dumb selves brought home an overweight basketcase of a slobbery mess and decided to be pet owners.

I don't know if Mommy McD forgives me for not letting in the secret. Oh well...she did the same.

I'm now the sad soul who's work desktop background is of my dog. *ring ring* "Yes, this is Therapy, how can I help you?" I validate it by getting a squeal out of my boss saying how cute she is - umm...yes...yes, she is. Don't let it fool you though. Her methane butt-trumpets can clear a room.

We're deciding what to do with her tomorrow. You know, since her lease is up.

Okay, okay, we're debating what to do to celebrate. I think In 'N Out is the perfect plan.

Who doesn't love Mr. Wookie??

2012-01-05T20:21:00.000-08:00

Get in line. Yes, I haven't been up to blogging mainly because I've been lazy, busy, more lazy, uninterested, and...well...lazy. Sometimes when I'm bored, I don't feel the need to entertain you with the monotony. There are dishes, there's coffee in the morning, there's recovering from Christmas in both financial means and mentally. I wrote a post about how I don't know what I'm doing next year for Christmas because he won't be here and I'm not sure about what sort of time off I can get then either.

I was told today that "Woman, my family demands more bloggin." Shit. Well...get in line. My family complains all the time. Well guess what...

Apparently I need to be better on the ball. Maybe this weekend will be better. Of course I say this all the time. But then again, let's think about the New Year resolution I set for myself.

BE AWESOME.

Well I'm awesome naturally, maybe I need to apply that to blogging.

Dear mojo, come back to me.

In other words around here, January is in full bloom of 80-degree weather during my lunch break so I'm soaking in the rays while reading a new book. Let me tell you. Life is rough.

Tonight we scrounged for dinner and had leftovers. Saturday we have the final party of a squadronmate who's making his way back to the E-2 RAG at NAS Norfolk, to which hopefully we survive. Dear tequila, please avoid me. Thanks.

Okay, I'm bored again. Mrs. Wookie signing off. Where's the tonic?

2012: The Year of the Ginger

2011-12-31T18:17:00.000-08:00

Next year will be mine. I'm sure of it. Okay, maybe not sure of it. But I feel like it'll be pretty good. I mean, hello, I just had my 28th birthday. Even-numbered birthdays are the shit. 24: awesome. 26: awesome. 28: has to be awesome, right??

Next year we'll (awesomely) ring in the anniversary of ADOPTION DAY!!

The deployment work-ups will be in full swing as multi-week exercises are scheduled, leaving me with the need to figure out how to stay sane while cooking for one. Okay, okay, I need to first find sanity in cooking. Then figure out the whole 'cooking for one' bit. But somehow I'll figure it out.

Tonight is going to be lame. Well...okay, maybe not lame, but we feel that NYE is always so anti-climatic. Last year I called it a night at 10:30pm. The New Year will be there in the morning. And morning drunk is always better than late night drunk. So that's what I did.

Now I'm taking a break from cleaning out my closet for clothes I just don't wear anymore. Tops that I've shrunk so they lost sleeve length, clothes I don't fit in anymore (not fat pants, but those extra fat pants), and things like that are going to the Women's Mission on Monday. It cleans out my closet and it helps lucky ladies rock some cute clothes.

For next year I have zero resolutions. Zilch. Because I did such an awesome job at last year's. Run a shit-ton? Nope. Read a shit-ton? Nope. Travel a shit-ton? Nope. So this year is different. No resolutions. Okay, well maybe one. Be awesome. I'll enjoy having Mr. Wookie around when he is, I'll enjoy sleeping with the dog when he's not, and I'll enjoying having all the tonic to myself and can buy the small bottles because I know I don't need a quart at a time to suffice both our needs.

I have a hammock. I have sunscreen. And I have a dog that knows she's not allowed on the hammock and instead lounges next to the house where it's not toasty warm at a perfect 78 degrees.

Have a safe and happy New Year. And remember: Don't drink and drink. You may hit a curb and spill your beer.

Mother Nature brings the beauty.

2011-12-30T10:37:00.000-08:00

"Are you going to be home soon?"

"Yeah. I'm about to leave work soon."

"So you're not going to be home soon. There's a crazy sunset AND YOU HAVE MY CAMERA!"

"Oh, okay....well let me go and I can see what I can do."

The orange danced with the crisp blue sky as the particles mimicked a Caribbean ocean with touches of peach and bronze. I tried my hardest to pay attention to the traffic in front of me but I was bedazzled. This was gorgeous. Sometimes the Big Man Upstairs chooses the random days to make your heart skip a beat, double back, then double beat. And sometimes Mr. Wookie brings the Hawkeye Country hangar love. ::sigh::

I can't wait until the sunsets start getting later and later so I don't have to fight my way through traffic while staring at the sky's delights. I can only imagine the love I'll have this year between camera, tripod, and wireless remote. Oh, and maybe a Pooch. She really doesn't get enough attention.

One post of sense, curses, and cents.

2011-12-29T19:11:00.000-08:00

It's happening. I'm turning into that sad sack of limpdick that's craving Lean Cuisines for lunch at work, spends today's lunch hour grocery shopping since we were left to last night foraging our fridge for anything that went together ("So...prime rib leftover....nachos?"), and subsequently passed by the frozen meal section before saying, SELF...NOT A FUCKING CHANCE.

Apparently my vag is taking over my whole body. Because never have I felt the need for high sodium, 2-minutes-on-high with a spork in my life. So apparently a sunny lunchtime spent at the picnic table outside my building will want me to count points, wear a pedometer, and wanting to powerwalk at lunch in my suit and sneakers.

Not that I actually wear a suit anymore. Bitches....this be California. My suits are getting staler than festering tequila shots the morning after. I wear jeans. And I wear casual pants. And I wear cotton, and Birkenstocks, and pretty much work in weekend wear since all my interaction is with coworkers. No high-paying legal clients like Virginia. I'm pretty sure no one knows what a 4-piece suit is here....

Usually my lunch is leftovers, which can be boring eating the same meal within a 24-hour timeframe. Sometimes I'm just not in the mood for leftover spaghetti. Or leftover chicken. Or leftover anything. I'm bored. And PB&J can only handle this inner 5-year-old for awhile. So when today's microwave wafted of Lean Cuisine lasagna....I'm almost threw my panties at it.

But I can't do it. I can't eat that. I have pride. Lesbian pride.

It doesn't help that NO ONE EATS IN THE BREAK ROOM. No one. So I'm left to eating outside by myself. Never have a felt like a Glee freshman just wanting someone throw a slushie in my face. Because then I'd at least talk with someone. Nope. Going home for lunch or going out to eat is the thing. Well...it takes me between 18-26 minutes to get home...so that's a waste of gas. Plus, I consider eating out every workday excessive and financially wasteful when you can easily cut meal costs by PACKING A FREAKIN' LUNCH. Seriously people....$5 bucks a day is $25 a week...which is $100 a month....which is $1,200 a year. Umm...that's like 3 sports bra in this big-boobed world (for those following the Facebook discussion).

Did this post have a purpose?? Absolutely not. I just assumed you all missed me and my eloquent ability to ramble like a drunken sailor. You now know I eat alone at work and have a love/hate relationship with Elizabeth Kostova's second novel. It...well....sucks. It's not keeping me entertained at all. But for $4 for the book (thanks to Borders for closing), I can't give up. But I just may. Because I have brain cells to survive....and I have new books on my Christmas list that sound more fascinating.

Deck the halls with new artwork

2011-12-27T10:41:00.000-08:00

We're a simple people. We enjoy a good $5 bottle of wine (What can we say? Money is better spent elsewhere), we appreciate raunchy comedies like Bridesmaids, and we love when siblings give great gifts (whether books on Pinterest, new napkins and rings, or killer Etsy finds). It's time to put up the new artwork.

Don't worry. We keep calm and be awesome. And I keep calm and Ginger on.

One very merry Christmas

2011-12-26T22:26:00.000-08:00

This year was superb. Christmas Eve began with Mr. Wookie insisting I open one gift. He does this sometimes. He makes me open one awesome gift that's necessary for the night. Usually it's a movie that hits the mark. This time, it was something else. He brought his A-game Saturday night.

I was forced to open a wireless remote. Then I was held at gunpoint to open a tripod. Then he forced us to take pictures. Maybe he's loving it that he almost made me cry. But he really does these little things. He claims that when I just ramble on and on about things I want, he's actually listening. Just don't quote him on that. So now I'm the proud owner of a wireless remote. Jealous of those, no longer.

Miss Pooch's first Christmas with us!

This year's gifts were all about necessity. Mr. Wookie was low on underoos, shirts, and a sleeping bag. So I purchased....underoos, shirts, and a sleeping bag. Oh, and a watch - since his last one was left behind at a Hail and Bail barbeque.

Thank you Mommy McD for the book!

Sweet Pea was low on affection.

So we had to torture her.

And after our little family's Christmas unwrapping, there was the need for more group photos showing the destruction of wrapping paper. I may or may not have wrapped boxes within boxes like babuska dolls in order to make the gifts look bigger. It's not about the price tag. It's about being sneaky and awesome, fulfilling those secret desires for a new 20-degree sleeping bag, a swanky new watch that's almost as sexy as a holiday beard, and cute boxers with sock monkeys, remote controls, and Christmas lights. No high-priced televisions, Apple products, or trust funds. Just good ol' fashioned you-need-this gifts.

And what's Christmas without an outtake?

Then it was time to webcam with my family located 900 miles North of a 75-degree Christmas. Little Nephew is getting quite talkative and intrigued into standing on and opening any and all presents. Oh the life and times of a 23-month old...who's recognizing his Aunt Ging via webcam.

And from there, it was deemed it necessary for Mr. Wookie to own a weed eater. Because taking scissors to edge a yard is a step above sad. And we don't do sad. Sad only happens when the vodka supply is low. Like I said, we don't do sad. We only do happy.

And now, the house is back to normal. Being a giant hippie, we reused the gift boxes we received to stash our new decorative bounty thanks to Target's 30%-off week-before-Christmas sales. I'd do post-Christmas shopping, but I don't fight crowds. I'm way too lazy.

I can't believe the next time I might see these items may be next year. Do I put up decorations next year? Will I be in the mood? Will I be able to go home? Those answers will have to come next year. Because now I'm enjoying in a house that's not full of dead needles. Although the sweet smell of anticipating is lacking.

There's still my favorite gift to blog about - but it's not here yet thanks to storms in the Midwest. Instead, I got a print out of it. And I'm excited. Mr. Wookie is too kind to me.

Merry Christmas Eve from us!

2011-12-24T20:50:00.000-08:00

Today was rather torturous as the weather topped out at 75 degrees. If my hammock weren't in the shade, and the days weren't shorter than a Jersey Shore skirt, I'd totally be rockin' a Santa hat while asking for another mimosa. But instead, I'm tucked inside admiring the love and merriment from family as we celebrate across the miles - spanning relationships from Oregon, to Ohio, and North Carolina, to Arizona.

Tomorrow we'll connect via Skype to experience the mayhem of my side of the family. We take Christmas very seriously in our family. Gifts are to outnumber the girth of the tree. With my ever-growing family, the gifts only increase. Not that gifts are the meaning of the season. We show love in our abilities to give great items of need, surprises of desire, and a reminder that siblings stick together and will always annoy the bejeebez out of our parents with voice modulation.

Tonight there's still breakfast to prepare so it can sit overnight. And there's a cocktail to be had in anticipation for tomorrow. This week I've been ever excited to have Mr. Wookie open the great ideas I've put into fruition.

We both agree. Christmas Eve is a magical time. The anticipation for tomorrow overlooms the reality that Monday brings a dead tree strewn with beads, ornaments, and lights. Presents gone from beneath. There's still a twinkle in my heart that Santa will come and bring me the things of yesteryear that I wanted beneath my tree. But upon waking, the reality that I'm now responsible for making Mr. Wookie's Christmas dreams a reality.

I hope he's excited for tomorrow. I worked hard to make his dreams come true.

May your Christmas be special, spent with family, friends, or a loving webcam session with those afar. If you're on R&R, may the time pass slower than molasses. If you're amidst blizzard-like conditions, throw a snowball towards me. I could use it in my cocktail shaker.

