Indiana Jones and the Flight from Hell

I used to be a great flier. 

Left my bag in California? Whatever. Delays? Cool. Oh, you want me to sit in the middle seat so you can have the aisle? Heck yeah!

But not so much on a particularly bad time in my life, a few years ago, I happened to be on a flight back home. I had broken up with my not-so-nice boyfriend, I was still mourning for the lose of my grandmother and brother and I was ready to quit my very stressful job.  And that's the exact moment we hit turbulence. 

It was the roughest flight I've ever been on. A drop would come so deep and sudden that the rest of the passengers would gasp or let loose a small cry and grab the walls or the seat in front of them. We were instructed not to leave our seats (no really, not even to pee...) and to put anything heavier than a short paperback novel under our seats. Flight attendants, stay seated; no drink service today. My normally steel-stomach was suddenly not but jello. I had a death grip on the arm rests and had my feet wedged under the seat in front to keep me stable. And for the first time in an airplane, I felt gripped by a paralyzing fear. I felt like I was going to die. I couldn't breath. A panic attack. I had had one before so I knew what I was in for. 

I allowed myself a few tears, a couple gulping breathes and then with everything I had, I pushed it way, way down. Not healthy, not happy but better than getting tazed by the air marshal. I held my breath until it subsided enough so I could get control. I took a puff from my inhaler. Hold. I repeated a mantra that I still use to this day. "Smooooooooooth" over and over again under my breath as I breath out through my mouth, in through the nose. It was 3 hours of hell. 

I never quite recovered from that. I'm still not a great flyer. I fear dying and leaving my parents and friends behind in a horrifying grief that I know so well. I fear the pain of a violent death. I fear not having control over my own end.  

I have to remind myself of some important things. First and foremost, travel is worth it. It's half a day of stress for 3-4 weeks of wonderful adventures.  Second, I think about Indiana Jones.

Indiana was flying to far off lands in the 30's and 40's. Commercial flights back then were so very different. Malfunctions, crashes and other terrifying statistics were much higher. (Something I won't get into since I am currently flying as I write this...) And not to mention the fact that commercial flights didn't use the jet stream until after the war which meant much rougher air and much longer flight times. (On my last trip to Hawaii, I found a framed advert from a 50's magazine claiming "LA to Hawaii in only 10 1/2 hours!" Woof.) 

So when it gets bumpy, I think of Indy and how he wouldn't think twice about these little ups and downs. He would just tip his hat over his eyes and fall fast asleep. At least until Willy starts screaming.

Love. It's a motherfucker.

Want some love advice? Too bad cause here it comes.

Here's some things I've learned that I wish someone had told me and then I had actually followed their advice. What can I say? My heart is an idiot.

(Quick qualifier: are you hurting yourself or others? No? Excellent! In that case then...)

Don't you change; do what you do.
You are weird, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Rock out to Taylor Swift AND Slayer... at the same time. Roll that D20 and dress up like Legolas! Get your Furry on, get out there and find yourself another Furry to skritch around with. (I don't get it but whatever floats your boat!) There is no shame in what you are.

By the way, gender doesn't determine what you should or shouldn't like either. Does anyone remember Katie? Rock on, Katie.

A couple tests

• Do they ask you questions? Ask about your life, how you are, how you are dealing with things? Do they seem interested in you as a person? I know that sounds really obvious but sometimes it's not. I found myself on a girl's weekend, friends who I haven't seen in months, when one of them turned to me and asked,  "So how are you, really? What's going on in your life?" and I was struck dumb. I realized that no one had really asked me those questions in a long time. This person in question should want to know about you.

• If this person judges you, criticizes you, looks at you funny when you wear that hat, thinks you are way overdressed for the party, makes a remark about the way you talk, laugh, do your job and/or live in anyway, drop them like a rock. A big stupid heavy rock that isn't at all shiny or fun.

• The first time you are vulnerable and/or cry in front of that person, notice how they react. If it isn't 100% with understanding and care, they are not the one for you.

• Lastly, they should make you feel like you and what you have to say are important. If you don't feel like they hold you in high esteem, time to move on.

Celebrating You
Dave Grohl of The Foo Fighters once said, "I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. If you fucking like something, like it." So with that very wise comment, I'm officially coming out of the closet. The dance music closet. I love dance music. If you can shake your ass to it, I love it. I also love board games and puzzles. And I really want to learn to play D&D cause it sounds like fun. I love Disney and Harry Potter. I will put a rhinestone on anything because I love glitter. I'm tired of hiding all that stuff so I'm going to celebrate it instead. This person should do the same.

I'm not saying it will be easy. In fact, it's almost impossible. To find someone who likes you exactly the way you are is a monumental task. Someone who loves you even though you are crazy, forgetful, confused. Someone who treats you with respect and care. Someone who doesn't need you to change. That is a large feat.

Good luck. You'll need it.

Heather's High School

Goddamn. Winona Ryder is fucking skinny.

I'm watching Heathers now and remembering high school. Not the nightmare it could have been but it was like a prison. I was never close to being popular with the people that went to that school. I though maybe that if I had had more friends I would have been happier. Then I wouldn't want to still hurt all those little fucks who pulled out my hair or spit at me. I wouldn't have the idea that friends are just there to kick me in the head and run off. Or for me to run off first. I wish I knew what I know now.
I'd have ignored all those people and focused on myself. Taken myself out to movies and worked more and read more and slept in and learned to paint and sing. I would have kept dancing. I would have written more. I definitely would have ditched more class to have a little fun. (Cause in the end, it really didn't matter if I was sitting silently, doodling in my notebook in English class or not.)

I wouldn't have dated the same boy all through high school. I would have met a tall boy with glasses who would swim and run and make me laugh. He would make breakfast for dinner and he would never stop asking questions and talking about silly things. We would dance in Times Square and travel...straight to the Taj Mahal, down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and then up the Tokyo Tower. How...very.

Where do I come up with all this bull shit? Whatever. Time to get going or get left behind. Whatever, indeed.

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

Parallel Life

The new year comes and in some mirrored universe, 70 years ago, I know I am feeling hopeless.

I've been following the 70th anniversary of the 2nd world since 2009, when the war started. I started the war Sept 1, 2009. The fall of Paris. The "Jewish Solution" begins. The battle of Stalingrad and the uncountable dead.  Battle of the Bulge.

And now it's all coming to an end. There seems to be a light at the end of this tunnel. The Germans have started to retreat. Weeks from now, they start to evacuate/liquidate the concentration camps and move back towards Berlin. In mere months, Hitler will paint the bunker with his brains and that will be the final threads of fight left in the Germans. Old men and boys will try to hold the city with abandoned tanks and guns. The Russians will hoist their flag over the Reichstag dome and America will turn it's weary eyes to the Pacific theater and Japan. Roosevelt will make a decision. By August, it will all be over. For some more than others.  

But no one knows these things yet. I just listen to radio and sing in the new year. Our men are still gone, people still die and Hitler lives.

I wonder how I feel on this fresh, clear morning. I imagine I look up at the frozen sky, trying to remember what I know now.

Hail to the Lost Boys

Hail to the Lost Boys

To the young men that have gone before

To the endless nights that blur into day

Pool halls and cigarettes

Sex drugs and best friends

low pay and first loves

Cars, girls, and credit cards

One night too long

One drive that never ended

Never to come home

And forever headed for the next adventure

Flying out there, hand in hand 

Second Star to the right and straight on til morning