Crater Lake 2.0

Like last year, we decided to trek up to Crater Lake (which is only an hour and a half drive from Medford, maybe two hours) to participate in the weekend Ranger-guided snowshoeing adventure. To be honest, I feel kinda like I'm cheating part of the world by living so close to a national wonder. There were people there from Sac, Monterey, Hood River, etc. And us from Medford. Big stretch. But I still love it. How can someone not love the snow at 7,000 feet?

Pimping out the backseat of the truck on the way up. This was the only picture that didn't get the unfortunate double chin associated with taking shots of yourself.

So last year there were two people who didn't have CamelBaks and they gophered water from my hydration pack. Well thankfully those two (my brother and Babs) finally invested in their own so I didn't have to acquire cooties on my mouthpiece.

Moving out at the beginning of the trek. This was a nice level area to move about. It definitely got steep in some places. And the half inch layer of ice on the snow was sometimes helpful, but sometimes it just hinders the walking ability.

My dad, in "ass-less chaps." These are a staple for cold weather Beaver games. And sometimes he'll break out into a psuedo-striptease dance. Hysterical. You really have to be there to experience it. And just a note: My dad's CamelBak is under his vest, just for future reference. ;)

Starting to move up the slope of things. Last year's hike was probably half of how far we went today. It was pretty cool to get the full hour and a half that was slated for this outing. Last year's guy was a bit older and probably didn't want to expend the full energy to give us a bad ass tour. But thankfully this guy was a bit younger, and more spry, and was more than willing to give us an excellent outing.

More emo shots. With our latest haircutting spree, under the beanies we seem a little more 'cancer patient' than anything.

Family shot. Okay, not everyone. Just dad, myself, and brother.

Playboy shot in front of the caldera. And as you can tell, my dad and brother are dudes and thus didn't wear too many layers. Stac and I were fully dressed for the occasion, because once we got to the rim the wind was whipping. Ugh. Cold. Yay for beanies.

The last shot of the day on our hike out. That trek reminded me of why I don't want to be on a fire crew again. There was a stretch uphill that about killed everyone. Not my dad, though. He's a champ. So ya, sorry to disappoint people compared to my Cannon Beach shots. But I never said I was a pro. Besides most pictures were taken on the move while following the chain of people. So there.

And an amazing story from the Park. Apparently around 12:30pm, some guy had lost his cellphone down over the rim. So instead of informing someone, he decided to go down after it. So after falling 300 yards, paramedics were called in to retrieve him. Dumbass. That better have been an expensive cellphone. Mine's only $20, so I would have bagged the whole thing. I don't think calling in Fire Dist. No. 3 (from White City) would have been necessary. So by the time we were headed off the mountain (can I call it a mountain?), around 4:00-something, they were still working on getting him back up. I'd call it a loss. Moron.

Awww...pretty kitty...

Like many family members and some friends, there are people who may think I make up characters in order to make my life seem more interesting. Wook has yet to meet my whole family and so I always wonder if people think I made him up like George Glass (remember? Jan's fake boyfriend on Brady Bunch!?).

Well I assure that wook is real, and so is the little gato that lives in our backyard. He's been abandoned since as long as I've been living at my parents' house. Poor little guy. We feed him and he's started to be okay with coming into our house when we leave the back door open for him. Of course we have to lock that psycho cat of my mother's up in the parents' bedroom. I'm way okay with swapping out Psycho for this lil fluffer ball.

I've nicknamed him "Al" from algodon (cotton in Spanish). We're not sure to its gender. But it's a cutey anyway. Here I'm spying on him from my bedroom window (remember, the daylight basement concept?) after I turned out my light.

Awww, I got his attention. He likes my mom and I. He's come into the house and rubbed on our legs wanting attention. My mom has even gotten to pet him/her. As you can tell, I can't decide how I'll describe him/her without changing the gender. My theory is we should get a tranquilizer gun and just put it down for 20 minutes while we shave it. But not in the winter. The little thing suffers through the rain by sleeping under our deck. Poor thing is soo fluffy, but soo skinny underneath.