From us to you, a blessed Christmas, a great rest of Hanukkah, and a prosperous New Year.

Christmas giving has begun!!

2011-12-22T18:06:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer. Mr. Wookie was photog extraordinaire. Apologies for the blurriness. That and he didn't check the lens to realize it was on manual...#bloggerwannabefail

Tuesday night was delightful. My Christmas gift from Mommy McD hath arriveth at the household Wookious Naval Dictatorus. Our place. I literally blew her mind hole with these. Deemed an urban legend on Pinterest, I had her screeching like a baboon at a boot sale. Although via text it sounds like, "EEeeeeeeeeek." I forgot to address the label like "Mommy 'I love my hot black neighbor' McD" so she knew it was from me. Instead, she thought it was a gift for someone else and got shocked like a toddler sticking a fork in a light socket.

So when she told me to open her present, the favor was hers as I screeched so loud I damaged her dog's hearing. I.was.loud.

As I sat on the ground, the unearthing began into our classically styled hodge-podge presents. This is our style. We could easily make a theme...but something resembles a late-night Walmart shoplifting trip is much more entertaining...

"Neeeeedledick spatulas for eeeeeveryyooooooonnneee!!!" -My best Oprah impression

I'm obviously rockin' two new running headbands that boast, "Run now - wine later." There were needledick spatulas galore (these are the skinny ones that can make it into mayo jars, etc.). And a MICROPLANE!! She just failed to include band-aids because I know there'll be knuckle shavings into my first creations with this dangerous kitchen device.

The tree unlittered with gifts.

2011-12-18T10:43:00.000-08:00

Those piercing eyes are Darth. When you have an unconventional lifestyle, you have an unconventional tree topper. Or...we're still not set on angel vs star, nor have we found something that appeals to both of us. We want something art deco and something that doesn't cost a kilo of meth. Mr. Tree now has a lavish plaid skirt that once had a life as a circular table cloth. All its missing is presents. A few lie under the tree...but there are still plenty in transit. It's starting to feel like Christmas, but with The Big Day for Baby Jesus less than a week away...I'm starting to get nervous. What if things don't arrive in time??

What's this about grandpa??

2011-12-17T06:38:00.000-08:00

I really do love the blogging world. It's a great mash up of ladies with nothing better to do with their lives, their children have nannies, the Mrs. Wookies of the world have trust funds, and all I have to do is complain about BAH rates and I get told great information. Because when Mr. Wookie is on leave, there's no relay of information...he's busy growing his 'holiday beard.'

Grandfather?? You're not my grandfather! Are you?

Apparently we're cool. Apparently Uncle Sam has 'grandfather' capabilities to not completely deplete the vodka supply of our home. So apparently our BAH isn't dropping a dime. Or at least that's the word from my comments section. I'm stubborn, so I'll believe it when I see it.

That is a lot of mind hole to handle so early in the morning. It's early, but I'm up. Those darn Santa Ana winds woke me up as they molested my hammock. Clang, clang, clang....it's like Casper's in the attic. But instead, he's rocking out on my hammock. Because when the Santa Ana winds aren't bitches, we can actually use it as we lounge in the tormenting December sun working on my freckles. So now I'm up, Mr. Wookie's still asleep, and I sent Sweet Pea in to keep him company....she'll just curl up with him on the bed. And I have a quiet house to myself. Muhahahaa....

You can tell we've never been stationed anywhere that's not had the standard COLA increase. Now I just feel bad for anyone checking into his station. "Welcome to California, you can't afford shit here now, so welcome to base housing. Yes, the mice are free of charge. You're welcome."

When BAH topples more than $15...

2011-12-16T20:45:00.000-08:00

I struggle about whether or not to post this since everyone will have varying different opinions and outcomes on the matter. But for the sake of blogging and being honest, this is honesty...

Yesterday put us in a bad mood collectively. Okay, maybe not a bad mood. But a surreal mood. It was like a collectively kick to the taint. And it taint pretty. (Sorry, I had to.)

Because I'm Facebook friends with awesome milbloggers, it came 'round the circle that BAH (Basic Allowance for Housing) rates were published for the new year. On average, rates continue with the average cost of living increase. I get it. I learned about inflation in high school. It'll always be there. In some form or another. And you just learn to live with it. No more "Back in my day..." because those days are gone. Gone are the days of $1 extra large Slurpees. Those puppies now cost you $1.85. Communists...

So last night, being the curious person I am as I read the conversation that BAH at certain stations were dropping and some were rising, I had to inquire into our own well-being. I plugged in our little location and his little rank to see what little dip his BAH could possible take.

And like a blonde, I completely forgot his new BAH figure thanks to his promotion over the summer. I thought, "meh, not that bad."...so I read it out loud to Mr. Wookie. Ohhh......I was wrong. Hehe...woops.

Apparently this isn't good. This isn't a little dip. This is a DIP. So I feverishly Google all I can about the BAH rates for the new year. Blah...blah....a third of all duty stations are taking slight cuts. Blah blah...our exact duty station is one of the hardest cuts made to BAH across all hands. Oh, but D.C. feels the need to pad their BAH 10%....and some hole in Texas... So despite the beautiful Californian December sun, now those that are even the tightest of budgets have to figure out how to make those ends meet with this news.

This isn't good. This isn't good for anyone in our area. We live in practically Malibu which makes the cost of living and property taxes out of this world. So the chunk taken out of BAH is a solid chunk. And to compare, I looked up our beautiful location of Norfolk, Virginia. That dip is $15. I could do $15. I'd love $15. I'd give $30. But for us, he's been reduced to a rank-lower for BAH. Promotion...shomotion...

But then I was told about the promotion restructuring that's occurring. Starting sometime in the future, there are longer timeframes between commissioning and your first promotion....and then your second promotion. So what took Mr. Wookie 4 years to acquire as a new Lieutenant, will take Ensigns SIX years to acquire. Wow.

So we wallowed for a good couple hours. I think he was more down than I. But we have to look on the upside. Yes, his housing is down. But I'm working. I'm making good money. We're not near foreclosure (that and you'd have own a home to lose it...wah wah). We budget for a zombie apocalypse (not kidding about the weaponry, kidding with the Extreme Couponing). We'll be fine...I just worry about others....

Life isn't fair. Do I feel like our duty station is being axed apart without reason? Well...yes. Why our station? I know there will be plenty of sailors where this cut completely effects their livelihood. All hands are being cut at least $100 from their BAH (obviously an E-5 or an O-5 will have more cut than an E-1). For young sailors with families, this is a rough pill to swallow. A hundred dollars can be the difference in making or breaking...

And to only have a marginal removal to our hypothetical BAH in Virginia. That's mind-boggling to us. Norfolk is cheap to live in. California...that's the hidden gem of this duty station. Come here, lounge in the sun, pay for sunscreen, and expect low quality housing for high dimes. If you don't want to live where shootings and stabbings occur, you have to live in the decent neighborhoods. And when demand exceeds supply...

So goodbye 7.4% of BAH. You've apparently overstayed your welcome. Now please, take your coffee mug to the sink and softly close the door on your way out. You wouldn't want to wake the dog. She likes her sleep.

I hope others have faired better. I truly do. We're hearty, us Oregonians. This won't get us down. But there's always a fellow milbloggers that takes a larger hit. And for that I offer massive hugs, vodka tonics, and a hangover-free morning. Seriously... Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, kiss my ass, kiss his ass, kiss your ass...

Hometown, OR is getting holiday'd!

2011-12-11T23:11:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Middle Sister, I get to see the Three ~~Wise Men~~ Stooges doing their act of assembling the muy tall tree. Vaulted ceilings in my parents' home means one big ass tree. Each year, there's an unwritten competition to try and guess how many spiders will navigate from the tree to the ceiling. Each year, it's usually 3-9 spiders that take up rent in the corners of the rooms. Because when you get your tree from the local U-Cut (the same one we've frequented for many years), it's bound to come with local flavor.

We've yet to work out a Skyping appointment for the big day, to make sure we each have respective time for morning gluttony of monkey bread and a healthy serving of mimosas. But we'll be reaching out again to remove the 900 miles that separate our Christmas holiday with my family.

I never really expected to be the child who didn't make it home for the holidays. I always thought I'd be able to do that, since I'd be dating/attached to a boy from the Northern Oregon area. Well...at least, that was my plan. Find a boy from Portland or so, so I could remain an Oregonian but get out of my hometown.

Wrong.

Instead, a boy from Louisiana found me. He had been single barely a month. I had just been broken up with via text message. Text...yes. But they say when you're not looking...things happen.

If it weren't for my (so far awesome) new job, we could take his leave period and venture for another Christmas season. Buuuuut, I'm the new employee on the block. And vacation time just isn't in the cards yet. I literally only get the day after Christmas off; that's it. And New Years to be technical. And no, I'm not complaining. I'm in fact very thankful for the new job. It's great. I'm happy. And I'm fulfilled. So the fact we're staying here this year isn't an issue.

This week will really be a morphing into the holiday spirit though. Mr. Wookie's leave block begins and this weekend will be a baking fest. I can't let our great neighbors be forgotten! In fact, we had a delivery of tamales tonight from our next door neighbor, Rufus (the first neighbors to welcome us in). I love the holiday season!

Morphing home into holiday season!

2011-12-10T14:35:00.000-08:00

It was last Friday night. I was feeling like crap that night. I didn't want to be at work. And I didn't want to be awake after work. But Mr. Wookie insisted...he wanted to get a tree. He wanted to get a tree that night, he wanted it home, he wanted our home to start looking the season. What he wants, he got. He knows that loading me in the car will make me in a better mood, despite my crankiness that is vocalized.

He really gets into the holidays, and he really likes to put together a happy Christmas home. We've had Pandora rocking since his post-Thanksgiving hangover. And I can't believe it. It's Christmas time again. This really is the best time of the year.

But back to Friday. It was getting late. And he wanted to get going to the tree lots before it got too late, before we got cranky, before we called it a night with a dinner of Cheerios (for me) and Scotch (for him), and before we didn't get a tree. He feels the tree is the official kickoff to festivities, which I can agree. You can garland your house, change the door wreath, and plug in outdoors lights...but until you have a dead plant shoved into an erect position in your home waiting to spew out spiders and bugs, it ain't Christmas.

First up, Lowe's. I don't even want to dwell out the lameness that made Lowe's a bust. It sucked. They were overpriced, brown, failing, and the poor worker wasn't doing a very good sales pitch. Lowe's = suck.

Next up...Home Depot. Final stop...Home Depot. Come to mama!

We found a fabulous 7-foot Douglas Fir, grown in the great state of Oregon (hey!!), for under $35, that was still bundled (we got to unwrap it, shake it, and contemplate it with a couple other trees). Like a Pound Puppy of the 80's...it needed a home. It was hilarious watching everyone shake their tree. Everyone has their own method in determining a needles consistency, branch character, and trunk stability. My wiggle is a firm one, much more robust than Mr. Wookie's. But it could be that because I'm from the great state of Oregon, I know my trees. I hug them, I cut them, I wipe my toosh with them. Too far?

Three trees, three wiggles, one Mexican family's children in my way, one deep breath to not kick said unruly children, and a 15-minute wait to pay, but we finally got to load 'er on top of the car. And by "we"...I mean....Mr. Wookie loaded in on the Jeep. I was sick that day. I sat in the warm car with the heat on to not make myself even more ill. Everything in the name of my health, right?

That night was the best. I got shills up my spine as we decorated our place. There's always something about making it home to family for the holidays. You show up, everyone loves you, the home is already decorated...it's like instant cheer. But when you stay home, whatever your circumstances, there's something magical about making your home the holiday centerpiece. This is our place. This is our holiday celebration. And there's nothing better than having Christmas cheer while being able to sleep in your own bed.

Our home is a steady stream of constant decoration since we both feel you can never really be done decorating for the holidays. Maybe it's new coasters in the shape of snowflakes, or new hand towels that you'll actually drape off of your bookshelf (I "won" these last year at the Wives Club Gift Exchange) - but the closer we're to Christmas, the more sales and discounts that lure us in. Okay, okay, it's an addiction.

