So the other day, I leave my house. And get an offer I don't want.

I did something I'm quite proud of. I didn't expect it to happen. But it did.


So you know Mr. Wookie is gone. But dammit, I put my hair in rollers, donned some makeup, and got myself a date for dinner. By the way, Mr. Wookie knows all about this - so no secrets, mmmkay. Who was I 'dating?' Oh, just one of our good college friends who's stationed in Virginia, who we haven't seen in 2+ years (and 2 deployments for our friend), and I wasn't going to let my solo status rain on the parade of Oregonian hospitality.


Just because Mr. Wookie is gone, doesn't mean my social life is dead. Our friend (in a sister E-2 squadron) who's in town for training, needed some dinner company (who am I to be a bitch?). So I was determined to show our friend where Mr. Wookie's and I's place in the world exists. How the beach is a living entity, how the weather is just about perfect in late July, and how the scent of cocktails on the ocean better be served with a cuppa chowda and the perfect seafood entree.


I love my life and I love that I'm able to be the extended hand of our life and welcome our friends to Southern California with open arms. While I love it more when Mr. Wookie is here, I know he's in mostly great hands of some very dedicated and skilled pilots. Plus, there's the possibility for overlap with Mr. Wookie and our friend from Virginia, so don't feel bad about anything. In fact, feel bad for me. ;) Our guest room will be occupied and late night movie fests will be had by the boys. All while I go to bed 'early' at 10:30m.


So in to town came our friend. And into his phone came my offer for dinner, views of the beautiful Pacific ocean, and a promise for a night where college would be jealous. He gladly accepted. There's something about a friendship than spans a near-decade built on a solid foundation: Beaver football, both our fathers being in law enforcement, and the simple knowledge that Oregon is the best place to retire only because it's where we come from (plus fishing licenses are dirt cheap, biodiesel is easy to find, and damn...have you met me?)


The night was simple. Dinner at a local pier focal point. Then a move to Downtown for drinks. Where (honestly, shockingly) we ran into further (other) sister squadrons in the E-2 community (ones we know very, very well), which merged into a party like rock stars. There was was dancing, there was tall boys of PBR at 1:30am, and there was the questioning to ME from some random guy of, "Wanna get outta here?"


Ummm....I know what that means.


Ummm....


NO.


Sorry buddy, a.) Have you met my better half? b.) Eww. c.) You're shorter than me. d.) NOOO.


That was the highlight of the night. Seriously, getting asked to leave a shady bar and do unmentionables with this guy. I honestly thought it was hilarious in the moment. Have you met me? I'm a handful. Seriously. I'm a Ginger, so that's going against me. Then I have this resident Cavemen that I live - who you'll have to beat away with a stick (seriously). 


But either way, I was quite proud of myself. I got hit on. And I didn't even try. Not because I was dressed suggestively or putting out the signals that I wanted someone to take me home. Instead, I knew it was because I actually looked gorgeous for once in a long, long time. Normally my appearance sans-Mr. Wookie is more lesbian than anything - because why try when not necessary? So "toot toot" own horn. But seriously - 'gag' to his offer.


Although, I just kinda feel bad with how I answered the question, because in my right mind (which was....umm...altered), I didn't exactly sugarcoat it. "Nope." Not a, 'Oh, yeah, you actually probably know my boyfriend, Mr. Wookie.' Or 'I have a longtime boyfriend, thanks.' Just 'NOPE.' He probably had no idea - but I bet you he learned who I was afterwards (not to say I'm anything special - but our community is veryveryverysmall, so the information of Mr. Wookie has probably made it to him by now and he feels like a JACKASS). Next time buddy. Maybe then the girl will not be attached to a part-ape aviator who's growing a killer detachment 'stache.


So who's ready for Mr. Wookie to be home?? I know I am. It used to be because I missed his cooking, now I miss his bodyguarding skills in our local bars. Come home, Mr. Wookie, come home.

You want more! Back to "Glamour's 30 Things before 30" #11-15

In continuing the trend of Glamour's "30 Things Every Woman Should Have and Should Know by the Time She's 30", let's see how my answers stack up for the next 5 questions of this Q&A.

By 30, I "should" have ...

11. A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra.
Yes, yes, and no. It's not black lace that's the issue. Are you kidding me? In my size, I'll take what I can get. When you are a 30D+, the usually suspects are black and nude. Shock me, shock me. How glamorous.

12. Something ridiculously expensive that you bought for yourself, just because you deserve it.
Well....I did buy myself a 4" featherbed right before Mr. Wookie left for the boat. I don't know if he was miffed at the timing or not, but seriously...sleeping alone for months with him or a dog is torture. Gimme some dead avian feathers to sleep on, at least. Oh, and let's not discredit the 20% off coupon code I used. Just because it's "ridiculously expensive," doesn't mean you pay full price.

13. The belief that you deserve it.
In life, no one deserves anything. You don't deserve college. You don't deserve the new car at 16. You don't deserve new clothes. You don't deserve a job just because you have an education. You don't deserve a baby. You don't deserve a sense of humor. You don't deserve anything.

It's people who make things happen, whether it's college grants earned, or parents with silver spoons to give out, or busting your ass for what you have. I've been at the bottom of the barrel where I don't even need to pay taxes because I made so little - but I've thankfully had a support system that can boost my ass off the ground and tell me to "Take care of yourself." But those down times are always counter-weighted with the 'good' times - the times of a great job, great coworkers, and great recommendations when I do move on.

Thanks to Uncle Sam, there'll always be that lull in my career as we dipple-dot around the country and I try to find new work. And it will break my stride and my pride. That's why there's a bar in our house. :) But, I can't give up.


