To Everything There Is A Season

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war, and a time of peace.

I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it. He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.

Ecclesiastes 4:1-8, 10-11

This is one of my very favorite scriptures. Sometimes I find myself feeling inadequate or like I'm in the wrong place in my life... like I haven't accomplished anything. A friend once responded to my frustration by saying, "What is it you were meant to have accomplished?" The Lord never specifies how long our seasons will be. Just like the long winters in Canada and the long summers in the Caribbean, sometimes we find ourselves stuck in a season. But these locales adapt and flourish based on what can grow and survive in their climate. I'd like to see a palm tree survive a Utah winter or an apple tree survive a Florida summer. And perhaps it is indeed possible, but the point is that there is surely a way to survive and flourish no matter the seasons, if you just accept your "weather" and learn what grows best and how to flourish wherever you. The problem comes from wanting a different season.

I have maintained a mantra for awhile... "Don't feed the dragon." I have decided there is a dragon in everyone and everything. To feed it, causes it to grow. So starve it. Accept it. Let it be, and it will grow no more. One of the hardest things to learn in life is submission--submission to the way life is instead of what we think it ought to be. We have a tendency as human beings to "kick against the pricks" (as the apostle Paul said)... to fight against the inevitable to our own detriment.

I am learning the importance of acceptance in an effort to find true peace and happiness. Instead of worrying about the mistakes of the past or the promises of the future, live each day for what it is. Learn to dance in the rain or to smile into the sunshine without getting burned. As Charlotte Bronte offered, "Try to avoid looking forward or backward, and try to keep looking upward."

And EVEN MORE Random Things About Me

As I've been looking over my blog, I've realized how much I've changed. (I know, I mentioned that already.) One of my major changes is that I now live in Atlanta. In fact, my entire family is spread all over the country--and world--now. My parents are missionaries in the Philippines, my older brother is taking care of their house in SLC, my younger brother moved to L.A. and my sister is happily still in Colorado. But it's not just my location that has changed.... that's just the beginning.
For starters, some of the Random Things I wrote before are now outdated. (See also Even More Random Things.) So for today, I'll start with the important stuff by amending the "Random List." Zach and Cody from The Suite Life grew up as did Hannah Montana. (Addendum to #54) It's all about iCarly now. In fact, I spent last weekend having a "sleepover" in my hotel with my favorite kids in the whole wide world (that would be my two nieces and my nephew) and we had an iCarly marathon. Aunt Patti is a little out of practice since she failed to notice beforehand that all the movies she brought to watch were PG-13, so we watched TV instead. My, how I laughed. That show is really funny! Seriously.

But I still never watch TV in my hotel room when I'm by myself. (See #48) I think that's about the fourth time ever since I started flying four years ago. I don't even watch TV at home. My TV is so old school that not only is it huge (with the big ol' part that juts out the back) but it actually has a built-in VCR. Seriously.

(Addendum to #7) I moved to Atlanta last year and decided I am not moving again unless I am in a box. They would only let me sign an 18-month lease, though. I'll be resigning it in about nine months which will probably be about the time I finally finish painting and unpacking. (Cut me some slack, here. It's just me doing all of the painting, unpacking and decorating and I'm gone about 4-5 days out of 7.) But how I loooove having my very own apartment with all of my things, most of which had been in storage for over seven years. (It's better than Christmas opening all of these boxes that haven't seen the light of day for years. I ended up with 4 hairdryers and 3 irons!) That would explain the old TV, right? The funniest part about all that is when I pulled the bunny ears out to set up on top of the TV. I was informed by my friend that everything is digital now so bunny ears are extinct. I suggested donating them to Goodwill but he reminded me that EVERYTHING is digital, so pretty much I could just ship them off to a third world country. Seriously.

I'll dedicate a whole blog someday to my moving experiences, but I have to say how much I still love road trips. (Addendum to #18) So much so that I drove from Denver to Atlanta all by myself and loved it. 24 hours of driving!! I got a book on CD (The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown) and drove straight through to Memphis (about 18 hours). I would have driven all the way to Atlanta but I was talked into stopping at a hotel for some sleep (and my own personal safety) by a good friend who even went so far as to look up a hotel with a good price in a safe area. With a book on CD, I still think a passenger is almost an annoyance. Seriously (... even I get annoyed sometimes by people who talk too much.)

