Tuesday, July 31, 2012


Okay.  AngryPilotWife is having a really bad day.  One of those "Why the hell did I get out of bed?" sort of days.  Its been the sort of day that makes you want to have a mental breakdown, go into a psychogenic fugue state, change your name, fake your death, and split the country... just like Elvis did. 

So... do me a favor?  Check out AngryPilotWife on Facebook and hit the "like" button.  I need the self-esteem boost.  Besides, there's some really great videos you can check out.

I promise more snarky PilotHusband bashing humor once I get over myself... and finish this bottle of Pinot Grigio.

Saturday, July 28, 2012


As we have already established, communicating with a PilotHusband can be difficult.  They speak in quotes from "guy movies" like some secret code requiring an Enigma machine to decipher.  They are genetically engineered to ignore the sound of a woman's voice, unless broadcast over a radio by the control tower.  They, like the family dog, have selective hearing.  Our dog doesn't hear me bellow her name when she's in hot pursuit of a rabbit, but she can hear a potato chip hit the floor on the other side of the house.  PilotHusbands cannot hear the garage door go up, you slamming the door, or you struggling to carry bags of groceries.  But they can hear the sound of a can of beer being opened from 1000 meters away.

Recently, I discovered yet another barrier to effectively communicating with a PilotHusband.  Even if he manages to hear words come out of my mouth, by the time those words travel from his auditory canal, into his skull, and ricochet around that squirrley brain of his, what I actually said is COMPLETELY different from what my PilotHusband heard

Here's a list of statements I have made... and what PilotHusband heard instead.

WHAT I SAID:         Don't forget, I wrote a check to Mr. Gunderson for fixing the truck.
WHAT HE HEARD:  I checked, and there's plenty of money left over this month for that new gun
                               you wanted to buy, Sweetheart.

WHAT I SAID:         Get off me.  You smell like beer and you're all sweaty.
WHAT HE HEARD:  I'd really like you to get me off.  Let's get hot and sweaty, Sweetheart.

WHAT I SAID:          I think you're pushing the structural limitations of your uniform pants.
WHAT HE HEARD:  You look so sexy in uniform, Sweetheart.

WHAT I SAID:         Get off your ass and get your own damn beer.
WHAT HE HEARD:  Damn, you're hot.  I'd love to fetch you a cold beer.  You have a nice ass,

WHAT I SAID:          It'll be a cold day in Hell before I let your crazy Mother in this house again.
WHAT HE HEARD:  I'm crazy about your Mother.  Let's have her come to the house for lunch.  I'll
                              make a cold cut platter, Sweetheart.

WHAT I SAID:          Isn't it time for your ass to leave on a trip?
WHAT HE HEARD:  Would you like a piece of ass?  I hope you don't have to leave soon.  I miss
                              you when you are on a trip, Sweetheart.

WHAT I SAID:         You need to mow the lawn.
WHAT HE HEARD:  ..........

Alas, its kind of a lost cause.  Stay tuned for stuff PilotHusband says, and what he actually means, instead.

Sunday, July 22, 2012


For the past several months, PilotHusband has been making me cut his hair at home, instead of his usual bi-monthly trips to the barber.  No, I am not a hair dresser... no, I do not work in a salon... I run a construction company.  But cutting his hair is not that hard to do.  I use a simple #2 blade with the clippers (the same clippers I use on the dog) around the back and sides, trim over his ears, and trim the top ever so slightly.  Ironically, the dog is better and holding still (and not bitching) than PilotHusband... but we get through it.  I keep threatening to shave an obscene word in the back of his hair... but we get through it.

Lately, after his "free" haircut, PilotHusband has taken to bragging to me about how much money he is saving by NOT going to the Barber anymore.  He's even figured out how much money, annually, he is saving, including his customary tip.  WRONG!

You see, every time PilotHusband makes me cut his hair,  I remove all of the cash from his wallet.  That's usually somewhere between 40 and 60 dollars.  Then, if he was especially bitchy while I was doing it (constantly reminding me how to cut his hair, what length the sides need to be, how to shave the back of his neck etc.) I write myself a check out of his bank account, and deposit it into mine.  And, if he makes me cut his hair when I get home after a long arduous day at work, when he doesn't even have a trip the next day, I remove his debit card from his wallet and go shopping.

A trip to the Barber .... $20 including tip.
Making your AngryPilotWife cut your hair.... PRICELESS.

Thursday, July 19, 2012


(for Laura)

Ummm, Boys?  You know that AngryPilotWife loves each and every one of you.  I appreciate the dedication to safety and the professionalism of all the SkyKings, UberAviators, and Gods of the Stratosphere, out there. 

