That time when I unintentionally, intentionally hurt nature...

A little while ago, I left a comment over at Hyperbole and a Half (who by the way, is incredibly hilarious) in regards to her goose encounter. If you've never read her blog, then you must go NOW to that post and read that in the least. It is... I don't even know how to... it's just... Allie is funny and awesome and all of her greatness is visible in that post. Go now and read it... then come back here, please. Thanks!

Okay, so her post got me thinking about how I should just post my goose attack story here, unfortunately it's not nearly as funny as Allie's, so I hope you all read hers and maybe some residual hilarity will rub off on mine... so here it goes:

Unfortunately I don't remember the year, but it was over 10 years ago. (somewhere in either Junior High or High School) Stephanie was babysitting for her dad's co-worker, who also happened to live across the street from my house. She decided to take the little girl for a walk around the lake to feed the ducks with some bread and I tagged along. If I remember correctly, the little girl's name was Katie (... or something with a K sound... I'm not really sure now, but I'm going to call her Katie anyway), and she was probably 3ish? These are all useless details to you, but I want to remember this story forever, so I'm trying to be detailed for me here. Anyway, we packed Katie up into her stroller and headed to the lake.



It really is a gorgeous lake, isn't it? You can't tell from that picture, but it has a ton of ducks, geese, egrets, and other various fowl hanging out there. This photo is actually not terribly far from where the incident took place. Just around the bend, behind where this photo was taken, we stopped our walk and decided to feed a group of ducks and geese. A gaggle of geese? Is that what they're called? By the way, who the hell came up with gaggle? That is a terrible sounding word! Seriously. Say it out loud. Gaggle. It's an ugly word isn't it? Moving on... So we stopped to feed the birds. We threw the rest of our pieces of bread to them and realized we were out of bread. I think we may have even apologized to them. I frequently talk to animals, (in a completely sane, normal, non-Dr. Dolittle sort of way, of course) so it wouldn't surprise me if I said "That's it guys. No more for you today. Sorry! All gone" and waved my empty hands at them to show them that there was no more food. Oh, except I was carrying Katie, so I couldn't have waved my hands at them, could I? Hmm... Regardless, we were out of bread and were turning to walk away. I had picked up Katie and was walking away and Steph was pushing the stroller ahead of us on the path.

Now, let me explain something here real quick. I had lived near The Lake my whole life at that point. So I knew that the birds would follow you when you stopped feeding them. I knew it technically wasn't good to feed them, but I would do it on occasion anyway. I knew, from experience, that when you walk away the best method to get the geese to not follow you is to begin to walk away, then quickly turn and rush them aggressively. This confuses them, causes them to momentarily panic, and scatter. Then you can leave the area not being stalked/harassed by large, waddling, sometimes hissing, birds who are just trying to get their last bread-fix. You see, I knew all this. It is and has always been ingrained in my mind. I should have been more careful, but I was young and reckless, and holding a small child.

So, there I was, holding Katie, walking away from the gaggle (ugh) of geese completely unaware that there was a goose with a bread hunger that had gone unfulfilled. I was about to take a step, when the goose bit me. Let me say that again. I had been walking and was about to take another step, when the little bugger bit me! Do you know, what position your legs are in when you've been walking a couple steps and you're about to take another? Your legs are apart. In this case, my right foot/leg was forward, my leg foot/leg was back. Leaving my soft, fleshy, barely sees the light of day, inner thigh exposed! (I was wearing jeans, so it wasn't really "exposed" in that way, but you get my drift) The goose bit my inner thigh! I didn't even know his name and he was already trying to get to 3rd base!

I'm not sure what went through my head in the split second between being bit and the action my body took. It was pure instinct. I didn't think. I didn't even pause. I just acted. I actually didn't even know that there was a goose behind me. I just knew that something had pinched my thigh really hard and it hurt. A lot. So I did what came naturally.

I turned around swinging.

You know when a fly is buzzing around your head and you swat it at, sort've haphazardly with the back of your hand? Well, imaging doing that, but instead of a fly imagine a goose... and instead of your hand imagine using your whole arm. That's sort've what it was like. I unknowingly, back-handed the goose. I turned around rapidly, while yelling (It could have been "ouch." It could have been "hey." Whatever sound you make when you're caught by surprise in a painful way) with my arm stretched out and I hit something with it. Turns out... I had hit the goose. Okay, to be completely honest, I didn't just hit the goose. My arm caught the neck of the goose. I don't know how I happened to hit it in the exact location to send it flying back. I guess it bit me and then lifted it's head, which was unfortunate on its part. I just caught it perfectly to send it wings spread, reeling backwards toward the ground.

