the life & times of thatonegirlsays

I hate packing

2010-06-15T21:36:00.000-07:00

Packing is the worst. I literally have a single room to pack, a room that isn't even that big. And yet it is packed with stuff I didn't even realize I had. I looked at the bottom of this hamper I have that's basically a giant clothing storage bin, and there are dresses that haven't seen the light of day since last summer. I found old pairs of shoes, letters, cards, thank you notes, gift cards, probably $20 in change, perfume, every bobby pin known to man and several dozen ponytail holders. All of this scattered around my tiny room.

This makes me sound/feel like a class-A hoarder, which, you know, I probably am. But my room honestly never looked like it had so much stuff in it.

The saddest part of packing was removing all my DVDs from their cases and putting them in a giant CD case. I love the DVD cases! Alas, they take up too much space and I'm too cheap to ship them to my destination.

On the upside, having them in the CD case is like having a catalog showing evidence of how great my taste in television and movies is.

Just move on up to a greater day

2010-05-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

I'm not quite in the writing mood but at the urging of a friend, I decided to revisit the blog. I'm hoping that with the big move next month, I'll have more interesting things to write about. I know a lot of this has mostly been about how I want change or how I'm in an awkward stage and how much I hate that awkward stage, and I don't know, that isn't necessarily something I should be writing about over and over. It ends up making me wallow a little bit, and that's not healthy at all.

I've grown a lot since I started this blog way back in 2007, and I've done a lot of living as well. Looking back now, I can appreciate all the tiny steps I was unconsciously making towards where I am today, and I can truly say that I'm ready to move forward.

Or, as Mr. Mayfield would say,

Extended absences are never good

2010-04-07T20:39:00.000-07:00

The past couple of months have been a crazy jumble of just...stuff. I've had issues with my family, lost a couple of friends, downsized out of a job and spent the better part of the past 3 weeks trying to figure out just what it is I want to do with my life.

What I've figured out is that I am happiest when writing and learning new technologies. I love travelling, and even if I'm not fortunate enough to find a job that allows me to do that frequently, I know that my dream position will allow me the flexibility to take a vacation or two a year. And instead of papering the Internet with my resume, I've really hunkered down and focused on positions that are not just jobs, but places where I could flourish and grow. The contract positions I've enjoyed over the past 4 years haven't been the most glamorous or even the ones I knew a ton about going in. They were the ones where I learned something new everyday and was constantly presented with ways to challenge myself to hone and sharpen my craft. I just need to find a permanent job like that.

It's a little difficult to be picky right now, what with the terrible economy and all. But I haven't lost hope yet, and I know the right job is out there for me, somewhere. In the meantime, I have grad school to look forward to this summer (YAY!) and a temporary job with my old boss that I'm pretty excited for.

The playlist that is getting me through includes these two life-affirming songs:

I climbed a tree to see the world

2010-02-24T21:28:00.000-08:00

It's sort of depressing that I haven't written in this ALL MONTH. And it isn't even really like I've been too terribly busy. Remarkably, I've mostly kept up with my workouts, which I'm so proud of. I mean, yeah, I do miss a day here and there, and then I have to balance that out with how much I eat. I have started enjoying working out and I think it is because I can see the results, even if my scale isn't really showing a huge difference. My clothes fit differently, my endurance is better, my skin is consistently clear. It has just been really good all around.

On a totally different note...
I have become more aware recently of my own mortality. I'm not dying, but when you're very young, you don't necessarily think about death or dying or how long you'll be here for. It's just sort of a given that you'll wake up every morning and that the days aren't really that important because there will just be another one tomorrow. Death is for other people. But now, in my 25th year, I've discovered that each day really is a gift and even if I'm not globetrotting or changing the world, it is important to spend as much time as I can appreciating the world and the people around me. There is a lot to be sad or angry or frustrated with in life, but the fact that you are here at all to even feel those emotions is something to be grateful for.

I encourage you to listen to the song below. I first heard it on an episode of "Grey's Anatomy" back in 2007, and became addicted to it. You don't even necessarily need to listen to the lyrics, just listen to the melody. It is possibly my favorite song ever, I cannot properly describe the feelings it gives me. But I have found it to be really fantastic thinking music. Or the soundtrack to my own music video. Sometimes, I listen to it when I'm on the bus on the way home from a doctor's appointment for work. And with this as your background music, the world becomes your very own stop motion music video.

Also, watch the Bright Star trailer (and the movie itself!) for the best use of music in a trailer. Ever.

Digital Nomad

2010-01-26T19:19:00.000-08:00

The past month and a half have been a real struggle for me. I hate not having a job. And, yes, I realize I'm not the only person ever in the history of the world to hate being unemployed. I don't even have the excuse of being worried about bills or how I'm going to feed myself-I am concerned mostly with how I will entertain myself. I mean, really, there's only so many hours you can spend on Gawker Media websites before you start to question your own sanity.

In any case, I got a bite on a job, one that would afford me the great luxury of working remotely. Entirely remotely. And when I say "entirely remotely," I mean not a single meeting happens in person, and everything happens over the Internet. No, dear Internet readers, I have not been tricked into some Craigslist scheme. The job offer came through my agency and I'd be working for a well-known travel website. The pay isn't fantastic, but I am extremely pleased that it means I can work from home. Because that also means I can work while I'm away at graduate school. And more importantly for the here & now? It means I can travel. Soon.

My wanderlust kicked into overdrive last week when I realized that I would be spending my first Valentine's Day in my hometown in 2 years, and that I really do miss certain aspects of being overseas. Can I just hop off and globetrot for the next 5 months? Probably not. Because I do have to do work, and if the time difference at my destination is too great, I'll be working late at night all the time.

If I land this gig, my plan is to get settled into the job for a month or so, and then plan an extended vacation in Europe. Paris and London of course, but also to places I haven't been. The cities will not be far off the beaten track if only because I need to be sure I have a high-speed internet connection, but I will be gone for a while AND earning money.

I am keeping my fingers crossed because, really, this job is actually incredibly perfect for me right and it could not have come at a better time. Here's to hoping that I become a Digital Nomad in the not too distant future.

Wrinkles

2010-01-23T23:17:00.000-08:00

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

The Break Up

2010-01-11T16:08:00.000-08:00

So, the shred and I are currently seeing other people at the moment. I haven't entirely given up on it, but I will admit that by Sunday morning, I was incredibly bored with the frightening Ms. Michaels telling me to keep going even though I wanted to quit. During a switch in equipment, I sat for more than the minute she allows and I almost didn't get up again.

Sunday morning came 'round and I was snuggled warm and happy in my bed, watching "Supernatural" and calculating what exactly I could eat (or, how little I could eat?) so that I'd be justified in not doing the workout. And at that precise moment, my stepmom asked me if I wanted to go to the gym with her. At first, I replied with a falsely hoarse "No." I climbed back into bed and resumed watching the Winchester Brothers' chronicles. But something inside me (perhaps my conscience? Or the remnants of that delicious slice of pepperoni pizza I happily devoured earlier in the week?) told me that I really needed to workout. And so I trundled off to the gym, equipped with gossip rags and a kickass Cardio playlist to get me through.

