Deal Breaker

That's a powerful phrase I used to use a lot when I was a young, single girl. But when you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, that word exits your vocabulary (as does the ego you spent so much time protecting). The word that enters in its place is compromise.

In these last, increasingly stressful, exciting months until the big day I’ve tried to use that word, deal breaker, but it comes out so flat and meaningless it reminds me of my college personal statement; just a bunch of words that don’t really mean anything, even though I try to convince you I mean business.

(I may or may not have compared donating blood to being in the army… and I talked about getting tree sap on my butt).

Ok, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to reread it. Remember in high school when you didn’t want your friends to read your personal statement because you thought they’d steal your oratory brilliance? (Or was that just me?) Well I’m not going to be insecure or selfish any longer. Here’s an excerpt from my ridiculous personal statement. It starts like so:

“As I gazed up at the night sky, and traced the outline of Orion with my finger, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. I had just spent the last four days backpacking through the wilderness of Yosemite's National Park, with nothing but the pack on my back and the ten other Girl Scouts surrounding me. It had all started when I saw a flyer for a backpacking trip through Yosemite, and not wanting to pass up this amazing opportunity, I signed up hoping my desire for travel and adventure would soon be fulfilled. We had the next month to plan, prepare, and coordinate every aspect of the trip to make sure it was a success. Although sitting through an eight-hour drive to Yosemite was hard, the real test of my strength and endurance started as I stepped out of the car and strapped my pack to my back. Waking up early to see if any forest neighbors had stolen or eaten our food was followed by a ten-mile hike, setting up our new camp, filtering gallons of stream water, and making our daily meals. During the last night, as I lay in my sleeping bag with aching muscles and a body covered in tree sap, I realized how rewarding and fulfilling the last four days had been.”

Can you say classic high school BRAT? How the hell did I even get into college? Geez.

Back to my point, and I’ll keep it short and sweet: don’t threaten your loved one with a phrase like deal breaker. You’ll just sound stupid.

The End

Lost Photos

The great thing about photos is that they help you remember the places you’ve been, the beautiful things you’ve seen and people you’ve met. But the problem with photos is that they don’t let you forget.

For example, it wasn’t until I discovered these photos, which had been sitting idly on one of my other cameras, that I remembered the car accident I got into 2 months ago.

Ya, I’d kinda like to forget that. But if you choose to match your rims to your fuchsia corvette, you are asking to be punished. I was being a responsible citizen.

I wouldn’t have to remember the sad trip I took to Detroit to say goodbye to my bloated, dying kitty.

Although I kinda feel like a drama queen now, because homeboy simply refuses to die. He’s all “Why would I die now when MaMa Paige (my sister) feeds me and cleans my butt every day? This is better than I’ve had it in my whole life. Jokes on you, you crybabies. ” I hope his longevity traits pass onto me, but I’m not sure that correlation exists between pets and their owners.

And I wouldn’t have to remember how lame I am at partying (which generally includes a bottle of champagne, falling asleep mid-conversation, and smashing a cupcake in a certain someone’s face). Thanks Peej for the photo.

 
At least I can pledge to clean up my act next year. There’s always next year…

Or maybe I will go ahead and delete these photos now and forget the whole thing ever happened. Living in denial is very healthy.

A Childhood Story

I got my hair did yesterday (exciting huh?), and my hairdresser is a very petite almost toxically sweet woman. We were engaging in small talk and exchanging updates as is common when you go to the salon, when I mentioned that my wedding is 60 days away. She did the whole obligatory "Ooooh mmmy goooodness!! How exciiiiittting! Wooooowwww. 60 daaays awaaaay!" (imagine that in the most airy, sweet and completely genuine tone you can). Then she proceeded to follow up with the question "So how long will you wait till you have kids".

Me: Oh, I don't know. Maybe four or five years. I'm only 25 you know.
Her: Oooohh. Reaallly? That's interesting. You usually hear most people say 6 months to a year.

Did she just insinuate that I should be starting a family in 6 months?!? Because I don't know about "most people", but this girl doesn't have the emotional, physical, economical, organizational (you see where I'm going right?), or psychological fortitude to raise a child just yet. Especially the breed of child Wes and I are destined to have. Should I elaborate? Ok, here's the dog food story:

I was a very energetic child, or as my mom would say "Jocelyn was high spirited". As a byproduct of this, I would spend most of my time outside, exploring our backyard, picking flowers from the neighbors' yards and playing on the railroad tracks. There was so much to be discovered outside with all the bushes, berries and bugs that my imagination was constantly churning. I would create stories about being in the wilderness, surrounded by giant mutated bugs, having to survive by foraging for food in the jungle and climbing trees to stay out of the hidden quicksand. You can imagine the strain playing outside for hours on end can put on a child, so picture my delight when I discovered a giant aluminum can full of snacks that my parents had left out in the yard. Now when my sister or I wanted to take a break from all the serious playing, we could wander over to the snack bin and grab ourselves a handful of the salty, crunchy treats. These snacks could easily last us weeks (it was a large aluminum trash can), and it probably took that long before my parents realized what we were up to.

