Category Archives: Humor

The Crazy Lady

It has been a crazy week. I flew 5 days in a row, which really is too much. It’s too much exposure to the flyin’ public. And, that can make me a little crazy. At the height of my week, I was standing in the jetbridge waiting for the passengers to deplane when this woman walks off the plane. She takes a couple steps forward, then a couple steps back. She does this several times as a look of confusion is plastered on her face. Then she says out loud, “Oh yeah, I didn’t bring the kids with me on this trip.” Oh, people.

This reminds me of another crazy lady named Phyllis. Phyllis is one of my co-workers who I really have no idea how or why she is a flight attendant. I think is has something to do with her driving her husband crazy and he wanting her out of the house…

When I was first hired 5 years ago, I was still living in Phoenix. And, my crew base was in Oakland. So, I had to commute to Oakland from Phoenix in order to start all of my trips. Because, I was new and needed to spend a lot of time in the bay area waiting for my trips, I had to get a “crash pad.” A crash pad is an apartment that 10-15 flight attendants will share and use only when they are in town in order to keep the costs down. There is usually one person who will sign the lease and keep everything “in order.”

This is where Phyllis comes into the picture. Phyllis ran the crash pad. And, here is why she is crazy…if she wasn’t crazy, then she would have been able to hide her strange behaviors. I think that “the crazies” don’t even know that their actions are weird.

Here is a classic conversation with Phyllis:

Day one in the crash pad–I am minding my own business, getting ready for work at the crash pad. I had taken a shower and was finishing getting ready. Phyllis approaches me with the strainer from the shower. It is full of black hairs.

Phyllis
-“Ummm, yeah, here at the crash pad we clean out the strainer after we shower.”

Me-“Phyllis, those aren’t my hairs…they’re black.”

Phyllis
-“Ummm, yeah, they could be pubic.”

Me
-(holding my arms outward to show her)”Phyllis, the carpet matches the drapes, I’m sorry, but, those aren’t my hairs…”

Phyllis-“Ummm, yeah…..”

Me-(I walk away still unaware of her truly crazy status)

Phyllis only eats live or raw food. Consequently, she spends a lot of time in the bathroom. It was never a pretty picture. I know this is true because my friend Kimmy accepted some of Phyllis’ “special green tea” one day. Let’s just say that Kimmy had a miserable 3 days. I don’t like she felt healthier, which is what the crazy lady said would happen if you ate like she ate.

The crazy lady liked to criticize everything that anyone else ate. She almost always started out by saying, “You guys.” Followed by, “you shouldn’t eat that stuff, it is full of all kinds of awful things…” Of course, she was referring to my vegetable stir fry that I bought from Trader Joe’s. Fairly healthy, from my perspective. Let’s not even talk about what would happen if we brought in fast food.

I may have been more prone to accepting her food advice if she didn’t spend hours in the bathroom; or, if she didn’t continuously have a strange green hue to her skin.

Of course, there are many more “Phyllis” stories to be told. Like the time she accused two of the girls of crawling through the back window of the apartment late one night… Or like the many times she would bring her 80 year old snoring husband Sid to stay at the “crash pad” with her…

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This post is dedicated to the many people who have survived Phyllis’ crash pad…especially my friends Nicholas and Kimmy, who were right there with me and have many of their own “crazy lady” stories…

Faster Than an F5 Tornado

Ok, so I just got home from work and boy, are my wings tired. It was such a hard trip (i.e.–3 hours on the tarmac with a plane full of LA passengers, waiting to take off on a 5 1/2 hour flight…do the math.) Once we got to LA, we still had to work one more flight. Whew. Since our passengers we were picking up in LA were 3 1/2 hours late, I was fully expecting them to be irate. In reality, they were too tired to show any emotion at all. Except for Mr. Jim Bob Rowdy, who was sitting in seat 10D.