Actually... it sort've looked like this when I turned around (minus the pole sticking out of it's hoo-hah)...

Like I said, it had its wings spread and it was moving in a backwards motion because of the impact of my arm... not because it decided to back away slowly. In fact, its neck was sort've curved like that too. When I looked and saw what it was I had hit, I was shocked. Not so much shocked at the fact that a goose had just bit me, although I was a little surprised it happened to ME, but more so shocked that I had just unintentionally, intentionally hit something... and that something was a freaking goose!

At this point, Stephanie whipped around and was instantly concerned about what happened... to Katie. Now, I understand this. It's completely valid and responsible for her to be concerned about the small child that was entrusted into her care... except that at the time I was the one that was bit! She asked if Katie was okay and I think I may have said, "Yes! But I'm not!" She took Katie from me and I looked down to see if I was bleeding. Thankfully, there was no blood on my jeans, but my leg was still really hurting. I put pressure on it, to ease some of the pain, but I just wanted to go home and inspect my thigh in the privacy of my own bathroom.

That was the end of our walk around The Lake. We headed home, well I headed home and Stephanie headed across the street to Katie's home.

For reference, the goose wasn't a Canadian Goose. It was white with a black beak. I've never seen one like that around The Lake since. In fact, I have been searching the Internet for a picture of a similar goose, or at least a description of the specific breed of goose it might be, but I'm coming up with nothing.

In the end, all was okay. The goose didn't break any skin, but it did leave a bruise. :( That was the last day that I fed the birds at The Lake. But I think the geese fear me a little more now. They know I don't take any sh*t from them.

Now when I see geese around the lake, I get a little less this:

and a little more this:

The one where I cry because I want a burger and instead settle for a freezer-burned Popsicle.

Sometimes I think I have an illness. Like some sort of emotional retardation, and I think Hey, maybe that is why you're still single. Then I realize... no, it's just PMS.

I cried 3 times today. 3 whole times in a span of an hour... so maybe it was just one long cry with dry spells in between?

So, generally speaking, right before I start my period I get very emotional. (Oh, was I supposed to warn you before I said something like that? Oh, oops. My bad.) Very emotional. As in, I cry over nothing. (Literally and figuratively) I might cry because nothing is happening in my life or I might cry because I can't decide if I want my bed to be put up on risers while it is in my "new" bedroom. Today it was the later reason.

You see, my sister moved out (Yay sister! So proud of you for taking the big move-in-with-a-man leap.) to go live with her FIANCEE. Yes, my sis got engaged. Woo! Go sis! I capitalized fiancee because I constantly still call him her boyfriend which is both incorrect and annoying to those who catch my error. Anyway, so she moved out and I moved into her room. I moved not because it's larger than my room, which it totally is and how did I not notice this until it was pointed out to me just days ago?!, but because my mother wants to remove the popcorn ceiling in my room, paint it, and paint the walls as she did to most of the rest of the house years ago. We literally moved the last of my sister's big stuff out on Monday. I mean she's been moving out for a while now, but we had to wait until it was dry to move her bed and entertainment center so we could use the truck. Why am I explaining this? You don't care. Anyway, on Monday my mom immediately started moving my stuff into "Sis' room"... I think I'll forever call it her room... even though none of her stuff is in here now. Last night I slept on my mattress in my room, while nearly everything else was in the other room. It was weird. I had to go into her room to get dressed today because that's where my dresser was.

Tonight though... well... tonight it's going to be strange to sleep in here. I mean, I've totally slept in here before. I actually have memories of being in a crib in my sister's room. I would stand up in my crib and... wait... have I mentioned this here before? Ugh. I totally have. Sorry about that.

Wow, I have strayed far away from what I was saying at first. Well... I had to decide today if I wanted my bed up on risers, as it was in my room, or not while my bed is in the "other bedroom." I'm only going to be in here for 2 weeks or so while we finish my room... maybe longer if I like it in the bigger room... but that decision brought me to tears and I think I may have frightened both of my parents. I know it shouldn't be a hard decision, but I got to thinking about how when sister's bed was in here, the dog would climb up on it and maybe, just maybe if I don't have risers the dog will feel good enough (she's got arthritis) to jump up on MY bed and snuggle with me like she used to when I had a futon. But then I realized that my bed even without the risers is still taller than sister's bed because her box spring is thinner than mine and I realized that dog probably won't jump on my bed anyway because she has a hard time jumping up on her favorite couch as it is now. AND if I don't put it up on risers then where would I put the things that I have stored under my bed?! Only a couple of the things that I currently have under it will still fit if I don't use the risers. AND I was hungry and didn't want to make that decision. So, all those things were going through my head and my mom wanted a decision right there and there, and my emotional PMS monster reared its ugly head and I broke down and cried. Now mind you, I wasn't a sobbing mess, (that came later while I was in the car, talking to my sister and my best friend, parked in the neighborhood where my other best friend will potentially be moving to in a couple months... I'll get to that...) but I was crying.

