trippinglyonthetongue

Scrabulous!

2008-03-07T14:41:00.001-05:00

I sometimes wonder a bit about the people I play Scrabulous with.

Not Scrabble. Usually I only play the classic board game with the only willing participant around, my boyfriend. Though perhaps the recent addition of a deluxe spinning Scrabble board (from his parents; for Christmas) to my collection of games will broaden my horizons.

No, Scrabulous – of www.scrabulous.com – is an identical concept to the original Hasbro staple, or, in laymen’s terms, a complete and utter rip-off. At least that’s what the current litigation against them claims.

It’s not really my concern, as a year-long fan of Scrabulous, but I’d have to disagree with the lawsuit. I mean, please! Scrabble isn’t capitalizing on any internet-based gaming ventures at the moment, and anyone who gets the concept of Scrabulous – or even seeks it out – is most likely someone who has purchased at least ONE official Hasbro-approved Scrabble set. I’ve owned at least two (one being the aforementioned *deluxe* edition), my roommate has one and my future live-in boyfriend has one. Hasbro, you’ve done it. You can lay off the poor folks at www.scrabulous.com - you’ve achieved your goal. We’ve all bought at least one of your effing games, not even considering which other Hasbro delights in which we may have invested over the years – who the hell, by the way, never owned Monopoly? I had one that was missing the racecar piece. I think I didn’t even know that a racecar piece existed until I was in college, maybe. I was always the Scottie dog.

But that all being said, I love Scrabulous! Yeah, I have my gripes – sometimes all the damn rooms are full, other players may not deign to play you based on your rating, and of course the occasionally hellacious lag, which, while you’re trying to submit, can ruin a game.

Still, I could kill hours playing Scrabulous. I generally rock at it, and it’s great practice for later when I need to trounce on my poor unsuspecting boyfriend. Plus, I need something to help me wile away the hours while everyone else is at work!

Odd things about German hotels

2007-05-03T10:13:00.000-04:00

They're unabashedly stingy about providing guests with towels - you typically get one washcloth, one hand towel that can be coaxed, albeit with a prodigious amount of effort, to wrap around one's head, and one "bath" towel that is thin and too small to effectively encase your wet, shivering body.
They don't believe there's any need whatsoever to have coffee makers available in one's room. Now, I'm prepared - I carry around instant coffee for those hotels that only provide electric water pitchers, but most German hotels I've stayed in do not automatically provide even those. They obviously have no idea what a raging bitch I am when forced to wake up, get ready, and emerge from my room without a healthy infusion of caffeine.
You can smoke in any room without repercussion. This is the case in lots of European hotels. I find it hard to complain about this one; it's ever so convenient for us evil smokers, but once I do quit (soon! I SWEAR) it'll probably be a vicious invitation to fall off the wagon.
You usually get about a minute of free porn a day. I've stumbled on this odd phenomenon in Frankfurt, Leipzig, and now, here in Landstuhl. Apparently it's a free preview meant to entice you to purchase said porn, but it's always odd to be channel surfing, trying to find something on in English other than CNN, and to suddenly be confronted with images of jiggling fake boobs and fellatio. Man, I don't get how other people get off on porn. Their contorted faces fill me with alarm and it all seems kinda perfunctory and gross.

The Nuvaring has taken my sanity.

2007-05-01T11:14:00.000-04:00

Those of you out there with odd and ever-changing schedules struggling to remember to take your birth control pill at the same time daily will understand why when the Nuvaring came out, I was ecstatic. Constantly hopping time zones and varying my sleep schedule had wreaked havoc on my birth control regimen - I'd end up either taking the pill sometimes in the mornings, which for me led to a full day riddled with bouts of nausea, or taking it it irregularly and risking ending up, as the British say, "shot in the giblets." (Which, by the way, is the best euphemism for pregnancy ever.)

So a couple months ago, I made the switch to the Nuvaring, which promised to be both revolutionary and convenient. At first, the apparent rigidity and hardness of the thing in its little foil package made me a little apprehensive about its ability to be manipulated in such a way it could be painlessly shoved into my hooha. Thankfully, I was wrong and getting the thing to its proper locale wasn't difficult or uncomfortable.

But then.. the side effects. The side effects began straightaway (I'm in British mode now) - slight headaches, sudden onsets of nausea, decreased sex drive, and mood swings. VIOLENT mood swings. I'm talking getting upset about something and instead of working through whatever annoyance or situation brought it on, collapsing into heaving, uncontrollable sobs - the kind that are appropriate when you're eight and your dog just died.

I decided to give the Nuvaring a fighting chance; maybe my body just needed a period of adjustment at first and that eventually my hormones would even out and things would once again be kosher. Well, currently I'm on Nuvaring #3 and the side effects don't seem to have abated. For the first week after I put one in, I'm prone to debilitating nausea and still seem to forget sometimes that sex is something I highly enjoy. Continuing past the first week is the most difficult one - the mood swinging.

Yesterday morning I got in trouble at work for not being where I was supposed to be when they called me to send me on a trip. The end result of my fucking up is that I will apparently receive a verbal rebuke and may have to send in an apologetic letter. No danger of losing my job, nothing beyond some crow-eating.

I reacted as though I'd been diagnosed with a fatal disease that I'd contracted due to my own stupidity and worthlessness. I felt as though my entire world were collapsing and it was all my fault. True, I've been under a higher degree of stress than usual because my work (and therefore pay) has been woefully inconsistent for the past few months, and I'm contemplating returning to school or switching careers, which I find very intimidating. However, I got so upset over this incident that I found myself so nerve-wracked I was shaking, couldn't bring myself to eat, and began vomiting uncontrollably (that may also have something to do with the stupid nausea).

I was so irrational the types of thoughts going through my head were along the lines of, "My life is ruined. I'm so stupid, I fucked everything up. Nothing is okay anymore. Nothing will work out. Things keep getting worse. They'll never get better," and while fleeting moments of self-flagellation and doubt probably strike everyone once in awhile, the bizarre thing was I couldn't get out of that mindset. It wasn't until ten hours later or so that I finally started to calm down. This can't be normal. I miss the good old-fashioned pill.

Well, I don't prefer you, either, Avis!

2007-03-11T14:16:00.000-04:00

I'm holed up now in Columbus, Georgia, in the cozy anonymity of the latest carbon-copy hotel room, replete with all of the amenities I've come to expect (at least in American hotels) - readily available coffee. Lamps with extra outlets in the base. Cable TV. Fitness center. Free wireless.

I appreciate standards, but it's kind of creepily mind-boggling that this room could be any room, anywhere. It's not even immediately discernible which brand of hotel I'm in...

Once, a couple of years ago, I forgot where I was. I woke up in the middle of the night, knew that I was in a hotel, but had utterly no idea of my specific whereabouts. I'd been out on a trip for something like three weeks. I remember looking out of my window and seeing an innocuous, alien landscape stippled by too-familiar neon lights. In a perverse way, it was almost like, "Oh, there's Wendy's. I guess everything's okay."

Thank God for the little binders they put in hotel rooms. They're full of really pertinent information sometimes, like where you are exactly. And room service menus.

My drive to Columbus last night was remarkably uneventful, except for sort of getting lost at the end because my google map directions were a little vague after a certain point. Plus, when I got here (around 1:30 a.m.) the airport was closed. I mean, how weird is that? I didn't even know that they closed airports. How are you supposed to drop off your rental car if you can't get in there where the little box is? Clearly my needs had not been considered...

I was already well into the realm of disgruntlement with the car rental company, Avis, yesterday before I even got into my car (a Chevy Malibu, in case you're wondering). The guy that was working at the counter at the Charleston airport was a. complete. fucking. prick. I made the mistake of getting into the "Preferred" line, half-believing that I might actually be a "Preferred" member because I've rented from them a bunch of times, etc. and when you travel like I do, sometimes it's hard to keep track of all your little points and cards and things. Either way, I was not helped ahead of anyone - the next person queuing up in the "Non-preferred" lane had arrived after me.

I had not derived any special benefit from choosing this line over the other, yet the counter guy, whose name was Ernest (I took special notice of this while I was fantasizing about reporting him to his manager) thought it not only absolutely crucial to the continuing rotation of the earth and existence as we know it not only to point out that I am not, in fact, "Preferred," but that I had "jumped the line" (ignoring my protests that I'd actually not been helped ahead of anyone, because Ernest is slow as fucking molasses). When I apologized and pointedly said, "The next time I consider renting from Avis, I'll know which line to choose," I hoped the matter was over, but Ernest was not yet satisifed. "I'd like to point out that we do have a sign," he began and when I nodded and apologized again, he said something to the effect of, "but I'd really like you to take notice of it," still standing there pointing. Before he would process my reservation, it was necessary for me to actually physically turn around and look at the fucking "Avis Preferred" sign.

At this point, waves of adrenaline were starting to wash over me and I struggled to contain my anger. I was proud of myself that for the most part my demeanor remained professional and I gave myself away only when my face started turning red as it does when I'm truly pissed. My dear new friend Ernest mistook my rage-induced flush with blushing, thought I was embarrassed, and found the need to have another little personalized chat with me beginning with "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, but.." and with a special little flourish, produced an application to become a goddamn "Preferred" member.

In retrospect, this is the second time some asshole behind a rental car counter has forced me to enter into the dark place. I believe that the last time (in Fayetteville, NC) I was renting from Avis as well. This particular time, I'd just flown in a group of troops from overseas and was leaving directly to make the three-hour drive home. Some of my passengers, coincidentally, were also at the counter trying to get a car. The Avis folks got my name, etc. and processed the papers while I chatted with my former passengers. Then as we waited, another Avis employee walked out holding a set of keys, and I (thinking that since I had a reservation, and the military boys didn't, or something) said, "Oh, are those for me?" and the guy snapped at me, "No, you can wait. These are for the soldiers who just flew in from overseas!" I was too stunned to say, "I know! I brought them here!"

Avis needs to stop hiring embittered old men. And I need to go return the Malibu.

Gone for good (or maybe just a few days)

2007-03-09T11:43:00.000-05:00

So after a few weeks of languishing in utter boredom, I'm going back to work tomorrow. Thank God - although, the thought did cross my mind to Wikipedia deities of various other religions so I could start just praying to them all, hoping to fulfill my dreams of purpose-filled days by casting a wide net. But now, friends, I won't have to invoke Ganesha anytime soon. It's just a short trip, but it will get me out of my sedentary days here in Charleston, which is a vast relief.

In other news, perhaps of interest to you other cat bloggers out there, this morning, as I stumbled around in my bathrobe making coffee, Mojo was following me around meowing. As usual, we'd hopped out of bed together and he was inflicting upon me a barrage of meows and I was ignoring him. After a few moments standing in the kitchen letting the bleariness of sleep dissolve from my mind, I noticed his tank of a water dish was empty and the poor thing was trying to tell me he was thirsty. I told him it was his fault for crying wolf all the time, but it was just to mask the guilt. Am I going to be drummed out of cat bloggers for this?

I drunk you.

2007-03-08T22:32:00.000-05:00

Nowhere in our lease, as I can tell, does it say, "will agree to live above a fucking bowling alley." I could be wrong - tedious contracts are not my cup of tea - but I'm fairly sure that the landlord doesn't expect my roommate and I to adopt an attitude of bemused tolerance to the happenings below us, particularly since the daytime soundtrack of our lives consists of the congress of various crackheads - who typically, in case you don't know, converse in the form of barely human shrieks.

Oh, college kids. Yeah, I was one of them once, but I don't recall having friends whose nightly idea of drunken wit was to walk outside and grunt as loudly as possible, perhaps in an effort to expurge several liters of Natty Lite while wavering next to my Corolla. I mean, my friends were more likely to be passionately expounding on T.S. Eliot, earnest and with a sheen of sweat on their brow, before suddenly frowning, and excusing themselves to go puke. Okay, it's possible I may be exaggerating (because all my friends weren't all that literate), and it may also be that I simply don't remember all of the times my friends and I were cringingly obnoxious, but still.

I hate my downstairs neighbors. I swear the next time they let one of their friends park in our driveway, I will do something about it, and the next time they keep me awake till 3:30 a.m., I will call the fuzz. The 5-0. Johnny Law. (Or I'll talk my roommate into doing it.)

Supersuck.

2007-02-04T15:08:00.000-05:00

It may be possible to be more underwhelmed by the upcoming spectre of !SUPER BOWL SUNDAY!, say, if I were a member of some long-forgotten tribe that communicated only in clicks and grunts. I say it may, because presumably such a tribe would've know enough to muster up the same feelings of dread and apathy. Hell, I don't even know who's playing.

At this point I think I ought to be able to derive a sense of accomplishment from the fact that for over a quarter of a century, I have stubbornly refused to find the merit in sports spectatorship. I went to a football game just once in high school, despite the endlessly lauded abilities of our coach & team. I admit this was because the whole scene was too "establishment" for me.. I was far more likely to be found on a beach somewhere, tripping my face off or reading Kerouac or Vonnegut. I did go to a couple baseball games last season, however, I'm sure I spent more time contemplating which beer to have next than I did actually observing anything going on below.

See, though I highly doubt any enjoyment will be derived from my following the game or any some such nonsense (I pretend that I could, if forced), imbibing enough alcohol enables one to fake enjoyment or even ignore that a major sporting event is taking place. So despite these misgivings, I will be at a friend's house later, celebrating.. just not the superbowl.

Fucking savages.

2007-02-02T12:38:00.000-05:00

Last night (presumably while I was off eating naughtily shaped rice and other hibachi goodness) my car was sitting in my driveway, unsuspecting, when someone threw a brick through the back window on the driver's side of my car.

The brick is still there, along with copious quantities of glass shards, along with everything else that was in my car prior to what can only be considered a terrorist attack... look, it's causing "terror," okay, or at least "heavy irritation," so, technically.. under the Patriot Act pt. 12, sec. B..

I wasn't expect a ticker tape parade when I moved downtown, but this grim reception has admittedly made me slightly cranky... plus it's rainy, and cold, and all the cars driving by blasting hideous music has made Mojo unusually anxious.

Luckily, the motive behind said "attack" was obviously not theft as nothing was missing, or appeared rifled through, even my glovebox in which was my iPod.. one of my most cherished and apparently oft threatened possessions - you may remember the story about the brat who stole it and stashed it in a paper towel dispenser in a Delta plane lavatory. But anyway. I'm going to start going around with the thing strapped to my body - do they make iPod garter belt holsters? Hell, I'm sure they do, they make everything else.

He'll be a pillow one day.

2007-02-01T08:37:00.000-05:00

My interest in blogging was re-invigorated today when I received some correspondence from Cat Bloggers asking me to join their little endeavor to spread charming feline stories to the remotest corners of the world through the miracle of the internet.

"Of course!" I thought. "I have many fascinating and amusing stories about my cat."

I realize, however, that pet stories are inordinately dull to everyone but the owner of that particular animal. Looking at, say, one or two pictures of said pet is tolerable, but then? Unless they do something that is wildly out of character for a dog, or cat, or sugar glider, I don't effing care - unless of course, it's Mojo, Silver Prince of Apartment B.

But I'll resist the urge to expound on the unique frustrations of investing in an electric litterbox, the brand new light blue collar and silver rabies tag he's sporting after having "misplaced" his last set, his emotional status after having moved to a new apartment, and his basic and inspiring wherewithal in the face of what must be a severe disruption of his little feline world.

If he were just human he'd be the perfect man - soft. pliable. not prone to grudges. intimidated by me. warm and cuddly. doesn't produce laundry. rather dim-witted and sleepy.

Mm.

2006-12-23T16:37:00.000-05:00

Can I just say it?

I love these:

iTunes Fortune Teller

2006-12-22T10:03:00.000-05:00

I stole this off my friend's blog. :) I don't know why, but I'm strangely addicted to these things. Something to do with my ongoing quest to find meaning in chaos, I guess. Or just kill time while I avoid going to the gym.

How does the world see me? Fur Elise - Beethoven
So, pretty? Good.

