And a man busted out laughing…

…after we were stuck on a small plane for around 2 hours. No, this doesn’t include the actual flight time, which was about 90 minutes more.

Being stuck on an aircraft on the taxiway isn’t fun for anyone involved. Yesterday, on a full 50-passenger aircraft, we were stuck in a holding pattern on the ground because of the weather. Nothing could take off until a new reroute was established.

For me, it’s a stressful thing when this happens. Really, it’s no one’s fault when these events take place, but you still worry that someone is going to lash out. Food seems to help. So does liquor, but there’s never enough to go around in those situations. Besides, giving away all of the alcohol is ill-advised.

The best thing I could do was smile; that was about the only defense I had. I had a smile, some pretzels, water (which was quickly depleted when I did the water service), and some cookies. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to placate people insomuch as food can. Captain made an announcement at regular intervals to update the passengers and I, even if he didn’t have much to tell us. I’ve found that if people at least know what’s going on (even if nothing new has transpired), they stay pretty calm and remain understanding.

Before said announcements, he would call me on the interphone to check on me, and keep me updated before informing passengers of the situation. “Keep smiling!” he would say cheerfully before hanging up. He has no idea how much that helped keep me going.

After about 2 hours on the ground (and like 2 rounds of snacks, including the special delay snack. oy…), we got our route and were ready for takeoff. I was ready for a nap and wanted to be off the airplane… but stewardess life is much like the life of an actor: the show must go on.

The flight proceeded just as any other flight, with me doing a service. I would’ve loved to hide in a corner, but I also wanted to see how folks were faring. Besides, they may have wanted something more than water. It turns out that they did; I sold a crazy amount of alcohol! I haven’t beat my personal best yet, but it got close. As I approached two gentlemen sitting together, one of them did ask for a beverage. “I’m fine, please”, the other replied. Then he quickly corrected himself and said “I’m fine, thank you.”

…and he laughed. It was a big, hearty, tension-breaking laugh. I could feel the atmosphere in the plane change when he did that, and it certainly shifted my mood and feelings. To be able to laugh after such an ordeal was a blessing to me, and I’m sure to those that heard him. I even laughed with him.

Those were among the nicest group of passengers I’ve had the pleasure to serve, and moments like that are why I love my job and what keeps me going on hard days. When we finally landed in Indianapolis, IN and everyone got off, we the crew were blessed with smiles and “thank yous”. The more memorable ones were “Thank you for taking care of us”, and the last passenger that got off told me I had a great smile. There were two more flights to work, and they were back-to-back so that we could catch up, but that flight helped me carry on.

The man that laughed also gave his thanks, and walked off the plane, onto the jetway, and out of sight.

I wanted to like it…

… but quickly found out that I don’t. It ended up being the reason that I didn’t enjoy dinner that night. This is the most frustrating thing that can happen when you don’t have much to lose concerning food.

It was a normal night at my apartment, where I was figuring out what I should eat. Nothing unusual, right? I decided to try a recipe that I had seen online, and was very excited about it. It looked delicious, and now I had the freedom to make this dish without worrying about who wouldn’t like it.

or so I thought.

I followed all the instructions, making sure to follow everything precisely. The apartment smelled amazing, and I was already salivating. When it came out looking like nothing short of something you’d see in newsprint, I was all too excite to pile some of the rice on my plate, and top it with a perfectly golden chicken thigh.

I excitedly tore off a piece of the chicken with a fork and popped it in my mouth.

Well… it wasn’t what I expected. In fact, it was a little underwhelming. I cautiously put another piece in my mouth and ate some rice with it this time. Flavorful rice makes things better…

…but it surely didn’t this time. In fact, my stomach turned a little.

What on earth happened?! I followed the directions and even made sure the thighs were cooked through! This wasn’t right; how can something so beautiful not match up in taste?? This is when I made a discovery. The cool thing about living on my own is that I’ve been discovering a lot about myself, including the things that I do and don’t like.

I don’t know why I decided to smell the smoked paprika that I bought, but I did. I took a good whiff, and immediately turned my nose up. All in one moment, I immediately saw where I went wrong and figured out why I loathe bbq chips! I had no idea bbq chips had smoked paprika in them until I smelled the spice, which smells exactly like bbq chips.

