WE HAVE NEWS!!!!!! (w/ 2 Updates!)

Text from Mama Ging:

No details yet, but you'll be in the loop. Promise. Until then, YAY! The only boy in the family has successfully passed on his name. Next child = no gender stress.

********* Updated to Add ***********

Born at the hospital (due to some last minute judgment calls), this little guy was born at 8:07am PST, barely teetering the scales at 7lbs, 8 oz. No length yet.

Welcome to the family, little man. Name: Ryan Brent III. Birthday: Valentine's Day.

********* Update Continuation ***********

So Little Man is currently in the NICU while they're just monitoring his lungs. Apparently he had a bit of a meconium issue in womb. Usually no big issue. But when your the direct descendant from a man that has clogged up his fair share of toilets, both public and non, that's bound to be some super poop we're dealing with. So they're heading to Eugene since Medford's NICU is full (my idea was to kick out the fattiest baby to make room for Little Man. Mama Ging agrees. But apparently the hospital doesn't. Communists.).

And here's a picture of the gentlemen of the family. The 3 Ryans (The Sheriff, Brother, and Little Man). And this does NOT count Mr. Wookie, whose real name is Ryan also. Yes, we're looking into legally changing names to help with the family's confusion.

Will The Niec-Phew Be Cupid?

I woke up, checked my phone, had one text, and Oh shit, I have to go blog NOW!

"Hard labor has started, start praying please." -Brother, 7:03am EST.

Sooo....it could be 4 hours later. It could be 14 hours later. It could be tomorrow. But we'll see. Everybody with me now, "NIEC-PHEW, NIEC-PHEW, NIEC-PHEW!!!"

And what does everything think? Boy or girl? Pink or blue? Black or orange? (Okay, that last one was a fake. You should know the proper answer as BOTH!).

I'll keep you posted. Aunt Ashley '10 has commenced. Go Amber, Go!

And Happy Valentine's Day to all. Tell your family, friends, bookies, and pimps you love them. Or kick them in the balls/ovaries. Either way, enjoy it!

Verbal Vomit Of The Night

- I'm interested in shopping for 2 things at this moment: running socks and new sports bras. Both require a trip back to Running, Etc. (the local running-only store). But that would require a drive. And spending more money. And I'm already trying to enjoy the $100 I spent there last week in the form of new shoes. But that'll come when they're done being broken in and I can galavant around the gay district of Norfolk in my new shoes.

- Last night was great and frustrating, all in 30 minutes. I was scheduled off at 3:00pm, but didn't make it out of work until 4:45pm. But that's not where the Ging lost her lid. The irate moment came when I was 5 blocks from my apartment, but was stuck in 15-minute traffic because of the construction down the street. If only people would know how to merge, we wouldn't have this issue. I swear it's like rocket science to half these people. It took me 20 minutes of yelling at them that, "I just want to get drunk!" to park my car, huff home, change into jeans, and plop my ass on a Snappers barstool. Now, was that so much, people?

- The Sister in Law is still a parasitic-housing specimen.

- Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and I still haven't gotten a card. Part of me thinks, Why bother? I tell him I love him, why kill a tree, have someone else write something sappy, just to join the rest of the world in Hallmark's best idea ever to increase sales of paper products. But then I figure, I should tell him I love him via card after all, he cooks, he cleans, and he lets me steal the covers.

- I just saw that Blogger now has a way to have multiple pages for my blog. But then it reminds me that I still want to update my template, I want it to have Calibri as the font, and I want it to be a seamless transition. But I don't want to pay for it.

- Sometimes in the morning, it'll be considerably warmer upstairs than down. Which is fine with me. But then those mornings, all I want to do is eat breakfast in bed, dry my hair while in bed, and work from the upstairs of the Loft. Instead, I traipse through the cold to my car, to work, to my desk, and back again.

- I miss being unemployed some days. The days when you're just tired and want that extra sleep. Or the mornings where I have to be at work at 7am and Mr. Wookie doesn't have to be in until 11am. Or when I get the cleaning bug in the morning, but have to go to work instead.

- I don't miss the lackluster unemployment payments. Yes, it was nice getting paid to look for work. But it's nice getting paid much more for having an actual job.

- Now Mommy McD is having pregnancy dreams. Welcome to the club.

- I wish I lived in a place with a hot tub. Although I'd probably have perma-wrinkles and water-logged from all the time I'd spend in there.

- If not a hot tub, a fire place. There's just something about scorching the shit out of your skin because your circulation sucks because you're a female and Caveman evolution maintains that we're just uterus-es in need of our next inhabitant.

- Last Wednesday, I tried Zumba for the first time. It was...interesting. After getting over the fact that I look very stiff and awkward, I know now what it feels like to be the white girl at an all black school that didn't make the cheer squad. It's known as "White Girl Syndrome."

- I thought I had rhythm. I can dance at a club. I struggle at Zumba though. And there I was thinking I was hot shit because I listen to Erykah Badu, India.Aire, John Legend, Jill Scott, Corinne Bailey Rae, etc. Nope, just a white girl wishing I had more rhythm, but instead took ballet for over 10 years because it's what skinny, leggy girls do.

- Mommy McD could totally be a Zumba instructor.

- I think I'd make a better yoga instructor.

- The movie: Hurt Locker. Ehhh. Cute actors? Yes.

- It snowed a little last night. I didn't actually see it when it was on the ground this morning. I was busy coming up with breakfast ideas that didn't require milk because I got home from the bar last night dying for Frosted Mini Wheats. Therefore, milk's all gone.

- And I love 3-day weekends. Thus my not caring for staying almost 2 hours later on Friday to help someone out with a project. Had it been any other weekend, Peace Out Girl Scout! But instead, I get to pick my ass on Monday while many others work/attend school/having something requiring them to be productive that day. Not me. Muahahaha, not me.

So We've Heard From BabyWatch '10

Let's get to the details, people. We've lost the mucus plug. Or if you're Mama Ging, the "mucas plug." (Obviously, I didn't get spelling from her side of the family).

So...I've heard it can grow back/be recreated/re-plug up. But I'm hoping that I can sing, "Ahhh, tsss, push it...do do do do do" (Salt 'n Pepa) instead.

And yes, I say "we" because as a family we're excited to know whether we'll be teaching this Niec-phew to "Pull my finger." or "Pull my finger." We don't discriminate in this family.

I'll keep you posted! But now, it's my turn to labor: 4.5 miles around Norfolk.

Calling All Family Members...Come In All Family Members...

Anyone heard from Brother and Amber? I haven't. And Mama Ging and the Sheriff haven't heard from them since Monday, or so. Maybe Tuesday. Definitely not Wednesday, though.

Could it be?? Could they be amidst the "Final Countdown" (do do do do, do do do do do - sing this part, people)? Let me know, family. And if so, more good thoughts.

