Be Nice

I am a walking contradiction.  Of course I am-- I'm a woman!  I'm an anti-elitist who appreciates prestige.  I don't judge people-- unless they judge people; then I automatically hate them.  I'm a rabid saver who loves to spend money.  I'm a lazy couch potato who enjoys exercising.  I'm a morning person who loves to sleep in.  I'm a laid-back chick who gets easily riled up.  I'm indifferent yet passionate.  I'm highly intelligent and stubbornly provincial.  Most of all, I'm a sweet girl who is a complete bitch.

The other day, I noticed my husband's facebook status message was a song lyric we have been listening to lately.  I smiled.  It was cute. Since I am in the habit of using my favorite song lyrics as status messages, I thought of it as something of a compliment that he did the same.  But, a friend of ours "made a comment" to his status.  She wrote, "um... been there done that and still addicted!".  Now I know it's not a big deal, but I found it kind of obnoxious.  I know that she really likes this artist.    His new album came out a few weeks ago and she had (in commenting to a status/song lyric I had posted a while ago) asked me if I got it yet.  I said, 'no, how is it?'.  She said, 'Pretty good."  I said, 'Cool.'  My husband and I have been listening to this artist for years.  I know she's been into him lately.  Maybe for as long as we have.  Whatever.  It's not a contest.  I hate music-snobbery.  Which is why I hated her status message so much.  I know, in a sense, she was trying to say, 'I love that song too'.  But what she was really saying was, 'Oh yeah, I totally know that song and have loved it for a long time.'  (For the whole three weeks since the album's been out.)   And what is up with that "um" in the beginning of the sentence?  So I know I'm reading very deeply into this and getting carried away.  I have realized lately that when people make snide remarks to me, I'm not necessarily but more likely willing to let it roll off my back.  Behave that way with someone I'm close to, let alone my husband, and you better watch the f*ck out.

So I added an additional comment, under hers, that said "I know that song too!  Look at me!"  (If you are reading this and you are friends with my husband on facebook, you can see it for yourself.)  What I was trying to do was point out how ridiculous people look when they desperately want to show others that they're in the know about something, like she was doing.  I realize it was a tad bitchy of me.  I even feel a little bad about it.  But not that bad.  One of my attributes- for better or for worse- is an overdeveloped sense of justice.  I think being not-nice is a good response to someone who was not-nice to you.  Or someone you care about.

The thing about being nice is-- if you are nice to everyone, then being nice kind of loses its meaning.  I'm not saying that you should punch someone in the face if you don't like their outfit.  Generally, people should be kind and friendly to everyone they encounter.  I often subscribe to the "turn the other cheek" mentality, because, you know, who cares.  It's usually not worth it if someone is a rude a**hole.  But if you are extra, out-of-your-way nice to someone who wasn't that nice to you, it's devaluing the instances you were nice to people who cared enough to specifically show you kindness.  Being nice-- appropriately- is also a way of showing loyalty to those who deserve it.

Another problem I have is that I think I am very funny.  So if I have the chance to zing someone, and they deserve it, it is especially hard for me not to.  Which is again, ironic, because I HATE HATE HATE when people make jokes at someone else's expense just to get a laugh.  I think it is pathetic and repugnant.  But it's okay when I do it, because I only do it when the target is otherwise a douche-bag.  Do you have a problem with that, you judgmental prick?!  I kid, I kid.  I have enough self-awareness to know how convenient it is that I am the one who gets to decide who deserves ridicule and who doesn't.  But you can judge a person by her actions, and I stand by mine most of the time.  If you know me, you probably do like me.  If you don't know me, you probably would.

Later that day, the girl from facebook's status message said, "So-and-so wants to SCREAM!!!"  I have no idea if it had anything to do with me and what I said.  But just the possibility of that being the reason she is distressed made me want to throw up.  I know none of this is a big deal, but I felt terrible.  I guess the joke's on me.

Tips and Tidbits from the Pageant World

As I have mentioned in other blogs, I come from a very large family. And although my parents were able to give us so many things (a wonderful loving environment to come home to every day, confidence & belief in ourselves, etc) there was one thing they weren’t able to give us: money for college. I realized very early on that if I was going to go to college I would need to find a way to pay for it on my own.

I was an athlete so I was able to get substantial athletic scholarships. I also had high grades and test scores so I was eligible for many academic scholarships. However, I went to a private liberal arts college and there was still a remainder of my tuition that wasn’t covered by scholarships and grants. So, in my search for additional scholarship funds I found one great way for me to pay for my education – compete in pageants. Over my four-year undergraduate education I was able to earn over $30,000 in scholarships, speak and make presentations to the State Senate, and address numerous audiences throughout the state of Idaho on a monthly basis.