The workout? Oh, just 60 minutes on an elliptical machine. Which, let me tell you, is nowhere near as easy as you think it is. Sixty minutes of grinding repition marked only by the pops and cracks of my entirely woefully unexercised joints, with background music provided by Lady GaGa. Around the 30 minute mark, I was sure I was going to pass out. I selected "Bad Romance" and pushed on. It was not fun, and it was definitely the first time I've sweated in, well, a really long time. But when I hit 60 minutes, looked at the calorie count and the distance I'd "traveled", I was more than pleased with myself. That was until I got off the ellipticals and my legs were so Jell-O like that I nearly fell, Bridget Jones-style.

In the end, the workout was well worth it. I went back today, still slightly sore from yesterday's workout, but secure in the knowledge that though my muscles seemed to be staging a not-so velvet revolution, they'd be thanking me in short order.

30 Day Shred: Day 4

2010-01-07T21:34:00.000-08:00

I began feeling a bit ill today, but managed to complete the work-out, which I was SUPER pleased about. I did break my diet (and I also gave up on the Flat Belly Diet because I am incapable of surviving, happily, on 1,200 calories a day. I am not Madonna or Victoria Beckham. I need sustenance) and went to Maltby Pizza & Pasta. I was extremely good for the whole day though, I saved up most of my calories so that I could indulge in a slice and a half of carbohydrate and fat-laden goodness. And boy, was it worth it. But I got full way quicker than I expected.
Anyways, I am hoping that whatever this is I'm feeling goes away overnight, I'm just not interested in being sick. But really, who is?

30 Day Shred: Day 3

2010-01-06T11:51:00.000-08:00

I am in day 2 of the Flat Belly Diet's 4-Day anti-bloat fast. And can I tell you something? I am RAVENOUS. I cannot diet, and this is why. For breakfast I had: a bowl of unsweetened corn flakes, some sunflower seeds, pineapple tidbits and a glass of Sassy Water. I understand that dieting is about feeding yourself for nutritional value rather than taste. Which is something especially important for a comfort eater like myself. But I go to bed hungry, I wake up hungry, and even when I eat, I'm still hungry.

ME WANT FOOD.

I have to go to Target today to pick up some odds and ends, and I think that I will break my diet and have a Jamba Juice smoothie and then go shopping for diet foods for myself. I cannot follow this diet without going insane.

In other news, I did something different for my 3rd day of the shred! I cracked open our EA Active for Wii Box and did a few workouts, and holy ISH. Amazing. If you have a Wii, I highly recommend buy this game. My heart rate got going, I did cardio, kickboxing, etc. And you don't need the Wii Fit board, just the Wii-mote & controller.

Anyways, I'll do the shred tonight. In the mean time? I'll be avoiding boxes of crackers for fear that I will eat an entire box in one sitting.

30 Day Shred: Day 2

2010-01-05T20:02:00.000-08:00

This morning was even more of a struggle than yesterday morning, but I successfully pulled myself from the comfort of my down comforter and worked out. I had a bowl of oatmeal afterwards, but overall, the day was pretty bad food-wise. I took a nap right after my workout, and then headed to Seattle armed with a peanut protein bar and a bottle of Sassy Water. I got through about a quater of the protein bar (it is still languishing in my purse, half eaten and partially damp from the rain) and half the bottle of water. I spent most of the afternoon in the hairdresser's chair. And afterwards, I decided to spend my Sephora gift card and got a little mini makeover because of my new bangs. I like my bangs, my only hesitation is that I'm going to have to do a little more work; make up AND straightening. But I'm game for a challenge.

Anyways, after my makeover, I had time to kill before the bus home, so I had a Soy Awake Tea Latte from Starbucks and it was basically heavenly, although just a touch too sweet. When I came home, I had a handful of cashews & right now, I'm waiting for my tilapia & red potatoes to finish baking.

The ache in my arms and legs has faded to a dull roar, which is a positive. Tomorrow, I'll be back on track with my food. I'm proud that I managed to avoid going to Le Panier for a piece of D'Orsay, but I really should have eaten something. Anything. I think my fear of breaking my diet prevented me from eating anything at all.

End of Day 1

2010-01-04T18:33:00.000-08:00

I am not going to make this two posts a day deal some kind of habit, but I wanted to put this out there: I ate a small chocolate chip cookie and I feel incredibly guilty. I could taste the butter and chocolate as I reached into the cookie jar, but as I took my last bite, I literally saw Jillian Michaels in my mind's eye and it scared the bejesus out of me.

I am going to chalk it up to a beginner's mistake, because overall, I'm still a couple hundred calories short of what I'm supposed to consume each day.

I had:
-One stalk of celery with almond butter
-A bowl of oatmeal
-6 glasses of water
-4 whole wheat crackers
-1 piece of whole wheat toast
-A half a piece of thin crust pepperoni pizza
-10 grapes (I counted, hush up)
-6 baby carrots
-A cup of PG Tips with a teaspoon of milk and 2 teaspoons of sugar
-1 small chocolate chip cookie

I'm mildly frightened about tomorrow; I'm going downtown to be someone's lab rat at a hair salon and there are so many delicious temptations to sway me from my goal! I might splurge and have a Soy Awake Tea Latte, those are only 100ish calories.

Oh and I will be making Cook Yourself Thin's Shrimp & Grits (minus the parmesan cheese) for dinner.

30 Day Shred: Day 1

2010-01-04T08:22:00.000-08:00

Well, it's 2010. And I have arrived, safe and sound, albeit in a slightly pudgier body than I imagined. To rectify that, I've decided to embark on Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred. I tried this in May, during my last round of unemployment, and I lasted a grand total of 2 days before I could no longer resist the pull of the Chick-Fil-A around the corner. With the nearest Chick-Fil-A about an hour and a half's drive away, I really have no excuse/distractions keeping me from trying to complete the whole shebang. And maybe throw a diet in there somewhere.

So, this morning, I woke up at 6am, ready and rearing to go. Well, that's actually kind of a lie. I woke up at 5:30 and stared at the ceiling for a while before hauling myself out of bed shortly after 6. When I finally got the CD into my new computer, I discovered that the default DVD region on the computer was inexplicably set to Region 2. Anyways, after fiddling around for a while, I started. And oh my Godric, I was winded like 2 minutes into it. In a good way, I guess? But I completed it! With a few water breaks thrown in (even though Jillian repeatedly says no breaks) because I cannot remember the last time I did a full on jumping jack. After my little workout, I had a bowl of oatmeal, a glass of water and a Women's One-A-Day vitamin. It's actually really remarkable what a little cardio can do to jumpstart your day. After I finished breakfast, I cleaned, did a load of laundry and was basically finished with my daily chores by 8am. My plan is to go for a walk shortly before lunch, and then maybe another walk later in the afternoon.

I'm like a bird, I'll only fly away

2009-12-28T19:39:00.000-08:00

Plans have been dashed (again?). I don't know if this is some sort of sign from the universe/God, but my plans to move to the Windy City have been postponed. I won't go into the nitty gritty details because as much as I enjoy throwing my random whinging into the great void that is the Intertubes, I don't really like the idea that things THAT personal could be floating around.

In any case, I'm unemployed (once again). And I don't know when/how I will get my next gig. So I'm approaching this period (until mid-January) as a prolonged vacation. That way, I can sort of maintain an ounce of sanity.

