the hospital

Her room is a stark white with glossy linoleum floors and harsh florescent lighting. It’s surprisingly a private room; the only sound is the luxurious Rufus Wainright from my laptop and intermittent cries for help from my mother.

“GOD HELP ME!” She yells every few seconds

They had to take her off medicine to prepare for surgery and she is now delirious with pain.

She tries to get move, scared and without any idea of what is happening to her. I run over and calm her down. She stops moving finds a place of peace. But then she repeats the painful action a few minutes later, forgetting what happened. That’s the problem with short term memory; you forget even horrendous pain from a broken hip. Why does this happen to her? Does she deserve to lose her mind and now her body that’s breaking down before me?

So that is my day, I try to process what happened to her. It sounds as if a new nurse got flustered and made a mistake. Unfortunately this mistake could cost my mother what limited mobility she already has and possibly her life, as this injury normally does to people in her condition. So should I cause the nurse to suffer from this mistake or do I let it go. I understand flustered, I’ve been there. But every time I hear my mom cry out my heart is broken. Correct or not, I want someone to pay for this pain.

Her breathing is labored. Now I know what labored breathing sounds like, She sucks in air sharply, taking all air that she can fit, aggressively in her lungs. She breaths out the hail of rocks and nails, coughing like the far off thunder echoing of a thousand hills. Each breath sounds like her last. And then is silent, breathless for what seems like minutes, hours even. This has caused me to stand next to her, placing my hand above her mouth checking for breath, while holding my own.

Asleep, her skin is perfect like alabaster without any wrinkles. Her hair is still a lush dark brown without any grey, even though she’s entering her mid sixties. If you saw her asleep you would have no idea the pain and psychosis trapped within her.

She was so full of fire, my mother when she was more stable. She was stubborn and angry at times, but loving at others. I remember waking up many a night, scared. No matter how late, or early in the morning she would sit with me and make me cheese and crackers or some other yummy snack and we would eat it together. Then she would hold me in her lap, stroking my hair and sing to me as I drifted back to sleep. Safe.

All alone, I sit here with her. Unsafe.

Listening now to John Vanderslice’s Trance Manuel soothing melody, I dream of better days. Of peanut butter sandwiches and chocolate milk, Christmas with the fire going and telling jokes, of dancing like a ballerina on the kitchen floor while my mom claps. I went from being a innocent kid to a angry teenage girl rebelling against a mother that came from a different generation, not just different from mine but so very different from even my friends parent’s generation. Graduating from high school in 58’ was different from 95’, she didn’t understand me either. I went from that to my early twenties with a mom that could barely even remember who I was. I wish I would have had a few years as a adult with my mom. Where we could have looked face to face as adults and I could have told her I understood. I could have said sorry. Our fights were so bitter.

I still think of myself to young to have to deal with a mom with Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s and now a broken hip. But now at almost 30 I would hope somewhere inside I would be stronger, used to it. Able to cope easier, I don’t know. There’s been too many times sitting in hospital rooms alone with my mom where I’ve been screaming inside.

I am screaming inside right now.

Screaming, alone and waiting.

I never feel lonelier, as a single girl than in the hospital. I can travel the globe alone and feel at peace, I can watch movies by myself and read contently in coffee shops. But hospitals I can’t do. When I think of myself as independent; times like these I wonder how much I’m fooling myself.

I broke down this morning. When I got the call, I broke in my cubical at work. I broke down again when telling the other manager, again when I went to tell Mo at her desk. Thank God she drove me for I would have wrecked for sure. I was broken so quickly. I went from talking to a customer with a smile on my face to cracking and breaking for all my co-workers to see.

My dad came thru for a few minutes to sign papers. Then alone again

I’m here for the long run. If you hear screaming, coming from room 425, it’s just me.

My supplies:

• 1 laptop
• 3 books
• A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
• Sister of My Heart
• Ten Little Indians
• Chili cheese Fritos
• 1 odwalla juice
• 3 movies
• Garden State
• Door In the Floor
• Arsenic and old lace
• Portable speakers and headphones.

the sea

Sometimes when I am all alone I can see clearly.

From where I sit today I look from a cliff high above the ocean. The beach stretches before me like a blank canvas. Like specks on the beach I see little people grouped together in pairs. They walk sometimes side by side, sometimes apart but always coming back together again. Farther down the beach I see the only speck that is alone. He (or short haired she) is literally walking between a rock and a hard place. On one side of him stands a giant rock, or boulder that sits halfway above the surface of the beach like a whale with his head crashing above the water. On the other side of him the ocean was crashing closer and closer following in the moon at tide. As the waves pound, trying to reach his feet he just stays. Just stands staring out past the sea like waiting for a reply. Before he is taken by the waves he looks up as though given the answer he was waiting for and sprints off. I watch him (and now I can see it really is a HIM) as he runs to his car, jumping in impatiently as if he needs to share to the world what the sea had said.

