The "Before" Post

In July 2017, I was newly married. I was supposed to be living my happily ever after life (another post for another time on that Disney delusion) but something was stopping me.

I had 10 years worth of most of these symptoms, so I had (mostly) learned how to live with it. But the thing about marriage is, it’s different from a roommate [shocker]. Intimacy and vulnerability are involved. I couldn’t hide my symptoms, from myself or Sam, as well as I was used to because like it or not, he was always there.

So in July, Sam found me laying on our bed, wondering why I was crying. I was forced to confront my symptoms. I began asking or rather begging Sam if we could please stay home tonight.  I was on my n-i-n-t-h day without going, ahem, to the bathroom. I was in so much pain I couldn't think of any excuse not to go out, all I could do was twist around and try to find a position to lessen the pain. Rather than answering my question with a "yes" or "no", he gently replied, "Em, I think something is wrong and I think we can try to figure out what it is."

It was then that I finally let him convince me whatever was going on wasn't normal after all. 3 weeks later I was meeting with a functional medicine doctor. At my first appointment, it took 2 hours to go through all my symptoms. Things that were normal in my life, but I wished weren't so normal.

For those of you who either can't or chose not to try and read my handwriting, I can type too!

• Constant bloating - 8
• Constant hunger - 7
• Being scared to eat & feeling pain - 8.5
• Gas - 7
• Debilitating menses - 9
• Eczema - 5 
• Itchy Scalp - bleeds sometimes - 6-7
• Bad Breath - 5 
• Brittle Teeth - 6
• Itchy hips - 6
• Dry/cracked fingers & toes - 4 
• Itchy ears (so bad it would wake me up in the middle of the night) - 7.5
• Sleeping 12 hours and still feeling tired the next day - 9 
• Chronic yeast infections (yep! That was bad) - 6
• Emotional instability (crying at least 4-5 times a week, if not every day) - 10
• Thyroid Cancer - ?? Not sure how to score that.
• Developing 18 cavities seemingly out of nowhere over a 12-month period despite excellent oral hygiene! 

It was an emotionally taxing appointment. Confronting all my symptoms at once laid out on paper where I couldn't choose to just look at one or two at a time was a lot to handle. Cue more tears.

As gently as possible, my doctor prescribed me the following: an anti-inflammatory diet, specific supplements, to "reduce stress" (WHAT THE H DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? Maybe I'll do a blog post on that), daily meditation and 30 minutes of exercise each day.

While it's a lot of work the real question to answer is, is all the work in fact working? In the past 5 months, my symptoms have reduced dramatically. Which I will probably chronicle in detail going forward. :)

The pain is uncomfortable for me to talk about. So much in fact, that I normally didn't talk about it. I would say something vague like, "gluten just doesn't agree with me" to prevent having to tell someone the truth of how I'd be sick for the next week if I ate the delicious looking pasta. Or I would eat it anyway, too embarrassed to turn it down knowing I would pay the price later. But not knowing WHY I would be sick. "Maybe it's just in my head" "I probably just ate too much last time." Once this diet started though, it became much more "in your face." I had to either cut back on social events, or else explain why I had brought my own snack, meal, mocktail, or all three to a party. It has been both isolating and way too in your face at the same time.

Looking for an outlet where I could find other people going through this, I turned to the place you look anytime you want a niche group of people. The internets. And lo and behold, I've found a welcoming, supportive, inclusive, and hilarious community. I'm happy to be here. Let's be friends.

Do you have a before post? The moment you decided to do something different? Let me know. I have a small addiction to the Whole30 stories and would love to add you to my Feedly list!

A blog post is a really great way to inform your parents of your new life plans right?

To start things off I thought I would give you a little snippet of personal info of my travel buddies and myself. If you don't fall asleep mid-read, let me know. You might get a prize.

