File

{Media
Kit}
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
1. author bios + Speaker intro
2. press release(S)
3. Book Synopsis
4. sample chapter
5. sample interview questions
6. book reviews + applause
7. contact info +
8. military checklist
10. Speaker one sheet
1
AUTHOR BIOS + SPEAKER INTRODUCTION
Author Comedian Mom. Teller of Stories, Laugher of
Jokes, Drinker of Cocktails, Lover of Carbs, Loser of
Keys. www.SonjaLandis.com
Sonja Landis. Comedy Writer. Hot Mess. Professionally Unprofessional. CEO of not having her shit
together, and not wanting to. Best-Selling Author in five, count em’ FIVE!, legit categories: Marketing,
Communication Skills, Entrepreneurship, Direct Marketing, Small Business & Entrepreneurship, making
her officially smarter and more successful than she looks. www.SonjaLandis.com
A Sonja Landis Cocktail: Take one part Desperate Housewife turned Single Mom. Add one part ex-Air
Force Aviation Reconnaissance Officer, which should be impressive but wait till you read the book, you’ll
see it’s really not. Add equal parts Comedian, Disasters, and Tattoos. Stir. Serve immediately. Enjoy
thoroughly over ice. Not too much ice, because Sonja Landis gets cold easily. She also happens to be a
Best-Selling Author, and much smarter and more successful than she appears at first glance. Not
Hemmingway or Dickens or anything, and not really out to change the world, but you might just like her
anyways… She’s just one chick, on a mission to make people laugh, one inappropriate joke and headscratching experience at a time. Besides being a badass mom, her favorite label is Storyteller, and she’s
got a few for you… Hope you love! www.SonjaLandis.com
2
Artist. Best-Selling Author. Designer. Comedian. Entrepreneur. Mom.
Drinker of Cocktails, Teller of Stories, Laugher of Jokes, Lover of Carbs, Loser of Keys.
Funny. Edgy. Borderline Inappropriate. Not Sorry. Professionally Unprofessional, as much as possible.
Sonja lives in San Diego, California with her ridiculously handsome and talented son, two idiot
“temporary” foster dogs that she permanently adopted because she is a complete sucker, and, until
recently, two red fire-bellied toads. One of aforementioned idiot dogs got ahold of both aforementioned
fire-bellied toads when Sonja and son were cleaning the aquarium, so now they’ve, ahem, moved on and
crossed the Rainbow Bridge, amphibian style. For extra fun, the aforementioned idiot dog had the runs
for days.
She is a Comedy/Nonfiction Writer and shockingly hit the Best-Seller list on Amazon in 5 legit categories
(Marketing, Communication Skills, Entrepreneurship, Direct Marketing, Small Business &
Entrepreneurship) with her Chapter 23: The Swaggitude of Success contribution to the book Nothing But
Net. In 2014, Sonja—in a crazy and delusional moment where she briefly took leave of her senses—went
back to school to pursue a childhood dream to study Interior Design and she writes about that shit show
under the name “Design Thug.” You can find it on Facebook.
Wanna get social and chitty-chat, all of that?? Go to www.SonjaLandis.com and you’ll get more Sonja than
you ever could imagine, or probably care for . . .
3
A wise person, or at least some person, some other person, not this person, once said, “Either write
something worth reading or do something worth writing about.” So Sonja Landis, in a freak execution of
overachievement, decided to do both. Well, she stumbled onto both, but that’s really here nor there,
right?!
4
MEET ME: SOME LITTLE KNOWN FACTS
Not your “Average Joe” looking author, I have 12 tattoos and counting, including a full sleeve on my left
arm. And I don’t regret any of them! I got the word “Storyteller” on my forearm in celebration of my
latest book, The Anti-Officer.
I rescue Pitbulls and other Bully Breed Buddies! I am a big advocate for fair treatment and stand up
against any breed specific legislation or breed discrimination laws. Because discrimination in all forms
stinks! Boo on that nonsense! My two current family dogs are a sweet little angel baby female Pitbull
named Hurlie and a naughty (but extremely handsome) male Pit/Boxer mix named Houdini.
I can Just Dance battle my ass off.