This is where the burger comes into play. It was at that moment that I realized that I'm hungry and I've been on my period for 2 days now and I haven't yet had grease. I know that sounds strange, but I CRAVE anything greasy the first day of my period. Suddenly ALL I WANTED WHAT A MOTHER F-ING CHEESEBURGER. But, today I had a weigh-in, and I didn't want to ruin any progress I may have made, so I knew I couldn't/shouldn't have one... I searched the house for something to eat, but I knew if I ate something I would still have that craving and it would haunt me. I was going to make a sandwich, but suddenly the bread that we had, multi-grain with those little annoying grain seeds in it, was disgusting to me. I was going to have some leftover lasagna, but that didn't sound good either. So, after frantically searching the house (actually... I was totally meandering through the kitchen and garage, walking slower than normal because I was sad), I started crying yet again. I wanted that cheeseburger, but I knew my parents would remind me that I didn't need it, that I had a weigh-in later, and that there are plenty of other things to eat in the house. But had they said any of that, all I would have heard would be YOU'RE FAT! Of course they wouldn't have said that, but that doesn't matter, that's all I would have heard... so I continued to cry. Until I saw the freezer-burned Popsicle in the freezer and I ate it. That helped. A little.

Then my mom and I got in an argument over moving something out of my closet and into the closet in the other room and I lost it. 45 minutes later I was in the car, with Burger King next to me, crying on the phone with my sister, while it was pouring rain outside, sitting in front of a stranger's house. I had decided that I needed that cheeseburger more than I needed a good number on the scale, so I left. I also needed out of the house. So while I got food I decided to try and find the house my friend bought. I found it and I was going to call her to make sure I had found it, when my phone rang. It was sister. The first thing out of her mouth is, "You got fast food for dinner?! We have to weigh-in tonight" and I lost my shit. I really did. I went from happy-go-lucky-I'm-going-to-call-my-friend-to-see-if-this-is-the-right-house (albeit a little ashamed of having Burger King in the car), to suddenly yelling and crying hysterically. My sister was able to calm me down and I drove home. When I got home, my another dear, dear friend called and she made me giggle, which I totally needed. Since then, I've been fine.

My numbers on the scale didn't reflect any change from the original weigh-in, but I still have time to show change, and at least now I have no cold, I feel great emotionally, and I no longer have a craving. WIN!

...

Does God even make a man strong enough to deal with that? I hope so.

I no longer feel like I'm prematurely dying....

....I just feel like I'm dying a normal rate. ***** please let it be known that I have had this entry in-progress since January 10. I am such a procrastinator, le sigh. Also, I use bad grammar, syntax, whatever it's called. I jump from past to present tense a couple times here... just go with it and enjoy the story*****

I had a cold. It was an icky cold, but totally live-through-able (don't mock my made-up language!). I had the usual, runny/stuffy nose, sore throat, cough, but it wasn't extreme and I had no other effects. I just tried to not breathe on anything or anyone. I carried tissues with me everywhere and I took cold medicine. It took me like 2 weeks to get over it... then I was fine for 1 or 2 days.

Yes, you read that right... just one or two measly little days. wtf cold?! When it came back... I assumed it was the same cold. It started the same way my last one ended, but I stopped taking medicine because I thought "oh, this is the end of the cold, I'll be fine in a day".... that "day" turned into 2 and then it turned into 3 and then I was almost dying on an airplane!


Literally. I thought I was dying.


Okay, you're right... that was an exaggeration. I didn't just think I was dying. I knew I was. And you'll find out how I knew it below...

