Parental Guidance

   

    The amount of times this summer I’ve had to ask myself “Can I do anything without my parents' help?” is too numerous to count. It is a terrible, pride-shattering situation when you finally admit to yourself that your parents actually knew what they were talking about and that they were right all along.

     I thought this summer, when I moved out, I would be completely self-sufficient. I would support myself and not have to ask my parents for anything. WRONG! The sheer volume of things I’ve had to call my parents for is ridiculous and most of them concern very minuscule things too.

Let’s take my mom for instance:

    I probably call my mom every other day for the sole purpose of asking her how long a specific food lasts before going bad. She then explains that since I’ve had (blank) food in my fridge for more than three weeks, I should probably throw it out. Let me tell you, expiration dates come and go very quickly when you are eating for one person.
    My mom also receives the frantic wal-mart calls from me when I’m grocery shopping and “can’t find the little yellow box that you normally use.” Yeah, back home I paid no attention to what was in our pantry or what my parents cooked with. That was a bad idea, and just a word of advice to everyone still living at home: cook with your parents as much as possible!! It used to be cute or funny that I didn’t know how to cook, but it’s not cute or funny that I eat PB&J sandwiches at least four days out of the week.

And then there's my father:
    Man, do I feel bad for this guy. I'm sure he dreads every phone call he sees coming from me. My dad has had to deal with some pretty stupid conversations with me. Like when I was trying to hook up my cable; obviously he could not see the TV or the cable box or the cords, and yet I still called him to help me after I had already spent three days trying to figure it out myself.
    He also has to help me with "big kid" stuff that I've never had to deal with before. A good example of this is when I realized my internship company had started me on a 401K plan. All I knew about a 401K plan is that it deals with retirement. So when I first saw money being taken out of my paycheck for this, I immediately called daddy and asked him what this nonsense was and how to fix it. He explained the situation to me and told me to call the HR people. I did this and took notes during the conversation with the HR representative because I then had to call my dad back and ask him to explain what in the world they were talking about.
    Probably the most stressful time for my dad this summer, however, is when I decided to make his pico de gallo recipe. I literally called him every five minutes. "What type of onion goes in it?" "It's too salty, what should I do?" "How do I cut an avocado?" "I cut myself with a knife; it should be okay, right?"

    In all fairness, the situations I've been through over here could be ten times worse, so I'll accept the ones I'm dealing with. But every day I am reminded that, no matter how far away I am from my parents, I will always need them. Admitting this to myself was very difficult because I am very independent and I hate asking anyone for help with anything, but I have come to realize I would not be where I'm at today if it weren't for my parents.

 

***My parents: the best.***

Cooking Up Chaos

    Those of you who know me know I am a terrible cook. But for those of you who don't know me: I am a terrible cook!
    My cooking track record at home includes broiling a cake mix recipe so it ended up as pudding instead of cake, setting soy sauce on fire and most exciting, giving myself food poisoning from the eggs I cooked one morning! And none of those cooking problems disappeared when I came here, so it goes without saying, it has been interesting.
    I could probably devote an entire blog to my cooking experiences, but instead I'll just give you the highlights of the past few weeks.
    One of the most interesting parts of cooking over here is the fact that my apartment doesn't have a microwave. You never realize how much you actually use something until you don't have access to it anymore. I have become very acquainted with my oven; we're best buds now. But not having a microwave means I can't warm up left-overs. I have to either reheat them on the oven top or bring them to work. Seriously, it's hard enough to cook for one person as it is, but then adding not being able to warm stuff up really stinks.
    The first couple of weeks took a little time getting used to not having microwave. One day I came home from work and was really tired and craving some nachos. So I got all the ingredients out and made my plate up all nice. It looked super delicious, until I turned around with my plate and remembered I didn't have a microwave. Needless to say, I ate cold nachos for dinner that night and it was quite disgusting.
    To add to the cooking fun, I also don't have a toaster, which I have discovered is a vital part of my breakfast routine. One morning, I decided to make toast for breakfast. The issue of not having a toaster seemed like a minimal feat at the time. I figured I would just throw it in the oven on broil for a couple of minutes and it will taste exactly the same as toasting it. In theory, this method would have worked if I had not forgotten the toast was in there. The smell of burning bread soon notified me of my mistake, but by this time I was running late for work so I had the breakfast of champions: burnt toast!
    Now, while we're on the topic of burning things, (oh yes, it gets worse) I should mention that I burnt coffee. Now I know what you're thinking, "Is that even possible?" And that's exactly what I thought too as I was scrubbing coffee pieces off the bottom of my coffee pot. So yes, it is possible and I accomplished it. Twice.
    One of my favorite cooking experiences though has been a joint effort between me and one of the girls I have befriended here. She decided to cook ground beef with veggies and rice on the side. The beef had been in her freezer and we, not knowing any better, just threw it in the frying pan. Well, it was rock solid and by the time we got it where we could chop it up with a spatula, the whole outside layer was completely burnt. So she stood there picking off and throwing away all the pieces that had been destroyed. It worked, and we got it down to a place where the meat was edible, although there was not very much left. The logical solution for that? Add bacon, of course! It was definitely a cooking adventure and surprisingly, the meal turned out pretty good!
   As bad as those are, I have had some highlights to my solitary cooking career since I've been here. I recreated my dad's award-winning pico de gallo recipe, I have made pretty delicious freshly-squeezed lemonade and I've made pizza bagels. But most importantly, I have mastered the omelet. I have made eggs quite a few times since I've been here and although hesitant at first, based on prior experience, I have yet to give myself food poisoning again!

