All posts by Emily

I’ve Seen This Face Before

Dating/Single Life, Friends, ,

Here in Florida, visiting several people’s babies. As is common with all babies meeting me for the first time, one of the first things one of these babies did was grab my boobs, presumably looking for milk. I apologized, telling him that, unfortunately, there is nothing exciting happening under this shirt. Unconvinced and determined, he then stuck his hand down my shirt, and slipped it right under my bra. Much to his dissapotnmet, still nothing. He looked crestfallen.

This must be exactly how the men in my life have felt.

Lies I Tell So People Will Hate Me Less

Being Awkward/Dumb Stuff I Do, Mental Health, , , , , , , , ,

That moment on a plane when you’re so embarrassed by your overactive bladder that you apologetically explain to the annoyed woman in the aisle seat, who is getting up for you for the 3rd time, that you’re pregnant.

You’re not pregnant. You just know that’ll make her sympathetic and less annoyed. And you’re right. It does.

What you don’t know is that this will incite an entire conversation about said make-believe fetus.

How far along am I? About 3 months. I know. It’s crazy, I’m barely showing. I’m sure that won’t last, especially with the aid of these nacho cheesier Doritos! (Woman cackles with laughter, seems less disgusted with my snack choice than she was previously).

The father? He’s amazing. Been married 3 years. He’s in Florida for business right now, so I’m meeting him at The Breakers. Yeah, I know. Ritzy. But the thing is, he, and therefore we, are richer than God. Sometimes we take baths in our dollars and I wear a bra made of diamonds. Don’t be fooled by the hole in this Old Navy hoodie I’m wearing. In public, I prefer to blend.

First child? No. We have toddler triplets. One boy and two conjoined girls. Yeah, that delivery was rough! (finish bag of Doritos, lick fingers, bust open the Toblerone).

Names? Haven’t decided yet. I like Coconut. Maybe Sunshine. Or Palm Tree. No, I’m not just naming things I’m excited to see in Florida.

Am I sure it’s ok to fly? I don’t know. Why? Is that a thing? Maybe that’s why my girls are conjoined…

Oh ok, cool. Now we’re done here.

(Note: nothing past the 4th paragraph actually happened. Except in my head. This is how I pass time on flights. It’s also the effects of Xanax).

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Things You Don’t Want To Hear Your Pilot Say

Mental Health, Random Thoughts/Happenings, , , , ,

I’m here at Dulles airport, in DC (well, technically VA. I think. I’ll be honest I have no idea where I am.) I’ve already had quite the chain of travel snafus trying to get to Florida, starting with my cancelled flight out of NYC and followed by the world’s worst traveling cabaret ride.

Finally, things were starting to look up. My awesome parents picked me up from the bus yesterday, took me to a lovey dinner, gave me wine, and watched SNL40 with me. As always, I was the first one asleep.

Then this morning, Dad drove me to the airport. Flight is on time. Everything is coming up roses.

Then I decided to grab a quick coffee from the only coffee option here in Terminal Z (yes. Terminal Z. What the fuck else would you expect)– Dunkin Donuts. Coincidentally, I’m standing right behind the pilot of my fight. She’s about to get to the front when the cashier announces– “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry, but we are all out of regular coffee for the next 30 minutes. Only decaf.” My pilot takes one look at her copilot and says, with a grave, dire expression, “You don’t understand how much I need this coffee.”

So like– HOW MUCH are we talking? Like I can’t fly this plane at ALL without the coffee and we need to cancel? I might fall asleep mid flight and need the copilot to take over? I might get the caffeine-withdrawal shakes and accidentally clip a mountain top? I might be so out of it that I accidentally fly us somewhere even colder than this goddamn tundra? I’m just trying to figure out how many of these Xanax to take. On top of the three I immediately popped when I first got behind you, heard you say you were flying my plane, and then watched you yawn 5 times in a row.

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Sweet Dreams of Death and Despair, Baby Boy

Family, , , , ,

I just got back to my parents’ house in Maryland, where I am staying the night before I fly out to Florida tomorrow. When I got here, my mom was super excited to show me the crib she got for my baby nephew. I was psyched to see it until she told me where it resides– in Zack’s bedroom.

Zack is my youngest sibling. He is 26 years old. His bedroom, however, never escaped the dark days of puberty.

I immediately panicked. A montage to explain why:

nursery 1

nursery 2

nursery 3

nursery 4nursery 5

Sweet dreams, baby boy.

I Will NOT Be Your Guest, Kid

Kids/Teaching, Random Thoughts/Happenings, ,

I made the mistake of letting the chatty lady next to me on this 5-hour bus ride, sitting with her son (who was sleeping at the time), know that I’m a teacher. Since then, her son has woken up and proved himself to be the WORST. He seems to have mistaken this charter bus for a Broadway stage, and himself for Nathan Lane in The Birdcage. But louder and more dramatic.

The mom, inexplicably, is amused by this, despite the fact that everyone else on the bus is undoubtedly plotting the child’s murder. Or her murder. Or mass murder. The guy across from me has turned up the volume on his iPod full blast. The woman next to him appears to be praying to Allah. The man in front of me seems to have just given up on enjoying this ride, and possibly on life entirely.

The mom smiles at me. “You’re a teacher. You must love kids.”
Me: “Sure do.”

From 8-3pm. On a work day. When they are under MY control.

Your song-screaming child, in this moment, is, make no mistake, my worst nightmare. Never again will I be able to enjoy Beauty and the Beast. Or music in general. All sounds, really.

So, no, kid. I will NOT be your guest. Do you hear me? Neither will that guy, or that lady, or that old man. NO ONE HERE WANTS TO BE YOUR GUEST.

You may also NOT have one of my skittles. So don’t ask again.

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Nothing Ever Goes Wrong When I Travel

Family, Mental Health, Random Thoughts, , ,

That moment when your flight to go to Florida, a trip you’ve been looking forward to for months and upon which your mental sanity lies, is cancelled (because guys, it’s REALLY cold out there– no, not snowing. Just cold. And I’m not sure if you knew this, but back when planes were first built, no one considered the factor of coldness. I guess maybe coldness didn’t exist back then. And in the 112 years since that first plane was invented, no one has yet thought to coldness-proof the design, even though, as it turns out, much of the earth is cold.)

Fucking Spirit Air. Never again.

So what do you do? Book your only affordable option, which is to fly out from DC tomorrow, and which will involve you hopping on a 5 hour bus right now home to your parents’ house.

And is it worth it? Yes. Because, guys– I already painted my nails pink. If I stay in NY I’ll just look stupid.

Plus, Dad’s wine tonight. Things could be worse.

(But let me just clarify, in case you thought I was getting all Positive Patty on you– things could be a LOT fucking better).

*typed while defrosting my hands in Penn Station, sandwiched between two homeless men.

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