Aviation

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‘First Man’ nailed it. (Movie Review)

Hello Precious Readers!

Before I jump in, a quick BOOK UPDATE from me: The outline for my paranormal is underway. I originally was only going to do 2 books, but the characters refuse to stop talking at me. It may end up being a 3-book series. The outline for Book 1 is done, and I’m working on the Book 2 outline. I’m doing things a bit differently this time. I want to have all (however may) books completed and ready for the publishers at the time of submission. This means, if my proposed stories are contracted, they’ll be released on a nice and steady schedule. Faster from me to you! Whatever happens, it’s the story I’m working on, the story I need to be working on, and the story I can’t stop working on. Whether publisher picks it up is yet to be seen, but I cannot stop writing it.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled program. (Spoiler-free portion of review.)

FIRST MAN

 

Overall Rating: A-

Ryan Gosling’s Performance: A+

Claire Foy’s Performance: A+

Effects: A+

Directing Style: B+

PROS: Strong, subtle, restrained performances, excellent effects. The space training, first person point of view, and space stuff is visually stunning, leaving you holding your breath the entire time as you feel the clock ticking down.

CONS: The director’s handheld film style, while helps shape the performances of its A-List star actors and promotes the “sitting in the room with the actors” style of storytelling, is completely unfocused and nauseating in IMAX view. Be prepared for a slow burn, while the movie’s pacing fits the mood, you will leave feeling exhausted.

Overall Impressions: Last night, the hubby Pilot and I went to see First Man, the biographical story of Neil Armstrong. The movie doesn’t tell us much about Neil’s childhood or youth. Instead, it drops you right into the center of the middle of his life. He’s married, a father, and already a part of the government as a test pilot. If you’re waiting for a tear-jerking childhood trauma story, this isn’t it. Instead, the drama is in ordinary daily life experiences that Armstrong had in his personal life in dynamic juxtaposition of having an extraordinary career and skill. (It’s still a tear-jerker, bring the tissues.)

SPOILERS WARNING
(You’ve been warned.)

Now for the spoilers…

Let’s get the ugliness out of the way. It’s a biography, not a documentary. By now, if you’ve heard anything about the move First Man, you may have heard of the controversy revolving around the director completely skipping over the planting of the American flag on the Moon. If you follow me on social media, you already know how I feel about this, but for those who don’t… Come find me on Facebook and Twitter. You’re missing daily fun! Ok, back to the seriousness: This movie is a biography, not a documentary. There are countless film clips showing the planting of the flag on the moon by Armstrong that you can go and watch if you want a recollection of history.

To call this movie un-American, I’m afraid you will have completely missed the point of the movie. Its focus is not about USA’s attempt to be the first to the moon. While that is a major part of the movie, it’s not the focus. The focus is a human-interest story. The question “At what cost do you keep pressing on?” is asked repeatedly throughout the film, paralleling NASA’s Gemini and Apollo missions, and Armstrong’s dealings, or lack of dealings, with loss after loss of loved ones. It’s about the emotional toll of someone who is so specialized in his field, it takes laser focus and dedication, even at the cost of the life of his own making. It’s about the choices to connect with others, or not, and how those breadcrumb decisions lead you to where you presently are as a person.

Life of a pilot. As you can imagine, my husband Pilot and I were carefully watching the film over the actors’ performances. Would they accurately portray the life of a couple where one is constantly putting themselves at a higher risk of danger than your average person? Would they portray aviation accurately and objectively? Would Hollywood overblow and glorify what should be showing the everyday impact an extraordinary career can have on an ordinary family? Pilot was impressed with the accuracy of the time you sit in “Ground School” learning so much math and science you feel like your head will explode. The in-flight calculations conducted as you adjust your fuel rationing. The calm, cool, and collected mind that a pilot needs to have, even in the face of imminent death. He agreed the director did an outstanding job.

