Excerpt-Red Flag: Mr. Casanova and Company

     First semester of grad school: check. I survived, it's a miracle. I did more writing this semester than I've done in 22 years. True story. But-I'm proud of everything I accomplished because I really didn't think it was possible when I started in August. My jaw dropped when one of my teacher's said we would have to complete 70 pages worth of a novel by the end of the semester for my, 'Writing the Novel' class(who knew the assignment was right there in the title), but I did it, and I know now that I can do so much more. I got some great feedback from teachers and classmates, and even though it wasn't always want I wanted to hear, I know my writing is improving and that I'm one step closer to my dream job.
  
     So, to celebrate the fact that I didn't die, I thought I'd share a snippet from my favorite essay of the semester, Red Flag: Mr. Casanova and Company. I feel the need to warn girls about red flags when it comes to those lovely douchers we so often encounter in our lives. If you catch the red flags early, it will save you a lot of fustration, therapy, and tears, believe me. I had a lot of fun exploiting my idiocy from the past in this, so I hope you enjoy it too. Below is the first section (Full essay contains Mr. Casanova and Mr. Once a Month). Happy reading.

Red Flag: Mr. Marry Me and Have my Babies

      The work week was over, my homework was done, and it was Saturday night—I was ready to “just dance” (thanks Lady Gaga). And ok, the thought of falling in love with my potential future boyfriend did slip into my head—as usual. But, mostly I just wanted to unwind with my friends at where I thought at the time was the coolest 18 and under club ever in Baltimore, Bourbon Street.

     As soon as we arrived, the stench of sweat, alcohol, smoke, and shame filled my nostrils. Rachel, Madison, and I headed for the rooftop portion of the club, where the tiki style bar was located—it made us feel like we were at a fabulous luau. Madison and I stood talking while Rachel bought a drink. I’m pretty sure we were complaining about not being 21 yet, when two boys interrupted our whining. Wah Wah Wah. The boys hugged Madison as if she was their long lost sister and not just a girl they had gone to college with.

     “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you guys in forever!”

     “What’s it been, two years?”

     That went on for a while before she introduced me. The first boy, who looked like he hadn’t hit puberty yet, shook my hand, barely looked at me, and went on talking to Madison. The second boy took his time. He looked into my eyes for a good five seconds. I thought maybe I had something on my face. He then took my hand and kissed it, while looking at me the entire time. These days I’d probably throw up if someone did that to me, but that day, I thought it was dreamy. I’d like to give you a detailed description of his appearance, I really would, but, I don’t remember anything about it. I think this is mostly because I locked it out of memory and buried the key.

     We proceeded to dance all night. As soon as he said, “I’m a high school Spanish teacher,” I was smitten. I didn’t think anything of it when he told me he was 25 years old (25 years old… at an 18 and under club). Yeah.  I also didn’t think anything of it when Madison told me later that night that they had gone to school together (she a freshman, he a senior) and went on one horrible awkward date, but that maybe it would work out with us.  Yeah. I still didn’t think anything of it when he texted me within an hour of us meeting, asking me out on a date, “ASAP” (insert winkey face). Yeah. I wonder about myself sometimes.

                                                                       *   *    *

      I drove up to Starbucks where we had planned to meet and saw a very tall guy standing outside waiting. I couldn’t believe I was about to have coffee with someone I barely knew. Part of me wanted to drive away, but instead, I took a deep breath and walked over to the stranger awaiting me.

      We stood in line awkwardly as he tried to make small talk, and compliment my “Belleza” (beauty).We approached the cashier—I ordered, he ordered, and after not even attempting to pull out his wallet, I paid. Me, a 19 year old poor student girl, paid for this 25 year old teacher’s coffee.    

     We grabbed a table—a table so miniscule it could probably fit two baby dolls. But we sat there anyway. Not even an inch apart from each other’s faces. There was no escaping.

     Then the job interview began. Position: wife.

     “So, who are you, Stephanie Osorno?”

     Damn, why did I give him my last name?? Idiot moment #30303.

     “How many people are in your family? Are you close to your family? I come from a family of 10. What do you like to do? What are your plans for life? Do you want many kids when you get married? Are you the kind of person that would want a small wedding, or a big wedding? What’s your GPA?”

     That’s right about where I drew the line. What was this guy going to ask for next, my Social Security number? Mr. Marry Me and Have my Babies seemed perfect the night out in Bourbon Street. He was polite, had an established career, and didn’t wait to ask me out. The idea of quick love was exhilarating to me at the time. I wanted to bypass all the awkward dating stuff and skip straight to relationship. I wanted to find the one already—the way my sisters had. They seemed happy, and I wanted to be too. I wasn’t content on my own, so I thought a boyfriend might be able to help. A husband, however, was a different story.

     “I’m sorry, isn’t it weird for you to go on a date with a 19 year old?” I finally asked.

     “No, you seem very mature for your age. I told all my friends that. Age doesn’t matter to me. You’re my Spanish princess.”

     “Oh, thanks, that’s nic—“

     “I think we can really be something. We are going to be happy. I think this is the start of something great.” Pause. “My Spanish princess.”

     He stared and stared and stared. I nodded my head. I was speechless. I was terrified. I looked down at my phone. I needed a plan.

     “Hey, I’m really sorry, but I have to head out,” I lied.

     “Oh, where you headed??

