Get Out of Jail Free

Dearick Stokes should have done great things.  He should have played the lottery.  He should have played an instrument.  He should have written a book.  Obviously, good fortune smiles on him.  Unfortunately, Dearick Stokes chose a different path and had to watch his good luck unfold in the most impossible situations, ultimately having no benefit because Dearick Stokes is clearly too dumb to realize when fortune taps him on the shoulder. 

Dearick Stokes killed a man during a robbery attempt.  This Febuary, he was found guilty and while appearing before the judge to await his fate (life sentence), he needed to pee.  He was granted a bathroom break, and then SWEET FREEDOM.  Walked right out of the courthouse and into the brisk cold air.  Did Dearick walk a few blocks away to the bus station? No.  Did he disappear into the North Memphis brush to hide until hatching a better plan?  No.  Did Dearick Stokes catch a ride out of town? No.  He caught a ride to Hickory Hill.  I guess Hickory Hill was safe?  The police would never think to look there.  I guess Dearick had a point, they were lax enough to fall for the age old "I gotta go to the bathroom" trick.  But, clearly, he had no well thought out plan.  A smart plan would have included hanging out in the U of M law school parking garage.  Judging from the rash of car break-ins, there are no police hanging out there; plus there are lawyers in training ready to "change the world".  Dearick obviously lacked that Johnny-on-the-spot quick thinking necessary to make a clean break.  A few days later, the police found him and back to 201 Poplar he went.

Last week, fortune smiled again on Dearick Stokes.  What has been called a "glitch" by the local media led to Dearick being granted his freedom AGAIN.  Here's the glitch:  Either Sheriff Luttrell hired an all new staff and that day was their first day and no one recognized Dearick's face; or everyone had their eyes gouged out that morning.  Maybe it was Take Your Daughters To Work Day, but only if by daughter you mean mouth breathing I'm-Just-Here-For-My-Paycheck slow on the uptake jailers.  Dearick Stokes had a domestic violence charge pending against him and the State of Tennessee dropped it, figuring why beat a dead horse.  Once this charge was dropped, Dearick's computerized slate was wiped clean and he was free to go.  Did no one question this??  How's he going to be a locked up murderer waiting for transfer on a Wednesday and then a victim of some random misunderstanding the next day??  So, this time, he didn't even have to hatch a plan.  He was shown the door.

Did he catch a bus out of town? No.  Did he catch a ride west? No.  He checked into the Relax Inn on South Third.  Memphis is a large city, but it ain't that large.  Dearick's mug has been plastered all over the news for months.  Nice IDENTIFIABLE grill, by the way.  I bet you could hear a resounding DOH! in the vicinity of Poplar and North 3rd.  Almost one week later, they found him in a motel ON THE SAME STREET.  I am unsure who gets the award here.  Dearick was relaxing at the inn, with a stash of insulin (for his diabetuhs), while his father and brother were being picked up for aiding a fugitive.  In an interview with the news media, Dearick's father explained that he thought they changed their minds and realized he wasn't guilty. "He's been saying he didn't do it", he rationalized.  Really?  REALLY? Because that is how it works?  Dearick's brother finally ratted him out, after having the misfortune of walking right into 201 Poplar to complain about the harrassment.  Seems he didn't realize there was a warrant out for him.  Fate smiles on one brother and frowns on another, but dumbassery isn't selective.

Perhaps it is better that Dearick Stokes remains locked up.  When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.  Life handed Dearick Stokes lemons, eggs, a pie crust, eagle brand milk, a preheated oven and sugar; and you know what he made with it?  A puddle of yellow gloop on the sidewalk.  Someone so obviously lacking in intelligence is best kept from good fortune.  But, what becomes of the group of people who are equally lacking in cranial fortitude?  From the Sheriff down to the freedom granting jailer, who will be held accountable?  What, exactly, is standing between my safety and Bruce Tuck's accidental freedom?  At this point, I wouldn't trust Mark Luttrell himself to hold the key.  "We have Dearick Stokes in custody," Sheriff Mark Luttrell said near the motel Wednesday night. "The amount of work that went into this was just remarkable." 

It most certainly was. 

A Dose of Reality, Compliments of Hollywood

I have to be in the mood to watch a movie.  Once this mood hits, I will sit and watch movie after movie until it passes.  I have been lax in my movie watching lately, just not having the concentration to sit down and watch.  Over the weekend, the mood struck, so I rented "The Lovely Bones", "An Education", and "Up In The Air".  All movies that I had wanted to see when they came out, but alas, just wasn't in the mood.  All three movies were excellent.  I pulled for "Precious" to win the Oscar, but only because I had not yet seen "Up In The Air", which was the better movie.  Like most people, I see movies as a form of entertainment.  My opinion of what is entertaining; however, is quite different than most people.

