Tuesday, January 31, 2012


Step one... cover everything you eat with hot sauce.  It doesn't matter if it was prepared by Anthony Bourdain, Paula Dean, or Chef Boy-ar-dee.  And whatever you do; do not taste it first.  It doesn't matter how delicious it is.  It will always be better with hot sauce.  As you become more senior, you may consider traveling with a small bottle in your suitcase for culinary emergencies.

Step two... regardless of the length of the trip, pack only one necktie.  Be sure to spill a little bit of food from each meal on your tie.  This is a badge of honor.  It let's the other Pilots in the Crew Room know how long you have been on the road, and how hard you are working.  When they see three days worth of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, on your tie, they will yield the best Lazyboy chair in front of the television to you.

Step three... always carry chopsticks with you.  They are easy to pack and, well, let's face it: they will make you look cool.

Step four... if after eating Mexican food, you find it necessary to "release gas" in the cockpit, always wait for the Senior Flight Attendant to come up with coffee.  Then let it loose and blame it on her after she leaves.

Step five... when you are home, be sure to consume all of the food specifically intended for your children.  Be sure to eat the last chicken nugget, fruit roll-up, yogurt pop, and container of Jello.  Then let your family discover the missing food on their own, after your wife has already been to the market.  That's half the fun!

Step six... go Salmon fishing in Alaska every year with your Pilot Buddies and bring home a freezer full of fish.  then do not eat the Salmon.  Repeat this process every year until there is no longer room in the freezer for ice cubes and your wife has a Brain Aneurysm.

Step seven... while driving home from the airport, call your wife.  Regardless of what she is preparing for dinner that night, demand steak.

Bon Appetit!

Monday, January 30, 2012


It started small.  Just a few aviation themed magnets on the fridge.  Slowly over time, we added more and more aviation decor.  There was the plane shaped light in the kitchen, the airplane light fixture in our son's room, the enamel retro signs  proclaiming "airplane pilot on duty" in the guest bathroom.  Now I don't want everything in the house painted pink with a floral motif; I am all for letting the man have some things in the house that reflect his unique personality.  But beware!  With Air Line Pilots, it is  indeed a slippery slope.  If you let them hang one single aircraft picture, it's just a matter of time before your home looks like the gift shop at the Air and Space Museum!

The first indication that I was in big trouble was when we found the illuminated Piedmont Airlines sign that formerly hung outside the Tom Davis Center in Winston-Salem, at a flea market.  Oh yeah!  That bad boy was coming home with us.  It is now displayed (in all of it's 6 foot by 7 foot glowing glory), in our family room.  Next came the gi-normous Hooters Air poster of the original aircraft.  That sucker is matted and framed in our living room (about 4 foot x 5 foot).  After that the flood gates opened.

Every Pilot Buddy who had a wife smart enough to not start down that path, brought their "aviation treasures" to our house.  We quickly added USAir destination posters, Pan Am signs, seat back safety briefing cards from every  major airline, stir sticks, cocktail napkins, barf bags, and the crowning glory... a Delta Air Lines terminal sign rescued from the airplane graveyard in the Arizona desert by Spice Jet Captain Buddy.  So Martha Stewart be damned, I now live in an aviation museum.  Sigh. 

Friday, January 27, 2012

WHY IS IT.... ?

Why is it that Pilot Husband can navigate all over the globe, but if there's a wreck on Highway 150, he can't find an alternate route home?

Why is it that he can listen to the Captain, monitor Radio One, and monitor Guard on Radio Two, but when I ask him to take out the garbage, he claims he never heard me?

Why is it he hasn't flown a trip since December 27th, but he knows every rumor circulating at the Air Line? (oh yeah!  Thanks "Angry Pilot Central"... I mean, "Airline Pilot Central")

Why is it he knows every cool cafe in 200+ cities, but he can't find the Lunchables for our son at the grocery store?

Why is it he can make critical flight decisions, but he can't match up his own socks?

Why is it he is entrusted with a mode of transportation that can cost 100s of millions of dollars, but he keeps locking his keys in his car?

Why is it he keeps telling me that he "holds hundreds of people's lives in" the palm of his hand, but he won't fill the dog's water bowl, or pick up a bag of cat food on his way home?

Why is it that he has memorized the hydraulics and electrical schematics for a Boeing 767, but he can't (won't) change a light bulb?

Why is it that any of this surprises me anymore? : )

Thursday, January 26, 2012


For those of you who take pity on Pilot Husband for the "bashing" he has received here, I shall give him the day off and instead tell you about a time AngryPilotWife screwed up in the most spectacular fashion.  It does happen on occasion... rarely, but it does happen.

