40 x 40

New Year, Healthy Mii

2012-02-01T18:40:00.000-08:00

Usually I save my resolves and resolutions for my birthday, but I've been a slacken' lately. This new year I decided to work on eating more veggies. Specifically creating my meals to be half veggies and fruit, half whatever else. It's not a huge challenge for me, as I love veggies, but finding things everyone else will eat (my husband, my nephew, my sister and brother in law) has proven slightly challenging.

To keep my spirits up and to keep the challenge hard, I have decided to document my meals on my other blog, the day's bite, one nosh at a time. During this time I am also doing a colon cleanse that my brother in law fascinated me into doing. With my father's lack of a colon and my husband's grandmother's lack of a colon, I just think we probably should spend a little extra tender loving care on that particular organ.

Topping off the health craze, I just practically stole a wii from some new friends of ours. Included in our extreme bargain was a wii fit plus. I'm already logging minutes, which is a huge improvement over watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Reunion Special.

When I wrote #31, Improve My Health, I wasn't sure exactly what I was aiming for, but here wii go!

Eat, Eat, Drink

2010-10-29T02:18:00.000-07:00

One of the things on the list that I have done and haven't written about yet is "Have a hundred dollar meal." I have always wanted to go to a schmantsy restaurant in Chicago or maybe New York and munch away at little plates of deliciousness that a renowned chef has decided I should like. My only hesitation usual involves the fact that I don't like seafood, lamb, goats cheese or gizzards. And these "tasting menus" always include something of the aforementioned.

Switching gears here a moment, we decided to leave our wedding via water taxi ride and gave up our honeymoon suite at the Hyatt for a Marriott Rewards points room at the Renaissance Hotel across the bay. For those of you who know my father, those reward points are difficult to wrestle out of his grip, so this is a big deal. There isn't much going on over in the seaport district on a Sunday evening, but there is a Morton's Steakhouse. Thanks to the generous gifting of some of our superb friends we had the most amazing meal at Mortons. Starting with an appetizer each, then a salad, then a really, superbly, wonderfully good steak and a veggie side and a few cocktails and a warm apple crisp, followed with a complementary aperitif, our meal topped a few dollars over $100 a person. Success and I didn't even have to eat a lamb.

Switch again. Having hit all the major sites of Paris on our real month long honeymoon, the husband and I have taken to wandering around the few areas of town the average tourist might not make it to. (See the previous blog for the tranny park as an example.) The other day as we wandered the canal St. Martin, we talked about the two best parts of Paris and the two that we'd do different. We were pretty much in agreement, going when it was warmer and getting a slightly bigger apartment (I'm keeping him awake as I type this.). And the two best parts were having friends visit, and for me, the cheese platter at this little highly recommended place in our neighborhood. Sigh.

Because we are out of major things to do, we are covering some of the major eats. One was the cheese place, tonight it was a cute place with great service where garlicky escargot were actually consumed by both of us; me eating with my nose scrunched, picturing the snails I have salted in my childhood. Before dinner we had a snack of chicken flavored Lays, which, simply tasted like chicken, yuck, and Pierre Hermes macaroons. Of all the great macaroons in this world, Pierre Herme and Laduree's are supposedly the best. We tried Laduree's and they were pretty spectacular, so I had some high expectations for the lauded Herme. The gorgeous silver speckled creamy white macaroon was quite good. The green tea, the chocolate-cassis, and the rose, which I normally like, were all pretty horrible.

The Paris food blogs all recommend a little known by tourists, but frequented by real chefs- including Pierre Herme, restaurant called Le Baratin. I have been excited to go for the past week when I read the reviews. After eating Herme's macaroons however, I do question his taste. Regardless we plan to go and I expect that oh so awesome, I wish they did it more in the states, Paris three course meal. And before I go, I will leave you with tomorrow's plan: (First a disclaimer for my mum: I am about to end this yummy sentence with a preposition.) Hot chocolate, rich enough, thick enough to temporarily stand a spoon in.

When in France... Where in France? We're in France!

2010-10-22T04:17:00.000-07:00

Today the boy and I went to La Defense, a fantastically interesting building in the financial area of Paris. Not only is La Defense huge (large enough to house Notre Dame) but the entire complex was chocked with well designed or at the very least, well intentioned buildings. There are even open air art installations and a huge mosaic water fountain. La Defense directly faces Arc de Triomphe, and, although it is quite a ways away, gives this clear direct view of the arc and a few glimpse of the Eiffel Tower.

I had the brilliant idea to walk down the road towards the Arc de Triomphe and the husband acquiesced. A few blocks in we hopped on the shared bikes, called Velib', and continued on. In a change of game, we passed a park the husband had pointed out earlier on the map and we headed deep, deep inside this massive and ridiculous forest.

Much later, staring at the street signs and our map, I glanced over to a "woman" standing in the park wearing Joseph's coat of many colors. I glanced across the street to another "woman" wearing considerably less clothing and hooker boots and then surprised, I glanced back at "Joseph". "OMG! Babe! Hooker trannies!" He was busy consulting the map, but glanced up surprised and then smiled a huge smile. Nodding his head "Yes" he came back to inform me that we had traveled way off our map. In the mean time, he missed Joseph flashing her massive fake boobs and shaking her blond wig at the cars that passed. Total train wreck.

Because we were definitely lost and the road ahead was in a definite uphill incline, we decided to follow the cars back through the very beautiful, but now dark and twisty park. The park was dense with trees and the women (and women with penises) were clustered around them showing a lot of leg. There were lots of people out excersing on the paths, we ourselves may have been there on cruisers, but some, those in business suits perhaps, were there specifically for cruising.

Before this tranny incident, I had told the husband, "I like being lost. I know I'm in the park and eventually I will get out of it, I know I'm in Paris, so I don't really care if I know exactly where I am." Eventually showed up, and we were still lost in the park, we were surrounded by hooker trannies and my butt was good and tired of riding the stupid bike. My attitude towards our adventure had turned sour.

Finally, oh finally, we hit a real road and made it out of the park. As we crossed the intersection there was a sign, marking our return into the city limits of Paris. "We're in Paris!" We stopped at the second bike return we found and hopped onto the train, done with our idea of heading toward the Arc. And as you do when in France... we had Mexican food for dinner. Chips and salsa, a sweet reward after a long ride in the park.

So I Never Claimed to be Degas or Monet...

2010-10-16T02:48:00.000-07:00

But today we subwayed over to Montmarte, the formerly artsy area of Paris, and spent some time with our new art supplies. I colored up a bright and sprightly oil pastel of the Lapin Agile Cabaret and its charming ivy lined street while the husband sketched out the dome of the Sacre-Coeur church. I recognized what he had sketched immediately, and told him he wasn't allowed to mock mine before I showed it to him. He did manage to conjure up a complement, about a particular strong point on the picture and I told him my basic art philosophy. "When in doubt, smudge."

Later I managed to buy what must be the absolute worse two pastries in Paris. One was a gorgeous shimmery dense chocolately tarte and one was a lemon tarte that, if it wasn't enough that in chocolate the word "Citron" was scrolled across it, the bakery woman directly told me it was lemon. So what makes these said tartes so terrible? The chocolate one had the texture of overly hard jello and the flavor of overly weak jello and the "citron" tarte didn't have any flavor at all.

It was such a disappointment that after our local coffee shop/bar turned out to be jam packed on a friday night, I made the husband buy me a crepe with sugar from a vendor with graffiti all over the truck, who was upset with me for leaning on his candy display. The crepe was delicious and on the second to last bite sugar squirted up over the crepe, over my new sweater, over my new scarf, over my hand and all over my face. It wasn't a very good night for pastries. Or for that matter, endive, but I guess that's a different story for a different time.

In between scraping sugar off my the back of my ear and debating the usefulness of a college degree with the boy, we came up with a plan to do more sketching tomorrow and, for sure, some laundry.

Mac in Paris

2010-10-11T12:04:00.000-07:00

My former roommates arrived in Paris a few days after us and we took a whirl wind trip to Disney Paris, Versailles and all the other museums or tourist points that are mandatory Paris visiting sights. We covered Notre Dame and the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the Paris sewer system, no really, we did, and it smells as bad as you expect it to. From the second day when we walked 8+ miles we have been going, going and more going.