I know how he feels, for I have waited for the ocean to speak, and it has. Sometimes it says “I dare you to jump in and try to ride my waves!” but I know it’s just trying to drown me so I ignore it till it gets pissed off and starts talking to someone else.

Sometimes, however, I come and sit on driftwood by the sea pondering life, hard questions and the ocean speaks to me. The waves crashing calm my mind till I can hear freely. The answer becomes clearer with every breaker that reaches earth

Far away I see the rocks jut into the sea where a lighthouse rests at the far end. The sky is that color of muted grey today, the same color as the lighthouse so the only reason I know it is there is the faint outline and the light flashing at me. I count how long before the light comes back around. One-one thousand, Two- one thousand, Three-one thousand, and four, the light flashes back.

The thing about this lighthouse is that there’s at LEAST a couple thousand feet of rock beyond it and a space of water and another island of rock. I wonder if, hundreds of years ago, on a dark night. A ship was sailing northbound hugging the shore trying to stay away from a storm that was hovering just beyond the horizon. The captain was trying to navigate away from the rocks when he saw the lighthouse flashing lights every four seconds, to guide him,. He yelled back to his crew “We just made it mates, were clearing the lighthouse now!” As he turned back to his ship steering wheel thingy he saw in horror his ship crumble as it smashed upon the rocks. His last words as he sank below the freezing-cold-dark-northwest water was probably “Why didn’t they build that damn lighthouse closer to the tip?!?” as he reached for a plank of wood that was just out of his reach.

The sun is now coming down at a rapid rate and the sky is now the color of the ocean so it’s almost impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts. It looks like a bad fake background in a movie set. I wouldn’t believe it was real if I hadn’t walked the shore earlier.

Sometimes when I sit in hotels such as this, my mind wanders. I stay in hotels at least four nights a week, that’s a lot of wandering.

My rooms are always the same, no matter which hotel. But my wanderings are always different. Sometimes after watching too much cable TV I’ll just sit staring out the window and let my mind dance in daydreams and get lost for a while.

Good daydreams are hard to come by although a bad daydream is usually better than real life in some ways. I believe that sometimes, this is the door way of insanity. For when we would rather daydream than experience real life, we can come to a crossroads of sorts. To embrace the daydream life and reject reality. I wouldn’t be surprised if most would rather daydream. That is another subject for another day.

For tonight all there is the invisible sea. The darkness now is impervious and it overtakes my view. For now all I see is black, except the light that will pass by in four seconds. The sound though, never disappears. It is rhythmic and soothing, angry and sullen over and over again.

It is a constant. No matter what shore I stand on, no matter what country or state. The Ocean may be Pacific or Atlantic, Mediterranean or Nordic. I’ve found the one constant, although varying in intensity, is the crashing and lapping of the waves as it finds land. For there is always an ending to the sea. There is always land that it finds. And there is always some one standing on land looking over the sea’s vast expanse and wondering as it crashes to their feet, if it has answers for them. And it always does. It always does.

writing in my blog

This is my update for my blog.

It has been updated.

This is a new post.

New.

No one can say I haven't written in a month, because now I have written.

Perhaps it is not good, nor important, nor with substance of any kind. But it is here.

On my page.

That is indisputable.

No one can dispute that.

No one.

Dispute proof.

thank you.

Where's the Tin Man when you need him? Part 3

So where did we leave off?

Ok. I admit it’s been a little while…but here it goes part 3: (it’s a long one!)



After lunch I drove back to the little house I was staying in, I imagined Tornado's dropping out of the sky. Yelling "We've got cows!" as they fly by the windshield.

I parked on the dusty main street lined with brick buildings and Victorian homes. And looked at my little prairie house

I walked out into the middle of the wide, abandoned street. ‘Here I am’ I thought to myself. I slowly turned around and let the moment imprint in my brain like one of those forever snapshots. Closing my eyes I can see it like I’m back again. So not to seem like a complete idiot I walked over to the office for the Rexford Hotel to find a phone. For it was time to call my mother’s best friend.

Meanwhile MY friend was still sleeping. I guess I was meant to experience this alone.

Finding a phone was an adventure in and of itself. My cell phone definitely was in a land where it didn’t belong. When I found an office, which had a phone that I could use I found I could barely speak. Hearing the voice on the other end talking about my mother was almost too much. Janette, the best friend, was to meet me at the little prairie house after she dropped off lunch to her husband in the field (how cute is that!) and had her hair set at the beauty shop (again, adorable!). So I would go back and wait.

My friend, now awake, was making herself a peanut butter sandwich. I relayed my stories from the day. After commiserating with me about the night to come (crashing the local nightspot.) She retired to her room and I curled up in front of the air conditioner with my book to await Janette.

So wait I did. It must time to get a your “hair set” whatever that even is, because it was 3 hours before she showed up. It was the country after all things are slower there.

I wish I could relay her exact words but they ran together and followed the same theme. It was almost too much, all the stories and emotions. I just wanted to run but at the same time there was nowhere else I could be but there.