 

***These are some of the things I've cooked here that actually came out decent. Three weeks and I only have four meals to show off, pretty pathetic.***

 

Miss Non-Congeniality

    Prepare yourselves, dear readers, to momentarily be transferred into the world of "Bethany's Complete Stupidity." 

    It's a fascinating world for everyone else, but on my end, it mostly results in total embarrassment. Now, this is probably the story that most inspired this blog, and it's a pretty funny story at that. 

    One thing about living in Bloomington is that it rains--a lot! Discovering this bit of information, I decided to invest in an umbrella, which I had to use the very next day. 

    One morning, it was raining on my way to work. Due to the fact that it takes me a good five minutes to walk from my car to the building (because this place is huge) I opted to use my umbrella. 

    As I neared the building, I realized there was no cover or extended roof of some sort above the revolving doors I had to go through. So as I was walking up to the door, I thought that if I folded up my umbrella outside I would get wet and that would defeat the purpose of carrying an umbrella this whole way. 

    I then proceeded to have an argument with myself in my head. As I was walking I told myself, "I can totally fit myself and my expanded umbrella into this revolving door. Yeah! I can easily do that; not a problem!" 

     I was still encouraging myself with these words as I walked into the revolving doors......and got stuck. 

    My umbrella, left arm and half of my body was in one section of the doors, while my head and rest of my body was in the other section. 

    I paused for a few seconds, contemplating what I should do. And then I looked behind me and (bearing in mind this was the time everyone was getting to work) there was a group of people starting to line up at the door. When I looked at the guy directly behind me and apologized, he was laughing so hard and said "better you than me." 

    So I ended up reaching me right hand into the section my umbrella was stuck in and folded it up, then I had to manually push the door and squeeze out, re-scan my badge and try it all over again. 

    By this point, I was wet like I was originally trying to avoid, but mostly I was embarrassed. I walked through the door the second time and acted like nothing had happened, but I am positive that I was the topic of many lunchtime jokes that day. 

***Just trying to be discrete, but when you are as clumsy as I am, the universe takes pleasure in announcing it to the world.***

No Hablo

    You never realize how much your hometown impacts you until you actually leave your hometown. One of the things I've developed from traveling a lot is a true love for Las Cruces (my hometown). Yeah, many times I say I hate it, but that is just because I have lived there for 19 years and I get a little stir-crazy at points. But I really do love Las Cruces; it is a beautiful city and I appreciate it for playing a role in shaping me into the woman I am today.
    One of the things that I truly have pride in is the Hispanic/Mexican culture that I have grown up with. Of course I'm white and nothing is going to change that but in my heart, I'm Mexicana toda! And not only me, but my family (just take a look at my dad's salsa) and pretty much everybody from the Las Cruces area shares that same heritage to some extent.
    That being said, you don't really realize how much that heritage has impacted you until you go, let's say, to somewhere like Illinois.
    Back home, we have a whole shelf at walmart dedicated solely to tortillas. But over here, they have one or two brands and even the locals have warned me against them. I have also intentionally steered clear of Mexican restaurants.
    One of the funniest things, however, is the communication between Midwesterners and myself. I never realized how much I casually incorporate the Spanish language into my vernacular. Saying things as simple as "hasta pronto," "mas o menos" or just substituting everyday words for Spanish words.
   The momentary look of confusion on people's faces is priceless. When this happens, I have to retract my sentence and explain what I was trying to say. It is pretty humorous because I know those are common phrases that most people in New Mexico would pick up on, but here people look at me like I'm a circus clown.
    And honestly, it almost makes me want to speak more Spanish around people here, even if they do think I'm a freak. I guess the point is that everybody is affected by something in life they grew up around, but it's better to embrace whatever that may be because in the end, it's who you are and it's who you are supposed to be.

***The Zia Symbol is the official symbol for New Mexico. It is has a very symbolic meaning that I am not going to take the time to write out, so you can visit the link below to get a better understanding.*** 

Zia Symbol Meaning

Prologue

     As I mentioned in the "About Me" section, my name is Bethany Blundell and I hail from the great city of Las Cruces, New Mexico (yes, that is in the United States).

     I just finished my freshman year at New Mexico State University. I am pursuing a major in Journalism/Mass Communications with a double major in Communication Studies and a minor in Spanish. 

     Two weeks ago, as soon as I finished my finals, I packed my bags and my mom and I started the 1,300+ mile trip to my new home. Yes, we drove and yes, it was probably an insane idea. 

     You see, I was offered a summer internship in Bloomington/Normal, Illinois with State Farm in the Public Affairs department. 

     It has been two weeks since I started my internship here. I have never lived by myself for an extended amount of time and honestly, I still rely on my parents for many things. Considering this fact, and the fact that I knew no one in Bloomington before I came here, I have already experienced many new things and have had to deal with becoming a "big kid" all by myself. 

    The stories I already have are numerous and many people found my struggles quite amusing. Therefore, my mentor/supervisor at State Farm joked about me starting a blog. And that joke soon became a reality. 

    So sit back, read, laugh and enjoy learning about Adventures of the Clueless. 

***This is a picture of a sunrise in Las Cruces. One of the things I love most about my hometown are the sunrises and sunsets, they are some of the most beautiful ones I have ever seen.***