Now, I could probably dedicate an entire blog just to the “world” of pageants. However, the purpose of this blog isn’t to justify or defend the program. This is a blog to let the every-day person in on five of the tips and tricks that you learn in the pageant world!

1. Whether it be from a late night studying, or a fun night out on the town…we have all had mornings where your eyes are puffy, swollen, or show dark circle. The Solution: Put preparation H (hemorrhoid cream) under your eyes!! The ointment will relieve the puffiness and swelling!

2. Duct tape isn’t just for DIY fixes throughout the house! If you ever need a little “perk” for the ladies upstairs and are wearing a backless dress…duct tape is the answer! You can lean over with the roll of duct tape in your hand and tape from one side of your chest to the other (usually it takes about three strips of tape) while “pushing up” at the same time you are taping. It creates miraculous results. Warning: This usually takes the help of another person and is actually quite painful when you are taking the tape off. One helpful tip: Bandaids over the sensitive areas.

3. If you are one of a series of people being interviewed for the same position there is a placement strategy. Typically people tend give the best score to the person who is close to the end of your interviewees. For example, let’s say there are 20 people applying for the same position. Interviewers tend to be harder on the first bunch of the applicants because they don’t necessarily have a medium to compare. Towards the end of the interview process, they are usually tired/exhausted/bored from interviewing. We’ve found that usually if you are numbers 15-18 (out of 20) you have the best chance of being selected. Keep in mind, this isn’t fool-proof. If you are an excellent interviewer you can get a high score regardless of your “position”. However, if competition is tough….keep this in mind. You may think about this strategy also when you are making a presentation in class…the same concept applies.

4. Don’t worry, preparation H isn’t just for swollen eyes!! Ever had to wear a bathing suit in public? I have…and it is not too fun if you aren’t in your best shape. Take Preparation H ointment and rub it on your legs. It will reduce the appearance of cellulite and tighten up your skin, reducing the “jiggle” effect! Crazy, I know, but it works.

5. Speaking of swimsuits….hate when you are in a swimsuit and the swimsuit material starts to ride? There is a secret: Butt Glue. It is actually "wig glue" that women use to keep their wigs on their heads, but you can also use it on your swimsuit to keep it in place. You can use this same application to keep straps or pieces of dresses in place. Keep in mind, however, that the glue isn’t incredibly strong so if you are planning on actively moving around this isn’t the best plan of attack.

So there you have it. The secret world of a beauty queen.

This was kind of a silly post and I touched on the “stereotypical” areas of a pageant. Although I do believe that stereotypes start for a reason, and there are some girls who compete that are competing for the wrong reasons, I don’t have enough gratitude for the growth I received from competing in this program. As I mentioned earlier, I was able to pay for a huge portion of my education, I learned how to command attention to both large and small audiences, and got many connections throughout the state of Idaho along the way. I had the opportunity to speak regularly at Chamber of Commerce meetings in communities throughout Idaho to teach business owners how to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act. I convinced multiple school boards in Idaho and Oregon to pilot a student-based peer tutoring program, enabling the participation of over 500 elementary and junior-high students. I was awarded the “Overall Interview Award” two years in a row, an achievement which I was most proud of.

Maybe one of these days in a blog I will feel like defending the program to people who criticize it, or explaining the differences between the Miss America Organization and the Miss USA program (very different programs with very different types of girls who compete, different entry qualifications, judging criteria, etc) but in the meantime I am happy knowing that I have shared some of my “secret tips” that I learned while competing as a pageant winner.

Short Stories: Part IV

What to do when your friend's boyfriend writes you a love email? That's a question for the modern ages. We're not talking about a letter that travels over land and sea and passes through many strange hands to reach you. We're talking about an email that came instantly into my view and I assume he expected a fairly instant response. I mean, as with anything digital, there's a general expectation of immediacy, and a hastened statute of limitations on responding before things get awkward.

But I felt I had time to call my mom, my sister-- to get on the phone and scream about this new twist of plot. So I did. We screamed. My mom got to say, "I told you so" and my sister said, "oh my God" over and over. Turns out they were no help. The only thing I accomplished while dissecting everything with them was that I should definitely not tell M what her boyfriend had done. And I never did- I never told M.

