For some reason I've come to believe that I was born the quintessential Susie-Homemaker, who can cook everything from scrambled eggs to filet mignon to creme brulee, fix almost anything in the house, and sew as well as a professional seamstress. As it turns out, I was sadly mistaken. Well, on one out of three counts...
I can't sew. I mean, I can sew, I have made a few pretty baller aprons, and hemmed countless pairs of pants, but that's about the extent of it. A few minutes ago I dumped a pile of red cotton, jersey-knit fabric into the trash because I failed at turning it into a simple dress. As it turns out, there is actually a kind of geometry and logic that goes into pattern-making that I just don't have. I spent well over 10 hours on this project- sewing, ripping, re-sewing, measuring once, cutting twice, and poking myself in the fingers with pins I don't know how many times, and ultimately failed.
In the hopes that I just chose a ridiculous fabric to attempt my first pattern with, I purchased some $10/yard blue and green floral silk for my next project: a top and skirt. As if silk is the obvious next choice for an easy fabric to work with... Oh lord, what have I gotten myself into?
Stay tuned for further updates on the Susie-Homemaker home front.
On an entirely separate note, I'm returning to the job hunt in hopes that I can find 40 hr/week employment at a company that doesn't make me want to stab pencils in my ears. (That is about my only criterion as of now). As much as I enjoy sitting at a computer listening to Pandora 25 hours a week, reading and formatting incredibly interesting literature, I am nearing the end of my threshold for living with the 'rents. I'm ready to leave the nest, yes, and hopefully not fall tragically to the cold, snowy ground. Unfortunately, my $9 an hour job won't permit me to do that just yet, and a second job isn't in the cards with my 12-5, Mon-Fri schedule. It really is the most inconvenient work schedule you could ask for, albeit I don't mind sleeping in every day...
So, in addition to the aforementioned updates, stay tuned for news on the job hunt front as well!
Monday, February 15, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Who are the hunters?
I think I've been boy-crazy my entire life. And by think, I mean know, and have been told on more than one occasion. And as I've delved deeper into the world of adult dating, I've realized that this is a pretty dangerous trait to possess. The days of playing "hard-to-get" by leaving notes in each other's lockers are long past, and there are suddenly new, very serious, rules to follow in order to enter into a real relationship in your 20s. And on that subject I only have one thing to say-
F&#% that.
The anxiety that takes over a person within the first few weeks of dating is unnecessary, ridiculous, stressful and... completely exhilarating. I write this in hopes that I'm not alone, and that there are plenty of people out there who share this love/hate relationship with relationships. And for those of us brave enough to jump headfirst into what I still affectionately call a 'crush,' I'd like to address a few things. For centuries it was the man's job to make the first move, court the girl, and initiate the direction of the initial attraction. Then, I think sometime in the past few decades that rule became obsolete, and men were ostracized for these kinds of ideas. Hell, we're living in a generation where 40 and 50 something women are pursuing men, particularly the young, verile ones, in a manner that has earned them the name "cougars." But the trend is now taking a 180 back to the days of chivalry and tradition, and I find myself caught in the transition. So my first question is, who are the hunters?
Having asked many friends over the years for advice on "making the move," I think I've established that there are two types of men. The Hunters, and the Prey. Many of you are probably thinking that this completely applies to girls too, which it does! But for all intents and purposes right now, I'm going to stick with the guys. Plus, I'd rather not criticize my own sex, someone's got to stick up for us, right? But back to the point- There are Hunters and Prey, and no in-betweens. There are the guys that hunt down their target, stealthily move in, and thrive on the excitement of the chase. These are the expert game-players. The ones with rules about when to call, text, and meet. These are the ones that drive women crazy, know that they're doing it, and usually don't care about the casualties along the way. For them, there's always a new catch on the horizon...
Then there are the Prey, who absolutely love when a pretty, confident girl approaches them. They want the girl to make the moves, show her interest, and take things to the next level. Although I completely understand where they're coming from, these guys are treading dangerous ground if they don't step up and make a few moves themselves. No one should let themselves get completely comfortable with being the Prey, and accepting the fact that they can't face rejection if they don't put themselves out there. And there's just something about a guy that has a pair. The guy that can take his chances, risk rejection, and just go for it. But how do you tell the Hunter from the Prey anymore?
I typically go into each situation assuming the old "He's Just Not That Into You" mentality of: if he wants you, he will call you/see you/make it happen. But that's not always the case! Playing hard to get, which used to be the secret weapon of women in keeping men at the edge of their seats, has now been adopted by the Hunter to draw women out into the open. So when he's not calling you/seeing you/making it happen, he could be putting you right where he wants you. But then again, maybe he's the shy Prey, waiting for you to pounce on him! It's too confusing to try to guess, but I still find myself excited at the game.
