Throwback Thursday: Hawkeye Ball, East Coast 2014

It's very common in the aviation community to be not be fully understood by the surface, sub, or nuke pipelines. They're routinely thought of as Prima Donna types, semi-lazy for having something resembled children's pajamas as a daily uniform, requiring 8 hours of sleep without question, and the ability to throw a golf tournament in honor of an aviator lost in the line of duty. I'm fully aware of this, yet I embrace it. 

So while it was a bit of a surprise when we attended our first Hawkeye Ball in 2009, I've now come to love the mayhem and foolishness that it entails. There's always a West Coast and an East Coast Ball, with a lucky few able to attend both (so jealous). And since his time through flight school and first sea station,  there are long-lost friends that have moved on to other locales (i.e. Pax River in Maryland, Fallon in Nevada - both bonafide spots to procreate because there's not much else going on there) and many names/faces forgotten at this duty station because being back on the East Coast is. just. so. many. people!

This duty station can either embrace you or lose you in the action based on its size alone. While I love working as a small fish in a big pond, I prefer my living situation to be small fish within a small pond. I don't like being the New Girl and am trying my hardest to "date" the ladies here. Thankfully I filled my 'hug tank' this year with my long-lost friends of Navy's multiple duty stations. And I just now wait for fellow West Coast-er's orders for Norfolk to show up.

My handsome dinner date and I - and my hair was something else. I wasn't loving it, and it wouldn't cooperate. So I rocked some tousled beach-like waves and called it a win. Also, I only drank Sauv Blancs until I changed since ivory chiffon + red wine = oh. shit. And the salmon for dinner was a wise choice as Mr. Wookie's prime rib looked more like "homeless man leather sneaker" than bovine. And yes, that's a real bowtie - he watched 20 minutes of YouTube tutorials to not be a 29-year-old shmuck with a fake.

Mrs. Wookie's Hawkeye Ball Etiquette + Survival Guide:

1.) Do the "I can eat" and "I can sit" test in your dress. VERY IMPORTANT.
2.) While it's okay to acknowledge you're wearing Spanx, please don't let them expose themselves. Last year, an O-4 wife didn't test that by raising her arms...her Spanx exposed at the knee. Woops.
3.) Please don't drop an arm-and-a-leg on one dress for just 4 hours. My thoughts are the same on wedding dresses also. What happens after the wedding? It sits in a damn box and no. one. will want to wear your dated design. Stop wishing upon a star.
4.) The length doesn't matter of the dress - there's always equal knee-length to floor length ratio.
5.) Stock your hotel room with post-party snacks and pajamas. Derp.

Last year I missed my handsome man, oh so much. And our C(ommanding) O(fficer's) W(ife) connived us Junior Officer attaches to attend en masse as a support for the squadron and an establishment to the remaining squadrons that our men have the watch, while us ladies have the wine in glasses. We did so with heavy emphasis of "Our men are missing, we should get unlimited champagne." But I was glad to tout the faux-burden of being the homefire burning; I play the martyr very well. And I'll take that champagne.

My first West Coast Hawkeye Ball in 2010. Oh man, I didn't even know. I was berratedly interrogated by a Department Head as Mr. Wookie was the FNG in the squadron. So why aren't you married? Want me to have a talk with him? I can make things happen. Uhh...(where the f**k did we move to?). Also, short hair is a bitch to style when you're in the I'm-trying-to-grow-it-out-like-a-California-gurl phase.

West Coast Hawkeye Ball in 2011 - the year of the broken wine glass. Woops. I got a little carried away when summoning for more wine by tapping my glass. I needed to get out of the weight room, for sure. And did you notice this is the same dress as last year?? This was the squadron's best year as they brought home the trophy for "Hawkeye Pilot of the Year" - this is an amazing honor for the skilled pilot who's been selected early for Department Head and has a great continued career ahead of him.