My mother, the same woman who never left my house, hated shopping, and avoided all social functions was being described as just the opposite.

She was known in the town as always having fabulous dresses, a detailed sense of style and a large circle of friends. She sang in with a quartet of girls and her range was so wide that she could sing any part. She laughed and danced. She had big dreams and plans that involved leaving this small town and experiencing the life outside.

When she was in nursing school with Janette in Denver. It was the early 60’s and they would go see Jazz shows (even Miles Davis), Watch Doris Day and Audrey Heyburn movies, Double Date and laugh all the time.

I don’t remember hearing my mom laugh very often.

Then Janette got married. My mother left nursing school soon after and joined her family in Montana where they had since moved. They lost touch for many years after that.

Janette recounted how just a few years ago she tracked down my mother’s number and gave her a call. The time period was after my mother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and was already quite confused. She said that at first when she called (not knowing that my mom was ill) my mom seemed very out of it. However, after a few minutes of Janette reminding her of the past my mom clicked into clarity and they had a two hour long talk reminiscing and laughing about old times.

There were two very different women that inhabited my mother’s body. I wish I had seen this side of her. I’m not sure why she hid within herself and the walls of our home while I grew up but at least I was able to see her now. Through her friend the loved her, looked up to her and never saw her at her lowest.

She also gave me two small paintings that my grandmother had painted and walked me back to the church next door. Inside she showed me the Mural that my Grandmother painted around the baptismal. It was a whimsical portrayal of the river Jordan (which my friend, who had been there, said it looked exactly like).

After she left I sat outside and let the whole conversation settle in.

Then came Tornado.

I'm melting! I'm melting! - Kansas Part 2

I sat on my flight attendant jump seat staring at the back of my passanger's heads and changed my mind about driving to Kansas at least 10 times. It was my last flight of my four day trip, and my last flight before picking up the rental car. Later, walking down the aisle while checking seatbelts I decided not to go.

After work, in the Denver airport, I changed out of my uniform. I grabbed dinner and waited for my flight home to Portland, Oregon.

While I waited the feeling that I was making a mistake, grew and grew as I watched families walking by. Finally, I jumped up and headed to the rental agency and hired my car.

I was on my way to the tiny little town of Rexford, Kansas.

A few hours and a couple truck stops later (including some lost turn a rounds) I was pulling up to the little Prairie House I was going to stay in.
It was cute and dark and I was tired. So I slept. (Great story so far, eh?)

First thing the next morning, I took a walk. To the school where my mom went, and my Grandfather was the superintendent of. Walking through the school I let my hand glaze over the aged wood banisters inside as I made my way into the main staircase into the hall (it is a 3 story school house built in the 1920’s). I looked over the trophies of the last 85 years and walked into to the auditorium/gym. I sat on a bench and thought about my mom.

Did she sit here and cheer at a basketball game? Did she sing on the stage with a choir? Was she popular, or quiet? Then getting up, because no matter how long I sat, I would not have any answers here, I walked to the lower level. On the wall I saw the graduating class pictures of the last 85 years. It was interesting because since it started the average class size was about 6 –15 people, sometimes less.

Looking through the early forties I saw the pictures of the first year my grandfather was the superintendent. He was young and his eyes twinkled like he was really happy. I made my way to 1952 when my uncle graduated; he looked as cocky as ever. I held my breath as I looked at 1958. There was a picture of my mom. Her hair was perfectly curled, she wore big button earrings, horn-rimmed glasses, and a VERY 1950’s dress. I couldn’t stop starring. She looked like a different person that I knew/know. I mean, the same face, younger of course, but different. Not knowing what to do with this feeling. I walked out and onto the main street.

The interesting thing about Kansas is the surprising beauty. I have always thought – coming from the mountains, near the ocean with rivers all around – that the prairie, dry flat land must be harsh and ugly. Just thinking about being surrounded by flat land as far as the eye could see, made me feel suffocated and nauseated. Standing on the main street in a small town, with flat land as far as the eye could see was beautiful. I can’t explain why but it was almost as awe inspiring as starring at Mt. Hood. I took in the view and then walked to the only church in the town, which my family went to.

When I walked in I noticed it was a perfect arts and crafts style church. I sat down and looked up at the stain glass windows that were beautiful and imagined my mom sitting in the middle of her family. Her older and younger brother on each side of each her, as her mother and father sat near them holding a hymnbook together. My mother wore her best dress. That’s where the daydream ended, because that is all I know.

I got up to leave, and saw a old guest book, I opened it up and it landed on a page in 1965. Glancing down at the page I saw my grandparents name signed in my grandmother’s handwriting.

Mr. and Mrs. Francis Gift.

They had moved to Montana in 1963, so they must have been visiting.

There was something about seeing her handwriting. She’s been gone now, since for 10 years – also passing from Alzheimer’s just a few years before my mother was diagnosed. Stumbling upon this felt like I was overhearing her talk knowing that she can’t speak. I almost dropped the book.

