in conculsion

Not many people have had the opportunity, or if they have, actually taken it. I have seen the world and lived in the greatest city imaginable. I got out unscathed other than a few broken hearts and a whole lot of lessons.

25c

11 September 2009
I have overstayed my welcome here in New York City. When the day of the big move back to Portland arrived it was with much relief as I ached for missing the birth of my friend’s daughter, Labor Day bbqs, and friends in general. The previous two nights were in the company of my dear friends Carrie and Lauren. We laughed and enjoyed every second together including the open bar Merrill Lynch party we stumbled upon. There were tears at the good byes and a long walk home still didn’t ease the grief of leaving friends who have made my life bearable here. Breakfast plans were set with Beth at 0930 in order that I wouldn’t drink too much the evening prior, to get up before noon, to finish packing, and to get a hearty meal in. We met at Mogador and ended up talking business and exchanging gifts. It wasn’t as sad to say good-bye to her because I knew that we would be in loads of contact as the business starts and we are doing a dog/house swap come spring.
I walked home in the mist of the day that added a heavier heart to myself and those follow new yorkers whose mind was on the events eight years ago. I used my umbrella unlike a true Oregonian and arrived home around 1200. I promised myself to get everything packed and clean and into the shower by 1430. Things were going pretty well until I figured out the bag was not as big as it was in my mind and I was running out of room. How, why do I have so much crap? I found a box previously used for my destination raffle and packed it full of odds and ends. I rushed down to FedEx at 1400 and it started pouring down rain. After a 13-block walk, I combined my metro cards and hiked back. A quick shower and putting the last of my stuff in the allotted bags end up with: one large, stuffed duffle bag, my roller board, my backpack, two large purses, a whole foods bag, one pillow, and my Hampton’s sun hat. It took three trips to the elevator and then I realized that I was in desperate need of a cab. Trouble is that I didn’t live on a busy enough street, my bags can’t be drug around the block in one load, and it was pouring down rain. Cabs become gold when it is raining. I took my couple of bags around to Spring and prayed no one wanted to walk off with the remaining bags in the lobby. I stood in the rain hailing unlit cabs for 5 minutes before a town car came by. I explained my situation and got the price tag of $20. Done! We sat in traffic and my hopes of making the 1800 flight began to fade. I didn’t arrive to Port Authority until 1630. The ticket guy gave me a big hug goodbye and told me he would miss seeing me. Nicest thing that happened to me all afternoon. The bus driver was also a doll and helped me out with my luggage as we pulled up to terminal c at 1710. There was free cart available and the guy at the check in desk kindly checked my bags and luggage rack without an ounce of attitude. I walked through security quickly (thank you crew id) and made it to the gate 5 minutes before boarding. The cookies to the agent proved golden as I now sit on my own row. The cookies to the crew have allowed me whatever I need to be comfortable. Defiantly not the flight I took Monday, thank god! I rested for a bit prior to my turkey dog and ginger ale. In three hours I land and make my way home. Home to a bed that I can sleep in forever if I like. To my house with my bathroom, windows that open to fresh air, a neighborhood that makes life easy and manageable. I move home to friends, and new career. I move home with world experience, eyes and mind open, a New Yorker in attitude on reserve, and an Oregonian in kindness and consideration.

I leave NYC on the weekend of the VMA awards, the US Open and fashion week and for once, couldn’t give a damn less.

The journey is now complete and in Carries words, come full circle.

only in nyc on sullivan street

Allow me to set the scene: I had just gotten back from walking Carrie to the subway stop and opted for a tasti-d-lite before going home. I wanted to eat it outside and enjoy the remainder of the summer. I approached my building and sat on the curb leading to the door. There were a couple of tipsy guys next door being silly and I was paying them no mind. Suddenly one guy approached and asked if he could throw his Porsche keys at me again. What? He threw them towards me and I just looked him and then his other friend came and started talking to me as well. The key thrower was a black guy who claimed to be a social worker and then showed me the medal his was wearing from the honor society. The other guy who claimed to be his cousin was a Spanish man missing his front two teeth, wearing a cowboy hat and tight dress shirt. A first thought he seemed gay. They continued to talk to me much to my humor and then the Spanish guy lit up a bowl. All of a sudden the black guy with the medal started singing to me and the Spanish guy leaned over to point out that his fly was undone. A moment later someone came out of my building with a French bulldog and the dog just stopped cold and stared at the guy singing in an awful key. The owner immediately picked up the dog and walked away while I busted out laughing at the whole scene. As if on cue a couple walked in between us and gave the guy a strange look to which he replied that he was trying to get laid. The dog, now five feet away is still staring at the guy and the owner has to pick him up again. Now a businessman comes home to my building and isn’t fazed by any of this.

Still chuckling, I made my way into the building and bounded upstairs to get this all down. Man, I am going to miss New York!!!!

valium writing

I am about as miserable as a person could be on a plane. There are children all around me screaming and one directly behind hitting my seat every so often. What makes this situation worse that there are seat available in first and for some unknown reason I, the only non-rev was not upgraded. It is a Houston crew; I could tell the minute they showed up at the gate that even after I gave them gummy bears won’t even acknowledge me. I opted to take a Valium miraculously hidden in my bag to knock myself out. It hasn’t worked and I break out in tears every so often as I have yet to deal with the week that is ever so slowly coming to an end.
It is my fault that I am currently entrapped in this misery. I am the one who took charge when I thought the call was up to me about staying a few more weeks in New York. After mulling it over with the pregnant one who my September revolved around and deciding that it would be safe to stay without missing the big day and that way I could go on holiday and make a few bucks while I readied the business. It all made sense at the time, but now I realize that I was supposed to go home prior. I should have taken the trip to Greece by myself because I didn’t even end up going to Greece; we diverted our plans to Lisbon instead. I had already gone there on holiday but wanted so much to take advantage of having someone who actually wanted to travel with me that I said ok, 13 hours prior to the flight departing when the suggestion was offered up. I had a good time, yes but it wasn’t the greatest holiday ever, it wasn’t the one I needed to bookend my journey.
Since everything seemed in place with dates and occurrences, I volunteered myself to the dog walking business in NYC. It was a good time since Beth was on vacation and I could not only get some more practice in before the big show of my own but also make some money.
I spent most of Saturday recovering from the week of “where are we staying tonight?” and happy to be in one place. I wasn’t sure I was going to have the focus for the business and surprised myself in my diligence to get things done.
Sunday I sat off for the LES to dog sit a bulldog named Beatrice. Carrie and I had made plans for the NY Sunday brunch that I had so desperately wanted for almost a year now. After walking the mile to find the apartment amongst the mass quantity of buildings in Stuy town, we met up for eggs Benedict and bloody marys. There was also a street fair/art exhibit going on in Tompkins Square that we took in. I brought Carrie back to the apartment so she could meet Bea and go on a walk with us. The owners left me a note about a wagon that she rides around in. And for the next hour and a half we drug the dog around the neighborhood much to everyone’s (including our) delight. The rest of the evening was spent in a gorgeous apartment wondering if they were happy with their lives and how do I get to the point. I slept restlessly on the couch waking to her every move just in case she needed anything.
Morning walks filled my agenda as well as much needed coffee. I was and still am in a foul mood and did everything in my playbook to shake it; nothing worked. Ended up going home between dogs to pack up another bag and go through the remainder of my stuff. I long desperately that this could be the last flight home instead of me coming back for a 20-hour period in which I hope Stella is born. To add to the pressure of walking the dog at 530, returning keys a mile away, and making it to the bus stop all within 30 minutes I also need to find a way home tomorrow so I can continue walking the dogs as promised to Beth. I ended up calling a car service since my half-mile walk from the subway to apartment with bags almost broke me earlier. Love how you can buy anything you need in NY…gonna miss that. What I am not going to miss is how freakin long it takes to get something accomplished and how when there is a time frame, complications surely appear.
The good thing about these extra two weeks is that I have my business in line. The website is done, the cards and note pads are designed and ordered and I am mentally ready to take on the dogs. And I am so ready to have my space back…the weekend cannot come fast enough!!

portugal holiday

will write soon....

first class..that's a joke today

So here I sit on the jump seat, waiting patiently for the next 2 hours and 45 minutes to be complete…okay, maybe not so patient. It is the last leg, the final time I will sit as a working crewmember.
Even after my thirty minute snooze in the pit, I am still tired but able to function a bit more than this morning. It was a long morning to say the least with emotions and nerves on edge. I awoke almost six hours prior to wake up and could not go back to sleep. Around 0330 I gave into it and just got up and worked on my new adventure. Eight hours of sleep in the last two days has put me on edge to say the least. Since I am working my favorite position a coffee and a little something in my stomach usually put me right back on course no matter how much sleep preceded my day. Today not so much. The passengers are exhausting; they are majority upgrades and people who you can tell they have never flown first class. Let’s review…
1A upgrade who is very kind and clueless so will accept anything I offer. thought about saying, “dirty cookie off the floor and milk?” she would have taken it.
1F Carol, she is well trained, no issues there
2AB the woman is my least favorite and you can tell they have never been up here before, she is asking me to take photos of them and asking for oj and champagne. As of right now, 2/3 through the flight they have had at least 15 different drinks. She wants this and then they want try this drink…no, that’s not what they wanted. When presenting the cheese and sundae cart, they told me they would have it later. Uhm, no this is now not at your leisure, we are not on a cruise ship. I go and pick up her glass of baileys on the rocks which when she ordered it she wanted irish cream in a glass. “on the rocks ma’am?” no with ice…I ask her if she would like another and instead of answering she just tapped her glass. “I don’t know what that means ma’am” another “another baileys’ on the rocks please?” yeah. Then she comes up and wants an irish coffee. We ask her repeatedly if she wants baileys and coffee or a real irish coffee with whiskey explaining to her that we don’t have Jameson. Chris goes through all this work to make one and she doesn’t like it. I am doing cookie service and she doesn’t allow her husband to have his own. I am sure they will piss me off some more in the next couple of hours and try eight more drinks.
2E He’s for sure a Texan. He knows what he wants and says please and thank you. Sold!
3A arrived late, brushed me off when I tried to take his order and when I returned to see if he was ready he told me it was 0900, no sir it is 0400. He fell asleep after take off and I went to close his window shades and he woke up and opened all three of them back up. He’s an idiot but he hasn’t asked for very much.
3B totally nice and kinda cute. Ordered an exec meal and then crashed out. Says please and thank you. You can tell he is a fist class person.
3D he is nice and a little needy but nothing compared to the rest.
3E is traveling with her non rev family and needs to have her snotty attitude beaten out of her.
4AB super nice girls, very polite nothing like the older sister
4DE very nice and polite non revs although any time one orders something, the other one wants the same. I feel like asking the guy if he’d like a blow job to see if the wife says “me too”