And for this last part, there is video evidence:

Scene: The backyard.
Characters: Jocelyn and Paige (age 3 and 4 respectively), and Dad with a video camera.

Dad: Jocelyn, what are you eating?
Me: Dog food.
Dad: You're eating what?
Me: Dog food.
Dad: Paige, what are you eating?
Paige: Dog food.

(Our father's discovery and subsequent questioning has not deterred our munching)

Dad: Where did you get that?
Me: Right here in the bin.
Dad: How does it taste?
Me: Salty.
Dad: Salty?
Me: And crunchy.
Dad: Do you like dog food?
Me: Mmmmmm.
Dad: Paige, do you like dog food?
Paige: Mmmmmm.
Dad: So you both like dog food?
Me & Paige: Mmmmmm.

And this, my friends, is why I am scared to have children.

The End.

60 Days Away

It's hard to choose the right words to describe this incredible stage of life. In 60 days I will be marrying one of the most awesome people on the planet. Of course, I'm not biased at all. And to be honest, I don't think what will go down in 60 days will change much.

I know people say that getting married does change things, and if you think otherwise you're in for a surprise. I understand that some things will change: I will have another outlet through which to channel my hormonal outbursts. "No you can't visit your friends because we have to go buy toilet paper together! And if I have to go buy it by myself again, then you can pretty much stop considering yourself a husband and use your socks to wipe your butt!"

Oh the awesomeness. I can feel it already.

But in all seriousness, we are making a commitment to tackle, embrace, and create life together. We won't be in it alone any longer. Which is perfect, because I couldn't imagine life any other way.

I wouldn't have this spinning doogie to beg me for food every morning:

I wouldn't have projects to keep me busy on long and boring weekends:

I wouldn't have a whole new perspective on the sky and the earth beneath it:

And I wouldn't have a partner in crime:

I am so thankful for all the things that give me purpose and push me to do better in life. I think I've hit the jackpot.

Flying Low

I had another flying lesson this past weekend. I don't have the energy to write about it just yet because I'm still trying to recover. Nothing insanely bad happened, just another blow to my confidence. And instead of hammering on about how stressful my life has been lately (boo hoo Jocelyn), I will end with this:

Dear pilots of the world,

How do you effing do it? You guys are my heroes. Seriously, there's something in your genetic makeup that makes you far superior than anyone else. You wield a power much like Zeus wields a lightning bolt. I accept my inferiority. But like a disillusioned human, I will persist, perhaps futilely, to attain the power that you hold. My ego will lie awake and discontented until I succeed. I must try… or die trying. I cannot give up. Thank you for the inspiration.

Love,

The Jelly Logger

Happy (After) Thanksgiving!

I hope everyone had a happy, hearty and safe Thanksgiving! Mine started off with a little of this:

Valium.
(names have been removed to protect the innocent ... and no, it was not for me)

and this:

Blue skies and sunshine.

plus this:

Airplanes!

It was a busy weekend. Ranch activities and another edition of Adventures in Aviation coming up!

A Race Against Time

My favorite autumn day is one where the air is cool and crisp, the Santa Ana’s have blown the clouds into strips across the sky, and the sun sets in a flash of color across the horizon, asserting one last hurrah before the close of the day.

Determined to take advantage of the great autumn weather, Wes and I embarked on a bike ride yesterday just as the sun was setting. There was a lot of "We’re not going to make it to the top of the hill before the sun sets", and replies such as "I did not lug this camera on my back, up this damn hill for nothing. We’re going to the top!"

Maybe we didn’t make it before the sun set, but catching the last few rays of light as they lingered over the rolling hills made it worth it.

Do you find this funny? (I do)

This is an excerpt from a journal entry I wrote on April 27th 2010. Strike that. This is the ENTIRE journal entry I wrote on April 27th:

"I drank a whole bottle of champagne by myself last night. Again.
Although I accomplished this task by myself, I did in fact have company. Thank you Ryan and Wes. You are the sweetest enablers I know."

Why do people complain about their 20's? Sweet lordy, I'm going to look back and see that all I had to complain about was a hangover.