French fries are my weakness. Truffle fries near me have the effect of kryptonite. I become powerless.
My 12th grade AP English teacher (Mrs. Kennedy) told me I should be a writer for a living. I laughed and
told her “Never!” 11 years later a psychic told me the same thing, and I scoffed. 7 years after that, I wrote
my first book, My Master’s Degree is Useless?!?! when I found myself too underqualified to keep a
management position and too overqualified for almost every job I applied to during The Great Recession.
And I realized that maybe, just maybe, I actually should be that writer for a living!
5
PRESS RELEASE(S)
BEST-SELLING AUTHOR PENS COMEDIC MEMOIR ABOUT
UNEXPECTED ADVENTURES IN THE UNITED STATES AIRFORCE
SAN DIEGO, California—September 13, 2015—Best-selling comedy writer Sonja Landis has released her
second solo book, “The Anti-Officer: The True Story of a Chick Turned Airborne Reconnaissance…And Why
It Was All a Really Bad Idea”. Landis’ eight-year journey through Basic Training (OTS), Survival school and
a slew of countries around the world, spanning from exotic beaches to desert tents, in both peacetime
and the Iraqi Freedom/War on Terror efforts, is riddled with adventures, and comedic misadventures, of
the self-professed “least-lethal officer in the military”.
Landis’ first book, “My Master's Degree is Useless?!?!: How Chelsea Handler, Booze, and Reality TV Teach
Better Modern-Day Business Lessons Better Than the Lecture Halls”, opened the doorway to her second
book and joint project, “Nothing But Net,” which shot to the top of the Amazon.com rankings lists in five
categories, including, marketing, communication skills, entrepreneurship, direct marketing and small
business entrepreneurship. The success is likely due to the author’s innate ability to inspire and influence
her readers through her skills as a comedic story-teller.
In her newest release, Landis introduces her audience to her younger self, a “Beer Tub Girl” at Arizona
State University, who makes a series of wrong turns while navigating the search to find herself and her
place in life. Talked/persuaded/duped into a Military Recruiter’s Office, a young, open-minded Landis
finds herself signed-up, shipped out, and “inexplicably in-charge and painfully under-qualified as an
Airborne Reconnaissance Officer in the United States Air Force.” The story chronicles her deepest (and
usually inappropriate) thoughts and inner monologue through every situation, from Officer Training
School, Survival School, and deployments in Saudi Arabia, Greece, England, Qatar, Japan, as well as the
politics and frustrations of stateside duties. Landis shares moments from a unique perspective and
dichotomy of being part housewife (a desperate type), part Officer, part comedian and part misfit, a mix
that provides more than enough comic relief to make it through the harrowing adventure.
About Sonja Landis:
Among many other things, Sonja Landis is an Artist, Best-Selling Author, Designer, Comedian,
Entrepreneur, Mom and Pit Bull Rescuer. She shares stories from her experiences with laugh-inducing
charm and wit that will surely continue to send her work straight to the top of the charts and solidify her
place as one of the great comedic writers of her time.
For more information, visit her website: http://www.SonjaLandis.com
Media Contact:
Name: Daniel Bright, SmartyPants Media
Phone: 858.461.9163
Email: [email protected]
###
6
MESSAGE FROM MY
PUBLISHERS:
CONGRATULATIONS ON AN
AMAZING DAY ON AMAZON!!
YOU REALLY ROCKED IT AND
YOU HIT 5 BEST-SELLER LISTS
TODAY AND THE BOOK IS
STILL RANKING SO KEEP
PUSHING! YOU MADE THE
FOLLOWING LISTS TODAY:
MARKETING
Best Selling Author: Nothing But Net
http:/pitchengine.com/celebritybrandingagency/popularspeaker-sonja-landis-signs-publishing-deal-withcelebritypress-to-release-new-business-book-nothingbut-net
COMMUNICATION SKILLS
ENTREPRENEURSHIP
DIRECT MARKETING
SMALL BUSINESS &
ENTREPRENEURSHIP
7
BOOK SYNOPSIS
The true(ish) story of one little misfit - a young, blonde college-student and “Beer Tub Girl” at Arizona
State University - making a series of wrong turns on a journey to find who she is and where she belongs in
life… and ending up in a seriously long 8 year wrong turn, inexplicably in-charge and painfully
underqualified as an airborne reconnaissance officer in the United States Air Force. Come along on the
journey, and step into the heart, shenanigans, and uncomfortably weird inner monologue of this chick on
her adventures throughout training, Survival School, then Saudi Arabia, Greece, England, Qatar and Japan.