When I was a Flight Attendant, I was on day four of a particularly hard trip.  We landed at Reagan National Airport with just a few minutes to catch our deadhead flight home.  The rest of the crew wanted to get something to eat, so I agreed to run ahead to the next terminal and get our tickets.  The combination of being rushed and tired meant that I was careening down the hall, dragging my rollerboard, and not really looking where I was going.  That's when it happened...

BAM!  I had inadvertently head-butted someone in the chest... with such force that I knocked him to the ground and sent him sliding along the well polished marble floor.  When I looked down at my victim, I realized it was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs!  What the Iraqis couldn't do in the first Gulf War, a Flight Attendant with blond hair, a big hair bow, and Park Avenue Peach lip gloss, almost did.

I began to apologize profusely.  "Sir, I am sooo sorry".  Then I began to gush.  "Oh Sir!  I think you are just wonderful".  Then it happened (again)....

As I was trying to simultaneously salute and extend a hand to help him up, I let go of the handle of my suitcase, which was having weight and balance issues.  Yep, you guessed it.  The suitcase fell forward with the handle fully extended, hitting the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs right in the "Man Parts".  Now he was laying on the floor, in the fetal position, writhing in pain.  At that point members of his entourage appeared and sent me away, unable to apologize for the final blow.

Embarrassed and heartsick, I went to the gate to get the deadhead tickets for my crew.  While standing in line, the woman in front of me backed up, forcing me to back up as well.  Unfortunately, when I did, I stepped on the foot of the man in line behind me.  He was a reporter for ABC news who was notorious for being a total Jacka$$ to cabin crews.  When he got indignant, I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "Sorry, Mr. *********, but you should see what I just did to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs".

Somedays, you can't get to the Employee Parking Lot, fast enough.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012


An Air Line Captain, a Lawyer, and a Surgeon go duck hunting together.  The Lawyer goes first.  He flushes a duck from the tall reeds, aims his gun and shoots the duck.  The Lawyer's dog not only retrieves the duck, but comes back and types up a five page legal brief about how they can sue the land owner for the wrongful death of the duck.

The Surgeon goes next.  He flushes a duck from the tall reeds, aims his gun and shoots the duck.  His dog not only retrieves the duck, but carves it into perfect cutlets with surgical precision.

Finally, the Air Line Captain has his turn.  He flushes a duck from the tall reeds, aims his gun and shoots the duck.  His dog... eats the duck, screws the other two dogs, and then demands 2 weeks off.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012


Having an airline schedule can be entertaining when it comes to how your neighbors perceive you.  Pilot Husband and I both worked trips most every weekend, when most of our neighbors were off.  That meant that Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, when the "normal" folks came home from work, we were poolside, drinking beer, living like a rock star.  With the help of some close friends in the neighborhood, we stoked the rumor mill.  Our friends told anyone who enquired as to why we seemed to always be home, living a life of leisure, that AngryPilotWife was an heiress, who's father had invented the Post-It Note, and Pilot Husband was my "boytoy".  Sorry... we thought it was hilarious.

Things got really interesting when we took in a friend to "crash pad" at our condo.  Pilot Husband and Critter Pilot Buddy were both working for the same commuter airline at the time. Critter Pilot Buddy lived out of base, so he used our condo, just north of CLT, on Lake Norman, as a crash pad.  We were all the best of friends, and we had an extra bedroom so the situation seemed perfect... until the neighbors took notice.  It took a while... both men had blond hair, blue eyes, and wore the same Captain's uniform.  Eventually, the neighbors noticed that one "husband" drove a black car, and the other "husband" drove a blue car.  One "husband" would leave the condo on Thursday night, and the other "husband" would show up on Friday morning. 

I had no problem with this whatsoever, as it made me look pretty cool.  Neighbors noticed that I went to the movies with husband "B", and then went out to dinner the next night with husband"A".  Finally, our co-conspirator friends chimed in and let our neighbors know that in addition to being the Post-It-Note heiress, we were Mormons from Utah, so it was all good.

Monday, January 23, 2012


First, let me clarify a few things from previous posts...

Yes, Pilot Husband did lightly spray the yard with kerosene and strike a match.  His logic was, the dry combustible leaves would burn and the damp grass underneath would survive.  Didn't quite work out that way, but you can sort of see what he was thinking (besides, there was a Wings at War marathon on the Military Channel; time was of the essence).