Now I feel like he's looking all asian at me. "No, I ajian." (Who's a Jon & Kate fan??) :)

Fluffer ball lounging in the sun, which is a nice break from the dense fog we had this morning. Sometimes he can't catch a break from Psycho, who will sometimes chase him around the yard. I think he's gotten the hint that I don't like Psycho, so Fluffer sides with me. :)

Sweepy kitty, meow, kitty kitty gato. So people can now see how cute he is. I have a soft spot for animals. Wookiees. Ewoks. Sarah's munchkins. Honey Nut Cheerios. Finding passports. And books.

But not necessarily in that order. Depending on how hungry I am, the Cheerios may bypass all.

Can I get a woohoo?

So the underlying decision behind going through my entire storage unit is not to determine how little I can live with (although it's a nice thought after reading the Voluntary Simplicity Movement), but instead I've been in a slight panic over where the heck my darn passport could be?!

Back in college, I used to keep it by my asian dragon (my dad painted it back in 1960-something, something that I'll treasure for my whole life - I should take a picture of it for y'all) because he was the guardian of my apartment. Well that was almost 2 years ago. In the mean time, I've packed up my whole life, put it into storage, traveled a little, worked a little, traveled some more, etc. So with that family cruise on the horizon, I was attempting to put into hyper-drive the searching for my ID. Cuz I didn't want to have to eat another $100 just to get another one (because you know with luck, I'd find it after I got back from the cruise).

Well as I'm continue to sort through "Keep," "Give Away," and "Consignment Shop," I pulled out my old refereeing briefcase (it's my old laptop bag which I used to carry extra whistles, game supplies, rule booklets for when coaches got rowdy, haha, and food) out of the garage. I don't know why/how it got out there. But it was there. Gaining cobwebs. So as I rifle through finding more pens (which I feel I can never have enough of), some girlie products (in case athletes had incidences, just call me Sister Mary Ashley), and...holy crap...my passport! WTF?

How did it get in there? Did my evil twin ref games in Canadia? Did it grow legs and walk in there? I swore I packed it with the asian dragon so he could protect it while things came alive in my storage unit. Apparently not. Damn. I'm impressed. So I called my dad, leaving a huge "waaaaahoooooo" voicemail. Pretty sweet.

Who's ready for Mexico? This relieved redhead right here.

The silence begins...

Okay, so wook doesn't ship out into the field until afternoon today, but it's still enough to document that my communication with that boy is stagnant until next Friday sometime.

I expect something of a text along the lines of..."Hey baby, I'm alive. And I'm on my way to Old Town to drink my weight in margaritas."

I actually requested to just know that a.) he made it, and b.) he's off to have a big meal and some booze because I know I might need it to get through this week and I'm not even the one there. It'll be a good evening for him when he gets back. Until then. Errrr, not so much.

When I asked him if he was ready to eat eyeballs since they're high in nutrients, he said, "That's gross." Well being the tv junkie I've become lately, I've been able to catch my Man vs. Wild/Survivorman episodes and have been taking plenty of mental notes. Bear Grylls was even in Hell's Canyon (the Snake River on the OR/Ida border!) and made it out. And I do believe he pronounced our state correctly. Yay.

So while wook has plenty of fuel storage to live off himself for a week, we'll see what he actually gets to choke down. That's kinda the only thing I want to know. 'What's the grossest thing you had to eat?' 'How many times have you brushed your teeth since?' :)

The rest of that survival training doesn't really interest me because I unfortunately don't have a desire to a.) participate, or b.) really know how all the guys and gals I know in the flight program are being man-handled. I like to focus on other things. Like how I leave in less than 10 days, tentatively.

I've made a good dent in my storage unit in the past couple days. It's a nice chance to get out and get my mind off of where wook might be and what he might be doing. I have a small chunk set aside for Salvation Army and another smaller chunk to go to the Women's Mission. I was able to look through my boxes of books yesterday, and somehow I kinda got a little panicky. I somehow felt their torture of being stuffed in boxes when they should be out on a fabulous shelving unit. Categorized. Perfected. Instead they're in boxes, shoved on a shelf, labeled "books" because I don't have the energy to break down which titles are in which box. Poor things.

