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.

the deep secret we've been keeping.

There's no easy way to write this post. Instead, I'd much rather hide beneath a rock and pretend life didn't hate me so much. But instead I'm kicked when I'm down and life just strolls on.

This picture isn't a joke. This is our life. For the last almost-couple weeks we've hid a deep, dark secret. One where the normal Mrs. Wookie would joke that the secret involved a pregnancy stick and a bottle of tequila. But instead, this secret has made us sick to our stomachs, dry heaving, and crying for the first few days.

We've been forced to say 'goodbye' to our beloved Bulldog. We've been forced begin a life without the wag of a nubbin' tail. And we were forced to escape to a weekend in San Diego to try and forget about the sadness that faced our home back at NAS Just-North-of-Malibu. Thank goodness San Diego has a lot of distractions, and a lot of good bars.

Sweet Pea passed away just short of two weeks ago. And I've never been in more emotional pain. I've never felt like my heart had crumbled within my body, leaving a swollen mental state that I didn't get to hold her as she passed away.

I don't like that animals prefer to cross over alone. It's not fair. They think they don't want to cause their owners grief and sorrow - but I know that lies more in the pain that I feel now. I would have wanted to know her last breathe, to rub her belly, scratch her head, tell her how much I loved her, what she meant to us, and how we'll absolutely never forget her. But I didn't. We had to do it the 'natural' way - and that means she passed away without letting us know, thanking us for the hospitality we provided over the last year and a half, and that she was ever thankful for the treats, hugs, appropriate scolds, and plentiful room on the bed when Mr. Wookie was gone.

I've tried to write this post in my head a million times over, but it never gets any easier. There's no more beautiful way than to describe Sweet Pea's last day in a home that loved her. She passed away on her favorite rug, on the floor between where her owners loved to give her extensive belly rubs and let her lick the steak juice from their plates. It looked like she just went to sleep - and I still wanted to kiss her cute, smooshy face.

And now she's gone.

No more thoughts of 'How do we PCS with a dog?' No more car rides to run random errands. No more stuffing Kong treats. And no more strategically leaving the bedroom door  cracked so she's nose it open and join her mom and dad.

I never imagined that she was older than she was. We never imagined that she wasn't young and spry when not a grey hair was on her muzzle and her age never showed. And when Bulldogs don't show their age or wear 'n tear in life, it's hard to know their age when they've been rescued until their time comes. They're durable and hearty and she was that way until the very end. So that age guesstimate of 3 or 4 was clearly a little short.

She was my everything.

I've never cried so hard in my life. I've never wept to a dog asking, "Sweet Pea, wake up" and been so disheartened. I've never felt so helpless in my life as we tearfully gathered up the bin of treats, the food dishes, the bedding, the hair brush, and everything else that had fur stuck to it. I didn't want to say goodbye when we dropped 'her' off at the emergency vet care office, signing away the paperwork to have her cremated, knowing I couldn't just dispose of her like it's just carbon. I dry-heaved knowing that our life drastically changed...for the worse. My dear puppy angel....is truly an angel now.

But now I'm fearing and loathing life. Mr. Wookie leaves very shortly for a fair amount of the summer and I've left picking up the pieces of my broken heart for a dog passing before I was ready. I'm very bitter. All I want to do is take a picture of life and target practice. Because I feel like it is shitting on me right now. And I'm not happy.

This is the hardest thing we've ever had to do. So we apologize for the silence, but in all honesty, we deserve it.

This will be a multi-part theme, so please don't wonder if I don't answer your questions right away.

Who wants a SoCal roadtrip???

Sometimes you need a little vacation. And with Mr. Wookie stepping aboard the USS Dorm-Like Living this summer, the Navy has granted some well-earned leave for this aviator. Mr. Wookie has been bustin' his chops at work in sims, on boat detachments, and in the hangar with his sailors. And with a massed collection of leave staring him in the face, Mr. Wookie felt like having a "staycation" this mornth. But first a long weekend in the "Whale's Vagina."

Perfect. We need a getaway.

No, these aren't tears of joy...

1.) Blogger apparently hates me.