Yes, Pilot Husband did drain engine oil into my new wok.  You have to give him credit for creativity.  It was the perfect shallow vessel for such a task (except for the fact that I used it frequently for cooking dinner).

Yes, Pilot Husband did almost set our home on fire by putting an 80 pound log in our 20 pound fireplace.  However, when it rolled out and destroyed our carpet and the smoke stained our walls and ceiling, I did get to install new beautiful hardwood flooring and repaint.

Yes, Pilot Husband got out of ever doing laundry again by dying all of my whites a lovely shade of pink by adding bleach and a red sweatshirt to the load.  While still not my favorite color, it turns out pink does compliment my skin-tone nicely.

After 21 years (college, flight school, and 4 air lines), there is a lot of material that we can both laugh at now.  Pilot Husband proofreads every post and even reminds me of stupid things he's done to share with you.  I hope you find our stories even more amusing now that you know that this is our life.  Exaggeration for effect is at a minimum.  We chose to laugh at it all... otherwise you get those terrible lines between your eyebrows!

And now, about the deer...

When we first built and moved into our home (in the middle of nowhere), we were excited to have regular sightings of deer, racoons, possums, and ground hogs.  Being a huge lover of furry creatures, I was thrilled.  I started putting out corn each evening for the deer.  We got a small herd that came by daily and even got one to eat from my hand.  Sooo Coool!  Having befriended them, I moved on to the other creatures.  I started putting table scraps and cat food on the front porch for the stray cat and raccoons.  Soon, we were feeding young racoon kits by hand.  Again, sooo cooool!  Although, NOT the biggest animal lover, Pilot Husband was quite tolerant of my exploits... until winter came.

One evening in late December, it got quite cold.  I decided to leave one of the garage doors up, just a bit, to allow the stray cat to come in for the night.  Little did I know she would invite all of the forest creatures to the party.  Pilot Husband opened the garage door to fetch something from his car and was accosted by Cupcake, a young raccoon on the stairs... then hissed at by Tallulah, the possum, then growled at by Fern, the fox... and finally given the stink eye by Charcoal, the stray cat who was lounging on the hood of his SUV.  Needless to say, he was a bit taken aback.  After a rather long hissy fit on his part, and a decree that I was no longer allowed to put food out for anybody, I had to break up the party in the garage and shut the door.

When he left for work the next morning for a 4 day trip, I decided to teach him a lesson in tolerance for our fluffy forest friends.  I activated the emergency phone tree.  Oh yes I did.  I called 5 girlfriends and described my plan, who in turn called 5 girlfriends each, and so on, and so on.  My plan?  I intended to collect every plastic life sized deer from every yard in a five county area and put them in my house, just to let Pilot Husband know that a few small creatures in the garage were not that big a deal... it could be much much worse.  And so on the morning of day 4 of his trip, all of the women from the emergency phone tree showed up at our home, minivans loaded with plastic deer of every variety.  We put them in the family room (with one laying on the couch... watching the Military Channel), we loaded them into the dining room, we positioned them in the kitchen, we even put one in the bathroom.  The final stats on the day were 32 women, 156 plastic deer, and 12 bottles of white wine.  Then.... judiciously, I left.

Pilot Husband returned home and pulled into his fluffy creature free garage.  He gathered his suitcase and brain box and walked into the house.... to a herd of plastic deer.  I could hear the screams from down the block where I had sought sanctuary with a neighbor.  Point made.

Gotta' go now, folks.  Time to put out the deer corn, table scraps and crack the garage door open!  It's gonna' be cold tonight.

Sunday, January 22, 2012


Okay.  So by now we have established that Pilot Husband is an evil genius, with a Machiavellian bent, who will intentionally, screw up any and every chore, to get out of ever doing said chore again.  So far, It's working for him.  But just like vehicle maintenance, I thought that when it came to yard work, MAYBE, just MAYBE... he wouldn't screw it up.  Wow.  Was I wrong.

Admittedly, I got suckered by all those happy couples in the Home Depot ads, planting flowers and raking leaves together.  Clearly, none of the happy, helpful, husbands in those commercials were Air Line Pilots!

