(and bookshelf and armoire in background)

I love headbands with bows! (Even if they do make me look like I'm 12 years old...)


Here is where I say something and you all judge me.


I have a confession.

So I'm a southerner. Born and raised in Texas. And up until like 3 weeks ago, I didn't know what was grammatically incorrect about the phrase "fixin'/fixing to."

As in, "Honey, I'm fixin' to go slaughter a pig for supper."

Or, in NormalPeopleSpeak, "I'm fixing to go to the pizza place to get dinner."

I've always heard people joke about southerners using that phrase. But, swear on my life, I never knew what was wrong with it. I always just assumed it was an acceptable alternative way to say you were getting ready to do something.

Right now, my parents are reading this, shaking their heads slowly, and wondering what ELSE they could have done with the Large Bundle of Cash they spent sending me to private schools from kindergarten through 12th grade.

BUT! At least I know now, right? I *know* that "fixing" only means:

fixings. Also, fix·in's  [fik-sinz] Show IPA. Informal.
a. the necessary ingredients: salad fixings.
b. the appropriate accompaniments; trimmings: turkey with all the fixings.

Heh. Heh. Hehhhh.


I enjoy tea, don't you?

So a few weeks ago, there was a Tea Party Rally here in Ye Olde DreameSchoole Citye. Complete with Sarah Palin and a WHOLE LOTTA TEA.

I had to cover it for a journalism class, but after I was getting the information I needed to be a Responsible Journalist, I had a little (biased) fun of my own.

I only had like 5 minutes to spit this video out, so excuse the crude transitions and bad sound quality. Also:

1) People were not very nice to those of us who wanted to video tape/photograph things. So I was mostly hiding my camera. Hence the SHAKY CAMERA WORK.*

*hey, the people were in a public park and DreamSchool's in a state where it only requires a one-party consent to being taped. It was perfectly legal to film/photograph them.

2) In the end of the video when I'm talking about teleprompters, when I swing my camera over to the woman, she says, "They should learn it themselves" before I start talking to her. It's hard to hear that.

3) Vimeo was being a bitch so I had to upload it in a MUCH worse quality than I would have liked. I dropped it from like 500 MB to 14 MB and the quality took a DIVE and it became much more shaky. Sorry about that. Blame Vimeo.

4) The whole thing was A Very Interesting Experience. I walked away with a lot of Informative Literature. I now understand that allowing transgender people to use either male or female restrooms now means that I, as a female, WILL be raped and killed in a public bathroom.**

**this is so totally and completely sarcastic. For the record, I STRONGLY support ANY person using whichever restroom makes him or her feel more comfortable.

Now: y'all ready for some tea?


Tea Party Rally


Weight pictures week 7

So is it a problem if I honestly can't remember what I ate this week?

Like, seriously?

I mean, last night there were tortilla chips and nutella. And I'm *sure* I overate a lot this week. But I think this week was better? Maybe? Hopefully?

(I'm going to blame the fact that I can't remember anything I ate on my sleep-deprived state, not on the fact that I'm probably losing my mind because HELLO, END OF SEMESTER EXAMS!)

The one thing I'm sure of is that I did make it to the gym Mon-Fri, as usual. And that on Friday night my friend Becca and I made this nutella cake which turned out to be a rather epic fail so at least I didn't eat too much of it?

PICTURES (then back to WORK):

Oh, and because I love you all, here's the nutella cake fail.

And OH, tonight I get to babysit! Up here! A little boy and girl! I think the boy is like 14-15 months old, and the girl is LESS THAN THREE WEEKS OLD ZOMG.

Cannot cannot cannot cannot wait.


TATTOO: one Nanny's tale of getting inked!

So unless you live under some sort of large, soundproofed rock, you probably could hear my mother wailing sadly after seeing Wednesday's tattoo blog post.

In other words, YES: I got tattooed! I now have an owl on my left shoulder that will be with my body from now until forever! And I'm happy about it!

Why did I get an owl? Why am I so weird?

WELL. I can't answer the second question, but I can answer the first.

1) I love owls. I think they're peaceful, calm, and beautiful.

2) I love that they represent wisdom. Lord knows I need me some of that.

3) I wanted a bird to honor my maternal grandmother, who died before I was born — Mary Dove. While I didn't want a dove tattoo, I wanted some kind of bird for her.

