10 Things

I had an idea this morning, upon experience #1, to make lists documenting the good, the bad and the ugly for each sex. We'll see how long this post series will last...That being said, I give you:

10 Things that Stink for Girls

1.) Going to bed with amazing looking hair and waking up to find it looking awful. Like a bird decided to co-habitat with a squirrel in your hair.

2.) Getting all the way to work in a skirt and realizing that your leg hair grew at an alarming rate. When in doubt, shave. Or be that girl who carries pantyhose in her purse (do they even exist?).

3.) Doing your hair, then stepping outside to find humidity has taken over and you just wasted ten minutes of your morning. Weather 1, Females 0.

4.) Painting your nails and then immediately having to go to the bathroom.

5.) Having a ten minute talk with your crush and then finding out you had lipstick on your teeth the whole time. Revlon 1, Females -1.

6.) Taking off eye makeup. This is probably one of the things I hate the most about going to bed. Sure, I don't have to do it, but when I get lazy, I lay in bed thinking of my eyelashes caking together to form a giant glob on each eye and eventually get out of bed to do this abhorred task.  

7.) Wearing a new pair of shoes and getting a blister within the first thirty minutes. Nothing says you're going to be the whiniest person in an hour more than crummy shoes and no band aids. (Sidenote: I think men are genetically programmed to have incredibly thick skin on their feet. Do they ever get blisters?!)

8.) Tweezing your eyebrows; it's like sticking yourself with a safety pin over and over.  Very similar to number 6 in that, I don't have have to do it but frankly, I don't like the look of waxed eyebrows when those little nugget hairs start growing back in and are too small to tweeze. It just looks weird.

9.) Dressing up to go out. Yes, women love getting all dolled up but when I am going out, I don't want to have to spend an hour contemplating what I'm going to wear, after which point I will inevitably exclaim that I have nothing to wear. Sure, I could pick something at random, but even guys don't do that.

10.) Wearing heels. Ever. Yes, we inflict this upon ourselves and yes, we feel sexier when we wear them but regardless, heels bite. We will tell you we have a pair that are "so comfortable" that we could "wear for hours" but that's complete BS. Sure, I have a pair of heels I can wear to work, but you make me stand at a bar for extended periods of time and I'm out. Enjoy those sneakers, boys.


Please note: I did everything I could to exclude anything applicable to both sexes (pimples, sweating, etc) as well as things that are completely out of our control (hello mother nature).

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Things I don't know

I'm almost two months into my 25th year of life and am 100% not where I thought I would be. I'm okay with that, I'm rolling with the punches and riding that rollercoaster of life, but looking back, I got to thinking about happiness and satisfaction. I think it's great that we as human beings are always pushing the limits, trying to be better and do better, but it makes me wonder, are we ever truly satisfied? 

This past year, I said multiple times how incredibly happy I was with where my life had taken me. I had great friends, a job at a company I loved going to work for 40+ hours a week and a dog that I loved more than all of that. That being said, I got to a point where I was ready for the next step in my career and subsequently took it. I now work for one of 30 NBA teams and I absolutely love it, but reflecting on 2012, I know I'll get to a point where this stepping stone needs to be left behind. Why is it our satisfaction is only fleeting? I know we change constantly, so our goals must change, but I hate the idea that lasting satisfaction isn't really lasting. Can we ever be completely satisfied while still wanting more? Or are we constantly working to attain another level of satisfaction, like rescuing the elusive Princess Peach after those stupid Goomba's constantly evaded Mario's grasp?

Maybe I need to make a point to think of satisfaction as a brief result, something concrete. A medal or cookie that you enjoy as you bask in your awesomeness of a job well done. It's the reward you get for finally accomplishing something, which should be good enough for me. So if you think of satisfaction as a tangible noun, it's great. You can attain it and keep it up on the shelf for as long as you want. If you think of it as a feeling, well, good luck trying to maintain it and major kudos if you do. Am I alone in these thoughts or have you been one of the lucky few who have actually had lasting satisfaction?

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I shouldn't have...