So... one day I invited Pilot Husband to pull himself away from the gravitational pull of the sofa, turn off the Military Channel, and venture outside into the sunlight (Oh, the horror!).  After much gentle encouragement (i.e. hours of bitching), he agreed.  I showed him the clover, buttercup, and dandelions that had invaded the flower bed in the front yard... and set him on the task of weeding.  I proceeded to the back yard to build more raised beds for our vegetable garden.  An hour later, I came around to the front of the house to check on Pilot Husband's progress.  Oh, he had pulled out plenty of plants, unfortunately, they were my Asiatic Lillies, Tulips (that HE brought home from Amsterdam), and Gerber Daisies... all of which, were laying on a wilted pile on the black, asphalt, driveway.

After my Brain Aneurysm subsided, I suggested that perhaps, he would be better suited for yard clean up.  I directed him to gather the fallen branches and leaves that has not been gathered in autumn, and put them in the 55 gallon metal drum I had been using for burning yard waste.  I thoroughly briefed Pilot Husband on gathering the yard waste, inserting it in the metal drum, applying a small amount of kerosene, and burning said yard debris.  BAD IDEA!

Unbeknownst to me, there was a "Wings at War" marathon about to start on the Military Channel, that Pilot Husband wanted to see (for the 47th time).  Therefore, he tried to expedite the process.  Instead of gathering the branches, and raking the leaves, and putting them in the drum for safe disposal, he tried a short cut.  Rather than gather all the debris up and put it in the barrel, he found my herbicide tank sprayer in the garage.  Pilot Husband figured if he was asked to gather the yard waste and apply kerosene and burn it.... wouldn't it be faster just to fill the sprayer with kerosene, apply it to the entire yard, throw out a match and call it a day?  I mean, come on! The Military Channel beckoned!). 

Now I know, some of you are reading this and thinking, "there is NO way he did that".  Alas, he did.  Pilot Husband filled the spray tank with Kerosene...sprayed the yard... lit a match... and well, three fire trucks later, the yard debris was gone... as was most of the yard.  Needless to say, Pilot Husband was excused from any and all yard work after that (by order of the Fire Marshall).

New bulbs from Breck's catalogue, $75.00.  Re-sodding the yard, $1500.  Generous donation to the local fire department, $500.  Never having to do yard work again, PRICELESS.

Thursday, January 19, 2012


As previously stated, Pilot Husband is an evil genius.  He has figured out that if he screws something up badly enough, he will never be asked (or allowed) to do that particular task again.  There is a brilliance in "accidentally" dying all of your wife's white clothing PeptoBismal pink.  Not only was he never asked to help with the laundry again, but he was, in fact, banned from ever setting foot in the laundry room... which, due to the location, excused him from feeding the dog, and cleaning the cat's litter box.

I, the Angrypilotwife, was onto him and his evil plot to be excused from every and all household tasks  by screwing them up in the most spectacular fashion.  Eventually, leaving him nothing to do but lay on the couch and watch the Military Channel!  But I never saw this one coming...

For weeks, I gently reminded Pilot Husband that his car was way overdue for an oil change.  Finally, after my 437th reminder, my husband got off the sofa and agreed to "take care of it".  Pleased that Pilot Husband was going to address the issue, I left to have lunch with the girls, thinking Pilot Husband would be departing for Jiffy Lube shortly.  What I forgot, is that pilots, as a species, are cheap (please refer to the "80 pound log" post for validation).  Pilot Husband didn't want to pay $30 to have the oil changed.  Instead, he went to the auto parts store and bought oil and a filter... he was going to do it himself.

When I returned home, I found a trail of black oil, from Pilot Husband's car, up the driveway, along the walkway, up the stairs, onto the porch, and into the house.  Once inside, I followed oily, black footprints across the carpet, leading me to Pilot Husband (who was, once again, laying on the sofa watching the Military Channel). He looked at me with great pride, announcing that he had saved $30 by changing the oil himself.  Then he said, "Oh yeah, I wasn't sure how to dispose of the old stuff, so I left it in the kitchen until you came home".  Upon peering into the kitchen, I realized that when Pilot Husband was unable to find a bucket shallow enough to fit under the car, to drain the old oil, he opted to use my brand new wok, which was now sitting on my white kitchen counter, full of oil.  Needless to say, he is no longer responsible for vehicle maintenance.  Evil Genius!

A case of Motor Oil & Filter, $16.99.  Power-washing the driveway and porch, $50.00.  Carpet cleaning, $75.00.  New wok from Williams Sonoma, $80.00.  Never having your wife nag at you again about having the car serviced, PRICELESS.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012


Pilot Husband possesses a particular evil genius... a Machiavellian sensibility, if you will.  He has figured out that if he screws up a chore badly enough, he may temporarily suffer the hostility, verbal abuse, and ridicule of AngryPilotWife.  But he will never be asked to complete that chore again, making it utterly worth his while.  It must be intentional... no one could be that incompetent.