Merely opinion, but as Pilot and I have lived our lives, the aviation community is quite small. Pilots tend to fall into two categories: boisterous and friendly, or quiet and reserved–but still friendly. There’s something about the aviation world that I’ve appreciated. Maybe it’s the fact that everyone involved knows how much time, dedication, finances, and hard work that goes into learning how to fly something. That any miscalculation will affect how long or how far you’ll be able to fly, or if you’ll be able to get off the ground. Overseeing your own fate tends to make you cut the bull and recognize what real priorities are, for flying and in life.

Back to the movie…

Ryan Gosling’s performance was exceptional. Again, I am not a die-hard Gosling fangirl, but I appreciate his acting skills. Known for playing the ‘silent type’ he evokes a constantly running tickertape of emotions that flash in his eyes in a matter of a few, brief seconds. Deeply rooted pain, determination, failure, selfishness, and a desperate draw for connection that is severed within the first ten minutes of the movie, you can feel the one-two punch of every blow to Armstrong’s journey to the moon. (Sorry “Goslings” out there, I don’t remember him ever being shirtless in this movie. Personally, I’m grateful. Sucks to be you.)

10Reasons

Loving a Pilot. I have the utmost respect for and pride in my husband. He started flying at the age of 13 years old (before the FAA changed the rules requiring aspiring pilots to be a bit older) and achieved his private pilot’s license at 16 years old. Long-term blog readers know that we are college sweethearts. He was studying Flight Technology at Central Washington University and obtained his instrument rating for his pilot’s license. (For non-aviation people: this means he can fly without any visibility out of the windows, using only the instrument panel.) It almost literally means he can do it blindfolded. The training that comes with an instrument rating makes the student wear gigantic blinders over your face, only allowing him to see the gauges and dials in front of you, and topographical maps to fly. It doesn’t change the fear of being on the ground while a loved one defies gravity for suspended amounts of time. Nor does it quell the fear that the few minutes I see him before he heads out the door might be the last interaction I ever have with him.

It will never change the fact that for each moment my husband is in the air, whether piloting the aircraft himself, or he’s flying with other pilot friends, that a part of my mind and heart will unendingly worry about his safety until I hear he is on the ground.

I am forced to put 100% trust in my husband, his hours of experience in the air or most recent training, his training instructor(s) from over the years agreeing his skills are what they should be, that the weather will cooperate perfectly, and the FAA regulations. I must trust that bird won’t randomly fly into his plane that day. I am forced to trust that for however long he will be in the air, that he will land safely. I am forced to trust that a pine cone that is blown onto the runway will not make a multi-ton metal coffin, with the potential to ignite, to flip, crash, and/or cartwheel on the runway during takeoff or landing.

splos

Am I being overdramatic? Let me ask you: Does the love of your life hop into a small plane or helicopter, like a bug in the wind, several times a week? Sometimes flying through the mountains, being midair when a patch of fog rolls in, or landing in the middle of a forest with no cell reception? Smaller planes and helicopters don’t have parachutes. There are no computers guiding them. For my husband, it’s just him the yoke, pedals, and a rudder. If he’s riding in a friend’s helicopter, it’s the helicopter pilot, a stick, and pedals. That’s it. Is this considered a part of your daily life?

No?
Then, you don’t know.

You can tell me until you’re blue in the face that flying is safer than driving. I agree with you. I know the statistics as well. Millions of people are in the air right now, miraculously not crashing into each other, going from point A to point B and back. This summer, when Pilot considered going into agricultural aviation, and we had the fortuitous opportunity to talk with the owner of an Ag Pilot business in Quincy, WA. The gentlemen explained with ag flying, it’s not a matter of if you crash, but when you crash. Ag pilots fly within 100 feet of the ground, working hard to avoid phone lines and poles, trees, birds, buildings, etc.