Will I have a happy life? Dream Police - Cheap Trick
Okay, as long as I stay awake.

What do my friends think of me? How to Disappear Completely - Radiohead
Me? Disappear? This is starting to not make any sense.

How can I make myself happy? Those To Come - the Shins
Nice and enigmatic, the way I like my fortune told.

What should I do with my life? Melissa - the Allman Brothers
Call myself Melissa? Check. Know many, love none? Check. (haha)

Will I ever have children? Radio Cure - Wilco
I got nothing.

What is some good advice for me? Faith - George Michael
Keep hanging with Jesus. Right on.

How will I be remembered? White Rabbit - Jefferson Airplane
Hopefully not the same way as Grace Slick..

What is my current theme song? Plateau - Nirvana
Um.

What do others think my current theme song is? California Waiting - Kings Of Leon
Okay.

What shall they play at my funeral? Blackbird - the Beatles
I like it.

Where should I look for inspiration next? It's Summertime - the Flaming Lips
No, it's not. Yesterday was the winter solstice. This game is stupid. I've learned only what a waste of time it is (and how eagerly I will one day do it again..)

Hurricane fun!

2006-08-31T11:19:00.000-04:00

I can't believe it, it's almost been a totally blog-free August. I was really busy, though, seriously, for the past month... Apex Broadcasting has insinuated itself into every aspect of my life. I've still been writing the column for Graffiti, and now I'm also appearing once a week on 96 Wave's morning show in the "Waitress in the Sky" segment, so lately, both the magazine and the radio show are at me to show up at random events in exchange for free beer. For instance, Stupid Mike of 96 Wave fame ran for mayor of James Island so I came out to campaign headquarters and witnessed his swan song ("Tiny Dancer") upon hearing of his landslide defeat.

I have a friend coming over with liquor shortly to celebrate the hurricane and resume our Six Feet Under marathon. That way, if we suddenly have to evacuate, we'll be not only totally unprepared, but absolutely blotto as well.

Oh, and two more creatures joined our household (already consisting of three people, two cats, a dog, several fish, two hermit crabs) - a bird of some sort, I'd say cockatiel sounds right. He looks like this:

He's pretty cool, actually. He lives on the front porch and has many varieties of conversational tweets and only occasional screaming of bloody murder. I really like the little comb on the top of his head. When he puts it all the way up, it makes him look like a quizzical little punk rocker. My roommates call him "Bird" but I think he looks like a Nate.

The other one is a huge fucking evil-looking banana spider I've been calling "Tammy." This is what she looks like:

Pretty fucky scary, right? She lives between one of our chairs and the shutter to the left of the back door and is a lethal mosquito-exterminating porch-vixen and really only asks that you don't approach her or blow on her web (Stephanie.) And, anyway, thanks to Tropical Storm Ernesto, it's perfect porch weather today.

Aww. My cat missed me.

2006-07-31T12:29:00.000-04:00

I just travelled for 20 hours straight yesterday, an experience about which I have only this to say: ugh.

But I finished re-reading Lolita, thus cementing its place in my heart as one of my very favorite pieces of literature in existence.. (though I don't really count those out of existence, too hard to discuss with other people, you know). It has inspired me to list some of my favorite final couple of lines of novels, short stories, etc.:

"I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita." Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov.

"And indeed, as he listened to the cries of joy rising from the town, Rieux remembered that such joy is always imperiled. He knew what those jubilant crowds did not know but could have learned from books: that the plague bacillus never dies or disappears for good; that it can lie dormant for years and years in furniture and linen-chests; that it bides its time in bedrooms, cellars, trunks, and bookshelves; and that perhaps the day would come when, for the bane and the enlightening of men, it would rouse up its rats again and send them forth to die in a happy city." The Plague, Albert Camus.

"There was the hum of bees, and the musty odor of pinks filled the air." The Awakening, Kate Chopin.

"Time is porous with forgetfulness. I myself am falsifying and losing, through the tragic erosion of the years, the features of Beatriz." "The Aleph," Jorge Luis Borges.

"Yossarian jumped. Nately's whore was hiding just outside the door. The knife came down, missing him by inches, and he took off." Catch-22, Joseph Heller.

2-minute masseuse, you rubbed me the wrong way

2006-07-27T22:41:00.000-04:00

Figuratively, of course! Because in reality, the (closer to 6-minute) massage you gave me this evening at the Rib Festival (or whatever the hell it was called) was divine. I especially liked all the attention you devoted to my pelvic area, as no one else has paid much notice to that particular zone lately. But still, I felt kind of creeped out by your light banter about your dissolving marriage as your fingers dug into my spine. I mean, the only reason I attended this so-called RibFest, and your little tent, was because St. Paul is pretty boring after you've done the whole Mall of America and I was looking for a cheap thrill. Thanks to you, I got it!

Now, don't get me wrong. Yes, I enjoyed being told that I'm the prettiest girl there (not much competition unless you've got a thing for forty-something's in unfashionably light shades of denim and scuffed white sneakers), that I smell lovely, that I have a movie star, glamorous quality, and also that I must be breaking hearts around the globe. Not really, but thanks! Your enchantment with me (as I awkwardly straddled the masseuse chair, my inner knees sweating) was duly noted.

I don't imagine I'll be calling you so that you can work your chiropractic magic on me next month while I'm in St. Paul, but I am keeping your card just in case I need someone to hit on me, make me feel slightly dirty, and pump up my ego. Thanks!

Kids these days! (are assholes)

2006-07-26T20:51:00.000-04:00

The other day I flew from Atlanta to Honolulu on Delta. I selected my seat at the kiosk during check-in, 20B, an aisle seat with just a window seat next to it. I prefer aisle seats, especially during long flights, so I can pee when I need to without having to essentially ask permission from some (perhaps sleeping) other traveler. Also, I could give a crap what's outside the window most of the time. The only real advantage I find in a window seat is the ability to lean against the fuselage, and of course, anything is better than a middle seat. But I digress.

Upon taking my seat I was gratified to find that my neighbor was an unaccompanied minor - an 11-year-old girl who, presumably, wouldn't overflow into my personal space, hit on me, or smell. I was wrong on two of those counts, but that's not the point. I settled in. I'm re-reading Lolita, which, along with USA Today and my iPod, I carefully placed in the seatback pocket in front of me. My plan was to eat the hot meal, then pop half a Stillnox (the German over-the-counter equivalent of Ambien), and spend the remainder of the 9-hour flight unconscious and wrapped in my pashmina.

The girl next to me was called Devin but Devilish Bitch-child would've been a more appropriate moniker. Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself. At first I was just mildly irritated with her incessant prattling, nonsensical observations and so forth. When I attempted to drown her out by listening to my iPod, she was hardly dissuaded from tapping me on the arm so I'd pause it and listen to whatever dumb shit she was saying. Plus, she'd commandeered the armrest between us and occasionally brushed up against me while flailing about inexplicably in her seat. I'll admit that I was grumpier than usual from getting up at 5:30 a.m. to catch my flight out of Charleston that morning.

Then, after we'd eaten, and the remnants of our meals sat on the tray tables in front of us, she expressed a desire to get up so she could get some crap out of her bag (which latered turned out to be a coloring book). I said, "Why don't you wait until they take away the trash?" as the trays were effectively pinning us in our seats and God knows where she expected they'd go if we both stood up. A moment or two later - "I know where we could put the trash..." to which I replied, "In the carts, when they come collect them?" Perhaps seven or eight seconds went by, and she started impatiently jabbing the call button in rapid succession: Dingdingdingdingdingdingding!

Exasperated, I sharply said something along the lines of, "Look, the flight attendants are working right now. They are not your servants."

Whoa. Big fucking mistake. As good as it felt to snap at her, I was soon to regret it.

After our trays were collected and I'd hauled her really fucking heavy and massive suitcase out of the overhead bin and she'd taken her sweet time to dig through its every outer pocket, I got comfy, donned earplugs and an eyemask, and dozed off.

A couple of times during my drugged out slumber, I felt her clamber over my lap, I assume on her way to the lavatory. Fading in an out of a consciousness permeated by the excited jabber of vacationers, I was asleep for approximately four hours. I awoke to a persistent tapping on my left arm (thinking, "this better be a fucking evacuation"). Yeah, she'd woken me up so that in case I needed, oh, four hours to fill out my entry form into Hawaii, I'd be all set. Great.

I filled out the form, responding to her renewed chattering with monosyballic grunts when I glanced in front of me and noticed.. USA Today...Lolita.......and no iPod.

Of course, she took it. Obviously. I mean, who would walk by someone on a plane, pause when they saw an iPod, check to ensure she was indeed sleeping, then reach and grab it from its spot two inches in front of her left knee? No one, that's who.

First, I tried the casual approach. "Hey, were you listening to my iPod, by any chance?" Flat denial. "Okay, this isn't funny. Give me my iPod back." Still, she refused to admit that she'd taken it. Still, I tried to pump her for information. "Do you think you could have knocked it out of the pocket when you got up?" which of course I didn't think was possible. I knew the little brat had simply taken it. But she shrugged, "I don't know" and gave me the unblinking blue stare that you've learned to give your parents by that age when you're lying through your teeth.

Playing devil's advocate, I had the flight attendants make an announcement, and my kind neighbors who were awake participated in the crawling around on the floor searching for the elusive iPod. The vile little brat simply lifted her stinky, flip-flop clad feet so that I could look under them.

The search died down when it didn't produce any results, and gradually the flight attendants and other passengers lost interest. I sat there seething. My lovely $250 iPod Nano I'd gotten for my 25th birthday, along with its $30 case, neither of which I could presently afford to replace, gone missing due to the whim of a nasty little girl.

I realized that she'd never admit to taking it and that the only way to get it back would be to make her feel sorry for me. I squeezed out a few tears as I looked sadly at the empty seatback pocket, which wasn't difficult, as I was pretty close to full-fledged crying anyway. Hey, I'm not materialistic, but I really love my iPod, okay?

Then, to win her over, I chatted with her about whatever shit she had to say (example: "Me and my mom and my grandma...all have at least two charm bracelets. I can't see the water! Why can't I see the water? My third grade teacher had four cats." etc.) and learned her family was rather dysfunctional, as her mother was in the process of divorcing her 22-year-old stepfather, but I was far from pitying her, rather, I felt at this point that she deserved having a crappy home life.

Anyway, it worked like a charm. She got up to go to the bathroom, and lo and behold, when she returned she was clutching my iPod. Her lame explanation? "I was looking for paper towels and I opened something and I saw this!" I snatched it back, my neighboring passengers (who apparently had suspected her as well, all along) rolled their eyes, and I let her believe that I believed her stupid story while maintaining a death-grip on the thing.

I so wanted to tell her I knew she did it, to say, "Hey, you little bitch. You better watch your fucking back, because I'm crazy and I'm going to come kill you," but really, what good would that have done (other than the thrill it would have given me to be really mean to her)? Clearly, she was a sad little soul who, from the looks of her, had obesity and lots of failed attempts to make up for her subsequent lack of self-esteem to look forward to. So one day, when you're fat and disillusioned, remember, little girl, wherever you are, that no matter how much you steal from people, no one will ever love you.

Call me Ishmael.

2006-07-07T01:45:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I like to come up with horrendous first lines for imaginary novels:

"As I strode through the Waffle House parking lot, my heart was heavy, much like the various starches I'd consumed within."

"The police cars were forming speeding barricade around Benjy's flame-filled Datsun when he glanced up at the rearview and noticed an errant nose hair he'd neglected to trim."

"Chip was certain he’d impressed the senator with his scheme to build a waterfront development on environmentally protected lands on the basis of a loophole in an obscure county law, when he became cocky and blurted, “So?” sending several drops of spittle into the legislator’s rheumy left eye."

"The sun-drenched terrain was rocky, kind of like my relationship with my wife after she started dousing herself with patchouli oil and stopped shaving her pits."

"“My hangnail is throbbing,” she murmured, proffering her hand with an expectant gleam in her eye."

...and me with a deadline tomorrow!

Insomnia & Blind Date

2006-07-07T01:21:00.000-04:00

Around midnight I'm usually sleepy, but for some reason sketchy reality date shows give me a second wind. I especially like it when the men are the desperate and needy ones. Lately they've been airing episodes of Elimidate where the girls all wear masks until they're eliminated. It's so fun when the guy ends up with the ugly girl. And during the commercials I rot my brain with catty celebrity-hater blogs that eviscerate the likes of Lindsay Lohan. I'm a hater, I'll admit it. I can't stand that bitch. I could opine on how nasty it is that she snorted her way into being drastically underweight, then got implants, but there're plenty of people out there doing that..

New Graffiti out tomorrow! Please check out my column online if you live outside of Charleston - or if you live here, and you can't find the mag in its usual spots due to the carelessness of the crackhead my editor hired to distribute the thing.

Holiday's officially over! Tomorrow, my week off from any official exercise will end! My butt's getting on the damn treadmill before it starts looking like La Lohan's. Also, today I cleaned out my checking account and loaded up on edamame, bananas, carrots, tomatoes, and avocado. I'm going to take a stab at actually eating the recommended servings of fruits and vegetables every day.. a novel thought, huh?

Stupid histrionics

2006-07-06T18:09:00.000-04:00

Stop bitching at me because I say things that are uncomfortable for you to hear. Your hissy fits are duly noted, but grow up. You know who you are.

Why Mojo eats Science Diet.

2006-07-05T23:47:00.000-04:00

I just saw a commercial for Iams dog food. The voiceover was from the perspective of a woman sappily relating how she gave her aging mother a dog and now they "run around like teenagers together." The music was inspiring, the dog/owner slow-mo shots touching. Okay, fine.. typical dog food commercial fodder so far, I thought. Then the daughter confided "Mom would just fall apart if anything were to ever happen to Buster." (probably as the dog and mom jogged down the beach toward a setting sun, but I confess, I wasn't really watching it all that carefully) Um, wait a minute. The mom was what, sixty-five? The dog had clearly reached adulthood. So the dog's going to be around for another ten, maybe fifteen years, then die, and the poor old mother's going to have to endure the agony of its death in her twilight years? My point is, I just really didn't think it was necessarily to grimly foreshadow the dog dying and the mother consequently ending up shattered and bereft, that's all.

Good morning & good evening

2006-07-03T19:49:00.000-04:00

My reaction to waking up today and realizing it was almost 4 p.m.: "Um, wow..." Then I realized both cats and the dog were sitting beside my bed, staring at me. They probably thought I was dead.

For some reason I always think jet lag's not gonna get me. Here it is, now, almost 8 in the evening, and I'm still sitting around drinking coffee, downloading music, and forming and reforming plans for the remainder of the night while an old episode of One Life To Live drones in the background.

What a waste of a day.. my consolation, though, is that probably most people weren't very productive today, as it's a holiday weekend and tomorrow's the 4th of July.

Whew. Now I feel like I have to go out tonight and salvage what's left of today.

World Cup 2006!

2006-07-01T22:45:00.000-04:00

I haven't blogged lately because I've been busy flying around and working on my column. Two jobs! I feel so industrious. ha.

At first I was supposed to spend 24 hours in Paris on my way home from Kuwait, but fate intervened and instead I ended up working one more flight and ending up in Frankfurt, where I joined in the crazed debauchery of the World Cup revelries. Biergartens were set up intermittently through the city, everyone was drunk (including me!), and fans ran around blowing whistles and airhorns festively adorned in red, yellow and black. The fanfare continued well into early morning, marked mainly by cars speedily weaving through the city streets blaring their horns, passengers screaming bloody murder, banners flying from the windows, and, I'm guessing, a fair amount of drinking to the point of vomiting.

Although I remain a conscientious objector of anything sports-related, I will relent momentarily and tell you that I support the French team. And if you're thinking, "I hate the French. Blahblahblah," then shut up. The U.S. is out of it already. Vive le France!

Caution: White girl on race issues.