And Kansas! And Nebraska! You’ll step right into her brain, and basically become her new best friend for
every head-scratching WTF?! moment on her path as the least-lethal Officer in the military. She lived to
tell about it, but barely.
8
SAMPLE CHAPTER
9
The Anti-Officer
A book mostly about
all the stuff I was doing
when I wasn’t doing
the stuff the Air Force
paid and trained me to do…
10
Copyright 2014 by Sonja Landis. All rights reserved. ©2014 Published by SmartyPants Media, San Diego,
CA.
Landis, Sonja (2014-02-11). The Anti-Officer.
Some content that appears in print may not be available in electronic books. Library of Congress
Cataloging-In-Publication Data: Landis, Sonja ISBN 978-1495901119 1. Autobiography. 2. Military. 3.
Comedy. 4. Personal Memoires.
Copyright © 2014 by Sonja Landis
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976
San Diego, California
Printed in the United States of America
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Special Thanks
To Anni… for the rad photography, for being one of the best people on the planet, and for asking me 17,436
times when my book was going to be done. Thank you. I needed that. I want to be you when I grow up! Which is
probably never. Wink.
To Aidan, my son, love of my life… for being patient, which is really hard. For being the greatest kid I could ever
ask for, and for loving me and understanding I’m always doing the best I can for you… Even when that comes in
the form of broccoli and homework and responsible choices and other things that sometimes suck. I love you,
with my whole heart forever and ever and ever, always, no matter what. I love you to the moon and back, touch
every star in the sky, plus every wave in the ocean, plus every grain of sand, plus every leaf on every tree. You
are amazing, and I’m proud of you and the man you are becoming. Thanks for making my job easy.
To my parents… who shouldn’t even read this book. Seriously. I love you guys so much, but you really don’t
have to read this if you don’t want to… Really.
To the one, my one… the one who loved me so much that I could feel it all the way to my soul and into my lead
bones. Thank you. We were twins from the start, that very first date, and it was all so easy. You hold a special
place in my heart, past present and future. I love you forever. I love you always. To the core. Thanks for finding
me, and letting me find you, and for not standing a chance…
To the USAF… for all the memories and experiences, good times and bad, and mostly for bringing some people
into my life I never would have gotten to meet had it not been for that military path I was briefly meandering
upon. Briefly! Which, let’s face it, was best for both our sakes.
To Alice, for being one of the six. To Handlebars, my arch nemesis… for always making me smile, for being so
damn talented that you inspire me to be better, and because the future looks bright, my thuggy thug friend.
Your mom is totally gonna love me when you finally bring me home to meet the parents! To Slim Shay T, Kristin
and Beth… because… girlfriends. And to Daniel… for coming out of nowhere with the excellent swoop, just when
I needed it. There were missing pieces to the puzzle, and you were one of them. I was waiting for you, it seems,
and didn’t even know it…
To Alessandra, who helped me cross bridges – another missing piece, now finally here! Thank you thank you
thank you! And a high five +thanks sista to Alyssa for being the catalyst in it all. xo To my devastatingly
handsome and smart lawyer, always ready to answer my questions, always having my back, and loving me easily
forever and ever, even if me and my writing may cause trouble. To Katy, my sexy blonde editor who did a
knockout job on this when I nervously/excitedly/anxiously/trustingly placed my entire life in Word Doc format
into her hands.
Lastly, thanks to all those on my path, whether we met briefly or forever, I appreciate our time. Especially if it
gave me material to spin into jokes and stories, either at your expense or mine – no matter!, because simply
making others laugh is my most favorite thing. Nothing feels better to me than when I can do just that. Thank
you, friends family acquaintances randoms exes accidentals associates fans strangers and strangers who’ve
became friends.