     “I, uh, I have to get ready for work tomorrow.”

     “Oh, it’s 5pm, what do you have to get ready for?”

     “Um, paperwork… stuff. It’s a pain.”

     “Ok, I’ll walk to your car.”

     “No, no I’m fine really. Thank you though.”

     He stood up and gave me a hug. It lasted too long.

     “Dinner on Saturday??”

     “Absolutely.” 

I never saw him again.

Selflessness

My dad asked me the other day what I like to write about the most. It didn’t take me very long to respond—relationships . I find them fascinating. I would write a research paper on them and not cry or procrastinate.  There’s just something amazing about how two people—two completely different people—can connect on such a powerful level and then call it love. One day I will write a book about love and relationships and title it, “Everyone should fall in love, get married, and have babies,” but for now, a blog will have to do.  

He was confused about my answer. He asked, “How much can you write about relationships?” I said lots—what makes a relationship work, what doesn’t work—but he stopped me before I could go on. He told me the key to a successful relationship was simple, “Selflessness.” My dad insisted that if you’re selfish, it’s impossible to be in relationship, and that’s that. Case closed.  To make his point clearer he offered an example about my mom. He shared that a few nights prior, at 12pm, when the light had been turned off and the covers were already warm, my mom asked for water. He was exhausted from working the entire day, and just wanted to stay nestled in bed. The thought of walking down the steps was painful. But, if he didn’t go, it would mean he was selfish. He knew my mom didn’t feel well all day and didn’t have any energy to get up. So, he forced himself out of bed and into the refrigerator. It was a small example, but it stuck with me. Selflessness.

Then I thought about my own relationship. I thought about how even though we’ve been together for over a year now, I’m still trying to learn how to be a girlfriend(don’t these things come with a handbook?) I thought you just fell in love, and then lived happily ever after. No one told me I had to do anything. This is my first relationship that has lasted over a month, cut me a break people. It’s a whole other world. Now all of a sudden I have to think about someone other than myself—who came up with this idea? Ok, confession. There are times when I could easily have gone for a nice long nap, instead of going out to dinner or to the movies or to wherever our imaginations take us. But I passed, because I wanted to make time for Jon, despite my delirium. There are times when I could have said,” I’m too tired to listen to your complaints because I’m too busy thinking of mine.” But instead, I listened—really listened. There are times when I could have stayed in and caught up with some of my favorite TV shows that I’ve missed (thanks a ton grad school),  instead of going to his house and spending time with his family. Instead, I said “I’d love to,” because his family is largely responsible for the amazing person he is today. All that time I thought I was just doing what a good girlfriend is supposed to do.But then my dad put it so simply, “Selflessness.” I think he’s on to something.

But why?

I like to ask why. I guess I never got over that 3 year old stage of—but why, but why, but why, but why??

 
I particularly like to ask why when my boyfriend says, I love you.
 
It’s something we throw out every day. Before we leave, we tell our boyfriend/girlfriend , husband/wife, mom/dad, sister/brother, I love you. We end our phone conversation with, I love you—or some shortened version along the lines of, “love ya!” or “love you!” We go to bed and say I love you before we doze against our pillow.
  
But do we know why we say it, or has it just become the norm—another custom like washing our hands or brushing our teeth?

I ask my boyfriend why on a regular basis. In the beginning, the conversation went something like this:

     “I love you.”

     “Why?”

     “Because you’re not like anyone else.”

     “But why?”
 
     “Because you’re smart, beautiful, and funny.”

I told him this wasn’t an acceptable answer. Everyone can be smart, beautiful, and funny. It’s too generic. I wanted to know what made me stand out from the rest. What was it that I did or said that made me different—loveable.

  
 After several instances of, “try again”, it started to get better. It now goes something like this:

     “I love you.”

     “Why?”

     “Because you’re not like anyone else.”

     “But why?”

     “Because you make me happier than anyone else can.”

     “Why?”

     “Because you’re you.”

     “But why?”

Answers Vary:

      “Because you think I look like Ryan Gosling.  Because you’re adorable when you make your angry face. Because I see the future when I look into your eyes. Because you make me feel like I’m most important person in the world ever.”

I love you is a powerful 8 letter phrase. It makes a friendship. It makes a bond. It makes a home. It makes a life. It changes our lives. So, why not remind those who love us how we got there every once in a while?

I love you is a powerful 8 letter phrase. It’s easy to say. It’s not easy to explain. But it’s worth a shot. You might like what you hear.

Next time someone special says I love you—ask, why?

Excerpt : Call me Lucy, I'll call you Benjy

     Normally, I don’t really like to share my writing unless forced. I much rather keep it between me, Dell, and word. They don’t ever judge me, and they don’t mind if it takes me two hours to write a paragraph. But gosh darn, through all the dreadful work shopping and critiquing of my papers that I’ve had to do in grad school so far (and it’s only my first semester…crap), I’m learning that putting myself out there is beneficial in the long—though right now it causes me anxiety and mental breakdowns. For now, I’ll just sit there crying inside, while I wait for the nice people to raise their hand. EEK. So here goes, an excerpt from the novel I’m working on for my “Writing the Novel” class, Call me Lucy, I’ll call you Benjy.

