This boy left on a...well...not a jet plane.

Thank you SO MUCH for allowing some massive time away from the blog - but now that he's been gone enough time for me to get settled into, "So this is what deployment feels like?", I need to work on my LL Cool J skills...

That's right...MAKIN' A COMEBACK.

So hey, you, right there. How have you been? Have you enjoyed the lack of reading of shitty tales, drunken fables, and nights of eff-bombs? WELL I HOPE SO! Because this time we're trying to make a full-fledge'd comeback.

First off...

"Fuck!"

Phew. I got that outta the way. Nothing ever says happiness like Mrs. Wookie dropping bombs.

Oh, and that whole "This is what deployment feels like" shit....well it's just enough to keep me on edge with a semi-fervor butthole. Every couple days Murphy likes to rear her head and be like, "Bazinga!" but without the awkward giggle of Sheldon Cooper. Because that shit would never happen with Mr. Wookie around.

But let's get to re-know me better, since it's been awhile. I'm like a re-virgin'd blogger.

1. My childhood nickname was "Trashley." Yeah, then I changed schools. They barely graduated high school. I went to college...and finished. They have 3 kids, live in a trailer, and hate their life. I'm awesome. Boom.

Sucks to be them.

2. If you want to spoil me rotten, buy me a gold chain on deployment for my natural sapphire pendant that you got me for Christmas.

Mr. Wookie, ^^^ make it happpen! You read this blog on the boat. :)

3. The television character I most identify with is Robin from HIMYM with her career drive and love for suits, steaks, strippers, and rollin' with Barney, mixed with Lily since she's an actual Ginger and also met a boy in college who just wouldn't go away. ;)

4. If I had a whole day to go shopping and money to spend, I would go to (ready???)....

Gap.com

BananaRepublic.com

OldNavy.com

LongElegantLegs.com

Can you take a guess why? Oh right, I have an inseam that competes with an elephant's penis. That's why!!

5. The most wild and crazy thing I have ever done (that I can admit to publicly) is "acquired" a tiara and dozen roses that just happened to not have any owners in an establishment where beverages are served. Don't just leaaaave your shit lying around for hours. Someone will enjoy wearing it and being asked, "OMG, is this your bachelorette????????????????????" <multiple question marks necessary

No. Though if I say 'yes,' will you buy my friends a round of drinks??

Scheming new move while all the boys are deployed for free drinks. Hmmmm...

6. The one thing on my bucket list that I am most eager to do is 1.) Buy a house. 2.) Go to Scotland with Mr. Wookie. Both TBD in 2014/2015.

7. My family will always be loyal to fighting for the "trust fund." It's a bogus joke where all the kids try to out-hustle each other for top rank in the parents' saving account. Who doesn't want to be the "family favorite?"

8. If I could spend a day with a celebrity I would choose Zoey Deschanel.

9. In my opinion, the best invention in the history of the world is the tampon.

10. When life hands me lemons, I make a vodka tonic. Duhhh!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the little words - like "Bazinga."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

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

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

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

12:32pm - first airplane is down. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

I partially yell, "Anyone seen a Caveman?"

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome home, Caveman. I've missed you.

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

Within the metal hull: Life on a boat in an E-2 squadron

So if you're lucky, you read Marrying the Navy; And because she's such a peach in the blogging department, and an aviator's better half (go team!), she actually got to tour the aircraft carrier NavyGuy is on this summer and documented the beautiful gray on gray color scheme most parts of the ship contain.

Okay, okay, "beautiful" isn't the right term, but whatever. I know when I mention bringing gray into our home in either a pillow, wall color, accent lamp, or such, I get,..."Babe, the boat is gray. Are you trying to depress me?"

Oh, sorry. I forget.

So the boat brings nightmares (although I expect those tropical and exotic port calls to more than make up for things), there's something Mr. Wookie has been looking forward to.

The decorating.