My best friend is an avid movie watcher.  She has seen every movie released in the last decade, with the exception of most of the movies I have seen.  We just don't have the same taste.  I would rather claw my eyes out than see "Have You Heard About the Morgans", my friend would rather drink clorox than see "Precious".  She prefers her entertainment to be uplifting and light.  I find dark and real to be entertaining.  It is a matter of personal drama, she says.  She argues that she has enough personal drama in her life and wants to watch a movie to escape.  I say, you ain't got no personal drama like Precious. 

I feel that taking a glimpse inside dark and gritty reality makes us well rounded individuals.  Hey, it would be great if fat little bluebirds lit on my shoulders as I stroll down Main Street with my cookie cutter handsome fiance, Ryan Reynolds.  But, the harsh (harsher) reality of that is, it ain't gonna happen.  What a letdown.  Life seems so easy for Kate Hudson for two hours, and then the movie is over and guess what...my life still sucks!  Conversely, Jennifer Connelly sure had it rough in "Requiem For A Dream", but after the lights come up, my life is still okay!  Same life, different perspective.

In my day to day life, I rarely encounter drug dealers with hearts of gold.  I have yet to meet a drab sixteen year old girl who gets an updo and a new life that dumps her right on her ass.  I haven't yet crossed paths with an alcoholic on his last bender in Las Vegas.  But, now I don't have to!  I can encounter these characters without investing more than a couple of dollars and a couple of hours.  And, the memory of their plights stays with me, forever.  If someone says, "Harry Goldfarb", I am looking around for the skinny pale dude with nervous tics.  Quick, if I say "Jenny Perotti", who are you looking around to find?  How about "Noah Calhoun"?  Who's Oliver Martin?  WHO CARES?  These characters run together, until finally you can't tell the movies apart.  Something like "Save The Last Song in The Notebook because The Ugly Truth is Complicated without a Back-up Plan"

I wish I could kidnap my friend and force her to watch the following movies:

Precious, Heartburn, Sophie's Choice, The Kite Runner, Apocalypse Now, Leaving Las Vegas, The Reader, Grizzly Man, and Permanent Midnight (Before Ben Stiller sold his sense of humor).

The list could go on, but she has kids and stuff, so she would probably only have time for these.  However, after viewing these, I guarantee that she would go back to her life and see things in a different light.  I didn't just choose sad movies, I chose movies that particularly illustrate that things don't always work out.  One might argue that reality is just that.  True, in reality, things don't always work out but the alternative is usually tolerable.  The plots of these movies not only show that things don't always work out, but also that things can go horribly wrong and the process could suck.  Or not.  As in "Heartburn", there doesn't have to be a warm fuzzy marriage reconciliation at the end for the movie to be satisfying.  And one wouldn't normally think of Nazi Germany and satisfying together, but spending a couple of hours with Sophie and Stingo will make the sun shine brighter, I swear! 

I was disappointed in the Academy for Motion Picture's decision this year to broaden the field to include movies that the masses have seen.  I feel that by including blockbusters, the Academy lowered the standards.  I come off as a huge movie snob here, I realize that.  However, I AM a movie snob.  I will buy generic ketchup and wear Wet-N-Wild eyeliner all day long, but keep Miley Cyrus and Adam Sandler out of my dvd player.  The day I pay $9 to see Jim Carrey in a movie theater is the day I need my ass kicked.  In my opinion, the only reason "Date Night" should be in theaters is so that the morons can gather in there and allow me to enjoy "Casino Jack and The United States of Money" without a bunch of stupid questions.  Providing a movie as a diversion should not be rewarded.  My best friend is not a moron, by any stretch.  She is very smart and extremely creative, both qualities that are wasted on "The Last Song".   She is simply in the wrong line!!! 

So, friend, I'm talking directly to you here.  Remember when I brought "Requiem For a Dream" over and hounded you until you watched it?  'Member????  I wasn't punishing you, dear friend.  I was only trying to expand your repetoire.  You were horrified.  When's the last time you were horrified and then able to pop the dvd out and go on with your now sunny life?  A small dose of seriousness or disturbing never hurt anyone, so get with the program.  Ok Ok, I admit it.  I actually did like "Bridget Jones Diary".  Ok, I loved it.  But girl, you were wrong for "Shallow Hal". 

So, get yourself down to the nearest Redbox and take "Precious" home.  She has a lot to offer you, and you will stop crying...eventually.  I'm saving you a place in line, get over here and leave "Twilight" alone.  Dark can be done sooooo much better.

