Category Archives: Real life

This is a catharsis post. Rants ahoy


Let me preface this by saying that I genuinely love my job. I love the travelling, the fast pace, the strange customers, even the weird cravings you get around hour nine of the flight. That being said, there certain parts of it that my anxiety-ridden self loathes like the Grinch loathes Christmas….
Specifically the increased automation of certain parts of the operation. Call me an old-soul but there are many times when the phrase “just press the button and let the machine do it” is not as reassuring as some people might think. I’m the kind of person who (had I be born a couple of decades earlier) would be fixing the TV with a mallet. Bottom line, I don’t trust machines. And machines don’t like me either. Files mysteriously disappearing and reappearing in random folders, gadgets sorting out because I looked them wrong, if it’s any type of computer it comes to my hands for the sole purpose of dying.  I’m not going to discuss here what electronic device is currently antagonising me but suffice to say I’m not at fault and this whole problem wouldn’t exist if I had interacted with a being made out of organic carbon instead of plastic and microchips.

But here’s the thing. I’m paranoid. I have backup plans for my backup plans because I know I get anxious when things spiral out of my control. But for all I wish I either had all the responsibility or none at all, I have to acknowledge (to others if not myself) that when I am running on two hours of sleep, caffeine fumes and the hope of a bed I cannot be expected to perform my best. It’s the reality of the job and I say that as someone who permanently ruined her sleep schedule when she was sixteen.

I suppose the first sacrificial victim of having a large company is personal contact. And by personal contact I don’t mean feedback forms (the subject of another rant eventually, but not now. One cause of sleeplessness at a time). Automation is all well and good but does not account for the human factor. And dear gods, this would be so much easier to rant about if I didn’t feel the need to keep it as vague as possible. I swear, the next job I happen upon (once the paperwork chasing that is disturbingly inherent in being cabin crew becomes to much for me) will have a lot less forms. Screw salary raises and benefits, I’m hardly likely to settle down anyway (that is not a dare PTB, I do want a family in the somewhat near future). I just want a job that pays my bills and doesn’t drive me to insomnia, drink and/or anxiety attacks. But I suppose that is too much to ask for all things considered.

Sometimes I wonder if my life would be easier if I could actually talk about my problems. For someone whose main strength during academia was writing, it can be remarkably hard at times to find the correct words. There are concepts I only know in one language (which might not be the language I’m using in the discourse I’m having). There are concepts I perceive in the relative safety of my mind as feelings and colours and shapes, with not corresponding words that I can find, especially in such a difficult conversation. And it is difficult. I’m aware enough of my self and my mental state to know that poking that particular hornets’ nest, while therapeutic and something I should probably do at some point, would not be pleasant for anyone involved. Too much compartmentalising and shoving things in the Narnia-sized broom closet that is my subconscious. And even as a child I preferred listening because a. human interactions are stressful and confusing, b. 95% of the people I meet/spend time with I would not care whether I saw again or not so why bother, c. my temper is too violent to risk igniting since hitting someone over the head with my leatherback Divina Comedia is sadly not socially acceptable. What this all boils down to is an underlying sentiment of “I’ve observed that references to this subject are met with frustration and/or indifference so trying to communication my perception of it, based on personal experience or not, will be likely not met favourably”. Or, more laconically, “you guys ain’t listening so why bother”? And yes, that includes trying to talk it through with someone and then them dismissing your perception/opinion/stance are non-valid because it doesn’t fitting with perception of the subject. Oh yeah. That happened. Repeatedly. From people I didn’t expect it from. Fun times. Not.

On a slight tangent, I was having a discussion earlier about diversity and PC culture and whether or not it is meaningful or limiting at this point. I hardly belong to a marginalised group so I felt it would be hypocritical to preach from a proverbial soapbox on the subject. But personally, I feel it’s about removing stigma and misconception. It’s just both can be so deeply embedded that that they are considered normal. But here’s the thing. I would very much like to wear shorts or miniskirts when I go out. So why is it that the same people who with one breath encourage me to do so because I’m apparently at the proper age for it, warm me off doing it with the next breath because “it’s not safe” or so that I can avoid catcalls. And for the matter I have nothing against a guy complimenting me on the street (in fact I am very flattered, but for the love of all you hold holy, leave it at that). What I am against is guys honking at me or whistling from the cars or ogling on the street like they got dropped off to the 21st century from the Victorian times by a very inconsiderable time-traveller. It’s not flattering, it’s not sincere and it is certainly doing nothing to cool off the hotter heads of the feminism vs sexism debate (and I include reverse sexism on that too, it’s just I’ve never had a woman make to make some of the comments I’ve heard from men). Or I would like not to have to think and hesitate about going to the doctor to verify something I suspect because having it in my medical history might affect my chances of employment, or because my symptoms are not “loud” enough to be considered legitimate. For the record I would very much like to be able to make a phone call without having to prepare myself for it in advance or have a conversation with a coworker and not obsessively dissect it afterwards for everything I may have done wrong because have I mentioned how hard it is to talk to someone when you suck at reading body language? And no, I very much do not believe in the idea that best intentions are communicated somehow.

