Yesterday at work, I got called into an impromptu meeting with my manager. Despite never having done anything to warrant termination, my immediate reaction was: I’m being fired. I was anxious and felt jittery. I started to sweat when, upon stepping into the office, my superior said, “You can close the door behind you.” The real reason behind the meeting? To let me know that I would be moving offices.
This is my general reaction any time a work superior asks to speak to me. Maybe it’s a function of today’s economic climate, or good old-fashioned Catholic guilt, but if I’m being honest, it’s more likely because I have yet to train myself how to handle this type of situation in an adult manner.
I think I need to attend some sort of Being an Adult education class, one that would include lessons on how not to break into a cold sweat just because your boss calls you into her office and how to be a good patient. It has taken me longer than I’d like to admit to learn that the person who asks smart and thoughtful questions at the doctor's office and the person undergoing the examination can, and should, be the same person. When my doctor ends our appointment with, ‘Do you have any questions?’ it still takes me a minute to remember that I’m supposed to respond to that question -- with actual questions. It’s like I’m waiting for my mom to show up, tell me to sit up straight, and pull a list of questions from her purse, even though I haven’t gone to a doctor’s appointment with her in nearly ten years.
You can take a classes on flower arranging or starting a freelance business. What I need is a class about being a real adult, about handling situations with aplomb, so that I can control my reaction when my boyfriend starts a conversation with, “I need to tell you...,”--cue my face falling--only to end with, “... that you have food in your hair,” which, though embarrassing, needn’t strike fear into my heart.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Potty Talk
Having recently started a new job, I’m deep in the throes of navigating a new work environment and asking myself all the questions any new employee asks herself: Will I be successful? How can I impress my boss? Will people like me? How much can I be on gchat while still appearing to be a good worker?
Another curious, yet oddly frequent work-related question reared its head recently, one I’ve been wondering about for a while now, long before I started this new job:
When/how is it appropriate to talk to co-workers in the bathroom?
Some of you might be thinking, “Ah ha! Trick question. It is never appropriate to talk to a co-worker while using the bathroom,” and I tend to agree with you.
I generally take the approach that bathroom exchanges should include mild pleasantries only, either in passing or at the sinks. If you are a good friend, I might talk to you while peeing. However, if there is a third party in the bathroom, I will suspend conversation. If you are my superior, I will not speak unless spoken to, and even then, I will try to cut the conversation short. It is very uncomfortable to talk about project deadlines while someone is staccato peeing next to you.
On my first day at my new job, someone mistook me for a friend and started asking me real work questions while we were side-by-side in the stalls. From the toilet, I had to say, “I think you’ve mistaken me for a different set of feet; I’m new, I just started working here today,” while I tried to refrain from doing something completely appropriate yet horribly mortifying while using the bathroom, like fart.
As if I needed more stress on my first day at a new job.
Another curious, yet oddly frequent work-related question reared its head recently, one I’ve been wondering about for a while now, long before I started this new job:
When/how is it appropriate to talk to co-workers in the bathroom?
Some of you might be thinking, “Ah ha! Trick question. It is never appropriate to talk to a co-worker while using the bathroom,” and I tend to agree with you.
I generally take the approach that bathroom exchanges should include mild pleasantries only, either in passing or at the sinks. If you are a good friend, I might talk to you while peeing. However, if there is a third party in the bathroom, I will suspend conversation. If you are my superior, I will not speak unless spoken to, and even then, I will try to cut the conversation short. It is very uncomfortable to talk about project deadlines while someone is staccato peeing next to you.
On my first day at my new job, someone mistook me for a friend and started asking me real work questions while we were side-by-side in the stalls. From the toilet, I had to say, “I think you’ve mistaken me for a different set of feet; I’m new, I just started working here today,” while I tried to refrain from doing something completely appropriate yet horribly mortifying while using the bathroom, like fart.
As if I needed more stress on my first day at a new job.
Monday, August 27, 2012
We got snacks now!
I love a road trip. I don’t drive very often so a nice long ride is a treat. I’m content to look out the window, sing along to mixed CDs, and observe other people in their cars for hours straight. But above all, my favorite part of a road trip is consuming road trip food.
What constitutes road trip food? For me, classic road trip food has a couple essential ingredients. (It goes without saying that trans-fats, partially hydrogenated oils, and salt are absolute musts, but here I’m using ingredients metaphorically)
1. Clever packaging.
When you’re spending two or more straight hours in a car (the minimum for a drive to be considered for a road trip), space is precious. You want to conserve space for maneuvering when singing, car dancing, or mooning other travelers. Thus, the ideal snack is smartly packaged to accommodate the appropriate quantity (King Size at least), while remaining easy to seal and stash. A box is too bulky; you want something in a bag. Or better yet, a sleeve, so you can eat a portion and then roll that sleeve closed and stash it in the car door or in the armrest until you get hungry for the remaining mini-Cinnabons or Hostess donuts in five minutes.
2. Many flavors in one.
Again, it is essential to avoid cramming too much unnecessary stuff into what is likely already a cramped space. A snack product that combines several flavors, or better yet, several foodstuffs within one package is a find. Skittles (six fruits in one package!) or loaded pizza Combos are stellar choices because they offer such bang for the bag.
3. Otherwise shame inducing.
By far, the most important quality of a good road trip snack is it must be an item that would make you feel ashamed and terrible to eat in any other situation. The beauty of road trip food is that generally all the food options are terrible. In my experience, “Abandon all hope ye who enter here” could easily hang above the entrance any rest stop food court, at least from the perspective of my bowel and my cholesterol. Whole Foods doesn’t operate in Ohio rest stations, and often the only truly healthy option is a bottle of water, which is probably leaching chemicals from the plastic anyway. There are no good choices, so there’s no need to feign interest in healthy living. A road trip is the time to unapologetically indulge your love of Cheetos or S’Barros pizza. There’s no need to apologize for wanting to crumble potato chips into a bag of chocolate lover’s trail mix and wash it all down with an Orange Crush. You’re on a road trip!
