Social Networking for Pessimists

Social Networking for the Pessimist

It seems that everyone is doing it these days—so much so that it begs the question, “Do you even exist if you’re not online?” The world of social networking, social media, and digital communication seems to be infinite, and every day these online communities are growing. Although sites such as Twitter, Facebook, and MySpace have attracted millions of users (and more are joining every day), there are still plenty of pessimists out there who feel that online social networking is just not for them. You may even be one of them. But Social networking and online communities can benefit everyone, regardless of age, location, or occupation. Interacting with social media and social networking sites gives you opportunities to build new relationships, reconnect with old friends, expand your business’s online presence, and find new and interesting outlets of communication. As an avid online social networker myself, I thought it would be interesting to look at the five most common excuses pessimists use to explain their lack of an online presence and debunk them.

1. I don’t even know where to start
The plethora of social networking sites may seem a little daunting at first, but each site is unique and serves a distinct purpose. Don’t feel pressured to join every social networking site available. The first question you should ask yourself is what, if anything, you would like to gain from social networking. Are you looking for a way to connect to your customers and grow an online following, or are you just looking to connect with like-minded individuals with similar interests? Are you looking for a creative outlet to express yourself, or are you just looking to stay in touch with your friends and family? Experiment with a few different sites. Most sites offer a video tutorial or a tour which explains how the site operates and what it offers. Instead of joining the most popular site, join a site you will actually use, or the site your friends use the most. Or, if you don’t want to join a specific social networking site, try starting a blog with any one of the many blogging sites available and share the link with just your family and friends.

2. It’s too complicated
The intricacies of Facebook and the lingo on Twitter may seem intimidating, but you’d be surprised at how easy it is to set up an account, create a profile, and start contributing. Depending on the site and the amount of information you’re willing to provide, setting up a profile or “About You” page takes an average of ten to fifteen minutes. Different sites offer varying levels of profile customization and if you don’t feel like customizing your profile, that’s completely your decision.
Twitter is an excellent site if you are looking to connect with other people without sharing too much information about yourself, as it only allows you to share 140 characters per tweet. Facebook and LinkedIn offer over a hundred distinct networks based around businesses, schools, and regions making it easy to find existing and potential friends, and both sites offer a simple layout and easy navigation as well as a number of unique and fun features.

3. I won’t know anyone
In order for social networking to be successful, users need to create a dialog with each other. Many users feel the need to accumulate friends like it’s a popularity contest, but accumulating friends purely to raise your “friend count” defeats the purpose of social networking. Search out and connect with people you know, people you want to stay in contact with, and people you may have something in common with. Using the site to stay in touch with just five friends on a regular basis is more productive and beneficial to the online community than a user who never interacts with the 5,000 strangers they are “friends” with.
This doesn’t mean that you can’t befriend people outside of your network. Everyone is there for the same reasons you are—to expand their network, meet new people, and stay in touch with the friends they already have. If you find someone on Twitter who has the same interests as you don’t be afraid to follow them. Most likely they will follow you as well.
LinkedIn is another social networking site for professionals and career-minded individuals looking to stay in touch with past and present colleagues, business acquaintances, and personal contacts. Joining a specific group within a network is also a great way to meet people with shared interests. Many groups host local events in the area where members have the opportunity to listen to speakers or just mingle with other members.

4. I don’t want all of my information all over the internet
Like everything you do online, you have to be careful about the information you are sharing. Only provide information you feel comfortable giving, and make sure that you become acquainted with the privacy settings. Every site allows you to customize your security options.
Facebook allows you to make your profile public to everyone on the site or visible to only your friends. Twitter allows you to block your profile and tweets from anyone you are not following, and all of the sites allow you to block anyone and everyone you don’t want viewing your profile. But increased privacy settings don’t always guarantee privacy.
Many sites host third party applications which, once downloaded, have access to far more personal information than they need to run the application. Use your best judgment and never post or say anything you wouldn’t want your grandmother, boss, or potential employer knowing about. You don’t want to end up like this unfortunate Twitterer.

5. I have nothing to say
Compared to the users who endlessly update their statuses and profiles, you may think you have nothing to discuss or offer, but chances are that if you think it’s interesting, someone else will think it’s interesting as well. It’s about quality not quantity. Start out small—post a link to your favorite website on your profile page, or tweet about an article you think other people might enjoy. Create a Yelp account and write reviews about your favorite restaurants and stores. Liken it to reading the newspaper and discussing the most relevant headlines with your friends in a casual setting. Once you become more comfortable with the site, your network, and your friends, you’ll want to contribute to the conversation more often. If you need inspiration look at what other people are posting and discussing. Twitter is an excellent forum for discussion (albeit brief), and has become a Mecca for sharing ideas, starting conversations, and discussing relevant issues.

Participating in social networking and social media is an experience and you will get out of it what you put in. Just like any other community, online communities thrive when everyone contributes. You can participate as much or as little as you wish, but your experience will be a direct result of your efforts. For the pessimists out there, there is no harm in dabbling with social networking. If you don’t enjoy it all you have to do is delete your account.

The Epic Journey

The weekends are a blissful thing no matter what your week days are filled with. As soon as the clock hits 5:00 on Friday your mind turns to jelly. You let out a sweet sigh of relief as you realize the hardest decision you will have to make in the next 48 hours will be deciding if you want a tequila shot, a beer or both. Although college is now years behind you, it only takes two hours to slide back into the college mindset of cheap bars, questionable shots and bad decisions. A Friday night can lead you anywhere, but subconsciously you are always looking for that one thing that will make this mundane, ordinary Friday night a weekend to remember.
Anyone who has frequented a bar, been invited to a wedding, bat mitzvah, or organized event in the last 30 years has experienced it. Those first few hair raising, goose bump giving bars from the keyboard erupt out of the cheap, muffled speakers like a hot, fresh Krispy Kreme; the distinct keyboard riffs waft over the overcrowded room grabbing the attention of every drunk and beleaguered patron within the vicinity. You look over at your friends with a look of utter surprise and befuddlement. “Are they really playing this song? Can we be soo lucky as to experience the greatest song ever written? Tonight??”
A smile slowly slides over your face as reality sets in and those legendary lyrics creep from the speakers.

"Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going aaaaaannnnneeeeeeewhere."

The lyrics pull at your heartstrings. The beat starts out slow and soft, an air of mystery that only a synthesized keyboard could produce. The first guitar riff makes its entrance.

"Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detrrrrrroooooooit. He took the midnight train going aaaaaaaannnnnneeeeewhere."