           After I’m done I decide I need something much stronger. I roam around the kitchen for a while looking for something other than vodka and beer and spot a bottle of Jack Daniels in one of the cabinets. I stare at the bottle for a while and then open the lid to smell it. The smell makes me want to gag immediately and sort of reminds me of a 65 year old retired man, so I put it back. But just as I’m closing as the cabinet, Vick appears right next to me. I can’t stand Vick. In fact, I like to think of him fondly as, “Vick the Dick.” He is ridiculously arrogant and rude, and if he could marry himself he probably would. Other than the fact that he could probably buy this school and maybe two more if he wanted to, he has absolutely nothing to offer. He might just be the most unfortunate looking guy at this school. His face is hideously decorated with acne from forehead to chin that matches his equally grotesque bushy eyebrows that go on for days in a straight line. He wears black Armani glasses, which he thinks makes him look “sophisticated” and “intelligent” but, it might as well be a Halloween costume.  In actuality, he is one of the dumbest people I’ve ever met. You will almost always find him in a sweater vest, black or blue. Sometimes he likes to spice it up with a tie.  I will never comprehend why the guys are friends with Vick the Dick.

     “I see you found my secret stasssh.” The way he overstates the "S" makes me want to vomit.

     “It looked more like one bottle, than a stash.” I reply dryly.

      “You’re funny Kim. You know all you gotta do is ask, if you want a taste.” He says winking.

BARF. 

     “Uh, I’m good. It’s all yours.”

       I start to walk over to Cam and Zoe, but Vick the Dick pulls me back.

     “Hey, where you going so fast?? Now that you found it, why don’t you have a drink with me??”

     I’m about to say hell no, and that I’d rather go start on my 10 page essay due next week for my criminal justice class than drink with him, but I’m interrupted by his voice.

    Ray barges in the door as if he is ready to beat the crap out of someone and my heart begins to race uncontrollably. His eyes are blood shot red and swollen, his cheeks look as though he has applied some blush on them, and I wonder if he’s actually been crying. The party goes dead silent. I’m afraid to even move.

     “You alright buddy?” Ryan asks.

      “Don’t ask, man, don’t ask.”

     Ray goes to his room, and slams the door shut.

      “I got this. Excuse me sweetie, I’ll take a rain check on that drink.” Vick the Dick says before he disappears to Ray’s room.

      “I’ll join you” Ryan adds.

     I need answers, my brain is asking for them. So I do the most logical thing, and go to the bathroom right next to Ray’s room even though I don’t really have to go. I place my ear against the cold white wall and try to spy on their conversation, but only hear bits and pieces.

    “ … messing around…dude… fuck him up..”

     “…drama. I’m done...”

     “…leaving. morning…”

     I hear the door slam open. I’m frozen and don’t know what to do. The logical part of my brain tells me to stay put and forget that I heard anything. Stay put, stay put, and enjoy the rest of the party. But the stupid part of my brain tells me to run after him, plead for him to tell me all about it, and to give us another chance. Now that it seems evil bitch is out of the picture, this is my chance. I wait 2 more minutes and leave the bathroom.

      I spot Zoe making a drink in the kitchen and whisper in her ear, “Ok, don’t hate me, but I have to leave.”

     “Where are you going? You’re not going where I think you’re going, right?”

     I don’t answer. I just look at her with guilt spread across my face like butter.

     “Kimmie, don’t. I think he just needs to be alone right now.”

I try to respond, but nothing comes out of mouth. Eventually I manage to say,

     “I’m sorry Zoe, I have to.”

I leave before she can say anything else.

     I nearly run outside, and see Ray making his way to the parking lot. It’s now, or never. I swallow hard. I can do this, I can do this. But before I can scream his name, I see a short blonde haired girl run up to him. She is wearing gym clothes complete with sneakers, black leggings, and a red loose tank top.  She tries to catch her breath when she stops as if she has just run a marathon. By the look of urgency on her face, I know immediately that I have just met evil bitch. Out of panic, I squat down behind the nearest bush and don’t dare to even breathe.

     “Ray, what has gotten into you?? Did you seriously go beat Brad up??”

     “What the fuck was I supposed to do Sarah?? I wasn’t going to let that asshole get away with that.”

     “You’re unbelievable, you know that?? Brad and I never did anything, ok?? I made it up!”

     “Why the hell would you make something like that up??”

     “I don’t know, ok. I’m so frustrated. Do you know what it’s like knowing that you’re going to the same school as your gorgeous ex-girlfriend?? It’s seriously driving me nuts thinking of the two of you hanging out at the same place, and getting back together. I wanted to get a rise out of you. I..” She starts sobbing before she can continue.

     Through the tiny hole in the bushes, I can see Ray put his arms around evil bitch, trying to soothe her.

     “Look at me.” I cringe at the familiarity of his words.

     “Kimberly means nothing to me ok, she never did. It was just a fling; you are so much more than that. You are what I want. Ok?”

     “Really?”

     “Does this prove it?”

     I close my eyes because I know what’s happening. I put my head in between my legs and do my best to hold back my tears until I know for sure that they have left. When parking lot grows silent, I begin to sob uncontrollably. I want to run away. I want to be anywhere but here right now. I think that if someone came over and kicked me in the stomach three times, punched me in the face, and spit on me, it would hurt less than the pain that fills my whole body right now. Crying behind a bush is not exactly how I thought this night would end.

     “Kim? Is that you?” I hear a familiar male voice ask.

I want to die when I realize it’s Vick the Dick.

     “What are you doing out here?? Are you crying??”

