TL:DR: Life is too short to deal with people you don't like

I confess. I am not cool. I've never been cool or popular or part of the "in crowd." I used to try to be cool and to fit in and to make everyone like me. I was never successful and usually ended at the end of a string of gossip or embarrassment. Eventually, (like yesterday or so) I learned to accept my natural dork and that being me is way more fun -- and easy-- than trying to be anyone else. I have a group of very strong and unique friends who can not possibly be categorized. And there is nothing I wouldn't do for any of my friends and I would not be able to do anything without them. :-)


 As I move through this thing called life, I'm learning more and more the types of people I do like and those I (usually instantly) do not care for. I like authentic people, those who know who they are at their core and rarely stray from that. I like people with passions. I like people who like themselves, but with an acceptable amount of self-deprecation. (As this blog's namesake says, "Humility has buoyancy, and above us only sky.") I like people with loud laughs, light spirits and big hearts. I like people who refuse to be unhappy. 


I stopped trying to make people like me and I stopped worrying about liking everyone. It's perfectly ok to not like a person. There are people in this world who I simply do not care for and I try to avoid them. I've also learned that I cannot fake it. It is very hard for me to hide this. I call it being genuine, others call it bitch. It was kind of surreal to realize I had gone from doormat to bitch. But again, I'm totally fine with that. Whatever. Life is too short to deal with people you don't like.


I can usually pick up on "squiggly lines" vibes from a person relatively quickly. Call it intuition, call it judgement, or call it a low tolerance for bulls&^(.  Sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes it's an action or a string of actions, or one bizarre statement that will get a person on the "You Suck" list of my book. 
Let's follow the formula of "You Might Be a Red Neck if "

• you are not a stripper but think that dancing on tables or bars (outside the college experience) is socially acceptable...I'm not going to like you. 
• feel the need to tell every male in a bar that you're not so innocent, are capable of really bad things or like black guys.....I'm not going to like you. (And that has nothing to do with black guys, it's not racist. You can like whomever you want to, just don't drunkly declare it from the top of a bar while trying to take your shirt off. ESPECIALLY IF YOU'RE OVER 30!)
• have ever tried to make me like you....I'm not going to like you. A very wise friend once told me that friendships are organic, not manufactured.
• pretend to be something or someone you're not.....I'm not going to like you.
• relive past victories or defeats over and over and over again in an attempt to either garner admiration or sympathy...I'm not going to like you.
• make excuses for your own shortcomings....I'm not going to like you. 

I am a bit conflicted openly expressing that I don't love everyone. I volunteer with an organization that promotes self-esteem building and healthy lifestyles for young girls. The motto is, "Try your best! Have fun! Be yourself!" Clearly, that last line is my favorite. Because if you're not being true to yourself, it's much harder to have fun.  Try your best is the first part of the triangle;, if you're not being yourself--true to yourself--than even the best efforts are futile.

My Post Graduate Life

It's taken close to three years, thousands of dollars, at least 150 Microsoft Word files, 2 jump drives, countless hours of schoolwork, 12 parking tickets, several happy hours, and a significant part of my mental stabiliity but I can finally say that end of graduate school is near and a shiny new Master's Degree will soon be mine for the bragging. I have an independent project to complete over the summer which, compared to the other massive amounts of work and stress of the past 2.5 years, will be a walk in the park.

 

While the cap, gown, boring ceremony, and goofy photos do symbolize the achievement and finality, I'm just happy to be d-o-n-e. I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I first applied to Drexel in the spring of 2009 and while I do not regret anything from this experience, I'm ready to be done. Two nights a week for the past two years have been dedicated to driving to classes. The other nights have been spent trying to cram in all errands, training, and extraneous life things. (Ever go grocery shopping, get a pedicure, shop for a weekend outfit and fit in a 5 mile run in one evening-- I have). Weekend plans have been dependent on course loads and any down time at the office has been spent with my nose (discretely) buried in a textbook, scholarly article, or staring at screen waiting for that analysis idea to come to me. Dinner has consisted of either a granola bar/pb&j sandwich/Starbucks treat consumed during a class break or on the commute home. Every minute of the day was scheduled to allow ultimate amount of productivity.

This term has been light on the workload and there have been some evenings when I'm quite perplexed at having nothing to do. No chapter to read, nothing to write, no Powerpoint to prepare, what's a full time editor/part-time graduate school girl to do?