2.) This blog template apparently hates me.


c.) People who love to comment on this blog...can't...because of said template that hates me.


Just know I have construction crews working on this like it's national security. Because you people obviously need to be informed that I have an open bottle of cheap wine and I intend to use it. 

So about that new blog design...

Finally. Finally. Finally. Finally. Finally. Finally. Finally. Finally. Finally. Finally.


New blog design, new pension for blogging? Right? Isn't that how that works? It's kinda like buying a new pair of running shoes to get back on the wagon (those are due to be delivered the end of this week), or hiring a maid service to clean your house that way you're inspired to keep it up (nope, no example of that - just a dream), or unloading the 'dead bananas' in your freezer so muffins can be made (yup, on the counter).


I'm sorry - there's just been a funk about the blog lately that I haven't wanted to deal with. For the last couple months, I just haven't wanted to talk to you (please don't judge). I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if I was still entertaining. I'm just not a controversial or pivotal blogger like others who have worn scuff marks on their soapboxes. Instead, my life is mocking...well...my life. I tell you 'how difficult' it is to find a pair of Naturalizer sandals on sale for 20% (seriously, yesterday...such a hard decision), or how I have a new vodka to try, or that I found a delicious Cajun shrimp recipe that uses enough garlic to keep vampires away for months.


But then I realized, I DON'T WANT TO BLOG TO BE PIVOTAL. I want to blog because I'm funny. I want to keep our families informed of our open door policy to visitors, how 'terrible' it is to live in (usually) sunny California, how my life can be so boring yet so riviting at the same time when I tell you our next vacation is to San Diego (not Hawaii, or somewhere exotic- but a 3-hour roadtrip).


Sometimes I forget who I write to - like I feel the onslaught of readers will judge me if I say the wrong thing, that my opinion is never good enough, or that I'm not enduring some trying time in my life that gives me street cred in the blogosphere.


Please. I live a cozy life. I have a great man in the house. Our dog is 80% fabulous. My family is just peachy. I wish I could see more of Mr. Wookie's (they just live so far!). My niece and nephew make me contemplate procreation based off their adorability alone - but for now, I like sleeping in, snuggling next to Mr. Wookie in the morning, or curling up with Sweet Pea and a blanket on the couch, and not putting a hiatus on libations because a parasitic symbiote requires clean circulation.


So let's put this new design to use and fully sweep the corners of the blog. All this blogging is making my hands cramp though - time to ice them...around a cold beer. ;)

Happy Mother's Day

I was first in "the queue" this morning as I was up and at 'em to call my mom and wish her a Happy Mother's Day from cloudy Southern California. While Mother's Day isn't one where I normally feel the need to book airline tickets (unlike my birthday and Christmas when we can), so usually a phone call is routine. Oh, and let's not forget a little gifting ...which will be there whenever because our genes are never known for being on time. :)

Baby Sister described our mom to a "T."

I feel she did leave out a few points though.

When you teach your eldest daughter to be staunchly independent - this'll backfire on you. She'll see the world,  move in with her boyfriend, and contribute 12% to her retirement fund, instead of marrying rich, having gobs of children, and keeping the perfect house. But hey, Mom, there's still time to marry rich. I'm in SoCal - there's plenty of money here!

Another memory is...

Growing up in a house when the Sheriff can be gone for multiple nights on business, there's nothing like the smell of breakfast for dinner. Pancakes, bacon and eggs, waffles, etc.,...this is something I continue to do myself when Mr. Wookie has night flights, TADs, or detachments. And now thanks to Pinterest, pancakes can come in so many shapes and styles now.....

And...

Just because you're a mom, doesn't mean you need "mom jeans." Phew.

How does someone keep their sanity with 4 kids?? Seriously...??? I have no idea.

Baby Sister: From large to in charge.

Could I be any prouder??

No, I don't need anger management.

It may come as a surprise that sometimes attitude can get into the way of the great, friendly persona that accompanies this Ginger nature. Maybe you know a Ging or have heard elusive tales to their behavior when the Viking genetics self-expose and you're left scratching your head wondering why there's this tall, muscle-ripped Ginger in a bear pelt throwing things around like Eric the Red just lost a battle.