I’m gonna cut this off rather abruptly but it’s getting late and I am famished. At least my head feels a little emtier right now so hopefully I’ll be able to sleep properly (and promptly) tonight.

Organised chaos is the way to live


People often ask me why I chose to work as cabin crew, seeing as the constant human contact and changes of schedule might not be the best for an introvert with an almost pathological fear of missing appointments. Yes, the prospect of travelling is a huge plus but still! How do you deal with the difficulties? Well, dear reader, to answer the first half of this question….. I am a spectacular liar. No, I do not make a habit of making up stories of embellishing the truth. I am however very good as lying about myself. People expect me to be friendly on the job, so sure! I can lie and be friendly, even act like the prospect of being around people without reprieve for, sometimes eleven or twelve hours, is not just easy but also welcome. After, these people will likely never see them again. It also helps that much as I am not comfortable around people, I love listening to stories. Like with travelling, I will put up with A LOT if it means that by the end of it I’ll have a good tale to come back to. Still hate when people get over-friendly though…. Like, we just met? Why the hell are you hugging me like we went to school together?

As for the second bit, yes I enjoy routine to an extent. I like knowing that, if a day goes spectacularly bad, I’ll have a few certainties to fall back to. That however is not the same as needing a schedule to function. Quite the contrary, I operate best when under pressure. Give an adrenaline shot and the need to improvise on the spot and you’ll have me at my best (at least not when research is involved). If I have to chuck the rulebook out the closest window, even better. This was actually on my greatest challenges during training: The Rules. For me they are something to pay attention to, take into consideration and respect. After all, they were put down  for a reason, however obscure it is. And I’d never ignore them just for the giggles if there was a safety issue. But following them like they’re the Bible (or any other religious text of your choice…)? No thanks. Best way to get me to poke at something is to tell me not to question it. Juvenile on my part perhaps, but I’ve always learnt better when I understood the why before the how.

And to build on that I have to question (heh!) something I heard near the end of the first part of my training. Our instructor gave us a personality test, one of the fancy ones that modern companies love and yet is not that far from those I used to take on teen magazines. I’ll spare you the gory details but my results could be summed up as:

  • “give me the facts”
  • “spare me the sob story”
  • “screw the rules, we need results”

And all that to the surprise of no one exactly… What did come to a surprise to me was that, apparently, when it comes to cabin crew airlines like the so-called “fluffy bunnies”. And I don’t mean this as an insult, it’s literally how the type was summed up by the quiz. You know the ones! Super empathetic, super nice, make amazing crying shoulders and, if you’re like me, you avoid them like the plague lest they suffocate you. Absolute sweethearts and gods of customer service/placating but frankly I wouldn’t trust them with a flashlight in an emergency. I’m talking about the general type here, not anyone in particular. I have no doubt there are people out there who go from marshmallow to absolute badass at the drop of the hat. I just wonder, even taking the importance, nay vitality, of happy customers into account, you’d prefer a personality type with a tendency to crack under pressure as your primary choice. Especially considering how important safety is.

Am I being too cynical? Probably. I’ve never been one to trust people explicitly, especially people who’s first question is “how are you feeling?!” instead of “how can we solve the problem?”. Tough love is a thing, you know. A wonderful, wonderful thing.


On a completely unrelated note, Thor 3 will be coming out the day after I return from my next trip. Expect ravings of the extra fangirlish, super tired type, as  I ignore my minor jetlag and major lack of sleep to drag myself to the closest cinema and enjoy the cinematic version of the End-All (sorta….not really) before the actual End-All comes up and collectively kicks our asses.

