Filler Post

Whenever my stellar sister even hints at the fact that I have a blog on her wildly wild successful blog I go into a slight panic that someone besides my dad is going to read a post or two. But you lovely visitors were so SO sweet. Leaving comments and giving me the Holy Grail of all compliments: that we have a similar sense of humor, I almost died of Over Affirmation. OA: a real disease that affects at least 3% of the population in the U.S. alone.*

I believe what I'm trying to say is: Thank you for your kind words and for even taking a second to read the ridiculousness that is my life.

 Anyway, believe it or not one thing my sister and I do NOT have in common is our ability to multitask, and by that I mean: she can, I cannot.  While she is busying raising children, saving the world and keeping so many people sane via her stand-up routine at the Camp, I have a hard time keeping my own basic hygiene in check and making sure I eat two vegtables a day. (That's the FDA's suggested serving right? 2 veggies, 12 carbs and 100 bite sized Reese's peanut-butter cups a day keep the doctor at bay?) That's what I thought. 

Because I am busy stuffing my face with choco-latte, and what was the phrase I embarrassingly used before? Oh yes, 'still processing it all' double gag again, sorry. I wanted to direct to another post about India by way of my dear friend Tina. This is a story I almost wish had happened to me while we over there. Just so I would have the pleasure of telling it at a bar when I find myself in one of those "I really need to get out of this conversation, what can I say to get this person to stop talking?" type situations. But lucky for you, instead I'll use it as a way of distracting you from the fact that I haven't written another post about India yet. 

So please go. Right now go! Read all about her adventure with the public toilets of India and enjoy a good laugh at our expense.


*Cited from The American Journal of BullSh*t Disorders.

¡Incredible India!

India. Where do I even begin? I'll be honest, I've been avoiding putting fingers to keyboard on the subject because I am not delusional enough to believe I will ever be able to fully narrate my experience the way it deserves.


Let's start off with the big new shall we?

I FELL IN LOVE. 

With the country. 

Did I trick you? (At you least you Mom?)

But seriously, if love is something that consumes you to the point that you're thinking about said person (or place, in my case) while your dinner is burning, or your shower suddenly becomes twice as long because you've accidentally shampooed your hair three times, or you lie awake at night contemplating selling all your earthly possessions for a chance to see "your love" again, then damn it! I'm in love.

Maybe it's just puppy love. Maybe this will pass. All I know is that this is not the first time I have traveled to a foreign place, but this is the first time I have been so far outside of ANYTHING that is even remotely familiar to my normal life--and yet--somehow I have never felt more at home. Contradiction much? That's why I'm saying.

I'm planning on writing multiple posts to cover the different aspects of my trip. Can you smell the cheddar when I say, "But, I'm still trying to process it all?" I know I made myself gag as I was writing it. I'm sorry.

I have to start some where right? So in the words of Fraulein Maria, let's start at the very beginning shall we? (You really only have to listen to the first ten seconds to get the reference, but if you don't feel the need to listen to the whole song, I'm not quite sure how much we have in common).

Alright, musical tangent over. Where was I? Ahh, yes. The beginning.

My gorgeous friend Tina was really the one who really spearheaded this whole trip. By that I mean she planned E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. At one point, she tried to put my in charge of figuring out which vaccines we needed and that backfired so terribly, that she took that over too. (The only other thing I was in charge of ended up being cancelled due to some possible terrorism activity. That story won't surface for at least 2 more posts so you'll have to stay tuned.)

Tina and I headed out on Friday morning to the airport and everything (besides a momentary freakout about losing my passport) went smoothly. We had a layover in Seattle where we were questioned about why weren't taking more luggage with us (as if back packing around a foreign country was completely unheard of or something). And purchased some garden burgers (because it was Friday during Lent) that tasted suspiciously like chicken, but we were too chicken ((haha get it?)) to inquire any further since we had just spent $8.00 each on the them. God spare us.

This is when shi--stuff gets real. Our next flight was a mere 13 hour flight to Dubai. DUBAI. As is the UAE United Arab Emirates. We flew with Emirates Airlines. I could dedicate an entire post to this airline. Their level of service was absolutely absurd. Did anyone catch an episode or two of the short lived Pan-am series on ABC?

Source

If not, that's okay. It was pretty trashy. I bring it up because Emirates is the modern day Pam-am. The flight attendants (male and female, I have to stay unbiased) were supermodels. Not just supermodels, smart supermodels. They all spoke multiple languages (not an exaggeration) and had degrees in molecular biology (slight exaggeration).

Source

Us low-lings sitting in coach were brought warm, moist towels scented with lavender, delicious meals (gluten free, vegan, halal, kosher, and vegetarian substitutes available) and any complimentary beverage (alcohol included) you could imagine. I spent a good portion of the flight sleeping, listening to classical music and NOT watching pitch perfect for the 4th time. (okay fine Pitch Perfect snuck it's way onto my screen). We thought we were living like queens. And we were, until a few hours later...

We landed in Dubai smelly, tired, and mostly just smelly. Stopped to gawk at the mutli-level waterfall in the middle of the airport (which I neglected to take a picture of because I was too delirious to even think of such things) got some food and waited for our next flight.

