Feb 21 2012
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I Shant Be Pooping On Any Tables

For four years I have been madly in love with a man. We have been through good times and bad. We have laughed a lot. Cried a little. And fought along the way.

Recently, we moved across the country together in search of a cheaper cost of living and a better way of life.

Let’s suffice to say… it didn’t work out. And the reason for it not working out is a pretty messed up: I don’t want to have children.

I’ve never, in all my life, wanted to have children. I have several reasons, I feel strongly about all of them and I haven’t been shy about saying so.

It’s just my partner thought I would capitulate.

When he realized, slowly, over time, that I was never going to change my mind, he began pulling away. Intuitively, as a woman, I tried to fix things.

So it went for about a year.

Finally, I suggested therapy. And hit a wall. The child-bearing thing is a deal-breaker, it seems.

But even in the face of losing him, I still never want to go through the pain and agony of childbirth. Not to mention the blood. And the pooping on the birthing table and all of that other lovely stuff that happens. And the responsibility. Oh the responsibility!

I’ve been dealing with this for days and days, in a sort of agonized haze. I feel angry. Hurt. Rejected. But ever-so-sure of my decision. It really isn’t that unusual for people — both men and women — to not care about reproducing. They should just be with people who feel the same way.

That being said, I’m going to try and move forward as quickly as possible. I realize it’s going to take awhile, but these are the best years of my life and I plan to enjoy them. I need to feel better and get a focus back on my career ASAP.

Firstly, I’m getting a place of my own. I’m trying to buy rather than rent as I think it’s time I had a little stability in my life again. Luckily, I can buy some sort of townhome — which should suffice for now. Closing in 30 days or less.

I’m going to put myself back on the market, at least in name. I know it’s not healthy for me to date for awhile, but I am going to attend singles mixers and casual outings for my own sanity. I don’t want to lead anyone on and I’m not trying to get anyone in the sack. I just want to keep reminding myself that there are plenty of eligible human beings out there… so I can not be hung up on the one I am leaving behind.

Thirdly, I’m getting a roommate. Should be fun.

Feb 12 2012
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Shopping

Bring Me Your Most Obnoxiously Be-Bowed Blouses!

Bring me the most obnoxious pussy bow blouse possible, for I am domestically challenged

@ The Ralph Lauren Outlet this weekend…

I was drawn in to the store by the mannequins, which were dressed in pirate-esque lace blouses with neck bows and ties galore. Once inside, I noticed a bunch of androgynous, hip-looking employees dressed in urbane, Ralph Lauren style.

I grab the first one that passes by and request that they bring me shirts with the most obnoxious neck bows possible. In reply, the attendant simply froze and bulged their eyes out.

So I reiterated clearly, “I want the blouses with the most obnoxious bows possible. Like the mannequins out front.”

The staffer blinked in horror and replied, “Are you… certain?”

I reassured them as best I could, by saying, “Yes, yes! I go for that whole disgruntled librarian look. It’s my thing.”

At that, they seem satisfied, and brought me a medley of horrible be-bowed concoctions. None of which fit over my ample bossom, by the way, but that is to be expected.

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Feb 08 2012
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Uncategorized

Many Horrific Dating Stories Lie Just Within…

Back when I was single, I seemed  to have the worst luck out of anyone ever in the history of dating.

I mean, I’ve experienced some real nightmares.

For your perusal…

The Assistant Professor

He was a blonde, normalish guy who was working on his doctorate while working at Quimnipiac. Three dates. Seemed normal. Until he started talking to me in goo-ga baby speak as if I was his little girl. It was extremely creepy.

The Rocker

His name was Jared and he was from East Haven. One date at an indie coffee shop. Seemed cute. Normal. Then tried to kiss me at end of first said date. When I refused, he seemed offended and asked what was wrong. I joked, “I don’t know you, for all I know, you could be diseased.”

He replied, “I am diseased.”

I blinked, said “What…?”

And he goes, “Yeah. I have Herpes. But I’m on Valtrex.”

When I peaced the hell out of there, he was still trying to convince me that other girls didn’t have a problem with it… (gross!)

The Engineer

I forget this guy’s name — it was John or Robert or some garbage. He said in his Match.com profile he was looking for a serious relationship. I thought okay, seems like not a total jack-off slash waste of time. He took me to a Ben Folds concert. After the concert, he wanted to know if I would be his girlfriend. I said… “Not at this time, sorry, I am just enjoying dating.”

He freaked out and began shrieking in a tantrum-like fashion that he’d explicitly stated he’d wanted a girlfriend. That didn’t go over so well.

The Man Who Lived on Broadway

This fellow was a flooring company owner who lived in a God-like apartment on Broadway. He was tres awesome for the most part, really funny, confident, sexy — and we actually wound up dating for awhile. On one of our last dates, however, we both showed up wearing matching Ralph Lauren polos from that season… in cream and black horizontal stripes (think Hamburglar).

