FlyGirl

I'm launching a contest with myself to see how long I can sustain cutsie blog titles that pertain to my job.

Word of the day:

sprachgefuhl

Thank you to Howell for using it to describe me; it is not Yiddish.

My second trip was easy enough; another crew member had picked it up because it was 'like a vacation,' and indeed it was, with only 7 legs in three days. On our stopover in Albany, the hotel lost power while I was eating chili in the bar (sipping water oh-so-glamorously out of a plastic cup, mind you). The half-drunk firefighter fraternity that took up all the other chairs immediately began yelling obscenities at one another across the room. 30 minutes later, after the emergency lights had gone out and the bartenders had resorted to tea lights and cutting everyone off, I used my cell phone to illuminate the five floor stair climb to my room and hit the sack.

I have two days off between trips this week and am forced to stay in Baltimore due to the half-day it takes to commute to/from Cape Girardeau. I'm not sure who misses me more: Greg or Torri. She is evidently acting out no end.

Yesterday, I lunched with a training classmate, Jenny, then had a nice afternoon visiting with Libby, a friend from high school. She is an accomplished violinist who teaches 4-year-olds at the Peabody Conservatory. While riding with her downtown, I feared for my life. I will not comment further, but will post a photo. I love you, Libby!

I ate seven Oreos before bed last night and I am not ashamed. I earned every last crumb by trying valiantly to find the local Food Lion in my new neighborhood-away-from-neighborhood. Someone had given me the detailed directions, "Go past the firehall, take the first right, then the first left, and zigzag a bit." I spoke on the phone with my Polkton-Grandma Margaret for 30 minutes while hiking past well maintained yards in a middle income subdivision, past a Parish school, up, down, and all around, until I hit a four-lane highway near an entrance ramp to 695. The water in my mini-Nalgene was diminishing and Grandma was fearing for my safety (and intelligence, probably). I followed her advice and returned from whence I came by making a big circle (I'm not directionally challenged, I promise). Thankfully, a crashpad mate with a car had arrived while I trudged, and together we drove to the store. Turns out, I was only blocks away without knowing in what direction to go.

Here are my new digs: the house as seen from the street and my bed. I am still gathering and assimilating information pertaining to this new lifestyle. By next month, I should have the opportunity to make my schedule more like one week on, one week off to better accommodate my commuter reality. The switch from the anti-nausea patch to ginger pills is also coming, and I'll be sure to report the details to you as soon as they are available.