How To Be a Better Person in Ninety Minutes

Friday evening, in celebration of my recent good fortune, I was treated to a fine steak dinner by a close friend and supporter.  We spent a leisurely evening in Memphis, dinner, coffee, bookstore, and finally Schnuck's (since moving to the country, no trip to Memphis is complete without a visit to Schnuck's).  I arrived home before 9pm and settled in to watch some tv before going to bed.  I was feeling all toasty and fortunate as I mentally planned my weekend ahead (the first one in a long time that wouldn't be spent worrying about employment).  I decided that I would paint some furniture, do some yardwork in between rain storms, and ******RING******.  Who in the Hell is blowing up my phone at 10:15???  Going against my nature to not answer, I picked up and heard my new boss's voice on the line.  She was calling to congratulate me on the offer (her boss made the offer) and also to inquire about my plans for the weekend.

On a side note, I abhor being asked what my plans are before I know the motive.  Is she asking out of politeness or curiosity? Or am I about to be obligated to something.  I had a friend in college who would do this, always so casually and always catching me off guard. 

Friend: "So, what are you doing tonight?"
Me: "Not much, probably just studying"
Friend: "Good! Can you run me up to Kroger, I need to get some groceries."

I was never sure how to handle this situation.  I would have rather eaten my own toes than to have to cart her no car having ass to the grocery store, but alas, before I was a mean girl, I was a nice girl and I had trouble saying no.  That's another virtue that I picked up in college, how to dodge the query.  How to make it seem that I am far too busy to accept an offer that doesn't beat my actual plans.  I find that inserting the phrase "supposed to" often works like a charm.

Friend: "So, what are you doing tonight?"
Me: "I'm supposed to go to the dorm meeting"
Friend: "Oh, ok...I need a ride to Kroger, guess I'll ask Terri."

or conversely,

Friend: "So, what are you doing tonight?"
Me: "I'm supposed to go to the dorm meeting"
Friend: "Oh, dang, I have an extra ticket to see Drivin and Cryin at the Mansion, I figured you might want it."
Me: "Hell yeah, screw that dorm meeting! Let me get my purse!"

So, when faced with the vague plan inquiry, I had to think fast.  If I offered myself up as available, I could get an invite to a cookout, or an invitation to volunteer my time to get started on some sort of work project.  It was a gamble.  I ended up blaming it on the rain.  "It all depends on what the weather's going to do", I say.

I was then treated to a very optimistic weekend weather forecast and invited to the big fundraiser shindig that the agency puts on each year.  Dinner and a silent auction.  It's huge.  I was silent for a beat too long, so she threw in the offer of a seat at the staff table.  I offered a meek maybe, and that is when she dealt the final blow:

"I think it would be great for you to come so you can meet the staff and the board of directors, I have been bragging on you and we are all so excited that you are on board!"

Well, then I guess I have no choice.  Really, I had no plans further than applying an exfoiliating mask and a glossing treatment to my hair; but it is my nature to avoid making plans...especially plans that would involve walking into a large auditorium full of strangers.  I suck at small talk and the thought of having to spend more than five minutes around people I don't know makes me want to visit my stash of "borrowed" Ativan.  "I have a couple of things I need to take care of tomorrow, but I will do my best to be there", I offered.  I inquired about the appropriate attire.  "Oh, we have a theme this year (PERFECT.) and so everyone is dressing like construction workers."  Ummmmmm....

Ok, first of all...I don't like themes.  I would rather dress to the nines in a ballgown than to have to obey a themed dress code.  Here's the deal with themed dress codes:  They are often thought up by one or two gung ho planners and in reality, less than 5% of attendees actually show up in costume.  Therefore, if you choose to adhere to the theme, you will likely be the only person at your table dressed in character.  You establish your place in the pecking order immediately.  Are you management, or one of "us"?  This is especially difficult in this scenario, because my dad was a construction worker...what if my idea of authentic construction worker attire is different than theirs?  My overthinking and overanalyzing began immediately. 

On Saturday morning, and for most of the day, I went back and forth on the issue.  I had no construction attire, because I generally don't do construction.  I do have "spur of the moment home improvement project" attire, but I doubted this would be appropriate as it consists of a paint splattered pair of boxer shorts and a 20 year old Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt, sans collar.  I wrestled with it all day long.  Honestly, I didn't want to go.  I felt that I needed to go, but my desire to participate registered at a negative 10.  A part of me knew that if I didn't go, I would be a shit.  Months ago, I wished for a richer life.  A life filled with friends, new experiences, challenges, and pride.  I cursed myself for making this crazy ass wish before realizing that I will usually get exactly what I ask for.  On the outside looking in, this would be a fabulous opportunity.  I get to hobnob with good people and win brownie points before ever even filling out a W-4.  I finally wore myself down with the realization that I was granted this unexpected opportunity for a reason, because it is time for me to break out of my comfort zone.  I am naturally quiet and reserved, and that is okay...but there has to be a balance.  This invite was my counterweight.  I made a deal with myself to commit to an hour.  I can do anything for an hour.  After the hour was up, I was free to go. 