For example, AngryPilotWife got tired of walking past the carcass of PilotHusband on the couch (watching the Military Channel), while she completed all of the housework.  Admittedly, I snapped.  I drew a map for PilotHusband to assist him in locating our laundry room.  I covered the washer and dryer with neon post-it notes, using very small words and pictures to explain how to wash clothes.  Then I stormed off to run some errands, grumbling some colorful combinations of very small (4 letter) words as I slammed the door behind me.

Upon my return, I had settled down and gotten over myself.  I actually felt bad for PilotHusband.  I went to the laundry room to help him finish the wash.... He had dutifully loaded all my white clothes into the washing machine (check!), then he set the machine to "hot water" (check!), then he added detergent (check!), and bleach (check!).  Then he added a new RED sweatshirt (definitely NOT check!).  Given that I was NOT a Phi Mu in college, and pink is NOT my signature color, I was a little upset.  As I pulled my newly pink wardrobe out of the washer, I vowed I would never allow PilotHusband to do another load of laundry.... EVIL GENIUS.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

When Scheduling Calls...

January 17, 2012

To demonstrate that AngryPilotWife can, on occasion, be kind and supportive... and is not the evil shrew that some forums have speculated that I am... I shall share with you the story of "When Scheduling Calls".

Once upon a time, when Pilot Husband was flying for a small commuter airline, he had been working particularly hard.  For two weeks, he had done back to back three day trips, taking his 24 in 7 off and hitting it again.  Finally, on week three, he arrived home, spent and exhausted.  Exactly 8+30 later (FAA rest requirements) the phone rang.  It was crew scheduling for Pilot Husband, wanting to assign him a trip.  Realizing that he was hitting the wall, and had enough, I decided to intervene on his behalf.

The following is a transcript of that call, as best I can remember it:

Scheduling:  Hello.  This is Crew Scheduling for ***** ********.
AngryPilotWife:  Hi.  This is Mrs. *******, can I help you?
Scheduling:  Is ***** there?  We have a trip for him.
AngryPilotWife:  What do you mean, you have a trip for him?  He packed his suitcase and left this morning.
Scheduling: ........
AngryPilotWife:  He told me he was leaving on a three day.  Are you telling me he's NOT on a three day?
Scheduling: Um..... ahhh .... well ....
AngryPilotWife:  If that S.O.B. is NOT on a trip, than why is he not at home????  Where the Hell is he?!
Scheduling: ..... ahhh ..... well ..... um ....
AngryPilotWife:  I tell you what, if you see him before I do, please let him know that all of his stuff will be in trash bags on the front lawn!  And I am changing the door locks!
Scheduling: ... oh, um... wait a minute... ooops.  Sorry Mrs. *******.  It must have been a computer glitch.  Here he is.  Yes.... um, we have him on a trip right now.... um.... so sorry to bother you.  We'll fix it in our system and we won't bother you again.
AngryPilotWife:  Are you sure?  Because if he's been lying to...
Scheduling: No! No! No!  Mrs. ******, I can assure you, he is definitely on a trip for us right now.  Again, I am so sorry to bother you.  Have a good day Ma'am.  (click).

And so, Pilot Husband got a few days off and much deserved and needed rest.  I sort of forgot to tell him about the call when he awoke from his nap.  He returned to work a few days later and everybody was being REALLY nice to him.  All he really needs to know is; he got to rest up, and everyone at work was really kind to him.  Let's keep this just between us, okay?

Monday, January 16, 2012


January 16, 2012

1.   I really love the fact that our entire cabin crew is over the age of 70.

2.   Yum!  Wolfgang Puck must be making our crew meals now.

3.   As a commuter, I enjoy flying into base and paying for a hotel room to sit ready reserve and not be utilized.  It makes me feel like I am contributing in some small way to the greater Company good.

4.   Yes, Honey... even though I just got home from a red-eye flight, I'd be happy to clean the rain gutters!

5.   Everyone knows our previous CEO deserved his $50,000,000.00 golden parachute.  Good for him!

6.   Mergers are fun!

7.  No, No, Babe... I'd much rather watch Desperate Housewives with you than the Wings at War marathon on the Military Channel.

8.  I think we need more regional jets.

9.   Don't worry Dear, I'd be happy to pick up my own dry cleaning.

10.  Beer is YUCKY!

For those of you who voted in this week's poll.... congrats to anyone selecting "laying on the couch, watching the Military Channel".   Ding!  Ding!  Ding!  We have a winner!  (actually, he's still there... on the couch... watching the Military Channel).