The friends left us Saturday morning and the husband and I have been continuing to use our museum pass to cover as much ground as we can before it runs out. I made it to the Rodin museum and the textile museum, with a great YSL show and fantastic Jean Paul Gautier dresses from the 80's. In the mean time, the boy's computer decided to stop charging. Fortunately the Louvre has a big shopping area which included a Mac store and supposedly a Sephora. Our stop at the Mac store yielded us a charger and on we went. The Sephora store never materialized.

Problem number one. We got the charger home and the charger didn't work. Well, the next day was a Sunday and not many stores are open on Sundays. I set out for Sephora early in the day and the boy for Mac for charger number two, but my store wasn't open. We met up later in the day for a rather expensive but really delicious meal and for the sewer tour, then headed back home again to try the charger. The lovely mac store boys had decided the problem was we needed one with more charge. We knew the computer was working because we had plugged it in at the store.

Back at home, charger number two didn't work. Really? Really. We had an hour to make it back to the store, so back we tromped. The guys got us a third charger, exchanging our second and while in the store plugged in the third to make sure it worked. Nope. AH! So the employee gave us the address of a place where we could purchase an older charger.

Monday morning we started off to this place and wouldn't you know, the place (Mac world) only sold new chargers. (I asked for it in french and when he answered, I had no idea what he was saying, so I asked him in English if he spoke English, then I told him that was all the french I knew. Fortunately he laughed, but still didn't have the right charger.)

We headed then to Sephora for my over priced american brand blush and the boy for another Mac store around the corner. I was in luck. He was out. Grouchy Mac Groucherson (not me) then decided to walk home a little bit out of the way, because there was yet another Mac store on the way. We hit that store and the guy insisted that the very same charger that we had now purchased multiples of would definitely work. I convinced Groucherson to just get it and take it home. We did and plugged it in and... and... and...

IT WORKED! There was great rejoicing in the land.

Deux Americans en Paris

2010-10-05T01:43:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite items on the list is "Live in a foreign country for a minimum of one month." It falls just short of another favorite, 'Touch every continent".

Since my Godly relationship has now turned into a new and fantastic marriage, we have combined our honeymoon with "Speak a foreign language fluently" and "Live in a foreign country".

Renting an apartment in Paris sounded like the best idea ever. Which, don't get me wrong, one day in, isn't too shabby. Well, our neighborhood is a little shabby, but its got a grip of affordable places to eat, drink and be merry or "married"- which for me is to spend money and for the husband is to sit by the canal and read.

The apartment is a teeny tiny studio, about the size of a small hotel room, with a bathroom so small the door won't close unless you sit on the toilet sidewise, feet in the shower. Great for a honeymoon retreat. We do have a fridge and stove top, so tonight we cooked something, which I made the husband google to find out what it was, as I cooked it. Looks like chicken, tastes like chicken, not called chicken? Turkey! It went fantastic with our bottle of wine and fresh, uh, french bread.

After dinner we went on a quest for a cheap flat iron and shampoo. Foreign currents tend to wreck havoc on american flat irons and mine was expensive enough not to sacrifice to an electrical current. After two days of searching we found one two blocks from the house. I snapped up shampoo and conditioner and my favorite deodorant not found in the US anymore and happily headed home.

Once in the tiny teeny tiny shower, I lathered up my hair. Hmmm.... not really lathering. More like conditioning.... hmmm... crap, thank you Rosetta Stone French I now have two bottles of conditioner, no shampoo, soaking wet hair and a bad attitude.

Au revoir.

"I Just Want to Eat"

2010-03-18T23:22:00.000-07:00

My mother once said to me, "I've never met a person who does so much to not do anything." She was referring to my dedicated pursuit of a career goal of not having to work. It's not that I dislike work, in fact, I thrive when I have way too much to do, but so far "work" as I know it gets in the way of all the millions of things I would rather be doing. Sewing, traveling, sleeping in, learning french, cooking...

The boyfriend hears my endless ideas of things that I would rather be doing with my life and takes them with a grain of salt. I'm not sure whether it was opening a restaurant that's only open for brunch or learning how to make chocolates that made him laugh when I brought it up. "You really do just need to be independently wealthy, don't you?" He asked me. "Yes."

#40. Find out what I want to do career wise and do it.

This year I am starting a walking tour that visits restaurants in East Boston. It's a big deal to me because I've never pulled something like this off before. It's completely foreign to me to say "business owner" "my company" "press release". Because of issues brought up from the tour, I've been struggling with self worth. I have to remind myself that people start businesses everyday and although it's okay to fail, I don't need to expect to.

The tour has definantely given me a sense of purpose and a mission and a way to escape from the humdrum of my "real" job, but I'm still learning what I want to do with my career. I'm pretty sure it's something that will evolve over time. I met a tattoo artist today who works all over the country and just took over a lavender farm in Sonoma. I asked him, "when you were 19, is that what you pictured yourself doing?" "Actually," he responded, "I just like to eat. That's what I want to do." A little (okay, huge) part of me completely understood.

Kissing Colin in my Sweater. I Mean, Dreams. In my Dreams.

2009-12-29T14:40:00.000-08:00

I've been busy trying to #21. Kiss someone famous, but he walked onto Kristy's plane instead of mine. When the text came, "Colin Firth is on my flight!!!!!!" My response was "Holy crap, Oh my gosh, holy crap, Oh my gosh! Holy CRAP! Where are you landing? I will be there to meet your flight." Kristy told me LGB to SFO. I was in Boston, it was ten o'clock at night. I wasn't going to make it to San Francisco before their short one hour flight landed. "DELAY THE FLIGHT!!!! He's MINE! Show him my picture! LAST CHANCE!!!" (I told the boyfriend about my frantic texts and got an eye roll. But come on it's COLIN FIRTH... Jude Law would be a reasonable substitute.)

Needless to say, I'm still working on that one. I have however managed to #3. Own a piece of designer clothing and wear it like it's from H&M.

My friend Brooke is getting married and I attended her bridal shower in Wisconsin. She picked me up from the airport and headed to the Mall of America. At Marshals we browsed through long sweaters. Being Marshals, I didn't look at the price tag as I picked up a few. In the dressing room the soft warm sweater looked decent on and felt so comfortable. I looked at the price tag. $60. SIXTY DOLLARS for a sweater from Marshals? What is this Micheal freaken Kors or something? Yes. And it's cashmere and it can be worn up side down.

I bought it. (Budget? What? I didn't understand the question.)

It's become my newest party trick flipping it around to show whoever compliments me on it (and someone always does) how it can be worn both long or short. And I don't just wear it at parties. I wore it pretty much every day for the first two weeks I owned it, even while moving into my new North End apartment. And one day while unpacking I took the edge of it and dusted my jewelery dish.

#3. Own a designer piece and wear it like it's from H&M. Done. Not quite as exciting as kissing Colin, but, one day...

Will Write for Food

2009-10-01T14:56:00.000-07:00

4. Publish something or pitch a piece at least 5 times.

I would like to do freelance writing here and there. It's a little intimidating and it takes a miracle (and a lot of effort) to get work as a free lancer.

Step one. Have an idea. Which I finally did. Relevant Magazine actually allows submissions from the readers, and I had an idea for column for them. I sent in a query and didn't hear back.

One down. Four to go.

Parlez le Francais?

2009-07-30T20:50:00.000-07:00

#1. Speak a foreign language fluently.

I'm TRY-ING! Okay! Geez. It's really hard.

I'm done learning Spanish. Well, I live in East Boston and like to travel, so I wouldn't say, "I'm giving up." I just have the language on a shelve for awhile, while I pursue more obtainable pursuits. Such as, learning French.

There are many reasons I have switched to a much more complicated and odd language, but first let me say that I am actually enjoying it. When I was in Haiti in January I heard Creole and French, really, for the first time ever. Aside from being able to tell my dog to shut his trap (thank you mom) and knowing the words for thank you and cake, I have literally no knowledge of the language. When I was in Haiti, to communicate with my new Haitian friends, I had to learn a few words. I can count to ten and point out my eyes, ears and mouth, but what I really took away was the knowledge that French, despite some doubt, can be learned.