(Addendum to #19) I'm totally cool with texting now. (Because before I said I hated it. I'm just a little slow to come around to all this newfangled technology.)

(Addendum to #23) I went to England and visited the Tower of London where I learned all about the Kings and Queens of England. I realized that King John couldn't be my eighth great-grandfather based on eight generations only being 250-ish years and he reined around 1200. I know my Grandpa mentioned something about some king, but apparently I need to dig around my family tree a little better. I know I'm related to one of them, but who and how is going to take some research. I'll get back to you on this one.
(New One!!) 55. Speaking of London... hands down, my most "favoritest" city EVER! I love reading historical fiction and most of it is about Regency England or the Scottish Highlands, but usually London is always in there somewhere. Such an amazing and historic city!!

(Addendum to #26) Haven't had a dream about "that one" ex in almost two years. I guess I'm finally over him. Either that or I just don't remember as many of my dreams as I used to.

(Addendum to #43) I let my membership in the Baseball Hall of Fame expire. I was sad to let it go, but I never have time anymore to keep up with sports. Either that or I'm in the wrong part of the country to view the games I want to see. (Refer to previous addendums regarding my TV-watching habits.)

(Addendum to #50) I have been to two more continents: the Middle East and Africa (in addition to the three I mentioned before which were Europe, Asia and South America.) I went to Israel last Summer and I've been to Ghana, Africa several times in the past two years.

(Addendum to #52) I might not be blonde-ish much longer. I'm seriously toying with the idea of going dark. What do you think? (Compliments of In Style magazine's Hollywood Makeover Tool which is super fun to play with, by the way.)

Now that I've amended my original list, maybe I'll come up with some new ones. Another time. It's late! (Yep, still a night owl, #21.)

P.S. Welcome back! :)

Hello...?

Hello.... Is anyone still out there?

I pulled up my blog to find a quote I knew I had written somewhere on here and I had to read through several posts before finding it. I actually enjoyed reading my old posts--I was impressed that I was at times witty and clever. Not in the "I'm so clever" sort of way, but the, "Wow, I forgot I used to be like that" sort of way. The "Where did I come up with that and where did that person go" sort of way. I was surprised to realize that my writing was actually enjoyable for me to read. (How many people can entertain themselves so easily?) It also made me sad because I'm not sure that I'm that witty anymore. There is a lot to that, but right now it is 2am and I am in a hotel in Florida with a long day ahead of me tomorrow. So I'll stick to my point.

There is a point here, although I'll first digress a moment to mention that I must be a new woman to arrive at my point after only one real paragraph. ...I realize that in many ways I was in a much better place a few years ago. But I also realize that in many other ways, I'm in a much better place now, at least relatively speaking. The past few years have been more heartache that happiness, but somehow in learning to rise above it all, I seem to understand myself more now than ever. That's worth something, right?

My blog was no where to be found on my list of resolutions this year, but I just realized that it should be. Not for you (as in, anyone who might actually want to read about my life) but for me. I remember the freedom of expressing myself and how it gave me confidence. I remember how exploring and describing my thoughts and emotions helped me to sort through them, to clarify them, and to understand and make peace with them. I remember how explaining my ups and downs to others forced me to laugh at my life and find the humor in it rather than dwell in the heaviness of sorrow and frustration. Somehow, it unburdens me and makes me feel more... human.

I've carried around a quote for as long as I can remember. It's a poem of sorts called A Creed to Live By by Nancye Sims. I can't tell you where I got it because I don't remember. But I can tell you that I've read it many times over the years and tried to make it my own creed. I will post the entire thing at the end of this post, but I want to share the part that is most relevant to what I am trying to explain: "Don't be afraid to admit that you are less than perfect. It is this fragile thread that binds us to each other." It perfectly explains why I need to start blogging again--because by admitting my imperfections, I feel more human, more alive. And lately, I haven't been feeling much of either of those.