Don’t patronise me school


Ever read a work you instantly dislike? Not a swearword or a word describing something disgusting, but one of those perfectly innocent ones that make you rave and rage and awaken the slumbering teenager in you? I’ve been coming across some of those in my not-training related reading lately and I need to get these thoughts of my chest before I start ranting at a corner.

Ethos: Straight for the heavy-duty notions, yes. Let me put a disclaimer here. Ethos, as in the philosophical notion is lovely and fascinating and necessary in all the bafflement its definition results to. I’m not starting a -heh- ethical debate here. What bugs me is how the word (and I suppose the concept by extension) is used in schools. Yes, definitely teach children how to make ethical and informed choices. Gods know some members of the older generations did not get the message. But why, do so many schools (my old high school included, nostalgia won’t save you!) present ethos as being practically married to the concept of leadership? These aren’t mutually inclusive values. Being an ethical person does not mean that they will have the inclination or the talent to lead. Similarly being a leader does not predispose a person to be ethical. -insert current political commentary here- It might be a tad Machiavellian but I don’t think children should be led to assume that ethics and leadership always go hand in hand. Should they? Perhaps. I’m neither a Political Science major nor a sociologist.

This line from an article on school assessment I read: “Some teachers and educationalists have suggested that the word ‘work’ should be replaced by the word ‘learning’.”: Dear teachers, students are not stupid. Regardless of how you try to sugarcoat it, homework will be homework and exams will be exams and both these things are near universally hated. Calling it “learning” will not give make the process more pleasant. In fact it might do the opposite. Words gain connotation through the experiences we attach to them. Frankly I’m glad my teachers called homework for what it was. It’s a word that for me personally carries the associations of boring, often pointless assignments, long hours and late nights and the curse upon introverts that is known as group projects (screw socialising, I didn’t want friends, I wanted to be left to do my work in peace!). Now imagine if this bouquet of awful had been attached to a more general and inclusive words like “learning”. Yeah… Never mind a Masters degree, I wouldn’t have made it through the undergraduate either.

And for the matter, what’s this new fad of correcting with a green pen instead of red? Supposedly it’s less aggressive, feels more like suggestions? That’s the idea as far as I can understand it. Has anyone thought that maybe the reason we view red as the more aggressive colour is because our experience was exactly that? Worksheets and exams marked in red? If our teachers had corrected our work in green or purple or even those fancy multi colour gel pens we would be sighing and longing for the nonthreatening red. And if you have crappy eyes like I do, you would be cursing the use of any other colour. At least red pops out and your eye focuses on it. Corrections, especially on homework aren’t supposed to be the written equivalent of a supportive grandmother. They are supposed to be what will kick your butt in high gear and point you to the correct direction. And shouted directions are always better than whispered ones.

Millennials: I’ll say it right now. As a Millennial I’ve got into my fair share of arguments with Baby Boomers and older generations thereof. Let’s be honest. The internet alone has made this particular generation gap the size of the Grand Canyon. Add to that how insanely different the world in all each aspects is from the 70s and the 80s and well… there you have it. Have fun translating the Old Ones anything of what’s going on right now in our heads or our lives. And it may be the prerogative of the older generation to view their successors as wastes of space (the line “back in my days” was invented for a reason) as much as it is the prerogative of the young to view their predecessors as backward and the cause of all the trouble we are dealing with now. This is nothing new. We used to call it counter-culture or the hippy movement or (if you go really backwards) “those time-wasters that read novels”. It’s always happened so why the absolute vitriol that is being spewed in all directions lately? I guess it’s in part because the Millennials are not just outspoken, but also in possession of many more avenues to express their outrage (once more, thank you internet).

And I’m not going to sit here and claim that all causes are as urgent or as important but there seems to be this silent agreement amongst the adults (yes, most millennials are also adults at this point but you know what I mean) that if a millennial said we’ll just nod and ignore their points. Why? We heard your points. In fact you might say we heard your points for a little too long. The world is not a mid-life crisis sports car. Let us get on the wheel already. Yes, our ideas might be wacky but guess what? When you face a future of certain debt and uncertain stability (financial, employment or housing-related or even health-related) you kinda sorta need to think outside the box. Box looks pretty torn around the edges anyway…. duct-tape can only do so much.

And on an entirely unrelated and much lighter note, the top disliked word of the week is….defibrillator! What is wrong with this word? How do you pronounce it? How do you spell it? Why can’t we use the term “medical taser” instead? I looked it up in Greek because that usually helps when I come across unfamiliar words and according the dictionary called mum, it’s “απινιδωτής” (apinidotis). -insert anime drop here- Dear medical folk, you’re just screwing with us, aren’t you.