But let's talk first about the boring ways you can decorate a Ready Room.

Exhibit A

And sadly I'm too lazy to Google other Ready Rooms to compare, but seriously white walls? Fluorescent lighting? Is that the best that can be done?? This squadron really needs a Mr. Wookie. See below, and you'll know why.

Let's take, for instance, Mr. Wookie's Ready Room on the USS Summa Time.

Yes, this is Mr. Wookie's real-life Ready Room. I'm not kidding. For those non-Navy readers, this is where all briefings and action happens (you see the projector, white board, distinguished chairs facing in that direction). It's the hub of the squadron; it's where you squeeze every Junior Officer, Department Head, XO, and Skipper (although the latter three all have designated chairs) for morning meetings, testing, safety stand-downs, and the like. It's where you get business done.

Also in the Ready Room is the small "lounge" near the red trunk (which may or may not be the "Cruise box" who are 'in the know'). And lastly there's the desk on the left of the screen with the two laptops that are used by the JOs to email their mamas, lifetime domestic partners (hurray!), the few with actual wives, and friends off the boat.

in my opinion, THIS is how a Ready Room should be done. Am I partial? Of course I am. Because it was designed largely by Mr. Wookie. Seriously, his inner gay is AMAZING. Flooring: Home Depot. Faux brick panels: Someplace else. Marquee sign: Hand-freaking-painted in our garage. Yup. Mr. Wookie custom-made that bad-boy for our annual Hawkeye Ball (which is a BLAST!); but after receiving a letter from the Commodore for his efforts with it, it was unanimously voted to re-purpose it for the deployment. And thank goodness. Would you want a 6' marquee sign occupying space in your garage?? Yeah, exactly what I thought.

Now, I have an idea of what you may be thinking?

Mrs. Wookie, are you sure he's not a Nate Berkus (you know, gay)? Is that why you're not married?

(Haha)

I don't get it either. But being a Libra, who can struggle with the decision of tuna melt or hot pastrami sandwich, he's definitely the best thing about PCSing. "Babe, where should we put this, here or here?" He picks which he likes, which makes our house come together that much quicker.

I can't imagine what life would be like if I had to unpack post-PCS without him. I'd at least have the "necessities" found: liquor, Internet, and my 4" featherbed (seriously, post to come).

So life on the boat can be trying, sometimes (flights at all hours of the night, boat food that gives you butt-sludge, etc.), but when you have a place like that to call home - it can't be that bad. Or if you need a pick-me-up, find a Marine Ready Room - there's nothing like excessive camo netting to make you appreciate the finer things in life, like red mood lighting.

You get those traps, Mr. Wookie

Official photo from the USS Summa Time

It's official: Operational flights have ceased and Mr. Wookie can breath a sigh of relief as the exercise has closed in the air, and the boys can begin to make their way home. We still have toes and fingers-amount of days until they're home, but I need to start getting the house back in working order since I live pretty much like a frat boy.

I've received great news though. Mr. Wookie had to punch a hole in his belt since he's lost weight while being on the boat. Apparently the combination of boat food, and cycling (apparently the weights portion of the gym is overrun with 19-year-olds who think they can flex has caused Mr. Wookie to seek out the quiet areas of the gym), has made for a more svelte Mr. Wookie. I'm kinda excited to see him now! You probably can't tell he's any skinnier (he's second from the right), but I know I see a difference! He looks so skinny now (yes, I know he resembles a low-land mountain gorilla - but still, he's skinny!).

Oh, yes, and the caterpillar on his face. He says he's over it and will shave it off first step on home turf. So that makes me curious. Is a handful of weeks during the summer too much for your 'stache-ing capabilities?? We still have that deployment coming up - then what?? That'll definitely be some 'stache growth. Seriously. I don't know how he'll manage that. But good luck to him. I won't need any help in growing out my leg hairs - please, that shit is easy.