We chatted about our plans for India, how awesome our last flight was and what we would do if we couldn't find Jordan when we landed in Delhi. Then Tina being the smarty pants that she is, saw some people boarding the plane and suggested we go over to our gate and get in line. THIS COULD HAVE BEEN THE BEST DECISION OF OUR LIVES. When I walked up to the counter an adorable little Indian man smiled at me and gestured for Tina to come up as well. He asked if we were traveling together. When we replied, "Yes" he said he had a surprise for us and asked "Can you guess what it is?" I thought he was some hot shot that managed to snag us seats next to each other (because we were a few rows apart for this flight, but it was only 3 hours and planned on spending it sleeping so we didn't really care to change it) So, I innocently guessed, "You got us seats together?!" He smiled, showed us the tickets and said, "Even better."

Insert Ugly American here. We both just stared at the tickets, and whispered a subdued "Thank you" and walked on board. Little did we know our lives were about to change forever. WELCOME TO BUSINESS CLASS. Ever heard of it? I hadn't either. Apparently there is step between first class and coach. It's called Business Class.

You can't tell from the picture, but my legs are completely extended, and don't even come close to the seat in front of me!

The chairs were equipped to give massages. Not interested in a massage? That's cool. Just press a little button and your seat LAYS DOWN FLAT. Like a BED. Go to sleep with your plush pillow and warm fuzzy blanket. They'll wake you up when it's time for your bowl of warm nuts to be served. Or your meal with personal porcelain salt and pepper shakers. Did you fall asleep again? That's okay. When you wake up, there's a mini box of chocolates waiting for you to enjoy while you fill out that pesky customs paperwork. The flight was about 10 hours too short, but the memory remains and this princess did not enjoy going back to coach a week later.

When we finally made it to Delhi, we quickly found Jordan (PTL) waiting patiently on the other side of customs and went to go find the car we hired to take us to our hotel. We left at 10 am Friday morning, and arrived at 4 am Sunday morning. No, we were not hungry, grumpy or tired at all.

Reunited and it feels so good.

Our first group shot in the hotel before we recharged with a nap and got ready for an adventure I'll never forget.

Next time on Real Life: I went to India. Bug infested restaurants, Life endangering traffic, The Lotus Temple and more...

Tag: Grown-up Style

I thought I might be able to avoid the five-things (clever name) post, but when Jenny tagged me I decided I better get my act together or I won't be able to shamelessly beg to crash on her couch (in exchange for unlimited babysitting) in Italy when I decide to run away from life and live off of coffee and carbs forever. So, here I am with a perfect excuse to talk about myself 

(as if I ever need one).

So without further ado, here goes 5 nothings.

1. I am a color-snob. What does that mean exactly? 

I constantly judge women who look like they have colored their hair platinum blonde. I generally just stare and make a mental note on my hair superiority, but when I'm in Starbucks, ankle deep in blogging and some chick interrupts me to say, "I just HAVE to know where you get your hair done?"

I have no compassion.

Look at my eyebrows lady. 

See how they are the same color as my hair? And not 12 shades of brown like yours? 

This is genetic. You can't have my hair. 

Go away.

It's also winter and you would look better with a nice amber-brown shade anyway.

2. Speaking of my blondness, I didn't always embrace it. In 4th grade I had quite the blow up with my mother about the appropriateness of wearing sweat pants that had the word "bootylicious" written across my derrière. (Guess who was the voice of reason) and threatened to cut off my hair and dye it "The blackest of blacks," (like my soul) if she didn't let me wear them. I can't remember her exact response but I am sure she took the whole thing in stride because she is the classiest of all ladies and knew what a gigantic favor she was doing me. Thankfully for her, I still have my pride, dignity (and blonde hair) in tact.

3. Oh I haven't talk enough about my hair? Too bad we are switching gears. 

This past weekend I ran a half marathon. By the grace of all the running gods to ever exist, this wasn't my first one. However, I learned nothing from previous experience. 

I barely trained and I barely finished. 

I am still mad at myself for the wasted energy I used that produced tears the last mile because it was so painful. 

Thankfully I wiped away the tears in time to get one little picture. 

4. Do you know how it feels to be a sell out?
In a former life (high school) I was vehemently opposed to all things Starbucks. 

I used to talk garbage about the Starbucks Siren who swam around putting hexes on my friends and got them addicted to her sweet, sweet nectar.
That is akin to teasing the devil. You just don't mess around with her.
I now live for Friday mornings when I can walk in, order my "Tall, soy, dirty chai with no whip," and pay five Washington's for two hours of internet and people watching.
Pure bliss.

5. I have extremely frequent dreams about cheese.
 I refuse to go into the nitty gritty here (for now),
but five months ago I went dairy free for health reasons.
I abhor yogurt (unless frozen, mixed with sugar, sprinkled with gummy bears) and almond milk has proven to be a semi-acceptable substitute for udder juice. So it wasn't too big of a life change,
but
the
 cheese.
Never in my life have I craved pizza more.
A hamburger? Disgusting without 2 generous slabs of sharp cheddar.
I kid you not when I say I woke up a month ago chewing on my pillow going from absolute ecstasy in dream land, to despair in the real world.

Now run along and tell the world of my troubles. Until next time.

I'm probably setting myself for some sort of chain-blog breaking curse by only tagging two people, but I'll take my chances.

Felicity and Synical Sally

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.