Awesomeness...

Acquired from my dad...

Europe usually has way better commercials than here in the States. Go figure.

Lady of Leisure...

What does a girl who still has 11 days to wait before she goes back East have to do?

Everything. :)

Last week wasn't necessarily a week off as I was the driver for my dad mobbin' around the state. And that weekend following driving my dad was a rowdy one with the Corvallis clan. So this week was mine to indulge.

Lately I've been waking up around 8am. Why? Because I can. :)

My goal is to continue to go through my storage unit and shrink down its contents. That and I need to dig out my passport for that family cruise that's going on for Spring Break. So far, I'm okay with relinquishing that old gold chair and ottoman that was the staple in my collegiate reading setting. I've begun to dive through my huge box of purses and declare which can go to other homes. I'm attempting to super organize my storage unit with boxes for each category. I have a "Beaver Gear" box, a "Camping" box full of all my lesbian gear, etc.

Usually with waking up around 8am, I shove my face with a heaping bowl of Cheerios, brew some coffee, go out for a walk/run if I'm feeling it, and dressing in multiple layers because it's still not warm in January here in Medford. So about noon is when I mosey out the door and head down to spend a couple hours delving, purging, organizing that darn barn of my life.

I know it's not the most productive manner in which to spend my day, but oh well. I enjoy lounging on my couch, watching Jon & Kate Plus 8, drinking my coffee, debating when I'll be able to negotiate down to a smaller storage unit. (I'm hoping before I head back East, but definitely before the cruise.) But I feel really productive when I'm able to load up my trunk with old possessions and deliver to a place where someone else will find them useful. Plus, good juju.

But first I think I'll have another bowl of Cheerios or a bagel with some cream cheese shmear. I'm feeling hungry again. And it's been over 3 hours since I've eaten. That's a long time without food. I'm one of those grazers. Gotta keep my fuel tank filled. I'm not like wook who can eat once a day. Along with drinking an entire pot of coffee. Somethings I'll just never understand.

Day ops...

Like other instances in which I secretly paint a room with a color choice of my own, it's done in the privacy of nightfall.

This time, it's a day op. Complete with Mike Rowe (my dad, he wears this Carhartt jacket on cold days when he's working...complete with Mike Rowe-style jeans. Thus the name. Anyways.).

My dad liked the color of my room so much (he even helped me pick it out the first time) that he wanted the downstairs room to be the same. Our theory: It's the man-cave. Thus the man should pick the color of his cave. Not my mom, however she thinks otherwise. You can tell we care by the fact that we asked her first. Oh wait. Nope.

So here's the taping off of the corner where my bathroom is. It's only a half bath, fyi. A full one would just make my day. But that question has been asked by the downstairs inhabitant for almost 20 years (we've been in the house for 19 years). The dark square on the right is Hopsack (which if you recall was my first choice. But I thought that color for a downstairs basement bedroom with only an East facing window was too dark. I still think it). So I settled for the larger patch on both walls, which is the Cream in my Coffee. The original color on the upper part of the corner was a buttery color which unfortunately didn't go with the carpet. Instead it made it look dirty. My mom thought to fix the problem by getting different carpet. Riiiight. Moving on...

One and a half gallons later, YAY! I took a breather inbetween both coats, made myself a PB&J sandwich and chatted at Sarah for a little bit. (Sorry I didn't talk more. Wanted to get this done cuz we still have the furniture to put back into place so my mom won't notice what went down today.)

You can kinda see it in the sunlight. Sorry but it's cloudy here. Next time I'll put a request into the Big Man Upstairs for better lighting when I'm trying to document my CIA operations.

The middle of the floor is strewn with purses I'm getting rid of, a basket of laundry, a box of purses I'm keeping, and the artwork from the walls.

My dad even wants to paint the downstairs bathroom while we're on a roll. Now there's a place I can be crazy and put up the Hopsack. Because how often do you spend time in the bathroom minus doing your hair, putting on a face, and making conference calls (if you get what I mean).

The rest is yet to come...