I've yelled at lamps that are in my way when I'm attempting my once-a-lightyear cleaning frenzy, I've kicked backpacks that were foolishly put in my way (by myself), stubbed toes over mid-century furniture that I felt should have faced lynching than hurt one of my appendages, and yelled at the car window when Mama Ging rolled it up on my hand (yeah, that was a fun experience).

I. can't. help. it.

All this time, I hear things like:

1.) Mrs. Wookie, you have anger issues.

2.) Mrs. Wookie, maybe you should have put that pair of shoes right in the doorway.

3.) Mrs. Wookie, maybe if you cleaned up more than once a decade.

4.) Mrs. Wookie, maybe (just fill in the blank with something I don't need to do).

But wait - what's this??? I now hear a genetically-tied individual (that's a family member) has the same disease....and is cursing at objects?!?

FRANKENSTEIN LAUGH: MUHAHAHAHAAH

I love it. That means my genetics aren't mutations, but in fact life lessons that sometimes shit just needs to get yelled at. It means I'm actually family to my family and not "found in the produce department of the grocery store." (I mean, have you seen the size of my eyes...they're like grapefruit). It makes you feel better. And when you feel better, you do better in school/make more money/inherit trust funds/die happy. Yes, in that order (or #3 can occur first - no big deal).

So when this gem of a conversation landed on my wall, I felt like the Sanderson sisters, Come little children, I'll take thee away...

Friday Fill-In and a Work Potluck

You guessed it, today I have a work potluck. I signed up for...a fruit tray! I know, I know, how terribly boring. But seriously...you know how tiring it is to see dessert, after dessert, as opposed to fiber, nutrition, and taste. VERY TIRING!!! So I'm bringing healthy eating back...a little. In the form of natural sugars skewed on skewers. Because as the new girl, I'm making things tre chic.


But let's get to some answers, and clear the cobwebs that have occurred since my last Friday Fill-In. Sorry folks, my Fridays have been a lot of solo drinking, dog snuggling, and hammock time while Sweet Pea lounges in the shade on the concrete like a junkyard dog.


1. What’s one thing in the past month you would have changed?


Umm, how about this week...one thing I would have changed this week. How about my behavior yesterday morning. I woke up on the WRONG side of the bed. Mix that with Mr. Wookie cuddling up next to me saying mornings where PT is cancelled is the best because he gets an extra 20 minutes to curl up next to me. You think, "Aww, how sweet!" right? Or...you freak out, shriek that he woke you up before your alarm, now you're losing out on sleep, are obviously a little hormonal thanks to the time of the month, and just an overall monster despite the fact he was on the boat less than a week prior. Welcome home, babe, welcome home.


I've profusely apologized (I was a bit of a bitch yesterday), and offered him extended cocktail refill services. He in turn told me I reminded him of Hannibal Lecter. I chewed on him with a side of fava beans apparently.

2. What was your favorite thing that happened in April?

April was pretty boring, minus VEGAS with the family. Oh yeah...YOU NEED PROOF OF THAT DON'T YOU!? Let me just get tech support out here so I can blog from somewhere that's not Mr. Wookie's Global Domination Station (his chair is uncomfortable, it's not a laptop - because beggars can totally be choosers, right?).

3. What are your plans for Memorial Day?

I might be watching Mr. Wookie work that day. Or I might be part of a 'skeleton crew' making time and a half while playing Solitaire at work. Either or, not a bad day. :)

4. Have you ever traveled Space A? If yes, where… if no, would you ever try it?

Nope. Never Space A, never standby (wink, Accidental Olympian), and never Southwest (please! I'll pay more for my seat to ensure I'm in front of the wing [prevents motion sickness], have a window seat, and board before Grandma and her stoma).

5. What are you looking forward to in May?

It's been called "Maycation" by Uncle Sam for a reason, because afterwards is the shit. Months gone. Few weeks here. Then deployment, which contains...you guessed it...more months gone.

A laptop without Internet is merely an expensive paperweight.

