I wasn’t going to do that whole, let’s-get-drunk-on-over-analytical-self-indulgence-and-take-a-good-hard-look-at-the-innards-of-my-soul new year B.S. because ultimately it only leads to an incredibly low sense of self-worth. Read the rest of this gem…
While the movie, “How Do You Know?” required no less than 3 alcoholic beverages for me to get through it, I have to say — a couple of the lines were real gems.
Like, Never drink to feel better — Only drink to feel even better.
Good advice, no?
And, Don’t judge anybody else until you check yourself out. That way you’re lucky if it’s your fault because you can check the situation.
That’s so… zen.
And, I think I’m in love with somebody when I wear a condom with the other girls.
Never have truer words been spoken.
I even felt a certain kinship with Reese Witherspoon’s character, Lisa, when she was talking about how it seems like everybody’s “regular plan” is to fall in love, get married and have babies, but she’s not sure she’s cut out for everyone’s “regular plan.”
Umm… Domestiphobic much?
Seriously. There were so many profound thoughts and quotes stuffed into this movie, they could compile ’em to create volume 537 of Chicken Soup for the Existential Soul.
But it turned out there was one that worked its way out of the mass of banality to stick in my head like gum to a shoe and I can’t figure out why. At one point in the movie, Paul Rudd’s character George says,
I used to be a bartender, back when I was working my way through bartending.
At first I thought it was hilarious. I mean, what a clever way for him to describe a time in his life when he really was just doing what he was doing. There was no bigger plan. There was no ultimate goal. The plan was to make enough money to pay that month’s bills, and the goal was to go home with the most attractive woman in the bar that night.
That was it.
But as I thought about it more, it became… less funny.
Because I realized, if most of us were really honest with ourselves, we’d recognize that we’re doing the same thing. We’re fairly certain our lives are heading for something better, but until then, we’re just floating along, trying to get from one day to the next. Sure, we might have generic goals, like buy a house, find our dream career, start a family… and it’s awful because we’re so sure that once we achieve these goals, we’ll finally be satisfied.
George even says, “We’re all just one small adjustment away from making our lives work.”
Many people love that line.
I happen to hate it.
I mean, really George? I just need to make one little change — finally buy that throw pillow I’ve been eying? Pop out a couple of kids? Quit my job and move to Costa Rica? Tell me, what is that thing that will finally solve all my problems?
Quench my restlessness?
Satiate my unhappiness?
Because if I knew what it was, and I knew it would make everything roses and double rainbows for the rest of my life, I’d do it without hesitation.
But that’s the problem with this type of mentality. If I’m constantly making these adjustments and waiting for the next thing to happen with the expectation that I’ll finally reach this ultimate level of satisfaction, I’m probably going to be waiting forever. My life will be spent like the greyhound chasing the fake rabbit ’round and ’round the track — thinking, if I could just catch it, my life would be complete.
The fact I have to grasp is that I won’t catch it. And soon I’ll be too old to chase it. And even if I did catch it, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t taste how I expected.
Contrary to how it might read, this isn’t intended to be pessimistic. It’s meant to be a revelation, of sorts, on my part. A way for me to say to myself, It’s okay that I’m going to work in a bar tonight. It’s okay that I still haven’t sent any pitches to any editors. It’s okay that I’ve been writing this blog for over a year now and WordPress still hasn’t Freshly Pressed me.
Ahem.
As cliché as it is, I need to start finding joy in my every day, because they’re passing by at an alarming pace. I can still make daily goals and work on things I want to accomplish, but no more thinking, “If only I had this, then I’d be happy.”
I seriously feel like I have a backlog of things to tell you about on here – things other than food and house projects – but these days it seems like I’ve only been inspired to write while I’m driving or while I’m drunk (which are never at the same time), but I’m fairly certain that writing while doing either is not the greatest idea.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
Sometimes I’m interesting when I drink. At least to a point. And then I probably just get annoying because I only think I’m interesting.
And this is why I maintain that it’s better to drink alone.
Okay, I don’t really mean that.
Mostly.
Anyway.
Is it really Monday again already? It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been bummed about Mondays. See, that’s what happens when you quit your 9-5. You make up with Mondays. In fact, you might-kind-of-a-little-bit look forward to them because you will have the house to yourself and feel motivated to get things done.
But then I introduced the idiot idea of setting weekly goals for myself to get much-needed projects done around this house and announcing them on this blog so you, dear friends, can hold me accountable.