 

I've been preparing a list of all the things I'm going to do once I get my "life" back. I'm an active person with a very short attention span-- I don't consider watching movies or countless hours of television to be entertaining or worthwhile. (Like, you just sit there and watch? I don't get it). Below is my list of my possible post graduate life activities:

 

• Decorate, organize apartment. (Boxes hidden in closets do not equal unpacked)
• Dedicate more time to this bloggy thing
• Watch all of the Harry Potter movies (I stopped at #4)
• Volunteer more with GOTR, Back on my Feet or one of the many organizations that collaborate with ETS. I've been very blessed in life and need to connect with my community
• Train for 2011 Philadelphia Marathon August--November
• Explore other areas of fitness outside of running. I've heard of these things called 'bikes'.
• Read fiction books- for fun-- any recommendations?
• Reconnect with friends, be social and spontaneous again
• Travel

 

I can't plan my "What's Next" List without giving praise to those who have helped me along the way. I met some very amazing ladies in my graduate program who were dealing with almost identical issues. It's empowering to know that there are other women my age at the same stage of their careers going through the same drama in their work and personal lives. Having a group of powerful women to relate to, sympathize with, advise, compete, network and support was invaluable.

I have to thank my family for dealing with a very stressed and edgy daughter/sister/aunt while always being supportive. I'm surprised my mom still has her hearing after the hours of bitchin' I did during my drive home from classes. I thank my friends for allowing me to go into hiding for 10 weeks at time. I thank my bosses for not firing me for blatant abuse of resources and for providing the flexibility to leave early several times a week for two years. I promise to use this fancy book-learnin' for good.

 

Onwards and upwards. But first, a nap!

 

"In the Real World"

Dear Graduate School Professor


Please stop referring to the 'real world' and the experiences I'll have when I get there. I've been in the real world for several years now. I am not paying you $3,000/quarter to fill a syllabus with real world type situations. You're filling the undergrads (and unemployed graduate students) heads with false notions of editorial analysis and linear review processes that are simply fantastical.

I'd love to have the control and importance to actually receive a manuscript with time to thoroughly review, consider, and edit it. I dream of a conference with the writers when we can discuss the organization and structure of a publication and even spar over the serial comma. What 'real world' does this happen? The majority of the time I'm handed twelve pieces of pre-approved content in nine different formats three days after it was due to the printer and told to make it happen yesterday. I don't worry about complex sentences, I worry about deadlines and SLAs. My biggest issue is not  a stubborn writer; it is a page that dropped off of a PDF in the fourth draft but didn't get caught until press time. I'm fully embedded in this 'real world.' 


 Furthermore, Graduate School Professor, when were you in this 'real world.'? As an editor for a relevent publishing company, I have not yet had to justify my actions to the writer. I've had to cover my ass to the client on countless occasions. My explanations are usually followed with emails and PDFs to prove that I was told to make a change to document.My interactions with writers and clients are CC-ed to at three supervisors (yes, I have three supervisors and maybe four bosses) and all have end goal of  on time and error free. 

In what 'real world' did you exist before joining the cult of the academic where editors were revered as experts? You should rename that section to "The Editor as a Scapegoat." The only time I've had to explain the alternate uses of the passive voice is when trying to defend my ego against a particularly rude email and/or missed order. 


So while we sit here in class at 8:23pm and undergrads are asking mundane questions such as 'so, what if the writer, like, you know, doesn't like listen to you and then they're stuff is like, wrong and people, readers, whatever like read it or whatever. Like, what do you then?" I'm silently screaming, YOU DO IT! THEY PAY YOU AND SO YOU DO IT AND YOU MOVE ON AND WITHIN TWO MONTHS YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT SEMICOLONS ANYMORE. 
And I'm also making to do lists and strategies for how I'm going to handle the 20 emails in my inbox, the 200 pages of an Economics proof I need to check, and the 2 chapters I have to read for your class. Graduate school has been more of an exercise in time management than it has been in professional development. 


Professor, your 'real world' and my real world conflict. My real world is funding your current world. Please join me on the side of practical, true experience and restrain from ideals and theories. The only place ideals and theories work are your 'real world' of old. 


Sincerely,


The-tired-looking-frazzled-student-in-the-corner-with-her-ID-badge-still-attached-making-death-stares-at-the-kid-eating-a-meatball-sub-in-the-middle-of-class.