Checking the mirror once more before I left the house, I surveyed my reflection.  I was fortunately granted a good hair day by the First Impression Gods.  I opted for a plaid button up, sleeves rolled up, and jeans.  It was a vague rendition of construction attire that could pass for "Oh, I'm not staying, I just stopped by to say hello" if needed.  Pulling into the parking lot, I was RELIEVED to see a parade of cargo jeans and hard hats entering the venue.  I spotted the county's most public figure exiting his car and thought to myself, "hmmmm, this should be interesting, if not good fodder for a coffee gossip session with my friends".  I was granted entrance as my new boss's guest and I shook off my overwhelming desire to run to the safety of my car. 

Surveying the crowd (and I do mean CROWD), I spotted a familiar face and had to restrain myself from running up and planting a big sloppy kiss on his cheek, out of relief.  Casually making my way over to him, I tapped his arm and he lit up like a Christmas tree.  He congratulated me on getting the job (he actually is credited with getting my resume to the top of the pile) and I felt a sense of "Yeah, that's right strangers, I know people.  I am at ease.  I can stand around and chit chat."  Using him as my jumping off point, I found my new boss and allowed her to lead me around, introducing me to people whose names I will have to learn and remember at a later date.  Everyone seemed genuine.  More importantly, everyone had on varying degrees of construction wear.  She introduced me to one of the interns that I will be supervising, and spying an empty seat at her table, I took it and sat down.  From my vantage point, I saw many people that I recognized but didn't actually "know".  I spotted another familiar face, but didn't feel the need to glom myself onto him, because I had settled down by now.  The intern and I chatted easily about the job and our backgrounds.  By the time dinner was served, I was an old pro.  The food was excellent and the silent auction items were far better than I had expected.  I made a mental note for next year's gala to come better prepared with plenty of cash (Buckley's $50 gift certificate...starting bid: $15!!).  A couple of people approached me and introduced themselves as people I would be working with.  I made another mental note to keep these people close, because I will always remember the ones that put me at ease at that first socially awkward event.  I can see us, years or even months from now, laughing into our beers at a local dive after work about how I was the most nervous looking wallflower ever.  A crazy-eyed woman plopped down at our table and held us hostage with her brick-like personality.  I sensed a subtle change in the mood of our table.  When Brick got up, one of my future coworkers stated (under her breath), "She needs to take her crazy ass somewhere else."  The future coworker caught my amused eye and apologized.  I waved her off and knew that I was going to fit right in.  After the dishes were cleared, I took this as my cue to make a getaway.  I had initially commited myself to an hour.  I had no idea how much time had passed, but I hoped it would be an hour so that I didn't look like the heel who showed up for supper and then dashed.  I bid farewell to my table mates, found my new boss (the social butterfly) and thanked her for inviting me.  She was very gracious and I knew that I had made the right decision in coming.

I didn't breath my huge sigh of relief until I got into my car.  Starting it up, and backing out of the space, I glanced at the clock.  One and a half hours.  I expanded my comfort zone by half an hour!  In half an hour, I can clean my entire house.  I can run three miles (at least I used to be able to).  I can watch a sitcom.  In half an hour I can lay the groundwork for a new and improved life off the couch, and I did!

Leap of Faith

I should be putting on my professional attire right about now.  Getting my resume and notes together.  Gulping down the last of the coffee and rushing out the door to my job interview.  Only, I am still in my gown, leisurely sipping my coffee, and firing off yet another missive on the job hunt fail.  See, I had an interview scheduled, but I called and cancelled it yesterday.  Seems counterproductive, I know.  I took a leap of faith yesterday and in doing so, managed to salvage some of my dignity.  I probably managed to extend my unemploment a while longer in doing so, as well, but so be it.  I had my reasons.

The ad in the paper stated "Hiring entry level AND EXPERIENCED case managers".  Alrighty, that's me.  So, I sent in my resume to the outpatient mental health office and awaited a call.  Sure enough, the call came a few days later.  It came the day after a promising interview at another agency, and I was tempted to just not answer the call.  But, having been burned by putting all my eggs in one basket before, I decided to pursue it.  The HR person basically conducted a mini interview with me right over the phone.  Then, the bomb.  Turns out, they aren't really hiring experienced case managers, as the ad stated.  How it works is that they hire you and then you wait for a better position to open up.  They promote from within.  He tells me this like this is supposed to make me happy.  Mr. HR then asks me about salary expectations.  I throw out a figure, a FAIR figure.  A figure lower than I would expect in Memphis.  He calmly explains to me that there is no way they can meet that expectation, and then tells me the starting salary (why ask me, if you already have a carved in stone salary??).  You might want to put down your coffee before reading the next statement.