And even though my first week was a success, I have been dreading today, Monday, all weekend. Because it’s time to set new goals. And I think last week – and my subsequent trip to IKEA (more on that later) – sucked up all my motivation.
And it’s cold again.
And rainy.
And right now my walls look like this:
(More on that later.)
And I want my mom.
But she has a business and a step-grandbaby and has no time to visit me.
Wah.
Wait. Was I going somewhere with this?
Moving on.
I need a goal.
I have several small-ish “to-do’s” that I’d like to complete this week:
Mail out for a new social security card because there’s a possibility I may have misplaced my old one. Possibly.
Book my favorite boarders for my mutts because there is a highly anticipated trip in our near future (more on that later).
Call my counselor for a reminder of which book she wants me to read and when my next appointment is scheduled because I may have misplaced the piece of paper she wrote it on. Possibly. (Counselor? More on that later. Maybe.)
Find at least 2 new healthy recipes to make this week (I think I already found one!) because, ready or not, summer IS coming. And so is a vacation. And both will involve bathing suits.
Brainstorm pitches for at least 3 freelance articles and potential publications.
Make a list of all of the things in this post I promised to write “more on later” so I actually remember to write more on them later.
The problem is, I don’t really think any of these things fall into my weekly goal category, because a) they’re not big enough, and b) I really have to do them anyway.
The other problem is, some of the house-related goals I had in mind either happen outside (like organizing the garage) or require me to work outside (like staining shelves for the office), and that was great when it was all 80-degrees and sunny last week, but now it’s like 45 and miserable and I just don’t wanna.
So here is my goal, which is slightly less labor intensive this week:
I, Katie, do solomly swear to try to dispose of or find permanent homes for as much of this pile of crap that came from the desks I sold on Craigslist as I can within the next week so I have room to finish the office:
And, time permitting, will do the same for all items in this office closet (brace yourself – this one is far, far worse than the last):
I know this seems like small potatoes, but getting Justin to purge things he doesn’t need can sometimes be difficult.
I mean, it’s hard to get past that mentality of, the second I throw this out, I’m going to need it for something else and you’ll be sorry you made me throw it out because then I’ll have to buy a new one.
But here’s my logical response: You end up buying a new one anyway because a) the old one isn’t good enough, b) you can’t find the old one, or c) you didn’t even know you had the old one. And then we end up with like 6 of these doohickys and they’re cluttering up my office and therefore my entire LIFE and why are you looking at me like I’m crazy?
My friend Leslie was kind enough this morning to point out that I neglected to fulfill a promise I made last week about keeping you posted on my weekly goals so I can finally get a bunch of projects done around this wreck of a house.
I was supposed to tell you yesterday (Monday), but instead, I was actually working on fulfilling said goal.
But Leslie made me realize – If I don’t disclose the goals on here (or to anyone, for that matter), I’ll never get them done.
Because no one would give me a hard time about it.
And that’s what friends (and blog readers, who are practically friends because there isn’t much on here I don’t disclose about myself) are for – to give you shit when you start slacking.
Because they care.
I actually have 2 goals for this week:
1. Finish that damn closet so our coats can get off the guest bed and back into the closet where they belong. Haven’t you heard? It’s springtime, baby!
2. Sell a bunch of the “big” items taking up space in the garage and office so they can both get cleaned out. That’s what I was working on yesterday – putting our old dining table, range, 2 office desks, and an office chair on Craigslist in the hope of selling them sometime this week.
Because this is what the garage looks like right now:
Nope, it ain’t pretty.
So far I’ve learned 2 things:
1. I priced the dining table and range too low. I’ve gotten about a billion responses, and now I’m kicking myself for letting people convince me I couldn’t get very much for them.
2. Craigslist folk are unreliable. The lady who was supposed to buy the range told me she’d be here before 10:00. It’s now after 11:00, and she still hasn’t shown. She’s probably going to be pissed when I call the next guy in line, but sorry lady! You snooze, you lose. This thing has got to go.
I should’ve known, though. Erin warned us once about the perils of Craigslist:
So, yeah. It’s not going that great so far.
On a completely unrelated note, have you ever seen the movie Spanglish with Adam Sandler?
It’s one of those movies that wasn’t originally my cup of tea, but for whatever reason I watched it again, and then again, and then again because there’s just something about it that’s so honest about human nature and our flaws and our idiosyncrasies that it just feels raw and real and… I don’t know… imperfect. But that’s okay, because that’s the point.
Anyway.