So I've got some cleaning to do, shopping to do (we need liquor, man foods, and cleaning products), mowing of the Cambodian jungle also known as a back yard, sleep, Girls' Night In with my squadron ladies, a facial at 1pm, a laundry pile that looks like Kilimanjaro - all within his estimated date of (probably going to be delayed) arrival. This all is too much to do in one sitting. That's why there's wine. So I can rehydrate in the midst. That and cleaning the house will take some time - first stop: Home Depot. I need a chisel for the bathroom. Remember, frat boys aren't clean.

Happy August y'all -- let's welcome Mr. Wookie....sometime this month.

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

By 30, you should know ...

1. How to fall in love without losing yourself.
Indeed.

2. How you feel about having kids.
Good thing I have a few years for this one too. On one side, kids are annoying. They whine, they break things, they suck your funds, they kill vacation plans, and put a damper on DINKdom. But kids are cool when they're 6 and playing t-ball - or if they're little ballerinas - or they get to ride on a firetruck in a parade - or you teach them how to play backyard baseball. Or they're eventually Olympians.


Everyone can dream, right?

3. How to quit a job, break up with a man, and confront a friend without ruining the friendship.
I'm getting bored already with the questions.

I've definitely quit my fair share of jobs. Not making any money? I QUIT! Moving across country with a boy? I QUIT! You lied when you hired me? I REALLY FREAKIN' QUIT!

4. When to try harder and when to walk away.

There's a fine line with that - and with it all I think it's a 'gut instinct.'

With jobs, I've always felt it was "stay or go" within a month's time. No longer are 'break-in periods' months-long. After a week, you can tell the type of people your company hires. Do you wanna stay or go?

Have I ever left a job without notice? Yup. Don't be a douchey employer. It's that simple.

5. How to kiss in a way that communicates perfectly what you would and wouldn’t like to happen next.

Practice makes perfect, right?

Happy 27th Birthday, Mr. Wookie.

Hey you, with your flying shades on, how you doing? You enjoying your birthday on the boat? With a 'stache that's hopefully filling in nicely since I've requested you return with it that fateful day you either fly in from the ship, or ride the boat into dock like a 8-second steer buck.


I can't remember the last time we were apart for his birthday? It had to have been years ago since this is our first active Navy squadron with an actual boat to interrupt life. And it was pretty much anti-climactic. I emailed Mr. Wookie this morning, doing my best to song and dance in written word without causing so much of a ruckus that the boat email Nazis would think I was on halucinogenic drugs and thusly ban my communication. We have had emails blocked due to information, but I like to say now we have a decent code dialogue to appeal our needs of his location, etc. That and it's great to be friends with the Commanding Officer's Wife - I know things before Mr. Wookie sometimes does. :)


I will say...I'm starting to get excited about this semi-homecoming, although ditching my work might be hard. Who am I kidding? I even told my boss that she'll have limited notice that, "I'm not coming in for like 2 days. Bye!" I've given her a window of 5 days where he's due home, and a 2-hour notice that I'm finishing my work and clocking out - I've got a 'stached Junior Officer to welcome home with a bottle of bourbon.


It will be nice sharing the cooking responsibility. I'm super excited about that. But let's be honest, there's a birthday dinner to be had...so that'll delay any kitchen mess for at least another day (yay). So yeah, I'll enjoying his hiatus on land...before he leaves me again. But let's not look down already. Let's look up.


Mr. Wookie, you're now 27. You're my age when we moved to California. You're employed at 27. I wasn't (not bitter, no). You've tasted more Scotch that my family combined. You make a mean dirty martini. Your first chateaubriand was legendary. You definitely know how to fly (that's in style with cocktails, when not working). And you're a badass who's paid off that hefty Navy loan acquired at 22 just to survive. Seriously, congrats.


I. love. you. (And hopefully that caterpillar on your face.)


Now come home - I miss drinking with people. I've become accustomed to an ass-imprint on my sofa watching Season 2 (now) of Felicity and I could use more Cheers. Oh, and I promise there will be gifts here. Promise.


