Ch-ch-ch-changes

Apologies for the extended hiatus…. I’ve been giving some thought to this blog for a while and possible revisions I want to make to it.

I’ve had fun with the entertaining posts; I’ve enjoyed making you laugh and sharing my foibles and ridiculous thoughts… but I also want a place to talk about the more serious opinions I have.  And I have a lot pf them.

So, in the coming months, there will be content here that you’re not used to seeing (although, if you know me at all in real life, most of it won’t be a surprise).  I’ll still have funny stuff… it’s not like my life gets less ridiculous when I’m having Very Serious Thoughts. 

Thanks for your patience with me in my absence. 

A Lesson that Pierogi Always Lead to Good Things

Back in November, I signed up for online dating.  I wasn’t super excited about the prospect, but figured I’d get at least a few blog posts out of it.

A couple weeks later, I went to my cousin’s place for a pierogi-making party.  My cousins and siblings and I make pierogi every year for Christmas Eve.  They’re delicious and a vital part of the holiday meal, but they do take a LOT of work.  So assembly line parties are held.

My cousin had offered to set me up with a friend a couple times, which I always declined.  Set-ups are so awkward.  Not only do you have first-date awkwardness, but also the pressure of someone else’s expectations that you should like this person.  Not that I doubted my cousin’s taste.  He is a pretty terrific person, and I had no doubt that he would set me up with someone who was not a murderer, stalker, or rapist.  But still… awkwardness.

So there I was, teaching a few n00bs how to make pierogi, wearing an apron, a pair of old jeans and an aldermanic campaign t-shirt, hair up in a messy bun, and Chuck walked in.  My first thought?  I really hope he’s one of the single friends.  He made an effort to talk to me several times, and I naturally assumed that he felt sorry for me for barely knowing anyone there.  Every time he stood next to me, I got butterflies in my stomach.  After that party, I told some of my friends that there was this cute, nerdy dude there who seemed to be into me, but I didn’t know for sure.

The next week, my cousin had a fruitcake-making party (my cousin likes cooking with his friends).  I went pretty much because I knew Chuck was going to be there.  I may have worn cuter clothes this time.  He took forever to show up and I was worried he wouldn’t.  When he finally did, did I reciprocate his interest?  Of course not… because I am totes awkward and also weirdly analytical.  I performed a little “experiment” where I’d move around the condo to talk to other people to see if he followed me (in hindsight, not my best decision).  Naturally, he thought I wasn’t interested.   I am so awkward.

A week or so later, I emailed my cousin and asked if it would be weird if I asked his friend out.  I continued to tell myself I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but he was smart and funny and cute and he seemed to like me.  Cousin said it wouldn’t be weird.  So I sent him a Facebook message (oh social media… giving me multiple ways to be socially awkward).  The actual message is just for us, but essentially I invited him out for cheap beer and $5 pizza (hey, I was unemployed at the time).  He said yes, but offered to upgrade to someplace a little less dive-y.  By the end of the first date, I was done for.  We went out again.  And again.  And some more.  I met his family.  He met mine.  The cat let him pet her.  We went on an out-of-state trip to a friend’s wedding.

And on June 2, 2012, while sitting on my couch, just hanging out like we do, he asked me to marry him.  And I said yes.  And then we cried.  And laughed.  And talked about our future.  And walked  to dinner, where I told the waiter.   I probably skipped down the sidewalk.  We came home and called our families and close friends.  And never stopped smiling.

I just showed up to make pierogi.  And I met my future husband.   I still can’t stop smiling.

New Roommate

So back in September, I decided I’d had enough of living alone and decided to share my space with someone else.  She’s pretty quiet, likes some of the same TV shows I do, and never gets in the way when I have friends over.  On the other hand, she completely refuses to clean up after herself, doesn’t do any of the cooking, runs in circles around the apartment when I’m trying to relax, and doesn’t understand the boundaries of a closed door.

Introducing Little Bit.  This picture is actually one that was sent to me by my sister this past summer, when we were trying to find someone to adopt her.