Having said that, WILL YOU PLEASE KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS!?!?  Again, I come to you out of love and respect.  But keep in mind, it is called "AngryPilotWife".  Therefore, I get e-mails from fellow AngryPilotWives, ReallyPissedOffPilotWives, IHateHisGutsPilotWives, and a few from AboutToCastrateTheLyingCheating SOBPilotWives.  Just giving you a head's up.

I'm just trying to help a Brother out.  Let's review a few things so you don't end up living in a van, down by the river...

1.   We can see your cell phone bill details.  You leave town for half the month and put us in charge of paying all the bills.  Duh.  We can pull up the usage details and track the call history and text messages.

2.   You are NOT James Bond.  Do not get a second super-secret cell phone that you think we won't find.  We will.  You will have no valid explanation for it and it will not be pretty.  Just don't go there.

3.  We can see your debit/credit card charges.  Really?  Do you honestly think we will believe you when you tell us that there's a Victoria's Secret charge on your credit card because you went shopping with a Flight Attendant, and her card wouldn't work, so you put it on your card and she reimbursed you with cash? 

4.  We know how many pills come in a Viagra/Cialis prescription.  We know how many you have used with us.  We can do math.  Enough said.

My PilotHusband is an idiot, hence the blog.... he has set fire to the yard, set fire to the condo, dyed my clothes pink, and screwed up Valentine's Day for 22 years, but he is loyal.  Please remember, as he does, that PilotWives must be strong and independent as you are gone so much, but they are deserving of love and respect when you are home.  Enough said. 

(Please don't chew me up on the comments.... I know most of you are good guys.  Just trying to do right by everybody).

Saturday, July 14, 2012


Copernicus, the famed Polish Astronomer who first postulated that the Earth revolves around the Sun, had it all wrong.  Everybody knows that the Air Line Pilot is the true center of the Universe, around which, all things revolve!  Here are just a few examples, provided by my PilotHusband, to prove that everything revolves around the Air Line Pilot.

On the rare occasion, PilotHusband has to get on the 6:00 a.m. flight, he starts to complain about it at 11:00 a.m. the previous day.   When our five year old (who is learning to tell time) asks me what time the clock says, PilotHusband shows our son what time it currently is, and then shows him what time Daddy has to get up in the morning.   If our son asks what time dinner will be ready, PilotHusband shows him dinner time on the clock, and then what time Daddy has to get up in the morning.  When PilotHusband asks me what time I am working until tomorrow, I tell him what time I expect to be home, and then wait patiently for him to explain what time He has to get up in the morning.  It's all about PilotHusband because he is the true center of the Universe.

If PilotHusband has a sore throat, everyone else in the house must vacate the sofa and all claim to the remote control so that PilotHusband can recuperate because nothing soothes a sore throat like laying on the couch watching the Military Channel.  PilotHusband must be waited on as he is far too weak and infirmed to walk to fetch his own orange juice, jello, tissues, cell phone, or blankie.  PilotHusband will also insist you call tv's Dr. House because he is certain that his sore throat is either the start of Hemorrhagic Fever, Polio, or some yet to be named disease.  You cannot leave the house (unless it's to go to the store to get more jello), run the vacuum, talk on the phone, or anything else that may inhibit your ability to care for "Patient Zero" because PilotHusband is the true center of the Universe.

When dinner time comes, PilotHusband always gets a second helping of everything, whether he can finish it or not.  He won't think twice about loading his plate up with seconds, or thirds.  He scrapes the serving bowls dry, then finishes just a fraction of what he put on his plate.  The only problem is that he renders that food unsuitable for anyone else in the house, including the dog, because he covers everything with copious amounts of hot sauce.  It doesn't matter if you would have enjoyed just another small serving of mashed potatoes because the Universe revolves around PilotHusband.

When PilotHusband wants to talk on the phone with one of his PilotBuddies (why would he talk to anyone else?) he will usual make himself comfortable in the same room in which you are trying to watch a movie.  He will hit the mute button, so that your show doesn't disturb him.  It doesn't matter that its a CORDLESS telephone.  Why should he go anywhere else?  We must stop what we are doing to enable PilotHusband to talk to PilotBuddy because the world revolves around PilotHusband.

Clearly I am NOT exaggerating.  MIT's Physics Department, NASA, Dr Michio Kaku, Stephen Hawking, and some guys from Area 51 are coming over next week for brunch.  I have a sneaking suspicion, its not a social call.

