Three Things

My one cousin doesn't have much to say.  Years ago, I started asking her to tell me three things - could be about anything - that's happened or that she wants to tell me since we last talked.  It's worked pretty well and so I decided to try it here.

1. As any astute pierogi blog reader would know, I have been taking writing classes for the past few weeks which is sucking up both my time and any thoughts worth writing.   I've written about eight pages for class so far and it's taken me almost ten hours.   Here is an example of the writing caliber you can expect from this blog going forward as we shall pretend that all "quality work" is being SLOWLY poured into the novel that I am trying to write.

Writing is a bore

Writing is a chore

And yes, writing is a whore.

Can you believe I thought of that on my own?  (Don't answer.)  I didn't even ask any misbehaved children for help.  (I wrote misbehaved because I'm pretty sure that word was off-limits when I was growing up.)  When I was trying to write for class, I became infuriated that writing is so difficult and that's why I called it a whore.  You'd think it'd be easy.   Especially when I think up genius lame-o jokes like that.


Say, Mr. Rogers, where is my plot?  I started to concoct a disjointed one on my own but I'm sure yours would be much better.   Maybe I should change into a button-down sweater and sing a song to help the creative process.

P.S.  To My Dear Friend Writing - I'm so sorry I called you such a harsh name.  I was just angry with myself.  You're never boring.  You're my favorite.  I love you.

2.  I have a new boyfriend.  His blog name shall be Allen.  Thank you very much for your jaw-dropped shocked reaction to this news... now please shutyo mouth before you start drooling like me.  I haven't determined yet what his quirky qualities are to add to my dating hiss!-story list because he's quiet like a church mouse.  Actually he's not really that quiet, it's just that it's hard for him to say anything since I turn into Chatty Cathy when I'm around him.  I'm sure that won't get old anytime soon.  Men love to hear women talk incessantly about nonsense.  Right?  RIGHT?!!?

If you were paying attention to the crush post, you'll know that I used to have a thang for MacGyver.  Well, new boyfriend has shown that he has strong MacGyverism potential. 

Examples (plural!):

a) I had a headlight out.  I told him it was still under warranty and I would drop it off the next day to get it replaced.  He bought a bulb and replaced it himself.  Ok, so maybe not exactly something as daring as MacGyver would do, but Mr. RDA would have been proud since there were no guns involved.

b) He said, "Let there be wireless internet in your apartment."  And thus he configured it accordingly.

c) He said, "Let there be one super large cord thingy with 3 attachment thingies to hook up to your TV instead of one cord thingy with only 1 attachment thingy in order to give you a better picture."  Ok, so I admit those were my words instead of his to describe what he did.  And thus he configured it accordingly.

d) I said, "Do you think you could please help me with my new ipod, because I am severly technically challenged?"  And thus he hooked everything up without shaming me like a middle-aged parent who is trying to compete in a texting competition.  (Hint: Use your opposable thumbs instead of your pointer fingers!!)

e) I said, "My mail comes in through a slot on my garage door and falls into a basket attached on the other side.  Every other day when I come home from work and open the garage door, the mail falls from the basket all over the place and I have to get out of the car to pick it up.  I've tried attaching plastic bags and it doesn't work.  What do you think I should do?"  And thus he *MACGYVERED* a magical catcher thingamajig to my basket so I never have to get out of my car until I choose.  It holds like a champ. 

f) He made me bacon.  Enough said.

He did these things in about the time it took me to get showered and dressed.  It was less than an hour.  He was able to do all of the above AND diffuse the bomb amidst television commercials, with only common household items at his disposal.  I didn't even have any duct tape.  Very impressive.

And here is a comparison to an ex-boyfriend, because along with loving girls who don't know what the word 'silence' means but they will attempt to explain it to you anyway, men absolutely LOVE it when you compare them to an ex!!!

I said to old boyfriend Jeremy, "My DVD player is stuck shut, do you think you could pretty please look at it sometime when you have a minute?"  And he said quite smart-assily, "What do you think I'm going to do about it?"  as he pushed the Open button and confirmed that it wouldn't work.  And I said, "Uhh, well maybe try and fix it, please, if you could, and see if you can get it unstuck?  So I could use it?"  And he crossed his arms, shook his head, and said firmly, "There's nothing I can do about this.  I tried the button.  You saw that it won't open.  I'm sorry, but there's just no way I can help you with this.  I don't know what you're expecting from me." 

I ended up feeling very guilty for asking such a Herculean request.  Jerkface.  I spent ten minutes with the DVD player one day and was able to fix it myself.  Ten minutes may seem like an extraordinary amount of time, but don't forget that I am the turtle child of parents Bill and Karolyn Slowsky.   This must explain why writing for class takes me FOREVER.  (Happy Birthday Dad!!)  :)

Allen - don't worry - you don't need to be like MacGyver all the time.  I have a silver sequined glove waiting here for you to help me with my handstands the next time I see you.  And I will buy some duct tape just in case you need it to get some peace and quiet from that girl who never shuts up.  I think her name is Cathy.