West Coast Hawkeye Ball in 2013 - the last of the glory years with sunshine and my handsome man. This dress was the bee's knees for multiple reasons. a.) It has POCKETS. b.) It's JCrew tall. Boom. c.) It's fabulous and taffeta (my favorite). d.) It fit the theme for the year: "Mad Men." Move over, Joanie - there's a true redhead up in here!

And what's even better - I'm set for Hawkeye Ball 2015 thanks to a winter wedding in the Palm Springs area in February. Hello floor-length (what!) and wine chiffon into the mix. Can you get what I'll be drinking that year?

Hello 31. Nice to meet you.

"It's a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy." -Lucille Ball

This was the start to my morning. Or actually the sounds of footsteps slowly creeping upstairs as to not slosh coffee about while I slumbered into a slow wake-up at the refreshing age of 31. I registered the mug setting down on the stack of books loaded upon my nightstand. I lessened my partial sleep when I heard the shower water gush into the wall and the slink of the curtain rings across the railing. I'm warm in bed, I thought. Do I move? Well yes, Ginger, there's toasting coffee on your nightstand. Can't let that get warm. 

And while I may just embrace this age since 30 seems so young and juvenile (cue laughing - but not enough laughing to deepen any wrinkles on my face). When we were out at the concert on Saturday night, I embraced my life, "I'm going to be 31 on Monday." 

"No way. You look like 22."

Ummm, yes. I am. But I have the boobs, thighs and ass of a 31 year old. Trust me. And the mirror.

Thanks to my Ginger mama for the lack of pigment which forced me to slather with sunscreen since the age of 6 months while my chubby body enjoyed the Oregon summers. Sunscreen is your friend and helps you look far younger than the DH wives, XO wives, and CO wives you'll meet. This is a good thing. Life's about competition - they drive a minivan, I'm just now competing with crow's feet.

This weekend I also treated myself to an impromptu 'You want flowa?" shellac manicure at the salon.

"Bitch, throw the hairtie."

Eventually I crawled my ass out of bed and walked the 24 steps to my desk to begin 8 hours of countdown until I could get to presents and dinner. Because what's the point of growing a year older if I don't get cool shit to compensate for the decline in my skin's elasticity?

Mr. Wookie was exceptional this year as he was not only present for this event, but he strengthened the "happiness factor" that I felt was missing in my life. He's sensed and heard about my uncomfortable-ness with moving back here. My social circle is non-existent, minus the cat. The lack of sunshine, beaches, and In N Out is just cramping my style. So his sole effort was supplying a reason to "fall" for Virginia. I've also been complaining about the change in seasons.

So what did I get?!?!?

He bought me a new hammock - one that's not destroyed by the sun's rays after 3 years in SoCal beams. He also 'splurged' on the deluxe hammock pillow for that extreme laziness and relaxation. The best part? The hammock is navy and white...and my 'car blanket' is navy. [A car blanket is that shoddy/outside-okay blanket you keep in your trunk for baseball games, picnics, and galore that you don't mind getting dirty.] So my new challenge while being here is 'How long can I lounge in my hammock? At what degree will I force myself in?'

Stay tuned.

He bought me those shove-in-the-ground wine glass holders...and yes, I've already used them from my hammock's reach.

He bought me a new book...

(This trend is amazing!)

He bought me a stinking monthly trial subscription to Stumptown!! He mentioned that while it's crisp in the morning, we can warm up with fancy coffees to try - we're also buying a half-cord of wood, but that's not a birthday present...just a winter necessity.

And I'm still waiting on my finale gift, which is coming from overseas, and has to go through Customs. Damn. He's said it's the heaviest. Dun dun dun!

So after the pomp and circumstance of flowers on the table, wrapping paper on the floor, and a new Chilean Malbec in the decanter, we trekked the half-dozen or so blocks to a swanky little dinner joint over by the hospital. I had the duck; he had the tenderloin. We split the recommended wine for the evening. And we gawked at the amount of people still out at this hour (it was past 7pm - we're old, what can we say?).