This last August, John Sessions, founder of the Historic Flight Foundation in Everett, WA, was injured in a crash at the Abbotsford, B.C., Canada airshow and due to injuries, doctors were forced to amputate one of his legs below the knee. The airplane had passengers, but thankfully there were no fatalities. My husband knows and has worked for John in the past, and we were relieved to hear that was the extent of his injuries. It won’t stop him from flying. It shouldn’t stop him from flying. But, we need to acknowledge the crash happened. Crashes happen. This wasn’t the first crash to occur during an airshow this last summer. There were two, with Sessions’ crash happening later in summer.

Over the years, he and I have agreed that he not give me fine details about when he takes off for a flight. I only want to know when he’s landed on the ground. He messages me every single time, whether he has a signal or not – so the moment he is within range of cell phone bars, I can see he landed safely. Sometimes it will be the middle of the day and I receive a message from Pilot saying a friend offered to take him up flying that afternoon and he’ll be home late. I’m forced to think back to the morning and hope we had a good one together.

Claire Foy’s performance as the rock of the Armstrong family, heading things at home, and keeping her cool for her children while listening to the radio of Armstrong and Houston’s (NASA command) communications, even when things are going wrong, is the most perfect depiction I’ve seen on screen. She’s not a crybaby, she’s not a drama queen. She knows that it doesn’t help. She is not unemotional, she’s not a robot. She visibly worries, dreads, fears, patiently waits during excruciatingly long periods of time for her pilot to return to the ground and back home. If I could ever meet Foy, I can’t wait to thank her for portraying a steadfast strength and equal vulnerability in the same moment that comes when something has gone wrong and you’re merely a bystander.

A pilot needs to be able to go into a flight with a clear head, whether to fly for pleasure, work, the military, or in Armstrong’s case, space exploration. Pilots need to know home is a calm, settled, undisturbed bubble, and taken care of by those left behind on the ground, so they can focus on their flying. Sometimes it’s easy to be this rock. Sometimes it’s not. Pilot is not a toxic male. He does not ignore or bulldoze over my feelings or emotions. He respects my opinion and often, if not always, seeks it. We decide things together versus him “taking my opinion under consideration,” or vice versa. We talk about anything and everything. We laugh about almost everything. We joke, we fight, we support.

astro

Pilot and I had a long talk after the movie. We agreed the director and actors portrayed the pride, joy, elation, accomplishment, concern, strain, and the tiny sprout of fear of death that connects two people over the gravity-defying drive and skillset one has that can impact a couple at home. Watching the connection between Ryan Gosling and Claire Foy grow, stretch, strain, and watching how they moved with or around each other, how they discussed, blatantly ignored, or fought about their emotions that surround an aviation-based household… well, it hit a bit too close to home. Granted, we are the ant-sized micro to their macrocosm, but this movie was starting to feel a bit too much like transcription from our own lives.

There was an evening about five years ago. Pilot and a friend decided to go fly up in Northern Washington. There was no greater sound than when my heart fell out of my chest, and I received a phone call. Before I even said anything, the words, “We needed to make an emergency landing,” came through the receiver. It was immediately followed with “Everyone is okay,” but the infinitesimal seconds between those statements I felt a piece of my soul die. A thick fog had rolled in, and they decided to land in an empty, abandoned field with no lights or street signs around to give me an idea of where they were. I spent the next few hours with a friend of mine back and forth in the same area trying to figure out where they had landed. After about three hours, I found them, we all went to dinner, and when the weather cleared again, they both went back to their starting airport. (Pilot still had to pick up his own car.)

Again, I ask you: Do you feel that I’m being overdramatic? Does the love of your life hop into a small plane or helicopter, like a bug in the wind, several times a week? No? Then, you don’t understand the feelings involved.

Practical Effects. The effects used for the space scenes, are without question, some of the most stunning depictions of outer space I’ve seen as of late. The effects used for the training of the pilots/astronauts, and when the actors were inside of each vessel, made each person feel as isolated, claustrophobic, and tripled the intensity. Pilot had mentioned to me that this director prefers minimal CGI. The horrifying and engulfing sounds of metal stretching and yawing, scraping, skittering all around the tight confines of each manned vessel will scare the pants off you more than any horror movie ever will. Probably because it realistically sounds like the last noise you ever hear. I was blown away by the effects, and always prefer practical effects over computer generated.

