Wednesday July 9th

Ah, yes, it's such a joy... but I digress... so you take your seat and watch fellows of all sorts walk down your way. 'Which one is going to sit by me?' A 300 lb. woman holding a screaming newborn baby makes her way towards you and you get a little nervous-- you sigh audibly when she passes by.

OK, maybe I'm being over dramatic (moi??!!!), but seriously, the odds are a business-like person will sit next to you and most likely never say a word or even breathe in your direction. In most cases, that person is hoping as much as you are that you aren't in a talkative mood.

What's my point? My point is, is that sometimes the odds are against you. You get stuck with a talker. (Could this be foreshadowing, children?) Usually, you hope if you do get stuck with one of these, it can be a pleasant smelling, attractive member of the opposite sex (or same sex if you're gay, come on, I'm a liberated person).

So, Friday, July 4th I board my plane and take my seat, warily watching newcomers walk down the isle. I know the plane is booked solid, so my fantasy of having an open seat next to me is a no-go. I reach down into my bag to get out my book. Above me a hear a raspy man's voice politely say: "Excuse me, I guess I'm sitting there." I try to look up to see my new plane buddy, but there are bags everywhere.

"Sure." I say as I weasle my way out of my seat.

"Oh, I'm just going to go to the bathroom first. I'll be right back." He says and that's when I catch my first whiff... alcohol. Hmmm... could this man be a few sheets to the wind?

He comes back smelling strongly of cologne and I get back out of my isle seat to let him sit in the window seat (I wanted the window seat, darn it!). The second he gets situated with his bags he begins talking. 'Oh no', I think. 'Not a talker, say it isn't so'. But it was so.

Perhaps he could talk of pleasant things? Ahhh... no such luck there either. "Wow," He says a little too loudly. "They are really ugly!"

"What?" I ask, praying he's pointing to some platform shoes in a catalog or something.

"The couple in front of us. God, what an UGLY couple they make." OK, here's where I about die. "God, if that couple behind us doesn't shut up I'm going to have to turn around and give them a piece of my mind." He says. This confuses me. A piece of his mind? What's that? A part of nothing is nothing, isn't it? Sorry, that wasn't nice.

"So," he breathes as he turns toward me. The rush of alcohol smell nearly blinds me. "Are you from Pittsburgh?" This is one of about 10 times this man asks me this question during the period I'm graced with his presence. So, for the first of ten times to come, I explain that I live in Dallas, but I'm visiting my parents in Pittsburgh. (This is evidentally a hard concept to grasp when drunk.) As I'm explaining the visiting thing, I look him over. Here is what I see: An overweight man in his early 40's with medium length GREASY black hair tied in the back. His face is haggard, wrinkly and tan. His teeth are extremely crooked. He's dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt (odd since it was 100 degrees when we boarded the plane in Dallas).

From somewhere on the plane, a child begins to cry. "Argh! Why do they have to let kids on this flight?! Why is this flight so full? I've never seen a plane so crowded before." A true blue complainer. All right! I can't WAIT til our plane gets up in the air high enough to turn on my electronic devices (discman and laptop) so I can tune him out.

Anyway, he continues to bore/shock me (can those two emotions happen at the same time?) until we're at 33 thousand feet. At the captain's first mention I eagerly grab my CD walkman and turn it on (Queensryche, did you read my previous entry?). I figure for sure the guy will stop talking to me now... but he doesn't! He keeps going. I pretend I don't know he's still talking and pull out my notebook computer and begin typing. A few times he gestures so violently, I feel forced to take off my headphones and listen to his question.

"Where's the mouse?" He asks angrily. I show him the green nubby thing between the G and the H on the keyboard and try to explain that that is the mouse. I don't think he understands. Quickly, I put my head phones back on and go back to writing my journal entry.

The stewardess comes and offers beverages. My seatmate orders a wine. Perfect, just what he needs... more alcohol. Then after that, he orders a beer... I stopped keeping track after that.