And when you feel crappy, gassy, and bloated in fifteen minutes, no need to apologize for that either. No one expects to feel good while in a car all day; as a favorite mentor of mine always says, “Too much sittin’.”
What constitutes road trip food? For me, classic road trip food has a couple essential ingredients. (It goes without saying that trans-fats, partially hydrogenated oils, and salt are absolute musts, but here I’m using ingredients metaphorically)
1. Clever packaging.
When you’re spending two or more straight hours in a car (the minimum for a drive to be considered for a road trip), space is precious. You want to conserve space for maneuvering when singing, car dancing, or mooning other travelers. Thus, the ideal snack is smartly packaged to accommodate the appropriate quantity (King Size at least), while remaining easy to seal and stash. A box is too bulky; you want something in a bag. Or better yet, a sleeve, so you can eat a portion and then roll that sleeve closed and stash it in the car door or in the armrest until you get hungry for the remaining mini-Cinnabons or Hostess donuts in five minutes.
2. Many flavors in one.
Again, it is essential to avoid cramming too much unnecessary stuff into what is likely already a cramped space. A snack product that combines several flavors, or better yet, several foodstuffs within one package is a find. Skittles (six fruits in one package!) or loaded pizza Combos are stellar choices because they offer such bang for the bag.
3. Otherwise shame inducing.
By far, the most important quality of a good road trip snack is it must be an item that would make you feel ashamed and terrible to eat in any other situation. The beauty of road trip food is that generally all the food options are terrible. In my experience, “Abandon all hope ye who enter here” could easily hang above the entrance any rest stop food court, at least from the perspective of my bowel and my cholesterol. Whole Foods doesn’t operate in Ohio rest stations, and often the only truly healthy option is a bottle of water, which is probably leaching chemicals from the plastic anyway. There are no good choices, so there’s no need to feign interest in healthy living. A road trip is the time to unapologetically indulge your love of Cheetos or S’Barros pizza. There’s no need to apologize for wanting to crumble potato chips into a bag of chocolate lover’s trail mix and wash it all down with an Orange Crush. You’re on a road trip!
And when you feel crappy, gassy, and bloated in fifteen minutes, no need to apologize for that either. No one expects to feel good while in a car all day; as a favorite mentor of mine always says, “Too much sittin’.”
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
You've got me feeling emotion
Most adults have experienced a hangover or two in their day. Headache, stomache, general malaise, maybe some time logged over the porcelain throne, retching. But most drinkers are prepared for this. With your head over the toilet, you think to yourself:
However, my cure, like so many others, has a major shortcoming. It only addresses the physical hangover. Sure, a few slices of pizza and a gallon of water might keep a raging headache at bay, but they’ll do nothing to address the feelings of shame and regret that assault your psyche the morning after a bender. What most people consider hangover cures only address a physical hangover, while grossly overlooking the far more insidious emotional hangover.
What’s an emotional hangover? Definition time:
E·mo·tion·al hang·o·ver / ih-moh-shuh-nl hang-oh-ver / n. the disagreeable emotional effects following heavy consumption of alcohol; characterized by intense feelings of shame and embarrassment over behaviors both remembered and blacked out; emotional responses are often disproportionate to the behavior that incited them, but the sufferer is unable to think rationally while in the hangover’s throes
Basically, during an emotional hangover my subconscious plays the role of that scary hag the Ancient Booer from Princess Bride, pointing at me and shouting:
Emotional hangovers are devastating. They’re the emotional equivalent of showing up to a friend’s party in a Canadian Tuxedo, only to realize that her Black Tie invitation wasn’t ironic. And also, that no one else at the party is fifteen drinks deep and acting like a monster.
The important thing to remember when confronted with an emotional hangover is that most other people at whatever function you attended were probably a little bit drunk too. So maybe you made a few foolish decisions, it happens to everyone. It’s likely that no one was paying you much attention anyway. The sad truth is there is no cure for an emotional hangover. However, you can assuage it if you remind yourself to relax and get out of your own head.
Some people are impervious to emotional hangovers. My friend Liz claims never to have had one, and I don’t doubt it. She’s not wracked with crippling self-doubt, with a ridiculous, creeping sense of doom that every other person at whatever boozy shindig she attended spent their entire evening watching her and judging her, thinking to themselves: Drunkest girl at the party!
For those of us that do suffer emotional hangovers, I’ve attempted to come up with my own little rhyming couplets warning. Here’s what I have so far:
“Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear. Beer before liquor, never been sicker. -- Why didn’t I heed those wise words?! Why didn’t I drink my ten gin and tonics before I drank those fifteen beers!?! Then I certainly wouldn’t be feeling this terrible!”There are as many ‘cures’ for hangovers as there are hangover sufferers. As in Sex Ed, only abstinence works a 100% of the time, but in situations where abstinence isn’t possible, my personal recommendation is some late night Vitamin G -- that’s grease, of course; pizza works best, but anything fried will do -- plenty of water, some serious sleep, and a backlog of DVR’d reality TV to see you through the following afternoon.
However, my cure, like so many others, has a major shortcoming. It only addresses the physical hangover. Sure, a few slices of pizza and a gallon of water might keep a raging headache at bay, but they’ll do nothing to address the feelings of shame and regret that assault your psyche the morning after a bender. What most people consider hangover cures only address a physical hangover, while grossly overlooking the far more insidious emotional hangover.
What’s an emotional hangover? Definition time:
E·mo·tion·al hang·o·ver / ih-moh-shuh-nl hang-oh-ver / n. the disagreeable emotional effects following heavy consumption of alcohol; characterized by intense feelings of shame and embarrassment over behaviors both remembered and blacked out; emotional responses are often disproportionate to the behavior that incited them, but the sufferer is unable to think rationally while in the hangover’s throes
Basically, during an emotional hangover my subconscious plays the role of that scary hag the Ancient Booer from Princess Bride, pointing at me and shouting:
“And that's what she is, the Queen of Refuse. So bow down to her if you want, bow to her. Bow to the Queen of Slime, the Queen of Filth, the Queen of Putrescence. Boo. Boo. Rubbish. Filth. Slime. Muck. Boo. Boo. Boo.”It’s scary how fittingly this dialogue describes me in the depths of an emotional hangover, when a stray -ito product bag (Fritos, Doritos, Tostitos, even Cheetos) might adhere itself to my downtrodden, be-sweatpanted person after an afternoon of watching old school Laguna Beach reruns.
