Why “Badass” is staying on my business card

In which I talk about really owning my badassery.

I have many titles in my professional life, some of which are quite mainstream.

Naval Flight Officer.
Certified QuickBooks ProAdvisor.
Executive Director.

But I also have a few self-assigned titles that aren’t as mainstream or accepted.

Visionary Badass Changemaker.
The QuickBooks Badass.

Recently, someone told me that I’d have to remove “Badass” from my business card before they’d work with me.

You may think I’d say “oh, hell no” without a second thought and move on, right?

But I’ve really wrestled with it.

Because I have this strange dichotomy that I think may be pretty common; I want to be liked, accepted and respected by…well…everybody, really. But I also have a burning need to live authentically and unapologetically. And here’s the thing.

It’s been working.

I have gained clients simply because of the Badass in my title, and I have retained those clients because they find out that it’s true.

Embracing my badassery is a relatively new thing. I’m both military service member and female. Society discourages us from touting our accomplishments. I’m not “supposed to” be walking around calling myself a badass.

But some colleagues helped me realize about two years ago that I have earned the title. I was the only female aviator in my squadron and one of a small minority on my ship. I have almost 1000 hours in my aircraft and am an Advanced Mission Commander. I have birthed and breastfed two amazing children. I am starting a nonprofit. I am going to graduate school.

These are all things I can take pride in, and I’m not going to apologize for it. Nor should you.

We should not apologize for stepping into our power and owning our accomplishments.

We have the right to tell the world what we can offer.

I have been accused of being an “attention whore.” And for years, I rebelled against the title. But I have to admit, it’s true. And then I ask myself, what do I do with that attention?

I divert it.

I’m not actually comfortable getting face-to-face praise. I’m not great at accepting compliments. But I’m happy to talk at length about other people and issues. I have been known to get on my soapbox at parties and rally reluctant party-goers around paid leave and the FAMILY Act. I have gone on at length about normalizing breastfeeding and supporting all mothers regardless of their choices.

In other words, I use that attention to try and make this world a better place – for women, for families, for children. For all of us humans.

I have always been adventurous, outgoing and semi-blunt. I have always had a strong need to help people and make a difference. I have always spoken out when others wouldn’t or couldn’t.

I am a Badass. And you are too.

Leave a comment and tell me about yourself. Would you feel comfortable calling yourself a badass? What would you tell people about your accomplishments if you had no fear of looking cocky or arrogant? What would you do in my situation? I’d love to hear from you!

Love and purple,


Feminine power in a man’s world: Lingerie under my flight suit.

Until 2010, I was an active duty Naval Flight Officer (NFO) in the E-2C Hawkeye. I was the only female aviator in my squadron, the World Famous Rulers of the Planet VAW-123 Screwtops. Yes, we actually called ourselves that. It was even in my official military orders. I love Naval Aviation.

Photo credit: Derek Gordon

Flight school was one of the most challenging experiences of my life. I was stressed in a million new ways, and in the beginning the stress was bringing out the best in me. I excelled and was feeling pretty good, even a bit cocky.

That was all about to change.

Things ramped up as we got closer to the winging ceremony, which is, as you may as figured, the ceremony wherein the students officially get their wings. I had a lot of flights and simulator events to get through, and my multitasking skills weren’t as good as I thought they were. My confidence wavered, and my performance started to take a nose dive, so to speak.

I am eternally grateful for my mentor at the time, a talented and dedicated female instructor who took extra time to work with me. She even came in on weekends to help me in the simulator, and I know that extra bit of practice and instruction is what finally got my skills where they needed to be.

Fast forward to my last flight before wings. I was incredibly anxious, because I was scheduled to fly with a notoriously nerve-wracking instructor. Even though I had improved dramatically, I was letting self-doubt creep in where it didn’t belong.

There’s a reason that aviators tend toward cockiness. It’s practically a required trait. Generally, it applies more to pilots than NFOs out of necessity; pilots need to have the confidence to land an 80 million dollar aircraft on a flight deck the size of a 7-11 parking lot. As an NFO, you still have life and death decisions to make, just not as often, and in different arenas. So you need to be good, and you need to know you’re good. I wasn’t so sure. That’s bad.

20140719-111839-40719203.jpgDon’t worry, I got my wings.

