Fade to black.

 "Cast of Characters"...

------------------------------------------

Two flight delays, one transfer and one engine-trouble-halfway-there into this trip. I calculate that I've been on 23 flights this year if I include the transfers and r/ts. And every airline is different. American Airlines loads you up with all kinds of carbs, but you have to promise to name your firstborn after a Delta Airlines flight attendant to get just a shot of Pepsi.

Old school goodness.

Seriously. In a shot glass.

And Spirit Airlines..omg. The flight attendants won't even answer a call from the button thingy above your seat unless you're waving your credit card in the air.

But there is one constant.  The passengers. This crazy band of carnies are payload for people watching. And every passenger belongs to a specific subset. And you are one of these people.

Yes you are.  Deal with it.

It's like going to see a play. The show's the same; only the actors have changed.

Here's the cast of characters...

The Lingerer

These are the folks who loiter around the boarding gate when the plane arrives.  The check in people haven't even started calling zones, but apparently someone told these anxious people that the plane will mysteriously disappear before they get to board it. So they hang around the door feigning indifference and blocking my damn way.

Look bitches. I'm in Zone 1. Take your Zone 3 asses to the back of the line and gtfo of my way.

The Litterer

Ugh. THESE clowns. So I'm watching this mother and her two teen sons at the counter in front of me. I can already tell that they're both brats and in dire need of ass whippings. But this little demon spawn doesn't even look up from his game. His mother sees the wrapper (it's white on dark carpet), KNOWS her spawn did it, and does...nothing. Lanky kid is facing me, so I cock my head and weigh my options for the appropriate (most humiliating) response. I really don't get why the  whole Spartan-kids-are-thrown-out-to-fend-for-themselves-and-can-only-come-back-if-they're-not-mauled-by-a-bear thing never stuck. Anyway, my mother hit my knee and told me to stop whatever I was thinking. So now I have to sit here and try to summon the exact logic that will redirect the synapses in my brain to spontaneously develop a special laser eye beam mutation that will burn a hole in this kid's forehead.

Little bastard.

The Shady Preboarders

It is my firm belief that some women get pregnant just to get first dibs on boarding a plane. Seriously. What's this shite? So, if I had a baby stroller, I could board the plane before the service men and seniors? What the hell! You're the one who didn't use protection, not me!

Oh and speaking of babies...

The Baby

Sweet. Baby. Geezus. The Baby. Maybe you're lucky and there's only one baby on your flight. But of course Murphy's Law decided that the little demon spawn should sit directly behind you, preferably on a red eye and/or long flight. Sometimes a glance and a sneer at the mother will keep The Baby in check. Other times, no amount of visible disdain will stop the thing from screeching. And in any enclosed space, The Baby's cry is the audible interpretation of its recent destruction of its mother's womb incurred when its nails shredded the walls as it clawed its way out. 

Sweet geezus indeed. #ijustcant

The Potty Poopers

I may need to come back to this one, as my nose is still burning from whatever just happened in the restroom 3 rows in front of me.

The Most Important Guy on the Plane

This is always the one guy in the wrinkled suit with the 5 o'clock shadow who has 20 meetings scheduled once the plane lands. How do we know he has 20 meetings? Well, cuz he spends the entire preflight boarding time proudly (and loudly) proclaiming it on phone calls. He's so important. In actuality, he most likely isn't. But he thinks he is. When the flight attendants instruct you to turn off your devices, he ain't budging. He's too important. He's got things to do. Places to be. More importantly, he wants to remind you that he does. 

The Security Underminers

These jackrabbits take approximately 5 years to load all their carry on crap on to the security checkpoint scan conveyor belt thing. Their liquids are all over the place, their laptop is still in the carry on. Did you really need to wear all 3 belts, 12 nose rings and a damn crown?  Did you really??

Hurry the hell up. Geezus god.

The Older Couple

These are my favorite characters. They make me happy. They're quiet, their settled, they're not trying to smuggle an entire bag of stinky Burger King onto the flight. (Don't do that.) Older couples are so cute and cuddly, I spend the whole time staring at them. I just wanna squeeze their cheeks so much.

