wnywoman blogs - Twentysomething

Becoming a Lady

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Sun, 09 May 2010 21:02:17 -0400

Not in a million years did my mom ever think that Id grow up and become a lady.

By definition, being a lady means not chewing with your mouth open, not airing your flatulence problem in public, or burping, not talking loudly, or fishing out wedgies, to name a few.

These are embarrassing facts, but nonetheless they are true.

You see, I, Nicole M. Gawel, was the epitome of the exact opposite of a lady. Growing up, my mom would be utterly embarrassed to take me out. We would go shopping and as I trailed behind her, I was little mind you, under 10 years old, picking some sort of something on my body.

One of my biggest fetishes was feeling carpets in stores. I liked textures, still do, but refrain from bending down to touch a germ-infested carpet. Thank God I grew out of both of those nasty phases.

There was a time when I knew my mom thought that she would never be able to train me into the lady I should eventually become. Its even safe to say that she had given up. Im not sure at what point I learned to grow out of these phases, but I did. And thank God I did because I dont think if I was still doing the childish things I once did I would have any friends, relatives or potential suitors within 100 feet of me.

For Mothers Day, I treated my mom to a tea party at a tea house in North Tonawanda. I was proper and I think, to some extent anyway, I proved to my mom that I was well in contention of becoming a proper lady. I would hope, though, to think my mom had already thought this of me upon entering high school.

Something else my mom would have never thought Id grow out of was probably the most awkward fashion stage of my life. Currently, I take my fashion to the highest level. It is one of THE most important things in my life, but as a third grader fashion was not on my top 10 list, it wasnt even in my top 100 list.

In third grade, I hate to admit this; I used to wear baggy shirts, 10 times too big with jeans. Gasp! When I reminisce and look back at photographs of my life I cringe when I get to that phase in my life. My grandma and papa used to call my sloppy and that was being kind. I looked like a ragamuffin.

I don't know at one point the transformation took place. Maybe all along I just had to wait to grow up in order to become a lady.

To this day I dont know how my mom could have stood being seen with me. I was a wreck. My mom must have really loved me. I salute my mom for putting up with my awkward, mean, bratty, etc., etc., etc., stages and loved me for me and I guess because she had to since she was my mother.

Thank you Mom for forming me into a lady that you are proud to share tea with and ask to go shopping with and not fear that I may pick a wedgie or touch the carpet any longer.

When Given the Choice, Which Would You Choose?

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 13:21:43 -0400

When given the choice between being fat and happy, or skinny and miserable, which would you select?
For me the answer is simple; Id pick choosing to be skinny and miserable. I know how that sounds. It sounds superficial, but Ill use my age as my excuse, even though it should not count for anything.

Ideally, a person should be judges on their personality and inner beauty, at least that is what everyone tells you. In reality though, people are first perceived and judged before their mouth can ever open, meaning appearance counts for so much more than conveyed in society.

Ill be the first to admit what I do; I judge people on appearance mainly and then when I get to know them my views will change. Its not healthy, but its how Im wired. Its how society is; crass, classless and rude. Maybe in a few years when my first grey hair pops up, or my boobs start to sag, or my teeth turn yellow, or worse, I get a wrinkle, maybe then Ill start seeing inner beauty radiate from the outside. Maybe a curse should be placed on me like Jack Black in the movie Shallow Hal. Still though, I dont know if that would help me or not.

Throughout my life I have never been happy with my weight, making me unhappy anyways, so why wouldnt I choose to have something good going for me in regards to being able to wear whatever I want if I were skinny? And being skinny would make me happy so I really wouldnt be miserable in the end. So using my logic being skinny would ultimately make me happy.

Lauren Slater wrote a story for Self magazine, which can be viewed at http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/36202611/ns/today-today_health/, in which she told of her struggles with the same question; be fat and happy or thin and sad.

You see, Slater suffers from depression. The medication prescribed to her would cause weight gain. Was happiness worth giving something up? Isnt the point of being happy having everything you want and need? For me, having everything I want and need has everything to do with my appearance.

Everyone has their own definition of what makes them happy. Maybe real happiness is not judging anyone and just accepting them in the end for who they are because, if how they look makes them happy, than maybe we should not be so quick to judge them.

Why I Don't Frequent The Library Anymore

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 12:54:53 -0500

Recently, I was cleaning out my wallet and stumbled upon my dusty library card, which got me thinking that maybe I should make the visit with the familiar old friend soon. On the other hand, I now find bookstores to be an inviting place more so, but Ill get to the reason why later.