Here's my bird...

(I sharpened the owl & deepened the contrast so it was more visible online — it's not quite that dark or pronounced in real life.)

I love it, and especially love its sweet big eyes. I basically brought six zillion pictures to my tattoo artist of what I liked, and she made a few sketches that I was able to tweak until I was very happy :)

When it came time for the tattoo-doing, I was *very* nervous. But I turned on some happy Ryan Adams on my iPhone to listen to, lay on my stomach, and tried to relax.


Am I a wimp, or was that seriously painful? Cause, um, OUCH. I mean, some parts of it weren't so bad. But others felt like the tattoo artist was taking the tip of a sharp knife and slicing it into my skin. (Which, granted, was essentially what she was doing, but still.)

Before she started, she assured me the pain would be tolerable. And I believed her.

Holy jeebus.

I mean, I didn't cry or scream. And I kept reminding myself to relax and focus on the music. But the damn needle buzzing 6 inches from my ear made it difficult to concentrate. So there was a lot of *sharp intake of breath* OOOH!!!'s. And lots of fist-clenching.


(At first I was afraid, I was petrified...)

And I am happy. I love my little owl.



Inked {sneak peak}

Thank you for the comments on my last post. I'm still struggling, very much so, but it's so, so comforting to know I'm not alone.

In other news...here's a sneak peek of my new tat :) Yup, I did it! I'll give you all the details later (NO. TIME. TO. BLOG. GAH.) but here's a picture. This was taken 2 days after I had it done, so it's still red and swollen, and the ink lines are thicker than they are now.

(You can click on the picture to make it much bigger.)

Oh, and if you hate it, please don't tell me. Just concentrate on all the brightly-colored things I have on my walls!

I'll do a full tat update in a few days. I promise to explain why I got what I did! In the meantime...back to the books. *whimper*


Weight pictures week 6

It's been another difficult week.

I cannot express how much I hate my daily battles with food.

The gym is great! I love it. I've been going Monday-Friday. Lifting weights as I walk on the treadmill.

Eating? Awful. Stress + lack of energy has me eating things I don't WANT to eat, or NEED to eat.

I have another (private) blog that I share with my suitemates. I wrote a post there a few months back that really describes what I struggle with, with what several doctors/therapists have suggested to me is Compulsive Overeating Disorder. Here's an excerpt:

yesterday i stood in the kitchen, and with my brain and stomach screaming stop. stop! you don't want these! you're not hungry! my arms pulled out the goldfish, poured a large bowl, and lifted those goddamn crackers out one by one as i ate them all.

as i ate, my mind kept saying "i do not want to eat these. i don't want these. i don't." and that's the truth: i really didn't want to eat them. but i could. not. stop.

I had another incident like that this week. Tuesday night, I was facing an all-nighter with so much work I was over-overwhelmed. With my brain screaming No! my legs carried me out of my dorm room and downstairs to the convenience store, where I proceeded to buy an entire big bag of Fritos and milk.

I felt sick. I DID NOT WANT TO EAT THEM. But I couldn't not make myself buy them. As I rode the elevator back up to my dorm room, I decided I'd beg my roommate to take them away from me. To not let me have them. But then I thought, I have to get control over myself.

With all the strength I had in me, I went to the nearest trash can and dumped the entire bag of newly-bought, untouched Fritos in it. And the milk too. And then I went back to my dorm room and burst into tears.

As I was telling one of my friends about Compulsive Overeating Disorder, she asked, "So, is it just like you love to eat a lot?"

No. No. That's not it at all. It's a daily fight to resist cravings that take over my entire mind until I satiate them. It's a daily fight to not stuff myself so full that I get sick, eating continuously while my mind screams NO! It's a daily fight to remain in control. To not balloon up to the weight I was in high school.

Most of the time I'm in control. But a few times a year, I lose it all completely. This is one of those times.

I. hate. this.


Subway etiquette?

So it's generally acknowledged that I'm just about the most awkward person EVER. And I accept that. And love that. Because I'M SO COOL.

But part of being awkward is not knowing what to do in certain social situations. Like when I'm on the subway. Which is very often.

(I took the liberty of drawing you guys some lovely pictures in Photoshop. I hope you're proud of me because they seriously took like 5 minutes each to do.)

