I do not believe in signs. I don’t often over think any situation or occurrence, I don’t sit around and wonder what “out of the norm” interaction means for me in the long run, I caulk them up to being just one of the million weird things that I come across daily. That is, of course, unless I’m flying. As many of you know I have a fear of flying (if you didn’t know this I would like to direct you to blog post titled, “I’m Baaaaack” from August 20, 2010.) I am happy to report that I’ve seen an improvement and am no longer afraid of landing… taking off and being in the air are different stories.
So when I fly, everything means something. And that something is usually that God is telling me the plane is going down. On Thursday, I flew back to Los Angeles from a trip to Denver and was hit with so many “signs” I’m surprised I didn’t have a panic attack. First of all, I was greeted with a last minute gate change, which most normal people would find to be a slight inconvenience but to me it’s a warning: Do not board this plane.
As I made my way to my window seat, I was asked by a man to switch seats with his brother at the front of the plane so they could all sit together. Being the people pleaser I am, I obliged. But now I was in an aisle seat. How was I supposed to monitor that the distance between the plane and the ground did not suspiciously decrease? I could only think of that scene in Final Destination when Devon Sawa realizes he had mis-planned the course of deaths because he forgot that he switched seats with a peer pre-flight (sorry for the spoilers). What if I was perfectly safe in a window seat at row 16, but an aisle seat at row 6 was doomed?
Finally after I forced myself to file pop culture references away as “NOT signs of my death by plane crash” I sat down to prepare for takeoff. I picked up my phone to shut off and saw I had a new email; I had a new follower on Twitter! “aaliyah.” Aaliyah, the name of a popular American R&B star and actress who died in a plane crash, was now following me on Twitter. It wasn’t even capitalized; she must have rushed back from the dead, in too much of a hurry to bother with proper punctuation to warn me about this plane.
I took a few seconds, mentally slapped some sense into myself and now here I am. I am now confident that thinking is what forces the fear of flying into me. If only lobotomies were temporary….
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Friendfest
A few weekends ago some college friends and I went to the LA Beerfest. We were happy, enthusiastic, and focused; but none of this was directed towards the beer. My friends and I are still yearning for a steady friend circle in LA, and we saw Beerfest as an opportunity to find these like-minded individuals. We set ourselves a goal: two phone number exchanges. TOTAL, not individually, that would have been a ridiculously unobtainable goal.
It never crossed our minds that a large gathering created with the sole intention of trying as much alcohol as possible would not be the best place to make lasting friendships. Thank goodness we went to a beerfest, I can only imagine a vodka fest being a very angry and aggressive festival. But the patrons of LA Beefest were jolly and fun and LIKED BEER. We assumed that was enough to start some solid friendship groundwork, but I soon found that it was hard to find a common ground beyond the beer.
I can tell you that you aren’t going to become friends with the person at the Snoop Dogg caffeinated beer stand because you both posed with the life size cut out of the beloved rapper and you both sang “Next Episode” as you did so.
I can tell you that you aren’t going to become friends with the perv who will only allow you to have a pretzel from his pretzel necklace if you bite it off his chest. I’d rather continue my day with this taste of dried beer bubbles in the back of my throat, thank you!
And I can tell you that you surely aren’t going to become best friends with a person you recognize from your gym and have had just enough to drink that you don’t think it’s creepy to tell them.
My fellow CU grads and I knew that we needed better talking points to make this beerfest our friendfest, we needed just one more common thread with these strangers to know our friendship could be the real deal. So we gathered in the middle of the festival and did what any other former Buff would do. We sang the CU fight song. This was not the first time I’ve busted out the CU fight song at a non-CU sporting event. It wasn’t long ago that I sang the CU fight song solo after the applause subsided following the introduction of a cake at my friend’s college graduation BBQ. I was just lucky enough to have some others to harmonize with this time around.
It did not take long for our fellow buffaloes to roam towards us, and join in and with that spirited decision we got our two number exchanges! While I would call Beerfest a success, I can see this whole ‘making friends at a beerfest’ thing being problematic. It gives way to waking up the next morning with new contacts in your phone under names like “Charlie Chocolate Ale” and “Amanda Brie Cheese” to signify which beer tent and food truck you met your new friend. Then upon thinking deeper into your conversation and realizing that you bonded over your joint decision that the beer should join forces with Hershey’s for a marketing campaign and the importance of trying different cheeses on sandwiches, you have to face the harsh reality that making friends is not easy sober or drunk.
It never crossed our minds that a large gathering created with the sole intention of trying as much alcohol as possible would not be the best place to make lasting friendships. Thank goodness we went to a beerfest, I can only imagine a vodka fest being a very angry and aggressive festival. But the patrons of LA Beefest were jolly and fun and LIKED BEER. We assumed that was enough to start some solid friendship groundwork, but I soon found that it was hard to find a common ground beyond the beer.
I can tell you that you aren’t going to become friends with the person at the Snoop Dogg caffeinated beer stand because you both posed with the life size cut out of the beloved rapper and you both sang “Next Episode” as you did so.
I can tell you that you aren’t going to become friends with the perv who will only allow you to have a pretzel from his pretzel necklace if you bite it off his chest. I’d rather continue my day with this taste of dried beer bubbles in the back of my throat, thank you!
And I can tell you that you surely aren’t going to become best friends with a person you recognize from your gym and have had just enough to drink that you don’t think it’s creepy to tell them.
