I buy half of Oregon when I'm there.

Whenever I make a voyage back home, I always try to take advantage of the LACK OF SALES TAX that my great state offers. And I always leave a little room in the carry-on for these purchases. Yes, some people bitch about the concept of an income tax. But I don't. Sales tax just ruins my day when I have to pay an additional 8.25% to shitty California when they're the next Detroit. But I do it because I can grocery shop on my lunch break at work and enjoy my evenings of crafting and passing the deployment time.

But enough of my distaste for that and deployment survival. Let's move onto my purchases!!!

It was Sunday, July 7th, at 2pm, that we ventured out to the local outdoor gun range to test out some firearms that Dr. Stacey's step-dad was offloading in order to dwindle his personal militia stash. Knowing I was in the market for a small handgun for home defense, a few items were brought out to test. I've been doing extensive research in the handgun department, spent ample time at my local range testing and judging, and just not loving what I was firing. That and being an Oregon resident in California makes for an interesting purchasing set-up. So the Sheriff and I agreed that a sale in Oregon would be ideal while I was up for my vacation.

Mrs. Wookie, we didn't know you're Republican!

I'm not. We're Independents. :) We like guns and recycling. It's the best of both worlds.

So the email that was sent to Mr. Wookie on the boat a couple months ago, "Hey babe, just an FYI: I'm buying a gun while you're gone" finally came into fruition. He couldn't be more supportive. He can only imagine what it's like to be left on land while he's not home. He's my support. He's my burly man. He's my housemate that likes to clean the kitchen (seriously, it sucks without him!). And if I'm bringing in a new toy for him to play with, he's a 'yes.'

But back to the gun range which cost $5/shooter on the honor system. Oh, Oregon, so trustworthy!

Option #1: Great. Option #2: Nope. Turns out I hate revolvers. Option #3: same. Option #4: No Glocks.

So after waiting 3 days before any large-scale purchase (shoes are the only item that don't get this treatment), I gave the go-ahead to get it! EEEEEeeeeeeek! So excited. While 'she' still is in Oregon and yet to have a name, there's a new additional to the Wookie & Co. arsenal.

Now who's joining me at the gun range on Wednesdays?!?!? (It's Ladies Night then!)

And of course, any trip to Oregon couldn't be without some purchasing of Beaver Gear to add to my collection. Yes, I tried the shirt on in the aisle at Target because I was too lazy. Yes, I'm wearing a skirt like a Duggar. Yes, I went shooting in the skirt earlier that day. Yes, I need therapy. It's called 4 ice cubes, 1.5 ounces of Stoli vodka, and 2 ounces of tonic. Garnish with a lemon wedge.

It's true. I'd move back in a heartbeat.

If it weren't for this boy I can't get out of my head, I'd still be living in the greatest state North of California. Oregon has everything. It has mountains, rivers, oceans (notice I didn't say 'beaches'), fishing, hunting, hiking, lesbians, straights, urban Portland, Voodoo Donuts, Oregon State University, manners, great beer, awesome family, decent weather, and no sales tax for when you get shit-faced with her sisters at a wine event and require Advil and Gatorade.

The 4th of July this was lackluster compared to past, but still a blast. I enjoyed a delicious cup of "coffee" while Dr. Stacey and I waited for the free fireworks at the local county fair grounds. We watched redneck children light off spinny fireworks...in grass (which subsequently didn't spin. Shocker). We watched a home start to catch fire because people are morons who don't understand fire safety. And my neck wretched trying to eyeball any cute firefighters that may have transferred into town (I'm against any dating of people who also grew up in the town. There needs to be fresher water in the dating pool in Hometown, Oregon).

That Saturday was spent hiking another trail of beauty and mystic wonder.

And the ol' lesbian shoes got their second helping of Oregonian trail.

And that night was complete with the family killing a plethora of wine bottles at a local music/wine tasting event. I had my hair done by Baby Sister, I put on my finest Duggar dress, and enjoyed myself a slightly-early "deployment halfway" present of free wine (thanks Dad!) and a safe ride home (thanks Baby Sister!). And let's not mention my lack of a hangover.

So there I was....in the Motherland of Orygun.