Length of movie. You’ll feel it all. One thing I will give this movie, is the time spent on experiencing the above-mentioned effects. However, that doesn’t help the slow pacing of the movie. Though it is worth every minute, you will feel every minute of this movie. Be prepared to feel tired, and a little melancholy after this one.

Filming style: Bring out the in-flight vomit bags! We paid money to see this movie in IMAX. Personally, I wouldn’t have, but for Pilot, this was important we do this. The director used a handheld camera style, along with the texture of the film being in a vintage style appropriate for the 1960’s. What does this mean? A lot of bouncing and shaking, along with a lot of fuzziness on the outer parts of the screen. The outer space scenes were filmed statically so the shaky experience isn’t present during the space-y stuff. While unsure if the cost is worth the few minutes of outer space scenery sprinkled throughout the film, die-hard space exploration fans will get a visual treat in crystal clear IMAX format.

Final thoughts. Powerful and restrained acting, a not-so-steady-hand style of film, and the emotional pull and toll life has over a regular person with an anything-but-normal day job will leave you holding your breath until the last minute. Letting go of that single breath in the same way our characters do at the end. If you’re a science/NASA/space exploration nerd, it’s up to you if IMAX is worth it for you. For a “normal” like me, maybe see it on a regular screen and save yourself a few bucks. If Gosling and Foy don’t at least receive Oscar nods, I’ll be highly disappointed in the Academy (even though we all know awards ceremonies are complete shams).

“To most people, the sky is the limit. To those who love aviation, the sky is home.”

excuse me, while i kiss the sky

You want me to what?!

Never mind the fact that I’m adopted and took my first commercial flight when I was six months old, or that I’ve been on several (easily almost 10 commercial flights) in my lifetime. Precious Readers, I should warn you that I am not a great flier and do not crave leaving the earth. If anything, I prefer going deeper via lakes, oceans, rivers, etc. I’m more of a water/land-type of person.

If this is the first time you’re joining us on this blog, you may not know that I call my husband “Pilot.” The reason being: he flies airplanes.

Kind of anticlimactic, right?

The part I haven’t always shared is that he has also flown aerobatics. That’s when the planes fly in loops, upside-down, flips, etc.

That’s a little more eye-catching, isn’t it?

Today’s post will be recalling my very first Cessna flight with Pilot.

During the early days of dating with Pilot, probably about 3-6 months in, (I’m sure Pilot has the date, since all pilots keep a log book), he decided to take me on a flight in a Cessna. I told him I wasn’t a great flier.

Me: I hate flying.

Pilot: Don’t worry; I’ll be right there with you.

Me: It scares me shitless.

Pilot: Nah, you’ll be fine.

Me: <beginning to hyperventilate.> I’m already freaking out, and we haven’t left the ground yet!

Pilot: <waves hand in vague gesture.> You’re going to love it!

Me: <frowns.> O-kaaay.

The night before our takeoff, we visited Pilot’s parents. His dad, Silver Fox-

Again, I did not come up with this nickname. The people in his office dubbed him with this particular title.

-decided to let me in on a little secret that was deemed necessary before leaving.

Silver Fox: Now, Katie, just remember one thing.

Me: <turns to face Silver Fox, and shrugs.> Ok.

Silver Fox: <holds up his index finger and thumb slightly apart from each other.> There is only 1/4 inch of metal separating you and 5,000 feet.

Me: <pales in color, sets lips in grim line.> Great. Thanks, Silver Fox. Really needed that.

Everyone in the room except me: <laughing hysterically.>

Night passes and the crushing weight of my impending doom approaches. My parents and some family friends joined us to see me off. Mostly teasing me about how it was going to be.