Jim Bob Rowdy loved to fly and it showed. 😉 He on numerous occasions told me how much he loved my airline, followed by a “wooo hooo!!!!” and both fists in the air. At first, I honestly was a little annoyed–as were his fellow passengers, many of whom had just spent 8 1/2 hours on the plane. But, as the saying goes, “This airline can clear out a trailer park faster than an F5 tornado!” And, it’s true. I’m not being uppidy, I’m just sayin’… And, in truth, the guy was quite amusing.

I actually love these passengers. They are my peeps. These are the people that I grew up around. There is very little pretense with them. And often times, they have never flown, and don’t really know how to act on a plane. Which can be a real hoot. If the mullet, Jeff Gordon ballcap, and cut-off shorts don’t give you something to chuckle about, it’s just a matter of time before something blog-worthy is said. And, Mr. Rowdy was no exception.

I was passing out the peanuts, and offered him some. Verbatim, here is his response, I shit you not: “Shoot…I got no teeth. I can’t eat them peanuts.” It gets more realistic if you add slight drawl. My co-flight attendant and I spent the next ten minutes in the back galley recreating the scene. And, it just got better and better. I have decided that “Shoot…I got no teeth” is my new slogan.

True to Jim Bob’s nature, on landing he stood up, fists in the air, shouting,”wooo hooo, ya’all rock…yeah!” I just love our passengers…

Everybody Loves a Nice Montage

mon·tage (mon-täzh) n.

1.a. A single pictorial composition made by juxtaposing or superimposing many pictures or designs.
b. The art or process of making such a composition.

2.a. A relatively rapid succession of different shots in a movie.
b. The juxtaposition of such successive shots as a cinematic technique.

3. A composite of closely juxtaposed elements: a montage of voices on an audiotape.

tr.v. mon·taged, mon·tag·ing, mon·tag·es
To use or incorporate in a montage.

t[French, from monter, to mount, from Old French; see mount1.]
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

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I love montages. You know…the piecing together of clips in a movie or on a tv show with a nice music underlay. They do this to advance the story without actually having to write all that dialogue. For example, if film editors want to show the time period between someone’s childhood and adulthood, they can just turn it into a montage by showing the defining moments that might have happened during that period. What makes a montage really great is the use of slow-motion and a nice ballad.

I think that I mostly enjoy the cheesy drama associated with a montage. More than once, I have been listening to a great song and thought, “This would be perfect for my montage!” Oh yes, that’s right, I have been creating my a personal montage of my life…in my head. I might possibly use Mariah Carey’s “Hero” or, possibly Coldplay’s “Fix You.” It would be complete with a shot of me showing my “prize” heifer at the Marion County Fair; followed by a nice clip of me in my basement, rollerskating to “Rosanna” with a broom in my hand; a couple clips of me singing; serving some drinks on the airplane with a smile and a wink; and maybe a nice slow-mo of me running on the beach with the wind blowing through my hair… OK, that last one has never actually happened, but, still I think that it would make a nice addition to my montage.

And who doesn’t enjoy a nice stroll down memory lane, with the Golden Girls’ theme song playing underneath? Thank you for being a friend… travel down the road and back again… It really is possible that I have too much time on my hands. All I know is that when I reflect on the past, I can’t help it. It turns into a montage…music and all.

I thought that I would include a couple of examples. One not so serious, and another serious. Enjoy the amazingly wonderful world of the montage…
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This first montage is from “South Park.” It’s a parody of sport montages. You know, clips of the athlete training, etc. The best part is that “they” always use a nice 80’s song, like, “Eye of the Tiger” or something similar. This is probably the funniest montages I’ve seen…

This second montage is a serious one. It is from the series finale of “Six Feet Under.” They use Sia’s “Breathe Me” for the music and it’s very well done. It is the last thing you see in the show; and, they use it show how each of the show’s characters’ lives play out…

My First Kiss…well, almost.

