That "One Thing..." Found it in LA

Well, I made it to California and back.  I didn't die.  Ironically, I'm more surprised that I didn't die in the LA traffic than I am that I didn't die on the plane.  So, as it turns out, all the worrying was for nothing...as you all suspected all along.

Most of you that read this blog are my Facebook friends, so you have seen all the pictures and the blow by blow of our adventure, so there isn't much need to go over the details of the trip.  There were many moments that made me laugh, some that made me cry and a lot of moments in the rented convertible Mustang that allowed me much time to think.  Thinking is what really fuels most of my blogs, so I figured I would share some thoughts.  None of them particularly hilarious or awe inspiring, but just a little of what rambles around in my head.

I should start with saying, the reason we were in California was for a memorial service.  It was not intended to be a "fun trip," but we added a couple of days onto our time there, since we never really get a vacation that allows us to go anywhere fun.  Our vacations involve a day or two in the truck driving to a location that isn't too far from home, like the WA or OR coast.

On this trip to CA, we got to see one of my dearest friends and her partner in crime, my beloved "LA Girls."  We stayed up until midnight on the first night I was there.  Never a lull in the conversation, just talking about life and relationships and all that stuff that you talk about with your closest friends.  We don't get to see each other much, we don't really talk on the phone, we just know the other is there if we should ever need them. We just have that bond that ties us, even after all these years.  We have known each other since I was four years old and she was six.  Life took us our separate ways shortly after high school, but we've always remained close.  You cannot put a value on that kind of friendship, nor ever take it for granted, yet sometimes, I think I probably do.

Me & the LA Girls.  <3

Beyond that wonderful, short time with the LA Girls, Shark Bait and I explored as much of the surrounding area as we could and enjoyed riding around in the Mustang convertible.  I allowed myself to relax and really enjoy just driving around with no particular agenda, just being. We bought some silly straw hats that kept us from burning our heads under the hot California sun and drove around like the tourists we were. It was a great time.

Rednecks in a convertible - accidental tourists

On the third day of our trip, it was time to go to the memorial for Shark Bait's uncle, Ed.  Uncle Ed passed suddenly a few months back and now it was time to say the official good-bye.  He was a retired Forest Service Firefighter and so, when we drove up to the Forest Service Ranger Station where the service was to be held, there was the truck he had driven when he retired.  There, along side the truck was a uniform laid out.  As soon as I saw it, tears ran down my face.  Such an striking image.  Preparing for the service were a group of "Hot Shot" fire fighters and many Forest Service members.  It was touching that they had all come together for this service.  There was much sharing and story telling about this man's life and the kind of person he was.  I thought, this is what it is all about.  Not fame, not fortune, not how much money you have when you die, but people gathering together to say that you inspired them, that you made an imprint in their life, that their life is better because of you, that you made them laugh.  And, even in your passing, people can tell stories and your life adventures, no matter how small, can still make them smile. That people can say your proudest moment of your career is that no one got hurt on your watch.  That's amazing.  What a legacy to leave behind.

I don't care who you are, if that doesn't tug at your heart, I don't know what to say.

I can't imagine what it must feel like for Shark Bait's Aunt.  To go to bed at night and not have that person there. To know all the fun things they had planned will go undone.  To know, that what you have to hang on to is the memories.  I know what it feels like to lose a parent.  I lost my Dad in 2011.  I miss him some days so much it hurts.  And I remember stories that make me smile, or make me sad, but I still have days where I just really want to hug him. I don't really want to think about losing Shark Bait, but God willing, I won't have to for a long time.  This memorial service, however, is a painful reminder that we don't get to choose and we sure as heck don't always get a warning that it's coming to an end.