Little Bit, her mom, and her brothers were strays that lived in my sister and brother-in-law’s garage.  When she and her brothers (Oscar and Tuffet) were born in 2010, my sister continuously sent me pictures of them captioned like this:

Pwease wuv us

Because my sister is a cruel, cruel woman and likes to torture me with pictures of homeless kittens.  Unfortunately, my life and work schedule would not accommodate a kitten.  I worked over an hour from home and also worked a second job a couple nights a week, so I’d often be gone for 20 hours at time.  A kitten needs more attention than that.  No one adopted them, so they grew up in the garage.  Then in 2011, my sister moved out of the state, so we had to find homes for the cats and new kittens.  Oh yeah, because mom (Little Black Kitty, or LBK) and Little Bit had each had a litter.  We’re pretty sure Oscar was the father of both litters…. It was all very Flowers in the Attic in that garage, apparently.  Gross.  Big Sister sent me that first picture above and said it was too bad that I couldn’t take a cat, because she really thought Little Bit was the cat for me.  My sister is a master manipulator, obviously, because I took a look at that little face and decided she should come live with me.  I found a coworker to adopt her kitten, and brought both cats home with me (until we could be sure the kitten was weaned).

Little Bit, so named by my sister because she was so little bitty, was not at all sure about the apartment.  I kept her in the bathroom while I was away from the apartment or asleep for the first couple of days, until I could be sure she was box trained (She already was.  Because she is awesome).  But I’d open the bathroom door so she could come out while I was home and awake.  The first time I did this, we spent at least an hour like this

There was SO MUCH NOISE in my apartment for the poor scared kitty.  And after just a week, I took her to the Anti-Cruelty Society to have her spayed (where I found out how rare it is to have a totally black cat with no white on her anywhere.  She’s so special).

Wherein Little Bit makes me feel like a complete asshole for leaving her at the vet, because now all she wants is to lay by me and be petted and knead her paws

When she finally did come out, she went directly under the couch.  And she stayed there pretty much until I quit my job in November (oh right.  BTW, I quit my full-time job without another full-time job lined up in mid-November.  More on that another time).  After I quit my job and was home nearly every day, she started to warm up to me.  She’d come out and play with her toys…

She’d play with things that were not toys too… one of her favorite games to this day is flipping her little pieces of kibble out of the bowl and tossing them under the rug.  She then proceeds to dive under the rug, mighty huntress that she is, to track down those sneaky kibble bits.

Around Christmastime, after I’d been home nearly every day for over a month, she started coming up on the couch and laying just out of reach.  Then she discovered the fleece blanket on my legs, and she’d lay just so she was touching that.  After a week of that, I got this

That poor Little Bit.  She’s so stressed out.

Now it takes her about 2.7 seconds to hop up on my legs once I stretch out on the couch.  She has lain on my lap while I was sitting up exactly once, during a snowstorm when the apartment was extremely cold.  I did some consulting work last week that required me to be on a conference call in the kitchen for about 6 hours a day for two days, and she tolerated it until the last hour each day… she’d come running into the kitchen, mew (which she very rarely does), and run back in to the front room.  As soon as I gave in to her demands, sit down on the couch, with the space heater blowing on us, she’d hop up next to me, stretch out so her nose was in the warm air stream, and hug my leg.  And she’d stay like that for hours if I let her.

I held out for a long time, getting a cat.  I didn’t want more responsibility than my houseplants required.  However, this little kitty adores me like nobody else.  She thinks we’re litter mates, always lays so she’s touching me, chews on my hand when she’s sleepy, tries to trip me in the morning if I’m ignoring her, and will softly pat me on the leg if I’ve gotten distracted and stopped petting her when we’re sitting on the couch.  She likes to watch the X-Files and Dr. Who with me, and tolerates The Bachelor, and would all the potato chips if I let her eat people food.

Welcome to the apartment, Little Bit.  You still won’t do the dishes or bring me a beer, but you have added more to this little home than I thought was possible.

Online Dating Revisited

So I joined an online dating website (no, I’m not telling you which one).  I forgot to cancel my subscription within the first 3 days (as was my plan), so my new plan is to make the most of the next 3 months.  Which means either a) great dates for me or b) terrible dates for me that make great blog stories.  I will not be retelling details of any dates who seem like genuinely nice, honest people… I’m not a jerk.  But if they are anything like good ol’ Derek from my last foray into online dating, I will let you know.

So far, just in scanning profiles, I wish I could give guys some tips on how to not sound creepy or douche-y:

1) There are several questions for which “I’ll tell you later” is an acceptable answer: Income, Faith, what college you went to… NOT “Do you have kids?”  Really?  Really dude, you’ll tell me later?  That means that you almost certainly have children and I’m going to assume the worst about them/you:  “Yes, I have 16 children”, or “Yes, I have 2 children and they like poking people with pins”, or “Yes, I have children.  And a wife”, or “Yes, I have kids.  Every Thursday night with a little mint jelly”, or “Yes I have children, but I sell them off when they reach 6 weeks”.  I think I’ll just pass.

