How to bring it all together

I've been thinking a lot about my career. I used to believe I'd be a writer or a business owner (or, in a perfect world, both). But, alas, I'm a VP at a loss prevention company solving other peoples problems.

And so it goes.

To combat that, over the years I've tried to find ways to be creative at work, with writing, formatting, creating new methods to solve problems, providing interesting ways to display data, etc. I remember being 21 and talking to my then boyfriend about aesthetically pleasing code. Perhaps I was always more interested in functional approaches to art/design/workflow. It really doesn't matter though, because it turns out that I'm pretty good at my job.

I think I may finally have a few potential ways to work on something that binds what I love to do with what I actually do. Stay tuned.

Sleepless weeks

Shivering, naked and alone,
In the dark of your room.
You let out a cry to be
Rescued and held;
And I accept.

Soft plush comfort
Sharing unfinished thoughts
The warmth of my bed.

You cave in to me
And I always fall in love.

-for Avery.

Vadim's Birthday

Thought-provoking moments, and
dreams shared in between,
scatter the air, hovering motionlessly above.

Having spent long seasons apart-
and too few moments since-
your shadow stands within this cave.

The walls are thick with seasonless days.
Communication becomes my past.
I surrender myself to books written by
better men, and music sung by fathers of all.
Days pass without notice, until the
shadows become people, and the sun calls them down.
And his message realizes its way into me,
into the cave that has kept me safe,
speaking softly about out there.

The seasons push air into the depth of my lungs;
and, I am here again, and you are real.

The raw power of life beats quickly in my chest;
and I know that this friendship is love,
no matter the short years that stare
at pictures in the distance.

Midnight Daydreams

During the winter season

when darkness is long,

the coldest memories

slice thru the stiff air.

Some of us write letters

seeking warmth & death;

others write poems

where icy weather is never sent.

There will be more seasons

to retell how tireless and cold

winter can be.

Here is my bet....

A bar in the East Village, NYC: Sharpies vs. Smarties

There was the time I could not vote, and then there was the time that I could.

Turning eighteen stood as one of the most defining moments of my life. I have many poor memories of me prior to the year 2000 (the first year I could vote). In fact, for some years following, much of my memory is clouded with this hope of finding me—the “hope” being the main focus.

To much of my surprise, I became mindful of how I am part of the whole—my family, peers, the church, the school, America. It happened over a long period of time, and my political and moral ideals changed dramatically throughout it all. To this day, though, it seems that it was just a blink of the eye. One day I was Kimberly Bloomston, all that mattered, and the next day there was this big picture that needed to be accounted for well before I could become a working mechanism of it all. That, fundamentally, became the driving point of change in my life.

I started to think things through more seriously, determine my words more carefully, and make plans with more of an understanding; ultimately, I became part of a group… a group of working Americans, a generation, community, and, most importantly, a living part of this society that (not only expects) but strives for a better future. I effectively became me—the Kimberly that I always hoped to become.

Tonight I watched the third, and last, Presidential debate between Senator John McCain and Senator Barack Obama at a bar in the East Village in NYC. There was a folksy (not so great) musician playing in the bar until 9:00pm. It was loud, dark, and typical. As the televisions tuned into the debate, a crowd of NYers began to pour into the bar. It was quiet, and there was a particular intent to hear the candidates.

As the night moved forward, the crowd began to cheer, clap, yell, and make note of the ridiculous moments of the show. In one fashion as a group of unsatisfied Americans, we became a whole. I haven’t felt this sort of community in years—I was, at most, in awe of the moment, and, at the height, frightened to be a part of a great community.

If anything is clear, we are unhappy—unhappy with the state of the economy, the current social and foreign policies, and the way we are lied to over and over again. We can disagree fundamentally on how to fix these problems, but we can’t disagree that these are real problems.

And they are.

The problems are larger than a debate, a campaign, and an election. The problems spread over America, through the people, and throughout the states. We have become complacent. We have missed the mark so many times that we have lost sight of the mark itself. We need to help one another.

So, it was here in this bar, during this debate, that I realized so many things that need to change in my life, in your life, and in the life we each hope to live. It is vital to our well-being that we become involved in those issues that matter most to our families, friends, and peers. We have become so wrapped up in this partisanship, that we can hardly see our fingers for our hands.

