work in progress

Recently, I blogged about the inevitable passage of time (see "thirty"), and with that passage of time, the event of my thirtieth birthday, now coming up in 2 years, 9 months and some odd days. There is a lot of pressure from society on my generation to be settled by a certain age. I'm not sure exactly what "settled" means, but I suspect it involves owning property, being espoused to someone, working at a fast-paced/high paying/glamorous job, and possibly taking care of offspring. I have accomplished not a single one of those things, but lately (especially after having read an often hilarious book comprised of essays from various female authors in their 30s and beyond- which I highly recommend to all women age 20+), I find myself just fine with many aspects of my current situation. Additionally, I am very happy to report that I have accomplished or nearly accomplished more than a few items on my "thirty things before I'm thirty" list.

*pat myself on the back*

#4- Visit friends in far-off places:  (sort of) CHECK! I recently spent a week in Chicago/Kenosha/Milwaukee, making up for lost time. This fall, I hope/plan to take flight, landing in Arizona, where my dear old friend BS (yes, those are her actual initials) is set to give birth to Baby S #1. I'm astonished at my reproducing friends. I admire their courage. I applaud their efforts. Mostly, I'm happy to buy cute baby outfits for them, but not be the person responsible for changing poopy diapers. For now, I'm content to be Auntie Erin- The One Who Sings and Likes Cats and Wears Lots of Makeup and Knows All Those Famous Gay Men.

#6- Live by myself: (almost) CHECK! I am applying to live in a darling 1 bedroom sitting practically atop a lake and adorable neighborhood.  It's perfect (for me); it has lots of light/windows, tall ceilings, a patio, a gas stovetop, abundant character, allows pets, overlooks a charming lake in the downtown area, and the heat/water/sewer/garbage is included... I am having visions of many nights curled up under a quilt with my furry feline friend, sipping red wine, reading, blogging, making crafts with buttons, DIY repurposing projects, dabbling in photo editing, talking to myself, going bra-less, drinking 2 day old coffee without fear of being judged (waste not, want not), going to the bathroom with the door open, walking around without pants on, and so much more.

#8- Lose thirty pounds: (half) CHECK! Thanks to an online calorie tracker/weight loss community, I am just 1 lb shy of half of that goal of thirty pounds. What's more exciting is that I plan to lose those thirty pounds and then some. I am thrilled with the results so far and hope to continue the transformation. Most surprising about this process is that I've actually enjoyed exercising. Those who have known me for some time may not believe me, but it's true. I, Erin Teresa Gaffaney, like going to the gym. Admittedly, I owe much of my progress to closed captioning on the individual tvs mounted on each elliptical (equipped with cable channels), Jimmy Fallon's late late night show, E! News, Chelsea Handler's show, headphones, and the soundtrack to Step Up! 3 and any/all albums by Robin Thicke and Beyonce. Please don't judge me. I like to blame (in part) technology on the rising rates of obesity in these United States, but in my case, it's helped to combat it. Also, it should not go unmentioned that there is the occasional Hottie McHottie working out at the Anytime Fitness I frequent, which serves as fantastic eye candy/motivation. What? I'm only human.

#14- Keep a plant alive for a remarkable length of time: CHECK (times 2)!! I have a violet that was given to me in December that is not only still alive, but growing. Five months kept alive- very remarkable indeed. I also have an oxalis that is living in my office, having been kept alive since it was given to me in early March. It is not only alive, but thriving. Also remarkable is that I had the forethought to ask the secretary at work to water my plants during my week-long absence in order that they might not wither and perish. Wow. I've really outdone myself on this one. I think I may take things a step further and plant a few flowers. Perhaps I'll even transfer the oxalis from its current tiny plastic pot to something bigger and fancier- something in which it might grow bigger and taller yet. How exciting.

#26- Send more birthday cards to family and friends: CHECK! If I may boast, I've been stellar at this in the last few months. Just ask my family and friends. However, I did miss Grandma G's b-day, so I'll have to make up for that by sending a homemade card. I am not good at scrapbooking, so this may or may not be something I made with crayons.

#29- Take a community ed pottery class: (sort of) CHECK! While mosaic-making isn't exactly pottery, it's still functional art. Thanks, Groupon and Mercury Mosaics. I did look into the local community ed catalog for a pottery offering, but the consecutive classes on Saturday afternoons during June and July conflict with my schedule of singing at weddings, working, and taking advantage of mosquito season.



