To pin or not to pin…

Pinterest.

It’s kind of a BFD lately, but I’m not really feeling it.

I’ve already got Twitter and, reluctantly, Facebook. Those take up enough of my free time. Unless I want social media to take over my entire existence, I’ve got to put a time limit on my involvement.

In my precious social media time, Pinterest does not reign supreme. Not that my friends haven’t tried. I’ve gotten more than one invite to join, but I’ve got a laundry list of reasons to stay away.

  1. I wear my hair two ways – down (straight) and in a pony tail. Every once in a while, I jazz things up with bobby pins and braids. I’ve seen the hairstyles people are pinning and honestly, they do nothing but make me feel inadequate. I know myself well enough to realize that I can pin as many pretty updos as I want – it’s not going to happen.
  2. Lots of people pin pictures of pretty beaches and ideal vacation spots. I don’t need to look at their vacation dreamspots – I’ve got my own vacation pics to look at. My desktop background is usually a picture from India or Scotland, reminding me of places I’ve really been. I don’t need to get bitter about unrealistic beach vacations I’ll never take.
  3. I don’t garden.
  4. The beautiful home decor pins drive home the all-too-real fact that I have no disposable income.

Like all social media trends, I might cave someday, but for now, I don’t think Pinterest is for me.

Finding faith in unorthodox places

I’ve always struggled with my faith. After growing up in a household with parents on opposite ends of the religious spectrum, I went to a Lutheran college – further muddling my faith identity. A journey through India was just the icing on the messed up confusion-cake that is my belief system.

Lately, I feel like I’ve been failing my way through adulthood. Career dissatisfaction and loneliness replaced my awesome college experience. If there was ever a time for religion, this is it, right?

So in my depression, have I turned to God? Or a different idol – Allah, Vishnu…Zeus? Of course not.

Instead, I have turned to Tom Wolfe and Weeds to help me through my trials and tribulations, and I can’t help but wonder what that means about me as a person.

Tom Wolfe’s writing holds a similar allure as religious texts. I find inspiration in the freedom of the Merry Pranksters in The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. I learn lessons from their mishaps. And there are certain passages I read whenever I need motivation.

Weeds, my other favorite diversion, definitely isn’t inspiring any superior morality, but it stands as a reminder of my past. Not because I was a single-parent drug trafficker, but because I first watched the show with special people in my life. Those memories are totally uplifting and have helped me work through the past few months.

I know that my dependence on Tom Wolfe and Nancy Botwin probably offends people who have deep faith in an establish religion, but for now, this is my solution. And until I can get my life together and perhaps get a real grasp on my faith, I’m going to keep relying on my substitutes.

Snark doesn’t belong here…

By now, it’s not breaking news that Whitney Houston has died.

The night of her death, Twitter blew up – at first with skeptics questioning the validity of the reports due to numerous celebrities being prematurely killed by Tweets. And then with shock, sadness, sympathy and in some cases mockery.

I may be one to ridicule, but mocking the dead flies right past snark into heartlessness, and heartless, I am not.

Now is the time for remembrance. In honor of Whitney Houston’s life and incredible contributions to music, here are my favorite memories.

It’s Not Right, But It’s Okay: this song never failed to ease my fears no matter what situation I’d gotten myself into. And on more than one occasion, I could be found rolling my eyes at girls doing karaoke to I’m Every Woman (cliché much?), only to sing at the top of my lungs during the chorus.

Well, that was easy. I managed those good memories with absolutely no disapproval.

Instead of speculating that Whitney’s drug use was the result of her hidden lesbianism, cult affiliations or alien babies, let’s just remember those awesome moments.

To the bloggers, TV personalities and radio hosts who were callous enough to meet Houston’s death with the “oh, that drugged out mess died?” attitude, I can’t imagine you would want your faults and misguided choices to rise from the grave and into the attention of the national media.

No matter what harm Whitney Houston may have caused herself, we certainly have no place to judge her choices. And snark for the sake of condemning the dead is far worse than anything Whitney Houston every did.

Hear me out: smoking – slightly less crazy?

Think about what relaxes you.

Some of you like golf. (I’m sorry you have no friends.)

And some of you enjoy yoga.