I'm really quite good at starting something on this ol' blog and not continuing it, or continuing it with a lack of frequency (try this thursday, things I don't know, etc). So, to encourage that streak, I have come up with another series of posts entitled "I shouldn't have..." in which I will share things that I shouldn't have done (or did you reach that conclusion already?).

I shouldn't have ever started drinking beer. Before you get huffy and tell me that almost everyone has said that at some point in their life, let me explain. When I was a fresh faced twenty one year old, I found out pretty quickly that I didn't like beer. I was a Texan going to school in Oklahoma and didn't drink beer. My roommates, my friends, everyone in college drank beer and believe you me, I tried, it just wasn't happening. The first time I had beer, we were playing quarters, that terrible game where you bounce a quarter into a bowl (who thinks of these things?). Well, I lost. And had to chug a cereal bowl of Michelob Ultra. Let me interrupt by saying even now, in my very bias mind there is no worse beer than Michelob Ultra. So, I try to chug this bowl of light beer and immediately have to stop to catch my breath and hold back heaves. Everyone cheers me on, telling me it's "just beer" and "it's so light, it's like water" while I just roll my eyes and hold my breath, attempting once more to drink. I never finished that bowl of beer.

Fast forward to my time spent studying abroad in gay old Paris. Everything is more expensive in Paris, and couple that with the exchange rate for the dollar, everything is even more expensive in Paris. As a young woman living abroad, I went out. I encouraged friends to venture to The Hideout, as they had 4 euro mojitos and I would actually enjoy sipping those concoctions, but I couldn't always win. Then one, life changing night, we ventured to bar where Stella Artois on tap was 2 euros. 2 EUROS. I couldn't believe my eyes - an alcoholic beverage so cheap in the heart of Paris? I would make myself like it, gosh darn it. So I drank. And I drank. I was surprised to find it tasted so light, so watery. Could it be? Was I finally a beer drinker?

No, I was not. There must have been something special in that keg of Stella that night because, for the remaining 5 months I spent in Paris, I never found a Stella I liked. Then, I returned to the United States and to my college for my senior year. I was determined to take my experiences with beer from abroad and put them to use, and boy did I ever. I found that Bud Light was even lighter than Stella and now, it tasted like water. Like a sweet, heavenly water. So I drank. And drank. And let's be honest, I haven't stopped since. I love beer and I hate that I love it so much. I wish I had stuck to vodka and girly drinks, because then I'd never have to worry about beer calories or beer drinking the guys under the table. I shouldn't have ever been so eager to drink beer.

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Try This Thursday

First off, let me say this blog post was never intended to be written. It was never even an idea until today, approximately two hours ago. Moving on. Today I want to share the best stain remover. Ever.

I do laundry like all males in that I don't separate my whites from my colors because hey, I'm washing everything on cold anyways so why does it matter? Well, now I know to never wash anything light with a red blazer. That practically brand new white button up shirt that goes with just about everything emerged from the washer with splotches of red, matching the color of my face as my blood began to boil. I have literally worn this shirt twice and now it was donezo? Absolutely not.

Immediately, I threw some bleach into a bowl with some water and let that shirt soak. Three minutes later, submerged it in a bowl of water and smushed it around a bit to get the bleach off. Then I threw that bad boy into a bowl of water + hydrogen peroxide to help get all the bleach off. Ten minutes and another rinse later, I was fully expecting to see a perfectly white shirt. No dice.

Dish soap, just like these!

Then I remembered my mother sharing her infinite wisdom last year when oil spilled on my white jeans after their first outing (I'm seeing a pattern here...). She told me to rub dish soap on the spot and it would come out. So I opted to try this method once again, and much to my chagrin, it worked. I was then left to scrub the crud out of my shirt for a good 60 minutes before I finally gave in. Everything came out, or lightened up, but leaning over a sink for an hour resulted in me dying to sit and leave a few spots still slightly visible.

So the next time you have a pesky stain that won't come out, or you're freaking out because you just bought that dress, use some liquid dish soap and your hand to scrub that sucker out. And the next time you see me in a white button up, tell me it looks great and shockingly white.