But back to the original point: Yes, I do deserve what I have - because I worked hard, am thankful, and always remember there are those in worse situations in the world.

14. A skin-care regimen, an exercise routine, and a plan for dealing with those few other facets of life that don’t get better after 30.

You really had to bring that up didn't you.

I made the mistake of trying out a new face wash not knowing it'd become ZIT-CROPOLIS.

Yeah, we have some weeks until Mr. Wookie is home - but that shit better be gone by then.

And unfortunately my "gym shopping" continues as 2 out of the 3 yoga classes were worthwhile (I'm looking for 3 out of 3 classes a week in the post-5pm timeframe) at my local 24HourFitness. And let's not start on the nightmare of parking and the massive dichotomy of clientele. The gym sits on the "Rio Grande" of six-figure incomes and food stamps. So you have Gucci handbags and Mexico-pride backpacks next to the wall in the yoga classes. Not to be snobby - but I don't like either of those types. I don't want to smell tostadas sweating through your pores while you wear your belly chain to class - and I don't want to see you rocked 7 carats in total weight in class either.

15. A solid start on a satisfying career, a satisfying relationship, and all those other facets of life that do get better.
Yes and yes. I used to think that you needed to be a VP of Marketing by 30 (or something else high-titled). Then I realized that 'wow,' things don't go that way at all. I still want a Master's in something, just not sure what yet. I feel that everyone is trying to wade out the lack of employment by pursuing additional schooling so now it's just a shit-storm of formally educated people without a dime of real-world experience. So in that sense, I'll keep my Bachelor's and resume - until that time comes when the Hood is calling my name.


And while I don't actually consider Mr. Wookie and I's almost-9 years together as a "solid start" - when in reality it is considering we're still in our 20's and have plenty of living to do - I agree, we have a good start. It's only going to get better, right? Right.


I also have a solid start on: wrinkles, snark, drinking alone, Friday night pizza dates and slumber parties with fellow Junior Officer lifetime partners, cleaning my home before Mr. Wookie's brief return, and scheduling a boob job in my 30's to get the girls back up to Los Angeles' standard.

Let's keep it going! More of "Glamour's 30 Things before 30" #6-10

In continuing the trend of Glamour's "30 Things Every Woman Should Have and Should Know by the Time She's 30", let's see how my answers stack up for the next 5 questions of this Q&A.

By 30, I "should" have ...

6. A past juicy enough that you’re looking forward to retelling it in your old age.
I definitely have had my moments while in college. There was the time I stood in my underwear on the street corner for honks. Wouldn't you like to know more about that? You would...you know it...

7. The realization that you are actually going to have an old age -- and some money set aside to help fund it.
Le sigh. I don't want to get old. Not, that I don't want to fulfill my life. Not that at all. I just don't like change. I like the constant. The normal. The wake up at 6:45am, get semi-dressed for work, trudge to work while listening to Ryan's Roses on KissFM, tap away at the keyboard, eat my lunch, work my ass off some more, then speed home like a racer so I can work out/drink wine/email Mr. Wookie on the boat/drunken text Mommy McD with weird questionnaires like, "Zits or diarrhea?"

So while I avoid the potential for old age, I do support my retirement fund with a whopping 12.5% draw each month. It's not much, and there isn't any matching at work since they haven't done that in years. But I've got a nice start - and it'll be fine when I'm of the age for wrinkles but don't have any thanks to Botox. ;)

8. An email address, a voice mailbox, and a bank account -- all of which nobody has access to but you.
Yes: a work one, a personal one, and a blog-related one -- all mine

Yes: a personal one and a work one -- all mine.

Yes: a personal one -- all mine. We're believers in "his," "hers," and "joint" bank accounts with percentages drawn to the middle for those joint purchases like groceries, home needs, liquor runs ;), etc. Then there's the personal account - the one where I can buy bras, swimsuits, or anything else I want, because I can. 

9. A résumé that is not even the slightest bit padded.
Who doesn't pad their resume? ;) Or maybe the better question would be, who doesn't beef up their resume? While I worked for a law firm in Virginia, I not only name dropped that it was a Legal 500 - I dropped the gem that it was a Legal 100 law firm. Because what sounds better? It's all about getting the interview, because without that you don't have anything.

10. One friend who always makes you laugh and one who lets you cry.
Can this be the same person? Because I can remember calling her, while she was about to go into the gym for a work-out, and telling her the sad news about Sweet Pea. And she cancelled her work-out for the morning since I was obviously more important to listen to than NPR on the treadmill. Thanks McD.


My heart goes out to those deployed/detached right now. They're missing the Olympics. So in their honor, I'm sporting my Red, White, and Blue and screaming "Go Amuurrica!" while the cyclists climb and downhill the cute English neighborhoods. Mind the gap.

Thursday Throwback: 1989 (Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad too!)

You only wish you could have had a "five head" since you were young. 1989. I was going on 6 (I think). And you just can't teach the fashion at this level. Hello, Kanye West was in his 20's when he rocked shades like mine. Obviously I'm better for it. And you can see how bone-thin I was growing up. But that's beside the point.


Today is my parents' anniversary. How they haven't murdered each other for the insurance money, I have no idea. And should you know (of) my family. I think you can guess which ones are the Sheriff and Mama Ging. The man on the left is my "Uncle Buck" (seriously, everyone get an Uncle Buck). Then there's a 10-year-old Brother, and a toddling Middle Sister strapped to my Dad's back like buckwheat. Poor Baby Sister didn't quite exist yet. Sorry Baby Sister.


Please, this photo is open to mockery.


I know I have. My brother's haircut for one!