I had to get out. I checked on my friend, who was still sleeping, and jumped in the car to the nearest restaurant. It was 20 miles away. In the next town.

I grabbed my book and walked in after the calming drive. It was funny, I was reading a book about small towns – and them staring at the newcomers – when I looked up and saw the old men just staring at me like I was from the traveling circus. The food was amazing if you like meat (which I do). The prices were fantastic (nothing like paying for a cheeseburger, fries, milk shake for $2.99!).

When I got up, the cute little waitress, reminded me – seeing as I was from out of town and all… there was a Tornado warning for the rest of the day and that night. She wanted to make sure I knew what to do.

I didn’t.

She gave me a little crash course. Stay away from outside walls; go into a basement, and away from windows if I heard the tornado siren or if it at all seemed like tornado weather.

Sweet.

Where I was staying had no basement, no inside rooms, and windows in every room….

Fantastic.

She asked where I was staying,

“Oh the girl from Portland,” She said. “ I heard you got in at like 3am last night”. Small towns then struck me as a little creepy, as I wasn’t even in MY small town I was staying at.

She assured me the church next door was always unlocked. I could just run in their basement.I paid my bill, and got excited about the tornados. No big deal right? I could always go in the church, and it was always unlocked…right?

Tomorrow, My real life Twister adventure and meeting my Mother thru her best friend.

I'm not in Kansas anymore

Last week I found a stack of letter’s that my mother had saved through out her life. For any of you that don’t know, my mother is dying of Alzheimer’s disease.

My mother started showing symptoms soon after I graduated from high school. When I was a teenager and child my mother and I were never very close, I would get so frustrated because we were so different.

I know that a lot of girls that have bad relations, with their mothers in their teenager years, learn to appreciate their mother as a fellow adult in their twenties. I never had that. When I was old enough to see that I needed her, and I wanted to know what she was like as a person. She was already fading to the point that was no longer possible.

In a way, I never really knew my Mother as a person; she was never forthcoming about her past. What I did know is that she was different than most women. She was to scared to drive a car, leave the house as I grew, she never went shopping or spent time on her hair and make up. I had to learn those things on my own. When I was old enough to understand the importance of these things, I was only angry that she never taught me to be a female.

Knowing my Grandmother for a few years before she died, I knew she was a vibrant adventurous artist that radiated beauty wherever she went. Because of this I never understood my Mom. Didn’t she have my Grandmother to teach her?

One of the letter’s was from my Grandmother to my Mom during her 1st (and only) year of college in 1959. She was chastising my Mother for her changing so much. Her letter was questioning my mother for going from straight A’s to failing all her classes. She couldn’t understand why my mother went from being happy and bright to never leaving her room.

I was shocked when I read this, because it seemed as my mother changed dramatically in such a way that only usually happens with a trauma. When I questioned my Father about the letter he told me a secret that my mother kept from everyone but him. A trauma had happened to her that was fatal in that time, especially in rural Kansas where she grew up.

My mother was real, flawed and I never really met her.

After reading that letter I took some time to locate her best friend from Jr. High through college. Since she still lived in the same town. (Rexford, Kansas) Where my Mother lived until her late twenties, where my grandfather was the superintendent of schools, where my Grandmother painted murals. Where I had I decided to go there and see if I could find out whom my mother really was, before this trauma affected her life so severely. Since it’s only a four-hour drive from one of the major airports I fly to, I made car rental reservations for the day I finished work. Unfortunately, I not only was aware it was tornado season; I also didn’t check the weather forecast. Since I was headed straight into “Tornado Alley” that would’ve been a wise thing.

Coming soon: what happened on my trip to Kansas, Dorothy has nothing on me…and searching for my mother while surrounded by tornado’s.

Choose your own adventure...

Hola!

I almost hate having too much to blog about rather than too little…because then how are you supposed to choose….I do long enough posts as it is to do more than one subject…and I hate doing two posts on the same day, people only look at the first one….

So I’ll let you decide which story I should post:

The options…

1. My night at the White Eagle, complete with a large glass of milk at the bar (bonus: How I further annoyed my roommates at 4am)

2. My last work trip, not that exciting – but the "World” of a flight attendant – some of you dig that shit

3. My last trip to Montana…The story of my Grandma that just passed on…World War II in Germany, Austria, and England…how she came to the Bitterroot Valley.

4. My upcoming 29th birthday – What it means to my future…very philosophical…

5. Upcoming trip to the small town of Rexford, Kansas…why am I going there??


These are your choices…. vote carefully. And if you have write in votes for a different topic entirely, write away….

Keeping it real…. on the flip side….

Flying Waitress….out.

Throwing it out there for the world to see...