The last couple nights I've been really glad to be able to chat with wook after he's gotten out of class for the day. With it being Diego, there are just so many sights to see beside the inside of a cage, an interrogation room, and a sack over your head. In 'N Out. Delicious mexican food. The sights of the city. Fun times since he knows 2 guys who are there with him.

Obviously I'm not allowed to know the gritty details, nor do I really want to know everything that happens, but wook had to sign lots of paperwork including something about not being able to talk about this instant for 150 years. Wow. Way to cover the small details. But once that's up, a tell-all book?

The real schooling that sends my phone into a black void starts Friday and ends Thursday. Wook's surprised because it's a shorter time out than he first expected. He's still a little out of it being here on the West Coast. So our phone conversations at night are wrapped up early because his body is still tanked from the trek across. But that's okay. I'm just excited to be able to talk to the boy before I trek across myself. Excited. I need this.

Destination: Corvallis...

What started out as a simple trek up North to see everyone still tied to Corvallis/Oregon State backfired as my dad acquired new cases to investigate. Cannon Beach turned into Portland, turned into Corvallis, turned into Roseburg. This is a common occurence and things continue to burn no matter where my Fajah is. So with contemplation, and the hope of getting Stacey to drive up instead (initially I opted to, but as you read...things change), the stars aligned to allow me to stay in Corvallis on Friday and have Stacey drive up. Score.

Friday night was supposed to be a psuedo-belated birthday dinner at McMenamin's for Dane, since he's the first one of his friends to turn the Dos-Uno. Well...Trac caught the Barfy from her babysitting kids. They're cute, which is the only reason that's okay. So ya...Dane spent the evening taking care of Tracy in her nauseousness napping phase mixed with actual vomiting and the subsequent clean-up. What a champ.

So McMenamin's was a bust. Well I mean I still had my Rubberhead. Deliciousness. It's still lacking without the boys there to fill in the big booth we had. Come on, the military? That's your excuse? ;) Whatever. But Collin still knew one of the waitresses. Points, Collin. Points.

Sidenote: I was able to indulge on Wookstock's the night before with my dad, Trac, her roomie Nicole, my cousin Kelsey, her boyfriend, and my Aunt Janice. Aunt Janie, my dad, and I shared a pitcher of Moose Drool, while we all enjoyed Taco, BBQ Chicken, and Pepperoni pizzas. Divine. I don't think there's better pizza around. But in true scientific fashion, I'm more than willing to try. Guess I haven't given up on being a science major.

Saturday was the time of the week as us girls (Katie, Stacey, and I) prepped for a little girls' night with Murna. It was a huge success. Huge. That's what she said. The kicker beyond after the other girls went home, we decided to try out the Family Guy Drinking Game. Stewie has a weapon, two drinks. Peter's stereotypical laugh, one drink. Oh, they're at the Drunken Clam, three drinks. And so on, and so on. One episode can get you drunk. I think we watched three. I could be wrong. I know there were at least two. And after that, Collin, Stacey and I decided to break into the hottub and enjoy the solitude of a dip at 3:30am. Well someone thought it necessary to close off the hottub for maintenance. Boo.

So instead, Collin, Stacey and I loaded up the bathtub with warm water and jumped in. Yes, we were still in swimsuits. I don't like them that much. It was like sardines in a can. But to say we've done it, check. So with the warming of the extremities in the bath after running around outside in a January Corvallis rain, I was ready for bed. No, not 15 minutes from now. Now. Pj's on...in bed...eyes shut. Unconsciousness.

And thanks to Collin for being a Rent-A-Boyfriend and playing Grand Theft Auto Friday night as I drifted off into a fabulous sleep. Much appreciated. The sound of gunfire is so soothing. No, I don't need therapy. I have it. It's Command & Conquer. :)

Touchdown San Diego...

In the time it took me to get ready, hang out some more, go get University Hero for lunch, and grab my charger which I left at Tracer's (while I stayed at C&K Futon & Breakfast, haha...love it, thanks again you two!), wook had landed in the sunny locale of Diego. Time zone, my own!