Peeves, continued

It’s a rainy Monday afternoon and it just occurred to me that I didn’t finish my previous discussion on pet peeves. That part about a high efficiency washer and dryer - how do I deal with that? I carefully pack all my dirty laundry into a bright blue duffle bag; I drive to work (which also happens to be my parent’s house) at 6:45am; when I arrive at work I load my clothes into my parent’s Kenmore high efficiency washer; on my 9am “coffee break” I transfer clothes into the Kenmore high efficiency dryer; then during my 12:30pm lunch break, I fold and repack clothes for their trip back home. It’s a surprisingly convenient arrangement, and one I completed this very morning.
Even if my Lovies offers to throw some of my clothes in with a wash he’s doing, I politely decline and say I don’t have anything to add (even if there’s a monster pile in my hamper). Beyond the high efficiency situation, the other-person’s-dirty-clothes-canoodling-with-mine issue has always given me pause. But maybe one day I will have a high efficiency washer/dryer combo of my own, and maybe one day I will realize that love has no boundaries and allow my clothes to canoodle with his, but until then, let the pet peeves prosper!

Pet Peeves

I’ve only moved a handful of times in my life: to college, back home for the summer, out of the dorms into an apartment. But the real process is having to give up certain things I’ve learned to cherish; things I’ve grown accustomed to from living at my parent’s house. Things I CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT. Namely, soft water and a high efficiency washer and dryer. Now of course I won’t die if these precious luxuries were striped from my routine, but have you experienced soft water?!? I’m sure this sounds super diva, and I know there are millions of people in the world that do not have heated, plumbed water, let alone clean drinking water, but soft water is the THING in my family. My Dad CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT soft water. Can you tell we’re related? But to keep things in comparison, you should see the size of the room I grew up in, with the sister I shared it with, and the massive bunk beds which took up 75% of the floor space. You’ve got to prioritize. Living space = limited. Soft water = definitive.

Aside – I got smart about the small room thing when I was younger and moved over to my best friend’s house. Her room was much bigger. And she had a trampoline! Hi Giuliana!

Adventures in Aviation, Part Un

Yesterday marked my 3rd impromptu flying lesson. Here are the things I remember clearly:

Wes and I went into the airport store and bought a logbook. It cost $9.95. The only thing I could fill out in the logbook was my name and address. It made me feel like I have a lot of work ahead of me.

Wes and I do a walk-around of the plane. I wander to one side of the plane, briefly checking the various nuts and bolts, while Wes walks to the other side of the plane. He tells me you have to start your walk-around on one side and continue completely around the plane. I think “Damn, I’m screwing up already”. I follow Wes around the plane. He says something about piano hinges. It sticks in my mind so I take a closer look at what he’s talking about. I look at the hinge and wonder where in a piano you can find this same thing. I realize I am loosing track of what this walk-around is about and try to refocus. We come to the front of the plane and Wes says something about making sure there aren’t any bird’s nests in the engine compartment. Whatever focus I had is now lost because I’m thinking about what type of birds might be nesting in the engine. We complete the walk around. I reassure myself that I’ve got the general gist of the procedure – you need to make sure your airplane isn’t falling apart before you fly it.

My memory lapses at this point. All I know is that the plane is started, I’m sitting in the left seat thinking about taxiing, and there is an annoying air bubble in my right ear clouding out some of my hearing. Taxi goes fine. I’m proud that I’m not swinging the airplane back and forth over the taxi-way like a drunk driver. Wes completes the run up and gets us airborne. We are barely 300 feet off the runway before it’s my turn to fly. I have a mild panic attack because I grab the stick with my left hand, which is the proper way to do it, but it feels strange. I think “I can’t fly like this! I’ll never be able to fly at all!” and probably something like “We are going to die!” I’m trying to get comfortable with my left hand, plus figure out what’s going on with my air speed and climb rate, and my stress level is shooting through the roof (or maybe I should say, shooting through the atmosphere - hehe).

My intense focus alleviates some of the stress and since I haven’t killed us yet, I figure I can do this. But then the heat kicks in. It feels like we’re flying in an oven. Seriously, it was hottttt. Oddly, my feet are super hot. Wes says we should fly over the ocean and at a lower altitude so we can cool down a bit. My mind automatically comes up with the following equations: Ocean = sharks = death; low altitude + ocean also = sharks + death. I tell myself to stay positive.

We fly along the coast. It’s a lovely clear day, but the heat won’t let up. Wes tells me to pull a 180 and head back. I turn around without hesitation. My stomach sinks and I see we are losing airspeed. I pitch the plane down (at least that’s what I think I did). We make the turn without incident. Wes explains something about how that’s normal and what I did to compensate was correct. He tells me I’m doing a great job. I believe him… sorta.