2)  I’m going to be honest… I know that you can’t help who you’re attracted to.  However, when you’re a white dude who has no preference for ANY of your ideal woman’s characteristics (height, body type, hair color, eye color, politics, faith, education, etc), except that she be white… I’m gonna go ahead and assume that you are a big ol’ racist.  It might not be fair of me, but there you go.  I guess if you are looking for other racists, that’s a good way to let ‘em know.

3)  Seriously, that one dude, did you really say that redheads are okay as long as we’re “not too feisty”?!!?  Ugh.

4)  Dudes.  Dudes.  For the love of Pete, don’t put anything about being my future husband, Mr. Right, or any other such thing in your user name.  Be normal and use some variation on your name or nickname like everyone else.

I got an email this past weekend from a dude who used the awesomely non-specific line, “something in your profile caught my eye”.  Really?  Really 44-year-old dude, did it?  It obviously wasn’t the FIRST LINE that states 38 is pretty much the highest age I’m looking for.

The next 3 months could be interesting… or horrifying enough for me to swear off dating again.  I guess we’ll see.

Open Letter to Riders of the CTA – part 2

My dearest fellow public transit travelers,

Last year, I sent you a letter (Open Letter to Riders of the CTA) and I’ve recently come to the conclusion that a follow-up is necessary.  It hurts me that you just seem unable to learn basic rules of commuting and human decency, but I’m committed to helping you make your way in this world with as little inconvenience to me as possible.

Picking up where I left off:

10.  There is absolutely no reason – NONE – for you to sit in the middle seat of an empty 3-seat bench.  Does the “no touching unless absolutely necessary” rule really need to be spelled out for you?  This infraction is the public transit equivalent of one of those various “urinal rules” I’ve heard guys have.  You don’t want to be that person, do you?  The creep in the middle seat who is either going to force people to touch them, or force people to stand because they’re so freaked out by your seat choice?  I didn’t think so.  Do the responsible thing and move over one way or the other.

11.  Your toddler is adorable, he really is.  Who doesn’t love watching a small child take those unsteady steps, with their tiny hand clutching yours for dear life?  I’ll tell you who: the person behind them on the subway stairs during rush hour.  Pick your kid up!  For her safety, for mine, for yours.   Teach him how to walk up the stairs and nurture her independent spirit someplace safer and more out of the way.  Hell, unsupervised on some metal bleachers in the middle of winter would probably be safer than up from the Chicago Red Line stop at 5:20 pm.

12.  I get it – The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is just the most AMAZING book you’ve ever read.  You just can’t put it down… I’ve read books like that, where I squeeze in a few chapters on my commute or during my lunch break.  But you know what I never did?  Walk through a subway stop at rush hour while reading it.  Why?  Because that’s stupid.  It makes me want to walk into you on purpose and then blame you for it.

13.  Do we need to have lessons on how to go through a turnstile?  I wish I could just blame the tourists for this, but it’s well past summer and I know a lot of you I see every day have to walk through these things on a regular basis, so there is really no excuse for not knowing how it works.  First of all, if you are scared of the ones that look like they could slice and dice you, I understand.  Go through one of the regular gates (Psst!  They work both ways!).  But maybe it would help if you thought about this like merging on the highway: You need to enter the turnstile and keep it going at the same speed it was when you got in.  That means NO SLOWING IT DOWN to a crawl.  Or waiting for it to make 3.5 empty revolutions before you get up the nerve to jump in.  Be ready to hop into the first available space or stop pushing your way to the front of the line.  And don’t even get me started on the lazy bastards who refuse to do any of the pushing themselves, and let the next person in line do all the work.  One of the days, I’m not going to.   But not during rush hour, because I’m not the kind of asshole who holds up an entire line of people who just want to go home.

14.  I’m going to take what might be an unpopular position here:  Oranges, unless you have pre-peeled and separated the segments prior to your commute, are an entirely inappropriate food to be eating while squeezed into the seat next to me on an overcrowded bus.  If I get orange juice squirted in my eye because of your inattentive peeling, I’m going to be very cranky.

15.  Finally, because it cannot be said enough times, even if you’ve gone back to read the original letter I linked to above, MOVE. ALL. THE. WAY. TO. THE. BACK. OF. THE. BUS.