     “No, I’m just enjoying the texture of this lovely bush, what does it look like I’m doing?”

     He squats down next to me, and my sobbing gets worse. I’m unsure if my tears are for Ray at this point, or because of the fact that Vick the Dick appears to be the only one to notice me on this dreadful night.

     “Get up beautiful. Let me help make your night better.”

     “No thanks, I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

     “Come on, the party hasn’t even started yet.”

     “I really do not want to be around people right now. Party is over for me.”

     “So then let’s make it a smaller party, and continue at your place. Look what I snagged for us.”

     He opens up his coat and reveals the bottle of Jack Daniels from the cabinet. Vick the Dick is the last person on earth I want to be with right now, but I desperately need a drink, I need to forget.

   “Whadda ya say?”

    I hesitate briefly before I respond, “Why not.”

     It’s times like these when I’m grateful for everyone I’ve encountered in my life that have inspired my writing—most especially, the Ray's and Vick the Dick’s. It's funny the language we can create from mere experience. It’s funny how nonfiction can subconsciously creep into our fictitious words.

The moment

About a week and a half ago, my sister fell from the attic and into our second floor bathroom (yes, you can’t make this stuff up), and Jon broke his shoulder playing hockey—all in the same day.

It started off as any other Sunday afternoon. I woke up somewhat late, went to church, and had lunch with my mom, sisters, and nephews.  I had a plan—finish my paper that I procrastinated all weekend (typical), in time to go to Jon’s hockey game around 5. But alas, when I realized it was taking me an hour to finish one paragraph, I told Jon that I was sorry, but wouldn’t be able to make it to his game.  Being responsible can be very lame.

 

And so, the day went on…incredibly and miserably slow. I stared at my computer screen clueless and frustrated, often minimizing Word to pay attention to more important things (Facebook).  Around 4ish my sister came into my room and began rummaging my closet, whining that she needed a Halloween costume. I barely looked up from my computer, I just mumbled something like, “I have nothing, trying to write a paper!” She left my room, and shortly after, I heard her pushing boxes out of her way in the attic. I shook my head, and continued to be on facebook, I mean, write my paper.  As soon as I sort of got my act together and started to get a clue as to what would make this paper not suck and fail me out of grad school, I heard an awful awful noise.  It sounded as if the entire attic had fallen to the floor, piece by piece, nail by nail. BOOM.  Pause. BOOM BOOM BOOM. I froze.  “Noriks (my nickname for her)… are you ok??” All I could make out was a faint and teary “Ow.” I got up from my bed panicked and ran to scene of the crime fearing what I would find. I could foresee this was going to be bad.  I pictured her falling from the ladder that led to the attic and onto the hard wood floor. I swallowed hard. And then I saw it. My sister’s leg hanging from a hole in our bathroom ceiling.

After she managed to squeeze herself out of the hole, I stood in the bathroom and stared at the hole dazed.  I mean, how exactly does one fall from one floor and into another? And how often?  My sister didn’t really understand either. And neither did my mom when she ran up the stairs only to find her bathroom ceiling was now nicely decorated with a view of the attic. No one who we now tell the story to get it either. The mysterious haunted loony attic and the girl that fell out of it-DUN DUN DUN. We concluded that perhaps she had stepped on an unstable part of the attic floor, which led to her fall. After all the chaos, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. I felt terrible for doing so, but even she couldn’t keep it in after she iced her leg. My mom got mad at me for laughing, but the next day, she cracked up hysterically at the thought of it. And really, wouldn’t you?

Evidence

 Literally 20 minutes after the incident, I got a text from Jon. Paraphrased it said something like this: “Babe I just wanted to let you know I’m at the hospital, I got hit and injured my shoulder pretty bad at my game so I’m getting scans done. But don’t worry I’ll be ok. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can, I love you.” I just stared at the screen shocked, my heart  feeling like it was out of my body and outside sprinting on the street somewhere, my lunch feeling like it was coming back to remind me. Immediately my brain rushed with terrified thoughts—Is he going to be alright?? Is it severe?? Will his shoulder be forever injured?? And then I thought—What did I say to him last night before he left?? Did I say I love you?? I was supposed to be at the game! I felt helpless, wanting more than anything to turn back time, and punch whoever hit him in the face ( I know, real mature).  I shut my computer, knowing I wouldn’t be finishing my paper anytime soon, and that a long night was ahead of me. I went downstairs, told my mom what happened, and sat close to her for a while wanting to feel safe and comforted. She told me she was sure it was just something minor, and that everything would be ok. I did my best to shrug off the bad and scary thoughts, and took her word for it.

Later that night, Jon broke the news that he was ok, but had suffered a minor concussion, broke his left shoulder, and needed to be in a sling for the next 6-8 weeks—no work, no driving, no nothing but sitting at home and healing. I felt his pain as if it were my own, though he told me was fine.  And despite the fact that the worst was over, I still felt helpless.

The next day I reflected on my crazy day, and thought about the moment. The moment that I heard the BOOM BOOM, the moment that I received Jon’s terrible text.  The moment that I felt my life alter in a span of 5 seconds. The moment I found someone I love in pain—in danger.  Your day can start off perfectly normal, and end tragically—in that moment. Fortunately, I was lucky. My sister and I look back at her accident and laugh, her minor leg injury is gone. Jon is still in a sling and can’t do much of anything except eat lots of candy and watch a lot of T.V , but in a couple more weeks, I know he will be ok.  