As you realize this song is here to stay your enthusiasm becomes more proclaimed. The guitar creeps back in again, quietly in the distance at first, and then slowly becoming louder and louder ending with the first crash of drums.
First it’s just your head bobbing along to the beat, but as you hear the lyrics, "For a smile they can share the night, it goes on and on and on and onnnnnnnn," you throw you head back and toss your hands in the air, and you immediately start jumping around like you’re at a Hannah Montana concert. As the drums grow louder and the chorus begins, you lose all control and you’re in your own world, screaming the lyrics at the top of your voice, stopping your jumping and hopping only to emphasize "Somewhere in the NIIIGGGGGGHHHHTTTTTTTTTTT".
As the song continues many emotions rush through your mind…..
“God I love my friends!”
“God I love this song!”
“God this night is awesome!”
“God, I am soo drunk, I can’t wait to eat something!”
As you jump wildly around in a circle trying to out-sing your friends you reminisce on the many nights before that ended with this song; the many memories and the countless bars, the close friendships which were sealed while throwing your arms around each other during "Don’t stop believing, hold on to that feeeeeeeaaaeeeeelllling!" It is the perfect way to end any night, and no matter how bad your night was, you’ll wake up the next morning telling your friends it was the best night ever. That’s just the effect of Journey, the most amazing power ballad rock band in history.
No matter who you are, where you are or how many times you’ve heard Don’t Stop Believing, the effect is the same and you react as if it were the last time you will ever hear this song. Your enthusiasm is only piqued due to the hours you just spent drinking the night away as it is almost inviolable to play any Journey songs before 1:00 am, so inevitably when this epic ballad is played you are rightfully a little tanked, resulting in the aforementioned reactions depicted above.
If this ritual is unkown to you, I have attached this handy video which can be used as a visual. Notice the guy in the foreground playing the air keyboard. It’s a classic.

Adventures on the MUNI

I’m starting to get out of the house a little bit more now and I am beginning to reacquaint myself with the formalities and etiquette of public transportation. Since I am still not working full time I have yet to purchase a monthly bus pass. I did however acquire ten dollars worth of quarters at the local laundromat which suits my immediate needs just fine. Psychologically though, I am tortured by my lack of my monthly MUNI Fast Pass I know it’s elementary, but to have a bus pass is to feel as though you are part of an elite club which I like to refer to as The Card Carrying Cool Kids Club. Having a MUNI Fast Pass gives you unlimited access to every single bus that runs in San Francisco, and although I am only familiar with one (the 1 California) I am told that there are 89 buses not including the street cars.
With unlimited access and an abundance of travel options, it is almost like having a private driver without having to become rich and employ him,and the bus driver nor the bus are private. I’m sure you’ve noticed those blithe riders who glide onto the bus carelessly flashing their shiny, colorful month-themed MUNI passes as they saunter to their ‘reserved’ seats. Fast Pass owners carry themselves with a little more confidence, grace, and poise than the rest of the MUNI passengers. The Fast Pass solidifies the fact that you are an avid user of public transportation, you know the city like the back of your hand, and more importantly, you know exactly where you are going, and where your stop is. I know all of this because I was once a member of the Card Carrying Cool Kids Club. For six glorious months I waltzed onto every bus that came my way (the 1) with my head held high and my nose in the air. But alas, those days are in the past. It is a humbling experience to be devoid of a Fast Pass after going so long with one. I am now back to paying the bus driver with dimes and nickels I’ve scrounged from the bottom of my bag, or quarters which I’ve stolen usually from Monica’s room, and sneaking onto the bus at the end of the day with my expired transfer ticket, praying I won’t get caught. Not having a bus pass has also made me really think twice about when I am truly in need of San Francisco’s transportation services, as $1.50 gets increasingly hard to come by as the weeks progress. Although it is not a steep fare, it is one more expense I must add in to my trip or excursion. This has led me to my newest exercising kick - walking. If it is between the hours of 10:00am and 7pm I will most likely resort to walking to my final destination, and will most often elicit your participation if we are traveling together.

But no matter if I have a Fast Pass or not, one thing is certain, I have missed my daily jaunts on public transportation.

Let me reminisce for you some of my most lasting impressions from my days with MUNI…

1) For Molly’s birthday a group of us conveniently caught the same bus bringing with us our own refreshments in case we got parched during the long ride (30 minutes) to Kells. If memory serves, we ran out of our private stock ten minutes into the ride, luckily a very nice man boarded with his own twelve pack and upon much heckling and prodding, proceeded to offer Molly a birthday beer after cracking one open for himself. It is at this point that the bus driver begins to go downhill and whether it was a power issue or the bus driver's own sweet charity, the light went out. This happened every time we went down hill and in our somewhat altered states of mind this played out for us as a roller coaster of epic proportions.

2) The daily commute is always a little repetitive so it’s nice when someone comes on and shakes things up a bit. On this particular fall morning I was already half way into my morning commute and thus, was caught off guard by the arrival of that morning’s unscheduled entertainment. I am sure that this man has a much more lurid name than the one I am providing him but for the sake of this story I’ll refer to him as G-Unit. I heard G-Unit before I saw him as he had conveniently forgotten his headphones at the half way house. He makes his way steadily to the back of the bus where I am situated and finds a seat across from me. I tried to hide myself in the book I was reading, unfortunately whatever I was reading was just not that interesting, as I could not get myself to concentrate over the booming rap music coming from his CELLULAR DEVICE. Take note that this was not strictly a music device but a CELLULAR PHONE he was bumping to. G-Unit really knew his music and he rapped along to every song that came out of the minute, muffled speakers. Now, G-Unit definitely had the right look going for an up and coming rapper. He had adorned himself in the typical gangsta uniform- a Mexican tuxedo ten sizes too big with some new Timbalands and the mandatory crucifix (bright blue and plastic) hanging from his neck. His rap skills were not amazing, he could follow along with the lyrics. I think he could have really gotten farther in his career if he just enunciated a little more. If he was going for the 50 Cent slur that occurs after being shot in the face though, then G-Unit was dead on. Although I did not hear the PHONE IN HIS POCKET ringing I soon heard what sounded like a conversation. But as I looked up I realized that he was not talking on the phone producing the music, he had conveniently carried two cellular devices with him in case of emergencies like these. By this time I stopped even pretending to be reading whatever book I had in my hands and was giving my full attention to this peculiar gentleman. Without missing a beat G-Unit proceeded to discuss his departure from jail and his probation requirements, simultaneously rapping to the song playing in the first phone while listening to the person on the other end of the line. I soon learned that this lovely fellow was from St. Louis, and much preferred the women of California to the St. Louis women who had donkey asses and donkey thighs. I know he was very adamant about this too as he repeated this several times. Unfortunately I never found out G-Unit’s real name or what his debut album was titled but I am sure that it is a big hit in the California penitentiaries.

