A Case for Kids

I'm on a 9 hour flight to Sweden and I may have to murder a child.

Not literally of course. But we've all been there, right? The screaming child 20 rows ahead, the kid with the soiled diaper 20 rows behind (up wind, somehow) and the talkative one right across the row. 

The same phrase, over and over and over again, in ever increasing volume, "Peas Thomas. Peas Thomas. PEAS THOMAS!" (Parents will know he means that if he doesn't get to watch Thomas the Tank Engine on Dad's Ipad right now that a meltdown will occur shortly that will deafen half the cabin.) "Aden! Aden!" (Again.) "Pane! Pane!" (Plane.) Jews! Jews! (Juice. Yeah, that one took me off guard for a minute.) But my favorite is this kid's rendition of my favorite ballad, "NO!". Even happy babies will squeal at such a pitch that it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

On these travel days when I've had 3 hours sleep, much like a mom of a young child, I consider motherhood and I'm not sure I'm cut out for it. Children are needy, selfish and moody and I'm already all those things. I think one person with those traits in the household is enough. I don't want to give up sleep or share my dinner. I don't want clean up after anyone else or stop doing the things that make me happy so I can care for a helpless little meatloaf. I don't want to lose my body, for which I have worked really hard.

But my own wonderful, selfless mother says that it all changes when you see their faces for the first time. It changes you. You feel a bond and a love like nothing you have ever felt before and all you want to do is do for them. I wouldn't know though. The kids across the aisle has said the word, "Aden!" seventeen times before his mom finally relented and sang the 'animal song' for the 5th time. SEVENTEEN. Would I sing the 'animal song' five times?

So for now, perhaps I should just get a puppy. I like dogs better than most people anyhow. 

Happy Mother's Day!

Clearing out the Junk

Who's this girl?

In a bit of early spring cleaning, I've discovered some old papers and journals. I have no idea who this girl is... I guess there's still a shadow in my brain where she lingers but there's no flesh memory. Just a silly girl who had witnessed no death or real sadness.

"Yes, my dears, I've been out in the sunlight. The flatlands of Oklahoma were calling to me so I packed up my crap and ran out of town last weekend. A mini reunion scheduled on Sunday, my family and I jumped in the RV and took off with Buster riding up front. It was so bitterly cold but so cool to be there. I hung out with my grandparents, went shopping with my grandma and slept in. Yeah sleep! And yeah video games; on the road, we watched movies, ate at (my brother) and I's favorite Mexican place and I beat the hell out of FFIX! It's like heaven!"

Who is that? Not me. It couldn't be.  She doesn't even sound like me. I don't have grandparents anymore. I don't really have a family. All our pets are gone. There's no time for this kind of thing anymore. No one was ever so carefree and naïve.

I want to slap the shit out of her and hold her tight, never let go.

Alienating your Cousins

Want to kick kinsmanship right in the fucking teeth? Sick of all these familiar connection clogging your flow? Well let's fix that.

Let's talk religion! Let's talk politics! Let's talk about how I think you should raise your kids! Let's get into some really personal details about your reproductive organs!

This is where I found myself this last weekend. All these topics reared their festive little heads at a wedding in Alabama where my fair cousin Tammy was marrying her high school sweetheart. Let's call him Lou. (Short for Loser.) Flying in Friday, I was happy to have trekked a thousand miles to be there and today, Sunday, I'm thinking I should ask for a family divorce. Or at least we need to see other people. 

When two families come together you are bound to get sparks but this evening was overly fire-filled. Mother of the groom got way to happy and grabbed my tit, which I'm only half sure it was an accident. The brother was burning the dance floor with his Riverdance and then (after 3 more Jim Beams and Coke) he was working it like an chickenhead in a Wiz Kalifa video. His Dick Swing up on Nana was impressive. 

Needless to say, I drank way too much. I think I probably cursed too much. I know I told one of the grooms friends that I was a stripper. I told another one I was a buyer for a Vegas hotel chain. Then, as you do when you're drunk and bored at a wedding in Alabama, I sold the busboy my panties. They weren't my favorite pair or anything so don't cry for me.

So I'm hungover at this airport without much else to say except this - Always pack one more pair of underwear than you think you need because you never know when you'll want to sell them to a stranger.

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.