Time Travel, Customs & Plane Etiquette

First and foremost, let me just apologize for the incoherent ramblings you are about to read.  The funny thing about time travel is that if you go back in time a day, you generally miss out on sleep and get a massive headache with the threat of it turning into a migraine. I'd rather not let it get like that because my migraines are not pretty (not that any ever are).  So you take a fancy pill (or two in my case) that have a barbiturate in them and go about your day in a haze until it wears off.  I do believe The Doctor doesn't have these issues but I don't know him personally. Then again, he can heal himself or something like that.

Seriously, I've caught like four errors already.  Mostly in adding words that don't belong. Carry on.

It's almost 2 o'clock here in the land of the Evergreens.  I slept until noon but not until I woke up at 2 a.m and was unable to fall back asleep until almost 5 this morning.  And this is AFTER taking three Tylenol PM.  I wasn't joking about my headache.  Serious shit.

If you read my last post, you'd know that traveling not only takes it out of me, but I seem to have issues with it, always.  It never fails.  I'm just a nervous flyer based on past experiences.  This occasion was no different.  My first flight was wonderful, went off without a hitch except the ungodly need to pee.  I sat next to a nice guy who's wife works on the Air Force base where we live.  We chit chatted, I sat behind a boy with really really nice hair so that was lovely to look at.  My flight was good and without incident which was lovely.

Then I reached Narita, Japan where I had to go through TSA again for reasons unbeknownst to me.  It wasn't bad except I still had to pee something fierce.  Once I finally made it through, I made a bee line to the bathroom and got to use a bidet for the third time in my life.  It was lovely except I must have sat there for a minute waiting for it to turn off by itself (Hint for those of you who travel, there's an off button that looks the same in any language).  As I make my way to the gate, I find a seat at the terminal (which wasn't difficult because there were a ton of seats available).  I put my carry on one side of me and my purse on the other side.  I was sitting at the second seat at the beginning of the row, minding my own business because I'm an adult and I do that sometimes.  Out of nowhere, a woman sits down next to my purse, touching it.  I move it to the other side of me and think to myself "There must be AT LEAST 30 seats available in this terminal.  This seat?  Really?"  I manage to connect to wifi and iMessage my husband because of course, my computer won't work and no sooner do I start messaging him, this woman starts looking over my shoulder reading my texts.  I think eventually she got tired of reading about how Henry needs to go in for minor surgery and that I feel like the worlds worst puppy mom.

Fast forward through boarding (which was awesome because I bought a ticket with a military discount which means I can board earlier that normal.  Little victories), I get settled into my seat and a man approaches me and says "You're not supposed to be sitting here."

"I'm sorry, this seat was assigned to me."  Then the guy responds with "I checked this morning and I was the only one sitting in this row.  I was supposed to have it all to myself."  I tell him that I was assigned this morning when I checked in.  I think it was his attempt at dry humor but I always find myself less than humorous on international flights...that's just me, lack of sleep and bad circulation in my feet.  Snuggle in with my pillow, get settled and all of the sudden from behind me, I catch the beginning of a conversation:

"So you're from Washington?  That's coo, I'm getting stationed there, you'll have to show me around."

"Yeah no problem.  I've never been on the base here before."

"I ain' ever been before neither.  I'm in the middle of a divorce.  When I met my wife (fade out, can't here because the plane just started...) you know, she wan give me a gift.  A gift you can only give to someone once.  Out of all dem good lookin dudes, she chose me.  I be like "You sure?" She said "Yeah, you a good lookin dude."  (- You know, the basis for any amazing relationship.) 9 months later she be all "I'm tired and hungry. Then I be like yo, you pregnant? She let me do what I do and...."  

I had to stop listening.  It was awful and I was floored.  You just met this girl and you're telling her about this?!  So I did what any normal sane/hangry person would do....I took some Tylenol PM (because that's when my headache started) and I went to sleep for the majority of the flight.

