Shakin' in My Bulkhead Seat

Photo found on customerparadigm.com. ©Jeff Finkelstein.

After I accepted my new freelance gig a week and a half ago, the company's CEO asked me if I could fly up to San Francisco for a day of introductions, strategy talks and team-building. Although I loved the idea of meeting my new coworkers, my immediate thought was, "Yikes, I really don't want to do that."

The older I get, the more nervous I feel each time I fly. Particularly when I'm doing it alone.

About 7 years ago, I happened to be wearing a necklace of my grandmother's when I flew to New York, and ever since then, I've packed it in my bag with me like its some sort of disaster-defeating talisman. Unfortunately, my good luck charm only alleviates so much of my anxiety.

In the days leading up to my flight to Oakland last week, I was a ball of nerves. I could picture the plane going down and how sad Mr. Wonderful would be when he found out he'd been widowed. Yes, I know I should probably renew my therapy membership...

The morning of my flight, I awoke at 4:45, got myself ready, packed two necklaces that I thought could protect me from death, and kissed my husband goodbye, uncertain of whether I would ever see him again. Dramatic, much?

I went on to have a fantastic day.

That's the crazy thing about my fear of flying—once I'm actually doing it, I'm not scared anymore. I actually really enjoy having the time to read and relax. And on my flight home later that night, I purposely sat on the right side of the plane so I could take in the California sunset. Burning below me along the horizon of the Pacific Ocean was one of the most beautiful, deep orange glows I've ever seen. Inland, the city lights were twinkling white and red, reminding me of the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland. It was gorgeous. It made me thankful to have the opportunity to fly.

It's funny how often the leading-up-to part of situations is so much scarier than the reality of them. Whether you're flying or meeting new colleagues for the very first time...

Yet Another Reason to Relocate

 A sunrise view from our front deck...in the Hills of Horror.

As if my recent issue with the post office weren't enough, Hollywood is pushing me again to flee to someplace more sheltered and rural. Only this time, the city's gone balls-out scary.

I should back up and say we've had a stint of shady activity over here recently. First there was the guy who went on the shooting rampage a couple miles from our house. Then there was the New Year's arsonist. And yesterday a horrific discovery on a hiking trail I frequent.

I was sitting at my dining table, chatting on the phone with a friend when I noticed the hum of several helicopters overhead. This is far from uncommon in our area, but they were lingering for awhile so I decided to check my #1 source for local news to find out what was going on: Twitter. I logged on and did a search for Hollywood only to discover a series of posts and links about a human head being found in a bag on a hiking trail. A trail I love to visit because it's pretty and safe. A trail that connects with the one where I took my nieces hiking over the weekend. A trail that is a few streets over from our house.

I immediately felt a sick wave of panic wash over me.

I IMed Mr. W at work to tell him and he replied, "It's time to move." Then, still shaky and filled with fear, I texted a friend who lives nearby, IMed another one and called my mom. I have a tendency to try to suck other people into my stressful situations so I don't have to experience them alone.

When my mom picked up, I asked if she and my dad were watching the news (by that time, the story had traveled  from Twitter and a couple websites). She said no, so I told her what had happened and that I was afraid there might be a serial killer on the loose.

"Oh, there's serial killers all over the place," she replied.

Words of comfort in my time of need. Thanks, Mom.

I was semi-glued to the television and the laptop after that, trying to find some piece of reporting that would make me feel better. But once I got the tidbit that made me feel relieved, I also felt a little guilty for not maintaining my stage-five flight of terror.

It was a 40+year old man's head. Not a 30-something woman.

Just knowing it wasn't my in demographic made me somehow feel safer. I told myself maybe it was an Armenian mafia hit or a drug deal gone bad.

I know terrible things can happen anywhere—and even small towns have their share of creepy situations—but if the trend here in Hollywood continues, Mr. W and I may need to consider moving up our moving date.

Night Terrors

One of the realities of living in Hollywood (especially when you're up the hill from the 101 freeway) is that you will routinely be woken up by the sound of helicopters. Or as some refer to them, "ghetto birds." They hover over your house, breaking the silence of your slumber with their rhythmic whirs. And they don't go away for what feels like an eternity.

Earlier this week, I was peacefully sawing z's when that familiar rhythm interrupted my sleep. Not one but two—maybe even three helicopters were overhead. I started to wonder if maybe there was a bad guy on the loose. And then I heard something loud coming from the very near vicinity of our house.

It sounded like metal banging. It sounded like someone was breaking into our sliding glass door. In fact, I was positive that's what was happening. The choppers were after an escaped con and he was now trying to take cover in our dining room.

I reached over and grabbed Mr. Wonderful with both hands, "There's a loud noise!" I whisper-shrieked.

He flew out of bed and immediately went for the bedroom door.

"Don't go OUT THERE!" I panicked.

But he didn't listen.

I prepared myself for the sight of him being hit with the butt of a pistol.

He took a step out the door, paused to listen, then turned back.

"It's the trash truck."

Oh. 

He has since instituted a new rule in our marriage. I am never allowed to put two hands on him to wake him up from a dead sleep. Giving him a heart attack over the morning trash pickup was apparently not an okay thing to do...