Can we T-? yet?? Nope. We've still got time. Oh, well there's always my birthday you can be around for. Right?


Checking calendar. Shit. Are you kidding me??

I better prepare for a homecoming. Eventually.

Mr. Wookie. Your birthday is in a few days. And like a good girlfriend, I haven't done anything - because I don't have to. I still have weeks until you're home, so why have gifts lounging around collecting dust? Like I said, we have weeks until you're home...so I'll just put off purchasing anything until we're down to the final countdown.


But seriously, what do you want?


I probably know how you'll come home though. Boat time is special for everyone. The food isn't that great. The guys are busy with multiple flights per day or no-fly days, so it's workworkwork or "Hey, let's go to the gym." So those bigger biceps you're coming home with...I don't mind at all. In fact, I was discussing things I miss the most with you not being here. Yes, dinner company is usually my number #1 request. But I've found a rhythm that I never thought would find this home. I'm doing just fine in the dinner category - so much I made salmon, quinoa, and green beans last night. Who would have thought? A "Fancy Pants" dinner without the boy even being remotely near land. But that does mean I have to step my game up for when he's home. I've been hiding this "I can kinda cook" fact for far too long.


But you're probably wondering what that number #1 thing is since I left the last paragraph without mentioning it. This girl just needs a big hug. You know, those big bear hugs that rival rib-breaking compression? Yup. I need that. But I have weeks to wait until I can get one, so until then I'm going to find a homeless person with a sign that says, "Free hugs."


Seriously - Mr. Wookie - what do you want? Lifetime subscription to Playboy? New videogame? Weekend trip to Canada, eh? A new vehicle? (Please note I'm joking with all these.)

Umm..Hi, July...when did you get here?

Let's not throw right into July. No, let's take a breather. I need to make (another -seriously, Mrs. Wookie, will you ever get your shit together this year?) comeback. So let's drool at Mr. Wookie...


Posts are always better with pictures. So I give you the Officer Team of Mr. Wookie's squadron.

Where's Waldo Mr. Wookie???

Let me help you out. He's...in a flight suit. With a name badge. Around 6' tall. And a black t-shirt underneath. With a hint o' boat 'stache. Can you spot him? I have a general idea, but even I can't be certain.

And how do we get these pictures?? Our squadron's CMC is a former combat camera operator. So while the quality isn't here with this pictures since it's on his cellphone, he's got some gems that I get to share with you.

That is all for today.

Lost in Los Padres National Forest

What does one do when their dog dies less than a month from 'boat time' and they don't want to be home at all? Well...during the week, it's pretty much 'suck it up,' shop to revamp the house and change the energy, enjoy wine, enjoy my handsome Mr. Wookie, then RUN FOR THE HILLS on the weekends.

We may have taken that last bit seriously. And as native Oregonians with a pension for nature, lesbian leg growth (me), throwing foliage (him), and the knowledge that Californians don't camp like we do...we set out to rough it for the weekend. As our second to last weekend together before USS Summa Summa Summa Time called Mr. Wookie's squadron aboard, we loaded up the trusty backpacks with Mountain House, gear, a change of socks, and a full bottle of wine (for myself).

Note to self. Pack a bladder of Franzia instead. It'll weigh less and last longer.

It's true. I killed a bottle by myself. Shocker. Right?

Oh, and what to mean about those Californians and their camping habits? It's called 'car camping.' And that's weak sauce. Anyone can roll in to a campground with their ugly ass Chevy Minivan, throw the soccer team of children out to 'collect kindling' (while you bought firewood from Vons), while you use your cigarette lighter to power the margarita blender (the one good thing).

Us crazy Oregonians pack everything you need into a ruffsack on your back and pound dirt for a couple hours until you find an unofficial rock ring and semi-flat land that'll host you for a bit.