Change is inevitable. Change is necessary. We each learn to adapt to or, at best, embrace change. But it is here, in this moment, that we can decide the change that we are bound to. We must reach into ourselves to find the courage to research the questions that need answers. We must spend our time researching the policies that will change our lives. We must invest ourselves in the hope that change will happen FOR us.

There is no doubt that I believe Barack Obama is the change that will better our economic, social, and foreign policies. I come from a family that went bankrupt with a small business that could not swim amongst big corporations. I come from a family that has benefited from social programs that helped us to recover from economic hardship. I come from a moment that believes women must have the choice—a choice made with the help of their families, friends, and loved ones. I come from a family that has withstood hatred and discrimination against ourselves and stood for the personhood of others. I come from a middle-class family where the children needed Federal Loans and/or worked several jobs to make it through college. We are Americans, and we want our dreams to come true for our children, and our grandchildren.

Back in the bar in NYC, we believed together. There was no question about the facts: one man took notes with a sharpie, bleeding through papers, and another man looked me in the eye and spoke more eloquently than I have ever hoped to speak. I choose the smartie.

I choose Barack Obama—change that I need.

I encourage each of you to make a wise decision on Election Day. You do have a choice, but you must realize that with choice comes responsibility—responsibility to understand the vote that you’re casting, to understand what you are changing, and to understand what you need to have happen in the White House.

I stand with many of my friends and peers of all different races, economic statuses, and political beliefs, and say that if you have questions, want some help with research, and/or help regarding the choice about a particular issue, I am always willing to talk, and know that they will make themselves available as well. Sure, I have my beliefs, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not open to discuss yours or theirs or another’s. I want to encourage a real discussion about real issues. I want to encourage our friends, families, and peers to disagree with another, but to do so with respect and understanding.

It is OK to believe that I am wrong. It is not OK to distort the facts, remain ignorant for the sake of bliss, or vote against the issues that fundamentally affect you, your family, or your loved ones. Consider your place, your needs, and then talk about it. Votes should be informed; free, but certainly informed.

With open arms, I don’t write with a sharpie, but I’ll certainly try to be a smartie. I hope that you understand. I hope that you try. I hope that you vote with pride—the pride that you’ve voted for us.

Grumpy Talk

Trees have changed since the childhood games.
Rings form and the leaves shed and grow anew.
But we continue to sit in unshaded areas with pictures of then,
Desperately putting behind the words that form our memories.

There is an unyielding need to salvage what was never to be;
With separate inner voices that guide our way.
In ever the same fashion, on this humid day,
We speak aloud the things our separate voices always say.

Together we walk this path that could easily dead-end;
Holding a deep trust that together we can find a way.

(This poem was written in my iPhone note pad and not edited... as you can probably tell)

The End of Now

Stefanie, my old boss and close friend, left me long ago. I remember being distraught, but more because she left before I did, and well, it would mean that I had more time to serve. We rarely worked in the same office together, and our internet communication would continue. I moved back to NY with every intention to figure out my life and do "big" things. It's April 2008 and I'm still working in Long Island, NY.

"And so it goes."

As of today, my boss, co-worker, and close friend, Sc0tt M@+z@, is no longer employed with The Z3llm@n Group. This day has been 30 days in the making, but it's here and it's bleak as hell. The "higher up" side of the office is dark; Stuart is not here today and Scott's office is not yet occupied. As day one it should only feel like Scott's on vacation, but over the year that I have been back in NY, I've tried my hardest to schedule trips, days off, etc during his vacation time. I suppose that I never realized how intentional it must have been until now.

"And so it goes."

I suddenly find myself in a corner. I sit here terrified; there is a big, incredible, hard world out there, and I should be in it. I've had all of these incredible dreams for myself over the years and never once did I consider this reality: there is not a single obstacle in my way. To be perfectly honest, I have no clue what that means for myself. I can list these goals I made for myself, and I can certainly attempt to live up to each of them, but in reality my only desire is to do something that I love and never look back.

Interestingly enough, this month has taught me that what I love the most is to be near and close to people who make me smile, laugh, think, create, work, learn, and love. From there I can find a way to challenge myself, challenge the world (if need be). The only true requirement in all of it is to have people that I'd chose to be near if the choice was given.

"And so it goes."

I was given a promotion recently to "Director of Retail Operations". It sounds fancy and cool, much more so than I know it to be just yet. I have all of these ideas of things to do, things to create, people to do it with...
perhaps that will come to fruition soon enough. What else am I going to do 8:30 - 5:30 <--- that's a joke!