And if it's anything to you, I had another dream last night where I had a baby. It's weird, always. I've given birth to a red high-heel once, on the floor of a parking garage, with Mommy McD as my supportive "You can do it!" team, so she and I scoured the mall to swap a baby for the high-heel so I'd have something to show off. Yes, stealing children, I'm apparently above no morals.

There IS A Gym Fairy

This little announcement came via email from the Gym Fairy.

Why golly, what are you talking about? Did I get it? Did I get it?

I did, bitches, I did! So now I'm eating dinner and Googling frantically what shoes to wear. I've read horror stories of a torn meniscus because they worn running shoes. No, I like my meniscus in one piece! Or that they wore shoes with little padding and came out with bunions. Nooo, I don't WANT bunions!

So I sit, blog, stalk, worrying, eating, contemplating, but will probably at the end of my debate just where my 3rd-rung running shoes that are now demoted to yard work. So until Piperlime.com, or Dillard's, or Famous Footwear can produce something that's cute and doubly useful (I refuse to reserve a pair of shoes for just Zumba - besides, I may haaaaaate this anyways). So wish me luck. And my meniscus. And anti-bunion thoughts.

Happy Due Date! Now Where's That Castor Oil?

Yesterday, the Sheriff said they went to do a walk-a-thon to hopefully spur labor/progress/any sort of change possible. Maybe she'll take up WWE wrestling to coax labor to begin. Or maybe she'll start bribing him/her with an allowance at 5, and the ability to date at 10. You never know.

I just want to know: When's the Castor Oil?

I've heard it works. I've heard it tastes like ass. What's a better way to know than have someone else try it? It's called "delegation." Try it.

So in honor of today being her due date, but let's be honest: only 5% of offspring arrive with Jazz Hands on their due date. This blogger was early. Considering if I wasn't, I think my eye size would have necessitated alone a C-section. They were ginormo!

BACK ON TOPIC!

In honor of her due date...a questionnaire. All questions PG. Definitely a family program here. But still, some answers were killer. Now if only the offspring can be sure to have a sense of humor. This family won't allow it. Yes, I speak on behalf of the group.

The Facts:

Name according to the blog? 2.0 (This stands for Mama Ging being the first Mrs. of the family, and Amber is Mrs. 2.0).Years attached to the family? 2.5Current procreative status? bun in the oven burning. (hahahaha!)Planned or unplanned? I planned He got screwed. (Okay, maybe PG-13 for this answer).Any progress? contractions on feb 1Due Date? feb 10 (Happy Due Date Day!)
The Questions:
Average hours of sleep at night? 8Number of trips to the restroom per night?12 plus 2-3 snacksYour Braxton-Hicks contractions started when? a month agoIs the nursery complete? yes except for the crib bedding. mrs fields 1.0 is making the bedding. (Obviously side-lined at the moment.)Are you "over" being pregnant? How would you like to hold a crap in for 9 months. stupid question. (Just asking. Some people love being pregnant. Maybe they just never had boobs before.)When did this revelation occur? 2 months in.How many pregnancy tests do you take to confirm the news? 3

What’s your favorite food craving? whats not. Ryans is Applebees. Im so tired of that place. (Brother would be one for pregnancy cravings also).What food do you miss since becoming pregnant? the kind that does not give me heartburn.When’s the last time you saw your toes while standing up? 3 mosThoughts: Boy or Girl? It better hope it's a boy. I'm too strict for a girl.Was there ever a thought that it could have been twins? nightmare maybee.Do you think the niec-phew will beat Aunt Ashley’s birth weight of 8lbs, 6.5 ounces? It feels like that is the size of just it's head.What’s your craziest nesting moment? Ryan is nesting not me.When would be the least convenient time to go into labor? Valentines DayWhat about the most convenient time? Feb 1 would of been. I had money counting on thatWhat’s the best hand-me-down you’ve received? A 'pack and play' and a cribWhen did your "innie" belly button become an "outtie?"It's still flush.What’s your favorite piece of clothing to wear during your third trimester? More like what fits.How long did it take to decide on a homebirth? hospital $9,000, Homebirth $3,000 about 2 secounds.How many baby showers were thrown for you? going to be 1How much Beaver Gear have you accumulated for the new sprout? 6 outfits and one pair of socks. Not enough. (Good answer!)Did your feet change in size? Just think marshmellows.

And, yes, I realize blogging requires a dedicated amount of time. Therefore Facebook will be the main source of e-info on the Niec-phew. But that doesn't mean I can't re-post any pictures on my blog. Copyright, shmopyright.

And Then Life Goes And Plays By Its Own Rules!

So I debate writing this. I never like to get too open, too exposed, too revealing of my personal life. I've had a drink to calm down. A stiff drink. A your-cat-totally-just-got-ran-over-and-you're-waiting-for-Dr.-Kevorkian-to-arrive stiff drink.

Okay, it's been 2 drinks.

Today was a generic day. A boring day. Until my drive home from work.

The usual is to call a parent (remember, I alternate) and catch up with them. Yes, I'm very attached to my family. Yes, my parents are more like friends now than actual parents. So today was no different. I call the Sheriff to let him know that I've been approved for the 2-week family vacation to England this year. I was excited. Very excited.

But that excitement was squished. Like a cockroach. In New Orleans.

I hear an intercom system. It sounds like the Sheriff's at the airport. He's not. He's at the other place with intercom systems. We call it the "horse-pistol." You know if it as the hospital.

Well Mama Ging is back in the hospital. No, this hasn't been a regular activity. Her last admittance was about this time last year. Same thing. The surgery she had back in the day (like pre-Ging day; like before she knew she would could have anymore children, let alone 3 daughters to complete raid her wardrobe) was having complications. An amazing 26 years after the fact. So the hospital it was.

And imagine how I felt knowing that I was 2 connections away/12 hours of flight time last year. And NOW I have a job that I don't know if I can escape to visit the Giver Of The Ging Genes. But I'll try my best if I have to.

So now you know why I've had 2 cocktails the size of Mr. Wookie's skull. It's been rough. A slightly teary drive home from work. But I'm hopefully. Optimistic. So is Mr. Wookie.

Until then, please keep the good thoughts/chi/energy/positive belief in cows/upward karma coming my/Mama Ging's way. If not for my sanity, for my bar stock. Who knows how much I'll have to rely on to keep my sanity stable.

"The Deloreans" On The Chopping Block

Apparently I have Windows Movie Maker on my computer. And last night I took small clips of their act as I tried to not be too busy rockin' out to the 80's.

So indulge in Billy Idol while I try my hand at throwing together a montage of point-and-shoot-camera-style video in a dark music venue. But this might take awhile. TWSS.

A Friday From The Ordinary

I get home from work, grab a beer, and get moving onto the event of the night.

We're checking out The Deloreans. A bad-ass 80's cover band (obviously, with a name like that). They were the main attraction at the last Navy Ball, and I'm definitely on-board with seeing them again. AAAAAAAAAA-mazing. I'll try for video. But no promises. Sometimes I forget things. ;)

It's Thursday, Past 9pm, And I'm Tired. Party Animal.