Soon, I realize my discman is out of batteries. My CD ceases to play! Oh no! My cover! I'll be wide open! I decide to keep the head phones on and pretend I'm still listening to music. It works! HAHA! I fooled him!

Unfortunately, it was soon time to shut down electronic devices so that we could have a safe landing (don't get me wrong... it wasn't unfortunate to have a safe landing, it was unfortunate I'd have to listen to the drunk again).

The second I put my head phones away he says, "Yes, you were a good person to sit next to, you didn't talk too much and you ignored me most of the time. That's what you have to do, you know. Ignore me so I shut up." Hmmm... this guy really hit the nail on the head! Maybe he's a genious afterall! "I'm sorry if I seemed rude at all, it's just that I'm really stressed out." I can see that... "I'm just so glad to get away from work for a while. I work for Nieman Marcus as a clothes buyer." Reeeeally? "My name is Michael, what's yours?" As I tell him my name he reaches into his satchell and pulls out Nieman Marcus aftershave and starts splashing it everywhere... and I mean EVERYWHERE. He uses at least half the bottle. Some splashes on me.

"Uhh... you're spilling it." I say nervously. He then explains why he's using aftershave, and how he's trading his brother-in-law some cologne for an eye exam. Whatever. So, the plane lands and this guy feels like he's really bonded with me.

"Well, I hope you have a great weekend." He says too quickly. "Is anyone meeting you at the airport?"

"Yes, my Dad is." I say confidently.

"Oh." He's disappointed. "Well, if he's not there, I'd be happy to give you a lift to wherever." Uh HUH!

"No, thank you, my Dad will be there." Oh geez, I hope he's there! As we stand up and grab down our carry-ons from the overhead compartments (be careful, they may have shifted during landing), he offers to carry my bags for me. I watch him nearly teeter over trying to get to his feet. I make the wise decision that I should carry my bag, purse, and notebook by myself. "No thanks, I've got it." I move forward, anxious to exit the plane. He follows close behind me.

"Really, let me carry that." He says as he begins pulling my duffle bag from my grip.

"No, I've got it." I say, trying to be nice. We play tug-o-war half way down the little bridge thing that connects the plane to the airport. Finally, he misses a step and falls behind. "Bye!" I yell over my shoulder as I step into the airport gate. I scan the crowd desperately for my Dad. 'Oh, please be here, please be here!'

"Is your Dad here?" I hear a voice call from from behind me. Any second I expect to feel my bag being yanked on. It's then that I spot my Dad, walking my way! Oh halejuiah! I run towards him and whisper: "Help! Quick, let's go!"

As my dad and I walk at a hurried pace away from the gate, he asks me who was the man standing behind me looking so upset as I was walking away. "The guy looked bummed." Dad says. I laughed. The funny thing is, then I felt almost BAD for rushing away so fast! Geez, what's wrong with me? Am I getting too soft? I glance back quickly to see Michael hugging his sister. I didn't feel so horrible, then. 'Ahh, yes, just another day, another adventure- and I break away unscathed', I think as I smile.

Friday July 4th

Also, I'm listening to Queensryche on my CD discman. I got tickets to see them in concert in Dallas in August. Can't wait! I've always really loved Queensryche, can you believe I've never once seen them in concert? Amazing, eh? I've been a fan since Operation Mindcrime. I've seen other bands THREE times, but have never seen Queensryche ONCE! Well, like I said, that trend is going to end!

So, I have this new notebook now, and it's running SFA (Sales Force Automation), so that I can connect to CompuCom's Network and Intranet from where ever I am. The problem is, SFA uses NetManage's TCP/IP Stack, and my Internet service that I use to store and update my web site doesn't work with it. Problem. So it appears I will still have to send my stories over to Nick and have him FTP them to Ethos for me. He still has the software to connect to them on his desktop.

Anyway, I'm sure I'm really boring you with all this talk. I do have more interesting things to tell you, but at this moment I can't and I'll tell you why later. (Next Story)

So, perhaps there's a story I can tell you in the meantime. Let's see... I'm on my way to visit my parents, so maybe I'll think of a story involving them. (Man this is a really good CD- "Upside Down/Inside Out" is playing now).