I had never tasted smoked paprika before then, and assumed in my head that it would be like chili powder; I couldn’t have been more wrong. I thought it would have the same heat, and it doesn’t, and the last thing I expected was that it would smell like one of the few things that I hate eating.

I finally found a spice that I don’t like, and it upsets me a little that I don’t… partially because that’s leftovers that I now have to waste! I don’t want to give it to someone else because it didn’t agree with my stomach, so the only place for it now will be with the squirrels that frequent the dumpsters outside.

Smoked paprika, I’m so sorry. I wanted to like you, but apparently I never did.

The moral of the story is: if something has smoked paprika in it, I’m going to do an about face and look for something else. Also, it’s okay to admit to not liking something as long as you admit it to yourself.

Now let me go out and feed the squirrels. This entry is dedicated to you guys; bon appétit!

Part of what I want isn’t good enough

If we were having coffee, this is how I would start out.

I’ve been seeing someone that is only around to scratch an itch. I had a “one and done” policy on this for a while because I didn’t want to get any hopes built up because I know how I am. Well, I broke that rule and saw this person more than once. I thought I could handle it only to quickly find out that I can’t.

It’s like “true and false” statements. If part of the statement is false, then the whole statement is false. A little leaven spoils the whole lump. Likewise, having part of what you want is still not having what you want. You might as well not bother.

It’s hard to tell myself this because it resembles what I want… but it’s not. Not at all. It’s only a mere fraction.

So why am I putting up with it?

Because I’m tired.

I’m tired of being alone, tired of people trying to tell me I’ll find someone, and I’m SO tired of hearing people say “You’re so pretty”, “You’re so intriguing”, etc… yet I’m still single and feel unwanted. The worst phrase that anyone could form their mouth to say to me is “I wish I could find someone just like you.” That’s the meanest thing you could ever say, because in those words lies the undercurrent of “I don’t want you though.” No one wants you. Just the idea of you. In the form of someone else.

I’m definitely going to stop seeing the guy for my own sanity, but in case you were wondering why I let things go on for a minute… here’s some insight.

Something I have in common with the black coffee I’m enjoying is the sweet taste of bitterness. I miss my counselor, but can’t afford to see her anymore. Maybe I wouldn’t be feeling the way that I feel.

#weekendcoffeeshare

A burned thumb, smoke alarm, and a broken blind

And now, welcome to my adventures in apartment cookery. This is the beginning of what is shaping up to be an interesting start to my life living alone and to my first year living alone in my own apartment.

I’m prefacing this story thusly: The first time that I cooked a true meal in my apartment was last week. Although it’s my first experience using an electric stove, all proceeded with little incident. The rice was well cooked and didn’t stick to the bottom of the dutch oven, the chicken wings that I made were cooked through and browned well after a shot under the broiler, and the Sriracha glaze… let me tell you. The Sriracha glaze was perfect. The most I had to worry about was cleaning the sheet tray used to bake the wings, and wiping the glaze off the refrigerator that had splatter while it was being made.

This time, however, was altogether different. I wonder if it went down like this because I was tired… but let me tell you. It was the perfect apartment cookery disaster. Luckily, there was no fire and the food didn’t burn, but let’s recount this incident, shall we?

  • the rice ended up sticking to the bottom of the dutch oven. Not the biggest deal, but it’s annoying.
  • While trying to check on the chicken, I burned my thumb WHILE USING OVEN MITTS, and dropped the tray! Thankfully, the chicken stayed on. In fact, it stayed on a little too well as I had forgotten to oil the tray so it wouldn’t stick as much.
  • I go to make the sauce… and bullocks! I’ve forgotten the soy sauce at my mom’s house. Part of me wanted to go get it, but I stayed. I thought I could recover it… ha! I should’ve gotten the soy sauce.
  • the fire alarm goes off. I frantically drop all that is in my hands, and try desperately to shut it off, as I am cooking at almost 10pm on a Wednesday. In a caveman-like rage, I rip it from the wall and leave it dangling mercilessly.
  • I try to check on the chicken, and it goes off again! I don’t know what I did this time, but it goes off completely. I run to the sliding door that goes to the balcony (which really took all of 3 steps), fight the blinds, and open the door completely. Blessed silence.