So here's my idea: when you like someone, or even just think you might like someone, make it happen. There really isn't much to lose. I know the fear of coming on too strong keeps some people from calling or texting as often as they want to, but really, don't most people nowadays tell you if you're coming on too strong? Wouldn't you be able to tell if you're irritating someone that isn't actually interested back in you? So just go for it. And although I hate the "rules" and games and identity crises involved in dating, since everyone participates in them anyway, I hope some people still get as strangely excited about it as I do.
F&#% that.
The anxiety that takes over a person within the first few weeks of dating is unnecessary, ridiculous, stressful and... completely exhilarating. I write this in hopes that I'm not alone, and that there are plenty of people out there who share this love/hate relationship with relationships. And for those of us brave enough to jump headfirst into what I still affectionately call a 'crush,' I'd like to address a few things. For centuries it was the man's job to make the first move, court the girl, and initiate the direction of the initial attraction. Then, I think sometime in the past few decades that rule became obsolete, and men were ostracized for these kinds of ideas. Hell, we're living in a generation where 40 and 50 something women are pursuing men, particularly the young, verile ones, in a manner that has earned them the name "cougars." But the trend is now taking a 180 back to the days of chivalry and tradition, and I find myself caught in the transition. So my first question is, who are the hunters?
Having asked many friends over the years for advice on "making the move," I think I've established that there are two types of men. The Hunters, and the Prey. Many of you are probably thinking that this completely applies to girls too, which it does! But for all intents and purposes right now, I'm going to stick with the guys. Plus, I'd rather not criticize my own sex, someone's got to stick up for us, right? But back to the point- There are Hunters and Prey, and no in-betweens. There are the guys that hunt down their target, stealthily move in, and thrive on the excitement of the chase. These are the expert game-players. The ones with rules about when to call, text, and meet. These are the ones that drive women crazy, know that they're doing it, and usually don't care about the casualties along the way. For them, there's always a new catch on the horizon...
Then there are the Prey, who absolutely love when a pretty, confident girl approaches them. They want the girl to make the moves, show her interest, and take things to the next level. Although I completely understand where they're coming from, these guys are treading dangerous ground if they don't step up and make a few moves themselves. No one should let themselves get completely comfortable with being the Prey, and accepting the fact that they can't face rejection if they don't put themselves out there. And there's just something about a guy that has a pair. The guy that can take his chances, risk rejection, and just go for it. But how do you tell the Hunter from the Prey anymore?
I typically go into each situation assuming the old "He's Just Not That Into You" mentality of: if he wants you, he will call you/see you/make it happen. But that's not always the case! Playing hard to get, which used to be the secret weapon of women in keeping men at the edge of their seats, has now been adopted by the Hunter to draw women out into the open. So when he's not calling you/seeing you/making it happen, he could be putting you right where he wants you. But then again, maybe he's the shy Prey, waiting for you to pounce on him! It's too confusing to try to guess, but I still find myself excited at the game.
So here's my idea: when you like someone, or even just think you might like someone, make it happen. There really isn't much to lose. I know the fear of coming on too strong keeps some people from calling or texting as often as they want to, but really, don't most people nowadays tell you if you're coming on too strong? Wouldn't you be able to tell if you're irritating someone that isn't actually interested back in you? So just go for it. And although I hate the "rules" and games and identity crises involved in dating, since everyone participates in them anyway, I hope some people still get as strangely excited about it as I do.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
bloggers block
So, much to my chagrin, my excitement to contribute more in the world of blogging has been foiled by my lack of topic ideas. Although the suggestion of dogs in tuxedos vs chimps in tuxedos was tempting, I feel that either one is borderline animal cruelty, and would therefore probably be taboo. Although, I do secretly think dogs in costumes are pretty damn cute. Oh, and hats. Dogs in hats are straight adorable. But back to my point- I don't know what to write about. It would be fairly easy to turn this into a page of rants and criticisms of anything under the sun, but I'd prefer to keep this lighthearted. So until my muse blesses me with a new and interesting idea, I am open to suggestion. Just don't ask me what I think of health care, Barack Obama, anything sports related, the Jonas Brothers, or... anything else I don't really know about!
P.S. hated that Ke$ha song, "Tik Tok," when I first heard it, now I can't get enough. I am now thoroughly convinced that the music industry is inserting subliminal messaging into songs by her, Miley Cyrus, and Lady Gaga to make me want to bust a move every time I listen to the radio. I wonder how many dance related car accidents could be blamed on their auditory addictive stimulants... Kids, just listen to NPR.
