Leavin’.. on a Jet Plane

I do not know why I think this, but I’ll betcher bottom dollar that’s the title of many a blog post read ’round the world. (Not that this one is. But I think you get what I’m saying.)

And, we are. We are imminently leaving on a jet plane. Before we go, I present to you my list of why I despise, despise flying:

Uno: Convenience. If a flight leaves at 5:00, I should be able to get to the airport at 4:45 and hop right on in. But noooo.. you have to get there a billion hours early just to make it to your plane. Then you wait around for a million more hours becuase it inevitably takes off late.

Dos: Airline representatives. Perhaps, and I’m just sayin’, the airlines should begin offering a higher salary or better benefits or something in exchange for more.. intelligence, poise, decorum and routine civility? Enough said.

Tres: LINES. It’s such a pain in the ass to get through security. Everything has to be packed in baggies and then taken out of your bag whilst it travels through the x-ray machine. Why? Why is this? It’s a machine that allows you to see inside of opaque things. Let us be efficient. Please.

Cuatro: Ethics. You totally get taken advantage of in airports. I really resent this. I realize most of the time I could voluntarily choose not to purchase stuff (like food), but, you know, if you’re hungry or something unexpected happens, they’ve got you right where they want you.

Cinco: Anxiety over the unknown. They need more accountability, these airlines! Period. There’s a reason they’ve all gone bankrupt and merged into this one massive conglomerate (which, by the way, manages to fuck things up at an exponentially higher rate than ever before) and it ain’t just because of gas price increases. And, small related tangent.. these are business people whose business relies heavily on fuel. It’s really, you know, THE most important thing. Is there a reason why they are not more skilled at reading oil trends and hedging accordingly??? Is there something I just don’t understand? Am I making this too simple?

Seis: (It is a good thing I am so proficient at counting in Spanish.) Logic. I know of no other product whose price is based upon some ever changing, highly complex logorithm that creates variability to the extent that it does. If I want to take the bus, the fare is the fare, whether it’s the day or the month before. Who do these airlines think they are? Why do we let them get away with this? Are there any other products or services whose price structure is laid out in a similar way?

Siete: Germies. That’s all.

Ocho: Power. I do not like it when mere mortals are given unreasonable and unlimited power over me just because. I do not like that it is illegal to disobey a flight attendant. I grudgingly understand why this rule is in place, but I’m telling you: these are not rocket scientists. There needs to be some regulation over this rule because it is abused.

Nueve: Apathy. That plane doesn’t take off because it’s snowing? You’re fucked. They’re really sorry but they can’t control the weather. Think about this for a second: this is their business, not yours. The weather is a variable that affects their chosen niche and should be their worry and their problem to solve. You enter into a contract with these people and pay them good money to honor it. If you have a cruise to catch, they better figure something else out. If you are at your layover destination and don’t know a soul in Detroit, Chicago or Philadelphia, cough up a voucher for a hotel room, for God’s sake. They said they would get you from A to B on X date at Y time, and they failed. AFTER they take the money you paid them in good faith, of course. Anywhere else, that is an equation that equals the ceremonious closing of the doors.

Diez: It is a damn long day. And I’m dog tired at the end of it.

But. We do what we do because it’s important. Aaaand, I know a certain little girl who has numbers seven though six circled and then crossed out on a simple piece of white paper and is just chompin’ at the bit to cross out that last number tomorrow. (I think I’m raising an accountant.) All of which makes me smile.

Family, Flying is the Pits

May 4, 2012

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The Dog

So, we’ve got this dog that pretty much found us (rather than the other way around, which would be, obviously, the norm). It’s a long story. He’s a coonhound (bloodhound) and he’s damn loud, damn annoying, completely disgusting and just all around plain weird.

We had huskies for years. In fact, they’re pretty much all I’ve ever known. You know: gorgeous, majestic, quietly aloof, silent.. practically perfect.

This dog is pretty much the opposite of that. He’s more goofy than majestic.

You can lay all over this dog. He does not give one, single shit. In fact.. she was on him for around a half hour. It did not disturb his slumber.

He’ll wear anything. Not only does he not mind, he actually enjoys it.

Did I mention he is fucking loud? Aaaand, he has a huge mouth.

He’s in touch with his feminine side. Wouldn’t this make the best Christmas card ever?

The following is just gratuitous: a gift to you, if you will (taken by moi, thus redeeming myself for my past photographic transgressions).

When we first got him, he was a bit destructive and unintentionally dangerous. He’s actually quite good natured, and always has been, he’s just huge and so strong; had no concept of his own massive strength; his teeth could be used as scalpels; he sheds.. a lot; he’s loud as all hell (did I mention this?); he chewed things all up initially; he wouldn’t stay off the furniture. Ad nauseum.

For these reasons and many others, he was relegated to the family room/basement, indefinitely. That was the plan: he could live out his life with every type of creature comfort down there just as easily as in the living room. All the nice stuff is upstairs, he can just stay downstairs, thank you. He barked and bayed and yelped and whined. For three straight months. They gave up. He’s now king of the (entire) house, and he knows it.