Today, I deep-cleaned my room and used a labeler on several tupperware bins. Then I resumed my "Supernatural" marathon. I think tomorrow, I will start a schedule of early morning workouts, then a nap, then studying French and statistics, then a walk. These are the things I will do to stave off the insanity that my 3rd round of unemployment in 7 months is sure to provoke.

Nuts & Bolts. Bits & Bobs. Part I.

2009-12-11T22:45:00.000-08:00

I will leave you to your own devices for getting a passport and sorting out your flight details. But one of the most important parts about your stay in London? The place you'll rest your weary feet at the end of touristing.

I am incredibly cheap when it comes to hotel-age. When I visit London, I usually have the luxury of crashing on people's couches. But failing that, I will stay in a hostel (or a hotel if someone else is paying). Though I'm kind of a lazy tourist, I do not spend too terribly much time in the bed wherever it is I'm staying, so I don't typically choose luxury accomodations. I look for safety, location and price.

With that in mind, here are two standbys for trips to Londinium:

London School of Economics Vacation Accomodations
This is definitely my top choice when travelling to London. I stayed in Passfield Hall, located just off Tottenham Court Road and a short walk from two tube stations (Warren Street and Euston Square, both short rides to the Picadilly Line, which will take you to Heathrow). Reasonably priced, safe area, free breakfast, and if you're a couple, you can stay in the same room. The rooms are pretty bare bones, a bed, a sink, a desk, a phone. Think the inside of a dorm room before it's furnished (they do provide towels and blankets/pillows, as well as daily linen changing). You will need to share a bathroom. There's a common room with a TV, books, etc. But you didn't visit London to stay inside all day! There are several internet cafes and a grocery store nearby, and you're about a 15-20 minute walk from Oxford Street (I need to quit talking about it, it makes me want to shop). The only downside is that many of the halls double as residence halls, so you may only be able to book accomodation during school holidays.

London House Hotel
This is a really awesome location in Bayswater. The rooms are a decent rate (can get pricey), but if you're a couple, you will be able to share a room here. There is a TV in each room as well as an ensuite bathroom. The Tube station is just across the road and there are a ton of great pubs nearby. Negatives for me at this hotel? The woman who checked me in had a very loose grasp on the English language and there is no elevator. But if you don't have much luggage, shouldn't be a problem. This place books up quickly, so book well in advance.

If you're travelling solo and want to meet people (or if you are travelling in a group and can book enough beds in a room to get it all to yourself), I recommend St. Christopher's Inn in Hammersmith. Located directly across the street from a Tube station, above a great, cheap pub (and you get discounts for staying at the hostel) that has live music some nights. Free wi-fi in the pub, and actually really comfy beds. I have stayed here a number of times and I absolutely loved it (plus I met my London Partner in Crime, Steph, at this hostel!).

...And now, for something completely different

2009-11-11T22:05:00.000-08:00

I have been really bad at updating this journal as of late, and it is not for wont of material. Mostly, I get caught up in my 9-5 (or, 7-7) routine and never finish the journal entries I start. But last week, my friend and I were discussing travelling to London and I decided that there would be no better way to exercise my weakening writing muscles than through a few travel-related entries.

Anyone who knows me even a little bit knows I absolutely love Paris. Surprisingly, I don't visit Paris as often as one would imagine, especially given the amount of black and white photos of Paris I have in my posession. The city I go back to when I have any extra money in my savings account? London.

London and I have had a difficult relationship. I first visited Paris at 14, and it lived up to all my starry-eyed dreams of romantic, cobble stoned streets lit by gothic lampposts and the glittering lights of the Eiffel Tower. So when I first visited London (at 21, mind you), I fully expected to live out "Love Actually" and "Bridget Jones's Diary." Instead, I nearly got hit by cabs (several times, once while taking a picture of a sidewalk sign directing you to "look left" before crossing the street), ate an insane amount of Chicken Tikka Masala, hung out with Germans and was followed through a park by a pickpocket. I left London slightly disappointed that I hadn't found my own Mark Darcy and that I rarely ever heard English, let alone English spoken by English people, on the Tube. What I learned during subsequent visits, however, was that all of the experiences I had in London were indeed genuine London experiences. London didn't meet my expectations because London isn't just one thing; it is red telephone boxes, but it is also curries in Brick Lane. It's hearing a lot of Italian on the Tube, but going into a pub and hearing someone speak with such a thick Scottish brogue that you have no idea what they're saying.

In the next couple of weeks, I'll be writing entries about specific London (or southern England) adventures I took that helped me find my second home.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

2009-06-13T20:32:00.001-07:00

One of the wonderful things about my unemployment (there are...a couple, I suppose) is that I really couldn't have timed it any better...I got summer vacation as an adult. About a week after my last day at work, I left Seattle for Houston to stay with my mom for a while. The weather change couldn't have been more abrupt, but waking up every morning to a cloudless, robin's egg blue sky definitely has its perks. The 30 degree temperature increase took a little getting used to, but soon enough, I was decked out in my finest sundresses and letting my pale legs and arms get some sun.

I wake up later than I generally would, make tea and feed the dogs. I eat a breakfast of Cheerios and watch the news with my mom. Then I begin a day of job hunting and occasionally, a little bit of writing as well. Halfway through the day, I take a lunch break and indulge in my favorite guilty pleasure; Judge shows. There are so many to pick from! After I've numbed my brain a sufficient amount, I round up the tiny dogs and take them for a walk. When we've returned and the puppies have been watered, I resume my job hunting. There's dinner and another walk for the puppies and some TV watching with my mom.

My favorite thing to do before bedtime is go outside on the back patio, light a citronella candle and breathe in the warm, Texas summer air. During the daytime, the thickness of the air can be oppressive and overwhelming. In the evening, however, the warmth that lingers in the air blends with the smells of flowers and freshly cut grass (always cut your grass at dusk when you live in hot climates!) and it is intoxicating. If I close my eyes, I can feel myself drift back in time, to when my "real life" wasn't immediate or looming, and the days stretched ahead, filled with limitless possibility.

On Monday, I head back to Seattle for a job interview. If I get the job, I will no doubt be thrilled. A permanent, non-contract position will afford me the sort of stability that lends itself to leasing an apartment and finally fully becoming an adult. There's also a shot that I might have a few dates this summer, and that maybe I might get into grad school. Monday will be back to the real world.

Unemployment is an uncomfortable and mentally taxing time. The leisure I have is due to the fact that my parents are generous enough to let me stay with them until I sort out this life of mine. But what I know now is that life moves so incredibly quickly; it seems like it was just last year when I was having full 3 month summer vacations from college or high school. Without the punctuation marks of vacations and exams, dances and football games, adult life drops into a pattern that ticks along quickly and without slowing to remind you that the year 2009 is halfway over. With my break/contract ending, I had one more shot at the languid, drowsy pace of the summer vacations of yesteryear. I enjoyed them more than I ever could have imagined.

What A Feeling

2009-05-18T19:45:00.000-07:00

I've never seen Flashdance. I honestly get it confused with Fame quite a bit, which is pretty pathetic. But it's the truth. I've heard this "What A Feeling" song before, but my feelings about the song are shaped by the fact that everytime I heard it, the lyrics were lost in a jittery, thumping techno beat in a cheesy, smokey disco in Paris.