When I was learning Spanish I felt as though I was repeating lessons I had learned 100 times before but never remembered. When I remember a word in French it's a whole new door and new word that I have never remembered before. It's exciting to gage my progress like this. I feel like a new mom saying, "My son can say 'Bat' 'Ball' 'Bird' 'Blue' 'Book' when I say, "I know how to say 'my name is...' and 'I am tired.' and 'I come from...'"

Pouves-vous parler le Francais? (Okay, I may have had to look that up in the English to French translator.)

Done. Finished. Done. Finally.

2009-05-20T21:25:00.000-07:00

My mom paid for my college education. She had been a stay at home mom until I left for college she got a job specifically to foot the private college bill. I get how lucky I was that she did that. Comprehend and capeesh.

What she didn't bargain for when she started paying for my school was that I would take a year off and attend hair school. When I went back to the university I was both a student there and a night student at Paul Mitchell and a employee of the one and only Starbucks. Because of the craziness that was my life, I survived by taking minimal credits that year.

As my senior year approached it was impossible to finish all the remaining credits due to class time conflicts, since I also had an internship, was apprenticing at a salon and for a time working at Starbucks still, I wasn't able to take online classes during the first semester at school.

By the time my last semester started and I was in the throws of a 50 page media criticism paper, senior project, and full school credits, my dog died, fish died, grandma got inoperable cancer, and dad ended up paralyzed in the hospital, the last two classes I had to finish were far from my mind.

The school let me graduate, diploma pending on the completion of two remaining classes, History and Political Science. When I started the list and put #14. Graduate, on it, I had finished everything but the History class. I had started it many times, but completed it? Not so much.

After one more false start, I buckled down and finished it in December. Even after I transferred all my units over the my university, I was scared to say "I'M DONE!" Because I had heard too many stories of people who had waited to do the work and now had more classes to complete.

I went to my old apartment in NY the day I flew out to my mom's 60Th surprise birthday party. I had written a little roast for her, as we had asked all her friends to do as well, and in it I talked about how she nagged me incessantly about finishing school. Much to my surprise, at my old apartment was a letter from the school asking me where I wanted to have my diploma sent.

My speech got edited to include the diploma with her address on it. I mean, really, what would I want with it? But for my mom, it is a symbol of all her hard work and let's face it, stellar nagging skills. Thanks mom.

Yearly Check Up

2009-05-14T23:20:00.000-07:00

I can hardly believe it's been a year since I sat on a flight to Austin and made my list. I can hardly believe I've actually carried it out and done so many things already. Aside from the ten things listed below, there are a couple more that have been started our almost completed.

2. Have a Godly relationship.
7. Wear a pair of heels and own it. Short people be damned.
8. Find my peace with God.
9. Vote.
11. Give food to a homeless person.
12. Buy the ring I want.
17. Cut my hair off.
24. Decorate. My style, my way.
32. Kiss someone on an airplane.
36. Barter with someone and come out victorious.

If I finish ten more next year I will be half-way done, and not even thirty-years-old. But who am I kidding. TEN MORE?! In a year?!? We'll just have to see about that.

Better End of the Deal

2009-03-29T12:28:00.000-07:00

You may remember the time I once gave food to a homeless person, thus accomplishing a goal and ending a rather terrible day. Well, since that time I have not had the opportunity (or honestly, desire) to have a repeat of a homeless person food sharing moment.

A few days ago I was on my way to Whole Foods to grab some food for my long flight. I passed a Subway and noticed a homeless dude sitting outside asking for change. It was an icy cold day and I couldn't help but feel bad for him searching to make eye contact with drivers idling at the stop light on the corner. I decided to buy him some soup while I was at Whole Foods.

While pouring soup into a medium container I decided to grab some for myself as well. I grabbed a small container and filled it and immediately remembered my tomato soup at home. Oh well. I grabbed both of us a sugar cookie, payed for the purchases and headed up the road toward the Subway store.

As I was crossing the street with a cookie in my mouth, a tore up looking guy asked me if I could spare some change. I didn't have any but I offered him my soup instead. He misunderstood me and said, "I promise miss, I will use it on food." I clarified "No, sir, I have some soup right here, would you like it?" He eagerly nodded his head and reached out his hand. I saw on his wrist dried blood and hoped it was mearly because his hands were so dry and cracked and not from, well, some other reason. I almost tossed the small soup at him and was alread walking when I pulled out the spoon handed it back to him.

When I reached the top of the hill, the man in front of Subway was gone. I looked around and didn't see anyone visibly in need of soup, so I ate the second cookie and walked on toward the T. Once on the T, I contempated the fact that, although I had accomplish a good deed and did actually give food to a homeless person, I was the one who came out on the better end of the deal. I had two delicious cookies and the larger soup.

No Queens Allowed

2009-03-16T16:01:00.000-07:00

My hair is orange. Well, a red orange. But it's no longer brown, and that is the point. So far I haven't done anything drastic. Oh, except... Invite the (#2.) Godly Relationship home to meet the family.

I went to Northern California to have my wisdom teeth out and the next day I dyed my hair and (#17.) cut it into a funky little chop. Two days later I inflicted the Godly Relationship with fun Northern California roads and my family. He survived. And not only did he survive, but he (#32) kissed me on the plane.

The last time I was number thirty two'd, you may recall it was by Queen's Boy Thug. I ruled that it didn't count because I wasn't the one doing the kissing. Well, when Godly Relationship asked me if there was anything on my list he could help me complete, I was quick to tell him he could kiss me on the plane.

We were both seated in middle seats. He was in front of me. I would like to say he was concerned with helping me complete a task on the list, but quite frankly, I think he was more selfishly motivated. He turned around near final descent and kissed me. Then he thanked me for taking him to visit the family.

My red headed, number seventeen'd self is thrilled that my number two number thirty two'd me.

Blog First, Clean Later

2009-03-01T20:32:00.000-08:00

Do you know that feeling of chaos and disorder when your house is a mess? The dishes aren't done, there is sand on the floor, the sheets need to be washed, and let's not even talk about dusting. And once it's a little chaotic then thing really fall apart, because there is a total and utter despair that things will ever look better and be normal again. My house is in that state. Well, it's getting close. I haven't even been working much, I've just been busy.

#4. Have a piece of writing published or at least pitched five times.

My writing life fell apart a lot like my house did. I wasn't feeling overly creative, I don't know any publishers, I shelved my script temperarily, I was in a funk. I thought about getting an M.F.A. in Creative Writing, but I don't particularily want to spend that much time learning when I could be doing. So I started a daily blog. It forces me to find something intesting out of my reasonably mundane days. And now that creativity started flowing, I want to write. I even pulled out my script again. It's oddly motivating to force creativity and now I'm hoping I can force myself into cleaning my little apartment. Maybe once I'm done typing this blog.

*The Belated Valentines Day Post.

2009-02-16T15:06:00.000-08:00

While I have been quite successful with my craigslist finds, I am still in awe of my newest adventure. When my friend Christina called me and told me I "just had to post an ad loking for a date, it's tons of fun!" I said, "No, absolutely not, no way, that's crazy, and you need to be carreful, you are going to get killed by some internet psycho."

When five minutes after hanging up the phone, I posted an ad, I genuinely was not actually expecting to go on a date, let alone find myself a Godly relationship. If blind dates, eharmony, highly recommended friends of friends, and random boys discovered in traditional methods hadn't produced a healthy, Godly relationship, it was highly suspect that craigslist would be producing anything better.

Wouldn't you know, the one boy I deemed normal enough to meet just happens to be one of the most atypical boys I have ever met? Questions like "What do you expect from a Godly relationship?" fall from his lips as if it's a perfectly normal question. And my response? "God bless Craig!"

* Could also be entitled:
1. The woman I worked with wouldn't shut up long enough for me to write this in a timely manner.
or 2. Good Things Come to Those Who Wait.
or 3. Craiglist. Woman Seeking Man.

Most likely, it will grow back...