Emotional hangovers are devastating. They’re the emotional equivalent of showing up to a friend’s party in a Canadian Tuxedo, only to realize that her Black Tie invitation wasn’t ironic. And also, that no one else at the party is fifteen drinks deep and acting like a monster.
The important thing to remember when confronted with an emotional hangover is that most other people at whatever function you attended were probably a little bit drunk too. So maybe you made a few foolish decisions, it happens to everyone. It’s likely that no one was paying you much attention anyway. The sad truth is there is no cure for an emotional hangover. However, you can assuage it if you remind yourself to relax and get out of your own head.
Some people are impervious to emotional hangovers. My friend Liz claims never to have had one, and I don’t doubt it. She’s not wracked with crippling self-doubt, with a ridiculous, creeping sense of doom that every other person at whatever boozy shindig she attended spent their entire evening watching her and judging her, thinking to themselves: Drunkest girl at the party!
For those of us that do suffer emotional hangovers, I’ve attempted to come up with my own little rhyming couplets warning. Here’s what I have so far:
Recall your drinks more or less? No need to stress. Can’t remember night’s end? FIND ALL NEW FRIENDS!It’s about as useful as the ditty I mentioned at the start.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Come down watch the whole thing explode
In college I had a friend with a tendency to talk endlessly. Once, while walking together to the library to study, she regaled me with a story about the thoughtfulness of her new boyfriend.
It happened that he was going off-campus to the run some errands and so he asked her if he could pick up anything for her. She asked him to pick her up some shaving cream, and as he wouldn’t accept any money from him for the item, she requested whatever brand was cheapest. When he returned, he presented her with a can of brand name shaving cream made especially for sensitive skin. She was flattered! I guess when you’re in college nothing says ‘I really like you’ like national brand shaving cream, except for maybe a mixed CD.
All I could think of while listening to this story was: What about me says I care to listen to you talk about the shaving cream your boyfriend bought for you? What about me screams that I have so few interesting things going on in my life that I would find it interesting to talk about the purported meaning behind the extra $1.50 your boyfriend spent on you at the drugstore? Ninety-nine percent of me was certain that the dullness of the story was a reflection on the teller but a small part of me was filled with self-doubt: Was it me? Was I a dull-seeming person, deserving of mindless stories about shaving cream?
It was the birth of the Shaving Cream Complex. Definition time:
The Shaving Cream Complex has continued to pop up in my life:
I might find myself at work, spending forty-five minutes looking for file, only to have the person who asked me to look for the file come back to tell me, rather unapologetically, ‘Whoops! I was wrong; it never existed.” In this moment, I think to myself: Is it me? Am I such a lackluster-seeming worker that hunting for something that never existed is as good a use of my time as any?
I might find myself out on a date, listening to my suitor tell me about how he’s recently started buying lunch meat to make himself sandwiches to take to work. In this moment, I think to myself: Is it me? Am I so bland-seeming a person as to be wowed by a man’s accomplishment of a menial task that most third graders wouldn’t pride themselves on?
When I find myself confronted by The Shaving Cream Complex, I take myself back to that walk to the library so many years ago when I resolved never to be the type of person to talk about, or seem deserving of listening to talk about, the merits of national versus store brand shaving cream gift purchases in the early stages of a relationship and things of that nature. There are far too many more important and interesting things to talk about, like common recipes that can be improved by the addition of bacon (Anything!) or Kim Richard’s abuse substance of choice (Everything!).
Hark: “Greeks! You were not born to live like brutes, but to press onward toward manhood and recognition!”
So tell me friends, have you ever been gripped by the Shaving Cream Complex? Or maybe you have a unique complex of your own. Do share.
It happened that he was going off-campus to the run some errands and so he asked her if he could pick up anything for her. She asked him to pick her up some shaving cream, and as he wouldn’t accept any money from him for the item, she requested whatever brand was cheapest. When he returned, he presented her with a can of brand name shaving cream made especially for sensitive skin. She was flattered! I guess when you’re in college nothing says ‘I really like you’ like national brand shaving cream, except for maybe a mixed CD.
All I could think of while listening to this story was: What about me says I care to listen to you talk about the shaving cream your boyfriend bought for you? What about me screams that I have so few interesting things going on in my life that I would find it interesting to talk about the purported meaning behind the extra $1.50 your boyfriend spent on you at the drugstore? Ninety-nine percent of me was certain that the dullness of the story was a reflection on the teller but a small part of me was filled with self-doubt: Was it me? Was I a dull-seeming person, deserving of mindless stories about shaving cream?
It was the birth of the Shaving Cream Complex. Definition time:
- Sha·ving Cream Com·plex /shey-ving kreem kuhm-pleks / n. characterizes the sense of self-doubt that creeps into my head when I find myself in a moderately depressing situation; one in which it is impossible to prove whether or not the sadness of the situation adheres in the situation itself or is a reflection on me. The mere idea that the situation I find myself in could be a direct reflection on me makes the situation exponentially more depressing and is a tremendous blow to my self-esteem.
The Shaving Cream Complex has continued to pop up in my life:
I might find myself at work, spending forty-five minutes looking for file, only to have the person who asked me to look for the file come back to tell me, rather unapologetically, ‘Whoops! I was wrong; it never existed.” In this moment, I think to myself: Is it me? Am I such a lackluster-seeming worker that hunting for something that never existed is as good a use of my time as any?
I might find myself out on a date, listening to my suitor tell me about how he’s recently started buying lunch meat to make himself sandwiches to take to work. In this moment, I think to myself: Is it me? Am I so bland-seeming a person as to be wowed by a man’s accomplishment of a menial task that most third graders wouldn’t pride themselves on?
