Yesterday afternoon my mother-in-law boarded a flight to Chicago from Denver.

The plane took off as normal. Once in the air, the plane began to circle and they announced they would land in Denver.

While on the way down to land, all the passengers noticed several fire trucks and police cars on the runway to escort them to the gate. No announcements were on why fire trucks and police cars were needed. No one was told what went wrong.

On the runway the passengers could all smell a strong burning smell. They then were told that they would switch planes.  The delay was long, so my mother-in-law requested another flight going out today. She told my husband that after years of flying she had never been more afraid.

Do you like the smell of freshly mowed grass? Do you like a fresh lemon wedge squeezed in your ice water? Do you like over-ripe grapefruit loaded with sugar on top? Do you love a big, crisp Granny Smith Apple?

If you said yes to these things, I recommend the ultimate summer white wine: Tangent Sauvignon Blanc 2006. For $14, it’s springtime in a bottle, alcoholic, no less.

(On a side note, $14 bought a kickin’ top in 1989, how times change. It was a whole night’s babysitting fee.)

I’m seriously in love with it. I may be tempted to yell for this stuff all summer the way my son yells for his “Apple Juice! Apple Joooooooose!”

Tangent, sauvignooooooooon blanc! Tangent sauvignoooooooon!

(p.s. Tangent is paying me no money, but I will take free wine…hint, hint.)

If you’ve met me for the first time, you may think I’m stupid. I’ve been told several times by people who I consider friends that when they first met me they thought I was a flake. But then when they got to know me, they realized that, no, I’m not a flake, I am just thinking about multiple things at one time, all the time.

My husband suspects that this could be ADD.I already know I have anxiety, but I’m not certain I have Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. When it’s something I’m interested in, like writing, reading, or sewing I’m very focused.

I think when the subject matter, like what is discussed by my estimating team, is boring as watching paint dry, I don’t focus. For example, when someone says to me “I need you to compile a list of bidders for the IGMP estimate where the MEP and the structural drawings will be different but the specifications and instructions to bidders will be the same…yadda, yadda.”  I start thinking about how I’m going to do these things while they are continuing with their jargon. So therefore, it looks as if I’m not paying attention.  In reality, I’m paying attention and translating for myself, what the Hades they are talking about.

That goes for anything that doesn’t interest me. My mind tries to make it interesting and relevant, instead of just accepting the information at its dry, face-value.

I was even like that as a kid. I hated math, but I was drawn to the number 5 because I though it looked like a sideways man with a hat and a belly. Also, math with fives is easy; they stick together and follow a clear pattern.

It would be nice to have less chatter upstairs, and be able to be calm and collected in quiet, thoughtful repose.

Maybe I should do more yoga or meditation. Anyone else out there suffer from ADD as an adult?

So, my review came and went, and as I predicted, I was A-Bombed. They nuked my communist town. Damn, damn capitalist pigs.

They were even critical of my three-hole punching and stapling ability.

Damn.

I have to admit that, for an A-bomb, year review it was very professional. They offered lots of suggestions on how I could be the biggest, most-annoying, anal-retentive turd. Whoopee!

Of course, because I am an adult, I will follow the said suggestions, and by the next review my three hole punches and staples will be a shining example to all those who attempt to do these tasks.

My new motto is, play the game and then retire. Even if the game leaves you a towel boy in the game of life…squirt that water bottle straight, beee-atch!

On another note, I recently read an article that stated, in China over 4 million college graduates compete for 1.2 million white collar, middle-class jobs. To get into college they spend five hours a night on homework for twelve plus years to pass the equivalent of the SAT with steroids. They call it the Tall Test. In some schools they require children to know Pi to 100 by three years-old to be admitted to certain kindergartens. And to top all those crap odds, you are your parents’ only child and since their futures were crushed by Communism, they have no qualms about pushing their dreams on you. Happy.

I guess the “Enjoy what you have because they have it worse it China” stories your mother told you are still true.

I got my self into anxiety rabbit hole this week worrying about my first yearly review with my company.

I had some cause for concern because I have been abused by the review process in the past.

My boss of three years was referred to as General Patton by a friend of mine because of my work stories. A former military man, with a military father, believed in two things: paper work and negative reinforcement.

He was that way with everyone in my team; we were constantly ripped to shreds every year with barely a positive comment to spare. It would go like this, “Basically, you suck at everything but on the positive side, you are still breathing and because of that I don’t have to train some other dumb ass to replace you.”

Once of our best techs was worried sick about his job until I ran into his wife at a baby store. I told her how much he rocked at his job for being relatively new. She went home and told him. He called me up to thank me because he hadn’t heard anything positive since his start. This was his best employee.

My reviews always left me in tears. He even ripped on how I slouched when sitting, how often I glanced at the Internet or received personal email. He’d have written me up for taking too many bathroom breaks if possible.

Toward the end of my position, while I was pregnant, he told me I should stop lifting things because if went into early labor, he’d look bad. Not because my child would be premature or anything.

I landed a job after my maternity leave with a bigger wacko. He was a man who wanted perfection but had no idea how to train, explain and hated being questioned on how to do something. God forbid someone would do it wrong.

The day I heard him use the F word to his wife for not being at home for a showing should have been a red flag. He had me call her up after the conversation to ask another question. Without even saying “Hello” she answered “What? Are you calling me back to berate me some more?” Embarrassed, I explained, that this time it wasn’t my boss, it was his admin. That wasn’t the only time this happened to several of his contacts. I got use to hearing, “What do you want to bitch about now?” as a greeting.

So here I am, over a year later at a job I really enjoy. Do I love it all the time? No. But the complaints are small. I’m hoping they feel the same way. Actually, I am praying. No one has said anything really negative all year. Please god, please don’t let them drop the A bomb.

I cracked my crown. I was chewing a Jolly Rancher and a chunk of it snapped off.Yes, I was wrong. I shouldn’t chew Jolly Ranchers; I should only dissolve their fruity goodness in my mouth. But the crown was only two months old and I still hadn’t paid the balance of my co-pay on it.