2009-02-02T12:50:00.000-08:00

As a hairdresser I never thought I would be the girl who refused to cut her long hair. But, the longer my hair has grown, the less willing I am to part with it. I put #17. Cut off my hair, on my list because I noticed the growing terror that consummed me when scissors came near my hair.

I have been flirting with cutting off my hair for months now. That cute little trendy bob that was going around, thank you Kate Holmes, would look good on me. But I didn't do it. So now that the bob is growing out, ala Anne Hathaway, I'm tempted with a fresh shoulder length version.

This morning I made every excuse in the book for why I didn't march down to the salon on my street corner and cut my hair. (Excuses: It's too cold. It's Monday, they probably won't be open. They probably won't do a good job, it is East Boston after all.) So I impulsively grabbed my scissors out of my bag, opened the box and without another thought cut a huge chunk out of the front. Panic insued. Deep breathes. A little more panic. Then I happily set about chopping my hair into a more or less even shoulder length bob. All hail the new Anne Hathaway.

#1. Speak a Foreign Language Fluently.

2009-01-21T18:29:00.000-08:00

Two days ago I landed, delayed, in Miami, on Air France, coming from Haiti. I zoomed through immigration, tapped my foot impatiantly through customs, gathered my baggage and started running from Terminal J to Terminal D. I rushed up to the first class ticket counters at American and begged to be listed for an oversold flight that left in 45 minutes. Rushing through TSA I realized my gate was the furthest possible distance away and I now had 5 minutes to get to it. I rushed up to the desk, the last remaining passangers ran up a minute later and I didn't get on the flight.

Sweating, filthy, and tired, I tried to book a hotel through my credit card reward points. The deadline for the day had passed and I was unable to. I then booked a hotel from Hotel.com. I searched in vain on my conformation page for the number to the hotel to call for the van to pick me up. After a few transfers on the telephone tree and a five minute wait I had the number. I was outside talking to my friend about Haiti, waiting for the van driver to pick me up when I realized it had been half and hour and the driver had still not arrived. I called the hotel again, and finally after midnight I made it to the hotel. At six AM I caught the hotel shuttle again to try for an oversold flight.

I made the flight to New York and, thanks to a favor I cashed in on, a driver met me curbside. I would also like to note at this point, it is 22 degrees outside and I have on a tissue thin teeshirt, a tissue thin sweater, no socks, no hat, no gloves and best of all, no jacket. We made our way into the city and I ran into Zales to collect my ring that had needed a little mantainance work. Running back out the door, I hopped in the car and drove back to the airport. Heading through TSA agian I saw that a Boston flight was boarding. I didn't know what time it was, but figured it wouldn't hurt to try. I raced through the terminal and saw the jetbridge being drawn back from the plane. Pulling out my phone I saw they had closed the doors 12 minutes early. The next flight was in a few hours, so I watched as our new president was sworn into office and finally made it onto the next Boston flight.

I was irritated that that it had taken so long to get home, until cleaning the plane, another flight attendant mentioned she was going to be teaching Spanish lessons. "For anyone?" I asked. "Yup." She said. "For 50 dollars a month." "Sign me up." Was my response. I was on my way to #1. Speak a foreign language fluently!

Now if only I could spell in English. I wonder what flights I have to miss and terminals I have to run through to make that happen?

Purely Selfish

2009-01-11T13:32:00.000-08:00

I don’t make resolutions. Not real ones. And certainly not for the New Year. But every year, in July, on my birthday, I do make a list of things I would like to work on for the following year. For two years running I have decided to be less selfish in my travels. Do something good. Volunteer. Be proactive. And for two years running I have managed to take purely selfish vacations to incredible locales.

As 2009 was about to begin I put in a call to Lance, a guy that I knew growing up. He married a Haitian woman and they have just started an organization called Hope in the Light. I desperately needed a vacation. My last one had been in October, and well, being January it was way past time for another one. Right, so I put in a call to Lance. “Can I come visit?”

My purpose was, yes, selfish. I wanted to relax and put myself into a different way of life for a little bit of time, take a break from the mundane activities that I had fallen into and expand my worldview. But I am not fully motivated by self-interest. I can’t hop on a plane to the “poorest country in the western hemisphere” (As quoted by many people who wondered what in the world I was going to Haiti for.) and expect not to do some work.

Looking over my 40 by 40 list, I was curious if I could knock out another goal while pursuing my 'less selfish vacations' goal. #23. Improve someone’s life. And #10. Help someone in a crisis. Seemed like the only two likely candidates. But the reality is, I am going without any expectations of really helping anyone. I am a little apprehensive about being a burden on Lance and his wife, I have seen extreme poverty and not had a solution, and to place a goal on my vacation like “Improve someone’s life” is a challenge I don’t know if I’m prepared to face. I really don’t want to be so narrow-minded that I think that money solves life’s problems or even that somewhere in Haiti someone needs my help. So I leave for Haiti, not with the expectation of helping anyone, but rather the responsibility to give myself. And what I know I will gain from my experience will be yes, purely selfish.

The Slap. Or #8. Find My Peace With God.

2008-12-22T09:29:00.000-08:00

#8. Find my peace with God.

I do not intend this particular blog to be funny, sarcastic, or even particularly religious. I don’t even want to pretend to be happy that I have to write it. But I am writing it. And if you muddle through with me, I hope you will catch a sense of my heart and the intensity in which I felt, “The slap on the face”.

Best Friend and I had a conversation which ended with me accusing her of being a hypocrite in her own life about something she felt very strongly toward in other peoples. She later was reading a book that basically said, (and I very roughly paraphrase) “So and So needed a friend to slap her on the face to see the hypocrisy in her own life.” So Best Friend sent me an email a few days after our conversation and said, “Thank you for the slap on the face.”

As I’m still new in Boston and rarely get to make it to church, I am still looking for one where I am supposed to be. This activity has actually become rather fun, because the churches in Boston tend to give away Starbucks cards to first time visitors. A couple Sundays ago I made it to Hope something something in Brookline. Basically while I was at the church, the pastor managed to “slap me on the face.”

He was going through the book of Job, which is a book that has always held my interest, because I couldn’t ever figure out exactly what Job’s sin was. Here goes an abbreviated version of the sermon. Basically God and Satan have this conversation and Satan say’s “I bet Job wouldn’t love you if you didn’t bless him so richly.” God say’s “Um, yeah, you’re lame. I bet you he would. In fact, I’ll prove it to you.” So there goes Job innocently walking by and basically everything bad that can happen, happens. And Job has the right response. Score one for team God.

So Job’s friends come over for a little visit to the sackcloth and ashes forum and after a week of silence they tell Job that obviously Job has some sin in his life. Job say’s “Nope. You’re wrong.” And even in that his heart was okay, because he accepted that sometimes crap happens and that was just that. Score two for team God. Then the friends keep at it. (They weren’t the best friends in the world.) So Job gets all worked up and demands an explanation from God. “God, you owe me.” Score one for team Satan. Job’s heart wasn’t right. God said, “Okay. You know, you said you want to have this conversation with me, so lets have this conversation. But first, how about I ask you some questions. Where were you when I created the earth? Or formed you in your mother’s womb? Or held back the ocean and created all this stuff?” He continues on for chapters like this. Job’s response? “I put my hand over my mouth.”

So Job has this same realization while God is admonishing him, that I had while hearing about Job and that is that sometimes crap happens and it’s not what is going on that matters, but our instead, our response to God. And when I realized that, it was a slap on the face. Don’t think I haven’t heard this before, but laid out how it was, just made me such a jerk. I had to say, “God, I put my hand over my mouth.”

And then Job repented. It wasn’t because of previous sin in his life that God had dished out some kind of drastic punishment; it was simply life being life. Which is something we are faced with all the time. And Job repented before all his blessings were returned. God did return them, and more, and even some more, but what’s even more interesting to me is that Job never knew why all the crap had happened to him. God never actually answered him. And this drives me crazy about God. But now I have an appropriate response. It’s not one that I have an easy time with. But it’s there. And in the most immediate way I found my peace with God. *

*This in no way indicates I find it easy having a good attitude toward God, or for that matter, others, but I’m working on it. So for instance to the guy on the plane today that heard me mutter, “these people never listen” (I was talking about him), I’m very sorry. It’s a learning process.

