Oh So Domestic

I'll admit, a big part of why I started this blog is because my friend from work showed me her blog and I was jealous.  And I really missed writing.  But I am also using it as a way to hold myself accountable for this whole "becoming an adult" business.  I whine about living at home and how I can't be independent and I feel like a child, but if I don't actually do anything to change this, then I've lost the right to complain, haven't I?  

Slowly but surely, I've been taking little steps to at least feel more like an adult, even when having your parents two rooms over makes this nearly impossible (case in point: this morning my mother told me it was too cold to wear a skirt to work - it was 80 degrees today).   Some examples of my recent efforts:

• I use an actual iron to iron clothes, rather than my hair straightener
• I've switched to real sugar in my iced coffee, even though it doesn't dissolve, because apparently Splenda is lethal
• I actually called Verizon myself with an issue, rather than bitch and moan about it until my mother called for me
• I started separating my whites from my colors, which I know isn't necessarily an "adult" thing but rather something most people do anyways, but it was a big step for me so back off.

However, my proudest moment was last night when I got home and decided that, doggone it, I was going to teach myself to sew and patch my favorite pair of jean shorts.

They had a tiny, fashionable tear in them when I first bought them but, after a year of sticking my toe and then foot through it when trying to get them on, the hole has now stretched to this obscene monstrosity:

I mean, look at that!

Ignore my giant pale thigh, and focus on the size of that hole.  Now, I may only have the vaguest idea of what is fashionable and classy, but even I know that that is too much for a pair of shorts.  I am a lady, after all.  Sort of.

So I got out my mom's sewing kit, an old tank top to use for a patch, Googled "how to sew," and got to work. 

I destroyed that tank top in the name of adulthood.

45 pain-filled minutes later, I had successfully threaded and knotted the needle.  At that point the online directions I found had become totally useless, and I just started poking at everything. (Ha, dirty).

Fun fact: Liz has the maturity of a 12-year-old boy.

After I  got a rhythm going, everything else went pretty smoothy.  I had a moment of panic when the thread ran out and I had to go through the whole needle-thread-knot process again, but I persevered and made it through.  Somehow, I successfully patched my jeans.  Hooray!  Ch-ch-check it out:

Yes, I'm wearing heels strictly for this photo, but they make my legs look longer which makes for a more  aesthetically pleasing picture.  You're welcome.

I have to say, I am pretty proud of myself.  I'm a terrible cook, can barely bake, and children frighten me.  

I was on course to be the Worst Wife Ever, but now, I can sew!  Sure, that patch will fall right off the first time I put my shorts through the wash, but I have documented proof that I did this on my own, without help from anyone.  Except Google.    

I think I'm going to start trying to teach myself something new or at least try something new once a week now.  Maybe Mondays?  I don't have any TV shows that night so I'll be free and clear to improve myself as a human being.  Any suggestions for my next accomplishment??