Hold On Bollywood, I'm coming!

So it's official. After a brief moment of panic and some confusing e-mails confirming my U.S. citizenship, I am going to India!

This isn't just an idea anymore.

The travel visa was approved and is now pasted into my passport. I can't just let that go to waste right? Right.

Blurry phone photos are my forte, what can I say?

Aside from the several vaccines I still have to get, and the (several more) shots of whiskey I plan to take to calm my nerves before the flight takes off, we are good to go.

But because I can never be a full on Optimistic Olivia, the only complaint I have to make is the annoyance of telling people I'm going. 

The conversation has generally gone a little something like this:

Random person: Em, I'm been awhile! Where have you been?

Emily: Oh, Um, I've been busy, but around. I'm going to India in a few weeks so I've been doing a lot of planning and stuff for that, you know.

RP: Wait what?! That's awesome. Are you thinking about becoming a nun or something?

E: Um, no.

RP: Oh. Mission work then?

E. Um, no. (Uncomfortable chuckle) I'm just going with some friends for the Festival of Holi.

RP: Festival of Holy? What's that?

E: It's um, also called the Festival of Colors? It's technically a pagan holiday. You throw colored dust in the air and it's a week long celebration. Sort of like an Indian Woodstock. 

RP: (Blank stare)

This is where I start rambling on fast (really fast) about how I'm not going to India just to party. So I talk about how I'm also going to: 

Ride an elephant! 

And see the Taj Mahal!

And The Amber Fort!

 And lots! of! exciting! and! cultural! and! life changing! things.

 

But it's too late. I've already lost them. 

To them I'm just another irresponsible party girl going though a quarter life crisis wasting away a very generous portion of my life's savings.

At first I was annoyed some people reacted that way. Then I started saying things like,

So, I won't be able to make it to your board game night. I'll be in India.

Sorry I can't come to your Tupper Ware party, I'll be in India.

Whatever people. Enjoy your wine and cheese party. I hope the thrill of those wine tannins really do it for ya. 

I'm going to India.

20 days 18 hours 12 minutes and countingggg.... till this craziness ensues. 

via

Via

 

Via

Paging Dr. Seaton

Do you think it's possible to self-diagnosis a brain tumor?

Cus I'm doing it.  

 Before you run away and read an actual blog, let me explain.

You see, I'm not exactly what one would consider "a risk taker"

I pay my phone bill a month in advance, two if possible.

When planning out my week I try to add in "fun time" during my day and it usually consists of catching up on the latest episode of Parks and Recreation. 

Where else am I gonna learn the latest phrases in feminine solidarity?

So when a friend of mine asked if I wanted to go to India with her I politely laughed, mentally added it to my bucket list and continued drinking my lukewarm peppermint tea with extra honey.

But this India idea was like a virus that infected my brain. And it quickly started eating away at my sanity. So I called my friend and she got me the deets on this whole India idea.

Turns out, its a lot harder to go to India than you would imagine. 

Sure there are little details like getting the time off of work, or figuring out a way to afford it, but mainly its the whole travel visa business.

It's more like:

1. Sell us your soul

2. Sign away 15% of any future income you will make

3. and swear on your great grandfather's grave you have as much beef with Pakistan as we do

Then maybe, just maybe we will give you a travel visa.

It took several hours and even more attempts to finish the visa application and send it off along with a pint of my blood.

For some reason they were very interested in my father.

What does he do for a living? 

Where was he born?

Where is he now?

Is he now or has he ever been in prison?

Is he a shady character?

Do you have Daddy issues?

The list went on. and on and on.

They didn't care so much about my mom. (sorry ma)

Lastly they were pretty explicit about their disdain for Pakistan. 

Example questions went a little something like this:

Who do you like better: Freddy Krueger or Pakistan?

 (hint: pick Fred)

In high school were you ever involved in a mock U.N. where you represented Pakistan?

(If so, just stop filling this out because you will never get a travel visa)

If we tried to play six degrees between you and Pakistan, what would we find?

If we tried to play six degrees between your father and Pakistan, what would we find?

Let's just say it was intense. I'm rather drained from the whole experience.

All this work and I'm still not even sure I'll get to go to India! That is where this post finally comes full circle and I conclude with the theory that I must have a brain tumor or something equally horrible for me to go through all these hoops just for a chance to go to India.

I'll let you know how this ends up I promise. 

Over and out.

