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I Am Woman
In contrast to our weekly dude column Man Cave, I Am Woman adds a feminine touch by chronicling the weekend adventures of a single Philadelphia student / socialite.
I spent the weekend unintentionally bonding with my new roommate of less than a month. As anyone has experienced — girl or guy, living with someone new is never an easy task. However if you want to avoid hair-pulling arguments like "who washed the dishes last" early on, I suggest creating moments together that range from incredibly typical to the unexpected.
Throw a Sex and the City Marathon There were no recent breakups that would usually provoke this 
sort of behavior, but on Sunday we watched most of season three of Sex and the City. The 1998 HBO original featuring four 30-something friends living fabulous yet dramatic lives in New York City grabbed our attention so fast it kept us on the couch for six hours straight.
My roommate — a newbie to the series, with a guilty pleasure for strong dialogue in TV shows, became the perfect candidate. Despite its emotional-rollercoaster storylines, Carrie Bradshaw’s narrative and unbreakable bond to her girlfriends were too relatable to turn off. The question, which one of the four women are you, became an icebreaker in itself (my roommate’s a Carrie and I’m a Miranda, we determined). At the end, it was deciphering what went wrong with Aiden and Carrie’s relationship (the first time around) that brought us to share our own experiences with boys ...
Girl vs. Mouse This weekend a mouse fled across the floor of our apartment. For two girls casually 
watching a show, this had the potential to turn into a disaster. We decided, thought, that we had enough of this damn creature and it was game on with our furry friend.
We picked up a mousetrap at Rite Aid for about $3 and smothered it with peanut butter. Like fishermen, we set it in the trash room and waited for a bite. When we heard that awful yet reassuring snap — disturbingly resembling the moment the last corn kernel pops in the microwave — we knew it was over for Mr. Squeaker. The disposing of the body showed both of our strength — not only that we can successfully get rid of a rodent, but that we could work together and finish the job.
I'd say we're well on our way to making this work out!
A perfect complement to weekly dude column "Man Cave," Jillian Weir-Reeves' "I Am Woman" adds a feminine touch by chronicling the weekend adventures of a single social butterfly in the city of sisterly love.
You know that annoying person who, once the weather gets a little warmer, feels the need to workout and sign up for gym classes after sitting on her ass all winter? They try to encourage their entire group of friends to workout with them in preparation for the “ultimate beach body." Well, that person is me. It's like a switch goes off in my mind and I feel compelled to workout. I jump right into the swing of things with Vitamin Water, Ensure shakes, Luna Bars, Pilates, yoga in the morning, and cute little exercise clothing. I look pretty legit to others, but all my close friends know I’m a fraud.
Along with the exercise, I've convinced myself that all the time spent in the gym needs to be coupled with dietary restrictions. I allow myself meat twice a week, sweets once a week and I try to drink three glasses of water a day. I keep track of my weight day by day as if I am going to see immediate results.
So, of course, I was completely sore on Sunday. My legs and abs felt like they were wrapped in a million rubber bands. I stayed in bed all day, not wanting to move or even raise my arm to change the
TV channel. I did manage exert all the energy I had for the day by waddling to the kitchen to make myself a salad. As painful as it is, I will be in the gym come Monday and Tuesday. I have no idea why I put myself through this annual torture. Maybe it is a curse of sub-conscience vanity?
A perfect complement to weekly dude column "Man Cave," Jillian Weir-Reeves' "I Am Woman" adds a feminine touch by chronicling the weekend adventures of a single social butterfly in the city of sisterly love.
As an urbanite in my early 20s, the idea of suburban life has the potential to shock me into an early menopause. But hustle-bustle city life can leave a girl a little restless. I felt the need to shake things up a bit. My wallet wouldn't allow me to take an extravagant trip to Vegas or L.A., so I settled for the next best thing: my father’s time share in upstate New York. As a family we never use it — most of the time it's rented to older couples or teens wanting to play “house.”
Luckily for me, the house was open this weekend. I decided to leave my girlfriends in the city, and instead invited my kinda-sorta-boyfriend-type-thing. We had a good time during the road trip from Philadelphia to the Adirondacks; it was fun in a cheesy-license-plate-game-playing, cranking-up-the-Spice-Girls, pass-the-Twizzlers kind of way.
When we arrived at the cabin, the first thing I wanted to do was walk along the water. I forgot just how beautiful the scenery was around the house. It sits on a back corner lot that faces a clear lake rimmed with evergreen pine trees. The shore was decorated with a sprinkling of gray and chestnut rocks. It was romantic, even through the overcast. The rest of the weekend was spent in typical log-cabin fashion: full-course meals, white wine, roaring fireplaces, hikes and fishing. It was the city-life antidote I didn't even know I needed.
A perfect complement to weekly dude column "Man Cave," Jillian Weir-Reeves' "I Am Woman" adds a feminine touch by chronicling the weekend adventures of a single social butterfly in the city of sisterly love.
Even though I was surrounded by strangers — and they were all wearing masks — I somehow felt at ease. The music was loud enough to cancel out the various conversations, but low enough not to cancel out my internal dialogue that bubbled with excitement.
At first, when a friend of mine suggested the idea of attending a masquerade ball, I was turned off. It's hard enough to break the ice when you're in a room full of people you don't know, but if they're all wearing masks? Feels like deliberate avoidance. But after a week full of never-satisfied bosses (ed. note: not it!), grumpy professors and demanding friends, I wanted to take a break from this face-forward life of mine. I figured, it'd be nice to play pretend and be someone else for just one night. After all, it was my first weekend off in a while — and I already had a dress.