3. I've been getting some great advice lately from other bloggers (thank you!), but one tip that I've been receiving across the board is causing me major consternation.  It is this:  "Blog regularly."  I get it.  I totally understand that if people are interested in your blog, they don't want to waste time visiting the site only to see that it hasn't been updated since three months ago.  

But... honestly... where do you other bloggers come up with ideas?  And where do you find time amidst everything else going on, this thing called life which is swirling all around us, to sit down and write something?   I'm pretty much out of ideas, people.  And time.  From my globally expansive fan base, I do have one blog request to write someday soon, but then that's it.   Consider this a warning for the upcoming blog hiatus and prepare yourselves accordingly.

I wish there was a blogging fiber that I could buy at the drugstore in order to have regular finger movements.  Maybe I'm just not getting the recommended daily value from the foods I eat each day and I need to take a supplement.  Or perhaps I simply need to pay more attention to the foods I buy at Giant Eagle and switch to the ones that have extra blogging fiber. 

Any suggestions on foods that don't taste like keyboard?

Fail Me Not

Failure is something that I never want to be.  It's akin to beauty in the sense that it's in the eye of the beholder.  I never want to be a failure, so I never will be one.  It's as simple as that.  I choose to have a successful and happy life. 


Failure is the unparalleled motivator... the unseen driving force that is actually "a fear of failure" but to which we usually give no name.  For many it does not exist even if you would ask, but it's still there hidden below the surface.  The taste of failure is bitter and it's smell is rancid; it stirs up anger and frustration and a whole host of unwanted feelings.  I think most people are motivated to avoid it, although some are not.  Some are motivated to succeed for a singular act or purpose, some are motivated through their faith, or for their children, while some hardly have a drive at all.  I have pity for those people who are wandering aimlessly and go through the motions of life either blindly or on the whims of others. Dream it!  Live it!  Do it!  This is your life; do not waste it.  You might not succeed in the eyes of anyone else at whatever it is you're trying to do, but making the attempt is worthwhile.  Failing at a task does not make you a failure, but never trying just might.  One job, one critique, one relationship, one rejection does not define you.  Not everyone has the same capabilities, or smarts, or chances, or gumption, or support, or desires, or means, or je ne sais quoi... but everyone can try.  I believe it is completely acceptable to be motivated via a fear of failure as long as it does not consume you.  You cannot let a fear of failure paralyze your life, because what kind of life would that be?


This almost sounds like an underlying message for an after-school special.  Are those still around? 


This post is annoying me with it's preachiness so I'm going to end this portion with a dismount.  I am attempting a landing off the balance beam with a difficulty degree of 9 out of 10.  Quiet please.  Deep breath.  Pirouette like Mendenhall.  Full steam ahead.  Up in the air...  and... stuck!  A perfect landing! 


Did you expect anything else from a pierogi who chooses happiness and then writes it in for herself?

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I've been pondering the question posed below. 


Aside from learning how to cook (better), sew (yawn), and become a pierogi (fun!)... I'm not sure what else to seek right now.  I better work on creating or finding a time machine, because apparently I've approached an elderly stage of life when "learn to sew" is on my list of things to do.  Seriously?  I bought a sewing machine last April and pictured myself clutching fistfuls of cash saved by hemming my own pants.  Unfortunately I overestimated my ability to follow directions where you must be either over the age of 90 or a genius to comprehend such wizardry.  The first period of positive cashflow is still pending and pants with tags on them are still hanging untouched in my closet. 


Except...  waaaiiiitt a minute...  does this mean that I failed?  No.  There's still time.  And remember that I don't fail at life.  So far the sewing machine has failed me by being ridiculously complicated and temperamental and generally not fun to be around.  She doesn't work well with others.  And by others I mean me.


Oh, yes, I could always attempt the Big One. The Big One = writing a novel, but I can't think of a plot.  A plot is a very minor detail in fiction writing, to be sure.  It can almost be considered an afterthought because as long as I get my book jacket squared away then I'm pretty much set.  But if you have a plot sitting around in your attic collecting dust... I promise to listen to your idea and give it thorough consideration.  Some might call it cheating but I just call it neighborly... like something Mr. Rogers would do if he was still around.  I'm sure he would wrap up a snappy plot just for me and put a beautiful gold bow on it, because that kind man was giving, brilliant, and proud to be from the resplendent city that is Pittsburgh, PA. 


Not all hope is lost, because I signed up for a creative writing course - starting next week! - at CCAC.  I'm pretty sure thousands of esteemed writers started out at CCAC and went on to bigger and better things, such as blogging, that do not require trifling external validation from highfalutin publishers.  Blogging means that u type, u click, n just like that... tadaa! ...even ur a writer.   Gag. 


(Sidebar: Notice my geriatric use of the word "highfalutin".  I'm  hoping this will get me brownie points with the sewing machine.)


So what about you... what would you attempt?  Would you sing?  Believe?  Apologize?  Travel?  Run?  Call?  Leave?  Paint?  Write?  Dance?  Forgive?  Adopt?  Volunteer?  Create?  Speak? 








Would you love?