Although I had wavering confidence in my military prowess, I never doubted my sexual prowess. (For a long time, I did not use my powers for good; that’s a bad girl post for another time.) So what do you do if you’re a sexually confident military woman who is nervous about an event? Wear racy lingerie under your uniform.

So that’s what I did. Lacy bra, matching thong, garter belt, stockings, everything but my whip and handcuffs.

And it worked. Every time I got sweaty-palm nervous controlling aircraft or getting grilled by my instructor, I took a deep breath, recalled my knowledge, thought “he’s got no idea what I’m wearing under my flight suit” and kicked ass.

It’s kind of like imagining your audience naked, only it’s you. And not naked. Ok, it’s a bit of a stretch, but you know what I mean.

For me, it was a tool to alleviate my stress and focus on the task at hand. It was a little bit of “I know something you don’t” that gave me a much-needed confidence boost. Every human interaction is a power play, so having a little extra knowledge secreted away gives you an edge.

Tell me your stories. What methods do you use to cope with stressful situations? Would you try mine?

Love and purple to you all,

aka “ODB”

One nation under Goddess: Why I can’t worship a man

I love my husband, my son, my father, all the men in my life. But I can’t deify them.

Yet isn’t that what we do every day? 

I have some very close gentile friends who are devout Christians and wonderful people. And it irks me to no end when they talk about “His will for me.” Why not G-d’s will? Or the Creator’s will? Because as long as “He” continues to permeate our mainstream vernacular, we will not be equal. 

A patriarchy wrote a holy book to solidify the institution. The Bible has done a bang-up job of perpetuating it. How can we be equal when male = godliness and female = helpmate?

One of my dearest friends once told me about a program at her preteen daughter’s school called The Brotherhood. I expressed concern that the girls might feel left out. She assured me that “brotherhood” didn’t really mean only boys, that people consider it gender neutral. 

Really? Which people? I’m betting they are male. And even if girls don’t consciously feel excluded, the subconscious effect of brotherhood as gender neutral could have a long-lasting impact on girls’ confidence and feminine pride.

But “he” is just a generic pronoun, some say. 

No, it’s not. No more than “she” is generic to men. 

When I say goddess, there comes the eye rolling and pronunciations of Wicca and dancing around a fire. But G-d is fine. The difference? Gender. 

But G-d has no gender, you say. 

My point exactly. Let’s go on the assumption that we had, whether still around or not, a creator. And let’s say we call that creator G-d. If G-d has no gender, then why does it matter what pronoun we use? Why can’t I say Goddess and have Her revered in the same way?

When half the world’s population is excluded from godliness, what can we do? It’s an uphill battle. 

When it comes to religious ramblings, all I can offer as credentials are my Hebraic studies minor (I’m a super Jew!) and an upbringing in a predominantly Jewish community. I’m lucky to be part of a religion that encourages discussion and dissection.

Until we really delve into the maleness of G-d, I don’t know how far we can get within a patriarchy that is literally worshipped. 

But I’m sure as hell going to try.

I’m a Badass Changemaker™ and proud of it. Now you say it.

Recently I answered a post on LinkedIn that asked us to describe ourselves in one word and explain why. Here’s what I wrote:

“Badass. I’ve worked hard for everything I’ve achieved, I am an unstoppable force for good, and a woman to be reckoned with. (For instance, I fearlessly end sentences with prepositions.) And most importantly, I’m finally embracing who I am without apology or shame.”

It felt so good to write that. I’ve spent way too long being concerned that people would think I’m cocky or arrogant or bitchy, or any words used to describe someone who challenges power assumptions.

No more.

I’ve worked hard to become who I am. I’ve been challenged by the military, by parenting, by society’s expectations, and I’ve accomplished more than I ever thought possible.

And I’m not done. Not by a long shot.

I’m a short Jewish chick who has been told repeatedly that I can’t do what I’ve done: race cars, graduate flight school, deploy on a carrier, sing with soul, have purple hair, love everyone.

Change the world.

I’m a Badass Changemaker™, and I’m gathering my tribe. You know who you are. The ones who aren’t satisfied with the status quo of this existence. The ones who want more for their children and their children’s children. The ones who want to leave this world a better place than it was when we came into it.

We have much to do. Challenging modern medicine’s approach to birthing and parenting. Elevating mothers and families on our list of priorities. Getting paid leave in our country, the last industrialized nation without it. Bringing authenticity and love to the forefront of our ideals, ahead of strength and financial success.