- Can Pepto Bismal go stale? Because I swear I just cracked a tooth.

- They say women get better at running with age. I can agree with that. The last Summer Olympics Marathon (Female) Gold Medalist was 38. I can look forward to that. No, not the marathon part. The running part. I can't believe I just typed that.

- And regarding that little Half Marathon that I fooooooolishly signed up for in November. WHAT WAS I THINKING? Oh, 13.1 miles. It won't be that bad. Ya, because I have so much free time to spend galavanting around the gay district of Norfolk. How do people work and train for marathons, much less? I swear they've found a worm hole which produces more than 24 hours in a day. I, however, come home pooped, want to grab a cold beer and plop on the couch, but force myself to legging up because it's barely over freezing outside and I need to log miles.

- Question: Do you count "miles" on the elliptical as a.) miles tallied on your running shoes, and b.) miles logged for the year? I'm torn. Part of me thinks that, Yes, you worked out in the shoes, therefore the miles should be logged, so they can be appropriately replaced. But then again I'm torn. Elliptical-ing is NOT running. So why should the miles be falsely logged. Insight?

- We have another storm advisory for the area for this weekend. Oh great. Another weekend of, I swear if Ging posts another story about Cabin Fever I'm going to email my hand to her and make her slap herself. So it's your duty to convince the storm to go elsewhere. Rain's accepted though. Always accepted.

- So I invited Dr. Stacey Kevorkian to the "Graduation Kegger" that'll be had after Middle Sister's Commencement in June. A.) It's been forever since I've seen her. B.) We'll have a great time getting drunk with Baby Sister. I mean, parents, we'll be playing Backgammon. Responsibly. And C.) I'll even spot her $5 for the red SOLO cup so she's official.

- I broke my Cardinal Law last week. I felt ashamed. Very ashamed.

- My Cardinal Law is that I promised myself once I graduated college I could no longer go to the market in lounge/sleepwear. Until then, I had only done it twice. That's what she said. Both times were in my hometown. Both times with my good friend, Collin. And both times they were beer runs. At like 11pm. Because it's my hometown and there's not much to do.

- Why does running sometimes tear my stomach up? I mean, I can deal with the retarded amount of snot that my nose makes. But when my stomach is doing Triple Lutz's in preparation for Vancouver 2010, I just want to keel over. Enough, stomach. I'm training here. I don't need you cramping my style. Get it? Cramping...

- Every time I get a text, I swear it's THE announcement. You know...ACTIVE LABOR. We're down to the wire in terms of BabyGate 2010. Officially due February 10th, I was feeling like this week was looking lucky. After all, the Sister in Law has been at 3cms for 2 weeks. Well apparently I shouldn't go into fortune telling. Because we haven't been able to diagnose genitalia yet.

- So a couple weeks ago I mentioned that I was perusing new templates for this wonderful beauty of a blog. But then my computer goes all "must update new crap" and closes all my tabs. Bitch. And no, I didn't have them "Favorited." That's another FAIL.

- Os is wrong to keep a small container of fudge on my night stand? Last night I wanted chocolate. But not like a King's Size Kit Kat (which totally sounds good now, btw - oh wait, there's one of those in my drawer...SCORE!). I just wanted a little nibble. Something to fend off the tapeworm's attack. So I just take a half bite of fudge. No harm, no foul. Right?

- And saving the best for last: I start work tomorrow at 10am. I know, JEALOUS! Well, kinda. I was in at 7am this morning. But not a bad trade-off still. I'll be thinking of you. As I blog at 8am, enjoying coffee, eye boogies galore, knowing Mr. Wookie's been at work since 7am.

The UrbanDictionary.com Definition Game

The rules: Go to UrbanDictionary.com, type in your name, and hit "Enter."

Minus the fact that whoever entered my definition is retarded because they couldn't tell that they double-used "who" and wrote a triple negative. But other than that, it's dead on.

Now tag, you're it! Either post your answer as a comment or waste a blogpost on it. Or carrier pigeon. I don't care, just do it. "Do it! Do it now!" - Ah-nold in Predator.

Living As An Adult: FAIL

What does a tired Ging do after coming home from work, hitting the elliptical forwards-then-backwards-then-forwards again? Think of something creative, healthy, and delicious for dinner. If only I had the effort this evening. Instead, I'm barely surpassing cereal for dinner. Shorry. (And yes, I meant "Shorry").

So I dig into the pantry for this sad excuse for mac 'n cheese (Kraft vs. Mommy McD's mac 'n cheese = Mommy McD kicking Kraft straight in the balls. And not apologizing afterwards. And then spitting on their mama's grave. Twice.).

And because this blogger doesn't like "assholes and lips" (noun-age courtesy of Dr. Stacey Kevorkian) in her hot dogs, a standard is maintained. But I mean, if you like eating rectal muscles, by all means. I won't stop you. I'll just remind you that, "You're eating asshole. Mmmmm, so how's does that taste, really?"

Yesterday Didn't Have To Be A Snow Day

I got into the office this morning, roaring to go. I knew I had a lot on my schedule this week. And yesterday, being the one slow day in the mix was my day to plan out everything.

Well take 6 inches of snow, a shutdown city, and this blogger being cabin fever'd indoors, I could have borrowed Mr. Wookie's Jeep, complete with 4-wheel crawl, and made it into work to have a quiet day to myself.

But noooo...

I didn't know that I could do that. My boss almost even called me into the Downtown office (oh to be lucky enough to work at that location, but it's like a baby office so they don't need me) to help out there with the few that came in. OMG, I would have had something to do yesterday! Oh, and that little thing called "double pay." Oooooo, me likey.

So now she knows to call me when things like this happen.

And as much fun as it was to complete scour the Loft with Mr. Wookie, color coordinate my closet, organize my out-of-season wear, make more piles of stuff to donate, do and undo the umpteenth load of dishes, a day spent the way my Monday should have gone would have completely benefited this week.

Instead, I got to call last minute orders in for today. Yay, I love waiting until the last minute. But this time it wasn't me. It was nature. Bad Nature!

So now my lunch hour is almost over. My lunch was so-so. I forgot to pack bread for my sandwich, so I had a coworker who was running next door for a bagel pick me one up also. And this afternoon will be spent coordinating tomorrow. And enjoying another cup of coffee. Fuel is important, people. No one wants a napping Ging on the job.

Get The Sheriff A Birthday Beer!

The man in the middle of Dr. Stacey Kervorkian and Baby Sister is a one of a kind.

And today is his birthday. So maybe he'll take a day off from waking up at 4:15am, and Lance Armstrong-ing to the gym for his daily workout. Maybe Mama Ging will go out and get him coffee instead. And maybe Brother & Amber will make him chicken tacos for dinner. Just maybe...