Buckle up buttercup!


Oh my how the chips have fallen… So last time I was here I was applying for my crew visa, right? -quick check of past posts- Yup! Also hunting for cabin bags. Well I’m happy to report that all this has been sorted out and not only do I have two shiny new cabin bags but also my passport back with the visa inside. Yay!

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Next couple items on the list were the medical/security interview/uniform fitting and the online pre-course learning. Can I just say that, for the record, the security interview is not nearly as nerve-wrecking as the name implies? Really it’s just a series of painfully common sense questions. Answer, sign and boom you’re done!  Frankly the medical was more fun if only by virtue of taking place on a couple of different rooms. It’s what you might expect: they check your weight, your height, your blood pressure, all the usual. Oh and the eyes too! I’m led to believe that it’s not much different from the average doctor check-up. I wouldn’t know since I’m of the opinion that unless you’re dying then you can probably sort it out yourself at home.

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Then again, I’m a disturbingly healthy young woman who hasn’t had anything more serious than a stomach bug in decades. Even the doctor examining me was surprised at my lack of hospital visits. Come on mate! Are you telling me people here rush to the GP at the slightest sniffle? Of course there was also the fun part that involved needles… They check your immunisation record and top you up with any ones you might be missing. Judging by what some of the other people in the waiting room told me, I got off easy with only three injections. I’d say I got off easy because the only side-effects I got from that roller coaster were a little nausea that evening and a two day cramp on my left arm (where two of the three injections were done). To quote my mother, the nurse was rather heavy handed when armed with a syringe. Also, apparently, it’s weird if you don’t start crying when the needle pinches you? I didn’t know! I mean, sure, as a child I could be heard through walls with how loud I was screaming every time someone tried to give me a vaccine, but I was six! At most! Unless you have a debilitating fear of needles (in which case my heart goes out to you, nasty little buggers those needles…) why would you act like you’re an extra in Friday the 13th? But I digress!

The uniform fitting was infinitely more fun. Related imageIt felt a little that scene in Cinderella where the mice fix her dress, and not just because I really felt like a different person when I stood in front of the mirror in full uniform. You really do get to try everything and I was lucky enough to get the correct size on all items on the first try. That ought to teach you Mr. Wardrobe (I have no idea what the poor guy’s actual job title is, but he was in charge of helping us newbies to sort out our uniform)! When a lady tells you she’s an eight, you don’t doubt her word! What? You thought I’d not know my dress size? -indignant sniff- All joking aside, he was really nice. Even offered me jaffa cakes! And the uniform itself is for the most part very comfortable. For all that I like tight clothes in the summer, if I’m going to do anything as physically demanding as a cabin crew job then I want to be able to move freely in my clothes. And look pretty in them, I suppose…

My personal highlights had to be the service vest and the coat. Weird choices, I know, but the vest made my figure look like I was wearing a corset. Without the discomfort of actually wearing a corset. What more can a girl ask. And the coat? The coat was W.A.R.M. Anyone who has met me knows that I get easily cold. And I don’t mean chilly. I mean “can’t feel her fingers and toes” cold. But that baby? It felt like I was wearing a duvet with sleeves. And yes, I may have daydreamed about that on occasion.

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My only real issue was the suit jacket. It looks gorgeous yeah but I don’t know what was going through the designer’s brain when he came up with because it is sooooo restricting! As in, if it’s buttoned (like it’s supposed to be) I can’t lift my arms more than 30 degrees. Pretty sure the guys don’t have that problem… Thankfully we don’t have to wear it in the cabin , during service, when most of the heavy lifting and moving about would happen but it still feels like the sort of detail that should have been taken into account. The only thing I was not able to try on were the trousers. Apparently lady-cabin crew are expected to wear the skirt part of the uniform exclusively for a certain period of time, though we can request to wear trousers further down the line.