2006-06-20T12:06:00.000-04:00

They recently added a young black man to the cast of General Hospital, and less than two weeks later, the only other (slightly older) black man just wound up dead and stuffed into a car trunk. And both of them worked for the mob. So, completely ignoring why I'm watching GH, or am comfortable addressing it by an acronym, let's mull over this for a moment. Now, we've all heard the phrase "token black guy" or are familiar with the concept - that, in this instance at least, to show they're "diverse," a network will incorporate some minor minority characters. Minor minority - that spells marginalization all over daytime TV!

Anyway, I'm not trying to make some sort of grand statement here, but what is going on? Let's assume their casting is based on giving the public characters they relate to. I don't know how stay-at-home moms wearing elastic-waisted pants can necessarily relate to mob kingpins and wealthy heiresses, but anyway. Is putting two or three black characters (in a cast of perhaps 35) really going to attract a black audience? I don't think so.

So why the charade? It seems more like they just do it for appearances, like, "Hey.. SURE we're doing this for business reasons, not to be politically correct..(wink).." like when a stage actor feigns something in an embarrassingly obvious way. How dumb.

The even dumber thing is how high-context the politics of race have become, which has manifested itself in a myriad of ways - like the token black guy. People, we're a low-context society. We have lots and lots of words to throw around, but instead of invigorating our civil discourse, they seem to muffle us over time. So much has been said and done, it's confused the crap out of everyone.

I'm not suggesting that we discount the history of civil rights in America, but does every bit of that history still need to provide a backdrop for any issue regarding race, however minor? I mean, I'm wary to even talk about race, it's as though since I'm white that topic is off-limits. I know I'm quixotic, but I'd like to believe that one day all of that context can fall into the background of our lives and we can tackle issues without baggage and with an eye to the future.

Hmm, I'm not even really sure what I mean. If I didn't have such a dubious past I could be a politician...For the record, I'm pretty liberal, if it isn't obvious, and I like to believe that most of us are really good at heart, but I also believe it's every citizen's duty to take responsibility for his/her own life and pursuit of happiness. Any thoughts?

Savannah, some sleaze..

2006-06-19T10:50:00.000-04:00

So Saturday I enjoyed a lovely respite from the recent drudgery of Charleston life, not to mention our lusty houseguests (more on that later). I successfully invited myself to visit my friend Aleigh down in Savannah, and she kindly agreed to entertain me for a day. Just wandering around in another city (albeit one very similar to Charleston) was so invigorating! And how thoughtful of Chatham county to allow one to meander with a bloody mary in hand. It's so strange how at times I feel that I need travel in my life, that my perspective must change every so often so as not to get stale.

And despite my (ever-growing) disenchantment with my airline, I'm not ready to give up this particular career yet. If I were furloughed, I'd draw unemployment and go study literature. If not, I may as well stay for three and a half more years, at which time I'll be vested and able to receive retirement pay. But despite all the bullshit, you can't beat getting paid to flit about the globe. Really.

These houseguests, who consist of my male roommate's brother and his girlfriend, have woken me up with their bedroom antics for four mornings in a row. It's not so much the noise as the fact that our house is on pilings, so.. well.. lots of rocking of the casbah, so to speak. It's.. I mean, damn. It's gross.

In addition, the two of them somehow possess the utter inability to, upon leaving the house, close the front door once and just once. No, during their exits, that door may slam and reopen six or seven times. This is done with a blatant disregard for the no-loud-noises-before-10 a.m. rule. They treat this like a sleazy motel with cheap shower curtains that slimily stick to your legs and a dead whore under the bed. Oh, and speaking of showers? They like to use mine together. I'm forced to spray it down with Lysol before each use. Is it just me, or is this unrelentingly bad houseguest behavior? Yuck.

Fuck you and the plane you flew in on.

2006-06-18T01:05:00.000-04:00

I realize the titles to my blogs have become successively more bitter, but upon a bit of reflection, it's obvious that the only one to blame is the evil airline that employs me. They're the enemy, and only them. Strange how I never saw this before.

I was less than jubilant a couple weeks ago, when my profit sharing check was deposited into my bank account and the damn thing didn't even cover my cell phone bill. Sixty-seven bucks. Some people got thousands. I'm not bitter. So anyway, I get this dumb e-mail from my supervisor which was really just a fwd from the accounting department to him explaining that due to some technicality, I shouldn't have gotten even the meager, pathetic bonus that I did and would have to have it deducted from my paychecks. It was a real bitch, and even worse because next to my name the balance due read 112.30. Hell no, you fucking assholes. I got slightly better than half that amount. The day that I give you a single dime more than I am obliged to by law? Oh, that'll be the day, my friends. And whose fucking fault is it I was given this scanty sum in error anyway? I say screw you, take it out of your own paycheck, you vile and loathsome accounting drudge-bitch.

Screw you! (Meow)

2006-06-05T12:14:00.000-04:00

I think this is something like how this morning went:

Mr. Scarlett: Get away from my kibble, bitch!

Mojo: Look, the humans went boozin' again last night and I'm hongry. Just a coupla' those little X's..

Mr. Scarlett: Oh hell no!

(here much scrapping, over various surfaces in the kitchen, ensues)

Those dumb cats. They've been very feisty with each other lately. In fact, this is something like the third time I've been awoken by one of their scuffles this week.

I can't blame them too much, as a certain chihuahua/dachsund mix puppy we've been taking care of the past few days has quickly become the bane of everyone else's existence. The other pets are frantic at the thought we might be keeping him, and the level of tension in the household is all but intolerable. His name is Moses, but it ought to be Satanic Hyper Rat-Boy. He has enough energy for a Great Dane, just in a very concentrated (and frankly hideous) package. Those girls in Hollywood must be sedating their little dogs before they carry them around like purses.

What was I thinking when we said hello?

2006-06-04T10:19:00.000-04:00

I usually refrain from threatening to embark on violent rampages, but right now I'm getting close, folks. I've had way, way too much time for introspection lately (and it's making me mad) and it's all my company's fault. They are so freaking cavalier about flying people out of seniority order and letting the rest of us languish in our respective homes, it makes me sick. The only thing to do is to harass, harass, harass. The supervisors, the schedulers, the union reps. They really don't seem to care.

I think they're vengeful. "Oh, she called again? Well, we'll fix that little bitch's wagon. Put her on the no-fly list for another five months."

Writing the column has been a welcome diversion, but hello, I have to actually travel in order to come up with material. I guess I could do a series on each each room in my house, but a nagging suspicion tells me people might not be interested.

I just switched from reading Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov to Holidays On Ice by David Sedaris so I could enjoy sarcasm grimmer than my own. And it makes me giggle. If there's anyone out there reading this who has never experienced the pleasure of reading his books, I urge you to immediately do so. He is a hilariously talented man.

Things are getting stagnant. I'm broke. I want to take a road trip to headquarters and break somebody's face.

a couple haikus.

2006-06-03T13:10:00.000-04:00

Rain makes me lazy
All day I download music
Mainly indie rock.

I love, love the Shins.
Wish I could marry a band,
I'd bring a shotgun.

I'm gonna throw the fuck up.

2006-06-02T12:16:00.000-04:00

I am so thoroughly unimpressed with my behavior not only last night, but all of yesterday. If I were my friend I'd stage an intervention.. that's not a suggestion, by the way.

I let myself get seduced by the idea that our profit-sharing checks that we were to receive today would be some sort of astronomical fortune, so I spent probably $250, all told, yesterday, on clothing and spirits, effectively allowing my funds to drop dangerously low, into the teeth-gnashing zone.

Yeah, it was slightly less than seventy bucks. So because I'm a glutton for punishment, with mounting horror, I decided it'd be an opportune time to look at my Cingular bill. Just shy of two hundred bucks. Yikes. You run out of rollover minutes and you're screwed, I'm discovering.

Some might freak the fuck out right now. Too late! I already did that last night when I was sobbing my drunk heart out in a recessed storefront area that homeless people probably usually occupy (and were just scared away by my antics). Why? Because my love life is a sad farce and only in complete drunkenness do I seem to grasp the grim comedy of it all.

It's real difficult right now not to whine and moan and go, "My life is in a shambles! Woe is me. Woe unto anyone who enters my sphere of desolation," especially since even Mojo is against me now, having shat (yes, shat) twice and puked once in either my bedroom or bathroom within the last 24 hours.

I'm not even hung over. But I think I'm gonna throw the fuck up.

Hell, I guess I could call somebody who cares, but I can't find my phone..

99 problems and bacon ain't one

2006-05-28T15:47:00.000-04:00

Sorry, fanny, I had to steal that one, it was just too good.

I just saw a commercial that made me laugh maniacally for a good thirty seconds. These three people were at a barbecue, holding their overloaded paper plates and drinks, looking around and going, "Um..want to sit...here?" and gesturing to the ground. One went, "Um..okay..," went to sit down, lost his balance, and promptly flipped his plate up and splattered cole slaw all over his face. Then the voice-over: "Need a place to sit? Come to K-Mart for blah blah blah." Ha.

I haven't blogged recently because frankly, I didn't feel like recounting the grisly details of my Germany trip. Let's just say it involved some mishaps due to internal company screw-ups, lots of frantic trans-atlantic calls when I ended up stranded alone in various airports and hotels, a fun-filled eight hours in O'Hare airport, and a gradual onset of fatigue and bitchiness.

So, now that that's over with, I had some interesting conversations with random people I met en route to here or there, as I was traveling alone for most of my trip and was somewhat tired of entertaining myself. One was a former Ukrainian (now a Floridian) visiting some relatives in the old homeland. He and I got toasty on a flight from D.C. to Frankfurt thanks to Lufthansa's policy of free booze on those routes, and he revealed that he, a 34-year-old man, had recently been squiring around (and feeding vodka and pickle chasers to) a 19-year-old girl and wondered if the relationship had a future. Wow, right? Gross. He kinda gave me the creeps after that.

My rooommate just ran in here and gleefully announced that a little white dog is chasing people up and down the street. I'm beginning to think that this neighborhood exists in some strange vortex or magnetic field that makes animals act a little kooky. I've already documented the strangely aggressive avian behavior in the area. Just something to think about... hell, I guess I've been watching too much Lost.

My new column came out with much fanfare (all of it produced by me), and I bullied a significant number of people into reading it. The only fly in that ointment was that my bio was accompanied by someone else's picture, a fact which I learned when calling a friend from O'Hare hell, and then proceeded to cry and rant about loudly (with some naughty words interlaced) much to the chagrin of the people sitting around me.. but really, people just get damned emotional when they're really tired. Blame those screwy airlines.

Okay now buh-bye.

2006-05-20T20:51:00.000-04:00

After getting over a vicious hangover today, I was informed by Crew Scheduling that I'll be heading to Leipzig, Germany tomorrow. So it looks like auf wiedersein, Thailand, at least for now. Damn it. I'm trying to keep things in perspective - that two weeks ago I would have cheerfully throttled some other hapless flight attendant for a chance to go to, oh, I don't know, Arkansas. And I dearly love Germany and am pleased to be going when it's not ridiculously cold.

So. I was supposed to be an extra in my friends' band's music video tomorrow. I guess this means no writhing around on hoods of cars for me, eh? (I don't think that's what they had in mind.)

Plus, I've been trying to avoid thinking about this, but the aforementioned boy that I like told me he doesn't want to be in a relationship. Okay, I really need some of you out there to weigh in on this. Do people ever say that to people that they really like? 'Cause I really think he likes me, I mean, he did put up with my obnoxiously drunk ass last night. But in my personal history, when you tell somebody you aren't sure that you want to be in a relationship at the moment, you mean you don't want to be in a relationship with them. Please, comment. Don't spare my feelings. Go for the jugular if you have to. I can take it.

In other news, I appear to have lost the ability to pack all necessary belongings in a lightning-quick fashion.. After sitting at home for so long, my packing now consists of much pacing about and little activity to and from my suitcase.

Don't forget - those of you who'll be in Charleston next week, please pick up a copy of Graffiti, and if you happen to feel like writing my editor a letter about how insanely enjoyable my column is, all the better.

Lookuphere!

2006-05-19T11:00:00.000-04:00

Yeah, so I'm starting to fear the birds a little. There must be something like sixty-eight varieties of songbirds indiginenous to the area outside my window. They like to sort of dive by so they can fix their beady little eyes on me for a threatening millisecond. I never found birds creepy before, but these Folly Beach birds are aggressive as hell! They've got the outdoor house cat population cowed. Freaky.

Good news?!?

2006-05-18T23:52:00.000-04:00

I haven't blogged in a lil while, but only because things have been going really, really well. It was almost painful to type that just now - see, I'm used to visiting my little blog world when I'm aggravated/pissed off/disenchanted/feeling sorry for myself, etc. Consumed by any primarily negative emotion, really. Hey, I'm used to bitching.

The other thing is, if I elaborate on the various happenings in my life that have led to what I'm sure is obnoxiously giddy behavior on my part, I risk jinxing them. But what the fuck, I can't just quit blogging until things get worse at some point. So here goes.

I've just been hired to do what I've wanted to do my entire life - write! Some part of my soul will truly be fed when I see my name in print (other than on a bill or something)..so, yay! I'll finally be relating the fascinating tales of my globetrotting to more than the three or so people who read this blog (I love y'all. Thanks.) Here is the publication. I have to say, although my work won't appear in Graffiti for another week, I've already had a smashing time coming up with random sentences involving the phrase "my editor" or "my column." God, I love sounding self-important.

The other thing is, I met somebody I like quite a bit. Enough that I feel sorta nauseous when I think about him. It scares me a bit that I like him. I mean, I'm an independent sort of soul. Awfully so, I'd say. And some part of the equation that equals independence includes a degree of self-control. Being all giddy and stupid about a boy makes me feel kinda dumb. But in a I-don't-mind-feeling-this-way-if-you-do-too-but-I-can't-know-if-you-do-hence-the-nausea kinda way.

But if all goes according to plan, I'll go to Thailand on Monday, my column will be a huge success, and this boy will decide he likes me as much as I like him..

Stay tuned.

Open Letter to Mars, Inc.

2006-05-11T21:07:00.000-04:00

Dear Sir or Madam:

I'd like to begin by offering my most profound gratitude and humblest thanks for the gift you selflessly created for us all: M&M chocolate candies.

Those sassy little chocolate spheres delicately sheathed in candy coating, patiently waiting, waiting to melt - "in your mouth, not in your hands!" - my God, they melt my heart.

A sad note here - I confess to you now that a dark fate, in the form of a deathly allergy, has led me to enjoy only the nutless variety of your delicious confections. I can only say, "Fuck you, universe," for that one, as I feverishly contemplate death by M&M's.. but I digress.

Recently, you introduced to a certainly eager public the latest evolution of M&M's - the Mega M&M. Of course, I was among the first in my community to buy a bag, having spent the past several months anxiously tracking the progression of the Mega's from the creative space to the marketplace.

My hands were trembling with such anticipation that, as I sat in the car of the Wal-Mart parking lot, they could barely tear the packaging open in the manner I prefer - the removal of an inch-long and wide corner so as to ensure pourability into one's mouth while also lessening the chance of spillage. Anyway.

I poured into an expectant palm perhaps seven of the Mega M&M's and was immediately struck by their... lack of "mega"-ness. Had it not been for my undeniable familiarity with the weight, etc. of your product, and the new palette of colors introduced, I might have actually mistaken them for regular-sized M&M's.

I am so sorry. But these M&M's.. they were not mega! Not by any stretch of my hopeful imagination! I had dared dream of a chocolate to candy coating ratio greater than before! I had fantasized M&M's as big as one's fist, or a housecat, or a house!

Let me close in saying that I remain optimistic, as I'm sure that many critiques such as this one have reached your ears by now (it did take me two weeks to pen this, as I spent the first two days in a catatonic stupor and then there was the time in the hospital, and the issues with getting released on my own recognizance.. but anyhoo). Please, be aware that we, your adoring public, will not fault you for sheepishly pulling these back into the lab for retooling. No one will think less of you.

Yours in chocolate (and multi-colored candy coating),
Me.

Mmm. Sandwiches.