I, instead, will wish him the happiest birthday via blogpost. A great day of another year happy, healthy, and looking good in Black and Orange. This year will be good.

Because without him, I don't look like anyone in the family. And that's just not right.

"You Have Reached The Voicemail Of Mrs. Wookie..."

...she's not available at the moment because the office is closed to the still lingering snow, ice, and disgustingly low temperatures that makes for fun morning commute.

I was nervous that I would be made to come in today. I mean, the second day of the Nor'Easter we were open (against my wishes - we did not need to be there). What makes today any different? But what I've learned: Don't ask questions when things benefit you. Just go with it. Stupid me and my redheaded thought process.

Clean Up On Aisle 3. Frozen Testicle Spill.

First I thought Nashville during Christmas of 2008 was balls cold. It was 26 degrees. Then I hit 23 degrees with Mommy McD this New Years Eve weekend. And my ovaries protested.

But before you ask, "Can it get any colder?" It can. And I'll be inside with my jammers on, book in hand, and probably hot chocolate on my nightstand. Because I like my internal organs not freezing, picketing, protesting, or hitching a ride to Florida. That's why.

For Cabin Fever, Press 3

While it's only 6 inches that's covering Downtown after Saturday's continued snowfall, the fact that everything's closed and the wind is beyond cold is enough to keep Wookie & Co. indoors.

We did venture out yesterday. To take in the sights around the neighborhood.

The little pond was barely surviving the Bering Sea-like conditions that took over.

But this little guy definitely made me giggle. His hair made me crack up the most.

And we ventured along the water, which wasn't that windy (to our surprise). But we did have to cross a wooden bridge to get back to the street. "Hopefully this thing isn't rotted through. I mean, I'll survive, but you probably won't." Thanks Wook.

Now here is where it gets windy, when we're on the streets of Downtown Norfolk. Obviously, I'm barely surviving with a hat on, my hoodie, and the top of my jacket. Brrrrrrr!! I don't know if I could survive in a Bostonian climate. That may be a bit extreme for me.

When you get near the buildings is where the wind whips the most. It was like getting pelted with needles in the face. Not a happy Mrs. Wookie. Then outside the Union Mission (Men's shelter), 2 bums were fighting. While I told Wook to take a picture of it, he suggested we cross the street to avoiding dealing with them. Sold.

So now that we confirmed yesterday that it's miserable outside, I was so bored that I caught up on my housework. Dishes done. AND unloaded. Laundry bin empty, minus a half-load of reds (but I'll save the water and wash them when I have a full load). Emily Post biography over halfway read. Body washed and hair dried. And the "Wookie & Co. Pregnancy Questionnaire" emailed to the S.I.L. Amber. Only thing left is to make dinner. But I think I'll let Mr. Wookie handle that. He needs a break from studying. Aren't I a nice roommate?

HOLY STRAIGHT-SHITTIN' SHERLOCK

Screw the posts that I had intended for this weekend. Screw the plan I had. Screw everything. Because we actually got snow last night. I don't know how, but the little mecca of my world, which is on the water, and ZERO feet above sea-level on the Eastern Seaboard got the white powder world of Boston/Alaska/Chicago/DC, etc. Okay, maybe not that extreme, but holy shit...

It started to flake just past 2am. I was just home from a Girls Night Out while Mr. Wookie had spent 12 hours barhopping. No, not a typo. 12 HOURS. Champion, I tell you.

While I was tired because it was late, and had adequately fed the guys who were clamoring for drunk food, I PJ'd up and hit the sack.

Mr. Wookie went out for pictures. So I've at least warned you of his sobriety level during his 2-hour trek last night around Downtown Norfolk.

So this is a side street off our building. Not much to be seen. Just the snow accumulating in the trenches, because the wind Downtown can be an uber bitch. A lot.

During their trek, our friend Scott (to some, "Mr. Appetizer" - the man can't eat a meal without an appetizer) works on his America's Next Top Model look.

And Mr. Wookie smiles despite the blistering cold that it was being out last night and on the Waterside. One wrong move...

Apparently the USS Wisconsin is listing a slight lean. Maybe it needs a V8.

I don't know how long it took for Mr. Wookie to realize I had my camera on "night shots" (it's a super long exposure so night shots aren't as dark) because when someone's getting frisked/arrested/escorted to the patrol car across the street from my Girls Night Out, you take pictures. But that event is obviously beaten by SNOW!

Starting to have some snow stick to these streets. Not too shabby. This is about as much as Medford, Oregon, would get. I think I had 2 snow days in school. Ever. Lame.

Getting there. And I'm not sure what time it is either...or their BAC.

And like any law-abiding citizen, the prerequisite standing-in-the-middle-of-the-road-for-a-shot-of-the-stupid-people-who-haven't-made-it-home-yet photo. That's my boy.

Fast forward 5 hours of sleep for this blogger who woke up thinking it was much later. Makes sense. Snow is white. White is reflective. I thought more morning had passed.

But like any good child, I put on my 40-degree running tights, my snow boots, a sweatshirt, and puffer vest, just to step out the doorway and snap some shots.

Yes, I'm the Queen of Doorstep Shots. Who wants to ruin the snow? Not me. I'm a purist also. See, you guys are learning a lot this week.

So, here's to not going to the gun range. Or out to frozen yogurt.

In Case You Haven't Noticed, I'm A Realist

Let's take a look at the Weather.com Weekend Forecast for this neck of the world.

But until I see that white shit stick to the ground and accumulate, I don't believe it.

Edited to add: It's 2:00am. Still no snow. But there are frost-bitten toes and fingers on the way home from the bar this evening. 19 degrees is a bitch. And pajamas it is.

How The Sheriff Relaxes

It's been a long day at work at World Headquarters, the Sheriff needs to start winding his day down. And how does he do that? A healthy glass of Zin from Trader Joe's.

And some quality time with his ol' friend Ben Bailey of Cash Cab. I sure do miss this.

FYI: Begin The Search Party On Thursday

Today and tomorrow are very busy, stressful, long days at work. I'll be coming home from work tired, dying to just get my miles or cross-training out of the way, hoping my roommate has dinner made, so I can crash before 10pm just to start it again on Wednesday.

So if I'm able to post during this time, it'll be amazing.

If I don't, please have a tasty adult beverage in my honor.

And think of mental footrub for my poor feet which will most likely end the day by breaking off, grabbing signs, and picketing outside my closet.

But for now I'll enjoy my coffee in the quiet before the storm.

See you on the other side. Hopefully. If not, it's been swell. I just hope that people have the courtesy of burying me with Beaver Gear. And a vodka tonic in a sippy cup. With a headstone that says, "Here Lies Ging." Amen.

What's One Part Vodka, Two Parts Tonic, And Lime For Garnish?

Middle Sister's new favorite drink. And the crowd goes wild. Okay, maybe just me.