I didn't name my blog "Live, Laugh, Love" because I'm good at these things. I named it that because it's how I want to be and how I want to live my life. In order to really live, I have to be able to laugh. And by being able to laugh, I somehow feel more love for others and myself... I no longer feel that life is so daunting.

My Blog has been in the back of my mind more often than not of late... calling me, beckoning me to find love and healing in the catharsis of the written word. I miss it like an old friend. But I'm not the same person I was even a few years ago (yes, it has been that long). I'm more guarded and less open. So although I will begin to write anew, I think it might be more cryptic and elusive than before. I am going to attempt to walk the fine line between sharing and oversharing; not because I don't want to share, but because if there's one thing I've learned over the past two years, it's the value of keeping some things a little closer to my heart.

A Creed To Live By
By Nancye Sims

Don't undermine your worth by comparing yourself with others.

It is because we are different that each of us is special.

Don't set your goals by what other people deem important.

Only you know what is best for you.

Don't take for granted the things closest to your heart.

Cling to them as you would your life, for without them life is meaningless.

Don't let your life slip through your fingers by living in the past or for the future.

By living your life one day at a time, you live all the days of your life.

Don't give up when you still have something to give.

Nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying.

Don't be afraid to admit that you are less than perfect.

It is this fragile thread that binds us to each other.

Don't be afraid to encounter risks.

It is by taking chances that we learn how to be brave.

Don't shut love out of your life by saying it's impossible to find.

The quickest way to receive love is to give love.

The fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly;

and the best way to keep love is to give it wings.

Don't dismiss your dreams.

To be without dreams is to be without hope;

to be without hope is to be without purpose.

Don't run through life so fast that you forget not only where you've been,

but also where you're going. Life is not a race,

but a journey to be savored each step of the way.

Copyright © 1996 Nancye Sims

Revival of the Blog

It's coming soon... I promise!

It's just that sometimes you get so busy living your life, you can't find time to write about it, let alone even think about or process it. Even worse--sometimes it just sucks so bad you don't want to write about it, let alone even remember it. And then, there are always those times when you think, "Why on earth would anyone want to read this stuff anyway?" But the biggest contributor would have to be Facebook where you can get away with some short, meaningless and cryptic blurb about your life that 300 sort-of friends may or may not read. And so you throw that out to the universe and call it good with no consideration for those who are willing to dig a little deeper into your life... the people who are really interested and really care. Because here at The Blog, this is where the juicy details should be for my nearest and dearest.

But as therapeutic as it is to click-clack my thoughts onto a computer, the blog sits silently waiting. It calls out, beckoning me to tap out something brilliant which just doesn't come. The clarity I need in my life comes from "trying on" my thoughts and emotions through writing; Yet I cannot think clearly enough to articulate my thoughts into words (coherent and sharable words, that is) and so the vicious cycle continues.

The good news is that I'm breaking out of it slowly. I can feel it. The tide is turning. When it comes to writing...
Patti is getting her groove back!
And you won't be disappointed by the ride.

Just give me a little more time to work out this drama called my life and I'll get back to you. :)

P.S. Here's a shout out and a welcome to any new readers... you know who you are. Thank you for your encouragement! It really means a lot.

Things That Go Bump In The Night

So this story is a little late, but....

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, a creature was stirring but it wasn't a mouse.... In fact, when I felt something run across the foot of my bed, my first thought was that it was a rat because when I quickly sat up with my sheets held taut against my body, it felt heavy as I unwittingly flung it across the room in my haste. I heard a loud thud as it hit the floor and then I went back to sleep... AS IF! ...I started to and then realized that this thing, whatever it was, was still running around my bedroom! It was tempting, though. I had gotten in late that night from a flight and had to wake up early the next morning for another flight on Christmas Day.