2006-05-10T18:04:00.000-04:00

I hate Martha Stewart. That pretentious, inescapable were-bitch. I watch TLC as an exercise in escapism, gathering the occasional ingenious home-decorating tip - but I doze off for fifteen minutes or so, and then it's her. The soulless eyes. The dainty yet rigidly controlled body language. The helmet of blonde.

Anyway. I had a birthday this week and even the wave of self-entitlement I was riding (and the multitude of shots consumed) didn't make me smoke a cigarette. Dang! I said to myself the next morning. I did, however, demand that someone sleep with me (no dice), but apart from that, I think I was as well-behaved as is fitting of someone who cannot by any stretch refer to themselves as in her early twenties anymore.

Since then, though, I've decided to enter a period of voluntary bedrest. I'm having some muscular distress in more or less every muscle I knew I had. I decided that attending a weight-lifting class at 9:30 in the morning would be a superb way to begin my birthday on Monday, and after about seventeen thousand lunges with a barbell on my shoulders as my thighs screamed in agony, walking gained a whole new novelty. I still am having trouble rising to my feet after I pee. Going anywhere remains somewhat problematic, as our house is on pilings and braving that flight of stairs is sort of daunting right now. And when I do get in the car, turning the wheel makes my triceps shudder.

I have little else to add, save that Lost is new tonight, and last week's episode ended in a real holy fucking crap kind of moment, so if anyone calls while it's on, they will be ignored.

Mah nah mah nah.

2006-05-02T13:38:00.000-04:00

So, a lack of work opportunities (despite the fact I am, I think, still gainfully employed) and an ensuing lack of funds has seriously crippled my social life.

I'm literally afraid to answer the phone because I don't want to pitifully admit to my friends that I can't take part in any normal social activities because I'm broke.

So, lately, I've been reduced to several activities to fill up my time:

- spending hours filling out online market research surveys in the dim hope that it will one day result in some type of financial boon.
- developing new epithets to hurl at my friends, most of which tend to be a variation of the word "bitch": bitchface. were-bitch. bitch-wolf. bitch-box. cunt-box. cuntface. assbox. assface. And so on.
- researching various factoids on the internet. For example, I've recently discovered that a cat may be pregnant with two litters, both at different stages of gestation and fathered by two different cats, at the same time. Also, that little pad further up their leg is for braking.
- contemplating what I will eat for the rest of the day, prioritizing according to perishability (just in case I ever leave town again).
- pulling out books that are probably over my head - like Sir Ian Frazier's The Golden Bough (a condensed version of the original 12-volume magnus), toting it around, and skimming the index for amusing entries. But not actually looking them up.
- meticulously arranging files on my computer.
- remaining perpetually in a state of either dreading/avoiding/planning going to the gym, being at the gym, or being satisfied with myself having already been to the gym.
- trying to think of people I know who haven't yet heard I've quit smoking, then telling them and basking in their praise.
- gossiping about more interesting social lives than my own.
- forcing my friends with any type of connections to free events to invite me to them, and then wheedle my way into free booze.
- making fun of my friends' LoveSac, a lamentably, hideously uncomfortable imitation of a sofa.
- ogling shirtless men, wherever I may find them.
- trying to convince my cat into hanging out with me.
- making lists.

And guess what, my friends? None of these activities costs a dime!! Well, unless you count the money that's already been spent on gas, gym membership, bribing people to be my friends, microchipping the cat so he can't escape, etc.

We interrupt your 'net surfing with this public service message..

2006-04-27T17:55:00.000-04:00

Btw, since I'm still too html-ignorant/lazy to have added a links section to my blog (and if anyone knows a relatively easy way to do this, I welcome instruction), I'd like to point out that my friend fanny has recently started a blog.. so go look at it and then you can gossip with me about her. Hmm. Did I just type that?

My word of the day: paroxysm

2006-04-27T17:33:00.000-04:00

I don't think I've ever heard "paroxysm" said aloud. It means, by the way, "a sudden outburst of emotion or action." I actually used it in an e-mail just a moment ago to my friend Alexandrialeigh. It's fun 'cause it appeals to my very healthy sense of exaggeration.

See how bored not working has made me? I'm frickin' cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Except for I've decided not to allow myself to eat sugar-filled crap with no redeeming nutritional value.. unless it's real yummy like M&M's, et. al.

Speaking of M&M's, my phrase of the day (credit goes to Larry the Cable Guy) is: "Wow, I'm three M&M's away from holy crap!" Gross, huh?

Now that gas prices have forced me into becoming a hermit, expect more inane and pointless blogs like this one.

Have a nice day!

Ha! I win this round.

2006-04-26T10:46:00.000-04:00

Below you'll find the thinly veiled vitriol of my letter to my (21-year-old) landlord's mom requesting a discount in rent due to all the unmitigated (is it ever mitigated?) bullshit I've been through as their tenant. And guess what? Though her response was slightly accusatory on several points (none of which I found to be the least bit valid, like the fact she'd "heard" when my lease was up at the other place I'd been looking at other places to live.. um.. isn't that what people usually do when their lease is up?), yet overall I think she was forced to recognize me as a fellow adult and not some Natty Lite swigging, unemployed college student. Hooray for me. Enjoy.

Mrs. Always Slightly Bitchy,

I'm writing you to discuss my request for a discount on rent for this month.

To begin with, I have been an exemplary tenant since I first moved into the downtown residence in December of 2004. I have always paid my rent on time, kept my space clean, and have always taken responsibility in matters concerning myself and my roommates.

I'm sure by now you are well aware of the specifications of my job, meaning that I'm rarely home. This makes me a preferable roommate in that although I'm frequently not at home, I still pay for rent and utilities as a full-time resident.

I believe myself to be a fairly easygoing person who does not complain without significant cause. At the downtown residence, two roommates moved in and shared what had formerly been "my" bathroom, and I was given less than a week's notice that my situation would be changing. Also, despite the fact that I was now sharing living space with two additional people, my rent and utilities did not decrease. A similar situation occurred when your son began occupying that fourth bedroom. It was never communicated to me that there would be another roommate, nor did my financial responsibility ever decrease.

The reason I deserve a discount on this month's rent is that I incurred expenses due to unresolved issues in the James Island home. These are as follows:

$25.70 - This is the amount I spent on one month's phone service (March 21 - April 23) that did not work due to technical problems with the jack/phone line.

$12.95 - This is the amount I paid for my TiVo subscription for one month which also did not work as it depends on an active phone line.

$15.00 - Because the mail service had not been adequately set up until I contacted the post office, I did not receive several pieces of mail on time including my vehicle tags, which I then had to go to the tax office and DMV to obtain, at this cost, to avoid driving with expired tags.
$8.00 - This is the amount of money I spent on laundry services, as I'd believed I would have access to a working washer/dryer in the James Island residence but did not for the first three weeks.

The total cost of these items is $66.65. This does not include the amount spent on gasoline driving to the DMV, tax office, or to James Island from downtown almost every day during the 2 1/2 weeks that my belongings were at the James Island residence while I was still sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the downtown home.

With all due respect, I would like to remind you that I am a tenant of this property and as such expect a certain standard of living; namely that utilities be in working order. A fair discount is $100. Were I living anywhere else there would be no question as to whether this amount should be deducted from the rent in addition to these problems being fixed.

I chose to broach this subject with you because I consider your daughter a friend and don't wish to cause discord in the household. Also, from what she's told me, she's not in a position financially to provide me with this discount.

I appreciate your attention to this matter and I will await a response so that I know what amount my rent check should be.

Sincerely,
Me

My lungs to me: "Thanks!"

2006-04-21T11:44:00.000-04:00

It's been three days since I've had a cigarette. I've been told that 72 smoke-free hours breaks the physical addiction to nicotine, so presumably.. it's all downhill from here. I've been sorely tempted, especially since I found myself at several bars within my "cooling off" period, but somehow I managed to avoid the sweet, heady rush of that paper-encased goodness. Because the goodness is badness! Soylent Green is people!!

Let's just pause here and say, yaaaay (in the voice of Special Ed from Crank Yankers, no less).

One thing that helped (for any would-be non-smokers reading this and desperately hinging on my every smoke-free word for advice) was to have a last sort of blowout smoke-fest. Though I'd been smoking >5 fags per day, Monday night I got wasted and virtually flooded my organ tissues with nicotine. Let's just say that if my lungs were comparable to a nice medium-rare filet, that night they may have bordered on charred. Anyway, the next day I was so vomitous and bleary that I didn't get out of bed until 2:30 p.m., which considerably shortened my first smoke-free day. Plus, even the consumption of food that day was dubious.. so of course the very thought of my former friends, cigarettes, was making me gag.

And after going a full day, something I hadn't done in approximately 7 years, I was so proud of myself I couldn't let myself wreck it by smoking the next day.. and so on. I know this particular comparison is dreadfully inappropriate, but you know how when someone you love dies and people say it'll get easier with time and you don't believe it, but later realize it was true? Okay, maybe I'm reaching with that one.

I may be jumping the gun here, but today, I think I'll change my myspace profile to reflect my new non-smoking status. Say it with me one more time: yay!

I (heart) nature

2006-04-19T14:33:00.000-04:00

Last night, around 1:30, I'd just finished watching an episode of Blind Date and was becoming very, very sleepy. I turned the TV off, closed my eyes and.. realized an obnoxious bird was warbling its little heart out from a tree approximately six feet from my window. Yes, at night, in the pitch-black darkness of a street lamp-less neighborhood.

What the hell kind of bird chirps at night, I asked myself. Interestingly, I'd recently seen Failure To Launch with Matthew McConaughey (yum) and one of the subplots centering around Zooey Deschanel's character involved insomnia brought on by a mockingbird that persisted in singing at night.

I'm convinced that my culprit is a mockingbird, too, for as I listened to him, I realized he varied his chirping every few seconds. Every few minutes, he would fall silent, and I'd fervently hope that he'd exhausted his repertoire, but each time, he'd again begin his song with renewed vigor.

Now, I love animals. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a vet until my dad told me that I'd have to put them to sleep. And I enjoy nature extensively - personally, I could never imagine living in a concrete jungle. But last night, as sleep eluded me and the twittering outside seemed to penetrate my very skull, I imagined all sorts of solutions: shooting him (as Zooey did), hurling a brick at him, and, when I realized that I didn't have a brick, some other blunt and possibly injurious object.

As it turned out, I simply went out on the front porch. As I approached his tree, the bird issued a couple of questioning chirps. I grabbed a handful of branches and shook the shit out of that tree. I didn't see him fly away, but the godforsaken noise stopped and I finally went to sleep.

Maybe it's time to start letting my cat outside again.

The pen bites back!

2006-04-15T11:28:00.000-04:00

Damn you, blog. I started you so I could air out my every petty grievance without social repercussion - and you've failed me!

Honestly, I thought only three or four people actually read you. Maybe therein lies my mistake. I assumed I could use you to express the thoughts that otherwise would have gone unsaid. I liked to think of you as the point where emotions and intellect first collided before they were tempered by conscience, reflection, and time.

I try not to give much thought to readers. It dulls the edge of my observations, wondering who I might offend. Rational thought doesn't typically fuel a creative spark for me, but naked and unchecked emotion does. Letting words pour out, whether they are of unwarranted aggression, inexplicable pain, or searing truth, is cathartic. Giving form to my feelings through language has always been therapeutic for me in the sense that it enables me to analyze them as though they were a solid object, and therefore put them in perspective.

I say all this, blog, in defense of myself because someone was hurt by something (several things, really) I wrote here, and I feel guilty, not for giving voice to how I felt in such a way that proved very unflattering for this person, but for the fact that I'd never intended the blog as a verbal assault and when she read it, it became that. I don't consider myself a malicious person. Anyone who reads you, blog, knows I think and write like a scathing bitch on occasion, but none of it is meant to publicly tear down someone else.

And P.S. - whomever pointed this girl in the direction of my blog, I have to question their intention. Was it merely to stir the pot? To say, look what this bitch said about you? Well, good job. She read it, it upset her very much, and for no reason. I personally never thought my blog would affect her in the slightest. Anyway, I guess you did it out of friendship to her, but my question for you is: if you were so horrified by what I said, why not comment about it? Why not say, "Hey, you're a fucking bitch"? Why surreptitiously read it and then convey it to others?

Why not? Because truly speaking your mind comes with a price that many people are not willing to pay.

2 reasons to be jealous of me

2006-04-13T12:36:00.000-04:00

1. I got to see David Sedaris (a really awesome writer whom everyone should read) do a reading at the Performing Arts Center and it was hysterical and wonderful and titillating and really fucking funny and thanks to a friend, I got to go for free!

2. My mom gave me an early birthday present: a black 4GB IPod Nano. Its joys are offically boundless. And now I join the throngs of people at the gym with little white cords protruding from their sweaty ears. Yay!

It was a Huddle House night.

2006-04-07T13:12:00.000-04:00

Yeah, so I didn't get to bed until after 4, and was awakened suddenly this morning by the sound of pounding on my front door (matched only by the pounding in my head).. but honestly, I was less consumed by anger than I would have been, as it was the electrician!! He seemed to be framed by a halo of golden light as he stepped (in slow motion, as the voices of an angelic choir rang through my heart) into my house.

Now if only we can get the phone guy out here, too. After much wrangling, I convinced my roommate that it should not be my responsibility to pay them to activate the jack in my room. I think peppering the conversation with "dealbreaker" and "lease" proved beneficial.

I'm not even going to think about the mail situation today, or the fact that since we are not letting our cats outside yet, the one that's not mine, Mr. Scarlett, is howling incessantly at the door. Nope. And I'm not going to invite the heart palpitations to return by contemplating my financial state of affairs and my lack of work. Yes, I'm still employed, but things are really slow at ol' HQ right now.

Anyway. Positive mental attitude. I'm reading an Augusten Burrows book, whom I love. I've only read his memoirs though, and this is fiction, so it's a bit different. It's called Sellevision.

Okay, that's all for now.

Update

2006-04-05T09:36:00.000-04:00

I'm down to half a cigarette a day, so today might be the day I have none. I can't make any promises here, folks, but I'm optimistic.

The odd thing is that I've woken up with a sore throat for the past few days for no apparent reason and I'm wondering if it's a side effect of the Wellbutrin.

In other news, happiness at the new house remained elusive as the power wasn't on and the mail had not yet arrived as of 6:30 p.m. yesterday evening. What precisely do I have to do here to appease the universe so things can move forward? Promise to dedicate my body to science? Sacrifice a goat? Learn how to do a cartwheel?

Please, please, please.

the ongoing move (and associated complications)

2006-04-03T13:40:00.000-04:00

The original plan, which is almost hard to recollect at this point, as it's been deviated from many times since, was to move from my downtown house to a brand new one on James Island three weeks ago. I was ready. I was on vacation, and I cut my visit with my dad in Florida short by a day to allow extra packing time.

My information about wtf is going on all comes third hand through my roommate, whose parents own both homes. Actually, despite the fact that she is a 20-year-old college student, the $300k new home has been placed in her name and she is responsible for the mortgage payments, collecting rent, etc. Um, right. Fabulous idea. She doesn't even have a job. I'm sure she's up to the challenge.

The first issue was apparently the inspection, which took longer than expected because "the guy is an asshole." Okay, fine. I had additional time off at the end of the month.

We ended up moving most of my crap except for the essentials (TV, mattress, clothes, coffee pot, cat) because I was concerned I'd have to fly out with none of my things moved. I went ahead and switched my landline phone service to the new residence, believing with all of my naive heart that soon I would follow.

This time, we were waiting for SCE&G to turn on the power, which has always been simple in my experience. You call them, bam, you're frying bacon the next morning. I've inferred from this last debacle that hooking it up to a just-built home is tantamount to the coming of the Apocalypse. You'd think we'd asked the damn electrician to find us the Holy Grail and spit-shine it.

Anyway, that was last Tuesday, and we fully expected power by the end of the day. Nope. We even moved my mattress over there and had to bring it back! Their customer service department, who spoke to my roommate's parents, said something about three weeks. They argued them down to Monday (today). Do we have power there? I sincerely fucking doubt it. And I am on call with my job right now. I could be leaving for parts unknown at any given moment. And I'm still sleeping on a fucking mattress on the floor of the old nasty house.