I'm coming down from my fume, but sometimes when life hands you lemons...you just want to throw them at someone's head, even if it is Mr. Wookie, and not care if he loses an eye. Blogging. It's a selfish game. I want to talk about my day, and the Internet is screwing that up for me. Doesn't it care that I went to the dentist today for a little attention, came back to work under the effects of a numb face, and wondering if people on the other end of the phone call think I've hit the 'It's 5 o'clock somewhere' concept at my desk. Umm...no, not drunk, just impaired in another capacity.


Either way, Internet has been spotty since Sunday (thanks to our provider). Why is it that each area only has one provider for shitty Internet (and is Internet supposed to be capitalized?)? Are they trying to just piss people off. Well either way, it was only that Mr. Wookie was able to have things working properly was Time Warner spared my seething phone call of anger and pissidness (real word). I have a phone voice. I can connive you into feeling terrible about my story. I can convince you to upgrading my shipment to Next Day Air (true story). I can dazzle you with my brilliance. Dance, puppet, dance.


But now...it's not them. It's my laptop. First it was a battery issue. I wanted more. There's me getting greedy again. And now, is it too much to ask for effin' connectivity so I can blog from somewhere other than Mr. Wookie's World Headquarters of Videogame Dominance??? I'm about ready to throw the laptop out the window and start chiseling these updates on stone in order to be heard.


This obviously has me researching any and all other options available to make me and my computer happy. I don't want a 2-year contract a la AT&T. I don't want something that resembles Will Smith's phone in Fresh Prince connected to my USB port. But I want something that will allow me to lounge on my couch, in my pajama pants, and not be stuck in Mr. Wookie's very-uncomfortable chair. Now, I know I bitched about being stuck on the couch when I didn't have a battery that would hold a charge...and so you know, I'm. eating. my. words. Although Mr. Wookie's desk is closer to the kitchen and thusly...(you guessed it)...closer to the wine that is helping calm me down. Mom, I promise it's not a dependency. It's a necessity. Wink.


But hey - we're starting off May right! With a blogpost! And maybe more deep thoughts will come your way this week. Or, you'll continue to hear my wrath of a laptop's connection gone AWOL. Or both. :)

Remember that time I waxed my legs?

Oh, you don't, do you? Why not? It was monumental. Oh...wait, I know why. That was today!


You know your friends when you can text Mommy McD a picture of your shiny legs.

Earlier today, these gams were covered in yetty fur. Okay, okay, not really...I mean, come on. There's something us Gingers are good at - it's having blonde, thin leg hair! In case you didn't know Gingers are terrible candidates for electrolysis. :( So instead, we get to settle for hot wax being applied in thin layers while a piece of cloth rips out the roots. All while gabbing with my Kat Von D-esque waxer lady about how this really didn't hurt all that much. Let me compare it for you. Dentist = pain in the ass. Pap smear = just plain annoying. Leg waxing = easy.

Now you're probably thinking how gross it is to go the necessary weeks in order to have the hair ripped out. But think about it. I'm. from. Oregon. Not shaving my legs for a few days is child's play. I mean, please...let's try something that actually takes work. Although grossing you out might be a bad thing. Do I want to tell you the last time I shaved my legs? No. Well...maybe. Will I actually gross you out? What if I just skip over how long it had been. Yes, that's a good call. Don't worry about it, guys. Let's just say there was an appropriate amount of time to let these little gams represent more like little lambs. Sorry, that was lame.

Anways, back to the ripping of skin. I had actually tried waxing my own legs in high school. Okay, it was technically that "sugaring" craze that was all the fad. Sugar, honey, and probably badger sperm, but any way - that. was. painful. Not only could I not get the temperature right, who actually wants to rip the cloth off their own leg???? It's the worst thing ever. You know when the rip is happening, so your erector pili totally clench up (woah - I just dropped that knowledge bomb of anatomy on you). I would never try that again. So basically that was what I was remembering today when I stripped my pants off and sat on the table. Although in preparation for hanging out in my 'roos, I did wear rockin' cute ones.

So at first, I didn't want to watch - I didn't want to fear the rip. But then after the first couple strips on the shin, I realized, Hey, this actually ain't too bad. And then before you knew it, it was time for the knee.