"The secular response to the Christ story always goes like this: he was a great prophet, obviously a very interesting guy had a lot to say long the lines of other great prophets, be they Elijah, Muhammed, Buddha or Confucius. But actually... Christ doesn't allow you to do that. He doesn't let you off that hook. Christ says: 'No, I'm NOT saying I'm a teacher, don't call me teacher. I'm not saying I'm a prophet. I'm saying 'I'm the Messiah. I'm saying: 'I am God incarnate'. And yet people say "no, no... please just be a prophet! A prophet we can take! You're a bit eccentric. We've had John the Baptist eating locusts and wild honey. We can handle that. But don't mention the "M" word! Because you're know, we're gonna have to crucify you...either Christ was who he said he was – the Messiah – or a complete nutcase. I mean we’re talking nut case on the level of Charles Manson"

Bono, (From U2 - for those of you asleep the last decade or so.)

He's not talking about Jewish people because Jesus and his disciples were Jewish...that has nothing to do with it...He's talking about everyone. Hmmm...makes me think.

Alot of people I know, especially in the city and country that I live in, are afraid of admitting that perhaps everything can't be true. Many say that every religon is true. But is that possible if they all contradict each other?

I am all for freedom of religon, no one should tell someone what to belive but this makes me think.

What if only one is true?

And which one would that be?

I myself am a christian, although I never tell people...

"It is no use walking anywhere to preach unless our walking is our preaching"

"Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words"

both quotes are St. Francis of Assisi

I belive that if what I belive is true I don't need to beat it over someone's head, or give a well oiled sales speech. If what I belive is true all I have to do is be.

just be.

For my philosophy is one based on acceptance and grace, not one of perfectionism or performance. Real hypocracy is not messing up in life, but denying the grace to others that I was offered by Christ.

So here is my declaration : I am a Christian, I belive in the G_D of Moses, Abraham and David. I belive in Christ the Incarnation of G_D that came to the world to proclaim his love. I belive that Christ took all our sins of the world on the cross so that we could be free and in accepting his sacrifice be made clean of the past. Without working toward perfection, which no man can reach on his own.

This will probably be the only time I throw this out...but having almost died today in a near car accident (losing one's brakes going down a hill causes one to reevaluate things) and losing my grandmother this week to a heart attack, this is what is nearest to my mind, and my heart.

So there you have it, a little new info about FlyingWaitress...

Why I like my job.

As a balance to my negative rant post, I want to republish something I wrote on another blog of mine a couple months ago. Despite the few annoying things such as pay, I fly because I choose to. I choose to because I love it. This is why I love it:

Every day at least one person asks me if I like what I do. I always have the same answer.

I love it.

No one ever asks me why. They assume, I think, that I love it for the free travel and jet setting life style. I won't lie that is one of the reasons I applied for this job to begin with.(Although I don't know how "jet setting" I am.)

But why I love it now has very little to do with the travel. Sure I like to fly. I remember the first time I flew. I was 17 or 18 and was next to the window staring out in awe of taking off and the world getting smaller and smaller. The business woman next to me assured me that after a few flights I wouldn't even look out the window any more. I would be jaded like her. "It's not really a big deal" she said as she got back to her files and papers.

10 years later....I still love taking off and landing - it still has wonder and I always look out the window- if I can - to see the world fade away. So yes I love to fly.(I can't even begin to count how many take-off's I've had in working the last 2 years and all the traveling I did before that)I still like that feeling of soaring.

But that isn't even the reason that I adore my job.

Before this I did sales. I liked working with people but even though it was a bit rewarding I was always taking...convincing people to spend money.

This job is the opposite. I am always giving. Giving a pillow, a pepsi, a blanket, a kleenex..it's not really dramatic but I love the feeling of giving out. 70 passangers a flight, 5 flights a day. I come in connact with so many people that are flying for many reasons. Some are going to weddings, or on vacation, some are traveling for business or to visit their boyfriend/girlfriend. Some are happy, some are angry and a few are really sad. I've had soldiers on their way to Irag, some on their way home to visit their wives and children. Little kids traveling by themselves (some only 6 years old) acting like little adults with their gameboys and dvd players.

I have cryed with some as I hold their hand and they talk about their brother that died. I've laughed with the teenagers on their way to mexico for spring break. I've commiserated with the girls on their way to see the guy the met online. I've heard stories that made me sob that night in my hotel room and stories that still make me laugh when I think about them.

I've had medical emergencies and life threatning situations on board...that all turned out ok.

That is why I love this job. Because 70 people per flight, on 5 flights a day let me care about them. Even if it's sometimes just to let me give them a tomato with no ice and a coffee with cream and splenda (well...we only have equal and the pink stuff). They let me care instead of just make a sale.

That's what I get paid for. And that's why I signed up to just travel for a bit and now I can't imagine doing anything else.

Just please, treat me like a person and not "the help".

Flight Attendant movie!

just a quick note: I saw a trailer online of a flight attendant movie. This film was written and produced by a Flight attendant, Silver Tree, when she was on Furlough. The trailer captures perfectly the vibe of this work, with a great soundtrack. I bought a DVD as fast as my little hands could paypal it.