I should have mentioned this in my last post but I'm lazy, so I didn't. My wonderful companions were Jordan and Tina. All three of us went to Franciscan University together and coincidentally all studied the same major. (Mental Health and Human Services for those of you who need to be in the know). So, with it being a relatively small school and studying a not-that-popular--more-of-a-made-up-type-of-degree you would think we would have been the best of friends at school. Turns out, I had never even heard of Jordan before we started planning our trip and my friendship with Tina didn't truly start blossoming until we had both graduated and were living in Colorado.  But as you know traveling is the perfect scenario where you quickly become lifelong friends or instant frienemies.
*Spoiler alert* At the end of the trip it was already decided we would be traveling the world together again very soon. I'll let you use your deductive reasoning skills to figure which path we went down.

**It should also be mentioned that our one week in Delhi was a mere pit stop on Jordan's four and half month long excursion in Asia and Europe. If you want to turn the greenest shade of jealous, jump over to his blog and read about his unbelievable adventures and insights right here.

So back to the timeline. Where was I? Oh yes, just wakening from our 4 hour refreshing night's rest nap and felt kind of ready to conquer India. We arrived on Palm Sunday and decided it would be a good idea to keep up with the whole "Sunday obligation" thing us crazy Catholics are accustomed to, so I went down to the lobby to find out when and where we could attend mass.

Awkward First Day of India pose. Modeled after the well known First Day of School pose.

This is where I would say I encountered my first real cultural shock of the trip. I walked downstairs wearing a dress that went down to my ankles (home school flashbacks ensued throughout the entire trip) and a shirt that barely went below my collarbone. Despite my self-assuredness that I was dressed modestly and was "totally going to fit in" I was immediately made aware of just how many eyes were on me.

I didn't even have time to survey my surroundings and decide which of the 7 men in the lobby I should approach for help because they we all quickly by my side; ready and willing to serve. Much like Emirates Airlines, they put American service to shame. Although this felt like a different kind of service. The attention was a strange combination of, "This is a woman. Women are helpless. Therefore, let us help her" and "What the hell is a woman doing down here asking questions about hiring drivers and going out?" and "Damn look at that blonde, white woman. Let's just stare and stare and stare until she has to run away and tell Jordan he will be handling the travel accommodations downstairs from now on" kind of attention.

***Major Tangent*** Ready yourselves accordingly. I want to post about what it felt like to be woman in country that seems to have little to very little respect for women--as well as how different my experience was, in that, for some unknown reason I was born a blonde little white girl and how the yielded more attention than I will ever know what to do with. But that will be for a different post at a different time. I'm just trying to get the point across that no one, not even my roommate Hillary who previously visited India could prepare me for week of stares, gawks and attention I was about to receive. ***end tangent***


So, after finally being able to convince the men at the help desk I wanted to go to this church to pray and they made sure that I wasn't under the impression that it was a "must see" tourism sight, (because in their minds they could not fathom why I wanted to see a Catholic church over the beautiful Hindi temples) I booked a car for the morning and I went back upstairs to tell Tina and Jordan (and double check my bag for even more modest clothes I might have forgotten about).

Via

We ended up going to Sacred Heart Cathedral and for the first time ever in the history of India, traffic wasn't that bad and we were 45 minutes early for mass. We walked around and found a priest who eagerly agreed to hear our confessions. Mass was in English! A luxury I really wasn't expecting. It was also full (another unexpected surprise, but cool nonetheless).

After Tina and I nearly passed out during the mass--since is was now approaching our 15th? hour without sustenance--we quickly decided to go some food. (I know, don't we sound like brilliant and seasoned travelers?) After taking a couple minutes to talk Jordan out of eating street food, our hotel staff recommended a 'safe' place to eat just down the block.

This might have been one of the best happenings of our trip. Immediately upon entering, we were sat at the same table with other travelers. A couple to be exact. Or were they a couple? We never really got a straight answer from them. (One of those mysterious 'this is my friend' but we've been traveling the world together for years, he's from England, I'm from Michigan situations. I'm sure you know the type) They met five years ago during their first year teaching ESL (English as a second language). Each year they accept a teaching job together. Finish out their contract and take any/all money they have saved to travel around for 6-8 weeks. Then, they both head back to their perspective homes, spend a month or so with their families and start all over again.