I even got extensive compliments for having ideal peach fuzz (umm, thanks?).

And now I can't stop rubbing my legs. This is fantastic. I need to do this more often. I can avoid spending 3 years shaving my long-ass legs each morning (not like I did), and just have the hair ripped out. I. love. it.

Not that not having shaved legs prevents me from wearing shorts or skirts. Please. A little peach fuzz never hurt anyone. Leg hair is the new black in Oregon. And I like to bring a little piece of home where ever I go.

If I could relive any age. It'd be 24.

With each birthday I wince a little more as I'm closer to needing Juviderm, a boob lift, a newer version of Mr. Wookie, and more candles on my cake. At 20, I thought 25 was old. At 25, I thought 28 was ancient. Now I have a sibling, his wife, and friends in the 30's category, and I can't believe I'm almost there. Shit. Where'd my young appeal go? Where did the 'it's appropriate to get black-out drunk at 21 and stand out on the corner in my underwear because I was dared?' (Umm...parents, totally...uh...not true).


But unlike people my age who are telling me to 'settle down' and that I need to grow up, I feel like there's a little something wrong and that you're only as old as you feel - and let's be honest, I feel pretty spry...as long as I've had my 8+ hours of sleep. Uninterrupted.


Yeah, I think I'm in geriatric country seeing as I'm in bed a little after 9pm after I rinse out my glass of Metamucil and put my dentures to soak. Fail.


So when you work next to someone who just turned the ripe age of 24, you can't help but tell her that was your favorite year. I had just graduated college months before, and had spent a few weeks galavanting around the German countryside and cityscape as the first member of the family to 'jump the Pond' spending my hard-earned money with style. Then later that year, I was literally on an extended vacation with Mr. Wookie while he was stashed in Florida before flight school (we extended the need for one-way ticket back to Oregon as long as we could). Don't know about my thoughts on Florida? Read here. We were traveling all over the Southeast, hitting up Disney World as my birthday present, and enjoying that new found money commissioning earns you. And also enjoying the quality of life 4 fresh Ensigns gets when you combine BAH and rent out a $2,000/month home complete with semi-indoor pool. I had maybe a few hundred dollars to my name, my life in storage back home, and not a care in the world in terms of responsibility (didn't have any) or needing to begin my career (it's true, you have the rest of your life to work).


There's something about traveling when you're young. I say 'do it.' While you regret purchasing that hat in Berlin, you'll always have the memories of experiencing another culture and seeing more outside of your own community. The hat may make my pictures look dated, but the times I had there in the Englischer Garden in Munich with my litre mug and pretzel remind me of a time where locals would come up to me and yammer on in their native tongue. Uhhh, sorry y'all. I'm an imposter. That sense of accomplishment that I'm capable of traveling outside the country without being identified as an American...that is until I speak; I love that. And I want more of that.


She says she wants to travel before getting tied down with marriage and kids - and as a pretty stiff feminist in that realm, I can only fuel the fire. Yes, there are instances where you can travel after marriage and kids (as in OCONUS orders with the Army, etc.), but how many people do you know that say they'll travel but then never actually do? I know lots. There is a certain gusto that being single and uterinely unused brings to life. You can do stupid things (tattoos, Vegas, that porn career you've always dreamed of). The notion that there's literally nothing holding you back. You can die without anyone relying on you for support. Life gets much more difficult after you spawn. With a dog, you can just board them. With a human...you have to either connive Grandma and Grandpa for take them for a few weeks.....or.....uhh, I got nothing. See? Much more difficult. And even if you're trying to take in a European babymoon, you're still lacking a lot of the culture (because who really goes to Germany for the food - COME ON, it's all about the beer!). 


This may be why I'm fretting about growing older - because with more age comes actual responsibility (please don't think I actually have babies on the brain or are incubating), and that squashes the chances of seeing the world like a leaf blown through the wind. Instead of the idea of spending months abroad, with a Europass and a rucksack, there's the daunting horror that you only have 2-weeks paid vacation a year and that chumply amount is barely worth one country overseas (in my opinion; I'd rather travel one country in fervor, than sporadically jump around and barely see any city without depth).


