I'm Too Old for Facebook

I keep meeting up with people I haven't seen in years.  Thanks to the internet and, in this case, Facebook, I found a girl that I had roomed with in the FAA Academy in Oklahoma City 20 years ago.  I hadn't spoken to her in about 17 or 18 years.

When we met:

She was a soon-to-be divorced mother of 3.

I strove to be a childless old maid.  

She was from a huge close-knit Southern family in Louisville, KY.

I was from a sprawled-out Yankee family.

She took the Management route.  

I took the Union route.

She got remarried.

I got married.

She had another kid.

I got another dog. 

She once taught me to properly pronounce Louisville  ("say it like your mouth's full of marbles").

I probably didn't teach her anything, and if I did she probably wouldn't want to admit it in polite company.

Anyway, we have been corresponding just a little on Facebook ('cause just a little is all the Facebook I can understand) and I happened to mention that I was coming to Waco Texas for a few days.  She said she was going to Waco too.  We met up, we had dinner, we talked like we hadn't seen each other in 20 days, not 20 years.

I could probably hate her for still being young and cute, but she's just too young and cute to hate!

It was great to see you, Becky...let's not wait so long next time!


Random Rantings Ruefully Relayed

I've been on the road a lot lately, so I've seen a lot of things that made me want to rant:

Dear Lady from O'Hare Airport:  If you enter a large restroom with 15 stalls, only one of which is occupied, please don't go into one of the ones right next to one that's already occupied to do your business.  I'm happy to be able to report to the world that your system is working (oh boy is it working), but there are some sights, sounds and (God help us) smells, that need not be shared!  I have four words for you:  One Stall Stink Barrier.

Dear Other Lady from Terminal A in Dallas Airport:  Don't go into the restroom to do your business while you're having a lovey-dovey conversation on the phone with your boyfriend/fiance/lover/husband/significant other!  Even if you hadn't been in there depositing a 10-pound steaming plopper while repeating, "no I love youuuuu more," the flushing noises of the 12 toilets near you would have given you away!  That's not romantic, that's sick!  I have four words for you:  Hang Up, Then Poop.

Dear Lady in the Row In Front of Me on American Flight 688 between Houston and Dallas:  It's 6 o'clock in the freaking morning...how many bloody Marys do you really need?  And I almost fell out of my (tiny uncomfortable) seat when you asked how drunk you'd have to get to get cut off!  It was an hour and 15-minute flight, for crying out loud, you were a little long in the tooth to be drinking like a frat rat at that time of the day.  I have two words for you:   Try Rehab  

Dear Man in the Car in Back of Me Yesterday in Grand Rapids, MI:  Do you see that this little box-o'metal I'm driving has an Alamo rental sticker on it?  Do you see that I'm leaving the airport?  How in the Hell am I supposed to know that in Michigan a blinking red light at a left turn lane means you can go?  Try visiting another state once in a while and you'd know that traffic signals that you have here may not be the same as everywhere else and I was a bit confused.  Beeping at me, flipping me off and then cutting me off was not productive or funny.  It just pissed me off and made me fantasize about rear-ending your piece-of-shit Ford Explorer.  I have two words for you:  Road Rage.

Dear Adults who have Ever Taken Your Children Into a Restaurant:  I don't have children.  I have nothing against them, but if I wanted to hear them scream, watch them throw food, try to move out of their way as they're roaming from table-to-table or have stimulating conversation with a 4-year-old about their favorite cartoon character, I would have had my own children and stayed home with them.  I politely suggest that you either stay home with yours or teach them some freaking manners.  They act like animals because you let them act like animals.  It is not cute, amusing or funny.  At all.  To anyone.  I have two words for you:  Baby Sitter.

Dear People in Restaurants Who Talk on the Cell Phone While Eating:  This may be acceptable  in a fast-food restaurant (okay, not really, but I'm trying to not sound like a complete bitch).  But when you're in a sit-down restaurant with other people at the same table, it is extremely horribly rude and dismissive to your dinner companions for you to spend your time talking to someone else on your cell phone.  If you wanted to talk to that person, you should have taken him or her to dinner.  I have five words for you:  Stop Being an Inconsiderate Ass.

Dear People Using Cell Phones Anywhere In Public:  That's not 2 cans and a string you're talking on, it's a high-tech piece of equipment...you don't have to yell!  No one cares what a big-shot you are.  No one cares that you have a secretary named Tiffany who does everything for you because you're too incompetent to wipe your own butt without one.  No one wants to hear about your sales figures, your doctor's appointment or how many goals the product of your sperm donation scored in his/her latest soccer game.  I have four words for you:  Use Your Inside Voice.

Dear American Airlines Customer Service Agent at O'Hare:  Your sharp size 8 navy blue uniform jumper dress would look really cute on you if you didn't have a size 14 body jammed into it.  And cutting off the bottom six inches of it would look really cute on you if you didn't have cankles, back-of-the-knees cellulite and thunder thighs.  But the icing on your overstuffed cake was your choice of footwear.  Your clear-acrylic-5-and-a-half-inch-heeled-black-leather-with-corset-tie-ups-and-buckles boots would look really cute if you made your living dancing around a shiny silver pole in a g-string and got paid in dollar bills by drunken rednecks.  There's nothing wrong with being a full-figured gal.  Heck, I'm leaning that way myself.  But you demean yourself by wearing a dress that makes you look like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.  I'm really sad that you have no friends or loved ones.   If you had any true friends, they would never have let you leave your house looking like this.  I have three words for you:  Buy A Mirror.


Home at Last....well, sort of!

We moved back into the house on Thursday, January 29th and I have to say it's so nice to be home!

I'm writing this entry from my room at the Doubletree Hotel in Houston.

"WHWHWHWHATTT???  Did she just say she's writing from a hotel room?  In Houston?"

Um, yes, I said Houston.  You see, in a spectacular fit of bad timing, I started traveling around for the Union, training air traffic personnel about a new safety reporting system.

"Has she lost her mind?"

Quite possibly.  You see, I love my home and love my job, but I also love my work with the union dealing with safety issues.  The FAA and the Union are rolling out this really exciting non-punitive safety reporting system called "ATSAP" and I've been given the opportunity to help teach people about it.  Doing this combines three things I love: travel, teaching and safety, all in one package.

"But what about Jeff and the girls and the house?"

Of course I miss them.  I talk to them every day.  But I'm so fortunate to have a supportive husband who loves me and knows how committed I am to my job.  Most women aren't able to rely on their husbands to take care of things in their absence.  He knows that, as much as I missed him when he was in the military, I was also proud of him and his service to his country.  Now he is returning the favor.  I think he's proud of what I'm accomplishing as well.

Luckily, unlike when he was in the Army and was gone for months at a time, I'm able to at least be home a few days each week.  Plus, at least he knows I'm not off being shot at in some jungle, desert or cave!  And remember, when he was overseas, we didn't have the internet or daily phone calls like they do now!

I am also one of those people who tends to get bored doing one job for a long time.  I have been at Springfield now for almost 10 years...twice as long as I've ever worked anywhere.  It holds no big surprises for me and lately I've found myself wishing I was somewhere else.  I know that I don't need to consider moving this late in my career, so this little traveling roadshow is a more tenable alternative at this time.