They called the A group to line up quite a while before they loaded us on the plane. Had I known I would be standing there forever, I wouldn't have left my seat so soon, but as it was I got up, put on my jacket and backpack and wheeled my luggage over to the A 41-45 group section. Then I stood there... and get hot... and got even hotter... and got super hot. I kept thinking they'll call us into the plan, I can take my jacket off, turn the air on above me and be fine... but no. I had already been standing there for a good 15 minutes with people crowded all around me, trying my hardest not to cough or blow my nose so as not to get the evil "omg, you have the black plague, get away from me" look. Finally I decided, screw it, we're not going anywhere anytime soon and I put my hair up in a clip and took my backpack off. That helped a little bit, but not enough. I wanted to take off my jacket. I should have taken off my jacket, but... ... okay, so I was afraid that because I was so hot that I would have sweated in my shirt and I didn't want those around me to see any sweat marks *sigh* Anyway, they finally boarded us and I took a seat some-what close to the front of the plane so I could deboard faster when we got to Oakland. It turned out to be a full flight, but I boarded fairly early on, so I got to sit down, take my jacket off, and let the cool air blow on my face. It was nice... but the niceness left me all too swiftly.

The flight fills quickly and I know it's only a matter of time before someone sits down next to me. I've had some strange experiences with the people who sit next to me (i.e. the guy who fell asleep on me, the 31 year old woman who had a teddy bear and a one of those dead-fish-like handshakes, and the woman who didn't want to put the arm rest down). I didn't see him coming. Had I seen him coming, I might have tried to cough or blow my nose to deter him... maybe even glare menacingly at him. Before I know it, a man appears and as I'm glancing up, I hear the woman sitting in the aisle seat say that no one is sitting between us... The man who takes the seat next to me was wearing a HUGE wool coat... wtf?!?! A wool coat on an airplane! Dude... take that thing off! I've never been on an airplane that was cold... okay... again I lied. The flight from Atlanta to Valdosta in November was cold, but only my feet were cold, my upper body wasn't... anyway, I digress. So I'm already hot. Remember? I took my jacket off when I got to my seat and I opened the vent above me pointing it directly at me... It HAD felt nice... until Mr. HugeWoolCoat sat down.

I couldn't even try to fight for the arm rest. His wool coat was like my kryptonite at that moment. I tried to lean against the window, I fanned myself with my book, I tried to sleep to ignore the heat. I was getting so hot, I even kicked off my shoes. I never take my shoes off on airplanes (I don't know what's been on those airplane floors), but I did this time. I was all over the place in my chair trying to get away from him, but still get the full blast of air from my vent. I can only imagine what the people behind me thought. My hand was over the back of the seat, it was plastered on the wall, it was reaching up every couple minutes to the vent. They must've thought I was crazy. Suddenly, my heat turned to something else. I started to feel nauseous. I had hoped that the feeling would pass, but no... it only grew worse. On top of that, I still had a cold, so I was coughing every now and again. Every time I coughed I thought I was going to throw up right then and there. I frantically searched the seat back in front of me for one of those air sick bags, but there was none. Since when did airlines stop keeping those at each seat?!?! We hadn't even been in the air long enough for the pilot to turn off the seat belt sign. I ordered a ginger ale when the stewardess came around, hoping that I'd get it quickly and it would cool me down and settle my stomach. When the drink finally came, I did feel a little better, which was nice... but it only lasted for a couple seconds. Again, I felt the sensation to vomit. I held it in, but new that I had to get to the restroom and fast. I pushed the steward call button to ask if I could use the restroom even though the seat belt light was still on. About 30 seconds later the seat belt light turned off. Oh, lucky day!! I turned the steward light off, and told Mr. HugeWoolCoat and aisle girl "I'm sorry, but I need to use the restroom." Mr. HugeWoolCoat looked shocked... maybe people he travels with never pee, I don't know... and aisle girl looks annoyed, surely she can see that I'm dying here and will throw up at any second. There is no need for her to give me an evil glare. (Maybe I should have just paused and thrown up on her?) Anyway, the moment I'm standing up in the aisle and away from Mr. HugeWoolCoat, I start to feel better. I'm not feeling normal, mind you, but just a little better. Then I realize that I never put my shoes back on and am now walking down the darkened airplane in my socks with a presumable sweat-soaked shirt. What a mess! (Not even a hot mess... just a mess... that's how bad I felt) Crap! The stewardess is blocking my path to the restroom and doesn't even know that I'm standing behind her trying to pass... argh! It's like the whole plane is working against me!