Before takeoff, the flight crew handed out forms to go through customs.  Not anything too exciting.  I have less than 10,000 dollars on me, I am not bringing food, haven't touched any cows nor am I selling anything.  There is a spot for an address or hotel you'll be staying at.  I put Buckley because you know, I'll be spending the majority of my time there for the next week.  The line was pretty long but it went by quickly...until I got up there.  Clearly, I'm a US citizen, I speak fluent English and I'm from Washington which I made a point to tell her.  Maybe it was the fact that I didn't have time to shave my mustache before going through customs that made me a threat, I don't know.

Customs lady with a Russian Accent - "Passport and customs form."

"Here you go."

-"Is this your final destination?"

"Yes ma'am.

-"I need an address."  

I replied with, "I don't have an address but I can give you a phone number?  Will that work?"

-"What do you mean you don't have an address?  Where will you be staying?"

"I'll be staying with my aunt and uncle but I don't have their address, I've been out of the country

 for nearly two years."

By this point, we're both getting completely aggravated.  She rolled her eyes at me and said a number was acceptable.  So I gave her my parents number because that's where I'll be spending the majority of my time.  She attempts to dial it but I cut her off.

"That number is in Idaho, I'll be staying there once I leave here."
-"So then what flight will you be on?"
"I'm not flying, I'm driving because I'm staying in Washington for a week with my aunt and uncle.  My aunt works here at the airport."
-"I'm going to send you to the back since you have no address or phone number."
 "I've been out of the country for two years because my husband is military, my phone clearly doesn't work here because it's from Guam. You can page my aunt who works here and is picking me up outside of customs. I don't know what else you want from me.
-"Give my your aunt's phone number."  So I give to to her, she dials, huffs and puffs at me which makes me even angrier than I already am.
-"It doesn't work. The number is disconnected, I'm sending you to the back."  What does that even mean?
"It does work, I know this because it's one of three numbers I have memorized. Try. It. Again." By this time I'm being short and curt...but she wasn't a walk in the park either.
She dials "Maybe I pressed a wrong number. (insert huffy puffy voice)  You're good.  Next time have an address."

I proceed down to International baggage where I literally waited 20+ minutes for my baggage to make it out.  I didn't even have to see it to know it was on the belt.  I literally could smell my tea tree oil a mile away. F*ck.  Even though I made sure the cap was on tight, somehow, it leaked out and permeated my luggage from inside the plastic ziploc I put it in and made sure at least 5 times that it was closed.  Science or something like that.

From there, I made my way though the other part of customs...then older gentleman looked at my form an asked "Rachele, is there any sort of fruit/food/ or things of that matter I should know about?"  I replied with a "No sir."  Then he laughed and said even if I did have something, since I'm coming from Guam it was probably from the states anyways.

From there I patrolled around the baggage claims for 45 minutes looking for my aunt and readjusting my 100 pounds luggage because I'll be damned if I'm going to pay 5 dollars for a luggage cart.  I haven't been to an airport this large in about 5-7 years.  It's weird.  Pensacola Regional has 5 baggage claims, Guam has about 5 and Spokane airport has about the same.  Imagine my surprise of seeing about 15 of them.  After asking a nice woman if I could borrow her cell phone, I couldn't get a hold of anyone so I stopped and asked one of the craziest questions I've ever asked in my life.

"Erm, I know this is crazy and y'all probably NEVER hear this and I hope I NEVER have to ask it again buuuut, do you know where a payphone is at? I've haven't used one in forever....actually...make that ever except my phone doesn't work here and I'm tired and a bit grumpy."

I got directions and while I was pondering how to fit 100 pounds of suitcases in the bathroom for me, I heard my name and my wonderful aunt came rushing up to greet me, giving me a hug that basically washed any bad feeling away!  It's incredible how just one bear hug from a beloved family member can make you feel.  It pretty much cures anything except for a case of hangry.  Which I was because, ew, airline food.  Even then though, I still felt pretty wonderful.