Please, please, please, take a moment and check out FriendsofMel.org.  Go to their Facebook page and vote for them (3 times a day) to help them with a fundraising challenge.  It is a VERY worthy charity, in honor of a Delta Flight Attendant, who lost her battle with breast cancer.  Spread the word, and help these fine folks out!

Friday, January 13, 2012


January 13, 2012

Many years ago, the National Rifle Association was holding it's annual Convention and Gun Show in Charlotte, NC.  Pilot Husband and Marine Corps Pilot Buddy decided it would be great to attend and hear Charlton Heston speak (the NRA President at that time.... God bless his kind and patriotic soul, amen).

With the enthusiasm of children on Christmas morning, Pilot Husband and USMC Pilot Buddy awoke early.  They drank coffee, showered and dressed (not together, because that would be weird).  Each chose an outfit, appropriate for the occasion.  Pilot Husband sported his "You'll get my gun when you pry it from my cold dead hands" T-shirt.  USMC Pilot Buddy selected the classic "Marine Corps Snipers... You can run, but you'll just get tired" T-shirt.  Ebullient at the notion of a day of Second Amendment chest thumping, male bonding, and looking at cool firearms, they set off for Charlotte.

Given that pilots, as a species, are cheap (for confirmation, please see the "80 pound log" post), they used a friend's parking pass and left the car in his office building's garage, walking 6 blocks to the Convention Center.  Gleefully, they took the stairs at the entrance 2 at a time.  They were about to meet Moses, Ben Hurr, NRA President, Charlton Heston!!!  They burst through the double doors into the main lobby... wait for it... only to discover they had their dates wrong.  Sadly, the NRA Convention was scheduled for the following week.  They had, in fact, walked into a Nation of Islam Convention, greeted by 1500 followers of Malcolm X. Allah Akbar!   Needless to say, they stuck out.

Deflated and dejected, they made a hasty retreat back to the safety of the shores of Lake Norman and Vinnie's Raw Bar, to drink beer and stare at tank top wearing, short short clad waitresses.  After beer number three, they tried to concoct a plausible response to the inevitable question they would face upon arriving home; "Hi Honey!  How was the gun show?".  Our story should end there.  But it doesn't.  Ironically 6 days later I was the Flight Attendant working First Class on a Charlotte bound flight and one of my passengers was... Mr. Charlton Heston.  Of course I had to tell him the tale of Pilot Husband and USMC Pilot Buddy attending the wrong convention.  After listening to my story, he laughed.  Oh how Mr. Charlton Heston laughed... and laughed... and laughed... and laughed... and laughed.

Thursday, January 12, 2012


January 12, 2012

Several years ago, Hooters (yes, the restaurant that brought you hot wings and hot waitresses) decided to start an airline.  Pilot Husband was tapped to be the Inaugural Captain and Poster Boy.  Pilot Husband was now.... Captain Hooters!  Imagine my pride.

For years I had kept a can of Crisco on our front porch so Pilot Husband could grease up his head, to make in back in the front door (Gi-normous ego... Gi-normous head).  After the press interviews (CNN, HLN, local news, MTV), I had to go to Sam's Club and buy the extra large industrial-sized vat of Crisco just to get him back in the house... so he could lay on the sofa and watch the Military Channel.

Then came the photo shoot (hey, I said he was their Poster Boy).  Captain Hooters called me from the photo shoot, whining "They're making me salute in the pictures.  Don't you think that's cheezy?".  After pausing for a moment, to choose my words carefully, to be the most loving and supportive wife I could be, I replied "You're Captain F-ing Hooters!  We are SOOOOO far beyond cheezy!".  I followed that up with, "You're wearing an orange tie covered with owls and your Pilot's wings have a Hooter girl STRADDLING them!".  (No, seriously, they did!)  End of conversation.

Weeks later, the results of the photo shoot began to appear all over the country.  In every restaurant, a life sized cardboard cutout of Captain Hooters appeared (like some Nascar driver in the beer aisle of the grocery store)... salute and all. 