When yogis find themselves stressing about global warming or a delayed quinoa shipment to the local co-op, they take a moment to meditate and focus on their body and breath. Controlling the breath gives the body extra oxygen, resulting in a beautiful, soothing post-yoga bliss.

Stress? Forgotten.

Now some of you are thinking, “screw yoga, when I’m stressed, I channel my inner Don Draper and light up a Lucky Strike.

Stress-smokers don’t have time to learn the correct pranayama breath. Stress-smokers only have time to aggressively suck down that sweet, sweet cigarette and contemplate how they can squash their problems with unmitigated violence (or something like that).

However, a recent work conversation with a highly-enlightened Montana put that stereotypical stress-smoker in a new light.

The breathing action of smoking – inhale deeply, hold slightly, exhale slowly – mirrors the pranayama technique. So really, those smokers are using the same relaxation methods as yogis, just with the extras that come with cigarettes (tar, risk of cancer, dashing attitude of Draper).

That connection, my friends, was something I had never considered. And as someone who understands the bliss proper breathing can create, I totally get it. Smoking should definitely relieve stress because it involves focus on the breath.

Well now. That’s quite an unconventional take.

This still doesn’t explain the whole smoking-while-drunk thing because who is stressed and drunk? Drunk people have two problems: long bathroom lines and expensive bar tabs.

Bottom line: maybe smokers and yogis got it right?

Golfers, however, are still tools.

The money divide

No matter where you fall on the financial spectrum, conversations about money are bound to end with frustration.

I made the mistake of walking into a conversational land mine at work recently when I fell into discussion over money with a coworker.

This coworker and I could not be further apart in terms of finances. I grew up comfortable, by West River SD standards. It hasn’t always been easy for my parents, but they always ensured that I was taken care of. And I couldn’t have wanted anything more. Coworker, however, grew up in one of America’s wealthiest suburbs, a grandson of industry. He certainly was taken care of by his parents, but in a way that my family could never imagine.

Knowing that, it’s not surprising that our discussion of finances rarely result in agreement.

Although Coworker doesn’t live in his wealthy suburb now, he hasn’t truly left behind the vestiges of his childhood as he would like to believe. Living in Montana may be a personal choice, but his economic advantages followed. Yesterday, he told me that he appreciates what he has now – away from the family influence – more. He “understands” money better because he grew up in a different way.

I don’t disagree – he does understand money in a vastly different way than I do. But I’m not sure that it would be correct to say he’s more appreciative than I am.

Giving up every summer since I was 14 to save money for school and working obscene hours during college just to pay for one study abroad trip gave me a pretty deep appreciation for money. I understand money – the power it gives people, the feeling of ‘less than’ when others flaunt it at you.

Coworker and I will remain at odds on the financial front forever as far as I can tell. We may be in total agreement about the awesomeness of Ben Folds, but as long as Coworker buys glasses of scotch that could cover my car payment, the money divide won’t resolve.

Lock and load

Before I moved to Montana, I’d been there twice.

Once, when I was twelve. It snowed in July, and we went to a wedding. There were no speed limits. Overall, it wasn’t a bad trip.

The second time, I was twenty-two. It snowed in late April, and I went to my first job adult job interview. I got the job, so I’d consider that trip a success as well.

Those two trips, however, left me with a pretty steep learning curve as I began my life as an official Montana resident.

And one major miss on my part was the lesson on gun ownership.

These people love to shoot things. Living, inanimate, already dead – they honestly don’t care. It seems like everyone has a gun and the necessary permits to shoot any furry creature they come across.

The most terrifying part? These folks don’t have to go through the stress of hiking over to Gary’s Gun Shop to pick up a rifle – they can get one free with their satellite TV subscription.

Real planet.

At the Hamilton RadioShack, you get a .380-caliber handgun or a 20-gauge shotgun for free with each new installation of dish network.

That is some backwards, Deadwood shit right there.

Silver lining: although I may be terrified of every individual I meet, at least I can rest assured that most of my new gun-toting friends will have HBO.

The art of saying no

In college, I had a serious problem with overscheduling. I volunteered for every committee, I edited papers for all of my friends (and some frenemies), and I always picked up work shifts when someone needed a night off – even if I was inconveniencing myself.

My inability to say ‘no’ caused mayhem in my life. Tied to my planner, I spent my college years constantly afraid of disappointing people.

