Last night, I got a phone call saying my license plates were in. Wahoo! For some reason, I've been very anxiously awaiting my license plates. My dealer plates made my car seem obnoxious, noticeable, a target. Too shiny, too good to be true, not mine. So I happily made my way to my dealer today to pick up my plates. They're nothing good or funny or awesome, but they're plates, and they're mine, and they make me happy. I went over into service, and they put them on in about three minutes, took the temporary paper out of my back window, and I was off and away! Of course, they put dealer plate holders around my plates, which is probably why they want to put them on for their customers themselves, but whatever, I'll get rid of those soon enough. (Sure, they've been great to me, but really, I don't need to be a driving advertisement for you, thankyouverymuch.)
I needed to pick up a couple of things at Target, so I toodled over there, feeling pretty fancy with my new plates. Middle schools had apparently just gotten out, so there were buses EVERYwhere. I didn't think anything of it; why would I? I pulled up next to the back half of a bus and waited at a stoplight, trying to find a good song on the radio. I heard kids arguing and talking, which seemed standard. Then I heard someone yell "Bitch!" at someone else, which was jarring coming from a middle schooler. But whatever, kids grow up faster and faster all the time; just because I didn't start swearing until high school definitely doesn't mean that that holds true for anyone else. And then, just as I was getting tired of the darn light already, somebody from the bus threw something at my car.
Now, I have no way to prove this. I don't know who it might have been, or what they might have thrown. But I do know that I was at a standstill, as was all the traffic around me, when something hard and loud hit the side of my car.
I was pissed. A brief inspection at Target showed no scratches or noticeable damage of any kind, but still, I couldn't believe some little shit had that kind of audacity. What has become of innocent children? What would possess someone to throw things at a stranger's car?
I really have no point. I was just angry.
At least my windows were closed.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Long overdue, but mostly just long.
Oh dear. Where to begin?
My car was dying. Leaking oil in two places (one halfway up the engine), leaking coolant, it had an ever-expanding crack across the top of the windshield, and it was sixteen years old. I'd been talking about getting a new one soon-ish anyway, so we decided it wasn't worth it to put the necessary funds into it, and instead, I would start looking for a new car. Well, I decided that, and my parents were surprisingly supportive. I thought they would try to talk me out of it, say it was silly, tell me I couldn't afford it. But they were all for it.
So I started researching. I got recommendations on cars, makes and models, I searched dealer websites and consumer reports and manufacturers websites. (Did you know that in AP style, the proper way to write it is Web sites? Now you do.) I decided I like hatchbacks better than anything else. Probably because of this little girl:
Ahh, my first car, my first love. She was a 1987 Honda Civic Hatchback. Two shades of blue. The turn signal played a tinny version of "Love Me Tender." And oh, did I ever love her tender. She fit all my friends, she had lots of storage, she was easily recognizable in parking lots. She didn't have a radio, so I bought a mini boombox, like this:
and we bungie-corded it into the dash, in the empty space where the radio should have been. One day, when my dad was changing her oil, he found an extra-long philips-head screwdriver nestled in the front bumper, long since lost and forgotten. She could make a u-turn on any street. In short, she was a treasure. Pure sassy delightfulness.
She died on me one April day as I was driving up 19th in Duluth. Any of you who may be familiar with Duluth know what a steep hill 19th is (for those of you unfamiliar, it's one of the main drags up and down the big hill towards campus). I was driving up the hill, trying to go to class, and she just up and died. Nothing. Not even a stutter or a putter, just dead. I managed to steer her over to the side, kind of. I had a moment of panic, and then I put her in neutral and backed her down the hill onto a side street, and called D, who had Triple A. That was the last time I ever drove her.
I got a new car in June. A 1993 Toyota Camry. I would post a picture, but I'm really just not sure I have any. It was a car, and it was a decent car. But after the love I felt for my first car, what could possibly compare? The camry had no sass, no personality, no turn signal music. But it treated me pretty well, and it drove me everywhere I needed to go. It didn't have air conditioning, which we decided was going to be a problem when I was scheduled to move to Arizona, so while I was down there, my parents had the AC system overhauled for me. Bliss. I didn't move to AZ after all, but I sure did have a nice, temperature-controlled car.
But then, it started leaking oil. Everywhere. I could be parked at Target for an hour, and there would be a little oil spot in the parking space when I drove away. We took it in and found out how much it would cost to repair, and even our trusty mechanic said it probably wasn't worth it. He told me that, as long as I was good at checking and adding oil regularly, it would last me a few more months while we looked for a new car.
So, as I said, I researched. I made a spread sheet. I debated. I search carsoup. I knew I wanted to take my dad test-driving with me, which I knew was going to be difficult. My dad is the kind of guy who will outright ignore any question you ask him until he feels like answering it. That could mean twenty seconds, or two weeks. I kept asking, and then hinting, and then almost begging. "Hey dad, I have ALL of next week off. Wouldn't it be fun if you took a day off and we went test-driving? Yeah, that'd be awesome." He'd just sort of chuckle and turn back to the TV. We both had a Saturday off one day, but he didn't even mention the possibility of car shopping until I had already made plans to visit Duluth for the weekend. Talk about infuriating.
Finally, one day he tells me, "I took a half-day on Friday." VICTORY! My mom had left town on Wednesday, and so knew nothing of our upcoming adventure. Knowing we'd actually be shopping soon, I intensified my carsoup searches, and found a few specific cars that I wanted to go look at. A Honda Fit, a VW Golf, and a couple of Priuses. I knew a Prius was likely out of my range, but oh, how I loved them.
Friday came, and the Golf was no longer on carsoup, so we decided to skip the dealership it was at. I took my lovely father to lunch, and away we went. The first car I got in was a Fit, and I didn't like it. I felt like I didn't fit in it, strangely enough. Also, the windows were uber tinted, which threw me off a lot, and turned me off of the car even though I knew it was removable. It just didn't feel like the car for me.
Then I got into a Prius. I loved it. It was smooth, and magical, and even though the pedals would take some getting used to, it just felt right. I didn't like the particular one I was in, however, so we bid farewell to our salesman and headed to an actual Toyota dealership.
We got into a Prius. It had a back-up camera, an audio jack for my ipod, heated side mirrors, cruise control, a smart key system (which means you never have to get your keys out, they just have to be in close proximity to the car and you can get in and start it, like magic), and it was blue. Not two shades of blue, but a beautiful, rich shade of dark blue.
I drove it around some side streets and took it on the highway. We got back to the lot and just kept wandering around the car, looking in the trunk, sitting in the back, sitting in the front. The salesman left the car for a second and I told my dad, "I want this car." When the salesman came back into the car, I asked him, "So, what kind of a deal can I get for my trade-in?" He looked a little surprised, probably not expecting me to a buy a car at all that day, much less the first one he showed me. "You want to see what we can do for you for this car?" "Yes."
By 7.30 that night, I had my old car emptied, my temporary license on my new car, and was home with the keys. When my mom came home a few days later, completely ignorant, the first thing she said was, "What did you do?" Luckily, she said it with a smile.