The Boys, weekend relaxation, and the future

Despite my disgust with Terminal 5, I made it out to see The Beastie Boys. It was an excellent show: funny, exciting, and it brought back some fond memories. I'm glad I spent the money, and now I'm officially done with Terminal 5.

It did manage to get worse, if you're wondering. The upstairs (where the sound is tolerable) became far more "corporate". The sides are all blocked off with "V.I.P." sections; these areas allowed people who aren't sound-retarded to see the show and hear the show all at once. Now, instead of the stage being visible, there are flat screen televisions that allow the upstairs audience to "enjoy" the show. Let me also add that the coloring on these televisions is terrible (to put it mildly).


I've spent the weekend relaxing and trying my best to stay dry. It's been quite a few weeks since I've had this sort of downtime and it feels wonderful. I may even consider yoga in the morning.


Several thoughts have been creeping through my head about the future. I need to find a solid career path that suits my needs, desires, dreams, and challenges me. It's a tall order to fill, and I'm still not up for the challenge. Note: by no means am I unhappy with my current job, I just can't imagine further growth or even transference. It's not "stuck" that I feel, but rather "unsettled". I imagine more, but it ends there. Perhaps I just need thousands of dollars to fall into my lap, and then I'd figure it out. Any takers?

Wrapping it up

I've been wanting to talk to you, sweet blogger, for way too long.

It appears that many have fallen--behind and out.
Hillary Clinton, Barak Obama, and John McCain. All else seems beyond repair.

As most of you know, I'm not a Republican, so I'm really left with two possibilities. I was (eek) pleasantly surprised to see that McCain came out ahead on Super Tuesday. Let me go ahead and explain myself in as few words as possible: a minor baby-step away from the Christian Right; waterboarding is torture; he won't win over many hearts because he's dull as all hell?

I'm happy to say that there is a tough choice ahead for the Democratic Party. We have two good candidates, for two different reasons. A co-worker pointed out that if Clinton wins the election, we will have 22 years (minimum) of Bush or Clinton. A good argument for "real change"?

I didn't vote on Super Tuesday, but in the end my vote would have been cast for Obama. I like Clinton's healthcare policy better and I wish Obama would discuss policy a bit more, but in the end, he won me over. His campaign slogan sells, and he makes us all believe again. That's something that the world needs. We all need to believe that America can and will change. We need it more than Gore needs fresh air and better weather.

Perhaps when there is a candidate, I'll get more hyped up. In the meantime, I'm listening intently. We have a chance again. We might be heard.

Cat Power: Terminal 5

I'd been anticipating this night for so long; it came and went not nearly quick enough.

Chan played with the Dirty Delta Blues Band in the middle-of-nowhere space, Terminal 5. I purchased Jukebox immediately upon release and was excited to see her announcement for a show at Terminal 5. This was my first visit to this converted dance club, and I was pleasantly surprised upon entering the venue. The lighting was sweet and the bars were plentiful; the second floor had a nice atmosphere with couches galore. We entered the venue at 7:45pm, with our 7:00pm tickets.

After a long wait, the show began with Appaloosa, a man with a laptop and a french girl in short shorts. We sat on the couches and listened to the trip-hop beats, while waiting anxiously for Cat Power to come on stage. When Appaloosa left the stage, there was little applaud and more waiting. I don't know how long it took for Cat Power to come on stage, but it sure wasn't quick.

Theo and I pushed our way close to the stage, waiting patiently for Chan's arrival, while being pushed left and right by a nasty New York crowd. We had the pleasure of listening to an indi-rock couple behind us argue insensibly. At one point she said, "I just want Cat Power to come on stage." I turned around and said, "Don't we all." She must have shot darts out of her eyes, so I turned around and pretended that I didn't try to stir the pot.

Cat Power began her set with "New York, New York", and this was the most exciting moment of the evening. The crowd did not do, as crowds almost always do, any moving or shifting once she got on stage. There was no energy and even being as close as we were, her words were muted. I tried to dance a bit, move around, but it felt wrong with all of the statues around me.

Now, I had heard all the buzz about Terminal 5 having terrible sound, but I thought that they were just referring to the odd space having little acoustic value. Unfortunately, the ear-crushing feedback came almost immediately. Theo and I decided it was high time to have a cigarette break only three songs into her set. After the break, we went upstairs to a couch, hoping for better sound and more space, and it happened!