When I find myself confronted by The Shaving Cream Complex, I take myself back to that walk to the library so many years ago when I resolved never to be the type of person to talk about, or seem deserving of listening to talk about, the merits of national versus store brand shaving cream gift purchases in the early stages of a relationship and things of that nature. There are far too many more important and interesting things to talk about, like common recipes that can be improved by the addition of bacon (Anything!) or Kim Richard’s abuse substance of choice (Everything!).
Hark: “Greeks! You were not born to live like brutes, but to press onward toward manhood and recognition!”
So tell me friends, have you ever been gripped by the Shaving Cream Complex? Or maybe you have a unique complex of your own. Do share.
Monday, June 18, 2012
It's a love story, baby just say yes.
I thought I was a person pretty well informed about love. I read poetry, I’ve heard 1st Corinthians at every wedding I’ve ever attended, and I’m lucky to have a number of good role models of healthy, loving relationships. But after listening to Taylor Swift on Pandora recently, I started to doubt myself. Love according to Taylor Swift is very different than love as I thought I knew it.
From what I can tell, love according to Taylor Swift has three main components: Never having be alone; being someone’s entire life; and meaningful crying. I’ve selected lyrics from her oeuvre that demonstrate the importance of these elements.
1. Never having to be alone
Lyrical examples
By far, the most crucial aspect of true love is that having it means you never have to be by yourself EVER AGAIN. A couple that I went to college with were notorious because they did everything together; they were even spotted at the track, running together holding hands. At the time I judged them harshly but now I realize they were simply in true love. There is a great comfort in knowing that once you fall in love, you’ll never have to venture into a room full of strangers, or your bathroom, solo.
2. Being someone’s entire life.
Lyrical examples:
3. Meaningful crying:
Lyrical examples:
Inevitably, we will all encounter things in life that make us want to cry; maybe you don’t get voted prom queen, or you have a day when you’re feeling really fat. Crying in front of someone can make you feel very vulnerable, so when you find someone that you feel comfortable crying in front of, it does seem like milestone. Besides, if it’s really true love, then you won’t be able to escape crying in front of that person, because he’ll be around you all the time. You don’t really have a choice but to cry in front of him.
I think the following from Taylor’s hit Safe and Sound off the Hunger Games soundtrack sums it up nicely:
This lyric combines all major elements essential to love according to Taylor Swift. It doesn’t hurt to have the support of the lovely The Civil Wars, but really what drives this song home is its depiction of love, smothering, one-dimensional, over-wrought love. Bravo Taylor! And thank you for helping me better understand true love. I’ve been going about it all wrong.
From what I can tell, love according to Taylor Swift has three main components: Never having be alone; being someone’s entire life; and meaningful crying. I’ve selected lyrics from her oeuvre that demonstrate the importance of these elements.
1. Never having to be alone
Lyrical examples
- “Then you took me by surprise / You said ‘I’ll never leave you alone’” [Mine]
- “Marry me Juliet, you’ll never have to be alone.” [Love Story]
- “Hey Stephen, boy you might have me believing I don't always have to be alone. [Hey Stephen]
By far, the most crucial aspect of true love is that having it means you never have to be by yourself EVER AGAIN. A couple that I went to college with were notorious because they did everything together; they were even spotted at the track, running together holding hands. At the time I judged them harshly but now I realize they were simply in true love. There is a great comfort in knowing that once you fall in love, you’ll never have to venture into a room full of strangers, or your bathroom, solo.
2. Being someone’s entire life.
Lyrical examples:
- “Everything I need is right here by my side. / And I know everything about you / I don't wanna live without you.” [I’m Only Me When I’m with You]
- “Take me back to the creek beds we turned up / Two A.M. riding in your truck and all I need is you next to me” [Mary’s Song]
- “So baby come hold me tight cause / I want to be everything you need” [Beautiful Eyes]
3. Meaningful crying:
Lyrical examples:
- “I miss your tanned skin, your sweet smile, / So good to me, so right / And how you held me in your arms that September night -- / The first time you ever saw me cry.” [Back to December]
- “Oh I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night / I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're about to cry.” [You Belong with Me]
- “The time is gonna come when you're so mad you could cry / But I'll hold you through the night until you smile” [Jump Then Fall]
Inevitably, we will all encounter things in life that make us want to cry; maybe you don’t get voted prom queen, or you have a day when you’re feeling really fat. Crying in front of someone can make you feel very vulnerable, so when you find someone that you feel comfortable crying in front of, it does seem like milestone. Besides, if it’s really true love, then you won’t be able to escape crying in front of that person, because he’ll be around you all the time. You don’t really have a choice but to cry in front of him.
I think the following from Taylor’s hit Safe and Sound off the Hunger Games soundtrack sums it up nicely:
“I remember tears streaming down your face / When I said, I'll never let you go / When all those shadows almost killed your light /I remember you said, Don't leave me here alone”
This lyric combines all major elements essential to love according to Taylor Swift. It doesn’t hurt to have the support of the lovely The Civil Wars, but really what drives this song home is its depiction of love, smothering, one-dimensional, over-wrought love. Bravo Taylor! And thank you for helping me better understand true love. I’ve been going about it all wrong.
Monday, April 23, 2012
I got 99 Prom-blems
I saw a bit of an article online today about elaborate prom invitations, called Prom-posals. I first noticed this trend back on MTV’s hit TV series Laguna Beach and now it seems to be sweeping the nation. One young man got down on one knee to ask his prom date out in front of an audience of 250 after their final performance in the high school play. And scene!
Real talk: I asked my junior prom date out at his locker after our pre-Calc class. His response, “I guess.” And that was that. We spoke about our joint attendance of the prom probably twice; one time prompted by his mom, who was wondering what flowers she should buy; the second time, about how we would get there. I don’t think either of us had a driver’s license at that point. The flowers looked great in the pictures, which is more than I can say for my prom date, who looked like a deer in headlights in every single picture from the event. But that was probably good for me because it gave me the appearance of being the ‘cooler’ member of the pair, which, if you knew me in high school (and continue to know me today), is a pretty miraculous feat.