So at 4:00 A.M. "I turned on the light to see what was the matter..." and I saw a huddled little mass of fur with a big bushy tail staring up at me from the floor as if frozen in place. It definitely wasn't a mouse or rat, but despite the tail, it didn't really look like a squirrel either. Hmmm... so I got out of bed to get a better look and to chase it down. (This, by the way, would be one of those instances where a husband would have come in VERY handy.) The poor little fella started scurry along, but verrry slowly. It ran into my bathroom and stopped. It didn't look like it was going anywhere, at least not very quickly, so I got close to try and figure it out. And then, a la Christmas Vacation, it lurched toward me and clung to my face. (OK, now I'm just messin' with ya...!) It didn't jump at me, but rather oddly, it just stared at me, too, with it's big bulgy eyes. It was a round ball of fur with a scar on it's tummy. Well an injury (from the scar) would certainly explain why it had trouble getting around. So what's a girl to do but get out her camera? But snap!, my camera wouldn't turn on. So I took a picture with my cell phone. Then I remembered my digital SLR and dragged it out of the closet and got some great close-ups. All the while this little thing is just sitting there not moving. But sadly, it had to go so I could get back to bed. I went and found a paper shopping bag and went back to the bathroom to chase the "Thing" down. It didn't take long (or very far across my bathroom) before I had it in the bag, the bag closed, and then freed it out the front door. (Did you actually think I would try and squish or kill it?!? Oooooh, gross!)

A few days later I was telling my cousin, Emily, the story. My other cousin, Claire, walked up part way through the conversation and said, "Now what country where you in when this happened?" "Um, right here in Georgia," I responded, "in the guest house." But you'd think...

Oh, but the story (as is par for my course) does not end here. I must sound like the biggest story teller, but these are the facts, people. True story. A few weeks ago I was just chillin' in the living room of the guest house when I hear something. At first I thought it was a bag of chips or something falling in the pantry. Then I looked up onto on of the rafters and saw something running across it. It immediately stopped when it sensed I had spotted it. I grabbed my cell phone and took a picture in case it ran off--just so people wouldn't think I am making this stuff up. Well, this story could go on forever, but the gist of what happened is we played hide and seek as it ran around the back of the rafter and across it, pausing several times as if I might not notice it. This time, I went straight for the camera and got a few good pics. What I noticed was... the same strange scar on this squirrel. But it wasn't all round like the first one. Maybe it was the angle? Hmmm... Well it really had to go this time so I went into the house to rally some support from my family. Noooo takers. The women were too scared to help and the men were unavailable (except one man who thought it was perfectly normal to have a squirrel in the house, being that we live on 50 acres in the middle of nowhere Georgia... but I won't mention any names.)

So I went back upstairs and found the "Thing" (now decidedly a squirrel) and determined to just watch this little fella to see what it would do and where it would go. And then I heard it. The little squeaks from the end of the rafter where it goes into the attic. Aha! It was a squirrel that first night--a pregnant one who had its babies in my attic. Niiiiice. Eventually I got tired of watching it so I kind of prodded it along as it slunk through a little crack in the ceiling and found refuge behind the wooded slats with its babies.

I hear it once in awhile--the little squeaks--and I pretty much just ignore it or tell it, "Don't even think about coming out right now." As long as I don't see Mama Squirrel, then I can pretend she isn't there and sleep in peace. I suppose I should be grateful to have a roommate who doesn't drink my milk or leave hair in the tub. But then I would also have to be grateful for the lizard I found in my bathroom a few days later. (Again, I took a picture for proof because I wouldn't believe it myself if someone else told me this stuff.) But I told that little guy that there is NO VACANCY! Then I reconsidered. We had lizards in our apartments in Puerto Rico on my mission and they eat bugs. So I told the little guy he could stay if he would keep the bugs at bay. He must be a vegetarian lizard because he hasn't come back.