Who’s with me? Comment and tell me why you want to be a Badass Changemaker™ too. And there’s a BC website coming too, so be sure to follow me for updates on that.

We can do this. It’s starting.

Love and purple to all of you,



“Silence” by Anasuya Sengupta

“Too many women in too many countries
speak the same language of silence.
My grandmother was always silent, always aggrieved
Only her husband had the cosmic right (or so it was said)
to speak and be heard.
They say it is different now.
(After all, I am always vocal and my grandmother
thinks I talk too much)
But sometimes I wonder.
When a woman shares her thoughts, as some women do,
graciously, it is allowed.
When a woman fights for power, as all women would like
to, quietly or loudly, it is questioned.
And yet, there must be freedom — if we are to speak
And yes, there must be power — if we are to be heard.
And when we have both (freedom and power) let us now be
We seek only to give words to those who cannot speak
(too many women in too many countries)
I seek to forget the sorrows of my grandmother’s silence.”


Be kind. F*ck nice.

A friend recently asked me to write a letter to people who are always worried how they’re coming across to others. She doesn’t want to hurt someone else’s feelings by sharing hers, but she’s also sick of editing herself. In her words, “I mean, when will I stop fretting over this sh*t?” Sound familiar? Do you constantly censor yourself because you’re worried about other people’s reactions?

In our hunter-gatherer primitive nature, women especially have an inherent urge to nurture and protect. So it is completely natural to care about the feelings and opinions of others. What tends to happen, though, is that we too often put those feelings and opinions above our own. I’m not saying we shouldn’t care about how our words impact other people. Of course that matters. But the more we hold back our authenticity, the less connection we feel. How great would it be to feel truly comfortable in your own skin, no matter where you are?

I love this quote:


I tell my kids to be honest and kind. Over and over I say it, honesty and kindness. Because I don’t want them to fall prey to this unfortunate social epidemic of white lies. I guess it hearkens back to “if you don’t have something nice to say, blah blah blah” which has merit at its root, but that has morphed into never talking about how we really feel.

It’s created a culture of nice insincerity and political correctness.

If we are really going to be kind, we have to be our best, truest selves. We care about what others think; now we just have to work on caring about ourselves more. And it needs to be a social contract where we ALL do it. We speak the truth with kindness, and we believe the best of others. We need to give other people the latitude that we’d like them to give us.

Will you join me in showing our true selves with honesty and kindness? Let’s spread the word. #bekindfucknice. Or #bekindfcknice. Whatever floats your boat. I won’t judge.

Love and purple to you all,



Dear America, please tell Congress we want paid leave

Dear American parents, sons, and daughters,

I recently learned some truly disturbing facts about paid leave in our country while working on an eye-opening documentary called The Milky Way. Did you know that the U.S. is the only industrialized nation that doesn’t have mandated paid leave? It is one of only four of 173 nations surveyed that doesn’t have it. The other three are Papua New Guinea, Swaziland, and Liberia (or Lesotho, depending on the source.) It’s true. Look here, here, or here. Oh, and here. From the survey:

Out of 173 countries studied, 169 countries offer guaranteed leave with income to women in connection with childbirth; 98 of these countries offer 14 or more weeks paid leave. Although in a number of countries many women work in the informal sector, where these government guarantees do not always apply, the fact remains that the U.S. guarantees no paid leave for mothers in any segment of the work force, leaving it in the company of only 3 other nations: Liberia, Papua New Guinea, and Swaziland.

You may know that back in 1993, Congress passed the FMLA, which provided 12 weeks of unpaid leave to a small number of employees that met a list of eligibility requirements. Most of you probably didn’t even get that. Or couldn’t take it because of that pesky need for money to buy food and such.

How many of you got paid leave after your kids were born? How many of you were paid when you had to take time off to nurse a sick parent to heath?

I’m guessing too few. If any.

And here’s why I’m writing. The long-overdue next step is here. Congress has in their possession, right now, a bill that provides 12 weeks of paid leave that would cost us about the same as disability or unemployment insurance. Two tenths of one percent, that’s all. Which ends up being about $1.50 a week for the average worker. (Some people have called it the “price of a cup of coffee” but they either haven’t bought coffee in ten years or don’t even drink it.) And there isn’t a long list of eligibility requirents. It is called the Family and Medical Insurance Leave Act, or FAMILY act. According to this fact sheet provided by National Partnership for Women and Families, The FAMILY Act would:

– Provide workers with up to 12 weeks of partial income when they take time for their own serious health condition, including pregnancy and childbirth recovery; the serious health condition of a child, parent, spouse or domestic partner; the birth or adoption of a child; and/or for particular military caregiving and leave purposes.