Maybe a guy that asks you to prom on a banner pulled by an airplane is more romantic than a guy who responds to you asking him to prom the same way he might respond to someone asking him if he wanted extra cheese on his pizza or if he liked t-shirts. But it doesn’t take an elaborate prom-posal, or an expensive dress, or a stretch Hummer to make a high school dance fun. I have great memories from my junior prom, chief among them the sense of pride I have in my 16-year-old self for asking out the cutest guy in her pre-Calc class. Admittedly, this is not saying much given the pre-Calc taking, 16-year-old boy pool at the time, but still.
I fear that these elaborate invitations are only setting young women up for disappointment in real life. No one is going to hire a plane to ask you on a date. Sure, you’ll read the invitation, but it will be via text and probably involve a lot of stupid abbreviations, spelling mistakes (both intentional and unintentional), and abominable grammar. In my experience, a guy that picks both a specific time and a specific place to go out with you is a standout.
So ladies, if you’re theater-loving prom date plans an elaborate prom-posal, enjoy it while you can. I think my man Robert Frost put it best:
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Real talk: I asked my junior prom date out at his locker after our pre-Calc class. His response, “I guess.” And that was that. We spoke about our joint attendance of the prom probably twice; one time prompted by his mom, who was wondering what flowers she should buy; the second time, about how we would get there. I don’t think either of us had a driver’s license at that point. The flowers looked great in the pictures, which is more than I can say for my prom date, who looked like a deer in headlights in every single picture from the event. But that was probably good for me because it gave me the appearance of being the ‘cooler’ member of the pair, which, if you knew me in high school (and continue to know me today), is a pretty miraculous feat.
Maybe a guy that asks you to prom on a banner pulled by an airplane is more romantic than a guy who responds to you asking him to prom the same way he might respond to someone asking him if he wanted extra cheese on his pizza or if he liked t-shirts. But it doesn’t take an elaborate prom-posal, or an expensive dress, or a stretch Hummer to make a high school dance fun. I have great memories from my junior prom, chief among them the sense of pride I have in my 16-year-old self for asking out the cutest guy in her pre-Calc class. Admittedly, this is not saying much given the pre-Calc taking, 16-year-old boy pool at the time, but still.
I fear that these elaborate invitations are only setting young women up for disappointment in real life. No one is going to hire a plane to ask you on a date. Sure, you’ll read the invitation, but it will be via text and probably involve a lot of stupid abbreviations, spelling mistakes (both intentional and unintentional), and abominable grammar. In my experience, a guy that picks both a specific time and a specific place to go out with you is a standout.
So ladies, if you’re theater-loving prom date plans an elaborate prom-posal, enjoy it while you can. I think my man Robert Frost put it best:
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Sidewalk Talk
Dog poop. Let’s talk about it.
I’m not a dog owner but consider myself a dog lover. I don’t have the disposable income or the sense of responsibility necessary to be a good pet owner. I know this. However, I like to think that were I one day to own a pet, I’d be a conscientious pet owner. And so I have a bone to pick with non-conscientious pet owners, specifically, those that don’t pick up after their dogs.
I’ve spoken of it before. I recognize that picking up your dog’s poop is a gross chore. There’s a reason why someone invented the toilet and that we humans don’t just poop on the floor, grab it with a plastic grocery bag, and then throw it in the trashcan. That’s disgusting.
While I can understand why people wouldn’t want to pick up after their dogs, I still find it detestable when they don’t own up to their responsibility. Recently I’ve started to notice a particularly concerning trend in dog doo cleanup practices: abandoned poop baggies on the sidewalk.
More and more, I’ve been encountering plastic bags of poop left lying on the sidewalk, seemingly in the exact spot where the dog deposited the poop initially. Why? Why did you do that, dog owner? To my mind, once you’ve bagged the poop, the most odious part of the task, palming the poop and putting it in a bag, is complete. So I don’t understand how it was too gross for you, the dog owner, to then walk with the bag of poop a block until you found a trash can. Chances are, at one point in his life, your dog has licked his own private parts and then immediately licked you. That’s also gross but you seem to deal with it. Yet this is where you draw the line; holding onto a bag of your dog’s poop for a few blocks? Seems to me that if you’re going to leave the poop bag there, there’s really no reason to even go through the effort of bagging it. It’s like horrible smelling cabs that have air fresheners, except the air fresheners also smell horrible. Why bother?
I don’t think what I expect of dog owners is extreme. I once saw a woman intercepting her dog's poop before it hit the ground. She had her plastic bag in hand hovering below her dog’s butt to catch the poop as it came out. Absolutely disgusting. I don’t expect that level of attention. In fact, I don’t trust that level of commitment to a dog.
But I do expect dog owners to pick up their dog’s poop and then deposit that picked up poop in a trash can somewhere. Is that so much to ask?
I’m not a dog owner but consider myself a dog lover. I don’t have the disposable income or the sense of responsibility necessary to be a good pet owner. I know this. However, I like to think that were I one day to own a pet, I’d be a conscientious pet owner. And so I have a bone to pick with non-conscientious pet owners, specifically, those that don’t pick up after their dogs.
I’ve spoken of it before. I recognize that picking up your dog’s poop is a gross chore. There’s a reason why someone invented the toilet and that we humans don’t just poop on the floor, grab it with a plastic grocery bag, and then throw it in the trashcan. That’s disgusting.
While I can understand why people wouldn’t want to pick up after their dogs, I still find it detestable when they don’t own up to their responsibility. Recently I’ve started to notice a particularly concerning trend in dog doo cleanup practices: abandoned poop baggies on the sidewalk.