With zero success of reaching him the whole day, minus a few texts while Stacey and I drove home from Corvallis, I was finally able to have a real conversation with that boy since a few days past. 'Bout time. And he even pointed out that this was the first time we've been able to talk on the phone and be in the same time zone. Insane. Probably the last time that happened was Christmas 2007 when he came back to Washington State where his mom was stationed. And we know how that stressful trek happened. (If not, please comment and I'll detail.)

So as that poor lil wookie was still on East Coast time, I let him go to sleep around 9:30 (after all, I was in bed too. I love sleep. What can I say?). He had a big day today. Well, I guess I can't say it in past tense since his day is in the same time zone as mine. But ya. He reported to school this morning. Everything is hush hush as it's some blah blah security clearance. Whatever. I'll hear what I want when I see him next.

And ya, the military is so on-top of things that wook's ticket was bought Friday. To fly out Sunday. How he doesn't stress out about things like that, I'm jealous. I was frantic buying my ticket back East weeks ago. I hate wearing big girl panties. They suck. Where's my sugar daddy to do everything for me?

So wook will be in Diego till February 8th. Apparently they get a 2-day breather to decompress and debrief from their training. That means wook will only get a 2-day breather before his truly arrives. Around 7:30pm. That's the scheduled arrival. I'll believe that when I hit Norfolk International and de-plane.

I hope that I get to talk with him at least before they head out to the field for the near-week-long adventure of killing animals, eating grubs, being caught, tortured, and deprived of all forms of kindness. Ick. There's noooo way I could do that. I don't even like getting caught playing Hide And Go Seek.

I'll be a happy girl when I land in Virginia, with almost a month of...fun, excitement, reuniting, exploring, visiting, perusing, entertaining, eating, drinking, playing...overall being back with wook. Can't wait. But then again, I can. I still have another goal of shrinking the amount of my possessions in my storage unit. My theory: How little can I have and still maintain my happy self?

We'll see.

Must...have...breakfast...

I'm so not meant for a third world country, or even a developing nation. I about died of hunger this morning.

Still in Cannon Beach, I was disappointed as Mo's (which is literally 75 feet out the back door. Yes, my dad gave me that estimate. No worries there.) didn't open until 11pm. Obviously I didn't think about the fact that it's still January here, not necessarily the tourist season, and I didn't send a warning letter of my arrival and need for food once I'm out of bed. Darn.

So as I enjoyed 2 cups of coffee this morning in my hopes of my dad wrapping up his investigation, my hopes were dashed as the time passed 12:00...12:30...ugh. Thankfully my dad had to run into Seaside to get a U-HAUL travel to take some evidence back to Portland. Yay, someone who can detour into Downtown Cannon Beach and let me get some grub. I would have made the 3 mile walk myself but I didn't think I had the energy to crawl that far through high tide, joggers, and who else stood in my way of a cinnamon roll.

Thankfully by 2:30 I had taken my 7 minutes to inhale a cinnomon roll from Cannon Beach Bakery.

Doubt that will hold me over until Ol' Spaghetti Factory in Portland tonight.

Haystack Rock...

Apparently I need to go back to Distance Determination 101. So as I previously posted that Haystack Rock was only 200 yards away, well I was greatly out of my mind. My dad estimates the rock to be about a mile and a half out our backdoor. Well I was close. Kinda. Closer than New York.

So as my dad had business to attend to, I decided to get off my duff and get out. I've been rather lazy in getting back into the athletic schedule I had before Christmas. So I would have felt guilty surfing online while my butt didn't get any narrower. (I'm still holding onto those 5 lbs. from Christmas after Grandmoose's cookies.) But first, a shot south as two puppies frolic (okay okay, full-grown dogs).

The infamous Rock and Needles rising out of the ocean. It took probably 45 minutes to walk to. Not that I was running there. I was strolling. Stopping. Taking pictures. People watching. Drooling over people with doggies runnin' amuck. Trying to not get my feet wet as water runned from the colverts draining into the ocean. Overall, great walk out.

"Jellyman, offspring...offspring, jellyman." Okay, well maybe not. But I thought this was cool. It was the only whole jellyfish (minus tentacles) that was beached. Plus, how can a girl not want to quote Finding Nemo?