I got off the phone with them and began to compose my response. I kept re-reading his email, still in disbelief. If I hadn't erased the email (at a later date, out of anger I did erase the love email), I'd tell you exactly what it said. I do remember it went something like this:

"I'm going to say this at a huge risk... of saying something that could change everything... but I would never forgive myself if I let this go... you're about to go to your new job and I can't let you go without saying... I'm crazy about you, for a long time...this weekend was all wrong... I was there with the wrong girl... I'm crazy about you like the Wonder Years... I have to know if you feel the same."

Crazy like the Wonder Years huh?

I took my time and gently wrote a response. I didn't flat-out say "sorry, not interested." Instead, I was kind and subtle and blamed the circumstances. I figured whether or not I liked him in return could arguably be considered irrelevant, given the fact that he was currently dating my friend and that I had a boyfriend. But also the truth was, I was too chicken to blurt out the truth that something had been horribly miscommunicated while I was friends with Evan. So I wrote this nervous, long-winded email- likely not saying anything he was interested in hearing-- a lot of how-did-this-happen type of musings. I closed it with "and so I'm sorry this will never work as you are dating my friend and I have a boyfriend." The end.

The problem with rejecting a guy who normally has girls throwing themselves at him is that he doesn't tend to believe you when you do it. The day after the email exchange he wrote, "you're not married, you're not off limits." I was disgusted with his level of confidence, but I somehow "felt bad," I suppose because I was turning down a coworker's romantic advances, which was just uncomfortable and also because I was invariably going to disappoint him.

He insisted we meet the following day to discuss everything. I really didn't want to discuss anything with him. But I agreed. I'm a pushover. I agreed to meet him in the park near my apartment.

And as could have been easily predicted, the whole meeting was anything but a walk in the park. I didn't have a clue what to say. I was feeling responsible and in the hot seat and exposed and sorry. The first thing I said was,

"You're not going to try and kiss me are you?" Evan's eyes grew wide and he choked a little. He said,

"Only if you want me to...?"

"No. Please don't." Oh God so awkward.

I steered the conversation toward M. What was he going to do about that? When was he going to break up with her? He couldn't string her along. He had to do something soon-- while I was walking through Riverside Park with Evan, M was texting me asking what I thought about her relationship with Evan and why I thought he suddenly stopped communicating with her.

I was beginning to grow weary of this unwieldy problem that I felt wasn't really mine. High school romance drama: not really my problem, right? I mean, it was thrown in my lap and I had to deal with it but it wasn't my mess.

Evan appeared to consider my questions for a moment, then let the words fall out of his mouth like little pebbles: he was only going to break up with M if it turned out that I liked him.

I am going to now ask every girl out there with a boyfriend to punch him. Not in the face, just like in the arm or something. But punch hard. And do it for every indecent and unkind thing he might have ever done, and for every indecent and unkind thing he'll ever potentially- even remotely- do to you. Like Evan, who was playing his girlfriend like an apartment you're not ready to sign the lease on because you want to make sure that other, cheaper apartment with the one-and-one-half bathrooms doesn't become available first.

I looked at him squarely and ordered him to break up with M. I told him that she adores him and he knew that, and that there's no way he could stay with her while liking anyone else, let alone her friend.

It took him a few days-- a few days of sheer torture for M who waited and waited and waited for Evan to call her or show a glimmer of the boy she knew before-- but Evan did eventually break up with M. I felt it was important that the news came from him and not me. I was sweating though, because the longer Evan waited to break up with her, the more I felt I needed to tell her to break up with him and tell her why she should do it.

On that day he asked her to meet him on the plaza where we work, from where countless live shows have been broadcast, and she was giddy. She wrote me that he finally wanted to talk to her and he "seemed friendly" so everything was probably fine. He's probably just been busy.

By this time, I was at my new job and working about a row away from M. I had a clear view of her quick and painful deterioration from a happy, healthy, athletic girl, into a solemn and heavy-hearted person who kept checking her blackberry to see if Evan was trying to get in touch with her. So she jumped up and flew out of the newsroom to meet him that afternoon.

They sat on a bench in a sliver of sun that escaped between two skyscrapers. She was so nervous. He was making a serious face. He broke up with her right then and there. She texted me immediately that she was free because she finally had her answer.

But "free" is not exactly how I'd describe what she appeared to be feeling. She went through a dark and very public mourning phase where she cried at her desk and left work early or didn't show up for work or came in looking like she hadn't showered and laughed really loudly at things that weren't funny but everyone looked up from their desks... It was not good.