More and more, I’ve been encountering plastic bags of poop left lying on the sidewalk, seemingly in the exact spot where the dog deposited the poop initially. Why? Why did you do that, dog owner? To my mind, once you’ve bagged the poop, the most odious part of the task, palming the poop and putting it in a bag, is complete. So I don’t understand how it was too gross for you, the dog owner, to then walk with the bag of poop a block until you found a trash can. Chances are, at one point in his life, your dog has licked his own private parts and then immediately licked you. That’s also gross but you seem to deal with it. Yet this is where you draw the line; holding onto a bag of your dog’s poop for a few blocks? Seems to me that if you’re going to leave the poop bag there, there’s really no reason to even go through the effort of bagging it. It’s like horrible smelling cabs that have air fresheners, except the air fresheners also smell horrible. Why bother?
I don’t think what I expect of dog owners is extreme. I once saw a woman intercepting her dog's poop before it hit the ground. She had her plastic bag in hand hovering below her dog’s butt to catch the poop as it came out. Absolutely disgusting. I don’t expect that level of attention. In fact, I don’t trust that level of commitment to a dog.
But I do expect dog owners to pick up their dog’s poop and then deposit that picked up poop in a trash can somewhere. Is that so much to ask?
Friday, March 2, 2012
When I have fears that I may cease to be...
...in charge of my own life and instead at the mercy of emotionally manipulative modern technology.
A lot of people are scared of doomsday scenarios wherein the technology we’ve created becomes so advanced that it turns on us and takes over the world. More than once the movie industry has taken this conceit to its illogical end and there are countless conspiracy theorists who eschew EZpass and PayPal for fear of falling prey to modern technology.
Am I worried about technology getting so smart it will take over the world? Not really. Frankly, a world run entirely by computers would probably be a more functional, efficient world; one with less waste, more judiciousness, and fewer idiots showcasing themselves on reality TV.
But I do have fears associated with technology getting smarter. Those fears? That technology will become smart enough to emotionally manipulate me. Some of you probably balk at this. Certainly a computer isn’t some seventh grade mean girl who’s going to be friends with you one day and then trip you in lunchroom the next. Well, I’m not so certain things aren’t headed that way. I’ve noticed a disturbing trend of technology becoming more judgmental and I don’t like it.
I present to you three pieces of evidence.
Exhibit A: When I first joined Google+, it immediately advised me: ‘Add at least 10 people to your circles to make sure your experience is awesome.' What the hell is that supposed to mean!?!? I felt like Google+ was telling me I didn’t have enough friends to be fun; telling me, in so many words, that I was a loser.
It reminded me of a particularly bad hairdresser I went to once. She told me, after I said about five words over the course of my haircut, that if I wanted to have friends I had to be nicer to people and put myself out there. I don’t know she determined I was friendless (which I wasn’t!) and why after knowing me for 45 minutes she felt it necessary to counsel me on improving my social life. It ended poorly when she confronted me by the elevator about not tipping her. I didn’t tip her because not only did she give me a dreadful haircut, but she made me feel like a loser while doing so. What I should have done was say, “Here’s a tip, don’t be a bitch to your clients,” but in reality I stepped quickly into the elevator and jammed on the Door Close button, before crying about my lousy haircut in front of an innocent male bystander who told me, “I think your hair looks fine,” as he likely thanked his lucky stars that I wasn’t his crazy girlfriend.
But I digress.
A lot of people are scared of doomsday scenarios wherein the technology we’ve created becomes so advanced that it turns on us and takes over the world. More than once the movie industry has taken this conceit to its illogical end and there are countless conspiracy theorists who eschew EZpass and PayPal for fear of falling prey to modern technology.
Am I worried about technology getting so smart it will take over the world? Not really. Frankly, a world run entirely by computers would probably be a more functional, efficient world; one with less waste, more judiciousness, and fewer idiots showcasing themselves on reality TV.
But I do have fears associated with technology getting smarter. Those fears? That technology will become smart enough to emotionally manipulate me. Some of you probably balk at this. Certainly a computer isn’t some seventh grade mean girl who’s going to be friends with you one day and then trip you in lunchroom the next. Well, I’m not so certain things aren’t headed that way. I’ve noticed a disturbing trend of technology becoming more judgmental and I don’t like it.
I present to you three pieces of evidence.
Exhibit A: When I first joined Google+, it immediately advised me: ‘Add at least 10 people to your circles to make sure your experience is awesome.' What the hell is that supposed to mean!?!? I felt like Google+ was telling me I didn’t have enough friends to be fun; telling me, in so many words, that I was a loser.
It reminded me of a particularly bad hairdresser I went to once. She told me, after I said about five words over the course of my haircut, that if I wanted to have friends I had to be nicer to people and put myself out there. I don’t know she determined I was friendless (which I wasn’t!) and why after knowing me for 45 minutes she felt it necessary to counsel me on improving my social life. It ended poorly when she confronted me by the elevator about not tipping her. I didn’t tip her because not only did she give me a dreadful haircut, but she made me feel like a loser while doing so. What I should have done was say, “Here’s a tip, don’t be a bitch to your clients,” but in reality I stepped quickly into the elevator and jammed on the Door Close button, before crying about my lousy haircut in front of an innocent male bystander who told me, “I think your hair looks fine,” as he likely thanked his lucky stars that I wasn’t his crazy girlfriend.
But I digress.
On to Exhibit B: Awhile back, while listening to Pandora, a Barney song came up in my queue. Of course, I’d already used all of my skips, so in order to remain on my Disney songs channel, I had to sit and listen to Barney.
I thought to myself, Barney? What the hell!? Simply because I like songs from Glee and every Disney movie ever doesn’t mean I want to listen to any old fictional character sing about friendship. If you’re so smart, Pandora, then wouldn’t you assume that very few toddlers are customizing their own play lists? Wouldn’t you assume that given their demonstrated access to high-speed internet, desire for relatively commercial-free programming, and ability to sit still for longer than five minutes, that most Pandora listeners are in fact adults, regardless of how childish their musical preferences? It’s highly unlikely that any actual Pandora user really wants to listen to Barney. I think Pandora intentionally played Barney after I’d used all my skips in order to make me feel like a fool.