A shot about a half hour until sundown. Plus all the footprints and pawprints strewn across the dampened sand. It was a good day to myself to just walk a few miles and take in the view.

On the northern side of the rocks with with the sun coming down between the bunch.

Can you tell I want a dog? Future Ashley. Settled with a yard and higher income Ashley.

I like how the sun is behind the rocks, highlighting the water pooling on the beach.

A cute little sign that I liked. And you can barely see the lighthouse in the distance. It's there.

Cliche sunset shot. [Insert some existential remark about the ocean's energy and desire to live here.]

About halfway in my walk. But it was sundown, so I decided to move Downtown. Unfortunately shopes close up at 5pm. Seriously? How do you sell things when you close when everyone else gets off work? Those things I'll never figure out.

Roadtrip...

So today I jetted off with my dad on a little trek up to Cannon Beach, Oregon.

Something burned somewhere in this neck of the woods, therefore he was called. We jumped into the truck after hitting up a coffeehouse for an Irish Cream Latte at 7:28am and hit the road. One rest stop just North of Salem. Another at Bridgeport Village (I'm looking for flip flops, people. Thick, comfy flip flops. Not Old Navy ones. My knees need more support in this geriatric time in my life). Taco Smell for lunch (yes, unhealthy, but healthier than Mickey D's). The ocean about an hour later. Seaside Outlet Mall (found and purchased a uber comfy pair of flip flops). And then checked into our hotel.

And the cool part. It's about 200 yards to Haystack Rock. Yes, that Haystack Rock. "Goonies never say die." Or incase you're a specific gorilla I know, "Wookiees never say die."

I'll take pictures tomorrow as my dad moseys up to play in some soot as I walk around and visit the cute little coastal community.

You're looking for that now?

So as a volunteer librarian, I'm used to fielding numerous questions from members and people off the streets. What is this place? How do you join? Etc. Well today a young couple came in looking for the Democratic headquarters that used to be right next door. Umm, I'm pretty sure it's a little late to make fundraising calls on behalf of the party. Turns out they were looking for an Obama poster. Now. 2 days till Inauguration. So are they just now turning into Obama fans? With the hoopla surrounding the Elect, did they really think extra paraphenalia was going to be sitting around? Waiting for these 2 people? In Ashland, of all places?

I told them to try online, because that's the only place I could think of to get your hands on something so assumed popular. You could tell that was something that wasn't really what they wanted to hear. But then again, they obviously did think about it since they're just now trolling for flair. Good luck to them.

Ugh, really...

So this morning was a comfortable one. I was able to tuck in at a better hour than the night before. I'm still impressed with my efforts of 3:30am, and so was everyone else I bragged to, but I was looking forward to crawling into bed at hogging my bed all-the-same.

But...this morning I woke up at 7:15am...and had a slight heart attack for a milli-second.

"Omg, did I not set my alarm?? How long till I leave for work?"

*Snap into reality*

I've rarely had this occur. I think maybe a couple weekends in college I spaced the day and thought maybe I had class that day, but it doesn't ring a bell. I just felt like a goober. Besides Monday is a holiday for me. :)

A time for the ages...

After indulging in some fabulous drip coffee at home, curling up with another Mandy Moore classic, Because I Said So, on my dad's leather couch with his oversized tie blanket, I was officially recovered from last night.

No. I'm not talking the time when Ted had to decipher whether he was still vomit free since '93 (for you HIMYM fans).

The amazing feat I speak of was the fact that Stacey and I hit 3:15am without missing a stride. In fact, we never even saw the clock tick away since we got back to her place at 9:30-something. Not too shabby for 2 post-college, semi-working adults. The night started out as eventful as 2 girls, Shaun of the Dead, the game of LIFE, and maybe a little bit of Seagrams. It turned into a complete score when her roommate and his girlfriend (?) came home and were more than willing to join us in Catch Phrase.