Needless to say, before takeoff, I asked several millions of questions-

Shaky voice not withstanding

-and was white knuckled during the experience.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a smaller airplane, but it is cozy.

When I say cozy, I’m talking about, you’re practically sitting in the lap of the hot guy next to you, which you can imagine an 18-year-old virgin who is finally participating in her first dates finds those close quarters a very intimate experience as it is.

Never mind adding the stress of trying to appear calm, cool, sexy, feminine and pretty while trying fight the (ironically named) “flight” sensation of facing one’s biggest fear… AND feeling that if I continue flying in this sardine-can-of-a-monstrosity-tempting-fate-by-defying-gravity that I might surely perish – avoiding the sensation to jump out of said moving (and airborne) plane which would GUARANTEE my death 100%.

If you’ve ever flown in a large airplane, once in a while you might feel the plane dip slightly due to turbulence.

Well, Precious Readers, Allow me to explain:

In a smaller plane, such as a Cessna, YOU FEEL EVERYYTHING AND YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.

Most people would say I was overreacting with the previous statement. And it’s probably true.

IF YOU ARE NOT AFRAID OF FLYING.

So how did this experience end?

Did I keep my composure?

Did I find a previously unknown passion for flying?

Did I have an ethereal experience by suddenly recognizing I was in the heavens and just a little bit physically closer to God and find my bliss?

Well…

About half an hour into the flight I began feeling airsick and dizzy, causing a quick turnaround and emergency landing, with which upon said landing, I immediately locked myself inside the women’s restroom praying for the nausea to wear off.

Which it did.

20 minutes later.

It’s a tale as old as time: Girl meets amazing, hot and talented guy. Guy asks girl to go flying into the sunset together. Girl nearly tosses her cookies in front of amazing, hot and talented guy.

I know, right? Every female’s dream.

Now, it’s safe to say that Pilot probably wasn’t expecting such an extreme reaction. He probably chalked it up to general nerves for anyone flying in a small plane for the first time.

Well, he met his match with me. I don’t think the idea of a nearly-vomiting-and-potentially-passing-out-seatmate being on his list of experiences.

Once I recovered, having (thankfully) NOT actually getting sick, I splashed some cool water on my face, washed my hands and exited the restroom, wondering to myself if Pilot was even going to look me in the eye, or if he could even face me.

Pilot stood there with a sheepish grin on his face and a small 7Up.

Aww.

Me: <takes 7Up.>

Pilot: Sip that, slowly.

Me: <mumbles something similar sounding to a ‘thank you’.>

Pilot: <gestures to couch in lounge of airport.>

Me: <sits tentatively.>

Pilot: How are you feeling?

Me: <sipping gently on 7Up.> Better.

Pilot: So… Flying. Not your favorite thing?

Me: <blushes… or would if color had returned to face yet.> <shakes head.> Nope, sorry. <raises eyebrow, and gives watery smile.> Um, did the phrase, “I hate flying. It scares me shitless” ring any bells?

Pilot: <laughs gently.> Oh, yeah.  <pauses.> You really weren’t kidding were you?

Me: <panic sets in.>

Oh God! Oh God! I ruined this! He’s going to dump me, isn’t he? He probably wants some blonde-painted-up-flight-attendant-who-weighs-88-lbs-with-contotionist-yoga-instructor-moves with whom he can fly around the world!

That’s it! I’m done for! He’s so cute; I’m never going to meet another guy as hot as this one! Why, oh WHY did I let him talk me into flying?!

DAMN MY EQUILIBRIUM!!!

Me: <shrugs and laughs lightly as if it ‘ain’t no thang.’> Well, what you see, and hear, is what you get.

Pilot: Good. I like girls who don’t play games.

Me: <balks in surprise.>

Pilot: <tucks a strand of loose hair behind my ear.> Well, I’ll just have to take that into consideration the next time we go up.

Me: <whatever color had returned pales again.>

Pilot: <laughs.> Don’t worry, we’ll go when you’re ready.