So you can tell I'm hoarding my vacation days as there's Uncle Sam's sponsored 'vacation' for Mr. Wookie later this year and we don't know POM leave might be or what kind of trip we can make out of it. Part of me thinks that with the schedule that's slated for the squadron, the changes that have occurred, the increase in boat time, and the way the deployment date has yo-yo'd more than Kirstie Alley's weight (is it this month? or that month? or months from that original guestimated month?)...my inner event planner is having heart palpitations. I. want. to. know. Will we have the chance to go on a small vacay? Or will we receive notice like this last stint away? A text one afternoon saying, "Hey baby, I've leaving in a couple hours." Oh, okay, no worries. Glad I gave you a 'I'll miss you' hug this morning. Wait - not. Instead, I probably mentioned for the billionth time that you put a wet towel on the bed. again. and asked if you left me any coffee. Love you. Mean it.


Hopefully after this duty station, and this deployment, we can enjoy another round of leisure and frivolity. I'm dying to introduce Mr. Wookie to Scotland.


Please don't hate me because I don't have kids, throw my feminism around like a Italian talks with their hands, or am a Ginger. Actually, go on and judge the Ginger aspect. We're awesome and I can take it. I just can't take sunburns.

I love you. But you can leave now.

This whole work-ups cycle is an interesting one. While I still am not used to having plans change on me literally the night before his bags are packed and by the front door (hello...there's snuggling with my pooch to do), there's a certain amount of hair growth on the peaches when Uncle Sam requires a couple weeks ago. And if I could have it my way, I'd much rather have the Japan-esque type of deployment that Mr. Wookie's sister squadron is more accustomed to (out for a few months, in for a few months, like clockwork).

Instead, there's us. A squadron that's been stagnant for more than a year as the USS Defending Freedom has been in the docks prepping for its next great adventure for Mr. Wookie's squadron. And with that, you can sense the amount of backlog that karma has stored up for the next available deployment for these guys. It wasn't too long ago that we went to the Squadron Pre-Deployment Meeting (gulp). While some of it was information that I kinda had my head wrapped around (i.e. scheduled auto-drafts from Mr. Wookie's personal account to the home account), some things made me panic...despite having months left in this preparation. I don't have a will yet. We need to have passwords written down. And our bed hasn't been pimped out yet.

Wait? What? Mrs. Wookie....that's not on a deployment checklist.

It's not? Hello....if he's going to be spending months on a boat with a bunch of dudes, few ladies, port calls being the only brink of sanity, and a plethora of flight hours being chalked....I'm going to be sleeping in a glorious new bed. It's only fair, right? I must be comfortable. I'm keeping this sad homefire lit. I want plush and cozy. :)

But let's break out the ground rules first. We're not actually dropping money on a new bed. Our mattress is still within an appropriate lifespan for a mattress, so I'm happy to not part with the coin for a new mattress. Those things aren't cheap. So if I'm able to put a little blush, lipstick, and mascara on my current digs - I'll do just that.

So first up: new sheets. :) And because I'm never one to drop full-price...thank you Tuesday Morning for the sateen sheets. They're gorgeous and crisp. And add a punch of color to the room. Don't know what Tuesday Morning is? Think Ross...but for home items (also similiar to a Home Goods, but that's a good 20-mile drive from me). It's fabulous. Not a beautiful store, but beautiful prices on things.

Next up: a featherbed. :) Although that's something that will require parting with a little bit of hard-earned money. I've got my eye on one and a half-off coupon up my sleeve (what up!). So when sound sleep is expected while kickin' it with the dog as I fight for sanity against having conversations with the resident canine, I'm getting that 2" of luxury beneath my body.

I hope Mr. Wookie isn't feeling too much like his bum is being kicked to the boat already. I hope he feels instead it's the training needed to survive the long months where he's emailing me from the Ready Room the 3 sentences that are his typical response to my novela-like emails. I've got something planned for him as well. It rhymes with 'shmail shmorder shbride."

Lady, enough with the hiatuses...

