Oh no, I forgot to add a title!

I don't have a subject in mind to blog about tonight, but being November, I must blog nevertheless.

I bid reserve this month, because there were some specific days I wanted off, and I wanted a chance at actually getting them. The good news is I got every day I wanted off. The bad news is, well, I'm on reserve. Today was day one (I had a trip at the end of October that carried over into the first two days of November, and then I got one glorious day off), and naturally, I got called in. They didn't call me until noon, though, which is exceedingly preferable to a 4am wakeup call, and it's just a nice, easy two-day trip. Now I'm just hoping they'll let me have my Friday night off (I'm scheduled as of right now to get off at 5 tomorrow), and maybe even not find anything for me to do on Saturday. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

I've been getting a lot of questions lately about how, exactly, being a flight attendant works. And people are always surprised at my answers. Before becoming one myself, I certainly had no idea how the job and scheduled worked. So I ask you, do you have any questions for me? Anything you want to know? I think later this week I'll tell y'all a bit about how everything runs, answer my own frequently asked questions, as it were. If you have something you're dying to know about my job, ask, and I'll tell you! You probably already have a better idea than most people, though, given that I talk about my job on here from time to time, and some of you are actually my friends IRL. Even so, feel free to ask anything and give me some blog fodder!

So. Coming soon: your questions and my answers. In the meantime, good night, and good luck.

Posting posts post-postdate.... buffalo.

Guys, I lied to you. My November 1st entry was not, in fact, my 100th post. Apparently blogger counts drafts when it tells you how many posts you have. Far from 100, this post will be my 87th, which begs the question.... what are the other, hiding entries?

Some of them were just saved pieces of posts that I went back and finished and posted later, but which for some reason stuck around in draft form. Some of them were little tidbits to remind myself to post about something in particular. And a couple of them are unfinished entries that are actually worthy of being finished and posted.

If you'll forgive the timeline, I'd like to post a couple of these forgotten entries.

Of course, that means I have to finish them first...

Reading: Exercise for your brain.

I started a 4-day trip on Saturday, and it didn't take me long to realize I forgot to bring a book. We had one short flight, during which I finished my one and only magazine, and then a long sit up in Hibbing. We call them different things: sits, turn times, productivity breaks, airport appreciation times. Whatever you call them, they're unavoidable. I for one like to have time to eat lunch once in awhile, so if I have one nice hour-long break a day, I'm happy; any more than that is unnecessary, and I'd rather spend my time working or doing whatever it is I have time to do post-work at the hotel (coughdrinkingcough). The trip I finished this evening had a three-hour sit every single day. And I forgot to bring a book.

Usually our sit times are at a large hub airport, and on our smallest plane (which I was working on this trip), sits are almost always in Minneapolis. This is nice because I love my airport. There's a perfect loop to walk to get some exercise in, I know what's good and/or cheap to eat, and I know the good places to sit. As I mentioned, though, our first sit on this trip was in Hibbing, and it was three hours long. The bad news was it was a long, long sit in a tiny, tiny airport. But there was good news, too: Hibbing has a courtesy car at the airport for crews to use. So the three of us piled in the car and headed out in search of some lunch.

A short drive around town later, we ended up at Walmart, because it has a Subway inside. As much as I dislike Walmart, I like Subway even more. Mmmmm, vegetables. Anyway, Walmart. We finish eating and it occurs to me that I still lack reading material, and books will be much cheaper at Walmart than I could hope for at the airport, even with an employee discount. So I head off to the book section with nothing in particular in mind, just figuring I'll grab whatever looks interesting.

Lemme tell you, the book section at Walmart is not very impressive. Oh, I had my pick of romance novels, series romance novels, chick lit, cookbooks, puzzle books, and magazines. And as much as I respect romance novels for what they are, I knew my pilots would ask what I got, and I just couldn't go back to them with smut. (Did you know that one of my many secret ambitions in life is to write romance novels? I have a pen name picked out and everything.) I considered getting a paperback of Harry Potter 1 to see if I can reread them all before movie day (OMG HP7 IS ALMOST HERE, Y'ALL!), but the only book they had was, reasonably enough, seven.

I was running out of options as well as time to ponder, when I spotted a brightly-colored bargain that just might do the trick. Since it seems that no passengers are going to leave it behind for me to read any time soon, I decided it was time to pick up the book I see someone reading on almost every flight I have: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

When I started writing this entry earlier today, I was on page 112 of 644. I was already in love with this book. I'm currently on 153, and it just keeps getting better. And this coming from someone who doesn't even like crime novels! I just... I am hooked. And I'm even more drawn in because apparently, the author died before any of them were even published! Oh, intrigue!

