A recent college grad on a mission to face the unknown…one step at a time
Why do I do this? Why do I intentionally walk down roads I know are only going to end in pain? Why, in my otherwise healthy body, is there a part (perhaps the same part that likes Scotch and Denny’s) that attacks the host, always choosing the thing that will cause the most harm?
And when presented with the chance of something good with someone decent, why do I close off to him, while doing everything in my power to sabotage any chances I might have?
I know I’m the kind of girl who irons wrinkles into clothing, but this can’t possibly have been all my doing.
I was getting ready for the aforementioned interview today. After a good hour of trying to find something to go with my deep purple Oxford shirt (and after realizing I was going to be late if I didn’t just pick something), I set to ironing. Everything was going normally (intermittent swearing and name-calling of inanimate objects, but generally, more wrinkles coming out than going in), when the back of the brand-new shirt shredded. I didn’t leave the iron on it for too long, I wasn’t stretching it, the shirt just fell apart.
Why is it always when you are getting ready for something important that everything seems to go wrong?
Needless to say, I was not in a good mindset for an interview by the time I got into the car, hastily dressed, empty-stomached (no time to eat), and peeved. Luckily, the half-hour drive and some good ol’ Joni Mitchell calmed me down and the interview went alright.
Suddenly feeling an odd surge of sympathy for Janet Jackson.
Thought I’d try a basic tonight and make some chocolate chip cookies. I’ve been craving them all week, and I figured the ‘I made something’ glow would be an added benefit for my interview tomorrow.
Oh yeah, I have a job interview! It’s for a part-time job that would run through June. It sounds like a good job, and it would be stable employment for a good seven months, so I’m really hoping it goes well.
But back to the cookies. They came out pretty well – chocolatey and melty, crispy on the edges and soft in the middle. Biting into one, I felt like I was eight-years-old again. That’s one of the things I love about chocolate chip cookies – so simple, yet so…sublime.
I used this recipe for (believe it or not) low fat cookies, and they tasted just like chocolate chip cookies are supposed to taste. The recipe made a small batch of cookies – just one sheet-full, but it was very easy. One tip I have is to grease the cookie sheet before you put dough on it. Since there is less margarine in this recipe, the cookies tend to stick a little more. It was like scraping ice off a windshield. Oof.
I always get pictorial proof of my baking successes, so here they are:
There are many things I love about being single: not having to ‘check in’ with anybody, watching “Bridget Jones’ Diary” (again), getting all the blankets to myself, and best of all, lounging around in comfy pajamas and T-shirt bras whenever I want.
There comes a point though when comfy crosses the line to downright unfortunate. The other day, I opened my dresser drawer to find a ball of faded skivvies and over-sized sleep shirts that were unmistakably waving white flags in my direction.
Realizing that it has been far too long since I bought under/sleepwear, I spent the evening looking at vintage nightgowns on Etsy. There’s something so delicate and airy about a silky little nightie, and I thought it would be a good place to start.
A friend of mine used to order pretty lingerie from places like Victoria’s Secret and Anthropologie. She liked to buy it for herself, boyfriend or no. She said it was worth the splurge, because it made her feel pretty and confident.
I think we could all take a cue from her. Why not be pretty for ourselves? Why wait until some guy is in the picture to wear something that makes us feel sassy?
I think we’re worth it, ladies.
My older cousin had her baby yesterday! His name is Cooper, and he’s freaking adorable. Welcome to the family, little guy.
Disclaimer: Before I get into this, I’d like to say that “Hitch” was cute, I fully understand that it is A MOVIE, and I’m sure love can be wonderful (I know love can be wonderful). I am just feeling particularly cynical tonight.
I’ve gotten recommendations from a few people to see the movie “Hitch,” so when it was on TV tonight, I decided to watch it.
I expected a normal chick flick with a predictable chick flick plot: boy and girl meet, boy and girl fall for each other, boy and girl have a misunderstanding that leaves one of them feeling betrayed, boy and girl make up, kiss, and live happily ever after.
What I got was…a normal chick flick with a predictable chick flick plot. What I got that I didn’t expect was that it actually hurt to watch it.
Maybe it’s the frigid bitch in me, but I found myself believing the arguments for not falling in love and not allowing yourself to get hurt more than the “love conquers all” argument presented at the end.
After a break-up, people always try to comfort you with the notion that even if a relationship caused you pain, it was worth it for the happiness it once brought you; the whole “don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened” idea.
When I think back on my relationship with The Ex (from this post) though, all of the happy times (and they were truly happy times) added together just don’t seem worth the way I felt when I was finally able to say “I love you” for the first time, he told me he “couldn’t love,” and my heart learned what it feels like to break. To be honest, very little seems worth going through that ever again.
And now, months later, as I look at a man who is decent and good to me and know that I have been hurt to the point where I don’t know if I can trust again, love just doesn’t seem worth it.
And yet, I know that just like everybody else, I will do it all again, because that’s what people do.
Sometimes, I wonder why.
11:19. FAIL.
After I left last night, I couldn’t sleep. Thoughts kept running through my head, and strange things – like my feet being cold and my face itching – seemed unusually uncomfortable. The last time I looked at my alarm clock, it was two in the morning.
When the alarm rang today, I rolled over, suppressed the guilt in my stomach, shut it off, and went back to sleep. What can I say? Sometimes, you have to admit when you’ve been beat.
In other news, I got a freelance job! Actual work will depend on if I get any assignments, but I was hired by a company who will contract me out to local businesses who need freelance writers. It’s a start, and I’ll take it.
Off to get ready for my favorite night of television. Stories of Halloween to come, promise.
I only have a few minutes to write this post.
I have to get my geriatric self to bed by midnight, because DAMN it, I’m getting up by eight tomorrow (I’ve been trying for a couple of weeks with only marginal success). Apparently, my body has developed an ego and can only get up before noon if it’s had a full eight hours.
Spent the majority of tonight in a Rocky-esque push to apply for jobs. Kind of disheartening (one place wanted 7-10 years of experience to be a secretary. Seriously?! Give the newbie college grads a break), but I managed to send out a few.
Crap. It’s 12:08. Gotta go.