Oh, sorry...did that sound douchey?

Okay, okay, I'm sorry. But you have to admit...(and if you've seen Portlandia),...you know where a different bunch of people. We'd rather hike, sweat, and pray for zero blisters in order to camp where the moon brightens the meadow at Midnight and you hear the trickling of the stream just 50 yards from your tent. It was glorious. And the perfect 'get up and outta the house' when you just don't want to be home.

I did learn a few lessons that weekend though.

I learned that Mr. Wookie is an amazing pack horse when needed. While I sufficiently carried everything I needed to survive, he did pack the "snug 2 person" tent. Please. Snug. We've slept in twin beds before....as in dorm room twin beds. Like 2 people in that small as canoe of a sleeping arrangement. This might as well have been the Taj Majal of camping.

I also learned he prefers to hike in cotton shirts but technical shorts. (Scratching head).

Oh, and he thinks it's gross I didn't "shower" in the creek (i.e. splash water on my pits and change underwear). Umm...we're just going to be home soon, plus I'm not looking to pick up anyone on the ol' dusty trail. Besides my underwear are Exoficio - and they're badass. Please don't think I rock the granny panties of Exoficio. Please.

Second lesson: Get yourself a hammock. These things revolution the outdoor experience. Weighing less than a pound, it's a great way to get off the ground and lounge with a cocktail (or wine) in your campin' mug. 

Third lesson: You can rock BRAND NEW BOOTS and not get blisters. Shazam! I call it Mrs. Wookie's Instinctual Survival Guide to New Boots. What's the secret? I wore two layers of socks. So instead of the one layer creating friction with my skin, the two layers worked in tandem thus leaving me with zero hotspots.

And I know what you're thinking...Man, Mrs. Wookie...you do make a good lesbian.

I know. I've been told many a time over many a moon. Mr. Wookie even commented, "You go full lesbian when we go camping." Umm..yes..yes, I do. What would you prefer? Someone who asks where the outlet is for her hot rollers when camping? Or someone that'll actually take a dooce in nature.

Yup.

I went there.

Fourth lesson: To avoid being lost with the scenery, wear Technicolor clothing.

Fifth lesson: Enjoy the boy that helps make your home what it is, because he's not going to be around for most of the summer. While I thought I would have a detrimental time at adjusting to him being gone, the 'goodbye' wasn't actually that bad. Maybe it helped that he started growing his 'boat 'stache' a few days early so I didn't mind saying goodbye to the caterpillar. He texted me from the plane before take-off and I wished my Tom Selleck-wannabe a great detachment and to send me a postcard from his one (and most likely 'working') port call. While this trip definitely isn't only "a few weeks," maybe it'll blow by like it was. Maybe.

Pitchen' a tent in the bedroom.

What I wanted was a package on the doorstep. Well...I got that. But it wasn't for me. Wah wah.

Instead, it was for Mr. Wookie. For months, he's been looking for an "ultra light" camping tent that fits his budget and requirements for low poundage, duel doors, sleeps 2, and a color other than green and yellow. ;) I even looked at Christmas time for the poor boy, but all I found was $$$$$ and that's not the way Christmas should be spent. Instead, I got him a sleeping bag and called it good.

Remember this shot from Christmas??

Please do not pay attention to the pile of laundry in the foreground, the pile of shit on the bed,...just the piles of stuff everywhere. Mmmmkay?? We've been busy....thanks!

Apparently massive Googling efforts later, he found a 40% off coupon code for a $400 tent. So while it was technically $20 "over budget," sometimes your dreams are too cheap for what you want to happen. Now we have this beauty of a 3-lb tent ready for backpacking along the Sierra Nevadas, Las Padres National Park, and any place else that needs one gorilla and one lesbian to grace its presence.