So at certain times of the day, the subway is VERY VERY FULL. Like this:

*The black squares are seats. The blue X's are boys and pink X's are girls because I totally buy into stereotypes. The pink X that's circled with the arrow pointing to it that says "me" is me. Yellow X's are people who don't want to identify a gender. (Yay for being politically correct!) Red X's are children. I don't know why.

When the subway is that full, I generally squeeze in wherever I can fit. Sometimes I sit, sometimes I stand, depending on how full it is and who needs seats. I have no problem with that.

BUT. I *do* have a problem when this happens:

If you've never been on a subway before or if you can't understand my beautiful pictures, that's what happens after we make a stop and 84% of the people get off. Don't ask me where I got that percentage. I don't know the answer.

My problem is: when 84% of the people get off of the subway, EXCEPT for the people sitting on the side I'm on, and I'm still squished in between the smelly stinky blue X and the cool politically correct yellow X, can...can I move across the aisle? To sit where there's space? Is that in bad taste?

I never know. So I usually stay put. Awkwardly.

As per usual.



I have 16 zillion posts running through my head but no time to post at all or sleep or do anything but work! overeat! work! overeat! which is a whole BARREL of fun-ness, let me just tell you. And we're not even going to talk about the fact that I have to be packed up and out of here in less than 3 weeks and that I do not want to leave this city AT ALL no you can't make me *stomp* *POUT*.


I'll be back. Soonish. Promise. Miss y'all LOVE Y'ALL.

(Also? Sleeeeeeeeeepyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.)


Weight pictures week 5

This week was better than last week. I still struggled with overeating. I'm not eating entirely unhealthy foods...it's just that I'm still eating too much. Which is frustrating.

But, I'm trying. And these last few weeks (and the next few, too) have been (and will be) grueling. I'm lucky if I get between 3-5 hours of broken sleep during the week. On the weekends, I try to catch up -- except when I get woken up early with the fire alarm going off THANK YOU DREAMSCHOOL.

(Nothing beats waking panicked from a dead sleep, blearily grabbing your phone, ID, a sweater (cause there's no time to put on a bra!) and shoes and running down 5 flights of stairs to stand on one of the busiest streetcorners in the city with 750 other students! But LET'S NOT TALK ABOUT THAT.)

I'm still loving the gym. I'm working up to 3.1 and 3.2mph on the treadmill (ZOMG I'M PRACTICALLY RUNNING) and lifting weights as I walk. I don't want to bulk up my arms, cause lord knows I've got muscles from years of lifting babies! I just want to tone them. I can also do 50 sit-ups without stopping. LOVE it.

We're in crunch time for the rest of the semester. As well as I'm trying to eat, sometimes I *will* need to carbo-load to get through a full night of studying, just for the energy. And I know that. But I'm trying.

And it's fucking hard.


Tit for tat(too)

So here is the post in which my mother and father take one look at the topic and fall over backwards. Cause we're going to talk about TATTOOS today, kids!

(In the interest of full disclosure, I did briefly bring up the topic with my mother last week. Because 30* years old is too young to die of a heart attack.)

*Mom! Look! I didn't use your actual age! Because I know if I did you would have killed me in my sleep! It's totally feasible that you had me at age 9, right? Right!


I want to get one.

I've wanted one since I was, oh, 13 or so. But I've always wavered a bit. Because while they're ZOMG SO COOL (in moderation), they're also ZOMG SO PERMANENT. And can stretch with weight gain, which we all know I generally have a problem with! Red flag! Red flag!

But now at the ripe old age of 21, I've found myself tipping pretty far over to the GET ONE! side of the scale.


1) It will be small. Like, really small. Like, see the size of your thumb? SMALLER THAN THAT.

2) It will be in an area that won't stretch if I gain 3,000 lbs. I'm thinking it'll be on my back, near the bottom of my shoulder blade...

3) ...in an area that will be covered up by clothes. Like completely covered up. Even by things like camis. I only want it to show if I *want* to show it.

So I've asked 14 million people and got several great recommendations for tattoo shops in the area. Clean, safe, reliable ones. And I'm trying to make an appointment for a consultation for this weekend. And I am nervous and excited and I haven't slept in three weeks and I have so much homework to do and wait how did this post derail?