My latest concern cropped up yesterday, when I was Armorall-ing my dash and decided to rifle through my glovebox. Whoops. Registration's expired. I paid my taxes on time, but I gave them the address to the new house, which I'm beginning to believe is ruled by some dark and hateful nameless power because it refuses to receive mail.
So I'm driving with expired tags too. Our mailbox is actually more like a PO Box on the side of the road with such dubious labelling that my roommate, when describing it to me, had to tell me it was next to one with a sticker of a starfish on it. What?!?

I realize she is young and inexperienced, but my roommate is now officially my landlord and she needs to get this fucking shit done. She and the other roommate, her boyfriend, don't get important mail because they have no real responsibilities beyond whatever dumb college courses they're taking. Do I sound bitchy? Yeah, part of that is they turned the AC off when they left for school this morning and it was 78 degrees in here when I woke up. Fuckers.

Plus, I wanted to watch Grey's Anatomy from last night, but I couldn't because my Tivo ran out of program information because there's now no phoneline here.

Stay tuned. My homicidal urges may actually come to fruition this time.

The chase is way, way off.

2006-03-30T15:24:00.000-05:00

Somehow, I've unwittingly gotten tangled up in an acquaintance's personal reenactment of Fatal Attraction. And I have a feeling that in her particular universe, I'm an expendable character likely to meet her demise in a uniquely painful fashion.

This person, we'll call her Crazy, is hung up on her ex, a good friend of mine, to the point of creepiness. From what I gather, theirs was some sort of blurry semblance of a relationship that ended over a year ago. Whatever. I don't care, it's really none of my business. I'm not romantically involved with the object of her obsession so my involvement in this drama is totally involuntary.

Crazy befriended me several months ago in what I now realize to be some sort of twisted attempt to keep tabs on him. She's crafty, this one.

Anyway, none of this would be much of a problem for me had she gone public with her doctored version of the situation between the two of them.. and dragged me into the middle of her bullshit. She recently began writing a Sex and the City-inspired column for a local free paper that was supposed to chronicle her dating life and instead has become a pathetic homage to her defunct relationship with my friend.

Her last attempt referred to me not by name, but as "it".. though anyone who knows the three of us would be able to piece together whom "it" refers to. I quote: "I called him a few days later to see if he wanted to hang out and let's just say, he had company... and it had a vagina."

Okay, Crazy. Leave me out of your psycho fantasies about your ex, stop implying that we're sleeping together, and just quit being weird and manipulative. I thought you were funny and interesting before you involved me in this bizarre triangle and actually wanted to be your friend... now I'm afraid to let my cat go outside.

God bless you, Dr. Kevorkian!

2006-03-24T10:41:00.000-05:00

Why did I mention the venerable doctor famous for assisted suicides? Does that count as a suicidal thought?! Frantically I phone my doctor for I have recently joined the leagues of folks on (drumroll) WELLBUTRIN! Actually, the non-household-name generic, $10 on my insurance version.

But me, I'm not battling depression so much as anxiety... the anxiety the results from quitting smoking! Yay! *no one is allowed to question me as to the progress of my actual quitting, lest I begin to have homicidal thoughts. You're supposed to take the drug for two weeks or so before you quit cold turkey, and I've only been on it for four days. So bite me. (wow. errant aggressive thought there. time to take another one..)

Allow me to backtrack so you'll see why I finally decided to quit.

I was becoming hysterical about my life: not working (well, just for this month), moving, writing a piece for a magazine, feeling in the doldrums due to poor alcohol consumption habits, and just a general sense of ennui. Then, the heart palpitations began. After nearly two weeks of hoping fervently they'd go away, whilst my eyes bugged out of my head due to dangerous stress levels, I finally cracked and went whining with my tail between my legs to the doctor. After an EKG, several blood tests, and much drama, it was determined I should probably be induced into a coma so I'd be unable to engage in my unhealthy habits: drinking, smoking, caffeine, and stress. But how will I pay for my medical care while in a coma? I asked. So grudgingly the doctor allowed me to remain conscious, provided I tackle these habits myself.

The Wellbutrin was my brilliant idea. In fact, the doctor/patient dynamic was more me ordering him to prescribe me things I'd seen on TV and him nodding and scribbling at his pad. This should be good news for the ad departments of pharmaceutical companies.

I figured the stuff would relieve my stress, allow me to quit smoking, and also, prevent me from imbibing much at all since it's not recommended while on this medication. And it seems to have had a positive effect on road rage!

So now, I live a life dictated by pill consumption (currently 8 a day!):

2 wellbutrin
1 singulair - allergies/asthma
1 azithromycin - antibiotic for respiratory infection
1 estrostep - birth control pill (totally unnecessary, I might add)
1 zyrtec - allergies
1 vitamin C tablet
1 One-a-Day multi-vitamin

People, I'm not even 25 years old yet. Wtf? My friends are joking about getting me days of the week pill dispensers. But I feel good, damnit!

Did someone stab a fork in my eye?

2006-03-11T14:22:00.000-05:00

Um, yeah, so I haven't blogged in awhile, but I think it's because my last work experience was so harrowing that I've been suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, so.. just been focusing on the recovery and all. At least due to a scheduling mistake by me, I have over three weeks off in March. My taxes are done. Finally.

I'm having heart palpitations (for real) and I think it might be caused not by the smoking and booze as one may assume, but by the spasms of stress induced by my job. Three weeks off and I'm stressed out? Yes, because the people I work for are pathologically lying bastards. They'll blithely quote you outrageously untrue information and then dare you to brave their maze of automated phone calls, voice mails, e-mails and unmitigated bullshit in order to fix their mistakes. They are, without a doubt, worse than an insurance company.

I say this in part because they've just decided to bend the rules (a real fucking shocker) and call me out hours before they're legally able to, so I won't be able to move this Thursday as I'd originally intended. Fine. Okay. I'll just continue to live in the cardboard chaos my life has become.

I also may be a tiny bit bitter that on my last trip, the responsibility of head flight attendant got unceremoniously dumped into my lap, despite my complete lack of training for these duties.. Hmm, well, what could have gone wrong, you say? Well since you asked...

Issues with My Last Trip as Head Flight Attendant:
- departure was delayed 20 minutes because one of the passengers lost their boarding card and the Irish wouldn't let us leave
- the safety video's audio wouldn't work, so the protocol was really to do a manual demo, but I decided to say screw it. hey, they put me in charge.
- once in the air, it became clear that the bespectacled old Irish ground rep hadn't given me the necessary paperwork - the crew dec, passenger manifest. You know.. things that the FAA might go at us for rabid dogs for not having.
-we ran out of meals because the person in charge of counting some of them was new and got confused. luckily, all the passengers were asleep so it didn't matter.
-then, I had to do some bullshit paperwork instead of taking a nap, and even more when I got home! bureaucratic pigs!

Ahhh. Hear that? It's the sound of my relief at getting my aggressions out through the art of angry blogging.

2006-03-04T22:05:00.000-05:00

..to this.

2006-03-04T22:01:00.000-05:00

From this...

Dude, where's my car? & other mishaps

2006-02-20T13:15:00.000-05:00

Yes, so the reasons I haven't been blogging lately are manifold. One recent issue is my cat's determination to wedge himself between me and my laptop and my resulting time spent head-rubbing.

Oh well, here's an overview of my past six days here at home:

V-Day. Flew from Ireland to Atlanta, languished there in the arrivals lobby food court/smoking lounge by gate B21 for four hours, then got to Charleston in the afternoon, napped, then spent the evening sucking at anti-Valentine's bowling. Altogether considerably less than romantic, but far from a miserably single pity party.

Hmm. Let's see. My friend, we'll call him Boy Gouty, got a puppy and I was instrumental in the holding of said animal on the way home. I know this goes without saying as it's a puppy, but that thing is really, really fucking cute.

Friday, despite feeling strongly that I was again afflicted with a sinus infection, went to the Windjammer to see my friends' band Action City Blackout.

Saturday, I could be found wearing a jean skirt, black leggings with a skull on them, a ripped up t-shirt, plastic jewelry, way more blue eye shadow than necessary, and other noticeably tacky adornments. I might have to post a pic of this once I get one. Anyway, the point was to dress in 80's attire in observance of my friend Shannon's birthday, and of course I was one of perhaps three people that actually complied. You people that didn't dress up? For shame.

The really embarrassing part (yes, more embarrassing than several people approaching me and asking if I dressed that way all the time) was losing my car. It was actually parked in a fairly obvious location on King Street, but I decided it had to be on one of the side streets and relentlessly circled three different blocks for about 45 minutes in the bitter, bitter cold. All the while people were gawking at me in my crazy outfit.

Yesterday, I visited my mom in the less-than-sprawling metropolis of Orangeburg, SC. I mention this because as we were on our way to buy some groceries, my mom gave perhaps the most notable quote of the day, "I hope when we get to Wal-Mart, that one-legged man's not out there selling his pictures of Jesus." She then informed me that the guy doesn't even draw each one, he just kind of darkens the edges. Wow, Mom. The man's already down, let's give him his $1 Jesus portraits, shall we?

Anyway, after my friend and I decided to have a couple drinks last night, 4:00 in the morning found us at his house making eggs benedict. Damn.

And I still haven't done my taxes.

pilot strike, part deux

2006-02-07T12:20:00.000-05:00

So the whole strike thing’s over, in an anticlimactic sort of way – rather in the vein of knowing all along that Rosebud is just a damn sled anyway. Yeah, yeah, things are fine. This snark was not so much a boojum as a highly exploited opportunity for drama in its most rampant, rumor-flinging form. I have to admit, though I am relieved to be keeping my cat in kibble for the foreseeable future, I’m slightly disappointed. If I’d been furloughed, I’d have been forced to pursue other avenues, while simultaneously being eligible for unemployment pay. I’d begun fantasizing about a master’s degree, the scintillating world of academia, student loans, the smirk I could sport whenever I told anyone I was attending grad school. I’m beginning to suspect that my greatest aspiration in life is just to attain more essentially useless knowledge.

I’ve decided to quit bemoaning the fact that I’ve been relationship-less for approximately two years, and content myself with being surrounded by books, cats and booze. I have this lovely vision of being some kooky, liberal, bike-riding college professor who carries term papers in her bike basket and extrapolates on the mysticism of Borges over coffee. Though I have to admit, part of this portrait would be to go home at night to someone who tolerates my idiosyncrasies in a bemused sort of way.

I’ve got coworkers who are furthering their educations via online courses and whatnot, but for me, I think that’d be like fat-free ice cream, not quite meeting the bare requirements of satisfying. When I go back to school, I’d like to really throw myself into it, and reap the benefits of a classroom setting. I like being surrounded by creative people, but right now I worry that I’m in danger of just being surrounded by (and becoming) creative types who never get it together to realize a vision. Seriously - the iceman cometh. I need a plan.

Fuck the corporate pigs!

2006-01-30T15:26:00.000-05:00

So the shit is really hitting the fan at my company right now. The pilots are on strike, except for some military flights, and a bunch of 'em have been suspended without pay - my father included. The thing is, without getting into all the boring logistics of company business, we're actually a hugely profitable airline. The pilots were in negotiations for their new union contract, and the company took advantage of the situation to try to force them into a scope clause merging their seniority list with that of an airline our company acquired last summer. Part of the new deal is getting rid of us flight attendants, too, as we're unionized and expensive compared to the flight attendants at this other company. Corporate greed is the bogeyman here - it's almost like we're damned if we do, and damned if we don't because the success of our operations clearly hasn't made much of an impact over at HQ. It's all about expanding operations so the corporate fat cats can continue rewarding themselves with six-figure bonuses, etc.

The last time pilots at our company went on strike was 1978 - and it lasted for three months, and culminated in a pilot getting shot.

So anyway. I go on call tomorrow, but I'm thinking I'll end up sitting at home for awhile as things are so screwy out there, what with planes sitting around, unmanned, etc. I'm considering joining the picket in Atlanta. We flight attendants have a No strike, no lockout clause in our contract that prevents us from conducting a so-called "sympathy strike," but we're free to join the pilots on the picket line. What do you think, is "Fuck you fuckers!" a good catchphrase for a sign?

Check, please.

2006-01-29T22:31:00.000-05:00

Summerville, Saturday evening. Me, my mom, and my stepdad. My stepdad's desire for an omelet at 7p.m. propelled us in the unfortunate direction of Perkins restaurant.

We were waiting for our food, and seated near a table full of rather uncultured-looking folks. Okay, I won't mince words here.. the entire family of six had the glazed, beady-eyed, piggish look of generations of inbreeding and poor dietary choices. I know it's mean and judgmental and blah blah blah, but you'll see why. We were minding our own business, when suddenly my mom murmured, "Whatever you do, don't look to your left."

Of course my head snapped to the left fast enough to give me whiplash, and my eyes fell on the splattery sight of a pile of vomit next to their table. Apparently, the daughter, who looked to be about 12 or so, had gotten ill and been rushed to the bathroom. The timing was such that our food was just arriving. We looked down at it. We looked over at the puke. We waited. No one came along to clean it up. The family sat there, poker-faced and silent. I felt kinda bad for them at that point, but possibly not as bad as I felt for myself. My mom made a comment that she hoped a waitress didn't rush by without looking down and slip in it.

I noticed a booth across the room that'd been recently vacated, and suggested we move. With as little fanfare as possible, we gathered our things and transferred them. It took more than one trip. As I was collecting our beverages, one of the remaining family members made some snarky comment to the tune of: "I hope one of y'all never gets sick" as though we were switching tables merely to humiliate them. Before any hope of restraint, I snapped, "We're not trying to make you feel bad - we just don't want to look at it while we eat!" and stalked off. In retrospect, I was unnecessarily polite. Clearly that's not something they're used to, anyway.

Oh, and did the good folks at Perkins offer to pay for our meal (which by the way sucked anyway)? Three guesses, my friends. The first two don't count.

Moral decay in Airhostessia

2006-01-28T20:39:00.000-05:00

What to do when you suddenly realize your friends to be severely morally impaired? I have two flight attendant friends who are currently dating married pilots. One is in the midst of a divorce herself, and has a sorta fuck-all, laissez-faire attitude to what seems to be life in general at the moment. Her beau is not only married, but has two small children and no apparent qualms about getting any flight attendant ass that he can - he actually drunkenly pawed at me about a year ago. I was not impressed, but apparently she is.
The other girl is a rose-colored glass-wearing, walking cliche. Her boy has been married "only" a year and his wife is just the absolute most scathing bitch in the world, she virtually deserves to be cheated on (I hope my heavy sarcasm is seeping through here). Apparently he managed to ignore what a horrific cunt she supposedly is for at least a little while, because (surprise!) she's just announced that she is pregnant, and though he'd been feeding my friend a line about leaving her and marrying my friend, he's now determined the proper course of action to be "doing right by his wife" by sticking around for another year or so, whilst my friend languishes in the wings. Don't misunderstand me, I think she's a fool and probably deserves the emotional anguish she's inviting upon herself. But I do find her a mite less guilty than the other one, who approaches her situation with all the sentimentality of a high-ranking Nazi.

Oh well. My position is, I'll still hang with these girls, but I won't respect their choice and I won't be shy about expressing that if they ask. I'm not going to harass them. I have my plate full enough being my own moral compass, I don't need to start playing angel to someone else's shoulder. The weird thing is they've sort of bonded over their mutual indiscretions and, when I hang out with the two of them, it's like I'mthe one with people behind her back exchanging glances. Whatever, dude. I'd so much rather be single... I'm not one for moral proselytizing, but if I just blog it, I'll be less likely to explode on one of them. They don't need my help - the self-destruction inherent in their actions will provide its own consequences.

mystalk

2006-01-25T14:28:00.000-05:00

Far be it from me to malign the obsessive, time-sucking void known as myspace, as I admit that I dearly love it, despite the issues of codependency it has created in my life. I mean, I can keep up with my friends from afar in a way much more visually and aurally stimulating than e-mail, and I don't have to actually contact them to briefly ascertain that they're still breathing and haven't been subjected to any calamities or so forth.