Beauty pageant contestants smile until their cheeks hurt, strut on a stage and put on little outfits — all with the hopes that the judges like them best. I've never been a huge fan of pageants, however a good friend of mine requested my help during this weekend's Miss Carribean Queen competition. Against my better judgement I agreed because I was curious to see what all the hoopla was about. My job as assistant was not as difficult as my friend's, I was mostly an errand girl, addressing the contestants' concerns. I did a good job hiding my indifference and acted engaged, all while discreetly observing the ladies to what drove them to participate. And as I watched them practice their speeches and their dances I saw that it genuinely made them happy. There's my answer. Who am I to judge?
The following day I agreed to go on a date with a guy my friend recommended. We agreed to meet at the Continental on Chestnut Street, since I didn't want him to know where I lived. I chose the restaurant because: One, if the date turned out to be horrid I could make a quick exit and do some shopping, and two, because I love Continental. On the date, I felt like a pageant contestant myself. All he did was interview me. I hate interview dates, it's such a crutch. Yes, you can ask me questions and I do the same to you. However, when we don't explore a common interest and move on to the next question, what is that? Something I cannot stand. So there I was with my fake smile, in my little outfit with a string of profanities threading through my brain.
Sunday I looked for a job. My current place of employment isn't conducive to my latest credit card statement, love for sweet cocktails or rent payment. I posted my resumé tons of websites and filled out applications in Center City. Later, feeling optimistic about my future prospects in the work force, I treated the girls to dinner.
It only comes once a year, but it’s more special to me than any other holiday. This isn't one you can buy a Hallmark card for, though. I'm talking about Spring Break — also known as my personal refuge delivered from the gods. I relish in the entire week when I don't have to worry about deadlines, 8 a.m. classes, or papers. My brain shuts down to higher thinking and I'm left to do what I please.
This year I didn't travel anywhere exotic — partly due to my procrastination — but I did have fun. I went back to my hometown of Staten Island, where people say "dawg" instead of "dog" and "cawfee when they want a cup of joe, and, despite popular belief, it is one of the five boroughs in New York City. I stayed with my best friend since middle school for most of the time. And between the two of us we ran our havoc — clubbing until four in the morning, teasing the boys, shopping spurges, etc. I love my best friend because, even though we go to colleges that are miles apart, we can get together and fall right into place. The last day we had together we drove to our favorite place in the Todd Hill neighborhood. Todd Hill features the best views on the island and, as cliché as it sounds we share it as a favorite destination.The spot we go to provides views of the Verazzano Bridge and parts of Brooklyn and Manhattan. We talked all night in the car about everything we have been through, amazing and horrible. We fell asleep sometime after midnight, but she woke me up for the sunrise. It was another experience for the memory books ... now back to school.
I didn't know whether it was because mine was so horrid or that I had just taken an extremely hard midterm, but I was intent on throwing my friend a fabulous 21st birthday party. We decided to host the event at my place because it has the most room. I created the menu and the drink list with her favorite choices in mind and invited our dearest friends. The stage was set and although I over estimated my skills as a bartender — everyone said the drinks were too strong — we had a really good time counting down to her birthday at the stroke of midnight. The party ended around 3 a.m. when my iPod started repeating the same songs. I made sure everyone had a cab or designated driver to take them home before I passed out on my bed.
At noon the next day I had to clean the remnants of the previous night's fabulousness. I never understood how certain “house party phenomenons”, as I like to call them, occur. For example, cups and forks in the most random places, remote controls in the freezer and cake icing in the pots of my plants. Either way, my little game of hide 'n’ seek 'n’ clean absorbed most of my Saturday. I spent that night making outlines for a midterm test and answering phone calls from my girlfriends about the status of lost accessories.
Sunday, I missed home. I hadn't seen my family in a while and decided to take the drive to suburbia. I've always enjoyed long car rides, so the drive from Philly to Jerz was a relaxing one. My family was extra surprised to see me and it made me feel guilty that it had taken me so long to visit. My mother has this theory that since our family is so big — I am one out of five — that when one person leaves the dynamics shift. I think it's the opposite: the bigger the family the less you are missed. My siblings and I chipped in to make dinner that night and it felt really nice. Spring break, here I come.
In contrast to our weekly dude column Man Cave, I Am Woman adds a feminine touch by chronicling the weekend adventures of a single Philadelphia socialite.
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I should buy stock in H&M. All the cash I've spent in that store would make me one rich investor. What started out as a simple return on Friday, turned into a shopping spree — thanks to a 50-percent-off sale that provided incentive to stay. Plus, spring is approaching, which means all of my favorite stores are rolling out new merch. So I have this irrepressible obligation to buy, buy, buy. And the shops in Rittenhouse, I'm sure, will thank me for it.
Saturday I wanted to reward myself for the amazing job I've been doing in school lately so I went for a simple manicure/pedicure and called up a few friends for lunch that afternoon. The meal was decent and the price was reasonable. I had to let my wallet heal from the beating I gave it shopping. We capped the night off by seeing Blue Valentine at the Ritz. I really liked it because it doesn't showcase the typical Disney-fied love story where everything is perfect. It also feed my anti-Valentine emotions that were still lingering. I am not a pessimistic person when it comes to love and romance. I just have a love/hate relationship with love much like the love/hate relationship I have with John Mayer or red meat.
The following day I took a drive out to West Philadelphia for a get together my friend Aaron was hosting. I was not in the mood to go because Aaron and his significant other have the type of relationship that feels like it's being crammed down your throat. But at least it would provide me an opportunity to wear one of my new outfits. I would just sit happily through the story about how they met at Woody's if they dared to tell it for the millionth time. I secretly wanted to Blue Valentine their love. At his house Aaron made martini's so the constant eye batting between the two love birds was ironically easier to handle.
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