– Enable workers to earn 66 percent of their monthly wages, up to a capped amount.

– Cover workers in all companies, no matter their size. Younger, part-time, lower-wage and contingent workers would be eligible for benefits.

– Be funded by small employee and employer payroll contributions of two-tenths of one percent each (two cents per $10 in wages), or about $1.50 per week for a typical worker.

– Be administered through a new Office of Paid Family and Medical Leave within the Social Security Administration. Payroll contributions would cover both insurance benefits and administrative costs.

Sign this MoveOn.org petition to tell Congress we want paid leave!

In January, the wonderful National Partnership for Women and Families sent the members of Congress this letter on behalf of 433 organizations and millions of Americans urging them to support the bill. But they were way too nice; they have to be.

I don’t.

I’m in the Navy, and I curse like a sailor when I’m not around my kids, and I’ll bet a lot of y’all do too, so here it comes.

What the f*ck is going on in our country that such a crucial measure to protect our families is barely a blip on our government’s radar? The bill is already buried in committees in both houses. According to the govtrack.us site and some legislators out there, the bill is a nice idea but will never pass. To which I say:

Bullsh*t. Have you actually talked to any of your constituents? Because I’ll bet that mom who just had her baby and is already trying to figure out pumping schedules would sure like to know that she could actually spend some time bonding with her baby first. And that guy who has to take off work because his mother has fallen ill would feel a lot better knowing that he’d have a paycheck coming in for a couple months while he helps her get better.

Go here to sign the National Partnership for Women and Families petition. Please.

I have been talking to people about this everywhere I go, and so far not a single person knows that there is a bill in Congress that could give us 12 weeks paid leave. Not. A. Single. Person. Once I told them about it, especially that it would be mandated, low-cost, and doesn’t add to the federal budget, every one of them enthusiastically agreed that this bill should pass.

Of course it should pass! And you know why? It is high f*cking time that the U.S. catches up with the rest of the world and supports families, specifically new mothers and fathers. What can be more important than nurturing the next generation?

I keep hearing that the bill has little to no chance of becoming law, and I refuse to accept that. I know that if the American people knew about it, Congress would feel public pressure the likes of which hasn’t been seen since Vietnam. I would be the first leading a charge of protests and rallies to get our mamas time with their babies instead of watching them cry as they hand off a newborn to a daycare provider.

Our country is at a tipping point; mothers are having to go back to work too soon after giving birth. The breastfeeding relationships suffer because, rather than being able to bond with her baby and recover, the new mom has to start thinking about pumping and working and childcare. Depression is rampant among lower income new mothers because the stress is overwhelming. It’s hard enough to deal with the sleep-deprivation and already existing stress of a newborn. Going back to work too soon isn’t good for mother or baby. Why are newborns, the seeds of our future, so low on the list of priorities?

Please share this. And keep sharing this. Tell everyone you know. Sign every petition you see, like this MomsRising one. Write or call your Senator or Representative; you can find them using the links below. Please help me wake up our country to what is possible for our families. I want our government to hear our voices so loud that this bill will move to the top of the priority list where it belongs.

Thanks so much for reading, and for spreading the knowledge that will make such an important difference to American families.

More info:

MoveOn.org Petition for Paid Parental Leave
National Partnership for Women and Families petition
MomsRising.org petition

Track the bill:
View and track the full bill in the Senate, S. 1810.
View and track the full bill in the House, H.R. 3712.

Contact your Congressperson:
Find your Representative.
Find your Senator.

National Partnership links:
Please check out out their page. They are an incredible power for change.
(Here is their fact sheet referenced above also.)

“Is your husband in the military?” My Experience with Gender Bias

A repairman came to fix our fridge today, and I knew what was coming as he glanced at the military pictures and framed documents that dominate our decor. Hey, flight school was f*cking hard; damn right I’m gonna show that sh*t off! Wouldn’t you? Anyway, I knew that he was going to ask the question, and sure enough, there it was.

“Oh, is your husband in the military?”