So, kiss the one you love a little longer—whether it be your boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife, mom/dad, daughter/son, sister/brother, squeeze them even tighter, tell them you love them for the 100^th time—because some aren’t so lucky. For some, the moment can last a lifetime.

Everyone should fall in love and have babies

Everyone should fall in love and have babies, it’s a fact-it’s my fact.

My friends often make fun of me because my question to them after meeting a potential boyfriend/girlfriend for the first time is always, “Are you in love??” “Are you going to get married and have babies??”

Recently, more than ever, I’ve discovered how truly fabulous it is to fall in love- really fall, heard first, in love.  A few weeks ago, I witnessed a new guy walk into my friend’s life-I mean he literally walked right up to her at the bar in epic form. I teased her that it was like watching a movie.  A group of us girls were dancing in a circle—music blaring, arms in the air, drink in hand, life a la mode.  Out of nowhere, a guy from the other side of the bar starts to slowly make his way to our end.  It was as if the whole bar went blurry except for my friend standing in the middle of us. He was a man on a mission, desperately setting out to beat everyone to the finish line and claim his prize. And then he arrived, looked right into her eyes and said, “Can I buy you drink?” We all watched him whisk her away in awe. And then they fell in love, naturally. (I’m currently planning the wedding).

But it was her reaction, her bubbly and giddy attitude that made me smile and think. It’s amazing how one person can alter your life and change your way of thinking. One day you’re strangers, the next you’re setting a date. I see it every day. I see my parents in love for almost 30 years. I see my sister’s in love and happily married. I see strangers in the mall, grocery store, movies, in love. And they all have that same look on their faces, the dazzled look that tells you that they don’t know how they got so lucky to have met their soulmate.

Not only do I see it everywhere, I live it. Before I met my boyfriend, Jon, I was a bitter girl jaded by past relationships, who hated everyone and their stupid love story. It’s not real, it won’t last, I hate them, I thought often. I was convinced that “my one” had gotten run over by a bus on his way to me, and I was SOL.  Jon didn’t walk into my life as dramatically as my friend’s future husband did, and he didn’t magically turn my life into rainbows and butterflies. But he does make me want to be a better person—to be a little less Debbie downer and more of a little Mary sunshine.  I think it’s because I see the best version of myself when I’m around him—like an HDTV version that kicks regular T.V’s butt. Or maybe it’s because he’s the only one who thinks I’m funny. I haven’t decided yet.

Sometimes it’s easy to give up on finding love because no one seems good enough; no one seems to fit right with you.  But to find it, to find your partner in life who doesn’t care what you look like after getting two hours of sleep, doesn’t judge you for eating your feelings on a bad day, and doesn’t mind that it takes you 10 times before you get the joke —is worth taking a shot at. Fall in love.  Fall hard. And have some babies. 

A new era: "Just facebook me"

Click. Post. Like. Comment. Poke. Repeat.

     It has come to my attention that just about everyone has a facebook. Seriously, search for your mom and you will probably find her facebook page. And beware if you don’t have one, because if you don’t, you are likely to be considered “weird.”
    
     Yes I will admit it, I am a facebook addict and should probably look into rehab—but there is one question that continues to boggle my mind on a regular basis: What is it that attracts so many people to facebook anyway? People spend half of their day updating their status, posting comments on friend walls, and uploading pictures to put up on facebook.  The other half of the day is spent talking about facebook, “Today on my newsfeed…” is a popular one, or my favorite, “Did you see that her relationship status says single now?”   What is the purpose? Are we that interested in other people’s lives? Or is it the thrill of receiving a notification, “Sally posted on your wall”, or, “Sally likes your status.” Perhaps facebook gives people the social acceptance they are anxiously seeking.
    
     Whatever it is, I hate Mark Zuckerburg, the founder of facebook, for figuring it out. I mean, the man is literally set for life. He makes people who are jobless after going through 4 years of college wonder, “What am I doing wrong??” Bastard, I mean, Zuckerburg, who was a sophomore at Harvard (figures) at the time, originally intended for membership to be limited to Harvard students. Soon however, it expanded to include anyone older than 12, and is now the most popular social networking site in the (freaking) world.  In 2010, the company announced that it was serving-- brace yourself…500 million users around the world. I don’t think my brain even has the capacity of imagining that many people. And it’s not only people either; lately I’ve found that everywhere I go-- restaurant, library, grocery store, and school, I’m being told to “check us out on facebook.” Popular businesses, companies, and even schools have begun to create facebook pages in order to reach out to their customers and students.

      Because of its rapid popularity, facebook is now slowly overtaking the lives of countless people, young to old, and destroying the nature of social communication. Instead of initiating conversations with others, we are now sending friend requests in its place. Whatever happened to the days of email, letters, or dun dun dun…a call on the telephone?
    
     And now it’s not just friendships, many relationships have formed through facebook as well (How…romantic?). But in retrospect, why shouldn’t they? Facebook makes it all too easy. I mean, why go on a date when you can just get to know each other through Facebook’s newest addition, “Facebook chat”, becoming closer with each “Haha” , “LOL” , and smiley face. And why call your partner when you can just leave a romantic post on their wall for the world to see?  Just accept it, your relationship just doesn’t mean much unless it’s Facebook, “In a relationship” official. The extreme informality between people these days is concerning and arguably a little sad. Now, the opportunity to dodge an actual physical face to face conversation with another human being is particularly doable.  “Just Facebook me” was a recent pick up line I heard not too long ago, I just shook my head and wondered what had become of the world.  
         
