August 12

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Anal Candy and the Meaning of Life

I wrote this three months ago, right before I retired from being a sky goddess.

Yesterday was the last time I will ever sit in first class. Boo-fucking-hoo, you’re thinking.

I’m retiring from my job as a flight attendant after 18 years. I’d taken a “last fling” trip with my gay husband Tim (we have been inseparable much of my career; my regular husband doesn’t really like to travel, so my gay husband is my travel partner.)

Flight attendants travel stand-by for a very low price. Sweet, huh! First class from London? Like an effing rock star, right?

Instead of being an heiress like Paris Hilton, or having an ass like Kim Kardashian, I have undergone the following low and high points to get to this place:

A typical work day: work the red-eye out of LAX to Ft. Lauderdale, departing at 21:50. Take Synedrex, a metabolism accelerator, to stay awake. Land in Ft. Lauderdale at 5:45.

6:45: Ft. Lauderdale Sheraton: take four Benadryl, sleep for four hours.

11:00: Head down to beach, where Tim is drinking vodka and cranberry juice. Sit in sun all day with Tim, while trying to abstain from drinking.

17:00: Admire my lobster face in hotel mirror.  Rationalize that drinking vodka and cranberry isn’t so bad. Consume this elixir with my gay husband.

18:30: Gorge on mojitos, shrimp, spicy beans and rice at Padrino’s Cuban Cuisine.

22:30: Tim and I realize we have to wake up in six hours and appear professional and friendly. We realize that if we take Ambien on top of the Cuban food we just ate, it will not be effective. So we shove the pills up our respective asses, since we didn’t consume the food anally. Start to see angels because Ambien hits the system quickly when ingested anally.

23:45: Drink some red wine because I still can’t fall asleep.

4:30: Wake up naked in bed. Have no recollection of going to bed or taking my clothes off. Start coffee maker and don uniform.

6:30: Walk through FLL airport with limp hair, a paler shade of sunburn, dry eyes, and realize that my Prozac isn’t working as well as it used to because I hate everyone.

11:30 (PST): Doze off on the 405 for a second. Realize I’m an idiot.

21:00: Take two Xanax and two Benadryl. Fall asleep.

I did this every two days for 18 years. It was a shallow, self-destructive existence and now I have chronic migraines, insomnia, and hemorrhoids.

But hey, I got American Airlines pajamas, a sleeper seat, as much wine as my heart desired, and a shitload of food.

That’s the only way I can rationalize this 18-year mistake.