That's about it for now.  I think I've expended a lot of energy writing this post today.  Tomorrow I'll post about how I almost started crying in Fred Myer's since your eyeballs are probably as tired as my brain from reading this.

Welcome back to Washington!

Xoxo,
Riley Writes

Planes, planes and mishap-mobiles

  Hooray!  My ticket is booked.  After yesterday's little debacle, I finally broke down and bought a ticket.  Although I'll more than likely have to work the street for a month, it's totally worth it.

I've been monitoring the Space A (Space Available) flights because even though living overseas does have its perks, it has its downfalls too.  Like for instance, needing to fly home costs around 1300-1700 bucks.  When we moved here, just my one way alone was 1700.  Yesterday, I finally find a flight that hasn't been cancelled, miraculously am picked out of the 45 people waiting for flights (There were only 10 seats available).  You're picked by category 2-6, lower number, higher category.  I have to admit after hearing my name being called, I was grinning from ear to ear.  I have been waiting for a flight for almost three weeks.  I went up, paid for my in flight meal and waited for the call to go through security.  Make it through security to sit down at the gate and rearrange my belongings, still smiling because "Holy shit, I made it through secur..."

"Attention ladies and gentleman, I regret to inform you that your flight has been cancelled."

A voice from our small group calls out "Is this some sort of joke?"

"I assure you sir, this is not a joke, the flight has been cancelled.  It literally happened 30 seconds ago.  I apologize for the inconvenience. It's no longer safe for passengers."  What does that even mean?!

I don't let it get me down though, I giggled a bit and looked like a lunatic.  Here's my reasoning for that though:  any time I travel by plane, something goes awry so I always try to err on the side of caution.  I could probably write a book on the subject matter.  That sounds like I always think negatively but I've learned to go with the flow.  Like when they lost my bags on the way to Idaho and I had to wear my male cousins clothes for three days.  Three days! Which was incredibly awkward because I didn't have any underoos.  I think he burned the clothes upon my returning them.  Or the time I missed my flight by 5 minutes and they refused to let me on.  How about when my charger broke on my phone, then my phone died and I got stuck at the airport bawling my eyes out.  My first time using a bidet in Japan and my pants were soaked because I had no idea what I was doing.  Or when I was stranded in Spokane with my uncle because of a snow storm...only to board the plane 2-3 hours late, taxi out and then taxi right back in because a woman who was spouting off something in a different language and running up and down the aisles having a major meltdown and had to be removed?  Book material, I tell you.

I lugged all 90 pounds of my luggage back to the care, not without breaking a sweat though.  I could see my car from the doors of the terminal and by the time I got there, I had a sweat mustache...which surprisingly enough, isn't attractive.  I came home and bought a ticket.  But not without crying out to the credit card gods and telling them that you promise the next blood sacrifice you make will be better, and that you may even include your soul.  Then I napped for a few hours since I didn't sleep the night before.  Why didn't I sleep?  Because I'm like a small child excited for Christmas and waiting for Santa.

This is the first time since Zach and I got married that we will be separated for longer than a week.  He's calling it my deployment since I'm not quite sure when I'll be back.  At the risk of sounding gross and mushy, I'm going to miss him, a lot.  Especially since he just made me a sausage and egg muffin sandwich and said "I'm going to give you a big slice of sausage."  Those aren't jokes you hear around your parents and moderately well behaved family members often.  Okay, well in my family they are but that's besides the point.

Well, that's it for this installment of Riley Writes.  Washington, Idaho and Florida...I'll be seeing you soon.

Xoxo.

My marriage, in three sentences.

Marrying your best friend definitely has it's advantages.

A love story, by Rachele & Zach Riley

Zach:  Hey girl, yeah.  Twerk it.  

Me:  But I dunno how to twerk it.

Zach:  Well, I guess that's something you need to twork on.

The end.