We got a nice spot on a couch, near another couple who were plenty nice. There was no view from here, but we had comfy seats and the sound improved ten-fold. You could hear her voice, and while the feedback was still terrible, it mattered less on the couch. Chan took opportunity after opportunity to complain about the spot lights (which were killing us upstairs) to the sound (which killed the crowd). At one point she said, "We're almost done," giving the crowd a sense of relief.

But, with all said and done, I stood up and found a space on the balcony. Chan's sensual voice, and the Delta Dirty Blues Band's music, gave me an experience not to forget. She has talent that is unquestionable, even cleaned up and pretty.

I'd definitely want to see Chan again, but at a smaller and more intimate venue that allows for a more energetic audience. She marched on, despite the feedback, lighting, and terrible acoustics.

So now I have two $100.00 presale Beastie Boy tickets for March 4th at Terminal 5, hosted by Moby. I had no idea that Terminal 5 would be so terrible. The reviews don't do it justice. Look back here for more news, as these might be up for grabs!

[pictures taken from my iPhone]

California on my mind

an endless moment

it's 3am
the clock is blinking 4:47

the room is not empty
there is noone around

flipping through pages
searching for an answer

looking for inspiration
sniffling at love

there's a huge hole
black and growing larger

endlessly gaping
you're not here to fill it

i talk aloud
and feel more empty than before

10/05/03

Sigur Ros

It seems that I did not mention the surprise Sigur Ros appearance I witnessed last (gasp) year (October '07?).

There was a church-- the old kind, the kind that smells beautiful. They played only a few songs, and there were only about 40 people. We sat up front, wondering how those sounds were coming out of him. They played an acoustic set. It was heavenly.

Sometimes I want to go back to this evening. I want to see them again.

Babble, babble, what?

Clarity unwelcome when I've
only duped myself; the days
can change in any motion,
but the seasons remain intact.

The trees will grow stronger,
despite the number of rings or
leaves-- it’s the inevitability
amongst the forest land.
The rivers will continue to pull,
water from point to point, slamming
against the rocks and life whom,
unknowingly, block the route.
The need for life to resume, heeding
through the roughage, is visible
and constant.

In some worlds, days
don't stand still, but here-
we stand or move on our
own accord.

Arcade Fire

I was introduced to Arcade Fire in 2005. As soon as I purchased Funeral, I listened to the album obsessively for a year. Not only is the album beautiful, but for me listening to it was a very personal experience. It touched me in ways that were unfathomable (I was going through a rough period in my life). Recently their newest album, Neon Bible, was released. I went to buy it immediately, but as I took a quick listen in the store I was sorely disappointed. I put the album down and left the store a very sad girl.

Well, up to date, they are playing in New York this week and I couldn't get tickets. My friend, Vadim, had tickets and fortunately someone who was going backed out. When I got the call last night I did my "I'm going to see Arcade Fire" dance. Theo drove with me into city because we haven't been able to spend much time together. As we were waiting for Vadim a fellow approached and asked if we needed a ticket. I said, "Sure, how much?" He said, "Take it." (Obviously not a New Yorker. My friend Vadim charged me $45.00; now he's a New Yorker.)

Hands down, the best concert I have ever been to. The projection was incredible. The performance was brilliant. The new songs were original and fun. I was glad to actually hear the new album in concert, otherwise I would have always believed the new album to be shit. I will say, I was really hoping that Bowie would come out, but he was nowhere to be found. Perhaps soon enough.

I didn't bring my camera, and my camera phone was dead. I left there picture-less, but happy as could be. I'd love to catch them in concert again, and hopefully next time sit (read: stand/dance) next to Theo.

Needless to say, I highly suggest purchasing both Funeral and Neon Bible if you have not already done so.

Kansas and Missouri

You know, my job isn't particularly interesting. To a deskworker it might sound fun, but in all actuality-- traveling is hard. The fascinating thing about my job is that I do it. For one, I get motion sickness, yet I fly at least once a week. On top of that, the idea of flying freaks me out. Airports I find to be hellish and hotel rooms are germ pools. Car rentals are annoying, and reading directions everywhere you go gets old. I sit in malls everyday, for god's sake.

Whine, whine, whine.

