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?