Letting go

Ok, so this is my monkey, his name is Shweetheart or Monkeyboy, whichever you prefer. And, well, he is probably the most well traveled red monkey around. My mom gave me my monkey when I started flying on November 29, 1999 and he has lived in my suitcase ever since.
Monkeyboy has been all over the world, and I have done my damnedest to photograph him in every city that I have ever slept in. He's been to Augusta, Barcelona, Charleston, Dublin, El Paso, Fort Lauderdale, Hell (Grand Cayman), Istanbul, Jackson Hole, Kalispell, Los Cabos, Milan, Nice, Oklahoma City, Pittsburgh, Qatar, Rome, San Francisco, Tulsa, Venice, Washington DC, Yuma and so many other places that I don't remember. This last weekend he went to Moscow and next weekend he will be in Shannon, Ireland...
But come July 1 he will retire his passport.
I quit my job today. After almost seven years of heartache and tears and laughter and jet-setting and "glamour" and spilt tomato juice and rude passengers and adventures... I quit my job.
It's time to move on, and even though I know this in my heart of hearts and even though this is something I have wanted to do ever since my first day as a flight attendant, I am still sad. I am sad to be leaving a job that gave me the world and I am sad to be leaving a job that gave me access to my far flung family and friends. But it was time, and it was the right thing to do.
Monkeyboy will just have to learn to love New York.

One for the road

Well, the countdown has begun. Two days left of a happy marriage.
On Thursday morning Michael and I will be heading out on a 12 hour road trip back to hell, I mean, Tennessee. We will be driving, most likely in the rain, in a 1998 Jetta, which is currently sporting a glowing 'check engine' light, with our two evil, I mean lovable, hounds in the black-cloth-interior backseat.
Now, normally I would love a good road trip. However, this trip is being cut short due to my classes starting on Monday, so our original leisurely journey is now going to be a mad 24 hour driving dash in four days squeezing in three doctors appointments, belated Mother's Day celebrations and a quick trip to the inlaw's house to pick up belongings being stored in their basement. All with the beasts, I mean dogs, in tow.
Oh lord, why do I do this to us?
Michael must really love me, either that or he REALLY hates me and he sees this as a quick and relatively painless way to end our marriage because one of us will inevitably not make it back to NYC alive.

Please disregard the chocolate in the freezer

OK, so I keep chocolate in the freezer, and way too many jars of jelly, especially since Michael and I don't eat jelly. (My dad was under the impression that a person couldn't buy jelly in NYC so the last time he came to visit he brought me jelly... random, yes.)
Actually, now that I am looking, I probably need to go to the grocery store seeing as how all we seem to have in the fridge are drinks and condiments. Kind of sad really...

One more reason why New Jersey sucks

They shot the bear.
For the past week people in New Jersey have been "terrorized" by a mother black bear. This "horrific beast" has been spotted in yards and parks in a middle class residential area. She has been doing such horrible things as walking around, digging, and rummaging in trash. How frightening!
Yesterday the medium sized bear wandered into a back yard and decided to nap under a tree.
The homeowners called the police and animal control.
Animal control was going to shoot the bear with a tranquilizer gun and then move the bear back to the Gunks, where they believe she came from.
While the animal control officer was preparing to do this five fat New Jersey cops decided to open fire on the resting bear. They shot her seven times.
The bear never charged them, hell, the bear had not even killed any cats on it supposed "rampage." The news caught the entire incident on tape, the bear never "aggressed toward the officers" as the chief of police said she did.
They should all be shot themselves. This is just another reason why New Jersey needs to be dropped from the Union.
I cried when I watched this barbaric act on the news last night, I can't believe people are so ignorant, it breaks my heart.

The boy in the bubble - New York version

David Blaine, the escapist, has decided to lock himself in a giant bubble of water in Lincoln Center Square for nine days, at the end of which he will escape from chains while holding his breath for a record nine minutes.

There are so many things wrong with this that I can't even begin to start naming them.

At least there are a few people left who realize that dogs are more interesting than crazy, fame seeking people.
Where does he go to the bathroom?, you ask. In a tube.
How does he eat? Drink? Again, through tubes.
Is he going to be all pruny when he comes out? What about sun protection?
His mom must be so proud. I can hear her now at her weekly bridge game, "Oh, my sweet David. He's gone and put himself inside a giant ball of water. I guess all those times he held his breath to get his way as a child finally paid off. His father and I are soooo proud!"