I'm trying to be reasonable though. Although with next year being a solo Christmas for me, so the post-Christmas sales will be something I can't pass up. I'll need to get me a "deployment tree" that I've seen on blogs. This is brilliant. I will have one next year. Does it come with a crate of Kleenex though?

So far, pooch hasn't been too invested in the tree which is more than we expected. The dumb dog eats blades of grass. She'll nibble on plants. Soo....to put it past her to eat tree...we didn't. But so far there's nothing interesting. The big test will be wrapped presents. The dumb dog eats paper too. So we'll see if it looks like a slobbering mutt has shown interest in our heavily-Amazon.com bounty. And other than the typical needle loss during standing, she's holding steady and smelling beautiful as the corner anchor in the front room. Nothing beats a live tree. Okay, well one that waters itself and takes itself outside on New Years Day for recycling.

And I know Amazon.com has a massive anti-following because they undercut other businesses, etc. But in my opinion, any place that doesn't charge sales tax is great. I like pretending we live in Oregon....as I lounge in my hammock on warm December afternoons. ;)

But let me show you our current front room mid-progress. It doesn't look too bad, does it? We've since added stocking hangers to the mantle, thanks to Target, and more childhood ornaments to the tree (thanks Mom).

Although I'm patiently awaiting our stockings from Organize.com (due to arrive next week!! Eeek!). This is only our second holiday not being spent with family, so it's only about time I invest in our stockings for the two of us. And we're still trolling for a tree topper. While Darth Vader's head is applicable with a name like "The Wookiees," we haven't found an angel we like for less than $40. Apparently people drop $80 for tree toppers. Umm. No thanks. Darth works just fine for that price.

Sweet Pea, are you enjoying us?

2011-12-08T07:03:00.001-08:00

I was on Facebook today when I caught the glimpse of something. It was a squishy, overweight, super-smooshed face'd English Bulldog in some random LA shelter. And what caught me wasn't the fact that the poor guy (or gal) looked completely defeated along with the hound that was next to him (or her). In a 6'x6' cage sat 2 dogs...lonely. Dropped off. Deserted. Maybe they needed care that just was too much. Maybe their owners fell on tough times. And there they were. In their concrete-slabbed cell with a gated doorway of sunlight.

Then the caption.

"Someplace in LA Kill Shelter"

Gasp. Tear. In my own mind, there's no such thing as kill shelters. There aren't dogs that are put down after 4 days of abandonment. Nope. They don't exist. Not in my world. Because I want to live in delusionality. I don't want to realize that there are freezers upon freezers of dogs (and other animals) that were ditched for one reason or another.

But it's true. There are.

Thankfully the English Bulldog was pulled out by Rescue. The hound too.

It makes me realize that yes, these animals are routinely disposed off because they've served their purpose or their purpose is too expensive. Then I (obviously) think about my own pooch.

Yesterday marked 11 months with our little family. I can't believe it's been that long since she had an awkward and over-enthused ride home from Orange County (good thing her taste isn't as extravagant as Gretchen's....bitch lives the low life here). I can't believe it, but I've wanted it nonetheless. The more months she gained with us, the more she trusted us. And the more she understood us, the more the household rules started to stick. She knows a certain voice means get your ass to your bed, now. She knows "bed time" means Oooohhhhh yea, Mr. Wookie is gone! Snuggle time!

But let's not pretend it's all roses. We adopted a non-friendly dog. She definitely voices her opinion of other dogs with her great, booming bark. She can be one vicious snatch. I had the bravery of taking her over to another squadron's house to acclimate their new puppy to the world outside "everyone thinks you're cute." Enter: This bitch of a Bulldog. She didn't like him from first sight. And she let him know that. But he learned to sit there, brush her off, and give her the cold shoulder. And when we walked away, she was like, Mom, really....you bring me to meet that weeny ass dog. I coulda had him. But I get it, let's walk now. Treats later?

And now she gets to have her first Christmas with us. I'm so excited about this - you have no idea! She's got her own lines on the Mrs. Wookie's super anal Christmas Excel spreadsheet of gifts, prices, total costs, and more. This time last year, she was stuck in a kennel. At a vet's office. Because there was no room at ~~the Inn~~ a foster's. It's hard to foster a non-friendly dog. But those days are long gone. No more supervised play time in the gated yard out behind the vet's. Now it's a door-open policy in our house (unless it drops below 60). In, out, playtime, naptime...whatever you want, you got it.

I can't wait to add a new Kong toy beneath the tree. Because I'm now the poor, sad soul who thinks pets should be represented under the Christmas tree. Baby Jesus, help me...

My Christmas Questionnaire

2011-12-06T19:25:00.000-08:00

I, too, stole the idea from Jane @ Janey's Favorite Things. Mockery is flattery, right? And Blogger, why the weird text sizes...seriously??

Dear sunrise, I miss you. I can't wait until December 21st, because everything returns back to the glory days. But then I know Christmas is RIGHTTHERE, so I'll hold off. Thank you Home Depot for the plug-in timers. I'm now turning into my mother...

Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate?

Wait for this.

Keep waiting.

I like........................................unalcohol'd eggnog. Gasp. Horror. Are you ill??? Mrs. Wookie.......................and virgin egg nog??

Colored or white lights on tree/house?

We're of the new-age with WHITE. Not icicle though. Just white. Modern simplicity.

Do you hang mistletoe?

Yes. In Oregon, you climb the oak tree in the neighbors' yard because spending $2 for a tree growth is ridiculous. That's a drive-thru coffee right there.

For 2008's Christmas meet-up in Nashville, I flew with a chunk in my purse.

Now in California, we'll be doing "night ops" for mistletoe in neighborhoods where shooting, stabbings, and muggings aren't involved. I'm not paying $5...

When do you put your decorations up?

A couple weeks before Christmas. Ideally it'd be the weekend after Thanksgiving, but we're the people that buy a real tree each year so we have to wait so needles aren't dropping before the Big Day.

What is your favorite holiday dish?

My favorite dish that causes Diabetes?? Monkey Bread - made by my dad. (yuuuuuum)

My favorite dessert?? These peanut butter balls made by the old lady neighbor a few houses down from my parents. THE FAMILY FIGHTS OVER THESE. We have to ration, they're so good. You may only get a half, but damn....you savor it...then lick your sister's fingers.

Favorite Holiday memory as a child?

The one year my parents staged with perfection Santa coming down the chimney. My Dad had stashed in the garage a pair of police motorcycle boots. Those are black. And when shoved up the chimney... SHUTTHEFRONTDOOR, ISTHATSANTA?!?!??!?!! as a child. End it with a Polaroid of said documentation... we were convinced for years. I still kinda am...

When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?

I ruined my Christmas one year checking in my mom's closet (she knows, she knows we all peeked at least one year to know what saddened disappointment felt like - she did it when she was younger too). Wah wah.

Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?

I didn't - but I love this tradition, especially when it's something like pajamas.

How do you decorate your Christmas tree?

In reality...he Caveman-drags it in and sets it up. Then his Inner Gay gets to work putting up lights, the ribbon, and the Darth Vader mask as the tree topper (I kid you not - we're in search of something better). Then I say, "Hey baby, I think there's a bare patch there." So he volleys, "Don't worry about it. It's not done yet." So I realize I really am no help to this situation so I sit back and enjoy my glass of wine/cocktail/mug of eggnog, etc.

Do I mind this? Not really. :) His love for decoration spans over the fact that he's really good at it and he wants to make the holidays special since it's a BIG DEAL on my side of the family to have an over-the-top Christmas.

Snow! Love it or Dread it?

Love it. But maybe that's because I'm from the part of Oregon where 2 inches will shut down the town. Rain...now...that's a whole different story. We live for rain.

Do you remember your favorite gift?

I think I was 12. I got the first 20 books of Nancy Drew from my Aunt. Sweetness...

Oh, and last year there was my Nikon...

And in 2008, there was a my flight to Nashville to see Mr. Wookie who I hadn't seen in 7 months and 26 days.

What is your favorite Holiday Dessert?

[see above for the legendary fighting over peanut butter balls...so good]

What is your favorite holiday tradition?

I love eating Monkey Bread on Christmas morning. And don't forget the mimosas. And since we've been unable to come home a few Christmases, a giant AMENTHANKYOUBABYJESUS for Skype. Seriously.

Candy Canes: Yuck or Yum?

Yum when they're fresh. Yuck when your mom hoards ones from 1989 in the ornament box.

Favorite Christmas movie?

~~It's a Wonderful Life. Is there really any better Christmas movie than that?~~

Janey...that's an awful movie choice. Really? ;) It's all about A Christmas Story.

Saddest Christmas Song?

Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer. Way to just run up Grandma's Medicare coverage and co-pays. Don't you know she just had her hip replaced. How rude...

What is your favorite Christmas song?

Mariah Carey's All I Want For Christmas Is You. And Britney's Only Wish This Year.

What are some of your Christmas traditions?

Growing up in a family of 4 kids has caused some amazing traditions. There is the tradition of all of us sleeping in a twin bed. So yes - we had to sleep sideways on the bed. No - this was never comfortable for me. Yes - we'd rotate "watch shifts" for movement upstairs so we'd know when Santa arrived. If things came on your watch, you woke up the other siblings. We'd play with our respective Santa toys for an hour or so before succumbing to sleep-deprivation. Then we'd pass out again until much later.

But now, people are marrying off and making families of their own. Although, I may lobby for a full-family stint next year since I'll be going home to my family while our freedom is defended by Mr. Wookie.

I need to create a contract though - "I, Little Man, cute nephew, and I, Miss Emma, adorable niece, will not wake the slumbering Aung Ging with shrills, grunts, groans, or such." I can't be woken up early, can I?

'Tis the time for Christmas Cards!!!

2011-12-04T08:08:00.000-08:00

If it were up to the resident caveman that I live with to send out cards, we never would. That's why I exist. For the 25 days of holiday cheer and to make sure we send love and merriment to those near, far, and deployed.

Thanks to the Post Office for the super speedy self-postage machine because I'm pretty sure I've spent more time fishing for a booger than actually buying stamps. Thanks UPSP station on C St.

There are bloggers on my Christmas card list (again) this year, because there's nothing better than getting something in the mail from a blogger whom you love seeing an overwhelming amount of bulldog pictures, from a blogger who claims to have an IV of vodka at all times, and a blogger who will INYO'FACE too much about how redheads are the best genetics to have because they're bitches and dying out.

It's slowly beginning to look a lot like Christmas...at least to the postman.

Look what the Santa Anas blew in...

2011-12-03T12:19:00.001-08:00

You may have heard from national news about the nasty winds that have been plaguing Southern California. If you haven't, here's the skinny...

Winds have been a bitch. A mega bitch. Poor Pasadena (home of Middle Sister's former digs, the Rose Bowl, and some mega homes like the one in Father of the Bride) was hit with 96 mph winds. WINDS! That shit is intense. Being 50+ miles from that place, in a cute little beach town with the touch of illegal immigrants because there are farms here have only dealt with the 30+ mph winds. So not as bad.

Until I swear the punk winds blew in the cold that everyone else has picked up. I woke up Friday morning feeling like an elephant was sitting on my face. My poor sinuses... clogged... full... painful to the thought. Ugh. Where's the drugs. Do I call into work? No, I can't not go into work. It's Friday - only bitches call out on Friday. Besides I've only been there a couple months, that'd look pretty sneaky if you just don't show up on a Friday. So I trudge my ass into work. Sniffles and face o' pain...I worked a full day because I'm.not.a.bitch.

Turns out there were a few others in different departments that were feeling the ill also. Good. That means I'm not alone. I ventured over to Vons on my lunch break to stock my desk with a massive supply of Emergen-C, Clif bars (I get hungry at work - nothing to do with illnesses), and some oatmeal packets that had been recommended to me as "100 times better than Quaker." Okay, as a sucker for a 10am snack break - I'll try them out.

So today I'm just trying to continue my deluge of heavy natural medications and Dayquil. Because when the elderberry and Vitamin C can't make my face stop running like a gay man in a drag parade, Dayquil can.

Thanks to 10 hours of sleep, my standard 8-week hair trim appointment, and a solo hour in Target before the onslaught of stroller mafias hit, today has me enjoying the first Saturday of the holiday season. Now if only I can survive the Bail that's occuring tonight. I might need to hold off on the Dayquil for a few hours. Or maybe I shouldn't...

