Exploding Sewing Machines

I can’t cook.  At all.  I don’t’ really know why I decided to blog about cooking but it probably has to do with the fact that I am eating something very yummy that I know I won’t be able to make myself once I move out.  It kind of makes me sad because I am just so pathetic in the kitchen.  I can barely step in it without doing something stupid.  If I look at a cooking appliance (not including the microwave because really who screws that up? *cough* *cheesy grin* *cough*) I half expect it to blow up.  In fact one of my catchphrases, if you will, is “If I even look at *insert object here* it blows up!”  And blowing up kitchen appliances isn’t even the worst of it.  The absolute terror of the kitchen is a kitchen where I am holding a knife because only bad things can come of that.  I seriously suggest you stand at least 3-10 feet (depending on the size of the knife) away from me in the case of accidental stabbing.  I’m so afraid of dropping the knife and cutting off my big toe (Virtual cookie to whomever gets that refrence before M) it’s ridiculous.

Now that I’m thinking about it, it’s not just cooking.  I am SO not domesticated.  I can’t cook, I really can’t clean or even keep anything clean for more than 20 minutes, I can’t do laundry (I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually), and I am a pathetic excuse for a female.  I guess it has to do with the fact that it was never my job to do any of those things in the house therefore I never learned how to.  I was the child so I was to play and as I grew older my job changed from playing to doing well in school.  My life was revolved around a plan, and school was just the first step. “Do well in school” My Aunt says, “Get into a good college” Mom says, “Get a good job” Dad says, and “Make good money” They all say, and so on and so on. It’s not a bad plan, not at all.  The plan provided the basis of my life and goals for me to reach.  The plan provided well me.  It’s what I know and it’s who I am and it’s been drilled into my head so much that it’ll never go away.  It shaped me into me, gave me my morals, my ambition, a reason, a job, a status ect.  And each member of my family has a job, and I believe we all expect us to do it alone in a way.  We don’t expect anyone to help us and when we do get help it’s a huge blow to our pride.  For example my Grandmother is the housekeeper and likes to disregard people who attempt to help her.

We all have a place and I guess that’s where my sense of independence comes from.  My pride in my ability to do my job alone, doing my job with limited help from the people in my life.  And it’s not all that difficult considering I am the first one, therefore I set the ground rules, there are expectations but they aren’t written in blood.  I set the expectations and I am to rise above those and I guess I caught a good break because the reality is I am so average and so simple that I would not be able to rise above the high ranks.  And I forget that I set the expectations sometimes, I forget that I am the determinant, I forget that my parents don’t really know what success is because I will be (hopefully) the definition of success.  So I jump through these fiery hoops that I set for myself because I just want to make them proud, to set the expectations high to mark that I am more than just average but I forget that I am not and I forget that I like being average and I forget that being happy means more to me than being good.  I think that maybe we all want to be good at what we do and maybe we sometimes think that being good means being happy.

P.S Totally aware that my title says “Sewing Machines” instead of “Kitchen Appliances”  Another virtual cookie to you if you can figure out why.