I had to leave on a 4-day for work on Saturday morning, and it was the longest trip ever. All I wanted to do was get back home to my new car.
My friends call it my spaceship.
Home, in my driveway, with SNOW on it (I was very offended about that):
Me and my new baby:
Blasted wind.
I smile every time I see it, I think it's adorable, and I love that it's both a hatchback and a normal-ish-looking car. I just feel so happy and lucky to have a car that I love again.
My car was dying. Leaking oil in two places (one halfway up the engine), leaking coolant, it had an ever-expanding crack across the top of the windshield, and it was sixteen years old. I'd been talking about getting a new one soon-ish anyway, so we decided it wasn't worth it to put the necessary funds into it, and instead, I would start looking for a new car. Well, I decided that, and my parents were surprisingly supportive. I thought they would try to talk me out of it, say it was silly, tell me I couldn't afford it. But they were all for it.
So I started researching. I got recommendations on cars, makes and models, I searched dealer websites and consumer reports and manufacturers websites. (Did you know that in AP style, the proper way to write it is Web sites? Now you do.) I decided I like hatchbacks better than anything else. Probably because of this little girl:
Ahh, my first car, my first love. She was a 1987 Honda Civic Hatchback. Two shades of blue. The turn signal played a tinny version of "Love Me Tender." And oh, did I ever love her tender. She fit all my friends, she had lots of storage, she was easily recognizable in parking lots. She didn't have a radio, so I bought a mini boombox, like this:
and we bungie-corded it into the dash, in the empty space where the radio should have been. One day, when my dad was changing her oil, he found an extra-long philips-head screwdriver nestled in the front bumper, long since lost and forgotten. She could make a u-turn on any street. In short, she was a treasure. Pure sassy delightfulness.
She died on me one April day as I was driving up 19th in Duluth. Any of you who may be familiar with Duluth know what a steep hill 19th is (for those of you unfamiliar, it's one of the main drags up and down the big hill towards campus). I was driving up the hill, trying to go to class, and she just up and died. Nothing. Not even a stutter or a putter, just dead. I managed to steer her over to the side, kind of. I had a moment of panic, and then I put her in neutral and backed her down the hill onto a side street, and called D, who had Triple A. That was the last time I ever drove her.
I got a new car in June. A 1993 Toyota Camry. I would post a picture, but I'm really just not sure I have any. It was a car, and it was a decent car. But after the love I felt for my first car, what could possibly compare? The camry had no sass, no personality, no turn signal music. But it treated me pretty well, and it drove me everywhere I needed to go. It didn't have air conditioning, which we decided was going to be a problem when I was scheduled to move to Arizona, so while I was down there, my parents had the AC system overhauled for me. Bliss. I didn't move to AZ after all, but I sure did have a nice, temperature-controlled car.
But then, it started leaking oil. Everywhere. I could be parked at Target for an hour, and there would be a little oil spot in the parking space when I drove away. We took it in and found out how much it would cost to repair, and even our trusty mechanic said it probably wasn't worth it. He told me that, as long as I was good at checking and adding oil regularly, it would last me a few more months while we looked for a new car.
So, as I said, I researched. I made a spread sheet. I debated. I search carsoup. I knew I wanted to take my dad test-driving with me, which I knew was going to be difficult. My dad is the kind of guy who will outright ignore any question you ask him until he feels like answering it. That could mean twenty seconds, or two weeks. I kept asking, and then hinting, and then almost begging. "Hey dad, I have ALL of next week off. Wouldn't it be fun if you took a day off and we went test-driving? Yeah, that'd be awesome." He'd just sort of chuckle and turn back to the TV. We both had a Saturday off one day, but he didn't even mention the possibility of car shopping until I had already made plans to visit Duluth for the weekend. Talk about infuriating.
Finally, one day he tells me, "I took a half-day on Friday." VICTORY! My mom had left town on Wednesday, and so knew nothing of our upcoming adventure. Knowing we'd actually be shopping soon, I intensified my carsoup searches, and found a few specific cars that I wanted to go look at. A Honda Fit, a VW Golf, and a couple of Priuses. I knew a Prius was likely out of my range, but oh, how I loved them.
Friday came, and the Golf was no longer on carsoup, so we decided to skip the dealership it was at. I took my lovely father to lunch, and away we went. The first car I got in was a Fit, and I didn't like it. I felt like I didn't fit in it, strangely enough. Also, the windows were uber tinted, which threw me off a lot, and turned me off of the car even though I knew it was removable. It just didn't feel like the car for me.
Then I got into a Prius. I loved it. It was smooth, and magical, and even though the pedals would take some getting used to, it just felt right. I didn't like the particular one I was in, however, so we bid farewell to our salesman and headed to an actual Toyota dealership.
We got into a Prius. It had a back-up camera, an audio jack for my ipod, heated side mirrors, cruise control, a smart key system (which means you never have to get your keys out, they just have to be in close proximity to the car and you can get in and start it, like magic), and it was blue. Not two shades of blue, but a beautiful, rich shade of dark blue.
I drove it around some side streets and took it on the highway. We got back to the lot and just kept wandering around the car, looking in the trunk, sitting in the back, sitting in the front. The salesman left the car for a second and I told my dad, "I want this car." When the salesman came back into the car, I asked him, "So, what kind of a deal can I get for my trade-in?" He looked a little surprised, probably not expecting me to a buy a car at all that day, much less the first one he showed me. "You want to see what we can do for you for this car?" "Yes."
By 7.30 that night, I had my old car emptied, my temporary license on my new car, and was home with the keys. When my mom came home a few days later, completely ignorant, the first thing she said was, "What did you do?" Luckily, she said it with a smile.
I had to leave on a 4-day for work on Saturday morning, and it was the longest trip ever. All I wanted to do was get back home to my new car.
My friends call it my spaceship.
Home, in my driveway, with SNOW on it (I was very offended about that):
Me and my new baby:
Blasted wind.
I smile every time I see it, I think it's adorable, and I love that it's both a hatchback and a normal-ish-looking car. I just feel so happy and lucky to have a car that I love again.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
I love Shakespeare.
Like a lot.
I loved everything about last night.
My sister and I went to the Guthrie for Beer, Burgers, and the Bard. We had some burgers, some beer, and then watched a 50s version of Two Gentlemen of Verona. Then we went to Applebee's for some mozzarella sticks and a little more booze.
We got all dolled up, and I loved my outfit. My mom made me a new shirt, and we tore apart what used to be a dress and made it into a skirt. Some of the shopping I mentioned in the last post was accessories to go with my new outfit, all of which I loved. Even my shoes make me smile every time I wear that pair.
We people watched while we ate, and got offended that a lot of people don't feel the need to dress up to go see a show. A staggering number of people were wearing jeans, and one man had a baseball cap on. Really? I know the night involves beer, but you can't even put on an unwrinkled shirt?