My fellow CU grads and I knew that we needed better talking points to make this beerfest our friendfest, we needed just one more common thread with these strangers to know our friendship could be the real deal. So we gathered in the middle of the festival and did what any other former Buff would do. We sang the CU fight song. This was not the first time I’ve busted out the CU fight song at a non-CU sporting event. It wasn’t long ago that I sang the CU fight song solo after the applause subsided following the introduction of a cake at my friend’s college graduation BBQ. I was just lucky enough to have some others to harmonize with this time around.
It did not take long for our fellow buffaloes to roam towards us, and join in and with that spirited decision we got our two number exchanges! While I would call Beerfest a success, I can see this whole ‘making friends at a beerfest’ thing being problematic. It gives way to waking up the next morning with new contacts in your phone under names like “Charlie Chocolate Ale” and “Amanda Brie Cheese” to signify which beer tent and food truck you met your new friend. Then upon thinking deeper into your conversation and realizing that you bonded over your joint decision that the beer should join forces with Hershey’s for a marketing campaign and the importance of trying different cheeses on sandwiches, you have to face the harsh reality that making friends is not easy sober or drunk.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Long Day At Work
All I have to say about my day at work yesterday is that I think a child is old enough to be potty trained if they are big enough/skilled enough to makeshift a ladder out of an upside down hamper, climb onto their changing table and throw an entire bottle of freshly opened baby powder around their room, ripping open diaper cream and rubbing it on their floor, mirrors and stomach in the process.
Just sayin’.
Just sayin’.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
An Eye for an Eye
As a nanny, I’m a step down from being a parent in several aspects but the main one is that there's a lot less pressure. I love the comfort of knowing that the kid isn't going to grow up and resent me. No one at 25 blames their childhood nanny for the reason they're so messed up. I like (okay, love) being able to go home and do my own thang. This is more commonly known as nothing. But don’t be fooled, I still make sacrifices!
I have to make sure the child is fed and happy before I can feed myself and be happy. I have to make sure I don’t casually swear at the drop of a hat. I have to use the word "potty" in public. The life of a nanny is not as glamorous as it may seem. Sometimes when I feel like I’m getting too close to being a parent, like I’m making too many sacrifices, I need to treat myself. Just to remind myself I can. Last week we went to the farmer’s market near his house. This farmer’s market is close enough that a dizzy blind man could get there in less than 30 minutes. It took us an hour and a half. So, naturally, when I saw cookies for sale at one of the tents, I bought one to take the edge off.
This was going to be the perfect treat to eat after we got home and he was napping. Unfortunately, he caught onto my plan. Not only did he see the cookie, but he insisted that I buy the one shaped like a bunny covered in pink molasses. Whatever I thought, I’ll get the stupid bunny cookie; he’s only going to get a bite anyway. When we got the stroller I told him I would give him some of the cookie, but that this was “Anna’s Special Treat” so he only got a little bit. Of course he was greedy and wanted it all, crying ensued so, to prove a point, I didn’t give him any.
That’s not true. I did end up giving him a piece when we were half way home. Then, in an effort to avoid another meltdown but also satisfy my own desire to eat the cookie while he ate lunch, I surrounded the cookie in a barrier of cleaning products that were left on the counter for the cleaning people. Not only could he not see it but the warnings his parents spout out regularly of cleaning products would leave him too scared to venture over to see what I was reaching for intermittently.
I TOLD YOU I make sacrifices. I put my own health in danger by storing my food within a chemical fortress in order to avoid sharing. #therealsupernanny. <-- this reminds me! Follow me on twitter at senny24 because I misuse and overuse hashtags all day long!
I have to make sure the child is fed and happy before I can feed myself and be happy. I have to make sure I don’t casually swear at the drop of a hat. I have to use the word "potty" in public. The life of a nanny is not as glamorous as it may seem. Sometimes when I feel like I’m getting too close to being a parent, like I’m making too many sacrifices, I need to treat myself. Just to remind myself I can. Last week we went to the farmer’s market near his house. This farmer’s market is close enough that a dizzy blind man could get there in less than 30 minutes. It took us an hour and a half. So, naturally, when I saw cookies for sale at one of the tents, I bought one to take the edge off.
This was going to be the perfect treat to eat after we got home and he was napping. Unfortunately, he caught onto my plan. Not only did he see the cookie, but he insisted that I buy the one shaped like a bunny covered in pink molasses. Whatever I thought, I’ll get the stupid bunny cookie; he’s only going to get a bite anyway. When we got the stroller I told him I would give him some of the cookie, but that this was “Anna’s Special Treat” so he only got a little bit. Of course he was greedy and wanted it all, crying ensued so, to prove a point, I didn’t give him any.
That’s not true. I did end up giving him a piece when we were half way home. Then, in an effort to avoid another meltdown but also satisfy my own desire to eat the cookie while he ate lunch, I surrounded the cookie in a barrier of cleaning products that were left on the counter for the cleaning people. Not only could he not see it but the warnings his parents spout out regularly of cleaning products would leave him too scared to venture over to see what I was reaching for intermittently.
I TOLD YOU I make sacrifices. I put my own health in danger by storing my food within a chemical fortress in order to avoid sharing. #therealsupernanny. <-- this reminds me! Follow me on twitter at senny24 because I misuse and overuse hashtags all day long!
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