I'm starting to think we need another wedding in the family (Mom, not mine - thanks). How about a renewal? Has anyone every convinced their parents to do one?? It will need to be clarified whether or not my mom will get new jewels also. I think it'd be awesome. We have 3 years until their big 4-0 years together, which I think is an appropriate way to party. Who's with me?? I'll prep my liver. Oh wait, got that covered. Thanks Uncle Sam.

Happy 27th Birthday, Mr. Wookie.

Hey you, with your flying shades on, how you doing? You enjoying your birthday on the boat? With a 'stache that's hopefully filling in nicely since I've requested you return with it that fateful day you either fly in from the ship, or ride the boat into dock like a 8-second steer buck.


I can't remember the last time we were apart for his birthday? It had to have been years ago since this is our first active Navy squadron with an actual boat to interrupt life. And it was pretty much anti-climactic. I emailed Mr. Wookie this morning, doing my best to song and dance in written word without causing so much of a ruckus that the boat email Nazis would think I was on halucinogenic drugs and thusly ban my communication. We have had emails blocked due to information, but I like to say now we have a decent code dialogue to appeal our needs of his location, etc. That and it's great to be friends with the Commanding Officer's Wife - I know things before Mr. Wookie sometimes does. :)


I will say...I'm starting to get excited about this semi-homecoming, although ditching my work might be hard. Who am I kidding? I even told my boss that she'll have limited notice that, "I'm not coming in for like 2 days. Bye!" I've given her a window of 5 days where he's due home, and a 2-hour notice that I'm finishing my work and clocking out - I've got a 'stached Junior Officer to welcome home with a bottle of bourbon.


It will be nice sharing the cooking responsibility. I'm super excited about that. But let's be honest, there's a birthday dinner to be had...so that'll delay any kitchen mess for at least another day (yay). So yeah, I'll enjoying his hiatus on land...before he leaves me again. But let's not look down already. Let's look up.


Mr. Wookie, you're now 27. You're my age when we moved to California. You're employed at 27. I wasn't (not bitter, no). You've tasted more Scotch that my family combined. You make a mean dirty martini. Your first chateaubriand was legendary. You definitely know how to fly (that's in style with cocktails, when not working). And you're a badass who's paid off that hefty Navy loan acquired at 22 just to survive. Seriously, congrats.


I. love. you. (And hopefully that caterpillar on your face.)


Now come home - I miss drinking with people. I've become accustomed to an ass-imprint on my sofa watching Season 2 (now) of Felicity and I could use more Cheers. Oh, and I promise there will be gifts here. Promise.


Can we T-? yet?? Nope. We've still got time. Oh, well there's always my birthday you can be around for. Right?


Checking calendar. Shit. Are you kidding me??

Trying on for size, "Glamour's 30 Things before 30" #1-5

You're probably shaking your head, "Mrs. Wookie, we didn't know your balls were so old!" Haha, dear children, no...I'm not 30, thank goodness. I'm just terrible close for comfort. But because I adore Chambanachik and her tribute to her now-old husband (I kid!), I knew I had to take it considering I'm one crayon away from a salty, sneering, crotchity feminism who needs to loosen up a few threads.


So let's see how my almost-30 ass compares to the masses (taken from Glamour's "30 Things Every Woman Should Have and Should Know by the Time She's 30"):

By 30, I "should" have ...

1. One old boyfriend you can imagine going back to + one who reminds you of how far you’ve come.
I'm going to have to agree with Erika that going back to a boyfriend is not worthwhile. You don't see me trying to recycle used tampons, do you? If there were good enough to break up with via text message (yup!), then they're good enough to keep kicked to the curb. Plus, they probably never moved out of their hometown and that's a must for me. You can come back to your home town, but please travel the world and see how others live. It'll make you a better person.



I just wish I could have taught a lesson before Mr. Wookie. There was a guy I dated for a mere dabble of weeks pre-Wookie & Co., who had a junior high-aged sister who was obviously impressionable. Then there was the Dad - having torrid affairs which basically the whole family knew of...including the mom. All I wanted was to raise the sister to know staying with a man when he doesn't respect you isn't love. It's just convenience (because they were load-ed). But that lesson would have resulted with one more feminist in the world, and I think there are plenty right now. :)


2. A decent piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in your family.
Well this discredits my FREE Victorian chair from the Dumpster a la Navy base. ;)

We did invest our hard-earned DITY move money from Virginia to California in our current furniture set that we scored thanks to a Labor Day-sale, so yes, we do have some "fancy pants" furniture in our digs...that will probably be around for a few decades if they can survive Navy moves, our potential new dogs (come Fall of '13?), and the impending arrival of niece and nephew visitations.


Furniture isn't a 'buy every few years so it's modern,' it's a 'terrorize until it's falling apart them throw it on the corner with a "$30" sign after 30 years so a hapless college kid can claim it with money earned from returning beer bottles.'

3. Something perfect to wear if the employer or man of your dreams wants to see you in an hour.
Considering I have a job, so that means everything I wear on Monday-Friday is 'work appropriate.'


Now about that "man of my dreams" bit. If there were a COD delivery just for Mr. Wookie, I'd make something happen. I think the issue would be not the finding something to wear, but the I need to 1.) Shave my legs, 2.) Get my hair out of the Kourtney Kardashian-esque bun I rock to work because I'm a little lazy, and 3.) Put a little more effort into my make-up. Hello, the man of my dreams is coming in an hour!!

4. A purse, a suitcase, and an umbrella you’re not ashamed to be seen carrying.
Umm...I'm not ashamed of my leg hair...you think I care about purses, suitcases, or umbrellas?