Can you see me? Can you?

2011-12-01T20:03:00.001-08:00

Ugh....again....I fall behind on life. I love it, I really do. But when the sink loads up with dirties, the dishwasher remains filled with clean fodder since I loathe to unload a dishwasher, and there's no thawed animal flesh in the fridge...I pine for the weekend where I can't put life together to actually accomplish things. And now we're engrossed in the busiest time of the year as I balance a workload with the mental capabilities of thinking of stellar gift items for my family, his family, and him.

And now we're outta coffee. I've meant to get some, but making a trip to the store for just coffee is painful. Is spending gas worth the $7/12 oz. bag?? Not to me. So instead I get to be the perma-yawning coworker who doesn't feel like a 4-day weekend sufficed my recharging needs.

Instead we spent the weekend lounging, watch our football team suck more than Pam Anderson pre-Hepatitis (and post-....who are we kidding), decorating, and doing yardwork. Oh, and I can't forget that 20 minutes on Saturday where I lounged in my better-than-a-zero-cavity-check-up hammock and got a sunburn on my shins. Yes. Our duty station, NAS Perma-Sunshine, allows you to get burned in late November. I love this. Bring on the skin cancer. I'm ready.

I see you. You can't escape me.

It's now the best time of the year!

2011-11-25T15:25:00.001-08:00

First order of business: Take Nate Berkus' Holiday Decoration Style quiz. Now go. Because what's better than lounging at home, not being a Black Friday sit-in-lines-at-10pm-for-Midnight-openings crazy shopper?? Well...holiday quizzes, that's what.

So go. Take it. And report back. Were they right?? Or are they off their rocker?

My results were right on the ball. I keep a small collection of boxes and bags to use each year so I don't have to buy them (eco-conscious and a tradition). I love making the same cookies each year that my mom's made for millenia. I think that's one reason why Mr. Wookie stayed after that first Christmas - first Christmases are always awkward. What to you get someone that you barely know?? I wrapped up a Rocky poster and a couple DVD's. Thank goodness for those cookies. They probably kept him around. I also tape the holidays cards received onto the wall so you can see the collection grow with each card.

The holidays are about bridging the childhood with adulthood. There comes a time when you can't make it home, hopefully your parents understand, and hopefully they know that you're rocking the traditions still in style. This year is that time. We spent last year with my family, which meant a lot to them, and they understand that you have to share holidays with extended families when families are spread throughout the country.

This holiday season is something special anyways. We're soaking in everything festive and fun since next year will be spent with Mr. Wookie on the USS Not Home For Christmas. We're making the most of it. Everyone sacrifices time for deployment. It's our turn. But we're not going out without a rockin' Christmas season to last us through the upcoming military separation.

But enough of the drag down, it's time to decorate this place up. That st00pid holiday in the way of today is gone. Yes. Now it's sleigh bells, garland, researching where to get a tree when you live in permanent-sunshine land, and the furniture tetris needed to add said Christmas tree to the living room arrangement.

Cue the Pandora Christmas channel. Cue Mariah Carey. Cue ZERO Justin Bieber.

And the upside to the season....holiday packs of your favorite libations. Because what's $5 more for a bottle of Maker's Mark when it comes with a team of low ball glasses? ...even when you sacrilege it with a vodka tonic.

I'd like to sayThanks for the Giving!

2011-11-24T11:43:00.001-08:00

Tuesday evening marked a load of questions as I approached my door stoop. Why did UPS just leave a Crate & Barrel box at my gate. Why is there one by my door also? Why are they addressed to Mr. Wookie???? And what the heck is going on???

Facebook was alit as people prompted me to open them up, but knowing that opening another person's mail IS A FEDERAL CRIME, and my dad is The Sheriff (not really, but really), I waited it out. I waited a patient 17 minutes before Mr. Wookie came through the door with, "What the heck are these?"

Umm...buddy...they have your name on them. Playing dumb with presents only works when I'm 7 - that time I had to "pick out a toy for my cousin," but it turned out to actually be a toy for myself and my mother was snatchingly brilliant in her ploy of making us feel like dumbasses for being so greedy.

I love Crate & Barrel. It's like Pottery Barn, but not douchely overpriced. It's like Target, but a step up in the modernity. If I could live in a C&B store, I would. I had never heard of C&B until Will & Grace, when "Just Jack" mentioned he worked there. Well....if a gay man approves, then I approve.

So with an adequate amount of intrigue, Mr. Wookie begins the assault into the boxes. And once there, we find a card atop the clutter of bubble wrap and cushioning.

Awwwwwww. Wait. How'd she know we like Crate & Barrel??

Because when your son doesn't call you, you're forced to read a blog written by his awesome tenured female to which she drones on-and-on about bullshit and stupidity where you can sometimes pick up useful information like she likes C&B. Der. Wow. Smart, I am.

The boy didn't even waste crucial time changing out of his flight suit before opening up the boxes. He was intrigued. What all arrived? After I though bedding...because the boxes were huuuuuge. But then out comes delicately wrapped martini glasses. Ohhh.....we like us some martinis.

Please aww then ignore the mayhem that is "Movember." Ugh. It's gone. Thankfully.

Then came the second box. Good golly...it doesn't end!

We know are the proud owners of a new full set of barware. 12 wine glasses, 4 margarita glasses, 6 martinia glasses, 4 pilsners, and 6 champagne flutes. All here. And now....no where to be stored. We've hit the issue of needing a credenza to house this new accumulation and the China we inherited last Christmas. With our former small stash of drinkware, we could fit things into a narrow cupboard without issue. Welcome to adulthood, now get your ass a sideboard that'll hold linens, Great Aunt Mildred's ashes, and 50-year-old Scotch.

Everything stayed on the table for 2 days. I didn't know where to put it. Then I pulled up the credenza I was eye-balling this time last year. Silly me. With only China acquired, it wasn't necessary for us to drop on another piece of furniture. But with this haul, I feel the need. The need for ~~speed~~ something...and we'll add it to our list of Things For The House. Maybe we'll have better luck with a horizontal hutch than patio furniture. Maybe...

So from Wookie & Co, we toast you. Thank you Mama Wook for the great present. We really appreciate it. In fact, one of the wine glasses was christened that night with a local cabernet sauvignon. It was delightful. I felt pretentious holding it while telling Sweet Pea to, "Outside. Bathroom." Like she'll listen even more now. Oh, my owner...she's got these new wine glasses...gotta step my game up.

Have a great Thanksgiving y'all. As "squadron strays," we're moseying over to Running Buddy's house for mealtime. We're bringing the bubbly in tow. Because that's the way strays do it. Everything in ~~moderation~~ overkill...

Mrs. Wookie's Friday Night math

2011-11-18T20:05:00.001-08:00

Mr. Wookie + Vegas + college friends = Mrs. Wookie in her pajamas as soon as she got home.
Mrs. Wookie - Mr. Wookie + Sweet Pea = still shared body heat at night.
Mrs. Wookie +/- Mr. Wookie = she still makes the coffee in the morning.
Mrs. Wookie + Sweet Pea + squadron family with a new puppy = training day for said new puppy to get experience when not all dogs ~~go to heaven~~ are friendly.
Mrs. Wookie + cocktail + remote that won't work = Mrs. Wookie cavewoman-banging the remote on the floor.
Mrs. Wookie - personal chef = nachos for dinner.
Mrs. Wookie + broken remote = Monk. ugh.
Mrs. Wookie - clean cups = cocktails out of coffee mugs.
Mrs. Wookie + rum + Coke = happiness and ice cubes.
Mrs. Wookie + math blogpost = I'm tired. Time to go bash the remote until something better comes on.

Uh oh. New blog design itch. Must scratch.

2011-11-16T18:28:00.001-08:00

I will say I went quiiiiite awhile with my current design. But alas, it's time for new. So let's hold on tight like it's the thrill of your lifetime. And I'll lead you with a tidbit o' fun.

Last night was calm. It was a sweet night together, dinner at a swanky high-class restaurant where we were the last people to leave. The weather'd black man on the keyboard playing Jazz was perfect. We stuffed a $5 in his jar. I ordered the rack of lamb. It was just right. The leek and potato hash... caramelized and tender. I so wanted to grab the rib and chew the fleshy remains, but I refrained. Instead I took home the half i couldn't eat, including those meaty ribs, so I can savor the delicacy from the comfort of my own kitchen.

My Cabernet from Washington State was a hefty pour. But at $10/glass, you expect the over-indulgences. I sipped my wine throughout the dinner. We were the only ones in our area. The conversation was on money. On our dreams. And how we'll travel the world. We expect life to only get better. We know there'll be more trips to us. They probably won't contain the ability to sock away $20 million into Swiss accounts and live beyond Warren Buffet's wildest dreams, but we'll at least work hard for what we want. I'd die to drop everything because of a trust fund to support me. But then again, the value of a dollar and my self-engrained stance on getting the best deal on life wavers the dreams of going to the airport and hopping a random flight to somewhere exotic.

I've never flown first class. And I never want to. I know people who have. Mr. Wookie. And he says it pains him to fly couch since that experience. Although he does, because it was his mom who sprung for that first-class ticket - he's just dreaming of the high life.

Oh yea...my story.

We finished the night with champagne. A pop. A pour. A kiss. And a "I can't believe it."

Then I woke up the next day with a slight hangover. One glass of wine. A glass of champagne. That's all it took. Note to self. Stick with just the champagne....

7 years, 11 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days + 1

2011-11-15T22:09:00.001-08:00

My camera is dead. I've been having too much fun trying to figure out the fun variables.

So there are cell phone pictures...of our bubbly. An aged bottle of Korbel from our 3rd anniversary together. In our chic...uh...wine glasses, because we don't actually own champagne glasses. But it beats coffee mugs (haha, right Collin??)...or maybe it doesn't. We're eye-balling flutes...but they're at Crate and Barrel. And that's a good 60 miles away. And I'm too frugal to pay for shipping and handling when I could easily buy half the store while there. So what I need is a trip to visit Middle Sister...after my anniversary, that is.

Tonight is about the awesome. Us. How many people do you know that hit 8 years together, no Uncle Sam-involvement, no offspring, just two people...who are awesome.

And that's all I'm going to input for this post. We're enjoying the moment. The awe. And the pilot of "Running Wilde" - because Will Arnett can cure cancer. My illusions, Michael.

Did you know Wookie & Co. started on a futon?

2011-11-14T22:00:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow is our anniversary. Tomorrow is the anniversary of a weekend spent lounging on a crummy futon that actually belonged to my roommate (who I'd hear routinely having sex upstairs with random people probably once a month - yeah, so awesome...). Mr. Wookie and I were in the throes of having known each other for 2 weeks, finding each other increasingly cute, and realizing our taste in movies is legen...............dary and that starting a relationship with a 2-day movie marathon is a solid foundation.

What's better than spending our anniversary than Mr. Wookie being in all-day top-secret training and getting out of work late???

Well...anything. :) But hopefully tomorrow involves a bottle of wine, a great dinner, and fabulous company. If not...I'll enjoy a bottle of bubbly...myself.

So that's what a mild depression feels like...

2011-11-13T20:33:00.000-08:00

The time was 9:03pm on Friday night. I'm lounged on my couch. My half-eaten pad se ew sat on the coffee table. It was in a styrofoam container, my chop sticks were beside it, but I can't convince the restaurant industry to not use the toxic project. That meal is my favorite take-out here. Number 41 from #1 Chinese, this clean hole-in-the-wall at a shoddy Mexican shopping center. It's less than 5 miles from us. And the perfect capstone.

It was 9:12pm...I had a cocktail on the side table. It was almost gone. But I couldn't have made a better celebration drink. It had been a long week. And it had been a long time since.... I keep repeating myself to Mr. Wookie...

"I'm actually really happy now."

No one likes to reveal to people, people they love let alone, that they just haven't felt themselves lately. But with last week's upswing in emotionally happiness, I realized I had been down in the dumps for weeks and just didn't know it. But then I think about this time last year. We were newly Californians, there was immediate boat time for Mr. Wookie, and I didn't know a soul here. How I was clinically depressed, I don't know.

