What it's like to stay behind.

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs. Wookie + 48 Hours + Vegas

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

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

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

"Uh, yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deployment Anchor

Saturday and Sunday, while they were littered with good times of hiking, sun soaking, college football, and dancing, the happiness was ended when the reminder that service comes first.

Sunday morning brought the news that no one wants to hear: military aircraft + crash.

I had two other ladies staying over at my place that morning since my new digs was the closest home from our evening out. I received the phone call first. I passed the word. And the 3 of us did what was natural. We hunkered into my bed and shared a box of Kleenex. We hugged. We wondered. We imagined. We couldn't imagine.

We panged at the months that have passed to this deployment. When the "light at the end of the tunnel" was move back, then up, then further back, and more, I was the anchor of reason in the weeks past for my fellow Junior Officer attachees to 'pull up yer britches!'

But this....this news just broke the camel's back. The aviation lifestyle is one that nerves the soul. Deployment or not, occurrences happen. It still doesn't make it any easier to stomach.

We ran out of Kleenex that morning.

I sent a lengthy email that morning. I knew he wouldn't get it in a timely manner, but I still sent him. Hi handsome, it's Sunday night for record. For when he had the time to sit down at the shared computers, he'd know I knew and that I wanted to send him as much electronic love as possible. We will probably never discuss the gut-stomping sadness. And I'm okay with that.

So on my commute last night I felt the need to check in with my fellow Junior Officer attachees one more time (the wives and girfriends, near and far). One after one, I called, "Hey, how are you doing? Everything okay?" 

Mrs. Wookie: Anchorwoman. I'm Wookie Burgundy?

I couldn't tell you EVER that I'd give two shits about anyone other than myself. I'm a rock star that doesn't need to be plagued by people's issues. But this deployment has made me realize that I've got waaay more life skill to offer than I ever expected. The Homecoming date has always shifted. It's gone back and forth. When it would shift further out, I was the beacon of rationality. "Ladies, this is a good thing. You don't have to shave your legs yet." or "Ladies, think about that tax-free income!" Not that I'm trying to diffuse the situation of having a loved one deployed, but I'm a reminder that life doesn't revolve around the service member. You are your OWN life. You can handle a deployment and the changes in schedule. Yes, I also send out email reminders of the wine sales that occur at the local grocery stores. Yes, I know I'm awesome.

I've offered up my guest room to whomever. I will delivery wine to the moms that can't get outta the house. I'll prep the freezer meals with my just-up-the-road mom who's preparing for Baby #2 while Husband is on the USS Ship Happens. I'll give you hugs and let you use up all my Kleenex. And I'll let you have a tampon (seriously, "Can I borrow a tampon?" is not an effective sentence. Are you really going to return it?).

Plus, my efforts help me from not cleaning my house. :) That skill is just awesome.

You want me to watch your child?

It seemed to hit me hard this weekend when I rode my beach cruiser hybrid home from dinner with a fellow deployed family that LIFE really does continue whether the husbands/boyfriends are home or not. It had me thinking - there are babies conceived juuuuust before deployment and the countdown begins immediately of, "Will you be home or will the fellow ladies act on your behalf?"

I was a great fill-in husband this weekend with a short trek to Costco for some dinner staples. Oh, and there may have been some new pillows, a blanket, and crafting table also throw on the 'aircraft carrier' cart.

And with the latest and greatest in recent deployment schedules, worldly happenings, and the recent 30%-off wine sale at Ralph's....life may include something so much more than me than I expected out of this deployment.

Sunday night I rode my bike to a fellow family's house that's now within "bike-a-bility" since the great, unexpected relocation of 2013. I'm now living a stone's throw from the beach (literally like 50 yards); which is within 1.5 miles from the other "Ashley" (<also my real name). So onto my bike I strolled. My backpack teamed of a bottle of wine, Mexican rice fixings, and the great company of another red wine fan (who's European with her pregnancy and does enjoy red wine with dinner). And the Jack Johnson streaming from Pandora was the soothing soundtrack to my peddling.

