More than you ever wanted to know...

One day in eighth grade, we all filed to the library and lined up to have our eyes checked. I didn't think anything of it; I could see just fine. I covered my left eye and read all the letters perfectly. I covered my right eye and blinked. "That's weird," I thought. "Ahh, everything must be fuzzy because I had that eye closed. That makes sense." Only, I didn't have it closed, I had it covered with a piratey eye patch on a popsicle stick. I blinked a few more times, leaned forward, and read what I could. The nice lady at the table to the side told me it looked like I'd need glasses. I must have looked stricken, because she told me not to worry and assured me that "glasses are cool!"

It wasn't that I was worried about glasses being uncool; I was already uncool, and I'd made my peace with that. Hell, in kindergarten, I longed for braces, going so far as to get excited when one of my new teeth looked like it was coming in crooked and breathlessly asking my mom, "Do you think I'll need braces??" It's like I was begging to be a nerd. (Not that I've ever need the help of equipment of any kind to achieve nerddom.)

Alas, my teeth are very nearly perfect without the help of any metal at all, aside from the instruments that scrape them sparkly twice a year (and though my kindergarten self is no doubt disappointed, I am glad I never had to deal with braces). It looked like my eyes, on the other hand, would need some help. (Ha! Get it? Looked like? My eyes?) But as I say, I wasn't worried, just confused. Turns out my lack of difficulty seeing stemmed from the fact that my right eye not only needed no prescription, but was actually 20/15, even better than perfect 20/20!

And so it was that on December 31, 1998, I got my very first pair of glasses. (I also got my very first period that day. Because you really needed to know that.) They were round and gold and, frankly, quite terrible, though I didn't think so at the time. I wore them all through high school, and it never even occurred to me to get new frames when I got new lenses.

Having now worn them for over ten years, I've grown quite attached to glasses. Not that first pair, of course, but glasses in general. I think I look ridiculous without them. I did order contacts once, but I think I wore it (I say it, not them, because if you'll recall, my right eye needed no correction. I thought about getting a monocle, but there are just none to be had) maybe three times. I just like myself better in glasses. (I like boys better in glasses, too, in case you were wondering.)

Recently, I've been noticing a certain lack of clarity, a sure sign it's time for new glasses. My latest pair has treated me well, but when you have vision insurance, why not get an entirely new pair? So I did. My new glasses came in yesterday, and I'm so in love with them.

I hope black, chunky, rectangular glasses don't go out of style anytime soon, or I will be sorely out of luck. I'm going to be that old lady who looks ridiculous because she refuses to let go of the fashions of her younger self.

Luckily, I made my peace with being a huge nerd a long time ago.


Now, for your viewing pleasure, a pictorial history of my face.

Here's a picture of me in sixth grade, pre-glasses:

I know it's sixth grade, because you can see the bright yellow cast on my right arm. I wonder why I chose yellow?

This lovely specimen is from our eighth grade field trip to D.C.:


This is from, I believe, senior year of high school. Notice I'm still wearing the same round, gold glasses. Also notice, I'm meeting Christopher Moore. <3


The summer after senior year, it finally occurred to me to get new frames. I have a small head, and ended up getting a pair from the children's section. They were Barbie brand.

I look, what, 13 here? I was 18. This next one is just because it makes me smile.

Look how close I was to that panda!!!!

For my next new glasses, I upgraded to chunky and plastic.

Also from the children's section, these were brown on the outside and blue on the inside, and they had hearts on the sides. Hearts!


After those, I went to America's Best and got TWO pairs of glasses at the SAME TIME! Note: don't do this. Waste of money. I think I wore this first pair less than ten times ever.

Blue and metal and cute, I just never switched it up like I thought I would. Here's the pair I've been wearing for the majority of the past two-ish years:


And, at long last, the glasses I wore home yesterday:




Coming soon to a blog near you: a post about something INTERESTING!

...

Maybe.

Do you ever wonder...

...who the hell invented knitting? And how?!

...who the first person was to decide pineapples looked delicious and should be eaten?

...how language came to be? Like, how words came to be so specific, and how the alphabet was decided, and why things evolved in one direction instead of another?