Later that evening he wound up breaking out an acoustic guitar and singing me a song, but it actually had the opposite effect — since we were both dating multiple people at the time and were open about it, it just seemed forced and uncomfortable.

Plus I discovered he had an entire closet full of creepy, sparkly shiny shoes.

Plus he only used toiletries from Barneys. Who does that?

The Serbian Capable of Speaking But Seven Words

I guess I’ll try to end this on a good note. I once tripped in a club (surprise!) and practically fell on my face. I was picked up (and I’m no delicate flower!) by an extremely handsome, clearly uncomfortable Serbian man who promptly began yammering at me in broken English. When he’d collected himself, the first thing he said intelligbly was: “I haf 3 BMWs. You want see?” It would have been ridiculous, but the whole picking up off of floor/handsomeness/while being totally uncomfortable/hot accent thing kind of worked for me. Plus he was wearing a DeLorean t-shirt, so he got extra points.

So There You Have It

There are my most awful dating stories. Want to share some of yours? Just submit a comment and I’ll share them with the world :}

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Feb 05 2012
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Uncategorized

On Living Beneath Martha Stewart’s Assistant

martha stewart's shoe storm strikes out from the domestically challenged

I am from one of the toniest counties in America.

But the majority of my family is working class. While we certainly get by, we are never going to set up camp in multi-million dollar mansions on the ocean.

Now that you have a little background… on with story-time!

When I moved out on my own I wound up living in the bottom floor of a beautiful two-family colonial home in the town of Greenwich. It was a really nice layout, replete with fireplaces and balconies, and it was a short walk to the premiere shopping district  (Tiffany’s, anyone?!). The train station was only a short ways away, and the distance to Manhattan was thirty minutes — give or take a few.

But it wasn’t all roses.

To the left of the apartment lived a family that came right out of Running with Scissors. They drove perfectly polished Studebakers in mint condition, had erected an outdoor movie theater out of sheets, and slaughtered their hand-raised turkeys with some frequency (and unusual levels of delight).

Across the street was sort of a ramshackle home in which 12 or so immigrants resided. They were fairly quiet, and I paid them no attention, until one day the police came to arrest one of them. His crime? Breaking into his wealthy employer’s home and shaving his pubes upon the dining room table.

But the final drawback — the one that takes the cake — has to do with who lived in the apartment above me. It was none other than Martha Stewart’s head assistant. Said assistant was the bane of my existence — she enjoyed throwing my laundry on the floor if I left it in the shared dryer for longer than, say, an hour.

And if I left more than one pair of shoes in the common foyer, she would rearrange them by color, size and style At three am, she would begin moving her furniture around with impunity.

I should point out that at the time, I was commuting two hours a day, in school full-time, and working part-time. Laundry and shoes got taken care of when they got taken care of.

One day, when I came home to find a dozen pairs of my shoes arranged with impunity and a note on the door that said “Please keep your dog quiet tonight, we are hosting a dinner party,” I snapped. I went in to my apartment and brought every pair of shoes I had out in to the foyer. Then I proceeded to fling them, pell-mell, all over the place. One landed on the bannister. One got caught by its laces on the coat closet. And most landed haphazardly on the floor.

Afterwards, I poured myself some wine and went to lay down on the couch.

It was a good day.

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Feb 05 2012
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Recipes

Recipe Revelation: The Ninety-Second Enchilada

trader joes enchiladas equal yum in ninety seconds for the domestically challenged

I have a recipe that’s perfect for my domestically challenged brethren out there. But hold on to your hats, this one is a doozy.

1) Go to Trader Joes.

2) Place pre-prepared enchiladas from refrigerator section in to your basket. Also pick out a sour cream of your choice as well as a can of black beans. Please note, the TJ brand “light” sour cream actually tastes like sour cream still, and not some sort of watery, viscous white mucus like some other brands who shall remain nameless.

3) Check out. Banter in a friendly fashion with the cashier and bag your own groceries, if you so choose.

4) Go home.

5) Open enchilada package.

7) Microwave for 90 seconds.

8) Open can of beans.

9) Place beans in to bowl.

10) Microwave beans for three minutes and stir.

11) Place each enchilada on to its own plate.

12) Garnish with sour cream and serve alongside black beans.

You’re welcome!

Jan 17 2012
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Beauty

The Brevity of Being Big Breasted

the brevity of being big breasted... for the domestically challenged

In a society where women pay thousands of dollars to enhance their chests, you would think that large, natural breasts would be beneficial.

But there are plenty of pitfalls that come along with having huge ta-tas.

To show other curvy women out there that they are not alone, I wanted to share my experiences — both good and bad. For the record, I happen to be “gifted” with the measurements of one Christina Hendricks (39x31x39).

1)   A spoonful weighs a ton. A size 36DD rack will add about ten pounds of weight. At least it’s a “good looking” ten pounds.