I swear there are pictures but they will have to come another day. It was all I could do to get a January post on here, however unbelievable you think the story is, so the proof will have to come another day. Check back later to meet my roommates. Maybe by then I will have met the whole squirrel family. If so, you can bet I'll have my camera. ;)

Confessions of a Sky Princess: Cat in the Cockpit

"Cat in the Cockpit Delays Flight" ...YES, this was my flight one morning from DFW to ATL. We were delayed an hour and 15 minutes while the mechanics got the cat out from inside the plane walls where it had hidden itself. Here's the entire story as I wrote about it on my Facebook page:

The cat escaped when TSA let the proverbial, but literal, cat "out of the bag" so the owner could walk with it through the scanner. (I guess people actually try and smuggle stuff in their pets, or they just tape it to their legs....) The scared little kitty (actually it was a pretty big cat) ran down the hall, past several gates, into the boarding area, right down our jetway, and straight into the cockpit. I was standing between the boarding door and the flight deck door when it all went down. I thought about grabbing it as it ran over my foot, but it was so fast... it was under the First Officer's chair before anyone could even blink. The owner missed her flight trying to coax the scared little kitty out, but it managed to slide down into a space behind the rudders and was inaccessible from the cockpit at that point. It was funny for about five minutes, and then it was just plain irritating. I had a package of tuna in my bag and offered to let them use it to coax out the kitty, but the flight leader told me to just take care of the passengers. So she made me hand out water instead. Did you know that flight attendants don't start getting paid until the boarding door is closed. All that work for free!

I was hoping a hot fireman would come and rescue the kitty, but no such luck. Instead, we had to call the mechanics who basically pulled the plane apart to retrieve the cat. They had to go through a bunch of wiring and so we had no electricity while they were extricating the cat. Once the cat was safely out, they had to re-wire everything and put it all back together. An hour and a half later, we were finally on our way.

Did I mention it was a black cat? As if I needed anymore bad luck. I was already working my 7th day in a row...into my off day and missing my niece's Christmas show at school. Grrrr. The cherry on top of this lovely day is that as soon as I got to my car, I realized I had left my make-up bag on the plane--and it was already airborne to Charlotte, North Carolina. I made a few calls, but no luck. So I had to stop on my way home that night and replace all my makeup at the bargain price of $50+ (I was scrimping here, people.) I also lost the necklace my mom bought me in Egypt that happened to be in my makeup bag at the time. So stay away from black cats. They're nothing but trouble!

And another thing, this is the second time I had a loose cat on one of my flights. I was doing a beverage service once and felt something wrap itself around my ankle. I almost screamed but then looked down and saw a tiny, gray kitten... it had escaped from its carrier mid-flight and the owner didn't even notice. That cat was lucky it didn't get run over by a 300-pound beverage cart!

Did I mention I'm a dog person?

Dancing in the Rain (The Longest Blog EVER, but hopefully worth it)

"Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass… it’s about learning to dance in the rain.”
I’ve given up on waiting for “the storm” to pass. I’ve concluded I just “live” in a very rainy climate. The problem, however, is that I am a horrible dancer. And I’m wet and cold. So apparently I still have a lot to learn.

At least I can find humor in it all. I often feel like I am just living from one humorous catastrophe to the next… and somehow I am NOT becoming a better dancer. At least not by the world’s standard. But perhaps I’m making up a new kind of dance, if you can call it dancing. I call it stumbling, but I do it as gracefully as I can. (Pretty much, I’m just a train wreck, but art is all about interpretation, right?) It has been suggested that I write a book about all of these misadventures, but the problem is there is no story line here. There is no beginning, no climax, no conclusion, no ending —just a continuous stream of calamities.

Am I trying to be cryptic here? Not really. The truth is that I just don’t know where to start when I sit down to write. That’s what happens when I wait too long between blogs. In my defense, though, my work schedule does not often provide the flexibility to write whenever the magic hits me. And ooooh… what magic it is! So here goes my best attempt…

Puerto Rico
I’ll start with the highlights (and lowlights) of my recent trip to Puerto Rico. It was a work trip, of course, so I was only there for one full day. I was excited to rent a car to visit an old mission area. I didn’t realize the taxi ride from my hotel would be $25 each way… the rental was only $20. So I didn’t get the car.