Thursday, July 12, 2012


Okay, I admit, I go overboard on furry (and not so furry) creatures. We have a 120lb dog, a cat, a lizard,  a goldfish, a beta fish, 4 minnows, and a herd of deer that arrives each evening, expecting food.  In the winter, we have 6-8 raccoons, 2 opossums, and a fox that show up on the front porch for handouts each night. They all have names and are hand fed.  Then you have to factor in the two feral cats that I feed that bare liters of kittens under our porch each Spring, that I bring into the house and raise until they can be adopted.  I am Dr. Doolittle. 

If you are an animal lover, you probably think I am pretty cool.  If you are PilotHusband, you do not.  PilotHusband is not an animal lover.  He doesn't even like the goldfish that come in the little snack boxes from Mother D catering!  So, you can imagine the conflict that occurred several weeks ago when flooding rains drove a wee kitten onto our back porch.  It was hardly two weeks old, and soaked to the bone.  Of course, I brought it in and bottle fed it milk and syringe fed it pureed chicken baby food every few hours until it regained strength.  Our young son named the kitten QT (cutie, get it?) and became very attached to it.  Knowing PilotHusband's dislike for all things small, cute, and fuzzy, I took the kitten to work with me each day. At night, she stayed in the bathroom, safe from the very big dog and very big cat that already lived with us.  I also explained to our child that we were just going to get the kitten big enough and healthy enough to be adopted, and we would find her a nice family to live with.  Eventually, QT gained strength, began eating regular kitten food, and made friends with the dog and the cat.  We allowed her to roam freely around the house.

PilotHusband sighed.  PilotHusband stomped.  PilotHusband put together strings of curse words I had never heard combined in such a manner.  PilotHusband was very very very angry.  Then PilotHusband got sleepy so he laid on the couch to watch the Military Channel.  That's when it happened!  The kitten jumped on the couch, curled up next to PilotHusband's chest and watched Wings Over the Pacific, while purring loudly.  The kitten not only liked airplanes, but was a fan of the Military Channel!

I arrived home from work that day to find PilotHusband talking to the kitten, feeding it bits of Salmon.  "This is the coolest cat EVER!" he proclaimed.  Then the two of them settled back on the couch to watch The High and The Mighty together.  So, QT the cat is now a permanent member of the family, and PilotHusband's new Best Friend.  What a sucker!

Thursday, July 5, 2012


Ah, the art of seduction.  The topic has been examined by Ovid, Shakespeare, Masters and Johnson, Barry White, and far greater and more sensitive minds than mine.  But all of the pontificators of romance, have overlooked the Siren song of the Professional Air Line Pilot.  No one is more adept at the art of seduction.... that's why so many of them are on their third or fourth wives!  Here's how to seduce a woman like an Air Line Pilot.

Step One.....  Go grocery shopping in your uniform (even if it's your day off).  No woman can resist a man in uniform!  Tie, blazer, epaulets... even your hat!  Approach random women in the produce section and ask them if they like asparagus.  Everyone knows asparagus is the sexiest vegetable EVER!  Women will not be able to resist picturing themselves in the Halloween Store's "slutty stewardess" costume, cooking you asparagus with Hollandaise sauce as you wear your pilot uniform.

Step Two.....  Get drunk.  Oh yes!  Women find the smell of Tequila oozing from your pores to be more powerful than the most potent of pheromones. 

Step Three....  Rub her with your belly.  Oooo baby!  That fleshy overhang that succumbs to gravity over your waistband, is irresistible to woman.  Plus its uber-sexy that, between her boobs, and your belly, you fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.  It was meant to be!

Step Four.....  Talk about airplanes.  What could be more fascinating, alluring, or enticing, than the story about how you greased on your last landing?  Tell it over and over and over and over again.  Eventually she will have sex with you... if only to keep you from telling that story again.

Step Five.....  Show her how much money you make.  Let's face it; cash is an aphrodisiac.  Leave out an ALPA union publication with your hourly rate of pay highlighted.  Just don't tell her that 40% of that goes to your first wife and kids, and 30% goes to your second wife and those kids, and that you are currently living in your parents' basement and driving a moped to the airport.

Step Six......  Be a Superhero.  Explain to the woman you desire, how you hold the lives of 250 people in the palm of your hands.  Power is sexy.  Emphasize how dangerous your job is.  Make her believe you are a hero and a rock star!

Step Seven...  Grovel.  That has absolutely nothing to do with being a pilot, we just like to see you beg for it every once in a while!

So, light the candles.  Put on a Marvin Gaye or Barry White CD.  And get ready for romance... Pilot Style! 

Wednesday, July 4, 2012


 Most couples have "pet names" for each other; sweet nicknames they call each other to show love and affection.  You may think that PilotHusband and AngryPilotWife are beyond such sweetness and cliche, but we are not.  Here are some of the pet names I have for PilotHusband, and examples of contextual usage.

