Feeling Reckless & Loving It

You're not going to approve. I'm just telling you right now. You're going to bury your face in your hands and sigh, deep from within your soul, at how disappointed you are in me.

I don't care.

Shortly after my stint on OkCupid, which was, again, full of nothing but regrets, Mr. Alumni asked me out for drinks. I put him off, claiming business and trying to make up my mind if I should ignore my gut instinct and give him a chance anyway. And then he asked me out a second and third time and as much as I admire persistence, I finally turned him away.

And then I re-downloaded Tinder. Which convinced me that I am slowly becoming asexual because I was not attracted to ANYONE in that bottomless pit of men.

So then I downloaded Bumble and was reassured that I am, in fact, a sexual being because there were lots of men on there whom I found attractive. Thank God.

OkCupid, Mr. Alumni, & So Many, Many Regrets

I have no self-control. That's what this boils down to, really. I'm an idiot with no self control.

I was home sick, and bored, and I'd already blogged for a second time that week, and I'm still fighting this bizarre urge to text Mr. Charming. The desire fluctuates between hoping it will somehow magically turn into him begging to see me again (unlikely) and the desire to demand an explanation for why he dropped off the face of the planet (which I doubt he would give me even if he did reply).

So in my desire to avoid getting myself into that horrible situation, I put myself in another horrible situation instead.

I downloaded OkCupid's app.

And I have nothing but regrets.

My Psycho Psyche

I'm updating twice this week, mostly because I just had to call in sick and I'm home in bed with a blocked ear (things you shouldn't fly with: a blocked ear) and nothing better to do.

Also, I'm updating because my subconscious is getting a little out of control.

Look, I realize I'm lonely. That's normal. There are times when being single is a lot of fun, and I am totally comfortable and confident with just being my awesome self, by myself. And then there's other times, times like right now in which I just straight up feel lonely and really miss the companionship of having a boyfriend.

I know, congratulations, Self, on single-handedly undoing the feminist movement. Except that we all know I don't believe that, that I have very firmly stated that there is nothing wrong with the desire to have love in your life.

Have you noticed that this post already sounds like I'm arguing with myself? That's probably a pretty accurate depiction of what's going on with me lately.

Unexpected Struggles

The past week and a half has been a struggle.

Not just in a #thestruggleisreal kind of way. I mean the word in its truest sense: I mean I had to make a forceful and violent effort against obstacles to continue going about my life.

Being a flight attendant is not an easy job. I wouldn't usually call it an intellectual challenge, but it is an emotional one much of the time. Passengers have called me names and yelled at me this week. I have worked with coworkers who saw how young I am and decided they needed to knock me down a peg, and spent days treating me with condescension and disrespect. One passenger mocked me for an entire day because I told her to sit down during takeoff. Another yelled at me for checking to see that her seatbelt was fastened. A woman tried to get in a fight with me because I smiled at her while politely asking her to stow her bag for takeoff. A man intentionally tripped me while I was going down the aisle. Things like this happen all the time, but the past 10 days they all sort of clumped themselves together and happened at once.

Be nice to your flight attendants, guys. We're there for your safety. We're literally just trying to help you. We know that traveling is stressful, and the seats are too small, and delays are miserable, and you have to get to your business meeting/cousin's wedding/grandmother's funeral/Carribbean vacation on time, but there's also only so much we can do. Don't forget that we're human, too.

Because in the midst of all that, I was also squatting down to ask little kids what they'd like to drink at their eye level and making their day. I was rushing against the flow of deplaning to help a young man with a gushing nose bleed. I was letting a little old woman lean on me so she could get to her seat without any trouble. And I was following procedures to make sure that you are 100% safe while you travel today.

But you're not here to read about me complaining about life in a combined customer service and safety professional role. You're here because if my inbox last Sunday is anything to go by, you're dying to know what Mr. Mess had to say.

Paris, Suburbia, & A Great Big Mess

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats and strap the hell in because this story could pass itself off as the plot of a CW drama.

At some point I'm going to have to do a major backtrack to fill you in on some personal history, but for now let's just start with last Thursday. I was wallowing in my misery over Mr. Charming's drop off the face of the earth, sitting an airport standby shift for work. As you know, a Reserve day is when a flight attendant is on call. Airport standby is served at the airport being Johnny-on-the-spot for those last minute emergencies like a crew member getting in a car wreck coming into work or getting suddenly ill in the middle of the sequence. They need someone to send to the gate immediately to try to keep departure on time. Usually we get a standby shift once or twice a month when on Reserve. You following me so far?

So I'm at the airport, in uniform, reading my book and hoping I won't get sent anywhere and instead I'll get to go home after my six hours shift is up. I was still feeling pretty depressed and I wanted to go home and watch a sad movie and eat chocolate ice cream. But it was not meant to be. Instead, God and Crew Scheduling saw fit to send me to Paris.

Paris.