During last week's season finale of Grey's Anatomy, the always brilliant music producers selected this really wonderful cover of "What A Feeling" that made me get that tight, pre-tears feeling in my throat.

I cannot express in non-emo words how much I hate what my life has become. Two failed attempts at grad school. Living at home with my parents. Health issues. And now I'm unemployed. I just feel so helpless and alone but at same time, crowded and without an exit.

Everyday, I wake up and entertain the thought of taking my meager savings and disappearing on a plane to Paris. But I know that isn't realistic at all and I really have to try harder and focus and reach for whatever it is that I want out of my life. I'll be 25 this year and I want to be able to really be proud of something I've accomplished.

Hopefully, as I dig myself out of my Haagen Dazs and Vodka filled pit of despair, self-loathing and self-pity, the words can mean something more to me and help me really acknowledge that life isn't something passive and sitting back and letting things happen is no way to live. You have to take your passion and make it happen, right Irene Cara? And hey, with this extra time on my hands from being sans job, I might even watch Flashdance.

You're Young Until You're Not

2009-03-28T17:41:00.000-07:00

The past week has been a terrible rollercoaster ride. Terrible because instead of soaring highs and then steep, sharp drops, it's just been feeling a lot like I'm nosediving into an abyss. Melodramatic? Definitely. But being 24, single, unemployed with few job prospects and living with your family tends to make you not so optimistic about the world around you. Mostly because being 24 means you're still quite self-centered and focused on what you don't have instead of what you do.

And frankly, there's a lot that I do have to be thankful for. Like a loving family, a roof overhead, money for frivolous things like tall black tea lattes, Netflix and clear plastic bags full of Juicy Pear and Pomegranate jelly beans. A shopping bag full of books I need to re-read, money in my bank account, and, for the most part, my health.

So despite the fact that I'm really actually pretty depressed at the moment, I'm going to try a little bit harder to be hopeful about my future and thankful for the things I have.

I'm going to take ballet classes, join a French speaking group, apply for jobs, visit friends and family members in far flung corners of the country, take more long walks in the rain, buy flowers, garden, build things, take Flash classes and hope that somewhere, there's a job that's just right for me.

I'm going to be 25 soon. While that's still pretty young, I think it's time for some self-reflection and taking stock of who I am right now and what I hope to become. I feel lost all the time because I don't know what I want from life and it's high time I sort that out.

This will be my theme song:

2009-03-18T15:50:00.001-07:00

Updates! For all...3 of my readers :)

2009-03-18T09:46:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in a long while, mostly because there's not anything particularly noteworthy or interesting going on in my world. But then I realized that the point of this blog had very little to do with life-altering, earth-shattering events and more to do with the banalities of everyday life and my working my way through this odd little life of mine.

In any case, I will soon be unemployed. Not because I've been laid off, but because the contract for my current position expires next month. The behemoth company I work for has actually gone through a pretty sizeable round of layoffs, and I'm pretty sure if my contract didn't end when it does, I'd have been gone in January. My two officemates were brought on after me, and both of them saw their contracts abruptly cut off. And by abruptly I mean their bosses told them on Monday that their last day was Friday.

My days have now taken on a thick and relentless monotony. I come to work, make a cup of tea, check my mail (where there isn't anything for me to do because no one wants to start me on a new project if I'm going to be gone soon), check the blogs, apply for jobs. Repeat for 8 hours. There is absolutely NO REASON I should be exhausted at the end of a day like that, I chalk it up to the emotional toll sitting around doing nothing when you know you could or should be doing something takes on you.

I've been applying for jobs since December and I've gotten 1 interview. I'd feel worse if the economy wasn't so poor, but I just know that this is the way things are going to be for a while. All that I can do is keep trying and hoping for the best.

Ugh. The point of this entry was NOT to be depressing, but rather to offer an explanation of the changes I hope to make over the coming months. Because I'll be unemployed for a while, I plan on writing a lot more. In part because writing is what I love most in the world, and in part because I won't have anything else to do. There are probably 30 or so half-written entries waiting to be finished and posted, and I'm hoping to do a little bit of commentary regarding my job hunt.

YES, WE CAN

2008-11-07T07:02:00.000-08:00

Before my first trip overseas, my mom urged me not to be "the ugly American." I brushed up on the French I had learned that year in 8th grade, and I pulled any items with USA emblazoned on them out of closet. When we arrived in Paris during the summer of 1998, the French people we met were generally pretty kind to us. Maybe there was a wee jab here and there about cowboys and what not, but there were no outright discussions of politics or the wrongs America had committed recently. It might've been because I was so young (I turned 14 in Paris that year), but people seemed to respect America.

Seven years later, I embarked on a study abroad trip to Paris. This time, even I didn't like my country very much. We'd elected someone who was literally the embodiment of everything that is the "ugly American," not once, but twice. And when I went, it was just months after Bush's re-election. My, what a difference a President makes. I lived in an international house, and anytime I opened my mouth, I was sure to hear about my country's failing foreign policies, how our culture was taking over everything, how much people resented America. People were comparing us to the Roman Empire and seemed to be rather gleeful as the glow of America's formerly shining beacon of hope, change and prosperity seemed to be dimming. I enjoyed my time in Paris more than words can express, but the political discussions I had left me truly ashamed of what my country had become.

Yet, even as I lived there and listened to people complain about what my country had become, I knew that my story was one that could never happen in any other place but America. I am a black woman from a middle to upper middle class background. Both my parents attended college and have good jobs, I attended college, travelled abroad and had access to amazing opportunities and experiences. Two generations ago, my family members were sharecroppers in the deep South. And through the hardwork and perserverance that personifies the American experience, we achieved what our ancestors had hoped for us. But when I looked around me in France, I didn't see my experience replicated. There were NO people of color at the university I attended, and the only people of color I saw on television were athletes and singers.

So even though the American star had fallen considerably, it could be argued that there was something still there that made us completely capable of turning things around and regaining our former glory.

Two successive extended trips to Europe showed me that people seemed more disappointed than anything else. America has long been the "land of opportunity," yet for the past 8 years, we've been nothing more than a charicature of our worst selves. Warmongering, ignorant and discounting the voice of the world around us. The rest of the world isn't really so different than we are, we all want to believe that America can be better, that we are better than our current situation and that we have been. That for all our boisterous talking, our little bit of arrogance, we are a hopeful bunch who deep down really want to do what's best. Consumption of American pop culture abroad led me to believe that though our star had fallen, many people still wanted to believe or be exposed to the American dream.

And I think that Tuesday night, we became what we were before. There was a reason people were dancing in the streets, wrapped in American flags and singing our anthem. And not just in America, but overseas as well. Because deep down, we all wanted to believe that America is better than what we've been. That we've been down for a long time, but surely, the America that existed before hadn't died completely. People were ready for change.

For the first time in 8 years, I'll go abroad with my head held high, unashamed of my American accent and demeanor, proud that we're living up to our potential and that we collectively are ready to change the direction of the American journey.

2008-09-10T21:21:00.000-07:00

I am failing miserably at keeping this updated. But I figured that like millions of other people, tomorrow means that I should write an entry about that day.