If there's any question to the "bat shit crazy" status that may inhabit my heart about my homestate, it's confirmed when 2 days before I was to be home that WE'RE HIKING AT DAWN!!!! Okay, okay, dawn in Hometown, Oregon is 'round the crack of 5:00am. But still, we were at Dr. Stacey Kervorkian's house come 6:30am for some sweat, laughs, and ice cold refreshments atop Pilot Rock. While it's not a ball-busting endeavor, it made for a great start to my unofficial halfway party to myself.

So in celebration of the 4th of July, while Mr. Wookie was enduring Groundhog's Day aboard the USS Boat Food Sucks, I was breathing deeply in the smells of eco-friendly people, rocking a headband like Uncle Si from Duck Dynasty, and enjoying the company of a friend not seen in YEARS. Oh, and getting The Sheriff out for a mid-morning stroll with his FAVORITE daughter. I'm high on the trust fund ranking. Trust me. I have large eyes. That's winning. ;)

In parts, it did get a little treacherous. While the hike was considered "easy," the footing was not. There wasn't any blood, but there were a few curse words.

But the Sheriff did have refreshments waiting at the top. :)

The Sheriff's "selfie."

Do you like Flock of Seagulls??

And this is the most we made of the ascent. I'll be honest, I got scared. We're on the flattest part of the whole rock formation. It would (smartly) require technical gear to traverse the steep vertical of flat rock that made it to the top. And thaaaaat's something that didn't fit in my overhead compartment. Next time.

"Make it look like you're clinging for life, falling off the rocks??"

Oregon. You treat a girl right.

And the hike out. Apparently one beer, early in the morning, after the uphill of a hike isn't right. I get excited and need to take 'walking' pictures of our traverse out.

I miss you already, Oregon.

Vacation ruins even the best feministic work ethic.

The sludge to LAX.

Even before the boat shipped out and a Mr. Wookie joined the Navy's latest endeavor in "The Global Force for Good" (or whatever their sad marketing attempt is to sign up for uniforms, boat food, and sketchy port calls), I knew I had a calling for "the Motherland" for my unofficial "halfway" present to my sanity. And after checking the calendar at work for the July 4th closure, I noticed....hmm...July 5th, also closed. Hmm...kayak.com. Boom. PURCHASED!

Oh shucks. I have tickets to Oregon for 4 full days of awesomeness, no sales tax, family, beer and wine, and celebrating the (slightly short, but who cares) "halfway" of this deployment (and their already-been-pushed-back "homecoming" date). And with that, I made lodging arrangements for the little lady feline of the home to kick it at the fellow house of a Junior Officer's family.

So come July 3rd, in the afternoon...I started to panic. Where we live, is a slight drive to LAX. On a great day, you can bust it out in 1:15 on both the Pacific Coast Highway (if you want those beach views) or inland on the 405/101 (if you like views of The Getty, etc.). But on a holiday, I'm fearing the worst. Come 2pm, I start to panic. I start stalking Google for traffic updates on both paths. Eeeeek. Black and red stripes = MEGA TRAFFIC. My palms get sweaty. I reach for a Xanax (damn, no prescription). My stomach starts to eat itself into knots.

I'm at a loss. So I text my boss. :) "I'm getting super anxious about making the drive to LAX, can I skirt out early?" Aaaaaaaaand, the Rooster is Golden.

At 3:30pm, after I had changed my voicemail, out-of-office reply, and forwarded my emails since I was to be out on Monday also, I started my pilgrimage towards the nightmare that is SoCal living. And what I was fearing would take 3 hours, only took 2+ hours. I was able to leisurely park my car, shuttle in, and land myself at a sports bar for a couple hours indulging on vodka tonics and a Greek salad (opa!). There I was...on vacation. And damn, it felt good. Can I go back yet??

What's the best way to gain another year?? With friends and family.

Let's just say 'uneventful' would not be the way I would sum up this birthday. It was filled with intense laughter, one tear, a headache (though not mine), Orange and Black, donuts, new purchases, a stuffed carry-on bag, and the Travel Gods that were unbelievably kind.

Yay to another year with health, happiness, and the ability to take life by the horns (impending deployment and all). I've taken for granted the ability to tell my story as I fumbled through my soul-searching thoughts in September. I still don't know why the fall is the time frame to trying to find myself (yet again). But luckily that cloudy sky has passed for much greener, more beautiful, pastures.