In the aftermath of the incident, my thumb is under cool running water to try to stop the tingling sensation. A pot holder is somehow on the floor next to the door, where the fire alarm is located. The spatula that I used for the chicken was tossed onto a pile of something on the floor, and yet another pot holder was in the middle of my bedroom/living room. Although the food didn’t burn, that sauce that I mentioned earlier looked more like a chunky tomato sauce than the glaze I made last week… and it didn’t get on all of the pieces of chicken!

Admitting defeat, I take my plate of food and sit on the floor on my “picnic blanket”. It was then that I noticed something long and white lying across the floor. In my frenzy, I had knocked off one of the long blinds. *sigh* Why me?

I sit and try to eat with my non-dominant hand since the thumb that I burned is, of course, on the dominant hand. I’ve stuck it into a measuring cup with ice water as I eat, hoping that it will stop tingling. I hate that sensation.

Maybe one day, I’ll be a capable adult. Or have the sense to get a frozen pizza next time…

And A Squirrel Scampered By…

…outside of the apartment building where I will now be living.

My apartment. My first apartment.

You guys… I can’t describe how surreal it all feels. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. Out of all of the times that I have imagined having my own place and what that would feel like, fear isn’t what I expected to experience. Yet I find myself being afraid.

It’s not that I haven’t lived away from home before; it’s not so bad to be away from home. It’s actually pretty great. What’s scary to me is that I really am out this time. I’ve lived with roommates in the past when I was out of the house; therefore, responsibilities were shared.

This time, there is no such safety net; it’s just me. I, alone, am responsible for paying for the roof over my head along with other bills. I’m afraid that even with my job and my best efforts to stay afloat that I might not be able to maintain everything, let alone live comfortably. I’ve become hyper aware of what is a necessity and what is a luxury, and I realize how much that I’ve taken for granted because I didn’t have certain responsibilities. It’s one thing entirely to just help with paying bills; it’s something else when you’re the only one responsible for whether or not those bills are paid.

It’s the most frightening thing I’ve ever experienced. What if I fail?

There were times here and there that I felt a calm come over me. Yes, I do have a job and work it as much as I can; however, I will need a supplement income. As freaked out as I was about this, a peace would overcome me. In those moments, I told myself that things would work out and be fine. The journey, however, to that place where things are fine is one that tests your nerve, and your ability to press forward, even when you don’t know where you’re going or if you’ll get to where you want to be.

My friend A was very excited for me, though. She insisted on coming over to see the place, and bought hot wings with her. I felt a lot calmer being there with her. It’s one of my first memories, and I’m so glad it was a fun one. We’re going to have another fun memory when she camps out with me Friday night. I say “camping out” because my bed is not yet here, so we’ll both be sleeping on the ground. It’ll be like the old days in high school that consisted of sleepovers, and laughing until all hours of the night.

Most importantly, there will be no worrying. Things will work out as they should; I just gotta keep taking steps, and clinging to those moments of peace when I want to fret. I wonder if that’s part of the reason I was so focused on the squirrel. Its hindquarters were nearly white, but the top half of it was a light grey. It paused for a moment with a pine cone in its mouth to watch me haul a box across the parking lot, then bounded to the nearby tree, and scampered upward and out of sight.

A woman with curly hair…

…talked me into trying pizza funghi at Ciao Pizza in Boston.

We’re at a different location for the layover here, and I’m loving it! It’s near a TJ Maxx and Home Goods, a grocery store, a brewery, and most importantly, a pizza spot where everyone seems to be happy.

Being the only flight attendant on your aircraft is lonely sometimes; so when one of my pilots said he was going out for pizza, I jumped at the opportunity. I had eaten only a couple of hours ago, but who doesn’t have room for pizza? Said pilot also introduced me to using Yelp. This shall be my new best friend, as it is how we came to discover this unique pizza place.

It’s a small joint with a counter along the window that faces out, and another counter that faces into the open kitchen. I’ve never seen so many kitchen workers with smiling faces, and I used to work in food service. If the atmosphere at any of the places I’ve worked at was like this, I probably would’ve never left. Sometimes it’s not the pay that keeps you somewhere; it’s the people you work with and the passion they all have for the job. This is what surprised and impressed me about this pizza shop. What also caught our attention was the fact that it has many Yelp reviews, yet still has a 5 star rating.

The only way to explain it is how the place makes you feel upon entry, and if you’re lucky enough to have the time to sit in.