I was a senior in high school. And the day began like any other...every school morning since I was in 4th grade, I woke up and turned on the The Today Show (I haven't watched that show since 9/11). That particular morning, I was watching it and whinging about a lost boot. I remember seeing Katie Couric reporting on what was happening, I remember going in to tell my mom that a plan had crashed in the World Trade Center.

I went to school, and in all but my Broadcasting class, we were prohibited from accessing the Internet. My classmates and I crowded around the editing computer and read updates on CNN.com. At lunch, someone had turned the TV on, and we all sat in stunned silence as we watched people jump from the windows of the burning buildings. Shortly after the footage aired, someone shut the tv off and in a room full of 200 or so adolescents, you could've heard a pin drop.

It's almost impossible for 17 to 18 year olds to put their lives into perspective without a catastrophic event serving as a catalyst. 9/11 accomplished that. This happened the 2nd week of school, and all of the giddyness that typically accompanies the beginning of senior year faded quietly into the background as we all realized we were on the brink of war. But this was not the type of war fought by our grandfathers; it was something deeper, stronger, more menacing and infinitely more mysterious. How can you combat a state of mind? How can you fight an enemy that isn't isolated strictly to the borders of one country? The weapons that were used against us weren't bombs or guns, but commercial jet planes. The victims were unarmed; they were passengers on planes, men and women going about their work day. They were civilians. This sort of thing happened overseas, to other people in far off places like Israel. But not in America, not to us. As a country, we had to learn to strike a balance between caution and paralyzing fear. Between recognizing a specific threat and making swift, blanket judgements.

I will never discount just how much that day in September changed the lives of everyone in this country in one way or another, and it is a day we really should never forget. But it frightens me that our leaders, the Republicans in particular, have been unable to move beyond that day in terms of creating policy.

Later in the evening on September 11th, at my mother's urging, I changed the channel to MTV, which had begun airing music videos non-stop. One of the songs I heard was called "Stuck in a Moment" by U2. I was never a U2 fan, but this particular song has always reminded me of 9/11 because I heard it that day, and I felt the lyrics were strangely appropriate. And maybe not so much on that exact day, but now, 7 years later, we as a country still derive much of our foreign policy not from current events, but from that day. We collectively are "stuck in a moment," and until we learn to take lessons from that fateful day, we cannot possibly respond to the threats we as a nation face today.

Back from Blighty

2008-06-25T13:51:00.000-07:00

I sort of let this thing slip to the wayside. Not that I had any real devoted readers, other than people I sent this link to, but still, I shouldn't have let it go entirely.

In December, I left the country. Which sounds dramatic and like something amazing happened, when really, it was just another step in my seemingly never ending search for fulfillment. I left, ended an almost 2 year-long relationship, encountered all manner of housing and financial troubles, and after 4 soul crushing months, found myself hauling 3 half empty suitcases up the steep stairs to a room in my dad and stepmom's home in rural suburbia. My years old battle with depression reared it's ugly head and for about a week, I lurched from room to room feeling a failure. I got a job, new clothes, replaced most of what had been lost or stolen in the Big Smoke and began my new position.

Truth be told, I never enjoyed graduate school. I tried to like my classes but I never did. I was never fully engaged and in hindsight, I think I knew deep down from the moment I stepped onto the Eastbound plane that what I was doing, where I was going and what I wanted were either not meant to be or weren't going to be found in the manner I thought. I knew that on December 27th in the same way I knew that on April 20th. But I always have to learn things the hard way. Always.

And for a while, the constant nagging voice in my head that tells me this isn't what I want to do, that what I want to do is over there was quieted. I was content. I found a boy who meant the world to me, my job was satisfactory, I had money, I was getting along with my family. But a couple of days ago, something clicked. I don't know what it was or what brought it on, but I felt the need to go.

So I'm back. Searching for something, I don't know what exactly, but looking. I know though that what I want more than anything else is to write. And of the things I learned about myself over the past several months, it's that writing is something I need present in my life. This blog will still be a lot about the awkwardness that is corporate America, but it will also be about the struggles of the uber-cliche but too true rite of passage that is the quarter life crisis.

What's your e-mail address?

2007-10-03T09:43:00.000-07:00

I have, almost since the time I began attracting the attention of adult men, an uncanny ability for getting all manner of freaks. The last time I dated someone normal was my junior year in high school, and so maybe there might be normal guys who find me attractive, but they never make their intentions known.

My ability to attract strangeoids became painfully obvious to me during my semester abroad. I, like many of my female classmates, was accosted by men all day long. On trains, buses, while walking through parks, buying groceries or waiting in line at the post office. Everywhere. And it is the kind of flirting that American men only get away with when they are extremely drunk. My response to awkward situations is often to giggle or smile nervously, which to many men is also a sign of flirting (but my kind of flirting usually involves verbal abuse, intense sarcasm, avoidance of eye contact, etc. You know...the opposite of actual flirting) so this almost always ended badly for me. I was once followed through a subway station by a man who insisted I go home with him. But along with potential stalkers, I attracted a lot of bored married men who called me "exotic," "exciting," and complained that their wives no longer found them attractive.

I returned to college with a newfound appreciation for the descendants of Puritans that I call my countrymen, and was happy to be able to safely walk down the street without fear of having someone grab my hand and tell me how beautiful I am. But only half my problem was solved; I still found myself attracting men in committed relationships and actual married men who were drawn to me for the same reasons that British, French, Italian and Irish men had explained to me on the other side of the pond.

After realizing that men are the same all around the world, I decided to just ignore the flirting that happens daily, and only when it gets really, really awkward have I taken notice and complained. And that brings us to last night. Last night was every awkward encounter I'd ever had with the added bonus of my being unable to escape. Because I was in a moving car. Every evening I take a shuttle from my building to a park-n-ride. Most of the shuttle drivers are semi-retired older men who flirt with me in a cute, harmless sort of way. Some of the shuttle drivers don't talk to me at all, but there's one shuttle driver in particular who I appear to have struck a chord with. On previous shuttle trips, I'd learned that he'd moved to America 8 months ago and worked as a shuttle driver in the evenings and as a help desk tech during the day. He also took it upon himself to chide me for being single, and cooking, eating and living alone, and insisted to me that this was a sad, meaningless existence. Which is of course what every single woman likes to hear.

Last night, when the shuttle pulled up, I immediately recognized him and gave my best cheerleader grin to help me get through what was sure to be a slightly awkward ride. I got into the car, and he began telling me how excited he was that he got to see me. "So excited! I have wanted to see you since last Friday!" he exclaimed. There were two other passengers and so whatever else he needed to say couldn't be uttered until they weren't in the car. When the couple had gotten out at their stop, he locked the doors and turned to me saying "You are single, yes?" I replied that I was, laughing softly to myself and recalling with a certain fondness the time that I sat in a park, hunched over an insanely overpriced blueberry muffin, racked with homesickness, when a man approached me and asked me out on a date.

The shuttle driver, undeterred by my giggling and the look on my face, shook his head thoughtfully and said "You are so beautiful. So appealing. Why are you single? It makes no sense." I cringed a little inside, mostly because I could tell where this conversation was going. I surveyed my surroundings and tried to see where I could get him to drop me off so I could walk the rest of the way. Several unreasonably long stop lights later, the driver turned to me and said "I have philosophical question for you." Knowing that this was going to be a doozy, I said "Go for it."