I'm sure my parents will be over the moon when they read this next sentence. This is my dream life. And I am actually talking to people who are doing it? What the aitch? I had so many questions for them. The biggest one being, "Can I join you? like RIGHT now? " I almost peed my skirt out of excitement (but couldn't pee because I spent 90% of the trip dehydrated out of fear of using those squatting toilets) and started jumping up and down in my seat. Luckily, just at that moment I spotted something that helped me keep my cool. What was this "something" you ask? Oh not much. Just your average restaurant cockroach crawling on the wall next to Jordan.

Yeah, take a second to read that again if you need to. A cockroach. And everybody's just sitting there chilling, like nothing is going on. Maybe they were distracted by the meal-worm looking specimen on our table. I don't know why. Please don't ask me. All I know is that none of us acknowledged their presence until looooong after we had finished the meal. After all, this was the restaurant our hotel recommended to us as "safe." Plus, like I mentioned earlier, far too many hours had already lapsed since our last time of nourishment and all three of us were showing our "hangry" symptoms. (Hangry: hungry + angry. Don't act like you've never suffered from it. Maybe during that piano concert at your church that just. won't. end. or something similar I'm sure.)

Just to confirm, yes. This restaurant really was infested with bugs (probably vermin too, but they kept those in the back out of courtesy). No, this did not stop me, or anyone else from chowing down on the bowl of rice and curried vegetables I had just ordered. In fact, we went back to the same restaurant a couple days later because we were missing some of the comforts of home and wanted "something familiar." It's okay to take a minute or two and judge us. I don't really care. I'm the not the one who has a parasite right now. (Yes, one of us did come back with a little parasite. We've named it Vikram - and you'll get the dirty deets on that later!!)

So finallllllly. After only 11 hours of actually being India we are: semi-rested, showered, fed, holy, and ready to let our inner tourist out to see some sights. We walked back to the hotel to hire a car to take us around Delhi for the rest of the day.

Okay I'm cutting myself off here. I literally cannot type another sentence. I'll loose all my 1.5 readers if I make this any longer.

On the off chance that you made it through this entire post, give yourself a standing ovation. If you're a glutton for crazy, come back again and I'll fill you on the rest of the day next time on True Life: I went to India.

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.

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!

A Long Time Ago In A Reality Far Far Away...

I started a blog. Then I fell off the Blogwagon and didn't know how to get back on. My readers, my dear wonderful, loyal readers have surely abandoned me by now and I thought I needed a stellar post worthy of breaking my silence to publish...turns out I just need to fall deathly sick on a weekend.

Judge away for not posting in such a long time, but in this period of time I have had 4 different jobs, a family reunion, a Mumford and Sons concert to attend and...well that's about it actually. Sorry about that.

Moving onward and downward to this plague. I think it's the same one that brought death to the eldest of the Pharaoh's Sons, the one that convinced Pharaoh to let God's people go, and the one that resurfaced in the middle ages when children made up that mildly cheery, but actually incredibly depressing song that went something like, "Ring around the rosey, a pocket full of nasty tissues, ashes ashes, we're going to suck the life out of you until you give in and watch hours (and hoursss) of Dawson's creek and then all fall down?" Yup, that's the one.

I think the worst was when I started hallucinating and texting my friends about my imminent death and bequeathing my most beloved objects to them. (My leather jacket, sky miles from SouthWest, etc) I even tried giving my sense of humor to someone but they politely declined calling it sarcastic and unforgiving. Oops.

Oh well such is the life. If I do in fact survive this, I'll probably drop another post about my adventures of being sick, creating home remedies from Pinterest and picking up the youngest Seaton Son up from a Greyhound bus station in one of the worst areas of town around Scare O'clock last night. (But I'll keep it PG because the parentals don't need to know about the gory deets).