Nay to United being a terrible form of travel. Nay to the email notification of flight delay. Nay to the buzz that was wrecked with that information (we were at the Rogue Brewery in PDX, Concourse D representin' y'all!). Nay to the knot that my stomach formed when I dreamed of being forced to sleep in SFO on our layover and missing work today (we connected to avoid paying the $200+/ticket prices that were running around for non-stop flights). And Nay to seeing the clock tick, tick, tick as we descend into SFO and realize our chance of making our connection is zero.

Yay to the Travel Gods for holding our flight (without request) as we're the last two passengers to board. And thankfully only had 2 gates to speed walk to with the meager questioning, "Have the doors closed yet?" Although an extra hour of layover would have given us time to eat - so instead we went hungry on our original connecting flight.

Yay to getting into the 10th Layer of Hell (LAX) on time.

Nay to the hour-plus drive from LAX to Casa de Wookie & Co.

And nay to the less-than-5-hours-sleep that was had. It made for a very interesting day today where I dreamed of toothpicks, naps in my car during my lunch break, and the glorious sleep tonight.

Yay to the mini-vacation that was had before this next stint on the boat. There's a certain routine that's come about each time he leaves dry land for the USS I'm Tired of Work-Ups Already. There's always lots of hugs, kisses, and dinners out to the favorite eateries since boat food resembles prison food. And the last night is no exception as we fine dine on local pizza since, "You can't get good pizza on the boat." Plus this allows me leftovers for a few days while I rock the sweat pants and sing, "All by myyyyssseeelf" Bridget Jones-style.

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.

Badassery of the Summer: Hiking Mt. McLoughlin

When you're back home in Oregon for a mere 6 days, you tend to cram/pack the snot out of it to make sure you leave tired (and thusly can nap while Mr. Wookie drives the 11 hours to Southern California). And the Wedding Week of Middle Sister was no different. Although there were plenty of activities to keep us busy (a golf tournament for the boys, nails for the girls, rehearsals, dinners, and picking up dry cleaning), we decided to take the one free day (Wednesday), and tackle this beast of a mountain.

As you can see below (and yes, I'm from Medford!) there's this tiny mountain that lurks from the Eastern side of the city. That first knoll is no more than 1,000 feet above sea level. That snow-covered peak...misses the 10,000 foot level by a few hundred feet. Yes, it's a bitch. Yes, I've been wanting to hike this for years. And yes, I got my chance. And yes, my dad was able to join us!

Source

I'll be honest, I was a little nervous. I hadn't hiked up past 9,000+ feet in a handful of years. It's not a forgiving altitude for those who live down in Southern California and are only accustom to beach air. But that Wednesday morning, at 6:09am precisely, we headed the 47 miles to the trailhead to take Mother Nature head on.


Nay to it being 38 degrees at the trailhead.
Yay to there being Forest Service-maintained restrooms at the trailhead.
Nay to the Sheriff not having Purel in his car.
Yay to the Sheriff having baby wipes instead.


The first 3 miles were cake. The trail was well groomed. We were the first ones on the path. Plus we were warming up since we didn't expect the temperature to be so low! And we were holding 25:00/miles (yes, this sounds slow, but trust us...we were zooming). The board said this hike was about a 4 hour trek upwards, and with our great time, we assumed we'd be summit'd in less than 3 hours. 


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH.


Enter that nasty elevation...where breathing through a straw sounds like a better idea.

We knew from the thinning trees that we were coming up on the tree line where it transitions from a mosquito-filled jungle of evergreens to the sheer rocks and boulders that you have to traverse for another 2 miles. Here is where it got sporty.

With more than an hour left, the summit was in site. No, I didn't document this process of seeing it so close but so far away. Sorry. I was too busy fighting altitude sickness where I was getting extremely dizzy, nauseous, and needing to stop every 20 steps to try and grab air. This is really a joke because you can't ever feel like you've caught your breath. By this time, we were being passed by 2 people and their dog who are holding a long-winded conversation like they're Nepalese on vacation in Oregon. I wanted to shoot them.

But finally, we made it. 4 hours, 6 minutes after setting off for glory, we summit'd.

