Setting out my Day 1 flight attendant outfit, i realize...everything I packed either A) has food stains or 2) is white and really could use a thorough bleaching. I wonder what my "Image Counselor" will think of this. (I fear that her outlook will not be very positive). There is also something called a "lipstick check" and "shaved legs" are part of the uniform, which is really cramping my style, considering I forgot a razor.
I woke up at 330 this morning to head to Dallas (really, to Irving) Texas this morning to begin my training. I was tired. I am tired. This evening, I had some reasonably good fajitas and TWO unreasonably large "small" beers with my older sister's childhood best friend ( because Shepherdstown relocates in groups like ducks or fish) and now I am even mORe TiReD.
I will be living at a hotel for the next two months. It is not a suite. my roommate is nice, she is my mom's age, and I just want to offer to camp outside for the sake of her getting a little privacy. She is in great shape. She really keeps it together, whereas I just sort of loosely hold it in place. We both do not run marathons. the only difference is that She used to, but after three kids and something about her bones, she has to settle with half-marathons. If I were a 22 year old man at a bar and saw us side by side, I'd go for her. I aint mad.
Flying first class is as good as you think it is. They give you coffee until you pee. Then, when you start to pee, the pilot turns on the fasten seatbelt sign, leaving you unsure of whether you should return to your seat, or sit there on your new seat like some kind of toilet gnome. Actually, between flight attendant and toilet gnome, I think I might be a star pick for the latter.
Speaking of gnomes, I look terrible in business attire. I have small shoulders and short legs and whatever GenTlEmAn designed businesswear for ladies imagined his future, gender-neutral workplace to be one peopled with broad shouldered amazonians. I was once compared (accurately) to a teacup pig. Not quite the spitting image of Xena, Warrior Princess, my first celebrity idol, who probably looks as good in a suit as she did in weird boob armor.
Final thought of the day:
I live in a place called Irving, Texas. It is a series of strip malls, actual malls and pinball-like highways. my friend's mom (who is a proud Texan) told me that "Dallas aint really Texas', and I'm thinking (hoping) Irving fits into that category as well. It's like a really boring pinball machine, where you bump into cheap fajitas, cell phone kiosks and instead of a pinball you have a Hummer.
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