However, myspace's stalker-friendly format is really starting to allow certain shameless behaviors of mine to thrive. Let's just say I'm having some difficulties not religiously scrutinizing a particular profile. Myspace makes it harmless and easy to be pathetic and stalkerish.

But perhaps, my friends, that is not such a bad thing. My argument (if, for instance, I was called out in regards to these little mystalks and had to resort to inexplicable defensiveness) could be that myspace serves as a sort of social placebo for those of us who are subject to momentary lapses of sanity on a more or less regular basis. It satiates some moronic need to give in to emotional neediness, and prevents us from making asses out of ourselves in real life.

Right? Yeah? Okay. I'm limiting myself to twice a week. I swear.

Guten tag.

2006-01-22T07:41:00.000-05:00

Things have been hectic for this disgruntled flight attendant lately, folks. Right now I'm staying in a charming little Bavarian town outside of Ramstein air base in Germany, which is lovely. My three-day interlude here has been largely recuperative, though, as it followed some serious sleep deprivation forced on myself and my crew members by the lying bastards at my company.

It entirely too long of a story to painstakingly hammer out at the moment, so here are the highlights:

Due to the recent deaths of important figures in both Kuwait and Bahrain, some of our operations in the Middle East were compromised. In order not to lose copious quantities of cash, my company had to scramble to replace a crew that had been waylaid in Kuwait and stranded, as they'd closed the airport for visiting dignitaries, etc. We were the replacements, though in doing so, we were breaking the union contract as well as several pertinent FAA regulations, company policies, and so on. As should have been our right, we attempted to get out of what became a 32 hour workday, but had no such luck, as company tactics included threats of suspension, guilt trips (for the sake of the soldiers we were letting down), lies (that the Bahrain airport would also be closing and that we, too, would be stranded if we didn't take this flight), and so on.

All in all, it was a dirty piece of business and after all of that abuse, I relapsed and ended up with swollen glands and a fever.

So anyway.

In other news, I brought three books with me, thinking that would be enough for a 2 1/2 week trip, including: The Poisonwood Bible, A Million Little Pieces, and, The Kite Runner. After becoming a temporary insomniac for four days, though, I ran out of reading material and am now reduced to reading a western romance one of my crewmembers lent me. It is insipid, but juicy. Kind of like my life.

My love is cheap.

2006-01-13T04:25:00.000-05:00

I just flew with my dad. Well, technically he did the actual flying, as he's the pilot and all. We didn't know we'd be working together, but randomly just ended up doing a Norfolk, VA to Shannon, Ireland leg. I'm spacey-tired right now. Anyway, he just gave me a rum and Diet Coke and twenty euro and some odd change. Love that guy.

I hate to say it, but..

2006-01-04T23:55:00.000-05:00

I mean, I even shudder to think it. Does 2006 not like me for some reason? Did I offend its delicate inner nature with some unknown, grievous offense? Did I just expect too much?

Judge for yourself. Here are my (admittedly fairly minor) so-far calamities of 2006:

1. I developed a beastly, hacking bout of bronchitis, as previously described.
2. Crew scheduling screwed up my schedule by double-staffing several flights, making my first month of a set schedule in a year, um, not set.
3. Mojo arrived home today limping for no discernible reason and now, when he sits, he does so holding up one of his forepaws, like a little old man going, "Excuse me sirs, I've an objection"
4. People keep discouraging me from dating a boy I'd really like to date. This may not seem so calamitous, but their admonitions come right after an exchange between myself and said boy that led me to believe dating would be likely if not imminent.

I know it's so 2005 of me to bitch about my every little problem, but um, too bad. It's my blog, not yours. ;)

I have bronchitis, but bronchitis doesn't have me.

2006-01-03T01:11:00.000-05:00

Ew. I'm writing this out of sweat-induced insomnia. I have a fever. I'm sweating like a whore in church. I have to keep pushing my cat off of me because he's like a furry radiator. I want my mom. There, I said it! Yes. I want her to make me get in the bathtub and bring me Saltines and apple juice. Mott's. In a plastic Rainbow Brite mug. Well, it was actually Twink. How the hell did I remember that fuzzy white thing's name? My illness must be giving me special powers of remembrance. The fall of the Babylonian Empire? 1453 A.D.! Wow. Apparently the application of heat to my brain has rendered me a genius. That's it! I'm off the anti-biotics!

Nah, no I'm not. When I cough, it ends in a bizarre sort of squeaking that really kinda freaks me out. Besides, if I stay this sweaty and glandularly swollen, no one will ever make out with me again. And we can't have that.

Unnngghhh.

2006-01-02T11:48:00.000-05:00

The time has come, the Walrus said, to get your congested, phlegm-spewing ass to the doctor. And I think I should listen to him. I've lost the race, friends, I'm SICK. Damn carryover germs from 2005 making me miserable!

I'm trying to be more positive this year, but I absolutely hate going to the doctor. I think I've mentioned this adversion before. And since I still haven't gotten myself a regular doctor, I'll be going to the cesspool that is known as Doctor's Care. Oh, it's so gross. There's always tons of people hacking and sucking back snot, and you have to wait forever. You can virtually see colonies of germs hurtling through the air in that place.

And since I hate the doctor, I generally have like ten things to ask him/her for once I finally do go. This time, apart from some sort of antibiotic or something, I need prescriptions for 1. a daily allergy medication, 2. asthma inhalers, and 3. ambien, if he'll give it to me, for work-related sleep issues.

Ahhhh. The exasperation of me - wish me luck, guys. Both of you.

Twilight Zone marathon = happiness

2006-01-01T20:29:00.001-05:00

Ah, what a relief the new year always is.. I'm determined to get on 2006's good side early by extolling its merits to anyone who will listen, while simultaneously maligning ol' 2005. So far? I think it likes me, but we'll have to see how lucrative a partnership it turns out to be. I'm optimistic.

Among my goals for 2006:

-learning a new language, or at least brushing up on French for my upcoming Paris trip. Someone came up to me last night and said, "I heard you speak like four languages." Wow! Isn't it fun when there's good, flattering gossip going on about oneself?

-cook for myself more frequently. I think I got burnt out from cooking by dishing up slop to the general public in a rat-infested, sweltering kitchen for six years (five and a half of which I've managed to suppress from memory).

-quit smoking. I'm cringing and compulsively reaching for a cigarette as I type this. But I have a tentative plan - hypnotherapy. Don't laugh. It worked for my aunt.

-apply a heaping dose of discipline to several areas of my life: writing, exercise, hygeine (just kidding. or am I?)

-try not to use as many parentheses in my blog. I can't commit to cutting them out entirely, as I'm quite fond of them as far as punctuation goes. At least I'm not addicted to ellipses. There's one guy I work with who sends out lots of mass e-mails to everybody, and at the end, he just puts his name like this:

blah blah blah..

Devashan....

Oh my GOD, something about that just drives me up the wall. It feels so anti-climactic somehow. Like, tune in next time to see this cliffhanger resolved.
And his e-mails aren't even the slightest bit interesting. Bastard...

-Kay, maybe this would be a good time to resolve to be a little nicer to people that irritate me. There's also this girl who I fly with whose favorite expression is "Easy cheesy" and it makes me absolutely crazy and I imagine flaming death rays shooting out of my eyes and melting her face. Isn't that horrible? I think I'm okay, outwardly, but God, I'm a bitch in my head.

Happy new year out there.

South Dakota...?!

2005-12-23T19:04:00.000-05:00

So, come Christmas morn while the rest of you lucky bastards are bleary-eyed and ripping into your presents, I'll be hitting the friendly skies bound for the exotic land of.. South Dakota?

Hmm, I thought. Okay. Hopefully there'll be a bar open or something. Until now, my knowledge of South Dakota amounts to: I think Mount Rushmore is there. Or is that North Dakota? And where is Fargo?

But this afternoon I got my hotel info and decided to internet stalk where I'm staying. I like to do that when I'm going somewhere new and need to know if they have free wireless access. Anyway, it's the Alex Johnson hotel in Rapid City. (This is so a security violation. Please don't come kill me.)

And I was pleasantly surprised! The hotel itself as well as the area, historic downtown Rapid City, promises loads of intrigue and nerdy activities that sound like my cup of tea. The hotel itself is 77 years old and decorated with buffalo hides arrowheads as well other such authentic Indian stuff. There's a circa 1880 train that does 2 hour tours through the Black Hills. Mount Rushmore is only about 30 miles away, and there's also a memorial to Crazy Horse somewhere around there. And the Badlands (which from pictures look pretty badass are about an hour away.

Hey? I'm excited. Not to mention, after my stay in Rapid City, I'll be heading to Honolulu, bitches!

Oh, and Merry Christmas :)

2005-12-19T22:08:00.000-05:00

Hints for next year's holiday revelries:

1. Stumbling home at 8:30 in the morning from a Christmas party looking like a beat-up whore is generally not desirable, but is allowed at least once per season (check!)
2. Mistletoe can be loads of debauched fun. It is negligible whether or not it should be used as a device to make out with people you've secretly been lusting after (yup..check!)
3. If you've already bought a present for someone, and someone else tells you it's not the right color, size, shape, etc. and you've already thrown away the tag (and wrapped it!), it's permissible to ignore the new (belated) information.
4. There is no need to go to the mall during the month of December. None. It is a vile testament to the baseness of humanity.
5. Passion plays/musicals shall be limited to one per season.
6. It is still not okay to eat a pound of M&M's in one sitting, be they dyed festive Christmas colors or not.
7. May be advisable in the future to keep more liquor or wine around the house (not calorie-soaked beer! no!) for possible bouts of SAD.

Mission: Accomplished?

2005-12-16T15:27:00.000-05:00

OMG. I am literally stunned by my Christmas shopping success. Okay, I just remembered like three people I should probably get a little something for, but even so, I am doing really, really well. And we won't mention that I just bought myself another coat.. But I needed one that was versatile enough to wear with both my uniform (compliance with company regulations be damned! I detest my company issued Inspector Gadget trenchcoat from hell) and with many different outfits on layovers.. It's a black wool trench from the Gap, but unlike the CFH (coat from hell), it fits a normal human body and can be made to look cute. Thank God.

My mood has taken a definite turn for the better, perhaps due to the return of sunlight to Charleston.. I wonder quite seriously at times if I have seasonal affective disorder or something. I'd considered moving to Seattle (my base)at one time, as it's a lovely city that I quite enjoy, but ultimately decided that the Pacific Northwest is far too dreary in the wintertime for me.

On an entirely different note, wtf is up with Cingular these days? I keep having these little half-hour long blackout periods during which I can't make any outgoing calls. I heard someone else bitching about it too. Well, it's about that time to call my company to harass them into putting me on a trip before I spend my way into eating Ramen noodles for a month out of sheer boredom. There's also some drama with our pilots forming a picket over at headquarters yesterday, so hopefully I can get the gossip out of one of these schedulers.

2005-12-16T02:03:00.001-05:00

“You should never be embarrassed by your trouble with livin
Because it’s the ones with the sorest throats who’ve done the most singin”

Yeah, I guess I’m ashamed. Or scared. I tend to hide my lows from most people, just give them the highs. The highlights, maybe. MelissaLite. I’m so about to break the rules and have a cigarette in my room, because I’ve been lolling around in my pajamas, trying half-heartedly to sleep, but they’re having a party outside and I can’t quite unwind in here. I can’t go out there, either, not looking sort of weepy and with greasy bangs.

I wonder if this is the right way to handle when I get in one of these moods – listening to mellow/mournful music and letting a tear slide down every once in awhile. Reaching out for a muse while I’m at it. Lately, for the past year or so, my method was to just sleep it off, ignore the sense of numbness until it passed. I guess at first that seemed better because it was less emotional, but I’ve changed my mind for the same reason. Not crying for months at a time seemed really unnatural. I was afraid I was going to explode at some random, wildly inappropriate time. Not to mention, I’ve never been less creative as during this past year.

So. Here we are again. Tangled up in blue. Is it going to be like this forever? The rest of my life seems like a really long time to be going through these periods. And it’s irritating, really, even when I do open up to people about struggling with depression, they think they’re depressed, too. And who am I to say? But I don’t think they are. I think they’re sad. I don’t think they know what depression is, the overriding apathy. Most of ‘em, anyway.

But for godsakes, no one would want to be my friend if I were this mopey all the time. So I just stay home, socialize as little as possible, when I feel this way. I kinda wouldn’t mind going out for a drive, just smoke a few cigarettes, listen to a bit more music, drift for a while. Get out of the house. Maybe by the time I come back, these drunk college kids’ll be gone.

I wasn’t going to put this on my blog, because like I said, it’s my first impulse to keep my more morose thoughts to myself. But what the hell, really.

Thank you, Fake Boyfriend

2005-12-15T13:01:00.000-05:00

Today's the day I wring out my liver like a sponge. No booze, significantly fewer cigarettes, and Lost on TV tonight. Plus a One-a-Day Weight Smart and some sugar-free Halls Defense Vitamin C Supplement Drops. This is my personal recipe for healthy livin'.

Technically, I should probably head over to Mt. Pleasant at some point to take care of some lingering gift-buying obligations, especially since I'm back on call today for work and could be jetting off with a mere few hours' notice, but it's raining out there. Today, I've decided I just don't do inclement weather. I haven't scotch-guarded my suede boots yet, so screw it.

Mojo feels the same way. If I open the door, he just looks out at the rain and then gives me a pained look. Since I control his universe, it's clearly my fault. But he's content to harass me in his stir-crazy feline way, alternately lolling around tragically and making random mad dashes through the house.

Well, at least I'm doing some laundry. And I guess I could wrap some presents. Okay, I'm not as listless as I sound, it's just that the past few nights have been veritable marathons of drinking, playing pool, and other associated activities liberally intermixed..

...such as, for instance, obtaining fake boyfriends. I didn't realize until last night that fake boyfriends get jealous! Yes. It's true. Allow me to explain. Last night, a beady-eyed man who I thought seemed nice enough to engage in conversation at first became increasingly repulsive to me, but clearly didn't realize it, despite my strong yet polite signals to that effect.. In short, it was necessary to obtain the services of a fake boyfriend, who was actually working at the bar.. I got nervous that he would get too busy to thwart Beady-Eyes, so I pressed another young man into service as fake boyfriend #2. Once FB#1 got wind of this, he got a little jealous and feigned a bit of a hissy fit. All in good fun, but during this little drama, Beady-Eyes managed to get my attention and for some damn reason, talked me into chatting with his buddy on his cell phone. Apparently his friend didn't believe he was talking to a real, live girl!

Anyway, at a later point in the night, an older guy even offered to be FB#3 if I needed him. He was really nice, a mortgage broker. I told him he reminded me of my dad (don't know if that's what he wanted to hear, really, but I was drunk). But FB#1 had committed himself to the goal of getting rid of Beady-Eyes with a renewed zest, so at this point it wasn't really necessary..

Okay, time now to stop rambling and at least clean my room or something.

Tabasco is my friend

2005-12-13T13:21:00.000-05:00

If I concentrate hard enough, I can vaguely remember the days when my nose was not stuffed up and I could taste things.. as I recall, we had this word for it, "flavor."

Winter blows. But my nose will not.

Bored? Not as much as me!

2005-11-28T21:37:00.000-05:00

Hello, my name is Devashan, and I have a problem..

I keep getting sucked into cheesy holiday-themed Lifetime movies. Seriously. I mean, part of it has to do with the fact that I'm stuck in Bangor, Maine and it's dreary outside and much too cold for my delicate nature (stop laughing!), but still.

I watched a movie today called Ebbie. It was a modern-day adaptation of A Christmas Carol with Susan Lucci as the title character, Ebbie Scrooge. Yeah, I'm serious. Susan. Lucci. And I watched the whole thing. Yup. My favorite parts were the lovely ironic moments in which the other characters called her "Mrs. Scrooge" with hateful smirks on their faces.