Elevation: 9,495 feet. Trailhead: 4,555 feet. Gain: 5,000+ feet in 5.5 miles. Yes, we really did hike 11 miles for fun. Yes, it was fun....when it was over. Would I do it again? Yes, with Mommy McD. She's jeal...

Mr. Wookie enjoying his Clif bar...

And if you can squint, you can see a cloud-covered summit in the distance. That's Mt. Shasta (that large ass mountain we drove past on our way up!).

So naturally I needed a picture with it. Yes, that's a half marathon technical shirt I'm wearing from my PR effort in June. It's all I had to wear that wouldn't be cotton for this mission. Sorry, fashion folks. I'll do better next time?

The rocks you see is literally how the last 2 miles are...rocky and difficult. The next day my back was sore from having to mountaineer up and down these things.

Yes, that's a dragonfly investigating the Sheriff.

And thanks to one successful 10-second self timer action that we were able to capture our success before ravaging our backpacks for snacks. We enjoyed a beautiful 38 minutes at the top before it started to get crowded (one guy hiked his father's ashes up in a ziploc bag....uhh...okay, it's windy...I'm going to leave now).

Our hike down was sporty too. The Sheriff almost biffed it a few times. I did biff it a few times. The Nikon survived...obviously. We had to refill our 100 oz. Camelbaks (this is the biggest size they make, people!) with snow (yes, snow in August...it's 9,000+ feet!).

And we learned our lesson: Pack up cold beer to enjoy on the summit. It's refreshing and fuel. Lesson learned for sure.

But 3.5 hours of scaling boulders down (and randomly running into one of Middle Sister's wedding guests [seriously, small world!]), we made it to the truck. We downed a warm Gatorade each, I peed for the third time, and we headed for home. Once there...we "hydrated" some more. Okay, okay, this time it was hefty vodka tonics. We deserved it. Plus we were thirsty. So win/win. Then we looked up our calorie burn for the effort.

Mrs. Wookie @ 142 lbs: 4,500 calories

Mr. Wookie @ 210 lbs: 5,200 calories

The Sheriff @ 215 lbs: 6,000 calories!!

So you can imagine our post-hike meals...they were legen...(I need a refill)...dary.

The end.

Gettin' 'er done in Hometown, Oregon

Sorry we've been a little away from it. Days have been pretty booked with "wedding week" so our free time has been limited.

But the best thing about being back in Oregon besides seeing family? Well...for us...tax-free shopping! Considering we drove up, we have some room to take some things back home. And with us moving, we're needing new furniture items for things we need to decorate...like backyard furniture! And since it's the "end of the season" for summer furniture here....let's hit it up!

Between 4 stores in the area, sadly...this was the only option we found that met our criteria. Our criteria: Either a chaise lounge or seat with foot rest (2 of either) with a cocktail table in the middle. Mr. Wookie doesn't want anything "Nantucket" and I don't want "Walmart plastic." But even then, this set wasn't the quality we were looking for. With a price of $102, we were worried that it would only last a year before needing to be replaced. So we passed. At least we know what we don't want now...

Eeeeekkk...gray water barrel! Sometime between my college graduation and now, gray water became legal! Woooo! Yay for Home Depot for supplying!

On our last ditch effort out of Sears (we were looking at lawn mowers since we'll soon be the proud owners of grass!), we stopped into Ashley Furniture. While we're looking for end tables, Mr. Wookie began drooling over this bar instead. While I'm all for a bar in the home, they're not exactly as useful as end tables for the front room. That and the price tag...errrr....I don't want to drop $1,000+ right now on a bar.

We do need a rug...but those on the left might be a little big to bring back home....

And since we're on vacation, we of course had to restock supplies for the Sheriff (and ourselves). So thank goodness this great liquor store was right across from Sears and Ashley Furniture, so we popped in for a gander. Okay, more than a gander, this is my family's standard store for spirits.

This is how great the selection is...unlike the "Most Incredible Man in the world" who only drinks Dos Equis, we like to drink from the source too. Ours may be a bit stronger in proof, and supports an awesome economy of trees and nature.

Somehow this week has flown by...and we don't know how. I think we need another week here. And some fishing licenses. And some early mornings on the river catching dinner. 