Our seats were front row center, and they were amazing. The girl next to me had her purse in between her seat and mine, and it was totally leaning into my seat so much that it looked like it was my purse, not hers. I found it strangely offensive and hilarious, and my sister and I had a good giggle about it.
The show was excellent. Shakespeare should always involve singing and dancing and 50s clothing. I want to marry every actor that was in it, and I wonder again why I was too damn shy to be in theater in high school.
The girl with the purse and her boyfriend didn't come back after intermission, which made me sad. I hope they just sat somewhere else and didn't leave. Who leaves Shakespeare right in the middle?
Our post-show mozzarella sticks were delicious, and I had a green beer for the first time in my life.
I have a new life goal: I want to see every Shakespeare play performed live. So far I've only got two, I think. I saw Twelfth Night in Stratford-upon-Avon, and Two Gentlemen of Verona last night. I've got quite a ways to go, and I'm stoked.
I loved everything about last night.
My sister and I went to the Guthrie for Beer, Burgers, and the Bard. We had some burgers, some beer, and then watched a 50s version of Two Gentlemen of Verona. Then we went to Applebee's for some mozzarella sticks and a little more booze.
We got all dolled up, and I loved my outfit. My mom made me a new shirt, and we tore apart what used to be a dress and made it into a skirt. Some of the shopping I mentioned in the last post was accessories to go with my new outfit, all of which I loved. Even my shoes make me smile every time I wear that pair.
We people watched while we ate, and got offended that a lot of people don't feel the need to dress up to go see a show. A staggering number of people were wearing jeans, and one man had a baseball cap on. Really? I know the night involves beer, but you can't even put on an unwrinkled shirt?
Our seats were front row center, and they were amazing. The girl next to me had her purse in between her seat and mine, and it was totally leaning into my seat so much that it looked like it was my purse, not hers. I found it strangely offensive and hilarious, and my sister and I had a good giggle about it.
The show was excellent. Shakespeare should always involve singing and dancing and 50s clothing. I want to marry every actor that was in it, and I wonder again why I was too damn shy to be in theater in high school.
The girl with the purse and her boyfriend didn't come back after intermission, which made me sad. I hope they just sat somewhere else and didn't leave. Who leaves Shakespeare right in the middle?
Our post-show mozzarella sticks were delicious, and I had a green beer for the first time in my life.
I have a new life goal: I want to see every Shakespeare play performed live. So far I've only got two, I think. I saw Twelfth Night in Stratford-upon-Avon, and Two Gentlemen of Verona last night. I've got quite a ways to go, and I'm stoked.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I am a consumer whore. (And how!)
The economy is bad. I have friends getting laid off, friends unable to find any sort of a job, friends about to graduate and terrified about their prospects, or lack thereof.
For the first time ever, I have a full-time job. I have benefits, and insurance, and it's not through my parents. I have a steady paycheck.
I already got my tax refunds back. And, as a bonus, I got more money in my federal return than I was supposed to. They sent me a letter saying, "We made a change to your return amount for this reason. If you object to this change, here's how to refute it. If you agree, you don't have to do anything." Oh, I agree all right! Give me all the extra money you want to.
I'm also not paying rent at the moment, which I'm sure is one of the biggest factors in my current situation.
My current situation being, frankly, awesome. For the first time in years, I have money in my savings account. I can pay all of my bills, all on time, and still have money to put aside and save. For the first time in years, when I got paid last Friday, I still had money in my checking account from my last paycheck.
This is amazing beyond belief. Beyond words. It just makes me smile and feel so, so proud of myself, of what I've done for myself.
So, since I'm in such a good position, I'm trying to do my part to stimulate the economy. How selfless and giving of me, right? Right.
I bought an iPod touch, which I've mentioned here. I just bought a new camera, which was a fantastic deal, and something I'd been wanting for a long time anyway. (And it's seriously way better than my old one. It was way past time for an upgrade. And it's only my fourth camera ever in my life, as far as I can recall. I had a 110, then an APS, then my last digital, and now this one. But I digress.) But now, now I have a problem.
See, I can't stop shopping.
It started out innocently enough, with a trip to Target to pick up some things I needed. I found a couple clearance shirts, and got those, too. And then one day I went to Kohl's, and got a whole bag full of clearance goodies. And then today, today I went to the Mall of America. By myself.
Make note of this: I should never, ever be allowed to go to MOA by myself. Ever. I need someone with me to tell me not to buy things.
I like shopping by myself, because I'm a very slow shopper. I make a round through the store, grab the things that catch my eye, and head to the dressing room. But that's only round one. After I try things on, I may need different sizes, different colors, and while I'm fetching these variations, I'll probably see something else interesting that I missed the first time around. So I grab that, too, and head in for round two. And so on, and so on.
Other people get bored and frustrated by this behavior. I can't imagine why.
So I went to the MOA by myself today, and it was a big mistake. Or a giant success, depending on how you look at it. I managed to pass up the adorable Nine West green spring jacket that was $125, but I did drop quite a lot of cash at Marshall's, New York & Co, H&M, and Nordstrom's. I tried to stop. I tried to leave the mall. I had plans, and I was late. But every time I headed toward the exit by my car, another too-good-to-pass-by store jumped into my path. Naturally, I had to stop in.
I did eventually make it out of the mall, but not until I was woefully late to hanging out with a friend, and not until my wallet was significantly lighter and wetter (from all the crying it did [see, my situations is pretty good, for me. But I still feel like a poor college student, so I still get nervous and guilty spending any money at all, ever. And compared to a lot of people out there in the real world, I still really don't have that much money. At all. But again, I digress.]), and not until my feet were sore, and not until my hands hurt from carrying around such a variety of bags and hangers all day.
I think I could spend days at that mall. DAYS. I spent four hours there today, and I feel like I passed by a bunch of stores in attempt to speed up my journey from the car and keep my wallet from dehydrating. I did a lot of good shopping, I got a lot of good deals, and I passed by a lot of unnecessary, frivolous items. But my proudest moment of the day?
I managed to leave the mall without getting a Cinnabon.
For the first time ever, I have a full-time job. I have benefits, and insurance, and it's not through my parents. I have a steady paycheck.
I already got my tax refunds back. And, as a bonus, I got more money in my federal return than I was supposed to. They sent me a letter saying, "We made a change to your return amount for this reason. If you object to this change, here's how to refute it. If you agree, you don't have to do anything." Oh, I agree all right! Give me all the extra money you want to.
I'm also not paying rent at the moment, which I'm sure is one of the biggest factors in my current situation.
My current situation being, frankly, awesome. For the first time in years, I have money in my savings account. I can pay all of my bills, all on time, and still have money to put aside and save. For the first time in years, when I got paid last Friday, I still had money in my checking account from my last paycheck.
This is amazing beyond belief. Beyond words. It just makes me smile and feel so, so proud of myself, of what I've done for myself.
So, since I'm in such a good position, I'm trying to do my part to stimulate the economy. How selfless and giving of me, right? Right.