Ringing Consequences

2008-12-16T16:53:00.000-08:00

Another Awkward Plane Moment.
Sponsered in Part by the Right Hand Ring.

As all my awkward moments seem to do, this one takes place on the aircraft. And also serves to demonstrate how fullfilling goals can sometimes actually be a bad thing. (Not that I don't still watch my ring sparkle at least once a day.)

We are delayed on the taxi way leaving Kennedy heading to Chicago. Nothing out of the ordinary there. A mid fifties or so gentleman comes to the back of the plane and heads to the lav. “Sir, I am required to tell you that you actually need to be seated, as we are on an active taxi way.”

AG: Well, we are just sitting here, and I have to pee.

ME: I’m just saying what I have to say. You make your own choice as to what you need to do.

AG: So I really can’t use the bathroom?

ME: Anytime the seatbelt sign is on, you actually need to be in your seat.

AG: Well if I pee on my seat, it’s going to be your fault.

ME: If you pee on your seat, I’d say it’s the fault of the guy who didn’t use the bathroom before he boarded the plane, but that’s just me.

The guy chooses not to use the bathroom and as soon as he hits his seat the captain announces that we are next for take off. Once we are in the air, the seatbelt sign is still on, the other flight attendant has made her “Please remain in your seat” announcement, there he is again. “Can I use the bathroom now?” “Well, the seatbelt sign is on.” “Forget it. I’m not asking.” He enters the bathroom.

He then proceeds to talk to me during my drink service. Which is really annoying and even if he was my age, ridiculously attractive and handsomely wealthy I would have been annoyed because he was in the way. Finally, after service is over, he sits down and even though previously he had said his back was killing him, he remained seated for the rest of the flight.

During deplaning I’m standing, wearing my blue gloves, waiting for everyone to get off the plane so I can clean it, turn around and finally get home. The Annoying Guy waits for the people behind him to get off the plane and then…

AG: Thank you for showing me your very pretty wedding ring.

I am confused. I look down at my gloved hand and wonder when he saw it. I say…

ME: Thank you. I’m a big fan myself.

AG: Did you pick it out?

ME: I bought it. Did you notice that it was actually on my right hand?

AG: I did, now that I think about it. Did you buy it to keep guys like me from hitting on you?

In my head, I thought “I didn’t know you thought you had a chance, man who is my father’s age.” Out loud I say:

ME: I bought it because I wanted something sparkly and pretty.

AG: Oh, well, oh. Well. Uh. Have a great night.

In my head I thought: “!!!???!!!” Then: “Ewewh.” Then: “Weird” Then: “That was awkward” Then: “I’m putting Chicago on my avoid list.” Then: “Thanks a lot ring.”

Women Raise Your Right Hands

2008-11-30T12:45:00.000-08:00

When I read my friend Rachel my list of things to do, she responded with “Is getting married on that list? Because you could accomplish a lot of those things by getting married.”

Well, getting married is not on the list and with the way my eharmonying was going it seemed like a long time coming. So I had to take things into my own hands and #12. Buy the ring that I want.

I put this on the list really only for the excuse to buy this one particular ring that I had been lusting after at Tiffany & Co. (Give me a break, I told you some of these would be incredibly shallow.) I found the identical version of said ring at Zales and it was $2,500 less expensive. A sign, one should think, that I should purchase it. But I didn’t.

I just looked and tried it on. And pondered. And looked. And annoyed the sales girls.

Finally I was in Ft. Myers, FL on a layover and I decided to take a gander at the outlet stores near the hotel. I was shopping for a new pair of work shoes and found a fun $10 pair of green shoes. I took them to the front, pulled out my wallet and decided they were too expensive and I didn’t need them. I felt confident and free walking out of the Aldo store with out a shopping bag. I was a woman who made wise decisions with her money.

And then…

Zales. The outlet store. I walked in determined not to buy my ring. Even if they had it. They didn’t. I should have walked right out. I didn’t. I tried on every ring displayed on the right side of the store. I tried on “Michelle’s engagement ring” and “Jen’s ring she bought last week” and “ My personal favorite” and “I really like this one” and “Is this the one you are looking for?”

45 minutes later I was sitting wearing a gorgeous antique-y1/2 caret white gold ring with little diamond-y square stuff and lots of sparkle. The cost was double of “The Ring I Want” and without hesitation I said, “I take it.”

I was flying with this odd girl who happened to be married and when I showed her the ring she said, “Better you than me.” I waved the sparkly goodness on my right hand and thought, “You’re right!” But really I had no idea what she was taking about.

Pretty Much Awkward.

2008-11-12T09:55:00.000-08:00

Two trips ago, after a hurried lunch, I was standing at the door greeting people as they walked on the plane. And as I was doing so I was handing them toothpaste. It’s this promotion thing, that I think is kinda stupid, although it’s better then the mascara I was(n’t) handing out last month. People were joking around with me and asking for toothbrushes and such. Then this adorable older woman walked on board and as she was talking to me she pointed out very subtly that I had food in my teeth. Oh the irony of it all. Handing out toothpaste with food in my teeth. I immediately thought, “I need a new job.”

Then I had THE EPIPHANY. A few weeks ago I was complaining to my friend about God’s total neglect in my choice of career. I was saying “I mean, seriously Christina, I told God I would go anywhere, and do anything. I was open to working in orphanages in Africa or with sex trade victims in Russia, I was fine with any of that, and REALLY, Really? God wants me to be a flight attendant? Really? I feel completely disregarded.”

The conversation stuck with me and on my last trip I was contemplating my future career options. #40. Figure out what I want to do career wise and do it. I was thinking over my options and ways to escape my current life as a flight attendant, and yet, still keep all the benefits, when it hit me. God has allowed me to do exactly what I want to do, which is see the world. I haven’t had to watch kids abandoned by parents who have died of AIDS or have my heart broken by 10-year-old prostitutes in East Asia (Although it inadvertently was in Cambodia, but who would have thought our balcony would over look what we are pretty sure was a brothel.) And then I realized that I had been totally selfish in my gratitude and thankfulness to God for allowing me to have such a great life and have so many opportunities when things could be so much worse.

So one might think the story ends there. Oh. Oh no. It gets so much better. I worked a Denver redeye turn last night. I smiled and said “goodnight” or “good morning “or “have a good day” to all the passengers as they walked off, and then went to wait for the airport shuttle bus.

It’s 5 AM, I’ve been working all night. I’m just longing for my bed when one of the passengers from my flight, an Indian gentleman, walks up and sits next to me on the bench. I smiled at him because I recognized him from my flight and then looked away. He speaks to me with breath of death (obviously hadn’t used the toothpaste sample) and asks if I’m cold. I am. I’m wearing nylons and a light sweater in 40 degree weather. Of course I am. He reaches to my leg and points to my nylons and say’s something that I couldn’t completely understand. “I say, “Yeah, they’re thin, but the uniform requires it.”

So he takes it upon himself to reach to my knee and massage it under the pretense that he is grabbing at the fabric of my nylon. I shift my knees and his hand moves. HIGHER. REALLY?!?!? So I am completely annoyed and literally brush off his hand with my elbow.

The blessed shuttle comes right then and I get on the bus and settle my bag into the seat next to me so he can’t come any closer. (The breath was really killing me.) He asks me if I am married and if I have a boyfriend and do I live with my parents. I am responding, but briefly in words like this: “No. Yes. Umhum.” Then he asks me “Job? What is you job?”

“Uh… I’m a flight attendant?” I JUST WORKED HIS FLIGHT! I SMILED! I OFFERED HIM BEVERAGES! I SAID “GOOD NIGHT! I WAS STILL WEARING MY UNIFORM AND ID AND WINGS. HE HAD JUST WALKED OFF MY FLIGHT!!!”

“Oh, really. You work for the airline?” WOW. It really was time to #40. Figure out what I wanted to do career wise and then do it.

One huge gulp of Bellini. AKA: GO VOTE!