My cookie service which usually takes 3 minutes took around 15 with all the stupid questions, requests and demands. I present a tray of cookies and milk and say, “fresh baked cookies and milk?” what is it? WTF does it look like?
It is kind of relief because for a minute on the way over and a minute or two on the layover I thought about how much I would miss this. But today, and these people and my lack of being a “paris, first class, international” flight attendant reminds me that I am so over this. I am ready to begin a career with fresh air, non preservative food, non-nylon wearing, no talking back, happy to see me, no plane bloat, no more polyester, no more brushing my teeth with bottled water, no more thank you, have a nice, bye-byes. Bring on the dogs!


editors note: to add to the exhaustion of the flight was a dirty look from 2B during the buh-byes and then I had the pleasure of being dragged into secondary customs office and then through agriculture. Just an extra sigh of relief that this journey is now complete.

one last time

I am wide awake at 0149 when the wake up and van time are 0640/0740. I did the proper things of only taking an 3 hour nap on arrival, walking around all day, and having dinner which a single cocktail. I did not however stay up until midnight as I usually try and do because my body screamed at me me to get some rest. Three hours and and then I had to use the bathroom, three hours and the mind went from dreaming about my last flight to mind spinning about it and then next couple of weeks.

Here in Manchester where I have log more time than past relationships, I experience what will most likely be my last layover. In eight hours I will be aboard my last flight as a flight attendant and even though I have longed for the day to be released from scheduling control, I am sad. The first pang of it hit my yesterday when Carol and I were doing the only the thing a straight girl could do here, shop. We found fun dress up for adult shops in the mall and I was wandering around trying to put together my Halloween costume since I always like things to be original. The hurry up and figure it out because you are never going to be back here and life isn't going to be "I'll look for it on a layover in England" ever again. My next year's costume will come from a domestic shop and most likely only one from Portland.
I have been advised to actually feel what is transpiring instead of sharing it with the world. It is advice that struck me as odd when I first read it considering the source. How does this guy know me so well? I haven't allowed myself to shed more than a handful of tears at a given time about this next move. The tears have come with thoughts of finality and lost. Majority of the tears came at my going away party of which only a handful of people showed up to but was a success in mind as those people I care about most were there. It was after the attempt to bribe everyone in the bar out $5 and their guess of my next destination for charity that the band serenaded me with "leaving on a jet plane". I sat there in between the three guys and really listened to the song, watching Carrie and Lauren the tears began to flow as I realized that once again I am leaving great friends. I think this is why it took so long to make friends here because I didn't want to feel this awful pain again. It is why I hit self destruct with Joe, it is why I distanced myself from everyone. "Babe I hate to go".

Three have been bag under my eyes for weeks now and the weight keeps hanging on even though I tell myself it is just plane or humidity bloat. Carol made the comment that it will be nice when I get back into a gym routine, Although I don't think it was malicious, now I just look in the mirror with hope that once things get straighten out and are "normal" once more, I can be back to the happy shape.

For now it is back to the second bed to pray for silence of the brain even as Carol's snoring is the background for rest, and some sleep before I put on that uniform and first class smile one last time.

expectations

I would consider myself someone with very high expectations. I always play out scenarios in my head about everything, I usually want things to adhere to the play by plays in my head and they usually don't. I find myself disappointed more often than not. I would also say that I have gotten used to things not playing out perfectly so much so that when things do go smoothly or get done without a lot of hassle, I stop and wonder why.

Perfect example is the week which I have named I heart NY week. Instead of going on one last holiday I elected to stay in NYC and do those things I always wanted to do, or what I dub my nyc bucket list. First stop on my I heart NY week was the Hamptons thanks to the generosity of my friend Lindsey it only cost me a train ticket. We had a great time laying out and enjoying the world of the rich (viewing not living) and although it would have been nice to walk around the beach towns, it was a nice little journey. Friday I spent a wonderful lunch with Beth and worked on business plans over a couple glasses of wine before returning home for a quick cat nap and final shift at Brother Jimmys. I worked downstairs and it was not the usual run around with your head cut off shift, it was nice and mellow. On the walk home was the whole penis incident which completely ruined my mood for the evening.
Saturday it took everything I had to get out of the house to go to the library. Finally at four after 2 afternoon naps I made my way there and got my very own library card but found the gorgeous space a little overwhelm for the simple book check out. I then decided to take my cuteness to 230 Fifth for a drink on the rooftop. The view was amazing but the waitress completely ignored me so I got up and left. I ended up walking the rest of the way home and getting a burger for dinner instead. I spent the night in wishing someone would call and invite me to something fancy.
Sunday was lunch with Lance and instead of going out he wanted to throw me a farewell brunch party at his place. All of my girlfriends were busy so I went solo. I was the first to arrive and when Mousier asked me what I wanted to drink he was floored by my request for a bloody mary and then nixed the mimosa too. I ended up with oj and vodka while Lance went out to get burgers to grill. I only knew 2 people for the whole thing and finally felt I paid my dues and left around 7. I wanted eggs Benedict and bloody marys not burgers and wine. And even though it was the generous thought behind it, it made me realize that I wanted to come home. To attend parties where people didn't ask me who was this girl that was leaving. Parties where if my zipper broke on my dress someone would be smart enough to help me duct tape it together properly. I wound up in bed at 830 and happy to be alone.
The next day was Portland which was awesome because I had no expectations. The only expectation I have concerning the city is when I was going to get back to it. Mental planning had me coming back after my trip to Greece with the girls next week and then grown up time would begin. Now that plan has become murky as well since an extension of the apt swap is now on the table.
I have my buh bye party tonight and even though I am trying not to, I have a hope that it is successful and people have fun.

Just where exactly do expectations come from?

why it's important to be a new yorker

I finished what will most likely be my last shift at the old restaurant and in an effort to safe money and myself a headache in the morning I went home following my shift. It was a gorgeous evening so I opted to walk the 45 blocks home. I made my way through my favorite streets jamming to my ipod and taking in the night life and people that surrounded me. I was almost home and noticed a van coming out of Minetta Lane. It is a gorgeous tiny street and it it unusual to see cars on it. When I passed in front of it the man asked me if I knew where Christoper Street was. I explained to him the best way I knew how to get there only because I only walk around the area, my directions were a bit strange. He explained to me that he was just looking for a good bar. I told him to turn back around and go to Bleeker Street in the village. And then he asked me if I was going to a bar and I said, no that I was returning home from work at a bar. He asked me again about Christopher Street and I was giving him a size up to let him know it was the gay district and I looked down for the spilt second it took to see his penis. Staring right at me in some form fitting beer coosie like thing.
"All right, that's enough! I said with shock and disbelief about what I just saw and what I can't erase from my mind as we speak 20 minutes later. No more Oregon nice girl for the remainder of the time here it has to be the fuck-you New Yorker as I am not in the mood to see any more penis.

2?

So my well planned out month of working hit the brakes in a usual (for this year) fashion. After purposely picking up a trip to ensure I was good for another three day trip to come my way. Well, I spent all day yesterday with both phones in my audrey hepburn bag walking around in the incrediable heat of the city. I picked up things for my upcoming party and ended the day perfectly with dinner and drinks with my friend Carrie.
I had a feeling I would get airport alert today, and wall-la here, I am. I am sitting domestic airport alert and am currently not phased as I brought my computer occupying myself with design work. I have 45 minutes left and hope to just sit here with no destination so I can take off for the beach tomorrow.
I am always amazed to sit here and watch flight attendants during airport alert. Most likely there is crap tv on in the background and many of them are glued to it. Some nap when the mecca of chairs, one of the seven lazy boys, is obtained. Most watch things on their computers or talk loudly on their phones. And depending on the hour of the day, most sit around and talk gossip about the company and complain about anything and everything.
People of every age, race and religion gather here in the basement waiting for the bat phone to ring to send them away or that fantastic place called home.

depression war

Depression about leaving everything I have known or not known for the past three years is sneaking up on me. I take that back, it didn't take long for me to recognize what was happening. All my body wants to do is eat and sleep; I have had this happen before. There are days that it wins the battle and I sleep until the afternoon and then go straight to work. There are days when I win and I actually get out and do things. Today was half and half.
I was so tired after meeting the crew for dinner that my body refused to function and with the fear of getting sick, I allowed myself to go straight to bed. Well, when I woke up at 0100 to use the bathroom, it of course was all over until 0530 when I finally fell back to sleep. We didn't have crew rest on this flight so I was a long day. The commute home was hot and muggy and needless to say, I was not happy to have to walk 10 extra blocks in my uniform since my stop was closed on the C train. I took the coldest shower and then made the mistake of sitting down on my bed. Four hours later I made myself get up. I went to the computer and uploaded some photos and then glanced to the left. The western sky was a gorgeous pink and in the instant the old self took over and I grabbed my camera and ran out the door.
I spent the next five hours walking around the city. It was wonderful, the weather had finally given in to a slight breeze and the miles faded away with the hours.
I walked majority of the way home from 53rd on 5th Avenue and then moved over to 6th Ave. It was funny to walk by the old PATH stops where we used to come into the city when we lived in jersey. I smiled as I walked by the church from Halloween and the Starbucks and the papaya dog. I walked by the corner of 9th Street and remembered that is where mob boss used to pick me up for our dates. It was a silly memory but good one none the less. It was more of a full circle realization of how far I have come in three years.
My goal is to be myself as much as possible and to continue to soak up this incredible city that I have had the great fortune of calling my home.