"In America, what is difference between 'lover' and 'boyfriend,'" he implored. I struggled to hold back laughter, and explained as delicately as I could what I understood the difference to be. He nodded. "I am looking to be one of those for you."

And I began laughing.

"Why do you laugh?" he said to me, looking deeply shocked.
"Oh...I don't know," and then, having caught a glimpse of his left hand, offered up "Don't you have someone waiting for you at home in Romania?"
Without a second of hesitation, he replied, "Yes, yes I do."
"Excellent!" I said. I mean really, my luck is amazing...there I was trapped in a moving car with a married man (who later told me he had a 9 year old child) who wanted to be my lover AFTER I'd defined what the word "lover" meant to me.

"You don't like?"
"No," I responded, "I don't. Married men are off-limits."
"You are sure?" He looked at me with wide eyes.

"Yes."

The car pulled up to it's appointed destination. He switched on his hazard lights, put the parking brake on and looked at me. I reached for the door and realized that it was still locked. I turned to look at him, and in one incredibly deft motion, he grabbed my hand and looked at me and said "What's your e-mail address?"

The sheer ridiculousness of the past half an hour had now been increased ten fold with this inclusion of technology in his pursuit of...a lover.

Gluttons for Punishment

2007-09-26T20:31:00.000-07:00

I think it is fair to say that I have always been odd and somewhat of a glutton for punishment. As a little girl, I refused to play video games and instead spent my weekly allotted television time watching Nova. When other kids grumbled about school projects, I set weekly project deadlines for myself as the editor of the Unicorn Gazette and later, Pointe Magazine (both had a top circulation of around 10 paid subscribers-$2 got you a lifetime membership/subscription. What's surprising is not the fact that I charged, but that I got 10 of my friends to willingly pay...but I digress). I'd spend hours fiddling around with my new favorite toy, Microsoft Publisher, fixing margins, finding appropriate clip art and condensing the stories my small but dedicated staff of writers would submit. When my mom attempted to finish her degree while I was in elementary school, I'd secretly pray for nights when my grandma wouldn't be available to babysit so I could go to class with my mom. I'd bring a few sheets of unlined printer paper with me and pretend to scribble notes like everyone else around me. I remember being absolutely fascinated by the people who occupied the desks nearest to me and I couldn't wait for the day when I too could sit silently in class and absorb the wisdom of someone as ancient as the man standing before us.

In high school and college, I filled my freetime with student organizations that took great pains to schedule as many meetings as possible, often purposeless and almost always incredibly awkward. At one point during my senior year in High School, I was secretary of 3 different organizations, which meant that I not only had to attend several meetings a week, I also had to take notes. And I loved it. The posturing and petty politics surrounding the activities I was involved in were things I found incredibly engrossing.

And you'd think now that those activities (meetings, deadlines, politics and gossiping) rule my world, I'd find any excuse to escape. And you'd be wrong. I find the world of corporate America to be ridiculously and endlessly amusing and interesting to examine. I sometimes think that I chose the wrong (semi) useless Liberal Arts major and that I should've gone the psych/soc route so that when I eventually ended up right where I am now, I'd be able to accurately assess the motives behind people's actions.

I don't really attend very many meetings at work, but I do occasionally get invited to morale events, goodbye, congrats, and happy birthday parties that occur in various ill-chosen areas throughout my building. Everyone shuffles into the chosen spot, typically in groups of 2 or 3. People stand in a lopsided circle until the organizer of the event coughs up a few words regarding why we're all standing awkwardly around a table in a conference room. Whatever food that's being served (I think this might be the main reason people attend these events) is passed around the room. People chuckle awkwardly, examine their watches and make rueful glances towards the nearest exit. Small talk follows, and then people begin peeling away, offering apologies and saying they need to go to another meeting, or just disappearing sans explanation. A couple of women in my office (who I've mentioned in an earlier entry), regularly show up to events, take food and jet. It's remarkable to watch because they either a) are blissfully ignorant of the way you behave at these things or b) don't care that you're supposed to give the appearance of caring about whatever occasion the awkward little shindig they're stealing food from is meant to mark.

The thing that I don't understand is how these events have become such a part of corporate culture. No one seems to enjoy them, yet they really are de rigeur, and seemingly inescapable. The fact that a dozen or more people usually attend events that bear a striking resemblance to the clip below is a testament to the fact that I'm clearly not the only glutton for punishment in the room. It also suggests that though every company has it's own unique culture, we all clearly share some characteristics. And a love of free food.

Behavior Modification

2007-09-10T20:02:00.001-07:00

As a student, I exhibited the sort of behavior teachers found to be extraordinary. I was quiet, hardworking, attentive and obedient. I was never late, my desk was always orderly and tidy and I worked well with others. My mother had always stressed the importance of appearances, and so though at home, I was moody and prone to sulkiness, my room a sea of half-written short stories, artfully crumpled balls of paper and stacks of library books and I often disappeared into my closet with a boombox and a flashlight so that I could listen to jazz each Sunday, in public, I was perfect.

Beginning in 2nd grade, my teachers found my model behavior to be the sort of thing they wished to foist on others. This meant that I was seated next to children with behavioral problems ranging from minor to intense. Right before parent-teacher conference, my mother would sit down and ask me if there was anything bothering me, and I would complain about the children I was forced to sit next to. Each time, my mother would return with the same explanation; the teacher wants you to rub off on them! My mother was unfailingly impressed with this, no doubt happy that her years as a single parent had yielded a wonderful result and that she was not plagued with the same issues her friends dealt with. But for my part, I was never quite satisfied. I felt that I endured enough of Margo’s teasing, poking and prodding, enough stolen pens, pencils and carefully stowed markers, and enough times of Anna’s attempts at cheating off of my spelling. Though it never seemed apparent to me, this method of pairing worked at some level, and it continued until I finished elementary school.

Swearing that I would never again find myself forced to sit next to someone as some sort of means of behavior modification, I became choosy about who I would sit near. In junior high, high school and college, I selected seating arrangements that found me surrounded by people who were similar to me and who I could depend upon to remain silent during lecture and exchange whispered but barbed words with one another.

And now, in the corporate world, I find myself transported back to elementary school; unable to control who I am seated next to and the unwilling participant of some sort of strange experiment on corporate life. For 2 months, I shared space with just one person; a quiet man who came to work at 6:30 and left at 3:30. We shared pleasantries, but by and large, we didn’t have many conversations and just went about our day. At the end of my 2nd month, a 3rd person arrived. A mixture of Dwight/Gareth and Andy from The Office with a dash of Aaron Spelling TV drama villainess thrown in, my new spacemate had chased out my first spacemate by her 3rd week in the office. Her computer seemed to not work, her internet never functioned the way it should, the sky was grey, it was too humid, there was no Diet Coke, her dogs were ill, she had a bad date…all of these were things she felt the need to share with us on a daily basis. Loudly. Without shame. She commonly held private conversations regarding personal issues ranging from divorce to her credit scores, and when my other spacemate was not in, she would routinely unplug his Ethernet cable and use it for her own machine. One morning after he was chastised because his machine, which contained necessary components for use on his team’s project, was inaccessible, our other spacemate yelled one good time at the Hellion, requested a change and never returned. Unfazed and unapologetic, Spelling villainess focused all her attention upon me. Sometimes she needed to use my phone, other times the computer itself. Not just for 10 minutes…sometimes for close to an hour. Unable to say no in the face of someone who is clearly my superior, I would concede, over and over again.