These are the thoughts that roamed through my head as we drove home that night.  Just Shark Bait and I driving in the convertible, top down on a warm summer night.  The radio was set to a Country music station that seemed to be playing all the classic songs from the last 10-20 years that really tugged at my heart.  We drove in silence, each of us in our own thoughts.  I leaned my head back and looked up at the stars as we drove 70 mph down whatever interstate that was.  At that moment I thought, if something suddenly happened to Shark Bait, I would remember this car ride as one of our best times.  Side by side, we had enjoyed the last couple of days, we were relaxed, we were happy.  We held hands everywhere we had went and even now, in the quiet of the car ride, Shark Bait would reach over and grab my hand.  No cares, no worries, just feeling the warm air and listening to the music and watching the stars and landscape go by.  It's a kind of mental freedom we don't allow ourselves very often.  Well, especially me.  I'm always worrying about something.  But at that moment, I didn't care about the bank account, I didn't care about what was going on at home, I didn't care how fat I was (okay, that's kind of a lie, I did a little), I just enjoyed that moment and I knew somehow, we'd be okay.

We flew back home the next day and settled back into the daily grind of our work week.  As we are coming up on the weekend again, I can't help but wish we had the convertible again to run away on some other adventure.  And, no, Shark Bait, driving around in your 1946 Willy's is not the same as the 2015 Mustang.  It's just not.  We'll have to find different transportation for our future adventures.

Anyway, I just thought I would share my moment of clarity out there on the California desert highway and say that I will always remember Shark Bait's uncle for the great man he was, but that in a way, he kind of gave us one last gift by giving us a reason to go to California to create those memories.

In the end,  memories are all we have.  It's like old Curly said in the movie City Slickers, "You know what the secret to life is? This...this one thing...you stick to that and everything else don't mean shit."  And then Billy Crystal's character says, "That's great, but what's that one thing?"  And Curly says, "That's what you gotta figure out."  All this day to day stuff doesn't mean shit.  The moments you enjoy and hold on to, those are the moments that make life worthwhile.

Pretty much everything we need to figure out in life is a movie quote, we just need to shut up and watch the movie.

Angry Pony loves Shark Bait

Why I Need Xanax

Disclaimer:  Tonight's blog could offend someone.  If you're delicate or easily offended, please, close  out of this link and go look at LOL Catz.  I will not be lectured by anyone about my views, which are just me talking through some anxiety.  I mean, you should all be pretty hearty by now, but just in case...  Also, it is noteworthy to mention, I am purposely not going to remove my bra to get comfortable so that I can channel Angry Pony in the best possible way. Girth pressure is the answer.

Okay, so, Shark Bait and I are going to California.  We have a family memorial service to attend, but we are also adding a couple of days to the trip to see some friends and do some touristy stuff.  This means I have to fly...in an airplane...off the ground...in the sky.  I have flown a total of one time in my life.  It wasn't that great of an experience, so not really looking forward to doing it again.  I mean, it was like 15 years ago.  You know what's happened since then?  I'll tell you, 9/11, terrorists, depressed pilots and missing planes.  And that's just once you get in the air.  Never mind the trauma of actually getting on your flight and being strapped into the seat of death and potentially being fat shamed.  Never mind you might get a stinky guy next to you.  I mean, Shark Bait will be on one side, but who will be on the other?  I could be some sort of big guy sandwich.  And, what if the guy or gal is chatty?  What if?  I don't want to talk to a stranger.  What if their arm and their leg touch me because they are too fat for their seat, I'm too fat for mine and then it's a sea of cellulite and people think we are conjoined twins?  What if I have to go to the bathroom during the flight?  What if I can't get out of my seat because I'm the tuna filling in the man sandwich?  Or, I make it to the bathroom and my butt gets suctioned into the toilet?  You don't know, it could happen.  None of you can promise me anything.

What if I get one of those packs of peanuts for an in-flight snack and I can't open them and Shark Bait doesn't have his knife because he can't carry one and then I open it the hard way and peanuts go flying everywhere and then the flight attendant steps on one, slips, she goes down, her tray of drinks goes flying, gets some guy wet, he jumps up yelling, we hit turbulence, he falls on the lap of a pregnant lady, she goes into labor, there is no doctor on the plane, why is there never a doctor when you need one?  And then the baby is born, but there are no clean towels because we used them to clean up the mess from the drinks, so we use a blanket, but we don't know where that blanket has been, so now it's not sanitary and the baby could catch a major disease or, at best, a rash.  Now the plane has to land in a corn field and then some guy has a heart attack because he never wanted to fly anyway, but he wanted to see his grandson graduate from high school and now all this is stressing him out.  Still, no doctor, but some guy that took a CPR class at work 10 years ago jumps on the case, but he can't revive the guy and likely broke one of the guys ribs trying.  Now we have a dead guy on the plane and an infected screaming baby and a mom that has a placenta hanging out of her vagina and we are going to land in a corn field. What about that?  Anyone think about that?