"Really"  As in, "Really?  You're going to watch me change the flat tire on my truck, by myself, while you sit in air conditioned comfort, in your man cave, reading Airline Pilot Central?"

"Seriously"  As in, "Seriously, you can't pick up your own uniforms from the Dry Cleaner?"

"Now"  As in, "I don't care if its a Wings at War marathon on the Military Channel, turn the volume down, Now".

"I Said No"  As in, "I don't care if its the Fourth of July and we have three sticks of construction grade explosives left.  You cannot blow them up in the back yard.  I Said No".

"Dammit"  As in, "Dammit, I told you not to leave your shoes in the doorway".

There are others, of course.  I've been known to use "WTF?", and occasionally, "Roll Over", and on rare occasion, "Get Off Me".

To be fair, PilotHusband has his pet names for me.  The most common one is "Hey Honey".  As in, "Hey Honey, did you pack my bag yet?" or "Hey Honey, is dinner ready yet?" or "Hey Honey, where are my epaulets?"

He has others, for me, of course, including "Shut the F**** Up" and the ever popular, "Because I Said So".  Ahhhh.  You have to love the "sweet nothings" spoken out of adoration and devotion!

Monday, July 2, 2012


Just like PilotHusband's diet is dependent on the latest issue of Men's Health or Maxim magazine left behind in the crew room, his descisions about major issues, are dependent on the opinion of the last Captain, with whom, he flew.  Whether it be vehicles, investments, or vacation spots, if the Captain thinks its a good idea, PilotHusband is going to come home swearing "xyz" is the greatest thing ever because Captain Bob (or Jim or Dave or Steve) said so.

For example, we've always planned on putting in a swimming pool.  We done the research, figured out what type we want, and where we would place it in the yard.  The only thing we were waiting on was the cash with which to do it.  PilotHusband even flew with Captain Joe who said he put in a pool last year and loves it!  All was looking good for the pool installation.  AngryPilotWife could even picture herself, floating on a raft (with a cup-holder, for my white wine spritzer), reading "50 Shades of Gray".  But noooooooooo!

PilotHusband just flew with Captain John.  And Captain John does not like pools.  After listening to the 87 minute (yes, I timed it) synopsis of PilotHusband's 3 day trip, with excrutiating detail spent on how awesome his landing was, I was treated to Captain John's opinion of the backyard swimming pool.  After 20 minutes of "Well, John says it's too much work" and "John says its not worth the money" and "John says our insurance won't cover it" and "John says he'd never do it again"  I started to not like Captain John.  While I'm sure Captain John is a super guy,  he's messing with APW's opportunity to get her swim on! 

Ironically, while Captain John and PilotHusband were flying over North America, bitching about how over-rated swimming pools are, Captain John's PilotWife was probably laying beside Captain John's pool, watching the 20 year old pool boy clean the filter (after he ever so gently and thoughtfully applied sunscreen to those hard to reach places for her).  I bet Captain John's Wife thinks having a pool is a really freaking awesome idea!!!!  SO BACK OFF CAPTAIN JOHN !!!

(By the way, PilotHusband wouldn't swear by everything Captain John said, if Captain John wasn't a very cool, righteous fellow). Sooo.... ahem.  Sorry about that.  Please understand, its been over 100 degrees for several days now and my business requires me to be outside for much of the day.  I'm hot.  I'm sweaty. SO, DON'T SCREW WITH MY POOL PLANS, GUYS!!!!!! 

If you Captains really want to mess with PilotHusband, try this...
On the first leg of a trip, tell my PilotHusband that putting in a pool is a great idea.  On the second leg, tell him that after further consideration, you believe putting in a pool is a really bad idea.  On the third leg, tell him you were wrong- a pool is definately a great idea.  On the fourth leg, tell him putting is a pool is a nightmare.  Keep this up for the entire four day trip, or until PilotHusband's brain explodes.  Just make sure that on the last leg, as you are hi-fiving each other for being Gods of Aviation, you leave him with "You know, PilotHusband, putting in a swimming pool is the best thing I ever did".

*The names have been changed to protect the unintentionally guilty.

** By the way, to all of you Airline Pilot Central boys out there:  APW would really appreciate it if, on your next few trips, you would tell your First Officer that you think...
     Stone veneer would look great on a retaining wall.
     Dark gray paint would be perfect for porch floors.
     Age six is a perfect time for little boys to start Karate classes.
     Weekend long, girls only, trips to Vegas are perfectly acceptable.
     Vacations should NEVER include APW's in-laws.
     Household appliances do NOT make good Christmas gifts.
     and finally...
     Taking your own dirty uniforms to the Dry Cleaner will not kill you.
Thanks fellas!  I owe you one!