2008-11-02T16:15:00.000-08:00

I sat back, took a long sip of my peach bellini and stared. Stared at my absentee ballot. Stared at the little tabs I had ripped off that said, "I HAVE VOTED- HAVE YOU?" But the thing was, I hadn't yet voted for the most important issue on the agenda. The president. I couldn't decide. I felt damned if I do, damned if I don't for both options. It came down to this every year, which is why, until now I hadn't #9. Vote[d].

While it would be a nice change to have a black man in the white house, it wouldn't be a terrible thing to have a little female power for once either. But both of those reasons are terrible reasons to vote for a person. So I took one more sip of my bellini (Cheesecake Factory really does make great ones) and voted based primarily on the two most important issues I care about, the war and the economy. And now I'm about to mail my ballot I'm just glad I vote in a state that consistently votes blue, regardless of my choice. It lightens my sense of responsibility. Although that may just be the bellini speaking. "WAITER?!"

#36. Barter with someone and come out victorious

2008-10-28T04:32:00.000-07:00

Number 36 came about after a trip to Cambodia. Every where we went we were told we should be bargaining with the prices. I had extremely negative experiences multiple times with this activity and left the country with a distaste for bartering.

I think some of this stems from my mother. I remember once going to a yard sale. My mom wanted a bookshelf that they had there. The price was about $10. She offered them $20. My father, a used car salesman, was appalled, as I'm sure you can imagine. This is one of the only ways I am much more similar to my mum.

Bargaining is very common in Peru. Heading into the country I had high hopes that I could actually come out ahead. My first opportunity came with an artist named "Raul" who claimed to be an art student. True or not, I loved his art and bartered with him until the price was almost in half. $6 dollars US.

Feeling pretty good, the next day I walked into a store that had a jacket I had been looking for. The sleeves were a little tight and I decided not to purchase it. "No, no, miss. My mama, she make you a new one." All of my new found bargaining skills rushed right out the alley. "Okay, Elvis (yes, his name) have mama make me a jacket."

Satisfied with my jacket I walked out of the store. A random artist was passing by with some ugly photos. "One soles. One soles for my picture.!" Wait! ONE SOLES! I paid 20 for mine! We kept walking but I was disappointed. Fortunately Elvis' mama will have my jacket for me on Sunday and that, trumps all the bargaining skills in the world.

*Authors note. Although it is debatable that I came out victorious with the artist, there were instances with taxis and other such activities that worked out in my favor. Therefor, #36. Barter with someone and come out victorious will be crossed off the list.

Viva el Peru

2008-10-28T04:17:00.000-07:00

33. Touch every continent.

Touched so far:

1. North America
2. Europe
3. Asia

Touched in this installment of Viva el Peru?
4. South America

Here's the deal. My friend Christina and I take a trip every year. This year we chose Peru, mainly for its cost effectiveness. And, as usual, we had to make it as hardcore as possible. We found a tour that was as untour-y as it gets, which included paragliding, mountain biking, water rafting and hiking.

Now, Christina and I can count on each other to have a good time. We were excited and ready for our vacation until the day before. I recieved a phone message that went something like this, "Hi, I hurt my foot last night. I'm going to the doctor today to make sure it isn't broken. Don't worry, I'm still going. It's going to be fine and we'll still have fun."

Holy crap. She arrived in NY shroaded with a new pair of hiking boots. And a limp. I've been having a great time. She's had her foot stepped on, wasn't able to paraglide because the winds died down, has had a waiter forget something at every restaurant we've been to and now, her toe is turning blue.

To counter balance this all, we've come up with "Christina Math". This is an activity where, somehow regardless of who's paid, I owe her money. It's a pretty nifty little trick on her part. Fortunately Peru is a very cost effective country. $10 massages, $3 dollar lunches.

We are having a great time even with the blue toe. And as we prepare to go hiking tomorrow Christina looks at her foot and say's, "I think it looks a little b... never mind." "Christina, your toe is still azul."

Next year for #5. Africa we plan to visit a distant friend who will be living in Madagascar. Well, there or Sweden. Either way, broken foot, crash landing in a park next to a lighthouse while paragliding (me) or even doing Christina Math, we will have a great time.

Lavender, The Great Sleep Aid

2008-10-13T14:21:00.000-07:00

The color of my previous bedroom, a color I liked to call “spa green” but somehow got christened “Baby poop green”, is singular proof that my design aesthetic runs toward the quirky.

I can usually mellow out and compromise with others, but even that runs a risky road. I remember distinctly the day we chose “Bagel” and “French Roast” as colors for a front room. Once it was painted I couldn’t help feel that I lived in a coffee shop. It could be one of the reasons I gained weight living there. “Does anyone else really want a blueberry muffin right now?” “Yes? How about a cup of hot chocolate?”

My dream bedroom color as a little girl was lavender. It was my favorite color and the next-door-neighbor girl “Tabby” had hers painted that way. Somehow I was always manipulated into colors I despised, such as pink or “peach”. Nobody should ever have a peach bedroom. (Forgive me if you do.)

One of my favorite things about finding my new place in Boston is that I would get to decorate. #24. Decorate. My style. My way. I couldn’t wait to paint and hang things and push the furniture around every which way. I ran to Target on moving day to collect a long list of things that I would now be needing in my new space and after almost giving up hope of finding a lamp, came across the most perfect little lamp base. “Look Daniel, it’s totally me!” I showed the spindly vine lamp to my brother. “Yes. Unfortunately.” Was his lack luster response.

I painted on day three. I stood back in a state of sick delirium (Really, I had a fever.) and surveyed my handiwork. Then I fell into bed. Now that the antibiotics have finally started working, my sense of smell is returning and I can taste more then chocolate and beer (odd, but true), I flipped on my little twisty vine lamp and surveyed my first ever all by myself apartment. The lavender and brown walls cheered my soul and I cannot wait to hang the pictures lying beneath their future spots on the wall. They say lavender is a great sleep aid. So I say, “good night” and breathe deep, in my peaceful little lavender grown up room.

#7. Well, I didn't exactly damn anyone...

2008-09-11T00:29:00.000-07:00

#7. Wear a pair of heels and own it. Short people be damned.

Before my grandmother died she called my sister and I over and had us rifle through all her jewelry and bags. We had done this so many times as kids; it was a touching and poignant moment for us before her death a few weeks later. That is, it was touching and poignant until an uncle came in, acted like a spoiled two-year-old, threw everything out into the hallway, called us vultures, and basically endeavored to get himself kicked out of the house and excommunicated from my mother. But, I digress.

I have a friend of a friend visiting New York this week. Work gave me an unexpected day off so I called her to see what was going on. "You have to come to a fashion show with us!" she said excitedly. FASHION SHOW? As is 'New York Fashion Week' fashion show? Yes.

Dun, dun, duh... What to wear? Shoot. 80 percent of everything I own is in boxes piled around my room ready for their move to Boston. I hastily pulled out an old dress and shuffled through my jewelry. A gaudy teal pair of earings and a gaudy ring inherited from my grandmother stood out.

Now, my grandmother was no slave to fashion. But she certainly was fierce. She was a case of the woman making the clothes and not the other way around. Her quirky little peices suited my tired dress perfectly. Then I looked up to my shoe collection. All that remained unboxed was a pair of red boat shoes and a "on their last tread" black payless flats. Both entirely unexceptable. On the floor next to my feet lay my work heels. Hmm. Well, they certainly would be fierce.

So in the spirit of my grandmother I slipped on those heels. And as I sat front row in the VIP section of my first ever New York Fashion Week I thought, "Short people be damned."

Okay. I didn't actually think that, but I worked it out. Fierce. All the way backstage.

PS. A special thanks to the fabulous Lisa Goe. The friendliest person I know. And also my new fairy godmother.

A very scattered ode to the red hair.

2008-09-05T19:31:00.000-07:00

In my last in final acts of impromptu-ness as a red head, I am moving to Boston. Boston really has nothing to do with the specifics of my list, however in the grand scheme, it will enable me to do a lot more. Like, for instance, pay for my trip to Peru.

#33. Touch every continent.

I'm not going to lie, but I wrote this goal down and then had to go look up all the continents. I kept thinking "Five 'A's' and Europe and what else?" I had Asia, Africa, South and North America, and Antartica. Sorry Australia, but I completely disregarded you as a continent.