Besides, umbrellas are for tourists. We Oregonians use our Columbia rain jacket hoods. ;)

5. A youth you’re content to move beyond.
Absolutely. Although my nostalgia for childhood baseball games in the backyard with my siblings is strong. I'd contemplate offspring harder if I could have them for the weekends only, have them be at least 6, and able to drop a free-throw like it's hot - or be able to jump-serve at 10 - lay down a bunt like you're Mickey Mantle (priorities, people).


I did somehow find the ability to grow past my "omg, my forearms are so skinny - like Auschwitz skinny" only to realize that an obesity epidemic is plaguing the nation. I'll take my freakishly skinny forearms...now.


Stay tuned for this multi-part episode. You think I can drink wine AND blog. Pssh. As if!

I better prepare for a homecoming. Eventually.

Mr. Wookie. Your birthday is in a few days. And like a good girlfriend, I haven't done anything - because I don't have to. I still have weeks until you're home, so why have gifts lounging around collecting dust? Like I said, we have weeks until you're home...so I'll just put off purchasing anything until we're down to the final countdown.


But seriously, what do you want?


I probably know how you'll come home though. Boat time is special for everyone. The food isn't that great. The guys are busy with multiple flights per day or no-fly days, so it's workworkwork or "Hey, let's go to the gym." So those bigger biceps you're coming home with...I don't mind at all. In fact, I was discussing things I miss the most with you not being here. Yes, dinner company is usually my number #1 request. But I've found a rhythm that I never thought would find this home. I'm doing just fine in the dinner category - so much I made salmon, quinoa, and green beans last night. Who would have thought? A "Fancy Pants" dinner without the boy even being remotely near land. But that does mean I have to step my game up for when he's home. I've been hiding this "I can kinda cook" fact for far too long.


But you're probably wondering what that number #1 thing is since I left the last paragraph without mentioning it. This girl just needs a big hug. You know, those big bear hugs that rival rib-breaking compression? Yup. I need that. But I have weeks to wait until I can get one, so until then I'm going to find a homeless person with a sign that says, "Free hugs."


Seriously - Mr. Wookie - what do you want? Lifetime subscription to Playboy? New videogame? Weekend trip to Canada, eh? A new vehicle? (Please note I'm joking with all these.)

So the USS Summa Time doesn't block Blogger.

"I do get internet on the boat (albeit extremely slow). Your little Victorian chair antics have not gone unnoticed.

Shady and nefarious things are going in [town] by the sound of it.

…That is all"  -- Mr. Wookie

Shit. I thought maybe I had weeks to repurpose the chair and make it beautiful. Well, I still do...but I thought I'd be able to keep it from Mr. Wookie thanks to strict controls. You can't mentioned "bombs" or dates in emails with the boat. But you can read the saucy blog of a Navy attache who dumpster dives Victorian chairs from a post-PCS "This house can't hold all of our stuff" clearing.

When Mr. Wookie is away, this Mrs. Wookie will play...

So I did something I'm not too proud of. And it was last night. And it involved a dumpster, a duct-taped Victorian chair, and the late night drive of said chair to my garage.

By the time Mr. Wookie even touches a port call to pull up this dear blog, this thing will have transformed from its current status of floral and duct tape to something of beauty.

Have I ever recovered a piece of furniture?

Not in a million years. But hey, with Google...how hard can it be? You need fabric, staples, ApartmentTherapy.com for inspiration, and a dinner date for my two accomplices in the venture.

Oh, and you like my bringing-back-the-90's tied shirt?? I'm bringing "Woah" back. Right after I drum circle in my African print dress (I'm actually rocking a tank and the chambray shirt over it since California nights can get cool).

So as you can tell, I'm rocking this detachment like it's going out of style (literally). I'm trying to keep sanity by killing books by the bag from the library (why couldn't I have been single and leper in college? My grades would have been phenomenal). I did venture out once barhopping with a fellow lady, but we had zero luck in the 'eye candy' department (we just wanted cute boys to look at). So we went back to her place, watched Father of the Bride, and drank cheap wine.

And that 'halfway point' of this detachment? Eh, it's there...upcoming...but I just don't believe it. I feel that someway Uncle Sam has to say, "BAZINGA" and get us. Can there be only one Sheldon??

Who wants more E-2 pictures?? Of course, you do!

"GET OUTTA THE WAY, POINTY THING" -Mr. Wookie's CMC's caption

Sorry, "pointy things." This blog has no love for things with ammunition. We prefer top naval aviators who can handle that wing span and nerds in the backseat who are excellent at navigating an aerial ballet against potential land-to-air combat, air-to-air defense, and also (maybe) streaming select songs from a Droid phone on "E-2 Radio." They may or may not have the ability to jam enemy (and friendly for that matter) radar with "interference" that resembles 80's Monster rock.


The E-2 Hawkeye is also referred to as "The Hummer." So, yes, you can imagine the shirts in the 80's from Tailhook...and I've seen a few. And I'm not talking a nice, respectable golf shirt. I mean, the 'real shirts.' "Everyone love a Hummer." "Who doesn't love a Hummer?"


The Navy. Where being "PC" is cracking down on tradition. No longer can a call sign be humorous and borderline offensive. It has to pass the strict Commanding Officer test. And with CO's being booted left and right...I kinda get it. But seriously, a Junior Officer callsign isn't going to do you in. So while a few still exist like (call sign -->) "Stuff" Mooren (<--last name), (get it??) it's going away. And it's sad.


Although I am very happy with Mr. Wookie's call sign. I even tried to help JOPA (the Junior Officer Protection Agency) with anti-Mr. Wookie fuel. But they finally came up with one. Six-plus months later. That's what happens when you don't do anything stupid (I'd share - but really, it's for the protection of the "innocent").