Yes, California is technically an all-season camping location, although there's something to be said about 40-degree nights (yes, I know.....y'all in places where 40-degree highs are scoffing at me right now!). I don't like frigid camping. Those outings are better left to men with hair on their peaches and the ability to not bitch at being cold. I will complain that I'm cold, will refuse to drink more hot chocolate because that'll just make me have to pee. And peeing while camping is NOT glamorous. Because that's a lot of skin real estate to expose to take a leak in nature - and the temporary warmth of pissing myself will only make me cry as my crotch freezes for the night. And no one likes an ice crotch.

The house is whole again.

Yesterday was spent in anticipation as I was expecting the caravan back from NAS Practicing Defending Freedom to creep it's way back home. Because Mr. Wookie had the best luck while his command was detached, he was slated with being "on duty" the day the birds flew off. So instead of packing out via aircraft, or air lift, he got to wave a cute hanky at the command as everyone else got to leave while he was stuck an extra day. Okay, maybe not everyone else - a huge majority didn't POV and therefore got the faster route home.

Yes, I was bitter at this. Yes, I was annoyed that I had to wait in order to get my 2-minute hug, pour a cocktail, enjoy my dinner buddy, then start his laundry. And yes, I spent the majority of yesterday while he was en route to dig out the home from the crustiness of military separation. I'm pretty sure Mr. Wookie would think I live in rundown Bosnian conditions with the level of squalor I'm capable of maintaining. So like a good housekeeper, I made it look like a model home.

But then an hour earlier than I expected, the door opened. No dog bark, no nothing - just a happy-to-be-home Mr. Wookie. "I'm so happy to be back in California - where are my shorts??"

Oh, I love you too. Yes, I've missed you. But apparently you've missed the weather. Let me tell you, it's been 'meh' at best while you've been gone. Instead most weekends are spent indoors because the temperature just hasn't breached shorts' weather yet. Until you came home. Maybe it's a sign. He's meant to be home. So I'll be sure to expect earthquakes, blizzards, and the Second Coming while he's deployed. Yay.

How did that hour get shaved off? Oh.....the driver hit 100mph a few times on the drive.

Oh, that's all.

At about the time he was expected to arrive home, he was getting the phone calls from his sailors that they had made it back to base as well (as he was on duty and responsible for all those POVing back to NAS North-of-Malibu). All is well. Everyone is home. Everyone is happy.

And I'm happy to have my yard maintainer back home. While I dutifully took over his responsibilities while he was gone, I'm happy to bring him a beer mid-mow as a loyal housemate.


Until he leaves again? Very soon.

I miss one of these two things.

Countdown has commenced. Or rather, maybe I should say impatience has began....

Of these two things, I miss one. Okay, of these three things, I really miss one. The mustache....not so much. I dream of the days where Mr. Wookie will be living the glorious life on the USS Not Here and have a complete access to this razor gathering dust. But until then, I'm getting giddy like a school girl that I'll have a hot date for Act of Valor, a belated steak dinner, and someone to help me polish off a bottle of wine in one night. Versus leaning on my crutch of needing three nights to kill a bottle (remember: my goals!!).

What if I don't wanna Semper the Gumby up??

Oh, Uncle Sam...I love you. And by that I mean, "Really?" ...douche.


It's my turn to bitch about work-ups, yay. Go me. Oh, and pass the wine, will you...?


Surprisingly this stretch of time sans-Mr. Wookie has gone by pretty smoothly...minus the lack of shaving my legs. There's no smooth there. But I digress... I feel like I've finally come back into the swing of things where the house is quiet, the dishes stack up in the sink (because I don't HAVE to lift a damn finger until 24 hours until he's home...because I CAN live like that...), and my magazines can stretch across the coffee table screaming Martha Stewart: Living, Marie Claire, Crate & Barrel, and Outside.


Although Day #3 did have me as a whiny little bitch who fell off their bike after their 3rd try at staying up. In reality, I was waiving the bitch flag way too soon. Where my proverbial ball sack was then, I don't know. But needless to say my sack had tucked itself into the depths of my closet next to my clutches, purses, and lesbian hats only meant for days where I haven't showered and need to run to the market for Cheerios, almond milk, and liquor (priorities, people).