Then a friend and I were talking and one thing led to another and he asked me if I had been to the library in a while. My answer was no.

I love books. When I was little and when most kids took cuddly stuffed animals to bed, I was the unique one taking stacks of books to comfort me in bed. They were the things that would protect me from the monsters in under the bed, or in the closet. When it was time for lights out I wasnt the one reading underneath the covers with a flashlight. I would sleep, I just liked the presence of books surrounding me as I dreamt of all the foreign lands I would visit and things I could do when I opened up the cover of the next book I would engross myself in.

My mom would always warn me, pretty much every night as mothers do best, that if I was not careful I would poke my eye out in my sleep with the corners of the books. I survived my childhood unscathed from the books. That is an accomplishment all in itself considering I am a klutz.

One of the places my nana and papa would take me when they were babysitting me was the library. We would listen to stories, or just curl up in a chair and read for hours. When we were done I would come out with piles upon piles of books. My mom would also take me to the library to get my never ending hunger fulfilled.

There is just something about a library that you can find comforting, like a home cooked meal. With its endless shelves of books, big and alluring chairs and coves where you can get lost for hours with the words, the library has always been a special spot for me.

It was only natural that in college I would resort to going to my local library to study my textbooks or catch up on my work. And I went there for a good portion of my freshman year and half of the first semester of my sophomore year, until one fateful day.

I like my privacy, so on that given day, textbooks in tow, I settled into a spot far in the back, behind the research books. I thought no one would be able to find me and only a few would delve that far into the stacks, boy was I wrong.

After about an hour of studying a female who was probably in college as well sat right across from me. When she opened her sack she didnt withdraw a book to read or study notes, what she brought out was a sketchpad and a pencil.

I was intrigued and although pretending to read my book, I was actually observing her.

What I saw I didnt much care for. She kept glancing up at me making me feel uncomfortable with each stroke of her hand. I figured out within 15 minutes, (I know thats a long time) that she was sketching me. I was the object of her sketch.

I didnt know what to do. On one hand she must have to have this sketch turned in for a class of some sort, but on the other hand she could have asked me if I didnt mind being her subject. It freaked me out.

When I finally figured out what she was doing I packed up my stuff and left. Maybe I should have confronted her, but I didnt want her to think I was full of myself or something. Peculiar things like this seem to only happen to me, I must note.

Since that day, I have not been back to the library. Maybe one day Ill ease back into it with a friend, but until Im ready for it, youll just see be perusing the shelves at the local bookstore.

The Underlying Reason Why I Don't Cook

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 09:55:15 -0500

With the news of the death of Easy Bake Oven Inventor Ronald Howes, I think Ive figured out my aversion to cooking.

Most little girls are given toys that they can use to be good housewives and mothers later in life like vacuum cleaners and lots of baby dolls.

As a child I had an electric Porsche, always the hottest and must-have toys, and a closet full of the latest fashions, but what I never had was an Easy Bake Oven.

I did have a Fischer Price kitchen though. I didn't use it for a kitchen though, I used it to play restaurant. I was trying to be an entrepreneur at a young age.

Growing up I was more a tomboy than anything else, yet I managed to play with Barbies and dolls here and there to at least hone in on my less than perfect mothering skills, which most likely, and fingers crossed to spare all of humanity, wont be put to test with real offspring.

If I had asked for an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas or my birthday, I bet I would have grown fond of being domesticated. The only time I put an apron on now is to use my new espresso machine that I got for Christmas.

Why put on an apron to make espresso? Well, the answer is simple. I like to dress for the part. When I make my coffee products I make sure the apron is on just like the baristas wear them at Starbucks.

Two years ago I didnt even know how to boil noodles.

Yes, I was the girl who in trying to make Velveeta Shells and Cheese threw the shells into the un-boiled water.
Its sad, but so true.

Now I know enough to boil the water before putting the macaroni in. Picked up that life lesson real quick.

Maybe if I was given an Easy Bake Oven I would have grown an appreciation for baking and cooking. Personally, I dont see the point in putting so much time and effort into a meal when it takes only minutes to inhale it.

It's not that I CAN'T cook it's that I DON'T want to cook. Those are two completely different things. I can easily whip something up from a box, or my following a simple recipe. One of my bucket list items is to successfully cook a Thanksgiving dinner, although I'm really not ready for that task just yet.

Recently, Ive been cooking here and there and baking. Im trying really hard to unleash my domestic diva from within, but its proving to be more difficult than it looks.