...why people like horror movies and thrill rides so much?

...why sports figures get paid millions a year while teachers sometimes barely make a livable wage?

...what the point is?

Double

Someone once told me that it's like I have two lives: my family-friendly version, and the real version. I wonder who among us doesn't.

It's weird how knowing my readership (kinda sorta a little bit) changes what I write. It's weird that there are things I'm willing to share and discuss with virtual strangers, but wouldn't dream of telling my mother. It's weird that, if you were all indeed perfect strangers, you'd probably be learning a lot more about me right now.

Bonus! A milestone.

Two posts in one day? Quick, someone take my temperature!

Ahem. Anyway...


Just over a year ago, I was returning from Florida. I had a few more shot glasses for my collection, a few more freckles, and one killer pair of red suede pumps. The flight attendants on our plane were brusque, unsmiling, and generally not awesome. I knew I'd be better at it than them. I knew I loved flying. And then something clicked.

I didn't tell anyone my thoughts right away, but I went onto the website for the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. One by one, I looked up every airline they listed as flying out of MSP. Most weren't hiring, most weren't actually based in Minneapolis. And then, halfway through the list, my search was over. They were hiring. They were based in the Twin Cities area. To start the application process, you had to attend an open house informational session slash group interview; there were three coming up within the next week and a half.

It seemed almost too easy. It seemed like fate.

I donned my killer black pencil skirt and tucked a crisp white shirt into it. I pulled my hair back and put on one of my favorite pairs of shoes. I took notes at the informational open house, I rocked all the questions they asked and activities they had us do. I was tall enough and not too tall.

They told us we'd hear from them by that Friday (I think it was a Tuesday). By Thursday, I had an interview scheduled.

One year ago today, I was interviewed and hired on the spot. Within 45 minutes of my scheduled interview time, I was filling out paperwork and getting initial training materials. One year ago today, I became a flight attendant.

Of course, training didn't start until the 29th, so I have to wait till the end of the month to get my raise. But the one year anniversary of being hired at my very first full-time job ever seemed like it deserved a mention regardless.

The internet is really really great.

I've done it. I've joined a dating website.

Actually, I joined three. But two of them required payment to do ANYthing, which angered me, so I almost immediately canceled both of them. The third, though, turned out to be the charm.

Remember the passenger on my plane who asked for my number? I gave it to him with a smile, but I was unsure of my willingness to actually pursue anything there. He was clearly older than I am, but I was unsure how big the age gap was. I wondered to myself how much older I was willing to go. Five years? Very probably. Six or seven? Maybe. Ten? Now we're getting iffy. Well, he emailed me (I'd given him my email along with my number, because I'm very aware of my ridiculous aversion to talking on the phone, especially with someone I hardly even know), and I did what any woman of the 21st century would do when armed with a man's full name: I googled him. As it turns out, he's 20 years older than me. TWENTY.

Le sigh.

So I turned down RampManMcTextsALot (see: here and here), and now I'd written off my latest potential man. Contrary to appearances, though, I still was (am!) willing to date, willing to actually go out with someone. I just generally trust my gut about these things, and my gut was not fluttering in the good way with either of these guys. But I was running out of hope of meeting someone the "normal" way, running out of options in real life.

So I thought, well? Why not try online dating? It certainly can't worsen my track record... right?

In a matter of hours after creating my profile, I was inundated with messages. Talk about flattering. Not that I'm expecting anything to come of most of them ("Hey your cute lets chat?" Thanks but no thanks, sweetheart. I'm a fan of full sentences.), but some of them are actual people. If nothing else, it is quite the boost to my ego. Redheads get a lot of attention, it would seem.

So here I am. Putting myself out there, into the universe. And I think the universe might be noticing.

(I'm a fan of full sentences, yes, but apparently I'm perfectly ok with starting sentences with conjunctions on a regular basis.)

I have a few guys who actually seem interesting, and who I wouldn't be opposed to meeting sometime. Mostly I'm just intrigued by it all, and curious to see where it takes me. Adventures galore, or more missteps? An exciting combination of both? Only time will tell.

Just for fun, here is, verbatim, my favorite message I've received so far: "mmmm yummy"