12
Table of Contents
Foreword
Chapter One: See You at MEPS!
Chapter Two: OT Eyeballs
Chapter Three: Go Around
Chapter Four: Survival Skillz
Chapter Five: Omaha: God’s Cruel Joke
Chapter Six: The Girl Card
Chapter Seven: God Save the Queen
Chapter Eight: The Beautiful People
Chapter Nine: Shit River
Chapter Ten: Lost in Translation
Chapter Eleven: The Chair Force
Chapter Twelve: Into the Wild Blue Yonder (Again)
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Foreword
It all began with one headstrong, determined young woman . . . a woman with an innate, unwavering
passion to fly and establish her place on the battlefield, to serve her country bravely, and make a statement
in terms of gender equality and human rights.
Wait. No it didn’t. It all started, at least partially, as a joke, with a hot chick who was too laid-back to
realize the ramifications of what she was signing up for . . .
There were lies, un-kept promises, and small print in the contract. No doubt about it. Exaggerations?
Certainly, without question. That’s everyone’s “Recruitment Experience.”
This story isn’t even about that!
This story, instead, is the allegedly true account of said hot chick, who found herself inexplicably in
charge, semi-unqualified, and totally unprepared in an Active Duty USAF Aviator career path with a big fat
6+ year commitment ahead of her . . . and the mayhem that ensued during that time period.
Names have, of course, been changed for privacy and safety sake for any homies still sportin’ the
flight suit. All accounts are completely true. Or not. Loosely based on people and events that may or may
not have existed. If I told you for sure, I might have to kill you. As a disclaimer, any “character” or situation
in this book that “resembles” an actual person or event is strictly coincidental. That’s what my lawyer says,
anyway. This is simply one comical perspective and insider story of everything that could or did or maybe
didn’t happen when I was in the military . . .
Dedicated to all the crazy asses and/or forever friends that I met in my stint in the Air Force. The goods,
the bads and the uglies. Especially the bads and the uglies . . . you dicks undoubtedly gave me some
fabulous ammo for this book and I’m grateful for it! I wish I could’ve left your real names in here. You’re
lucky . . .
A million other things happened. I couldn’t include them all. My lawyer also says to tell you I
exaggerate, embellish, combine several people into one, downplay, fib and fabricate, or not, throughout
this whole book. Because I am a storyteller, and that’s what I do best.
Lastly, this is just one story. My story. It may or may not even be true, you know?! You might not
like it, or everything in it, but I don’t care. It’s mine to tell, and I wouldn’t change one bit of it. Haters
gonna hate. Likers gonna like. And if you were there with me, you might have a completely different
perspective (your reality) of the same situation. That’s cool too. You should write your own book!
This one is mine. Recce Freestyle. Recon ready for Taxi; recon ready for Take Off . . .
xoxo
14
Chapter 1: See You at MEPS!
“Well, if you don’t know what you’re doing with your life, and you don’t want to stay here, and you don’t
want to go back to Michigan, and you don’t really have any answers, then why don’t you join the Air Force
while you figure it out? You’ll get paid to travel and see the world. It’s a good gig, and I’m sick of this shit
with you, Sonja, all the time not knowing what you want to do and where you want to be!”
I scoffed loudly and dramatically. I hardly ever took anything he said seriously, and this was at the
top of the list of absurdities. “They’re NOT going to let me in the Air Force, but good try. I’m not even close
to the military type. It’s not even a possibility.” I said sarcastically. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go
in and talk to them . . . Aaaaaand how would I even do that, by the way?”
(You know you don’t belong in the military when you don’t know there are people called
Recruiters.)
He looked up a Recruiting Office near us in the phone book, because this was before Google,
basically the Dark Ages. “You’ll go in as an Officer because you’ll already have a college degree. Maybe
you’ll even fly!” He was getting his hopes up way too high, and I had to break him immediately. If I hadn’t
wasted my previous loud and dramatic scoff a moment ago, I would have used it here. Instead I resorted to
my “are-you-bat-shit-crazy” look, where I try to make a person feel as uncomfortable about what just came
out of their mouth as possible. It’s actually one of my strengths.