Finally, I tap her on the shoulder, because clearly she can't hear me whenever I say "excuse me." She moves and I'm home free!!! I practically run/hobble the rest of the way to the restroom. Literally. I even got strange looks from the other two stewards that were busy making beverages at the back of the plane. (You might be wondering why I went to the back of the plane instead of the front restroom when I said that I was seated towards the front... wait, you weren't wondering that until I just pointed out that you should be wondering that? Oh... well... you're wondering it now, so I'll tell you. I am used to sitting towards the back of the plane. I like sitting behind the week and watching the little flap things on the plane during landing, so it was sort've by habit that I started heading that direction... but I also think it was by some divine intervention as well, because I'd only taken 4 steps towards the back when I see a man carrying a young child heading towards the front of the plane to use the restroom... I know this because I turned around while I was waiting for the stewardess to move out of my way and I saw the lavatory light shut off... so there... that's why) I take a look at myself in the mirror and realize I look the same as I always do. I'm a smidgen paler, but not a ton, there are no sweat marks on my shirt, I'm not even that red... I'm not a mess after all... but I still feel like crap.

They have a vent in the restroom too, so I turn that up and aim it at my neck. Ahhh.... If you've ever been in an airplane lavatory, then you know how tiny they are... but to me it felt like my own personal sanctuary for a moment. No wool coats to be found, cool water, tissues, it was amazing. I stayed in there for at least 5 minutes. The other passengers were probably mad at me, but whatever. It was better for us all this way. I some bags that are supposed to be used to toss your "sanitary napkins" away in a sanitary way and figured I could take one and use it as a barf bag if need be. I also splashed water on my face (but not too much, because there is a sign in there saying not to drink the water in there, so I really more like sprinkled water on my cheeks and neck) got a paper towel wet and put it on my neck. I actually started to feel a lot better... nice. So I decide to head out.

I make it back to my seat and I start to feel warm again, but this time I have a cold, wet, paper towel to put on my neck and arms and I feel better. For the rest of the flight, anytime I needed a little refresher I just used the towel. We get to Oakland and as I'm walking towards the outside to meet my sister I recognize the backs of two heads in front of me... I know that I know these people... what are their names? Oh... oh... it's... I play fantasy football with him and his wife is in my mom's sorority... oh man... it's... it's... oh it's Mary? Mary Anne? I don't know there are so many Mary's, Marianne's, Mary Ann's in that sorority I can't keep them all straight. So I tap her on the shoulder and say Mary Anne? And she looks at me and says "It's Mary" and I'm like... Oh, I'm sorry! And I tell her, who I am and say hi to her husband and they tell me that we were just on the same flight! They were visiting their youngest son in San Diego and my mom had told them I was down visiting friends. We say how nice it is to see each other (although truth be told, hardly anyone looks nice after a plane flight) and we go on our ways. I head outside while they head to baggage claim. So... as you may have guessed, I didn't die. Yay! And I didn't throw up either, which is a doubly good thing because 1. that would have ROYALLY sucked, but also 2. I knew people on that flight!

So... after all was said and done, about a week after that flight, I started to feel better cold wise. As of about the 10th, I've started to feel normal again. Even now, as of finally posting this, I still have a stuffy nose and coughs now and again, but I feel worlds better than I did on that flight and the days after. I never felt like throwing up again, never had any aches or pains through this whole cold, it's just been one long cold... which I think has something to do with the dry air from using the heater, and hmm.. maybe we need to change the filters in our heater, that would probably help. Anyways... my point is, I'm not dying quicker than I should be and I feel a lot better. :)

Well, hello 2010. Nice to meet you.

Ahh... another year has passed. A lot of stuff and a lot of nothingness happened in 2009. The year started off slowly. To be honest, I sat at home, in my studio apartment in San Diego, on new years eve last year. I really wanted to finish the Twilight saga before 2009, so I did precisely that. I sat at home on December 31st and read the rest of Breaking Dawn. It was amazing. I finished shortly before midnight. Then I ate some cheese and crackers, drank a Mikes Hard Lemonade and went to bed. Spectacular, I know. Don't be too jealous.

This year, I came down to San Diego (I moved to the bay area in July and came down to visit) and spent December 31st trying to console a friend, helping said friend pack, and chatting with a group of really nice people whom I've met once or twice. We (my friend and the group of people) played taboo and had some champagne after midnight. It was pleasant.

Last March I was "involuntarily terminated" from the company I've worked with since 2005. That was tough. It meant that I needed to decide if I wanted to leave my home of 8 years (San Diego) and move back to the bay area, or if I wanted to look for a new job in a declining market to stay in my studio. As you may know, I chose to move. It's a choice that I believe was for the best. I'm glad I did it, but I also miss the city and people that I knew and loved. I had hoped that I would be able to see the city I loved, see the people I miss, and enjoy San Diego again for a couple of days. That hasn't happened and won't due to circumstances beyond my control, but it has opened up my ability to start out 2010 in a new, different way. I am starting my year, "showing my true colors." I enjoy showing my friends that I care about them. I think that a lot of good could come in the world if more people would do that.