So here I am, 31 and unbelievably happy. I never thought being this side of 30 would have been this great. Join me, will you? You bring the wine. I've got the wrinkle creams.

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.

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.

Labor Day: Cue the BBQ, beverages, and lawn mowing.

It's early afternoon and I've already been up, made my dish to share for a BBQ (zucchini salad), attended said BBQ, stared intently at toddlers wondering what in God's green Earth they're mumbling (I don't speak Toddler), and hoping there'd be enough cupcakes for the rug rats and me. Yes, I wanted a cupcake. And thought sometimes the adults should be fed first when it comes to the little things in life.

I didn't want to wait for all the kids to put their grubby hands all over the frosting. Does a 2 year old really need a cupcake like a hormonal Mrs. Wookie does?? No! But I patiently waited and hoped the kids would lose interest and see something shiny instead. Kids would grab a cupcake and run to tell others, "Hey, there's cupcakes!" Why are you telling others there are cupcakes?!?! It's called not sharing. You should try it.

Le sigh. But thankfully I got one. Life's rough when you don't have wine AND there's the chance you might not get a cupcake either. And that'd be a crime against humanity.

But with the remainder of the day, I'm realizing that we're getting into the 'time off' season of the year - my favorite!

Today is a day that honors the American workforce - because basically we're badass (what up, 'Merica!). I'll be honest, there are just so many days that are not applicable to me (International Mustache Day, I Don't Drink Day, Anti-Redhead Day), that I embrace the day that celebrates my staunch feminist grasp on attempting a career. Yay, I 'labor' at a computer desk 5 days a week. Give me a day! So they do. Thanks Congress.

For some Labor Day signifies the beginning of fall, but my Californian address has no idea what fall is...colder temperatures? Turtle necks? Huh? Ohhhh, you mean pumpkin beer. Now I'm with you.

But back to the "time off" season...

Next month comes my *holy gulp* birthday. Mr. Wookie is so lucky he's missing the month-prior's anxiety-fueled panic of getting another year older. Uncle Sam, you sneaky employer... November is the "We gave smallpox to the Indians" celebration (blargh, Thanksgiving). And lastly December is the best season ever with the holidays, real Christmas trees, stocking, 5-lbs weight gain, and Christmas spice beer. :)

Wait, where was the blogpost going?

I don't know. Either way, Labor Day has been excellent so far. I've been fed. What more could you ask for?

Oh, wait, on that note. I'd like to ask for the yard to be mowed. But I'm pretty sure that I felt a rain drop outside. And that's a sign from the Wine Gods to, Mrs. Wookie, the lawn can wait a day. Why don't you stay inside today, finish the laundry, make the bed, and finishing dusting the house?

Wine Gods, you drive a hard bargain.

So, Mrs. Wookie, how was Middle Sister's wedding last summer?

So you know Wookie & Co. have a strict protocol when it comes to weddings.

a.) It's better if we don't have to crash it, so invite us. But only invite us if we don't have to sit at Table 9 with the family rejects. We do best in our habitat (other alcohol-related people), and enjoy the availability of good food (please no Cheez-Whiz and crackers).

b.) We. like. the. beverages. How else will we get up there and dance? Plus, how else will we find the "need" to find the ladies' room juuuuust about the same time as the bouquet toss.

c.) DO NOT FATHER/DAUGHTER DANCE TO "Butterfly Kisses." I will murder a baby.

d.) DO NOT HAVE THE READING OF "2 Corinthians..." I will murder an elderly person.

Yes, there are more, but these are the important ones. So Accidentally Olympian, take note!

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.

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.

How to survive a 3-day bender...

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tree unlittered with gifts.

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

I'd like to sayThanks for the Giving!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

Halloween: The night I met Mr. Wookie

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank goodness it doesn't. #nooffenseDad

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

Wookie & Co. Junior Year Spring Ball

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tangent over.

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

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

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

Tiramisu. I can die happy...

The sauce for the crab mac 'n cheese.

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

Hollandaise sauce.

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

My birthday. The big 2-8.

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