When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go

So, what do you do on a Saturday night in New Jersey when scheduling has not called, your best friends are either visiting with out-of-state relatives or being soon-to-be-wed recluses, and you just don't feel like riding the train into New York?

Fly to Washington DC of course.

At least that's what I did because at about 7:30 last night I just really wanted to be home.

I took at advantage of that dubious jumpseat privilege and hopped on the last flight to DCA. (note: the secret of being a successful homesick flight attendant is to make home a place where there are 6 flights a day and always seats open)

My parents were less than eager to pick me up from the airport at midnight and come right back this afternoon, but before I could feel too dejected my sister jumped in and suggested I visit her at school. The DC metro runs directly from the airport to campus.

The flight was a first for me: 109 open seats and we arrived 45 minutes early. In fact the whole trip was a first: it's Laura's senior year and I have never stayed over, not even when I lived in Annapolis.

Let me just say, college life is pretty great when you don't have to deal with those silly classes. Midnight snacks, marathon Court TV, working out in the spectacular campus gym (the place was more spacious and sunlight than Terminal C), and catching up with (as she saved her number on my phone ) "Awsome Laura".

I was also fortunate enough to be on the computer at just the right time to pick up a nice 4 day trip for tomorrow, so I won't fear the phone ringing at least until Thursday. A short night in Boston, then a long Pheniox, AZ and Orange County, CA.

Now, I say that college life was great without the classes because I didn't have any. My dear sister on the hand does, She has a lot of work this semester and she's also president of a campus organization, so please keep her in your prayers.

I'll admit it's pretty nice to have a job that lets me hop on a plane whenever I'm feeling a little homesick. But then again if I didn't have the job, I wouldn't have moved to NJ and be feeling homesick in the first place. So I guess it all balances out.

The Blog that Never Was and the "Beauty" of Saving Souls

After a wonderful week in my hometown where I hammered out my inaugural blog, ate my parents' food, worked it off at Jazzercise and did remarkable little else, I was welcomed back to the real world (if the term can be be applied to life as a flight attendant) with a 1 am call from my friendly crew scheduler.

He informed me that I was going to Miami for two nights!! Then (not quite) apologetically (enough) added that it was via Houston and Philadelphia at 4.30 am for the next two days.

So, I took a power nap on my new comforter (I love Target), and headed to the airport where I proceeded to spend four days in a sleep-deprived fog.

On my day of leisure I did begin drafting a blog entry filled with witty insight but if you had a choice between editing a blog post or frolicking in the waves in your gym shorts (my swimsuit was a causality of a 1 am quick call), what would you chose?

Anyway, as you can imagine, after that trip, I spent the majority of yesterday lounging at my favorite mega-bookstore. I was fully recovered in time to meet up with my favorite heresy-busting fellow September baby, Claire, and self-inflict pain in the name of female beauty norms.

Actually, I was eager to get a manicure, and I needed my eyebrows done too.

Now, I'm sure many of you are familiar with the concept of waxing or tweezing one's eyebrows, but if you are truly looking for first-class hair removal, let me recommend a trip to Little India and a good "threading".

In this procedure, your stylist takes an seemingly harmless piece of everyday button thread, winds it around her fingers, and forces your head back in a chair. She then creates an elaborate web by anchoring the strand in her teeth while still managing to chatter to overhead in rapid Hindi. You must then participate in this ordeal by pulling your own skin tighter than Joan Rivers as the professional above rolls the thread along your browline, thereby entwining each hair and tearing it out with such precision she could probably inscribe your initials. The results are amazing.

And if you are at all put off by the thought of gazing up the nostrils and curled lips of Ms. Patel, don't worry, your eyes will be watering in agony, so you won't mind the view.

I was quite proud of my stoicism on this particular occasion, but was humbled when, from the next chair, through clenched teeth I overheard, "I don't know how many souls are getting out of purgatory, but I am offering this up!"

Thank you, Claire, for reminding me of the redemtive value of suffering. Next time I'll remember to unite my sorrows to those of Chirst. And who is the patron saint of hair-removal anyway?

Later, newly edged and enjoying the warm weather, we decided to shop around this colorful neighborhood. Claire was in the market for some new head coverings, and what better place to find a Latin-Mass appropriate chapel veil than Little India?

And who should greet us at the first store?

The four-foot cardboard cut out of not just any open-shirted, rippling-abbed Bollywood heartthrob, but the very man who broke into anquished song as I lay awake in London on my token international trip, jet-lagged, difting in and out of sleep as he difted between unintelligiable English and subtitled Hindi.

It was a bittersweet reunion. I now knew where I could get my double-disc special edition DVD of "Kal Ho Naa Ho", but that in it he meets his tragic end.

So perhaps it was his soul that Claire hurried to heaven, but at any rate, the next time I'm trying to deciper melodramatic dialouge over epic dance routines, I'll be peering from under perfectly shaped eyebrows.

Shameless Self-Promotion Attempt #1

(Composed Sept. 18, 2007 from the heart of City Dock)

I sit here in the window on an utterly perfect September afternoon overlooking Annapolis City Dock, venti decaf within grasp, attempting to compose (what I hope will be) the most difficult entry to this new Internet adventure of mine: to convince you, that these publicly posted personal musing will be not only somewhat entertaining, but perhaps even informative and inspirational.

I'm confident you will be vaguely captivated by my story because the preceding 18 months have been undeniably fascinating .....to me at least.

In March of 2006 I was a 24 year-old college educated nanny trying to look busy in my search for a "real job" within commuting distance of my parents house while secretly praying God might suddenly draft me as a foot solider in some Apocalyptic battle, thereby saving me that whole interview process and retirement planning.

Today I am one of the "most professional men and women in the [airline] industry....highly trained in emergency procedures" and "dedicated to clean safe and affordable air transportation".

I've been coast to coast in the US, touched down on three continents and 5 time zones and moved my 2001 Saturn full of my earthly possessions to three addresses in New Jersey. Along the way I've gained 35 lbs (that's actually a good thing), an incredible group of friends, and a lot of perspective.

Since nothing encourages existential contemplation and desperate pleas for divine revelation quite like an ATC delay, I'm convinced that life as a reserve flight attendant is such an effective metaphor for the temporary incarnation of our immortal souls, it is worth entrusting to that most venerated of records: the blogspot.

And so, if you are a friend who might actually care where I am, or a new acquaintance through this Internet endeavour, I invite you aboard.