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Try This Thursday

I have a hundred and more ideas for Try This Thursday, and yes, that might be a slight exaggeration. Regardless, I decided today to stop thinking of the ideas and finally write them down. For Christmas dinner this year, we broke our normal tradition and decided to bring Texas eatin' to California. Mom was under the weather so I'm proud to say I did a lot of the cooking. I wanted green beans with bacon cooked alongside, Dad wanted a form of mac 'n cheese and we all wanted mashed potatoes. I found a recipe online for the green beans, the taters would be easy enough, and Mom said "We'll just do pasta shells with some cheese" to which my jaw dropped and a gasp escaped my lips. "What is the point of Pinterest, Mother, if we do not utilize the recipes?" I asked, 93% serious. I then proceeded to show her my board of recipes (yes, 7 whole pins on that bad boy) that contained 3 different mac 'n cheese concoctions. I picked the following and made it.

White Cheddar and Parmesan Mac 'n Cheese

16 oz macaroni pasta (any shape shape you like)
1/2 C butter
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
1/2 C flour
3 1/2 C milk, warmed
1/4 C white wine (or sub w/chicken broth)
1/2 lb Velveeta cheese, cubed
1/2 lb cheddar, cubed
1/2 C panko bread crumbs
1 Tbl parsley
2 Tbl butter, melted

Note: the second I opened this recipe, I almost closed it. That's way too many ingredients for this novice chef. Then I thought, in the spirit of Christmas, why not. 

Per the website linked above, I cooked the pasta 2-3 minutes less than normal. While that was going, I focused my efforts on the sauce. Butter, salt and pepper melt, then you add the flour. That mixture was a little grainy and thick, which was the first time I thought I did something wrong (many more to follow). Then, I nuked the milk and added it along with 1/4 cup chicken broth (my Dad isn't a big wine fan) to the flour mixture. At this point, it was thin and I knew I did something wrong. The recipe told me to boil the bad boy and whisk away, so I did just that, and sure enough, it thickened. I did burn the bottom while trying to get the stuff to boil, so keep that heat on a medium to low setting. 

We used velveeta and Raw Milk Cheddar Cheese from the good ol' Trader Joe's down the street. Threw that into the pot and stirred. At some point, I drained the noodles and put them back in their pot, waiting for the sauce to be completely melted and smooth. Finally, that happened and into the pot of noodles it went. This was then put into a glass pan, with the bread crumbs and butter mixture sprinkled on top. Cooked it for 30 and out it came. Staring at the steaming pan of goodness, my first thought was, "I should have halved the recipe." I contemplated at the beginning, but my love for mac 'n cheese won out and I made the whole thing. The three of us ate one row. One row. We now have this heavenly creation coming out of our ears, but I don't mind. 

We ate this with brisket, which was perfect because the macaroni is incredibly rich and the brisket's subtle flavor gave your taste buds a break. The recipe makes a very cheesy macaroni; I'd be hard pressed to find a shell that wasn't loaded down with cheese. So, all in all, an amazing recipe. The preparation took ~20 minutes and was perfect to make first, as it was baking while I worked on the green beans. Keep in mind this makes a lot of mac 'n cheese and, while you think you'll grab seconds, you probably won't. If I can make this, and get happy head nods from my parents while they chewed and grinned, anyone can.

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I have this really weird love and obsession with taking pictures of paths. Walking paths, trails in woods, roads left forgotten, all of them. I have absolutely no idea what it is about them that seems so aesthetically pleasing to me, but when I see a good path, I have to take a picture of it. I am sure I have hundreds of pictures of random trails scattered around my computers and extra hard drives, such as the one to the right. I took this in the beautiful Big Bend National Park as my father and I embarked on our hike to Emory's Peak, the tallest point in the park. I remember being so thrilled that the sun had finally come out and loved the shadows in the front with the mountains in the back. It's by no means an exceptional photograph that's going to win me any accolades for my fantastic ability to click a button, but I think it's beautiful and surprisingly comforting. I took the picture to the left in Bois de Vincennes when I studied in Paris. I loved both Bois de Boulogne and Bois de Vincennes, but I will say I loved the latter more (possibly because there weren't any hookers waiting to pounce from the bushes). It was greener and the trees reminded me of Houston, but I think the key reason boils down to the paths. There was no rhyme or reason, at least not to me, where they were going or where you'd end up if you followed them, but they were beautiful. I can't even tell you how many times I got lost wandering around (longest run to date - 2 and a half hours spent running around, trying to find the metro stop I got there on!) but you better believe I always had my camera on me.