I decided I'd shrink away from her scene, even though she emailed me pretty constantly wanting to rehash the details of her brief relationship. I couldn't talk to her about it. I knew too much and none of it I was willing to share with her. It was my own, dirty, uncomfortable secret.

I would occasionally see Evan. I was still feeling pretty guilty. I would meet up with him for dinner but we wouldn't talk about "it." We were pretending nothing was out of the ordinary.

One night we started talking about our coworker Emy who was on the business trip in San Antonio with us. I mentioned she was a cute girl.

"You should maybe date her," I offered. I was hoping the day would come when he'd be dating someone else and I didn't have to wonder if he still liked me or not. Not that him having a girlfriend would ensure that... But Evan didn't take to the idea,

"I don't like her like that. She's not my type."

That Friday night I got relentless drunken text messages from Evan. "Please let me come over," he wrote over and over. It was fast becoming clear that I could not maintain a friendship with him. I declined his offers to "make it worth my while," and went to bed early.

That Monday I took a coffee break with Emy in the ladies room. One of our company's bathrooms has a spacious waiting area where were used to take gossip breaks and gush in hushed tones.

"I had a really big date this weekend," Emy said with a smile, "Well not really a date. Evan kept calling me from this party saying that he really wanted to spend time with me. And so I met up with him for a few drinks and then we went back to my apartment."

Oh Tannenbaum

I just ordered a fake Christmas tree. Our apartment building doesn’t allow real trees, so we really had no choice. Plus, now that I am no longer at home on break from school for most of December, it was important to me to decorate our apartment for the season. So I spent the afternoon scouring the internet for an affordable, yet realistic artificial tree. I found beautiful Blue Spruces and Douglas Firs that would take up virtually our entire living room or narrower trees that would cost a small fortune, and finally decided to settle on a rather pathetic looking “slim profile” model that has a footprint small enough to fit in the only non-occupied location in our living room/dining room combo.

The whole experience made me feel inadequate. Growing up, my family always, ALWAYS, had a real tree. My brother and I would spend countless hours in late November and early December trying to convince my parents of the need to get an even bigger and better tree than the year before. When we were really young, we would go to one of those giant tree farms that spread across the countryside to cut our own tree. There was a haywagon shuttle that would drop customers throughout fields of the appropriate height trees. My father still has the rusty yellow handsaw hanging on the wall in our garage that we used to use. And then, when we were done finding the perfect specimen, we’d hope back on the wagon, bind up the tree, share a cup of hot chocolate around the bonfire, and try to stay quiet while my parents figured out how to strap the thing to the top of the station wagon.

Of course, it’s not just buying the tree that is different when you are celebrating your first Christmas on your own—there’s also the question of how to decorate it. There are many schools of thought when it comes to Christmas tree decorating. There are designer Christmas trees with strict color palates, Victorian Christmas trees, Christmas trees with edible garlands, trees with fake birds that look like they are still sitting in the back yard. There are trees with a single ornament in multiple colors; trees covered in ribbons of all widths and textures. Trees with nothing but twinkling lights; and trees with spray glitter paint finishes on the limbs. There are tiny Charlie-Brown Christmas trees that need lots of TLC, and there are mammoth Rockefeller Plaza style trees towering in town squares and office building foyers. There are so many possibilities, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago when I realized how daunting it is to pick what kind of tree I wanted to have.

The daunting part is not choosing which brand of ornament to buy or which stores to check. It is the realization that the kind of tree I want isn’t available by mail order or even at the Pier One I walk past on my way to work. To me, decorating a our Christmas tree is not about making an interior design statement—it is about capturing the memories and moments of Christmas after Christmas, and memorializing those moments for years to come. My parents still have the faded plain red globe ornaments they bought to fill the empty spaces on their first Christmas tree. They have every ornament my mother’s students gave her, and every non-perishable craft ornament my brother and I made at elementary school holiday parties. There are ornaments that use our school pictures, and ornaments that reflect the various hobbies my brother and I picked up over the course of our childhood, from playing the trumpet to collecting rubber duckies, there are ornaments to capture them all. And there is even a doilie angel with tinsel hair that I made as a present to my mom in pre-school.

My parents tree has always been a time capsule, in that regard. Trimming the tree involves a walk down memory lane; an hour long conversation touching on “who gave this to us?” and “where did this one come from” and “why haven’t we thrown this hideous thing out yet” or “is this foam rotting?” There are cracked ornaments from the year the tree fell over on new years morning, and there are hand-made ornaments so hideous and yet so sentimental that we bury them in the interior of the twelve foot tree that will soon adorn my parent’s new home. Their tree tells the story of our entire family—parents, grand-parents, children, grand-children, newlyweds, and first-born children. It is rich story, adorned love and admiration, spanning generations. And so, as I sit and pick out ornaments for our new fake, dinky tree; I find comfort in the fact that this little tree is just the beginning of our own Christmas Story—the first entry in our own time capsule.