It may not surprise you, that his response had surprised me. Granted, I was (very) new to dating, but I was pretty sure a girl puking on one of her first dates with a guy did not have an equivalent to “when’s our next date?”

So what did we learn here today, Precious Readers?

I learned that there really are nice guys out there, even the ridiculously hot ones, and Pilot learned to take what I say at face value. What I say may not always be pretty, but he’ll never have any guesswork.

What has been one of your most embarrassing moments while on a date? Or, what is the worst thing that ever happened to you while on a date? Share your stories and comments here!

Believe me, from the story above you’ll receive no judgment from me!

he may not wear red underwear, but i’m ok with that

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! Oh, wait… Yeah, it IS a plane. Never mind. <Shrug.>

Although it may technically be Sept. 15th at 1:00am, I’m still living in the past 24-hours of it being Sept. 14th. Sept. 14th marks one of the greatest days in history.  It’s Pilot’s birthday.

There are many reasons why I love Pilot, but this post would never be finished. So, instead, I thought I would write about why Pilot excels far beyond Superman.

1. He’s a sexy nerd.  Clark Kent was a mild-mannered English nerd. Writing for The Daily Planet, Mr. Superman himself was the geeky guy of the office, just short of Jimmy the photographer.  You may think that the reason I call my husband, Pilot is because his job is being a pilot. Well you’d be wrong.  Pilot is actually a special-education teacher. To this day, he amazes me his ability to connect with students who experience an exceptionally difficult time with learning, or developing the skills needed to improve. His love for science and math knows no bounds, to which I thank God for because I can’t succeed in science and math to save my life (although he and I did very well in an astronomy class together.

Me: What a great night! Ellensburg’s skies are so clear!

Pilot: Yeah! Here, let’s go to this field and setup. I’ll pour the hot chocolate.

Passerby 1: Hey! Is that a bong? It’s huge!

Me: <indignant, setting hands on hips and frowning.> No, it is not a bong. It’s a telescope. See? <points to eyepiece.>

Passerby 2: Sweet! Party time! <calls to friends in distance.> Hey! Check this chick out! She has the biggest bong I’ve ever seen!

Me: It is NOT a bong! It is a highly functional TELESCOPE! Look! You can see Venus and Mars, right there!

Passerby 1: Cool! It’s multi-functional!

Me: <shakes fist, screeching at Passersby 1 & 2.> Listen, cretins! Just because you’ve lost some brain cells does not mean you need to corrupt mine with your incessant insistence that my telescope is a device for drug use!

Passerby 2: Way to party little lady <pats the top of my head.>

Me: Argh!

Pilot: Sweetie, I think it’s time we move to a different field.

Just as Superman disguises himself to be a simple and plain man, but is all super-hunky man of steel in reality, my Pilot is a seemingly boy-next-door guy, but is superhero to children and helping them have a fighting chance in this world.  Plus, listening to him explain space’s gravitational patterns for each planet with his toothy-white grin is sexy as hell.  And besides, I’m the (maybe not-so-mild-mannered) English nerd in this relationship.

2. Ok, so he does fly a little bit. Like Superman, my Pilot is also, well a pilot. Before Washington changed its laws of age limitations for obtaining a pilot’s license, he took his first flying lesson at the tender age of 13. He literally flew a plane before ever driving a car. The way he’s better than Superman, is that for me to go flying with him, I don’t have to worry about someone looking up m nightie and freezing my crumpets off from the high altitude because I’m contained inside an ACTUAL airplane.

Me: <holds down ‘push-to-talk’ button> Wow! I’m flying an airplane… And I’m scared shitless right now. You can take the steering back now!

Pilot: <laughs.> You only had it for two seconds.

Me: <holds down ‘push-to-talk’ button and glares at Pilot.> Two seconds too long… Ooh! Nice yoke-work, Bacher! Why don’t you use those hands somewhere else?

Pilot: Sweetie, you need to stop pressing the ‘push-to-talk’ button because you just announced that to all local flying aircraft and the Tower.