In any event, it's very much true that I hate about 90% of the states in this country. I hated them before I knew anything about them, and I hate them even more when I get there. All this time I was planning on journaling my trips. I did it for the first couple of trips, but stopped soon after. A travel blog might be good, but why do that when I can blab about anything on this blog.


Right now I'm in Kansas City, Missouri. Why the hell is Kansas City in Missouri and not Kansas, you may ask. The answer, of course, I don't know. When I got here I had a million different things to say, but now that the day is over I just want to sleep. That has to be the ultimate reason that my job gets hard. I'm always worn-out.

Well, I had a connection in D.C. The security guard directed me to leave security and go into another gate to get to my connection. I asked him if he was serious and he got very mean. I barely made my connection.

The airport had a new Car Rental facility. This means that many people were confused with change. That was brilliant to witness.

Kansas looks like it's under construction, but not in that bull dozer type of way. There is.....

too tired to keep writing... I'll finish soon.

The Namesake

I finished The Namesake: Lahiri. I thoroughly enjoyed this book: it was powerful in a way I was not suspecting, and thrilling in a way that seems impossible after you've read the back.

The book is about an Indian man and woman who get married and move to Boston. It details the struggle that each of them face being away from their families, and more so, living in a world that is unfamiliar to them.

She has a baby. This moment is so magical in the book. For the first time in my life I understand how important family will be during this time in a woman's life. I also saw a glimpse of what it means to loose yourself to gain a new self. All in Lahiri's pages are details of this experience, of how one woman copes and, sometimes, does not cope.

As the eldest kid grows up in an Indian family surrounded by other Indian families, he is faced feeling deeply disconnected after going to school and entertaining American life. Eventually the young boy changes his name-- a moment in the book that is too powerful to write about and too deeply emotional to highlight.

The book has many marvelous themes. Any reader can relate to Lahiri's words because we've all felt alone, different, disconnected, or insecure. I had a hard time putting the book down, and when I was done reading I was left wanting to hear more from Lahiri. She is a brilliant wordsmith and I'm glad that I've been introduced to her work.

Read this book. Next stop, see the movie. (I've heard that it's not nearly as good as the book).

Other People's Writing

Being on an airplane at least twice a week lends me some nice, solid reading-time. It seems that every time I'm at the airport I purchase a new book.

Dry: Augusten Burroughs
I really enjoyed this book. If you've read anything by Burroughs, you have to expect to go through a certain roller coaster of emotions. First you laugh and then you cry, but usually you're just shocked. I read Running With Scissors and Possible Side Effects, so I read this book as an expert.

Burroughs always shocks me-- not just because he tells me amazing stories, but also because he has basically no formal education and writes much smarter than me. I found Dry to be particularly moving because fighting addiction is terribly difficult. Burroughs is a sincere writer and Dry was a surprisingly fresh look at addiction.

If you haven't read any Burroughs, I recommend picking up any of his work immediately.


Magical Thinking: Burroughs
So what? I read two Burroughs books in one month. There is something about his voice that makes me feel connected. This book made me laugh so loudly that fellow passengers gave me dirty looks. Magical Thinking, eh? I can relate to that. Or, maybe I wish I could relate to that. Who knows.


A Man Without a Country: Vonnegut
Well, he's dead. I picked up this book surprised that I didn't buy it earlier. Vonnegut will always have a special place in my heart. He taught me that I like to read. He taught me that ice can be scary. He taught me that chapters are allowed to be short and paragraphs don't have to have three sentences.

I really enjoyed this book. It's pretty close to a memoir, and if you're a fan of Vonnegut, this is a nice commute book. Pick it up and bring it on your next subway ride. While the guy next to you is listening to his music too loudly, you can giggle loudly with Vonnegut instead of shooting that guy looks that could kill.

I finished this book on one quick plane ride. I didn't get off the plane until it was practically unloaded and I was in the third row. I had to finish it before I could get up. He's always been that writer for me.


The Namesake: Lahiri
Holy shit! I'm not even done with this book and I know that it will change me forever. I'm at the half-way point and I've cried three times. In all actuality, I have no idea why I cried. Lahiri writes like a goddess and moves me to the core. I feel at home with Lahiri's words. Buy this book immediately.