"Naughty nurse...French _____"

"Maid"

*high five Stacey*

And like anybody who's accustomed to waking up at 6:00am, I was up and hungry at 8:00 this morning. Much to the dismay of Stacey, lol. "Seriously?" Listen, it's time to get up. Plus I'm hungry. You know Ashley can't survive without immediately shoving her face with breakfast. But first, a little tea in the system. Then we made some delicious breakfast muffins. Watched a Jenny McCarthy flick, Dirty Love. Well we tried to. My stomach was making some severe gurglings so I opted to decompose in the shower a little bit. Plus those magic blue pills quieted the baby terradactyl.

I know this isn't exactly the most amazing night I've had. But I assure it's quite an accomplishment. I'm used to saying goodnight to wook way before he calls it a night on his end of the country. Now that's just sad. So when I told wook I made it to 3:30am before calling it a night, he was thoroughly impressed. Amazed. I am also. Still, lol. I was telling my parents that I haven't done that since like 2007. Crazy.

From a loft to a home...

It took somewhere from 2 days, 1 moving company, a couple hours behind schedule, mucho texts of "movers?," 1 tired wookiee, and a partridge in a pear tree to settle wook into his new place. What's left? A couple boxes of possessions he doesn't know where to put yet.

I'm loving his building as they have co-mingled recycling.

And feeling just a bit left out being on the West coast, I asked wook if he could draw me just a floor plan of his building since I couldn't find one online. Boy, did that boy deliver. Not only are the walls to scale, but he added in the furniture. I swear, if I didn't exist...I think people would think he's way too skilled to be into the female persuasion. The boy's got incredible decorating and art skill. Thank his mama on that one.

This is the first floor as you can tell as it's type on the image. The couch is actually on "borrow" from Joe as wook a.) doesn't have one, and b.) can't afford the leather unit he wants. The goal is on slate for a possible birthday present to himself. With a little chunk thrown in as my birthday present quota to assist in the costs. I will of course document everything via the blog when I'm back next. Countdown: Less than 25 days.

This is the second floor which took forever to post as sometimes my wireless doesn't work downstairs (the signal comes from upstairs on the other side of the house). The random square closet is actually the stacked front-loading washer/dryer machines. It took me forever to figure that one out. Upstairs are the turtles, another bookshelf on the left wall, and his dresser that's caddy-wompus in the corner. (How else do you describe it?)

And last night, I was treated to the best webcam tour my laptop could provide. He's such a nice boy. He even made me a reading nook near his desk so I can listen to gunfire as I delve deeper into my laundry list of readings. But before then, I have got to mail him some more books to make his shelves look better. He's acquired more shelving since moving in so the splitting up of his collection makes it look piddly. And since I've been perusing the Media Exchange, I've found some pieces that would fit his style. I wonder how many books I can stuff into those $9 flat rate boxes? You know they can weigh up to 75 lbs. I'll keep you posted. :)

Just a little sign...

So I read my horoscope this morning as I stuffed my face with my daily bowl of cereal.

LIBRA (Sept. 23 to Oct 22)
You're still in a time of transition where you have to let go of people, places and possessions. Don't think of this as a time of loss - think of it as newfound freedom.

Dang. Nail on the head.

Are you serious....??

So as Sarah makes her first trek sans-offspring and hubbins, it made me reminisce on the beauty of flying solo. No one to run after. No bathroom breaks to strategically coordinate like a military official. No one to disrupt you from snoozing, listening to tunes, people watch, etc. mid-flight.

But then that silence is always broken upon landing.

"HEY, YA, I JUST LANDED. WAIT, WHAT'S THAT? OH YA, HOW'S YOUR HERPES?"

Ya, that guy. The one who thinks that talking really loudly on the plane while still taxi-ing is okay. Heard of texting? Ya. It's where you push buttons to talk. It's a phenomenal advancement in technology. That way you can send group messages, "Hey, touchdown (enter crappy destination, i.e. Lubbock)." Not making everyone on the plane go crazy listening to the same convo to 10 different people. I don't care. Neither do they, I'm pretty sure.

And just because it's still on my mind. A conversation from last night.