I bought an iPod touch, which I've mentioned here. I just bought a new camera, which was a fantastic deal, and something I'd been wanting for a long time anyway. (And it's seriously way better than my old one. It was way past time for an upgrade. And it's only my fourth camera ever in my life, as far as I can recall. I had a 110, then an APS, then my last digital, and now this one. But I digress.) But now, now I have a problem.
See, I can't stop shopping.
It started out innocently enough, with a trip to Target to pick up some things I needed. I found a couple clearance shirts, and got those, too. And then one day I went to Kohl's, and got a whole bag full of clearance goodies. And then today, today I went to the Mall of America. By myself.
Make note of this: I should never, ever be allowed to go to MOA by myself. Ever. I need someone with me to tell me not to buy things.
I like shopping by myself, because I'm a very slow shopper. I make a round through the store, grab the things that catch my eye, and head to the dressing room. But that's only round one. After I try things on, I may need different sizes, different colors, and while I'm fetching these variations, I'll probably see something else interesting that I missed the first time around. So I grab that, too, and head in for round two. And so on, and so on.
Other people get bored and frustrated by this behavior. I can't imagine why.
So I went to the MOA by myself today, and it was a big mistake. Or a giant success, depending on how you look at it. I managed to pass up the adorable Nine West green spring jacket that was $125, but I did drop quite a lot of cash at Marshall's, New York & Co, H&M, and Nordstrom's. I tried to stop. I tried to leave the mall. I had plans, and I was late. But every time I headed toward the exit by my car, another too-good-to-pass-by store jumped into my path. Naturally, I had to stop in.
I did eventually make it out of the mall, but not until I was woefully late to hanging out with a friend, and not until my wallet was significantly lighter and wetter (from all the crying it did [see, my situations is pretty good, for me. But I still feel like a poor college student, so I still get nervous and guilty spending any money at all, ever. And compared to a lot of people out there in the real world, I still really don't have that much money. At all. But again, I digress.]), and not until my feet were sore, and not until my hands hurt from carrying around such a variety of bags and hangers all day.
I think I could spend days at that mall. DAYS. I spent four hours there today, and I feel like I passed by a bunch of stores in attempt to speed up my journey from the car and keep my wallet from dehydrating. I did a lot of good shopping, I got a lot of good deals, and I passed by a lot of unnecessary, frivolous items. But my proudest moment of the day?
I managed to leave the mall without getting a Cinnabon.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Snippets.
I had the weirdest dreams ever last night. Er, this morning while I kept hitting snooze. They were seriously crazy, and I woke up feeling very strange and out of sorts. I wish I could remember more than vague snippets and the feeling I woke up with.
I love my clinic. (I was going to write doctors office, but I didn't know if it should be doctors or doctor's or doctors' and after a good 45 seconds of debating, I erased it and went with clinic. And then told you all about my dilemma anyway.) You can always get an appointment that day if you really need one and you call in the morning. I scheduled my physical a week and a half ago, and had it today, with my regular doctor. I never have to plan months ahead to try to get in for an appointment. And I was only in the waiting room for about a minute before they called my name. My Dr-Lady is very nice and sweet, and we talked about the fact that I did not move to Arizona as planned and that my wedding was called off and she asked how I was coping, and she always encourages me to call her office anytime I might have a question or concern or anything, and her hair is adorable. She's very gentle with the lady-part-invading, and I've just been very pleased with her. Even though I have stubborn veins and they had to call in someone special from the lab to take my blood, and even though they keep telling me I'm only 64 inches even though I always say I'm 5'5", I really just love my clinic.
The last time they did blood tests, I had high cholesterol. Was it a fluke? Is it genetics? Was I just eating far, far too much McDonald's? We'll know in a couple of days, because they've stolen my blood for testing again. I hope I pass this time. I've really been trying.
Speaking of McDonald's, I've once again given it up for Lent. And bacon.
I like to eat Subway at the airport if I have a lot of downtime between flights. I usually get a BLT. What will I get at Subway for the next month and a half? And how will I survive the fact that the bar I sit at faces McDonald's?!
Why do I even love McDonald's so much, anyway? One of these days, I'll finally realize how disgusting it is and give it up for good. One of these days.
I'm either very brave or exceedingly stupid. This thought occurred to me earlier, as I drove through the inches of new and still-falling snow just to satisfy my NEED to shop. More recently, it occurred to me that this statement is valid in more than one area of my life.
I mean, look at my job. I'll wait. ............ Seriously, I must be crazy! Who subjects themselves to being thrown into the air with 50 other people in a tiny metal tube over and over and over again? Who does that?!
I do love it, though.
Also, I did a very good job at satisfying my shopping craving for the next couple of months. It's been months (since April or May) since I bought a new pair of jeans. I've gotten some sweaters, but really, I just really wanted to wander around a store for awhile. I tried earlier today, but the snow scared me into going home. But this evening, when I was pretty confident the plows were going through, and visibility had vastly improved, I tried again. What can I say, I'm a trooper. I meant to hang out with my cat, actually, but I stopped at Kohl's, and got stuck there for HOURS browsing and trying things on. Then I went to Target, the one right by my sister's house, and thus right by my cat. But then I came home. I still miss my little furball. But I guess I'll have to wait a few more days to see her.
Anyway, I think my point was, I bought two pairs of jeans, four sweaters, the awesomest headband ever, five pairs of socks, a pair of underwear, a magazine, some just-add-water foodstuffs, a season of Friends, and maybe even some other things I'm forgetting, for under a hundred bucks. God I'm the best bargain shopper ever.
I have to leave my house at 5.30 in the morning. I guess I should probably go to bed.
I love my clinic. (I was going to write doctors office, but I didn't know if it should be doctors or doctor's or doctors' and after a good 45 seconds of debating, I erased it and went with clinic. And then told you all about my dilemma anyway.) You can always get an appointment that day if you really need one and you call in the morning. I scheduled my physical a week and a half ago, and had it today, with my regular doctor. I never have to plan months ahead to try to get in for an appointment. And I was only in the waiting room for about a minute before they called my name. My Dr-Lady is very nice and sweet, and we talked about the fact that I did not move to Arizona as planned and that my wedding was called off and she asked how I was coping, and she always encourages me to call her office anytime I might have a question or concern or anything, and her hair is adorable. She's very gentle with the lady-part-invading, and I've just been very pleased with her. Even though I have stubborn veins and they had to call in someone special from the lab to take my blood, and even though they keep telling me I'm only 64 inches even though I always say I'm 5'5", I really just love my clinic.
The last time they did blood tests, I had high cholesterol. Was it a fluke? Is it genetics? Was I just eating far, far too much McDonald's? We'll know in a couple of days, because they've stolen my blood for testing again. I hope I pass this time. I've really been trying.
Speaking of McDonald's, I've once again given it up for Lent. And bacon.
I like to eat Subway at the airport if I have a lot of downtime between flights. I usually get a BLT. What will I get at Subway for the next month and a half? And how will I survive the fact that the bar I sit at faces McDonald's?!
Why do I even love McDonald's so much, anyway? One of these days, I'll finally realize how disgusting it is and give it up for good. One of these days.