ANYWAY. Do you have a tattoo? Where is it? Do you regret getting it? Tell me!


Pretty spring

It was so sunny when I was trying to take these pictures that I literally closed my eyes, pointed the camera upward, and clicked. I LOVE SPRING IN THE NORTHEAST!!!


Weight pictures week 4


What can I say? This week did. not. go. well.

I was beyond stressed and averaging between 3-5 hours of (broken) sleep a night. I had two huge exams, a huge speech to give, and a huge article & multimedia item (slideshow of 50-70 slides + audio) due.

So, I stress-ate. A lot. And I didn't eat healthily. The one positive thing I did do this week was I did go to the gym Mon-Fri, and today (Sunday) as well. I'm really loving my gym time...just me, no roommate interruptions, and Sasha the iPhone spinning tunes for me. Love it.

I didn't want to take pictures, but I did anyway. Look at me being all accountable and stuff!


I'll try again this week.


A close blind shave

So last week my right eye all of a sudden started burning and tearing up and spitting out yellow goop.

Let me just tell you how much fun that was. (Stretches arms wide) THIS FUN.

I took my contacts out and wore my glasses for the rest of the day. When it still wasn't better the next morning, I called and made an appointment at a random doctor's office near DreamSchool and said "Pleeeeeeeeease do something to make my eye better! I cannot stand my glasses!'*

*Note: I like my glasses. I do. But a) my nose looks bigger in them and b) my depth perception is WAY off when I wear them vs. wearing contacts.

So they said that I could come in that day at 2 p.m. -- when I'm supposed to be at work. I called DreamSchool's Admission office, explained the situation, and they said (and I quote), "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE STAY AWAY WE DO NOT WANT PINK EYE."

And I said, "...PINK EYE?!" followed by several colorful expletives that I won't repeat here because I try to keep things family-friendly on a nanny blog. In my head, I thought, It CANNOT be pink eye. Where would I have gotten pink eye???

But I pushed that thought aside and went about my merry way. On that particular day, it was supposed to hit 60 degrees (!!!) after weeks of rain and cold and heavy jackets, so I decided that to mark this delightful warm-day occasion by (GASP) SHAVING MY LEGS so I could wear a skirt!

Yeah. Here's where it gets funny. See, I'm blind. Legally so, without my contacts in.

But I couldn't wear my contacts because of the itchy burn-y eye crap.

And I can't wear my glasses in the shower because the fog! the fog!

So I had to shave blindly.

It was not pretty.

I was throwing my razor around just trying to whack away any and all hair and nicking myself in the process and causing my roommates to whisper, "What the heck is WRONG with her? Has she finally gone off the deep end?" and scaring small children but I FINISHED SHAVING WITHOUT BLEEDING OUT YAY FOR ME.

(Let's just not talk about the fact that I had hairy patches ALL up and down my legs that I could see once I got out of the shower, dried off, and put my glasses back on.)

But I didn't let a little hair stop me from slapping a skirt around my waist (and a few other pieces of clothing like a shirt and a bra) and heading out to the doctor. Where I was treated cruelly. CRUELLY.

Here is what happened:

I get into the examining room, and the nurse tells me she has to weigh me and take my height. I whimper, tell her that it'll save us both time if she just writes down 4 feet 11 inches tall and 105 lbs (HA! HA HA! I CRACK MYSELF UP). She doesn't buy it and makes me hop on the scale (WHIMPER) and then have my height checked.

The whole time she's measuring me I'm assuring her that it'll be 4'11, no higher, no lower, that's what I've always been since like 4th grade, and yes I stopped growing that long ago, I know, yes it's difficult to buy clothes, and etc., etc., etc.

And then her eyes grow wide and she says, "But you're FIVE FEET TALL!" and I scream and I hug her and I say, "WHAT?!?!?" and she squints her eyes and looks again and says, "Oh, wait, no, you're 4'11" and I collapse on the floor in a heap of tears.

And THEN, after THAT hot mess, the doctor comes in, tells me I have pink eye, and prescribes me antibiotic OINTMENT (what happened to drops???) and sends me home. And then I wear my glasses for two more days and bump into random things because I still can't get used to the depth perception differences and then the pink eye clears up and I go back to contacts and re-shave my legs and PHEW, I'm glad that's over with.