If you slip up and utter the following: squirrel; bunny; look or see, you’re in for ten straight minutes of mind numbing, bone shaking, teeth rattling noise as he assesses the situation. He’s more of an act first, ask questions later kind of a being. Forget it if he actually spots a squirrel (or anything that moves) in the yard or the street beyond. He’s very protective. The windows are covered in slime from his watch shifts.

He hates the cold. When it’s snowy or generally chilly, he’ll walk on three paws at a time, rotating out the fourth one in cycles to give each of his paws individual respites from the cold at varying times. My mother is looking into boots for him. Seriously.

He looooooves comfy, cozy, fluffy, soft items on which to snooze. If you tell him to get the fuck off your bed, he protests. He’ll argue with you. It’s back and forth, give and take with this dog as you sit there and have an actual honest to goodness ‘negotiation’ with him about it.

One time, I caught him trying to open the door with his paws, you know, like a person.

He’s easily and often confused; when he’s confused, he ‘asks’ you about it. He needs to know. We were riding along in the car one super rainy day, and he had his head clear out the backseat window. We hit this puddle in just the right way for it to shoot right into his face. He bayed for 45 minutes straight; would. not. shut. up. “What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? WHAT WAS THAT?”

He loves to cuddle and can’t play with any of his toys unless he’s using your lap as his ‘table’.

As a result, you are always and completely covered in slime.

So are the floors, actually; he hasn’t met a food yet he hasn’t liked.

Aaaand the cars, actually; he gets horrible car sickness and drools like a faucet. My mother took him to the vet to ask for some doggie dramamine in anticipation of a longish car trip. Seriously.

He’s just the quirkiest thing ever, the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever encountered.

.
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.
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But. I think we might keep him.

The Dog

May 2, 2012

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Playdates and Prozac

Weird people have been finding me all my life.

I think part of this is the result of having been a waitress for some years. Usually, you’ll get some regulars and sometimes they’ll get kind of freaky with you.

I remember my shift ending one night; I walked out to my car and found one of those regulars prowling its perimeter, cupping his hands around his face so as to see my car’s interior more clearly.

But it’s more than that. I just kind of attract them in general.

About two weeks ago, A and I were at McDonald’s (I realize this will surprise no one), and she got friendly with a little girl whilst navigating the play structure. This little girl was with two adults who seemed much too old to be her parents and a whole gaggle of other children of varying ethnicities. It intrigued me because I couldn’t decipher the dynamic. A couple hours later, they were preparing to leave. (Yes, we do Mickey D’s right.) As they were walking out, the little girl’s guardian whispered something to her, and she doubled back, clutching A’s hand, and headed over to me.

“I wanted to ask you if you can meet me here again so I can play with her some more.” She pointed to the girl. (My girl.) “Sure,” I said, thinking that was enough. “When,” she demanded.

Over the years, we’ve made lots of ‘best friends’ at McDonald’s, parks, etc. Then you go home and never see them again. Sooo.. I went on over to this guy to talk logistics.

Which culminated in a forty-five minute discussion that took place about two inches from my face. I learned many things about this individual in this timeframe:

1. He lives in a house with two full bathrooms

2. He built a tree house for his grandson; he believes my daughter would love it

3. He takes various ‘needy’ kids out once a week (sometimes twice a month) from his community; this particular little girl’s father lives in Mexico, she rarely sees him, and she has three other siblings

4. She is from his church

5. His wife is foreign (these were his actual words)

6. The little girl’s name is Edith, which isn’t Mexican, and he doesn’t know why

And did I mention? He was inches from my face. I’m sure it was a sight to behold. My top half was practically horizontal as I bent over backward as far as I could manage, and his top half was practically horizontal as he fought to maintain that two inch gap.

Today, the girl and I met them back there for an official play date.

I don’t know why I do this. I mean, part of the problem here is me. A normal person wouldn’t have agreed to this, but I have issues. If someone asks me a point blank question for which I was not expecting and am not prepared, I get scrambled and rattled and, before I know it, I’ve agreed to perform someone’s circumcision or something. Really, I’m just looking for the path of least resistance out of the immediate situation and into my car. I figure I can deal with the ramifications of my eagerness to please at a later time.

In this instance, we just decided to go. The little girl was nice. The guy didn’t seem murderish at all. It was in a public place. And I had told him we would. I could just imagine that little girl sitting there, waiting for A to walk in and being crushed when she realized she’d been ditched.

They were waiting there when we walked in. The girls recognized each other instantly. The guy took a bit to realize we’d arrived. His wife was there (good); he was waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom. The kids played (this time it was just Edith and her big brother, rather than the soccer team they’d brought last time).

And.. it was mostly fine.

But I’ll be damned that I still just get such a freaky vibe.