The point is, I always always always try to resist hype, and I should just succumb to the peer pressure because people are right about books. I am reading this book, and you should too.

Also my other point is, sometimes I get nervous about buying books I've never heard of, because what if it sucks? I'm going to have to read the whole damn thing regardless, and if it sucks, it was just a waste of my time and money. So I fall back into re-reading my proven classics and never branching out, which is just not an exciting way to read. But I'm so glad I branched out into reading this book.

My OTHER other point is this: my captain was bored during one flight, so he called me to see how the temperature was and to see if I would entertain him (answer: always no. I am busy. Leave me alone.). I told him he should read a book, and he said he doesn't like to read, it hurts his brain. I said, "Reading is like exercise; it hurts at first, but it's good for you!" He had no comeback for that one.

So my final point is: read. This book in particular. But don't buy it at Walmart. And maybe eat some Subway.

Things I Thought About Using as Status Updates Today

Cindy has suffraged so. Hasn't she suffraged enough? Oh, end women's suffrage!

Voting takes too long when you have OCD and a ballot full of ovals.

I hope you appreciate my vote, only-person-in-this-section. It came from my heart.

I judge politicians based on the grammar on their shiny websites.

Well that's the first time I've ever left my elementary school and gone home and had a stiff drink. [Legally, anyway.] / [But not the first time I've wanted to. Rough years, elementary school.]

Let's try this again, shall we?

Dear readers, I must apologize. Updates around here are sorely lacking. I imagine you've been waiting on pins and needles for me to return. Might I suggest finding a different chair?

Anyway. It is once again November: National Novel Writing Month. Once again, I know myself well enough to know not to attempt it this year. Someday, when I'm more patient, more disciplined, less caffeinated. Instead, I think I'll give my personal blog-a-day challenge another go. The goal: at least one blog entry every day, regardless of length, wit, or subject. Just something to get me back into the habit of writing, which is actualy something I miss quite a bit. I think it can be done.

Incidentally, I do believe this is my 100th post. Coming soon: many, many more.

Perplexing.

Today I bought a cheese that bore the instructions, "Refrigerate after purchase."

Apparently, the grocery store has some magic property that my house lacks.

My Yearly Visitor

The ginger gene is strong in my family, bestowing red hair upon my grandma, my aunt, and my mother. Even so, I was the only grandchild of six to get red hair. Being also the youngest, I was set up to be adored and doted on at length. If only we hadn't moved to Texas when I was still so little and at my most precious, I could have been wonderfully spoiled. But I digress.

As a ginger, I have certain responsibilities.
One: I obviously need to be pale. Check.
Two: I should be Irish. Fail on that one; don't people know that the Irish have red hair in the first place thanks to the Vikings that invaded and raped their women? My ginger comes from Sweden, thank you very much, and though I do love potatoes, I lack even a drop of Irish blood (I am an eighth Welsh, though, which is awesome because their flag has a fucking dragon on it).
Three: I should probably have some freckles. Check.
Four: Fiery temper. Check.
Five: According to recent pop culture, no soul. Unknown.
Six: Blue or green eyes. Check; blue.
Seven: Firecrotch. Guess. The list could go on and on, but let's get to the point with...
Eight: Prone to sunburn even after very short forays into the sunshine. Check.

The good news is, I know that I burn easily, and I am prepared. The face lotion I use every morning has SPF built in. Sunscreen is at the top of my list whenever I'm going, well, anywhere, and it's always SPF Ginger (more commonly known as SPF50). I'm good at making sure I apply thoroughly and often, and I don't forget places like the backs of my hands, my ears, or the little keyhole-cutout in my swimsuit.

Inevitably, though, I get cocky. I think to myself, "Wow, I haven't gotten burnt all summer! All this sunscreen-applying must be superfluous. My skin has finally gotten used to the sun, and I will not, in fact, die if I stay in the sun without sunscreen for a few hours."

That's true, to a degree. I will not die. But, mere hours after thinking this, I will remember that the very reason I haven't gotten burnt all summer is because I haven't been a MORON who doesn't put on SUNSCREEN. SUNSCREEN, YOU IDIOT! It's as if I need this once-a-year reminder that SPF is necessary, and I do actually burn so bad it makes me sick.