“I’m not even a good CAR driver!” I nearly yelled at him. “Look, I’ll talk to them if you want me to,
but they’re probably not ever going to let me in, and they’re certainly NOT going to have me fly anything. I
mean, seriously.” I flipped my long blond hair at him. You know . . . to accentuate my argument.
And that was that. The start. Next thing I know, I’m talking to a Recruiter in a little office in Tempe,
AZ, and he’s signing me up for the AFOQT—Air Force Officer Qualification Test—which would be the first
of thousands of acronyms I would be exposed to. When my scores came back, my recruiter gave me a jingle
and asked to see me again, which pretty much shocked the shit outta me . . . I went back to his office where
he suggested, based on my high test scores, that I take a Navigator slot. I thought to baulk and question
this immediately, but simultaneously wanted to bask for a minute in the recognition of my obvious
superior intelligence. After a quick teeter totter of feeling shocked and elitist, I was finally able to muster
up some words.
“Hmmm. Interesting. Sounds good, this all sounds good”—I was stalling as I tried to wrap my brain
around this news—“What’s a Navigator, I mean, I think I know . . . but, what would I actually do?”
(Possibly another sign one doesn’t belong in the military?? Yes, I agree with you.)
“Well,” my Recruiter explained, “you’d navigate and position the plane, and direct the pilots where
to go. It’s a crew position. You’ll be a flyer, and believe me”—never trust a Recruiter, for the record,
ESPECIALLY when he starts a sentence with “believe me”—“it’s definitely the place you wanna be . . .
everyone in the Air Force wants to be a flyer. You’re the cream of the crop! The best of the best. The
hottest thing on base!”
Well. I’m used to being the hottest thing in places, so my interest piqued at that. He was finally
speaking my language.
“Come again on this flying part though . . . I need to know more.” That’s what my face said. That’s
what my brain thought. But I just sat there looking at him, until I started laughing. Was this all for real??
Was I really going to do this, leave a bar job in a nightclub and start a professional military career at the
stupid age of (barely) 22 for some guy I was dating, who said we were going to get married someday, and
whom I didn’t even want to marry half the time?!?! Was I really going to do this? Well, long story about to
get longer: yep. I’m a yes kind of girl, and I was really about to do this. I optimistically told myself what a
cool life experience it would be. I reminded myself how fast my years went by at ASU, and to not be scared
of a few years of commitment to the Air Force. Drop in the bucket of time in the grand scheme of my whole
life, I told myself. The flying thing, however . . . I was still like, wtf??
15
Looking back, I don’t want to sell myself short, because the truth is I’m a very smart cookie . . . I did
have fairly high test scores. That being said, I also believe the Recruiter was getting a cash bonus to fill Nav
slots (I later learned the military will do that when they have a need for certain positions), and clearly
there was an unspoken affirmative action situation going on here. I’m sure there was a secret meeting to
get more women and minorities in flight suits, and I was directly lined up for it perfectly. I’m ok with that,
and it explains how I was being offered a flying position when most of my resume experience to-date was
pouring overpriced tequila shots. I totally get it without feeling insulted in the least bit, and I’m down. I
don’t know what the AFOQT thresholds are set at, but I guarantee you I was, like, bottom of the barrel with
anything to do with aeronautics. I had less than zero experience with aviation or anything mechanical.
True story: I was a sophomore in college when I first found out I had to go get the oil changed in my car
every 3,000 miles for chrissake! (Or 5,000 miles, which, let’s all admit, is closer to reality.) So when I say
there was an unspoken affirmative action/cash bonus going on here, I mean it. (Even though I am smart . .
.). It’s just I was sooooo young, immature, selfish . . . practically a baby! Twenty-two going on 19, uber
blond, tan, and smokin’ hot, if I do say so myself (and I do!) . . . I only worked jobs that paid cash tips and
spent it all almost within hours at the mall. I took dedicated care and great pride in arranging my class
schedule to both sleep in AND have sun-tanning breaks. It was ASU, people (go Devils!) . . . don’t act like I
was at Harvard or something. Geesh. I hadn’t taken much seriously before in my whole life!
