A Cure for the Red-Eye

I’ve been flying back and forth between the Left Coast and the Rust Belt quite a bit, and most of the time, I’ve had to make use of what is known in the airline vernacular as the “Red Eye.” This means the plane leaves late at night, and it arrives at your destination early in the morning. Five a.m. is a good time for red eyes to come in. That goes for both planes and people.

I used to hate doing the red eye. This is because I can’t sleep sitting up, and I can’t sleep with people watching me. I also can’t sleep in uncomfortable chairs, and I can’t get comfortable in an airplane chair.

One of my employees, who got married in Italy to another one of my employees (what a happy union! Too bad I couldn’t make it, since someone had to mind the store…) gave me a sure fire cure for traveling on red eye flights.

First, make sure you get up early in the morning, even earlier than normal.

Second, run around like a possessed person all day long, so that you are sufficiently tired by 9 p.m.

Third, have a generous alcoholic beverage when arriving at your gate. This takes the edge off from fighting rush hour traffic in downtown LA, having to have been stopped as part of a routine check of all cars coming into LAX, and then having to wait in the security checkpoint for an extra long period of time since they were training in a newbie. While considering alcoholic beverages, consider a double margarita made with Cuervo Gold, rocks, no salt. That’s what I did.

Fourth, forty-five minutes before your plane departs, down a couple of Benadryls. If you must know, in my case, that will be in approximately one hour and twenty minutes. Set your watches, please.

Fifth, or perhaps Zero, make sure you have your own comfortable pillow. I used the one that I had flattened with my butt on the bumpy car ride out to this part of the country.

I have found that by following this prescription for the red eye, by the time you settle into your seat, you are so tired that you can’t help but fall asleep, instantly.

By the time you wake up, it is 5:15 a.m. and the flight attendant is nudging you from your seat.

Try it. It works.

Sleeping at the End of the Line

My favorite place to stay while visiting San Francisco is a little motel just a few steps from the beach. Yes, it’s a motel, meaning the amenities are spartan, but it’s clean, the owners are nice, the parking is free and there’s the best organic coffee shop next door. My son lives just a half mile away, and I like being in his neighborhood. Since the last time I was here back in August, they have added new carpeting, some new furnishings, microwave, little refrigerator and coffee pot, and woo-eee! wireless internet. These are not the reasons I stay here, though. I would stay here without any of those reasons, including my son. I really love the ocean. AND of course, this place is just a few steps from the beach.

Mr. Demonic likes to stay in places with work out rooms, so he was reluctant and skeptical when I brought him here last April. We were in town to see my son’s recital. This was the second ocean-side motel I had brought him to. The first is about two miles south, near the now infamous zoo where the tiger escaped and killed a kid. That one is really cute, all art deco, but a little more expensive. Mr. Demonic complained, loudly, about the no work out room situation. I gently pointed out the beach just across the way, with five miles of even sand. He could run. He was still skeptical, until he went on his first run, when he returned happy as a clam. I was so happy that I had converted him.

Baby Pandemonic, otherwise known as my daughter, doesn’t like this city at all, so she was going to complain no matter what. She prefers southern California. She also “doesn’t like” her older brother, and thinks we favor him. Her favorite hotels have room service and movie options in the room. This place has neither. In her case, I wasn’t concerned about winning her approval.

I could never understand the inclination of people who want to stay in the thick of the City, or the ones who want to stay on Fisherman’s Wharf. Downtown is manageable, but parking is so expensive. Fisherman’s Wharf is a chaotic tourist trap, and grossly overpriced. Wherever I travel, I don’t want the locals pointing their fingers at me and saying “freakin’ tourist” with disdain. I grew up in an area that had two industries, the military and the tourists, and believe me, I’ve done some of that finger pointing and name calling.

If there is a downside to my current location (which I don’t think there is, I love it here), it’s the fact that right in front of my motel is the end of the line for one of the subway routes to downtown. (There is actually an upside to this, as you can hop on the train to go downtown, thus eliminating the need to find expensive parking.) The trains screech to a halt and there’s a turning circle in the middle of the intersection. The subway doesn’t run from about midnight to five a.m., but during that time, the buses do.

I find it very soothing to sleep with the trains rolling by every ten or fifteen minutes. As they idle, the drivers leave to get coffee, but they keep the trains on, and since they’re electric, they hum. You’d think it would be too loud to sleep, but it’s not.

I have the best sleep at the end of the line. It’s deep, and I don’t dream. When I wake up, I feel like I have truly rested.

In case you couldn’t figure it out, I need to come here every few months for my sanity.

Men I Would Totally Sleep With… or Not

This post is brought to you because of  this post, which was the direct result of this one.

Perhaps I am old-fashioned, or maybe just plain boring. The only man I would totally sleep with would be my husband.

I’ve often said that if anything should happen to him, that is it for me. There’ll be no other long-term relationships. No marriages, no boyfriends. Nosiree Bob. I spent a good twenty years getting this one into shape, and some days I’m not sure if it was worth all the hard work and effort. Oh, I love him, very deeply, but I don’t see that kind of love happening again. This marriage is a once-in-a-lifetime deal for me.

This is not to say that I don’t think some other men are appealing. Take Bobby Goat Gruff (My Internet Boyfriend), or whatever moniker he is going by this week. This guy can be extremely funny. Humor is very important in my world. And that’s not all. When MIB and I are discussing deeper topics, I feel that he can see right into my soul. This is very comforting. However, I don’t have any inclination to have sex with him. Although the thought of really sleeping in the bed with him and his sweetie is a tantalizing thought. I’d bring the down comforter, the flannel jammies and matching flannel sheets. We could eat popcorn in bed and tell ghost stories. It would be just like a slumber party for adults!

Just because I’m satisfied at home doesn’t mean that I don’t think some men aren’t attractive. Take Richard Gere now. Richard Gere back in the day when he was An Officer and a Gentleman-NO. Yes, Mr. Gere has aged very well. He is eye-candy of the Godiva kind for this woman. I’ve often said that Adam Sandler would be my perfect dream date. True, he’s goofy looking, but again, I would be looking for a funny collaboration. Also, I’ve never dated a Jewish boy. This would kill two birds with one stone.

My fascination of the day is Stephen Colbert. He’s ridiculously funny, and not bad looking too. I’m a sucker for a guy in a tie. Plus, he could be the President. We all know how being in the Oval Office can charm the panties off some gals.