My start to 2010 hasn't been a great one, but I'm with my best friend. She might be unhappy right now, but last year I started the year alone, so I figure this is a step up. Some of the years before were rang into terribly too, with 911 being called a couple of years. (One year, my dad broke his ankle and we didn't know... he kept passing out on New Years Eve, so we called. Turns out his blood pressure medicine when mixed with a broken ankle means bad news for the flow of blood to his head... I digress).

I'm trying to have high hopes for 2010. I had high hopes a month ago that the new year would be amazing. I mean, now I'm jobless and living at home... it kind've HAS to improve from here, right? But no... so many other things could go wrong... eek! I just hope that 2010 has good things in store for me... for my family, my friends... for everyone really.

Feel Free to Skip Over This Post. $$$$ :(

This is one of those posts that is really more for myself than anyone. Feel free to skip over it, it's not funny, it's a bit on the whiny side, and really it's depressing. (and it has a pinch of political in it... i think that's a first for this blog)

Money Woes have been on my mind lately. :(

Obviously with the holidays around my spending has increased. Luckily, I budgeted for this, so I'm fine, but somehow unexpected expenses always arise! My check engine light has been on for a while... like... 2 months or something like that. I have been trying to avoid it, but the opportunity to go to San Diego for New Years arose, so I thought I should get the light checked out in case I drive down. (Depending on airline deals and gas money, it can be cheaper to drive than to fly and right now I'm all for what's cheapest. I digress...) The last time it came on was a couple years ago and there was something wrong with the car's internal computer. Luckily that was under warranty, so they fixed it. I was hoping this time whatever the problem was would also be under warranty. Unfortunately, it was not. I ended up having to pay $600 to fix my car. :( Boo!! And on top of that, they gave me some recommendations for other things that need to be fixed. One of which I should probably take care of in the next couple months so that the axle doesn't need to be replaced, which would cost even more $$. In the grand scheme of things, putting a couple hundred dollars into the car, every couple of years is no big deal. I mean the car is 13 years old! But, when you're still looking for work, every penny counts!

I've been pretty lucky lately with being able to do things on a budget. Hanging out with friends is free and I always enjoy that. Also it doesn't hurt when the friend is baking and I get to sample yummy treats! (Thanks Jen!) hee hee. I was invited to go to the Sharks game on Friday night with Steph. It was last minute, as her husband couldn't make it because of work, but still it was free and fun! I have discounted tickets for the movie theatre, so I don't have to pay the ridiculous amount to see a non-matinee movie. Also, my sister as graciously allowed me to be added to her Netflix (since I canceled mine when I lost my job) without contributing yet.

I hate feeling indebted to people and I've felt that a lot lately. Especially because it's not that I have no money. If that was the case, you'd probably see my stuffing tacos at Taco Bell (if they're even hiring). I'm not at the point yet where I have to take any ol' job that I'm over qualified for. I am however, preparing so that I don't have to be in that position for a while. I have budgeted enough to be able to continue to pay my COBRA benefits (which will triple next month because the COBRA subsidy ends for me). There are 2 bills right now that will help me tremendously. 1 is in the House, the other in the Senate. Both would increase the length of the subsidy. One would increase the amount the subsidy is for. I can manage on the current amount, so increasing the % is not a big deal to me, but it probably is to a lot of other people. I hope they make decisions on it soon, so I don't have to pay the increased premium for very long. I'll be keeping it for January in hopes of the bills being signed in, but in the mean time I'm looking for other, cheaper options.

...wait... that's not quite where I was going with that paragraph. I was trying to say that I feel indebted to people lately. I've always been of the mindset where I like things even. I don't like feeling like I owe people things. Money, food, gas, time, anything. I don't like feeling like I've spent more of someone else's something than they have of mine. So, I've try to be even about things. If someone drove somewhere once, I drive the next time. If someone bought something once, I buy the next time. That sort've stuff. It works out well when living with roommates and I think it makes for happier friendships. I mean, I don't mind doing extra things for friends, it just shows how much I care about them, but I get down on myself when I feel like my friend has gone out of their way for me and I haven't been able to reciprocate that kind've generosity. ... In short, it's been hard on my lately. Feeling like I owe people things, whether it's my family or my friends. I don't like this feeling at all. I feel like the little that I do, isn't good enough. The looks on their faces tell me otherwise, and I know that they understand my situation, but I still feel like I'm not pulling my weight.