Which is how I ended up exactly where I was: being offered a Navigator slot in the USAF, flattered
and yet not taking any of it seriously.
I was so laid back in life, and so open to suggestions, that these doors were now open . . . Soooo,
true to form, I shrugged and finally answered my recruiter. “Ok.”
With that one word, those two simple letters, an 8+ year journey began. A journey in which this
somewhat-hot, almost completely unqualified chick found herself marching her “Flight” into bushes at
OTS (Officer Training School), found herself flying airborne recon missions as an authority figure in
combat situations in the Middle East (wtf?), and found herself a Veteran of Foreign Wars, just like her
daddy who had fought in Vietnam (a daddy who never really talked about it, either). How was this all
happening? I still didn’t know. I felt like someone . . . at some point . . . somehow . . . in one way or
another . . . was going to put a stop to this madness. Confident in that theory, I decided to proceed.
I doubted this entire thing ever coming to fruition, but at the same time, deep inside me I knew that
if it did I would be able to handle it. Boot Camp. Flight School. Men. Traveling. Possible wars. I was
confident only because I was always an athlete, and freakishly strong, with lead bones. You might not think
it by looking at me, but it’s true. Luckily, in my defense, I’m not prissy and hot. Just hot. Maybe slightly
prissy. More hot than prissy though. 70/30.
My saving grace in those 8 years would be that I was a tomboy growing up, super athletic and
tough, un-prissy in every way. People didn’t (and still don’t!) expect that when looking at me in my lip
gloss and stilettos, as I had by this point, in college, fully embraced all things feminine/sparkly and
understood the power of sexuality. I grew up in a neighborhood full of boys, and I was always just “one of
the guys” growing up . . . another asset which would serve me well in my military debacle. I mean career.
Now where were we? Oh, yeah. I had given the definitive and binding verbal utterance of “Ok,” and
now I was committed for life. That’s how it felt. A little bit like a prison sentence in which I would get to
exotically travel the world and live it up . . . in combat boots, of course. Duh. I wasn’t so delusional that I
had forgotten that part. Anywho, the journey was beginning.
Well, the journey almost began . . .
My Recruiter moved to his next step, the interview and application process, which was going to end
up taking a few weeks in its entirety. Me and my new bestie the Recruiter had already established most of
the basics . . . Over 18, check. American Citizen, check. College Grad, almost check. Convicted Felon, no
check. He cleared his throat, excitedly, as we sailed along (ohhhh man, he was practically cashing his
bonus check already!), “Question #1: Have you ever done drugs?” I couldn’t even help but
laugh. I mean, I really did start to laugh.
16
“Ummmmm,” I stalled and tried to gather my composure. “Are you serious?!?!” Was he serious?!?!
I went to ASU for God’s sake . . . And I wasn’t exactly the type that was in the library every night (does
ASU even have a library?!), and I worked in a bar . . . Ummm, shyeah I did some drugs! Barely, it was
only a little weed and only a few times, but still . . . I don’t know why, but I truly was not anticipating such
a personal question.
My Recruiter was a black man, and yet I truly saw all the color start to drain out of his face as he
turned a sickly gray/green tint. Welp. There goes his bonus check for getting a woman to take a flying spot
. . . Like the fine-tuned military warrior that he is, he snapped right the fuck out of his pity party and went
into Operation: DON’T LOSE THIS BONUS CHECK, and in no way was he gonna let a little puff puff on
the wacky derail him. Plus, I didn’t inhale. Of course.
“Ok. Ok. Okokokokokayyyyyyy, ok. Nooooo. This. Is. No. Problem. Not a problem at all. Not. A.
Problemmmmm. Totally ok. Yesssss. It. Is. Totally oooookaaaaayyyy . . . We can get around this.” (Thank
God for his bonus—it made him an extremely proactive thinker in this slightly unnerving situation. He
scrambled a minute, then got it together . . . Whew.)
“Here’s what you’ll need to do. I need a written statement saying you smoked weed a few times and
didn’t like it and haven’t done it for a long time and won’t EVER do it again, blah blah blah, make it good . .
