traveling gypsy/domestic goddess?

I wish to be a domestic goddess.  I want to be a 25 y/o, non-Polish, shorter with brunette hair and not so round version of Martha Stewart.  Except not so complicated.  I don’t want to make 57 step-cake or pot roast that require imported herbs and foreign culinary techniques taught at Le Cordon Bleu.  Okay.  Maybe I want to be Sandra Lee, but dammit, I’m not admitting that out right.  Because she doesn’t know what a bra is and every sentence that comes out of her mouths is started with a laugh.  And she’s so perky and blond. 

Nevermind, I want to be Fleur as a domestic goddess, because you can’t improve on the perfection of my personality, just my domestic skillz.  With a ‘z.’

I think at one point, a few years ago, perhaps slightly before high school graduation, up until the Man moved to Seattle, I WAS a domestic goddess.  I sewed, I cleaned, I was a decorating fiend, a crafter.  Amazing at laundry.  A folding wonder, perfectly folded shirts that are exactly the same size.  I’ve given demonstration on that, my step-Ma is always astonished.  I was organized and even had plants!  I didn’t actually cook in the last two years of my domestic goddessness, but I didn’t actually eat.  BUT!  I had gone through culinary school, so it’s not like I didn’t know how to cook. 

Now, my domestic goddessness has been reduced to cooking and cleaning.  And I do a half-assed job at both.  The condo is a terrible mess and there is laundry in the dryer that has been there since (hold your sighs and sounds of disgust, please) Sunday.  Actually, Saturday night, but give me some slack.  AND!  My clothes are still laying on the back of the couch waiting, since Saturday, to be put away.  My meals consist of frozen veggies or prepared salad mix with chicken.  Although I have a thousand ways to make chicken – tonight its lemon pepper, yesterday it was parmesan crusted.

The condo has no sense of style.  We do not have anything hanging, except for some photos I took of us.  We are not organized.  In fact, we can be labeled ‘disheveled.’  Everything is everywhere.  I’m a domestic failure.

I really want to make the condo a ‘home,’ but I think it’s a female thing – yearning to live something that representative of that woman’s individuality or whatever.  I’ve always ‘customized’ my place, if you will.  In high school, I had the freaking sweetest bedroom ever!  I thought it all out, painted, searched around, bought all the crap with my own money I made at the pretzel store.  And through the numerous places I’ve lived since moving out (6 place in 7 years), throwing up curtains and sprucing the place up made if feel like a stable place, even though they weren’t. 

Here I am.  Currently living in a gorgeous place.  The most remarkable ‘home’ I’ve lived in.  It’s got great potential because it’s already an amazing place.  But it just depresses me.  We may be leaving the condo in a couple months, so it’ll be a(nother) new place.  And I’ll have the same process.  I’ll think, “Oooo!  I’m gonna finally spruce up those lamps ‘cause they will be great next to the bed.  And I’ll diddle with the drapes, and I’ll find some nice bedside tables.  A rug, I’ll get a rug for the living room to tie everything together in there.  Then I’ll whip up some art to hang on the wall and this house will be a HOME.” 

But, it’s highly likely that THAT place, the anticipated new place, will be temporary too, so I don’t think I’ll even hang pictures there.  And my domestic goddess skills will scale back another notch.  I might not even unpack my cookware.  We may just eat convenience foods, string cheese and salami, all day every day.  I might just hang up 5 outfits and cycle them, leaving the rest of my garments to deteriorate in the cardboard boxes. 

Now, after writing this I think to myself: “Self, perhaps your domestic goddess skillz don’t need improvement.  Maybe they are on a hiatus.  They need opportunity.”  Ah, yes.  Oh, no – there are no upcoming opportunities.  And now, that’s just sad.

Despite having the ‘what’s the point?’ mentality towards current and future domestic goddess attempts, I think I am going to buy myself a new sewing machine.  Perhaps it will inspire me and I’ll forget that I’m a modern day yuppified traveling gypsy.  Can traveling gyspies be domestic goddesses?