It's amazing what a year can make in life. And while it's been a long year in the making, I'm glad it's happened. I've learned so much about myself, and what I can encounter and withstand. There's only been a few mental breakdowns, but duly warranted.

So now I'm starting our second year here with the firm foundation I so wanted when we first moved here. I always want instant-success. I want my dream job NOW. I want our dream house NOW. Just call me Veruca from Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. I'm so demanding of life when it reality, life is meant to be slow and enjoyed. I dislike the initial unfamiliarity of it all. Now I know it takes a rough year to enjoy the new.

I guess I was swept from Virginia before I could make it truly mine. We were barely there for a year. And it still seems like a dream. We couldn't have had a better start to living together. Flight school was stressful, but the confines of stress ended at 5pm. Happy hours were plentiful. Friends were enjoyed from Oregon who were also in the path of flight school. And a good friend lived 3 hours North who I'd routinely visit.

Now we're Californians and we're both in unfamiliar waters. We're less than a year out to deployment. Work-ups are interesting as just as I get used to him being gone, he's home. And once I get his laundry caught up, he's gone again. I hear this cycle is the worst. And I'm not complaining yet...or at all. It's just unfamiliar. I'm quite glad we're here for a couple more years. I'm just now experiencing the beauty that makes Southern California desirable and it's turned winter on me. I long for the summer days where I can get sunburned in January after a 4-mile run. These long "winter" nights just make me feel like I live in Fargo.

I can't explain the fog I experienced over the last month-plus; I can only describe it as my birthday happened...then I snapped out of it. And it wasn't a deep fog...just a blanket fog - like my mind had evolved into Eeyore. Noooo bother.

But I'm back. Back with a vengeance. Back to enjoying life like a Ginger should. Back to caring about my health (hello back to running - that break was....depressing...PUN INTENDED!), and back to my usual antics. So yes, I take my glass of mead and toast ....well...myself. Because I'm awesome. Awesome enough to not realize I'm a sad sack of pale genes until my new-found spirit kicks me in my pubic symphosis.

Now let's get ready to ruuuuuuuumble! That and I'm gassy today. Don't know why. Just am. You're welcome. I love sharing this information with you. It truly reveals I'm back.

The makings of our Veterans' Day...just no day off.

2011-11-11T16:31:00.001-08:00

His alarm went off way too early this morning. I rolled over, sensed him get up, heard the shower, and I fell back asleep. I had to work today...but I like money, so I don't complain. Today was a national holiday (even though I forgot and totally checked the mail when I got home from work - haha, woops!). But unlike most Marines, sailors, soldiers, and airmen that had today off, not Mr. Wookie - he had a special task today...which is the reasoning behind the early wake-up.

Instead of he being the one to roll over when he hears my alarm go off for work, and being able to enjoy the holiday that celebrates his career at the moment, he was actually scheduled on a flight. Ooooooo. What kind of flight??? Well...a test flight of the latest and greatest version of his aircraft that's coming out.

Sounds fancy, right?? Anyways, this week his squadron was notified that the test pilots wanted a "trunk monkey" of the E-2 to give 'er a whirl during their 4-hour test flight. These test pilots do just that. Test aircraft. That's their job. They get to fly all sorts of planes, trial versions, pre-fleet ones, and some of the planes are pretty weird looking in their modifications. But whatever, they get paid. They can't complain. Plus, they're at NAS NorthOfMalibu also, so seeing them fly around is pretty shnifty nifty.

To me, it only makes sense to bring along a fleet aviator that's on a sea tour, gearing up for deployment, to give an honest opinion of the new version. I've heard about this new plane for a couple years now - and all I've heard is the negative. But maybe a test flight would change minds. And a realist is a good choice for a test flight.

So Mr. Wookie was the lucky victim. The poor sap who had to wake up at 0430...on a national holiday...for an 0600 brief. Whether the test pilots knew they got an NFO (Naval Flight Officer) that knows both of the radar technology systems, I don't know. Mr. Wookie graduated flight school knowing the "Windows 2007" system, but was reporting for a squadron with the "Windows 2000" version - so he had to spend a few more weeks learning the other system, thus stalling our PCS but giving me more time at my old job to make that money. Can you tell I love money????

But seriously, what's better way to spend your Friday morning than an O'Dark Thirty wake-up, right?? I mean, you can sleep in the next day, right???

And I asked how the flight went this afternoon...he said, "Gucci." Translation: Damn.

Happy Veterans' Day from our flight suit family to yours. Whether brown boots, black boots, BDUs, poopy suits, Johnny Cash's (I love these!), or Marine PT shorts (hello!), we're all in this together. Just not the Navy PT gear...yellow and I don't go together.

That birthday present that's been camera shy.

2011-11-09T09:06:00.000-08:00

So I haven't exactly shared the cou de gras that made my 28th birthday epic...legendary...and magnanimous. It had me squeeling at the UPS delivery guy like he was wearing a Chippendale uniform, and asking him, "OMG, what is this?!?!?!?"

"Uh, Ma'am, it looks to be a hammock."

"WHAAAAAAAT? EEEeeeekkkk...it's my birthday present!!"

"Uhhh (backtracking)...it could be anything!" Nice try, buddy.

The man I live with, call Mr. Wookie, am about to hit another year together as our anniversary is next week, has a sneaky way of recording conversations we have and filing them away as "Things to get her, she'll die and love me forever." Yup. Ever since moving into our new digs, I've yammered on and on about how the Sheriff had a hammock growing up. Each summer, we'd fight like siblings for the right to be in the middle. We'd have competitions about who could invert themselves on the rope hammock and stay attached. Like Cliffhanger, but an 8-year-old's version.

If we lost Dad, we knew where to find him. In his hammock.

I wanted that memory. Where if Mr. Wookie lost me...and my laptop lay silent...he knew where to find me.

While curing cancer and aiding people of the torment it takes on lives, there's nothing like basking in the California sun on a plush hammock that's concave arc faces away from the sun so you don't even need sunglasses. I lose myself in the moment. As I gaze up up towards the rugged California hills, I think we're pretty damn lucky. A year ago I was painfully accepting reality in this place. Now...I'm thanking my lucky stars we have 2 more years here. Years...that amount of time that sounds so far away...and is.

But before I could bask in the beauty that is one hell-of-a birthday present. I had to lug it around back. Now where's my Home Depot back brace and suspenders??

This is not my father's hammock. This is a hammock built on the foundation of the Nordic gods. A base that takes 2 people to move. And it hosts a quilted double hammock that can hold 450 pounds. So essentially it can hold me...Mr. Wookie...and Sweet Pea...except Drools McGee is not allowed on the hammock. Drool and peace do not co-exist. That bumper sticker belongs elsewhere.

So when my trusty parents made a long weekend trek down to Painfully Sunny, California, you'll never guess where my Dad went missing. "It's so warm here." Yes, Dad, yes it is. Now can I get you a refill on your gin and tonic? Because I think life's treating you a bit to unkind. You know, that fluffy perma-attached pillow that's behind your head and all.

But I agree - I just may be suicidal. I don't know how I'll ever live under these conditions. If you can see in the background, I live along a stretch of green grass that the Scottish would be proud to play. If you don't get that, then I'll spell it out for you. I live on a golf course. I know, right? Shoot me now. But hey, at least I'm not too stuck-up with my $12,000 engagement ring, team of illegal Mexican gardeners, and a Range Rover. Please. This bitch be flyin' tight with her Asian import car, freckles, and vodka dependency. Say what...[oh, and we live in the smallest house on the block - what up now?]

Oh and the only thing bad about this gift. No cup holders. So I have to hold onto my cocktail...ugh...take this gift back!

[This post is about an engagement ring.]

2011-11-06T18:34:00.000-08:00

You're intrigued with this title, aren't you? Muhaha, I've got you now my pretties!

But don't feel like I'm going to interlude you into my story for today like I usually do. I'm going to take the shock and awe approach. Because it's Sunday. And I'm well rested thanks to that extra hour of sleep. Yup...I enjoy lacking children. Because I can do what I want, drink when I want (which is usually no earlier than 4:30pm on the weekends), and sleep as long as I want. I just haven't trained Sweet Pea to make coffee yet.

Oh wait...was that an interlude? Shit.

Anyways. I've got to tell you a story. A story of a man...and his filibustering commitment to love. I once met a guy. He was tall. He was in the Navy. And he talked of how much he loved his long-time girlfriend. His next step in life: get married. So he bought a ring.

Okay, joke's on you. This story isn't about me. But were you thinking it was? Because I'm a sneaky bitch on a Sunday night to tell hilariously false tales about glitter, unicorns, and engagement rings. Hahaha...oh my...how sick my humor is. But seriously, keep reading.

Last night I met a guy. Not like "met" a guy...but we were at a 30th birthday party, cocktail in hand - I was warming my cold butt by the fire pit when a conversation started with the fellow fire pit stand-er by-er. Yammer yammer...small talk. He's from somewhere on the East Coast that's not important because it's the East Coast. I'm from the booming state of Oregon where trees, deer, and trout probably outnumber the human race. Blah blah...he has a girlfriend of 4 years who's in Italy. I internally give mad props for those who conquer the long-distance dance. We did it. For a year and a half. And I swear it makes you sane once you remove the distance. There wasn't any awkward move-in phase - it was just "Dude...we live ~~in the same state city zip code~~ together!! Awesome."

Dude...Mrs. Wookie...what's with all the tangents tonight...???

I don't know, self. Sorry. Must be one of those kind of days.

Back to the story. Wah wah....continuing small talk...he says he recently called up his girlfriend's dad to ask her blessing. He said he got "permission" but not a "blessing" - so....he's pretty sure his girlfriend's dad loathes him. But he doesn't care. What he does care about...is the $12,000 engagement ring he bought her.

Twelve thousand.

One two zero zero zero dot zero zero.

I didn't know what to say. I can't really condemn the guy with my overbearing belief that DeBeers' success is merely a brilliant marketing campaign. I reigned in my soapbox, I did. I didn't want to blurb out that his ring cost more than my car (true story - a car is just a car to me and I buy non-luxury). I had nothing except, "You know you could go to Fiji for that amount." Fiji...a beautiful place...a nasty price tag.

I met my match. It wasn't even a deer in headlights moment. I was just dumb-founded that someone who spend that ~~insanely high~~ amount of money for a little piece of jewelry. Celebrities aside because they usually live in a bubble of vapidity, I feel like taking the 3-months-income theory is a load of hogwash and an idealized foundation to 1950's culture where the Betty Drapers will claw their way faux-aristocratic living however possible.

But I don't really want to brush off my soapbox for my theories on relationships (because I haven't had a cocktail yet, nor do I want readership to drop off the face of the Earth, that and everyone is entitled to their opinions and decisions just like this guy). It shouldn't be about dropping mad cash on squished carbon. It should just be about the people. If he wants to sever 5-digits from his bank account, and can afford it, I guess power to him.

I don't know what else to write about this...I could go so many ways. My brain is still speechless with the amount of money he spent. What are your thoughts?

And sorry for the joke. I know it's not April yet. But come on...I'm Mr. Wookie-less while he's TAD and the humor just came to me. I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you. Come by for a cocktail. Because drinking alone is something only...well...Mrs. Wookies do.

So I quit my job this week. Yup. That's right.

2011-11-05T14:43:00.000-07:00

This week some readers thought Annoyed Army Wife was on the verge of leaving her job, throwing in the towel, walking away...however you want to put it. But she didn't.

I did.

Last week I officially dropped the knowledge bomb that I, Mrs. Wookie, of somewhat-sound mind and pale body, Employee Extraordinaire, let my boss know that I'd be riding off into the sunset 2 weeks from then. The sunset of another job. Not a military move.

I've never given notice for another job before. And I was petrified. Petrified I'd be judged. Petrified I'd be condenmed. Petrified if you're making the right decision...

But let's not pretend this is my first job out of college. I've had the pleasure of temping and working in a variety of jobs. And I've had the honor of leaving jobs for many reasons.

* January 2009: I was getting the royal shove out the door thanks to a shitty economy.
* July 2010: I was curtsying my way across country because of Mr. Wookie's orders.
* October 2011: I'm bidding adieu on my own terms.