It's not Ore-GONE. It's Orygun. Learn it.

If you are an avid reader of this fabulous blog, you know that this Friday is MIDDLE SISTER'S WEDDING! Woo!!! Well...when you add up airfare per person to be $250+ each, the shuttle service down to LAX to be $150 total (which is way cheaper than parking your car), and the Canine 4 Seasons puppy hotel....your butt hole puckers at the thought of shelling out one thousand dollars in just travel costs.

So.....ROADTRIP!

That's 732 miles from Wookie & Co. headquarters to Mrs. Wookie's hometown which cost us less than one ticket from LAX to Hometown.

In total, it was nearly 11.5 hours in a car where I got fat feet (I suffer from mad bloatage when traveling). We went through one pack of jerky, a box of Jujufruit, half a pack of JollyRanchers, half a PowerBar, 3 travel mugs of water, half a pack of sunflower seeds, and plenty of XM radio (a must!).

And I may or may not have lost it mentally after the jerky kept falling on my feet from sharp mountain turns that I chucked it into the back of the Jeep. Bitch.

But we got here. Finally.

Somewhere 3 hours South of the Oregon/California border is where the land transitions from the depression-inducing mid-California landscape of flat as a pancake and brown. We hadn't been that happy in seeing landscape changes in awhile (maybe Northern Arizona during our PCS to California?). There's something about seeing real mountains, trees, and 2 Oregonians getting "nature boners" from the excitement of being "back home." Fun fact: Mr. Wookie hasn't driven back to Oregon since he left post-college on his first PCS to Pensacola, Florida for Naval flight school! That was almost 4 years ago...to the day!

The car's mood definitely changed when we started driving around the mountains. Oregonians belong in the wilderness. Unshaved legs and all.

On a sad note: Near Woodland, California (somewhere in the middle of the I-5 corridor), we passed the most atrocious accident we've ever seen - it gave me goosebumps! The Southbound lane of I-5 was shut down after a fiery multi-car accident. And what made us feel worse, we later learned from the Sacramento news that the baby was in a separate vehicle than the 2 adults that were killed. Gah. No bueno.

But to lift our spirits to the fact we were gaining elevation, trees, oxygen levels, and higher quality beer in Oregon, I started to play with the camera.

This huge cloud-covered mountain is Mt. Shasta. Elevation: 14,000+ feet. So bad ass, you need a base camp to summit this bad boy. It's teetering on my "bucket list" of whether I want to hike it. How much will it cost me? And how cold will I be and for how long? But one perk...it's a mere few hours drive from my hometown. Hometown = free lodging!

But alas, our beloved home state welcomed us with a tiny sign I almost missed and am thankful for having a camera that can keep up with the last minute shots. Ahhhh.... Orygun.... the land of gas attendants who pump gas for you, where there's no such thing as sales tax, and where Subarus are as common as fake tits in Santa Monica.

30 miles over the border and we were home....where we belong. Okay, that's not my house. Just kidding. But omg, can you imagine?? That's a LOT of vacuuming. No thanks.

 

Okay, now we're home. Thanks Baby Sister for lurking. Baby Sister was awesome in running the dinner/beer errands for us so when we got home all we had to do was open a bottle. Baby Sister's concierge service is now open and taking appointments!

One Upon A Time I Went Back Home

Some considered it a trip back home. I also considered an early birthday present. I was looking forward to trees, real mountains, good food, no humidity, lots of family, great beer, a lack of sleep, and a Beaver victory. I almost got it all. Damn you, Arizona.

It started with an early ass flight from the Wrong Coast. Yay for window seats.

From there it propelled into 24/7 Family Fest! We were instantly thrown into preparing for the Beaver Victory that was to be had that weekend. Little did we know, there was no victory after all. But good thing we have this motto: "Win or lose, we still booze."

After hitting up the delectable eatery of Local Boys, the family was on a mission.

And with Cupcake Professor Middle Sister taking charge, she prepared an amazing tutorial in Decorating Cupcakes 101. With some time in the Albertsons bakery under her belt, let's just say she can do more than pipe. The bitch can pipe. I swear, if you wanted your cake to look like the back windshield of a Mexican suburban, she could probably do that too.