But seriously, an honor. Truly, an honor. I've lit the way. I've established the path. I've Yoda'd to her Skywalker. And the torch has been passed. Continue on, oh noble Middle Sister. You're on the path of excellence. And it will only get better. Rock on.

I Believe I Deserve A Second Sunday, Thank You

I feel jipped. I feel screwed. I feel like I deserve a whole weekend in which to regain my sanity, finish my laundry, and stretch out my calves that are decidedly tighter after my long day run.

Friday afternoon started like this...

I almost left my phone on the back of my car. Great, right? Nothing would piss me off more than donating my wonderful Orange and Black phone to some punk-ass bitch who's failing out of Community College.

And this was at 3:00pm on Friday. Yes, I was out of work at 2:34pm. But there was a catch. I had to work Saturday morning: 7:30 - 9:30am. That's okay. I don't mind sacrificing a Friday afternoon not at work to be in for 2 hours on Saturday.

So this is where I was promptly after coming home. Hello gorgeous! Miss me?!?

Saturday night was a return to the college days. No really. I went to a house party. Like a full on gaggles-of-people-in-the-hottub, beerpong-in-the-front-room, drinking-Jenga-game-near-the-sofas. The only thing missing were Greek letters. And the cops raiding. But there was the old man who dropped by without warning. Apparently the neighbors there are very friendly.

And Sunday was spent channeling my inner-Sarah Palin. Where Russia go? We went to the gun range. Talk about lame. No, not the part about dispelling ammo like I'm Ah-nold tracking the Predator. I'm talking about having to pay to use someone's basement to blow shit up. Umm, where I come from, we drive out to the mountains. My targets are usually Spongebob posters. And there's fresh air, trees, and the one-time Sheriff dropping by to check out our cache.

And now it's raining something fierce. I just got a warning from Weather.com about this crazy systems that pouring along the coast. It's the perfect day to stay in, curled up in my chair, reading my Emily Post biography. Agree? Oh, rain, I've missed you. It's only been 3 days. But you seriously make my day. Is it so wrong to feel like I'm back in the greatest College Town, Oregon ever? Minus I can't skip work like I skipped class. Not that I ever skipped class. No, not me, honor student here. Promise.

Dr. Ging, I Presume.

Put away the crash cart, I'm alive. I've dreamt about my bloggings for the past few days, but life prevented me from venting my frustrations, admirations, and "Wtf?" moments. I apologize.

I have in the pipeline posts about...

1. My MLK weekend of Dude-Fest 2010.
2. Working my first Saturday morning.
3. A housewarming party gone insane.
4. And the future of Wookie and Co. homebrews.

But until then, it's past my bedtime and I have to work tomorrow. My top priority: liquor inventory. My life is rough. Real rough. Good night folks!

Blogging On Alcohol

Don't do it. Motivation will be lackluster. Topics, scattered. Readers, confused. Storyline, non-existent. And it'll barely be 9pm. So there you have it, folks.

But to justify my mid-week boozification, I just got back from dinner with Mr. Wookie and a friend. A delicious dinner. I had the duck. Delish. They had the Kobe beef steaks. Astoundingly delicious. And the vodka tonics weren't half bad either. You know they have a great vodka when you can drink it on the rocks and swear it's water. Maybe that's where I went wrong. Or right.

Anyways, to rectify my Sainthood, I'm home while the boys have continued on. Yes, I was walked home. And yes, I'll be throwing my cotton pajama pants on soon and calling it a night. And yes, I hope I'm not woken up by the sound of a movie at 2am, because Mr. Wookie is intoxicated and desiring bloodshed.

The Misunderstanding Of An Oregonian

Coworker, mumbling: "So why do you eat healthy?"

Ging: "Why do I eat healthy or how do I eat healthy?"

Coworker: "Both."

Ging: "I don't know, I guess I've just grown up like this."

Coworker: "Oh, so your parents eat healthy?"

Ging: "Yea...(getting really excited)...my dad used to make granola, and you can add flax seed or nuts or wheat germ."

Coworker, completely uninterested in making granola: "Ohhhhh..."

What Lies Ahead In 2010

What's in store for Wookie & Co. for the coming year? Let's see....

February

The family can't wait to welcome the first grandbaby/niec-phew to the hysteria that makes up our world. Boy or girl, 10 fingers or 11 (just kidding)...as long as it develops a great sense of humor, it won't be banished to living on an island in exile. Just remember, kid, postcards from your Aunt are priceless.

March

Baby Sister is one year closer to the getting-caught-drinking-but-it's-okay-'cuz-your-legal age. This worries me while makes me proud. If we go out in Medford, should I be responsible and make sure we get home safely? Or should I have fun with Baby Sister and then call our parents for a ride home? I'm thinking Plan B.

June

Middle Sister dons that ugly, tent-like gown that makes Commencement "official." But seriously, another Beaver Grad to the family just makes us look good. And I look forward to another trip to Awesome College Town, those still in there, and my favorite building in college: McMenamin's Hall.

July

While I definitely look forward to jumping the Atlantic for a little "'Ello Govna," the 4th of July just won't be the same. Hopefully I can find some ex-pats to grab a pint with while indulging in some fish and chips. And maybe some biscuits. Happy Birthday America, from the Land of Those Who Got Their Asses Handed Back To Them.

October

Another year older? Really? Why? I don't see the need in this at all. It should really stop. 24 years is great. End scene. I don't want to hit 27. Then it's just 3 years till 30. And while 30 means NYC with Mommy McD, which sounds great, wrinkles and old age are not in my Top 10 list of things I want to happen. What is? Awesomeness. I know, how awesome is that?

December

After 2 years away for the holidays, I'm coming back home baby. It's in everybody's interest, really. Middle Sister can make some awesome scones. Baby Sister throws down a killer pie. And I can make a deadly mimosa. Round that out with the Sheriff making 2 pans of Monkey Bread, and Mama Ging never having her gifts wrapped until Christmas Eve when she has to implement a Nike Sweat Shop of her daughters to get everything done...home is where the heart is, where it makes me happiest, and where I can be myself. Because I'm the Ging, that's why.

To Wifi or Not To Wifi?

There are times in this modern age where technology can be taken a bit too far. No, I don't need you to tweet while you're 9cm dilated, or twitpic getting that mole on your ass checked out, or a Facebook update that you're still hungover. (Okay, well maybe that third one is allowed, but that's only 'cuz it's funny - you, drunk, you.)

I'm debating whether or not to bring the laptop this weekend. To blog...or not to blog...blog...not to blog...?

But...I'm on vacation...technically...but the blog is a constant form of information/entertainment...but I'm on vacation...and will I actually have time to dedicate to you, my faithful readers, while I dole out aspirin and gatorade like it's Jonestown?

Not to mention I'm not even packed yet, and we leave tonight.

And I call myself a planner. Well, packing planner is obviously not my calling.

But enough of the chit chat. Work calls. And so does coffee. But coffee first.

TGIAFBISNTP!

