bookmark_borderMy new dumb hobby

I have been looking for a new hobby that does not involve any type of strenuous exercise. So I began my investigation into some fun things that might work for me.

Extreme ironing sounded like a possibly at first. I like ironing and all tasks housekeeping. But it was not what I thought was — I imagined getting some really intense creases on shirts that stand up by themselves. But no.

Buttoning these is very hard on the fingers.

So I landed on raw denim. It’s a hobby mostly practiced by men  — and there’s a pretty big following on Reddit. It’s super nerdy, niche and costs way too much money — so just up my alley.

I read this particular thread before I began this post for inspiration: How do you explain your raw denim hobby to others?

It all started because I hate flimsy jeans. And most women’s jeans are that awful stretch denim that clings unattractively — at least on chubby me — and become loose after multiple wears and washes.

And don’t get me started on those dumb jeggings. I will never wear yoga pants that masquerade as jeans.

So I order a pair of 18 Oz raw selvedge jeans. They are very thick.

  • Lightweight jeans — under 12 Oz.
  • Mid-weight jeans — from 12 Oz. – 16 Oz.
  • Heavyweight jeans — anything above 16 Oz.

They arrived stiff as a plank and it was like putting on pants made of cardboard. I have been wearing then around the house and I love them. Plus I can almost bend my knees in them now.

bookmark_borderI have not complained about anything once in the last two days…

I have not complained about anything once in the last two days. This was at the request of my beloved —who was (I think) joking. But it’s true and I admit it willingly — I can be a complainer.

Despite being a kind and warm-hearted person, I almost always have something bugging me.

It’s too hot! The shower has some impossible to remove stain. My ears are ringing again. Why don’t we have any cheese? Why don’t the neighbours cut their damn weedy lawn? Is that kid down the street still learning to play the saxophone!? I don’t have enough drawer space.

I was born in Toronto, the city where I have always lived. And I didn’t learn to speak English until I started school. That’s pretty typical for a child of immigrants — Slavic-language speaking immigrants specifically. I think that may hold the key to understanding what’s wrong with me.

I even found a whole academic conference about the temperaments of my people: Culture of Complaints in Russia and Eastern Europe. One of the papers presented:

There are also loads of academic papers like this one on related topics : The Negative Social World: The Polish Culture of Complaining.

And a dating site offering advice for engaging with my kind: Eastern European Personality Traits: The Secrets You Need to Know! (Warning: That site is totally bizarre and clickbaity, but I’ll take the “fiery passion of the Balkans” along with the fact that I am indeed sometimes “stubborn or inflexible, resistant to change and hesitant to try new approaches.”)