3) This was a rather unfortunate experience and one of the reasons why I choose to ride the 1 whenever possible. My boyfriend came to visit me one weekend which was actually quite a feat for him, as he is not a fan of urban areas of any kind. He abhors crowds, despises dirt of any kind, and loathes public transportation. It was a beautiful Saturday and we had planned to visit the Museum of Modern Art. I proposed we take the 38 as it will take us within four or five blocks of our destination. He begrudgingly concedes and we make our way to the bus.
Before I continue, I must explain something. I only ever take the 1. It picks me up right outside my house, and takes me everywhere- from my haircut, to my work, to Lani and Anna’s house, the Financial District, and Downtown. As far as I’m concerned it’s the best bus in the world. Unfortunately our ultimate destination required that we take the 38, which is two blocks away on Geary. What a difference those two blocks make. The worst situation you would ever experience on the 1 is a stubborn old person who refuses to move from the aisle/seat/door. The 38 is another story.
This was Colin’s first venture on San Francisco public transportation and I promised him it would not be as bad as he was playing it out to be. We find seats in the back of the bus, choosing not to sit next to the nice gentleman with the ferret in his jacket. We are facing the back of the bus, giving us a straight view of several adolescent boys dressed in the traditional bad boy garb. They had TROUBLE written on their foreheads. I was intrigued. As I watch them I notice one boy carving something into the window…with a pocket knife. I notice his friend is hunched over studying the back of the seat in front of him as if the manual for how to be a pimp could be found there. I assume that he was also carving his name. Another boy is jittery and anxious and he keeps looking around him and to the front of the bus. Whenever the bus stops and people readjust themselves, the kid would take the opportunity to scribble his name on the ceiling of the bus with a fat marker. This was all in the middle of the day. Needless to say Colin was not impressed. The wannabe gangsta children and the various other disconcerting characters on the bus did nothing but cement Colin’s antipathy for public transportation. Needless to say we took a taxi home.

The characters you find on the bus contribute significantly to your overall experience and many of your fellow riders can be categorized and judged.

People I dislike:

Old People: Old people make up the majority of the occupants on the 1, and although I generally love old people, it is a known fact that the older you get the more stubborn you become. The old people on the bus take stubbornness to another level. For many of the old people I come in contact with on the 1, it is safe to say that English is not their first language. Still, I am sure they have been living here longer than I have been alive and I know they understand the phrase “excuse me”. Please stop ignoring me, the sooner I get off the sooner you can find a spot to sit down at, and the sooner you can arrive at your destination. I really don’t like to shove old people because it just makes you grumpier but when I say excuse me and you do not respond, or even worse you block me from the exit, you leave me no other choice but to take physical action.
I know it’s the law that the front seats are reserved for the elderly or disabled but I think that the old people take advantage of it. This law only applies to the seats in the front. I try to not sit in those seats purely so I do not have to experience the wrath of the old people. But this law does not include the seats in the back, so old woman I don’t care how much you stare at me I am not going to get out of my seat in the back of the bus so that you can sit down. I may be a spritely young woman but I have a bag that equals my weight and shoes that may make my legs look sexy and long but make my feet feel like I am standing in a fiery pit of hell. So back off.

Swoopers: Swoopers range in age and size but they are extremely good at locating, targeting and acquiring seats, especially when you are hovering above a seat a person is about to give up and they knowingly swoop in between you and the seat, plopping themselves down without even pretending to acknowledge you. Old people are excellent swoopers.

Pre-teens: Since I have begun riding the bus during the day time I now have the unfortunate opportunity of riding the bus with pre-teens freshly released from school for the day. Pre-teens usually travel in packs and oddly enough, choose to sit at the front of the bus which is reserved for old people. This is unfortunate because every time the bus stops they take it as an opportunity to move around, slap their friends, steal their friends phones, etc, etc. This causes a bit of a traffic jam, and not wanting to be rude I take the first seat I see so as not to interfere with the pre-teen shenanigans. This gives me an overwhelming feeling of anxiety as I am well aware that the seat I am occupying is reserved for the elderly and disabled and I am not about to be yelled at by the bus driver to move back when an elderly person enters the bus.

The MUNI Public Service Officers: This term can be used to describe a great many occupants of public transit. It’s always fun finding out who these people turn out to be because, just as there is no strict physical profile of the Swoopers, the same can be said about the MUNI Public Service Officers. These citizens take public transportation extremely seriously. They are obviously veterans of public transportation, they know every stop on every route, and wrote the transportation etiquette handbook (they just haven’t published it). These are the people who yell at you to step down when you can’t figure out how to open the back door. These are the people who remind you that the front seats must be vacated when an elderly person gets on…while they remain seated in the aforementioned front seats. These are the people who give you bad looks when you bring on more than one bag. And finally, these are the people who, should you inquire about where your stop is, they will give you a detailed run down of not only the stop you want but how many feet you must travel to reach your final destination and what the best routes are for returning. Their terse remarks and backhanded helpful suggestions are not reserved purely for the passengers either. The main duty of these Public Service Officers is to make completely sure that the bus driver knows exactly what he or she is doing and that they know they are constantly being watched.
For example, this morning on my way to work the power for some of the buses went down. This caused many of the buses on the 1 route and several other routes to take a detour. This caused quite a commotion as you can assume, as many people were on their way to work. There was obviously a lack of communication as the bus driver and her MUNI assistant told people what was going on in Chinese and not in English. One woman, after several minutes of being delayed between Presidio and Geary (which is not the typical 1 route) decided to take it upon herself to tell the bus driver and her assistant that this delay was unacceptable. She then took an old woman under her wing (she definitely understood what was going on as she spoke Chinese) and used her as an example of the cruelty the bus driver was putting her under. Apparently this old lady had to go to work (I guess none of us had anywhere important to be); as to where our newly appointed Public Service Officer was going is still to be determined. PSO began a steady stream of criticism towards the bus driver about how this detour was completely unacceptable and that she (and the old woman) should be offered a reimbursement. Eventually the attendant kicked us all off the bus only to invite us back on several minutes later. By this time the PSO had left, leaving the old woman to fend for herself, which she seemed perfectly fine with.

People I like:

Cute Guys: It makes the trip go by that much faster. Enough said.

Tourists: Who doesn’t like hearing a whole family fight in German about where they were supposed to get off?

Passengers from the Haight: Endless entertainment, especially if you catch them on a Friday night.

There are many more characters I have not mentioned and many more adventures that are yet to come. I complain quite constantly about having to take public transportation as I am an extremely impatient person, but for all of its faults I feel very lucky to be living in a city with such great public transportation. I could only hope that anyone living in San Francisco has experienced San Francisco Public Transportation and feels likewise.

My New Friends!

Right now I would say that the world is divided up between those who are lucky enough to still be working, and those who aren’t so lucky. For those of us who aren’t working we are now faced with an intolerable dilemma. If you are one of the thousands of Americans looking for a new job online you can most likely relate to what I am about to describe. If you thought it was hard to find a job when the economy was good, finding a job when the economy is bad is damn near impossible.