I'm either very brave or exceedingly stupid. This thought occurred to me earlier, as I drove through the inches of new and still-falling snow just to satisfy my NEED to shop. More recently, it occurred to me that this statement is valid in more than one area of my life.
I mean, look at my job. I'll wait. ............ Seriously, I must be crazy! Who subjects themselves to being thrown into the air with 50 other people in a tiny metal tube over and over and over again? Who does that?!
I do love it, though.
Also, I did a very good job at satisfying my shopping craving for the next couple of months. It's been months (since April or May) since I bought a new pair of jeans. I've gotten some sweaters, but really, I just really wanted to wander around a store for awhile. I tried earlier today, but the snow scared me into going home. But this evening, when I was pretty confident the plows were going through, and visibility had vastly improved, I tried again. What can I say, I'm a trooper. I meant to hang out with my cat, actually, but I stopped at Kohl's, and got stuck there for HOURS browsing and trying things on. Then I went to Target, the one right by my sister's house, and thus right by my cat. But then I came home. I still miss my little furball. But I guess I'll have to wait a few more days to see her.
Anyway, I think my point was, I bought two pairs of jeans, four sweaters, the awesomest headband ever, five pairs of socks, a pair of underwear, a magazine, some just-add-water foodstuffs, a season of Friends, and maybe even some other things I'm forgetting, for under a hundred bucks. God I'm the best bargain shopper ever.
I have to leave my house at 5.30 in the morning. I guess I should probably go to bed.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Crazy Cat Lady.
I hope to never actually become the crazy cat lady (though it is a distinct possibility), but tonight, I'm here to tell you that I was once the crazy cat girl.
I have always, for as long as I can remember, loved cats. LOVED. But my mom is allergic, and I never could convince her to take allergy meds for me, so I was never able to have a real one. (Except that one time when Tiger lived on our porch in Texas [and sometimes snuck into mom's sewing room] for six months because when we got home one night he was curled up in our driveway and mom said "D don't run over the cat!" and then we couldn't not feed him and give him milk and love him and play with him, until mom got too overwhelmed and miserable and we gave him to our neighbors Roy and Lorraine instead, who always had red hots that I could eat whenever we went over to their house.)
Anyway.
I loved cats. And you know, when you have a friend or family member who loves a certain thing, or collects a certain thing, you buy that thing for them, right? So people bought me cats. Figurines and statuettes and stuffed animals and posters and shirts, oh my. I bought myself posters from book sales at school, and books and calendars and anything else cat-related that struck my fancy.
In fourth grade, my teacher had a cat-a-day calendar. Whoever said the pledge of allegiance that day got to have the cat picture. Almost everybody gave me their pictures. And I kept them all. In a little box. Next to my books of pictures of cats, next to my ceramic cat with kittens, next to my cat music box that played "My Favorite Things," next to the cat candle holder, next to the hollow cat curled up in a basket that I put potpourri in.
My room was covered in posters of cats hanging tough and having sweet dreams or just playing around with a ball of yarn.
Like I said, crazy cat girl.
I have since gotten rid of most of these things. Not all. But most. I still have a few posters folded up somewhere, and some of the more meaningful figurines. I have one stuffed animal in particular, Whiskers, who I will never, ever get rid of. And seriously, somewhere I may or may not still have that little box full of calendar pages.
But now, ladies and gentlemen, now I have a cat. My very own cat, with fur and claws and angry ears and the cutest little nose. She's so soft, and so purriful, and so cuddly, and she's amazing. For a short while, I had two lovely little cats all my own, but let's not go there right now. The point is, I have a cat, and I love her so much it's ridiculous and makes me think that my heart may actually explode when/if I ever have actual babies of my own and she is my pride and my joy and I miss her every day that I'm away (which is most of them, seeing as how I'm often at hotels, and seeing as how even when I'm not at hotels, she lives with my sister, and I do not).
She was totally worth the years of being the crazy cat girl.
Yep, totally worth the wait.
I have always, for as long as I can remember, loved cats. LOVED. But my mom is allergic, and I never could convince her to take allergy meds for me, so I was never able to have a real one. (Except that one time when Tiger lived on our porch in Texas [and sometimes snuck into mom's sewing room] for six months because when we got home one night he was curled up in our driveway and mom said "D don't run over the cat!" and then we couldn't not feed him and give him milk and love him and play with him, until mom got too overwhelmed and miserable and we gave him to our neighbors Roy and Lorraine instead, who always had red hots that I could eat whenever we went over to their house.)
Anyway.
I loved cats. And you know, when you have a friend or family member who loves a certain thing, or collects a certain thing, you buy that thing for them, right? So people bought me cats. Figurines and statuettes and stuffed animals and posters and shirts, oh my. I bought myself posters from book sales at school, and books and calendars and anything else cat-related that struck my fancy.
In fourth grade, my teacher had a cat-a-day calendar. Whoever said the pledge of allegiance that day got to have the cat picture. Almost everybody gave me their pictures. And I kept them all. In a little box. Next to my books of pictures of cats, next to my ceramic cat with kittens, next to my cat music box that played "My Favorite Things," next to the cat candle holder, next to the hollow cat curled up in a basket that I put potpourri in.
My room was covered in posters of cats hanging tough and having sweet dreams or just playing around with a ball of yarn.
Like I said, crazy cat girl.
I have since gotten rid of most of these things. Not all. But most. I still have a few posters folded up somewhere, and some of the more meaningful figurines. I have one stuffed animal in particular, Whiskers, who I will never, ever get rid of. And seriously, somewhere I may or may not still have that little box full of calendar pages.
But now, ladies and gentlemen, now I have a cat. My very own cat, with fur and claws and angry ears and the cutest little nose. She's so soft, and so purriful, and so cuddly, and she's amazing. For a short while, I had two lovely little cats all my own, but let's not go there right now. The point is, I have a cat, and I love her so much it's ridiculous and makes me think that my heart may actually explode when/if I ever have actual babies of my own and she is my pride and my joy and I miss her every day that I'm away (which is most of them, seeing as how I'm often at hotels, and seeing as how even when I'm not at hotels, she lives with my sister, and I do not).
She was totally worth the years of being the crazy cat girl.
Yep, totally worth the wait.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Can you say deja vu?
I'm currently stuck in Rochester, New York with the EXACT SAME PROBLEM as yesterday. "Engine oil. Engine oil. Engine oil."
I seriously thought (or maybe just hoped) that my pilots were playing a joke on me when I heard that this morning. And then I had a passenger get up to use the lav.
I just hope it doesn't take me as long to get to my overnight tonight. I am exhausted.
Though on the plus side, I did get to eat a McDonalds breakfast burrito this morning. So I guess that's something.
I seriously thought (or maybe just hoped) that my pilots were playing a joke on me when I heard that this morning. And then I had a passenger get up to use the lav.
I just hope it doesn't take me as long to get to my overnight tonight. I am exhausted.
Though on the plus side, I did get to eat a McDonalds breakfast burrito this morning. So I guess that's something.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Seriously.