lhr....3 to go

Much to my dismay I hadn't changed my availability choice to request to fly so I was forced into picking up a trip to ensure I flew instead of waiting around for scheduling. There were only two destinations in open time and I opted to pick up a position I liked instead of destination; the lesser of two evils I suppose. My least favorite trip is London, we all know that and now we stay out by the airport so you can't even walk around, there is nothing I was informed so I prepared for a day of rest and boredom.
Quick synapse of the flight. I adore the purser, we have flown trips together and he worked pretty much with me. The other aisle girls...I called them the dumb one and the smart one. It took me a couple hours to snap at the dumb one for all of her questions and lack of knowledge of first class service. The mid galley person who has the easiest job on the plane is supposed to assist us in the end with the extra carts. Well we up front, smoked them and ended up giving them our carts. I wasn't planning on this so I was not too happy to be doing her job as well.
Funny thing: during deplaning a lady asked me about her violin and where it was. I looked in the closet and didn't see anything and then asked her who she gave it to. "A girl with dark hair"...we all have dark hair. "well I didn't receive a claim ticket or anything" ma'am, this isn't a coat check.
We got to have some fun while waiting for the bus to pick us up from the plane by taking pictures in the 777 engine. The penance was paid by me because then the sleaze bag captain found it necessary to talk to me and tell my inappropriate stories for the 40 minute bus ride. Same captain that hooked up with some chick on the layover and then paraded her around when the crew met in the morning. I am sorry, this is not the 60's you are in your 60's for chrissakes!
The flight went by pretty fast on the way home because I was work, work, working in the galley. Glad to be doing so as London is upgrade/miles central and the passengers are usually....domestic like.


so the next two trips are out of my hands...two more to go, is kind of sad and then i have a trip where security takes my things to freshen up with during the flight with snotty attitudes and all I can think is...it's almost over.

high school posters

I used to have this poster in my room growing up, I am not sure when I first got it but I know that it was on my wall during my high school and a during the year I lived at home during college. I was a drama student and was in a phase of the mask. i loved them and even had to make one of my own face in drama class out of paper mache. The poster was of a hand removing a mask from a face, they were identical. The white hand had perfect red fingernails and the mask which it held was a gorgeous woman. Only her features where detailed, the eyes with long lashes, the ideal nose, the rosy high cheek bones, the lips were bright red and in the shape of a smile. The face which was being unveiled in the poster was ideal in the features except the eyes were sadder and the mouth was expressionless and there was a single tear gliding down the high cheek bone.

I received a note on my FB wall today:
Hey just looking through your photos finally you look beautiful and looks like you have a great group of friends!
It caught me off guard as I was mentally looking through my photos and I guess I do post all the good times and those good times are mostly with my friends. Travel aside, I don't go around taking photos of myself having dinner or just hanging out alone. I do project that life. I hear it all the time, "what an exciting life you lead". "sex in the city life" "you have so many friends" "you are constantly doing something" "you really know how to live". I completely agree with these outside views when I am motivated to get out of the apartment and take the world by the horns. What you don't see in my status updates, or photos or even in my stories sometimes is how freakin lonely I am. I keep myself busy in order not to think about it, and of course I am not lonely when I am with my true friends here which I can count on one hand. And granted there are those moments that I love being alone. I have begged to live alone for three years and at last, I do. I was laying in bed last night unable to sleep from the hours of 330 to 430 and thinking that I would like to be in my bed in Portland. I was thinking about who I could call and chat with and no one came to mind that would appreciate a call that late even with the time difference. I started and the ceiling and thought about what I would be doing if I was "home". Then it hit me, I would be doing the same exact thing. And that is when I fell asleep.

I know I am depressed about leaving, about making another life change. My body is telling me with tummy upset and a few zits. I want to sleep all the time and have arguments with my eyes to stay open and get out to do things. I think I have it all planned out but thinking about the details drives me mad, so I push then aside.

I have been dating this guy for a month or so. We have fun together and I had the upper hand, so much to the fact he was texting me that he thought about me and missed me. I guess that is all it took for the self destruct mode to set in unconsciously. I ruined the "relationship" last week by blatantly flirting with other boys while we were at the bar. We didn't come together, he came with a group of friends, and I with Carrie. I can use alcohol as the reason for my stupidity but it is not an excuse. And then I was upset when he left not even realizing what I did until the next day after the hangover left. I sent an apology but didn't hear back. I went out last night in hopes to see him. I only had beer and wanted so badly for him to walk through that door and forgive me. He never showed and I continued to kick myself for the rest of the evening. Granted I wasn't out for a long term thing, I just liked having someone around, someone who adored me.

So I will continue wear the mask of beauty and happiness. The three great finds at the thrift store this afternoon will help keep this mirage in place.

4430 t.a.b.…four

At first I logged onto the computer after the silence of the two phones laying next to me left me wondering what was up the shelve of scheduling. It was dark outside and coupled with the strange fact that I have been actually working this month as well as it being a Sunday told me there would be something awaiting me. My favorite airport arrest was assigned for 1730. I acknowledged the trip and then dicked around on Facebook, man that site is a time-suck! After milling about the empty apartment, eating lunch and reading a bit of the $5 Sunday Times, I logged back into the computer to find another message waiting for me, they had changed my schedule to FRA. I’ll take that in a heartbeat. So the series of good trips has continued.
Commuting to the airport is pretty easy these days, in fact I now do it my uniform as to save time at the airport and I know longer care about people staring at me wondering why I am not on an airplane. It has been a wee bit hot this summer so I was a little sweaty by the time the C train stopped at Port Authority. I check to see if the bus was there and with its absence, I ran over and grabbed a salad from the café. I walk past the 20 people waiting for the bus to give the key my ticket and he tells me to bring my bag up so I can be first on the bus. We discuss the Dominican parade and then the theory my hairdresser shared with me about the Dominican girls being the best at blowouts. He agrees and gives me the card to a barbershop he owns.
On to the bus where everyone looks at me as I board; I have the ipod in and sit at my seat for the 40-minute drive. Inevitably tons of people get off at terminal A and then get back on the bus after their mistake. Happens everyday; it’s comical when I have extra time, not so much when I am in a hurry. Today, luckily I am not in a hurry; in fact security line was wide open and waiting for me. I got to the crew room and checked in for my flight, printed my pairing and sat down with my salad. I chit chatted with some friends and killed the 20 minutes prior to my arrival at the gate.
Gate 128 had a gathering of the blue uniforms and still showed FRA, so I walked up to the gate and did the usual introductions. I was assigned to work in the back so I kept my ears open for the want of someone upfront who wanted to switch. Sure as shit, I got my first class aisle. Since this is a flight with speakers it was Hilda and I as the aisle people. I got the drinks for everyone and passed out papers as I was supposed to do and then picked up a bit of her slack. It became an ironic theme of the day since she thinks she wrote the book on service.
This is a rare-for-me flight in which we receive crew rest on the way over, so there is an automatic urgency to get the service done, as everyone is excited about break. I worked as efficiently as possible but had those 10 people who wanted to enjoy every course, conversation and drink possible. Fine by me as I realize how much they paid for their ticket and I like being in the aisle. I was a bit out of practice with the service has I have been in sewage for the past couple of trips plus this was a wide body and there was two us up there. I let Hilda set up as clearly she had her way of doing things, and that’s alright with me, just give me a heads up instead of yelling at me for putting a used glass in the glass rack which you don’t want used until later. So the service went on and only one person came up to help us finish, she ended up yelling at him, the guy born in NY with an attitude that I love. He gave it right back to her much to my unrestrained amusement. As I am on the cheese cart, I am getting looks from the mid galley to hurry up as they stuff their face with leftover food. I give a dirty look back as they are doing nothing to help me finish and I actually slowed down my pace a bit. Guess who was on break last.
The switch of breaks left me in the first class galley alone and up comes the other reserve to raid the leftover wine. We ended up chatting and he is a riot. He has/is leading an envied (at times) life to me; completely bumming through. Has been a ski lift operator and then spent his summer surfing, been around Europe on a $1000, writes for a magazine and general lives the hell of life on the least amount of money possible. He has an infectious laugh as well and I get a kick out of his stories, thus we decided to bum around on the layover together.
The flight ends after a read-my-mind-you should be over there not here breakfast service. I was happy to be on board the crew bus, ipod in heading for Mainz. We stay in this adorable German town about 40 minutes away from the airport. I have been here twice and wandered about both times taking in the German culture that I adore. We got our rooms and at first I felt like going straight out but after a shower, the tiredness hit so I took a three-hour nap. Let me tell ya, it is damn difficult to force your body to wake up and get out of bed after such a short time. Luckily my motivation was more stories from my new friend and meeting the crew for dinner.
We walked and chatted and matched wit around this quaint town. When I walked up to the desk to get a map just in case, the receptionist asked us if we wanted to see something special? Being that the Germans have quite the reputation for freaking behind close doors, the question caught me off guard momentary but then she happily circled the dome and the old part of town. So we walked and chatted and then came upon a slide. I ran up the hill happily and climbed up the fort like contraption that would never go over in the states due to its liability risk and slid down. We wrapped up our walk in time to meet the crew for beers in the lobby bar. Eight of us showed up for beer and dinner, which is a pretty good, turn out for a crew. The beers were 2 for 1 and we sat and drank and came up with business plans for fishermen out at sea. Great group of people so it was a pleasure to be out and even better when our nice captain picked up the bill.
We all went to dinner and the camaraderie continued over another glass of beer and schnitzel. We topped off the evening with spaghetti icce, a helping of vanilla gelato pushed through a play dough like noodle maker with strawberry topping and white chocolate shavings.
I came back to the room and forced myself to stay awake for an hour more hoping to sleep until wake up. I chose to do this by watching the only movie I recognized on the telly, Showgirls…still sinks even in German.
I awoke at 0630, almost two hours prior to wake up starving and having to go to the bathroom. So, an hour later my leftover jaggerschitznel is almost gone thanks to the coffee stirrer doubled as a fork and coffee is calling my name…right after my shower.