Exhibit C: Earlier in the month, I attempted to make a credit card purchase but had my card declined. I was panicked at first, wracking my brain to remember if I’d forgotten to pay my bill. When I called the credit card company, Susan, the customer service representative, let me know that there was a suspicious charge that needed review. I was nervous, until she described the ‘suspicious’ charge, which was just a payment for an online dating service I’d recently joined. She then asked to confirm my other recent purchases: Yes, I purchased one yoga class. Yes, I placed a $12 take-out food order for one. Yes, I was attempting to buy one concert ticket when my card was declined. I’m single, okay!?!?
I felt like shouting, “You know what MasterCard, if you can’t extend me a line of credit without judging my single girl purchases, then don’t bother!” I knew it wasn’t Susan’s fault. It was some computer somewhere, reviewing and judging my purchases; some computer that probably got a good laugh out of my short-lived panic and it’s opportunity to draw attention to my impending spinsterhood. I fully expect that my next emailed statement will be flanked by ads from Google for cat strollers and methods for achieving thinner thighs, further digs at my psyche from mean-spirited technology.
I’m not worried about computers taking over the world. I’m worried about computers gaining the power and the wherewithal to make me feel like an overweight middle schooler during team selection in gym class: self-conscious, insignificant, shameful, and awkward. And, from my experience, you should be too. I rest my case.
I thought to myself, Barney? What the hell!? Simply because I like songs from Glee and every Disney movie ever doesn’t mean I want to listen to any old fictional character sing about friendship. If you’re so smart, Pandora, then wouldn’t you assume that very few toddlers are customizing their own play lists? Wouldn’t you assume that given their demonstrated access to high-speed internet, desire for relatively commercial-free programming, and ability to sit still for longer than five minutes, that most Pandora listeners are in fact adults, regardless of how childish their musical preferences? It’s highly unlikely that any actual Pandora user really wants to listen to Barney. I think Pandora intentionally played Barney after I’d used all my skips in order to make me feel like a fool.
Exhibit C: Earlier in the month, I attempted to make a credit card purchase but had my card declined. I was panicked at first, wracking my brain to remember if I’d forgotten to pay my bill. When I called the credit card company, Susan, the customer service representative, let me know that there was a suspicious charge that needed review. I was nervous, until she described the ‘suspicious’ charge, which was just a payment for an online dating service I’d recently joined. She then asked to confirm my other recent purchases: Yes, I purchased one yoga class. Yes, I placed a $12 take-out food order for one. Yes, I was attempting to buy one concert ticket when my card was declined. I’m single, okay!?!?
I felt like shouting, “You know what MasterCard, if you can’t extend me a line of credit without judging my single girl purchases, then don’t bother!” I knew it wasn’t Susan’s fault. It was some computer somewhere, reviewing and judging my purchases; some computer that probably got a good laugh out of my short-lived panic and it’s opportunity to draw attention to my impending spinsterhood. I fully expect that my next emailed statement will be flanked by ads from Google for cat strollers and methods for achieving thinner thighs, further digs at my psyche from mean-spirited technology.
I’m not worried about computers taking over the world. I’m worried about computers gaining the power and the wherewithal to make me feel like an overweight middle schooler during team selection in gym class: self-conscious, insignificant, shameful, and awkward. And, from my experience, you should be too. I rest my case.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Up GOOP Creek
It may surprise you to learn that I am a subscriber to Gwyneth Paltrow’s lifestyle newsletter GOOP.
Of course, I take great pleasure in knowing the best $425 cleanse to do after I’ve over-indulged during the holidays, the best places to grab lunch when I’m taking a quick trip to Paris, or the best cashmere children’s item to buy for an expectant friend. I didn’t realize these types of tidbits were so vital until Gwyneth introduced them into my life. But tips like these are not why I subscribe to GOOP, they’re merely a bonus.
You want to know the real reason I get GOOP?
When Gwyneth was first launching GOOP, I was rolling off a year-long service program and found myself jobless and living back with my parents. I spent my mornings and most afternoons in sweatpants. I made myself wake up at a decent hour but that was only to catch the Dawson’s Creek double header that used to run weekday mornings on TBS. I spent my day’s cooking elaborate breakfasts, searching for jobs online, watching music videos on YouTube, and giving myself incredibly detailed pep talks (Don’t get down on yourself! You’re great! I don’t know anyone who can make a spinach, black bean, and garlic saute like you can! Chin up!)
I was on a precipitous ledge, inching ever closer to a dark dark abyss that not even two hours of Pacey Witter and a serious breakfast sandwich could rescue me from. One day in my internet searching, I stumbled upon GOOP. I looked at it and thought to myself, “Maybe this could be cool. Maybe Gwyneth could teach me something. Maybe this could help me.”
And then I immediately thought, “I just thought that a mass email newsletter from Gwyneth Paltrow about la vita bella is what I need to improve the quality of my life?! I’m not on the ledge anymore; I’ve stumbled over it. I need to get it together NOW.” And so I cut back on my Dawson’s creek, dedicated myself to my job search, and eventually found gainful employment in New York City.
Way back then, I also subscribed to GOOP, which might seem curious. Why would I sign up for something that I had such a visceral reaction to? Precisely because of that visceral reaction. Now every time I see that GOOP email in my inbox, telling me how to make organic chicken nuggets or best white T-shirt to buy at Barney’s, I am reminded of the dark place I was in when I thought Gwyneth’s musings might make my life better.
Some people think that GOOP is pretentious shit. While I can’t say I disagree completely, I appreciate it for a reason entirely independent of the newsletter itself. When I see GOOP in my inbox, I’m reminded of when I was ‘up GOOP creek,’ or ‘knee deep in a pile of GOOP’ or ‘felt like my life was going down the GOOPer,’ so to speak, and I’m thankful for how far I’ve come.
Of course, I take great pleasure in knowing the best $425 cleanse to do after I’ve over-indulged during the holidays, the best places to grab lunch when I’m taking a quick trip to Paris, or the best cashmere children’s item to buy for an expectant friend. I didn’t realize these types of tidbits were so vital until Gwyneth introduced them into my life. But tips like these are not why I subscribe to GOOP, they’re merely a bonus.
