Thursday, May 31, 2012


I try to have PilotHusband's back, when it comes to our child.  Oh I'll throw him under the bus to entertain you, Dear Readers.  However, I really do defend him to our son.  I explain how hard Daddy works and why we need to be very quiet and let Dad sleep because he has to fly the big airplane far far away late late at night.  Lately, the five-year-old has been grilling me about Daddy's job, and he ain't buying it anymore!

For example, PilotHusband just got back from a three day trip to Prague.  Our son sat me down and began to ask more detailed questions about "what exactly does Daddy do?".  I tried.  Really I did.  Here's how the conversation went.

Child: Soooo, when Daddy goes to Prague, what does he do when he gets there?
APW: Well, Honey, your Dad is tired when he gets there, so he lays down and watches television.
Child: Soooo, it's just like he does at home.
APW: Well sort of.
Child: Does he watch the Military Channel?
APW: (as wine comes out of my nose!)  Sometimes the country he's in doesn't have the Military Channel.
Child:  Oh my God!  Then what does he watch, Mom?
APW: I don't know, Baby.
Child: Well that would explain why he's Cranky Banky when he comes home.

Later that same day....

Child: Hey Mom?
APW: Yes Honey?
Child: You know that time I went with you to work, and you carried all those bricks to a job site, and built a wall?
APW: Yes, Honey.
Child: Well when Daddy goes to work, does he have to put all of the suitcases on the plane?
APW: No. Someone else does that.  But he does have to do the walk around.
Child: What's that?
APW: Daddy has to walk all the way around the airplane and make sure everything is okay.
Child: Well, that doesn't seem like its a very long way to walk.  I mean, its just around one airplane.
APW: But it is important.
Child: Come on Mom!  I do more than that in Gym class!

And the next day.....

Child: Hey Mom?
APW: Yes, Dear?
Child: When Daddy goes to work, how does he know how to get where he is going?
APW: Good question!  Daddy talks to Air Traffic Control, you know, the guys in the tall tower.  And they tell him where to go to get to Prague.
Child:  You mean he doesn't even Mapquest it?
APW: No baby, he doesn't have to Mapquest it.

Later that evening...

Child: Mom?
APW: What's up?
Child: Daddy's job is kinda lame.  I mean Santa has to build all his own toys, Mapquest everybody's house, and feed the reindeer.  Daddy just walks around the airplane, has someone tell him where to go, then watches tv, then comes home.  Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (and yes, child actually said "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot").
APW: Hey! Let's watch Lion King for the 57th time!
Child: Soooo, Daddy doesn't really have a real job, does he?

I tried.  Really I did.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012


AngryPilotWife is a partner in an Outdoor Living Space Construction Company.  We do patios, decks, sunrooms, outdoor kitchens, firepits, etc.  So today, I was at a jobsite, on Lake Norman, when I looked up from the bricks and mortar, and saw the Loch Ness Monster!  Well, to be technical, the Loch Norman Monster.  I took a blurry cell phone picture of it and rushed home to share it with PilotHusband.  Only I couldn't get a word in edge-wise because PilotHusband was on the phone with CargoPilotBestFriend, asking his opinion of the Tentative Agreement for the new Delta Contract.  Oh well.

That wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that yesterday, while I was digging a french drain, my shovel hit something hard.  After further exploration, I realized I uncovered Jimmy Hoffa's body.  Again, I took a blurry cell phone picture of it and rushed home to tell PilotHusband.  But alas, he didn't hear a single word of it because he was talking to UnitedPilotBuddy about the Delta TA.  Oh well.

The day before that, I was sifting thru all of the excess pavers and stone behind my showroom, and I set down my McDonald's hamburger for a moment.  Along came a furry humanoid, about 7 feet tall, that stole my burger and ran off into the woods.  I was able to take a very blurry cell phone picture of the creature as it departed.  Upon examination of the footprints it left behind, I realized, I just saw Bigfoot!  I rushed home to tell PilotHusband, but he was on the phone with USAirPilotBuddy, discussing the Delta Tentative Agreement.  Oh well.

Later tonight, I plan to set myself on fire, but I doubt PilotHusband will notice.  He's got to call FedExPilotBuddy to get his opinion on the Delta Tentative Agreement.  Oh well.