My favorite coffee place has recently closed so I found myself walking around a "block" looking for another cafe. Let me tell you, four inch heels and cobblestone don't get along well. It was warm so I was simply carrying my blazer over my arm as well as my purse. I walked up to a place that had a sandwich board with kaffe for one euro. I start to walk in a realize it is a bar...I hesitate and the woman outside looked at me. I asked her where I could get a coffee take away. She pointed to a bakery a few stores away. I walk there and size up the menu to make ordering as simple as possible. My quick summation shows me there is only one size. So like a good flight attendant, I order a kaffe with cream. The lady looks at me and says, "I don't speak English". What?! So I say kaffe and point to the machine. Big or small she ask. I said big and accompanied it with the hand motions. She charges me and places the cup with lid and stir stick at the end of the bar. I walk down and locate the milk and sugar a few steps away. Since there is a guy over there already, I only take my coffee as to not crowd him. I get my cream and a touch of sugar in and look back for my lid and that bastard took it. I didn't dare ask for another one, so I just carefully walked away with my coffee shooting darts into the back of the guy in front of me with a spill proof cup. As I exit, the coffee spills on my thumb and I silently curse in the direction of the man with my lid. From the right I hear this catty voice, "we are not impressed with you". I turn to realize some American woman is talking to me. I looked right and left and sure as shit, that comment was directed at me. I was so shocked no response came out but I continued to walk and think about running back and spilling my coffee on her. All I could think is that her husband might have been looking at me. What a bitch.

The van ride was around 40 minutes and found me listening to my ipod and all of getting excited when some one passed around gum. I was jones for a fried turkey sandwich last week and it must have been fate to be in Frankfurt airport because that is where they live. I talked it up to the crew so majority of us stopped in and got one. Through customs for the usual German stamp, my stupid passport reflects Germany more than any other place in the world, and then through security.
The plane had just arrived so we stood around the gate waiting and chatting. Once on board we did our safety checks and I was feeling much more in tune with the job and clicked away.
The flight was uneventful for us in the front, we had some non revs and people who clearly had never been in first class. It was good because they were scared to ask for any extras. That was the only good part because they acted like immobilises the rest of the time. Asking for ice, Ma'am this is Europe, they don't use ice. Looking around for the drink cart when I asked what the gentleman wanted to drink while presenting his warm nuts, "Sir there is no drink cart in First Class we have to be imaginative and think of our drink all by our self". And of course they all ate the ice cream sundaes and cookies. Not seasoned first class at all.

Apparently in the back some lady claimed the woman in front of her knocked her unconscious by leaning her seat back and then continued to yell and threaten the crew. We almost had to divert the plane until a phyciastrist sat with her. Story is a passenger nearby came to offer the flight attendants a sedative to give the crazy lady. Apparently she calmed down and was laughing at a movie an hour or so later. Koo-koo...

I was on third crew rest and passed out, I don't think I have ever slept that hard on a break previously. The lunch service was a breeze as usual and in no time we were in our jump seat for wheels down. Customs sent us to agriculture just for the hell of wasting our time. On the bus, blocked in, and home in an hour and a half. Nap time is calling my name,

6 to go...oslo

Carol was attempting to get on this flight but unfortunately it was sold out. I tend to block out flights, whether they be good or bad after clearing customs. This flight as with all my other Scandinavian flights was needy and dreadful with people wanting every beverage we had and then standing in our way to use the bathroom.
One of those flights that I was happy to realize the countdown is now in single digits.

5 to go. twilight zone

I knew that the phone was going to ring, I was feeling a bit hungover from the numerous tequila shots the evening prior so whenever I woke up, I checked the phone and then checked the computer. Finally around 1100, I acknowledge at trip to Brussels. I feel back asleep until 1430.
I had been to Brussels prior and flown with one of the crew members prior as well. The rest was needing to be refreshed a bit. It is a rarity that I see a 777 and had no idea where I was working. I looked at the a cheat sheet and much to my delight, I was up front. My friend was the galley unknown to her so we swapped.
I walked on the plane and went to stow my luggage at the 3R door when the captain walked toward me from the back. It is odd to see a pilot make it out of the pit, let alone walking around the interior of the aircraft. He asked me who I was and I introduced myself three times before he got the name right. Then he asked me what the extraction of my name was from. WHAT?! Dude, I am not in the mood. It is made up, I reply. And then he wants to know why. I told him he would have to speak to Carol about that one. A speaker comes on and immediately starts bitching about things, so I wrote her off in a second.
So, I am doing my equipment checks and chatting with Marci when the lead gets on the PA and announces it's family time, it's family time. Translation: it's time for a crew briefing. These usually take 5 minutes max between the captain and the purser. Well, 25 minutes later after being told to wear our hair up during service and that our captain will back us, and other things which I can't recall, oh, leave a note at the front desk of the hotel in case you die during the layover. I am looking around at everyone and they are just sitting there absorbing all of this.
Well, we start boarding and the speaker from before is being a total bitch to me. I completely ignored her to which her reply was to throw the galley curtain around like a child. Gratefully it was just the two of us in our little bubble during the service and I must have laid down the attitude as no flight attendants other than our one friend and the purser came to my galley for anything. My galley is usually the hang out.
Without going into every minute of the flight there, layover and flight home. I will just run down the crew. I truly felt I was in the middle of the twilight zone.
Captain: flown for years, loves to yap and isn't afraid to say what's on his mind, even if it is completely inappropriate. Ended up taking photos of the girls chest who went out to dinner. (mine included)
FO: cool guy, I looked to him to get my jokes
IRO: Kiwi, who I am sure has laid more women with his accent than Wilt Chamberlain. He gave me his business card and told me he liked the way I moved in my heals.
Purser: he is a story at the end
A zone galley: all this guy does is Brussels and he was so excited to have some people join him and listen to his stories. He was looking to pick up the scraps after dinner, if you know what I mean
Back galley girl: cute, sweet quiet. wore pearls on the flight and the layover. I looked at the FO and told him, I bet she is a freak behind closed doors. Got a couple cocktails in her and out it came. holy moly!
a girl in the back: cougar was her nickname. she was at least 50, saggy tits but still wanted to show then to people. she spent the layover trying to get laid by anyone. she just put it out there. she ended up with a date tonight with the IRO.
a guy in the back: didn't say a word the whole 48 hours and had a come over from hell

So the purser: apparently he thought Marci and I were talk show host because the shit that came out of that man's mouth...
here's highlights
he is 47 married to a 70 year old, that he talks about constantly
he was a go-go boy but retired at the age of 41, he traveled with this part time gig, he demonstrated a bit of the routine when he would be in a cage.
he told us that for his stripping job he bought Calvin Klein underwear, the ones with the pouch and then his wife would sew up the back to make them tighter
he met his wife at the golden corral ( like a family style buffet)
he used to work at walmart prior to stripping
he didn't have anything when he moved in with his wife (then 47) we asked if she was his sugar mama.
he would answer any question we would ask and I am not sure if he knew that we were laughing at him or just wanted to talk.
and talk he did, constantly. I was smart enough not to get cornered, but poor Marci heard things she will never forget.

Many times we looked at each other with the most amazed looks and then would usually bust into a fit of laughter at the twilight zone we were in the middle of. do-dodododo-do

400

For my 400th post I am going to look at all the things (that I can think of) that have changed since I have lived in NYC.
(about the city, there has been 399 other post about changes in me)

metro card was $1.75 now $2.25
NY post was .25 now .50
tribough bridge is now RFK bridge
bridge toll was $6 now $8
spitzer was governor now it's patterson
hilary was our senator, now some lady with kids
the crown has reopened on lady liberty
cigarettes are now $11/pack
4th of July fireworks on the hudson this year
old yankee stadium closed and new stadium opened
same for shae, now citi field or as we dub it tax payers field
mighty wall street crashed
the yankees missed the playoffs for the first time in 13 years (i was at the last game)
the oak room in the plaza hotel has reopened
TKTS now accepts credit cards
taxis now have tvs and accept credit cards
the law changed on how many times a person can run for mayor (2 to 3)
the NY Giants won the superbowl (greatest game ever, btw)

this will be edited as i remember more things or find all the notes that i constantly write to myself.

29 july

i have been corrected about my first flight as a crew member, it was in fact 29th of July. I completely forgot about base orientation.

I was sitting airport alert for the second day in a row when the phone rang for the girl in front of me. She pitched a fit about having to go to Zurich and even though I had plans for the evening, I told her I would go. No dice, it's first in, first out. The third hour of arrest was half way through and I begin planning out my dinner and what I would wear to a fundraiser that evening when the phone rang again. I jumped up to grab it because I was covering for a classmate of mine who went to get a donut and it was for me. I was instructed to go to the gate and replace a flight attendant who lost is id badge. So on I went to gate 72. The guy was a bit of a dick to me to say the least when I told him what I was instructed to do and told me he'd be back when he found his id. I told him he could come back but I wasn't getting off the plane. So I scrambled around the back galley as I never work back there and have no idea what to do and off we were to Barcelona.
So my favorite layover ever was repeated on the third anniversary of my first layover. Only this time it was different. My pilot friend, Jim was not on the flight. I couldn't drag myself out of be until 1700 to go sight seeing since my body is having none of this working all hours of the night business. Instead I took the metro down to the beach and walked and walked. I dipped my feet into the Mediterranean and thought about my journey and how it is coming to a close. Then I wandered through the streets snapping photos and enjoying the Spanish culture. I stopped to refer to my map and looked up to see the damn hard rock cafe that I walked in circles for on the last visit. Finally I was hungry so I hopped the metro back, changed clothes, grabbed my book and treated myself to dinner. I sat alone and had a fantastic meal but missed company.