Maybe for my birthday Ill get that Easy Bake Oven to practice and hone in on my skills. Ill keep my fingers crossed.

My Experience Curling

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 19:27:24 -0500

I received the confirmation text at 11:08 a.m. Thursday, Feb. 11.

I was on the team. I was on the team!!! I was actually picked for a team!

What team you may ask?

Answer: Star 102.5s Curling Team, which was composed of Rob Lucas, morning show host, Justin Swain, traffic guy, and me, a producer and fill-in for one of the guys from WGR who had other obligations to tend to.

We were up against WGRZ Channel 2s Daybreak Team, made up of Jodi Johnston, Andy Parker and John Beard. Heather Ly filmed the festivity.

Next week, during the 2010 Olympics, the Daybreak Team will be airing different Olympic type competitions between various other morning show ensembles.

When I heard the news, I went out to purchase sneakers, I got some with treads, and immediately looked up online to see what curlers wore. Looking up what the whole sport was about was important, but not impending like the fashion aspect of it was. Good ol Wikipedia helped me there.

Jodi had the best outfit though for curling. It even contained many articles of jewelry.

I was psyched and pumped. I was more than excited. With my passport in hand I bolted out of my house to arrive at Robs house to carpool to the Niagara Falls Curling Club, located just over the border in Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada.

Both teams were greeted by Murray, the curling coach of Brock University. When we entered the curling arena we were asked to clean off our shoes in this machine that used a spinning wheel to get the access debris off before entering onto the pebble ice.

Murray went over the instructions, the equipment and asked us to give hurling the rock down the ice a try. The ice isnt as slippery as a skating arena, but it does have its moments.

I was the last one up trying and it was fun. You use the broom to balance as you push off from a track like mount and ride on the handle of the rock until you let it go before reaching the hog line.

Sweepingnow that is a different story. You get winded sweeping harder and faster. Its pertinent to also outrun the rock, which is difficult at times to do considering your running on ice with sneakers. With sweeping you can definitely feel it in your arms.

In my younger years, I watched curling here and there and it looked easy. The college students who were there helping Murray made it look so easy.

When you take part in certain activities you realize how challenging it is. You realize how hard these athletes work to be the best they can be. You get an appreciation for the sport when you participate in it. Murray and his team of students, when they talked of curling, were so passionate and engaged with it. You could definitely tell they loved it.

After we tried our hand at each part of curling, we commenced our game.

Each of us threw the rock twice. My rock actually landed in a scoring spot, until Jodi knocked it out. But her's was a really good shot. Everyone was good at it, despite all of us being novices, although Andy did have some experience.

Although I cannot tell you the outcome of the competition, as you have to watch it during WGRZs Daybreak show from 5 to 7 a.m., I can tell you that it was on-the-edge-of-your-seat exciting.

All in all it was an amazing, one in a lifetime experience. The 2014 Winter Olympics have six great backups if they need them. Check out the video on WGRZs Daybreak during the Olympics.

The only disappointment of the experience was not getting my passport stamped.

At Niagara Falls Curling Club they rent out lanes, just like bowling. Maybe, I'll suggest that activity to my friends.

Read Jodi's blog here

Be Still My Heart

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 16:56:19 -0500

The Beatles crooned it best, Love, love, love.

Although I am a sappy romantic deep down, I rarely like to let on that I am. Not letting on allows me to keep my barriers up and avoid getting hurt.

In high school, girls would anticipate the coveted carnations sent from sources fawning over them during homeroom on Valentines Day. I never got one. I was never bitter about not receiving one, nor wished I did get one.

Girls would walk down the corridors adorning red and pink accessories and carrying their stuffed animals, balloons and flowers from that weeks fling. I wrote them off as tokens of a guys love for them for that one day.

To this day, Ive always withheld the philosophy that two peoples love for one another should be displayed and shown in little ways each and every day and not just once a year in a big way.

One day should not echo your quantity of affection toward your loved one.

People deem me a skeptic or a cynic or say I have these opinions toward the holiday because I am single. This however is not true in any sense of those accusations.

I just happen to find Valentines Day and Sweetest Day to be a collaborative effort from card companies, florists, jewelers, chocolatiers and restaurants to gain extra income between the slow parts of the year. Its all a farce.

I dont get what all of the hype is about.

Life is too short to wait to tell someone you love them once a year. Tell your special person every day. Celebrate it. Embrace it. In the end, the little things count more

Dear John...

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 15:10:59 -0500

Dear John, the letter started, as most letters that end a chapter begin.