By the way, this particular gig required Captain Hooters to get a crash pad in Myrtle Beach, SC.  Interestingly, he found a place at the former Air Force Base.  Like Homer Simpson and the latest get rich quick scheme, Captain Hooters was convinced Hooters Air was the next Pan Am.  He signed a lease on a three bedroom unit, thinking he could fill it with other pilots to cover the rent (or so he said).  When Hooters Air did not quite live up to the expansion expectations, Captain Hooters was forced to expand his roommate search to include.... wait for it... Hooter Girls.  Again, imagine my pride.  So ladies, when your husband says he's sharing a crash pad with John, James, and Smith.... make sure it's not Brittany John, Ashley James, and Summer Smith!  Oh yeah, anytime your husband heads to the "crash pad" with a surf board strapped to the roof, and his golf bag in the trunk, it doesn't bode well.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012


January 11, 2012

Living in rural North Carolina, we are surrounded by a variety of woodland creatures.  Some, like the deer, raccoon, and possum that come to our porch for handouts, are very sweet, fluffy, and right out of Central Casting for a Disney movie.  Others, like the bobcats, coyotes, and (once in a blue moon) bear, are somewhat more intimidating.  Given the plethora of critters, with whom Air Line Pilot Husband could take issue, I was amused to discover his greatest nemesis, his mortal enemy, the absolute bane of his existence, is the North American Whippoorwill. 

For those of you unfamiliar with the whippoorwill; it is a small, mottled, grayish bird who is largely nocturnal.  Therein lies the problem.  You see for weeks, every time Pilot Husband crawled into bed for a blissful night of slumber, somewhere in the darkness, the mating call of the whippoorwill would begin.  WHOOOP!  WHOOOP!  WOOOO!  WHOOOP!  WHOOOP!  WOOOO!  While the wife, child, and dog had no trouble sleeping, Pilot Husband would toss and turn, cuss and fuss, and finally resign himself to another sleepless night, retreating to the sofa to watch the Military Channel.

After weeks of listening to our poor little lovelorn birdie, it all came to a head.  Pilot Husband had gotten home that morning from a red-eye flight, and having not napped, was exhausted by bedtime.  Shortly after retiring for the night, it began again.  WHOOOP!  WHOOOP!  WOOOOO!  He could bear it no more.  He leaped from our bed, grabbed the Winchester Defender and stormed onto our front porch, naked as a jay bird (ironically, NOT the bird at issue).  He shouldered the weapon and blasted away at the pitch black treeline.  Branches and bark rained down like it was the winter of '44 in the Ardennes.  While he later claimed he was just trying to scare it off, we all know he was hoping for that one miracle shot in the darkness that would make that little demon bird eat hot lead and explode into tiny bits of feathers and gore.

When the smoke cleared (literally), and the ringing in our ears stopped, Pilot Husband was finally treated to the sound of silence.  Ahhhh.  With a sigh of great satisfaction, he returned to bed, joyous that at best, Satan with feathers was dead, and at the very least, he had scared it sufficiently to convince the whippoorwill to find a new place to roost.

Alas, that miracle shot he hoped for did not in fact occur.  He did, however, scare our bird into finding a new place to roost... in the tree directly outside our bedroom window.  And so the mating call began again, only louder this time, and in a tone that could not be mistaken for anything but contempt and mockery.  WHOOOP!  WHOOOP!  WOOO!  Ummm... ever hear of earplugs, Darling?

Tuesday, January 10, 2012


January 10, 2012

Most Bio-anthropologists point to Man's use of tools as the hallmark of a more evolved species.  Sadly, this does not hold true for Air Line Pilots.  There is a very good reason why, when an aircraft breaks, they call Maintenance and wait at Starbucks until the plane is fixed.  Perhaps it is evolutionary... after years of being conditioned by Company and the FAA to have all mechanical issues addressed by other people, they have simply lost the ability to use tools.  Oh, they still try.  And the outcome is never good.

Chainsaws are the worst.  They are loud and pretty manly, as far as tools go... an obvious choice for a Pilot who has not yet accepted that he is horribly "tool-challenged".  A few years ago, as we were getting ready to clear our lot and begin construction of our home, my Air Line Pilot husband, and his Cargo Pilot Best Friend, decided they would save money by clearing some of the trees themselves.

They donned work boots, jeans, and flannel shirts, just like real Lumberjacks (must be a uniform thing they can't shake), and set off on our wooded lot to battle 100 foot tall pine trees.  After felling a few small trees to build their confidence, and getting their chainsaws stuck in several trees, my Pilot Husband decided to attack the 100 foot tall tree, closest to our neighbors house.  For regular readers of my blog; this is not intended as foreshadowing... because we all know how this is going to turn out.