You want to know the real reason I get GOOP?
When Gwyneth was first launching GOOP, I was rolling off a year-long service program and found myself jobless and living back with my parents. I spent my mornings and most afternoons in sweatpants. I made myself wake up at a decent hour but that was only to catch the Dawson’s Creek double header that used to run weekday mornings on TBS. I spent my day’s cooking elaborate breakfasts, searching for jobs online, watching music videos on YouTube, and giving myself incredibly detailed pep talks (Don’t get down on yourself! You’re great! I don’t know anyone who can make a spinach, black bean, and garlic saute like you can! Chin up!)
I was on a precipitous ledge, inching ever closer to a dark dark abyss that not even two hours of Pacey Witter and a serious breakfast sandwich could rescue me from. One day in my internet searching, I stumbled upon GOOP. I looked at it and thought to myself, “Maybe this could be cool. Maybe Gwyneth could teach me something. Maybe this could help me.”
And then I immediately thought, “I just thought that a mass email newsletter from Gwyneth Paltrow about la vita bella is what I need to improve the quality of my life?! I’m not on the ledge anymore; I’ve stumbled over it. I need to get it together NOW.” And so I cut back on my Dawson’s creek, dedicated myself to my job search, and eventually found gainful employment in New York City.
Way back then, I also subscribed to GOOP, which might seem curious. Why would I sign up for something that I had such a visceral reaction to? Precisely because of that visceral reaction. Now every time I see that GOOP email in my inbox, telling me how to make organic chicken nuggets or best white T-shirt to buy at Barney’s, I am reminded of the dark place I was in when I thought Gwyneth’s musings might make my life better.
Some people think that GOOP is pretentious shit. While I can’t say I disagree completely, I appreciate it for a reason entirely independent of the newsletter itself. When I see GOOP in my inbox, I’m reminded of when I was ‘up GOOP creek,’ or ‘knee deep in a pile of GOOP’ or ‘felt like my life was going down the GOOPer,’ so to speak, and I’m thankful for how far I’ve come.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Make new friends, keep the old
You’ve heard the childhood ditty: ‘Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver the other gold.’
Sure, you should make new friends and keep your old friends too. But I think this childhood song misses a powerful opportunity to take the concept of new and old with respect to friends to the next level:
Make new friends with old people. Is your mind blown? I’ll elaborate.
Immediately after graduating from college, the single person that I shared the most about my life with was a 70-year-old nun who was my boss at my job in an underserved high school. We spent most of our days together, and even one pretty long night when we drove 2.5 hours each way to hear Greg Mortenson speak. (Too bad he turned out to be a bit of snake oil salesman.) While she wasn’t the best partner in the all-school badminton tournament (we went down in the first round), she taught me a great deal about hard work and caring about others. And when she shared with me that she loved her work because she found it life giving, she gave me something to strive for in my own life.
Later while living in Manhattan, a city chock full of people my own age, I developed a friendship with a fellow ND alum, Tom, Class of 1950. You'd be surprised at how much we had in common: sense of humor, love of ND Football, Friday night plans. It was a joy to swap stories with someone with so much experience and perspective and who, quite frankly, was killin’ it more in Manhattan at age 85 than I was at age 25. In fact, the only hiccup Tom and I encountered was when he tried to set me up with his grandson. But I blame that more on myself; can’t knock a 25-year-old guy for being a little skeptical of a girl who leads with, “Hi, I’m a friend of your Grandpop’s; we’re in a church group together.” Not exactly sexy, to say the least.
High school and college gave me the false impression that the only people worth befriending were those who fell within a four year radius of my own age. The real world has taught me a lot of valuable lessons: unlike sweaters, sweater pants are not acceptable for a professional environment; sometimes when a guy says, “I’ll call you,” he accidentally leaves out the final word of that sentence, which is ‘never;’ and inevitably the only cover letters people read are ones you send that include mistakes.
But above all, the real world has taught me that friends come in all ages. So, make new friends, keep the old, and additionally, keep the old in mind when considering those new friends to make.
Sure, you should make new friends and keep your old friends too. But I think this childhood song misses a powerful opportunity to take the concept of new and old with respect to friends to the next level:
Make new friends with old people. Is your mind blown? I’ll elaborate.
Immediately after graduating from college, the single person that I shared the most about my life with was a 70-year-old nun who was my boss at my job in an underserved high school. We spent most of our days together, and even one pretty long night when we drove 2.5 hours each way to hear Greg Mortenson speak. (Too bad he turned out to be a bit of snake oil salesman.) While she wasn’t the best partner in the all-school badminton tournament (we went down in the first round), she taught me a great deal about hard work and caring about others. And when she shared with me that she loved her work because she found it life giving, she gave me something to strive for in my own life.
Later while living in Manhattan, a city chock full of people my own age, I developed a friendship with a fellow ND alum, Tom, Class of 1950. You'd be surprised at how much we had in common: sense of humor, love of ND Football, Friday night plans. It was a joy to swap stories with someone with so much experience and perspective and who, quite frankly, was killin’ it more in Manhattan at age 85 than I was at age 25. In fact, the only hiccup Tom and I encountered was when he tried to set me up with his grandson. But I blame that more on myself; can’t knock a 25-year-old guy for being a little skeptical of a girl who leads with, “Hi, I’m a friend of your Grandpop’s; we’re in a church group together.” Not exactly sexy, to say the least.
High school and college gave me the false impression that the only people worth befriending were those who fell within a four year radius of my own age. The real world has taught me a lot of valuable lessons: unlike sweaters, sweater pants are not acceptable for a professional environment; sometimes when a guy says, “I’ll call you,” he accidentally leaves out the final word of that sentence, which is ‘never;’ and inevitably the only cover letters people read are ones you send that include mistakes.
But above all, the real world has taught me that friends come in all ages. So, make new friends, keep the old, and additionally, keep the old in mind when considering those new friends to make.
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