The "End of the World" Glutton

This is usually the last guy to board the plane. He had to run the 2 miles from the Burger King station to his gate. Once he's finished abusing the person next to him with his seat belt, he'll tear into the giant bag of oniony grease. Don't get me wrong. I'm all about the #3 combo. But to do that to people stuck in a small enclosed space like that for 2 hours is pure torture. And he's always the guy who orders the extra everything (Seriously. Don't do that.) and leaves the plane smelling like Satan's toejams. 

The Clappers

Sigh.

Why do you clap when we land?  Why? Just...why??  

--------------------

People watching at the airport in Seoul. I texted the above post during my flight here. Not sure if or when I'll post again. I don't know what my new arrangements or freedoms will be. I'll likely have more access to texts and skype than blogger. Seems like everyone is texting or skyping and smiling or laughing with friends back home.  I think my people watching past time has become an obsession. I've been watching this cute little senior couple in my line of sight so intently that when broke contact and glanced in my mother's direction, I jumped because she was staring at me. lol  So I'm texting out a last post. Working on a title. "Scene from a Flight" or "Cast of Crazies". Meh. 

I just finished Game of Thrones. Sons of Anarchy is next. It is ironic that I return to Japan on the day of my parents anniversary. Also ironic - I'm leaving almost as friendless as I was when I arrived 25 years ago. This is my own fault. I seem to subconsciously befriend "iffy", spontaneous people who will spontaneously leave my ass lonely. Granted, the Canadian exbf with Yellow Fever was a blip on an otherwise spotless record. But that's another post for another day. Or life I guess.

No better time to begin anew, oui?

My mother is seriously embarrassing. She keeps taking photos of me doing [literally] everything. I can't walk on the runway walk thing or wash my hands in the restroom or order Starbucks without her loud ass iPhone snapping another photo. And someone's taught her how to post photos instantly. There's no telling how much of her IG space I'm taking up.

She's acting like a damn Japanese tourist.

"The dwarf lives until we find a cock merchant."

Binge watching & waiting on my flight.

Best line in a series in the history of the universe. Ever.

Seriously. It should be up there with "Frankly Scarlet, I don't give a damn."


#gameofthrones

#ihatetoday

Three Day Weekend. WOOT.

It's just about 5 O'Clock!! ~Steve Rocha

Posted by Hot 99.7 Yakima on Thursday, July 2, 2015

Old Dogs & New Tricks

I knew this would happen. Pop
up holiday event for a client
who wanted a rock n'roll theme.
Custom built entrance trellis,
rock idol step & repeats, custom
guitar bar, drumsticks as center
pieces. 

My department did a $25 limit Secret Santa holiday party today. My belly is full. 

Here's how Secret Santa is supposed to work, people.

You write down something that you want that costs under $25 and place it in a box with a pile of other ballots. The person who pulls your slip has to get your wish for you. I couldn't come up with anything I needed so I wrote "hygiene kits for the homeless" and underneath that, I listed various items for the kits like toilet tissue, toothpaste, etc. I was hoping my Secret Santa would find it kind of fun to choose what they wanted to go in the kits. Maybe they'd even want to do it again on their own.

Unfortunately, my Secret Santa turned out to be Sandra, a 64 year old hoochie mama who thinks she's still 25, aka the laziest receptionist in the universe. Instead of doing any of that, she just gave me $25 in cash.

Sigh.

I've donated most of my shoes but I still have one very full closet to go. I've been using this free instant sale app called Wallapop. Basically you take a photo of the item you're selling, the first person who responds wins, and you meet them somewhere for the sale. It's a pretty swanky app, really.  Just time consuming. So let's try this... I have 4 pairs of almost new shoes available, size US 6.5 regular. Each pair is free to a good home as long as you (1) take care of it, and (2) will actually wear it. If you're in the US, I'll ship them for free. If you live halfway around the damn world, you'll have to spring for shipping.

Unless you live in Japan, in which case we can arrange to meet somewhere.

I'm already confused by this conversation.

/me hits "Repeat" through tears

Have you heard Sam Smith's rendition of Whitney Houston's "How Will I Know?" I swear, this man could sing a grocery list and make it into platinum poetry.

His voice is the audible version of the kind of love I want someone to have for me. Does that make sense? It's so pure and strong and sharp...and real.

But that doesn't exist anymore. The last of those men are our ancestors. Replaced by men watching booty-bouncing videos or looking to fill their Asian chick quota or quick to anger or fleeing on a whim or deciding if you're hot enough to hold the door open for.