So to make it all up to Australia, I plan to move there in July and live for a year. It's all still a little sketchy in the details, but it does fullfill #6. Live in a foreign country for a minimun of one month. My mom wailed to me on the phone "A YEAR!?" I was happy she was sad that I would be gone for so long, but then she followed it with, "Who is going to cut my hair?" All warm fuzzies went right out the window. But, I'm sure much more will follow on that subject. For right now, let's stick to the subject(s) at hand.

Boston and Peru. South America is a place I haven't been yet, and my once a year travel friend Christina said, "The Inca ruins, Machu Pichu." So away we will go. We've travelled to Asia and Fiji and New Zealand together and we have always had rediculous fun, so this year will be no different. To pay for it all, and to save money for the move to Australia I have decided to go to Boston, where I will have a "line". The difference between a reserve schedule and a line is unmeasurable, and the only thing that was holding me back was my amazing roommates and great support system that I have in New York. So now, as I say good bye to New York and my love them, so great, awesomely wonderful roommates, I will also be saying goodbye to my red hair. Good bye red. I'll see you again in a couple of years.

One down. Thirty nine remain.

2008-08-18T09:57:00.000-07:00

The other day I was supposed to go to Long Beach and catch up with the rest of my trip. I was tired and cranky and over worked and hating my life, but I could handle watching a little TV, finishing my amazing book (Anansi Boys), and napping a bit on the way to Long Beach. Then the call came. "Lauralee?" "Hi, we are having you fly to Boston and WORK the flight to Long Beach." I hate you.

So there I was delayed on the flight to Boston. There were thundershowers in Boston and we were unable to take off. We get to Boston and the girl working with us warns us, "The people are really mean and grouchy about the delay." So we are working the flight and this woman comes up and says, "Why were you all so delayed?" Well, there were thundershowers in Boston." "Oh, yeah, well we drove through them on the way to the airport. They where really bad." Okay. Why are we having this conversation?

We land in Long Beach and sit. And sit. And sit. For 15 minutes. For an hour. For an hour and 25 minutes on the runway waiting for a gate. And when they finally did have a gate for us they gave it to another plane. Pissed. The people were out of control. We landed at 10:02 PM. The rental companies at the airport closed at 10:30 PM. We walked off the plan at 11:27 PM. I understand why they were upset.

I had to be back at the airport at 8:00 AM. I call the hotel. I ask them to send the van for me. They tell me to take a taxi and they will pay for it. What they don't tell me is "We don't have a room for you, call your company." I find that out as I'm standing at their front desk at 11:45 PM. My company has already set up an alternate hotel. So I have to use my personal money to take a taxi over to a Comfort Inn. I wait for a taxi. And wait for a taxi. And wait for a taxi. We called twice. Finally at 12:10 AM the taxi driver shows up. And I am angry. He asks me, "Have you been waiting long?" "YES!" I testily replied. "Sorry. I didn't want to show up and find out someone else had already picked you up." WHAT! I hate you.

Finally I arrive at the Comfort Inn. My room appears to be in a stairwell of some sort. I cross through a parking garage to arrive there. I walk into the room and am onslaughted by the smell of smoke. Wow. I have a smoking room to top everything off. Now the front desk guy already informed me that this is the last room in the hotel, it's 12:30 AM and I am beat down. He also informed me that they don't have an airport shuttle and I would have to pay for a taxi again the next day.

I desperately need a new pair of nylons, so I hop through the parking garage and across the street to the 24 hour Walgreens. I gather up nylons and a bunch of snacky food goods for the next day, which I'm sure will be terrible and go to the counter. A couple off interesting characters are standing at the counter but no employees. So we wait and wait and wait. They even wander away to look for an employee. At the hour it was I wanted to just walk out the door with my stuff.

Finally one of the characters goes, "When they get here you can go first." I tell them "At this point what's an extra couple of minutes, go ahead." So he informs me that they are homeless and just being inside is nice because it keeps them warm for the night. I look guiltily down at the food I can barely fit in my arms and say, "Do you want to grab yourself a snack?" "Really!" "Sure." "Wow. Hon. We can get something."

He grabs a pack of Reeses and she grabs some chips and a soda and finally an employee shows up and I pay, walk across the street walk through my parking garage, up to the top of the stairwell and into my unlocked hotel room. Once my initial panic from the unlocked room subsided and I triple check to make sure no one was in there I realized, I could cross it off my list. #11. Give food to a homeless person. DONE! I am elated.

#2. Dying for a Godly relationship.

2008-08-10T22:54:00.000-07:00

Journal Entry July 6, 2001:
Apparently I have extremely bad luck with men.

Journal Entry July 6, 2008:
Apparently I have extremely bad luck with men.

A few of my favorites:

“Laura, it’s been a pleasure getting to know you and I’ve really enjoyed our conversations, so feel free to call me anytime, but really, I won’t be calling you.”

How about the guy who ended things with me when I was hired as a flight attendant because I “obviously wasn’t taking the relationship seriously.” Even though I had met him because I was planning on becoming a flight attendant.

How about the married guy whose marriage of four years is officially dissolved in October? A simple Google search found, not only that he had been lying to me about the length of time he had been married and but it also uncovered his wife’s Facebook page. He is still “happily married.”

There is also the guy who invited me to Italy, his parent’s home for Christmas, and Sundance Film Festival. He disappeared right before Sundance and resurfaced four months later married to a supervisor at work.

Here we have the guy that amicably went his own way until I ran into him in Cancun while at a private auto dealers only dinner with my parents. It apparently triggered a flood of all the good times with me, because then I couldn’t get rid of him. That is, until I told him “Absolutely under no circumstances will I be sleeping with you.” I haven’t heard from him since.

And finally…

One day after leaving work sick, I called and cancelled a date with a new guy. I explained the situation and he told me, “Well, fine then. Call me when you are feeling better, but next time you have to ask me out, because I need to know you are into me.” Oddly enough, that wasn’t the breaking point for me. The breaking point was the fact that he ironed his sheets and had two small dogs.

Now, all these guys have had their strong positive points. They also have had a few tragic flaws to balance out those good notes. My friend’s therapist used to tell her “Your picker is broken. All we have to do if fix the picker.” The awesome thing here is that I didn’t have to go to a therapist to find out my picker was broken. Even my 21 year old self was glaringly aware of the situation.

So I came up with #2. Have a Godly relationship. I joined Eharmony to aid me in the quest for a good man. It hasn’t yelded much by way of results, but gosh dang it, I’m going to buy myself a boyfriend if it kills me. (And with my extremely bad luck, it just might.)

Food addict has trouble giving food away.

2008-07-24T20:32:00.000-07:00

The other day I was walking to work and Jose (or was it Juan?) was singing in the little park right by the Jamaica Van Wyke subway stop. He was singing quite loudly. It was five AM. He stopped his singing to holler at me. Then when, in the manner of all good New Yorkers, I completely ignored him, he went back to singing and joking around with the rest of the usual riff raff that hangs out in the park at five in the morning.

As I waited for my cab (Late for work, what's new?) Jose (or Juan) started waving and speaking to me in Spanish. I said (muttered mostly), "Yeah, I have no idea." So he walked across the street and across the curb and right through my personal space bubble and said, "Oh, senorita, you coming from where?"

I answered:

ME: "I'm not coming from anywhere. I'm going to work."

JUAN/JOSE: "[Um, something in Spanish that I don't understand]"

ME: "Yeah, I really don't speak Spanish."

JUAN/JOSE: "You are coming from what place? Today?"

ME: "Not, coming, going. I'm going to California."

JUAN/JOSE: "You work for the airplane?"

One would think the uniform was a dead give away, but I guess this interchange is what I get for fraternising with the five foot tall, alcohol reeking JuanJose while waiting for a Meringue Cab at five AM. He took hold of my hand and introduced himself as I tugged it away and walked toward my cab. Finally safe inside the cab I watched him walk back singing.

You may be wondering what that has to do with anything. Don't worry, it all comes full circle. Let's just change the subject for a moment.