I also watched a movie whose title I unfortunately missed, as well as perhaps the first twenty minutes, but it was about some guy who was in an accident and lost his memory, basic motor skills, social graces, etc. and had to be re-trained by his long-suffering wife and three daughters. I almost cried, so then I had to distract myself by playing spider solitaire and calling my friend Molly.

Okay, I just saw a commercial for that dumb liquor that no one drinks, Disaronno, I think it's spelled? And I swear I just heard them refer to its "warm and sexual taste." Please God, tell me they said "sensual," not "sexual," because otherwise I think I might be nauseated. Actually, I still am, either way.

Happy @%&*$ holidays!

2005-11-22T20:07:00.000-05:00

I bought myself a really cute new coat this afternoon, an off-white, stylish, momentary antidote to the winter blahs. It's so cute. I love it. I shouldn't have, but it wasn't that expensive..

Anyway, I was getting into my car (and safely out of view of the store, because for some reason I not only thing everyone's watching me, but they're interested in what I'm doing) when I decided to go ahead and put it on. It was almost six, and dark. Cold. Miserable. (Can you tell I'm more of a spring/summer person?) So I was standing in the half-empty parking lot, removing my sweater and leaning into my car to remove my new lovely coat from the bag, etc. when I realized a car was inching towards me on my right. I glance over (noting at least four empty spots in the very near vicinity, and some actually closer to the shops), and this incredibly bitchy and impatient looking woman was obviously intent on easing into the spot to the left of my car, but was flummoxed by my standing there rooting around in my car with the driver's door open. Okay, I have a fucking Corolla. Even with all the doors open, it still fits within the white lines. She was driving some huge, gas-guzzling piece of crap SUV and glaring at me.

But my automatic instinct was to be nice (damn. need to work on that.) and so I sort of squished myself against the car, pulled the door in, and gave her a dorky apologetic smile. Her responding look was exasperation with a healthy dose of pure contempt, and maybe just a drop of "I'd like to run you over now and smile maniacally as your internal organs explode within you."

Before I even the damn coat on, she was parked and marching as hatefully as one can toward the shopping center. Bitch.

Would it kill some people to be pleasant? I mean, as evil as I am in my own head, I think I do a pretty good job of pushing it down and faking nice with everyone.

And now that I've shared this obnoxious moment with you all, I can let go and re-attain my inner peace. Om.

Plavix

2005-11-17T20:47:00.000-05:00

Has anyone else out there seen these commercials for Plavix, some kind of medication that's supposed to lessen the chance of getting a blood clot, or something?

I mention it because it irks me, this commercial. I swear it was written by someone whose first language wasn't English, because it's just a little off. What am I talking about?

Okay. It starts out with some kind of dumb mock testimonial, and I've seen two versions.. One refers to "Bob" and one "Carol." Now, the one with "Carol" is perhaps more amusing because the two variations essentially follow the same script except for different gender pronouns.

Anyway, it goes something like, "At 5'9", Carol is a formidable woman. But she was no match for something smaller than a pencil point. That something was a clot." At this point it goes on to extoll the benefits of Plavix, blabbity-blah, and at the end, once again, the voiceover warns: "No matter how formidable you are, YOU, too, are no match for a dangerous clot!"

For some reason the word clot is really starting to gross me out. I've never heard a blood clot just referred to as a clot, and goddamnit, that commercial bothers me. I kinda wish they still wouldn't let drug companies advertise on TV. All it does is make everyone borderline hypochondriacs. Plus the commercials are annoying.

Good times.

2005-11-17T20:45:00.000-05:00

So lately, other than getting a lovely manicure and pedicure and attacking the pile of debris that seems to perpetually overtake my mail basket, I've been playing this game. Try it. It's good for the ol' winter blues.

Listening to the CD's just ain't the same

2005-11-14T17:21:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine with whom I frequently play pool told me yesterday that the title of my future autobiography ought to be I Scratched on the Eight Ball. Heh. heh. Very witty, C. Thanks a bunch.

More appropriate, I think, would be, I Almost Got to See This Kick-ass Show, BUT.. because that seems to be a recurring theme in my life lately. I swear those crew scheduling SOB's down at HQ are plotting this just to try to break me.

Earlier this summer, I was in Limerick, Ireland, the day Juliette Lewis' band, Juliette & the Licks, played at a bar within walking distance of my hotel, but had to catch a flight out of there that night. Now, I've heard they suck, but who cares? I love her in movies (esp. Kalifornia) and it'd still have been cool to say I was there.

Later in the summer, I was in San Diego one day when I learned that the Violent Femmes would be playing a free(!) show there that night, several hours after I was scheduled to depart. O, how bitter am I?

And most recently, I was getting ready to head out of Seattle when I heard Bright Eyes (a band I personally love) was going to be playing there that night. This time, I actually could've stayed as my official work was over, but it would've cost me a few hundred bucks to get myself home, stay an extra night, etc. and, admittedly, I couldn't be bothered. Damnit.

Now, I'm all geared up for another disappointment, 'cause two of my friends' bands are both playing in the same venue, the same night, here in Charleston.. It's Best of All Breathing and Action City Blackout, Dec. 3rd, at the Village Tavern in Mt. Pleasant, if you're curious. Anyway, I won't know my schedule for December for a couple more weeks but I'm trying not to get my hopes up, here.

ABC Execs, read this!

2005-11-14T10:48:00.000-05:00

Wow, Desperate Housewives really sucks this season. What the hell is going on? The writers are spinning in this sad, mad circles trying (desperately) to hold on to our attention, and it's obvious! There has been absolutely no character development this season, save for one moment of Gabrielle's character going, "Gee, it might not be so bad to be pregnant and married after all!" after a reunion with her shallow model friends. Nope, there's only been more stupid stunts designed to shock us all, which we've all seen coming from, like, whatever main drag it is that leads to Wisteria Lane. I hate it when this happens to shows - they're so consumed with and boggled by their success with the first season, they resort to running pitiful laps around their old plotlines. bleehh.

Grey's Anatomy is a pretty decent show with several characters I enjoy, two of them NOT being the hot doctor and his wife who can't even scrounge up enough chemistry to have a realistic fight, this being all the more noticeable as each episode is sprinkled with scenes of hot doctor and Meredith repeatedly accidentally sharing the same elevator and reacting alternately with smoldering glances and martyred silences. What is wrong with TV shows that they can't ever let the two most prominent characters share a successful romance anymore? It's always back-and-forth, torture the audience.. and then MAYBE they get together at the last possible moment, in the last episode as the credits are beginning to slide across their bodies, a la Friends' Ross and Rachel. Wtf? That kind of shallow victory of romance over, um, no romance is not at all satisfying to audiences. We want to watch the hot people swooning all over each other and frolicking through flower-speckled fields, cause all we're planning on doing is getting up in a few minutes to take our leftovers out of the microwave and then maybe pick some cat hairs off our sweatpants. It's about vicarious living! So don't give us characters with too miserable of lives - we like to know they're capable of misery, but at the end of the day the whole point is to escape our own misery.. Wow, that's deep. ..(sob)

Meanwhile, Lost is fucking amazing. I'm considering putting all of my loved ones on a timeframe in which they must watch it, or court being blackballed out of my inner circle. This show is perhaps the most original and thought-provoking series since Twin Peaks. I daresay my faith in the general public has been partially restored by the positive response Lost has generated. How do I love thee, Lost? Let's see. Most importantly, the characters are well-developed, thanks to the use of backstory through flashbacks, so we give a damn about them. There's romance, action, adventure, supernatural elements, heroes, anti-heroes, major subversion of what was a tired genre (Survivor, anyone?), philosophy (thanks, Locke), hotness (thank YOU, Sawyer!), humor (Hurley), and more all tied together by an overriding sense of foreboding and mystery. Ahh. My cup runneth over on Wednesday nights. Oh and, my favorite character is Sayid. Is that how you spell it? I've had people criticize me for favoring a former member of the Iraqui Republican Guard, blah blah blah, but this is fiction, so shut the fuck up. He's just a good character - a tortured soul, filled with wisdom, regret, hope..? I like him because he's capable of anything. He's lived his life to extremes before and now, on the island, it's no different. Whatever. I just don't want him killed off.

Oh yeah!

2005-11-12T17:49:00.000-05:00

And, by the way, I didn't make it home from work until the 9th and the bach. party was to be planned and take place by the 11th - so I really wasn't just being lazy about calling people back. Really.

Hi!

2005-11-12T17:31:00.000-05:00

Open Letter to everyone I have inexplicably not called recently:

Hello, loved ones, liked ones, and barely tolerated ones (I'll let you all sort that out.. haha). I realize that lately I've been incommunicado lately, and for that I have no excuse suitable!

Last night was my best friend's bachelorette party, and I guess I was just stressed out beforehand that I was responsible for everyone's fun.. Of course, I shouldn't have been. The bride is much more laid back about everything than she gives herself credit for. (She now refers to herself exclusively in third person as "Bridezilla.") But then the success of my efforts (i.e. party favors, champagne, cake, etc.) sort of threw me into a giddy euphoria in which much alcohol was imbibed.

So, all that culminated into a literal "falling down drunk" state for me, and a strange cell phone call interlude that I've pieced together since - an ex-boyfriend telling me he'd just broken up with his current girlfriend and me leaping to his defense, calling her a bitch, telling him that he was worth being loved by someone better, etc. etc. Which, luckily enough, would probably have been my (much more understated) reaction, had I been sober.

Oh well. So now I've spent the day battling a ferocious hangover and watching a Laguna Beach marathon. It's like cotton candy for the brain.

So anyway, guys, I swear I'll be better now that my major maid-of-honor event is out of the way. Esp. since I just bought some new jeans I think are nicely butt-flattering and would like to take them out.

Love,
Me

Daring to dream!

2005-11-03T22:51:00.000-05:00

7:50 p.m., Pacific Time.

ETD? 11:25 a.m. tomorrow morning.
Destination? Home, at last! Homeward bound, damnit, I finally am.

I'm getting a little antsy because technically they could call me in a few hours and go, "Ummm, err.. yes. This is your alert to let you know you've been extended!" Extended being a horribly dirty word to me at the moment.

My best friend's wedding is on the 19th so it would really be lovely to go home tomorrow and have ample time to help her iron out the final details and also plan the bachelorette party and everything. Plus it's crucial to spend some quality time with my cat before he disowns me.

Also, for those of you who have been following the scintillating saga of my questionable mole, I did get the results back and it was NOT malignant. Hoorah! (insert much fanfare here)

So once again, the birds are singing and things are lovely once again in the land of Airhostessia.

Enough already!

2005-10-27T05:16:00.000-04:00

I've just been reviewing my month's activities and realized I've spent more time in Kuwait than at home. That's it. I think I should be eligible to receive the government allowance that Kuwaitis get 'cause they're so damn rich here. I could give up bacon for that. Well, maybe not. I really like it, after all.

A friend of mine from Georgia bought me a Piggly Wiggly "Stickin' With the Pig" t-shirt and left it for me at the front desk here in Kuwait, which I was advised not to wear here because they despise pork. Man, they don't know what they're missing.

That being said, I'd like to add that I had a dream this morning in which I was living with some guy I was quite angry with for spilling macaroni and cheese all over the kitchen floor and not cleaning it up. The argument was getting heated, the b-word was getting flung in my direction and everything, and my dream boyfriend, Christian from Nip-Tuck was poised to intervene when my wake-up call came. Damnit, I thought. He's hot. I'll schlep through an ankle-deep river of cheese and noodles for that man any day.

Right now my schedule has me positioning home on the 29th, and I can only dare to dream I won't get extended and get to spend Halloween (my favorite day of the year) at home. Plus, it'd be nice to change out my suitcase because I brought a huge one this time and people have been making fun of me. Well, fuck them, I say. They're jealous of my fashion options. Keep your fingers crossed!

O, how slack am I...

2005-10-25T19:21:00.000-04:00

I feel guilty about not blogging lately. Sort of like when you play phone tag with someone for awhile and you don't utilize opportunities to call them back. But I only had six days off this month. There, that's my excuse. Plus I've been congested and plagued by hellacious sinus pressure for about a month now, which makes me grumpy and lazy. And I've been flying a lot - no long layovers, much time spent sleeping. The funny thing is, a lot of times before I go to sleep, I compose future blogs which are then promptly forgotten.

That being said, I'm excited because:

1. I will have lots of overtime pay this month, and I've been greedily constructing
pie charts of how said extra money will be spent once received.
2. I got the days off I need for next month, so my attendance at my best friend's
wedding is secure. Huge sigh of relief.

I'm stressed out because:

1. I had a mole biopsied and have to wait until I get back to the States to check my
voicemail (which may be as much as two weeks) to find out if it's malignant.
2. My skin is getting very dry as a result of so much flying.
3. I've also been too lazy to work out lately, for which much mental beration has
taken place.

My battery's almost dead so that must be all for now. Ciao.

I could live here!

2005-10-13T09:13:00.000-04:00

I've become infatuated with this adorable little town, New Bern, North Carolina. Remember reading the play Our Town, by Thornton Wilder, in oh, eighth grade or so? Granted, that story was based on a real-life New Hampshire town, but still.

New Bern was founded in 1710 and went on to illustrious service as North Carolina's colonial capital, evidently thanks to its strategic location at the confluence of the Neuse and Trent Rivers, some 35 miles from the Atlantic.

I wandered around town yesterday and was thoroughly charmed. I happened on a church whose yard was littered with pumpkins and frolicking children engaged in Halloween activities. If I'd had more time here, I'm sure I would have spent a fortune in the various antique shops sprinkled through town. My favorite was one called Orange Cat whose namesake kept following me around after I pet him. Another thing I noticed were fliers and banners everywhere announcing things like, Greek Festival. Shag Dancing Nite. Farmer's Market. New Bern Civic Theatre presents... etc.

My impression is that locals are really invested in civic participation, and I like that. I'd pick living here over a large city in a heartbeat, simply because in comparison to this, cities are so anonymous. In this setting, one could really impact a community. I guess I don't know really how to say it. Places like these just seem so safe, so pocketed away from the chaos of the world, so quietly firm and genuine in their values. I see locals here as earnest and caring about their community.. maybe I'm getting caught up in some romantic notion of what it's like here, without truly knowing, but..

I get to feeling so jaded travelling as much as I do. I've lived in four different countries and been to about twenty. I never considered myself less than cosmopolitan since birth, really, never thought of myself as a small-town person. Granted, maybe I couldn't live here. But maybe if I were loaded I'd keep a summer home.

Beware the deadly flesh-eating sand flea!

2005-10-09T20:55:00.000-04:00

So now that I'm safely ensconced back in the good old U.S. of A., I can share with you a disturbing rumor being gleefully spread by certain flight attendants who apparently crave more danger and excitement than life presently affords - that some of us have been attacked by flesh-eating sand fleas while sunbathing in Kuwait (the very activity, I might add, that I just spent the last week enjoying).

Apparently at least three of us have been mercilessly struck down by this sudden scourge. One poor soul, (and I swear to all that is holy that I am not the one making this up) has had the tip of his, um, manhood, er, ravaged and now must get his member circumcised (apparently for the first time). Again, not making this up. But I can't promise that it's not fiction. Another victim has had her entire body mottled by the pests, again according to the grapevine.

Alarming, isn't it? Or is it merely a cunning scheme to obtain workman's compensation for more mundane ailments? My guess is, for at least the first case, illicit sex leading to some really nasty case of V.D., coupled with a very imaginative cover story.

Things get so distorted; who can really say? But I have to admit, the speculations are endlessly amusing.

Make..it...STOOOOPPPP!!!!

2005-10-06T16:26:00.000-04:00

Okay. I know maybe it seems like I bitch a lot. Or something. But I'm really fucking sick of weird male chanting and singing accompanied by fast-tempoed tinkly, crappy music outside my goddamn window until 2 a.m. every night.