Wow. 6/30. That's not bad, considering it's been less than 3 months since I made my list. I suppose I might be kind of a big deal sooner than later if I accomplish the other 24 items before 2/28/14.

thirty

With my 27th birthday looming just less than a week away, I find myself having miniature, short-lived existential crises as of late. 27. Just 3 years away from 30. Mid-late-20s. Late 20s. Oh, oh, goodness. Late 20s? Seriously? My mom had already birthed me at this age, and was probably already planning child #2 (who came in the form of my lovely, always entertaining sister Ashley Ann when my mom was 28). No, no thank you. Because of my work schedule, I need a second dog-sitter to dog-sit the dogs I'm dog-sitting. I haven't the slightest clue as to how I could work my own progeny into the mix.

Of course, I sometimes experience the 20something single girl blues. You know which ones I'm talking about- the...

"woe is me, I have no boyfriend" or 

"if I don't start having children soon, I'm going to be an old mom" or 

"why can't I attract straight men like I attract gay men?" or 

"if that mean girl can get a boyfriend, so can I" or

"only my cat truly understands me" 

...thoughts that tend to creep in after a long, solitary Friday night of binging on red wine, pizza, chocolate, and rom-coms starring Sandra Bullock on Netflix's instant watch feature that you're too embarrassed to admit made you shed a tear or two.

"They" say that 30 is the new 20. If this modern adage turns out to be accurate, then I shouldn't be worrying so much about being "behind" my peers. 

Nonetheless, I feel more compelled than ever to just do the things I've been putting off for one reason or another. Whenever I feel anxious or troubled about the future or a big project at work or school, or am just having difficulty articulating myself, I like to make lists. This situation is no different.

Thirty Things Before I'm Thirty 

(if I really mean to attain completion of this list, I need to work at a rate of ten items per year- doable?)

1. Spend more time with my remaining grandparents- make audio recordings of our conversations about their youth.

2. Sponsor a child through a mission organization.

3. Go to London for the Proms classical music festival, held yearly from mid-summer to early fall (this might have to wait for my "Forty Things Before Forty" list, as trans-oceanic flights are not cheap and I work for a church).

4. Visit my friends in far-off places (Arizona, Atlanta, Boston and South Carolina, specifically speaking)

5. Scan and electronically preserve all photos taken in my immediate family before the miracle known as digital photography was invented and made accessible to the general public. 

6. Live by myself.

7. Learn to knit.

8. Lose thirty pounds.

9. Chaperone a prom.

10. Establish a photography business.

11. Pay off thirty percent of my student loans (have you noticed a theme yet?).

12. Sing in a band. A soul/funk/folk/bluegrass/rock/jazz/gospel/hip-hop inspired band. Jam. Gig it up in bars and outdoor festivals. Record an album.

13. Make my first entry into... Canada.

14. Keep a plant alive for a remarkable length of time (remarkable for me would be two months, and bulbs don't count).

15. Start composting.

16. Refinish a coffee table top with all the corks and beer bottle tops I've been saving for the previous 3+ years.

17. Buy myself a "right hand ring"

18. Meet Tina Fey.

19. Organize a family vacation with my dad, Pat.

20. Go on a hermitage retreat.

21. See Beyonce in concert.

22. Go through the entirety of my (current storage) 2034 MB-sized gmail account. Delete unnecessary archived items.

23. Convince a straight man to love and be devoted to me in the same way some of my dear darling gay man friends do.

24. Be more fully healed of the anguish caused by my parents' divorce.

25. Spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with family, rather than at church. 

26. Send more birthday cards to friends and family. For an entire calendar year, do not miss one birthday of those most important to me. Mail cards to the intended recipients on or before their birthday. Tape $1 bills into the card.

27. Go blonde for the summer.

28. Make a pie. From scratch.

29. Take a community ed pottery class.

30. Publish a humorous memoir.

Whew. I better get started.

resolutions

I doubt that I have ever made a New Year resolution in earnest. 

Of course, there was “that time in college” - sophomore year, to be precise, if my memory serves me- when I decided to exercise diligently, since starting the year with a J-term would provide me ample opportunity to go pump iron with the football players during their off season. (I should point out, before writing any further, that the thought of working out in any kind of proximity to Carthage football players wasn’t one that excited me, but rather gave me a great sense of anxiety and apprehension. These creatures that shall hereafter be referred to simply as “college athletes” were of a simple, yet frightening stock).
  

Unencumbered by the busyness that typically left me feeling overwhelmed during regular semesters, I felt I was at the threshold of something new and exciting- by golly, I'd have time on my side. No longer was I powerless to combat the seemingly unceasing barrage of studying, homework, rehearsals, lessons, paper writing, sorority functions, committee meetings, weekly phone calls to my mother (and weekly phone calls from my mother, usually on a Friday or Saturday evening around 10pm- probably just Julie checking in to make sure I wasn't ruining my life with sex, drugs and alcohol) and self-righteous IVCF members (Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship... a feeder group for a frightening evangelical church whose followers were known to often make others uncomfortable by speaking in tongues, go about preaching that certain Christian denominations weren't actually Christian at all, and decide who and when to date solely because "God told [them] so"). 