     Facebook is a way in which you can let others know what is going on in your daily life. And for some, every second of your daily life. Example, “Sally Joe is taking a shower.” Two minutes later: “Sally Joe just got out of the shower.” Three minutes later, “Sally Joe is watching a movie.” Does anyone really care?? Regardless, facebook is proven to lead to jealousy and competition (and is that secretly what our goal is in the first place—make everyone jealous that our lives are better than the rest?).  And by proven, I mean me. The real issue is how much of what a person is writing and posting on facebook is consistent to what their actually doing.  Their status can read, “Having the time of my life!” when in actuality, they are sitting at home doing essentially nothing at all.  Likewise, there is really no way of telling how accurate a person’s Facebook pictures are under an album entitled “Best Weekend Ever!” if they spent the entire time taking pictures for the intention of putting them up on facebook for others to see.

     Facebook allows you the opportunity to become whoever you want to be, real or fake. You can post pictures from when you were 20 pounds lighter, and you can make your life sound as extravagant as you please through your clever facebook statuses(even if you are painfully awkward in real life).  In simpler terms, it is all a potential lie. Facebook can be truly deceiving, and the sucker gets me every time. Sigh.

     Don’t get me wrong, facebook is a great site to use to communicate with friends and family, but come on people, it shouldn’t overtake your life. People should at least try to only use facebook in their spare time and not let it interfere with their work, studies, or extracurricular activities. It is likely that because some spend so much time behind their computer screens browsing on their facebook page, soon they will lose sight of what really matters in their lives.  Perhaps it would be wise to spend less time telling others about what we’re doing, and more time actually doing them. 

Logout.  

ATTN: Everyone is sick and dying

Be careful what you wish for.


Just two months ago, I was desperately seeking a job. Now I have one, and I'm desperately seeking retirement.


I currently am working as a receptionist/secretary/front desk clerk, whatever you want to call it, at my dad's personal doctor's office. Not by choice I must add. His part time employee quit suddenly, and I was the first (and only) candidate available. Wo....ho. I've done this job before, when he first opened his practice about a year ago. I would often come home crying and ready to pull my hair out--so naturally, I was super excited to go back for a second round.


I know I complain a lot about being sick and often even use the phrase, "I'm dying." But seriously, the people that come into my dad's office do not even remotely compare to my dramatic antics. I have never realized how needy people are!!! If they feel one ounce of pain, they need medication "IMMEDIATELY." No really, like "ASAP." Like if you don't call it in now" I WILL COLLAPSE FROM THE DIRE EXCRUCIATING PAIN." If you're in that much pain, wouldn't you think to go to the emergency room or something? Clearly your perfectly capable enough to make a "dying" phone call.


Another thing is--do you people not understand the difference between receptionist and psychologist? I'll schedule you an appt, I'll cancel your appt, I will take a message for the doctor, I will contact you with the nurse, but I cannot sit on the phone for hours listening to your sob story. I know I sound like a terrible heartless person, but I can only give examples to explain my coldness and annoyance.


Example 1:
"Doctors Office, Stephanie speaking."
"Hi Stephanie. Is this the doctor's office??"--No, I just like saying doctor's office when I pick up the phone..
"Yes it is, how can I help you?"
"I need a perscription."
"Ok, what medication do  you need?"
"You know Stephanie, because I'm in terrible pain. And I ran out of my medicine."
"Ok, what is the name of the medication?"
"And you know, when I'm at work I can't take it. Stephanie, then my boss wants me to do all this work, but he doesn't pay me enough. And then my husband.."
"I understand, what is the name of the medication?
"Yes Stephanie, and my husband and my kids they just don't appreciate my work.."
     This goes on for about 20 minutes, and she never gives me the name or the medication or the pharmacy. Instead she says, "Oh it's that blue big round pill, and I get it from that pharmacy on Mountain round. There are about 4 different pharmacies on this road, and countless, "blue big round pills." I now know her whole life story, and she knows my name really well-- but have no information I actually neeed.


Example 2:
"I'm soooooo sick. Can I see the doctor today?" (Wimpy *Cough *cough)
"Unfortunately, he's completly booked today, would you like to make an appt. for later this week?"
"Oh, but I'm soooo sick, it has to be today."
"Well.."
"You see I can't sleep at night because I'm just so sick, and my daughter's away, she's in California, and--"
"If you would like I can call you if someone cancels today."
"Oh I can't, I'm so sick, I need to see him now. My daughter's away, in California, and I feel awful, and-"
"I'm going to try to fit you in at the end of the day. That's the best I can do. Do you have insurance, mam?
"No..but I"
"Ok, well without insurance it is a copay of $100."
"That much??"
"Yes."
"Oh, you know I'm going to wait then. I'm going to wait for my daughter. Because right she's in California--"
"Ok then, have a nice day!"
    Suddenly she wasn't "soooooo sick" anymore.


