In a word (ok, 2 words):  THANK YOU!

To everyone who has taken the time to read one of my posts, please know I am grateful! To those of you who took the extra time to comment on Facebook: THANK YOU! THANK YOU! One woman who went to the effort of emailing me to tell me how much she enjoyed the site actually gave me an idea for a future post. (THANK YOU, J!) In fact, I was so enthralled with the idea her email spurred, I realized I wanted more:  More comments and more suggestions.

As previously admitted, I don’t have the slightest idea what I’m doing. But I am determined to learn. A fellow flight attendant who is now following the site (and who, BTW, is a fabulous poet!) sent me a poem she had once written whose theme matched “How Men are Like High Heels.” As soon as I figure out how to import, paste or whatever I need to do, I shall be posting it. (THANK YOU, A! I can’t wait for future post/poem encounters!)

You may have noticed, I have learned how to attach photos. (I must be a frustrated photographer as well as writer . . .) My next step is links to articles and other posts I’ve found either helpful or inspirational along this journey called “life after 40, 50, 60, 70 and beyond.” (THANK You, J!) In the discovery process of blog terminology and learning, I’ve also realized if one scrolls down past the post, one can comment. (THANK YOU, B!)

Please, ladies. Let me have it! Intercourse is vital (and not just in the carnal variety). My biggest struggle as a fiction writer was always plot ideas. I can create characters with ease–and dialogue? It’s where I shine. (If I do say so myself.) But ideas . . . yeah, not my strong suite. Can you help a sister out? (see paragraph 1.)

I’ve also learned if you scroll to the very bottom there’s this weird little icon you can click on to follow the site. You’ll get an email alerting you to when a new post is posted. Please, if you enjoy “sucks,” give it a click.

Please know this site is NOT about making money. (It’s set up not to, in fact.) It’s about expression and commonality among a community of women who are, by virtue of being women, able to relate and commiserate–and hopefully enjoy and occasionally laugh.

Life has thrown me some wicked curve balls in the last few years.  I’ve survived in no small part due to my women friends. Lifelong and otherwise. In fact, in the last 14 years some of my most enjoyable moments have occurred when a stranger I’ve never flown with before (much less set eyes on) becomes, after a transatlantic flight or a domestic 4-day, a long lost sister. (You know who I mean, L & M & S & B, to name only a few.)

The old saying goes, we can’t pick our family, but we can pick our friends. And sometimes the Gods of Scheduling and their incompetent sidekick PBS have a hand in the introductions . . .

True story:   I transferred to Philly from Phoenix as a German LODO when the fence fell between America West and US Airways. (US Airways- speak for Language of Destination and Origination. My new airline, American, just calls them “speakers.” BTW, we’re still waiting for that fence to fall!) On July 4th, 2014, Scheduling called. They were sending me to Brussels. “Ahhhh, you do know I’m a German Lodo?” I said. “Yes,” the scheduler replied in dismissive condescension and annoyance. “We’re out of Reserves (Gee, really? I’m shocked!) and besides, it’s one of the languages for Brussels.” Since when the f**k? was what I thought. “Yeah, whatever,” is what I said. Long story short, I dutifully did my thing like a good little lodo flight attendant–translating all the flight deck announcements and reading the company-issued propaganda in German–while the French and Flemish-speaking passengers looked at one another and rolled their eyes in confusion. (Hey, was it my problem they didn’t know German was one of the languages for Brussels?)

The point of the story above, however, is that one of the flight attendants working that flight–a tall, leggy blond with a killer sense of humor–ended up not only a fun to see the sights with companion, but my first (and still a dearest bestie) friend in Philly. (Btw, K . . . you keep telling me you’re going to read “sucks” . . . girlfriend, you better effin’ read this one! And I expect a click on “LIKE” and on “FOLLOW”!) Seriously, she is my biggest cheerleader. Ask anyone who flies with her. “Do you know my friend, Judith, the author?” she’ll ask the minute she finds out either A) they transferred from Phoenix; B) they usually fly Frankfurt or Munich; or C) they have a pulse.

Yep. That’s what friends are for . . . the good times and the bad. The new adventures and the old wounds, too. ‘Cause the very best ones will–with a single SOS phone call–show up with wine (or Bailey’s, right, D?) to hold your hand, lend an ear and slap a band-aid on that old scar you thought had healed. Indeed, nothing explains a girlfriend better than this line from the movie Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood:  “I hope this isn’t a real emergency, I only brought one bottle of vodka.”

But regardless if it’s with wine or vodka or Bailey’s or a Starbuck’s mocha-frappe-cappu, the value of a true girlfriend is not what she shows with–it’s that she shows up. (And that’s a damn sight more than I can say for a lot of men in my life!)

So, Cheers, ladies! And a toast: Here’s to girlfriends, BFFs, lifelong, long lost and those you’ve yet to meet . . .

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