But then my proverbial chod emerged victoriously in dealing with cooking for one, drinking for two one, and becoming the super hero who stays back at home, manages life, finds a spare hour of "meh" sunshine to take a nap on the hammock (amidst 3 weekends...seriously, California needs to shape the hell up...this is NOT Californian weather), and who's on par with her 2 corks a week of finding sanity.


Last weekend, I did put on the 'boy' shorts though. I don't want to reference cliche gender roles, especially when I can barely give a booger about them and my distaste for the 50's socioeconomic scene, but it shouldn't be surprising when I write that Mr. Wookie loves to tend him some yard and outdoor space. The man being part gorilla, has a thing for foraging and ensuring his naturescape is in peak condition. So what happens when the Resident Orangutan has to deal with yard work for this month.....??


...uhh...


Well I do it. But...let's just say that I thought it wasn't necessary to mow the lawn every weekend. Overkill. So when I drug out the mower to trudge over our 4 acres of land, I was met with some long ass blades. Shit. Apparently there's a reason behind weekly mowing. It's easier. Well shit. There goes every Saturday morning while he's gone. Let me just go put on my lesbian cargo shorts, muscle shirt, and backwards cap. And someone call Lindsay Lohan....I hear she's still dabbling these days...


And the esteemed moment of the mow job?? So when you leafblow your yard, is it a blow job? Oh...when a one Sweet Pea takes a MASSIVE deuce rightbetween the freshly mowed track of grass and where it meets with the long blades. So now I have to maneuver my mower around the turd, making sure to not get my wheels in it, and finish the mowing without another poop land on the yard before I finish. So now the yard looks fabulous...except for the random long patch of grass where a gem was born. Maybe the dog does have my genetics...


But let's talk about last night, shall we?? Because after all, that's the point of this dear post. There have been spots of conversation between Mr. Wookie and I. When he's swamped with pre-dawn briefs and late night de-briefs, it's not uncommon to goes days without chatting. But then sometimes the clouds will part and time will be granted for a phone call. EEeeeekk. And last night was one of those days. It was past 8pm when I got the text, "Hey baby, just got out of an AOM (All Officer Meeting)..." so that's my cue to blow up his phone with Hey, how goes things? How's the snow/sun/crazy weather?? Miss me? What's for dinner? How's everyone? Miss me? How are your flights? How many sorties do you have now? How was the Admiral's meet and greet? Has Running Buddy's Husband broken the plane yet? (Yup, true stories...)


I'm happy...or at least...I was happy that we've crested the halfway to this fun and exciting detachment. In what is supposed to be less than 10 days (ish), I'm supposed to have a caveman artifact that resembles Mr. Wookie grace my area code. I'm supposed to get a massive hug, supposed to make a Gucci steak dinner as a belated Valentine's Day celebration (I wonder if I can still get VD cards....haha, sorry, had to), and welcome him back for a few days before his next TAD mission.


NO SOUP FOR YOU!


Oh, no, let's have him come home later than expected, stay for maybe 24 hours, and then pack his suitcase again for more Mr. Wookie Is So Awesome, We Want More Of Him. Okay, it may not be in the same persuasion as his detachment now, but still....I couldn't help but be slightly miffed that we're gathering a mighty petite end of this dowel (get it?? short end of the stick??) where everyone else gets massive hugs, dinner buddies, and Jeopardy partners...but not me. Wah wah wah.


So that's my boo life moment as of last night. Although it's muuuuch easier extending when there's already been a separation factor. It stinks when TADs are supposed to be a few days then turn into a few weeks. What's a week-ish more when it's been weeks already?


Good thing I've stocked up on wine for just such occasions. We don't need more depression in this house....

Ummm, yeah...are you back yet?

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.

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....