Channeling the Big O – and It Ain’t What You Think.

In light of a wonderful GM dysfunctional family Thanksgiving, I thought I would take a page from Oprah, gratitude journal-style circa 1998, and let you all know what I’m thankful for this year. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you all give a flying rat’s….

Girl Fairway. Okay, I will always have to start with this one. I’m sure this will drive lots of people batty, but first on the list this year has got to be the dog. I’ve had to contain myself from writing about her every week so far (good job GM!), but I can’t take it any more. For those of you out there who think you have a great dog, well good for you, but your poochie’s got nothing on Girl Fairway. The love of my life is a 3 year-old (3 already, wow! Well, not quite 3. She shares a birthday with the Reverend Doctor, so she’s got a month+ to go) golden, lab, chow, akita mix. If you’re into mixes, this is the Cosmopolitan of dogs. The Cactus Cantina Margarita of dogs. The Dom and OJ, fresh-squeezed, organic, and FedExed-overnight from Florida, of dogs. She doesn’t bark, she doesn’t bite, she doesn’t chew (except for G’s coffee table and GM BFF’s Mac cord, but chalk those indiscretions up to puppy-hood. She had to pretend she wasn’t perfect), doesn’t need a leash, and she doesn’t jump up on the furniture unless given permission. Even then she acts like it just doesn’t feel right. Final Thankful Conclusion: GirlFairway is the Best Dog Ever.

The Final Production of the Girl Monday High School Drama Department. I live a drama-free life, but it hasn’t always been this way. Over the last year I’ve been involved in enough dramatic productions to fund an entire college theatre department. For the next six years. Let me start by saying I HATE DRAMA. I like to think I moved past that when I moved out of middle school. I really don’t need any more people in my life who don’t have their shit together, and I really don’t need anyone in my life who has the emotional maturity of an eight-year old. Sorry sexy stud that I dated last year, the bitch fits you would throw because I didn’t call you back immediately and the accusations you laid on me because you were always thinking I wanted to stop seeing you and the questions you always had for me when I went out to lunch with male coworkers or to the eye doctor (the eye doctor?! He’s like 40!) – all of those things led to your demise. See ya. I am now drama-free! Final Thankful Conclusion: Trust your instincts. If it smells like shit, no matter how nice, cute, and funny it is, it’s probably shit.

Family. I’ve written about them before so there’s not much else I can add, and it’s probably too late to make them sound functional (i.e., lie), so I’ll just say I’m thankful for every single dadblame (who says this anymore?! Me I guess) one of them. Especially the ones of them that did not grace my Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday night. Thank you, thank you, thank you! At close to 400 pounds we used to be able to entice you to join us based on the mere presence of food alone, but since you’ve grown up (i.e., become eligible to be tried as an adult), you only come for holidays that involve cash. And for this we are all grateful (mainly because you would have a starring role in the GM HS DD’s winter production of Les Miserables, but in reality there are many reasons). Final Thankful Conclusion: Love them or love avoiding them, they still share my DNA. Just don’t tell anyone……

Dookie Love. I am lucky enough to have found many great loves in my life (and re-found a few here and there along the way) including Krispy Kremes, Starbucks, the Vols, GirlFairway (ooops, did I mention her again?),ice cream, soccer, and shoes. But that crap isn’t important at all. I can walk away from the shoes. I can, really. All love isn’t romantic (and some of the greatest love isn’t), and I have some of the best friends a GM could ask for and most of them I found in grad. school (I did not, simultaneously, find a love for Duke basketball or free ipods, if you’re wondering). This last year has brought many opportunities for Dookie love: the marriage of two people we enjoyed watching fall in love and whom we all believe will be together forever and the intense tragedy surrounding the death of one of my favorite people’s favorite person. This last year has also made me thankful for second chances, as I have enjoyed reconnecting with several friends who had almost slipped out of my life. I cannot live without any of my Dookies. Except maybe Kempe (nothing says nasty like a breast-feeding swinger) or Marissa….. Or Kim……….. Final Thankful Conclusion: If you can’t be with the ones you love, write letters, make phone calls, text, buy last-minute plane tickets, and dump the ones you’re with.