Remember at the end of my post yesterday when I said, and I quote, "5:00am shuttle to the airport. Ugh. But only two legs, should be in for our overnight at noon. Hopefully the crew will go to Dinosaurs for some eats. Yum."? And remember, before that, how I was telling you that I don't even know what a schedule is? Here's how today went:
4:00am -- alarm. Ugh. Wake, pack, dress, blah blah blah.
5:00am -- shuttle. Security. Gate. Ask about passenger load: full 50. Pre-flight, paperwork, board passengers, smile pretty, announcements, bins, bags, close door, safety demo, sit down, let's go.
Sometime after that: I'm sitting in my jumpseat, waiting for them to give me the signal that we're about to head down the runway. Wait. Wait. Sometimes I can hear things from the flight deck, like chimes, or like their computers telling them things. I hear, "Engine oil. Engine oil. Engine oil. Engine oil. Engine oil." It just keeps going. I look at the four passengers in my front row to see if they can hear it. I wait to see if the flight deck will call me and let me know what's up. The sound stops, and still we don't move. Wait. Wait. A passenger gets up to use the lav (why?! WHY would you do that?! But that's a rant for another day, to be accompanied by my seatbelt diatribe.), so I call the flight deck to let them know. "Ok," says Ken, "we won't be moving anywhere for awhile anyway. I don't know if you heard that engine oil warning but.. that's not good." Ha, ok. Wait. Wait.
Sometime after that: Captain comes on the PA, announces we're going back to the gate.
Sometime after that: Get back to gate. Wait for jetbridge operator. Wait for jetbridge. Ok guys, at this time please deplane and take all your belongings with you. Wait. Wait. Talk to pilots. Sit. Talk to pilots. Maintenance guys turn plane, and thus my heat source, off. I go inside. Sit. Play with ipod touch. Wait. Talk to captain, find out we have no idea how long it's going to take, so feel free to wander. Avoid passengers' glares (not my fault, guys, seriously!). Buy chocolate milk. Find empty gate, sit in full sunshine. Wait. Wait. Play with ipod touch.
Sometime after that: Get paged back to gate. Hurried gate agent lets me back down, tells me nothing. Talk to pilots, find out we're not actually ready to go at all, the station agents are just crazy, and in a hurry to get us (and our passengers) out of their hair. I sit down in a seat in the cabin, play with ipod touch. Passengers start boarding. Uhhh, what? Put on professional face. Oh, hi, welcome back onboard! I'm so sorry, they didn't warn me we were going to start boarding, let me just get out of your way.
Board passengers. But captain says we're still not ready to go, doesn't know why agents decided to board. Wait. Wait. I only have 19 passengers instead of 50 now. Cool by me, fewer people to get mad at me for all the waiting (seriously, so not my fault!). Wait. Announcements from pilot: still waiting, guys. Passengers kind of laugh, whatever, they'll deal. Try to stay away from FREEZING COLD BOARDING DOOR with WIND. Wait. Deliver water service to poor waiting passengers. Wait.
Sometime after that: At last! The last of the paperwork arrives and is in order. Close door, announcements, demo, etc. Take off, at last! Beverage service, sit. Talk to passengers. Refill beverages. Descent announcement from flight deck; prepare cabin for landing. Collect garbage.
New announcement from flight deck: Hey guys, we've been put into a holding pattern. Detroit is down to one runway at the moment [thanks to high crosswinds or somesuch, apparently], they're telling us it's gonna be about 40 minutes.
Stunned incredulity. I don't even care that that's redundant.
Laugh. Tell passengers they can continue to use the electronic devices I've already told them to turn off. Thank them profusely for their patience, apologize. Wait. Wait. Sit. Wait. Watch for any sign from flight deck.
Some time after that: At last! We've been taken off our holding pattern, cleared for landing.
Announcements, descend, land. "Ladies and gentlemen, the words you've waited very long and very patiently to hear: Welcome to Detroit!" Arrive near gate, wait for ramp agents to park us. Wait. Wait. Agents! Park. Open door. Wait for jetbridge driver. Wait. Wait. At last! All is well. Let passengers deplane, at long, long last.
This flight was supposed to leave at 6am. It left at 9.43am. It was supposed to land at 7 something and continue on its merry way to Rochester, New York, where we were to land at 11.47am and overnight. It landed at 1.10pm.
My crew and I then deadheaded to Rochester (meaning, flew as passengers at the direction of the company) at 3pm, landed at quarter to five, and then had to wait 40 minutes for the hotel shuttle to come pick us up.
I did end up getting to go to Dinosaurs, though, which was good. And I sat in first class while deadheading, which is always nice. I hate working first class, but boy do I love riding in it.
What a fucking day.
4:00am -- alarm. Ugh. Wake, pack, dress, blah blah blah.
5:00am -- shuttle. Security. Gate. Ask about passenger load: full 50. Pre-flight, paperwork, board passengers, smile pretty, announcements, bins, bags, close door, safety demo, sit down, let's go.
Sometime after that: I'm sitting in my jumpseat, waiting for them to give me the signal that we're about to head down the runway. Wait. Wait. Sometimes I can hear things from the flight deck, like chimes, or like their computers telling them things. I hear, "Engine oil. Engine oil. Engine oil. Engine oil. Engine oil." It just keeps going. I look at the four passengers in my front row to see if they can hear it. I wait to see if the flight deck will call me and let me know what's up. The sound stops, and still we don't move. Wait. Wait. A passenger gets up to use the lav (why?! WHY would you do that?! But that's a rant for another day, to be accompanied by my seatbelt diatribe.), so I call the flight deck to let them know. "Ok," says Ken, "we won't be moving anywhere for awhile anyway. I don't know if you heard that engine oil warning but.. that's not good." Ha, ok. Wait. Wait.
Sometime after that: Captain comes on the PA, announces we're going back to the gate.
Sometime after that: Get back to gate. Wait for jetbridge operator. Wait for jetbridge. Ok guys, at this time please deplane and take all your belongings with you. Wait. Wait. Talk to pilots. Sit. Talk to pilots. Maintenance guys turn plane, and thus my heat source, off. I go inside. Sit. Play with ipod touch. Wait. Talk to captain, find out we have no idea how long it's going to take, so feel free to wander. Avoid passengers' glares (not my fault, guys, seriously!). Buy chocolate milk. Find empty gate, sit in full sunshine. Wait. Wait. Play with ipod touch.
Sometime after that: Get paged back to gate. Hurried gate agent lets me back down, tells me nothing. Talk to pilots, find out we're not actually ready to go at all, the station agents are just crazy, and in a hurry to get us (and our passengers) out of their hair. I sit down in a seat in the cabin, play with ipod touch. Passengers start boarding. Uhhh, what? Put on professional face. Oh, hi, welcome back onboard! I'm so sorry, they didn't warn me we were going to start boarding, let me just get out of your way.