Am I the only one who finds incredible peace in the pictures above? I could be having an awful day and be completely unsure of where my life is going, but for some reason, looking at the pictures above make me think I can do anything (super cheesy, I know). I think it's the fact that, in the pictures, you see a segment of the path, but not the end, just like your life right now. Sure, the part you're walking on might be rough and twisted, with overgrown foliage blocking your view, but around the next bend could be an opening to the most beautiful sight you've seen yet. I knew there had to be some deep reason I take all those pictures....

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Unsolicited advice, part II

In just over 2 months, I will hit the quarter of a century mark and enter the second half of my twenties. I'm only looking forward to this because, if you know me at all you know, I love my birthday. I love an entire day about me. Granted, I'm the only one who celebrates it that way and to others, December 6th is simply the day before Pearl Harbor was attacked. So, in honor of the proximity of this special day and the fact that list making is on my mind (birthday lists don't just make themselves, people!), I have decided to share with you the top ten things I have learned from my early twenties and/or advice for your early twenties, in no particular order.

un: Blondes do not have more fun. This is an absolute myth that has been proven wrong by yours truly. All blondes have is the tendency to get bad roots and dried out hair because really, when was the last time you saw a natural blonde in their twenties?

deux: The person you think you are at 20 is not the person you are going to be. At all. Okay, maybe a little bit of you will stay the same (ideals, morals, etc) but your personality will change as you start to come to terms with behaviors you can't stand and people you do (and don't) want to be around. Maybe a breakup will cause you to lose all inhibition, maybe a book will inspire you to learn a new language and move to a new country, but regardless, you will change. It's only 5 years but so much will happen to shape who you are.

trois: Those days of making friends with everyone in the room are long gone, and that's okay. We're not supposed to get along with everyone because we're all so different and the second you stop trying to please everyone, you'll be a much happier person. And remember, people change so if someone you liked three years ago does nothing but annoy you now, cut the cord and move on.

quatre:  While friends are necessary, take time to be alone. This is the time in your life when no one else is completely dependent on you, so if you want to go see that movie, do it. If you want to spend two hours running at the lake, do it. Do not tie your life to someone else just yet, enjoy your independence.

cinq: Get a pet. Cat, dog, fish, I don't care, but get an animal. I had a beta fish in college that I named B. Ausmus and I loved him. He lived for a year until a sneaky parasite got into his stomach and made him look pregnant. I have a dog now and, both pets have made me a better person. More responsible, less selfish. Having someone who depends on you completely and can't talk is a challenge and incredibly rewarding. (Yes, it sounds like it goes against point quatre, but a pet can't talk so essentially you can still be alone.)

six: Live with a roommate at least once. Yes, everyone likes their own space and their own bathroom, but you learn a lot about yourself when you're living with someone else. It also forces you to be cleaner and more understanding, plus it'll help you figure out what compliments you in terms of a housemate/spouse.

sept: Be healthy, but don't obsess. Obsession leads to bad things that make everyone unhappy. You will never be 100% happy with your body (I know no matter what I do, I can't change the length of my second toes) but once you accept that, you can start enjoying being healthy and active for the right reasons. When it's not about losing weight or looking "perfect", it's a lot more fun.

huit: Your parents really did know what they were talking about. Call them, keep in touch; they will be your best source of advice for life and everything it chooses to throw at you. Plus, their ability to lie is limited.

neuf: Mistakes are mandatory. You're going to make them, and you're going to make a lot of them. The question is how are you going to deal with them? Don't be afraid of them, they will teach you more than doing something right the first time, and they will stick with you.

dix: You will never stop learning. The tests, papers, and quizzes may stop but you will learn something everyday. It may be something about you, a historical figure, or even a new word, but regardless, there is always knowledge to be attained and a brain that can soak it up. Enjoy learning, odds are it will make you a better person.