And what terms are those? Simple. I want more green. It's only human nature to want to be successful. Success to me is continual professional growth and cashing in for some coin. And for that, I have a list of ideals to be met. First moving out here, the local economy was 3rd-degree burned. We're talking 11+% unemployed. It took me 3+ months to find a job that I loved (until then it was menial temping with shitty hours, shlumpy managers, and gossip Queens for coworkers just to bring home thin bacon). There was a reason why I wasn't clicking my heels in happiness when we moved here. California was a bitch.

Then come Christmas break, I get the call I wanted. I was hired at a local marketing and design firm. Shazam hot shit. It's like Mad Men, minus the liquor...and the baby daddy drama...and the barefoot'd boss. I was the quintessential redhead, and (go figure) a military man on my arm, walking around like I owned the place (har har...it's funny, because my old coworkers know about this blog...and *hopefully* still love this blog...and me). Hi guys. So sorry to ditch the wagon.

But lately I found myself wanting more. More of everything.

It was back in October, the day before my birthday to be exact, and I just felt mope-ish. I just wasn't professionally happy. And with Mrs. Wookie as a quasi-feminist, my overall happiness is very important. California life just wasn't stacking up to the great life I had in Virginia. And I loved Virginia life (minus the routine work stress from planning events). I'm always hyper-sensitive to the internal pulse of my happiness. So with a glass of wine in my system, another in my hand, I shyly told Mr. Wookie, "I think I want to look for a new job."

I think he could sense my turmoil. "Sure babe, whatever you want."

To be honest, I was kinda scared. What if I failed? What if a new job just wasn't in the cards? But then the reality hit...what if something comes along? What if you interview, maintain your personality, and hope you're the front runner?? What if you get a call the very next day asking when you're available to start?

I thought it would take awhile to find jobs, get the interviews, get the second interview, and play the waiting game of the job search. That's why I started so soon - I didn't expect to leave after 10 months, but I did. And I can't feel bad about it. I can't. We're only stationed in California for another 2 years or so. I don't have the time to waste in building my resume. I need what I want, and I need it now.

Letting the cat out of the bag turned my stomach inside out. I never like delving information that plagues people. I don't like to leave jobs where the people are awesome. But it had to be done. I had accepted another job's offer in 2 weeks, and I needed to make the segue. And so with my last day, came hugs, "I can't believe you're leaving," and a 4-page training manual that's at least well-written thanks to my English degree. To me, it's not "goodbye." It's "When are we meeting up for Happy Hour?"

So now I'm embarking on a new chapter of my life - getting back to where I was at in Virginia. I'm gaining the experience of a non-PCS job change and it's weird. There's no awkward explaining of why you have 3 jobs from 3 different states. It's just me...with a new learning curve...a new set of employees that I must bedazzle...and a new 18-minute commute. Here's to taking care of myself...

Happy November - is it Christmas yet??

2011-11-01T07:21:00.000-07:00

Today is inspired by a dump of thoughts because I haven't had my coffee yet, it's dark out, and we're officially less than 2 months out to the Jolly Ol' Guy.

- We had officially 3 trick-or-treaters last night. That's 300% more than I expected. In our little gated community, it's mostly retired people. And the youngsters last night were middle/high-school aged. So they either have Grandma living on our street, or they jumped the fence. Either way, they were awesome. Mainly because a 6'-tall Gumby grabbed a Kit Kat. How you jump a fence in a full costume, I don't know...

- We still have most of the small bag of Kit Kats left. Yay. Here's to my ass...

- I can't wait for Daylight Saving Time. This darkness when we get up is not working for me. I need daybreak. I don't want to walk the dog without it. So hurry up November 6th. This is SoCal...not Fairbanks.

- Today is Mr. Wookie's last day as Command Fitness Leader (aka the Richard Simmons that runs the PT program for the squadron). He couldn't be happier to turn this over.

- I'm already working on Christmas lists to purchase and ship to my family in Oregon, decor we need around our new place, and my Christmas card list. That Christmas card list is starting to spawn itself extra categories like, "Former squadron families." I now know why people hate sending cards the next year. People have moved, new people arrived, and that doubles your standing list.

- If we're getting particular. I made my Christmas card list in October.

- Why don't I like Thanksgiving?? Eh...it's a holiday centered around food. Doesn't America have a 30% obesity rate?? Why are we promoting overeating? Oh, and let's not forget the small pox blankets. That was a class act. I do like that I get a 4-day weekend. Yay for that.

- The city we live in has a 40% obesity rate. Isn't California supposed to be healthy??

- I think that's it for now. I could tell you how I love dry shampoo, how I haven't had a cocktail since Friday, how I'm still trying to figure out how to corral Mr. Wookie's ever-growing laundry pile, or how last night I made hot turkey bacon sandwiches while shattering Jeopardy. But we'll save that...

Halloween: The night I met Mr. Wookie

2011-10-31T20:03:00.000-07:00

You may know...but you probably don't. Halloween is always one of my secret holidays because of its effect on my life. Without Halloween back in 2003, there'd be no Wookie & Co. And thanks to this guy (the groom) for drinking a full fifth of liquor, passing out on my couch, and leaving me with a young Mr. Wookie to join me at the jungle juice party (that night was...legendary).

I remember the night like it was yesterday. What I wouldn't give to relive those few hours of mayhem and foolishness. Although I'd probably be impressed with my abilities, embarrassed by dance skills, and curious who most of the people were that were there. And I don't have the outfit anymore (not that it's appropriate at 28 24 anyway...).

My jaw drops when I think about being with him for 8 years. It's nauseating. Eight years. Ten minus two. Eight times 365. But that's what happens when you get old balls and keep reliving your 24th birthday...the years keep increasing despite your best efforts of kidnapping the Oregonian governor and forcing a forged ID so I'm still 24. I'm old. He's old. We're gaining years together like Joan Rivers has face lifts.

I've always been enthused by Halloween and costumes (minus the one year where I got screwed with massive projects the day after Halloween, where I couldn't partake in the festiveness and drink myself into oblivion). I've ranged from a Playboy bunny, to (above's) PTA Mom, to a naughty Catholic school girl, and a woodland nymph (the fairy...not the sex-crazed personality).

But this year, it's different. We don't feel like it's Halloween. I'm having a difficult time realizing that this night, many years ago, my life crashed into the future with the Navy. I didn't think we'd stay together longer than a few months. Really. I was amazed at 6 months. Now I can't imagine life without at least being associated with him (whether he's on the boat, TAD, or hogging the small chunk of bed I end up not sprawling over).

Mr. Wookie's at least carved a pumpkin for tonight. It almost had a mustache. Almost.

Thank goodness it doesn't. #nooffenseDad

And we've only had 3 trick-or-treaters....which is more than we expected considering we live in a gated community. #gatejumpingteens

Wookie & Co. Junior Year Spring Ball

Let's hope the trick or treating ends soon. Because we have Kit Kats in the bowl. And those are my favorite. Mr. Wookie is a close second.

Lastly, my nephew, Little Man, as Brobee from Yo Gabba Gabba. I don't know what this is, but Nephew is adorable. Here's to collecting lots of candy, and then seeing his Reese's peanut butter cup stash dwindle because of his dad. He won't see it coming.

YOU totally want to help SOCAL BULLDOG RESCUE!

2011-10-28T08:21:00.000-07:00

Y'all should know Miss Sweet Pea's sad rescue story until she found the dashing home of Wookie & Co. where we spoil her with trash cans of paper to sneak her muzzle into, Kong bones of peanut butter and Beggin' Strips, and a shared bed when Mr. Wookie's gone.

Oh, you don't?? Well read here.

I'm asking a massive favor here. Have a Twitter account?? You can help!!

Go to: "The JDHF" twitter page :http://twitter.com/#!/JasonHeiglFound (Blogger wouldn't hyperlink it for some reason this morning...#douches).

Type in: "(Handle) is following @JasonHeiglFound for #scbr!!"

Then actually follow them (please...you can delete them later. I will.).

SCBR is ~~about 30 votes behind the leader~~ NOW IN THE LEAD! Let's do this!

The very rescue group (SoCal Bulldog Rescue) that took in SP when first abandoned is in heavy competition for $7,000 that they could really use. Like really. They have 50+ bulldogs in rescue, some requiring ear ablations or cherry eye surgeries (which aren't cheap!), and would be more than grateful for the funds for their crusading work. None of it goes towards salary - all are volunteers who merely have a heart for dogs with former butt-puppet owners. #assclowns

Please. Pretty please. I did it. Let's make it like a game. I'll help #scbr if you will. And I did. So it's your turn. Long onto your Twitter and follow the instructions. I'll love you "fur-ever."

Double, double, banana bread trouble.

2011-10-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the farm stand for the dead bananas. They couldn't have had a better sign, "FREE." That's the way it should be with dying produce. Don't throw it away to rot in the landfill. Give it up to those who are technically allergic to the potassium-heavy fruit, but are more than capable of enjoying their baked bounty. So I grabbed two 6-fingered clumps of 'nanners and rung up the rest of my produce.

What recipe did I use?? Just the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook that I got going away to college. No need to fancy up banana bread to me. The ol' fashioned works!

And because a slice o' bread isn't worth it until there's a heavy smear of buttah. Because we need to grow heavy coats in this part of the country. It's cold here. Brrr....

Excuse me while I lick the bread knife clean.

Douchebag Property Mgmt, here to screw you.

2011-10-25T07:55:00.000-07:00

It's been 2 months since I let loose a steady stream of tears that Native Americans would have considered not canoeing down because they were treacherous and emotional. I was a mixture of irritation and bitchiness. And I cracked.

In regards to our previous condo, we had given notice like good tenant informing that in 31 days we'd be vacating the dwelling we called home for 370 days (our lease was prorated). Our landlord understood, no hard feelings. I may have also forged the vessel saying we were 'moving on base' because of a housing deal they had going on. Why? Because people are less likely to try and convince you otherwise when it's Uncle Sam's involving. So we lied. We wanted new digs. The end.

We hit the snag when it came to the property management. Snatches.

They required you fill out a form to move out (seriously??), you have only a 4-hour window to move out (wtf??), you have to pay to move out (SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!?). They maintain it's to ensure there's no damage to the building upon moveout. Riiight.

So yes, the almighty property management charges you $75 to move out during the week and $125 to move out on the weekends.

But let's get back to the crying...

First, don't think we didn't try to fight this every which way, because when a Ginger gets angry....watch.out. We kept maintaining that it wasn't in our lease, so we weren't going to pay it. We were alone in that fight. The property management says it's the "tenants' responsibility," so take it up with your owners. So I went to our landlord..."It's not in our lease." Sorry Ginger, dickhole says we have to pay it. What.the.FRONT.DOOR?!?!

Then we found out, pay up or risk being assessed a $500 fee for an "improper move-out."

$125 > $500

With Mr. Wookie doing all the calls to trying to get us out of this, there wasn't anyway Uncle Sam would let him leave work to fork over our funds.

So I'm forced to leave work early. Forced to drive down to the property management. Forced to sign over money and an application with our intentions (umm...move out of this Communistic place?). Forced to not 300-style kick the pregnant lady for being the snatch that's all cheery in taking my money. And forced to wrap my head around this short window to move an entire home out of the old place.

Phew. That's in place. We're ready to move the next day. I call Mr. Wookie to confirm the news that we got the time frame on Saturday to put 3 JO's to work being our slaves. Then...a call comes in, unknown, so I let it roll to voicemail.

"Hi Ashley, this is Mary (her real name - bitch), from Douchebag Property Management, we've received your application, but unfortunately it seems to be too late to process. Your move won't happen this weekend. We're closed now. Please call again Monday."

F*** you! I absolutely lost it. After all the emotion put in to fighting this issue, and finally surrendering to the douche-ish ways that were to be with this move, and having to pay to move out of our building...we lose...again. I was red, I was blotchy, I was blubbery, and I was all sorts of Mr.-Wookie-didn't-want-to-see-me-cry-because-it-just-makes-him-angrier.