That's all for now. Many thanks to you lovely readers for well, reading. I hope this plague isn't contagious via the interwebs.

My Shallow Existance

Sometimes I like to think my prayer is really deep, genuine, mystical, mindblowingly (not a real word, deal with it) awesome and then other times I sit down and say, "Jesus, (pause for dramatic affect) Thanks for making me HOT!"

I know that might come as a surprise seeing as the last time I blogged about such a topic I was tipsy from an ill advised creamy pumpkin liqueur purchase and not in best mindset, but tonight I'm callin' it like I see it. And that is what my prayer consisted of--Thanking the Good Lord for my Hotness Factor.

Oh well, you lose some -- you lose some more.

Also, since I've clearly lost all hope for my moral integrity to remain in tact on this blog and in the real world, I might as well be honest about my daily dose of literature and share with you this trashy garbage I can't wait to devour the moment it hits Netflix.

Catchy sign off,

~Emily
Oh!...Were you waiting for me to give some deep reflection on how having normal conversations with the Lord produces a more 'personal' relationship or something? Have you not been paying attention? Here at Justweirdenough we set impossibly low standards and hit the nail on the head every couple of months when I drag my head out of People long enough to write my own trash. If you're really desperate though give this a once over. He does a wonderful job of easing my mind by rationalizing that even the more distracted, directionless prayer has to be doing us some good.

*Feel free to leave comments on how to focus in prayer and I'll feel free to leave my eyes in the permanently elevated position known as the eye roll. 

Real Life

"Well, it's not actually my goal in life to look 'hot'."

I'll give you one guess as to which job I uttered this sentence at earlier today.

You have two options:

Nannying for two boys ages 5 and 8, or a completely demoralized fine dining restaurant where you're publicly ridiculed for your lack of knowledge on how to operate a bong.

I know what you're thinking. Demoralized restaurant? Okay fine, I'll give you one more guess.

That's right ladies and gents I felt the need to explain this to an 8 year old today. If you were hoping for some sort of glory story, renewed hope in humanity, or a post on the innocence of children please go ahead and hit CTL + Z (or Command + Q for my mac followers) because you will find no such positivity around these here parts for at least a fort night.

I wish I could walk you through the events that led up to this statement, but the steam blowing out my ears is clouding up the room and making it hard to see the computer screen and to find the high amounts of liquor necessary to subdue the horrendous, judgmental and blanketed statements I'm about to make about the state of our society.

Bear with me while I stumble my way through our foggy living room and find some liquor.

Brb.

Two shots of Bailey's and one terrible shot of some Pumpkin liquor (only half joking, sorry Mom) I am feeling much better. As tempted as I am to try and change the world with a sarcasm riddled, anger filled tangent, I think I'll wait till I'm about 20 posts in before getting up on my high and mighty horse and staying there for good.

Till then, please continue to enjoy the substance-less, humorous (hopefully) happenings of my life and take 10 seconds to pray for 8 year old boys everywhere. Actually scratch that. Pray for my soul to have mercy on them and that I don't release my wrath upon one particular 8 year boy tomorrow. I hear internet privileges are hard to come by in prison.

*I rarely succumb to peer pressure, (Liar liar) but I must dedicate this post to my sister who has plugged this pathetic excuse for a blog multiple times and each time I have failed to deliver any post at all, much less one worthy of her compliments. I hope this run-on filled, angry toned, non-proof read post appeases you. 

Harsh.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Just checking, do you want Grandchildren via your third child? Because it kind of seems like you don't.

Love,

Your wonderfully eligible daughter

Back in the day when I was living at home, checking in with my parents was an absolute must if I was out later than say --- 5 pm. It was the law (and rightfully so) to let my parents know where I was at all times. If I mistakenly didn't contact them soon enough I would get the ever scary text: "WHERE ARE YOU!?" I instantly knew I needed to contact them ASAP or fear for my life.

What does this have to do with me being single? I now have an immediate reject button when it comes to being interested in a guy.