Translation: Thank god it's almost Friday, but I still need to pack!

Like I said before, once this blogger peaces out from work tomorrow afternoon, she's headed outta town towards a "Sunriver-esque" type location. But don't think awesome, high in elevation, and in Oregon. Think measly, 3,500 ft in elevation total, and still on the Wrong Coast.

But it's 3 days away from responsibility with a gang of rowdy boys.

Yes, I'll most likely be Mama Bear-ing it up while the rest are down for the count with hangovers/dehydration/other issues. Just pray for zero broken bones. Sprains I can do. Compound fractures, I do not. Besides, compounds will require me to waste my previous vodka on sterilizing your damn wound. Waste. Of. Sustenance.

And like someone who's way too prepared for life, Mr. Wookie is forcing me away from the blog so I can pack before we crash tonight. And like those who know me, Mrs. Wookie packs best when under pressure. Just hope I bring underwear. Because it's too cold to not.

Let's just hope this damn cabin has wifi. Otherwise, HELP ME! I won't survive!

Happy Thursdsay!

But first off, I'm still kinda butt hurt about how people don't answer my calls. Yes, Ginganoia is a real and documented medical condition (see comments from previous posts) - but seriously, it's way less intense than say BEING A GING...so suck it up, people!

Anyways...it's Thursday!! One more day until Friday! Yes!

And Mr. Wookie has made coffee this morning, so I get to indulge in some delicious java before braving the elemental cold that continues to lurk on the Eastern Seaboard. Seriously, I'm over this shit. It's balls cold here. No, I take that back, it's ovaries cold here. Balls can't survive. Neither can my innards. I've never been so cold ever than when I ran home from the bar, yes, slightly impaired, and it was still cold enough to slap my alcohol-induced desensitization. Then we Weather.com'd it, and it was "26 with a wind chill of 14." Check please.

Today Is The National "Don't Answer Ging's Calls" Day

Boo to you. Mama Ging, the Sheriff, and Mr. Wookie all missed at least one of my calls today on my drive home from work. Since when did an embargo go out against my calls? Seriously.

So instead, I'm having a glass of leftover Zinfandel. How do you like me now?

Happy 29th++ Birthday, Brother!

Officially sliding over the age of 3o, Brother's ponying up for the downhill slide to 40. Hopefully not before giving it a good kick in the ass. We don't age without a fight. And a little bit of lying, also. Of course.

So let's uncover 31 fun facts about Brother. You know you're game. Even if you're not. Suck it up. I'm not asking for a kidney donation. It's just my family, that's all.

1. Brother taught me to always implement a "Finder's Fee" when buying underage college students alcohol. Always give credit to your services, I agree.
2. He used to get chased around elementary school because the girls loooooved to rub his "high top" haircut. Oh, the 90's.
3. Even though it took 6 years, the man still graduated from Oregon State University. Go Beavs!
4. He's got less than a month until "Daddy" becomes a part of his life. The little niec-phew is due February 10th - and the family's excited!
5. He taught me that there's nothing like relief of the Spins like the cold bathroom floor.
6. Brother used to use a large plastic trash can as a laundry hamper - perhaps he still does - we may have to check with the wife. ;)
7. His first car was a Volkswagen Rabbit - and it was a P.O.S. that left him stranded on I-5 numerous times.
8. He was born in 1979 and graduated high school in 1997 - weird.
9. I barely made it back for his wedding, as I was traveling the country on my post-college "I'm so burned out right now" phase.
10. The only time I've ever seen green poop was by his friend, Travis Harvel.
11. We're less than 2 inches apart in height. He feels very jipped.
12. In 2009, Brother & Wife become homeowners!
13. If you ever ride in Brother's Jetta, you'll swear it smells like crayons. Because it does!
14. The video game F.E.A.R. nearly made him poop his pants - swear!
15. He lives approximately 5 miles away from the Sheriff and Mama Ging.
16. Brother was the pioneer in the family in working on a wildland handcrew to help support the funding for college. Second in line, this blogger.
17. He got his first shoulder-mounted black bear last year.
18. My gift to Brother & Wife for their wedding was ceremony programs. Because I have an English degree, and I thought the wedding needed programs. Well, I liked them. That's all that counts, right?
19. While he's not exactly Asian, he gives a killer foot rub. Oh uh, cat's outta the bag. Pregnant wife at home. Sorry, Brother!
20. The punk once charged me $20 to borrow his CD player for a week - what I used to do to listen to a new Mariah Carey CD.
21. I used to beat him at leg wrestling (you know, where your backs are to the armrests on the couch, and you try to push your legs out against the other person). He'll probably claim he let me win. I know, it's because I'm awesome.
22. Oh ya, how could I forget this one? Brother is a Youth Pastor/Children's Minister, and is quite good at it. He makes the boys do push-ups when they're unruly. Sounds about right.
23. His Christmas/birthday list comprised of everything hunting, as the man's an avid outdoorsman.
24. I still believe he owes me a fishing trip since we never got around to it after I returned to Oregon.
25. He and Wife believe the niec-phew is a boy. I have no hunch. I just feel it'll come early. Gender has yet to come to me in a vision quest.
26. Brother is the only male offspring from my parents. The rest of the family is comprised of this blogger, Middle Sister, and Baby Sister. So no pressure on making sure you're family name goes on, right?
27. For Christmas, I got Brother & Wife 2 years of the Parents magazine since they're adding to their brood (and infants do not come with Owner's Manuals).
28. And he almost always borrows the Sheriff's Birkenstocks for the Christmas-time play, as he deems them periodically accurate. And might I add, comfy!
29. When he ran for President of his elementary school, I helped put up his signs around the school. And when I say helped, I mean that I was too weak to rip the duct tape so I just carried the signs around until I was needed.
30. I got my first email address in junior high just so I could email him while he was away at college in Portland. Yes, I emailed religiously. I hope he didn't mind.
31. I still owe him a present, but it'll be coming shortly. Do I get points for having the card purchased a week and a half in advance?

Happy Birthday, Brother! Hope your day was easier and more fun than trying to list 31 fun facts about your ass. Not an easy feat! I'll let you know what I find for your birthday and when to expect it.

And after the Niec-phew arrives, we'll work on a schedule so the cool, traveling Aunt can come home and teach the child all the important lessons of adulthood (like don't believe Daddy when he says that red licorice will give you anal cancer - it's just an excess of Red Dye #40 that turns your poop colors).

Love you two-and-eighth-ninths! Can't wait to see you soon!

Sunday Morning Brought To You By The Ging

This weekend was the most entertaining and the most calm weekend in a while. Is that right? Not that I want to relive certain parts.

I fell asleep last night on the couch at 8:37pm, while Wook watched FanBoys (4 teenaged Star Wars fan plot to drive from Ohio to California, to break into the Skywalker Ranch - it was....interesting). Mr. Wookie proceeded to wake me up sometime later as he was heading to bed, so I could sleep upstairs. This is always a heavily debated issue as I'm sometimes a raging bitch when I'm woken up from a deep sleep. But if you look at the other way, I'd be a huge pain in the ass if he just left my ass on the couch to sleep. You can't win with me. Sorry.