So the family tries out their flair. I, however, made it look like a 4-year-old did it. No impressive at all. Therefore I stood back and admired those with a bit more creative flair.

Sorry for the liquor bottles being in the way of the orange icing. Gosh, alcoholic.

Thanks Baby Sister! Your enthusiasm is appreciated! Or did you find the liquor cabinet?

The Sheriff trying his hand in the bakery. After all, he's a Food Network buff also.

But then the Sheriff was over the icing and in the living room reading Real Simple.

Then Mama Ging started her own tutorial. Apparently Baby Sister wasn't amused.

And the Master breaking out her skills. I swear she almost wrote Houshmandzadeh on one.

Fun Fact: #84 on the Bengals. Yes, teammate of the Ocho Cinco. Yes, both OSU grads.

Oh yay, Middle Sister's roommate is in on it now. We're thinking of going into business by now.

Mmmmmmm, orange icing. And even though they weren't funfetti, still delish!

And then Baby Sister was over it also. Plus we had to kill a little bit of time before dinner. At McMenamin's. With many PITCHERS of microbrews. And a whopping 16 people out to see me. I know, I know. I'm kinda a big deal. People know me.

But let's focus on game day. What's game day without jello shots? Made by Dr. K.

Dr. Stacey Kervorkian showing off her latest Beaver Gear purchase courtesy of Fred Meyer!

Now like Middle Sister's a professional in the baking department, Dr. K has received her Master's in Jello Shots. A real professional. She even has a cookbook. Okay, not really, but trust me. You want her to make them.

The graceful ballet as she delicately pours the concoction into the totally-not-stolen-from-a-fast-food-joint-and-not-ketchup-containers cups. An. Art. Form.

The worst part? Waiting for those suckers to set. Tick tock tick tock. Lame.

Little cups of awesomeness. So tasty. But don't be careless, they pack a punch.

Fast forward to tailgating time. Those little beauties are ready for testing.

So the trick is you have to get your tongue around the outside to pry it off the plastic...

Then you squeeze the sides together to launch it off the bottom...

And then vacuum any remaining edibles as any part not eaten is surely wasted. And we can't have that. No, not at all.

But then Middle Sister & Co. (definition: all of Middle Sister's friends, all Oregon State students, all awesome drinkers) decide to make this concoction of "Hop, Skip, and Go Naked."

Recipe: Take one Rubbermaid container, cleaned, primed for beverage containment.

Pour in massive amounts of alcohol and beer into container and watch liquid level rise.

Out goes an entire fifth, half a 12-pack of Coors, and some other ungodly amounts of stuff.

Pay no attention to the froth or the fact it looks like a septic system's worse nightmare.

It looks DISGUSTING. It smells even worse. And I wasn't convinced it'd be drinkable.

Top it off with whatever else won't skeeze out your tailgating company.

Stir with ladle and serve. But watch yourself. It's potent. I call it a cousin to Jungle Juice.

And thankfully we had some guests drop by to our tailgate: Uncle Myron & Wife!

And in honor of my birthday that was only a couple days away, I was given an honorary jello shot...the size of my head. Oi ve.

Dig in. And thankfully I had people to share with. Because between Dr. K's jello shots, the Hop, Skip, and Go Naked, and this bowl o' jello, I was feeling very festive.

Cup #? - Let's just say that Dr. K and I (both '07 college grads) did our best in keeping up with the Middle Sister & Friends. I think we handled ourselves quite well. Recovery is where the 25-year-olds differ from the peppy college students. Age doesn't help. Oh, to be young...

But soon it was time to make it back up to Portland. After a teary goodbye to Corvallis and Middle Sister, we ventured north. But what's a sleep out with Baby Sister without appropriate Beaver pajamas? Now if these pants aren't awesome, I don't know what it is. I think they're stellar. Just wait until the MC Hammer comeback tour hits. You won't be laughing then.

And in case you ever wanted to see Chicago from the air. Now that's a city.

And lastly, the view that doesn't impress me at all. Of the flat, lacking-of-any-terrain Virginia. While it's home, it's not Oregon. People don't die here. Well, I mean, they do. Usually in means other than getting lost on Mount Hood or in the mountains of Southern Oregon. Nature can't kill you out here. Just other people. Or ladders. That's it.