Then, after the 2-year-old daughter hit the hay, the topic turned to the impending due date of Baby #2 for this family. Who will win? The boat into dock or the baby into arms?? Who can be called on? Who lives closest? Who can handle the pets? Who can handle the 2-year-old?

You're ::looking:: at her.

It's me. So that night we made a legit plan. I'm the first call-to-action should Baby #2 announce that, "The thundercats are a-go" and it's past 5:45pm. I'm a 4-minute car ride away (when you count the walk to the car, garage door, and stop signs). I'm a rational person with basic life decisions. I'm a great companion and snuggle bunny to a little daughter that loooooves Nick Junior and snuggling on the coach with a blanket. I'll make snacks and meals for the little one and ensure she's in bed on time. I will hold down the fort while another wife handles the driving to the hospital and doula-like support until the actual doula arrives.

Holy shit...I'm scared and excited all it one.

The mom-to-be-for-the-second-time is excited for the arrival since she'll have a clue onceithappens whether she's on her own or not. The boat is...somewhere. And babies abide by their own plan. So the most that can be done is assume the location of a certain USS 'Staches Be Growin' and to focus on your impending plan: childbirth sans husband. And then prep the nurses/family to send the fastest Red Cross message of, "Baby girl born, _#, _oz, happy as can be (when considering the circumstances)."

So that night I began the realization that my phone will be turned up to ring the loudest possible.

Let's view one of the "NOPE!" homes. Shall we???

Okay, so you found out we got the news of YOU GOTTA MOVE, BITCHES!!

And you found out that somehow the stars aligned and I conquered this challenge.

But let's talk about the CRAP that was toured in between old dwelling and new granite, shall we?????

1.) There was a shit-hole on the beach with carpet that ran halfway through the room and then exposed concrete below. Oh and the shared wall with a dad and his two young daughters.

Kids?

We're outta here.

2.) There was a gorgeous view overlooking the ocean that was just outside our comfort zone above BAH. Aaaaaaaand, there was a coyote literally in the backyard last week. Ummm....Mittens would be d.i.n.n.e.r.

3.) There was a beach house with an awkward bathroom situation for the top floor.

Awkward bath-only situation here. Ummmm?

4.) There was a drug house that had so much stuff leftover from the last tenants I'd fear for a drive-by.

5.) There was a GORGEOUS beach-front property that has ZERO cell phone reception, zero storage, and zero safety. I wasn't comfortable with the access to the home. I felt very vulnerable.

6.) And there was the place that turned out to be our new home. I toured it and LOVED it. And even did the 'no no' - I thought of furniture arrangements....before the application was even submitted. Tsk tsk tsk.

Oh, and did I mention that Mr. Wookie had pretty-much NIL internet connection on the boat for this whole situation. So not only can I successfully cry myself through this situation, I can choose a house that meets his approval after the lease is signed (thanks babe, for the POA). He finally got decent internet after it was all done - and needless, he was VERY happy with my work.

Oh, ya, because you were going to dump me when you got home? Pssssssh. I'll burn your shit, you know that!

So in about 4 weeks, we had new digs found, an application approved, and the movers scheduled to help with all the big stuff. And then I prepared for the million after-work trips moving every other box that was under 50-lbs. Mr. Wookie has to love my tenacity when it comes to saving money - yes, moving via his Jeep is an investment in gas, but I'm MUCH cheaper than professional movers. I only cost Red Bull, Cheerios, supportive emails, coffee, deoderant, bobby pins, vodka, and an Asian pedicure.

The Yays & Nays of a Mid-Deployment Move

Yay for the "circling of the wagons" that is the extended military family. One email to 3 people (the CO's wife, XO's wife, and our "Knives Group" President) had me connected and CC'd to 2 new families in the area collecting their HHG that week. I promised wine and the swift stealing of boxes for their kind donation to my situation.

Nay to our property manager "trying to help find a new place." You said you'd help to make yourself feel better, but in reality...you don't give a shit and I'm just another liability to get off your chest. Suck it. I don't need your help. I got myself and my very-determined personality. If I can build a career around Uncle Sam, I can find a new home in a non-stabbing neighborhood.