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Do you love me?

Are you playing those love games with me?

Old Gregg understands love games; he’s been forced to play them many a time with his kidnapped suitors. Unfortunately, I don’t understand them. Why would anyone play games with someone they’re interested in? The last thing I would ever want to do to someone I could see having a relationship with, is mess with their mind and make them think I’m not interested. So my question for you – what’s the point of playing games?

I was fortunate enough to watch an interaction a few weeks ago that spurred this topic, as well as be a recipient to such silly game playing a few weeks before that, and it really got me wondering why people think playing anything in the beginning stages of dating is a good idea. Exhibit A: playing hard to get. We’ve all heard about it, I’m sure we’ve all done it, but what’s the point? Are there actually people who are only into someone if there’s a chase? If it’s a challenge to be with that person? What possible benefit could there be in being with someone who made you think they weren’t interested at the get go? Frankly, that would just tick me off and send me running the opposite way but maybe that’s just me. Excuse me for thinking I’m worth more than high school juvenility and sticking around long enough to stroke your ego.

Exhibit B: leading someone on. Saying “Let’s hang out!” but never actually doing it. What is the point of you constantly telling me you want to hang out, asking what I’m doing all weekend, to not do anything with the information? On the same note, don’t text me asking how I’m doing or how my weekend was if all you want out of the conversation is a boost to your confidence. What is the point in letting someone believe there is a shot when you know and knew all along, that there wasn’t? Is it some sort of complex that Freud and Jung never picked up on? If you know there is absolutely no potential there, say it. I’ll admit, I’ve had some hard times with this because, yes, it’s a lot easier to go along with something than to tell someone ‘thanks but no thanks’ but man up and call it what it is. Nothing.

What this all boils down to is my utter confusion as to why anyone would want to do any of the above. I guess I'm one of the weird ones in that my interest in you inspires me to hang out with you, get closer to you, get to know you better, not brush you off when you ask to hang out, hoping you'll want me that much more. Even that comparison sounded convoluted! So what do you think about the game playing that seems to be ever present in the dating world? 

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I'm a girl, a woman, a female, so I'll be frank. I often find myself thinking about love, romance, relationships, the whole ball of wax. The question that's been on my mind as of late - what would you sacrifice for love? Nothing? Everything?

I may be the only person who thinks that love truly is what it's all about, but I do. That with love you can survive just about anything. I'm not saying it will be easy, no siree, but it will be worth it, because in my mind, that's what I've been put on this Earth for. I'm not here to build a company from the ground up and watch it flourish, nor am I here to help govern a city, state or country. I am here to attempt to change people's lives, or heck, a life, with what I've been taught and what I feel in my heart. So what is it about this day and age that has so many people not settling down? Are all twenty-somethings willing to watch a great relationship slip by because they want to be single that badly?

Talking to a girlfriend today made me realize I'm not the only one suffering from this disease. In fact, she shares all of my thoughts and ideals when it comes to this topic. She said, you sacrifice for what you want the most, and when you do, it's worth everything you gave up in the first place. I conclude this post sitting in the Las Vegas airport, having spent 2 hours mulling over this topic in flight. I must admit, I was surprised at the conclusion I reached. Hypothetical question: would I be willing to sacrifice a great job in my dream industry to stay where I know the good guys are?  Would I be willing to move to LA to follow my dreams, knowing the odds of finding a great guy aren't in my favor? Would I be willing to sacrifice my dreams of a great love and incredible relationship to pursue my career dreams? Because if me, a huge advocate for love, isn't willing or ready to sacrifice one dream for the other, I can't expect you to sacrifice yours.

"Love cannot accept what it is. Everywhere on earth it cries out against kindness, compassion, intelligence, everything that leads to compromise. Love demands the impossible, the absolute, the sky on fire, inexhaustible springtime, life after death, and death itself transfigured into eternal life."

--Albert Camus 

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Preach, Joseph. 