Tredmill Tales

Dear Readers,

Never being one to make a promise and not keep it, I wanted to present to you the tales of my gym excursions over the past few weeks. You see, just before the new year, one of my brilliantly witty and lovely roommates convinced me to sign up for a gym membership. With the allure of coming in contact with humans other than children 3 years young on a regular basis, I gleefully agreed.

So far, it has been pretty great. Its actually become the highlight of my day to go running and not feel threatened by the crazy neighbors like when I tried to run outside a while back. But, all this sweat and craziness hasn't come without a price. About once a week I walk out of the gym vowing to never return because of some rather unfortunate incident. What could possibly be that embarrassing you ask? How about:

1.Walking into the men's locker room. TWICE.

2. Trying to have a semi-serious conversation under the stairs only to be interrupted and questioned because I looked like, and I quote, "a suspicious character."

Nothing to see here people, just the typical conversation about the importance of the Yellow Fever vaccine for an upcoming trip (more details to come)

 3. After ingesting an insane amount of caffeine before getting my calorie burn on, I went to use the restroom and fell off the toilet. I'll say it again. I fell off the toilet. I even have the text messages to prove it.

Unfortunately for me and the others in the locker room, it wasn't just a little guesstimate gone wrong where I slipped a little and recovered gracefully. I happened to choose the handicap stall and so I believe I gave the impression that I actually was handicapped, had fallen and couldn't get up! I'm not quite sure why I am sticking with the caffeine theory, but I can't very well say it was solely my fault. I do have some pride.

You'll be happy to know that despite it all I have stuck with it. In fact, I've been doing so well, I've semi-spontaneously decided to run a damn half marathon in a couple weeks! (No really its called That Dam Run).  I'll be sure to write out the gritty deets when it's over don't you fret. 

That's all folks! Stayed tuned because next time I'm gonna tell you everything I've learned about travel visas and why you should never try to screw with the Indian Government.

Nanny Diaries

Thanks to the multiple requests demands from the paternal parental:

Although why he wouldn't want to see her face on a daily basis is beyond me

 I have been inspired to once again rise to the occasion of updating you lucky readers on the ins and outs of my extremely exciting, wonderful, awesome life.

Today's particular subject? 

The Nanny Diaries.

Are you ready for this? I hope so.

 I recently quit one of my nanny jobs, (mostly for my own sanity*) and my other nanny family jumped on the opportunity train and asked me to pick up a few extra shifts. I agreed to put on my Mary Poppins top hat and we all lived happily ever after with my big fat overtime paychecks and spoonfuls of sugar. 

Ha. Yeah right, if that was the case this blog post would be non-existent and I would still be dogging texts from the father figure in my life.

So without further ado, let me update you on how this little adventure is going. 

Today on our way home from the park I made to rookie mistake of taking the long way home (because the kids needed fresh air and NOT because I was killing time before the dreaded lunch hour) and we happened upon a dead bird. Actually it was more of a few feathers and a bone or two near the rain gutter, but I digress. Besides the eight feathers and maaaaybe three drops of blood, there were also about 12,000 tears. Sasha was inconsolable, even through the dreaded lunch hour. So what's the best nanny in the world to do? Hold an impromptu "roadkill funeral" of course. It was short, but tasteful (Obvi). It included a sidewalk chalk mural, and Mariah Carey's smash hit All I want for Christmas is You (details about that obsession in another to post to be sure). Sasha finally calmed down enough to eat her remaining chicken nuggets and I will never, ever walk down the Jasmine Tr. Cul-de-sac again. Mark my words.

That's all for now. I'll write again when I decide to pay the fee, but not actually use the gym membership I gifted myself with in January.

Stay tuned for news of traveling abroad, my lack of social skills in a bar (among other social settings), and that one time I got lost in the gym...really, really, lost.

*but really for the safety of the child who was so incredibly ill mannered and misbehaved I likened him to the offspring of he-who-must-not-be-named in my head.

Dead Downton

I think I might be having a mental breakdown.

Not just any old breakdown.

 

This kind.

Why, you ask?

 

 It's not because I'm moving in a mere 46 hours and I've barely packed a thing.

Or that today my nanny-child told me, "Elmo-ly, you're pretty, but your singing is ugly."

It's because I just read this.

Too many emotions to work through. Anger? Hurt? Resentment? Betrayal? YES. To name a few.

I'm going to leave you now so I can start working on a seething letter to PBS wishing horrible things upon them (including funding for Big Bird getting cut. Puppets creep me out)

Downton Abbey, 

If this is true, you're dead to me.