Umm..Hi, July...when did you get here?

Let's not throw right into July. No, let's take a breather. I need to make (another -seriously, Mrs. Wookie, will you ever get your shit together this year?) comeback. So let's drool at Mr. Wookie...


Posts are always better with pictures. So I give you the Officer Team of Mr. Wookie's squadron.

Where's Waldo Mr. Wookie???

Let me help you out. He's...in a flight suit. With a name badge. Around 6' tall. And a black t-shirt underneath. With a hint o' boat 'stache. Can you spot him? I have a general idea, but even I can't be certain.

And how do we get these pictures?? Our squadron's CMC is a former combat camera operator. So while the quality isn't here with this pictures since it's on his cellphone, he's got some gems that I get to share with you.

That is all for today.

When you wake up and see you missed his call.

I didn't believe it at first. My phone has got to be crazy - I couldn't have missed a call from him. I swore my subconscious was playing games with me. No, he can't call. He's somewhere on a ship. But after I picked the boogers from my eyes, I realized....he did call. And I missed it.

Are you kidding me??

His voicemail, "Grandma...are you in bed already??"

Umm, yes, I am. It's past 10:00pm and I've been hitting way too late of hours in the night, so for once I gave in to going to bed early and did just that. And I loved it. All 8+ hours of sleep. But then I kicked myself knowing I didn't give in to my past crazy sleep schedule. Blargh.

So along with his voicemail, I also got an image of their surroundings. Good thing I gave him my old camera. :) I wonder if those guys ever get sick of seeing water. I wonder if he'll actually wear all the uniforms that he was required to pack. Choker Whites, Summer Whites, Digicams, Khakis, etc. I wonder how many traps he has now? And I wonder what type of flights he's been scheduled. I wonder how many times the Internet has been down when he's gone to send me an email (I've had zero updates since connectivity is low). And I wonder what food he misses since being on the boat and we know it's not gourmet fixings (unless you're the CMC, XO, or Skipper).

I was a little under the funk last week since I was miffed that only so many days had passed since he left. But someone made a good point: The boys are now closer to coming home than they were when they left. Light bulb. Each day is a day closer to coming home. Why didn't I think of that sooner?? So I need to enjoy the ability to leave the house in a complete mess - I can live in filth. It makes me happy. :)

Oh, and let's not forget each day going to the gym makes the butt that much smaller.

Finding motivation in the Sea of Lack

We're rolling into our third calendar week and I'm starting/searching for a rhythm for life that keeps me entertained, not constantly drunk from boredom, and not burning my debit card from the constant swiping (or online entry to Gap.com, Amazon.com, and I'mbored.com). So far, "meh" luck.

As I mentioned in my goals in my June Reboot of Life, I'm attempting to rid the funk of no longer being a canine owner by making my ass a little smaller. I'm glad when Department Head wives can make me feel relate-able when it comes to Salty Time with the Navy. Most of our Department Head wives have been around since the college days, so they've experienced a handful of detachments and deployment without and with children - thusly they have millions of pearls of wisdom compared to my few years attached to the non-ROTC Navy. So when I say that my butt grew from wanting to just lounge on the couch with Mr. Wookie as opposed to being active, they knew exactly what I was feeling. They had butt-growage too during their Junior Officer years.


So last week I ventured the 1.5 miles from my work to get the Tour de YMCA since most of the wives already frequent that gym for kids' swim lessons and their own working out. I got my 3 Day Pass for trial, and gave myself a pep-talk before my first yoga class. You can do this. If the classes suck, no big deal. Find another gym. But seriously, I hope they don't suck. I'll be honest. It's been a year since I touched my yoga mat. Last year was the year of partially working out of home, partially working from home, so my running game was in gear. Now...not so much. While I do have an hour-long lunch, sweating it out on a 3-mile run in 85 degree weather doesn't sound like fun. So thank goodness for the above referenced classes at 5:30pm.


I guess my overall feeling is boredom. I've tossed the pity party aspect out the door since it didn't net me anything except an extra wine cork and cereal for dinner. But now I just feel like I'm going in circles without any real entertainment. Although today I did unveil some 'awesome.' After going to bed at 2am (after some quality wine time with a DH wife), I was up at 10 (I'm so proud of myself), mowing the lawn, trimming down the plant life, washing my car, and vacuuming that sucker out all before 4pm. And let's not forget the laundry that was back-burner'd since someone else needed things washed before the boat (let's not wait till the last minute - eh?).


Maybe I should pull the trigger on those jigsaw puzzles I've been eyeballing.

Boat Update: Mr. Wookie is a flying mad man.

via

I sincerely hope this was a Senior Pilot since I don't exactly trust just anyone with a heavy crosswind. There's a boy in the back that I'd like to come back in one piece. While I'm the Keeper of his Shit should he kick the bucket this year (seriously - that'd be the worse year ever), I'm not ready to cremate him, fly to Scotland, go Scotch tasting on his behalf, then throw his ass off a cliff while reading a poem on Nordic baddassery.


But he's "adding traps" like it's going out of business. And his stateroom is shaping up thanks to wall-to-wall carpeting, a 2" fiberbed on his rack, and a plethora of videogame systems to keep the boys busy when they're not flying. Glad to hear he's settling in since we're still in June of this adventure.


Aviators definitely don't treat boat time like the prison sentence it really is...instead they bring in all the luxuries of home. Okay, okay, liquor is not allowed, but the rest of the legal luxuries are fair game. Some bring 1,500 thread count sheets and some bring pictures of the families. I send lengthy emails about life back home, my ever-growing collection of wine corks, and how I recently dropped money on Stouffer's lasagna, and other easy dinner ideas that way I don't starve since we've barely chipped into this detachment.


