Day 2: The Patch Experience

As I get better at this, these will be shorter, but right now I'm still trying to figure out what is the best format.

So far today, I've done as little as possible. It took me FOR-eh-VER (Yeah, that was a Sandlot reference...deal with it.) to get to sleep last night so I woke up around 2pm and began my task for the day: putting a patch on the inner thigh of my one and only pair of jeans.

For those of you unaware, I am a "full-figured" woman, which is the nice way of saying I have a fat ass. I'm telling you that, to tell you this: Jeans are the most expensive article of clothing in my closet, the only thing that even nears it's almost 100 dollar price are my bras which is a story for a different day. I can only assume that the reason the textile industry can get away with selling plus size jeans at such a high cost is due to the fact that there is a common belief among the execs of these companies that all fat people are rich. Well guess what Lane Bryant/Torrid...this isn't the middle ages. Body weight is not a reflection on one's personal financial status. So due to all of this, I can afford exactly one pair of jeans. When I realized I needed a new pair, I dragged my friend to Lane Bryant and tried on approximately 20 pairs of jeans before settling on the boot cut "Right Fit" brand of jeans.

So I'm sure after reading that, you, like myself can understand my ultimate frustration when the worst things happened. (Well, not the worst thing. The worst thing is eating jalapenos and then giving a public speech on horseback, but that's another story) I stepped up to get into my mom's mini-van and I heard the loudest ripping sound and immediately felt a cool breeze on my inner thigh that I had not previously been there. UGH! NO! Curse these curvy thighs of mine that rub together so much that they create enough friction to literally cause fabric to disappear. After my initial anger subdued I realized the only logical thing I could do, on account of me not having the 78 dollars to buy a new pair, was to patch it up.

I decided the best way to explain this experience was through a picture diary.


The brand of patch:
The jeans pre-washed:
I really had no idea what I was doing when I embarked on this, but I figured, how hard could it be. Now when I got to Wal-Mart to get my patch, they really didn't have many options, so I got the one above because it was less material and cost me $1.17.

Step 1: Read the directions:


I know it's kind of hard to read, but the first step it says is to wash the jeans. Which seems logical but my first thought is: If this material is delicate enough that my thighs can cause this, what the hell is my mother's second hand washing machine going to do to it?!? I called her to consult and she said something to the affect (or is effect??) of, "Wash the damn jeans, Andrea, and quit calling me at work." I put the jeans in the washer and dryer against my better judgement and to my surprise it wasn't that bad.




Step 2: Preheat Iron and Cut Patch to Desired Size

<< Iron used. This particular iron did not have a "dry cotton setting" per the instructions but I simply guessed on the temp and didn't put any water in it. COTTON AND DRY

Original size of patch: measured about 4" x 6". The thought did >> come across my mind as to why someone would need a patch that big, but like I said, it came even bigger, so I'm clearly not the only person with this problem, nor the biggest person.

I cut the patch to about 1.5" x 3". Now the directions said to cut the fabric to the desired size and shape, but I was unaware what my desire should be. I want it to cover the hole, but my question was how much bigger should it be. I tried to call the number on the back of the package, but there weren't any options for questions on use, so I just did what made the most sense to me.

Step 3: Iron on. The directions say to hold the iron on the patch for 30 seconds. Not approximately....just 30 seconds. I really hate unclear directions, but even more so I hate directions that are so exact that they don't allow any kind of wiggle room. What was I supposed to do? Set a timer? I guess the average housewife doing this probably has some kind of egg timer, but I do not. I just counted in my head 1, one thousand, 2, one thousand, 3, one thousand and so on. This turned out to work just fine, but even so, my mind wandered into a land where the iron burned the apparent fragile material that my jeans are composed of.

The finished product:

It really turned out quite nicely, although I'm sure it won't last long, maybe that's why you get such big pieces of patch. I better save those for future attacks on my jeans by my thighs.

Day 1- It started with a movie...

Hello out there in the internet world. I suppose I should begin this with telling a little bit about myself, although, you will learn much of what you need to know as the journey progresses.

I'm Andrea, I'm rarely called anything but Andrea and I'm okay with that. While I enjoy giving people nicknames I rarely accept ones they have before meeting me, nor do I particularly like being called a nickname. I'm 22 and next Monday I start my 5th and last year of college. At this point, I have every intention on getting my degree in English and then my masters (or is it master's??) in Library Sciences. (Thanks, Ally.) It's 100% possible that this could change at any moment.

Now...on to the reason for this. I have been told time and time again, by several friends and relatives, that I should write a book about my life, my past, my experiences. I figured it would be just as easy to write it as it was happening and throughout those, include past anecdotes that pertain to the subject. However, I didn't actually come up with this until after watching Julie & Julia starring Amy Adams and Meryl Streep. I must admit, I am an avid movie goer and many of these post will most likely include some version of an attempt at "reviewing" any movies that I have seen. Julie and Julia was interesting and enjoyable, but I wonder how much of that is because I grew up watching Julia Child reruns. I have never been interested in cooking, but I liked watching her because she was fairly amusing for an old lady.

Thoughts of today: self-checkout line etiquette

For those who don't know, self-checkouts are stations set-up at large groceries stores and department super stores where you scan, bag and pay for your own items all at one handy-dandy little station. Sounds easy, right?!? WRONG. The damn things hardly ever work the way they were intended and by the time they do work, you could have just gone through the freaking line.
(Just a note: if you're in a hurry, always go to the line with a middle aged woman as the cashier, not old, but like...30-39. She is, undoubtedly uninterested in talking to you and will scan your groceries and get you the hell out of there before you can even begin to figure out the hieroglyphics of touch screen buttons at the self-checkout.)

Today, I went with my little sister, Rachel, to a department superstore in Garland with said checkouts. First of all, I stupidly went shopping for school supplies on the night of the first day of public school. There were kids running around all willy-nilly like an indoor animal let out in the backyard to run free for a few minutes. So I quickly find my spirals and notebooks and get to the shortest line and of course, it's the dreaded self-checkout. What do I do? Do I get in a longer line so I don't have to deal with the annoying, condescending voice of the self-checkout yelling at me to sack my groceries or do I just put my big girl panties on and deal. I chose the latter, and I walk right up to register, that looked the closest to being unoccupied and started putting my spirals and folders (yes, I still color coordinate my school supplies with the different classes) on the belt and wait for the woman ahead to finish paying. Rachel then informs me that it is rude and that I'm encroaching on the woman's space.

Was I? Was I breaking some unwritten code for self-checkout etiquette? I immediately brushed the though off saying to myself, screw that, I do what I want. Nobody's taking my spot from me. I think that's the cutthroat way of the retail world. You walk a little faster when you see someone getting in a line you want, you hold on to something on sale right until you leave a store, just in case you do want it, and if the belt is empty you put your stuff up there. I didn't stare at the woman while she paid, although it took a lot of restraint from me. I just did what I had to in order to get the hell out of there.

Well this is my first one of these, more to come. This is more for myself than anyone else, so I do not promise that it makes any sense, nor do I promise hilarity or enjoyment on the readers end, although the last two would be a nice side effect.