Zen Flying

I’m always super smug  in the TSA security line and take delight in being THE most efficient person in line despite the fact that I need five bingies for my stuff. 

Bingie #1

  • Easy to slip off shoes (The TSA guy took them OUT of my bingie which was annoying to my sense of order but I didnt protest. Im sure he touches a LOT of shoes which could make a person cranky when argued with.)
  • My lucky necklace that one person said looks like an Irish Symbol. It actually came free with a dress purchase at Kohls. But I personally think it looks like a spy necklace
  • My Fitbitch: she loves when I’m in airports, hello STEPS
  • Wedding ring. (Apparently I didn’t have to take that off but it was fun to be single for a minute) 
  • Glasses (which is why I didn’t see the other TSA person waiving me through to the poof of wind tunnel and therefore lost efficiency points for dawdeling for 3.2 seconds before getting yelled at) 

Bingie #2

  • My baggie full of liquids and gels plus three lipsticks. Im never sure if lipsticks count as gel but Im not willing to risk potential time in Fulsom over LIPSTICK
  • My purse, now empty of my mom’s urn and my samuri sword (see yesterday’s blog post) plus all liquids and gels and MAY be gels) see Bingie#2

At this point the man behind me thinks I’m done with bingies. Oh contraire Mr Take Up MY Bingie Space Guy. 


  • Ipad 1
  • Ipad 2
  • Iphone
  • Ichargers 1 and 2
  • IhavetoomanyIdevices-it’s too complicated to explain
  • Portable Iphone battery thing that looks super suspicious to ME because it looks like a tiny black bomb, but its not, it’s my emergency back up charger in case I cant find a port/plug and/or dont want to sit by someone weird in order to charge via said port/ plug, so I NEED it but always get a little sweaty about this. 


  • My Chromebook


  • My briefcase containing 14 blue capped pens, 1 red pen and three spiral notebooks in case one of my Idevices doesn’t work
  • A really good library book that I hope I don’t leave on the airplane. My library card has been marked ‘at risk’ so I’m taking a big chance

Mr. Pushy actually had the nerve to whisper God’s Son’s name in vain while I OCD’d all my bingies so they were all in a straight line and flipped my briefcase a few times so the shoulder straps weren’t hanging out. He clearly did not know how much slower any OTHER person would have been with all this stuff. I forgive him though. People get weird in airports. It’s the fear and uncertainty. 

This is why I always put on my biggest, most serene, ‘I’m more patient than all of you’ smile from the security line all the way through boarding, watching the pursed lip, scowly people flounder and sigh and judge the person in front of them for going too slow or having so much stuff or just being annoyingly in front of them. They know not what they do for they are anxious, weary, fearful fliers and don’t know how to be zen like me while traveling.

My biggest concern on my flight from Spokane to Salt Lake was deciding before the flight attendant reached me, if I wanted cookies or cheez-its. I didn’t have my glasses on and couldn’t see what kind of cookie they were serving. The cheez-it packages looked pretty small and I was worried it would be just a cheez-it tease and not any kind of happy cheez-it orgy. I mean the flight was a whole hour and thirty seven minutes. 

It turned out they were whole grain cheez-its. Blasphemy. I chose poorly. Which made me kind of grumpy about the kid behind me kicking my seat. I’m normally more chill about that stuff, but I’m not gonna lie, I visualized a little airplane aisle smack down. And the guy next to me was a diet-coke slurper so that was a little grating to my ears. But I kept that shit to myself and just asked for a cookie from the super nice Delta Flight attendant, who had a sexy french accent. And he gave one to me without any kind of snarky judging. 

In conclusion, not one single person KNEW I was having any kind of inner struggle with zen flying.  I don’t know why other people can’t be more like me. 

Namaste Bitches! Ha!




The Day I Almost Stopped Living for a Minute: A Dramatic Reenactment


Pretend you are reading a scene from a movie script…

Zero in on a woman sitting at a desk. She is me: a goofy crooked faced, bundle of forty six year oldness with very messy hair…but you already know this from my website picture…

…which by the way was one of the ONEHUNDREDANDFORTYTWO pictures that my daughter Maria took of me for peaceof8. Only SHE would have the patience to take that many pictures, knowing full well I would only like ONE out of that many. I just don’t photograph well…

…so actually, on second thought: the woman at the desk is Sharon Stone, PLAYING me (in the MOVIE) because she is more photogenic than I am even though she is FIFTY-six and is just…well…better for the role of ME then I am …

…any how…movie scene…

But wait, so that you know, I also use this same picture of me for Facebook, Twitter, Google Mail, Yahoo Mail and LinkedIn as well, so that there is no confusion…despite my multiple personalities…which is a common occurrence when you have too many social media networks…plus, well the other 141 pictures just plain sucked…

…so Sharon Stone (we will call her Heather from here on out now that you have a clear visual) is sitting at her desk and she just looks fabulous as usual, except that she has some really sexy dark circles under her eyes because she is weary, so very weary. Her lap top is on, her iPad is on, one iPhone is dead on her desk, another iPhone is plugged in and reads in big mean letters: “can not activate, please call your provider at 1-800-blablabla to resolved this issue”, and another phone is held between her ear and her very sexy shoulder.

(I will try to stop using the word sexy, but it’s really hard when Sharon Stone is playing you in a movie, so I can’t make any promises.)