[via]

I have good news! We...have....a working charger for the laptop! And the crowd goes wild! With only a few headaches with chargers not working, there's finally light at the end of my tunnel.  I'm sitting at my dining room table and enjoying the free range (like chickens) that a laptop really does apply. Now if only the bloody marine layer would take a vacation and give me freakin' sunshine, I'd be a lot happier. My hammock is meant for peace and comfort time - not pants and Columbia fleece time.


It's been shockingly over 6 months since I ditched the psuedo-Mad Men gig of a design studio for the better-paying job in the e-commerce division of a major distributor (think Dunder Mifflin's Infinity website - but actually successful). With that has come more money and better benefits (I think everyone can agree this is good). Well...with more money comes that slow crossing off of things we've wanted for the house. You know, the big ticket items. Where big dollars are dropped. Like a compost bucket. Okay, okay, that's not big ticket...but it's been on the list for months, I just haven't found something I liked. No ceramic, no less-than-a-gallon capacity, no filters needed. Yes to dishwasher-friendly, yes to tolerably cute, yes to free shipping. *Purchased* Due here Thursday.


I don't want to onslaught with the world's longest blog post since there's so much to catch up on, there's just this overwhelming feeling that 2012 is taking a dump on me. January wasn't the easiest of months, and life has continued to play cruel games as Uncle Sam is desiring more time on the boat before deployment even begins. So while deployment may not be record setting in length, we're all thinking from here on out (until PCS) he'll be gone most of the time.


Oh, and I apologize in advance if you've seen some of the varying templates that I've been sweating and swearing over. Apparently asking for a new *free* 2-column, minimalist  blog template with a 960px header is asking for a gay man to have bad fashion sense. Impossible. So unless you have ideas, recommendations, or charitable designers that allow payment with vodka shots and 2 Advil...I continue my search.

Time to Swiffer duster the blog.

Check one, two....check, check...key strokes still here, fingers still working...

Want to know what the menu looks like this week? Well this is it. You guessed it. Mrs. Wookie is sleeping...well technically alone, since we're classifying Sweet Pea's allowance on Mr. Wookie's side of the bed for 7+ days away from the house. This run will be less than that time frame, so she's shafted to the dog bed. It it were up to me, we'd have a King-sized bed, she'd sleep in the middle, and her butt would face Mr. Wookie. But instead, since I like cuddling next to the resident Caveman and not smelling the asinine creations of the dog's backside...we're rocking the Queen.


I know, I know....it's been cobwebs on this here blog, and I feel like I have a good excuse for it.


No, it's not wine.


No, it's not vodka.


No, it's not a side life as a freckle model.


Oh goodness, I would die!


Instead, it's been a technical issue. In order to blog (successfully) in my opinion, you need 3 things. A laptop, a battery, and a charger. I have a laptop. Check. And as of a week ago, I've had a new battery. However, when you buy a more powerful battery to make your blogging more powerful (ha!), the sad charger of yesteryear is left being about as effective as Viagra with a geriatric coma patient. Yup, I need more power. Cue the Tim Taylor grunt.


So what's en route via USPS (what, no tracking numbers!?)?? My new charger. Thanks to Amazon for a new 90W charger without the mark up of Dell.com. I can't wait for you to come visit me. And be my friend. Because then I won't be tethered to the bloody wall with a freakin' cord stuck to the side of my computer.


I've tired of not having a real laptop. Instead, I have an ass mark in my couch since I'm stuck needing to draw power through the wall since my new battery isn't capable of actually charging on the low wattage adapter. So as soon as that cord arrives in my mailbox, I'll be doing the Ritz all the way to daily blogging entries (or at least more frequent than my blooger-flickin' existence).


My ultimate goal is to blog during my tediously long one-hour lunch break and make it useful. While reading is useful and entertaining when it's nonfiction and worthwhile, sometimes a Ginger likes to blog about the stupid crap that's going on her life (and sometimes a Ginger wants to make readers jealous with her mad hammock lounging, Vegas vacations, and COCKTAILS!). So wish me luck. And wish USPS a fast delivery time otherwise I may have to resort to poppin' more corks.


Or even when the charger does get here, I'll still be poppin' corks. Hello...Uncle Sam is never kind.