Thursday, May 10, 2012


Thank you, kind readers, for taking the time to point out and correct the occasional spelling and grammar errors that occur when I combine typing and a crisp Pinot Grigio.  Siht Happens (get it? another type-o. ha ha).  Recently, I received a mass e-mail from the President of our elementary school's Parent Teacher Organization that contained the best type-o of ALL time.

First let me say, I appreciate all of the parent volunteers of the PTO (PTA in some areas of the country).  They play a vital role in raising money and staffing special events for our public school system.  However, it seems a bit like a high school clique that's impossible to penetrate.  So, not being one who likes being left out, you can imagine my chagrin when I received yet another e-mail from the PTO seeking volunteers to count fundraising orders, knowing only those parents who have been involved with the school for a while would actually be allowed to participate.

But this time was different. No, I probably would not be invited to play their reindeer games, but this time it was okay because the e-mail contained the most awesome type-o ever!  The kind gentleman, who is the Organization's President, sent out an e-mail to every member of the PTO, informing everyone that he needed volunteers to count cookie dough orders from the latest fundraiser.  Only instead of typing "c-o-u-n-t" he left out the "o".  (Think about it for a moment)

Yes, that's right.  Everyone received an e-mail stating he was in need of more "cookie c-u-n-t-s"!  Wait it gets better!!!  Instead of typing "the counts", the next line read, "more volunteers are needed for "their c-u-n-t-s".  I was in heaven.  It was soooo deliciously awkward!

There's just no recovering from that... poor guy.  I started to feel bad for him until I read the e-mail again and couldn't stop giggling!  And of course, I forwarded it to as many people as I could!  Maybe next year I'll run for PTO President.  I can see the campaign posters now: "Leadership You Can  C-U-N-T  On". 

Monday, May 7, 2012


PilotHusband has a tendency to yammer on and on and on and on and on about his important career as a God of Aviation.  Ladies, I must admit I am guilty of letting my eyes roll into the back of my head and going to my "happy place" (which usually involves thoughts of George Clooney and edible body lotion, but that's an entirely different blog).  Occasionally, I miss some important information, like Contract Negotiations.  This is an important time in the career of a Pilot.  Contract Negotiations determine whether your PilotHusband will be buying a new boat, or if he will be starting a stretching regimen (so he can grab his ankles) and stocking up on lubricant.  It determines whether he will be pleasant or incredibly bitter for the next 3 to 5 years.  So here's what my PilotHusband is doing... check for similar behavior at your house to see if Contract Negotiations are underway at your Husband's Air Line.

PilotHusband has not left the house (or the sofa) except to go to the airport, in months.  Not the grocery store, not the liquor store, not Walmart, and thanks to well-played vehicle swappage on his part, not even the gas station.  So imagine my surprise when PilotHusband actually ventured into town to go to OfficeMax to purchase not one, but two, brand new calculators.  With one within reach at all times, he's ready to perform complex calculations with every new rumor that emerges.  That's right, the man who cannot balance a checkbook can now do complex amortizations factoring in pay rates, retirement benefits, trip values, monthly guarantee, and duty rig.  The man who cannot add fractions can calculate the ratio of lineal foot of boat to percentage of pay rate increase.  After weeks of this, I was about to jokingly ask him, "Is that a calculator in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?" when sadly, I realized it was a calculator in his pocket.

Another anomaly that occurs during Contract Negotiations is the increase in phone calls to the house.  Last week when PilotHusband was on a trip, I returned home to find far more messages than we normally get on the answering machine.  I began to play them.  There was one from Steve at the Mercedes Benz dealership.  Then Bob called from the BMW dealership.  Then some guy named Guilliermo, from the Porsche dealership.  Dave at the ChrisCraft dealership was kind enough to return PilotHusband's call.  Then Terry called from the Wellcraft dealership.  Then Stan called from the Pro Shop at the local Golf course about a set of new clubs.  The last message was from James at Perry's Fine Jewelry.  I got excited for a moment, thinking it was regarding a gift for me since our Anniversary was this week.  But no, James was calling regarding PilotHusband's inquiry into Rolex Submariner watches!  If your PilotHusband is window shopping more than usual, he's probably going through Contract Negotiations.