Lessons from 7th Grade

My seventh-grade field hockey coach, Ms. Hammond, used to tell all of the girls on the team, “You’re beautiful.” She didn’t really care if we won or lost the game. She wanted us to know, and sometimes repeat it with her, that we were beautiful. This didn’t always sit well with some of the athletic, competitive girls on the team. I remember thinking it was hokey and was probably trying to either fit in the group or stand out among the other girls on theam. I think this is one of the few times in my middle school/junior high/high school career when I remember hearing the word beautiful in reference to myself. When I heard ‘beautiful’ then, my insecure tween mind instantly said, “whatever.” I saw only my bushy hair that my friends always made fun of, my mouth full of metal, the red splots all over my face. It probably made me uncomfortable.
I recall some kind of political move to have Ms. Hammond removed as coach for being ineffective and telling girls they’re beautiful instead of how to hit a ball.

Let’s fast forward 15 (*gasp!*) years. It’s a crisp spring morning and I’m sitting with a group of eight to ten-year-old girls. We’re discussing what makes us beautiful.

“I’m beautiful because I’m a good friend!”

“I’m beautiful because I’m energetic!”

“I’m beautiful because I’m fun!”

“I’m beautiful because I like to read!”

Yes! Yes! Yes! These girls didn’t roll their eyes and get annoyed that we weren’t talking about ways to win or run faster. Parents enrolled their daughters in this program to hear this message.

When I think about Girls on the Run and the impact it’s having on girls, I find my mind wondering back to that open field in southern Chester County where a loony coach made us profess our inner beauty. A few years later, Molly Barker has the same idea only goes about it differently and to a younger group and a revolution begins. Maybe it wasn’t an idea as much as a revelation. No, I don’t like revelation. What would you call it when you just suddenly get it? Why did it take so damn long for people to understand that beauty doesn’t mean ‘pretty’ and that it’s a good idea to tell young girls this?

So when is the correct time to teach this? Always. It matters. Girls on the Run is at times a bit hokey to me as an adult. I thought it was strange as a kid too. But, as an adult I don’t need to recite the alphabet to spell a word and as a kid letters just looked like funny shapes. Eventually, it should become as common as reading to know that our physical appearances or abilities have little to do with our personal beauty.

I’ve realized that not being told things like “you’re beautiful because you’re fun, smart, energetic, a good reader, a good friend, caring, strong, helpful, intelligent,” has the effect of making a woman believe she is either only beautiful because of her appearance or that she nothing because she is not pretty. There are so many issues that women battle with daily that are caused from this ridiculous disconnect.

Please, let’s tell our daughters they’re beautiful because they’re kind, funny, smile a lot, give good hugs, are good friends, laugh, think, cry. Tell them it’s ok to fail and it’s ok to be different and that life is a lot more than other people’s definitions.

I don’t know if Ms.Hammond wanted us to do anything more than have fun and learn the game of field hockey. She probably wanted her lessons to sink in a lot earlier. It only took 15 years but I finally get what she was saying.

PS: Middle school sports were the very start of my relationship with running.  I was not a great field hockey player. I'd say average on a good day. But I wanted to be on the team because all my friends were and there really wasn't much else to do in our school district during the fall. I lacked talent but I had heart. When the coaches would tell us to run laps, I'd take off like a bat out of hell to get a lead on the other girls. I'd sprint for the first lap and then slow to a bearable trot for the rest.  I may have been guilty of cutting corners and even went as far as to stand towards the outside of the circle so I could get that much more of a jump.

Steps. Effin' Steps.

There are few things more terrifying to runner after a race than a flight of stairs. Sore legs, achy backs, aggravated knees, and  blistered feet join forces to make a usually simple motion into a pain fest of annoying proportions. The medal around my neck suddenly felt a lot heavier as I stared at the flight of stairs in front of me.
"Do I really need to go upstairs? Could I live in this hallway?"
"Would it be easier to walk up backwards?"
"Why did I move to the second floor?"
"If I go up there, I'm never coming back down."
"This. is. going. to hurt."
"Ok, quick like a Band-Aid, just go!" 
"Oww! No more quick! No more quick! Slow and steady. One more step."
"Holy crap. Never running again."

I conquered the stairs of pain and was in my second-story sanctuary when I was faced with another runner's nightmare. Little mini steps such as curbs, sidewalks, any elevation change that requires contraction of the demolished quads in my legs. The legs holler, NO MORE! STOP MAKING US DO THINGS!
"My god. Who put the steps in this apartment?"
"Oh sure, the sunken living room was adorable at the time, but now I just have to bend my knees and apply pressure to go to the bathroom!"
"I can just sit here on the couch for the rest of my life. There is no pain on the couch."
"Oh, dear god never running again."