The phrase was believed to be coined during World War II when wives and girlfriends in the United States met another partner and would end their relationship with their old boyfriend or husband who was stationed overseas or in another part of the country.

A friend of mine, Jen, told me about Nicholas Sparks novel Dear John. That was before the holidays. I decided Id read it. I read A Walk To Remember, The Choice, At First Sight, The Notebook and Nights in Rodanthe. I was somewhat of a fan of Sparks work. Yes, it is chick lit at its finest, but when you need a skewer of hope to last a few days you pick up a Sparks novel and immerse yourself in the plot. PLus, at that point I could use a good, sappy book.

When I got done reading the novel I had mixed feelings. Normally I ultimately decide in the final sentence if I really liked it or not, but Dear John was different. It left me thinking. A few days later I came to the conclusion that I loved the book.

It is about time not being on each of the lovers side and hope slowly fading for his and her return to their arm.

Sometimes if the stars are not aligned its just time to say goodbye. Its time to end something that could never really be anything. To keep hope in your heart for something that does not exist or will not exist as it would have already happened if it should happen is torturous to ones soul. Let things go. Move on to bigger and better things. If the commitments not there, it wont ever be.

Yesterday, Friday, February 5, Dear John, the movie, opened in area theatres. Of course I had to see it.

During the movie I was a little disappointed I will admit. The movie, although I knew was inevitable, was nothing like the book. I thought minor changes would be done, but not complete story changes. The meat and potatoes of the plot was still there, but the structures and how the outcomes were attained were not like the novel.

As separate entities they are extraordinary stories. If you go see the movie, comparing it to the novel, youll be disappointed. See it with an open mind.

Dear John really explores the dynamics of a long distance relationship and the fact that one allegiance can be broken because of another.
Sometimes life doesnt let you choose what you want to do, but what you need to do to survive, which is not always a bad thing. One must decide though if either you can live with your choice. Can you pick between love and duty, or surviving or taking a leap of faith? Which would you choose? Could you let someone you loved go so that they could move on with their lives while you stayed in the state that was most comfortable to you?

Letting go is the ultimate test of love.

Dear John, both the novel and movie, I give two thumbs up.

Learning Something New

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 17:57:13 -0500

I dont always finish things that I start.

Wellthats one of my problems.

This time though, Im going to. I have confidence in myself.

Itll be two weeks Tuesday since my mom taught my how to crochet. You ask why in the world a woman in her early 20s would want to learn the art of making an item out of yarn by using a hook. I say why not?

Next thing you know Ill be sitting home on a Monday night crocheting an watching Antiques Roadshow on PBS. Oh wait, I did that this week. One thing I wont do though, is eat peanut brittle or give out pennies at Halloween.

I asked my mom to teach me how to crochet to simply make myself a scarf, I told her that was the reason at least. In actuality, I wanted my mom to teach me how to crochet because it was a good reason to spend some quality mother-daughter bonding time, something we have been lacking for a few months due to life catching up with us.

While she was teaching me, she told me a story. My moms grandmother taught her how to crochet at a young age. My great-grandmother use to sell her wares at craft shows. At the age of 9 my mom sold her first crocheted blanket. I had never heard the story and was astonished. I wasnt bewildered by the fact that my mom had made something so spectacular that someone would buy it, I was amazed that she was 9 years old when she sold her first piece and had entered a craft show.

I was proud of her, even though it happened so long ago. I was glad that my mom had taken the time to share this information about her life before me. My mom had told me several stories about her childhood, but this was a new one, a new moment added to the other collection of anecdotes in the filing cabinet of my brain labeled Mom.

Crocheting teaches you patience. Id like to think that in these almost two weeks of my crocheting career that I have grown a tad more patient. Patience is a virtue.

Crocheting helped my mom and I share something again. Sure we share many things, but I wanted to learn something new from my hero.

Currently, I am a quarter of the way through with my scarf. Maybe, just maybe, Ill finish it by the end of winter, just before spring hits, so Ill be able to show off my craftsmanship. And maybe Ill be able to finally say that I finished something I started. Even if I dont finish it though, at least I learned a little more about my mom, of who she was and how she transformed into the person that I know today.

To Dine Alone or Not To Dine Alone...That Is The Question

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 10:28:25 -0500

My bucket list contains a few items that are easy to accomplish; one being, eating alone someday in a restaurant.