Board passengers. But captain says we're still not ready to go, doesn't know why agents decided to board. Wait. Wait. I only have 19 passengers instead of 50 now. Cool by me, fewer people to get mad at me for all the waiting (seriously, so not my fault!). Wait. Announcements from pilot: still waiting, guys. Passengers kind of laugh, whatever, they'll deal. Try to stay away from FREEZING COLD BOARDING DOOR with WIND. Wait. Deliver water service to poor waiting passengers. Wait.
Sometime after that: At last! The last of the paperwork arrives and is in order. Close door, announcements, demo, etc. Take off, at last! Beverage service, sit. Talk to passengers. Refill beverages. Descent announcement from flight deck; prepare cabin for landing. Collect garbage.
New announcement from flight deck: Hey guys, we've been put into a holding pattern. Detroit is down to one runway at the moment [thanks to high crosswinds or somesuch, apparently], they're telling us it's gonna be about 40 minutes.
Stunned incredulity. I don't even care that that's redundant.
Laugh. Tell passengers they can continue to use the electronic devices I've already told them to turn off. Thank them profusely for their patience, apologize. Wait. Wait. Sit. Wait. Watch for any sign from flight deck.
Some time after that: At last! We've been taken off our holding pattern, cleared for landing.
Announcements, descend, land. "Ladies and gentlemen, the words you've waited very long and very patiently to hear: Welcome to Detroit!" Arrive near gate, wait for ramp agents to park us. Wait. Wait. Agents! Park. Open door. Wait for jetbridge driver. Wait. Wait. At last! All is well. Let passengers deplane, at long, long last.
This flight was supposed to leave at 6am. It left at 9.43am. It was supposed to land at 7 something and continue on its merry way to Rochester, New York, where we were to land at 11.47am and overnight. It landed at 1.10pm.
My crew and I then deadheaded to Rochester (meaning, flew as passengers at the direction of the company) at 3pm, landed at quarter to five, and then had to wait 40 minutes for the hotel shuttle to come pick us up.
I did end up getting to go to Dinosaurs, though, which was good. And I sat in first class while deadheading, which is always nice. I hate working first class, but boy do I love riding in it.
What a fucking day.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I don't even know what a schedule is.
Some people have a routine. They get up at the same time every day, they go to bed at the same time every night. They work out (I don't even know what that means!). They have a standard work schedule, a time when they can expect to be home every day.
I have no such thing. At all. Not even a little bit. Some days I wish I had a schedule, and some days I think it would bore me terribly. For now, I'm just happy doing what I'm doing.
Would you like a taste? Here's this trip:
Day 1 (Yesterday. I was going to write what day that actually was, but I have no idea.):
4:00am -- alarm, at home. Snooze, get up, breakfast, shower, sit, dress, take Tylenol and Sudafed, sit, make-up/hair, grab bags, leave.
6:10am -- report time to airport. Supposed to be in crew room, am getting through security. No big deal, though. Go to crew room. Check mailbox. Rejoice that my missing apron has found its way back to me (complete with all the money in the pocket, yikes!). Check memos.
6:40am -- report to gate. Find out how many passengers I have (oh, full? Fantastic.). Pre-flight my plane. Put my stuff away. Liquor paperwork. Board passengers. More paperwork. Announcements. Get beverages for pilots. Close door. Safety demo. Let's go. Sorry folks, I'm feeling shitty, no full beverage service for you this morning, let me know if you'd like anything. Walk through cabin. Get drinks.
Sometime after this, my flight ended. I did my post-flight walk-through, went into the lav to blow my nose, and threw up. Fun. I came back out of the lav, a ramp agent was waiting in the aisle, asked if I was ready to board. Thirty seconds later, I was smiling and greeting new passengers, hoping my breath was okay.
Sometime after that, that flight ended. Had a two-hour break in MSP. Puked. Got tea. Burnt tongue. Tea didn't taste good anyway, threw it out. Sit. Sit. Try to doze. Try to compose. Ooop... bathroom, more puking.
Then I had another flight. Same as above.
2:30pm -- arrive at hotel for overnight.
Nap.
5:00pm -- ate a can of peaches, tentatively. They stayed down. Watched American Idol. Took break to walk next door to McDonalds, got double cheese, coke, and a mcflurry. All miraculously stayed down. Hoorah food! Hoorah calories!
10pm -- bedtime.
Day 2 (Today. Seriously, what day is it?):
4:40am -- alarm. Snooze snooze, get up 5.10. Shower, dress, pack bags, go downstairs. Grab a banana for breakfast. Bite... omg it tastes good. Rejoice!
6:00am -- shuttle to airport. I like walking around the ramp to get to the plane. Makes me feel fancy to be allowed to walk around down there. [Ramp = the outside areas of the airport.]
6:20am -- report time. Already on plane. Pre-flight, paperwork, put stuff away, blow nose, sanitize hands. Board passengers, close bins, do more paperwork, get beverages for pilots, make announcements, get ready to close door, get told by captain we're not ready to close door. Wait. Wait. Wait. Captain says he's on the phone with maintenance. Wait. Tell passenger who called me I'm not sure what the hold-up is, I'm waiting to hear from the captain. Signal back and forth with J, the station manager guy who I always see here. He mimes choking the captain for the hold-up. I laugh. Finally figure out there's a maintenance problem. Deplane passengers or no? Wait. Wait. Don't deplane. Wait. Give them option to deplane; half do, half stay. Wait. Oop, the rest have to deplane now. Everyone off! Get off plane, go to bathroom (no puking! Rejoice!), buy poptarts. Back on plane. Wait. Ready to reboard, hoorah!
8:30am -- depart. Supposed to depart at 6:50. And it appears we lost two passengers off our flight. Ah well, the easier for me to do a beverage service! Do beverage service. Sanitize hands constantly. Prepare for landing. More announcements. Finish paperwork.
9:37am -- arrive in MSP. Supposed to arrive at 8:09, and supposed to have five more legs. Day's not supposed to end until 8:30 pm. Talk to crew scheduling, get new schedule: One more leg for the day, same plane, take it to Des Moines, spend the night. Rejoice! Stay on plane, cross seat belts, sit, relax, wait.
10:20am -- Des Moines flight. Beverage service. Slight delay. De-ice. Make friendly talk with nice grandma in row 1, going to take care of her almost-three-year-old granddaughter while said granddaughter's parents are working and staying with grandson in hospital. Deplane, walk-through, cross seat belts. New crew boarding already, grab stuff, don't forget apron!
12:00ish arrive in hotel for overnight. Rejoice!
Then till now: Undress, and quickly. Get this uniform OFF of me! Redress in street clothes. Feel much better. Blow nose. Turn on computer. Take out paperwork so I don't forget to do it later. Fo. Internet. Fo. Eat poptart, drink Pepsi. Peruse Bennigan's menu.
Sometime in the near future: Order room service.
All day: Be filled with sass and happiness. Not only did I only have to work two legs instead of six today, but I feel a thousand times better than yesterday, I'm loving my hair today, and I love the shirt I decided to pack for this trip. Sass and happiness my friends, sass and happiness.
