A Post Involving Star Wars References and Vodka - Win

In the near or distant past or future we may or may not be going on a business or pleasure trip to a land either very far away or extremely close (problem, potential house robbers?).

And, oh my god, let me tell you how awful it is to pack for said trip.  Ready?  Commence whining.

You never realize how much stuff you need for a child until you're trying to pack it into one suitcase.  We've been packing for 3 days (or rather, we had been packing or will be packing) prior to our departure.  And just for feeding the little Sarlacc we've spawned, we're probably using up a good 900 pounds of our 50 pound per suitcase limit (by the way, thanks for that awesome aspect of flying, airline industry).  And because he constantly throws up on himself, or pees everywhere, or has explosive, projectile poop making for a deadly gauntlet of fecal matter, we need to bring 7000 changes of clothes for him, just for the week (or day, or three months - insert anti-Joe Pesci vagueness here) that we're going to be gone.  We mitigated the feeding issue a little bit through the purchase of a Magic Bullet, vigorously endorsed by our insane nanny (who, by the way, apparently has been enlisted to act as a cosmic counterbalance to all people who do not like talking).  However, I'm not entirely convinced TSA won't think this is some kind of terrorist item and force us to part with what our nanny has dubbed "the manifestation of freedom in America". 

We pre-checked in for the flight, and dropped $100 just for the luggage (without it even being weighed).  I'm still having trouble sitting down from the experience.  I'm excited for that moment in the airport where we're hastily rearranging our underwear to get under that ridiculous 50 pound limit.

But, to be honest, I'm slightly excited, because I've been given a mission: figure out a way to pour out the water from a water bottle and fill it back up with vodka without opening the top.  Why?  Two reasons.  First, I don't know if you knew this, but I'll be traveling with Russians.  They like vodka, and they don't like paying $10 a shot for it.  And when I say "They", I really mean "I".  And reason #2?  It's like I'm an awesome 1920's gangster, trying to smuggle alcohol.  It's a ridiculously cool feeling.  I just want to see if I can do it.

I figured out a few possibilities: remove the label, cut a tiny hole underneath where the label was, pour in the vodka through a paper funnel, put clear duct tape over the hole, and replace the label.  This only works half way, and looks like crap.  Or, poke a tiny hole in the cap and do essentially the same thing.  This works slightly better, but the problem could be if the rent-a-cops at the entrance decide to investigate even remotely, it's easy to see that hole, and the smell of vodka is pretty potent.

The last resort, I think, would be to wear loose sweatpants and stuff water bottles into socks underneath the sweatpants.  They just ask you to remove items from your pockets, not to take off all your clothes.

I'll let you know how that goes (or went).  But in the meantime, Enjoy your Thanksgiving!  I've scheduled a few filler posts to provide your daily dose of Borscht during the time we may or may not be gone or here. 

Until then!  or not...you'll never know!

The Northeast Philly Guide to Coked-up Babysitters

I was downstairs this morning, getting tea and lunch and other miscellaneous things ready for the day when my babysitter came in. 

She burst into the kitchen, murmuring a hello to me in her thick Russian accent while she made a b-line straight for the broom and dustpan (which my wife calls the tree branch and scoop - not important to the story, but interesting aside).  She was blabbering the whole way about how it was not too hot, not too cold outside like a Russian Goldilocks, and asking me what Russian words were in English.

I wondered if she knew it was too early in the morning for a pop quiz.

She took the broom outside to sweep something up, brought it back inside and proceeded to go through the refrigerator, asking why we haven't eaten any of the food that is in there. 

"Zese Cherries, vhy haven't you eaten zem?"

"My wife takes them to work a little at a time - so we are eating them, just slowly."

"Zese veg-e-tables, vhy haven't you eaten zem?"

"We eat them for dinner...it's breakfast time.  We'll eat them when dinner time comes."

"Zis choco-lait cake, vhy haven't you eaten zis?"

I thought to myself that if Russian Jewish grandmothers were part of the Gestapo, this would be like what their interrogations would be like.

Then, when we left to go to work, she calls my wife, asking again why we haven't eaten the chocolate cake.  

She's almost 60, but she's seriously like a pre-teen girl on coke.  Her mouth does NOT stop.

A while ago, I worked from home.  It was during earnings season, so I was particularly busy with work.  Yet she came over about every thirty minutes telling me some random fact about her life.  For example:

• I have daughter - she lives vit me, and I say to her - I say, "Gala! You need to learn how to cook like real woman!" Ok, Zat's all I wanted to say.  I'm sorry, I leave you alone.
• Me and my daughter go to exercise class called 'Zumba'.  You know what is Zumba?  It is dancing.  (she dances around in a circle like she's having a slight seizure).  It is very good exercise - you should try.  You maybe lose some weight.  Ok, Zat's all I wanted to say.  I'm sorry, I leave you alone.
• My husband is very particular about name.  In Russian - is Pyotr, but he wants that people call him Petya.  Petya is good Jewish name.  Husband is Jewish, not Russian.  And definitely not Peter! Ok, Zat's all I wanted to say.  I'm sorry, I leave you alone.
• Sorry, just one more thing! I have two hobbies.  I like to cook, and I like to clean! And sometimes to sew.  You see my dress?  I sewed this.  Look at good stitches on inside! (she turns up the hem and shows me the stitching).  Ok, Zat's all I wanted to say.  I'm sorry, I leave you alone.

This is why I don't work at home anymore.