Example 3:
"Can you mail my perscription to me?"
"Unfortunately, we do not do mail-in's. You will have to pick it up."
"Oh, really, not at all."
"No, I'm sorry about that."
"Oh it's just that I live in annapolis, and you guys are sooo far from me."--Annapolis is 15 min. away...If it was that far, why would you come to this office?
"Oh, well--"
"And gas is so expensive these days, and my car is always stopping on me. And then I have to pay so much money at the shop--"
I tell her to hold please, roll my eyes, complain to the medical assistant about it, and ask her opinion. We both agree this is ridiculous. When I pick up, I realize she's still been talking this whole time.
"...I just hate drivers. That was the second time in a month someone hit me."
"Mam--"
"Ok, I'm coming to pick it up, I'm not far." Click.
          Speechless.


I truly believe that what these people really need is a shrink. And a good one at that.
     Someone who will tell them they will still live another day if they have an ache in their ear, shoulder, knee, back, etc, and don't get seen at the doctor's until the next day. Someone who will tell them that the world will not end if they have to wait 10 minutes to refill their med's. Someone who will tell them that doctor's are not magicians, and receptionist's not their wand.

True life: I'm a grad student

 Day 1

     Well, the first day I was really excited and ready to start this new chapter in my life. “Hooray, back to the classroom!” pretty much describe the feelings I had that morning when I woke up. Ok, I never really use the word hooray, and I never get excited about sitting in a classroom, but you get the point. My feelings of optimism however started to dwindle when I sat in traffic for nearly an hour. I sort of wanted to punch all the cars in the face, but once I arrived with more than half an hour to spare, I got over it. So my hopefulness was back on track as I walked into the giant new building where all my classes would be in. My class was on the fifth floor so I headed to the stairs, and walked up each flight up stairs until I reached the fourth floor. But to my horror, there was no fifth floor; the next available floor was on the roof. And even though I knew grad school would be different, I was thinking there was no way I was going to have class on the roof.

   So, I took a different approach, I spotted the elevator and was planning to take it to the fifth floor, but what do you know, there wasn’t a freaking option for a fifth floor. It was that moment that I started to panic, and it didn’t help that I was peeing my pants. So I did the most logical thing to do, I started frantically asking people if they knew where  the fifth floor was, but of course, no one knew, and suggested I was probably in the wrong building. But no, I knew there was no way I was wrong, or was I? Crap. And naturally, people thought I was a lost little freshman. “Awww, but you’re so little!!” said the sophomore. Well thanks rando girl for pointing out the obvious, and not helping me find this stupid mysterious fifth floor classroom. GR! For the next twenty minutes I walked to every floor hoping maybe the fifth floor would appear by magic. It was getting close to class time, so my panic turned into stage 10 terror pretty quickly.  I found myself surrounded by teacher offices, so at last resort I sought out a teacher to help me. “Oh, it’s on the third level.” She said firmly and kindly walked away. Ok, so it’s on the third floor? I thought. Nope,it wasn’t. Are you serious? Was this place built like a maze and turned into a school building at last minute? I just didn’t get it. I returned again to the teacher, yes I walked in a circle basically, and it was then that I heard the most beautiful question, “Do you want me to take you there?” Yup, I had to be walked to my class like a 5 year old. Optimism at this point: around a 7.

      Finally I get there with five minutes to spare, but no time to go to the bathroom (my poor poor bladder who did nothing to deserve this). Class starts and boom 5 minutes in, we’re having an intellectual literary discussion. People are saying things that don’t make sense to me, and using words I don’t understand. The best way to describe how I was feeling is the way a kid in middle school would feel if they suddenly found themselves in a college class. In other words, pretty darn DUMB. Is one of the prerequisite's of grad school to be intellectually witty, and use big words?? I don’t think I received the memo, but I borderline wanted to cry and complain to everyone I knew (or anyone that would listen). When the teacher called one me, I tried hard to sound like I knew what I was talking about, but alas, my effort was mediocre compared to the smarties in the class. It also didn’t help that I looked so young compared to these people who were bonding over their children stories. “I just graduated college?” was all I had to offer.  And what would my writing be like in comparison to the others? Shakespeare Vs..the little girl? I was seriously doubting my abilities, and wondering what I had gotten myself into. Optimism: 4.5. I think the only good thing about this day was the break we had in which I was able to pee, and that I only had to walk a few steps to get there.

Day 2 and Day 3

     A whole weekend had passed before the second and third day, so I was feeling slightly rejuvenated. Somehow I discovered an elevator that indeed did have a fifth floor. I will never figure out that building, but I will always take this magic elevator no matter what. However, the fact that it was pretty much the end of the world outside on day 2 and day 3 and that traffic was a nightmare, made me cranky and annoyed.  SUPER cranky and annoyed. And I was taking it out on everyone. Talk to me on these days, basically I bit your head off. “Try going to grad school” was pretty much my answer for everything. “How was your day?” “Try going to grad school.” “I love you”—“Try going to grad school.” Not only was I cranky pants, I was also coming down with a bad case of nostalgia. College, sweet sweet college how I long for you. Sure class was always a bummer, but the difference was I could go back to my apartment when it was over and spend quality time with my beloved roomies, procrastinate until the day my hw was due, and sit around and eat easy mac. And having to pass my now alma mater every day on the way to school was torture. College is gone, and consequently, so is my youth. People continued to say things I didn’t understand, I continued to cry inside. Change is not my friend, and I wanted to beat grad school up. No more school, I’m tired of school!!! I had just celebrated the fact that I was done with school just three months ago, now I was back and felt as I had dreamt my graduation. It’s official, I am going to fail grad school, never get a good job, and live in box.  Optimism:  2.5.