Yay to Mr. Wookie being the most supportive ever with the situation. His humor in the situation definitely helped break the tension and ulcer forming that was going on in my stomach. "Babe, just think, you won't be bored during deployment." Seriously. True love.

Nay to the very limited stock of rentals that were potential homes. Our location in California is awesome - but with that, you do have to be sure to stay out of the "Mexican strawberry-picking ghetto" that is the Just-North-of-Malibu area. And with that, you typically do have to pay over BAH to ensure safety. Oh, and throw in, "I have a female cat." and you're met with NO PETS. Awesome. Just awesome.

Yay to the stars aligning with a 2-bed, 3 bath, w/ loft condo that's a football throw to the beach to help end our stay in sunny California. Mr. Wookie got what he wanted (beach), and I got my safety (hello gated community!). And a little granite in the kitchen neeeeever hurt anyone.

Nay to the CREAM CARPET that's in the condo. Dear owners, I drink red wine. I also spill wine before I begin to enjoy it. So there goes the new rule: No red wine indoors. Boo.

Yay to the 5-lbs that was lost over the 3 weeks of home searching as I lost any appetite because of the stress. I may or may not have bragged some more to Mr. Wookie about my looks.

Nay to the lack of concentration at my desk while at work. Who knew the brain needed nutrients?

Yay to my boss being completely understanding in my frazzled state of mind. Seriously. Awesome.

Nay to the panic that poor Mittens suffered in the "What's going on in my home?" She's barely a year old and already has a move under her belt collar? She's starting to shape into a solid Navy brat.

Yay to the pain and torment that is moving without muscle being over. Yay to the superb professional movers that were hired for the heavy stuff that I couldn't lift alone (appliances, big ass furniture, etc.). Yay to Mr. Wookie meeting me "halfway" in the moving process - he wanted to sponsor movers for the entire process while I wanted to pay other Junior Officers from a sister squadron to help. So in the end, we hired pros for the big shit and I used Mr. Wookie's Jeep for a 2-day push of the remaining boxes of stuff.

The actual email title: "Murphy's Law hits us."

The below is the exact cut-and-pasted email that was sent to Mr. Wookie on the boat. I had been so careful to not overwhelm him with anything slightly mopey on land since he's responsible for a very expensive asset aboard ship. So you can imagine the quick deterioration that happened while I was at work trying to remain calm. I played coy at the end of July, but I was a ulcer-forming wreck.

"Hi babe,

I just wanted to let you know that I just got a call from Scott [property manager]...

The owners are wanting to sell the house and we have a few options with our lease and such [we got a little over 30 days notice - umm, thanks for the advanced warning??]. The owners are still working out the details with the real estate agent, and I gave my phone number as contact for the property, but they're not sure yet on how to proceed with us and our lease that's set to expire in August [so much for that POA we got before he left].

There are all the options that could happen to us...

Option #1: Our lease isn't renewed by the seller's request. We're out on lease ending.

Option #2: Our lease is allowed to go month-to-month while the house is on the market. We get 30-days notice to be out once the property is in escrow.

Option #3: Our lease is allowed to go month-to-month. The seller's price the house too high, they have zero buying interest, and we stay put until we PCS [in like 6 months].

Option #4: ?????????????????????????? [yes, multiple question marks were required]

Obviously yes, I'm freaking out...and I did tell Scott that you're deployed. So maybe that'll have an effect on the owners and they'll feel sorry for us, but I honestly doubt it.

a.) It took months to find where we're at now. I don't want to be stuck living in someplace terrible while we're here in case we don't leave right away.

b.) Part of me wants to move out now just so the owners don't make income from our rent [fuckers!]. Although I'll continue to do the yardwork and such so we get the full deposit back.

c.) Do we consider apartments and 1-bedroom options since we're only here for so much longer and just storage stuff?

This is obviously not the email I wanted to send today. I'm sorry babe. If it's not one thing, it's another. I did call my dad because I was caught off guard with the phone call, and he said that he and my mom would be willing to come down and help with a move if it's needed while you're still gone. So I'm not completely alone. And there's obviously Nancy [NFO girlfriend], Gwen [pilot wife], and anyone else that's free to help.