The Atlanta Layover

Holy crap, how could I not finish telling you about the lady who talked my ear off in Atlanta on my way to Valdosta?!?!

She was really sweet, but boy could she talk. At first, she was chatting it up with me and the girl sitting on her other side, but somehow that girl got out of the conversation... very clever. Hmm...
So, we started off talking about the weather. She said she had flown in from North Carolina where there had been a huge storm just a few days before. So huge that she had worn a plastic bag over her head when running from her hair salon to the car... a plastic bag... she was afraid her umbrella would stop the rain, but not the wind... so she chose a method that might possibly suffocate her, but would keep her locks looking great! Priorities! Anyway, we go to talking about how it was so hot in Atlanta that day. You know... we talked about so much I can't even remember the order. I'm just going to list them.

Things I discussed with the sweet old lady, whose name I forget, in Atlanta, Georgia:

1. The weather in North Carolina, Georgia, and California.
2. She loves to do yard work and is the only person on her block that does not have a gardener.
3. She sometimes does yard work in her neighbors yards.
4. She is a widower.
5. She walks a mile every morning.
6. Her son works as a school counselor for a second chance school and how the kids love him and he really helps them turn their lives around and he somehow finds a way to connect with them and seems to know how to get down to the core of their problems so he can help them and how he is always getting stopped while out from a kid who thanks him for helping them.
7. Her 55th high school reunion is a couple of days away and over 300 people have RSVP'ed already.
8. How the balloon boy and his family are crazy and she doesn't understand why anyone would have thought it was real because clearly a boy couldn't have survived in that contraption, it was "too small and had no air" (her words, not mine)
9. She likes Starbucks.
10. For some reason it was cheaper for her to fly through Valdosta to get to Texas, but we can't figure out why.
11. How clean the Atlanta airport is.
12. San Diego's gorgeous scenery and perfect weather (most of the time).
13. Military bases in general and loud jets.
14. How annoying it is when there are last minute gate changes.
15. Technology changing how children are raised these days (including cell phones and texting and their relation to spelling and curfews)
16. The proper way to raise a child

... and more stuff that I'm forgetting at the moment.

She even offered me a piece of candy. She was really very sweet, but made it so I couldn't read my book like I planned. That's alright though, I finished the book later.

The actual flight from Atlanta to Valdosta was fine. There was a woman and her 1 year old son sitting next to me. He was cute but teething so he was a wee bit fussy until she gave him a bottle. When he started to cry once or twice I made funny faces at him and he stopped. It was an okay flight, with the exception of the dog food smell. I have no idea where that smell came from, but it completely smelled like dog food to me. Oh well.

That's pretty much it for my travel stories. I have more from actually being in Valdosta that I'll have to post later.

The Return Home

I wrote this on my flight back from Georgia (on the Atlanta to SF leg). I've added a little bit to it while typing it out (in the form of **edit:**s). It's a little overdue, but whatever.

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Delta may very well be the biggest suck fest ever. Okay, so I have to wait to see if my bag makes it or not first for the ultimate verdict, but...

So, Matt and I leave for the airport at 4. It seriously rakes like no time to get there. I go inside to check my bag and no one is at the counter, so I use... the electric kiosk. I am genuinely nervous at this given my previous experiences with said kiosk, but I get up the courage and go to it. I'm trying to take my time in finding my confirmation # in hopes that someone will go to the desk and I can just go to them. No one comes, so I use the kiosk. Things go smoothly. I get my boarding pass, and a guy comes up to the counter and calls my name. I look up and say, "yes" and I bring my bag over to him. Do you know what he said to me? (Of course you don't... I've only told my parents this story so far... **edit: I have told a couple more people since then** well... wait. I guess you would know if you're reading this for a second or more time. In which case Thanks for your continued patronage! =) ) He says that my bag might NOT make it on the flight because I need to have "checked in earlier than 20 minutes before the flight." **edit: I'll have you know, I checked in online the night before, and I checked my bag at the kiosk 24 minutes before the original scheduled flight... it was 54 minutes before the now delayed schedule!** He says something about TSA needing time to check the bag and they are... busy or something? He points to a corner where presumably there was a TSA agent a second ago, but there is no one now. Weird. Anyways... I looked dumbfounded and I was like WHAT?!? and he says, "did you know the flight was delayed?" I respond, "I just found out" but I'm really thinking... why would it matter if I knew before or just now? Like would I get preferential treatment one way or another??! At least the guy did put the sticker on my bag, but anyways. He says the bag might go out first thing tomorrow morning. Freaking Valdosta has only 2 flights out a say (once in the morning and once for my flight now) I'm not a happy camper.