Looking back, I realize I was too concerned with the approval of others. I certainly wouldn’t have spent nights editing 60-page thesis drafts for friends before even starting my own homework if I had just learned to say no.

Since graduation, however, I’ve lost my devotion to ‘yes.’ There’s a certain self-preservation that takes place during life post college when you realize saying no, while perhaps causing disappointment to someone, somewhere, will be better for your mental well-being.

While that’s definitely eased my professional stress, I still find myself accommodating friendships with an unending stream of yes’s.

I’m seeing myself on the wrong end of a couple one-sided friendships, but instead of using my newfound ‘no,’ I let these people take from me without giving friendship in return.

Even though I realize what’s happening, saying no in a female friendship is entirely different than saying no to a coworker. Girls are raised to be good – and good girls are sweet and nice to their friends, no matter what.

Until the self-preservation that kicked in at work maneuvers into my personal life, I’m left with nothing to do but ponder the complexity of my own gender and our inability to just say no.

It’s all uphill from here

The first month at my ‘big-kid’ job was like a four-credit class.

Turns out, the career center wasn’t kidding about the intensity of on-the-job training.

Mere hours into my first day, I’d already started questioning my education. ‘What the hell had I been doing for the last four years? Didn’t I learn anything in college?’

That was just the beginning of my battle with the dreaded post-grad problems.

As someone who majored in English and journalism, the last thing I expected to do in my life was build a website. I studied James Joyce and Judith Butler, not HTML or flash players.

Guess what I spent my first month doing? Yeah, you got it, super smart readers: I built a website.

Seven months in, I’m actually (semi) well versed in HTML. I have successfully built about 900 pages; and whenever I do something right on my own, I throw a mini dance party.

Don’t get the wrong idea though – I still have days at work where I’d much rather hide in the supply closet than deal with emails or meetings.

Now the terrifying questions that plagued me during my first day at work no longer weigh so heavily on my mind. I did indeed learn something in college. I actually learned more than I realized. (There’s nothing more exciting than answering a question with knowledge from a random elective you took sophomore year.)

But no matter how great my education was, nothing prepared me for the shock of the working-world.

Initially, I regretted not double-majoring in computer science because my first month most certainly would’ve been simpler. (Blasted advisor! Why didn’t he tell me this was going to happen??)

But had I found a position as an economic reporter, I could just as easily lamented my decision not to major in econ and learn all about Keynesian theory.

Truthfully, I didn’t need that computer science degree – I just needed that first month. My employer decided to hire me without any knowledge of web design knowing I had the ability to learn the necessary skills.

But where did I learn to learn…oh, right. College.

My boss recently told me I was hired, in part, because I exhibited signs of the ability to “catch on quickly” – something highly valued in my office.

That’s something every student learns, whether they know it or not.

‘Oh, the syllabus does matter? The tests are taken directly from readings? If I come fifteen minutes before chapel hour the omelette line will be shorter?’

These hard and fast campus lessons are of the “catch on quick”-or-fail variety, and few students fail. The trick to the formidable big-kid job is to translate the omelette-rule to a new environment.

That ‘trick’ doesn’t come easy, though, and there are a few things I’d advise students to do while they’re still living in the warm, fuzzy embrace of college life.

If you have an internship where you are allowed to sit in on meetings, pay close attention. My internships in college were at smaller companies, which didn’t prepare me for the group meetings that are an everyday occurrence now.

There are few things more terrifying than the first time someone asks you for wisdom during a meeting. I vaguely remember mumbling something about the three-exclamation-point rule and dying a little inside.

Students should also take opportunities to get out of their comfort zone.

Although no one would accuse me of being shy, it’s important for everyone to feel comfortable meeting new people. The first day at work is like the first day of Kindergarten, grown up. You’ll be inundated with names and cursing yourself for not just working at Barnes and Noble, because at least they wear nametags.

Moral of the story: seniors, if you find yourself in the incredibly blessed position of marking “employed” on that grad survey, be prepared to encounter a few pitfalls in the next year, but also relish your good fortune.

You’re in for months (probably years) of insecurity and stress, but along with it incredible learning experiences and the fulfillment of doing something you love.

And this, I’ve found, is the quandary that contributes to all post-grad problems.

Raised on TV

Due to the glamorization of teen pregnancy, there’s a new generation of moms in need of Parenting 101.