I'm beyond excited to see it, a great cast!!

The trailer takes a few minutes to download, so wait till the little bar is filled before you press play.

enjoy, and BUY IT!! You can watch it with friends during a flight themed party...I'm just thinking outloud.

Ciao

Hope you like my new post below!

Things not to do to your poor, underpaid, tired, perhaps sick Flight Attendant

In a world post September 11th, where Flight Attendants are losing retirements, taking pay cuts, being fired for calling in sick. They are asked more of than ever before. Not only are the responsible for making passengers happy and comfortable they enforce FAA safety standards, reinforce security, help in medical emergencies, and prepare for such medical/security emergencies. I, only being in the industry 2 years, have had 8 medical emergencies, and 2 in-flight mechanical emergencies. I have encountered drunken passengers that had to get arrested. Yelling passengers and addressed security concerns.

Your F/A is probably being paid less than you did at your first job. I know I am. Looking at my paycheck I realize that I haven’t gotten paid this little consistently since the first job I ever got out of high school and that was 10 years ago! And yet we are asked to put up with all of the above during 12 hour sometimes up to 16-hour days. Not only that but we are not subject to normal labor laws (thanks FAA) so if you work for a commuter airline and have such short flights that you don’t have time for a break on board. You can have none at all, and it’s ok. No ½ hr lunch, no 2 10 minute breaks. This is common. So I listed just a couple things, that if you abstain from doing them to us, you will make us a little happier.

So in light of the above statements I made a list of five things NOT to do, and why:

1. I do not respond to Physical VIOLENCE!

a. I understand I just passed you with my garbage bag, but rest assured I’ll be back thru. I empathize with the fact that you cannot possible hold onto that napkin anymore and even though I passed you 5 times without you handing it over, you just realized the severity and emergency status of having that napkin on your tray table and need it off now! That being said, I will not respond:
i. If you pull my elbow,
ii. Tap me incessantly on the shoulder while yelling, ”EXCUSE me!” in my ear,
iii. Punch me in the shoulder
iv. Tug on my jacket/apron/shirt/skirt
v. Pinch my ass
vi. Pull my fingers
vii. Slap my butt
viii. Pull my ponytail (I know you think it’s uber funny, I’m not laughing)
ix. Yank my arm out of its socket.

b. September 11th? Hello? Don’t touch me. I’ve been taught several self -defense tactics with plane equipment, and I am always looking to practice when I feel attacked and security is breached.

2. We can’t close the door, and leave till you finish your conversation on your blackberry/PDA/super cell phone

a. I can sympathize with the fact that you are a really important businessman/ woman. I know that your call is so essential that you must make the whole flight wait to leave till you finish your call. It makes sense, it really does. I’m sure that if you could’ve made the call earlier, before you got on the plane you would’ve. And I know it’s necessary to talk REALLY LOAD so that everyone knows just how important you are. However we do have to wait, unless we want to get fined by the FAA. And perhaps it doesn’t really interfere with communication and navigation capabilities like the FAA says. Who knows? It does however interfere with my sanity. Thereby interfering with you staying on the flight at all. Stop rolling your eyes at me!

3. I know you want your coffee, and even though I have a passenger on the ground on oxygen, which’s had a seizure and is not regaining consciousness. You feel you need to ring your call button to complain that you haven’t received it yet. Or perhaps you want to ask about a close connection and are annoyed you have to wait. I can relate, how dare this person decide to start dying when you’re thirsty! And why can’t I help you instead. It’s unbelievable that everyone else is either helping me or be nice and quiet when this travesty is happening. Doesn’t anyone else want the service they PAID for? That lady is old anyway.

a. In training we spend 1 hour on in-flight beverage service and 4 weeks on medical and safety training. That’s because what’s really important is to keep people from dying, even if in inconviences you. I’m sorry.

This is getting to be a long post so you can look forward to the rest of the 5 things at a later date.

Thankful for...

I want to list a few things I am thankful for.
ok. A few more than a few. Sometimes when I am down it helps me remember just how many thing that are out there to be thankful for!

I'm thankful for:

Take-offs and landings.
Turning passanger's frown's upside down! ;-)
Floating in really warm water.
Drinking hot chocolate.
Warm nights in Portland - with a little moisture in the air.
Spinning on the beach.
Cuddling with cats or dogs.
Hiking thru small town's in Europe.
Visiting somewhere I've never been before.
Hearing people speak French.
Movies that make me cry.
Movies that make me laugh.
Looking at old pictures.
Pink. (The color not the "Artist")
Subway tunnels.
Windows in trains.
Guys with English, Scottish, Irish, South African and Aussie accents.
Reading.
Meeting new people and hearing their stories.
Watching only the first 10 min. of Regis and Kelly.
Holding my Mom's hand.
Her remembering who I am. Calling me her daughter.
Painting my toenails.
Clean hotel rooms.
Hot baths.
Making people laugh.
Spinning on the beach.
Looking at the stars on that same beach, with no lights around.
Looking at the same stars, upside down, in Costa Rica.
Disneyland.
Pizza in NYC.
Swing dancing in Paris. On cement floor, with no shoes on.
Free wi-fi in Hotels and Coffee shops.
Castles.
My new laptop.
The dogs at my house.
My roommates (I should've put that before the dogs?!?)
Black and white photo's
Daydreaming.
Good friends, that care.
Perfume.
Happenstance.
My cell phone.
Jeans.
Kissing.
The Canals in Venice.
Mexican food.
New suitcases.
Scarfs.
Saturday morning cartoons.
Chocolate.
Pizza.
Ebay.
My nieces.
Bottled water.
Camping.
Memories.
Reeses peanut butter cups.


What are you thankful for?

I am usually stuck here (Austin Airport)a couple hours a week. They have the best BBQ in the World! And really yummy homemade-like milkshakes.
Posted by Hello

Keeping it real in Little Rock, Ar-kansas. I Love the sweet tea and the ribs. I don't like the alcholics and racists. They have a Starbucks and Barnes and Noble here...non unlike every other city I fly too or is it?
Posted by Hello

Adopting

For all of you that want to adopt, save a chicken today.

I went to the Sylvia Beach Hotel this weekend
Click on the picture for a fun, and EXCITING slideshow

I LOVE OUR PILOTS!
Posted by Hello

Embarassing moments...aka My Life story.

I know everyone has embarassing moments. However, most people have only one like every year or even spread out into one every 2-3 years. Not me.

My life is a plethera of embarassing moments strung together by akward silences.

An ex-boyfriend (if you can call him that, I did break up with him over a text message - but what can I say, like I was going to fly the 30 minutes to do it in person?!?) Didn't belive me. After the first date, he was a beliver.

I would write them all out, but It would take up to many pages.

so here's a just the top ten from work in the last few weeks (umm maybe days) : (this is not for the weak at heart)

1) last weeks unannounced 'fire hose like' explosive puking, in uniform, in front of 20 other crew members and a bazillion passangers in the middle of the Denver airport. It was virtually miles from a bathroom (that airport is too big for it's own good!). I had no warning, and felt fine before and after. Just a little present to keep me humble.

2) doing the whole Inflight demonstration (just a little charades we flight attendants do before flights for you lucky passangers) without any of the little props (safty card, O2 mask, seat belt) and not noticing until I was almost done....Don't ask...it was early....

3) later that day...getting the giggles when trying to do the inflight announcements...to the point of laughing so hard, for so long the passangers looked scared. I couldn't finish and another F/A (short for Flight Attendant) had to for me.

4) Getting the same uncontrolable laughter every day, when I do the announcements.Without fail.

5) at least a few times a week (or day) I annouce the wrong city, timezone, or country (and I only fly in the US) on landing.

6) bending over to get snacks out, other F/A giggles and tells me my skirt rode up and I flashed the whole flight.

7) In the same vein, standing on the Jet way with the cover off, there was no one around but my one of my best friends and fellow F/A. It was a beautiful day. All the rampers and pilots were no where to be seen. We were joking around and I was showing her the run in my stocking (where my butt hits my leg) as I danced around on the Jetway (in my defence, the uniform dress that they gave me barely covers my butt anyway) . Later, as the passangers boarded, a few guys commented on my lovely dancing, I looked out of the plane and saw a giant window in the boarding area overlooking the very same Jetway I was practicly naked on. Oops, I guess I gave all my passangers a show. One creepy old guy mentioned he took digital pictures but wouldn't show me.

ok, top seven. I am getting tired. Both physically, and just tired of being so darn self-effacing.

Ciao

Johnny's 5 questions?

Q1: what kind of organization is the 7 mile club and if it had a secret handshake what would it be?

The 7 mile high club is for anyone who's workspace is at 35,000 feet or higher. It has nothing to do with the mile high club as it is 6 miles higher and less "sexual". Secret handshake is: Palm to fist, Fist to palm, Fist to fist, then high 5 (always need a high5)


Q2: you are working and find that OW is sitting in your section. would you change your behaviour while in his vicinity and if so how?

I pride myself in treating everyone special and making them feel cared about, going the extra mile. So I would do my normal thing, stowing his bag, giving him snacks, juices, coffee, my phone number, back massage, foot massage, manicure, wash his hair, trim his nose hair, take pictures of him from every angle, hand him a script. Just the normal level of customer service I try to extend to everyone.

Q3: what percentage of passengers do think actually eat that bag of complementary nuts?

We give out frito's or sun chips so that would be no one, because we don't have nuts, that are complimentry. We do have the two pilots in the "cockpit" which are similar in many ways.

Q4: what is the coolest outfit you own and what does it look like?

The coolest outfit I own is my favorite jeans that are normally $400 that I got at red light for $25. (D&G). They're comfy.