Other things that will strike fear into the heart of post-race runner:
-getting in to the car
-getting out of the car
-sitting down
-standing up

-crossing your legs

-uncrossing your legs

-the first few steps
-heels
-unpacking
-that this pain will never fade
-an empty fridge
-never running again

My Inconvenient Wedding (Revised)

In honor of the big Royal Wedding this morning, I thought it would be fun to revise and republish my thoughts on the perfect wedding. This was first written in 2009 and posted as a note in Facebook. We've come a long way since then and attended a few more weddings and showers since.

Every little girl dreams of her wedding day. We dream about the dresses, the flowers, the music, the dances, the bridesmaid’s gowns, the honeymoon and the groom. (I almost forgot that last one.)

 
 I've attended many weddings and worked at a banquet hall in a small western Pennsylvania town. From these experiences, I've gathered a lot of ideas and plans for elements and traditions I'd like to incorporate into my own wedding. I thought I'd share some of them.
 
I want to get married the Tuesday before Thanksgiving 2021. This should be excellent time of year because venues should be cheaper because it's right before the holiday season. I wouldn’t want to be a complete jerk and have it on the most traveled day of the year before an important family-oriented holiday. It should not be a problem for my guests to burn a vacation day and hire a baby sitter.
 

I figure that in the next ten years, I’ll attend many more weddings, followed by house-warming parties, followed by baby showers, followed by birthday parties and graduation parties and other gift-requiring celebrations. I’m going to be broke. I do not intend on spending much on my wedding as I’ve probably spent most of my money on buying gifts for others. There will be several cost-cutting measures on my part but at  inconvenience of my guests. I'm sure my guests would not hiring a baby sitter, burning a vacation day and fighting rush hour traffic to attend my Friday evening reception so I can save $300 on the reception venue. 

 

The ceremony will start at 10:30 or 11 a.m. My guests should just miss the rush hour traffic but probably be starving because it's not a set meal time. I might even be late because there is nothing my guests would enjoy more than sitting on a hard wooden pew with a church full of strangers for a long period of time. The ceremony will conclude around noon but lunch won’t be served until 2. I will provide my guests with directions to the church and to the hotel. I will not, however, provide directions from the church to the reception site or from the reception site to the hotel. It would cost an extra $5 and 10 minutes of planning. While we’re getting our photos taken my lovely guests can drive around aimlessly for three hours and enjoy the scenery and day off from their busy lives.

 

I am blessed to have a great family and really amazing friends. If I were to include all of my close girl friends, I'd have an eight-person wedding party. (I've maintained that the the number of bridesmaids directly corresponds to the age of the bride and the potential for divorce. If she's 23 and has 12 non family bridesmaids, I'd maybe be conservative on buying anything with a warranty.) I don't like big wedding parties so I've set up qualifiers. No matter how awesome you may be you cannot be in my wedding if you:

• have a tattoo that is visible and would need explained to senile relatives or impressionable children. I'm going to have many a senile relative by that point. If I have to explain the tribal tattoo four times to my aunts, I have to explain it forty times to my mom.
• do not like to get dressed up or dance. I’m not listening to you belly ache about the perils of heels while I’m sucked into a dress and probably won’t have eaten for a month.
• are going to project your past experiences and spend more time talking about how your wedding was or what you did 
• are skinnier and prettier than me. You’re out, sorry. Unless you’re willing to pack on some pounds and not wear makeup on that day.
• have any kind of life outside of wedding planning. I'm going to need your undivided attention from engagement shower all the way through to the honeymoon.

Know that having a life, tattoo or aversion to heels does not mean you're not invited! I still love you and would love for you to buy me something. For those who do BQ- Bridesmaid Qualify- I'm still working on the dresses. It will probably be hideous, outrageously expensive, unflattering, and you won't be able to or want to wear it again. But you'll coordinate with the centerpieces!

I will insist on every possible combination of photo to be taken….. candidly. I still want the obligatory Grandmom/Grandpop/Bride/Groom/Mom/Dad pictures, but not posed. Who likes knowing when they are about to cemented into a person's history? It's much more fun to be stuffing your face with a mini quiche for the photographer than smiling gracefully. But be prepared to have a grumpy photographer sneak up on you several times.