As we head back to the airport, there is some radio communication I don’t understand and then Wes tells me to pull a 360 so he can figure out what we’re going to do. A 180 I’m cool with, but a spontaneous 360? No way. Especially since it sounds like Wes is focused on other things.
Me: Your plane.
Wes: No, it’s ok. Just turn around right here.
Me: Your plane.
Wes: Just keep altitude and turn...
Me, interrupting: Wes, it’s your plane! You do the 360!
Wes: Ok, ok, I got it. My plane.
Me: Your plane.

Wes brings us back to the airport and tries to give me one last lesson before we land. I’ve heard it before; something about rudder and wind and not crashing into the runway. The details elude me. Wes lands perfectly. Like butttaah. I feel hot, and bothered, but I’m alive!

I decide the next time we go flying we have to make sure it’s cooler than 100 degrees.

(thanks to Chris Muhl for the photo, and my John Doe for the flying lesson)

The Art of Drinking Wine

At 6:30pm, approach the host of the party and ask for a glass of white. Feel confident that the white she pours is going to be delicious when she mentions it is from her own collection. Taste and confirm previous thoughts. Forget to check the name on label; although it doesn’t matter much because you probably can’t afford it. Sit down to dinner and recruit friends with good taste (or large budgets) to sit with you. Open the bottles they’ve brought – one Chardonnay and one Pinot Noir. Start with the Chardonnay. Enjoy the fruity elements of the wine. Pour yourself another glass. Next, remove preconceived notions that Pinot Noir is not your type of red as your friends reveal that this bottle comes from someone with an enormous budget. Accept their offer to be poured a glass. Drink and ponder how expensive this wine really is. Pour yourself another glass. When most other dinner guests have gone home, realize that there are several unopened bottles of wine left. Help yourself to an unopened bottle of Rosé. Share swiped bottle with your friends. Loose track of time while finishing bottle of Rosé. Notice you are the only ones left at the party. Decide to go home. Feel feisty after drinking 3/4/you-lost-track glasses of wine. Arrive home and decide to keep the party rolling. Pop open chilled bottle of champagne. Pour you and your loved one a glass; and then another. Forget to check the name on label because you’re drunk. Reference the only modicum of common sense that is rising through your drunken state and agree not to finish the bottle of champagne. Check the time. If it is 11pm, it is way past your bedtime. Pour yourself a large glass of water but fall asleep before you drink it. Wake up in the morning, head pounding, and swear that you will never drink again. Drive to work and swear that you will never drink again. Confer with loved one that you will never drink again.

48 hours later, pour yourself a glass of wine.

The Sky's No Longer the Limit

Circumstance would say that I’m supposed to start my flying lessons soon; as in real-airplane-that-humans-fit-in-and-control flying. I’m back from Taiwan with no future work trips in the mix (yet), so my schedule is relatively open. Regardless of circumstance, would you like to know how I feel about this forthcoming challenge? Nervous, excited, afraid, optimistic, overwhelmed and determined (kind of sounds like I’m going in for open heart surgery doesn’t it?).

This will be one of the most unusual and thrilling things I’ve ever done in my life, and I can’t wait to share my experience. I also can’t wait to never use my new skill, because one of the main reasons I’m learning to fly is so that I can take over and land the plane if my Lovies decides to pass out midflight. No pressure on me!

The Business of Being Busy

I’m having one of those days where I look at the calendar, see half of the date boxes crossed through and think “Holy moly July 12th! How is it July 12th?” (I just wrote that as June 12th and had to correct it, BECAUSE IT’S JULY not June. See the theme?).

I think I got lost in the time warp somewhere between engagement photo session with my fiancé (imagine a crazy bride-to-be high on viewing hundreds of professional engagement photos, a dusty, hot mountain top setting, a father/photographer with his own agenda and FLIESx100), the 4^th of July holiday weekend (picture a BBQ, cocktails and a sandy beach), and the subsequent void left by my lovies out-of-town work trip. Good news is the Lovies came back and engagement party invites will include the photo above. How’s that for being productive!

Down Under

“Welcome to Australia. We would advise you not to swim in the water because in the unlikely chance you survive a shark attack, the deadly jellyfish will finish you off. We would advise you not to hike through the bush. The fangs of a funnel web spider can easily penetrate a fingernail or shoe, and the death adder snake will do exactly that – add a lethal dose of death to your life. The air is safe. Although the largest hole in the ozone layer is growing towards us, so maybe it’s not…. Anyways, enjoy your stay in Australia mate!”