Day 4

     Week three, shut up already, stop complaining. The day was nice and sunny, and woo hoo the traffic was tolerable!! By this day, I discovered that the resentment towards traffic can be fixed by having a dance party in your car. College is overrr, and I can live without the extra 10 pounds. HORRAY, yes I actually used it that time, not EVERYONE is Albert Einstein smart. Not EVERYONE is married with babies ( Note: This is one is iffy, mainly because by not everyone I really just mean me). Not EVERYONE understands the logic behind this gigantic building of hell and the fifth floor mystery. If you talk to people, you learn their scared shitless too. Never thought I’d be so happy to hear about someone else’s fears. Perhaps I let my dramatic nature get the best of me, or perhaps I spent too many summer days tanning below the sun and decaying my brain. I can use big words too: onomatopoeia. Sure, I can get the hang of this. Optimism: 10.9

Day 5-?

Stay stuned.

Hire me?

Well, it has been awhile since I've written a blog. Mainly because I've been computerless for the better part of my summer,and partly because I've been doing more reading than writing lately. Finally, I'm finding myself with no more reading material, and more than a little inspiration for writing. I am really going to try to write a blog on a daily basis--Ok, I really just wanted to say that for dramatic emphasis.  I actually won't really have to try all that hard, being that I'm jobless and all.

Which brings me to my next point, I really need a job. Like really bad. As much as I love sleeping in, and reading books all day, I'm starting to think I should probably do something productive, if only for my sanity. Oh right, and some you know, money would be nice. And recently, I've come to the depressing realization that I no longer just need a bs summer job while I wait for school to start, now I need an actual adult job. This is gross. I'm 4'11(1/2), and I look like I'm 15 years at best, and yet, someone is supposed to take me seriously and give me a job? This should be agaisnt the law or something. Can't I just be a student all my life? It's all I know how to do, and I'm good at it! Surely theres always something I can learn. Professional student...yes? And even though I will be starting grad school in the fall, sadly this will only be taking up two nights of my life. I had hoped college would go on, forever? Someone should really tell me these things.

I don't agree with this whole notion of growing up. I think it's pretty sick. And whoever invented it, is a mean MEAN person. One day your playing with barbies, and the next your graduating college. It's just not right. Childhood is extremly deceiving. I was repeatedly told that the hokey pokey was really what it was all about, that if you ate all those disgusting vegetables and drank milk you'd never get sick, and if you did good in school you would make lots of money when you grew up, They LIE.

All I want to do is just finish my book, become a bestselling author, and rack in a good million dollars. Then, I want to spend my days traveling to fab places for book signings, and hearing people tell me how much they love me. Fianlly, I will happily return to my mansion in Miami with my hubby and kiddies anxiously awaitaing my arrival. Is this too much to ask? Please just let me know when I've arrived at this step. For now, provide me with some tissues.

Please and Thank you.

Epic Fail

Ok, so I'm only going to tell this story for your entertaining pleasure..because it's prettyyy embarassing and a tad sad on my part.

Enjoy.

Alright so this Monday, I got...a little..ok..really lost..in the area where I've been going to
school for oh you know, 4 years. When I left campus to go back to my apt..I turned on the road I usually do only to find a cop in the middle of the road telling all the cars that they had to turn around..for a reason I was too flustered to understand. I immediately panicked because I had no idea how to get back the other way. I secretly wanted to ask the cop to kindly lead me in right direction. Dont judge, but, I don't quite have a sense of direction. Is that so bad? I know how to get to two places perfectly: School and my house. Other than that, it's bad news bears. In other words, never ask me for directions..
 So I did the only logical thing to do: Drove aimlessly until I ended up on a highway I've never ever been on. I got off on an exit somewhere in cockeysville, parked in a metro parking lot, maybe or maybe not cried and had a little breakdown, and then called my sister to save me, of course. It didn't help that I was STARVING and hadn't eaten all day, and debated eating the trash on the parking lot floor..

My sister looked up where I was online and tried to tell me how to get back (bless her soul) but alas, it didn't work and I ended up on another highway only to find myself in Hunt Valley in another metro parking lot. By that time, I started imaginng myself roaming around the streets of Hunt Valley forever, never to be found, and being remembered on May 13th as the girl who got lost 2 weeks before graduation. I seriously thought I would never find my way back. At one point when my sister was trying to figure out how to get back she said "Well I don't know, because if you go one way, you could end up in harrisburg, and if you go the other way, you could end up in downtown baltimore." Really, those were my only two options?? At this, it's possible that I cried a little harder..maybe, and thought about making friends with the homeless guy sitting on the street because he would most likely become my new roomie. For a good 10 minutes, I just sat in my car refusing to move at the thought of taking a detour to Pennsylvania.

Eventually, with my sister on the phone, I started driving, and FINALLY got on the right exit. I also stopped at taco bell on the way, because I guess I thought the most repulsive fast food place would make me feel better after going through such a horrid experience. Not knowing where you are, and also starving and looking like your 12 to top it off, is the worst feeling ever. All in all, I drove aimlessly for 2 freaking hours and wasted a whole gas tank. Who does that???

I've concluded that
1. I need a gps
2. Some common sense would be nice too

FAIL.