Tower: Cessna 5210-AML, you’re clear to land… If your hands aren’t too busy.

Random pilot sharing airspace with us: <chuckles.>Yes, please keep your hands to yourself, Sweetie.

Me: <holds ‘push-to-talk’ button> Umm… I think they heard me.

Pilot: You’re still holding the ‘push-to-talk’ button, Sweetie.

Me: <still holding ‘push-to-talk’ button.> Oh. Sorry.

3. He has superpowers. No not actual, born an alien or dipped in toxic waste superpowers. But with one look he can provide a multitude of things: reassurance, giggle-inducing hysteria, empathy, one of the few people who can make me shut up once in a while if I’ve said something [insert favorite word here, such as weird, odd, annoying, ridiculous, etc.], and the occasional heat-induced glance that magically makes my clothes disappear. (Hey, don’t judge. I’m married and Superman had x-ray vision.  You really don’t think that Superman didn’t use it to his advantage just once?)

4. He’s talented. As Clark Kent was a journalist and fairly decent reporter, my Pilot is also extremely gifted.  Separate from his teaching and flying gigs, my Pilot is also an aviation photographer. Even better, he’s a good one!  Pilot has been published in a few magazines over the last couple of years, and also has written several blurbs on the aircraft subject in question.  He has a successful Facebook page and YouTube account where he also posts videos of his work, narrating and adding factoids to the videos for viewers to enjoy.

5. Lastly, but not at all in the least, he’s romantic. Superman had ladies drooling for decades, most of all a Ms. Lois Lane. And in this case, this little writer wised-up and realized that a kind, quiet and talented man was interested in me and I jumped at the chance at love, never regretting a day since. Thankfully, Pilot has made this relationship really easy on me by being just completely wonderful and supportive, even if I post stuff like this on the all-knowing interwebs. Even if the first Valentine’s Day card I ever received from him was signed, “I don’t care what they say. I think you’re pretty nice,” causing a temporary 2-hour argument between us.

Happy Birthday, Pilot! And I don’t care what they say, I think you’re pretty nice, too.

<blows kiss.>

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 14: FREE DAY! Write any scene you want!

Dear Diary,

Today I met the most impossible of all human beings! There I was, walking through the bookstore trying to keep my nonchalant, “Yes, of course I’m in the self-help section-there’s-nothing-wrong-with-that-it’s-a-perfectly-normal-thing-to-do” face. So what if I’m pushing into my latter-thirties and newly single? If someone wanted to excel in their profession, they would study for it. If someone was to perform a self tune-up of their car, they would buy a guide. So why not buy a book to help accelerate changing my single status?

While wandering the bookstore, trying to find a decently large covered book to disguise my purchase with, I bumped into a man at the mysteries/thrillers section.

“Oh! Excuse me,” I said slightly blushing at the blatant lack of focus on where I was going.

“Not at all, pardon me,” he replied. I took in the light hair and blue eyes framed by some very nice looking professor’s glasses. He was tall, wearing a slim fitting navy blue sweater and jeans. Hellooo Dr. Jones!

His head tilted slightly as he tried to glance at the title of my self-help-for-singles book, Single? So What? guide which had decided to hide itself behind my back.

“You know, if you want a really good read, you should try I’m Single and I Know It, instead.”

I blushed at the recommendation.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said tucking a strand of my plain brown hair behind my ears. “I’m looking for a thrill- I mean, looking for thrillers. Oh look, there’s a great one!” I say as I pluck a random book from the shelf to the right of me.

He tilts his head to the side. “Hmm… So you’re into swashbuckling pirates who stealthily rip the bodices off of young maidens, huh? I would’ve pegged you more knights-in-shining-armor kind of woman.” I raise my eyebrows at the book I had just selected.