Xoxo, 

Riley Writes

A Post About Stuff

I've been pretty down in the dumps the past few days.  I've been trying to get a flight out of here on a military plane the past two weeks.  I get all excited and then it gets cancelled within hours of it being in my reach.  Did I mention I'm incredibly homesick?

Yeah, it sucks.  All of that aside though, no one wants to read a post about how homesick/sad I am.  So instead, I'll give you a post about stuff.  Stuff that I'm embarrassed about, book stuff and more stuff.  After all, that's the subtitle of my blog.  "A Fancy Little Blog About Stuff".  Tired of that word yet?

First off...let's start with the word "Shipping".  I've seen it on Tumblr a few times and had no idea what it meant so of course, I went to my trusted source of Urban Dictionary and got this Shipping: A term used to describe fan fictions that take previously created characters and put them as a pair. It usually refers to romantic relationships, but it can refer platonic ones as well. (Just think of "shipping" as short for "relationSHIP".)

Kinda cool, eh?  Yeah, yeah, I can picture you saying "Get to the point asshole, I have stuff to do."  Well, I ship "Delena".  "Who is this?" you say?  Only Damon and Elena from The Vampire Diaries.  I'm obsessed.  I'm a weirdo and I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.  Granted most of them are like 13 year old girls but I will scream it loud and proud "I AM UNASHAMED!"

Also, I've been watching Doctor Who til my eyes bleed.  I love it.  Never thought I'd actually be interested in a science fiction show but now I absolutely have to have a sonic screwdriver and a Dalek alarm clock.  If you can find Matt Smith, I'll take him in my stocking. (Ahem, again with the Christmas gift hints.)

I've been wanting to read any and all books by Michael Pollan.  If you recall a few posts ago, I mentioned checking a book out from the library by him but I didn't get to read it.  In hindsight, I probably had the time to read it since all of my flights have been cancelled (nothing like beating a dead horse).  Anyways I asked on the local garage sale page if anyone had them for sale because if I were to buy them all for my Nook, and there is 6 of them, I'd be looking at $100+.  I'm a relatively fast reader and there aren't any used book stores around here. Sad face.  Then, an angel descended and said "I do have all of those books, plus 8,000 more e-books if you'd like to browse through them."

It's like a heaven for me.  So, I think I'm going to start doing bi-monthly book reviews.  Thoughts?  Yeah, neigh?

That's it for now.

Xoxo,
Riley Writes

Juicing....not just for steroids these days.

Was that too cliche?  Is that even the right cliche?  That's what steroids used to be called, right?  Ahh, Urban Dictionary.  I was right, just looked it up.

Yesterday started out like any normal day, my amazing neighbor brought over her juicer and we did what any two high functioning housewives with a penchant for bubbly do...we juiced oranges for mid day mimosas.  What did you think we were going to do?

In our defense, she brought over other stuff to juice, like healthy stuff that we most definitely didn't juice.  Priorities.  

Today, I woke up, did the womanly stuff like cleaning the kitchen, laundry and what have you.  Then I sat down to watch some Netflix.  In doing so I stumbled upon Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead.  It's a documentary about one man's pursuit for a healthier lifestyle and to rid himself of autoimmune issues by healing through juiced fruits and veggies.  I've heard of juicing before, never given it much thought though.  We've discussed buying a juicer plenty of times.  In fact, it was one of the reasons we stood in Macy's for 30 minutes while deciding if we wanted a Ninja or not.  We went with the Ninja but thoughts of getting a juicer have never been too far from our minds. 

I was in shock and awe of this documentary.  Autoimmune diseases have a special place in my family. When Joe Cross mentioned being on Prednisone, a steroid my mother frequently uses when she's having an MS attack, it resonated with me.  This man went from being overweight, on a high dose steroids, and dealing with a sometimes crippling disease to changing his whole lifestyle to start taking care of himself and really living.  About 20 minutes til the end, my husband came home and watched the rest of it with me.  It took all of 5 minutes for us to decide what our next investment would be.