We got in around midnight and the next day I woke up ridiculously late because I was so tired when I went to bed that I forgot to set my alarm. I was bummed that I wouldn’t be getting a car, but I decided to try and rent a bike to go to Old San Juan just a few miles away. As I was walking to the hotel fitness center (across the hotel grounds from the building where my room was) to look into renting a bike, I stopped at a drinking fountain to take something for my raging “tired headache.” It was an outdoor fountain on garden path. As I tipped the pill bottle to get two Tylenol, I spilled the entire contents of the pill bottle into the drinking fountain. Obviously I don’t carry a bottle for every pill, so I had a few of everything in one bottle… Pepto, Sudafed, Advil, Alieve, Zyrtec, and Tylenol. So all the pretty colors quickly started swirling around as they dissolved. I must have been just starting dumbly at the fountain because I wasn’t quite sure what to do when a hot guy walked by and asked, “Is everything OK?” I realized I was letting the water run over them all in hopes that they would just quickly dissolve and go away. But they weren’t dissolving. I told him my pill bottle spilled. “Obviously,” he said. “Why don’t you throw them away?” “Because I didn’t want to make a mess.” “Here—I’ll do it.” “Nooooo… I got it. Really.” So I scooped them up into my hands and ran to dump them in the nearest garbage can as he walked away shaking his head. Then I tried to clean up the fountain and washed my hands in the little trickle. Later that night after all of my adventures, I was sitting in the hotel lobby writing out postcards for my nieces and nephew when I hear someone say, “Aren’t you that girl from earlier?” I looked up to see Hot Drinking Fountain Guy staring down at me. “Uh, yeah, hi.” I wish I could tell you that he asked me to dinner and we became great friends, but he just asked if I was doing better. “Yeah, just, uh, writing postcards to my nieces and nephew.” Perhaps if I would have played it just a little bit cooler, he really would have asked me to dinner. But it was late, so maybe just for a drink? Except I don’t drink. …Is there a handbook for this kind of stuff? Maybe something like, “Getting a Life for Dummies.” Perhaps there is at least an iPhone app. I should get an iPhone. I’m sure that would help.

Rewinding back to the drinking fountain… I eventually made it into the fitness center only to find out I would have to pay for a full day’s rental, but the bike had to be back in 3 hours when they closed—not nearly enough time to go into Old San Juan. (I told you I slept late, and I won’t fess up to just how much, but that should be a pretty good indication.) So no bike. I would be going on foot.

No big deal. It would take me back to my mission days when I would walk and walk and walk. And I could walk along the shoreline and take in the breeze and the distinct smell of the tropical Puerto Rican air. But as soon as I hit the pavement outside of the hotel, in typical Patti-style, I took a spill. I rolled my ankle on some nut or something that had fallen from a tree onto the sidewalk. I was talking to my mom when it happened… she heard the whole thing… the “whooooaaa” as I tried the catch my balance and the “Oh craaaaap!!” (edited for content) as I hit the pavement and dropped the phone. I’m not sure if she heard the part where someone driving by stopped their car and got out to see if I was OK. By now I was almost in tears (or maybe I was, but it is all just a blur now.) No car. No bike. Twisted ankle. And I was in the one place I had been longing to visit for over ten years, with only a half a day left because I had wasted the other half in oblivious slumber. But on I walked. I had come this far, I was going to get my authentic Puerto Rican rice and beans if it killed me… and I say that not as an expression, but with the way things were going, I really thought it just might actually be a possibility—and not an unwelcome one at that. So I steered clear of the crazy drivers while trying not to get too far off the main road so as not to be kidnapped by some delusional, deranged, or drugged up Puerto Rican (because there were plenty of them in the area where I was—yeah, Mom, I left that part out of our phone conversation.)

I took plenty of pictures of myself so I could convince you all that I was having a fabulous time. I’ve gotten to be quite exceptional at taking pictures of myself—a gift that could only be bestowed on someone unfortunate enough to do most of their traveling solo. I even got a few taken by other people—mostly those who looked at me like I was an idiot trying to photograph myself and out of pity offered to take a picture for me. Really, I enjoy the challenge of trying to get a good shot of myself, but I humored them anyway and let them take a shot because, you know, I LOVE full body pictures of myself. Ugh!