At my previous job I was asked to hire an intern. I posted an ad on Craig’s List and within minutes I had 20 responses. Over the next three days I received over 300 resumes. It was actually relatively easy sifting through them based on a few guidelines I had laid down. Here are a few examples of who didn’t make the cut:
1. Although the post was anonymous many took this to mean it was ok to leave the name of the person they sent their resume to previously, subsequently addressing me as Mr. Grinnell, Ms. Stacy Green or Ms. Levine. ELIMINATED
2. I am interested in Intern position . I hav marketing experience and knowledge of execution of the lead generation program and marketing research methods. ELIMINATED
3. I don’t care that you went to Yale, it still does not give you the right to send me a six paragraph single spaced 10 point font cover letter. ELIMINATED
4. When your resume covers three pages and each job description contains less than 20 words I think it’s safe to say you would benefit from reformatting your resume. ELIMINATED
5. If you were a manager or account executive and have been out of school for over four years, you are too qualified for an unpaid internship. ELIMINATED

I could go on for hours but I think you get the picture. Overall there were about twenty potential candidates out of 300 resumes. This was a little over 4 months ago. Today I am guessing that anywhere near 700 – 1000 people are applying to any given Craig’s List posting and they are most likely more qualified than the applicants I my posting attracted. Given that hypothetical statistic you would think that any potential employer would feel slightly overwhelmed at the prospect of sifting through almost 1,000 (300 of which are qualified?) emails. Rather than sifting through each and every resume it seems much more likely that the employer will begin with the first several hundred resumes received, find the most qualified candidates and hope that one of them works out. What this means for the potential employee is that it would be to your advantage to get your resume in as soon as possible to the time the posting was posted. There are several downsides to this though.

The time crunch you are now under to submit your resume leaves you with limited mobility. I leave the comfort and security of wifi and my laptop only to work out and take a shower. Otherwise, you can find me right here in my living room with my computer on my lap and the TV on as I don’t like to feel like I am alone for 8 hours a day. While many of you do not get to experience the unimaginable and unlimited plethora of amazing content available on television during the day, I do. I’d now like to take this opportunity to describe just how much the average working American is missing by waking up every morning and trudging through work all day television-less.

I like to start my day around 8 or 9 a.m. by tuning in to 1 hour of the 4 hour daily program The Today Show. Al Roker’s enthusiasm is almost un-humanlike and he always seems to have an interesting take anything he is reporting. Kathy Lee and Hoda have a great sense of humor and I think they work really well together. That was such a great idea for Kathy Lee to leave Live with Regis all those years ago. Hoda complements Kathy Lee much more than Regis Philbin ever did. I then like to move on to The Price is Right. There’s really nothing greater than watching overweight middle-Americans in tacky neon T-shirts jumping around the aisles of a TV set that hasn’t been renovated since the early 70’s. Last week contestants were bidding on a plastic water slide. The only person who came close to the actual retail price was a father whose bid was much higher than all the other contestants’ bids, and my own. It really made me second-guess my knowledge of consumer products, specifically the price of plastic. Some days I’ll get lucky and there will be an all day marathon of CSI: New York (never Miami or the original though) and I’ll get to spend my whole day with Mac, the hard-hitting, stern-faced lead criminologist/ rogue cop/ occasional action hero who struggles with a birth defect that makes it nearly impossible for him to smile.

If the TV schedule is devoid of a crime marathon I will usually flip through channels until about 1 or 2 p.m. when the really good stuff comes on. I’m not a big fan of the daily soaps; I think it has something to do with how slow the plots move. No matter how many days I miss, I always know that once I return the characters will still be struggling with the same problems I left them with and no where nearer to a resolution. I just want to scream “Yes, it’s ok to kill your ex step-sister and now step-mother who killed the biological twin you never knew existed and slept with your husband and is now pregnant with your husbands child but is telling your father that it’s really his even though he’s 80 and in a coma and hasn’t been able to have sex in 10 years! Just dump the rat poison in her whiskey, make it look like she slipped in the bathroom and hit her head, declare yourself the legal guardian of the baby and rewrite your fathers will to make you the sole heir of his coffee bean fortune! It’s not like it hasn’t been done before on One Life to Live!”

My elite palate draws me to the more in depth shows such as Maury or People’s Court. Maury is like the sole survivor of the afternoon talk show glory days in which Jenny Jones, Montel and Ricki Lake ruled basic cable. After frequent viewings I’ve come to the conclusion that Maury’s favorite topic is “Who’s the Baby’s Daddy?” Take for example today’s show, titled “I can’t be the Baby’s Daddy, I was in a Coma!” I kid you not.

What really attracts me to shows such as Maury, and particularly this topic is that the women who come on the show honestly do not realize the extent of their own promiscuity. If you are unfamiliar with how this particular show works let me shine some light on it.

Maury will start by introducing the mother; she will be sitting beside him while in the background a montage of pictures of the mothers’ fatherless child flash in the background. Maury then asks her who she thinks the father is, whereupon the mother launches into a heart wrenching story of stolen virginity, broken hearts, and forgotten I Love You’s. Eventually the alleged father will come on stage with his hands in the air in a failed attempt to subdue the outraged audience who has been a little too easily coerced into believing the mothers’ sob story of his infidelity. The alleged father is then allowed .25 seconds to defend himself from the scathing allegations thrown at him by the baby’s momma. When the fight between Mom and Pop reach its apex Maury steps in and pulls out a zinger telling the audience that he has conducted a paternity test and he has the results IN HIS HANDS which he will reveal to you…after this commercial break. It is now that the show really starts to take off.

Maury usually has about 4 women on the show each episode claiming so-and-so is the father of their child. Why these women would even want to admit that these men are the fathers of their children are beyond me because they are certainly not winners, yea I’m talking to you Silvio! After the commercial break Maury reveals the results of the paternity test with great fanfare. Although the mother has done a wonderful job convincing the audience of her disparity the paternity test is not as easily fooled. Once the results are revealed it almost always…reveals…that the alleged father is not the father! Now comes the time when the mothers stand up and shake their fists (and as a result their whole rather large bodies) at the OOOOOing audience. The wronged mothers steadfastly stand by their “expert” knowledge that the alleged really is the father and that he somehow cheated on the test just like he cheated on her. This happens to at least 3 of the 4 women brought on the show. It’s great and I think Maury should be touted as the originator of the menimist movement.

Maury is obviously the highlight of my day but Wife Swap definitely gives Maury a run for its money. I’m not a psychologist but I think it’s safe to say that the creators of this show had a strained relationship with their mothers when they were growing up. Regardless, putting a working atheist mother in a fundamentalist Christian household as a stay at home wife makes for some great television. Once my two hours of Wife Swap have ended I like to put a little substance in my life and tune into the local news…while I’m making dinner.

These examples are just some of the many captivating and exhilarating shows I am able to watch during the day time. In order to experience them all I recommend that you resign from your dreaded nine to five job and spend your days with me, on the couch. Just imagine all the laughs we’ll share with Kathy Lee and Hoda, the tears we’ll shed with Maury, and the many intellectual conversations we’ll have while watching Wife Swap. It’s quite a life indeed. So, if you’d like to join me and all of my new found friends, please be my quest. All I ask in return is that inform me of the job you are planning on leaving. I’m sure they’ll need someone to fill your shoes J

LiPhone As We Know It Part II

Yes, I was a little skeptical of the iPhone at first. I am an outspoken and devout user of the PC and I loathe Macs with their undivided clicker and their pretentious white mice. I think it’s the stark whiteness of the Macs that really gets under my skin. I cannot stare at a white border all day. Computers are meant to be silver, a neutral, calming color. It subtly alludes to the hard, rugged, ooh soo important and complicated machinery that lies just beneath the surface. When I walk into an office and see that I will be working on a Mac my first urge is to hit it. But I refrain from this somewhat violent and unprovoked attack as I know the time will soon come, when the Mac will fail to load its Internet knock-off Cucci inspired Safari browser and I will have no other option but to whack at its white plastic sides in an effort resolve the problem.