And as much as I want to hurry through this month and the next, and next, I'm enjoying the lack of making the bed, peeing with the door closed, and doing dishes every night. Plus, there's plenty of bonding to do with my fellow left-behind ladies. We've gone to the beach and out for drinks - the next thing on my agenda is convincing everyone to join me in trapeze school. :)

It's like he doesn't trust me or something...

Okay, okay, so I get it. I'm not exactly their real mother - I do qualify myself as more of a "stepmother" role since I wasn't there to really raise them from their young age when purchased at the pet store (please, no remarks - we were young, and we set the world on fire young). But it's true...they've been around us for a few months shy of how long Mr. Wookie has been in the Navy (5 years - where does time go???).

But just in case things weren't clear ...I need to feed them. Because "Mr. Friendly" would have it any other way. He obviously sees the camera lens near the tank and begins his shark-like stalking of me. Hey, little girl, come on, feed the turtles...we're starving. Yeah....starving...I can see your fat squeezing through the shell. You're anything but starving. No, children in some far off African country are starving because their parents are too poor to afford children. No, you're a novelty pet item - you don't get a say.


Mr. Wookie even wrote the "rules" of the water level. There are two horizontal markings. "Tank needs water" line. And "Tank full" line. Now if only he would have prepared the fridge in the same regards.


There have been two emails thus far in his boat time. According to official records, he's been either flying a lot or working on the Ready Room design (because HGTV was unavailable). And then when he has a moment, he emails to check in on my cereal supply. 


Ass.


Does he know me or what?


Well so far it's been leftovers thanks to excessive eating out prior to his departure. Then, there was a joint dinner with a few of the wives in the area. And Monday night was taking leftover spaghetti noodles, and putting Mexican shredded cheese on it. Put in over for 30 minutes on 350. Call it good.


Yup...landslide already.


Last night was merely a step up. It was hot pastrami sandwiches on ...hamburger buns (I'm out of bread), and a fellow starving JO lifetime partner (although her relationship is Uncle Sam approved) brought over her sad can of lentil soup. So individually we resembled the bare scrapings of a food pantry, but together...by golly...we're feasting like Kings.


At least we both have priorities in life. I had the wine. She brought dessert.

Uncle Sam is messing up my internal clock.

We're into our second calendar week of not having the guys home and I'm experiencing something I would call a folk lore'd occurrence. I hear horror stories of internal clocks getting screwed up, but I thought it was by people with too much on their mind or already plagued by sleep issues. It happens when you routinely go to bed at 9:27 each night (not a minute sooner or later) after giving a kiss to the boy who's still up doing whatever, if you have kids, they're in bed already, but life continues on when you wake the next morning rested and ready for the day.

Oh, goodbye boys.

Hello, insomnia.

What the heck? I don't have kids. I don't even have a dog to hang out with. How is my sleep getting screwed up just because half of the house left??? Oh, maybe that's it. Half of my house left. Half of my life. But on the upside, over half the food budget left. 

So now I'm plagued by the undesire for sleep in a timely manner. Where I was once ointmenting my bunions with foot creme at a reasonable hour now has me breaching Midnight watching Wonder Years on Netflix and the latest season of RHONYC (don't judge). Why? I have no idea. It's not like I'm cleaning....

Oh, wait, that might be it. Because last night I actually was cleaning (sit down people). The guys being gone means I'm more motivated to eat dinner with people than alone (I usually am a wretched homebody). And since people may be inclined to sign me up for counseling with the Chaps (Chaplain), I thought best to actually clean up the common areas of my home before people step foot within the confines of my little rearranged home.

I fear this weekend will include an insane drop in social schedule as I set off into a coma-like state for a Lindsey Lohan-like state of exhaustion. Bazinga.

Obviously this makes for an interesting morning as I shower, get dressed in clothes that aren't visible wrinlked (<--- see...tired) and smell decent, maybe put on foundation (really, I work in an office of mostly ladies - and in a very private sector - who cares if I look at my computer screen without the full Kardashian treatment?), and then enjoy cups of coffee and trail mix until the hours sweep past until it's lunch time or quitting time. Tick tock tick tock.

But then right when I should be scheduling to hunker down for some sleep, I get a reboost in energy.

And so those dishes get tackled, the vacuuming gets done, I take out the trash, recycle all the junk mail, check my email for the millionth time, schedule future dinners with other solo ladies in the squadron, and then finally crawl into bed much later than I should. Maybe I'm preparing myself for his arrival back home (but seriously, already? There's a long time to go) so I can hang out with him for more hours in the day. Yes, maybe that's it. Because it can't be the effort to clean. No, that bit just has to go.

The FAQs: How are we handling the reduction of our family?

Besides the physical losing of Sweet Pea, and the gathering of her things to put into the garage (for the moment), the hardest hit to our gut was the thought that our family of three...was now only two. And I hated that thought. While, yes, there are people who judge and criticize people that are 'merely dating' and jointly acquire a pet - that it's the worst decision you can ever make. When you break up, you can't just cut the animal in half. It's like a divorce - and someone needs custody. Well...when we break up, that's not an issue anymore, now is it?


This unexpected loss was literally the hardest thing we've ever had to do as a couple - and that's a lot considering our collection of years together. Mr. Wookie's theory was 'don't talk about it - just try and move on.' My approach was verbally reassuring us that we gave her the best home she could have ever had - even when I was in tears knowing that we couldn't have done any better.