Thanksgiving Fashion

Oh hello, I know what you're thinking. You don't hear from me in nearly 6 weeks and you're giving me another link-up post (read as "the lazy blogger's post) to read? Well, my wonderful readers the answer to that question is an overwhelming yes, and you won't get any apologies out me, so stop waiting for one. Instead focus on that which is the glory of the photo below.

Officially Sponsored by the color Coral and Lions coming out of the wall.

I, sneakily suggested we, "line up by age." But I'll be honest for a slow second and tell you that I really just wanted to be the center of attention. (Maybe I can blame that on middle child syndrome?)
The hawt mama winking at the camera would be my wonderful mother who gave me both her beauty and attitude featured very clearly in the next photo:

Sass.

And the polka dot princess is the younger sister affectionately known as Sarah aka "Fashionista" because she schools me in both hair, and accessorizing daily. She also sings, writes, draws, sews and acts. No, there isn't anything she can't do well. Don't ask, it will damage your self esteem.

13 yr old prego? Scandal

She isn't growing a child inside of her, so don't freak out. We just know how much Grace loves poses like this so we thought we would throw her a bone on Thanksgiving.

Now that I'm done talking up two of my eight favorite family members, I'll finally conclude with the clean deets about where our outfits hail from and sign off with love and affection.

Mom: Her Closet (duh, I really have no idea where my mom shops these days)

Sarah: The mall, where every 13 year old girl longs to spend her babysitting income on Friday nights

Emily: I was kind of embarrassed when I realized every single piece of clothing I was wearing came from Target, with the exception of my boots. They are from this trendy little boutique known as Ross. Then I realized, I don't have the luxury of being embarrassed. Plus in my opinion Target is a perfectly acceptable place spend 5/6ths of my discretionary income and if someone has a problem with that, I really don't care to defend myself to them.

Go visit The Camp for true fashion posts.

And that was all she wrote.

Link Up Virgin

*Cue witty intro on how this is my first time 'linking up' with any blog ever and so I figure why not link up with with the wildly popular  Jen over at Conversion Diary?

1. Because I know you lovely folks (my mother) haven't slept a teeny tiny bit since I announced my imitate death in the last post, I want you to know I'm surviving. Barely. Did anyone notice the stock in Kleenex go up last week? I did, because I filled 1.25 trash bags full of the nastiest used tissues of all time. I can't even imagine using handkerchiefs back in the day.

2. Since hearing about my own health is much too personal and I would never over share, I'll let you about my Nanny Mom's health instead. Yesterday she underwent emergency surgery for several abdominal pain. Appendicitis did not get the best of her, and she is currently back home resting. Any prayers you want to offer for her recovery are generously accepted and appreciated.

3. Because of this surgery, I ended up having some where between a 12-16 hour work day. (Closer to the 14 hour mark, but if felt like 48). Anyway, it sounds weird and is much too complicated to explain why, but I have never actually met the father of these kids...until yesterday. The first encounter with "Nanny Dad" deserves it own Take so please skip down.

4. He walked in for a brief teeth cleaning, and change of clothes before going back to the hospital only to find his nanny *ahem* me, semi- drooling on his suede leather couch while one of his 11 month old chillens was learning the important lesson of crying it out (read horrendous and incredibly painful lesson even when its not your own child). After the initial joke of "I swear I'm not being negligent" wore off, I wiped the drool from my brow, shook his hand and asked if he needed me to stay late? He said only if it wasn't too much trouble. So, of course being the professional that I am, I said, "No, of course not. Don't worry about a thing, just go be with your wife." OH WAIT. That would have been the normal response. The one I was supposed to learn in public school or something. Because instead I responded with, "Of course I can, after I give the twins their hot toddy around 5:30 it'll be a breeze anyway." Yes. That. Did. Just. Happen. I told this sleep deprived man, whose wife is in the hospital not to worry about his kids. This alcoholic was taking care of things at home. I almost fired myself on the spot.

5. Cue his reaction. Without skipping a beat, he responded with, "Well okay, but the boys really prefer bourbon over whiskey so just keep that in mind."  It was awesome. And I'm so happy to be working for such a great family.

6. Oh, follow up story. On his way out, he paused looked at my shirt and asked, "Is that blood?" Then I went on to explain that yes it was, but it was my blood and not his children's and that I don't have HIV or anything so once again, his children are perfectly safe in my ever capable care.

7. Simply put, yesterday was not the day I would submit to any contests labeled, Best Nanny Ever, Semi-Competent Employee or even Has a Handle On Basic Hygiene.

And so puts a bloody end my very first quick take Link up. Thanks for taking charity cases like me Jen!