This year's reminder came on my birthday weekend, which I spent up in Brainerd at our family cabin with an awesome group of friends. I spent almost all weekend sitting outside, and lots of it in water, which is a rarity for me. Most people went home Sunday afternoon/evening, and Jess and I stayed until Monday evening. We woke up, put on sunscreen, and went out to float on the lake for awhile. A couple hours later, we came back in for some lunch and re-application of sunscreen. But I got cocky. "I haven't even gotten a tinge of pink," I thought. "Surely, I don't need to reapply SPF50 when I've already put some one earlier today. I could use a little color, right?" So I smeared some sunscreen on my face, brushed the extra that stayed on my hands onto my legs and shoulders, and headed back to my floaty chair.

At 2:15pm. On a sunny day. On a lake, where water reflects and intensifies the sun.

At one point on the drive home, I made Jess feel my thigh. It was so hot you could feel the heat through my jeans.

Three weeks later, and I think I'm finally done peeling.

NEVER. AGAIN.


Until next summer.




Also, I'd really like to go to this: Redheadday. Donations welcome. Let's make it happen.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Dear Joseph Gordon-Levitt,

I think I love you. Let's have coffee sometime.

Sincerely,
Cindy

Deep thoughts, by not-Jack-Handey

Don't you think it's weird how cartoon characters always look juuuust a little bit like the actors who do their voices?

The Giggles.

When I was younger, I used to get hit by fits of the giggles. I never knew what might trigger a Laugh Attack, or how long it might last once started. A friend once clocked me in at eight minutes of uncontrollable giggling.

As I grew, The Giggles grew with me, into mere fits of silliness brought on by lack of sleep. I referred to this state as being Sleep Drunk, and it was often self-inflicted through Procrastination on Important Homeworks.

I've been mostly free of these diseases for some time now, with only a few instances of nearly-un-surpressable laughter bubbling up at inopportune moments. I was taken by surprise by a full relapse once, when my mind was under some sort of strange influence and I could not help but cackle at my pizza, but that's another story entirely.



My day was full of delays today, starting with our first flight out of Austin this morning. Also, the schedule was built with very little time between each of the four flights today, so there was no cushion time; each delay meant the next flight would also be delayed. The bad news is I did a lot of sitting around, fielding questions, and getting stared at angrily by passengers today, which makes me tired. The good news is our delays got so out of hand that they gave our last flight (and thus our overnight) to a different crew, and we got to come home instead of going to Appleton, WI for the night.

An unexpected Friday night off? Delightful! Especially delightful considering I start ANOTHER trip Saturday evening, after being scheduled to end this one Saturday morning. I was understandably in a good mood as I made my way home. Add to that the delicious, fruity dinner I had:

and you've got one happy ginger.

I sat in my room, mere hours ago, eating my fruit and reading the backlogs of a funny blog/comic I was recently directed to (Hyperbole and a Half - read it and love it) (also this one never fails to make me laugh. it's unrelated to everything else in this post, but it's so good it'll be worth it.)... uhhh, where was I? Ah yes, eating fruit and reading about bears and spaghetti noodles. I sat, eating and reading, and then I finished eating. I went upstairs to take care of my dish and locate my purse (which turned out to be directly next to where I had been sitting in my room), giggling slightly at one drawing or another I had just looked at. As I left my room, I saw a note I had written to remind myself to put the gel inserts into my new work shoes:

Put things in shoes.

I was struck by the image of piling things into my shoes -- marbles, twigs, matchbox cars, batteries -- until they were overflowing with flotsam and jetsam. Think about for a second, and (I hope) you'll see that it's a funny image, especially when left as an important item on a to-do list; it was even funnier to me, what with my not-working happiness and my sleepiness. I burst into laughter as I started walking up the stairs. It then occurred to me how ridiculous it was of me to be laughing while performing the simple task of putting my bowl into the dishwasher, and suddenly, I was unable to stop laughing. Every giggle only made me giggle more, until I could do nothing but shake my head and shrug when my roommate (can I call them roommates? I like it better that way.) asked me what was so funny.

The Fit has passed (unfortunately? fortunately?), but it reminded me of a simpler time. I hope I never grow out of getting the Giggles.




In other news, do you ever get an intense itch in a random but localized spot that, before you can even reach to scratch it, turns into a stabbing pain that makes your entire afflicted limb twitch? That's been happening in the center of my left shin ALL NIGHT. WHAT. THE FUCK.


In other other news, and contrary to what you may have inferred from both the subject and the distant date of my last post, I am not dead. The insects have not bested me yet. We are engaged in an ongoing war of wits. Or hand vacuums and wand dusters. You know, whichever.