And I'm curious, is there any Navy assistance with us being forced out of our home potentially in paying for move assistance? I know [callsign:] "Little Buddy" had help, but is it the same?

[Nope. Our friend, the pilot, was renting a home that went into foreclosure - completely different from our circumstances of our owners being asshats and not renewing our lease. I had everyone researching for me. The only way we would have assistance would be to move on base.

Nope. Not gonna happen for a couple reasons - like government paperwork AND we're not "on base" people. I'd rather cut off a toe than live in the fishbowl atmosphere of base living.]

Thanks babe - I love you [sorry for the mush]. You know that. And Parker [new check-in] left today and is due to you end of this week-ish. He'll have a manila envelope for you. Let me know when you have it. Your debit card is in there along with a birthday present.

Love, me (and my freak outs) :)"

So yeah...that happened. We've recovered, moved, restocked the bar supply, and as-of-last-night hung pictures on the wall. And Mittens is getting used to 'indoor' life since our new neighborhood is non-outdoor cat only.

Mr. Wookie's family: If you don't know that this happened, don't act surprise. You know your son. :) Email me for the dirty details for our new address. Welcome gifts in person are accepted!

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??

You know you really should never trust cheap wine.

So I have pension for pinching pennies when it comes to my wine. Yes, I always order a Stoli and Tonic while out cruising the bar scene in my area (gotta love the Russian mastery), but when it comes to vino...it's go cheap or go home. Because when you can kill 2 bottles of wine a week...by myself...I don't need to break the bank keeping that homefire burning.

But when the wine is self-described as "easy to drink," I chuckle to myself in Vons (it's Southern California's version of Safeway), load 5 other random bottles of cheap wine, and mosey to the cheese aisle - I need shredded cheese so I can make quesadillas tonight. I have leftover taco meat and I don't want to eat enchiladas two nights in a row. So obviously a different Mexican dish makes all right in the world.

Bhahaha.

Yes, sometimes I like to evil laugh by myself - like when I school Final Jeopardy (however rare).

So in case you're wondering, the Meridian Merlot in the above picture. It's just okay. While I only had one glass last night, I'm not really looking forward to coming home after work, throwing a straw in it, and stuporing it until Saturday morning. It'll be something I sip on while I fold laundry (although the laundry will be folded away from the wine since I flail more than a baby orangutan).

I do have a personal stance against the "2 Buck Chuck" from Trader Joe's - it's the ultimate cheap wine. And to me, it's just 'meh.' If I'm going to spend $2 (+ tax) on wine, I might as well spend another $1.50-$2 on some slightly better shitty wine. I mean, hello?? I have standards.

Bhahaha.

Sorry, two evil laughs in one post. I really should try and control myself.

So tell me, do you have a favorite "economical" wine? What's your beverage of choice when your better half is away? Are you willing to host me to prove your point? If you say 'yes,' you're totally awesome. If you say 'no,'...you stingy piece of work. I mean seriously, you wouldn't host me? Why not? I'm offended. Seriously. Off-my-Christmas-card-list offended. I'm awesome. I mean hello, I throw big dollars around. I'm surprised I don't have groupies. Just don't fake a pregnancy.

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.

And Mrs. Wookie is back to her sans-Mr. Wookie status.

Obviously we knew this was coming exactly when his boots touched the ground those two-ish weeks ago. I prayed that our time together would crawl like molasses - and thankfully it did. Now while this is semi-how the Army does their little Rest & Relaxation mid-deployment stuff, I know it's not the same. But seriously - just when you get used to some ass clown in bed next to you stealing the covers, he's gone again. So then I'm left fighting the empty other side of the bed which launches the covers up and over me onto the floor.

Thanks Uncle Sam.

But I guess it's a good thing he left a mere 15 days after coming home, since I'm still salty with my established independence. Although once deployment actually rolls around, and subsequently ends, it's going to be a harsh reintegration. From June until the end of deployment next year, he'll never be home for more than a few weeks at a time. Good thing I have tequila in my bar since I'm so salty. I can't let it go to waste, can I?