The starting salary for a position requiring a Bachelors degree is $21,000.  

That would be annually.  I felt I needed to clarify that, because I needed for him to clarify that.  But wait! They do increase this salary by $500 for each year of experience!  So, I inform him that I have 13 years experience.  Even with this GENEROUS bonus, I likely still couldn't keep the lights on, but it would be almost to the ball park.  I hear furious adding machine (ADDING MACHINE?) noises in the background and Mr. HR informs me that they would have to cap that at $4000.  So,

The starting salary for a position requiring a Bachelors degree and 13 years experience is $25000.

Well, it is more than unemployment, I suppose.  My parents would kill me for turning down a job, any job, that came along.  I would never hear the end of "you should have taken that job at so and so, you are ruining our retirement!"  So, with that in mind, and because I had no other firm offers on the table, I agreed to an interview.  I felt like I needed a shower after hanging up. 

In the meantime, I had two more positive interviews at the agency I really wanted to work for.  Truth be known, I would have likely accepted the above mentioned salary at the preferred agency, just for the job satisfaction.  Preferred agency assured me that I would hear something from them by mid week.  I was just as good as hired, according to an inside source.  So, technically, mid week starts on a Tuesday; therefore, Tuesday morning I got up and glued my phone to my side.  No call.  Wednesday, officially mid week, came and went without a call.  Late Wednesday afternoon, the agency offering the lowest pay ever phoned, to make sure I really wanted to interview for the job.  Because I was starting to feel insecure about the "sure thing" job that I now wasn't so sure about, I confirmed that I would indeed still interview for the job.  Only now, Mr. HR had started backsliding on his offer of 25K maximum.  It somehow had dwindled back down to 21K and any more than that would have to be approved by some sort of executive board.  Really? REALLY?   By Thursday, I had pretty much decided that my favored job had somehow slipped through my hands. 

As I laid out in the sun Thursday, I thought about how on Earth I was going to make it on such a small paycheck.  In preparation for the long haul of unemployment, I cut unnecessary expenses to the bone.  I couldn't cut anything else except myself...and I wasn't too far from taking that up.  I began to think about something that a close friend and mentor told me six months ago, when I found out about the impending job loss.  She was so confident in saying that I wouldn't be unemployed for long and that the job I would end up with would be exactly what I was looking for.  PHFFFT.  Easy for her to say, she wasn't about to lose her job.  Maybe it was the heat from the sun, but I began to feel the searing heat of anger set in.  The more I thought about taking the last 13 years of my life and flushing it down the toilet to start over at an insulting salary, the madder I got.  All those nights bringing work home...for nothing.  All those sleepless nights worrying about some job issue...for nothing.  All that teeth gritting and smiling when I really wanted to cuss...for naught.  Where does this agency get off anyway?  How are you going to advertise for experience and then offer entry level?   They can offer this kind of pay because there are still people who will take it.  Sure, if I was fresh out of school and living in my parent's basement, the salary might not be as painful.  But what would I have to offer in terms of insight or maturity to my clients?  My friend/mentor encouraged me, months ago, not to settle just because I got scared.  She encouraged me to have faith.  Faith in what?? God? Myself? The Universe?  I was broiling by the time I worked my way around to that memory.  Have faith.  Was fate/God/my resume really going to be so generous in sending a great job my way if I pass up opportunities?  Well, you know what?  I don't think I could have been any more scared if Ted Bundy had appeared there on my patio (or disgusted maybe).  I was ready to say "Uncle".  This was it.  This was the moment of truth.  How sure of myself and fate was I?

I was so sure that there HAD to be something better around the corner that I picked up the phone and dialed up Lowball Inc.  I informed Mr. HR (nicely...after all, I'm not a bridge burner) that I was going to cancel our interview at 9 the next morning because I had decided to go in a different direction.  A different direction, ha ha ha.  That's corporate-speak for "I don't want you".  And, I didn't want them.  Hanging up the phone, I prayed I hadn't made a grave error in judgement; but I instantly felt better.  I felt like I got those 13 years back.  Yay, I am once again experienced!  I decided to start anew on Friday (today) and crank out those online applications with a new ferver.  After submitting a couple, and stating my very reasonable salary expectation, I noticed that the time was drawing near to the time I should have been sitting across from someone's metal desk in a non descript office staring at motivational posters and justifying every single year of experience so as to get as many "bonus" increases as possible.  That is when I decided to log in to blogger and post.  Feeling glad that I actually took a leap of faith, regardless of the outcome, I poured another cup of coffee and started typing.  Somewhere between "start anew on Friday (today)" and "After submitting a couple" my phone rang.  The number registered as the agency I was holding out for but had all but given up on.