Unfortunately, since these new moms spend their days learning algebra and biology, they often take their parenting rules from popular culture.

Toddlers and Tiaras. Octomom. Kate (minus Jon) Plus Eight. ‘Real’ housewives.

The television shows depicting family life give a skewed version of parenting reality, begging the question: whose concept of reality defines reality TV?

Watching the Real Housewives of Suburbia, one might think the obvious solution to any child-related issue can be solved with plastic surgery or a car.

In my house, my parents rarely solved problems by throwing money at them. Instead, we would talk (or, rather, I would fume and they would discipline) and that’s how I learned lessons necessary to my independence. Had my mother offered a nip here and a tuck there every time we fought, I’d look like Heidi Montag.

None of the other primetime family reality shows are providing better examples for America’s impressionable young moms, who are picking up lessons from these shows whether they are aware of it or not.

Kate Gosselin and Nadya Suleman – both single mothers – present a picture of single-mother success. Although both women found themselves flying solo for different reasons, they lead viewers to believe in the simplicity of raising children alone, even multiples.

What viewers often forget about these super-moms is that it’s all about the money. Gosselin’s TLC paychecks and Suleman’s magazine exposés both put any average baby daddy’s child support to shame. Sure it’s easy to raise a child with six figures in the bank. Living paycheck to paycheck and doing the same: not the cakewalk reality TV portrays.

Today’s family reality shows aren’t just robbing future parents of their success. The shows also maintain Hollywood ideals. White middle class stereotypes are perpetuated to the harm of minority subcultures. Because families of different sexual orientations, mixed races or disability are infrequently represented, these people are left out, feeling discounted and repressed.

Even on TLC, the white man prevails.

Teen moms need education that actually provides some semblance of support before they take on responsibility for another life. Better yet, all teens need empowerment; perhaps helping a few avoid the label teen mom in the first place.

And like it or not, the best place to start is pop culture. Perhaps a few new shows like Suburban Dinner Time and Time Out should hit the lineup and prepare teens for reality – not commercialized parenting.

Who’s to blame?

In a perfect world, romantic relationships would be the business of the two people involved – and no one else. The world I live in, however, is flawed. We’re subjected to things like Crocs and global warming, and no one’s love life is safe from scrutiny.

Enter Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher. Anyone with neurons firing knows about this celebrity relationship, from the lovey-dovey TwitPics to the scandalous affair that ended a marriage.

Recent reports of possible drug overdose or anorexia prove that Demi is struggling a great deal. I can’t begin to imagine the pain she’s experiencing, and I hope she finds some clarity to pull her through. She’s clearly been wounded by her philandering husband.

But what about Sarah Leal, the woman Ashton cheated with?

Most publications – including one blog that I read frequently – are putting all of the negative vibes out there for 22-year-old Leal.

We also wish that future home-wreckers seriously consider the possible aftermath that can come with publicly revealing an affair just to garner fifteen minutes of fame.

Harsh.

For a moment, imagine yourself in Leal’s shoes. You’re 22. You are an administrative assistant in sunny California, and you just spent an hour getting ready to go out with you girls. You just want to dance, have a few drinks, and do 22 up right. Ashton Kutcher rolls into the club, charming as hell and wins you over with his swagger. He convinces you his marriage is over – what are you supposed to do, request to see the divorce papers?

Then, weeks go by and you realize you’ve been played. Kutcher is disrespecting his wife, he disrespected you, and there’s no doubt he’s out disrespecting girls across Cali while you schedule meetings for your boss. Because of his celebrity status, you know calling him out is going to result in scandal – big scandal -but you think his wife deserves to know.

And then the media starts calling you things like ‘home-wrecker’ and ‘class-act,’ when you were just a 22-year-old girl who made a bad choice at a club, like many other 22-year-olds before you.

I’m not saying Sarah Leal didn’t make some mistakes, but if Ashton told her he was separated, perhaps she was just a young girl enamored by the affections of a Hollywood actor. And I can only imagine how I would feel if the national media were shaming me for a misguided one-night stand. Not to discount Demi’s pain in any way, but I believe we’re ignoring the fact that Leal is a victim as well.

In the perfect, sitcom world, the Demi-Ashton-Sarah triangle would result in forgiveness and friendship, but unfortunately, that Hollywood ending is pretty rare in real life.