The other line sounds kinda like this:

“If you are calling to pay your bill, press 1. If you are calling for anything else, please hang on the line for seventy two minutes while we can drum up someone really difficult to make you feel stupid and cry and not help you at all. Or you can go to our friendly website where we can complicate this seemingly simple task even further.”

Heather hangs up and rubs her forehead in a really sexy way. She still looks sexy despite her frustration because she is currently still in control and hasn’t started to cry yet (which can make her look not sexy, at all.) She thinks back to the time when her company switched from Blackberry’s to iPhones and promised herself that this would NOT be another episode where she ended up (literally) on the floor in fetal position, wailing and crying and hyperventilating while her cool, new iPhone rang and beeped and vibrated, messages pouring in and she, a once smart woman suddenly turned moron, could not figure out how to answer it. Her youngest (then SIX YEARS OLD) took the phone from her sweaty hands and answered “Mom’s phone, how can I help you. Oh, hey Heather’s boss, no, she can’t answer right now. I think she is in a coma…no wait…she just moved a little. I will have her call you when she pulls her thumb out of her mouth. Wow she looks bad, she may need to call in sick tomorrow.”

Now, as a mostly intelligent person I, like many professionals my age, have rolled with most of the giganticus changes that have occurred since we started our careers and have managed to see the value of technology. I mean man oh man, the fax machine sure saved MY life. And what about the pager? I knew for SURE (on account of the 42 pages) to call the office when I reached the next available pay-phone booth, which in my territory could be a hundred miles away.

So, me being a cool, roll with the times kinda gal, I gotta tell you that nothing makes me go dumb faster (by dumb I mean completely numb, blind, with no thoughts, dead woman walking zombie dumb) than having my technology shut down on me.

Because I need it. To go on living.

Heather pauses for a moment and then goes to her company’s website on her iPad to try and find her company help line number and doesn’t find it. Thinking old school will help, she gets onto the exact same website on her laptop and there it is in glaring large numbers. Lap tops are so much more friendly than iPads.

She dials the help number on the “other” phone which is the home “cell phone”, a nice simple phone made for CALLING people and talking to them, with your voice. The help line rings and a mean robot voice answers and requests that she enter her employee ID number so that they can best serve her.

And this is where things go kinda bad…

…because suddenly, after six years of using her company ID number EVERY SINGLE DAY, Heather can not remember it or where she might have written it down…and therefore can not get help, from the help line, that is supposed to be helpful…but is not.

In Heather’s defense, it is late in the day, and her mind is full from her usual daily sales challenges along with lots of information she acquired during a two-hour social media class where she learned how to Face, Twitter, Google and be LinkedIn all on her iPhone…which stopped working at 3:45 pm that day.

Heather had been in possession of her new improved much better corporate iPhone for a week but the seven page document explaining in (not enough) detail the 427 steps needed to activate the phone and all the necessary corporate programs seemed daunting and very time consuming, so she’d avoided it until this devastating moment.

After a bunch of primal screaming and a desperate call to her boss (who now has evidence that she is a lunatic) Heather is able to enter her now very memorable employee ID number and she makes contact with a real man named Brandon.

“Oh Brandon. Thank God you’re here. I need you Brandon.”

Brandon has a calming, soft southern drawl “How can I help you Heather?”

“I just don’t know what to DO Brandon. My phone isn’t activated and I am quite certain it’s only the beginning of really bad things ahead for me here Brandon!”

“Did you call your network provider Heather?”

“Well I tried Brandon (insert breakdown sob here) but I just so very much needed a real person to help me through this.”

Okay, so you know how when you were a little kid and you fell down and were fine until you made eye contact with your mom and then the tears just started squirting out of your eyes in big giant drops without your permission? Well it was like that with me and Brandon. It is not one of my prouder moments. Thank goodness Sharon Stone is me in this scene or it would just be mortifying.

“I can make the call for you Heather. That’s what we are here for. It’s okay. These things can be frustrating. Now hold on the line for just a minute.”

Heather hiccups and in a shaky crybaby voice weakly says “okay”. She thinks to herself that he is probably calling the suicide hotline or holding up a sign to his fellow cubical dudes “Send for back up. We’ve got a crazy on line seven!” Brandon gets back on the line and Heather sees that her phone is now activated. It is a miracle. “Oh Brandon! Thank you! Ummm…do you have to go now or can you help me with the seven page instructions on what to do now that my phone is activated?”

She hears Brandon softly sigh.

But he is a professional and hangs with Heather to the end…forty five minutes of his calm soothing voice telling her exactly what to do step by step and her crazy tears turn to puffy faced joyful sobs of relief when she sees all of her contacts and emails and apps have been properly transferred to the new iPhone. She has twenty voice mails, fifty-two emails, four new tweets, some google alerts, nineteen Facebook messages, one LinkedIn message and seventeen texts.

“Oh Brandon, thank you for being here for me. I simply could not have faced this madness alone. You saved me! I can go on living now!”

She says goodbye and hangs up before things get weird(er) with Brandon (the conversation IS after all being recorded) and there is a soft tap at her office door. It’s is her littlest one (now nine) who must have been concerned about the primal screaming. He looks at her puffy, red eyes solemnly. Clearly (like Brandon) he doesn’t realize she is Sharon Stone. And sexy means nothing to nine year olds, especially when they are your maniac mother. “Oh mom, phone problems AGAIN?”