I GOT THE JOB!!!

And with that, folks, I am now an EMPLOYED leaper...

Lowered Expectations

So, after removing my profile from the popular dating site, I get an email saying "WAIT!!!! YOU ACTED TOO QUICKLY!!!!"  The email encouraged me to check out a partner site, which gives one more control over who sees the profile and which profiles are matched.  Not having anything better to do, I decided to check it out.  After taking a very long and taxing survey (why does the length of my index finger in relationship to my ring finger matter??), I was then provided with my personality "profile".  I was kind of shocked at how accurate it was!  Basically, I am a nice person with a tough exoskeleton.  I tend to care too much about everyone else's feelings and am skilled at taking everything into consideration and delivering a fair and logical decision.  Although I am a nice person, I suck at small talk and prefer to have deep conversations with my closest friends (nice way of saying...intense).  Pretty much, my "analysis" was in line with my profession.  Empathy is my middle name. 

The new site provides you with several matches, not random dudes who live near you.  Thinking that this may be a more efficient way, I started clicking through.  And clicking through.  And clicking through.  Sure are a lot of poetry writers in West Tennessee.  And Liberals.  And Firesplace sitters.  Lots of men who I imagine sound like Robert Goulet.  In fact, as I am reading their descriptions, I imagine them in Robert Goulet's voice.  I imagine the guy with a turtleneck sweater and a brandy snifter.  One guy was kind of cute, but as I said in a previous post, his interests made me tired.  Travels to Europe at least twice a year?  How? Who freaking does that?  And, if he is so well traveled and cultured, shouldn't he know that professional only has one "a"??  The word that comes to mind as I view these profiles is....smarmy.  What am I putting out there that yields these well coiffed, silky golf shirt wearing, highbrow, soulmate searching, poets???  Folks, I am NORMAL.  I am as normal as normal can be.  And, although this doesn't make me stand out against all the other acrylic nail sponsor seeking women on these sites, I value my normalcy above everything.  Surely, there are normal men out there, with normal hobbies, normal interests, and normal hair.  I started clicking the "not really" button on each profile, hoping to weed out these yahoos and get on to better matches.  Before eliminating the profile, I was asked "why?" and encouraged to choose a reason from a drop down menu.  Try as I might, I couldn't find the option for "Dude is not normal!!" or "I fecking hate poems", or "He is hiding a small child in his hair".  I finally just used "no chemistry" (understatement).  As an added insult, before finally taking away the offensive profile, I was assured that I wasn't really eliminating him, he would simply be added to my "not really" pile, in case I change my mind later.  Which is to say, in case I get so desperate that I reconsider going out with a 60 year old poetry writer who wears half moon glasses.  After ten "not really"s, I was out of matches.  So that's what it comes down to.  In the greater Memphis area, there are ten men for me.  And I hate every single one of them.  Perfect. 

I thought about my expectation.  What, exactly, is it that I am looking for?  A boyfriend? Not really.  A husband? Probably not.  A date?  Possibly.  I have no clearly defined goal here.  Perhaps that is why nothing looks good.  I don't even know what I want.  Actually, I do.  I do know what I want.  If I thought it would work, I would write the following description of my "match":

I prefer my own company most of the time.  Sometimes, I get tired of reading or contemplating the universe...here's where you come in.  I have no interest in hanging out at the Flying Saucer or the Fox and the Hound watching you drink your St Pauli Girl watching some stupid band do covers of "Brown Eyed Girl".  I actually do enjoy going out to bars, every once and a while, but I prefer to slum it at the Bel Air and the like.  Rowdy drunk rednecks are way more fun than highbrow blowhards.  I want to meet someone who is clean cut, but not too clean cut.  Jeans and tee shirts are welcome here, but body odor is not.  And, no sandals, please.  Getting up early on a Saturday morning and enjoying coffee and conversation is my idea of heaven.  Spending the rest of the day doing whatever seems fun (to the both of us) is even better.  Riding on your Harley is not my idea of fun.  Riding to the local Dairy Queen in the early evening in the summer with the moon roof open and the Steely Dan blaring is definitely my idea of fun.  If you bring roses to my door on our first date, I won't answer.  I am looking for someone who has seen every Saturday Night Live produced and still says the 90's are the best.  Someone who would enjoy going to the Pink Palace and not trail behind me sighing loudly.  Someone who understands the dark side of life, and is satisfied with watching it play out in a movie, not in real life.  I want someone who has been knocked on his ass, and has picked himself back up...without bragging about the recovery.  Someone who likes the outdoors in a passive way, not trying to fight the fecking wind everytime he is outside (aka adreneline junky).  Sit down and chill the eff out.  I don't see life as an adventure.  Don't blow up my phone asking what I am up to.  I will feel guilty for saying the truth (nothing) and will feel pressure to make up something just so that it sounds like I have a life filled with awesomeness.  Shortly thereafter, I will resent you and stop answering your calls.  If you are looking for a 'life partner', keep looking dude.  I have no interest in settling just because you have reached the 'life partner' stage.  I enjoy watching "The Real Housewives of ...", not because I aspire to be a housewife, but because those bitches are crazay!  This doesn't make me any less intelligent and if you look down on that, go back to your dusty ass Tolstoy and leave me alone.  You will likely find me lazy, reclusive, reserved, and pessimistic.  If that appeals to you...call me! You will find that you are right, most of the time, but sometimes...and only sometimes, I can be fun as shit and so nice you will want to introduce me to your mother.   Are you out there?