P.S. hated that Ke$ha song, "Tik Tok," when I first heard it, now I can't get enough. I am now thoroughly convinced that the music industry is inserting subliminal messaging into songs by her, Miley Cyrus, and Lady Gaga to make me want to bust a move every time I listen to the radio. I wonder how many dance related car accidents could be blamed on their auditory addictive stimulants... Kids, just listen to NPR.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The Treadmill is My Enemy.
So tonight, newly invigorated with energy from God knows where, I worked out. Not at the gym, no, my part-time job and seemingly endless gas costs prevent me from joining a 24-hour facility with shiny machines, weights, and buff bods. I actually trekked down to the arctic cold basement to use the family treadmill. Set in Cardio mode, incline at 8%, I spent 45 long minutes watching The Office on TBS and jogging, in place.
There's just something about a treadmill that makes me dizzy. First of all, there's no wind resistance. It's just running, but without the benefit of a self-made breeze to cool you down. Not that I needed cooling down in the sixty degree basement, but the air does seem less fresh when you're breathing in the same cubic foot of oxygen. And then there's the monotony of the run itself. At least outside you can turn down random streets, swing by a park, avoid a heinous hill or even pull a Rocky up a lengthy flight of stairs. Unless the treadmill comes equipped with fancy gears to swing into alternating inclines and a screen to make me "believe" I'm running on a sunny beach, I'm really just sweating in my parents crap-filled basement.
Now the elliptical is a machine I can respect. At least on that one I actually feel the muscles that are lit up on that little body diagram on the screen- calves, hamstrings, quads, butt. It's like the manufacturers knew that by providing that diagram, whoever was on the machine would be relieved by the reassurance that- Yes! you really are getting what the machine promised! Look! Those little lights were right! I can really feel it! Not to mention that on the elliptical you can go backwards. Have you ever tried to go backwards on the treadmill? I haven't dared to myself, but I'm sure myriad viral video posters can amuse you with their attempts.
And to end with a question for any exercise-minded readers out there, why is it that I rarely get a stitch in my side on the elliptical, but on the treadmill I feel like my ribcage is giving me the finger, big time? Maybe I'm just an awkward runner. And what do you do for those little buggers? Breathe? Drink water? Stretch? I really would like to know, especially since mom's treadmill will be my sole form of cardio exercise in the immediate future. Meanwhile, let's hope this new burst of exercise enthusiasm stays with me. Miley and I are back on our way to being in shape! (as long as we can stay away from my parents' kitchen...)
There's just something about a treadmill that makes me dizzy. First of all, there's no wind resistance. It's just running, but without the benefit of a self-made breeze to cool you down. Not that I needed cooling down in the sixty degree basement, but the air does seem less fresh when you're breathing in the same cubic foot of oxygen. And then there's the monotony of the run itself. At least outside you can turn down random streets, swing by a park, avoid a heinous hill or even pull a Rocky up a lengthy flight of stairs. Unless the treadmill comes equipped with fancy gears to swing into alternating inclines and a screen to make me "believe" I'm running on a sunny beach, I'm really just sweating in my parents crap-filled basement.
Now the elliptical is a machine I can respect. At least on that one I actually feel the muscles that are lit up on that little body diagram on the screen- calves, hamstrings, quads, butt. It's like the manufacturers knew that by providing that diagram, whoever was on the machine would be relieved by the reassurance that- Yes! you really are getting what the machine promised! Look! Those little lights were right! I can really feel it! Not to mention that on the elliptical you can go backwards. Have you ever tried to go backwards on the treadmill? I haven't dared to myself, but I'm sure myriad viral video posters can amuse you with their attempts.
And to end with a question for any exercise-minded readers out there, why is it that I rarely get a stitch in my side on the elliptical, but on the treadmill I feel like my ribcage is giving me the finger, big time? Maybe I'm just an awkward runner. And what do you do for those little buggers? Breathe? Drink water? Stretch? I really would like to know, especially since mom's treadmill will be my sole form of cardio exercise in the immediate future. Meanwhile, let's hope this new burst of exercise enthusiasm stays with me. Miley and I are back on our way to being in shape! (as long as we can stay away from my parents' kitchen...)
Monday, January 11, 2010
Starting the New Year Off Happy
Having taken an hiatus from writing the past few weeks, I felt the urge to get back on the blogging bandwagon after lunch with my friend Anna today. We were enjoying a steaming hot plate of our favorite pad thai when, out of the blue, Anna told me that I seemed really happy. Not cheery, per say, or chipper like I'd gotten a good night's sleep, but simply - happy. She told me that I seemed to be in a really good place, with a positive outlook on life and the world around me. The words bright and aura may have even entered the conversation. So I got to thinking, I really am happy right now.