It's easy really. If you want to be my FRIEND--shoot my a text. If you want to shoot your chances with me in the foot--send me a text. Perhaps it seems odd, but my parents have instilled a hate-hate relationship with texting. You do it as a necessity. Not as a way to woe me. If you don't like me enough to want to hear my voice, you probably don't like me enough for me to even think about being interested in you. Plain and simple.

Perhaps the letter should read:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thanks for making it really easy to decide whether or a not a guy is worth practicing my new last name on my note book in my spare time.

Love,

Your ever grateful, albeit ever single daughter

The Numbers Game

Twenty facts that I am certain will bore you to tears, but nonetheless I encourage you to read for the sake of my own self-esteem.

20. The number of consecutive minutes I tried running today. (Skip to number 13 to see how many I actually ran.)

 19.The number of times at work I've explained that "I am one of seven children, all from the same set of parents--who are still happily (until I hear otherwise) married.

18. The number of times people ask "are your parents in a cult or something?" after stating previous fact. (finally, I foresaw the impending question and simply stated "and no, we're not in a cult--so don't ask.")

17. The average number of judgmental glares I get at the park before I swell with anger and blurt out, "No, I didn't have kids when I was 14 years old you dimwit. I'm their nanny."

16. The number of times I repeat, "don't eat meat today, it's Friday, it's Lent, it's Friday, it's Lent." Before I think I'll remember...only to have eaten meat twice on Fridays this year. Total fail.

13. (Cont. from #20) Bet I made you think I lasted the BIG 1-3 huh? Nope. Only twelve. Sorry to disappoint. Trust me, I was disappointed as well. But the chocolate smoothie I devoured afterward helped ease my emotional disappointment.

Oh did I just skip from 16 to 13? Yes, yes I did. If you have a problem with that stop reading now because I'll spoil the ending for you and tell you that numbers 8 and 9 don't make an appearance either.

10. The number of days I will gone on a vacation avoiding reality at all costs.

Stop looking for #8 and #9. I already told you I didn't deem them blog worthy and cut them out of this post.

7. The number of seconds it will take you to read this and realize I couldn't actually come up anything interesting for number 7.

Or Number 6.

5a. The number of times I've been told, "You look JUST like Brittney from Glee!"

5b. The number of times I decided not to take that as a compliment when I googled this "Brittney" character and stumbled upon this little beauty.

4. The number of times I forgot to put on deodorant this week. Oops. Big Oops. (Maybe those judgmental park stares had nothing to with my unwed-teen-mother-look and more with my non-hygienic natural stank)

3. The number of books by Suzanne Collins (The Hunger Games) I have yet to read.
30,000 the number of times I've felt left out via people blogging, facebooking, talking, tweeting and seeing the movie without me.

2. The number of men who saw me trying to lick iced mocha out of my hair this morning after a particularly nasty spill in my car.

And finally (if any of you made it this far) number 1 is a tie-breaker. Split right down the middle between the one man who just laughed at me licking my hair and the other man who clearly thought I had some weird hair eating fetish and wanted to send me to the asylum quicker than you can say 'shebelongsinthecrazybin.'

Did you make it all the way through? Way to go! Give yourself a pat on the back--and then go do something extremely productive to make up for wasting the last 5 minutes of your God given life.

Hasta Luego!

π

Co-worker #3: So, what did you do with your day off?

Emily: Well, it was π day so my friend and I baked a pie. It was fun.

Co-worker #3: Whoa! Emily, I didn't know you were the type?!

Emily: Questioning stare coupled with a slightly awkward silence.

Co-worker #3. Wait, you're saying you 'got baked' yesterday right?

Emily: Oh ha, No. I'm saying I baked a pie. And I ate it. While in a sober state of mind. 'Baking' and 'getting baked' are two different phrases.

This time it was his turn for a questioning stare and an awkward silence. Until he broke the silence with, "Man Emily, you are seriously the weirdest person I know." and walked away with the excuse that he needed to water table 20. 