Thanks guys.  I have faith that eventually you’ll catch on

xo,

MW

Oh the shame…

When I was in kindergarten (before the homeschool years), Thursdays were music days for us and the preschoolers.  We had a music teacher (or just some woman who could play the piano well enough to impress a bunch of 3- to 5-year-olds) come in and play the piano and lead us in song.  One of those songs was something about peanut butter and we had to snap our fingers when we got to the bit about “crunchy peanut butter”.

Friends, I could not snap my fingers.  Oh the secret shame of a 5-year-old!  That song is actually burned in my brain because I remember trying desperately to mimic my classmates while praying that they could not tell that my fingers made no sound at all.  My older sister and brother tried to teach me at home, in preparation for music day every week (we sang that song a lot), but it felt like a lost cause.  I was doomed to be the girl who couldn’t snap her fingers for the rest of her life.  It was my cross to bear.

I’m happy to report that, years later (no joke, I was probably around 11) I did finally learn to snap my fingers.  But tonight I’m going to share with you a couple other things that nearly everyone else I know picked up real easily and I could simply never do.

Swim
Yup.  Can’t swim.  My parents enrolled us in swim lessons at a local university (the only place with a semi-public pool)… it was one of those set-ups where your level was the name of a fish: polliwog, guppy, minnow, etc… I never graduated from polliwog.    My brothers surpassed me easily, leaping off the diving board and swimming out in the deep end, while my teachers were getting more and more frustrated with my lack of buoyancy.  That was what held me back – an inability to float.  I’d lay on my back, with the instructor holding me up… I’d be totally relaxed, totally zen.  And then she’d take her hands away and…. glub glub glub.  I’d sink like a stone and have to be hauled, flailing, out of the water.  After being held back 3 times in a row, I begged off swim lessons and my parents agreed.  I can doggie paddle enough that I’m certain if I get knocked into the river or something one day, I’ll be able to make it to something solid to hold onto.

I actually spent a while dating a guy who had been a really serious swimmer most of his life, breaking national records and whatnot.  He always offered to teach me, and I always found a reason to put it off.  I felt like seeing me panic and thrash about once my head went under the water would not be good for our relationship.

Whistle
No joke, I can’t whistle.  When I attempt it, some sound comes out, but calling it a whistle would be mighty generous delusional.  And it’s weird, but I make no noise at all when exhaling, but am able to make more whistle-like sounds when inhaling.   (Incidentally, there was song that involved whistling in kindergarten too.  It was terrible).  Is there a way that someone can learn how to whistle?  Or is that something that comes naturally to people?  How do I learn this elusive skill?

I feel like sharing 2 of my inadequacies with you is probably enough for one night.  If you want to share anything that you don’t know how to do, I promise you’ll hear no judgment from me

BEEP

My smoke detector is extremely sensitive.  If even the teeniest bit of something drips in my oven, it sets it off.  I suppose this is good, since it decreases the odds that I will someday burn up in my sleep from an apartment fire, but it gets really annoying when I cook.  Especially since I do have a tendency to wander away from the kitchen to do other things while my dinner is burning cooking.

So one day, shortly after I moved in (okay, that’s a lie… it was almost a year.  I’m trying to make myself look better here), my smoke detector battery got low and the thing started beeping.  You know that beep.  It’s SO annoying.  And since I knew that the sound carried (my neighbor’s needed its battery changed a couple months prior.  I heard every beep for 2 days), I wanted to change the battery right away before I went to work, so it wouldn’t annoy people.  Because that’s what kind of neighbor I am.  I didn’t have time to go buy a new battery, so I grabbed one out of the kitchen drawer that I knew still had some juice in it.  I stuck it in and went on my merry way.

When I got home, I heard the tell-tale beep as I was about to unlock my door.  Apparently that battery had less juice in it than I thought.  I turned right around and ran to the grocery store near my house, where I picked up the cheapest 9V battery they had.  At a grocery store, that’s about $24.

I returned home, determined to be a responsible renter and not let the building burn down with no warning, and replaced the battery.  Hooray!  Responsible Adult Mairin is here to stay!

Two minutes went by…

WHAT?!?  I knew that battery was good!  Maybe I didn’t put it in right.  So I climbed back up on the chair, removed the battery, waited a second, then put it back in.

SHIT!  Now I was really getting annoyed.  My smoke detector is one of the old-school ones, where the part that beeps is the part screwed the wall.  I got a screwdriver, removed it from the wall and sat down on my kitchen floor to “fix” it.

I unscrewed as much as I could unscrew to see if something was loose and not touching the battery.  And then it happened.

Now I knew (knew!) that there was NO WAY that the sound I was hearing could possibly be coming from the spot where the smoke detector had previously been screwed to the wall.  And yet, that’s what I was hearing.