Okay I generally keep that stuff to myself but #bittermuch & I've been vomiting since last night, so cut me some slack.

Things I Won't Miss

The nightly gunfire and the nighttime trips to the gas station.

Posted by Brandy Raydeeo Holmes on Sunday, August 2, 2015

Teaching the kids Amurrkan.

Treating the fam to dinner at The Whitney. We are definitely thee most ghetto table of customers ever. It's like Beverly Hillbillies-meets-stereotypical Japanese tourists. I just spent my entire paycheck on beef wellington and roast duck and chocolate souffle. Aaand as I typed this I forgot I was in public and burped really loud.

Am I sexy or nah?

Oh mah belly parts.

the last ride

For prosperity.

Just wrapped up my last employee event. Well, I think. There's always the possible random pop-up "hey, let's do a giant employee blitz to celebrate that it's 10am!" push from the executives.

This was the company's holiday celebration. As always, it was a fight to keep my vision intact with our decor vendor who never listens to me. I've finally learned to keep on him, be forceful when he doesn't add my notes to his updated quotes, and be confident that what I want is what is right.

My vision was "festive outdoor winter marketplace". I wanted different open "booths" all connected by decor. I wanted a giant xmas tree in the middle (which the vendor "forgot" and added a smaller one in the back instead). I took a million photos. There were fortune teller tents (my last minute substitute for masseuses...it was a hit!), a diner car, an Asian station, a chocolate fondue station, a super popular deli station, an Italian station, a "dance studio", an arcade. 

I had to make some changes this year because we wanted to accommodate as many employees as possible, so no booze or dates allowed. However, it was in-house so employees could come in as often as they liked, and they got a gift on the way out. After listening to all the grumblings and groans from our monumentally self-entitled employees about how this party wouldn't compare to last year's, I took great pleasure in standing at the entrance, watching many of them walk in with frowns and determination to NOT enjoy themselves, and watching their faces immediately transform into amazement or, at least hope when they took a peek inside. 

1800 employees showed up to the 16-hour event that lasted until 2am. I had the registration table and all the banquets/food service stuff covered, so I was able to mingle without much worry except the random "we're low on cheese" or "I can't find the guy to bring over more boxes of gifts". I purposely hovered around the entrance with my best hostess face, mingled around the room to make small talk, checked in on people sitting alone, and smeared chocolate from the chocolate fountain all over my face. Wrong shoes for a 16-hour event, though. Standing from 8am-3am was murder. Thankfully my boss booked a room in our hotel for me, so I got to soak in the tub forever and get back to work this today.

My head is killing me.  I need a venti 8-pump white mocha, dammit.

I kept unplugging the Star Wars arcade game, but someone kept plugging it back in. I believe it was superskank Lisa, whose greedy ass came through every 20 minutes to tear through the pots of miso soup and the cupcake station. She interrupted my precious alone-in-the-corner time to stand next to me and state that she decorated a Star Wars Christmas tree this year.

I just shook my head and walked away.

The Fam is Over

There's a gaggle of demon spawn in my bed. Nothing new to report. It's pretty much an exact copy of my family's last visit. Except that my brother's kids are even more annoying. So is my sister's, actually. And also that I can't understand a damn word his mother-in-law is saying. And also aren't there 3 other bedrooms in this house?

Dafuq.

#ijustcant

From previous family mayhem

/me facepalms on behalf of all my peeps.

Ever get home and you're so exhausted and angry and ready for a drink that you throw your suit jacket on the floor and trample all over it and immediately turn on the TV and don't bother changing the channel so you watch whatever's on and you unfasten your bra through your shirt and reach through one of your sleeves and yank the bra out and the snaps scratch your nipple on the way out and you fling that bastard across the room and it lands on the peace lily plant in the corner and then you collapse on the couch and wish you'd grabbed that bottle of wine and/or cupcake in the fridge on your way in?

Well turns out this is a really amazing true story that I usually pass up called Unbroken. It's about an Olympic Games contender who joins the service and becomes a WWII POW. And he's brutally tortured by the Imperial Japanese Army soldiers for years. Like, really REALLY brutal. 

Damned Japs.

So that went off, I hit the "last" button and...wouldn't you know it...Schindler's List is on.

Sigh.