My roommate knows that he only has to say the words "Tu Casa" and I've got my shoes on, keys in my hand, posed, ready to walk to my favorite Kew Gardens restaurant. I love food. Love it. I always have plenty of it with me. Shopping and cooking are two of my favorite things and when I leave for work my lunch bag is full. Can't zip it full. Coming home it is usually still pretty packed, because I really can't say "no" to a dinner invitation. It's quite obvious I have a problem.

Let's change the subject just slightly, one last time. I thought this challenge was going to be a lot easier. In fact, I thought it was going to be one of the easiest. I have volunteered at food kitchens, City Harvest, homeless shelters and places like that. Not often, but enough times to be comfortable with the concept. I've even flirted with the idea of opening my own soup kitcheny kind of place.

When I wrote #11. Give food to a homeless person, I was upset that I wasted so much food (Really good, kind of expensive, fresh and healthy food at that.) by shopping and then instead eating out. Or just having too much and letting it go bad. I walked past all sorts of down and outs on my way home from Jamaica Center and yet, I couldn't bring myself to offer my grapes or bagel chips or almonds even though I knew,

a. I didn't need them.

And b. I was just going to end up throwing away half of it anyway.

I couldn't figure out why I had such a disconnect between offering a little of what I have (and will probably waste) to offering food and assistance on a larger scale.

Once I wrote the goal down, I started actively seeking someone I felt comfortable approaching. I had a favorite old guy in mind who sits on the stairs outside a building on Jamaica blvd but every time I walk by with food he is not there. I missed an opportunity with a beautiful woman who looked and acted so normal I couldn't believe she was really pushing a shopping cart full of suitcases, totes and a dirty blanket.

And tonight as I walked home I saw one of my favorite homeless guys who stands on the corner of Jamaica and Van Wyke service road, walking over to the park area. I immediately flashed to the cherries and grapes and pretzels that I had in my bag. I had been eating them all day and really, don't need anymore. I started to cautiously plan my approach when I heard singing. I looked over and saw a flash of JJ and turned and walked home.

I have a problem. This challenge sucks. I just can't get my heart and my brain and my lunch bag and the homeless all on the same page at the same time. And I think the reason for the disconnect is because it is humbling to approach someone who has nothing and in my mind I offer them so little. While I go home to my air conditioning and new clothes and comfy bed, excited to plan my next vacation.

#15. An update. Just saying.

2008-06-28T23:22:00.000-07:00

$348.00.

Three hundred and forty eight dollars.

348.00 dollars.

#15. Save enough money for a down payment on a house. (even if I never by the house.)

I haven't transfered the money back to my checking account.

Just saying.

Inflight Entertainment.

2008-06-17T16:36:00.000-07:00

One day I had a 12 year old unaccompanied minor on my flight. I allowed her to sit next to a 16 year old cute kid with a broken leg. They ended up making out before the plane landed. I wasn't sure if I was mad at her for putting me in the awkward position of making her behave, or if I was just jealous that a stupid 12 year old had kissed someone on a plane, while I had not. Either way, #32 stems from that event. Kiss someone on a plane.

Well, two nights ago I was working a flight. Queens Boy Thug came to the back and was flirting. I was ignoring him while the other two girls were chatting him up. He seemed interested in me, but I really was not paying much attention to him at all. Nice guy, pleasant, that's it.

I was in the front of the plane when he gave his number to one of the other flight attendants. I walked to the back immediately after he did and passed him as he headed back to his seat. He put his hand on my waist in a familiar manner, not at all unusual when passing people on the plane, then leaned in and kissed me, gently, right next to my lips. This in and of itself would not have been even all that odd, but immediately after he kissed me, he intimately stepped foreward to embrace me. Uncomfortable, I patted his side and moved to the back of the plane. Where the other flight attendant excitedly informed me that she had gotten his number. I thought to myself "well, Queens Boy Thug just number thirty twoed me." Weird.

Upon deeper consideration, because I was feeling jipped, I realized, "I didn't do the kissing. It doesn't count." And now, I'm back to needing to complete #32. Kiss someone on a plane. YEAH!

Salesmen are evil.

2008-06-08T04:31:00.000-07:00

Today it happened. The toss up between two different goals. Goal #7, Wear a pair of heels and own it; short people be damned- came in direct conflict with #3, Own a piece of designer clothing and wear it like it's from H&M.

I needed a new pair of basic black heels for work. Of course they need to be comfortable because occasionally I do have to wear them the whole flight. Such was the case recently when my flat shoes were drenched while walking home in a monsoon. But overall the only purpose the shoes serve is to make my legs look delightful while I sweat to work on the subway.

Now, both of these goals could be accomplished in one swoop. Own a pair of designer work heels. I certainly treat my work shoes as if they were from H&M. But here is the problem. I hadn't thought about doing so. Until...

Nordstrom's.

There I was happily willing to spend $100 dollars for a good pair of BCBG shoes. The heels were the highest heel I had ever worn and they had a little bit of toe cleavage, something I am quite the fan of. I was excited to practice walking in the shoes and I imagined wearing them out. Then the salesman brought out...

Prada.

I laughed out loud and mocked him. But I did try them on. And I didn't want to take them off. Curses. Now, still at this point, I could own a pair of basic work Prada shoes with high heels. But the shoes that I didn't want to take off had little heels. They were possibly even shorter heels then the ones that I already owned. So what is a girl to do? Take off the Prada shoes? Buy the Prada shoes? My first ever pay check as a "line holder" was going to be a decent one. I had a few dollars in the bank. Pay day was tomorrow. Oh the agonizing.

Then I realized, when I wear a pair of Prada shoes I want them to look like Prada shoes. I want people to say "WOW! PRADA!" And basic black work shoes were not the way to elicit the "WOW! PRADA!" response. So I went with goal #7. I bought the tall shoes. And now, I'm quite proud of myself for buying them, but wearing them is interesting. As I walked into the airport I heard a man say, "She's really tall." Hmm... I guess I still have to work on the short people be damned part.

The beginning. #15.

2008-05-24T00:07:00.000-07:00

Once a month $100 dollars is automatically deducted from out of my checking account and placed into my savings account. I then promtly put this money right back into my checking account, because inevitably the account is running low.

Last night I was contemplating my list, thinking I hadn't yet done one thing. #12, "Buy the ring I want" was sounding delightful with my tax stimuli happily sitting in my account. #3, "Own a peice of designer clothing and wear it as if it's from H&M" was also a very tempting one to start with. But #15 was really weighing on me and I wasn't sure what to do about it. "Save enough money for a down payment on a house. Even if I never own a house." That's a lot of money to save while simultaninously spending money for living and completing the rest of my list.

Looking at my checking account, thinking there must be a solution, I realized for two months in row I hadn't put my money back from my savings account to my checking account. And I didn't even need too. If I could continue to do that for the next 12 months for the next twelve years, I could save $144,000 plus a lot of interest without doing anything different.

And the best part is that I know I can save that money because $144,000 is a lot of motivation. With $144,000 dollars I could buy 250 rings or more then 144 designer outfits. What a liberating feeling saving money could bring.

40x40

2008-05-12T21:20:00.000-07:00

The last time I dyed my hair red I quit my job, packed up my california apartment, bought a one way ticket to Hawaii, became a flight attendant and moved to New York instead. This time I did something a little less drastic. I started a list. A long list of forty things that I want to do before I turn 40. I'm 27 now, so that allows me about 12 years and 2 months to get to work on this list.

Should be pretty simple I'm thinking. In fact, I could do most of them by next year if I was feeling really ambitious and if I didn't mind a little debt, although that might be breaking #15. Save Money. Enough for a down payment on a house. Even if I never buy a house. As I currently don't gross enough money in a year to make a down payment on a house, there may be a little conflict on that goal.

But with each goal that I have made, some simple, like #38. Attend an opera and some difficult, #1. Speak a foreign language fluently, I want to be able to completely relish the spirit of adventure that made me write each goal down in the first place. #14. Wear Lipstick. I can't just put on lipstick and walk out of my house, but I want to have a reason and a purpose that goes with it.

This space is a place to challenge me to keep up with my goals and stay accountable to making each one count. As there are a few things on the list that I wrote, never intending others to read them, this will be deeply personal, sometimes shockingly shallow and always a challenge. Thanks for coming along.