Taaa-daaa!  We had our very first juicing experience (other than the mimosas) tonight.  I took pictures because in this day and age, "Pics or it didn't happen!"  There was a lot of inappropriate talk of being shot in the eye, not getting rid of the white stuff, squeezing and just about all the other innuendos you can think of.  There was juggling of oranges, peelings of lemons, puppies in the kitchen and more inappropriate banter because I seem to hang out with people who are equally as crude as myself.   Which is fine by me, because if you aren't aware already, I happen to find myself incredibly entertaining.

Our ingredients.

The husband, doing as he's told.

The neighbor, also doing as she's told.  She goes by Erin most of the time or The Neighbor.  Sometimes I like that because it sounds chummy.

Oh hush.  Don't even act like you know anything about removing labels from spaghetti sauce jars.   It'll come off eventually.  I'm lazy, you know this.

That would be a puppy head, in the kitchen where he clearly should not be.

Zach made the Post Workout Punch.  He enjoyed it so much, he made another!

I feel the need to address the spot on my shirt.  It's ice cream and I'm unashamed.  You feed that PMS monster whatever it wants.  Even if it's a double scoop of Jamocha Almond Fudge immediately after purchasing a juicer.  To quote my husband "You see the irony in this, right?"  I do Zachary, I do.

The odd little Guam family that juices together, drinks out of spaghetti jars together.

I think it's been decided that Zach and I will do a juice cleanse once I get back from my vacation (if I can ever get a flight).  I apologize for the quality of these photos, my camera is packed up in my carry on and I have no desire to mess with that jigsaw puzzle for the sake of better quality pictures.  

Happy juicing things that aren't steroids!

Xoxo

Riley Writes

I drink wine because tomato soup and dogs.

Okay ladies and gents, I've decided to bestow another yummy delicious and clean recipe upon you.  Tomato soup happens to be one of my favorite soups, next to my grandmothers potato soup and the potato soup from Chili's.

Also, I decided to write this right away because if I don't, I'll probably have a Hannah Handbag.  I'm 99.9% positive she peed on the carpet because the little asshole doesn't like to go outside.  To be honest, I'm beginning to think she's the culprit behind a lot of things.  As well as a Henry area rug because someone has a penchant for mommy's underwear...only instead of hoarding it like he normally does (I can find anywhere from 1-5 pairs in his kennel at any given time), he decided to shred this pair into little shards.  Seriously.  He's outside right now for the 23495th time today.  And he's sitting at the door staring, he's been outside for less than 5 minutes.  I feel like they both need shirts that they can parade around in saying "I'm the reason Mommy likes wine."  Christmas gift, think about it.  Oh and also since we're talking Christmas gifts, I can always use wine.

Back to the recipe.  So in reading that super awesome book Sugar Salt Fat or whichever order that goes in, I got to reading about the sugar content in well, everything.  Long story short, read the book and be amazed.  So naturally, this includes canned soup.  Nothing reminds me of home more than eating tomato soup and grilled cheese which my dad was amazing at making.  It's been a staple in my life for years.  So naturally, I'd want to find and make a healthier version.  I scoured Pinterest for recipes as well as Google and a couple other places.  Basically, tomatoes, onions garlic, salt, pepper, oregano and whatever else you feel like throwing in there.  I decided to share my recipe because me being me, I look at most recipes and think "Eh....I don't need this, I can figure it out my own."

Sometimes it's awesome, other times it's utterly disastrous.  Then Zach says something along the lines of "Did you actually read the directions all the way through this time?"  And I respond by rolling my eyes and saying "Who do you think I am?  Of course I read the directions."  But by directions, I really mean ingredients so about 15-20 minutes in to whatever it is I'm making...there's an obligatory "F*$%ing ghatdamnit!"  Then without missing a beat Zach says something like "I told you to read the recipe, that's your karma for lying to me about it."

How does he know?!

Tomato Soup!