HOW ARE YOU BEEPING?!!?

I just froze.  I had no idea how to handle this.  My brain couldn’t make sense of what was happening and therefore decided it wouldn’t even try.  I stood there like a fool for a couple more minutes.

Wait.  IS it coming from that spot on the wall?  Is there anything else that could be beeping?

Whatthe?!?

Apparently I have TWO smoke detectors!  In my defense, this second one is in the shadows, blends in with the wall, and is above my not-very-high line of sight.  However, it’s also right in front of the door when you walk in.

I should probably be more embarrassed about not seeing it, but I’m so glad I wasn’t hallucinating, I don’t even care.

Grownup Sicky

This week, I got sick.  And, living by myself like a grown-up, it means I had to take care of myself.  Since many of you are aware of how well I take care of myself when I am healthy, I’m sure you know how great this went.

I try really hard not to whine when I’m sick because whining is always annoying, but it’s seriously one of my least favorite parts of being an adult (along with paying rent every damn month, but what’re you gonna do?).  Because when you’re an adult, living on your own, you have to take care of your own self when you’re sick.

Now, I love living by myself.  I really do.  But the times it really, really sucks is when you can’t text your roommate and ask him/her to pick you up some tea and a couple cans of soup on their way home from work.  You have to pull it together to get your own soup and tea and Kleenexes.  And I will freely admit that while I get these things done, I hate doing them.  HATE.

I should’ve seen it coming.  I was scheduled to work an overnight shift (from which I can’t call off unless I can find someone else to work for me), the weather forecast was for a nearly perfect fall day, and I only had two bags of Echinacea tea left.  It was like the perfect storm of events conspiring to make me feel even lousier.

Day 1:
Wake up with sore throat, coughing, and so much tired.  Set alarm for later to call in to work and go back to sleep.

Wake up feeling and sounding like shit.  Call in to work.  Go back to sleep

Wake up a few hours later to demon cat running laps in the kitchen.  Shit.  She’s probably hungry and annoyed that breakfast is 5 hours later than usual.  Better get up to feed the little princess.  Punk.

Check tea supply.  Awesome.  Two bags.  <whine> I just wanna go to back to bed! </whine>

Force self into shower and into clothes suitable for being in public.  The best I can muster are workout clothes.  Go to grocery around the corner, which, of course, doesn’t carry the tea I need.

Get on bus to further away grocery.   I really just want to be in my jammies and lying on the couch, begging my new cat (the punk) to come cuddle on the blanket with me.  Why does life hate me?!!? 

Enter drama.

<whine>  I’m miserable.  I want to be warm and cozy and instead I’m now walking a mile home with 3 boxes of tea.  And soymilk, because I remembered that I was almost out when I was at the store.  Everyone else is out enjoying the beautiful weather and I’ve decided I have strep.  Or tonsillitis (minus the tonsils, whoops).  Or meningitis.  OMG can I touch my chin to my chest?!!!?  Whew!  I’m good.  It’s not meningitis (I have no idea what that little test means.  All I know is that’s what my mom would have us do when our glands were really swollen).  It’s probably bronchitis.  Or the plague.  Shit. I totally have the plague.

You know what I really want to do when I’m sick?  I want to take a hot shower, and put my pajamas back on.  I want to sit on my couch, with my cozy fleece blanket on me, cuddling with my adorable kitty.   I want someone to bring me tea and make me soup, and then sit under the blanket with me and watch zombie movies and terrible natural disaster movies (Volcanoes in LA!  Night of the Tornadoes!  The cheesier, the better) and play video games with me.  </whine>

Accept that being a responsible adult blows.

Text every sub at overnight job and ask if they can take my shifts.  No one can.

Spend rest of day pumping myself full of Echinacea and Vitamin C, nap, and then head off to overnight job.

Survive, barely, and disinfect entire workspace before leaving in the morning.  Because that’s what kind of awesome coworker I am.  Text in sick to day job, since losing the ability to speak overnight, despite copious amounts of tea and cough drops.

Day 2:
Sleep on the bus on the way home.  Gradually become more and more sick of being sick… spiral of self-pity begins….

Put jammies on and watch alien movies on Netflix.  Drink a glass of juice.  Start brewing tea.  Decide to spend rest of life wearing leggings and oversized t-shirts because nothing is more comfortable.

Fall asleep on couch while silently cursing formerly stray kitty’s trust issues and wishing she’d just cuddle instead of sitting just out of reach staring at me.