I realized this: you can repeat a destination but never the experience. Live in the moment when it is happening, enjoy every second because it is fleeting.

7.25

I am not sure if it was exactly three years ago today that I was on my first trip as a flight attendant. I am at the age when things are becoming a little foggy. However I can tell you that it was eleven years ago today that I was hit and run by a car while riding my bike down to Fred Meyer and my scar on my knee and wrist remind me to be smarter about life decisions. I can also tell you that nine years ago today, Matt kissed me for the first time.

The past three years have felt like a different lifetime, and in some ways I guess that it has been. I am not sure where I was last year at this time, I know that I was busy working, busy enjoying life and balancing the three jobs and a boyfriend. I know that I was packing up my first apartment in the city and getting ready to move to BK. I know that I was happy last year at this time and the year prior as well. July is a good month for me and maybe, just maybe that accident happened so I could stop and reflect about a year past and have a smile at it's conclusion to this anniversary of something that may have injured me more. I am happy now even though there are a million questions coming at me about what I am going to do and where I am going to live. Right now I am living in the moment and stopping today to not only celebrate the change of life that is happening to Nichole but also the cross road of a change that will happen in me as well soon.

news

July 21 (Bloomberg) -- Continental Airlines Inc., the fourth-largest U.S. carrier, said it will trim 1,700 additional jobs and increase some fees after reporting a $213 million second-quarter loss as demand and fares declined.

The deficit of $1.72 a share widened from a loss of $5 million, or 5 cents, a year earlier, the Houston-based airline said today. Sales fell 23 percent to $3.13 billion.

The job cuts, which represent 3.9 percent of Continental’s workforce, reflect the pressure on the industry from the collapse of business travel in the recession and fare sales to fill planes. The reductions are on top of 1,200 eliminated positions the carrier has announced since May. Continental’s quarterly loss was its seventh in a row.

“We must take aggressive steps to increase revenue and reduce costs,” said Chief Executive Officer Larry Kellner, 50, who is stepping down and being succeeded on Jan. 1 by President and Chief Operating Officer Jeff Smisek.

The job reductions and fee changes will produce $100 million in annual benefits when fully implemented next year, Continental said. The carrier will add $5 to checked-bag fees for customers who do not prepay online and increase by $5 the cost to make a telephone reservation.

Severance Costs

Excluding $44 million in costs for severance, terminated contracts and a drop in value of Boeing Co. 737 jets that are being retired, Continental’s loss was $1.36 a share. On that basis, the loss was 1 cent more than the average forecast of 10 analyst estimates compiled by Bloomberg.

Continental asked 700 flight attendants last month to accept leaves beginning Sept. 1 as U.S. summer travel wanes. It eliminated about 500 reservations jobs when it shut a Florida call center last week. The carrier cut 3,000 jobs in 2008 as fuel prices rose to record highs.

Also releasing results today are UAL Corp., whose United Airlines is the third-biggest in the U.S., and fifth-largest Southwest Airlines Co. American Airlines parent AMR Corp. posted a second-quarter loss excluding one-time expenses of $319 million, or $1.14 a share, on July 15.

Combined losses excluding one-time costs at the eight biggest U.S. airlines may be $1.2 billion, according to Michael Linenberg, a Bank of America Corp. analyst in New York.

In June, Continental increased its target for shrinking seating capacity this year to 6 percent from 5 percent. The carrier has suffered from waning corporate-travel demand because it has about 50 percent of its seating capacity in international markets, the most among major U.S. carriers.

Flu Outbreak

An outbreak of the H1N1 virus, also known as swine flu, reduced revenue by about $50 million for Continental and its regional airline partners. Continental, with the most flights to Mexico of any U.S. airline, cut its seating capacity between the U.S. and Mexico in half during May as demand collapsed.

The airline’s yield, or average fare per mile, tumbled more than 18 percent in its main jet operations, led by a 24 percent drop on flights across the Atlantic. Revenue for each seat flown a mile, which reflects demand and fares, fell 17 percent, as miles flown by paying passengers dropped 5.7 percent.

Continental paid $762 million less for jet fuel than a year earlier as the price per gallon dropped 40 percent. Costs for each seat flown a mile, a measure of efficiency, fell 13 percent.

Second-quarter costs for pulling Boeing 737s out of service were related to Continental’s decision last year to park 73 mainline planes and an unspecified number of regional jets in 2008 and 2009 to lower operating costs.

Continental ended the quarter with $2.77 billion in unrestricted cash, cash equivalents and short-term investments.

Kellner’s plan to step down to start a private-investment firm was announced by Continental on July 16. He became CEO in December 2004.

To contact the reporter on this story: Mary Schlangenstein in Dallas at maryc.s@bloomberg.net

Last Updated: July 21, 2009 07:35 EDT




the question posed:

how are ya sister? how bout that big news today?!?! was looking at your profile and it sounds like you are so unhappy with the job - and i'm just curious to know as to why you are so unhappy with it?

my answer after thought:

hey gorgeous!! I am well, the good part about not working a lot is that i at least get to enjoy nyc all summer.
i thought about your question last night and have come up with this answer.
craig, you and i have different jobs. yes we are both cabin crew for the same airlines but i live my life in fear.
i fear that i won't be able to pay rent next month because i don't control my schedule.
i fear that if i do give in and make plans, that i will have to cancel them do to scheduling messing with me and i will have to break a commitment.
i fear that if i pick up a trip (with the only control i think i have) that it will be taken away for me.
i fear that i will miss the phone ring on a 24 hour call out and i will be in trouble with my supervisor.
i fear that my life is not my own.
i can handle all of this in the winter because i know it will happen but now, when we are supposed to be busy?
it is more of a mind suck than anything, and there is only so much that an intelligent adult can deal with.
i have come too far to quit, so i am riding out the wave for a reward to the almost year of not being busy.
i would love a furlough, if i don't receive a cola...i need a mental break from the fear.

mr preston

The feeling of being with a friend, the comfort was undesirable between us. We spoke for hours about everything and could have spoke for days longer. It was a give and take, a real adult conversation; we were not longer teacher and pupil, we were adults and friends.
I picked up a trip to Bristol because of the three choices of first class positions; I liked this city the best. Well, since I have never actually explored the city but had a great time visiting things surrounding the city. It dawned on me later that Bristol was close to Wales. I have been wanting to go to Wales for quite some time as it just next door to the oh, so familiar England and a part of my heritage stems from there. Another reason I longed to go and visit this country filled with myths and castles is due in part to my jr high teacher.
I had gone to a private school my seventh grade year and was placed in eight grade level since I was the only seventh grader enrolled. There was a click, as there tends to be in middle school, of five. Ken, Curtis, Rachel, Amy and myself. We wore Espirt and Guess and were represented by our favorite color of Skittles. We were inseparatable and adore each other thoroughly. Our teachers were as follows Mr. Wimmer who talk math, Dori who taught health and made us wear sand around for weeks on end, Scott our cool ass science teacher who liked to curse a lot, and finally our main teacher Mr. Preston.
I don’t remember what the first day was like meeting him because he was new to the church group prior to the school year. I do remember loving his accent and listening to him tell stories about Wales. When I look back now, I think he was planting the travel bug in me without my knowledge. It would take years for this bug to actually bite me. The first week he attempted to teach us English, we informed him that he was not suited to do so because he couldn’t even speak it properly. Thus yours truly got the role of the English teacher for the year.
We conjured up so many memories yesterday of things I remembered and then he would remember something. It was humorous to relive those moments that when in mind, only seemed like a few years ago. But alas, it has been twenty.
Cardiff in itself was a great little town. We enjoyed a pint while wandering through the food festival along the bay. We would stop and chat for a while and then move on. I found it necessary to take a ride on the slide and couldn’t convince Steve to be a kid with me. We took an open bus tour, ate some fish and chips and I tried mushy peas. They taste a lot better than they actually look. We went for a drive in the country, and I was not only able to meet his children and connect with his beautiful wife, but I was also taken to the castles of stories
It was such an amazing day, mostly for my soul. Some teachers really do make a life long impact on their students….

lack of concentration

The lack of writing hasn't been for lack of thought or story lately. It is due to the simple fact that I have become ADD lately.
I am living in this amazing space for the month of July and possibly August and I just want to soak up every moment possible here. I have the fortune of participating in a housing swap with a guy who lives in SoHo bordering the West Village. Both are incredible neighborhoods which I used to wander around prior and wonder what it would be like to live here. Now I am here. I have a smile on my face every moment when I walk out the door or when I am walking past incredible restaurants on my way back home. I am not sure how long I will get to live here so I am living each day as though it was my last here in NYC. I have turned down any sort of travel this month and even feel bad leaving for a trip for work. I walk around and wonder if anyone wants to give me there rent controlled apartment forever and if there is a market for dog walkers here in this neighborhood. All in all I feel very blessed and want the month to go in slow motion.
I am continuing my life as a minimalist as I am living out of a trunk and a small closet space. It doesn't even phase me and I am dressing better now that I walk out the door to a catwalk half the time. One of the most important lessons I have learned from this journey is the lack of necessity for so much crap. I only need my spirit and the rest of the stuff is just filler in life.
I have many more epiphanies but must find the notes on which I write these down. The are scattered through out my pocketbooks and in my phone. I have learned so much from living here and even though I haven't got the chance to really get it down and work through it, I live it everyday. And that is what is important.