It comes as a surprise to me that I've resurfaced from a long dive into what seemed like the most depressed two months of my life, and am now genuinely optimistic. Starting in November with my unfortunate auto accident (my fault), to not getting my dream internship, to all my Christmas money going to the car insurance deductible, and finally wrapping it up with a nice new years bow of borrowing my mother's new Nissan and returning it sans one window thanks to a break-in, I can't deny that I've spent many days recently in the comfort of my dark bedroom. Watching the Office on Netflix. Refusing to set foot in the world lest I get struck by lightening. Oh did I mention- still single amongst a throng of happily coupled friends, with no prospects. All right Universe, I know Karma is a bitch, but lately she's been a bit of a heinous douchebag.
My question now is, what am I unconsciously doing right that my friend has noticed such a positive glow emanating from me?Could be the booze, I do enjoy a strong Irish Coffee in the mornings since the weather turned so bitterly cold. Just kidding! But really, I haven't been exercising, so it can't be endorphines... Maybe it's the joy of living with my increasingly senile parents and not having any money? No, pretty sure that's not it. Frankly, I'm stumped. But I'm kind of okay with that.
What I've come to realize is, maybe it's just part of my DNA to not sweat the small stuff. Maybe I really am an eternal optimist, as much as I'd like to deny it and embrace the witty, cynical person I'd kind of hoped I was. I just don't think I'm cut out for dark and depressing. Two days ago I bought Patti Stanger's book, Become Your Own Matchmaker, and what the Millionaire Matchmaker has taught me in only 4 short chapters is: You'll never be happy with someone until you're happy with yourself first. So that's what I'm going to do! No one is going to get me where I want to be in life, except me. Everyone has the power to control how their life will turn out, you just need the goals and determination to get there.
So here it is, my New Year's Resolution: STOP WASTING TIME. It does absolutely no good to wallow in self-pity about a job, a boy, living arrangements, or money. The harsh reality of being 22 is that no one is going to give you anything anymore. So I'm going to use this blog as a kind of self-checker, making myself accountable for where my life goes in the next year. If no one reads it, at least I'll feel responsible to the universe to make happen what I've set out for myself. So Universe, or Karma, or God or whoever, bring it on. Go ahead and push my buttons, it'll just make me want to kick ass that much harder.
As an afterthought, I realize this may come off as narcissistic/feminist/clichéd new years declarations, but it's what I need right now. And if it gets me to check off one more thing on my "to-do" list today, then so be it.
It comes as a surprise to me that I've resurfaced from a long dive into what seemed like the most depressed two months of my life, and am now genuinely optimistic. Starting in November with my unfortunate auto accident (my fault), to not getting my dream internship, to all my Christmas money going to the car insurance deductible, and finally wrapping it up with a nice new years bow of borrowing my mother's new Nissan and returning it sans one window thanks to a break-in, I can't deny that I've spent many days recently in the comfort of my dark bedroom. Watching the Office on Netflix. Refusing to set foot in the world lest I get struck by lightening. Oh did I mention- still single amongst a throng of happily coupled friends, with no prospects. All right Universe, I know Karma is a bitch, but lately she's been a bit of a heinous douchebag.
My question now is, what am I unconsciously doing right that my friend has noticed such a positive glow emanating from me?Could be the booze, I do enjoy a strong Irish Coffee in the mornings since the weather turned so bitterly cold. Just kidding! But really, I haven't been exercising, so it can't be endorphines... Maybe it's the joy of living with my increasingly senile parents and not having any money? No, pretty sure that's not it. Frankly, I'm stumped. But I'm kind of okay with that.
What I've come to realize is, maybe it's just part of my DNA to not sweat the small stuff. Maybe I really am an eternal optimist, as much as I'd like to deny it and embrace the witty, cynical person I'd kind of hoped I was. I just don't think I'm cut out for dark and depressing. Two days ago I bought Patti Stanger's book, Become Your Own Matchmaker, and what the Millionaire Matchmaker has taught me in only 4 short chapters is: You'll never be happy with someone until you're happy with yourself first. So that's what I'm going to do! No one is going to get me where I want to be in life, except me. Everyone has the power to control how their life will turn out, you just need the goals and determination to get there.
So here it is, my New Year's Resolution: STOP WASTING TIME. It does absolutely no good to wallow in self-pity about a job, a boy, living arrangements, or money. The harsh reality of being 22 is that no one is going to give you anything anymore. So I'm going to use this blog as a kind of self-checker, making myself accountable for where my life goes in the next year. If no one reads it, at least I'll feel responsible to the universe to make happen what I've set out for myself. So Universe, or Karma, or God or whoever, bring it on. Go ahead and push my buttons, it'll just make me want to kick ass that much harder.
As an afterthought, I realize this may come off as narcissistic/feminist/clichéd new years declarations, but it's what I need right now. And if it gets me to check off one more thing on my "to-do" list today, then so be it.
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