Yep.  You guessed it.  Oh, they cut the tree down alright.... the only problem was when it landed, it did so in the bedroom of my next door neighbor's house!  Being the upstanding, conscientious, safety minded professionals, that both men are.... (waaaaaaait for it).... they ran away like little girls and went to Vinnie's Raw Bar to drink beer and stare at the short-short clad, tank-top sporting waitresses.  To my Pilot Husband's credit, he did have the presence of mind to turn off his cell phone, so that when the "fit hit the shan", he would be unavailable for comment.

Now, keep in mind, Pilot Husband has been at the whole "Pilot Husband thing" for a long time.  He knows how to duck and cover.  He's crazy like a fox and craftier than the biggest Uber-Villain from any comic book.  He knows, he just has to lay low until it all blows over.  Turn off the cell phone, take back to back trips, volunteer for that TDY assignment in Nome, Alaska... whatever it takes.  But Cargo Pilot Best Friend was not skilled in the ways of the Pilot Husband.  He was weak.  I knew if I called his cell phone enough times, he would eventually answer.  And although he put up a good front ("I have no knowledge of that incident" and "I haven't seen him all day"), ultimately, he broke.  What can Brown do for me?  Sing like a canary, Baby!  Pilot Husband was right... he laid low, and eventually the incident was all but forgotten.... because he did something even more stupid a few weeks later.

Monday, January 9, 2012

80 pound log vs. 20 pound fireplace

January 09, 2012

Air Line Pilots, as a species, are cheap.  It doesn't matter if they fly 19 seat Jetstreams or Boeing 747s across the pond.  As a rule, there are 5 things a Pilot will not pay for: #1 Airport parking, #2 a newspaper, #3 shampoo, #4 toilet paper, and #5 sex... and number 5 is negotiable.  Keeping this in mind, let's review the story about free firewood.

Once upon a time, my pilot husband was driving through a park and noticed a very large log that had been cut from a fallen tree.  Given his "pilotness" he pulled over his Mercedes Benz and loaded the very large log into the trunk, gleeful, that we would have hours of free fireplace action due to his resourcefulness.  He promptly came home, and shoved said 80 pound log into our meager 20 pound fireplace.  While said log stuck out precariously, he was convinced it would burn back to front, allowing him to shove it further into the hearth as it ignited.

Needless to say, it did not.  Instead, the 80 pound log, now fully involved in flame, rolled out of the fireplace into the middle of our living room.  It burned through the carpet.  It burned through the padding.  It burned through the subfloor.  It could not be picked up with fireplace tongs, as it was 80 pounds.  It could not be handled manually, as it was fully involved in flame.  So the AngryPilotWife, fell back on her Flight Attendant training, and covered the log in wet towels, turning the house into a sauna, and finally rolled it outside where it could be completed soaked, extinguishing the fire.

As the soot stained condensation dripped from our formerly white ceiling, and the molten mess that was formerly wall to wall carpet cooled, my husband looked at me with total love and appreciation and said, "Honey, you were awesome".  And all I could do was look at that man and say "I am so getting a pig".  (the Pot-Bellied kind, not the Pilot kind... already got one of those).

Sunday, January 8, 2012


Jan. 08, 2012

I recently got a call from NASA.  They are sending a team to my home in rural North Carolina because the sofa in our family room is throwing the Earth off it's rotation.  Seriously.  Steven Hawking may show up at any time now.

You see, my pilot husband has been home since December 27, 2011.  Between days off, reserve days with no trip assignment, vacation days, and more days off, he will be home for a total of 16 days before the first glimmer of hope for a trip (and getting the HELL out of my house).  And evidently, the gravitational pull of our sofa is sooooo strong, he is unable to remove himself from it. 

Like some Time Bandits-esque rip in the fabric of space-time, our sofa is able to increase the force of gravity, exponentially.  Interestingly, the situation becomes even more dire when the Military Channel is on.  I'm amazed he doesn't have to wear a g-suit.

Bless his heart.  I'm sure he wants to go to the grocery store, rake leaves in the yard, play with our child, fetch the mail from the mailbox, carry his clean laundry upstairs, drive the child to and from school.... but the gravitational pull of the sofa is just too damn strong!  (Go back, and say that last bit like James T. Kirk from the original Star Trek.... it's kinda' funny).  And when that R. Lee Ermy starts singing his Siren song on the Military Channel... well, it's all over.

It's amazing that he can take a 450,000 pound 767 and get it aloft, but he can't get his ass off the sofa!

Hope you enjoyed this.  Please check back regularly for more insights into life with an Air Line Pilot!