I remember this time my family drove down to Florida from Milwaukee to go to DisneyWorld and Epcot. Anyway, we went to brunch one morning at the hotel and decided to eat the buffet. I loaded up on fruit and cereal. (I was in the 8th grade in case you're curious). I went back to the table and sat down with my mom, dad and brother. Merrily, we ate. Suddenly, I stuck a large piece of what I THOUGHT was an orange into my mouth only to discover it was that HORRID fruit called Grapefruit. Ugh! How sour and gross! My parents noticed the funny look on my face and asked me what was wrong. With my mouth full of unchewed Grapefruit, I explained my predicament. So what do they tell me to do to alieviate the sour taste? "Why don't you just wash it down with your milk. Take a big swallow of milk, and wash it down." Oh what grand advice! To this day I wonder if they were being cruel or if they just really had no idea what kind of evil combination grapefruit and milk made when put together in one's mouth.

So, anyway, Oooh! Great idea, I thought. (I reeeealy trusted my parents, I'm telling you). So, I take a great big swallow of milk only realize that I was now worse off than I was before! AHHHH! Have you ever tasted Grapefruit and milk together? If you have, I congratulate you for living through it, if not, don't EVER try it!

When my parents realized I was suffering even more, mouth full of grapefruit and milk, they laughed. LAUGHED, I tell you! Well I didn't think it was very funny. NOW what? I motioned to them that I was going to spit it out in the glass. "Oh no you won't missy! We're in a restaurant! You swallow that!" My mom commanded. My eyes teared up. Oh no, they wouldn't make me do that. I couldn't! I wouldn't! Now, remember, I was a very obediant child. So what did I do? I sat there with that devil potion in my mouth for another 5 minutes in silence, weighing my options.

Dare I spit it out? No... just chew, Katie! It can't be that bad! So I bravely took a bite. AHHH! No!! My tastebuds cried out in agony! I stopped chewing. I knew there was no turning back now. Slowly I tried to swallow all the milk in my mouth, without choking on the grapefruit. This took a minute or so of careful deliberation. Finally, all that was left in my mouth was the hunk of grapefruit. I boldly picked up my napkin and brought it to my mouth without glancing at my parents. The agony was about to end, freedom was so close I could just taste it. (OK, bad pun, I know). I spit the grapefruit out into my napkin. It felt so wonderful! I ran and got a glass of icewater and sucked it down, swirling it around my tortured mouth. AHHH! Hooray! I went back to the table, expecting to be chastized by my parents, but alas NO, they said nothing!

Needless to say, I've learned my lesson. Never eat anything orangish and pulpy without smelling it first!!

Gosh, is this dumb plane ride over YET? heehee! I think I'll email this to Nick this weekend so that the next time he gets a chance he can post this for me. Have a good one!

Thurs. May 22, 1997

Well, he must have if you're reading this...

Tues. May 6th, 1997

It was one year ago today that I discovered my new beloved apartment had roaches, and that we couldn't unpack or stay there til the exterminator came and did his duty.

It was one year ago today that myself, Nick and his Dad struggled to get our new couch and loveseat up to our second floor apartment and in through the door.

It was one year ago today that I pulled my (ex) Eagle Talon off of the trailer, to set its first wheel in Texas.

It was one year ago today that I wondered what the heck I was getting myself into by leaving my friends and my job back in Wisconsin all for this guy.

Well, things have changed since then and I can't say that I'm shocked that it has. I didn't move down here knowing without a doubt that Nick and I would make it.

A year later I have made some good friends, am working a fantastic job, bought a great car, and am enjoying Dallas life. I can now even recognize a Midwestern accent as an accent!

This all sort of reminds me of my favorite poem written by Robert Frost. Who knows what my life would be like had I stayed in Wisconsin. It could be better, it could be worse, or it could be the same. There's just no way to know. But I'm happy with the choice I've made, and there's no going back.

Thur. May 1, 1997