Thanks co-worker #3. You're not exactly normal in my book either but I'll cover your shift April 20th if you need.

Old Maid

As if having a co-worker strongly suggest that the only way I'll find love is to sign up for Christiansingles.com (since I'm not willing to compromise on the whole 'three months of dating bliss and were living together thing') wasn't enough to make me begin questioning my life choices, I was graced with this conversation at my nanny job today:

While starting the game LIFE (which is entirely too long and complicated even for myself, so why a 5 yr old wanted to play I'll never know) we reached the ever famous 10th square where you get your spouse. In the game of LIFE marriage is guaranteed, one can't move on without it (don't some of us wish real life was like that). Anyway, I rolled severrrral one's in a row and I was clearly behind in LIFE because I still had yet to get husband (in the game and in reality).

Finally the 8 yr old has a little mercy on me and says, "just let Emily move up and have her husband, it's boring when she's this far behind."

To which the 5 yr old promptly responds, "No. Emily will never get married." I'm taken aback because by his tone he has stopped talking about the game and is now talking about reality.

As I wait for him to explain himself, and something cute/redeeming like "She can't get married because I love her too much and I want her to babysit us forever."

 He actually says, "She's waaaay to weird to get married."

O.M.Gsh.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Don't bother saving for a nice cushy retirement home. Just pay for me to get my Home Nursing Aide Certification and I'll be available for the next 50-60 years.

Love,

Your prude of a daughter

Food Coma

Just in case you were wondering what on earth kept me from blogging this weekend (because so far I have been ever so diligent up to this point) I had a surprise visit from what I can only describe as bosom buddies (credit Anne of Green Gables) and I was too busy celebrating a whole host of things:

Engagements! (Congrats Jessica &Elliot)
Two WHOLE days off of work in a row (mini miracle)
Reuniting with previously mentioned bosom buddy after a six month hiatus
Getting 50% off the best Creme Brulee that has even graced itself in my mouth
Bridesmaid shopping
And again, the two full days off of work. It was like a double sabbath. (Is that even possible?)

How did I possible manage so many celebrations in 48 hours you ask? Let the over detailed and repetitive story begin.

We decided to forgo wasting time by documenting the event so fortunately for you fine readers, you'll only have to endure seeing the one and only picture we took all weekend (even though I lugged my 6 oz camera around allll freakin weekend)

Yes, I did win the aware for most unnatural pose ever. The ribbon in on the fridge.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. This was taken at the end of the weekend. After swindling a much beloved friend (Hilary) into picking Jessica (the newly engaged, brown haired one in the middle) up at the airport because of my ridiculous work schedule, I showed up at my ghetto apt to find the beautiful maiden waiting for me. After the 3 minute uninterrupted hug forced on her by me, low and behold Miss Abbi can'tevertellalieevereverever Jaeger jumped out from the kitchen and sent my into a shock that would have been cute if the circumstances were that she had just come home from a war after 12 months like this little girl...but no, I'm just always looking for a little flare to the dramatic.

And the weekend begins. We ate, we drank, we slept. We repeated. After a self proclaimed feast day we decided to forget any Lenten commitments that might have hindered our celebration in anyway, shape or form. The lowest of low might have been rationalizing that it was "5 o'clock some where" when ordering mimosas bright and early Sunday morning (after Mass of course).

I won't include a list all the food we ate (I've heard rumor that men hate it when you list everything you ate in one day and I'm fairly certain the same goes for blog readers) but when asked for an account of what we did this weekend I might just have to make stuff up to prevent myself from admitting the nasty truth that we ate without a break from dusk till dawn and then dawn till airport drop off where I stopped stuffing my face with white cheddar popcorn for the exact amount of time it took me to give them each both a hug and send them on their merry way.

If you're looking for me, I am now off to eat my way through the 4 boxes of leftovers in my fridge...the only evidence I have (besides the atrocious picture above) that this slice of Heaven did indeed take place.

Until the next time I decide to bore you. 

Much love,

Em