M(om): "So when do you leave?"
A(shley): "February 10th."
B(rother): "Wait, where you going this time?"
A: "To see wook."
B: "Didn't you just see him?"
A: "Ya, for a week and two days."
M: Egging me on, "Can't you wait another 8 months?"
A: "Eff that." Shocked look on my mother's face.

I'm not doing that again, unless there are ill-formatted, all-in-upper-case orders surrounding that option. I am glad I know I can make it with most of my hair still attached to my scalp. I found things to do to keep me busy. Work. Lesbian adventures. Cutting my hair off gradually. Sleep. Lots more. Yoga. Taking up running. Sending random care packages/cards to the boy. Staring at my possessions with teary eyes as they sit unused in my storage unit.

I'm excited to be heading back East. This time to a big city. Like really being in the city, not a couple miles out stuck at some house (thankfully with a pool) with nothing to do but weed the yard and run at night. Wook loves where he's living. He thinks I'll like it too. I trust his judgment, sometimes when I really don't want to (like going on Space Mountain for the first time. My equilibrium + roller coasters = nauseous mess. I believe the claw marks have subsided from his neck. But that's what he gets for sitting up front on a new ride. I now believe that ride is awesome. It just took some persuading. Lots of it.). Plus I really could use the break from living in 120sqft of dorm room. (But first I have to clean up Chernobyl.)

Ugh. I just don't want to wait the 3 weeks till I leave. I really want them to fly by for wook's sake also. He, like every other pilot, has to succumb to torture training. This is probably what I've looked forward to least this entire process. And it's not the silence for 2 weeks that'll kill me. It's the thought that I have no control over this one. And as we know, no news = Ashley making up news. Ugh. Okay people, let's focus. Umm, first stop. My to-do list for before I head back which is getting a little long. I love making lists. Crossing things off? That's where I stagnate.

One for the books...

So today was just another ordinary in my life. Woke up. Went to work. Came home for lunch. Got a text mid-afternoon from Trac, my sister. Apparently one of her friends turns 21 on wednesday and wants to "DANCE!!" Who does she ask? Me. The one, the only. Okay, okay, so who else would she ask. I was entertained to give her my $0.02 on the good (Cantina, even if the floor is super sticky and there's only one bathroom), the bad (cover charge at Platinum, and the stairs which probably aren't the best on a stumbling '21st' outing), and the hepatitis-infecting (The Peacock...ick).

Unfortunately it was the same day that Trac announced to the family of a Corvallis icon's passing. The legendary Gramma Damma donuts closed it's doors. Too much dismay from our family, Trac wished she could have gotten one last apple fritter. Many a memory exist of scraping together enough coin action to get a maple bar and a little chocolate milk, driving there in pajamas because wasting those extra minutes putting on real clothes could be the difference in getting the remaining slim pickings. Good times, great oldies, cool FM.

On a truly sadder note, this weekend I popped a card in the mail to a former roommate of mine from way back when. My old roomie Lyndsay, found her husband passed out on the bathroom floor sometime during the Christmas holiday. Turns out he went into a diabetic coma and didn't make it. I got the word from another old roomie of mine who I still keep in touch with, Katie Alvord (who lives in Chicago for grad school), while on my layover in Charlotte. I felt awful. This girl Lyndsay fell in love with a boy and *poof* eloped. Happily ever after. I definitely counted my blessings that afternoon knowing that even though I was leaving wook to come back across country, I still had him here....well, technically there, but you get the idea.

And to continue the trend of random thoughts. I was at work today when the song "Butterfly Kisses" came on the radio. Ugh. Least favorite song ever. Talk about stereotypical father/daughter wedding reception song. It just screams, "I have no originality."

Final note: For those who aren't somewhat regular yogis, there's a phrase which totally doesn't make any sense until you become a somewhat regular yogi. Long before I began my mat affair, I heard a girl say, "My yoga's gone to $#!t." You think, really...how does an exercise do that. Well since taking off Christmas to go see some boy, the back of my legs haven't been exposed to their usual and enjoyed stretching and strengthening. So as I eased back into the sun salutation, thankfully my hamstrings/calves loosened up after about 20 minutes. But before then, my yoga totally went to $#!t.