Friday night was legendary as my night started with 2 margaritas and a shot of tequila. My Facebook status launched all sorts of quotes and quandaries as I didn't know how the night would end. Well it ended, after the boys stole a poster from the Irish Pub. By hiding it in my purse. Umm, excuse me, I will NOT be an accessory to thievery! Douches.

And yes, shots are making a comeback in my life. Proud? Kinda. To be honest.

I spent a handful of hours yesterday looking for a new template for my blog. It's been about a year since I've had the current layout. I'm just looking for something different. And hopefully without Times New Roman as an option. I hate that font. It's ugly. So ugly.

Friday, I went into work at Noon. It was great. Although I feel like it was a partial day wasted since I only worked 5.5 hours. Is that what part-time feels like?

Today will be another day that Mr. Wookie spends looking for cabins/homes for the MLK weekend trip. We're in the works of planning a weekend ski/board trip in the "mountains" of Virginia. Well, skiing/boarding for those who do that. Innertubing for this blogger.

Dinner on the menu is homemade beef and broccoli, and it's been marinating since last night. Mmmmmm, I'm glad to have my roommate back. So is my stomach.

And Pete Carroll...really? You can't leave. You're the best lookin' thing out of USC.

How was everyone's weekend? Hungover? Starved? Shopped till you dropped? Newly pregnant? Ready to sell your children on the Black Market?

T-Minus: 4 Hours And Counting

Mr. Wookie lands tonight. Hopefully. On time, or not, the roommate is coming back. Oh shit, better get the house cleaned. And quickly.

I kid, but I kid not. It's not a nuclear wasteland, but it's definitely not something that'd be on Martha Stewart Living's front cover.

I'll just say it's a bit lower than Mr. Wookie's level of clean. But that's to be expected when you had the upbringing he had. He made his bed every morning, did his own laundry, packed his lunch. I slacked my whole way through high school with Mama Ging making my lunch, the Sheriff yelling at me to "make a path," and my closet getting the royal treatment of hiding everything so I could go out and play. Just 2 different worlds, that's all.

So until he gets back, I get to do his duties. Okay, well his duty. The only thing I despise is unloading the dishwasher. I call it "undoing," and it's more evil than giving an 84-year-old woman a pedicure. I'd rather babysit. And by babysit, I mean put some whiskey in the bottle/sippy cup and tell them there's a magical jelly bean in the closet and they can't come out until they find it. This is why Aunt Bop's the "fun one."

And let's just have some icing on the cake for this blogger right here. Half day tomorrow for me! Woohoo! "How?" you ask. By working almost my whole week's hourage in 4 days. And while I could have had the afternoon off, I chose to have the morning off. Because picking up Mr. Wookie at Uber:Late PM, I'd like some real sleep. So I'll be thinking of you when I wake up at 10am, with eye boogies galore, while you've been slaving for The Man since 8am.

The Evil Monkey In My Closet Is My 4:30am Wake Up

Another day, another 4:30am wake-up thanks to the evil dancing cell phone on my night stand. I'm at an absolute loss for anything entertaining this morning because it's still too early to process the yummy Cheerios I just inhaled.

But great news, I get my roommate back tonight. And the crowd goes wild! You won't believe how excited I am. And how much more excited I'll be when I pick him up. My personal chef is back! My personal chef is back! My personal chef is back!

So on the agenda this evening, after work, is CLEAN, CLEAN, CLEAN.

I take the motto, "When Mr. Wookie's away, Mrs. Wookie will...not pick up a damn thing, leave piles of clothes everywhere, not touch a dirty dish."

Okay, okay, not entirely. But let's just say that the laundry pile has exploded upstairs. I've already done a load of dishes (only one person doesn't make much of a dishwasher load). The trash was taken out last Friday before I went on my mini-vacation to Mommy McD's. And I took out the recycling yesterday. Overall, I'm getting more used to handling the place without Mr. Wookie. But by no means, does this mean I want a deployment starting tomorrow. Nope. Thank goodness Mr. Wookie is still in the longest-flight-training-known-to-Man. Okay, maybe not NASA, but this is the longest flight path of any Navy aircraft. So no deployments until he's done. Yay.

And besides, even if I've left a pile of dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, DO YOU NOT REMEMBER "Turtle Tank '10!?!" Ummmmm, hello, Roommate Of The Year Award here! If not, are you kidding me? I'd rather hold someone's hair, while they profess their love for the Porcelain Throne Gods, after too many rounds of tequila/rum/whiskey/moonshine/sangria/Aunt Janie's punch/Capri Sun. Vomit, I do. Poop, I DO NOT.

Anyways, let's get today moving. I'm tired of being awake already, and it's only 5:28am. And 5:30pm can come as soon as it wants. In fact, I plead 5:30pm to come in, screeching to a halt. I'd skip my lunch to have today over in a blink. Pretty please. I'll give you one of my leftover peppermint Hershey kisses.

Toothpicks, Party of Two!

I need them for my eyelids. They're falling fast. And I'm fading faster. No thanks to that early call time for today's schedule. I'm debating dinner, but I don't think I'm up for much cooking. What I need is to just go to bed now. And what will help with that? Carbs. Hello, pancakes!

So as much as I should hit the gym and log my 2 miles for today's training efforts, seeing a girl fall asleep on a treadmill isn't something I'd like to try.

But first, get butt out of La-Z-Boy. Mix batter. Cook pancakes. Warm syrup. Spread peanut butter. Inhale. Repeat, if needed. Upstairs. Pajamas. Text Mr. Wookie, "Good night." Zonk. Any questions?

Nasal Attack of the Turtle Tank: 10 Hours Later

There's still a very slight odor residing from the tank even after last night's festivities. Per Mr. Wookie's guidance, I won't be turning on the heat lamp today which should keep the water temperature cooler. Cooler water temperature = lower smell (hopefully). But from upstairs, no real stench.

Or maybe it's just because I'm incredibly tired that I can't smell it upstairs. Yes, the time stamp on this post is pre-5:00am. Because I'm nuts. Well, not entirely. I'm dedicated, that's what. And today will easily surpass the 10-hour workday mark. I just hope tonight doesn't turn into another tank project which forces me to have Cheerios for dinner. Because as much as I love them, there is a threshold.

And please let me know if anyone would like to sponsor Mr. Wookie to come home slightly early to solve this problem. I'd give an eternal blogpost shout-out.

Home Is Where The Stinky Turtle Tank Is

Stab me. Please. I'll take a dull spoon to the jugular. Anything to improve upon the outhouse-like stench that has inhabited Wookie & Co. What I thought was gag-inducing yesterday is mere child's play today. I put on my ruby red slippers, click my heels three times, and the smell doesn't get any better. I swear, if this is a foreshadowing of life during deployments, I may be thinking twice about the 3 little prehistoric creatures that call the tank home. Not really, but a stepmother's love is only so much.