There is a so-called "Ramadan tent" situated smack in front of my window where whatever festivities that entails are based.

Maybe if it were somewhat normal music, without inexplicable crescendoes and long instrumental interludes (whose instruments I cannot for the life of me recognize) accompanied by wailing, spiritually driven men, then it would actually lull me to sleep.

Wtf? WHAT, please tell me, IS THERE TO FREAKING PARTY ABOUT UNTIL 2 A.M. IN A DRY COUNTRY? For the love of all that's holy. Shut. them. the. fuck. up.

Maybe I'm just an ignorant Western infidel, but whenever I learned about Ramadan in history it always seemed like a rather solemn affair. Fasting. Stringent rules. No activity during the daylight hours. Yet despite this, it's a free-for-all!

Also, there is someone who apparently has very dire and urgent business in the vicinity of my hotel room that requires rapid pacing, then stopping, more pacing, stopping, and repeating, in high heels on marble floors. (yeah, it's a pretty nice hotel...but still)

Why? Why? What? You're saying I took this job so I could immerse myself in other cultures for my own benefit and education? What's your point?

Look, whatever. I'm a lot bitchier when I don't sleep.

By the way.. I think (dare I hope?) that they stopped...!

2005-10-06T09:46:00.000-04:00

Can you tell which one's me? I'm the sexy one.

Ramadan makes me thirsty

2005-10-05T09:33:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I'm still in Kuwait and now the Muslim holy month of Ramadan has begun. This means I can't be seen in public eating, drinking, chewing gum, or smoking during the sunlight hours (officially, this means 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.). This includes drinking water at the hotel's gym, by the pool, or on the beach. Since these are the main activities left now that the whole city closes down during the day, I've been courting dehydration... luckily as long as we're in our rooms, we can do what we want, but that's kind of boring. We've been playing a lot of travel yahtzee. Thank God for room service, eh?

P.S...:(

2005-10-03T03:51:00.000-04:00

Oh yeah. Being stuck in Kuwait for a week means I'll miss my best friend's bridal shower.

I hate my company.

Middle Eastern detox

2005-10-03T03:32:00.000-04:00

Ahhhh. That is the sound of my relief at leaving the dismal isle of Ireland for sunny Kuwait. No offense to Ireland, but it's just hard for me to get motivated when constantly encircled by a blanket of mist (and mental haze, if you count the alcohol). Plus, their food sucks.

And now, for the next week, I will be in an enforced state of sobriety, which I'm sure at some point will prove irritating, but for the moment I'm embracing healthy living. I will be on a rotating schedule of sleeping, eating, working out, and sunning myself. How do people live without easy access to a body of water? I can see the Gulf of Arabia from my window. I think I need the water, its vastness precludes my becoming too wrapped up in my own little egocentric world.

I was observing some women in burkas over breakfast this morning and was pursuing what I'm sure will be an unpopular course of thought - that, in a sense, the burka is liberating in a way. Of course, I don't agree with women being forced to cover themselves, but knowing so many women (okay, pretty much every woman I know) with hang-ups about their bodies, elaborate methods of enhancing their bodies, concern hinging on obsession with their appearances in general, etc., wouldn't it be lovely if we didn't waste so much of our lives in the throes of this overriding, constant evil?

Okay, that was an interesting thought. Now I have to add that I like wearing the least amount of clothes possible (though not in an obscene way) in hot weather. It is imminently pleasurable to feel the sun shine on your skin, and the breeze cooling you. It must be damn hot in those things.

A chance?

2005-09-23T23:39:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, the universe throws an opportunity your way. Maybe it doesn't flatter you, make use of what you feel are your particular talents, but it lets you do something.

We've all run through a gamut of emotions since Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans - and sometimes the enormity of it just leaves us numb. Some of us, we do nothing because we can't bring ourselves to do everything - sell all worldly possessions and haul ass down there to do what we can with our own two hands. I mean, I donated my embarrassingly paltry amount through my company, who matched it, but.. I just felt guilty that I wasn't willing to do more. It wasn't enough.

But now I've been assigned by my company (and perhaps the universe at large?) to be a little more directly involved. In a couple days, I will be operating a flight out of Riverside, CA, to New Orleans to transport military personnel. Yeah, I'll still feel like if I were a true humanitarian, deeply enough immersed in my convictions, strong enough, fearless enough, I'd be one of them. So maybe it won't matter. We can't all be heroes, right?

But hell. I can at least make sure those that are have a decent flight.

I'm a slack bridesmaid.

2005-09-21T16:19:00.000-04:00

Thank God I'm not an event planner, cause I suck at this. I've already inspired the groom's two sisters to take the reins and plot out the bridal shower. I feel a little guilty about that, but what am I to do? It's hard to fit things like this in between gallavanting around the world. (cough)

But maybe, ultimately, it's a question of protocol. I'm the maid of honor, right? I'm 'handling' the bachelorette party (which includes a daytime spa portion). Granted, no real 'planning' has taken place, but the bare bones of the thing are there. Is the bridal shower supposed to be my responsibility too? Who can say?

Maybe if my family were affluent and I was born into a life of leisure, I'd know more about etiquette. (There's always a way to blame your parents.) Yes, and I would have been the quintessential debutante, replete with ruffly dresses and coming out parties and petit fours. Watercress sandwiches. Bon-bons. Parasols. Cats on leashes. Croquet. Flirtations with gardeners. Courtships. Antique pearls. A mysterious trunk in the attic..

But I digress! If anyone out there happens to have any suggestions so I don't turn out to be the most obnoxiously useless bridesmaid ever, I'd appreciate it.
(And don't say, "Don't get drunk at the reception." I'll be doing so regardless of social consequence.)

Because my life is boring.

2005-09-19T11:47:00.000-04:00

Despite widespread public opinion to the contrary, it's not interesting. So I've had nothing to say, lately, really. I mean, I had a houseguest for a couple days, a flight attendant friend from Georgia. It was fun. That's all, really.

It's times like these when I realize it's probably time to get back on the road and start feeling like a productive member of society. I mean, I never want to leave my friends, family, cat, car, etc. to go gallavanting off.. but then I do, cause I get bored not working for ten days in a row every month.

Plus, I tend to be a little healthier while I'm travelling. I eat better, exercise, and don't drink as much. While I'm home (and I swear every time that it'll be different this time) it's a fucking free-for-all. I watch stuff I've Tivo'ed, go to the beach, drink, play pool, drink, hang out with friends, do errands, drink.

I know, I'm such a bitch. But I swear, even hedonistic excess gets tiresome after awhile.

It's definitely not just us.

2005-09-13T17:02:00.000-04:00

It's men, too. Everyone thinks they're fat.

Me: Have you been working out?
Male friend: indeed
Male friend: why do you ask?
Male friend: :-*
Me: You seem to have finally lost all that baby fat.
Me: ;)
Male friend: hey FUCK YOU YOU BITCH
Male friend: I FUCKING HATE YOU AND HOPE YOU DIE!
Male friend: just kidding ... yeah, thanks
Me: Oh, stop it.
Me: Like you've ever had any fat.
Male friend: I do have a little bit around the belly button
Male friend: it's true
Male friend: it's true
Me: Oh, jesus.
Me: It's called skin.

One of the most troubling banes of my existence is the preoccupation of all my female friends with their weight. But, as the evidence above suggests, it's not just us. It's a goddamn epidemic.

It frightens me. When a friend says, "I ate three french fries, therefore, I will do cardio for an extra 12 and a half minutes, along with six extra stomach crunches," it frightens me. It would seem to me that after the starving of oneself I witness among my friends, one would no longer have the energy left to formulate these complex rewards/punishment systems.

Whatev, dude. I'm tired of all these skinny bitches in the media. Who wants to be bony, or have sex with someone who is? Not moi, my friends.

Uhhnnngghh.

2005-09-12T12:47:00.000-04:00

That's the precise term for how I feel right now. I'm watching Unsolved Mysteries and hibernating in my bed with the blinds closed. Why is jet lag such a bitch? Why, oh why is it such a rotting, one-eyed whore? And why do I continuously defy good sense and stay out drinking even when I'm really tired, until I get drunk enough that I no longer realize I'm tired? Yes, and why is it that my friends insist on buying me drinks to coerce me into staying once I've threatened to go home? Bastards.

That all being said, at least I don't have to go back to work for ten days. Plenty of time to revel in self-destructive behavior several times, then recover.

Karma's a bitch, and so are we.

2005-09-11T11:59:00.000-04:00

So that's our motto - us residents of the imaginary land of Airhostessia, which you pronounce, by the way, in a sort of ex-Soviet state accent, with a measure of disillusionment and bitterness thrown in. (Air-hose-TEZ-iya). Furthermore, our national anthem is the chilling refrain of "Raptus! Dominus!," properly sung high-pitched and drawn-out.

Have I, you may wonder, been dabbling in hallucinogenics? No, of course not! The FAA forbids! What is this about, then, you must want to know because you're continuing to read this?

Well, most workplaces are polarized to some extent or another, typically there are two opposing factions, i.e. management and workers. In restaurants, maybe, front-of-house and back-of-house. You get the gist.

In my line of work, the actual management is elusive and never-seen as it is extremely rare for us flight attendants to pass through headquarters or even phone there unless absolutely necessary. We prefer to communicate through e-mail. The less exposure the better, both sides seem to believe. So the focus, the group we define ourselves in opposition to, becomes the pilots.

Yes, those priggish, snotty bastards. And I say this with bemused warmth, I assure you. Those self-important, sense-of-entitlement-driven residents of our warring neighbor, Pilotia. (Puh-lo-shia).

It's an interesting relationship between the two lands, rich with conflicting emotions, affairs, drunkenness, disdain, ambivalence, resignment. We are both wary of and intrigued by each other. We both hate and love, fear and embrace.

Stay tuned for more news of the two lands. C'mon.. it'll be more interesting than real news.

Damnit!

2005-09-06T21:12:00.000-04:00

Bob and Alice are "working things out."

That sucks!

Purple marble elegantly

2005-09-04T15:17:00.000-04:00

After having witnessed and been amused by this for years now, I am finally compelled to comment on the Japanese' use of English in whimsical and nonsensical phrases. Apparently, I'm not the only one.

The above subject line I actually saw on a t-shirt yesterday, and maybe the most hilarious part of it all is we do the same thing. Who knows what the Chinese, Japanese, etc. characters could possibly mean on t-shirts, tattoos, and other various forms of display that have grown trendy in recent years?

I had a friend who wore some t-shirt with Chinese lettering on it to Disney World, and while she visited "China," she actually asked for a translation and was told the word emblazoned across her chest actually read something similar to "whore"!

Of course, knowledge and usage of English is much more common in Japan than vice versa, and the average Japanese tends to have a basic working knowledge of English, so it just always makes me wonder why some words get siphoned through. There's this "American" grocery store a few blocks away called "Mommy," for instance.

Oh well. I'm glad this strange disparity exists, as it provides endless amusement for us visitors to Japan. Happy kitty bicycle time!

More typhoon dodging

2005-09-03T05:02:00.000-04:00

We flew to Okinawa and back today, and for a little while there it was sketchy whether or not we'd get to leave once we got down there, as they're expecting a Category 5 typhoon to hit there by tomorrow. During our ground time, we went to the BX to pick up miscellaneous and sundry items (my list: Clinique Moisture On-Line and eyedrops) and the place was absolutely insane. Everyone had a sheen of sweat on their face and a gleam of madness in their eyes as they scrambled to get last-minute typhoon survival items. The Clinique counter wasn't exactly swamped, surprisingly enough.

We were the last flight out and it got hairy for a while as it dawned on us that we might get trapped there, and none of us had brought our luggage, as we hadn't checked out of our hotel on the mainland. We even had a Lord of the Flies moment when some of the flight crew got back to the plane late and almost caused a flight delay.

Hopefully Okinawa won't see the kind of destruction that New Orleans has lately endured... I've been through many a typhoon and hurricane, but as a local in prone areas, you become sort of a skeptic after you see so many threats that don't pan out. I guess that explains why so many New Orleans people didn't evacuate in time. My dad, who lives on the Florida panhandle never evacuates. He's got sort of a captain-goes-down-with-the-ship mentality, which, not being a homeowner myself, I can't personally fathom.

A girl I know was scoffing at why would anyone have thought coastal Louisiana was a good place to build a city, considering hurricane season, and snarkily remarked that that was "just lke the French." Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but it's been around for 300 years, non? And the last time it was hit was about forty years ago. It's not like it was built on quicksand, for Christ's sake! Maybe it's just me, I love France, loved living there, and get easily irritated when people decide to be scathingly original and bash the French. People, come on! It's been done!

free tacos, yay!

2005-09-01T07:50:00.000-04:00

We're always excited to be in Osan on Thursdays, which happens to be free taco night at the Officer's Club. Of course, we aren't officers, being non-military, but in a civilian sort of way, we kind of are.

Allow me to explain. As we are contracted by the military, we have Dept. of Defense ID cards that identify our rank as equivalent to level three officers. So it's sort of like we're Captains without having had the messy experiences of boot camp and any other training/etc. the real ones have to endure. Fun, huh? If only we were credible enough that we could go around forcing the enlisted men to do push-ups.

But as far as the tacos go, it's a shaky claim. The Korean ladies that run the bar attempted to foil us by hiding the plates (as we are not officially "members" of the club), but they underestimated the grit and temerity of us flight attendants. We conceived the brilliant plan of waiting until they were too busy to guard the plates, then lunged over the bar and snatched a stack, then proceeded to gorge ourselves on delicious tacos.

Yeah, I know it's sad. But when you're forced to eat out constantly, it gets a bit expensive, and one tends to go to previously unforeseeable lengths to secure a free dinner.

Seattle redneck fun

2005-08-30T05:00:00.000-04:00

What, didn't know there were redneck bars in Seattle?

Thought they were relegated to South Cackalacky?

Nope.

I hung out tonight at a bar called the Bullpen, within spittin' distance from the SeaTac airport.

But honestly, it was a blast. I drank some shots, smoked some Marlboro Reds (I had to bum) and sang some good old-fashioned karaoke.. "Proud Mary," the Tina Turner version, to be specific.

I ended up meeting this Hawaiian male stripper named Kai on his first date with a girl who'd met him at his place of employment on her birthday last weekend. The evening culminated with him breathily requesting to sleep with me after we danced together, while she glowered in the background. Whoops. He smelled great, though. Said it was Hugo Boss. He even indicated a threesome would be welcome when I mentioned I was sharing a hotel room with my friend Molly. It sounded like fun, esp. when he got into the kinky details of what he intended to do with me, but good sense prevailed and I let him go home with his sullen mistress.

All's well that end's well. He didn't let me escape without his phone number, however.

Doesn't anyone have anything to say?!?

2005-08-29T04:04:00.000-04:00

Okay, you people. I know someone reads this. Put a fucking comment on here once in awhile! When I start feeling like I'm talking to myself, I get all twitchy and people around me get scared.

oh, and by the way..

2005-08-28T15:51:00.000-04:00

News in the soap opera that is my household:

I tried to call Alice (my cuckolded roommate) in an attempt to learn the latest gossip / offer some moral support, but she didn't answer. However, her voicemail message went something like this: "Hi, this is Alice, I'm not here, leave me a message! Oh, and if this is Bob, don't bother!"

I'm proud of Alice. It sounds like she's doing well.

Whew!

2005-08-28T15:34:00.000-04:00

I just slept for sixteen hours. Yup. Such is the glamourous life of an international flight attendant. I'm in Santa Monica, I could be shopping, sunning, and stalking celebrities but instead I'm behaving like a narcoleptic stasibasiphobic (it's real! look it up).

I feel like freaking Rip van Winkle. Who knows what dire truths turning on the TV and watching CNN may bring? To what lamentable heights gas prices have risen? What dastardly plans hath our smirking President wrought? How little flesh is left on the bones of Lindsay Lohan?

So overwhelming, it just makes a person want..to..just....sleep...mm, of course...

..sleep...

Seriously, maybe *they* are drugging me. It wouldn't be the first time!