I smiled, thinking I know you didn’t mean to sound like a sexist jackass, and I said “we both are.” Then came the usual ill-concealed surprise. But this time, he shook my hand and thanked me for my service. Which I appreciated.

But I’m sick of it.

It’s a question I get every time we move, or every time a stranger is in our home. And it’s not just from old men; guys in their twenties and thirties see our “We love us” wall covered with various mementos of our years in Naval aviation and just automatically assume it all belongs to my husband. It was kind of fun ten years ago when I still liked surprising people, but now? I’m an accomplished veteran, mother of two, and forty(-ish) year old woman.

I’m sick of being underestimated just because of my gender.

Well-meaning people make excuses for the question. They talk about how female military members are still a new thing.

No, we’re not.

There aren’t enough of us, but it is not a new thing. Women were finally allowed (on paper) to fly into combat in 1993. Over two decades ago. That’s like saying the CD is a new thing. (Aside: my daughter asked me the other day, “What’s a CD?” We stream a lot of music.)

Here’s why I think some people “just need time to get used to it,” a phrase I detest when it comes to women in historically male roles.

We don’t need time to adjust. Men need our help to catch up.

Oh, great, another woman saying that men can’t help it because they’re men and it’s up to us to do the work and change the world.

Well, yeah. Kind of. I believe that men tend to resist change more than women. It’s in their DNA. The primal hunter needs to be in control of his environment and surroundings so he can adequately protect his mate and offspring from enemies or predators. He needs time to suss things out and make the cave defensible. Absolutely fair. The problem is that we are not in caves anymore.

I’m not saying men should change, nor am I saying that it’s on women to speed things up.

What I am asking women to do is stop giving a sh*t what people think of who you really are. And I aim this challenge at myself, too. I’m constantly working on letting my true colors fly.

It’s my life, and I’m the one that has to live it as authentically as I can.

How many of us have backed away from our goals because of too much flack or negativity from people? I know that I have silenced myself for fear of offending someone who probably ends up offended anyway. I have listened too often to the inner critic saying shut up shut up. How often have we not spoken our mind because we don’t want to be called bossy or bitchy? And here’s a thing:

There is no male equivalent to the word “bossy.” A man can be “boss” but that is considered a compliment. That’s f*cked up, y’all. Not right at all.

I wish that I had said “in the future, you might not want to assume that the man is the military member.” Because if we don’t start calling out the gender bias that is endemic in our society, it will continue. Yes, we have made progress. But not enough. And definitely not fast enough.

I’d love to kick things up a notch. Who’s with me? Are you sick of staying quiet to avoid pissing anyone off? Are you fed up with being called bitchy or egotistical because you’re good at your job? I’d love to hear your stories!

Love and purple,



Being ODB: My First 24 Hours on an Aircraft Carrier

I am a Naval Flight Officer and veteran. I served eight years on active duty and entered the Navy Reserve in 2010 after having my first child. My callsign is ODB (that’s another post) and the Being ODB series focuses on my time in the Navy as a short Jewish female aviator. This post originally appeared on The Purple Mama.

After finishing flight school and reporting to my squadron back in 2005, I stepped aboard the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise and life got even more interesting. This is an account of my first day on The Boat. Some of it may be a foreign language to civilians, so please let me know if you have any questions. I hope you enjoy reading it!

My First 24 Hours on an Aircraft Carrier

1130: Strap on four computers and about twice my weight in gear and head to the ready room….wherever that may be. (Heh. Strap-on.) Try not to panic when I have to walk aboard alone and clueless. Feel like I have a large blinking neon sign above my head saying HELP I’VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE! Have no idea what to say to the Officer of The Deck. Find out I am supposed to say either “Request permission to board” or “Report my return aboard.” I say something like “Request permission to report my returning to board.”

1132: While carrying aforementioned gear, fall down the same ladder upon which a fellow squadron member broke his leg on the previous deployment. Get up with some bruises, mainly to my ego. (Really, Mom, I’m ok.)

1133: Realize that personnel ranging from Seaman Schmuckatelli to a Commander on ship’s company witnessed the fall. Freeze in horror. Unfreeze to avoid holding up the line of 1500 annoyed people behind me.

1200: Find out that my stateroom isn’t available yet, so I have nowhere to bring my gear. (Aside: The Navy calls them staterooms to make them sound luxurious. Most of you have bathrooms that are bigger.) Am told I have to wait until “later” to get a room. Plan to sleep in the ready room. Which is fine, really. That means I don’t have to negotiate any more ladders.