Allow me to demonstrate:

1. He routinely, with his wife sitting directly across from him, cupped his hand over his mouth in order to whisper something about her to me (that she could not hear)

2. Most of the time, they were ‘nice’ secrets

3. One time, he told me, all cupped-like, that ‘sometimes he just needs to be around English speakers

4. His wife, while an English speaker, is heavily accented

5. I hate to say this, but his wife doesn’t shave her legs

6. This is fine (to each his own), but I should not know this

7. Throughout the lunch, his phone kept ringing; apparently a “nice Indian girl” he met (somewhere) named Desiree calls him incessantly when she is in need of money. Sometimes, he gives it to her

8. She must have needed money; she called every 20 seconds until he finally just shut the phone off

9. I learned more about the tree house; he laments the placement of the windows and ponders whether or not he should have hired a contractor rather than doing the work himself

And, oh.. there was so much more. Aaaaand.. where the hell is these kids’ mother? Does she even know this guy? What about the other kids? Where are their parents? I kept asking, “so.. she’s from.. your church?” I just couldn’t figure it out. And then, in the middle of the whole thing, his wife gets picked up by her stepson (I guess?) and leaves, off to perform her own weekly public service to single parents and needy kids everywhere.

I mean, are they saints? Or.. not saints?

I do not know. At the end of the day, I’m a little worried I’ve got myself another obsessed regular..

P.S. The girl had a great time. “Best weekend ever, Mom.” “You’re welcome.” Weary sigh. “Someday, though, I’m going to sit you down and read you some blog posts. And then you will understand the true sacrifices made by a mother who loves her daughter.”

Crazy Daughter, freaky, Memory Keeping

April 30, 2012

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Rite of Passage: A Child’s First Sleepover

The phone rang. It was her little school friend’s father. “Is it alright if the girls have a sleepover tonight?”

We talked logistics and it was decided that I’d drop her off at 5:00.

I hung up the phone. “Well, it looks like you’re going for the sleepover.”

“YAYYAYYAYYAYYAY!”

She was jumping up and down in delicious anticipation. Just writhing in excitement. No exaggeration.

Of course we were a few minutes late. We had to gather the pillowpet and wrap up the blanket. Pick out a couple snacks and stick them in her tiny little dora backpack, along with her rolled up pajamas, her toothbrush and some toothpaste.

“Do you want your blusa, too?” I looked over at her; she didn’t answer. “Or would that be too embarrassing?”

“It would be too embarrassing.”

After all the packing, we were running a little behind.

As we were heading over, she says, from the backseat, “Mom. You’re not.. umm.. going to be staying, too, are you?”

Once we got there, I had prepared to drop her stuff, give her a quick kiss and be on my way. But they kindly invited me in, and we all chatted for a spell. The girls were funny together; super excited to see each other. Mystically since, you know, they spend all day, everyday together.

They were in and out, in and out, digging for worms, riding the scooter, while the adults stood / sat around the kitchen island. I tried to ease my way out around a half hour later. “No hurry! Hey, we even got a guest room; you can stay the night if you’d like.”

“You know, the girl would be very disappointed if I did that!”

They laughed.

Another half hour later, they started dinner and asked if I’d like to stay to eat.

“You know, thanks for the offer. It’s tempting, but I think I’ll be taking off.”

I had to get my hair done! (Tangent: I did, and I don’t think I like it!! I will need to go back, damnit. The chore was just about to be crossed off my damn to do list. But.. that’s not the point-a the post.)

I felt like a criminal, stealing out into the night and leaving my child with these effective strangers.

I’ve received no calls, no texts, as of this minute. Hopefully they’re all soundly sleeping and hopefully my child was a well behaved saint.

We shall see..

Crazy Daughter, Memory Keeping, My Daughter is a Riot, School

April 29, 2012

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The Chipmunks are Chipwrecked

The girl and I went to another movie night at her school. I cannot say I recommend this movie. I was more grateful for my phone than I ever have been before. In my life. And I’ve, you know, locked my keys in the car. And left the lights on. We’ve been miles and miles from home when the car has decided not to start. I think you’re getting the idea.

Seeing school friends outside of school is super fun, though.

About which I have noticed the following:

1. There is more sensitivity and thoughtfulness amongst the children (at movie night versus school)

2. Kids who are just classmates at school become friends on movie night

3.  They love the sleepoveresque atmosphere, blanket edges touching, pillowpets conjoined, little feet sticking out of bottoms of blankets in unison

Basically, they all just get along better.

The girl scored a sleepover tonight with the girl to the left of her (above). This will be happening tonight. This topic was initiated at the movie and, while I watched these two scampering outside as we were all walking to our cars, I thought pointedly that whoever hosts this little get together will be drawing the short stick. For sure.

Cute girls. Lots of hyperactivity.

So.. we’re getting all excited over this way.

As for myself, I feel a little uneasy about it. They seemed like perfectly nice people. But I do not know them!

But.. everything is a risk. And, after discussing the rules, I will let her go.

Aaaaand.. finally get my hair done, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. It was a situation that was becoming emergent, and I am happy to get it rectified.

In summary: milestones, all. For which I am grateful.

Crazy Daughter, Memory Keeping, School

April 28, 2012

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