That being said, I LOVVVVVVVEEE my iPhone! This sweet baby is enforced with that no-nonsense, silver titanium border, and if you couldn’t have guessed it already, I opted to purchase the black iPhone.

Now, I know that not everyone has a blackberry or an iPhone but for the sake of this blog I am going to pretend that everyone does. And let’s be honest here, seriously, EVERYONE HAS ONE!! I went with the iPhone rather than a blackberry for two reasons: 1) I am on the Cingular/ATT plan 2) The iPhone has apps. Apps are short for Applications. Applications are downloadable pieces of your life that you literally cannot live without. Once you acquire enough said applications, your life is essentially complete. Let me show you….

Before my iPhone: I was a complete mess. I could never remember anything I had to do (pick up kids, eat), I was completely unaware of new and upcoming artists and songs, did not have the ability to log onto Facebook at the drop of a hat, and was soo bad with directions I could hardly find my own left hand.

After my iPhone: I am God. Shall I elaborate?

To Do List Application: Let’s me write down everything I need to do which I otherwise would forget had it not been for THIS particular To Do List. Paper lists are for wimps.

Urban Spoon Application: It’s like gambling for dinner.

Around Me Application: This is extremely handy when I totally forget where I am (happens more than you think) and I need to find something/be found.

Facebook Application: I haven’t logged off Facebook in 4 months! Beat that “I update my status every 5 seconds girl”!

Taxi Magic Application: Not so magical, more like an advertisement for Luxor Cabs, but they just happen to be my favorite taxi cab company as they take credit cards ☺

iFishing Application: Yes, you all thought I was completely devoid of skill, tact and grace. Well say that to me after I just caught a 30 pound bass and won $20,000.00 beezies!

Wikipanion Application: My best and smartest friend, sorry WikiMary but you can’t fit in my pocket.

Tangram Pro Application: Remember when you were a kid in elementary school and you had free time so you grabbed a friend to play a rousing game of Tangram? And the game eventually ends with you throwing those stupid red misshaped pieces at your teacher screaming, “It doesn’t even look like a duck!!” I can now relive those great memories via my iPhone and the Tangram Pro Application.

Sudoku Application: I’m not going to lie, I don’t play this one in public much because I’m afraid people are looking over my shoulders and thinking “9 goes there, how can you not see that you moron!!”

Sandscapes Application: If you ever want to watch the world fly by without you ever contributing a single thing, you must have this application. I have made the prettiest pictures ever at 12:00 on a Friday night!
Fast Food Application: We found this shining star the day after New Years. It led us right to the McDonalds drive thru window. Simply amazing.

Sally’s Salon Application: This was one of the more costly applications I downloaded but definitely worth every penny. I single handedly ran Sally’s Salon, moving her from some strung out joint in the local mall to an exclusive salon at the Hotel Ritz. And yes, I put that on my resume.

Craigsearch Application: For all those missed connections posted about me.

Touch Closet Application: You know that scene in Clueless when Cher is looking through her closet and she’s using her computer to help her find the perfect outfit? I have that on my iPhone. All I had to do was take a picture of every single article of clothing I own. It may eat up all of my memory but I can now plan what I will be wearing tonight while I am…somewhere else other than my room…


Coloring Book Application: Extremely cathartic after a long day of Craigslisting.

These are just some of the AMAZING applications I have downloaded on my iPhone. These beautiful babies make me the woman that I am today. I’m sure all of you iPhone owners (everyone) understand and feel the same affinity, and owe the same amount of gratitude to your iPhone and applications as well. So let’s keep spreading the love for the only thing Steve Jobs and the Apple people got right!

Liphone As We Know It Part 1

I tried to start this blog by researching the history of the mobile phone, but the beginnings seemed rather boring so I decided to skip ahead with the history that I remember. Unfortunately, I was not able to experience the awesomeness of the first generation cell phones that came out in the late 70’s and early 80’s, but I was there for the introduction of the 2G cell phones which were thankfully much more mobile than their original counterparts.

My friend Alia was the first of us to receive a cell phone. On 8th grade graduation, her parents gave her a Nokia phone, one of the longer ones. Of course, we were all jealous and many of our friends subsequently followed in her footsteps. I was probably the last of all of my friends to get my own cell phone, seeing as I didn’t really want one in the first place. I think it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of High School when my mom took me down to the local Cingular store to apply for a family plan. I walked away with a baby blue Nokia which was equipped with a black and white screen and the ever-addicting game of Snake. My mom wanted me to get a cell phone so she could stop hearing my excuses about why I forgot/ couldn’t call her (none of my friends had quarters for the payphone!) to tell her where I was. Giving me a cell phone was her way of being able to track me down wherever I was. Nonetheless I learned to love the phone and of course now I can’t imagine life without one. The baby blue Nokia was the only phone I kept long enough to qualify me for an upgrade. From there on out all my future held was a series bad luck and irritating trips back to the Cingular store.

It goes a little something like this…

Replacement: A beautiful shiny silver flip phone reminiscent of its unofficial predecessor the Razor.
Death: Shortly before I was about to leave for college I went water tubing at Mission Bay. My phone was in the pocket of my sweatshirt. As I was putting on my sweatshirt the phone flew out of my pocket landing with a delicate plop in the water before swiftly sinking to its untimely demise.

Replacement: An ugly plastic Motorola flip phone, a definite downgrade.
Death: Spring quarter of my freshman year of college. I joined the men’s crew team and was not allowed to leave for Spring Break due to our practice schedule. I always took my phone out on the water with me; unfortunately, my two seat Steve Shanley decided to purposely flip the four I was coxing thus water logging my phone and ending its short and somewhat uneventful life.

Replacement: The same ugly plastic Motorola flip phone I thought I had finally gotten rid of.
Death: Winter quarter of my sophomore year of college. It was a rainy day. I was just getting back from an early morning of crew practice and I was in a hurry. Shortly after I got home I realized that I lost my phone. After calling the phone and retracing my steps I cut my losses and began contemplating my replacement.

Replacement: Silver Motorola Razor which I bought for cheap on Ebay!!
Death: Summer before my junior year of college. Steve Shanley came to visit me in La Jolla. He thought it was funny to sneak up behind me and tickle me. This caused me to jerk and convulse uncontrollably, ultimately making me drop my phone and crack the screen. The Razor suffered a slow and painful death. What started as a cracked screen soon became something much more sinister. The internal hardware began to slow down; it became confused and disoriented, eventually just shutting down during crucial periods of use. Soon after, the screen began showing signs of fatigue and failure. When the screen became shrouded almost completely in a mysterious black substance I knew it was time to accept reality and let the poor guy life the rest of its days in peace.