Doubtful.  And, if he is out there, he likely isn't on the internet looking for me.  He's probably sitting out on his deck, smoking, having a beer (a mid brand beer) and winding down after a long day of putting up with people's bullshit.  As an aside, the extremely busy Dude #3 from the previous post sent me a text today.  And guess what! HE'S BUSY.  I am tempted to tell him how lame that is.  I'm not impressed, dude.  When I said I like cops, it's not because I am easily impressed.  Maybe I should have acted impressed and asked more questions.  Nah, might as well not lie.  I can see a lifetime of "My job is far more important than your job" on the horizon.  His text totally disrupted my important, fulfilling, soul healing, and adventuresome task of laying out in the sun.  The guy for me would have totally appreciated that. 

I'm Gonna Need a Smaller Net.

It has been a minute since I have felt like dating.  And by minute I mean almost two years.  So, because I have nothing better to do, I decided to cast my net out and see what sort of fishies I could capture.  And by net, I mean the internet.  Yes, that's right, I decided to give internet dating (another) try.  I chose a popular site, avoiding The One Night Stand Database as well as Let's Get Married and Be On TV site; settling on somewhere in between.  I created a profile that showcased my wit (borerline sarcasm...but hey, I'm trying to weed out Jeff Dunham fans), intelligence (intellect is NEVER overrated), and breeziness (to mask my intensity...that comes out later).  Initially, I opted not to post a pic for fear of it appearing on an old boyfriend's bulletin board with dart holes and a caption that reads, "i like sunsets, puppies, and screaming hysterical rages".  However, I quickly learned that the quality of responses increases tenfold once a pic is up.  I chose the "breeziest" picture I had and posted  my mug out there for all the world (ex boyfriends) to see. 

Next, I stated my criteria.  I have a type.  Everyone does, only mine is a little more specific (picky).  I like cops.  Not because a man in uniform sets me on fire (but admittedly, it kind of does), but because I should have been a cop.  I have that deep seated desire to catch people doing something wrong.  Ultimately, what sent me down a different path was the fact that I have no desire to confront, just to observe.  Either way, I am drawn to manly men who are intelligent and clean cut, with a sardonic sense of humor. I also like their sense of confidence (bordering on arrogance).  Most of the men that I know who fall into this category are cops.  As far as physical attributes, I tend to gravitate towards fair haired, fair eyed, unique looking men.  I don't want universally attractive, I want a face that I have never seen anything like before.  This is pretty vague, but I know it when I see it.  I wouldn't disregard say, a teacher or a farmer, but I haven't met a lot of teachers or farmers who could stomach my sarcarm or "intensity". 

As for what I am not looking for, that is far more specific.  Before stating my criteria, I perused some of the offerings out there.  My God.  What has happened in the last few years??  Did Mountain Dew sponsor some sort of Extreme Dating Challenge that I didn't know about?  Where did all these adrenaline junkies come from?  For example:
Hi, I'm Jason.  I like whitewater rafting, mountain biking, and hurling myself off of tall things. I expect my match to never veg out in front of the tv, only check her email once a week, and use phrases such as "dude that rocks" and "bungee jumping? score!".
Um, no thanks.  Conversely, I think La-Z-Boy sponsored a similar dating challenge:
Hi, I'm Todd.  I never leave my house.  I never raise the blinds.  I have reached level 5098 on War of Farmtown.  I expect my match to bring me news from the outside, use the secret knock, and use phrases such as "pass me the Doritos" and "What's the number for Domino's?"
Yeah, I have had quite enough tv time...thanks.  My intention is to actually leave my house.  I have enough chat buddies and buddies in general, so I am not looking to beef up my yahoo messenger list.  Therefore, I created a maybe pile, somewhere to toss in guys until I decided whether they would be perpetual chat buddies or actual dates.  The determining factor is what I refer to as "The Shove".  When I meet someone online (cringe), I either feel something pushing me to meet them, or I don't.  If we have chatted (again, cringe) for a week and there is no shove...then dude goes into the perpetual chat buddy pile.  I have tried to go against this, with lukewarm results.  I am not looking for lukewarm.  The shove leads to the initial BRIEF meeting.  I refuse to sign up for dinner and a movie on the first date.  I know within seconds whether or not I am going to want a 2nd cup of coffee.  My idea of Hell on Earth is to have to sit across from someone I know I will never see again and feign interest, counting the seconds until I can escape.  And a movie? Please.  How do you get to know someone at the movies?  Ok, so now that I have the framework, I can now publish and begin furnishing my house with potential dates. 