I could feel the 8 year old version of myself seizing up inside, forming verbal tirades that would remain unsaid and harboring visions of inflicting the sort of revenge on her that would make Tim/Jim (from The Office) proud. Instead, I found solace in complaining to my co-workers and family members. By the 6th time I went to them with a story that seemed to happen daily, I could see the looks in their eyes had changed from sympathetic to “You’re an adult, do something yourself.”

And that’s the tricky thing about being where I am in adulthood. On one hand, I have all the trappings of adulthood; a job, an apartment and a matching stack of bills. But because this woman is so much older than me, so much more senior in her position with the company, I feel about 9 years old inside…hoping that if I complain enough to my mom, she’ll take my worries to someone who can do something or offer an explanation.

Until I figure out the appropriate course of action, I’ll comfort myself with YouTube clips of pranks featured on The Office.

Office Space

2007-09-10T16:25:00.000-07:00

My first job out of college was located in the newly regentrified area of my city, where wherehouses are commonly renovated and made into trendy million dollar lofts and office space for small start up companies.

The building I worked in was drafty, drab & grey, and the people I worked with matched the interior quite nicely. I worked there for close to 6 months, but it took me 3 to learn the names of the people on my team. I would shuffle up the ramp that led to the clusters of grey cubicles to my own little corner of awesome. I decorated the walls with print-outs of my alma mater's football schedule, jokes from the television show The Office, and to complete the picture of corporate awfulness, I hung a generic calendar featuring squirrels in different seasons above my desk. My computer was situated so that I faced a wall and my back was to the pathway that ran between cubicles. I was conscious of the time I spent on YouTube because I was acutely aware of the fact that anyone could see what I was doing long before I'd be able to quickly click to another screen. The four cubicles in either direction of me sat empty, and so I passed my days with my iPod headphones shoved into my ears, clicking away at the mice and keyboard from 9 until 6. Deprived of my ability to observe my co-workers and my new, corporate surroundings, I was absolutely miserable and at the end of each day, I watched this clip, reminding myself that this wasn't my career.

I changed jobs in early Spring, and with the new position came a completely new set of problems relating to my desk. I am now positioned just around the corner from the restrooms and the Kitchen, and as such, the hallway near me gets quite a bit of foot traffic. When I'm not killing my eardrums with overly loud pop music courtesy of those geniuses at Pandora, I am easily distracted by the characters that speed up and down the hallway each minute. This is problematic because I'm pretty sure I appear to never be doing any work as I am constantly peering above my computer screen at anyone who falls into my line of sight.

But occasionally, my eyes are drawn away from the computer screen and I watch (with feigned disinterest but really, an intense desire to understand the participants' motivations) the elaborate corporate dances that people perform under the harsh flourescent lighting. My nearest deskmate (bane of my existence and subject for my next blog entry), is madly in love with one of my co-workers. She struts up and down the hallways as though she is some sort of model and when she catches the eye of the object of her desire flashes him a look not unlike a woman searching for someone to take home as the lights turn on during last call at a bar. My co-worker, oblivious to her advances, smiles brightly in his naturally flirty manner, unknowingly giving her encouragement to continue her ultimately fruitless endeavors.

At the other end of the spectrum is a woman maybe 2 or so years older than me who has captured the imagination of every man she comes in contact with. She walks down the hallways usually with 2 or 3 men in tow, and they chuckle and fawn all over her as she talks. In a company with a startling lack of estrogen, the presence of a pretty girl can yield all sorts of results. I have never once seen her alone.

There is a man who wears the same paint of paint splattered pants to work everyday, and who never fails to wink at me each time he catches my eye.

There are three women of the same ethnic background who walk everywhere together and who warmly smile and laugh together, sharing conversations in their native tongue in the bathroom or while getting coffee in the breakroom. Theirs is the sort of camraderie that makes me feel lonely for my friends in college, and stands out amongst the friendships people carve out in corporate America because it seems to go a little deeper than the ones I see most of the time that are based upon "walking around a bit of carpet everyday."

Someone to Eat Cheese With

2007-07-12T14:05:00.000-07:00

I was never a serial dater in college. I dated a few guys, but nothing was ever very serious and I can’t say that I think I missed out on too much. But at my college commencement ceremony last year (and apparently every year because I think college presidents have a stock commencement address socked away), our President informed us that we’d most likely met our future husband/wife at college. That was entirely distressing, but like most of the advice/comments/helpful (read: not very helpful and more depressing than anything else) I received in the run-up to my quarter life crisis inducing graduation from college, I didn’t listen..it was “an inconvenient truth” if you will.

Somewhere along the line, my generation decided to skip the memo about debaucherous twenties fueled by drugs, sex and alcohol. Instead, my closest friends have shacked up and gotten married, or are on the verge of doing so. College, apparently, was where the debauchery began and ended, and I often find myself having conversations with friends about cookware and weekend trips to quaint towns frequented by retirees. This wouldn’t be so troublesome to me if I was a) a retiree or b) in a relationship. I am the one of my friends who is single, and as I tread the waters of corporate America, I find that I’m probably going to be that way for a while. And though my friends are married (or close to it), I think the only reason why I'm truly concerned is because I fear my college President was correct, and that the only time I ever had access to a huge pool of prospective husbands has slipped passed me while I pursued what I thought was the point of college; a degree.

I spend 8-10 hours a day at work, and by the time I get home, I don’t really have the energy to go to a bar and attempt to find guys. Nothing is less appealing to me than the club scene, so where do I go to find Mr. Right? The answer would appear to be work…but that leads to potentially treacherous waters. The people I share cubicle space with are by and large at least a decade older than I am. An added bonus is that they’re also almost all married, and so as a force of habit, when I see a cute guy, I first check his lefthand before making eye contact.

Written out, these concerns sound truly pathetic. And I realize that I'm quite young and shouldn't be so concerned, but...I can't help it.

The one thing that this whole experience has afforded me is the opportunity to cultivate a crush. I haven't had a real, true crush since sophomore year of high school. And the difference now is that in high school, I allowed myself to harbor fantasies that my crush and I would one day go to a dance together or maybe even on a real date. My friends and I passed notes that had his name written in the margins and I tried desperately to sound intelligent in the Honors English class we had together. Now, my days are spent trying to catch a glimpse of my office crush as he saunters down the cubicle aisles, but do so without him knowing. I avoid talking to him at all costs and have doubled back to my cube when I see him making his way to one of my neighbors. I won't lie; it's a bit of a thrill to get that stomach flip or a flush of red to the cheeks when he comes near. But eventually, this will all get old, and I'll circle back to the President's words, wondering which of my former flames, college classmates or group members will be the man I spend my evenings watching obscure foreign films and drinking tea with.