Replacement: A roommate’s international phone which she lent to me for my semester abroad in London.
Death: This perfect little black phone survived all the trials and tribulations of London, although there were many close run-ins at the hands of the now infamous Steve Shanley. As far as I know this little baby is still going strong!

Replacement: A black LG flip phone which I bought shortly after my return from London.
Death: This bad ass could not and would not ever die. I had this fighter for almost two years. In that time period I dropped it numerous times, spilled everything from tequila to beer on it, and left it more places than I can even remember. But the little sucker loved me and stayed with me through it all. But upon my graduation and entrance into the real working world of adults I felt it necessary to find a phone that could keep up with my hectic and much more mature life.

Replacement: The 2nd generation Iphone.
Death: Never.

And now my life begins

Spread the Love!!!

*Note: The day I wrote this I spent 2 hours in the dentists chair getting a gum graft and was on copious amounts (a quarter of a quarter of vicodin, I’m a light-weight) of pain killers. While this blog entry may not make much sense, it has a good moral…I think, I’m not sure, I really have to read it again.


It’s that time of year again. No, not Thanksgiving and taxes aren’t due quite yet. It’s the month of love and soon we will be celebrating (Saint) Valentine’s Day, the day on which lovers express their love for each other by sending Valentine’s cards, presenting flowers, or offering confectionery (Wikipedia). People feel one of two emotions about Valentine’s Day. You either love it or you hate it, simple as that. I am not what you would call a romantic but I love Valentine’s Day. So for the sake of this wonderful holiday, let’s take a trip down memory lane…

Many of our first Valentine’s Day’s probably started the same. A couple weeks before V Day (I’m lazy) your teacher sends you home with a note telling your parents that on this day your entire class will be celebrating Valentine’s Day. The note usually included a list of all of the students in your class and a ‘suggestion’ to please bring a card for EVERY student in the class. You are then whisked away to the local drug store where you are faced with the difficult task of choosing between Barbie (Will you be my Prince?), Garfield, Power Rangers (Have an awesome Valentine’s Day! Pow!) and some unrecognizable character that looks like cross between the purple teletubby and Wolverine. If you were anything like me, this is how your thought process goes, “Should I choose Barbies? They’re soo pretty! But what if the boys think they’re lame and they make fun of me? But what will the other girls give? Well the Garfield ones are funny and cute, should I get those? But those have no candy and the Power Rangers come with candy. Candy’s always cool.” And so on and so forth.

Once you’ve made your decision it is now time to choose which card goes to whom. You make (sign your name) the cards for your best friends first, then you make ones for the rest of the girls in your class. Then you move onto the boys. You first choose which one will go to that special boy. It can’t be too blatant (Will you be my Prince?) but it can’t be too generic (Have a spectacular day!) because then he’ll think you don’t like him at all. It has to be just perfect. You eventually end up giving him the one with the prettiest Barbie on it although as a sacrifice it also has the most generic greeting. You then move onto the boys you don’t like. But you don’t even care about what their cards say because you sign their names and ‘accidentally’ forget to sign your name, oops.

Valentine’s Day rolls around and once you deliver all of your cards into their respective love boxes (shoe boxes the class was forced to decorate two days earlier) you quickly run back to your desk and begin to shuffle through your box trying to find that one special valentine from that special someone J. It’s a Power Rangers card (You rock my world! Pow!). OMG, it’s meant to be!!

This continues for several years. Some years you make the cards with doilies and cut out hearts, other times you just get candy valentines and write your name on the box. Eventually though this elementary (literally) celebration ends and Valentine’s Day is all of a sudden the property of the Associated Student Body. You are thus forced to show your admiration through the form of a single carnation. But now there are all sort of stigmas attached. All of a sudden, every single person in your class has got a boyfriend or girlfriend. You will be the only person not carrying an ugly, waxy, slightly wilted carnation on Valentines Day. So you team up with your other single girlfriends and swear to buy each other carnations. OMG, you smile innocently when a representative from the student body hands you a rose in fourth period English class. “I have no idea who got this for me”, you say sheepishly. You and your friends continue this little charade all throughout middle school and high school. If you were lucky when you progressed to high school your Associated Student Body progressed from carnations to roses. I remember one year I kept on badgering one of my guy friends to buy me a rose on V Day. He wouldn’t do it. I told him to at least buy his girlfriend a rose. He wouldn’t do that either, his way of sticking it to the man (ASB). Instead his girlfriend and I bought each other roses and then bought him a dozen roses which he then had to carry around for the rest of the day.

As awkward as Valentine’s Day was, I always loved it. I loved seeing all of the different types of cards in my love box, each representing a fellow student and friend. I loved waking up in the morning to find a box of chocolate and a Valentines Day card on my dining room table. And I loved receiving those carnations and roses every year, without fail, from my friends. After a couple years my girlfriends and I stopped asking each other for roses and just expected them. The roses would always come with a note, something along the lines of “Happy Valentine’s Day Karebear, I’m soo glad we’re friends! Love, Beachie.”

For many, Valentine’s Day is a day that is otherwise meaningless if it is not spent with a significant other. Those are the people who usually say they hate Valentine’s Day. For me, Valentine’s Day is a day to remind everyone in my life just how much I love them. So don’t look at Valentine’s Day as Singles Awareness Day, find someone you love and spend the day with them. Tell your friends that you love them, tell your parents how much you appreciate them, and buy yourself some chocolate because most of all you should love yourself!