I did enjoy the few hours I had in Old San Juan that day, once I got past all the garbage it took to get there. I had the most heavenly Puerto Rican dinner with a Malta and guava cheesecake at Jibarito’s. I ordered several sides "to-go" which I enjoyed later that week for a true Thanksgiving feast. It was just a few days before Thanksgiving thirteen years ago when I arrived in PR so it was a very fitting return for me.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, I was in Las Vegas and had hoped to enjoy my favorite… In-N-Out Burger. I am convinced that an INO chocolate shake is as good as a make-out, which is a regrettable window into the state of my personal life. Unfortunately (for me), it was closed (but yay for their employees who got to spend it with their families). So I “settled” for a juicy steak instead. I went with the first officer from our inbound crew who happened to be the most delightful female pilot I have ever met. (Did you really think I could convince a single male pilot to accompany me to dinner?!) She even picked up the tab for dinner because she said I really helped her as we talked about a recent breakup of hers from a long-time boyfriend. (See, all my relationship disasters have given me some useful insight. It was nice to be able to put my misfortune to some good use.) It was perfect, minus a few family members and a pumpkin pie. But hey, I’m learning to dance in the rain.

A New Month
December brought a whole new set of experiences. To be honest, I don’t really remember much of this month. It seems like I have worked the entire month, though I know this is just not possible. I think I enjoyed a few nice days at home in which I shopped, sewed, and even attended a few Christmas get-togethers. But then I had the work-week from HELL! I could try to explain it all, but it wouldn’t make much sense unless you really understood the day-to-day operations of my job, which I don’t care to elaborate on.

I will say that a senior flight attendant got after me when I was the flight leader and I had to take a firm stance on my leadership style… I have no problem asserting myself, but I hate unneeded confrontation. And I hate drama. (Being dramatic and drama are two entirely different things.) I did nothing wrong and she knew it. She was just trying to pull rank with me although I was in charge of the flight. I put the kibosh on that and the rest of that trip went smoothly. I earned the respect I deserved from her. Then there was the next trip in which I was forced to work a seventh day in a row… into my day off in which I had planned to see my niece’s Christmas program at school. It was really important to me since that is the stuff my Christmas is made of, being that I have to fly on the actual day itself. I made a total spectacle of myself… bawling in the airport (in my uniform.) I couldn’t help it. I was so disappointed and I knew that Delta could’ve gotten me home, but they wouldn’t, and it made me feel like I was selling my soul for a job. I got to my hotel room and just sobbed. It didn’t help that I was totally PMS-ing and for the fact that I finally weaned myself off of the meds I was put on after my car accident that completely numbed any and all of my emotions. I haven’t felt or had to deal with real emotions for a year and a half and I was a little overwhelmed. Thank goodness for my awesome Mom who has supported me through this weaning process. She has had to deal with me trying to deal with all of my emotions. This medication business has also affected my ability to sleep and so I have been exhausted and cranky in addition to being emotional. I’m getting better at dealing with it all, though, and it feels good to finally be free of the meds. I feel like “Me” again—for better or for worse! I finally FEEL, period, and it is kind of nice.

I recovered enough from my meltdown to get some rest. However, the next day when we were just about to close the airplane door and take off for home, finally (have I used this word enough—seriously, there is no FINALLY for me, it just never seems to end. But I digress.), a black cat ran into the cockpit causing an hour and a half delay. It was amusing for about five minutes, but then I just wanted to go home. This is a lovely story that I shared on Facebook and I will copy into a post here as well.