. Ok?”
Thing is, that was pretty much the truth, so I could handle that . . . but it was more because I get the
munchies really bad and smoking weed would ruin my bangin’ figure, not because of some honorable
military aspiration he was insinuating I had . . . To be perfectly honest, I still had no fucking clue what I
was about to get myself into . . . but either way, I was willing to write the letter he needed me to write, and
we could move on.
Score: Recruiter 1, Sonja 0.
We proceeded through the rest of the interview questions, which I was able to pass, and I believably (and
truthfully) did my “writing assignment.” He told me it was really good, that I had a knack for it. Hmm . . .
another strength o’ mine, you think?? I’m flattered! I wonder if I could ever do something with writing
someday . . . Nah. That’s silly.
I had panel interviews with people I would later recognize as Majors, but at that time they were just
dudes to me as I couldn’t recognize rank. Designer shoes I could recognize. Rank I could not.
Well. I aced all those face-to-facers, ’cause I’ve got mad skills in the charming personality/great
smile/good bullshitter department (orrrrr, who knows, maybe they were all getting one of those bonus
checks!). Part of my charisma I claim as a natural gift, but the other part I attribute to working as a
scantily-clad “Beer Tub Girl” in the bar for a number of years. Putting up with drunk idiots when you’re
totally (or mostly) sober will perfect your ability to smile and bullshit like a true champ, I assure you. (A
skill that definitely would serve me well in the Air Force.)
So let’s summarize up to here:
 I have passed the AFOQT and been offered a Navigator position.

I don’t know 100% what that means, but am told it’s cool and have accepted it.

I almost didn’t pass my initial interview because I smoked weed a few times. But I didn’t inhale.

I have fucking aced my face-to-face panel interviews due to being equal parts charming, intelligent,
well-spoken and sexy. Duh.
Next step:
17
Luke AFB (Air Force Base), Phoenix, AZ
The first time I ever stepped foot on an Air Force Base, save being at an Air Show when I was about 6, was
for my Fly Physical. I was super nervous when the guy at the gate stopped me and asked where I was
headed. (“Ummm, like Building 638 if that makes sense to you, Mr. Guy at the Gate With a Gun.”)
All the buildings looked the same, and I got lost (I’m sure you didn’t see that one coming at all. . .).
I felt inferior, out-of-place. Blond. And more like a girl than I had ever felt in my life. Everyone was in
uniform, mentally sizing up how the stripper got on base and why. (For the record, I was not a stripper. I
wore clothes on my beer tub. Not a lot of clothes, which is neither here nor there, but clothes nonetheless.)
Knowing nothing about the sketchy medical skills the military is known for (I would find out over
the years, though!), my first MRI or CAT scan or whatever it was raised major red flags and basically
showed me being a corpse in anywhere between the next 20 minutes to 5 years. Not the news I was
expecting first thing in the AM. The barely-18 -year-old-tech realized his mistake and tried again,
determining, and lucky for me I might add, that I was going to pull through and wasn’t actually dying.
(Whew.) So I passed my Flight Physical, forwarding the road of green lights that I was being ushered down
. . . Surely at one point someone would bust out laughing, maybe reveal a hidden camera even, and tell
me I must be outttttmydamnmind if I thought I was going to really do this! Surely! Surely? Anyone??
No?? Ummmm, ok then . . .
The very next time I met with my recruiter, I was signing documents and affirming/denying more
things about my past as appropriate and applicable, and getting dates to attend schools and training: First,
OTS in Alabama (gross), then Flight School in Texas (ok), Survival School and Advanced Survival School in
the mountains of Washington State (wait, what the fuck?!?!), and Platform Training in an unknown
location for unknown amount of time (depending on the plane I picked). I was told of a six-year Active
Duty commitment. I had been in Arizona for nearly 5 years, partying my ass off at ASU, and those years
flew by! So 6 years didn’t seem like that long. It was a whirlwind. I wanted to run away, but now The
Boyfriend was counting on this and my Recruiter was my new bestie and getting a bonus check and I’m a
people pleaser and felt all kinds of pressure, so even though I was panicking and scared outta my lacey
little panties . . .