Wake up hungry and throat-hurty.  Dump out cold cup of tea that’s still brewing and start heating more water.  Make lentil soup.  Take multivitamins because I’m really going to start being healthy now, I swear!

Drink more tea and more juice.  Have now exceeded 1000% of daily recommended value Vitamin C.  Take THAT, you virus bastard!

Watch first quarter of Season 1 of Party Down.  This show was made for people who have to stay home sick.

Sick of soup.  Make beans and rice, adding lots of onions and salsa because that can only be good, right?

Fall asleep on couch during The Big Bang Theory.

Drink more tea.

Force myself to post something on Facebook that’s not about the weird cat antics going on around me, even though I’ve barely had any contact with humans in the past 24 hours.

Have conversation with cat, since no one else would be able to understand scratchy, mumbly words.

Shit.  I’m having a conversation with the cat.

Do the dishes, even though I’m dying, because I’m an effing grownup, yo.

Go to bed.

Day 3
Wake up to the sound of bricks falling outside my window (WTF?!!?) just in time to text my ride and tell her not to pick me up.  Am too tired to check on possible building demolition.  Go back to sleep.

Wake 40 minutes later.  Text in to work due to inability to speak above a whisper upon waking.  Bricks are still being knocked around.  Some level of concern, but feel no unusual drafts, so go back to sleep.

Finally wake for real.  Construction seems to be happening across the gangway.

Feed the tiny demon that’s been running windsprints in my apartment all night long.

Take a shower and force self into regular clothes.

Consider today a victory already since it involves wearing real pants.

Realize I probably should take my temperature.  Slight fever.  Hm.  First time that’s happened in a years.  I’m probably dying.

Go to store to buy more Kleenex.  And oranges because Vitamin C.  Upon leaving apartment, discover that sidewalk in front of building is surrounded in caution tape.  Almost get hit by an I-beam while trying to exit the building.  Decide walking in the street is safer than the 4 feet to outside the caution tape.

Return from store.  Enter building from back.  Seems like the landlord just picked up 3 random dudes on the street and possibly paid them in beer to do major construction on the building.  Sounds about right.

Feel like it’s been about 6 years since meaningful human contact.

Watch terrible movie about a new Ice Age.  “Day After Tomorrow” this was not.

Take a nap.

Listen to 5 Gotye songs on repeat.  It’s probably really annoying the “workers” 4 feet outside my window, but I don’t particularly care.

Look for cat.  Where the hell does she go?

Keep turning on electric kettle and then forgetting about it.  Really wishing for some tea.

Practice talking to see if I still can.

I can’t. 

Finally remember to make tea.

Write blog post about being sick (whoa.  Meta, yo)

 

Fin.

 

(yes, I’m delirious.  I hate being sick.  I need human contact!  I need to drink something that’s not tea and doesn’t have 200% of my recommended value Vitamin C in it!)

MW’s Grown-Up Cookbook

I’ve decided to write a cookbook.  I know what you’re thinking: “But MW, you’re terrible at improvising, extremely absent-minded, and tend to burn/light things on fire”.  Whatever, doubters.  This cookbook is going to be geared toward people like me and make me totally rich.

Cooking for the Absent-Minded and Cheap

Chapter One: How to prepare for cooking
1. Remove smoke detector and place under couch cushion.  A chair will also do.
2. Get all your ingredients together first.  Be sure to read the labels.  Ginger and garlic powder can look similar at first glance, but they are not even close to be okay substitutes for one another.
3. Pour yourself a glass of wine.  It’s going to make all this a lot easier.

Chapter Two: First Aid
It’s imperative that you have a handle on basic burn and cut treatments before you begin cooking, especially if you plan on doing anything with fire or knives.  Please note that it is possible to cut yourself without using knives, and microwaves can light things on fire too.  To avoid most burns, some of my friends and I like to use the following statement to remind ourselves to be careful: “Things that come out of ovens are hot”.  Repeat that to yourself through the cooking process.

Now that we’ve got the basics out of the way, let’s get down to cooking.

Chapter Three: Cheese
Cheese makes everything more delicious.  You should add it to everything you can… and it works for every meal, too!

Chapter Four: Onions and Garlic
If you are sautéing anything at all (and I use the term “sauté” loosely to mean “cooking anything that isn’t breakfast-related in a frying pan”), you should start with olive oil, onions, and garlic.  This is a basic rule that should pretty much always be followed.