all for hairless toes

I am glad Carol is here to witness the predicaments I get myself into as well as to bandage me up afterwards.
The hair on my toes was brought to my attention by Janene one summer afternoon while in flip flops. I just shrugged it off any figured everyone had it, so who gives a shit. I am lucky enough not to be one of those really hairy chicks, I have light blond hair everywhere but my head and...well back to the story.
I felt them rustling in the wind in Hawaii and then again in Panama. It is a weird feeling to feel the hairs on your toes moving in the wind. I didn't like it one bit. So when i got home I got out the veet. Problems solved for a month or so and then there were those bastards again and know they have gotten darker. I marched down to the Rite Aid below my building and picked up some wax. Should be easy enough as I have waxed my eye brows in the past and those of my then boyfriend. I saw Hilary waxing with ease as well so off I went. Much more effective and a lot less smellier than the veet. I choose to conquer this feat once more since summer is now here and since Carol is visiting, I thought it a great idea that she could pull the wax off as she would have a better angle on the subject.
I bounced into the darken kitchen and placed the jar in the microwave for the appropriate amount of time. I wanted to heat it quickly and return to my room as I was sure if idiot was home or not. I tore off a piece of paper towel and went to grab the wax by the edges. Well it shifted and poured onto my hands, the cutting board, counter and then gathered on the floor. I immediately began cursing silently and jumping up and down holding my fingers which are not only burned but also covered in wax that is cooling very fast. I ran my hands under cold water and then grabbed an ice cube. I tried it first on the mess than now lay before me in its entirety since I have thus switched on the light. I realize I am going to need help. I walk the five feet to my room and ask Carol if she can come and help me. She begins telling me a story about hot gluing her fingers together. And then moves onto another story. I interrupted and asked if she could continue with the story while she helped me with the mess. I have three fingers out at this point. We grab more ice and tons of paper towels. I open the drawer and grab the cheese cutter. We do stop and apply wax to my toes since it has cooled down and we still have an object to achieve. Carol takes over as I am surrendered helpless by the throbbing of my hands. "Please don't let Jase be home, please don't let Jase be home." After the mess is cleaned up and the cutting board is flipped over, she removes the wax. And then walks me in to apply snoopy band aids to the fingers who took the fall for the hairless toes.

moments in the apple this week

I has taken me two years to really get the stride of the city. I have hopstop as my backup but generally know how to get anywhere I need via the subway. Granted there are those times when I have my ipod too loud and I miss a stop or I am too tired to logically think about which way I am really going but those times were I have it under my belt give me a rush.

I am absolute love with New York City right now. It is summer and since I haven't been flying, I have actually been taking advantage of the city. Tuesday I made mad ass karma points with the universe by helping carry my twin mattress 10 blocks including the stairs of Morningside Park to its new owners apartment. What was funny about the whole thing is that he kept asking for breaks because he was getting tired. After I went to watch my friends play in a band as I normally do when I am free on Tuesday nights. I couldn't talk any of my ladies into going and thought that was a good thing in the end since I was just going to have one beer. I had airport arrest at o'dark forty five. Well, guess who didn't get home til 0330 and was still drunk on the bus ride in? I am so glad I wasn't sent anywhere and was able to sleep the whole four hours. The next evening I played softball on a semi-date on Roosevelt Island. I am super excited not only to get out and enjoy the evening but also to go somewhere new in Manhattan. Even more exciting was the tram ride back to the city, I felt like a little kid. The team won and then tested our luck at pub trivia. Great evening.
Last night some of my ladies and I got together to watch Shakespeare in the park. It was the reenactment of King Lear and the play was done on the run. Every few scenes we would chase the actors through Battery Park. Totally great experience! We stopped into some weird bar from the 80's for a couple Ladies night cocktails and then called it good.
Today, I got shit done including walking a dog. I also fed'exd some packages and took my camera up because I wanted to get some shots of Harlem. Unknown to me was the gathering of people in honor of Michael Jackson at the Apollo Theatre. I stood in amazement as they sang his songs in glorious harmony and chanted for a legend. This is what New York is all about, moments like these!

2f

He walked on first out of my 14 customers in first class, standing above his seat, I gave him time to get settled. After he got done combing his hair I finally approached and asked what he would like to drink.
"Whatta got?"
"We have a large selection of beverages, is there something you had in mind?"
"Champagne"
I turn back to prepare and deliver it to him and start greeting the rest of my passengers. He begins to wave at me.
"This thing has three prong holes and the headphones have two."
"I assure you sir, it works with two, the third is for your own personal headset."
I get the rest of my customers drinks and he summons me once more. He begins telling me about some pilots in the back and something about United Airlines. He is mumbling and my ear block do not make a good combination; my hangover is making my patience of trying to figure out what he is speaking of less.
Pressure is on to get things finished before the safety demo so I am taking orders from my passengers. I have six golfing guys who are an absolute riot but don't understand that I don't have time to chat with them right at the moment. All I need to know is your main course option and your salad dressing. We'll work everything else out in the air.
Well I get to 2F and he tells me he has a question. I take a seat next to him and ask what his question about the menu is.
"Glenlivet"
I stare blankly. "Sir, that is not a question."
"Glenlivet"
"Are you asking me if we have Glenlivet on board?"
"Yes"
"We do have it but it can't be served until we are in air, I will be asking what you want to drink when I begin the service."
"Is is 12 or 18 year"
"Sir I don't know, as soon as we are in the air, I will bring you the bottle."
"I want it with my mushroom soup"
"Sir, what meal would you like...."

While presenting the warm nuts, I bring the mini of scotch and asks if this is what he would like to drink. He examines the bottle and says yes. I ask if he would like it neat or on the rocks. He says without ice and I go to remove the bottle in order to pour it and present it back. He snatches the bottle, so I just brought him a glass.
The appetizers are presented and I have to describe each of them twice. He decides on the empanadia and soup. He is also three pieces of bread in by now. I am clearing dishes away to prepare for the salad course and he yells that he is not done with his soup because there is a sip left. It takes me a bit to figure out when he is finished with things, he puts them in the middle of his and the empty seat next to him. When I see he is finished with his scotch, I ask if he would like another one or perhaps a glass of wine. He asks what reds I have. I go through the list and tells me the "second one" and as I pour the Chote de Rhone he mumbles something about a wine tour in 1976. I nod and pour faster. When I go to refill it later he tells me that it is full bodied. Okay, wine expert.
Cheese was along the same line of him thinking I said Gouda instead of goat. And then he wanted to look at the port. I presented him the bottle and he begins telling me what kind of port Delta serves. Do you want some or not?
The ice cream cart is presented and by this time I have served everyone else in the cabin first and just come back to him. I explain what toppings we have. "No raspberries?" Did I say raspberries, um no!
He stay up the whole flight and held onto his linen for a good four hours. During breakfast service he looked perplexed but we got through it pretty quickly.
As I was giving back jackets and saying my goodbyes I told him to have a good day. He asks me where I live in Scotland. Sir I am from Oregon not Scotland.
The customers are disembarking and I am at the "bye-bye position". I am asked to come up front because the guy (who has been dubbed my boyfriend by the other idiot crew members) wants to talk to me. He starts mumbling and here is what I catch.
"Walla Walla, Pendelton, fur traders, Arkansas, shooting someone", and then he point to his nose and says something about a mustache and laughs hysterically.
I smile politely and after he exits, I ask everyone standing around me if they understood any of that. He also asked Paul from Houston if he was from Massachusetts and Ivan from Russia if he was Swedish.
I bet this loony bin is a multi-millionaire. But money doesn't buy sanity.

over it

It's official, I am over it. The job if you can call it that. I prefer to think of it as a burden on my time with flight benefits. I am in Edinburgh on a layover, the first I have had all month actually and although it is a million times better than airport alert, it is not my cup of Earl Grey Tea anymore.
I sat on the edge of my bed after picking up the trip just waiting for the phone to ring to tell me I was bumped off; to my great relief it did not. Then I got packed and made it to the bus stop for the hour ride wondering if I would get senior opted out of my position and have to work in the back. I shuddered at the thought. Then I wondered if I would like my crew especially the galley guy since we work so closely together. I wondered if the pilots were good looking and fun and if they were single. I ate my dinner on the bus since we hit traffic and it would be my only opportunity to eat prior to eleven at night. I wondered if the passengers would be nice, what the weather would be like in Scotland, and if I would be able to get back into the routine of flying.
Everyone was nice, nothing to write home about. And it kills me because you always have the same conversation with flight attendants. Where are you from? When did you get this trip? Where do you live? What did you do before this? Yadda, yadda, yadda. And you have to be polite because you are stuck on a plane with these people. I choose to read a book and let everyone else have the monotonous conversations, talk about nothing but flying, and tell rumors about the company. Why can't these people discuss world events or a piece of literature?
I struggled through the last hour of the flight prior to service as my eyelids demanded to close. Then we did the service and the attitudes of my passengers didn't change from dinner so I counted the minutes until I was in bed. The van ride was the same thing...chat, chat, chat. I put in my ipod to detour people from thinking I had interest in their gossip. I slept and slept until awoken by a friend on the late crew. I showered and met up with them and it was the same routine since I didn't know anyone but Shawn I had to answer the questions. Easier to do with a glass of wine in my hand. The tried to explain to me that reserve life is not that bad and one day I'll have my day in the sun. We went to dinner and then to listen to music; nothing exciting but it was nice to be out of the hotel room.
Now I have been up since 0430 GMT and have a long day ahead. I couldn't go back to sleep and it gets light here super early in the summer. So I have wondered around my room, repacked my luggage and thought about what time a coffee will be ideal to help me make it through the day.
I am taking a shower in a minute, putting on my uniform and shoes that I can't seem to get a funky smell out of, then meeting everyone downstairs to take a van to the airport. Once again I wonder if first class is full and if the passengers will be nice and I look forward to a time when I don't have to ask these questions.

shrink wrap love

I am renewing my love with shrink wrap once more. I first discovered my affection for it when I moved out of my favorite apartment on the UES. I wondering how to keep my scared bookshelf together for the move and one thought was saran wrap and when walking by Big John's Moving shrink wrap jumped out at me. There was once upon a time when I work at Fred Meyer that we would do random stuff to peoples cars while they were working. Once upon a time my car was moved around to the back of the building causing no less than panic on my end. Other times the jokes consisted of filling the car with Styrofoam peanuts and shrink wrapping a car completely. These were the carefree days of late high school and early college when I ran with a jackass crowd and clearly had a lot of time on my hands. I have a lot of time on my hands these days as well and the only jackass I run around with is myself.