Q5: you have a choice between going out for beers with the pilots or going shopping for makeup with the attendants. which do you choose and why?

Neither, I would choose to stay in my hotel room, watch cable and eat take out.

Blogg on down, Blogg on down, Blogg on down the road...

I am really streaching to come up with something blogg worthy. It's hard that I started this blog during a flying hiatus, because my life seems a bit boring.

Last night after a trip with Moz to Powells city of books (with the 'wonder-the- info guy', that never looked up from his book, and answered our question about searching for book with -"I don't know"), I bought some Golden Grahams. That was cool. yummy.

Had a little get together at Sloop and Moz's. Bonita St. James and her significant was there, as well as Johnny Crash. They reminised (sp?!?) about THE BEST PARTY EVER. Which I didn't go to as I didn't know about. That's cool though, I don't care. The pain will subside eventually.

Watched the end of Apprentice, was shocked to see that The Trumpster fired someone. TV never fails to suprise me.

Watched Zoolander (fantastic film), my boyfriend is in it (O.W) I think he is sending me personal messages thru his movies.

I promise to lead a more exciting life, and here, read some airline companies newsletter. I don't know how I aquired it, I just did. That's all you need to know.

throwing it down.

Its been like a week or more and I haven't put anything in this bloggerific blog.

For shame, I haven't done anything this week noteworthy or blogg worthy for that matter.

I do have to say, spent some time with the nieces, v. v. v. cute. My oldest neice Stella, is 3. A smart 3. She chattes up in such volume that it is obvious we are related. We talked about movies, I told her my favorite was Bottlerocket. She laughed and said she didn't like it (I bet she hasn't even seen it). Who is she to judge, what has she ever done with her life?

I mocked her later after finding out that her favorite movie is Finding Nemo, I mean how droll! We then discussed the life affirming message that the movie Cinderella emparts. Stella had some good points about Elitism and the caste system in Fairy Tale land and how that translates into current world views. She really made me think, I may need to reacess my current life style in light of her statements.

Hopefully I will have something more exciting to blog about later!

My Brilliant day - pondering big life decisons.

So.

This is my first post on I'm really excited.

No really I am.

Seriously.

So I'm waiting for #3 incident.

What is this you ask? Alright I'll tell you.

You know how every bad thing comes in three's? Well they do.

I'm on two. Worst place to be because I know there's one more out there. waiting. watching.

So I belive #1 was when I forgot to bid for my schedule. For all of you not in the know - that means I, based on senority, every month pick my scedule. If for some silly reason someone didn't remember to do this for the next 35 days they have to sit on call for the whole month. (I perhaps was that someone) That wouldn't be so bad if you lived where you work. However like many in my industry I commute from portland to a diffrent city a few states away. So I have to sit in a hotel or apartment that I pay for waiting to see if they need me...for a month. The sucky thing, well one of the sucky things about this is that I just got tickets to the Ellen Show.

Yipee.

But I can't go because I have to sit in another state.

Watching cable.

Waiting. (or I could skip out of work that day...hmm)

Number #2 was today. I was driving, while talking on the phone. My favorite pastime. And I was sitting at the light (in Portland) where the I-5 Exit from Southbound hits Portland Blvd. As most people know you can't turn right on a red light here.

I know this.

But I was on the phone.

Chatting away.

The car in front of me turned on the red. I started to go but saw him get pulled over by cop chick on motorcycle. I didn't even cross over the crosswalk. Home free. I made a joke about it to my brother on the phone.

Light turned green, I turned chatting away and saw the motorcycle chick wave me over.

Shit.

She gave me a ticket because by starting to turn, I indicated that I would have turned if I didn't see her. Which is true, but should we get tickets for intending to do something? My driving record was so nice and clear.

Bitchs.

The good news was she didn't give me a ticket for my expired tags (did you know you have to renew those every year? how redundent!) nor my expired license - which I would have understood, it has been since June...I should pop by the DMV sometime. So I just have a $235 dollar ticket for the running of the red light. or intending to...

So number #3 I know your out there....I'm going to Toronto for an interview this week...I hope #3 doesn't happen then.....

What was your last trio of three bad incidents? Does it work that way for you?

Also - side bar - I am trying to decide If I will A) Go to Dubai and work for airline there or B) Stay in Portland, Or C) Start a rock band in Santa Monica.

A) a roommate who will remain nameless thinks this is not a good Idea. Boo! Die!

B) I like it here. It's green. But here my layovers are Yakima and Walla Walla. In Dubai they would be Milan and Paris...India..Austrailia...New Zeland...whatever..I'm sure I'd miss Walla Walla, Washington and all the onions there.

C) Rock band? Santa Monica? I don't rock, I can't sing, play? yeah right. I like the beach and the warm weather though, I'd have to be homeless cause' I can't afford it down there but there are perks to that too... Like hanging out on the docks and eating garbage. sweet.

What should I do?