What happened?


Sweet Pea passed away from old age - she was just much older than thought. And finding her was the saddest day of my life, there on the rug, looking just as adorable as when she was alive. Those floppy jowls. I can't help but look at her pictures and mentally squish her face.


Are you going to get another Bulldog?


Most likely never again. You can't replace the bumbling hilarity of Sweet Pea. She was not smart. But for a Bulldog, she was Einstein. She was the perfect built Bulldog - no hip issues, no breathing issues, no nothing. She had a double ear infection once, but I wrestled her for the daily drops. Her personality was the best. Yes, she was not dog friendly. But who cares. Minus the few dogs she snacked on (don't be a Maltese, mmmkay), she was a great companion of the house...despite her semi-annoying whining for attention. Hello.... I'M A RESCUE, GIMME SOME PITY ....mmmm... that's right...pat my head.


Are you going to get another dog then?


Yes, at some time we'll bring another canine into our home, but for right now...the timing just isn't right. Mr. Wookie is gone and we both don't feel it's right for a new canine to join the pack and not bond with the Resident Caveman. That and with a PCS on the horizon post-deployment, we'll have to judge our thoughts come that time about what type of dog we want and when we want it.


Someone pointed out the Rainbow Bridge poem about how pets  leave this world under perfect conditions (lest they be hit by a car, or something tragic), and for the owners to not grieve their exit - but to know that Sweet Pea left with a heart filled with love from us. She turned me from a staunch cat person into a holy shit, I'm a dog person now. Who knew?? Now I can't imagine not owning another dog. While I still talk to her box o' ashes and tell her we can never replace her, there will be a time where the stars will align and another dog is due their time in our house. And I can't wait. Some people are 'baby people' - we're definitely 'animal people.' That whole 'baby issue' is on a massive back burner, because the need just isn't there yet/at all.


We've had deep conversations about what we want next, what we don't want, and things that will never come up (the Corgi - Mr. Wookie hates them, so that breed is forever not considered *tears*). So for now, we'll continue to analyze the breeds that our friends have, think about the mutt-like combinations that occur from accidental breeding, and see where we move to next.


There was extreme worrying about my sanity level sans pooch during this summer's exercise.


Me: "Babe, I don't know if I can handle this by myself."
Mr.: "Don't be silly, you did fine in February." The boys were gone for just shy of a month.
Me: "I had Sweet Pea to hang out with."
Mr.: Silence.


So with a lot of thought, and the Rainbow Bridge poem in the back of my mind, I knew my heart is open to love again. We had further deep conversations about What if I adopt a cat mid-detachment? We'll give it a couple weeks to test out how it is being alone, would you be okay with that? I just don't want to not be okay being along? And a cat isn't the same commitment level as a dog - plus it's too soon to get another dog (I think). And a cat can't replace Sweet Pea. It would just be re-expanding our family to something that needs a home. It would be a companion and another heartbeat in the house. And he understood completely - to go from a house with someone to interact with to a house where the dog is in a cedar box were two different worlds.


But I'm a big proponent of Things will happen when they're supposed to. You don't have to be highly religious to understand this concept, but it's a nice way to buy off your own worries. Because going into an animal shelter and trying to choose a cat or dog just doesn't work - I'd rather let the animal choose me.


I'd love to expand our brood. Get a cat, maybe acquire a couple dogs with our next station. We have the turtles. All we're missing now is a couple penguins in the fridge and we're Ace Ventura. I love it. And I'm excited.

For Father's Day, we skype. Then it breaks.

Thanks to the guy who gave up some chromosomes to make my siblings and I. Not to say we didn't cause grief and grey hairs in his younger years, but he did teach us a few things in life. Unfortunately being on time with gifts wasn't one that I soaked in (sorry!!). But he'll just join Mama Ging as gifts are still pending and I'd rather delivery in person than ship.

Little Man, as a wee lad in 2010

Like how good coffee is and that it won't stunk your growth. Seriously. We Oregonians start young with our love for all things drip, espresso, drive-thru, or sit down. Oh, and let's not forget the millions loans I've needed from my dad when I had to buy new tires (and pay day was a week away) - the Bank of Dad is always available with a flexible repayment schedule and the pension to hold the check for a week just to make sure I don't need that money in the interim. Thanks.

Now I'm going to lounge on the couch while I drink coffee out of my Vegas mug. Thanks for the Spring Breaks. Thanks for the rice puddings. Thanks for the vodka gifts (my dad, he knows me). Love you!

And to Mr. Wookie's Dad and Stepdad - he can't be here to wish you a great day also. So it's the Wookie & Co. PR team to the rescue! And when I say, 'team'...it's just me. Thanks for all the love and support you've given him and the welcoming I've experienced in all our time together.

Lost in Los Padres National Forest

What does one do when their dog dies less than a month from 'boat time' and they don't want to be home at all? Well...during the week, it's pretty much 'suck it up,' shop to revamp the house and change the energy, enjoy wine, enjoy my handsome Mr. Wookie, then RUN FOR THE HILLS on the weekends.

We may have taken that last bit seriously. And as native Oregonians with a pension for nature, lesbian leg growth (me), throwing foliage (him), and the knowledge that Californians don't camp like we do...we set out to rough it for the weekend. As our second to last weekend together before USS Summa Summa Summa Time called Mr. Wookie's squadron aboard, we loaded up the trusty backpacks with Mountain House, gear, a change of socks, and a full bottle of wine (for myself).

Note to self. Pack a bladder of Franzia instead. It'll weigh less and last longer.

It's true. I killed a bottle by myself. Shocker. Right?

