Category: Life in general

The elderly man to my left was staring out the plane’s window as we backed away from the gate.  His gnarled and spotted hands shook.  Whether from anxiety or age, I’ll never know; we never spoke.

The woman to my right spoke no English.  Her eyes were closed and her lips moved as she silently worked through her rosary beads.

Squeezed between them on the airplane, I silently cursed Southwest Air for assigning me to board in group C.  I’d had four hours of sleep the night before, and had hoped to make up for lost time as I flew across the country.

I’d chosen this seat, near the front, because I wanted to make a mad dash for my family the moment we arrived at the gate.  What difference did it make who I sat between, when all that was available to me was center seats?

The elderly man was the first to let one rip.  I heard it before I smelled it, but still he looked out the window, making no apologies for his social faux pas.

Not to be upstaged by some aged gringo, the woman to my right immediately responded with some foul air of her own.  I swear I saw her grin as she prayed.

Claustrophobia set in, as I realized the only place to have a moments reprieve from my prison seat was the tiny, cramped bathroom shared by hundreds of passengers on the plane.

And so it continued, for four hours in the air.  Never speaking, never discussing where they were from or what they could possibly have eaten to have caused such noxious fumes at 10,000 feet, they battled on either side of me.

A part of me wished for a drastic change in cabin pressure, so that I could breathe the pure, sweet oxygen that would flow from the mask in the ceiling. 

Finally, we landed.  I looked at the passengers I’d sat between, each in turn, and fully expected them to ask me who had won.  Clearly, we all know who lost.

I jumped quickly from my seat, and ran to the loving arms of my family.  Burying her face into my hair, Alison made a face and said, “Mommy, you stink.”

I missed you too, baby.  I missed you, too.

I’ve noticed a lot of bloggers posting “about me” posts in preparation for BlogHer.

As much as we feel like we know each other by reading and commenting on blogs, tweeting and chatting, do we really know the basics?  Do the basics even matter?

Either way, here’s a little bit of background on me.  Skip it, if you couldn’t care less.  It’s Ok, really, I’ll just go cry in the corner.

My name is Andrea.  It’s pronounced ON-DRAY-UH, or ON-DREE-UH.  I know you’ll probably call me AAAN-DREE-UH when we meet.  I’ll correct you a couple of times, and offer up my nickname of Dre – DRAY.  But after a few glasses of wine, I’ll probably answer to “hey you” so, whatever.

When I’m nervous, I either don’t say a word or I talk a lot.  There’s no in-between.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I’m a pack rat and a recovering perfectionist.  Certain areas of my home have to be in order before I go to bed, or I can’t sleep.  Other areas are so messy, you can’t find anything. 

I drink white or pink wine.  Go on, laugh.  Reds get me drunk fast and give me the worst hangovers, so you’ll thank me later for abstaining.  Trust me.

Unless I’ve got a migraine or had some Cuervo, I don’t vomit.  I get the nausea, the watery mouth, but my body refuses to bring things up.  It likes to send rancid meat and whatever else all the way through, like a slip n slide.  FUN FACTS! 

There has been a lot of drama in our lives.  A LOT!  OF DRAMA!  But thankfully, it mostly involves other people, which, unfortunately for you, means I don’t write about it here. 

I’m 31.  I’m married to Jeremy, who just turned 36.  We’ve been together for 11 years, married for 7.  We’re that sappy couple who really likes each other’s company, but we try to keep the PDA to a minimum.  Sometimes we forget.  We have two daughters – Alison Lela, who is 5, and Blythe Josephine, who is 2. 

We experienced secondary infertility.  It sucked.  There were a lot of uncomfortable procedures involved, for both of us, and there were more than a few insensitive doctors who could use a lesson or two in bedside manner.  In the end, after giving birth to Blythe and hemorrhaging severely, we were told that if I got pregnant again it would probably kill me.  So, again with the uncomfortable procedures, this time to seal up our baby-making abilities, forever.

I have a Bachelors Degree from CSU Sacramento, “Sac State”.  I majored in Child Development, minored in Business Administration.  It took me 7 years, but hey! slow and steady wins the race.  I graduated magna cum laude.  I mention it here only because I have no other use for the information. 

Since I now raise our kids and manage the office of our plumbing business, I’m using all that edu-ma-cation every day.  Now, if only I could remember what I learned…. hmmmm. 

I’m also an ICEA certified Childbirth Educator, but other than helping laboring goats, pigs, dogs and cows, I don’t get to use my skills very often.  

We live in the second meth capital of California.  I’ve lived here for 15 of the last 18 years.  I joke about it, but I love it here.  Not everyone does.  I didn’t, always.  But it’s our home, it’s beautiful in its own way, and we wouldn’t trade it for anything.

That’s me, in a nut shell.  Probably pistachio.

Any questions?