Usually I’m not one to scream sexism all over the internet. I am aware that I have joined a profession that is woefully backward in terms of gender equality, never mind their fondness of mostly showing female employees in their promotional material. If you think I’m exaggerating, the Guardian wrote a pretty interesting article last year on the ongoing “Trouser Wars”. The fact that women were “allowed” to wear trousers only last year, and even then under very limiting conditions is telling I think. Call me foolishly optimistic but I didn’t imagine the question of uniform trousers would actually be an issue. My mother worked cabin crew when I was a child and I only remember seeing her in trousers when she was in uniform. And that was in Greece, around seventeen years ago. Mr. Wardrobe explained it away when I asked as “most women prefer the skirt because it looks more stylish” and “the trousers aren’t very well made”. Far be it from me to sound like a conspiracy theorist but if the trousers are really not as well-made, then it sounds like an incredibly male reasoning of “they’ll have to wear the skirts if the trousers are terrible”. To which I reply, if my choice is freeze while looking pretty because I landed a, say, Moscow flight in January, or look a little less chic and not lose all sensation below the knee, then you bet your XY chromosome I’ll pick the trousers. No doubt this is a subject I’ll pick up again in the future, but for now, with things picking up speed, not even stubborn lingering traces of misogyny can ruin my mood.

I just finished my pre-training course last night too. Yes, that is a thing and I suspect my instructors during the actual training are forever grateful they don’t have to cover the basics with us and can move to what, I imagine, will be the more practical how-to of the job.

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Meanwhile I am (again) taking a page out of my childhood idol’s book and take notes on everything. Sure, it slows down my progress through the modules but at least I’ll have something to fall back to when my mind inevitably blanks and I’m left staring at acronyms in desperation and incomprehension. Also, it’s easier to revise when all the highlights are in the same place. Whether that’s a leftover of my school years or not, I know that if I want to remember something I need to write it down, preferably in multiple colours. Then I just picture the pages and scan for what I actually need. Mind palace? Ha! I have a library. Eat your heart out Sherlock! -ahem- No, but seriously. When the training starts and we are being tested every day it’ll be so much easier. Anyway, enough rambling about my studying habits!

I actually got the e-mail with the information regarding the first week of training (where we get our attestation, which is why they N.E.W.T. us) on my birthday, a few days ago. Pretty awesome timing I think. I have fifty pages of coursework to crunch through before we start (EXCITEMENT!) and my schedule which is kinda weird. We have eight modules to do over six days but we won’t be doing them in consecutive order. I don’t get it. Is it an aviation thing? An English thing? Their way to keep us on our toes? I’ve already asked a friend to hold my book so that I can actually test myself before the terrifying official tests. Just need to print out the handout, which I’ll be doing very soon. I need to finish the Aviation Medicine pre-training before I get started with that, but it shouldn’t take me more than a day. Then I have until the 24th to work through the handbook. Easy stuff!

Anyway, I need to sign off. I’ve been hanging out at the coffee shop a little to long. The lunch crowd is starting to descend and I’m taking up one of the bigger tables. It has plugs! Sue me! And anyway, I have a belated birthday outing this evening so I need to get some chores out of the way before I go about making myself pretty for the public.

Peace out!


Status report Mr Chekov!


Alright, yes, Chekov would probably not be the one to give the status report…


Anyway! I’m listening to Cabin Pressure and updating you lot on the latest and bizarre-est in my life. So what have I been up to? Well, I officially have my US visa sorted and it should be arriving at my doorstep either today or tomorrow, my spiffy new cabin bags arrived yesterday and medical is in ten days. It’s getting real! (finally!)

I gotta say though, with all the build-up and the pages upon pages of relevant instruction, the actual visa interview process was…boring. I’m not kidding. Disregarding the ungodly wake-up call I had to set in my alarm in order to be there on time (8 in the morning! That was my appointment time! Cruel and unjust, that’s what this sort of thing is called.), the overall process mostly consisted of standing on a queue. One might argue it’s a test of character I suppose. -shrug- It might have been easier if I had actually slept the night before. Unfortunately my insomnia appears to have returned (-insert with a vengeance joke here-). After a mostly sleepless night the two coffees I had time to drink did precious little to keep me alert. Well more alert than “watch out for cars, speak English”.

Then there was the absolute hilarity of buying suitcases. The gods were merciful and my hold luggage was appropriately boring (read: black with no stickers) so I only needed a cabin bag and a topper. And let me tell you, cabin bags? Easy peasy to find. Toppers? Not quite as much. Here’s the thing! None of the places that sell suitcases and bags (that I checked) actually call them toppers. I only had hearsay and a few scraps of common sense to guide me in my hunt.

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I did have some help. A fellow starter sent me a pic of the topper she got, so off I was to Debenhams to get it too! I didn’t. Why? Because the company making them, in their infinite wisdom, discontinued that particular line (in black only. They still make the design in other colours). Because truly, why continue making the colour most people are likely to buy. Folks, it’s things like this that stopped me into getting into business. I just don’t get it! Obviously I got a different one, black, just as boring, and looking like an oversized lunchbox.