There’s this scene where Adam Sandler’s life is just crap. He’s an amazing chef with a beautiful house and family, but it doesn’t matter because things are falling apart in his marriage, the kids are suffering from huge self-esteem issues inflicted by their crazy mother who can’t recognize the reasons she’s so unhappy, his mother-in-law lives with them and happens to be a raging alcoholic, and their entire family is having a negative impact on the “pure” and holistic upbringing their nanny, who is a beautiful, single, illegal immigrant from Mexico, is trying to impart on her own impressionable young daughter.
And all of these things are weighing on him. They tear him down every day.
But in this scene he’s about to have a moment – a moment of pure bliss. He’s fixing himself this amazing sandwich. We’re talkin’ the mother of all BLT’s, with crispy bacon, fresh butterhead lettuce and ripe tomato slices, mayo (of course), and thick wheat bread with some Monterey jack cheese that’s been broiled to perfection, all topped off with a glorious fried egg whose yolk doesn’t break until he slices into the sandwich’s divine center belly, the golden fluids bleeding out onto the plate for a perfect dipping opportunity.
Then – then – he pours himself some kind of gourmet-looking dark beer into a tall pilsner glass (at which point I completely jizz in my pants) and the entire scene is done in silence with just the sounds of the egg being fried, the crack and fizz of the beer as it’s poured into the glass, the grate of the knife on the plate.
Perfection.
I will never forget that scene. It’s like this moment he so desperately needs – just himself, the paper, the perfect sandwich, and a beer.
Of course, it all gets ruined for him before he can take the first mind-blowing bite, but that’s beside the point.
The point is that sometimes you don’t have to get too fancy to have a completely satisfying meal. Sometimes a sandwich – a sandwich that you take a little care and time to prepare correctly – can be the perfect ending to an otherwise less-than-perfect day.
And I want to thank my sister, who reminded me of that last night when she encouraged me to make this:
Known henceforth as the “Orgasm Panini,” which, if executed correctly, could cause a paninigasm (thanks Jeff, for the term).
For a list of ingredients I used, check out the description of this photo on the Domestiphobia Facebook page.
Yep. I’m sneaky like that.
***UPDATED***
Here are is the cast of characters for the Orgasm Panini (I figure it’s only fair if you stumbled across this later to not make you search for the ingredients) from bottom to top:
Some type of thickly sliced bread, mayo with lemon juice and basil, Cajun turkey from the deli, fresh tomato, freshly sliced or grated Mozzarella, cooked bacon, artichoke hearts, fresh baby spinach. Toast in panini press and enjoy.
Imagine me and you I do I think about you day and night It’s only right To think about the [blog] you love And hold her tight So happy togetherrrrr…..
-The Turtles, “Happy Together”
Okay, was that awkward?
And has it really been a year today since I started this thing?
I can’t believe how much has changed since March 2010. And I’m just going to say it – 2010 was a bitch of a year. For me and many people I know, it seems like last year was like dangling bait – giving us some things we think we might want, only to snatch them away again.
And then, just when we think we’ve hooked ourselves a nice big walleye, all we come up with is a bunch of seaweed.
Twenty-ten can kiss my ass. Because it certainly kicked it.
But good.
So let’s look at a few of the things that have changed since I started this blog.
By the end of:
March 2010
March 2011
Age:
27
28
Employment:
Army contractor working with GIS and Sustainability programs.
Waitress.
Approx. Number of Times Hugged by Drunk People I Don’t Know:
5-10
5,782
Countries Lived In:
1
2
Fluent in Curse Words in Number of Languages:
2
3
Blog Posts Written:
9
212 (260 including my Costa Rica cohort, Erin)
Blog “hits”:
225
29,278
Average “hits” per day:
45
149
Hard Drives Destroyed:
0
2
Aspirations:
Undefined
We’re getting there.
Interesting.
You’d think by these comparisons – especially the job thing – that I’d be less happy this year than I was last year. But not true!
(In case you weren’t around, I quit my job in order to go to Costa Rica and make hot sauce. Feel free to read about that fun little adventure over in the Bon Voyage section of the site under “Living and Learning.”)
In any case, think it’s safe to say that I’ve been going through a bit of an identity crisis since I started this blog (and honestly, it started even before that). Whether you recognized it or not, a big part of this thing has been working through who I am – the things I like – the things I don’t like – and just putting it out there to see what I (or anyone else) can make of it.
So if you’re new here, click around. Explore. Ask me questions. I won’t bite.
much.