I signed.
“Oh yeah, and then another two-year Reserve commitment, but don’t worry about that so much right now .
. .” he said.
Score: Recruiter 2, Sonja 0.
He then swooped right over the fact that my commitment wouldn’t even start until I finished my
Platform Training, which would be a little more than 2 years in. (Wait. What?)
Score: Recruiter 3, Sonja 0.
Oh shit. Can I un-sign? No? You own me now? Oh . . . uh ok . . . that’s a bit dramatic, I would say.
All that is true, but I don’t want to paint the picture of my Recruiter in a bad way. I actually liked
him. He slid a couple things by me, and am sure got a big fat bonus check off of me, but he was a super nice
guy. I’m sure he was as shocked as I was that we were still moving forward, if you really want to know . . .
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He looked a little dazed with disbelief with every box I got checked to proceed. Happily dazed, but dazed
nonetheless.
With my date for OTS set in mid-August (what a pleasant time to be leaving for Alabama, don’tcha
think??), he gave me a map to the MEPS station in Phoenix where we would meet in a few months and I
would say goodbye to him and that idiot Boyfriend who got me into this (if he and I even would be together
in a couple months, which I was never quite sure about). Then off I would go, into the wild blue yonder.
Both literally and figuratively speaking . . .
“Cool. Good. Ok. What’s MEPS?” I pleasantly inquired.
How the Recruiter kept a straight face through these weeks of working with me I’ll never know. I’m
sure he told all his Recruiter buddies about what a hot mess I was.
Turns out, FYI, MEPS was another acronym. Military Entrance Processing Station.
“Alright. Got it!” I told him. I was solid on the plan and I had several weeks before I would meet
him there. He handed me a book to study on the Air Force culture, history, facts, customs . . . all that.
“Know this frontwards and backwards before you get to Alabama,” he said. (Can you guess how
that’s gonna turn out in this story??)
“Hey,” I said, brilliantly, like the genius I had proven to be according to my AFOQT test scores. “Why don’t
you come down to my work tonight and celebrate? Bring your friends, and I can put you on the guest list at
the door so you don’t pay any cover.” (What a hook-up I am, huh?!?!) He laughed.
He really was a
cool guy; a little square, but still, an alright dude. He said to put him down for 4, and I never thought he’d
show. Later that night, sure as shit, he was there with 3 friends. Good thing I was wearing one of my
skimpiest outfits, otherwise I would have been embarrassed! Oh wait, I was embarrassed! All of a
sudden, I realized exactly how blond, tan, and ridiculously sexy I was. (That’s not true. I obviously thought
that, like on the daily. But at that precise moment I realized how professionally, historically, military-ily
unacceptable those things were. Oh well. It is what it is, and it was all too late at that point. I was in. They
owned me. I had no other plan. I put my eggs in that basket, and had thrown all the other baskets out the
window.)
My recruiter came over to say hi, and his buddies’ eyes were kind of like bugging out. I don’t know
if they were also military men or not, but I assure you they did NOT think of me as a military woman! (He
probably told them to come look at the crazy chick he just got into a flying slot.) I offered to buy them all a
shot, and they insisted I do one too. I poured and as we toasted our plastic disposable cups of Tequila Rose
I said, “Can you believe the next time you see me, I’ll be an Air Force Officer??” I asked him. He looked me
up and down, perched on my beer tub stage a couple feet above everyone on the dance floor, and with all
the honesty/seriousness in the world said, “Nope.” With that, we all 5 clinked plastic, downed our hardcore
shots, and started laughing.
“See you at MEPS!” I called after him as they walked away, leaving me to shake my ass for tips for
the rest of the evening.
I’m sure he thought I’d never make it through OTS, but figured his bonus check would be done
spent by the time I washed out and got sent home . . .
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SAMPLE INTERVIEW QUESTIONS
Questions here
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BOOK REVIEWS + APPLAUSE
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CONTACT INFO, PHOTOS + VIDEOS
Complete Media Kit in Word Doc format available. Please click {here} for .doc version.
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MILITARY CHECKLIST
Military
Here
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SPEAKER ONE SHEET
here
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