So I finally made it back to Denver to have my little Christmastime with Andrea’s family and my Mom (who stuck around an extra day to be with me, awww.) I flew in and went straight to an appointment with my orthopedic because of a problem I’ve been having with my knee. It’s an OJI because I tripped over a passenger’s leg in the aisle on the way home from Paris and my knee is still hurting… yet another story for another day. Yes, I’m a verifiable klutz. In fact, my doctor said that because I can touch my thumb to my forearm (“stupid human trick” as he called it), I have loose joints and therefore AM more prone to injury. (See, it’s not just all in my head.) Anyway, I have to have an MRI because he thinks I might have torn the meniscus in the back of my knee. But that is all just a side note. Really, I was totally excited to see the kids and give them their Christmas presents. I was just going to finish up the cute quilts I made the girls and then wrap them up. But first, I had a date with a super cute/cool guy my cousin set me up with. We had gone out before and apparently I told him about my blog, which he read (what was I thinking?!?!) and still asked me out on another date. I guess that’s a good sign considering that I don’t get anymore “real” than I do here on my blog. However, I was told by a good friend (who I dated for a few years, hee hee) that I should be careful about laying all my cards out on the table at once… that you should always put your best foot forward in the beginning of any relationship (when meeting anyone). I wouldn’t exactly say that my blog is “my best foot forward,” but for better or worse, it’s what anyone will discover about me in time any way.

Now back to this date… I’m not one to kiss and tell, or not kiss and tell, but for this date, I can safely give you all the gory details (because I’m pretty sure that he won’t bother reading my blog again anyway… awww, did I ruin the suspense, lol.) I threw up all over the restaurant on the date. Pretty awesome, huh? My stomach was a little irritable when he picked me up, but I thought I was just hungry. But after the food arrived, I couldn’t even look at it without getting nauseated. So I excused myself to the restroom to splash some cold water on my face and get some fresh air. I asked him to order me a Diet Coke while I was gone. When I came back, however, all I could say was, “I can’t drink that, I’m sorry, We have to go, I’ll wait outside.” I quickly grabbed my things and ran out of the restaurant with my hand over my mouth only to completely lose “it” right outside the front door. (I looked for a trash can but there wasn’t one anywhere.) I continued to puke in the bushes and then sat down until I wasn’t dizzy. Then I went back inside to tell them that I was sorry I had made a mess out front that they would need to clean up… just as my darling date was walking out with my dinner in a to-go box. Luckily there wasn’t anyone out front during this ordeal, but I had to shield him from my mess as we left. I cleaned myself off with wet-wipes from my purse (yes, I’m always prepared) before getting in his car. By now I felt fine again and joked that we could go bowling, but he said he was taking me home. However, on this particular little ride home, in all of my delirious, sickness-driven senselessness, I started going off on dating, marriage, relationships, and even past relationships. THE KISS OF DEATH!! I know. Shake your heads all you want, but the truth is (besides not being “all there” that night) is that I find myself somewhat sabotaging anything that could remotely turn into a relationship before it even has a chance to take its first breath of life. Especially when I am feeling at all vulnerable, as was the case when I was helplessly wearing vomit-covered boots in the presence of someone who was rather charming, despite the predicament he found himself in. Why do I do this, you ask? I think I am subconsciously afraid of getting hurt again. Of course, it’s not so “sub” conscious any more after hours of analyzing, “What the heck was I thinking?!?” I am now well aware of what my recent “MO” has been and I am ashamed. Emotionally safe, but ashamed. And this, my friends, is why I am still single.

I puked every two hours all night long and finally stopped the next morning. It was then that I discovered a mysterious phone vibrating in my purse. Somehow I had picked up Charming Boy’s phone—except I thought he had a Blackberry. Was this a second phone? I called the number I had for him and the phone I had didn’t ring. So I left him a message that I found a phone I thought was his. He called back and said it was his personal phone (apparently I only had his business cell number) and that he would pick it up later. Then he called back a short while later and said he had to work late, but that he had a courier in the area who would stop by to pick it up. And that was that. I’m going to try not to read too much into that one.

Since I was still reeling from my night of being sick, I was worried about making a flight that afternoon so I could report for work the next morning. I absolutely could not call in sick because I am already on probation for my attendance since I missed two trips in August when I was having my breasts picked apart. (Yet another story for another day… Delta, the so-called “Breast Cancer Prevention Supporters” write up their own employee for taking care of her breast cancer scare….grrrr.) So I ended up taking the red-eye that got in 25 minutes before my sign in. I did it! I made it to work. And now I am back in Denver, clearing my head when I should be getting those quilts finished. But the point is that I am still employed, celebrating my modified Christmas, dateless, but feeling much better.

See how gracefully I dance in the rain?