Diary: Palahniuk
Palahniuk is a unique writer. Each of his books are bizarre in their own right. Diary is no different than the others. This book is as brilliant as it is frightening. If you haven't read any Palahniuk, I wouldn't start with Diary. If you have read some Palahniuk and enjoyed his bizarre stories, this one rates well. Pick it up.


Dune: Herbert
You'd think that a nerd like me would have read this book long ago. I started reading Dune about six months ago. Theo bought me a used paperback and within a few weeks the spine broke. I have read all but the last 75 pages, which is many, many pages. I've heard many people name this book as a favorite and I can understand why. It starts out miserably slow, but by the middle of the book it all makes sense. Reading this book reminds me of how I felt reading The Lighthouse: Woolf. "It's too slow to enjoy.... It's incredible." The switch isn't immediate, but when you realize it's beauty, you forgive and understand the slow start.


I've been reading. In between books I watch many movies. I want to talk about some of them here, but you have to give me some time. When I've read too many books to talk about any of them in full, I'll do a book post again.

Any questions?

I want to be a writer.

I've been itching to write again, but the more I read the more I think I don't have anything to say. There's been so many things already said by writers who are much more elequont than me. My writing style is not unique and I do not have a voice of my own.

I've sat down with a blank screen and a blank piece of paper a few times now: each time I've just stared. It's amazing how small and insignificant I feel everytime I get an urge to just write. I feel like everything inside is stuck and there is no way to get it out on paper.

What's weird is that every time I'm in a writing phase, it has something to do with love or pain. When I'm not there I hear Rilke telling me to stay away from the subject of love. I wonder why I don't hear him when I'm in that stage. Perhaps because it's my vice, my addiction. It's been awhile though. The last time I was able to write more than one poem in a sitting was more than two years ago. I used to write because I had to: there was no way around it. I was blogging and poeming everyday. Those were not particularly good times.

And, so, when I say that I want to start writing again, I scare myself. I don't want to write because I'm depressed, and I don't want to be depressed to write. I've been in both places, and I strongly believe that real work is beyond that stuff. The real work comes many years later, after the pain, and it isn't because you have a wound, but maybe because you have a scar, or even a memory. And, in the end, the work shouldn't really be about the memory. The work really should just use those things to say substantial things, ever-lasting things.

I guess I'm not there yet because I still don't know what I want to say. I just know that I need to say something real. I want to be moved when I write it and I want the reader to be moved to read it. I want to grow up, but I'm better off letting it happen to me.

I'm sure that you feel the same way. Thanks for the ear.

"Hello, my name is Kimberly and I'm a workaholic."

I have the great pleasure to be in an airport at least once a week. This week I have been to four different airports (and today is Wednesday). Without fail, one thought enters my mind every time I am in one of these god-awful places, "Who designed these restroom doors?!"

The handicap stall is always equipped with a door that opens toward the restroom-goer. This is the same in nearly every restroom I have ever seen. It makes perfect sense: in order to fit a wheel chair, the door must open in this manner. This same logic is not used for carry-on luggage. Every other stall in the restroom has a door that opens toward the toilet. This brilliant concept annoys me every time I think about going to the restroom at the airport. When I walk into the stall with my wheeled, carry-on luggage, I have to stand next to the toilet (with the fear of touching the toilet before using a toilet seat cover) and roll my luggage inside where it always has to touch the toilet for the door to close. The same problem arises when I leave the stall.

If the designers have the common sense to design the handicap stalls with logic, why did they fail so horribly with the rest of the stalls?! And, of course, I've never mentioned this bit of annoyance with anyone before now. I bet every female who travels for work thinks about this same shit. I bet flight attendants hate it. Oh man, tomorrow when I'm at the airport, I'm going to say something to the person next to me at the sink. I am excited!

Another annoying tid-bit of traveling is that you become accustom to delays, rude people, dumb policies, and rushing around. With that in mind, it kills me that Car Rental Companies do not always tell their customers where the nearest gas station is located. Every time I'm on my way back to the airport I have to search for gas for about 10-30 minutes. What horrible customer service!


I'm sure that you have no idea what I'm talking about. You probably think I'm crazy for thinking about these things. You're wrong. I'm crazy for traveling as much as I do. And, worse, I'm crazy for not having "Elite Status" with all Airlines. I bet they have special restrooms that have doors that open toward to restroom-goer and they laugh at all the people who have to use the "normal" restrooms. Those asshats.

I need a vacation.