So Mr. Wookie sends an email to Mary (muahhaha - bitch). An email he wouldn't let me read (must have been bad, eh - bitch!). But I know he was furious. After being the point of contact throughout this whole process, you don't leave a voicemail for the other party stating your intentions. So 20 minutes later, we have a response. "Your move has been processed for Saturday. Have a good weekend." (Suck it - bitch!!).

Wookie for the win.

So we moved out, without too much further hassle. The JO's were wonderful for their muscles. And I even researched Small Claims Court, because I don't like being man-handled. But it just wasn't worth it to us to go after the owner, the landlord, and the court system for the small amount of money that'd be left post-fees. So we're washing it under the bridge. We're the better people. We know it.

And you better believe I had the world's biggest cocktail to help calm my nerves that day. But thinking about it now, I should have asked for an IV drip instead. Save myself the trip to the freezer for more ice and a refill.

So I can now join the ranks of the milspouses with good stories. I may need some Kahlua in my coffee if I keep reliving the nightmare though. Or maybe I should relive it...;)

Baby Emma: touching hearts 900 miles away.

2011-10-21T07:36:00.000-07:00

Middle Sister isn't liking living away from family. With Little Man, she was mere hours drive time to be with my little nephew. Welcome to living afar when family life grows on. It's not desirable. In the perfect world where money grows on trees, or from trust funds, we could jump a private jet for Oregon to hang out with the little beauty. Instead, I have responsibilities here and the not-so-deep wallet for routine trips to Oregon to see family.

This is when Skype becomes so important. I'm so thankful for modern conveniences where I can webcam with my dad (Grandpa "part deux" as he calls it) and Little Man, and enjoy the child development of the family.

I talked with the proud Grandpa yesterday as we were discussing the photos that would be available online (we have a family/joint Photobucket account so we can mass-upload in events like these). She looks so angelic (and you know I'm not a fan of children, really). It must be the bow. Because my ovaries don't react in a positive way....ever.

Maybe...just maybe I could take 9 months out of my social drinking to grow a short version of a human. A couple years down the road. Because I'm already on a vodka pineapple juice...so it'll have to wait. Obviously.

But then I think about meltdowns when the child is 2 years old.

And I think about the vodka again...

So your burning question: "When will I meet the new addition?" Probably Spring Break. But I never point favoritism for just meeting a new child. I'm always a fan of seeing my Brother and Sister-in-Law also. Because without them, humping would never lead to little ladies who rock pink headbands and hope their older brother doesn't sabotage their dating career. That and they don't require diaper changes. Babies do...

Too early to discuss dating?

No such thing. Besides, Brother owns guns. He's already prepared for 16 years later.

Milspouse Friday Fill-In from SoCal!

2011-10-21T06:27:00.000-07:00

I want a lot of things. But that's the difference between wants and needs with life. I want a fridge that stocks itself, a dog that walks itself, and dishes that are put into the cupboard post-wash cycle. I'd like a trust fund too. But that's a long shot. So until then, I want sheets that are half flannel and half sateen that aren't ridiculously priced. Yes, they make these.

I have a dog that reminds me she's cute. I have a man that defends freedom. And I have a USAA bank account that doesn't charge $5/debit transaction.

I wish teeth whitening strips didn't taste like ass.

I hope we're able to find patio furniture that fits are 'wants.' We don't feel like our wish list is excessive. All we want: 2 chairs, with 2 ottomans, and a cocktail table in the middle...that's comfortable...and will last more than one summer season.

I wonder if one is ever happy with life or if there's a constant need for the anti-stagnancy. I feel like since adopting the military lifestyle, I don't like being with the same schedule/lifestyle/arrangement for too long. It's like I itch for change. But then again, I cringe at change. So what the heck is wrong with me? Maybe because vodka companies keep their recipes the same, it's not big deal. ;)

Dear blog, sorry for the neglect. I still loves you.

2011-10-20T18:18:00.000-07:00

In honor of the text dumps I've seen in the blogosphere lately, it's time for mine.

- Mr. Wookie survived his Kangaroo Court...to which he spent the night with the Junior Officers camping out on the beach. His perfect timing home was just as I was taking bacon out of the oven (yes, I cook bacon in the oven). So I had to share half my porkly squandor. ...wahwah...

- We are closing in on the weekend my parents will be visiting! Eeek!!

- The weather here has been beautifully Oregonian, with today being completely cloudy with the touch of sprinkling. Almost perfect.

- I still watch Extreme Couponing...and constantly yell at the television. I don't know why I watch. It's addicting. But I can't stop hoping people hear me - just because you have coupons for candy bars, doesn't mean you need them...

- I have less than 4 weeks until my Malibu half marathon. Am I ready? Heck no. Will I still run? Heck yes.

- I hope to see at least the backside of a celebrity as they PR.

- Oh, Mr. Wookie left again Tuesday. Yup, we're in the throws of pre-deployment training. I feel so green behind the ears that I'm not fearing anything about this process. Yes, he's not here more times than not. But we're so weird in our relationship that we can handle weeks apart and zero communication that being separated isn't that big of a deal.

- So to answer the question, yes, Sweet Pea has been joining me during my unconscious episodes (and I intend for this to mean sleep, but then I realized that people will probably read that I drink myself into a stupor...which is not the case, at all. Promise. We always know when to call it a night. And that's before tequila is mentioned...).

- Oh, and this gem graced the world a little earlier than planned. Due November 12th, Lil' Emma joined her family late last night at 7 lbs, 1 oz. to the proud parents of my Brother and Sister-in-Law. Fully baked, this lil beauty will discharge tomorrow and continue rockin' her brunette hair (Middle Sister is so proud of this!) as the latest member of this family of four.

Waiting for Mr. Wookie

2011-10-14T21:39:00.000-07:00

I'm on standby, waiting, right by the phone, in case someone needs a ride home. You see, Mr. Wookie is not home. Well...he is home...after being gone this week...(he got in super late and left super early, so I've seen him for maybe 20 minutes total), but he's not home right now. He's "away" defending his good name and title in a little Navy tradition known as the "Kangaroo Court."

Unbeknownst to me since our arrival, there's a board in the Ready Room that tallies everyone's "faults." Every time you get called out for a fault (say you get promoted in your khakis and fail to apply the new insignia to the rest of your uniforms...then you come in with the lower rank on your shoulders), BOOM...you're charged $5. This is the only thing Mr. Wookie has been charged with and will subsequently pay for.

Most other people aren't that lucky. In fact, Mr. Wookie's one of these lowest owe-rs.

So tonight was the mock trial where everyone can plead their failed case about taking phone calls from wives/girlfriends in the Commanding Officer's presence, not remaking the coffee after taking the last cup, locking the computer with your ID, or leaving your ID on base and requiring a chauffeur the following morning into the squadron. The charges range but the fines are the same. Pay up.

Plus the money goes to a good cause though - supporting the squadron.

So tonight we're $5 poorer as Mr. Wookie rocked his LTJG bars while a newly promoted LT while standing duty that day. Woops.

Please don't be food poisoning...

2011-10-11T06:53:00.000-07:00

Last night I was forced to "indulge" in a brandy on the rocks...because thanks to Google, having a cocktail might prevent the onset of food poisoning.

Yes, this is Mr. Wookie's logic.

About an hour after I had my dessert (leftover birthday tiramisu), I started to feel off. I thought maybe my blood sugar was dipping since dinner, but I knew it wasn't enough time for that to happen. Then I thought maybe I'm still dehydrated from our weekend backpacking trip, so I got my water bottle and started pounding the fluids. Then I voiced the uneasiness of my stomach with Mr. Wookie.

"Yeah, I felt that about 30 minutes ago."

Screeeeeech. What!?!?!

We've both experienced food poisoning before. The other time was in college. We had picked up Chinese take-out from a restaurant up on 53rd (Baby Sister, so you know which place), and had taken it back to his apartment for movies and grub. Fast forward, I'm feeling really woozy. So Mr. Wookie rolls over to Safeway (aka Vons to us SoCal-ers) and picks up a vat of Pepto.

Fast forward an hour, Mr. Wookie has joined me in exchanging the Pepto bottle as we both lean our head on the toilet. It was then you know you can almost face anything together. Minus...when the food poisoning makes a disastrous "exit." That's just a whole different can of worms meant for different sides of the house.

So I had an ounce of brandy on the rocks, felt decent enough to try sleeping, so I did.

Now it's morning. And the underlying "blah" feeling is still there. Do I eat my obligatory Cheerios for breakfast for fear of yacking them up? Or do I play it safe with some toast?? Mr. Wookie doesn't feel a thing thanks to his iron gullet (or it could have been that he immediately combated the feeling of queasiness with Scotch on the rocks instead of trying to tough it out??), so he's dressed for PT and ready for the day.

My dainty lady stomach - what the heck??

Celebrating my 28th birthday with Mr. Wookie, a bottle of wine, and fantastic home-made dinner.

2011-10-07T14:12:00.000-07:00

The day started out like any other - minus I was woken up at 6:45am for a delicious breakfast (that even had Mr. Wookie's squadron mates impressed that he was up early to prepare such). In my day of birthday excellence, where I didn't even put on a bra for company (it was just Running Buddy), she spent the morning lounging away while we yammered on the upcoming boat schedules, flight schedules, dinners with other wives, and how her new neighbors on base may be selling some furniture (maybe a patio set!??!).

But before she left, the house wasn't complete without a Mylar balloon. My attitude about my birthday changed the more Facebook messages came in, Yes, it is my birthday - apparently I need to effin' enjoy this since it's only once a year...and that pesky 30 is coming closer. Gag.

But I ran my errands for the day, spent time in Target...because it's Target!, got my hair trimmed, and my nails did, then came home to a frantic Mr. Wookie condemning me to the bedroom. It was fine, we got some bills in the mail that I prepped for payment. But then he finally let me watch the Oregon vs. Cal football game that was on ESPN. Oooh, football on my birthday! Yes!! Unfortunately I didn't see LaMichael "I beat my pregnant baby mama" James get injured. Karma's a bitch.

Tangent over.

The evening started out with a Collection from Sterling Vineyards (we've been there in Napa, adored it, and constantly buy their wine).

With the wine, a cheese platter was made up to keep me distracted out of the kitchen. Yes, red wine with white cheese...it's my birthday - BTFU. This distraction was gladly accept because I hadn't eaten since BREAKFAST. I know, I know! What can I say?? I get excited when I get a crazy delicious mystery meal is being made for me!

What?? No red pepper goat cheese for me??

Tiramisu. I can die happy...

The sauce for the crab mac 'n cheese.

Once I got bored watching the team who can't match jersey tops to bottoms, I joined Mr. Wookie in the kitchen under strict orders to stay outta his way. Okay, that's fine, I'll just sit on the counter while the dog drools at the smell of AWESOME. And I may or may not have professed my love for him over and over again. He's a catch.

Hollandaise sauce.

Oh...my...goodness....soooo GOOD! He's a stinkin' professional in the kitchen. The man even put asparagus on the menu despite despising it. But he's willing to deal with stinky urine for 24 hours in the sake of my birthday and the nutrients in it.

My birthday. The big 2-8.

Thank you, you modest personal chef you. It was fantastic. I'm sorry I get all soft and mushy, but you really are my best friend. Thanks for all the laughs and tears since you've been around pre-21st birthday. Each year is awesome and you constantly out-do yourself. Now where are my stretchy pants...I think the tiramisu made my pants tight. Because it definitely wasn't the bottle of wine we split.

You may have heard today is my birthday.

2011-10-06T08:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, it is. I'm gathering one more year on Earth as an awesome redhead with parents, siblings, adopted grandparents, parents, and siblings (I'm talking Mr. Wookie's crew).

But I never like birthdays. I mean, I do. Sometimes. When it's cheerful and happy, but then I realize that each day is one more day where a wrinkle will set in, gravity will havoc my flesh, and I'm thismuchcloser to Mr. Wookie trading me in for a new model (that's his joke since I'm actually older than he is - hmpphhhh!!!!).

But the party started early. On Tuesday to be exact. I came home from work with a homeless box on my stoop. Nope, definitely not a million dollars.