Lots has happened in the last few days I enjoyed another human in the house - so hopefully the blogging can continue and I can catch myself up on everything. Good thing I have "Project ADD" (seriously, I have needle-point, a puzzle, books, and Pinterest all in rotation to keep me occupied) and can add blogging to the mix. Let's hope y'all don't sign me up for Ritalin (or whatever popular anti-ADD medication is hot to trot these days).

What is Mrs. Wookie reading on the World Wide Web?

Sometimes I just need to advise you of the stupid things that have shocked and awed me during my down time.

Junior Seau is dead???? Umm....when did this happen??

I seriously don't understand how some men lack a complete spine and blood flow from their d*** to not see that their girlfriend is a (to quote Wayne's World) "Psycho Hose Beast."

August 26th is National Topless Day. So does that mean strippers get the day off?

Meatball Bubble Biscuits just sounds amazing. Seriously.

So does it take a certain personality to be a military attache?? I like to think that being a brazen pain-in-the-ass independent fem-Nazi makes me a prime candidate for wine-swilling "military-based singledom" much more than the "I've never not had a boyfriend because my dad left me when I was 3" type of person (please don't take this as a direct offense, but more as the typical psycho-analytic response to that behavior). But this is only my opinion. Yes, I moaned and groaned for the first few weeks with his latest round of detachment because it had been YEARS since I had to navigate the militarily separated status. Now, as he's leaving in less than a week until the end of September, I'm good. I've got wine, dinner dates with the ladies, my work, a jigsaw puzzle, Netflix, some frozen Bertolli Dinners For Two, no need to share the bed, newly purchased underwear so I can avoid laundry for longer. and a plethora of dust to gather on my razor. :)

Our Hawkeye/Greyhound Ball is quickly coming up on the calendar, and I'm thinking to myself, Can I do my own hair?? Usually for these once-a-year occasions, I do tend to spoil myself just a little bit just because how often does Mr. Wookie rock his Choker Whites? He looks absolutely fantastic, so as should I. I've routinely re-worn dresses from college because no one has ever seen them before and I did a pretty good job on choosing cost-effective dresses that are timeless. This year, I did something different. I bought a clearance Banana Republic dress. Because I wanted to. And I can't wait to wear it. :) So with that, I'm going to be Pinteresting ideas for my hair (to do it myself) since I bought a new dress this year. Gotta be productive with my money, honey.

Do you need to waste time and nearly piss yourself?? Check this out. Thanks SMD.

Happy Birthday to Middle Sister who turned a whoppin' 24 today (seriously, hands down, BEST year ever in my life since I traveled heavily, enjoyed life, lived off my savings, and delayed adulthood until absolutely necessary).

Next up: Me. *Gulp*

I've taken a two-day break from the beverages after this weekend. Although, I may start excluding Monday from my typical glass of wine. Not that I'm an alcoholic. But with Mr. Wookie creeping closer to the Deployment Date, I feel like a few random days off will definitely stretch my cheap-ass wine budget for the many moons he'll be gone over the next year (seriously, it's $5 or under for my beverage of choice. Go cheap or go home).

What helps pass the time? The other ladies missing their men.

I will tell the story a million times over, other wives will agree with me, a "Wives Group" will not break your soul. If it's full of catty women, back-stabbers, and "thunder cunts," then no one will blame you for not partaking in the "fun."

But then what happens when all the ladies are dreamy, drink red wine like it's going out of style, have kids but respect your decision to not procreate at this time, and welcome you into their home for dinners, drinks, movies, cry fests, complaining, Bunco, book club, birthdays, bitch-fests....did I miss anything??...it makes the world a special place.

As the lone longtime-domesticated girlfriend (and advocate for sans-kids get-togethers which are met with cheers since the slogan is "Time away from my kids makes me a Happy Mom"), I'm accepted into this group as one of their own. While it takes a little more effort to get to base than other non-base dwellers, I'm always happy to join in on the fun whether a family-friendly picnic or wine drinking out on the town.