I love girls. In fact, I loved girls so much in grade school that I always had a gaggle of them surrounding me. I was totally in a chick clique. We played tag together and pretty much totally ignored all of the boys. This is how I met my first girlfriend Penny.

The girls and I were playing tag one day when this loud and brash vision of a third grader came at me hand outstretched. When I realized that I was her target, I dodged her tag. She missed me, but unfortunately, did not miss the window that was directly behind me. After crashing through the window, and subsequently receiving multiple stitches, Penny and I became best friends.

She was the first in a long series of “girlfriends.” Here’s how the progression usually went:

Step 1: Meet a girl who is funny and goofy, or loud and brash…not your typical “pretty girl.”

Step 2: Become “best friends” with the girl. Pass lots of notes to each other.

Step 3: Mutually decide to “go together.” (NOTE: I actually sent Penny a note that said, “Do you want to go together? Check yes__ or, no__” I liked clarity evidently.)

Step 4: After going together for a short while, get really uncomfortable and move on to the next victim…I mean best friend.

Step 5: Repeat steps 1-4.

Penny was different, being that she was the first. I almost made it halfway to first base with her. We were at a high school football game, running around with our gaggle of third-grade friends, when somehow we ended up behind this tractor that was parked off to the side of the field. Penny asked me to kiss her. The game was almost over, and we would have to leave soon. So, the pressure was on. The clock, or game timer, actually, was counting down…10, 9, 8, 7… and soon it was all over–both the game and my “relationship” with Penny.

She was also the first in a long line of girls that I loved, but not the way that they wanted me to. It wasn’t too long afterwards that I realized why it was that I didn’t want to kiss Penny…

That damn crack.

On the street where I live, there lies a crack. It’s actually two separate slabs of concrete that are being pushed apart by tree roots–one higher, one lower. But, I call it a crack.

And, I trip on that same damn crack every time I walk up the street. That damn crack has found me during phone conversations; while sipping coffee; while listening to my Ipod; while rolling my “granny cart” to the laundry mat; while simply walking with Jeff. And, it’s worth mentioning that I don’t just trip over this crack. I massively stumble over it, dropping my phone; spilling my coffee; causing my Ipod to skip; tipping over my “granny cart;” inducing giggles and mock “trips” from Jeff.

Those who know me know that I am prone to such clumsy episodes. I find it amazing that I can balance a tray of 14 drinks on one arm. Not only that, but, I can do that during turbulence, and while dodging peoples’ feet, and children squeezing past me in the aisle of the airplane. But, I can’t seem to manage walking up the street–the same street I have walked up hundreds of times–without stumbling on that same damn crack. You’d think I’d learn my lesson.

We as humans have a long history of not learning from our mistakes. We repeatedly make the same mistakes over and over and over. We continue to pollute in the same ways, even though we know what it does. We continue to spread hate even though we have seen what hate can do. And, we continue to think that “it” will never have to us, even though almost everyone that “it” has happened to also thought that same thing–whatever “it” is.

The problem is that we as humans have an amazingly short memory. I really have no other explanation as to why I can repeatedly trip over the same crack. The good news is that no notable harm has been done. Which may have something to do with why I don’t remember that crack before I trip on it.

Is that the solution? Do we have to be really hurt before we learn our lesson? As soon as I typed that, my mind began racing through illustrations of how people only learned a lesson once they were hurt or caused irreparable harm to something or someone. But, ever the optimist, I refuse to believe it.

I have to believe that I want to learn and grow; because, I want to be a better me; not because, I have no other choice. So here’s to growth–may we be best “we” that we can be!

Oh yeah, and if you see a blonde heap on the ground, covered in laundry and coffee with electronic devices scattered about…just keep walking and know that lessons are slowly being learned.
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Here’s video of Miss USA at the Miss Universe Pageant. I love the fact that, after she trips, she has this look on her face that says, “Yeah, I’m hot and I tripped…jealous?”