Oh, the flowers! Huge, fragrant and full of allergens is how I roll. I envision GIANT centerpieces that encompass almost the entire table. Who needs room for utensils, plates, glasses when you can stare at a tree for three hours. I do think that it's more fun to cram 10 people to a round table meant for 8 so that everyone can bump elbows and become friends. I think my third cousins will love trying to scream over a huge arrangement of tropical orchids (or something) to talk to one of my coworkers. 

 

Get your dancing shoes ready for my inconvenient wedding. We’re doing all the dance combos out there Father/daughter, mother/son, grandparents, parents, siblings, bridal party together, bridal party with respective spouses, couple’s first slow dance/fast dance/choreographed dance/ kids dance/ bridal dance (so you can give me more money). If you leave at the end of night having not been able to cut a rug because your current social situation didn't allow for name to be called, mission accomplished. It's been my experience that best way to get pegged as "single and pathetic" at a wedding is when the DJ plays the "couple's dance" and you're the only one still sitting. It's fun and really a great way to meet the losers single people at the party.

  

My best worst wedding ever idea is my favor. I love the wedding favor. I love the the pointless trinket with our wedding date on it. It can sit in closets and drawers for years- sometimes lasting longer than the marriage itself. I like the frame with the names and dates on it. A guest can only put a picture from my wedding in that frame! How awesome is that?  But, since not everyone likes worthless junk that will be trashed before the cake is eaten, I will give all of my lovely guests a card with a donation. To me. I’m not donating that money to research or a charity. In lieu of wedding favors, I’m paying my credit card bill on time. My good credit is the best gift of all, for me.

  

 

Diary of a Wimpy Runner

Runner Confession:

I'm a wimp- a wimp with a very large tolerance for pain and a larger dislike of doctors. I will interview CEOs and go toe-to-toe with academic department chairs, but when it comes to making a doctor's appointment, I throw temper tantrums. My knees started to bother me soon after starting karate. Ninja-ing, as I like to call it, is a lot of kicking, jumping, squatting, jump squatting, lunges, more jumping, twisting, spinning, and more kicking. All of these actions are very different from the one foot in front of the other motion of running. The discomfort was not surprising and would easily remedied with a dose of glutimine in my post-ninja smoothie.

One night in early November, we did nothing but right leg front kicks. We worked on form and power. And  my right knee has not been the same. I woke up the next day and went for a run and felt fine. I wore heels to the office and noticed some extra soreness.

I should note here that the combination of karate and running means that I'm almost always sore. Before I started karate, I was doing strength training with a personal trainer. At this point, I'm able to recognize typical muscle soreness from something-ain't-right. Soreness means your muscles are growing or changing. There are exercise-y people with scientific definitions and reasons for why soreness is a good thing.

Back to the night of my knee. I woke up two days after the front-kick fest and was greeted with a sharp, burning fire sensation in my right knee. I iced it throughout the day and kept my leg elevated. I bought a cheap-o knee brace from CVS that afternoon and felt immediate relief after putting it on. I went to ninja that night and out to the bar after.

A dull ache has persisted in my right knee since. I've iced. I worn the stupid, cumbersome knee brace that makes my thigh look like a sausage. The brace helps the knee but hurts the rest of my leg. I've diagnosed myself with runners knees, torn meniscus, sprained ligaments, tendinitis, arthritus, and the same thing that Chase Utley has. I'm on the DL list.

While the breakdown in my runnerness of late has come from a busy schedule and conflicting priorities, there is also a little voice in the back of my head saying, "ummm..... maybe this needs looked at." And also a louder, nag-type real voice from boyfriend and mother telling me the same thing. Here's the thing: I hate doctors. I resist going until I'm on my figurative death bed. I subscribe to my father's theory of illness, "I can go to the doctors and get meds and I'll be better in seven days. Or I can just let my body heal and I'll be better in a week." I even resist taking OTC medicine until orange juice fails me.

It took me three months to gather the courage to call an orthopedic doctor. I faked that I was looking for recommenations. I wanted to wait until after Gasparilla. Honestly, I'm scared! Dr. Google and the staff of Runner's World have the rational side of me convinced that this a minor injury that can be healed with ice and rest. The irrational side of me has been listening to my mother too much and is pretty sure that I'm going to need a total knee replacement and will never be able to run again. I'll just have to learn to swim or bike or deal with my emotions through a non-physical outlet. The horror! Even worse, the irrational side has a 60-40 majority.

My appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I'm hoping that I will be a  waste of the doctor's time and this chronic dull ache is just a symptom of overuse.  But, what if it's not?