A woman was sitting next to us waiting on her order. She is a well-traveled woman that knows my beloved Philly, and swears that this is the best pizza she’s ever come across. The pizza funghi was her favourite, which is one of the pies that I was thinking of trying. Her rave about it made the decision for me. I started to order it just as she did, with an extra crispy crust; instead, I decided to order it just the way they would make it.

Here is what appeared in front of me (not to mention that I had it in about 5 minutes after ordering it):

img_0163

The crust was soft, arugula was peppery and crisp, and the mushrooms along with the roasted garlic cloves was savory, satisfying, and rich along with that cheese. The texture of the cheese was soft and gooey, and I like that the arugula was there for a crisp component. However, just because of my personal taste, I may order it with a crisper crust. It was delicious and satisfying with red wine.

I finished up with two mini-sized cannolis and an espresso.

img_0164

These people went beyond just being happy; they were singing to the songs on the radio. To take it a step further, they broke out instruments! First it started with the woman at the counter breaking out a mini tambourine. Next thing I know, a guy in the back was playing a triangle. On yet another song, another kitchen worker snatched up a wooden flute or recorder from one of the shelves. Never in my life have I seen such fun in a kitchen. It was also a joy to watch these people at their duties; there was passion put into the work, even down to washing the dishes, and respect flowed amongst everyone. Even the owner of the store was there and chatted with us and other patrons.

That personal care is something that would have me eagerly hopping a flight back to this location. Let’s face it, I can’t count on my job to give me another overnight at this spot; sometimes, you gotta make things happen.

It would’ve been so cool if you all could’ve met this woman. She was worldly, and obviously has really experienced life. In some ways, I felt like I connected with her; she looks like a glimpse of what I may be like when I’m older. I hope to be like that when I’m older: well traveled, experienced in life, happy with where I am, and still looking forward to more.

Once her order was ready, she bid us adieu, welcomed us to the area, and stepped out into the chill of the night.

I Sat Next To Mushy Peas…

…which is the name of a 3-legged kitty at the Kawaii Kitty Cafe in Philadelphia. I don’t even recall how I found out we have this in PA. I’ve heard about them before and knew there was one in NYC. The concept, however, originated in Tokyo. All I know is that I was looking at #catsofinstagram, and came across a cute kitty photo that had the hashtags “kitty café” and “philly”.

“What?!” I cried out, even though no one heard. I know that was my inner cat lady. She looked up from her knitting long enough to hear that, eyes wide with surprise over her spectacles.

Yes, my inner cat lady is showing. No, I don’t care. I knew I had to pay a visit. I found out about this place at the beginning of the weekend while I was sick, and made a reservation to visit today. If you’re like me and can’t own a pet for whatever reason, here’s a good way to get your fix.

You do have to make a reservation, but it’s only $10/hr, and it’s totally worth it! I parked quite a distance away where I knew I could find cheap parking (heck, any parking at all!), but I had the time to walk down to the location and was still a good 20 minutes early. Mind you, it’s not necessary to be 20 minutes early; a good 10 minutes will do. It did, however, give me time to eat something before meeting the little darlings.

I sat on the couch in the cat lounge, next to my new found friend, Mushy Peas.


These cats have the best names ever! How can you not love cats with food names? Not all of them have food names, but the ones that do are: Princess Pizza, Bagel, and Pringle. Mushy Peas wasn’t the only handicapped kitty; there was also Lady Zombarella, who is blind. (I told you these were awesome names!).

If you tell a kitty that you’d like to take them home, guess what? You actually can! PAWS is partnered with this café, so every cat that you meet can be adopted. This café has been open since June, and nearly 60 of these lovelies have found homes! Maybe one of them will adopt you, and you can spend your days doing Netflix and chill. Cats are great for this, especially senior kitties. Older cats need love too; don’t count them out!

I wish you all could’ve met Mushy Peas. She’s a quiet cat, but loves to be petted when she warms up to you. I sat next to her when I entered, and didn’t realize she was missing a leg until she hopped down from the couch. She sat there very quietly next to me, and got a little closer when someone else sat on the couch. She ended up scampering out of sight for a while, but I got the best shot that I could when she came back.


Look at that little face!

I’m telling you. If I could, this cat would’ve been mine.

#adoptdontshop