1200 – 1300: Hang around in the ready room trying to blend in with the walls so I don’t get tasked and have to risk another ladder anytime soon.

1302: Get tasked to do stuff and have to climb at least ten ladders trying to find goal of tasking. Get miserably lost, not solely because of lack of orientation, but also because all ladders seem to lead to the same place: nowhere. On the plus side, I don’t fall again. Yet.

1330: Finally realize that I have to figure it out and actually get started on my job. Find out that my job is going to be a bit more difficult because my month of prep work has been arbitrarily declared null and void. Right butt cheek and elbow start throbbing from fall.

1331-1600: Get the hang of the ladder and climb up and down five decks with computers while trying to set up the LAN and my users. Only get marginally lost and remain upright the entire time. Feel proud, and still bruised.

1600: Eat in Wardroom. Cloth napkins! Glass goblets! Buffet style cafeteria food! Fried goodness! Multiple desserts! Am in heaven!

1645: Flight suit will barely stayed zipped up. Have to work out three times a day every day now…Ugh, I don’t know if that was really chicken. Where’s the head?

1700: Go to S5 (Staterooms) office and stand in a line that snakes around the corner.

1730: Move up two feet.

1745: Move up three feet.

1800: Move back three feet.

1830: Get into the office and ask for a key to my room. He leaves the office muttering something about leaves. Or something.

1845: First person I asked is nowhere to be found. Ask another person for a key.

1900: Find out that original stateroom is still occupied. Get sent to the Ship’s Secretary’s stateroom, which is a 3-man that she has made into a 1-woman. Have nowhere to put my stuff and she has no interest in making room. I don’t blame her.

1930: Go back to S5 office and ask for a different room.

2000: Original person nowhere to be found. Ask another person for a different room.

2030: Get a key to an 8 man on the 0-3 level under the Jet Blast Deflector, or JBD. Original room was 5 decks lower in a very quiet space. Am sure that something called Jet Blast Deflector can’t be too bad, though.

2035: Resume ADP duties. Climb 13 more ladder wells, bringing the total this far to at least 5,132.

0030: Cannot put off bringing my seabag and duffel bag up 5 decks any longer. Make two trips. Eagerly anticipate sleep.

0040: Realize that my flip-flops, necessary for showering in the morning and getting around during the night, are at the bottom of my very tightly packed seabag.

0045: Unpack and realize that every single drawer and cabinet make a curiously loud whining sound when opening or closing. Am sure the five sleeping roommates don’t mind at all.

0100: Finish unpacking, brush teeth, wash face and hit the rack. Literally. Discover “mattress” is well-disguised piece of concrete. Ouch.

0105: Somewhat noisy, but think I can fall asleep. After all, it’s not so bad, much like my college dorm, which was not too OH MY G-D A TRACTOR JUST FELL THROUGH THE ROOF NEXT DOOR.

0106: No one is very concerned about fallen tractor. Realize it is aforementioned JBD when it happens again 2 minutes later. And every 2 minutes after that. For a very. Long. Time.

0108: Realize that Jet Blast Deflector is deflecting blast into my room. Try to find something peaceful and lulling about said blast.

0140-0800: Attempt something once known as “sleep.” Realize it will take time to adjust to this new definition.

0830: Proceed to female head to take a shower. Feel bruised but very excited about first full day aboard. Start the water and wait for it to warm up.

0832: Wait some more for water to warm up.

0834: Still waiting and trying to remain positive.

0835: Oh no. Please no.

0840: Huddle in corner of shower and soap up. Dread rinsing.

0841: F*ckthisisfreezingf*ckthisisf*ckingcoldholyf*ckf*ckf*ckf*ckf*ck.

0843: Head back to stateroom, warmed up by rainforest-like atmosphere in passageway. Get dressed.

0915: Make it to ready room and start to get work done. Actually help a few new sailors with directions along the way. I think.

1130: Take a quick stroll in the hangar bay and appreciate the view of the ocean rushing past 50 feet below. Help a few more sailors with directions. Hopefully. Remain upright all the way down. Bruises not so bad. Things will be just fine…

Eve, The Purple Mama, is a veteran and mother trying to take over the world here. She writes anything that is unrelated to world domination here.