Puffer Kitty

So far, my stay at home has been relatively uneventful which is fairly nice. Since my parents still spend their days working I am left at home alone to fend for myself. Luckily I have my favorite companion Puff here to keep me company. Puff, is my precious kittie kat and I cannot put into words how much I love him, although I am going to try.
I don’t think I would appreciate Puff as much as I do if it hadn’t been for the previous Beach pet, Smudge. Smudge was what many would typically define as felis catus domesticus or domestic cat although I would define him as diabolus liber or devils child. My brother found the lucky devil at the Mission Bay Yacht Club one night when we were both wee children (grade school and elementary). The poor creature was shivering and barely two weeks old and after many tears and wistful looks (and my brother threatening to run away and live with the cat) my parents decided to let him take the cat home under the condition that it would be Kevin’s responsibility. Kevin named him Smudge and immediately transferred all remaining care taking duties to my parents. My parents did a wonderful job raising Kevin and I, but things really went south with Smudge. The thing was fuc*ing psycho. I’m not sure what we were expecting considering we found him on the beach but Smudge wanted nothing to do with his domestic responsibilities, i.e. snuggling on your lap, playing with fuzzy little balls you threw at him, eating from a cat bowl; usual catly duties. Some of his favorite activities included catching little lizards and playing with them for a while before eventually eating them, hiding behind the couch and pouncing on my head, or hiding under my bad and attacking my feet as I walked by.
Needless to say, when I found Smudge in a box on our doorstep with a note reading “I think this is your cat – Bob”, I wasn’t too torn up. In fact my mom found me several hours later in the backyard wearing yellow rubber gloves poking and prodding the dead cat. The story the coroner (neighbor) reported was that Smudge had been hit by a car. I think that Smudge was likely playing Chicken with every passing vehicle and had finally met his match. I wanted to take Smudge’s dead body to show and tell but my parents disposed of the body before I could sneak it in my backpack.
With the untimely (perfect) demise of our beloved (my feelings were more ambivalent) Smudge, it became evident that there was a void in the family. My mom marched herself down to the animal shelter in hopes of finding a suitable replacement for our fallen loved one. When she picked me up from school that day there was a box in the back seat and when I looked in all I could see was puffs of orange hair sticking out of the air holes. I was soo excited (clapping hands)!! We took the un-named cat home from school and fed him. Upon finishing his meal my brother burst into the kitchen and immediately picked up the new addition to the family. Almost immediately the cat puked up his meal all over my brothers back. I knew I was the start of a beautiful friendship. My mom let me name him, and after much, much, much though and deliberation I resolutely decided on the name Puff.
Unfortunately my first experiences with my new best friend were not much more successful than my brothers. As it turned out, I was allergic to the puff ball. Not like, a couple sneezes, more like after petting him my entire body would itch, my eyes would become itchy and red and swollen and my nose would start running like a racehorse (I think that’s a much better analogy than peeing like a racehorse). Yes, a slight bump in the road but I wouldn’t let it stop me. When I found a dead bird under my bed one day I knew Puff loved me just as much as I loved him. I tried to take the dead bird to show and tell as well but again, my mom discarded the body before I could even begin to play with it. This fateful event forced my mother to purchase Puff a new collar with a bell on it. This heavily impeded his mighty hunting abilities.
As the years went by (and our friendship grew) my allergies began to recede. But by this time Puff had found someone he loved more than me. My mom fed him and my dad was actually able to pet him and soon I went off to college where his memory of me faded into kittie oblivion. I was crushed. After all of those years spent trying to bond with him; putting a leash on him and walking him around the block, lightly transferring him from my window to the tree outside to see if he would be able to climb down, and picking him up and putting him around my neck like a fur stole, all in vain.
Puff is no longer the athletic sprite he once was (actually he hated exercise; I don’t even think he can stay awake longer than four hours a day). He was recently diagnosed with a thyroid disorder (like owner, like pet!) and somewhere along the way he lost his hearing. This seemed to happen around the same time my nephew began learning how to walk and talk which makes me think that his loss of hearing was more a blessing than a curse. He’s suffering from old age as well; he’s always grumpy and he thinks he can sit wherever he wants (he can’t he has a blanket he can sit on. That’s it). I think he’s also a bit senile as he seems to forget when he ate and always thinks its meal time. He can’t clean himself anymore which means that at night my dad takes the scissors to the poor creatures’ fur and cuts off huge chunks of tangled hair balls. Oooh, he just yawned and his teeth aren’t looking so good either.
But old age or not, he’s still the most beautiful, loving cat I have ever known. Right now he’s sitting on the desk nest to me and can’t get down because it’s too much of a jump down, he’s looking at me for help but I keep ignoring him, hee hee ;). And I’m sure he loves me just as much as I love him (actually he would rather have absolutely nothing to do with me as I still don’t feed him).
So let’s raise a glass and say a toast for my true home-boy Puff!

The Long Goodbye

I am once again making the all too frequent jaunt down to sunny Sandy Eggo to reunite with a few dear old friends. My first stop, which should be no surprise to any of you, will be to my dentist J-Dawg where he will hopefully re-bond my temporary teeth with a sealant gale force winds couldn’t even tear off. I will then go on to see my quirky yet harmless family doctor for my yearly in-person check up. I’m not sure how much he knows about me because I’m not the one who does most of the talking during our visits but I know an awful lot about him. I know that he is a Libertarian and thinks he could run the United States better than Bush or Obama. I know that he recently bought land in Las Vegas (several apartments to be more specific) that he is hoping to use to make a profit. I know that he has done incredibly well for himself (he’s very proud of this fact). He is married and does not have nor does he want children, but he does have three dogs (three small dogs). My last appointment is with a new doctor I have not met with yet. Of course he is an oral surgeon, a periodontist to be exact, and he will be examining my gums.

I know what you are thinking, “What a brave soul she is, I hope she survives”. Well, just in case, for some reason that I do not return to you all I would like will away some of my most precious belongings.

Diane - I would like you to have my puzzles. I never had the chance to re-create those missing puzzle pieces from the 1500 piece Magna Carta puzzle so I leave that daunting task in your hands. I know you will make me proud.

Anna – Any remaining alcohol I have in the house will go to you. You only need a shot to get you drunk, therefore my abundant supply of tequila and wine will be able to enjoy a long, long, long shelf life under your diligent care.

Tiffany – I leave you all of my bathing suits as you may be the only one who still visits the beach. Take care of them, don’t stretch them out, wash them in cold water in the sink when you are done wearing them and don’t wring them out; instead let them air dry. Also, rotate them as exposing one to the sun for long periods of time makes the colors fade.

Lani – This is a hard one as you seem to have everything you need so I am giving you something extra close to my heart. I will you my beloved teddy bear, Teddy. May he keep you warm and protected on those cold San Francisco (or Morgan Hill) nights. In addition, I leave you my plant, Sweet Pablo. May he always be as green as the day I left it.

Monica – Last but certainly not least. I would like you to have my beautiful pearl blue Dirt Devil floor and carpet vacuum cleaner with a rotating brush roll. Please use it weekly and remember me when you are picking up after someone else’s mess. As well, I would like you to have my paper shredder. Never be afraid to use it, because remember, it only takes one receipt to steal an identity. And most important of all, I would like you to have my beloved bicycle. I have spent many hours cycling along, envisioning myself in the woods or cycling by the ocean. Give it a spin, I’m sure you will learn to love it as much as I have.

And with that I say good-bye. Wish me luck my dear friends, as I am entering waters I may likely never escape from. Remember the good times and keep my memory with you always. KISSSSESSSS!!!

Medical Maintenance

I started this blog primarily to open up a dialog about social networking, the future of public relations/advertising, new technology and other important topics. But this post discusses none of these topics. If any of you know me you have likely heard at least one of my medical escapades. This post will illuminate you readers on my many run-ins with my favorite doctor – The Dentist.

My exploits into the world of orthodontics and dental work began just the same as any other adolescent. My baby teeth had all but fallen out and my big girl teeth were making their slow and quite undignified appearance. I am a petite person and my mouth, as I was soon to learn, follows the same proportions as the rest of my body. The discussion of braces soon came up, but before I could broach that phase I had to get my mouth “prepped”. Dentist are tricky devils and when I thought I was just going in for check up, the dentist knocks me out and pulls out the remaining three stubborn baby teeth along with four of my permanent teeth. As I said before, apparently my mouth was too small to accommodate a full set of teeth.

My braces phase was decidedly uneventful (compared to what comes next). I had a full set of those bad boys, and I spent those three years decorating them with every color under the sun (red and green during Christmas, green during St Patrick’s Day, blue for season-less visits). Once I had my braces removed I received a beautiful blue and purple retainer to keep my teeth in place, and a permanent wire on my bottom teeth. Of course I never wore my retainer but then again neither did you, right?