I've said the above, or something close, many times before and I'm sure I'll say it many more to come (sorry!), but it has become such a prevalent idea in my life, I can't stop repeating it. I used to love planning - outings, social gatherings, my Saturday down to the time slots. Now, I despise it. You ask me to plan a trip, odds are it won't get done. The only reason I have my vacation booked is because I did it the second I thought about it.

I was that girl who had her life planned out to a T and was determined to see it through. Funny thing happened, though - none of it worked out. That job I thought I wanted after college? Didn't get it. The idea that I wanted to be married by 25? Changed completely. The job I did get changed me completely and frankly, I can't even imagine being married right now. Growing up, being in your twenties sounds so old. You assume that you'll have your life and everything in it together by/during that decade, but I'm finding (at least for me) that's nowhere true. I love working at the company I do and living in the state I am, but I know neither of these are permanent, nor would I want them to be.

I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do with my life and where I want that to happen and who with. At this point, I've adopted a very laissez-faire attitude towards my life and can only hope I continue that. I went from wanting everything to be right on time, right on schedule to the complete opposite end, accepting that when things have lined up and the time is right, everything will work out. I've truly given up what I planned and put faith in the Big Guy up top to guide me, knowing He will present me with the right opportunities at the right time. 

So my advice to you is to stop living the life you think you want and simply start living your life. The rest will come and you'll be happier than ever.

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Yes, the above statement summarizes me pretty well. I am, what I like to believe, a very creative person with an insane imagination (that often times gets me into trouble...oops). I have this theory that the more creative you are, the less athletic you are. Now, before you get huffy and annoyed that I could think you there, reading that book isn't athletic, let me explain.

I like to think of it as a scale:

Creative ------------------------------------------ Athletic

Now, in this scale, obviously you can fall in the middle or closer to one side than the other, but the root of my theory is again, the more you are of one, the less you are of the other. It should also be noted that when I say athletic, I am mostly referring to participating in team sports. I love to run but to be honest, I don't like doing it with other people. I stay away from anything athletic in which my success is tied to another person. At the same time, I would rather sit outside and read a book or play the guitar than go play volleyball or find some friends for a quick game of racquetball. 

I've talked to people about this and used their responses, as well as my memories of others to provide supporting data for my theory and mostly, it holds true. Of course, you have the oddball who loves to play music before playing soccer that night, but most of the time, the theory lives up. Of the guys I spoke to and can remember, there is a very distinct line in the sand. One even stated matter of factly "'I'm not creative at all" and he's the one that goes and plays any team sport he can during lunch. Then, as I'm thinking of my creative male friends, I see another pattern emerge similar to my own - creative most of the time, solo athletic activities some of the time. Biking, running, swimming, they do it all. 

Let me conclude by emphasizing that I think both kinds of people are great - I've often found myself wishing I were on the other end of the spectrum because reading and writing will do nothing for my health in the long run. But I'm not and because of that, you get to read a blog of random ideas and thoughts (you're welcome). 

So, where do you fall on the Creathletic scale?

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We've all been there in one way or another, visiting the infamous Friend Zone, but here's what I don't understand - "they" say the best relationships come after being friends, so how do you avoid the friend zone but still be friends?

I will admit that I've put guys in the friend zone, and I've been put there myself. Sometimes it's the zone of I-like-you-but-not-right-now and other times it's the I-don't-know-how-to-tell-you-I-don't-like-you zone. Part of me thinks the idea of it is simply an excuse, a cop out when you really don't want to have that talk because let's be honest, you're not going to reciprocate feelings for everyone. Sometimes they really are just a friend.

But, let's say you are one of the unlucky few who are in the friend zone because of outside circumstances. Half of the party is kind of seeing someone that isn't you, maybe someone just got out of a relationship and isn't ready to dive back into the dating game. Regardless, it's not the right time and boom, there's the friend zone. Is it possible to hover between a relationship and friends without entering the dreaded friend zone? And if you do get zoned, is it possible to get out of it?

I feel like it's pretty hard to be a Champion of the Friend Zone like Jim Halpert. It's one of those, once you're in Dodge, you're not getting out. But if you do make it out alive, you deserve the person on your arm and a gold medal. And if you don't make it out, you got a great friend out of it, right?

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