Only in New York.

Trailer Parks-the new fertility drug (this is so NOT PC)

I think I have discovered the best fertility drug that is not really on the market yet. Trailer parks, or the white trash men who live or come from trailer parks.
Honestly, lets look at your typical "Mobile Home Community." It is normally inhabited by 1) the elderly, 2)middle-aged, unemployed, drunk white men, and 3)their 13 year old pregnant, already have three other kids, wives/girlfriends.
These men are obviously harboring some seriously potent sperm, because I'm sorry, but all these girls have to do is look at these losers and Bam! "Sorry Ma, I went and got myself knocked up agin' by cousin Buck."
And don't think that one still has to live in the trailer for my theory to hold true, because oh no, this potent sperm is portable. Just look at Brit and K-Fed. You can take the boy out of the trailer but you can't take the trailer out of the boy. I mean honestly, what has this couple done to deserve not one, but now two precious little angels? I mean what, does she just say "Hit me baby one more time," and Wham! She's pregnant? Maybe the whole boxer short theory is wrong and instead our men should try wearing their pants down around their ankles and always keeping their ball caps tilted to the left side, oh and they can't forget to walk around acting like fools with hookers and whores. Maybe if they would all just cut a really bad album then we'd all be blessed with babies. I don't know, but I'm willing to try it, so this afternoon I am off to buy Michael some size 42 cargo shorts, a Yankees cap (with the tags still attached) and a Paps Blue Ribbon to try and simulate that whole trailer park scene. I may also get a wind sock, some garden gnomes, and a beat up Chevy up on blocks to put on our patio to really set the mood. Let the baby makin' begin!

Lost relics and the Barrel

Am I the only one who thought phone booths had gone the way of the DoDo? Well, apparently I was wrong. Should Superman ever be reincarnated he will in fact still have a place to change into his man tights and cape, and it is in my neighborhood. Am I a dork for thinking this is just the coolest?
I'm one of those people who love the cookey things in life and really like it when random acts of oddness occur, maybe this is why I am experiencing a slight pang of jealousy at what one of my good friends is currently doing.
She and her long-time-but-not-in-a-million-years-will-I-ever-marry-him-boyfriend are moving from NYC to San Francisco for his job, and they are currently in their car making the cross country journey over the next week. Now, most people would go to AAA and pick up a map, perhaps even buy a map at a gas station, and then plan out the quickest, most direct route to get from point A to point B. Not my friend, and this is why I love her. When she found out she was having to leave the city she loves for a strange new land she promptly drove to the nearest Cracker Barrel (which is an hour and a half away in Connecticut) and picked up a map of the Cracker Barrel locations across the country and proceeded to plan their trip around at least one Barrel a day. I love that. We should all be so random. It reminds me of something I heard when touring a distillery in San Juan, "When life gives you barrels, make rum. Then drink up and life will look a lot better." or something like that.
Oh, and one more friend prop. My good friend Kathryn L Krueger has written a beautiful little book about growing up with divorce, "Road to Grandma's House." It can be found on Amazon and at Barnes and Noble.

Slamming doors

My Nanny, the wisest person I've ever loved, was full of expressions and sage wisdom. She was constantly spouting off bits of advise like "God never puts more weight on your shoulders than you can bare..," "Don't count your chickens before they hatch..," "Dream big, but live bigger..," and my personal favorite, "When one door closes, another one opens."
This is my favorite because it always seems to be true. Whenever I think that my life couldn't possibly go on and that I've reached the very end, a door opens.
Yesterday my airline shut down. We were officially integrated back into our parent company and a product that was loved by both passengers and employees was sent to the desert. For the last few months my heart has been breaking thinking about having to go back to a company that has brought me, well, nothing but heart break. And then, viola, a door opened.
I have been accepted into Columbia University! Little ol' Tennessee-you're-just-a-flight-attendant me will be a Columbia-fucking-Ivy-League-Lion. I have trumped my master's-degrees-from-Georgia-Tech-and-UT-baring father, Mr. "sweetheart, you couldn't get into Columbia," and my kindergarden teacher Ms. Hall who told my mother that I was "a sweet child, but she'll never amount to much."
So HA! I say. HA! to all of you who thought I would never be brave enough to actually reach for my dreams. HA! to everyone who thought I would always just sit back and take it and always just be a flight attendant. HA! I say. And now, BAM! I slam my door in the world's face.
Yeah me.