I was raised to believe it is impolite to ask someone how much they are paid.  But not PilotHusband!  During Contract Negotiations, our living room is full of poster-sized bar graphs and pie charts.  Like a deranged Ross Perot on crack, PilotHusband has a chart of every major carrier's pay scale, monthly guarantee, vacation, and retirement benefits on hand for easy reference.  As if building some Frankenstein monster, PilotHusband wants to take one piece of SWA's contract and another piece from FedEx, and so on, until the perfect contract is created.... then add 32%!

During Contract negotiations, you may notice an unusual pattern in your Husband's responses to simple questions.  I asked PilotHusband if he had run the dishwasher.  His response; "F U. Pay me!".  I asked PilotHusband if he was ready for dinner.  His response; "F U. Pay me!".  I asked PilotHusband if he had anything that needed to go to the Dry Cleaner.  His response; "F U. Pay me!".  I asked PilotHusband if he wanted to fool around.  His response; "F U! Pay me!"  (He still bears the bruise from that one).

In 22 years, PilotHusband has never once planned a vacation.  Even the details of his annual fishing trip to Alaska were left to me.  But suddenly, the coffee table is covered with brochures for cabins on the Kenai River, timeshares in St. Kitts, ski lodges in San Moritz, and a rather large packet regarding the rental of a private island in the Florida Keys.  I've even intercepted three calls from Realtors about beach houses on the Carolina coast.

All kidding aside, these guys deserve a great contract.  They are skilled, highly trained aviators, dedicated to safety and professionalism.  Fellow PilotWives, be patient with them as they go through all of the possible permutations of each new rumor.  Smile in wonderment at their newly found math skills.  Be respectful of their sudden fascination with all things new and shiny.  If it ever becomes too much, just look 'em square in the eye and say "F U. Pay me!".  That, they'll understand.

Thursday, May 3, 2012


First, an apology.  I haven't posted in a while.  PilotHusband will tell you that it is because he hasn't done anything wrong in a few weeks. SOOOOO NOT TRUE!!!!  I have started a new job and have been working seven days a week to get everything on track.  But I'm baaaaaaaack and there's so much to share with you!  This post is dedicated to Hoserpilot from APC... sorry to keep you waiting, my friend.

When our son was very small, his favorite evening ritual was to snuggle with Mommy in a big chair and read a very sweet ABC book together.  You know the type.  "A is for apple, shiny and red.  B is for bear that you take to bed".  However, most nights, PilotHusband was laying on the adjacent couch (watching the Military Channel) and would interject his own dialogue.  When we got to "G" he would scream "Glide Slope" and when we got to "R", he would scream "Runway".  Eventually, I gave up on the sweet ABC book and wrote a version that PilotHusband would enjoy as well.  So. here it is!

A is for Airplane, that Daddy flies.
B is for Boeing, the best plane in the skies.

C is for Cockpit, where Dad likes to be.
D is for Delta,  God bless Mother D.

E is for E-con, where Dad likes to hang.
F is for Flight Attendents, a most senior gang.

G is for Glide Slope, that brings Daddy down.
H is for Hotel, where Dad sleeps out of town.

I is for Intercom, on which Dad talks to the crew.
J is for Junior, like Daddy and you!

K is for Knots, that tell Daddy how fast.
L is for Landing, Dad greased on his last.

M is for Medical, when Dad pees in a cup.
N is for NOTAMS, that tell Daddy what's up.

O is for Operations, they tell Dad where to fly.
P is for Pilot, a God of the sky.

Q is for Quantas, they can fly a kangaroo.
R is for Ramp Control, they tell Dad what to do.

S is for Scheduling, that send Daddy on trips.
T is for Tower, with a radar that blips.

U is for Uniform, we get dry cleaned in town.
V is for Vertical Speed, that's how fast Dad comes down.

W is for Weather, Dad flies into with sureity.
X is for X-ray, Dad must pass in security.

Y is for Yoke, Airbus lacks, Daddy rags.
Z is for Zipper, that breaks on Daddy's bags.

Now I know my ABCs.  Next time won't you fly with me?