2)   Exercise hindrance. Jogging or swimming becomes difficult with giant obstacles attached to your chest. And don’t even think about doing crunches. To boot, even if you wear three sports bras on top of each other and mind your own beeswax on standard cardio equipment, men still gawk.

3)   Sex appeal goes both ways. For the more sexually liberated, the ability to wear a low-cut shirt and become the focus of the room is a perk. For a young woman of catholic/conservative upbringing, it can create a lot of awkward situations. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to get attention, but it’s annoying to constantly cover yourself or risk causing a skirmish.

4)   Large breasts are public property… apparently. On occasions where I have worn a cute or sexy dress that exposes a bit of my decolletage, I’ve had some interesting experiences. On Broadway (the street), some man yelled “Nice boobs!” before walking off. At a dinner event at the AOL Ventures building, the wife of my employer, an older Asian woman, decided that she would come up and start grabbing at my teats as if I was a cow for the milking. “Magnificent!” she cawed.

5)   Stereotypes exist. Yes, people still see someone with big breasts and assume they are an airhead or a sexual deviant. Obviously, this can suck in the corporate space when you’re a professional trying to be taken seriously.

6)   Clothing becomes a conundrum. I hate to say it, but retailers create clothes with a certain form in mind (read: non-voluptuous). Store-bought clothing often results in gaping buttons and odd shapes, making shopping something of a nightmare. This sort of experience has driven me towards the higher-end retailers, where shape and tailoring tend to be better thought out.

7)   Frenemies. Plenty of women are intimidated by you if you have large boobs. They might outright resent you as competition or they might feel badly about themselves because you represent sexuality on a stick (who the hell knows for sure). What I do know is that having giant yabbos makes finding actual friends difficult.

8)   Back pain. Yeah, carting around an extra 10 pounds of weight does wonders for the spine.

9)   Husband hunting. Looking for the right guy can be a real challenge when you’ve got big boobs, because men don’t care so much about you… they just want to play with your “funbags.”

10) Weird nicknames. In my lifetime, I’ve been called by many nicknames, one of which was, “Sweater Puppets.”

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Jan 15 2012
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Beauty

It’s a New Shampoo Review: Yes to Carrots

Say Yes to Carrots, Domestically Challenged Ladies

I am always on the lookout for good, inexpensive shampoos and conditioners.

And until recently, I’ve always used non-organic products.

But then I became aware of the cancerous properties associated with a lot of standardized beauty brands and I decided to try and branch out. While I would love to try some of Aveda’s hair products, they just aren’t in the budget.

In fact, most of the better organic shampoos aren’t in budget.

Thankfully, Target has a pretty exceptional organic beauty aisle, and I’ve been rummaging around there, where I discovered a whole new world.

In the end, I wound up purchasing the 16 oz. Say Yes to Carrots shampoo and conditioner for $8.99.

Score!

Effectiveness: Excellent. Hair shiny and not greasy.

Consistency: Standard, perhaps a little thick.

Smell: Like the most delicious carrot icing on the planet. Warning: attracts men!

Ingredients: Paraben free and over 99% natural. Chock full of Honey, Beta-Carotene, Chamomilla and other delicious materials.

Likelihood of Re-purchasing: Definitely.

The smell really made these products a must have. A day after showering, I could still sniff out the cloying yet pleasant aroma of carroty-icing coming from my hair, which my boyfriend definitely appreciated.

This performance earns them a rating of four burnt kernels out of a possible five burnt kernels.

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Jan 14 2012
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Beauty

The Perfect Facial Lotion Contender: Philosophy’s Miracle Worker

Without a good moisturizer, I am afraid I am going to get old and wrinkly looking before my time. And since I like being good looking and stuff, I recently embarked on a quest to find the perfect facial lotion.

The first product I began considering came from Philosophy’s skin care line-up because they’re well-reviewed and expensive. And expensive means it works… right?

I purchased the 2 oz. jar of Miracle Worker for the ripe old price of $55.

And then I slathered it on my face for a few nights. Here’s my take on this beauty product:

Effectiveness: Pretty good. It made my skin silky and smooth.

Consistency: Medium

Smell: Like a morgue.

Ingredients: Many, many hard-to-spell chemicals.

Likelihood of Re-purchasing: None whatsoever.

The smell really tanked this product’s value, earning it a rating of one burnt kernel out of a possible five burnt kernels.

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Jan 14 2012
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Beauty, Recipes, Shopping, The "E" Word, Weightloss

Standard Intro Post

This is the first entry in what I hope will be a fun and interesting blog about beauty products, recipes, shopping, weight loss and dreaded, dreaded exercise.

What makes this blog unique, however, is that it comes from the perspective of a recently reformed tomboy who used to eat microwaveable dinners every night. A tomboy who, in high school, caused a fire drill because she set fire to popcorn during a home economics class.

In essence, if someone as domestically challenged as me can do this shit, you can too.

-Erin

 

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