The bookshelf in question is still with me and I love it not only for its practicality but also because of its story. Every piece of furniture in my loft in Portland has a story, so this piece will fit in nicely. I was coming home from work shortly after moving into the city and passed by some curbside give-a-ways. I took a shining to the shelf immediately and rushed home to put away my bag and come back to get it. I took it home and cleaning it up and started arranging my books on it immediately. Since books have replaced my fetish for shoes, my shelf has become valuable in their display. I am determined to get my free bookshelf back to Portland somehow. For now it is shrinkwraped up and awaiting the next journey.

I believed I was making progress with this whole packing up the New York life project and sadly had my bubble burst by Amy. She commented that I had a lot of crap. Really? I was taken back because she has know idea how much stuff I have already sent back. It was perfect motivation today to get more organized and really take inventory of what I had left. It was also great to actually get the set of keys and a date from Kenny, the guy whose place I am taking over for July.

I wonder if we become the opposite of our parents upbringing. I was in the process of packing and thinking how exhausting it is to keep packing up ones life and taking it somewhere else. I can almost say that I loathe the process and just want to stay put for a long while. When I was a kid, I longed to move to another house or another town because I thought it would be great to shake things up a bit. But alas, we stayed put at old 3030 Cannon for all the years I lived there. When I was in Nebraska to see where my dad grew up he mentioned something unknown to me, that he had moved several times as a kid. My immediate question was: is that why we never moved? To which the answer was an infatic yes. Carol also moved around a bunch as a kid as her father was in the Navy. It makes sense to me now why we stayed put. I, on the other hand, have moved 23 times in my life all after the age of 18.
Enough already!

rest please

I should be tired. It is midnight on a Friday night after a week of enjoying NY night life. My alarm is set for 0530 in order to pick Amy up at the bus stop, and I haven't sleep all that well this week unless you count those morning naps.
My mind has been beating up on myself this week due to circumstances beyond my control. I was given 3 airport alerts in four days with nothing coming from them other than $20/day wasted and the shortening of my journey to go postal on the place. The other two days, I sat around on call and finally asked for the last one off because my sanity was at an end.
I walked dogs instead and it was good.
I am with the dogs now, in fact. I am house/dog/cat sitting on the Lower East Side and so damn happy to be in another place and alone. I decided it was the perfect evening to sit around and watch a movie. The evenings of drinking and socializing have been fun but I always feel like I should have stayed home, not spent any money, and cured cancer or something instead. But if I do stay home and be a shut in to save money, blah, blah I feel like I am not taking advantage of living in the city. I am sure there is a happy medium, it is just not coming to me at the time in this strange place which is impeding my needed rest.
I am happy to have my friend in town to do tourist things with like walk the Brooklyn Bridge. I am also happy to have someone I trust fully around in my stomping ground. I adore my friends here but I feel like there is something lacking that I want to fit in so bad that I think too much about whether they like me or if I overstayed my welcome.
I know that I am just tired and I need to start taking care of myself. I need a routine, I need a life, I need to feel productive. Then, I hope to lay my head down and get some real rest for my soul.

fast track

It is coming up on three years that I have been away from what I consider home. On the 15th of June three years ago I began this journey. There have been numerous ups and downs, laughs and cries, celebrating and mourning, smiles and tears. All of this time was served with no real purpose in mind besides seeing the world. It seemed ideal to leave Portland when I did especially after the mortgage crisis hit. I craved the chance to fill up my passport with stamps, to be a part of the conversations of world travelers; to say, I have been there.
I know that I am near the end of this journey because I can't hack it any more. It's not that I haven't tried to survive, I have. I have fought battles that should have sent me running home to my parents house with my tail between my legs. I have won some of these battles and lost others by great defeat. But I am still standing. There were days when I was standing on top of the world and could retain this life forever. The majority of time has been spent wondering what the hell I was doing and when it would actually pay off. I thought this summer would be my payoff, a chance to actually know what I was doing when it came to my schedule at the airline. The economy has been the airline enemy, and thus my seniority has remain stagnate. There are no new hires and the senior mamas can't retire because they have lost their retirement in the recession. I remain still on reserve and will probably do so for the next few years. I can see how this job would be amazing once you had a line, once you could control your life and your schedule. But my fingers are slipping one by one from the bar of sanity with this job.
The inability to commit to offers from friends, dates, or events have now turned into not even being asked as I never know an answer. And if I do say yes, it is not definite until I actually at the activity. I have let down and disappointed friends and myself numerous time with no malice. It took me a while to figure it out and I thought I was just feeling sorry for myself because no one was asking me to do anything. They had given up I learned, and I can't blame them. Any relationship is hard with this job, even a friendship with a flight attendant who understands takes so much effort to retain. I had a couple of boyfriends while on this journey and if your a blog reader, you know what happened to those. I am a loner here, and that doesn't fit my personality. I need friends, I need parties to attend, events to be asked to. But I have also realized that I need to make more of an effort in getting out there and making sure people know I am available. There is a fine line with stocker however that needs to be considered.
Money is always an issue no matter where you live, how much or how little you have, it always causes anxiety. Simply put: New York is expensive. I have found ways to survive on dollars a day but still it's New York, every once and a while you need to enjoy it.
Something my therapist said many months ago when I could justify $90/hr to go just hit home. I am so glad I took my tips and went to see someone because I had so many underlying issues that I never thought about. Her words were kind, wise, and sometimes not what I wanted to hear but they are embedded in me. She explained to me that being a flight attendant and living in New York was not one thing, it was two lives being lived simultaneously. I could split them up at any time. I didn't get it forever and then it just clicked the other day. At first I attributed this genius to myself but remembered Mary had said that ages ago. I don't like my job. There is maybe 5% in the past couple of months that I have enjoyed. Obviously the layover. The getting to work, the checking in, the airport alert, the getting in trouble with the only supervisor that seems to care about things, the working and catering to passengers, the working with random people whom you hope to like and get along with, the being forced to stay awake when the body screams for sleep, the having to wake up in the middle of the night and putting a smile on your face even though coffee is no where in sight, the toil on the body in bloat and bad skin, the wondering, "where the hell will I be tomorrow". It's too much, it's too much to pay for the reward of getting a good trip every once in a great while.
New York and I are in love. We have a fantastic relationship but it is a relationship non the less. We get in arguments and I wondering how I got here and how long I will have to put up with it's shit but I love it through out. My living situations have not been the best since coming out here but that is not NYs fault. It's nobodies fault, it is just me trying to find an economic niche. A home away from my Portland home, my perfect loft. And that is the issue, I have never taken one foot out of Portland, I was on my tip toes when I had reliable renters but I have always had an anchor more than just my friends. The best months I spent in NY were those six months after Christina alone on the UWS. I wish so much that I was back there and that I had never left. I wish money didn't have to dictate where I lived. I thrived in NY then and periods afterwards but not to that extent. I know that I have moved around to try and regain footing in this city but nothing has worked and at the end of the day money takes me back home. I could sell my loft but it hurts my heart to think about giving up the proudest thing I have ever accomplished. If I sold the loft, I could stay in NY and yes, I have thought about it.
So it comes down to this: a home is anywhere you make it. I need a home, that is why I am wondering around the world searching for happiness. Guess what? Home is in my heart, it happiness, it contentment, it will never leave me and all I have to do is nurture it.
My life prior even though great was about stuff, shoes and clothes and where I lived and what events I went to. That is what I wanted when I moved here. I wanted to be popular and have the same relationships and go to parties and be somebody. It took me three years to figure out why I have served this time away from the comfort of the known.

It is to learn this: it is not about what I have, it is about who I am.

The idea seems simple enough but knowing this has opened up a new path for the rest of my time here. It allows me to collect the memories, the experiences, the lessons, the laughter, and take it all into the being that I have become. This growth is not just over the past three years but over the past thirty two, the past three have just been fast tracked into my soul.