No, this was a new semester, a new year. I felt lighter than air. My only responsibility in this winter haven month was to successfully memorize music for the opera that I was a part of, and during my ample spare time, I set out to get caught up on MTv's "Newlyweds" (RIP, Jessica and Nick's marriage), "The Osbournes" (I still do a fantastic Sharon impression), read books for pleasure, and get in shape. I had no excuse any longer- I couldn't say I didn't have the time, and I couldn't say that I didn't have access to an exercise facility. Carthage College, in its far-reaching kindness, offers admission to the fitness center to all of its students, free of "extra cost" (though, when a person figures in the cost of tuition, room, and board at Carthage, the fitness center should seem a standard feature, especially when one considers that the college made mad profit from their washing and drying machines in the dorms). 

And so, this is how it came to be that BS (formerly BG) and I embarked upon our J-term 2004 exercise adventure. 

Having no actual fitness attire for myself, I was resigned to wear an old t-shirt, a pair of $7 Wal-Mart purple sweatpants that AKE (formerly AK) had given me (mostly likely in effort to persuade me from walking around our dorm room without pants on- which, as it turns out, can make those who aren't accustomed to no-pants living uneasy) and the pair of Nike "cross trainers" (?) that I'd purchased when I was going through a sporty phase. 

In addition to my awkward accoutrement, I gave the appearance of the oft-used analogy, that is to say, I was a fish out of water. I wasn't at all accustomed to this fancy new building with its fancy floor-to-ceiling windows and fancy televisions and fancy equipment. I spent most daylight hours in the darkness of the sub-basement of the JAC, where it was common knowledge that yes, a rape had taken place in the building, and yes, asbestos was not something to be speculated about- it was fact. 

This fancy fitness center in the fancy TARC was home to a subculture that I did not belong to (and still don't). Contained in the fitness center were strange machines and contraptions, things of which I had no knowledge of. Wanting to give more than just my legs a work out on the stationary bike (now that, I know how to use), I had to make a concerted effort to learn how to use other, more imposing equipment by observing brawny (what football, baseball, and basketball players lacked in brain, they made up for in brawn) athletes in such a way that didn't make me appear incredibly creepy. This plan was in no way fool proof, and in the end, I am sure I left in a more confused state than when I entered the fitness center.

Not accustomed to any sort of strenuous physical activity, I allowed BS to act as my motivator. Something about the TARC and the fitness center changed her into a very intense, very driven and almost scary exerciser. Like the Incredible Hulk, who, when instigated, could morph into a being not himself, BS would have a curiously piercing persona come over her on the treadmill. Not having a competitive streak (where sports are concerned, anyway, and my 7th grade basketball season is gross evidence of this), I quickly came to learn that it for the best to simply get out of her way at times like this. While Bethany raced herself and set higher and higher distance goals with each visit to the TARC, my only incentives for finishing that 30 minutes on the elliptical (I didn't use a treadmill because, well, I've never been the running type) were
1) I'd stay until the Real World episode finished and
2) when I was done, I could go back to my room, shower, dry my hair with the hand dryer that was oddly installed at about eye level in the floor's communal bathroom, and get back to my book, all while convincing myself that I'd become more healthy that day.

And then there was the sweat. More than all the other repugnant facets of exercising in a communal fitness facility (including, but not limited to: back-ne, the smell of metal and other people on your hands after using equipment that hasn't been properly sanitized, overhearing the grunt-ish conversation of college athletes, headaches caused by poppy dance tunes turned up too far on the loudspeakers and ESPN and ESPN2 being broadcast on every television), sweat is the one thing that I recoil at when I think of how I feel at the end of a hard workout. Encountering a single smelly person isn't a pleasurable experience, and so when several stinky, steaming-with-sweat hulking bodies are crammed into one area, one is blasted with an unforgettable stench upon entering the space where they are gathered. You know what I'm talking about, diligent exercisers- that odor of sweat mingled with iron- and you know full well that it takes some time to adjust to the air whenever you visit your local fitness club.

I believe that I made it to the TARC a total of 4-5 times that J-term. None too impressive, but when considering obstacles blocking my path to physical fitness, I like to think that that J-term was one in which I overcame the odds, blazing a trail for my future exercise endeavors, and maybe, just maybe, I like to think that I burned off almost all of that cheese sauce I so very generously allowed myself during our nightly dinners in 'the caf.'