Now, let's talk about the pilot's state of mind. I think I should be able to talk to the pilot before we go.  I need to know what his intentions are.  Like, is there going to be a handout with his personal bio and what he likes to do in his spare time?  Does he like kids? How does he feel about the middle east?  How is his mood?  Is he on any medication?  When is the last time he had a check-up?  How's his blood pressure?  Who's checking on this stuff?  Does he have a relative on the plane that he wants dead?  I have a right to know if I'm flying with Suicide Sam.

Additionally, I'd like to be able to profile everyone.  You look shifty, you're out.  What's in your backpack? Is that a flask full of battery acid that you are going to put into the ninja flight attendant's eyes so that you can get to Captain Kirk and burn off his face so you can take over the plane and fly us to God knows where and either sink us into the ocean to die a horrible death or take us to some country where no one will ever find us and no one knows about and now we are all your slaves and we have to walk barefoot in the jungle with dangerous snakes to get to the water hole to bring the high priestess of Boonga Boonga some water and coconuts?  This is a legitimate question.  Or, are you just a terrorist that is going to choose one of us to wear the bomb backpack and blow us all up to show the Americans that you mean business?  Look, do I understand that people fly everyday and this stuff is a rarity, not a common occurrence?  Sure.  But could it happen?  Yes.  While it might not be likely, as the Rug Doctor likes to say, it could happen.

So, that brings me to what happens to my stuff if I die?  Who's caring for my good dog Spanky?  WHO?  That is a big responsibility to care for the most special dog in the world.  Who  cares for the ponies?  I mean, I don't really have anything of big value.  I've got my stuffed pony collection, but no one wants that.  So, I guess I'll ask my sister to dispose of stuff she finds in the nightstand, I'll ask my Mom to go through the paperwork and have a big bon fire to destroy all of our personal information.  As far as my work stuff, I leave all my desk toys to my Boot Bitches.  The unicorn sticker with a middle finger for a horn goes to my boss. And then, I guess, just cremate me.  You don't have to do anything special with my ashes really.  Maybe spread them around the parking lot at The Glass Palace.  I don't know.  If you have a service for me, I'd like you all to wear  unicorn apparel or pink fuzzy pajamas and to play Somewhere Over the Rainbow by that that Hawaiian guy, IZ.  It's my favorite version of that song. And then I would like you to eat chicken wings, mild, not spicy, cupcakes and ice cream.  Maybe drink a mudslide in salute to FCD's and how they helped me live life to the fullest (and smoothest). And then someone should say, "That crazy bitch, damn I loved her."  I don't care who says it, but if someone could, that'd be swell.  Draw straws or something.  I'll be watching you from above, so make it believable.

That whole dialogue in my head is what lead to the following conversation with the nurse at my doctor's office over the phone:

Me: "Yes, I forgot to ask the doctor about a prescription for Xanax when I saw her the other day.  I'm going to be flying and I'm having a lot of anxiety."

Nurse: "Do you always have anxiety when you fly?"

Me: "I've only flown one time, it sucked, and that was over 15 years ago...you know what's happened since then?  9/11 and terrorism."

Nurse: "Okay...are you considering hurting yourself or taking your life?"

Me: "No, as a matter of fact, I'd like if it no one else took my life either."

Thusly, my prescription is waiting for me at the pharmacy. I'll be taking one...or so, and that should help me enjoy my flight to the fullest.  So, if Shark Bait could just handle my beverages and my nuts, I'll just sit there while stinky third seat guy touches my arm with his arm and not give a fuck about a mother trucking thing.

Exits are here....here....and here.... now, about that bra....