We've done everything from progressive dinners, to wine tastings, to movie nights, book clubs, and a few even helped me score that elusive Victorian chair that'll face a remodel later this year (let's just say Mama Ging is coming to visit - so I've got her name alll in helping me).

One thing I don't like: People who 'go home' for detachments/deployments. While visiting is one thing, there's something else about being "left behind" that I find strengthening to your soul. That and I'm one of the few who's still holding strong to the bullshit-ic thought that I can have a real 'career' while popping around the country after Mr. Wookie. While I may not make promotions because I leave too soon, dammit, I'm going to keep chasing my next resume addition and the bi-monthly deposits in my bank account. So while the mom with kids take off as soon as the boat is gone, I stay put - just me, myself, and I if I have to - because I live here - this is my home.

Although I'm starting to feel the bite of employment on my backside as the discussions of where port calls will take place. Place A? Place B? And thusly, who's dropping $$$ for a place ticket to port call "R" to spend a mere few days with their boy. To me, this doesn't sound like a sound investment. Spending $1,000 for 3 days seems overpriced (PLEASE, tell me if I'm wrong!). I feel like it's a better investment to spend $2,500 for the  two of you to spend on a 10-day adventure somewhere post-deployment. Anyone with me? Am I not seeing the light? Or am I the light?

So while the boys will be back from the boat this month from their summer-long exercise, I can't help but think about the future. Once Mr. Wookie shoves off for deployment, his time in California is essentially done since our tour will near the end once they return from the USS Actual Deployment. And what's more important to me? Keeping the homefire light and the bank account full, or taking a few days off here and there (and subsequently emptying a piece of the bank account) for some mid-deployment travel??

Decisions, decisions.

Readers, your insight is worthwhile. Navy ladies, please let me know how you've done!

Not my hat. The kids thought I should rock it.

And yes, this is the same night as the Victorian chair incident.

So until the planes land, the boat pulls in, the tri-walls are unpacked, and the stinky boots are loped over to the side of Mr. Wookie's desk, I'll hang here with my ladies. And pass the umpteenth wine bottle.

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?

Today totally felt like Friday. Damn.

I'm here. With a small plate of stuffed mushrooms. There wasn't enough cheese on them, so like a failed vegan...:.I added more. Not that I'm dabbling in the veganism at the moment. You know Honey Nut Cheerios aren't vegan, so I fail by 6:30am. Whatevs.

Tonight was glorious at that. I've. had. wine.

And not just any wine. I had wine while Mr. Wookie ...cleaned...the...kitchen. Praise the Lawd.

He's done with his courses. One Master's semester bottled into 2 weeks of procrastinative pain as he wrote a collective 92 pages of bullshit and assignments that will earn him more credits towards that Hood of Masterdom. But that gets me thinking. I want a Master's. I can't be the shlump without one in the house. Not when he wants a second one. Douche. So yes...I want more. But the question lies in, "In what?" I don't know, my friend. I don't know. It has to be useful, applicable to moving around with the Navy (and naturally I hate needles so nursing is out, I hate kids so teaching is out, I don't like non-drinkers, so therapy is out), and not in an overly saturated field. So yeah....

And to correct if I sound like an asspain. I did put effort into the kitchen this week. Each night I chipped away at the lime and rust that encrusted the kitchen in excessive pot and pan dirtiness. But sometimes you need a Mr. Wookie's touch. And sometimes the female of the house just needs to "corrupt" Mr. Wookie's computer speakers with Rihanna, Beyonce, and Nicki Minaj (because you may not know, I'm actually black).

But let's talk about the challenge on our horizon. No, not the one that's involving months at sea, or the new one that's also months at sea (oh yea, lucky us!). It's about Mr. Wookie and his Squadron. There's....a.....challenge that's begun. And it makes me nervous. 6 weeks. of. a weight loss challenge. *gasp* I know, I know - you're thinking 'big deal.' I agree. Although once you learn the terms of the challenge, that's where my protective butthole starts to pucker.

Are you ready for this?

Are you...............?

Losers have to....

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....