Tomorrow:
5:00am shuttle to the airport. Ugh. But only two legs, should be in for our overnight at noon. Hopefully the crew will go to Dinosaurs for some eats. Yum.
Seriously, though, I can't believe how much happier and better I am today than yesterday. No puking, not as much snot, no constant light-headedness. It's awesome. AWESOME.
I have no such thing. At all. Not even a little bit. Some days I wish I had a schedule, and some days I think it would bore me terribly. For now, I'm just happy doing what I'm doing.
Would you like a taste? Here's this trip:
Day 1 (Yesterday. I was going to write what day that actually was, but I have no idea.):
4:00am -- alarm, at home. Snooze, get up, breakfast, shower, sit, dress, take Tylenol and Sudafed, sit, make-up/hair, grab bags, leave.
6:10am -- report time to airport. Supposed to be in crew room, am getting through security. No big deal, though. Go to crew room. Check mailbox. Rejoice that my missing apron has found its way back to me (complete with all the money in the pocket, yikes!). Check memos.
6:40am -- report to gate. Find out how many passengers I have (oh, full? Fantastic.). Pre-flight my plane. Put my stuff away. Liquor paperwork. Board passengers. More paperwork. Announcements. Get beverages for pilots. Close door. Safety demo. Let's go. Sorry folks, I'm feeling shitty, no full beverage service for you this morning, let me know if you'd like anything. Walk through cabin. Get drinks.
Sometime after this, my flight ended. I did my post-flight walk-through, went into the lav to blow my nose, and threw up. Fun. I came back out of the lav, a ramp agent was waiting in the aisle, asked if I was ready to board. Thirty seconds later, I was smiling and greeting new passengers, hoping my breath was okay.
Sometime after that, that flight ended. Had a two-hour break in MSP. Puked. Got tea. Burnt tongue. Tea didn't taste good anyway, threw it out. Sit. Sit. Try to doze. Try to compose. Ooop... bathroom, more puking.
Then I had another flight. Same as above.
2:30pm -- arrive at hotel for overnight.
Nap.
5:00pm -- ate a can of peaches, tentatively. They stayed down. Watched American Idol. Took break to walk next door to McDonalds, got double cheese, coke, and a mcflurry. All miraculously stayed down. Hoorah food! Hoorah calories!
10pm -- bedtime.
Day 2 (Today. Seriously, what day is it?):
4:40am -- alarm. Snooze snooze, get up 5.10. Shower, dress, pack bags, go downstairs. Grab a banana for breakfast. Bite... omg it tastes good. Rejoice!
6:00am -- shuttle to airport. I like walking around the ramp to get to the plane. Makes me feel fancy to be allowed to walk around down there. [Ramp = the outside areas of the airport.]
6:20am -- report time. Already on plane. Pre-flight, paperwork, put stuff away, blow nose, sanitize hands. Board passengers, close bins, do more paperwork, get beverages for pilots, make announcements, get ready to close door, get told by captain we're not ready to close door. Wait. Wait. Wait. Captain says he's on the phone with maintenance. Wait. Tell passenger who called me I'm not sure what the hold-up is, I'm waiting to hear from the captain. Signal back and forth with J, the station manager guy who I always see here. He mimes choking the captain for the hold-up. I laugh. Finally figure out there's a maintenance problem. Deplane passengers or no? Wait. Wait. Don't deplane. Wait. Give them option to deplane; half do, half stay. Wait. Oop, the rest have to deplane now. Everyone off! Get off plane, go to bathroom (no puking! Rejoice!), buy poptarts. Back on plane. Wait. Ready to reboard, hoorah!
8:30am -- depart. Supposed to depart at 6:50. And it appears we lost two passengers off our flight. Ah well, the easier for me to do a beverage service! Do beverage service. Sanitize hands constantly. Prepare for landing. More announcements. Finish paperwork.
9:37am -- arrive in MSP. Supposed to arrive at 8:09, and supposed to have five more legs. Day's not supposed to end until 8:30 pm. Talk to crew scheduling, get new schedule: One more leg for the day, same plane, take it to Des Moines, spend the night. Rejoice! Stay on plane, cross seat belts, sit, relax, wait.
10:20am -- Des Moines flight. Beverage service. Slight delay. De-ice. Make friendly talk with nice grandma in row 1, going to take care of her almost-three-year-old granddaughter while said granddaughter's parents are working and staying with grandson in hospital. Deplane, walk-through, cross seat belts. New crew boarding already, grab stuff, don't forget apron!
12:00ish arrive in hotel for overnight. Rejoice!
Then till now: Undress, and quickly. Get this uniform OFF of me! Redress in street clothes. Feel much better. Blow nose. Turn on computer. Take out paperwork so I don't forget to do it later. Fo. Internet. Fo. Eat poptart, drink Pepsi. Peruse Bennigan's menu.
Sometime in the near future: Order room service.
All day: Be filled with sass and happiness. Not only did I only have to work two legs instead of six today, but I feel a thousand times better than yesterday, I'm loving my hair today, and I love the shirt I decided to pack for this trip. Sass and happiness my friends, sass and happiness.
Tomorrow:
5:00am shuttle to the airport. Ugh. But only two legs, should be in for our overnight at noon. Hopefully the crew will go to Dinosaurs for some eats. Yum.
Seriously, though, I can't believe how much happier and better I am today than yesterday. No puking, not as much snot, no constant light-headedness. It's awesome. AWESOME.
Monday, February 9, 2009
A brief moment.
We eventually decided it was time to leave the coffee shop. We got up and walked outside, and both started heading in opposite directions, toward our respective cars. So we paused, looked back, said our goodbyes. He squinted and gave me that look, and asked, "Awkward to hug, or not awkward?" I shrugged, said eh, opened my arms for a hug, and my mind went blank.
I don't know that I've ever experienced such a moment, with no thoughts at all. I didn't even breathe. I didn't try to memorize the moment, I didn't try to think about how it was making me feel, I didn't even register the feeling of his arms around me. I was holding back tears, but not thinking about holding back tears. For those seconds, I was just existing.
I patted his back, let go, and turned away from him before I had to see his face again, just it case it would send my tears over the edge, just in case my eyes were getting red. I started walking away, he said he'd call me next time he's in town, which would probably be June. I looked back, smiled and said ok, and waved.
Even after I got in my car, I didn't cry. Not one tear. Perhaps I've finally shed enough over him.
I don't know that I've ever experienced such a moment, with no thoughts at all. I didn't even breathe. I didn't try to memorize the moment, I didn't try to think about how it was making me feel, I didn't even register the feeling of his arms around me. I was holding back tears, but not thinking about holding back tears. For those seconds, I was just existing.
I patted his back, let go, and turned away from him before I had to see his face again, just it case it would send my tears over the edge, just in case my eyes were getting red. I started walking away, he said he'd call me next time he's in town, which would probably be June. I looked back, smiled and said ok, and waved.
Even after I got in my car, I didn't cry. Not one tear. Perhaps I've finally shed enough over him.
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