• 5-6 tomatoes (I prefer on the vine since I'm in Guam and that's the best I can get but beefsteak or roma would probably be ideal).  If you're using those other ones, adjust accordingly to size. Roughly three pounds of tomato
• 1 carton cherry tomatoes
• 1 carton grape tomatoes
• 1 sweet onion
• Olive Oil
• 4 cloves of minced or crushed garlic
• Salt & Pepper to taste
• Vegetable or Chicken broth.  This is optional.  I've made it with and without, but I just made some awesome veggie broth and wanted to use it.  
• Oregano, I dunno, a tablespoon or so?  Whatever works for you.
• Basil  - optional

So, I cut my tomatoes into quarters and de-seeded them with a spoon.  This is optional.  I didn't do it last time, it really made no difference.  I cut my cherry and grape tomatoes in half, no need to remove those seeds, that's tedious and I'm lazy.  Then I chopped the onion up into pieces and laid it all out on a baking sheet covered in foil.  Once again, I'm lazy, less clean up.  

I preheated the oven to 350, drizzled olive oil and minced garlic on top of the tomatoes and onions.  

Popped it in the oven til the tomatoes were mushy and onions were turning translucent.   It took about an hour because there were a lot of tomatoes on that baking sheet.  I turned them over a few times.  Purely preference.  Then I realized after I forgot to season it so I put the salt, pepper and oregano on there, let it cook for another 15 minutes until the juices were starting to pool at the bottom. 

After this was all done, I threw it in the food processor to make the chunks smaller.  It's really all about what you prefer.  After that, I added it to my pot, added my vegetable stock (about 16 ounces if I remember correctly) and turned it on to boil.  After it started boiling, I put it on low to simmer and basically forgot about it because I had other stuff to do like play Candy Crush and take Henry in and out and in and out and in and out.

We paired our soup with our balsamic/Jack Daniels marinated steak I found on Pinterest (of course).  The final product was delicious.  Last time I made it, I threw some brats in there for added deliciousness....it was perfect as was tonight's dinner.  I highly recommend it.

Happy Eating! 

Xoxo

Riley Writes

P.S  You can follow me on Pinterest by going here: http://pinterest.com/sissybug0726/

Home Is Where The Heart Is

I've been giving a lot of thought about the word "home" lately.  I met our new neighbors last night and mentioned I would be going "home" for a short while.  Someone asked me about my travel plans and without thinking I said I was going "home".  "Home to Washington, then home to Idaho and home to Florida.  After which I'll return to my home in Guam."  You're probably thinking "Why does she consider all these places home?"

Hear me out.  What if I'm like Voldemort?  What if pieces of my heart and soul are scattered throughout the states and instead of horcruxes, they're actually people?  Plus I have a nose and I'm not trying to kill any teen wizards.  So I have that going for me.  Plus I rather like my nose.

It makes sense right?  Because home is where your heart is and my heart happens to be all over the place.

Home is flying across oceans to be with your best friend because she needs you and you need her.  It's watching movies and drinking hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows, to help cope with life's unfairness.

Home is where you grew up, where your cherished friends and childhood remains. Memories abound, not always good but mostly wonderful.

Home is where your parents, sisters, niece, nephew, grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins are.  Where your niece has dubbed you "weechle" and says she misses you on her own accord.  Your family will put up with your crazy notions because they love you.

Home is Monsters, Midget, Sunshine and the Snagglepooch are.  Monsters and Midgets you've seen grow up before your very eyes, start school and become young women.  It's also where you have experienced loss and excruciating pain beyond belief but you were never alone, not for a second

And finally, last but definitely not least, home is where I get to wake up next to the man of my dreams, get my hands nibbled on obnoxiously by my fur children and where I recharge my batteries so I can be ready for anything that life throws at me.  I get to be obnoxious, silly and apologize when I'm being an ass.  I get to feel real, deep love and devotion that I thought only existed in the greatest romances novels of our time.

That's where my home is.

Xoxo
Riley Writes