24 days

I have spent the morning packing and attempting to organize the mess that is my room in Harlem. I have 24 more days to go and have been counting them for the past month. What lies in front of me is almost certain for July and a maybe for August. I have decided in order to keep my sanity I must just take it month by month.
Speaking of lack of sanity, I am assigned airport alert again tonight. It is late so I am not sure where or if I will be sent out. I did manage to get a good nights sleep for the first time in a week so I would be down for something new and fun. I did pack stuff to do if I get a boring one so the odds of being sent out since I am ready for anything will most likely be slim. Unprepared? Sure go here!
I am hoping for some quiet time either on the layover, at the airport to write. I have made the revelation. The reason why I have been on this journey came to me during my quick jont home. I want to explain it and analyze it and share it with the world.
I GET IT now!!
Now knowing my purpose will hopefully lay a path of intention in front of me.

shoe box

I am putting shoe boxes away and looking at all the stuff in my old closet that needs to be organized. I am wondering why I have so much shit. Where did this all come from? What I don't get is why it was so important to me in the past. I am looking in shoe boxes and seeing shoes I forgot I owned. I run my hands over coats and dresses wondering what prompted me to purchase them in the first place. I love fashion, I loved it more here than I do in New York. I have survived for three years without this stuff. Why do I need shoes in every color? I thought I had a lot of stuff in NY to bring back here but staring at the clothing store I have in front of me, my life is mininualistic in NY. I just proved I can survive 10 days with the contents of one small back pack.
It seems odd to me that this is what once defined me. And it saddens me that if this is all I am going to be when I return to Portland, then I don't want it.

return to roma

I think I was just asked my room number near the elevators to ensure I was not an early morning call girl.
I am dressed in my uniform sans jacket and just went out for a delightful cappuccino and an early morning walk around the hotel. Our plane is delayed by 20 minutes and I wish it were delayed by a whole day or more. I am in the Eternal City, one of my favorite of all time.
Once more I was the lucky recipient of an airport alert assignment and although it took two days in a row of warming the couch, I am so happy to be on this trip. This is what I live for, the brass ring which I only hold seldom but what keeps me coming back for more. All the elements were in place on this journey, a wide body plane, great crew (one crazy but that is normal), my favorite position in business first, crew that actually wanted to go out, combined with my favorite country in the world. If this is what I was able to do every time I packed for the airport, the decision to stay with this job would be a no brainer. But here is the thing: to “hold Rome” takes 20 years seniority. Really? I am going bonkers at 3 years with no line in sight.
Back to the silver lining. The group that gathered to wander around the most famous city in the world was two friends and a new girl who was sweet as could be. Our tour guide was a Columbian who thought he could talk his way around the city and we let him. He took us to every point on the cross in Angels and Demons and answered our pleas to go to the mouth of truth as well. Momentarily I was channeling Audrey as I suck my hand into the mouth and posed for a photo. It was so much fun to hang people to hang out with and of course not to have to beg strangers to take my photo. The only thing that would have made this journey better is a trip to the supermarket to load up on my favorite things but at last it is closed.
This I know for sure, I will always return to Italy, I have no doubt.

chicken fried, cold beer on a friday night..

My decision to call sick was not like a bill to pass Congress, it only took a little nudge. I had some trouble with my gums prior in the weekend and the thought of them getting worse with flying, the fact I was assigned to work a trip with the crazy flower lady, and the invite for a great weekend lay before me made the case for the late night phone call.
The next morning we met on St Marks for the upcoming journey. I was assigned to a cook off team and was asked to wear a redneck costume for the meeting of the van. Only having a few hours to come up with something, I gave myself a black eye and then taped a confederate flag made from crayon to my chest with the illusion of being pregnant.
It took a couple of hours to get out the city and we hit traffic along the way but the eight hours in ol' Gertie paved the way to a fantastic weekend with many laugh-out-loud moments. We met up with Mama Sue and Don Caesar and left the pavement. Country tunes provided the perfect background music for the ride to cabin. When first told of this Redneck Weekend and a cabin in the woods of West Virginia I was ready to rough it, sleep in a tent without showering for days. I was more than pleasantly surprised to find a house in the woods with all the modern convinces. I did elect to sleep on the porch swing for fresh air and to really feel like I was out in the woods.
The Friday team made us wear togas, take multiple jello shots, and eat burgers from the grill. Afterwards we sat out on the back porch and talked into the wee hours of the morning. Drew got on a roll with telling stories and the three who were left standing loved every minute of it. The next day we donned our "Redneck Ranch" tee shirts and went into town for supplies. We headed to the local WalMart and wandered about with local eyes attempting to read and understand our tee shirts. I took this opportunity to practice my southern drawl and attempted to talk to as many locals as possible. Meanwhile across the store Beth had to translate the questions posed by our French friend with his accent. (Mind you he speaks impeccable English).
Back to the cabin and down to the creek for a little sun and cooling off in the water. Miller Lite was never far from our reach.
The Saturday team brought the elegance of the city to our cabin with a gorgeous fish dinner and the theme of pineapple through out. After dinner we played a game and then JR got his guitar out and we sang along til four in the morning.
I chose to drink Jack along with the boys so my headache was not well received. Instead Kate and I went on a high for a couple of hours and provided each other with therapy. When we returned we all got together and headed down to the creek. A little more standing in the water prior to our attempt at kayaking.
The Sunday team (including yours truly) fixed a traditional southern dish called old country boil. We started our evening off with sampling of four different kinds of Boones and the appetizers of wheat thins and cheeze whiz. Since they threw a northern in the mix, I insisted on some greenery. I made my famous Fiji apple, Gorgonzola salad. It ended up to be redneck because I forgot to pick up the correct cheese and had to substitute some serious cheddar. The main dish, the perfect finish to the weekend was laid out on table of newspaper. The fresh boiled corn, shrimp, sausage, and red potatoes was one of the best things I have ever had. Of course the miller lite made it even better. Our dessert was apples in crescent rolls with butter and cinnamon with a mountain dew over it.
Our team won the cook off hands down and was presented with aprons for our efforts. The games of horse shoes, toilet lid toss, and pumpkin spitting were dominated by JR who received a beer can telephone.
Once again we stayed up talking until the wee hours of the morning before heading back to the big city. Our drive was broken up with a stop at Cracker Barrel where I chose the chicken fried chicken with mac and cheese, apple dressing, and green beans, along with my sweet tea and biscuits.
It was the perfect weekend with good friends, good food, and many memories. I am so blessed to have a been a redneck...at least for the long weekend.

old blog

I had a private blog once upon a time. A place for the output of my feelings without fear of being judged. I just read a few of my old post and thought I would share...


tuesday, april 25, 2006

ten year old haunt
Mistakes that follow you around for ten years are usually relationships haunts that people hold on to. I tend to forget about the relationship and the feelings and just remember the lesson I learned with that partner. Actually, it is difficult to even remember what it was like to be with my past interests. I won't call them loves, because I am unsure if I have ever truly experienced it. Sure I have had the crushes, the butterflies, the need-to-be-with-you-everydays, the care deeply for, but undying, this-is-it LOVE...not yet. Anyway back on track, my mistake was that of having a fake id, scratch that, it was getting caught with a fake id. I just returned from a private detectives office that could be in an old movie, up the dimlight stairwell into the office with beveled glass that bost of the name of the detective. I had to get fingerprinted in order to finish with the expungement process of hiding my nineteen year old mistake from all visible eyes but mine and that of my lawyer. Applying for an airline means that they do an FBI background check on you and you have to come clean about things in the past. And to add to the insult of this all, I have to plead for forgiveness from the Canadian government for my "crime" in order to gain entry. If someone would have pulled me aside at the bar, that fatefull night in 1996 and told me that I would be paying for my stupidity ten years later, I would have gladly went home and got an ice cream or done something I could legally do. All of this effort is due to me chasing after my dream of being a flight attendant (ie. seeing the world on a budget) and the break that came to me Friday afternoon, an interview in Chicago with the number one airline in the nation. I am doing everything in my power to nail this interview, I am ready to fly.

four day birmingham

I am such a foul mood, and I would love to shake it. It am going to attribute it to the rain and to the stupidity of the cashier at Marks and Spencer. Yes that will do.
I am on a four day trip, the second trip ever longer than the usual layover. I picked it up with hopes of a reunion with my jr high teacher in Wales and the chance to be away from the apartment and its oddness for a day longer. Much to my dismay my roommate was home Sunday morning playing dj music at noon. It got me out of bed and forced me out for a coffee and a walk around. When I returned there was a guy coming out of our bathroom. He approached me and asked if I was Jases roommate. Uhm, duh. Yes. He introduced himself but his name didn't stick as I looked into his bloodshot eyes. He swayed with the music booming out of the other bedroom as his arms rose every couple of eight counts. He blocked my way to my room and asked what I was doing. I told him that I just got a coffee and now I have to get ready for work. He was perplexed by the fact I had to work on a Sunday. I made the mistake of telling him I was a flight attendant. His blood shot eyes and large pupils grew even larger. He then asked me if he could see me later. No, I replied, I am leaving town. He then just asked me out directly. I quickly replied I had a boyfriend and he asked me if I was sure. What I am sure about at this point was the fact that my coffee was about to wind up on him if he kept blocking my path. I held my story in tack and then told him to get out of my way. After a long shower, I was putting on my make up and there was a knock at my door. Sidenote: my roommate and I are down to texting and emailing each other as forms of communication, I answer my door and there was strung-out asking me if I wanted to order food with them. I replied no thank you. Food? The drug I thought he was on wouldn't want to eat, pot maybe? I didn't smell anything in the house. I got the hell out of there lickity spilt.

The flight over was pleasant minus one passenger who try as I might to win her over to my "drop the attitude" club she won't budge. I don't really care for women in first class for this reason and others that are obvious. My galley guy was not only a Northwestern but anal as all get out. We got along fabulously. We met up along with some other crew members for dinner and a play at the Royal Shakespearean Theatre. It was Julius Caesar and done brilliantly.
I had planned to rent a car today and drive to Wales. I wanted to put another country under my belt and it would be fun to drive on the other side of the road. I awoke to rain and decided against the journey as my old teacher was actually stateside and I didn't have anyone to road trip with me. Instead I walked crossed the bridge into the small quaint, very expensive town. I wandered in and out stores and each time I emerged it was a different sky. When hunger set in, I decided to go to M&S for a quick, cheap sandwich. While at the register I asked where I could eat my lunch as most have a small cafe. The idiot cashier once getting my request understood conferences with three other people before returning a blank look to me. You would have thought I asked about the Queen's hangnail...that they may have known about. So I grabbed my lunch and sat on the steps of their delivery door and ate my salad as people walked by and stared and my toes got wet from the mist.
I gave up on my day out and went back into the market and stocked up on supplies for the rest of the day in. Hoping there is a good movie on but bought the dirt book about Madonna for two pounds just in case.

I am grateful not to be at home. Rain or no rain, this is much better than being hit on in a place I pay to rest my head.