I’ve also met quite a few people starting at the same training date as I. I’m only going to say that this sort of male-female ration I’ve only seen in my Austen and the Brontes module back in my undergrad. And that I will withhold further judgement until I’ve actually met everyone face to face. Until then, exchanging tips on Facebook it is.

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Speaking of…how is that movie (and Cabin Pressure for the matter) NOT required preparatory material. I mean yeah…parody and dabbling with the absurd aside… they are also a pretty good collection of everything that could possibly go wrong in a flight. Never mind the annoying passenger who won’t put up their tray. What do you do when you run out of coffee mid-flight? I’m genially curious.

But that’s all for now. And I need to go fix lunch soon-ish, so I’ll sign out for now.

See y’all later!

Go away anxiety! I’m busy(-ish)!


I remember back in high school when my friends would ask me how on earth I stayed calm before tests or exams. The answer, unfortunately, was not magic. Rather, it was a curious of acknowledging the inevitable, compartmentalising and just good, ol’ plain not caring. That last bit especially has helped me through quite a lot of would-be panic inducing scenarios. See, the trick is, that if deep-down you are indifferent to the result then why should you stress over it. I invite students of psychology to tell me how many different levels of self-manipulation, denial and repression are involved in this.

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Ironically that also means that when I’m truly invested in something I…well….I over-prepare. And by that I mean, read every single scrap of information that I can find on the subject. Which eventually will lead me older and older stuff (posts, articles, book extracts… I don’t have a big library at my beck and call anymore, so it’s the terrifying depths of the internet that I turn to). Of course, anything older than two years needs to be take with a big, heaping tablespoon of salt, especially if it’s regulations-related. Doesn’t stop me from reading it. And then privately freaking out about contradicting sources.

But what is the current cause of the anxiety I bemoan up at the title line? Well, to put it briefly, paperwork. Tomorrow is my appointment at the US Consular Office to sort out my visa (and liven up, my so-far boring passport…). Here’s the problem, if it might be called so: I’ve done the prepwork that’s required (application, picture, payment, la-di-da…) and even crosschecked it with a fellow candidate AND the (not quite clear) instructions BA has provided us with. Everything that needs printing has been printed, all the papers I need to have with me are in their neat little folder, heck I’ve even picked out an outfit and worked out train timings! Explain to me then why for the past eight hours my brain has been kinda like….

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Rei on the outside, Usagi on the inside…

-sigh- This is finals all over again. To the best of my knowledge I’m perfectly prepared and (knowing me) will there way ahead of schedule…. There are zero things at my application that might lead to me being denied the visa. So why? What possible cause would my brain have to go down the Apocalypse Now route of scenarios? I sometimes joke that I panic over insignificant things so that when an actual crisis comes up, I’m all paniced-out and therefore able to focus. So maybe my subconscious has delegated this whole shebang under “not Earth-shatteringly important”?

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On top of that there is always the ever-present dilemma of buying the cabin bag I’ll need to get eventually now (when Debenhams has an absolutely beautiful sale going on…) and wreak further havoc to my budget or leave it for later and risk missing the sale and paying three times the amount. And of course some paperwork I need to complete for my medical exam on the 31st which I’ve been putting off solely because I despise filling out forms. They have a magical way of making me feel fifteen years younger than I actually am, and I am hardly old enough for that to mean “charmingly young”. (It’s more like “toddler”).

So yeah…unloading online it is. And probably working out until my joints feel like they made out of half-cooked dough… But on the bright side Infinity Wars’ trailer should be coming out soonish and all things Black Panther and Thor 3 so far look bloody gorgeous. Thank you Marvel for continuing to fire up my little fangirl heart!

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There’s no reason for this gif. I just find it hilarious!


That moment when you land back to Earth…


I’ve been off the grid here for a while now, haven’t I? Mostly because there are only so many ways I can talk about what it’s like to drudge through a fairly boring day-today, with only the occasional spike in my anxiety to spice things up. But now… now I have Stuff to look ahead to. Pretty sure I mentioned here, what feels like centuries ago, that I was jousting with the pre-employment processes of British Airways. Well! I am delighted to report that I have officially exited that circle of Hell and my life is back on some semblance of track! So what have I been up to these past few months?