Oh, and what to mean about those Californians and their camping habits? It's called 'car camping.' And that's weak sauce. Anyone can roll in to a campground with their ugly ass Chevy Minivan, throw the soccer team of children out to 'collect kindling' (while you bought firewood from Vons), while you use your cigarette lighter to power the margarita blender (the one good thing).

Us crazy Oregonians pack everything you need into a ruffsack on your back and pound dirt for a couple hours until you find an unofficial rock ring and semi-flat land that'll host you for a bit.

Oh, sorry...did that sound douchey?

Okay, okay, I'm sorry. But you have to admit...(and if you've seen Portlandia),...you know where a different bunch of people. We'd rather hike, sweat, and pray for zero blisters in order to camp where the moon brightens the meadow at Midnight and you hear the trickling of the stream just 50 yards from your tent. It was glorious. And the perfect 'get up and outta the house' when you just don't want to be home.

I did learn a few lessons that weekend though.

I learned that Mr. Wookie is an amazing pack horse when needed. While I sufficiently carried everything I needed to survive, he did pack the "snug 2 person" tent. Please. Snug. We've slept in twin beds before....as in dorm room twin beds. Like 2 people in that small as canoe of a sleeping arrangement. This might as well have been the Taj Majal of camping.

I also learned he prefers to hike in cotton shirts but technical shorts. (Scratching head).

Oh, and he thinks it's gross I didn't "shower" in the creek (i.e. splash water on my pits and change underwear). Umm...we're just going to be home soon, plus I'm not looking to pick up anyone on the ol' dusty trail. Besides my underwear are Exoficio - and they're badass. Please don't think I rock the granny panties of Exoficio. Please.

Second lesson: Get yourself a hammock. These things revolution the outdoor experience. Weighing less than a pound, it's a great way to get off the ground and lounge with a cocktail (or wine) in your campin' mug. 

Third lesson: You can rock BRAND NEW BOOTS and not get blisters. Shazam! I call it Mrs. Wookie's Instinctual Survival Guide to New Boots. What's the secret? I wore two layers of socks. So instead of the one layer creating friction with my skin, the two layers worked in tandem thus leaving me with zero hotspots.

And I know what you're thinking...Man, Mrs. Wookie...you do make a good lesbian.

I know. I've been told many a time over many a moon. Mr. Wookie even commented, "You go full lesbian when we go camping." Umm..yes..yes, I do. What would you prefer? Someone who asks where the outlet is for her hot rollers when camping? Or someone that'll actually take a dooce in nature.

Yup.

I went there.

Fourth lesson: To avoid being lost with the scenery, wear Technicolor clothing.

Fifth lesson: Enjoy the boy that helps make your home what it is, because he's not going to be around for most of the summer. While I thought I would have a detrimental time at adjusting to him being gone, the 'goodbye' wasn't actually that bad. Maybe it helped that he started growing his 'boat 'stache' a few days early so I didn't mind saying goodbye to the caterpillar. He texted me from the plane before take-off and I wished my Tom Selleck-wannabe a great detachment and to send me a postcard from his one (and most likely 'working') port call. While this trip definitely isn't only "a few weeks," maybe it'll blow by like it was. Maybe.

time for a reboot. CRTL+ALT+DEL

I'd like to express the extreme gratitude we've received with our loss. Your kind words, thoughts, prayers, phone calls, texts, carrier pigeons, and flowers were greatly appreciated in helping us heal and move forward. We know Sweet Pea was loved beyond belief and had a great quality of life while with us. We only wish her unlimited Kong toys on the other side of the Bridge.

But seriously, could it hurt you people to care package some wine to me?  I mean, my dog just died. And you people are so stingy.

Sorry....trying to bring ol' Mrs. Wookie back. How 'm I doing?

I'm declaring a reboot on life today. June 1st will become my motivation, my chance to start 2012 over since it's been rather rough for my liking. I have the rest of my 28th year on this planet to enjoy and be prosperous.

First up: Nesting. No, there aren't any HCG levels rising, thank you. As Mr. Wookie has T-minus __ days until he literally flies off for the summer, I'm pampering and pimping out my home for the comforts I require to keep me from finding the razor blades and arteries. (I kid.) And since my social calendar has had the drool cleared from it, expected A LOT more blogging, bitches. (Slowly but surely I'll be back.) So I'll show off my semi-new digs...and my success in bargain shopping (why pay for Pier 1 when you can hit up ROSS like a champ??).

Secondly: EXERCISE YOU CHUMP! Riddle me this...what's more fun: Lounging on the couch with your adorable and snoring Bulldog watching Cheers OR running? Well if you look at my aerobic level, you know it wasn't the latter. So now it's time to clean off the ol' sports bras and get to moving! I need support (yes, in more ways than one - ha!), so I've decided to join the YMCA that all the other Knives go to (I'm banking on the safety in numbers routine). There's a perfectly timed 5:30 class schedule that will keep me social after work and sweaty with fitness. Yay, all that's missing is 9:30am park dates, minivans, and C-section scars and I'm a soccer mom. Oh joy...

Thirdly: Hobbies. With a Mr. Wookie on a boat, and a house without a pooch, I'm left to my own devices. I've already shockingly read 3 books in 7 days (so unlike me). I've worked on my cross-stitch that has been dusty for ages. And I'm about to Google "Star Wars puzzles." What's a better way to welcome back a Wookie than a Star Wars puzzle that's mounted in a frame on the wall?? Yes...girlfriend points right here. Ding, ding, ding.

So let's redo life right. Let's start now. Because there's only one way to go, and that's up. Or maybe I'll cheat and drink the soda from Wonka's factory. Either way, we're doing this.