Sure enough, there was a shirtless pirate and a young wench who apparently had no problem or apparent discomfort from having her breasts shoved up to her chin, while the pirate’s swarthy hands were undoing the ties to the back of her very cumbersome looking satin corset. Quickly glancing up to the empty space that held the damning evidence of my random selection, I realized the shelf on my right had been historical romance instead of mystery/thriller. Shit and double shit!

“You know, all you need is a glass of wine and you’re probably set for the night,” he said winking of me.

Eyes narrowing, “Why of all the nerve! I-” I pause to straighten my back at this very nosy and appalling man.  I closed my eyes for a moment taking a deep, calming breath.

“Once again, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am merely grabbing some reading material as a gag birthday gift for my friend, Lizzy, if you must know.” No need for him to find out that Lizzy is actually my dog named after my favorite romantic heroine, Elizabeth Bennett.

“Of course, my mistake,” he said, having the nerve to smile at me.

“Well, thank you. Now, if you don’t mind. I need to have these presents gift wrapped. I’m very busy and important, and must be going now. Ta!” Turning on my heel, I pause at the sound of his voice.

“Fantastic! I was busy getting this for my brother. We’ll go to gift wrapping together!” He said grinning at me.  Of all the rotten luck. Two years without a man and now I can’t get away from this one!

Together, we both walk to the gift-wrapping center’s counter and hand our items over to the customer service rep.

“Sorry about your friend. Is she going through a tough breakup right now?”

“Huh?” I blink at him.  “Oh! Yes!  Um… Right… Well, she’s recently gone through a divorce, which she’s very happy about, and is throwing herself a divorce shower,” I quickly spat out.  We both take our nicely wrapped presents, his book in pretty forest green with a gold ribbon, mine in a patterned wrapping paper covered in random letters of the alphabet and red ribbon.

“A divorce shower?” he says amused at my frustration.  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before.  What exactly does one do at a divorce shower?”  Oh come on! Can’t I just live this humiliation in peace? It’s bad enough I resorted to self-help guides, but does it really need to have a commentary squad like Mystery Science Theater 3000?

“Well it’s- um…” I sigh and throw my hands up in the air, waiving my ‘gift’ in the air. “Oh, hell. We both know the book is for me.  Look, it’s been a little nerve-wracking catching my bloody husband in my bed with my sister and I haven’t had sex in two years, all right?”

The man’s eyes widened as he stared at me.  A woman who had been waiting in line for the gift-wrapping services looked extremely uncomfortable.  “Um… I think I forgot to comb my cat…” she said as she inched away from us slowly, and then bursting into a slight sprint towards the main door.

I felt my face burning as red as a hooker in church.  Also waiting for him to run away from the crazy-cat-lady vibe I was giving off; to my surprise he actually was pretty nice about the whole freak-out scene.

“Wow. That must have been awful. Are you ok?” he spoke softly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, deep in thought. All they did was focus on his glasses which were straightforward black frame, emphasizing the blue-ness of his eyes.

Another deep sigh escaped my lips. “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry about that. I had just moved here for him because he was offered a job at Boeing. We were living with my sister until we could find our own place.  Then… Well, you know…” my voice drifted off as I felt tears prickling at the back of my eyes.

“I’m really sorry.  Was just teasing before, but if I’d known…” he gave a slight shrug and palms up gesture of apology.

“It’s all right. Sorry for going all berserker on you,” I smile slightly.

He stifled a snicker, “Berserker? You’ve seen Clerks?”

“Of course, hasn’t everyone? I mean, Kevin Smith may be raunchy, a little out of my comfort zone sometimes, but nonetheless is an insightful writer and commentator of life in our generation,” I state matter-of-factly.

The man stares at me again, this time in wonderment. “Wow, I think I may have fallen in love with you a little bit. Most women can’t look past goofy comedy movies like that.”

“Oh… Well, that’s just, really nice,” I say flustered at this man’s response.

“I’m Elliot. Elliot Helmsworth,” he says sticking his hand out to me.  Grasping his palm, I reply, “Claire. Claire Whitmore.”