Im afraid to eat alone because I am not sure of what to do while I wait for my food or while Im eating where to stare or whatnot. These are the hurdles I must overcome before embarking on this journey and eventually crossing off this item on my to do list. Quite frankly, I just dont have the confidence to dine alone. I have flown alone though, which sadly was one of my greatest accomplishments of 2009.

When I see people dining alone my heart instantly breaks. I want to walk over to their table and join them, but then again if they really wanted to eat with someone they could have found someone (I usually assure myself with that bit of information.)

While browsing through Yahoo News, I noticed the article How Not To Feel Humiliated When Dining Alone. The article is found at, http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/food/how-not-to-feel-humiliated-when-dining-alone-567610/.

Ive talked to a few friends of mine asking if they have ever eaten alone, and what they have done to pass the time in between ordering and your food arriving.

The answer is always the same; either bring a newspaper, magazine or book to read. Most say that it is great to eat alone.

The article talks about it taking guts to eat alone and that is the truth. Even though part of me pities the lonely diner, the other part of my envies them for having that confidence I lack.

If your phone has the internet on it, you could always be on that the whole time, although I only have my usual five Web sites I check and that takes less than five minutes to go through. When I wait for someone to show up wherever we are meeting I usually peruse my cell phone and the seconds dont go by fast enough.

Now, not every place is an acceptable restaurant to dine alone. Acceptable places include diners, family restaurants, small places, the like. I wouldnt attempt going to places like The Friars Table (I only grab a few drinks there alone and only because I know some of the staff there), Buffalo Wild Wings (where everyone is there with friends watching a sports game) or Mr. Bills (a cozy little place in Cheektowaga).

One day, eventually, I will dine alone. Ill get up enough courage to tell the hostess its only a table for one and Ill truly experience life and cross off another item on my list of things to do before I die.

Do You Know How To Do These Things?

nospam@example.com (Nicole Gawel) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 14:52:18 -0500

Just move into your new place and want to hang that picture of you climbing up Mount Everest with two of your closest friends?

Well, with a little step-by-step instruction you can hang that picture, without anyones help.

In a recent article on NBCs Today Shows Web site, it gives you instructions on the nine things that every woman needs to know. I dont know about you, but I was never keen on being a domestic diva and cringed at the thought of having to do my own housework and cooking if I ever moved out of my moms house. The instructions on how to do the nine things are explicitly stated.

The first tip is dealing with a fallen button. I took home economics in middle school. I was taught the basics; how to make scrambled eggs, how to iron a button down shirt (not very good though, but I passed), and how to sew a straight line if something ripped. My mom taught me how to sew a button. Actually, I make memory boards so its pretty essential to know how to sew a button on the right way.

I dont know about you, but I certainly dont have basic thread colors, a needle and scissors in my purse. Maybe I should seriously consider adding it in though. I do have a tote size purse. The kind of tote that could fit a small child comfortably in it.

Tying a necktie.

In high school we had to wear ties when we performed in concert band. My mom tied those for me. So, I still have no clue how to tie a tie. I might want to brush up on those instructions for my future spouse.
Posture is a major thing. In the article it talks about ways to improve it. For Christmas I received a Wii Fit Plus. If that doesnt correct your posture I dont know what will.

Roasting a chicken makes the number five spot. Sorry, but even this is beyond my comprehension. Cooking a portion of a dinner is off my radar so Im not even going to attempt this one. There are too many steps and not enough time in the day. I would have to scratch shopping out of the picture and who wants to do that?

Learning a basic waltz. I cant dance. I took dancing lessons for five years and yet cannot dance to save my life. I am void of rhythm. I try, and it is not pretty. One of my friends though is trying to teach me a basic waltz I guess you could say. Baby steps.

How to mix the perfect martini is a piece of cake for me. I grew up behind a bar. Next

Number seven is throwing a yard sale. Yard sales are popular around these neck of the woods so those of you who do not know how to hold one, can brush up on the steps in the article.

How to compost is number eight. Since Im a suburban girl this will never be an option for me and Im really not sure why its the top nine things to learn. I definitely will not be digging out my overalls and taking part in learning this one.

The last one is building a fire. Let me tell you about building a fire, its not easy. A few years ago one of my friends, Christy, and I went up to my step grandparents cabin in Stockton, New York. We wanted to be adventurous and start a fire.

We put some wood on, some newspapers and kept lighting matches. Several went out before they hit the pile intended for fire, but the ones that worked smoldered out and did not create a fire. Christy and I must have gone through almost the entire box of matches. Moral of the story, if you want to survive in the middle of the woods, dont take us on a trip with you, and there is your tip of the day.

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