Group Dynamics

2007-07-11T20:21:00.000-07:00

As a student, you often wonder why your teachers/professors force you into the torture of group presentations and projects. Students invariably assume what seem to be roles assigned in kindergarten: the worker bee, the slacker, the bossy one, the busy one and the one who goes beyond being a slacker and merely exists. You take your position, and until you graduate from college, that is who you are. You work in groups with people that you may not like on subjects you don't like or know anything about. But still you work.

Come college, the added wrench into the group presentation problem is that people suddenly have lives. Joey and Anna have chapter on Monday nights and philanthropy meetings on Wednesdays and Thursdays, so they can't meet then. Isabelle has student government meetings on Tuesdays, so she can't meet. Saturdays are reserved for whatever sport is in season, and Brad from the football/baseball/basketball team watches tapes/conditions on Sunday and Monday nights. So you attempt to work around these schedules, hoping that at some point, you can work on your project and really make it gel. Occasionally, this works and you produce a stellar result that even you are astounded at. But sometimes, you give a presentation that reeks of "We were never able to have a real meeting and we made this presentation via AIM late last night."

What no one tells you, or at least not in a manner that you are able to receive and process, is that these battles are merely an appetizer for the entree that is "The Real World." Those same personalities that have followed you since kindergarten? Yeah, they're still there in adulthood. And those meeting conflicts? Yep. Isabelle has a morale event, Joey and Anna have a conference call with the D.C. office and Brad is running late on one of his side projects, so he just can't make it at all. You look over your Outlook calendar and find an astounding array of multicolored tabs and little red flags indicating important appointments. You learn to balance the work habits of your co-workers; there's one guy who thrives on finishing his work right before the deadline and no sooner, another who's meticulous nature is somewhat perplexing and leaves you wondering about the state of your desk and filing cabinet. One guy who you just plain don't understand and who has a remarkable ability to relate everything you say to a story he once heard or something that once happened to him.

The challenge you face is to somehow navigate all of that, and turn out stellar presentations, regardless of your group members or the fact that any meeting you schedule conflicts. Because in "The Real World," there's probably not going to be a boss willing to accept sub-par work simply because none of you could sync up your Outlook calendars.

So a year into my "adult life," I'm finally able to look at those lessons I learned way back when, and trying to apply them to my everyday life. And as I do so, I seem to remember a common thread in the looks on the faces of all the professors who ever assigned group projects. I thought it was the glint of a sadistic authority figure, foisting pain and suffering onto poor, overworked and sleep deprived young people (though in some cases, I'm sure that's still true). But instead, I think that was the knowing look of a professor giving you the tools to succeed at a task you're not even aware you'll be attempting to complete.

Dress for Success

2007-07-11T14:58:00.000-07:00

Growing up, my mother always stressed the importance of dressing well for school. There are no childhood pictures of me dressed in mismatched clothing with mussed hair. Instead, I'm usually perfectly put together in the latest fashions (which in some cases means truly unfortunate 80's and 90's ensembles that include side ponytails and acid washed jean skirts) that have been miniaturized into children's clothing.

In 6th grade, after forming a friendship with the classroom tomboy, I briefly engaged in schleppy dressing and much to my mother's chagrin, regularly wore Adidas shower shoes, grungy flannel shirts and baggy jeans to school. But upon entering Junior High, I began seeking out my mother's expert fashion advice, and returned to the land of pulled together looks. Even in college, I was never one of those girls who wore oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants to class. I just could not do it.

In college, professors always emphasized how important it was to dress well at work and that the wardrobe so embraced by college students across the country was something that would never be accepted in the workforce. This, apparently, was going to be the biggest shock to our post-collegiate systems.

To them I say "Ha!"

Everyday seems to bring a more egregious fashion horror to my attention. And mind you, now that I'm not getting free clothes from my parents, I'm no longer a huge fashion plate and I can more often than not be spotted wearing something as uninspired as a basic Gap outfit, but the things I see my co-workers wearing are awful.

Today, for example, was a nice summer day. And because there's no real dress code to speak of, many people were wearing shorts and flip flops. Middle aged men were decked out in their favorite Hawaiian print shirt and women layered tank tops in an attempt to balance workplace modesty with the fact that the temperature had finally hit the mid 80's. But then there were...the others. I haven't quite worked out what these people do for a living, but I'm almost certain it must be something that doesn't require contact with people. I also know that they're probably worth 2-3x time as much as I am, but the clothes they wear would never give anyone that impression.

Often, these men are rocking shoulder to mid-back length locks, and from behind, you'd simply think they were an ill-dressed woman. The color these men wear is almost always black, including a black t-shirt with some sort of self-effacing joke, or better yet, an in-joke that relates to their job. The t-shirts are the faded black-grey color that comes from washing them improperly, and are usually worn with khaki cargo pants that give the appearance of never having been washed. Their shoes are black New Balance, the sort that are commonly sported by Burger King workers and other members of the service industry, and are paired with crew socks that (are accidently) the same color as their shirt. The look is capped off with 3 day old facial hair and a greasy sheen over pale, pale skin, the sort that is produced after months spent indoors with the shades drawn playing WoW or some other RPG while cramming their gob with whatever was available in the vending machine (And you know what? I'm almost as nerdy as they are because I just used acronyms. Go me.).

As I said before, I cannot really judge these people because they're undoubtedly smarter and more wealthy than I am. And I know I wear unflattering clothing; everyone makes mistakes. But day after day, these men trudge through the hallways and between cubicles, go into conference rooms (presumably to attend meetings, hopefully not full of similarly ill-dressed men), and it defies logic that these people are actually gainfully employed. My most recent observation is that probably 70% of the men I've observed are married.

Which leads me to this point: As a woman, I know I could never a) be employed while dressing like that or b) secure a man wearing similar clothing. It's a sad, sad double standard that finds men able to dress that way when the women I work with, while again are not necessarily fashion plates, all appear to have put some effort into their clothing selections. Or at the very minimum, have you know, showered sometime recently.

And so it begins...

2007-07-11T14:07:00.000-07:00

I graduated from college over a year ago. And like most college graduates, I was convinced of the infalliblity of my plans and sure that the ideas and wishes I'd set out for myself in the final, anxiety ridden moments of my academic career would be as brilliant in execution as they had been in my head.

But my plans just didn't work out the way I wanted them to, and instead I found myself working in corporate America, which I initially felt was a defeat I could never recover from. I'd spent the 4 months prior to graduation arguing my father to death about how soul crushing it would be to submit to the demands of a climate controlled, cubicle filled world of petty office politics, and so when I finally complied, I felt my life was over.

Instead, I've found that working has yielded many rewards I never thought possible. Aside from the thrill of receiving a weekly direct deposit and having my parents believe I am a somewhat responsible individual, I have been able to fully indulge in my love of people watching.

People watching was a skill I learned during my semester abroad. The country I lived in practiced people watching like it was a professional sport, but here in the land of Amerigo Vespucci, we do not openly stare at people without fear of receiving a death stare in return. The company I work for, however, employs thousands of highly intelligent shoe-gazers who are oblivious to my sport of choice, and so I now engage in my favorite activity on a daily basis.

This blog will detail my findings...they'll be of little (read: none) scientific merit, but will provide a little insight into the goings on my particular corner of corporate America.

Welcome!