But let's talk about the 2 minutes of drama/stress/worry/panic that ensued before I agreed to start this project of motherly love.

Big Mama (the biggest of the 3 turtles) was laying in the corner, eyes closed, arms tucked in, not responding to the taping of my finger on the glass.

"OMG, WHAT IF SHE'S DEAD?

"Well poke her with a stick."

"I don't have a stick."

"Well where's the one?"

"It's in the tank."

"Well, reach in and grab it."

"Ewwwww, I'm not doing that. That's gross. OMG, Wook, what if she's dead? I can't have a dead turtle in the house till Thursday? What do I do with her? You need to come home, NOW! This is not in my job description!!"

TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP..."Come on Big Mama..." Eyes open. I can hear it now. "Bitch, you woke me out of a nap. How would you like if I did that to you? Not so cool now, is it?"

Okay, so 3 alive turtles, 1 stinky-ass tank, and 1 almost gagged-out Mrs. Wookie...

Thank you Mama Ging and Sheriff for supplying Mr. Wookie with a home-brew kit that contains a siphon and extra 5-gallon bucket. It comes in handy in emergencies like these. And just look at how truly f***ing disgusting the water is. And how? We don't know why. I fed the turtles the usual amount on Friday before I left, then came home to this mess of a water situation on Sunday. Somewhere in between, the "fit hit the shan." I think the turtles boycotted Mr. Wookie on vacation. Too bad it affected me instead. Communists.

And the motto of the cleaning session is: Go Empty or Go Home. So down to the very last couple inches I went. That's what she said. But seriously, the 3 turtles were freaking out thinking that their home was ending up like a rainforest. No, turtles, but because of some freak of nature, your home had to get a thorough cleaning. Okay, maybe thorough isn't the right word. It's me we're talking about. You're getting a psuedo-adequate cleaning. But it's better than nothing, so be grateful, you little shits.

The best part: Mr. Wookie says I'm "getting a nice dinner date for this." Amen.

Mr. Wookie May Come Home Now

As much as I love 4-day work weeks, a Friday where I get to leisurely drive north to the Mommy McD abode, spend 2 days with 2 trolls in too cold of weather, I'm ready for my household to resume normality. I'd like my roommate home again. Please.

There's just something about coming home from work, Mr. Wookie already there, or if he hasn't made it home yet, I arrive first, giddy to see him strut home in his flight suit. We replay our day. And if it's been a stressful day to either party, we make a cocktail first, then divulge in how the day went wrong. And if it's a really bad day...well...it's ugly people. One time I came home sooooo fuming that I forced Mr. Wookie into running gear so I could force my frustrations into 3 miles. Ya, you know it's bad when liquor won't suffice - only a snotty nose in too cold of weather.

And this weekend was great. Since Mr. Wookie wasn't around, I didn't feel bad in leaving the Loft for a friendly face near the D.C. area. What I didn't count on was hypothermia showing up and almost forcing us to abandon any activity outside the house. But we trooper'd on. We drove into D.C. for some existential education (we went to an art museum) before succumbing to the blistering cold that still enveloped the whole northern part of Virginia. Starbucks and home. Check and check. What wasn't on my menu: insane traffic ON A SATURDAY and an hour-long commute back.

But unfortunately for this blogger, I have a job that won't allow me ample time off to visit everyone. (Not yet, people, not yet). So I made the trek back home. And I'm here. And I wish I weren't. The turtle tank is starting to create a wafting smell around the lower part of the Loft. I'd fix it...but I don't know how. Plus, I'm going to wave the "Mr. Wookie, your turtles need attention." I didn't buy them. Yes, I love them. But honestly, I'm like a stepmother to them. No real responsibility. ;)

So while I'm hiding out upstairs doing my laundry, XMing, and wishing the days away until Mr. Wookie returns, the stench will probably linger. Along with the dropping temperatures. Oh yay, I love winter. But seriously, where's my rain? The Ging does not do cold.

Happy Holy-Shittin' New Year!

So I had a post all written up last night. How New Year's Eve is a lame holiday. How overrated it is. How jewelery sales between the holidays and Valentine's Day account for 30% of the diamond industry's sales. How Dick Clark should really retire from any hosting gigs because the man can barely formulate a sentence. How it's just another night for myself. How I even contemplated not going out and staying in to do laundry instead. Good thing I went out.

I was talked into going out. And our plan was a Happy Hour Drink ($3-5), Happy Hour Food ($3-5), then ordering a second Happy Hour Drink before 7pm so it's still the Happy Hour price. All done? Okay, we leave then, call it a night, because I don't like being those people. The people who've been at the bar since they got off work, it's working it's way to 2am, and you're surprised they haven't fallen off the barstool yet.

But....then 3 people showed up, one of whom I know.

These 3 guys are hopping every hour to celebrate other time zones' New Year. They started at 3:30pm. It was now past 7pm. Or maybe it was 8pm. But besides having a shot on the hour, every hour, they had their usual beverage also. Great combination.

Well that next hour that came around, I got presented with a shot to help ring in Sao Paulo's New Year. Really? Are we doing this? Oh, I'm going to hate my life. I gave up shots after I got a little rowdy at Mr. Wookie's birthday. And now it looks like this shot is giving me the evil eye. Well, the shot smells nice. And we (the whole bar) count down from 10, and I sip it. Yes, I sip the shot. Why? It was soooooo tasty. This would have been a deadly drink. But it was delicious. Okay, maybe shots are back in my repetoire.

But then another hour pasts and it's time to celebrate Rio's New Year. Really, another hour's past? More shots? Well, I get lined up with another shot to ring in their New Year. Another countdown had, and I put this shot away. Complete with slamming the glass down on the bar. Yes, the Ging is bringing it back to the college days. BITCH, WHAT UP? Okay, not really, like I'd verbally assault our favorite bartenders. I'd be killing the bar. But still, starting to revert. I'm kinda proud at that moment, but then still wondering whether I'll be able to function tomorrow.

But as you can tell, I'm here, alive, Cheerios in belly, only 5 or so fell on the floor.

Somewhere past 11am, the 3 guys decided to leave for another bar, to ring in some other New Years. I decided it was time to mosey home since I had big plans for tomorrow (clean a little, 3 miles, pack a bag, head to Mommy McD's). I crawl into bed maybe 10 minutes before Midnight. Baby Sister texts me, "OMg, It's almost New Years, are you shit-faced?" No, Baby Sister, I'm in bed, having called it a night, and I'm texting Mr. Wookie about how his fishing trip went. Yes, a lackluster evening. I literally fell asleep at Midnight. But then again, the bright side, I stayed out much later than I intended/thought I would. I'd say points. And no need for Advil.