It’s crazy for me to look back through actual documentation of the things I’ve done. It’s definitely not much, but for someone who has a terrible memory, probably because she went through that pot smoking phase during her senior year of high school (sorry mom!), it’s nice to see. Nice to see I did something, you know?
Because, even with the job quitting and the Costa Rica traveling and the hard drive crashing and the overall turmoil I’ve been choosing to throw at my otherwise placid existence, I’m seeing an improvement on my outlook.
Defining Domestiphobia has allowed me to see why I was feeling trapped in my 9-5. Why I felt the need to do more. Why I felt like change – BIG change – more than anything, was the best thing that could happen to me.
In the end, it turns out, if your heart really wants something, you can do one of 2 things: Deny it, or accept it. While denial seems like the simpler option – simpler than rocking your world, shaking things up, embracing uncertainty – I can almost promise you that it’s not.
Regret, suppressed passion, and lethargy are not generally things that will make you feel good in the end.
In the end.
In the end, all we have is our own sense of contentment. Did we love? Did we laugh? Did we learn? Did we come out of it scarred, broken, humbled… but satisfied?
The truth is, we might never find that thing that makes us feel truly complete. But the excitement of the search – the discomfort of the unknown – is the fun part.
Don’t you think?
Here’s to another year of living and learning. Sometimes crashing, sometimes burning.
This really isn’t intended to be a self-deprecating post. Not at all.
And no, it’s not about Justin.
The intention is to show you that even though I always claim to not be perfect, I really. am. NOT. perfect.
So today I’m pulling back the velvet curtain I’ve draped in front of the not-so-attractive aspects of our home to reveal the trembling, scatterbrained, decrepit old man who’s desperately been trying to pose as a Cosmopolitan cover girl for the past 4 years.
Then I discovered over the winter while meandering around the yard (okay, I was picking up doggie doo) that yes, it most definitely was infested with termites.
FAIL. The seedy little buggers were smart enough to destroy the back of the raised bed where it couldn’t easily be noticed.
And remember that landscape bed we “made over” in the front of the house? Yeah… well 2 different plant species later, the mulch still looks decent and is relatively weed-free, but the bed is also live plant free, and that’s just not right:
FAIL. I’m telling you, I can’t keep plants alive to save my life. Someone HELP me!
Here’s the porch railing that desperately needs to be painted:
FAIL. We seem to have forgotten that things that don’t necessarily start out as problems in a “fixer-upper” can still turn into problems if you’re remiss in regular upkeep.
And here’s the drywall patches we messed up in the living room:
MAJOR FAIL. That was one of the first projects we did in this place, and let’s just say our naivety shows. In fact, the entire color scheme of that room is jacked. It’s getting re-painted this summer. With FLAT paint – not high gloss.
Oh, and this reminds me, the trim still needs painting, too.
Anyway. My point here is not just to show you how disgustingly negligent we are when it comes to our house, but to admit just how difficult it can be to finish projects, maintain regular upkeep, clean, repair, and still find time to live in and enjoy the space.
It’s not fun pulling back this curtain to reveal all of our blunders and admit that maybe we were in over our heads a little bit when we bought a “fixer upper.” It’s not fun to admit that we don’t have it together like so many other home owners (and bloggers) with their perfect green grass and crisp front porches and hole-less floors. It’s not fun to admit that maybe I’m just not cut out for the ‘burbs.
Or maybe the ‘burbs weren’t cut out for me.
And this is where my particular brand of Domestiphobia comes into play.
I want to have a nice home, where I don’t have to feel embarrassed about holes in the carpet or cobwebs on the front porch or missing shoe molding in the laundry room. But at the same time, I don’t really care. Not that much. I know these things need to get done, but my priorities for my limited attention span tend to get focused elsewhere.
Like food.
Or travel.
Or writing.
Or photography.
Or wine.
So I’ve decided I need to set weekly goals, so I can ensure that these little projects that add up to one big headache eventually get done. I’ll announce this coming week’s goal on Monday.
Because a home shouldn’t be the source of constant headaches, you know? It should be a place full of sunshine and warmth.
And ethereal coffee.
A place where you can kick up your shoe-riddled feet, sip your vodka-laced lemonade, and honestly attest that life is, in fact, really really good.
In the spirit of sharing, are there any projects – home-related or otherwise – that you’ve been putting off because it just doesn’t interest you? Sometimes saying typing it out loud can help, because putting something in writing makes it a lot harder to ignore.