Chapter Five: Cereal
Cereal is acceptable for every meal.  Some cereals are actually more suited for lunch or dinner than for breakfast.  Buy accordingly.  Have several kinds of cereal in your cabinet at all times… unless you make your own granola, ’cause that stuff’s delicious and there is no competition.  Remember though, this is a rare food that is not improved by the addition of cheese.

Chapter Six: Seasoning
I don’t know how to season.  You’re pretty much on your own here, unless you want to talk about the wonders of basil, pepper, and garlic.

Chapter Seven: Baking
Sharing baked goods is an excellent way to make friends at work and is way easier than regular cooking.  It makes your whole house smell delicious and is also a nice way to warm the place up in winter, in case you are too cheap to turn up the heat.

Well, that about wraps it up for now.  If you’ll excuse me, I sliced a chunk of my thumb off while cutting up an onion this evening and it’s kind of starting to hurt.  Don’t forget to buy my cookbook when it comes out and help me become a millionaire!

My Life Is Like a Romantic Comedy…. Except for the romance part. Really, it’s just mostly awkward.

Disclaimer: unless someone is truly a d-bag, or if there’s really no chance I’m ever going to see or talk to them again, I will try my hardest to not cast anyone but myself in anything but a positive (or possibly neutral)  light.  Names have been changed to protect the innocent.  And the d-bags.  Because I’m not a total asshole.

Once upon a time, a small-town girl moved to the big city to make a new life for herself.  Wait, I’ve seen this before… don’t her quirky ways win over her worldly, pensive, and handsome neighbor/dog walker/barista/fellow commuter? 

HAHAHAH!  No.  Maybe that happens if you have a stylist so you don’t constantly look homeless and/or unemployed, and someone to write lines for you so you don’t say nerdy or uncomfortable things… I enjoy the benefit of none of those.

I’ve  already mentioned my most awesome online dating adventure ever (http://grownuplivin.wordpress.com/2011/01/17/worst-first-date/) with “Derek” the almost-40-year-old, former full-time pot dealer who lived with his mom and older brother two hours from Chicago…. that’s the kind of guy it takes for me to actually come out looking like the cooler one.

We’ll come back to my brief foray into online dating in a bit.  For now, let’s take a look at a few examples from Mairin’s Cluelessness: A Brief History.

High School (or: the times I’m unwittingly an asshole): We had this thing called TDT in high school – “Teacher’s Discretionary Time” – which was essentially 20 random minutes around 4th period that they used to balance out the lunch timing.  Junior year, I was lucky enough to end up in the Psych class that was mostly seniors, so our teacher didn’t care what we did as long as we weren’t loud.  Two guys, Adam and Steve, came up to me while we were all just hanging out one day.  I was probably studying, because that’s how cool I was:
Adam: Hey Mairin, we were just wondering what you thought of Jacob
(Note: Jacob is standing approximately ten feet away watching this exchange intently)
Mairin: Ummmmm
(It should also be noted that seated right next to me, and listening in with interest, is Pat, a guy I have the major hots for)
Steve: He’s kind of waiting for an answer
Mairin:  I don’t think much of him
(Pro Tip, boys and girls.  WORD ORDER MATTERS)
Adam and Steve: BURN!!!!  (Or the 1997 version of “BURN!!!! Whatever that was.)
(Jacob is still watching.  The poor dude.)
Mairin:  NONONONO!  I mean, I don’t think of him much (Mairin.  This is not helping.  Sooo… it’s not that you dislike him, but that he’s invisible?  Close your mouth and stop talking.  Forever.)
Steve:  So… you’re not gonna go out with him?
Mairin: (there’s no hole for you to crawl into, kiddo.  You’re going to have to answer)  Um.  No.  Sorry.
At this time, Adam and Steve walk back over to Jacob and in the sensitive way that only 17 -year-old boys can do, break the news to him.   He just lowered his head and walked away.  I’m a terrible human being.

There’s also the time I got asked to Prom.  But didn’t realize that was happening, so just appeared to brush the dude off.  My friend explained it to me later.  I was shy and awkward and sorta weird back then (hahaha, “back then”)…. and it simply didn’t occur to me that anyone would ask me out.  So I either didn’t accept that was happening, or was so shocked I could only stammer out sentence fragments or loose collections of words in the wrong order.