Phase 2

Remember when the dentist removed four of my permanent teeth? My teeth were now straight but not at all perfect. There were huge gaps between my four front teeth which the dentist now had to fill. The fillings attached to my teeth getting rid of the awkward gaps and mimicking a beautiful full set of teeth. Well, kind of beautiful, they were pretty discolored actually. Everything was fine until junior year of High School.

Do you remember what a stressful time of year that was? Applying to colleges, fitting in every extra curricular under the sun and waking up at 5 in the morning to jump in a pool only to smell like chlorine for the rest of the day. Don’t worry, the afternoon practices replenished that fading, early morning chlorine smell with yet another liberal douse. All of the stress compounded until one morning I woke up unable to open my mouth. This was extremely scary as I am quite the talker.

Turns out I have TMJ- Tempo Mandibular Jaw Disorder. The remedy for this new malady was a very chic, clear retainer worn during the day to prop my jaw up. At night I would wear a night guard, sexy I know. Needless to say I wore them both until I went on my senior trip with seven of my girlfriends. It was a fourteen day cruise trip and we decided to visit London before the cruise began. Walking through Hyde Park one day we stumble across the set up for a concert. After we asked around we discovered that Red Hot Chili Peppers were going to be playing that night. We quickly bought tickets from a legitimate source (scalper), and hurried home to prepare for the show (drank). I usually take my day retainer out when I go out at night, but tonight we were in such a hurry (soo drunk) that I forgot. Once at the concert I suddenly remembered what I was wearing and quickly stashed my retainer in my pocket. The show was amazing, we met some boys who allowed us to sit on their shoulders (this may be key) to see the show a bit better. When I got back to the hotel (this is another story in itself, which includes one of my friends walking the streets of London barefoot) I fished out my retainer from my pocket only to discover it in two pieces. I panicked, started yelling about never being able to open my mouth again, which obviously means I’m going to die, etc, etc. It turns out I was just fine.

My stress level had gone down quite a bit since actually being accepted into college and it turned out that I no longer needed to wear my daily retainer. I grind my teeth a lot at night though which contributes to my TMJ, and to this day I still wear my night guard (again, sexy I know). Let’s fast forward four years.

Phase 3

I am in the dentists’ office and he says its time to take out those fillings I had put in my freshman year of high school. They shouldn’t have lasted eight years any ways and apparently it had always been part of the plan to replace them with veneers. I had no knowledge of this but apparently my mother and dentist had been planning this for years. No big deal though, I would love some veneers! My teeth are discolored with decalcification and what not and getting veneers will make them perfect! That is, if I survive the procedure.

I schedule two appointments two weeks apart from each other and last weekend I headed home to begin with part one. Day of surgery, everything goes fine, they let me listen to my ear phones, nothing too big to report- until I look in the mirror and see that they did not work on the two front teeth which I thought they were going to fix, but the ones right next to the two front teeth. It looked funky. Funky like, hey those are some nice canines (I got my lateral incisors removed) but what’s wrong with your front teeth? After a short discussion we decided to schedule another appointment to do the two front teeth. Lucky for me they have an opening the next day!

Another two and a half hours in the dentist’s office and I am good to go. They send me out with some temporary teeth to hide the four teeth they shaved down and three packets of cement (in case my temporary teeth fall out, but they ensure me that won’t happen).

Two hours later I receive a telephone call. The dentists office needs me to come in to make sure they got the coloring right. Fine, I need them to take off some blue gunk they left on my bottom teeth anyways. Color is corrected and while the nurse removes the blue gunk she realizes that the permanent retainer I have glued to my bottom teeth is once again loose (yes it has popped off at least twice before). The dentist come sin and by this time he is soo sick of dealing with me that he decides to just get rid of the metal bar once and for all. I walk out and get on a plane to come back home.

Remember how I told you I wear a night guard? Well, I’m not allowed to wear it with my temporary teeth which means that there is a possibility of me grinding my teeth at night. Most of the time when you grind your teeth you grind the back teeth my jaw has a mid of its own which leads to today.

I woke up this morning with something floating in my mouth. Guess what it is!! So this morning there I am standing in front of my mirror mixing cement and putting it on my fake teeth and CEMENTING IT BACK INTO MY MOUTH. Can someone please tell me they have had to do this also?

Untitled Title

I'm not good with introductions so let's just start from the beginning, which just so happens to be only 8 months ago. Aah the innocence of it all, we were fresh faced seniors in college (if you can call constant bags under our eyes, yesterdays makeup and eu de alcohol 'fresh faced') gazing ahead at our not too distant futures. I took on the prestigious and rigorous major of Communications as I had always dreamt of becoming a big name in the advertising world. Yes I know, every girl dreams of working in a big building, slaving away in a cubicle with a phone hooked to her ear having angry clients yell at her about a mispelled logo. I began applying for jobs in March and by June I was starting to get a little frantic. I had sent my resume to all of the big agencies (why wouldn't they want a shining star like me??) but alas, no responses. I had applied for everything listed on Craig's List and had only a handful of interviews. Finally, two weeks after I graduated I got that beloved telephone call offering me a position! AT AN ADVERTISING AGENCY! I didn't care that it was a small (3 people), 'boutique' agency. I didn't care that they only had 3 clients. I didn't even care that it was unpaid. None of that mattered to me. I found someone who wanted me and I was going to learn as much as I could, and work as hard as I could to position myself as an invaluable employee that must be hired.

6 MONTHS LATER

So the job didn't pan out the way I thought it would. Fancy that. But it's ok, my ego has not been deflated in the least, although I am not that innocent college graduate willing to work for food anymore. The experience I gained there was invaluable and I enjoyed my time with the company, but sometimes things just aren't meant to be. I also now understand what the word boutique means. Let me explain something. I love shopping in boutiques. Boutiques are where you find all of the great stuff no one else has. They carry the best selection of jeans and cute tops, and most importantly they always have small sizes! Boutiques also have the most expensive prices, a little downside but we'll overlook this. A boutique advertising agency on the other hand is a little different. Yes, I got to wear all of those boutique bought jeans I loved soo much but I was outside picking up dog poop in my designer jeans. I was on my hands and knees trying to fix the copy machine for the third time in one day in those cute little heels I bought in the Haight. I was taking messages and sending faxes for the psychic who worked down stairs in that adorable summer dress I just picked up in the Mission.

So I'm looking for a job again. UNfortunately, soo are millions of other Americans, as the economy took a sharp turn for the worse somewhere between me unclogging the downstairs toilet (not my fault) and almost burning the office down with an imporperly placed candl. But it's OK because if I can say anything for myself it's that I am relient and annoyingly opptimistic.

This blog will follow my trials and tribulations in the search for new employment. There will be laughs and tears, adventures and misadventures, trials and tribulations, you get the picture. But, hopefully it will end with a happy ending.

MORAL OF STORY

A blog is now the new resume! Enjoy!