Not much really, until I got that blessed e-mail, informing me of my start date. THAT is when things got interesting! Suddenly I had a timeline and a list of things that needed to be completed. Things like finding a new place, filling out a few last pieces of paperwork, booking my medical appointment, sorting out my visa, packing… Oh gods, the packing! My new place is slightly closer to Heathrow, though each really a temporary solution until I get to flying full time and some other things get sorted out… Medical is all booked and I just need to fill out the paperwork I need to present and show up looking pretty and healthy. (Lot’s of fruits and veggies for me in the near future!) The US visa is the one that closest to being at 100% done, mostly because my appointment is next Monday. I’ve also had to hunt down a pair of court shoes and update my closet (my bank account is currently in deep mourning over that fact). The shoes should arrive at the store any day now and once I have them, they will replace my slippers inside the house. Because, let’s be honest. New shoes will hurt your feet the first few times you were them. In my case, it’s usually my heel that takes the brunt of that and I’ve hobbled back home on bleeding feet often enough to know that this is not something I want happening on the first day on the job. As for the wardrobe update….that was one of the few times I went shopping unwillingly. Left to my own devices I’d spend the majority of my life dressed either in PJs or the sort of clothes you’d find in a fantasy show (stakes and magical swords optional). In other words, my office-appropriate outfits could be counted in one hand. And I have anywhere between four and six weeks of training in which I’m expected to show up in office chic. You do the math dear reader.

Speaking of wardrobe updates, here’s a funny thing that happened the other day. I had ordered a few t-shirts online. When the parcel finally arrived (with an unexpected customs charge and wasn’t that fun…) I realised there were a few extra t-shirts on top of the stuff I had ordered. A few e-mails with the company later and here’s what I learnt. Another customer’s order was accidentally packed with mine. Now, under different circumstances I’d roll my eyes at this show of disorganisation. But! It just so happened that the person in question had ordered designs I was planning on getting myself whenever I had money to spare next. And I get to keep them. So no. I’m not complaining. In fact I may have done a mini happy dance on my bed when they told me I didn’t have to return the extras. 😀

What else, what else… I’m trying to motivate myself to exercise a bit more and touch up my German. Neither being activities I particularly enjoy so I haven’t exactly been successful so far. I tell myself to walking around counts for something and my scales seem to agree but unfortunately  that does very little for my flexibility. Looks like I’ll have to look up some yoga tutorials or cheat-sheets or something…. And I need to look into the whole luggage situation. I may have to buy a new cabin bag but given my finances currently looking like they are in their inglorious death-throws I’ll have to put that off for later. And pray there’ll be a huge sale when I get around to actually buying it. I kept getting the feeling that I’m going to school again and let me tell you it’s not just the excitement of learning something new, it’s not just the word “training” being thrown around like spare change, it’s not just meeting other people with the same brand of crazy as me. It’s the avalanche of expenses that come with it. I mean yeah, it’s exciting expenses. Made less exciting by the fact that I am not dragging my mother down the aisle of a store, throwing everything that catches my eye on the cart and not worrying about paying the bill in the end. #thingsImissfrommychildhood


My conscience informs me that that is what being an adult means. To which I reply:

Image result for i am an adult, but like an adult cat

(How cute is that cat?)

-ahem- Yeah….

Well this is at the stage where my rambles cease to be even slightly coherent, so I’m gonna sign out.

See y’all soon. Hopefully.

In which a voicemail is enough to ruin two days’worth of good vibes


I HATE phone calls. I don’t just find them inconvenient or stressful (though both are true too), I loathe them. For better or worse phones calls almost never yield good news for me, and not just because I somehow always end up with a person with really thick accent on the other end of the line. Yes I am bilingual. No, that is of no help if I need to hear the voicemail you left me twice and still be uncertain about a key point of it. Also, who the dickens rattles off a phone number in lightning speed and does not even bother to repeat it more slowly. Oh, and douche coworker, I could hear you giggling over the line. You think your English is clearer, fucking. Man. The. Phones.  Anyway, it would seem that I need to compose a very long and very tense (read passive aggressive bordering to aggressive aggressive) e-mail to the lumps of carbon responsible or my high blood pressure these past few months and see if I can’t get this mess sorted finally. And this friends, is why all my good mood from the past few days (I’m nearly not sick anymore, yay!) plus the endorphins from my earlier swimming session went up in figurative flames.