College:
I studied in college… and did not go out on one date.  Yeah, that’s right.  Not. One.  I spent a lot of time working on mathematical theory.  Or composing late at night in the music lab.  I did join some clubs after I had to quit track due to injuries:  I was in the Mathematics Club (if you think high school math club kids are dorky, you REALLY need to meet the college ones!) which was led by my academic advisor/linear algebra professor, and was an inaugural member of the Atlatl Club, started by my archeology professor.  I know, I know, there’s nothing hotter than a mathematical-theory-loving girl who knows how to throw (and make!) a Paleolithic hunting spear, so it’s pretty surprising that I stayed single all through college, but there it is.

The Working World:
We had this sorta cute college intern once when I was a mental health case manager… Burt.  He spent a lot of time doing visits with me (he went into the field with all of us, but I feel like I got him most often in his last week).  On his very last day we had the following exchange in our office, after having been out all day driving around the city.
Burt:  So, do you think the Shrek sequel is something you’d like to see?
(The Shrek Sequel, you guys)
Mairin:  Oh, probably, I kind of want to.
Burt: Yeah, I’d really like to go see it too.
(Awkward, 3-minute pause.  Seriously.  EXCEPT, I didn’t know it was awkward… I rarely know it’s awkward.)
Mairin:  Well, I hope you get a chance to see it!
(and then I went on my way finishing up paperwork.  Burt left forever about 5 minutes later.  I probably said goodbye.  I hope I was normal enough for that, at least)
Coworkers (who had been witness to this entire exchange):  WHY ARE YOU SUCH AN IDIOT?!!?  (or something similar).

Didn’t see it.  At all.  In my defense, I think he should’ve just asked me to the movie, if that’s what was going on there…. I just thought he really liked Shrek.  WHAT?  That could happen.  Sigh.  I couldn’t even be normal enough to say, “Maybe you should wait 20 minutes until you’re not an intern at my work anymore, and then ask me again”.  And then I’d be all charming… you know, how people do.

And then there’s the online dating.  Which took place when I was re-reading my copy of “Chaos: Making a New Science” (which is fascinating, by the way, and you should totally read it).  So I would get to my meeting places early, after I let the guys know I’d be the redhead already seated, reading a book about Chaos Theory.  Yeah.  Yeaaaaah.  Why I’m still single remains a complete and utter mystery to me. 

While I was doing the online dating, I was an intern, working in an office with only two other coworkers.  They were all about this process, from helping to decide who I should meet, to critiquing my clothing choices (I maintain that jeans and a nice shirt are PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE for a mid-week, after-work, casual dinner, first date, especially if my work is such that I am allowed to wear jeans every day.  Hell, I even wore shoes that weren’t sneakers.  Maybe.  I at least thought about it), to giving me options for restaurants that would make me look in-the-know (I was an intern.  I had zero dollars and couldn’t afford to go anywhere, so I had no suggestions).  “Finding Mairin a date and helping her pass as a less-nerdy version of herself” became a group project…. I think they were more into than I was actually.  Which makes sense, because they didn’t have to actually spend time talking with these dudes.     I’ve since given up on online dating…

One of those online dates did turn into a relationship for a couple of years… which leads me into my current “ripe-for-a-romantic-comedy-happy-ending” situation:  I finished grad school, got a decent job in the Loop, and moved out of the apartment I shared with a roommate.  I wanted to live on my own, closer to work and closer to the expressway so my suburban boyfriend could come and visit me more easily.  And then my job broke up with me.  Three months later, my boyfriend broke up with me.  A month-and-a-half later, I got a new job six blocks from my old apartment and now commute over an hour each way on public transit to get there.  Also?  The handsome, employed-appearing guy who lived in the apartment behind me moved out shortly after my relationship ended and 6 22-year-old hipster kids moved in.  What. The. Hell. Universe?   (note: I’m not totally hating on all aspects of hipster-dom.  I can have hipster tendencies myself.  But these kids were such hipsters, it was as if hipsters were smugly dressing and acting as hipsters to be ironic).   Seriously.  What the hell.

So, aside from one failed, awkward “surprise” set-up at a party (P – I love you, I really do.  And the gesture/effort was more than I could ask of a friend), that’s where I am now.  The Universe appears to conspire against me at times…. And when it’s not, I do a pretty good job of effing it all up myself.   If someone from Hollywood were writing my life, I’d meet my soulmate on the bus, when we both ask people to keep moving all the way to the back at the same time.  Or at the grocery store, both buying an odd mixture of health food and beer.  Or wandering the empty streets of downtown when I’m on my “lunch break” for my second job at 5 am.  Ok, maybe not that last one.  That could be sorta creepy.

Until then, I’ll be the redhead at the corner table, reading “After Capitalism”.  That’s sure to be great hook!