Holy peanut butter and fudgsicles, Batman! Shut your face. Shut the front door. What is this!?! Could my unabashed 'pinning' on Pinterest have led to the greatest Beaver Gear known to "eco-friendly people" (I'd say 'hippie,' but let's be honest - I shower. I vote (not just one party). But damn, do I recycle.)???? A bright-ass orange market basket for when I shop the farmer's markets. Do you know how difficult it is to load lettuce into a floppy polypropylene bag?? Darn difficult. But now I can load lettuce with ease. And poblano peppers, corn, eggs, strawberries, and radish shoots (no, really...delicious!).

And yes, I swear there's artwork in the bathroom that ties in the red hand towel and the shower curtain. It's just on the same wall as the mirror. Sorry folks.

And an awkward side view of the basket. More like an awkward pose, but that's my issue. #NextTopModelfail I'm pretty sure you could fit a newborn in here. Let's try!

So on today's schedule is pampering. No working. Not for me. I have my standard 8-week hair trim today, so I'll get a mad shampoo to make me giggle. And probably champagne. Then I have a nail appointment, because I felt like being pampered some more. And sometime today, I'll mosey down to Macy's to hopefully score a free makeover while getting a new lipgloss (we're almost out of our favorite MAC hot pink gloss).

Today started out great though. And a little misty-eyed. I was summoned for breakfast of a Queen. All this, and Mr. Wookie couldn't even join me (squadron PT is his priority). Yes, that's a mimosa. Yes, it was perfect. *wink* So my belly started out right this morning with french toast, pig product, mostly champagne, a cup o' coffee, and my favorite: Gerbera daisies. I still don't know where he hid those!?! That sneaky boy!!

Shucks...do I need anything?? Well besides a hair cut, manicure, and lip gloss....well company for dinner would be awesome. Unless Uncle Sam has other plans, which wouldn't surprise me. But then again, there's always the opened champagne bottle in the fridge.

Mrs. Wookie: Birthday Party of One!

First comes air shows. Then comes deployment.

2011-10-03T21:17:00.000-07:00

The Navy. It's a great branch sometimes. It has stations not in the middle of North Dakota (really, Air Force...who wants to live there????). The desert-storm flight suits can recreate GhostBusters costumes with ease. And you have the best pilots* (umm....yes...because only Navy pilots can land on a floating city).

Our current location has a rotating set of squadrons where one group is in each phase of deployment (whether it's surging, preparing, deploying, returning, standing by, or getting screwed with back-to-back deployments). We're thisclose to ramping up to "boat time" and so the schedule this month is much less time at home. Thanks to a couple texts today, my calendar includes much more "Mr. W gone -------------> Mr. Wookie home?"

The more I look at the calendar over the next 24 months, the more I get excited...and nauseous...and excited...and nervous...and "Oh my Gawd, we're actually doing this!!!!" We're finally facing a deployment. I say "finally," because flight school is such a process for the men and ladies to go through. It's years of dedication and a government wad of money. It's stress. And for those who STA-21 with families, it's even more intense.

It just has me thinking that it's been years since we've gone long distance. So this'll be a fun and learning time to readjust to being alone again. But even then, this'll be the real deal. It'll be me, and the dog, and the Wives Group. It'll be insane mailing schedule of "Are you bored yet?" packages, it'll be lots of cooking for 2 (can't forget lunch the next day!), and it'll be me in my house...alone...taking visitors (hint, hint).

Months ago, Mr. Wookie's squadron was in the 'standing by' position. This means they stayed busy with lots of public relations. A lot - whether flyovers or air shows.

If you've recently been to an airshow in this country, you may have seen Mr. Wookie! I would die the moment I get an email saying, "Oh my goodness!! Mrs. Wookie - I found him!! And he's even cuter in person!"

Okay, that last part I may have to whip your butt for comments like that. I mean, I agree...but come on...

And did you notice his arm patch? That's right. Representing...

I know that many of the blogs I stalk are amidst deployments, and many have welcomed home their hot, lover men from defending freedom, and there may be a few just like my cocktail-lovin' self that will wave off their sailors for months gone. I know I'm bright-eyed about this upcoming "fun," but maybe it'll propel me through a few days of it all before I turn into a whining bitch of cocktail-needing annoyance.

Time to whip out muffins tins to start freezing soup!

*Yup. Those guys are good. Are they any better than front-line Marines? No. Those guys are badass in their own right. The Navy just happens to make some excellent pilots, especially E-2 pilots (and COD) where the wing clearance is 2 feet on each wing. Yowzas!

Mrs. Wookie's last Friday Fill-In at 27. Wah wah.

2011-09-30T13:06:00.000-07:00

I always feel like I’m 24 years old, but in reality, I’m less than a week shy of 28. Thanks to college and the Navy, I can party like a total rockstar. Never in my wildest dreams would I think that I could still throw it down to 2am on the brink of 30. But yup...I can. It's rare that I have to break out my skills, but they're there in my back pocket. Instead, I'm more proud of my ability to crawl into bed at 8:30pm, drink my Metamucil, and drop my dentures into the glass. I'm 27 going on 80. Now where's my Rascal scooter?
I wish my ~~family~~ mom understood better when I tell ~~them~~ her I don't need to start popping out kids. While yes, I'm getting closer to 30, I'm having way too much fun being me. I'm enjoying piecing together a career around duty stations, I look forward to continuing my travels, and I LOVE having boobs that aren't deflated sacks of skin that used to resemble a human body. Once you have kids, you can't just drop everything for Hawaii...or Vegas...or wine country. Even with the dog, we have to make extra plans before enacting a spur-of-the-moment trip. Plus, I hear "I wish I would have waited to have kids" far too often. I'm enjoying my life waaaaay too much. So enjoy the nephew and soon-to-be-niece...and gimme a few more years before I retire my liver for 9 months of incubating offspring. Unless Amazon.com comes out with e-uteri (that's plural for uterus)...I'm so on board with that.
If you saw me when I pick up his stinkin' PT gear to put into the wash, you’d think I was a total girly-girl, but if you saw me when I'm hiking and camping, you’d think I was a tomboy through-and-through - I have zero issues pooping outdoors, burping my ass off, and sweating like a man while blazing trail.
I feel like I’m in a totally different universe when I hang out with the Wives Group - EVERYONE has kids, doesn't work, and is 30+ years old. I can hang out with JOPA, drain free-throw shots like a champ (no, really...I had a 93% accuracy in high school), and drink dark beer with the best Oregonians. I assimilate as best I can, tune out my ear to the topics of diapers, and ramp up the conversation when it comes time to talk happy hours at the park - I'll pretend to have a kid while I bring a bottle of wine to the playground.
In honor of this being MFF #60… 60 months ago (exactly 5 years ago, so September 30, 2006) I lived in the college town for Oregon State and my life was totally different because my team was on the brink of a great season. I was mere rows from the team, liquor heavily on my breathe, a rowdy student section as our team ran to victory over top-seeded Trojans. We then scaled the wall, dropped the 10 feet to the field, and took a run for the middle in amazement! I was within spitting distance of the QB and Mr. Wookie held onto me for life as the riot of student-induced mayhem had authorities fearing for the goal posts. It. was. amazing.

Someone's getting older soon.

2011-09-29T14:18:00.000-07:00

Here I am. 27. Getting ready to rock at Middle Sister's wedding.

I've never liked the concept of getting older. Just like how it falls into "change" - it's something I could do without. How did someone so spastic about not being in control of her life come about? I don't know. Obviously I blame my parents. But I don't know which side it came from. So until someone throws the other under the bus - or it's announced I'm the milk man's baby (which would be hilarious when I clearly look like my dad with his huge eyes and I look like my mom and her ginger hair) - I blame both.

Muhahaah - competition between the 'rents...

Anyways, back to my birthday. It's in exactly a week. For the last couple months, I've been excited. It seems like I've always had better "even" birthdays. 27 was different in that we just relocated cross-country, I wasn't working, employment was looking scarce, and I was just feeling overall left out from the great career chase that so many get to do that aren't attached to the military.

But maybe my tune has changed. 28 is feeling like a lucky number. That and it's the last even number before my balls drop super saggy and I hit that nauseating age of 30 where you're expected to have everything together, never get drunk, and keep the best house.

Umm...how about none of those?

Life will never be perfect since my job will change more than Kevin Federline has children, Mr. Wookie will be here for some holidays and gone for others, and my mom will always consider me old (umm...jokes on her...).

There is an upside to my birthday though. Christmas is right around the corner. Even with that pesky we-gave-infected-blankets-to-the-Natives holiday is in the way.

Let's get this birthday week started. I want a bottle champagne, a steak dinner, and a small cake to celebrate. That's it.

Yes, I'll share the steak and cake. I don't know about the bottle yet...

The Wookie & Co's Oregon State mascot.

2011-09-24T13:50:00.000-07:00

We're trying again. Come on, football team. Can we get more than 3 points on the board? It's sad when people not involved with Pac-12 sports know your team is sucking hard.

But despite the piss poor season we're expecting, we rock the Orange with pride. Those degrees mean a lot to us - although mine is lost in my parents' house (thanks mom). But at least I have it in this paltry California economy, where a Bachelor's gets you a dollar over minimum wage. Yay. Not for me, but for others, yes.

And with my family's season tickets, I always wave at the television - I hope they see me.

Thanks Baby Sister for the surprise gear earlier this year.

I'd be pouting and wanting my mom's lap if I was an Oregon State player too. Stop sucking.

The RoadID that came.

2011-09-18T10:20:00.000-07:00

On this blog, I'm usually honest. I may hide my unhappiness for certain things, and put on a fake aura of perfection, but it's usually when I'm super sensitive and don't feel like throwing a pity party on the blogosphere.

As someone who occasionally runs because it's cheaper than a gym membership or yoga studio, I don't really think about the potential for what could happen when I'm running on the coastal highway, around my neighborhood, or within the confines of base. I assume I'm perfect, my form is ideal, and the only injury I could face would be a rolled ankle from pot holes. No one wants to think about being rolled by a car. Pretty much.

So after months of mocking up a RoadID slim bracelet - I finally pulled the trigger. It may also be part of the motivation from this blogger's incident that scared me into spending the $15 to potentially save my life. We're getting real around here. Mr. Wookie recently filled out the mountain of paperwork since deployment is slowly approaching. Nothing is more sobering than end-of-life decisions. And we don't like sober. We like cocktails. Just kidding. Sometimes.

Oh, and thanks to the previous tenants for the NEX flyers. Umm...how awesome can mail day be?!? Okay, yes, I could be #winning the Publishers Clearing House - but sadly, that hasn't happened yet. And probably never will. So until then, I'll dream big. And by that, I mean dream of a dating an old man with billions in trust fund accounts that will be left to me after he quickly croaks. Anna Nicole knew what she was doing. And that's #winning.

I need more cowbell for Mommy McD's birthday.

2011-09-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

Today happens to be the dear birthday of a dear blogger who's known me for dear too many years, pooped out some dear adorable children, and moved away to the dear East Coast. Today we celebrate!

There's a reason I "promote" her blog on my sidebar - the bitch is awesome.

And there's a reason I haven't personally sold her to Russian Nationals in order to swipe her children into coming to live with me - because they're much more entertaining when she's around. Plus, she can discipline. I can merely laugh in my head when one brother steals a Gogurt and their superhero cape as an evil villain complete with booming laugh.

You've probably seen this beauty of a picture before. Oh, that's Mrs. Wookie and Mommy McD back in the day. I don't feel like doing math, but Offspring #2 was mere months old (Offspring is going to be 4 - I think - this November). I drove up from my Hometown, Oregon to her Hometown, Oregon (3 hours total - and always worth it) and spent some time with her and 2 of the (now 3) bambinos that exist. Hubband was playing Navy and somewhere important. And nevermind those extra pounds we're rockin'. She just had a bebe (totally legit) and I was drinking myself through long-distance with Mr. Wookie (again, totally legit).

Happy Birthday to my pygmy blogger/partner in cross-country crime! I wish I could be there. But with your birthday comes the butthole-quivering that mine is right there too. And I'd much rather be turning 26 with you than turning 28 on my own (mother-effin' GAG). But I have a bit to sulk before my boobs sag another inch towards oblivion.

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday and new shoes from Hubband, Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuu! Feel free to comment on the lady's blog that 26 is one of the BEST ages of the 20's and she'll rock out with her...nevermind, again.