Hey, NASA! I've Got the Right Stuff!

   

     It's been a very stressful year. God, I need to get away, give myself time to relax. There are so many options, though: hiking among flower-strewn meadows, a swim in a pristine mountain lake, or how about combing through a color-splashed tide pool?

    Meh. All nice, but for my money, I cannot think of anything that offers more in the way of blissful escape than to float around in the quiet seclusion of outer space.

     Yep. I've decided. I'm applying to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration to become an astronaut!

     Okay, I know what you're thinking, but before you say, "Give it up, Earth Girl. NASA doesn't want your kind," let's take a look at their online application. You might be surprised to know that I do, in fact, have the right stuff.

    Here's what NASA wants and where I stand:

• Age: Although there's no age restriction, most astronauts are 26-46 years old. Yes. I'm pushing the outer limits here. But after a good, solid 10 hours of sleep, a thick coating of age-defying cream, and when seen in very dim light, I could pass for 52. I was told that once, and it's something that I cling to it like chewing gum to a shag rug. Let's check YES to Meets Age Requirement.

• College Degree: Any degree is okay, says NASA. It just so happens that a lot of astronauts are engineers, biologists, physicists, computer scientists. In other words, space is crawling with science geeks. It's high time NASA considered a more diverse team. With me on board, we'd have a lot more family fun time. After a rousing game of Charades or Trivia, I'd make sure my little charges ate their freeze-dried veggies and got tucked into their space bunks. I've definitely got the kind of experience NASA needs. This one gets a resounding YES.

• Medical Condition: The only thing it says is that I'd have to be free of any disease or physical limitation that would prevent me from participating. I am pretty healthy for someone who could pass for 52. Another big YES.

• Flying Experience: Not necessary, but they do look for someone who's been a jet pilot or has related experience. Related experience? I've got that in spades. Have you ever flown with toddlers? Well, I have, and let me tell you, there is nothing more demanding or that requires more focus and patience than sitting with a 6-month-old on a no-seats-assigned flight to San Diego. Flying experience? Give that one a YES.

• Salary: They pay between $64 and $144k per year. It's a bit skimpy, but what with the book deals, cross-marketing, and movie options, I might be able to make ends meet.

     For Christmas this year, I received an anti-gravity pen. You know, the kind that writes upside down. The packaging says that it's the same technology used in outer space. Tell you what, I'll send you a note next year postmarked Mars.

Kick in the Gut to Last Tango in Sacto

Where's My Keeper?

 

What you are about to read is a true story that I told at the TrueStory open mic night on April 23, 2015, in downtown Sacramento. I was so nervous, I chugged two glasses of water and then had to pee like a race horse. No one booed me off the stage, and some laughed and clapped. So I guess I did okay. Here goes.

     After 25 years of marriage, three houses, and two kids, the love of my life decided that he just didn't love me back.

     So we went our separate ways. I was pretty miserable, and I thought he was, too, until not long thereafter and before the ink was dry on the divorce papers, I got a call from him. He had news for me.

     "I'm getting married," he said. "I've fallen in love, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

     I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut! Rejected! Tossed like yesterday's trash! I wanted to yell, "Die, Fucker, die!" But I smiled and replied, "Oh. Kay. So. Congratulations."

     I have to admit that while my ex had been searching for Mrs. Right, I hadn't exactly been walking around in sack cloth and ashes. I wanted to meet someone, too, but I just couldn't find a keeper.

     One guy couldn't seem to remember if his name was Phil or Randy. Not a keeper.

     Another one confessed that he'd had every single hair on his body removed by means of electrolysis. Not a keeper.

     And there was the accountant who phoned me to say that I was too boring for him. Definitely not a keeper.

     I was about to give up when I met a nice, nearly normal, nice guy. We started going out. He loved music, live music. We went to a lot of concerts: jazz, Latin, blues, rock, you name it. At these events, people would always get up and dance.  "We want to do that, too." we thought. "We want to dance."

     The two of us signed up for group dance lessons. The first night, while waiting in the studio, I glanced at the registration table and then immediately turned back. "Don't look now," My voice was low. "But there's my ex-husband and his lovely fiance." They must have been there to practice their first dance as husband and wife. Oh, God.

     In my mind, this could only go one of two ways: 1. During the group lesson, the instructor shouts, "Everyone change partners!" and I end up in an unwanted tango embrace with my ex. Or 2. I flee the building immediately.

     "Oh, shit. Oh, shit. What're we going to do?" I was panicked.

     Without so much as a peek at the registration table, my nice, nearly normal, nice guy replied," I don't know about them, but I' came with you to dance with you, and that's what we're going to do."

     I'd found my keeper.