So... like I mentioned my flight is delayed until 5:15. My connection in Atlanta is at 6:55. My layover should have been about an hour, but now it's looking like a 30 minute layover... which means I need to book it once the flight lands. Atlanta airport as I said before has different concourses. I land at the very end of C and am taking off at A. So, I need to run from gate 55 to the tram, then from the tram to gate 25. I'm optimistic I'll make it, but not thrilled about it all. So, the flight boards, we sit there for a while for the stewardess to give some passenger god knows what and we finally take off. It's a fine flight. Pretty with the sun setting over the clouds. It's nice, makes me wish I could paint. Anyway, I listen to my iPod and before I know it we're preparing for landing. The pilot says Atlanta local time is 6:05. Nice! I have 50 minutes, that's more than enough time! I was wrong. It took FOREVER to taxi to the gate. I swear you'd think we'd landed 50 miles away. **edit: There were LOTS of people complaining about the delay, the long taxi time,and missing connections :( ** We get to the gate at 6:20!!! It took us 15 minutes to taxi to the gate and then guess what happened.... go on.... guess... fine, I'll tell you. The jet way was broken!! 10 minutes later, at 6:30, they unload us from the plane via a stairway (like I boarded and deboarded on my way to Georgia). Suddenly my adrenaline starts pumping and I'm off. Okay, so I didn't run to the tram, because well... have you seen me run with a full backpack on? Not pretty. But I make it all the way to the tram, to Concourse A, and to the gate with a couple minutes to spare. Seriously. I'm one of the last few on the flight. I make my way to my seat and there is... a normal sized lady in the spot next to me! Yay! But the armrest is up... I'm not dealing with this again. So, I put it down.

I settle in and then do you know what I hear? A child... directly behind me. that's well and fine and all, I like kids, usually, but this one has taken a liking to pulling on my chair making me flop around. His mom is telling him to stop, which is nice, but we just took off, so I'm a little nervous about how the rest of the flight will go. There are no personal TV sets on each chair this time, so I might just have to stick with reading, writing, and listening to the iPod. Gosh, I hope my bag is there when I land...

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So, there you have it, my post from the sky.

I have a little to add. My bag did in fact get there, thank God! I know it seems like I'm hard on Delta, especially since my bag made it to its destination both times, but the problem I have is that I've traveled a fair amount without these issues. Growing up, my family and I didn't go camping or take road trips (except for the ones to visit my grandparents), we flew around the US and took in the sites. I used to love to fly. I would always be at the counter with my dad when he checked in our bags and I never once saw a hassle. The only time my luggage didn't get to its destination was when my girlfriends and I went to Hawaii after graduation, but the airline got our luggage to us that night with little hassle. Yes, we were upset, but we were assured our luggage would get to us right aware. We were not blamed for the issue in the slightest by the company. I recall later being chastised by our parents for not checking the tag to make sure it had the right destination first, but the airline was gracious. (That experience taught me to always have a change of clothes in your carry on if you check a bag... which by the way, I did have when I went to Georgia) My point is, I felt like Delta mislead me. The signs were wrong, the people that work at the airports were not friendly (except for Roy), and they made me freak out for nothing. Yes, I should have arrived at the airport sooner, but on my way to Georgia I got to the airport an hour ahead of time, which is plenty of time. In fact, it is the recommended time on the Delta website. When I flew out of Georgia I got to the airport 30 minutes early for its first scheduled departure and an hour early for its actual, delayed, departure. It's a small airport, I honestly thought that would be enough time and the Delta website didn't have a recommended time.

In short, I will do everything in my power to not have to fly on Delta ever again. Lizzy, if you're reading this... if you ever want me to visit again, you'll have to pick me up in Jacksonville. :-p

Oh, and the kid sitting behind me on the flight to SF continued to kick the chair through the flight. I could hear his mom yelling at him to stop, but he only listened for about 15 minutes then he got back to it. At one point, he stood up in his seat and grabbed the back of my seat, grabbing my head in the process. It was a saving grace to see my parents standing at the bottom of the elevator when I landed. It was like a breath of fresh air to know that I was done with the kid, done with the delays, and wouldn't have to deal with the loss of luggage (if that had been the case) alone.

As mentioned, the flight did not have the in-seat monitors, but it did have monitors in the aisles. They showed the movie 500 Days of Summer. I enjoyed it, but it's not a movie I would choose to watch again. I'm glad I was able to see it though, it was on my list of movies I wanted to check out.