On the bright side (and mum, if you’re reading this put the Holy Water down, we were mostly joking) this also the sort of situation on which friendships are built. Basically I was ranting to a friend about the whole mess, pretty much prefacing it with “fancy helping me curse someone?” There are few things quite as comforting as an answer of “who?” rather than “what?” or “why?” for this sort of question. I mean yeah, we are planning of talking the ears of everyone slightly relevant to the recruitment process as soon as we clear the pre-employment stage because frankly this whole song and dance started in August and I know for a fact that not nearly enough has happened to me in the past five years to justify a background check still going on. I’m not even kidding! If I wasn’t losing sleep over high school finals or uni, then I was at my parents’ pretty much catching up on sleep, sun and homemade meals. I don’t have a criminal record (obviously) so what in the name of Elizabeth Bennett’s mud-stained petticoat is taking them so frigging long?  Everything we’ve been able to find online suggests that it’s a company issue, that they are just that disorganised. But then again that raises another very serious question. If it’s widely known that they are that bad at their job then why would anyone hire them? Mr. Trickster is having a laugh on my behalf methinks, but I am too stubborn to just no do anything about it. Besides, if I learnt one think in public school is how to loudly complain about things happening that I don’t like.

And with that I shall be off. I have an angry e-mail to write and a story about an inept Russian prince being saved by his girlfriend to continue. Toodles!


A moment of appreciation please!


For the outfits that don’t require me to take my shoes off when trying them on!

For the hairstyles that still look in place even as you take off and put on your hat again and again and again….

For London being cold enough to keep me alert but not freezing.

For Wi-Fi hotspots!

For comfortable shoes!

For whoever invented the geek paradise also known as Forbidden Planet! Seriously I spent an hour in there just browsing, and if I didn’t have other places to be I’d stay there longer!

Anyways, I’m somewhere near Oxford Circus and about halfway through my tour de force of Christmas shopping. I have heard beautiful tunes and ear-bleeding mashups and remakes of the Christmas classics. I’m pretty sure I’ve ruined yet another pair of tights. And I’ve found my favourite Christmas Starbucks cup so far!

And all things considered I still look relatively rested, don’t I?

Or at least I will when the coffee kicks in…

It’s a bit strange around here… Like it’s the Christmas season but not quite. I mean the lights and decorations are up and the songs are being played and people are obviously taking advantage of the seasonal sales. Yet there seems to be something…missing… Maybe it’s the 2016 exhaustion finally catching up with everyone now that it’s nearly over, maybe it’s to early yet for people to be in the full swing of things, maybe I’m out of it…

Decorations like this do put me in a good mood though…

And then there’s those people on the list that you just can’t figure out what to get them. Personally I hate the sort of gift that screams I got the first thing that looked vaguely interesting! And for that reason I end up drawing lists over lists, trying to reconcile taste with budget and size (size too, do you have any idea how hard it is to pack for a Christmas visit home when you have only one suitcase and your carry-on?)… Most of the time I can figure something out but there have been occasions where…well…time was sort, so first decent thing was the way to go… 😦

I think I’ll head to Selfridge’s next. I’ve never actually been inside the shop so it’ll be an experience even if I don’t get something. We’ll see! 

Until then, peace out!

Christmas shopping round 1


Yup! It’s that time of the year again! The time when people realise that Christmas and the assorted December  celebrations are just around the corner and there is a big difference between planning the shopping and actually doing it!

Which finds me at Clive’s, a small fiber on Museum street for breakfast today. Let me tell you, the pancakes are to die for! And since -oh dear, what a coincidence!- I’m in the neighborhood, well, I just have to visit the Atlantis bookshop too! The fact that o would happily spend in there hours is irrelevant. After that it’s Oxford street, Soho Leicester Square market and so on and so forth…

I whine but I kid. Actually my cousin recently asked me how do I know what to get for everyone. Honestly, I ask in case they have their heart set on something. But if they don’t or if they hit me with the dreaded “whatever’s fine” line I go with the rule of the Shoe. Stroll around, browse and wait for something to click. Also get off the high street as much as possible. In most cases, the hardest it is to find a shop, the most unique the gift you’ll buy from it. Unless it’s the TARDIS-like magic sglhop I read about in a story years ago. In that caseyou so much as look at something, you end up in an adventure. Which would be a pretty sweet gift for some…

Anyway, the shops are open, my coffee is growing cold and the day is sadly short so I’ll sign out for now and pick this up on the next coffee break. 

See y’all later and happy shopping!