The reponses (I will get to specific profiles in a minute) were underwhelming. 

First of all, what the hell is wrong with digital cameras these days??  So many dark pictures, so little time.  I have to go on the assumption that the poor pic quality points to poor dude quality.  Also, yeah...you have kids. I get that.  I could tell by your screenname "BESTDAD4U" that you probably (hopefully, otherwise that's just creepy) have kids.  Do I need to see pics of them?  Absolutely not.  Does your ex wife know that you are advertising ya'lls kids on the internet?  Poor judgement points to poor quality, so moving right along.  Along the same lines, yeah nice pic of you and some chic.  If it's your sister, state that.  Otherwise, WTF?  And don't think you can get by with a crop, if I can still see 1/4 of some chic in a formal...then I'm to assume that you have never had a life outside of being mashed up against some woman.  Either that or you are a newly disjoined conjoined twin.  Either way, not what I am looking for.  Finally, the ever popular pic of the guy sitting at his computer, looking slightly off because he used his webcam.  This tells me that his ass is permanently glued to the task chair while he frantically works on other people's facebook farms and chats with his 476 yahoo chat buddies.  He is never looking directly into the camera, always slightly downward, because he hasn't yet grasped the concept of Hey! That Dude on the Screen Looks Just Like Me!

If the guy passed the picture test, he moves on to the next round.  The Hobby round.  I am not that picky on what men do in their free time.  I just need to be able to see myself alongside him.  Therefore, any hobby that requires me to don any sort of protective gear...out.  Not that I eliminate him based on this, I just then dig to see exactly how die hard dude is about said hobby and whether or not I would be required to participate.  If it seems that his only interest is clubbing on Beale Street, then I try to determine if he likes to go a few times a year or is he there as much as Kevin Paige.  Rock climbing...annual trip with buddies or does he wear a safety harness in place of underwear?  See, everything in perspective.  Of course you are going to want to highlight your fun loving self for your profile, but I have no use for a fanatic of any activity.  If looking at a guy's pictures make me feel tired, I know he isn't right for me. 

Next up is the keyword/phrase filter.  The following are words or phrases that will instantly activate the "not interested" button:

lover, lady, partner, walks on the beach, firelight, fireplace, roaring fire, rain, rainy nights, candlelight, massage, snuggling, cuddling, with my kids, dad first, muddin, mud riding, Adam Sandler, I don't read books (to include any cutesy misspelling of books to showcase your dumbassness), i'm new to this (no you aren't), romance/romantic, wife, ex wife, cheated, trust, newly single and ready to mingle, pamper, and Kenny Chesney (this list is not all inclusive)

The net results (all three of them) were then provided with my yahoo id, so we could get down to the nitty gritty of shove detection. 

Dude 1.  A teacher who turned out to have zero personality with tickets to the Opera.  I don't like holding up conversations.  It was as if he didn't understand the purpose of our conversation and had fast forwarded to comfortable silence.  After an extremely boring few minutes, I clicked out of messenger.  I then received no fewer than 10 emails that same day from dude, each saying, "hi."  Finally, I sent him a brief message stating that he wasn't what I was looking for and good luck.  He replied with "was it something I said?" Um, no quite the opposite.  Feeling like I should be honest, so as to avoid a flooded inbox of "hi", I leveled with him. "Look, I don't need any online messenger friends and you are destined to be that, at best. We didn't click. So, best of luck".  Dumbass then asked me, "Do you want to go to the Opera next Saturday?"  SERIOUSLY? 

Dude 2.  A computer technician (see, going against type!) who went into the maybe pile.  After chatting a few times, he pressed me for a date.  I explained my first date policy to him and he was cool with that, but still wanted to hold me to a plan.  Instead of the shove, I felt something more like a pencil poking me in the back.  Nothing that pushed me towards him, but something that I would eventually cave to just to avoid the annoyance.  I continued to be vague and non commital.  After logging off chat on Friday, I didn't log back on until Sunday afternoon, when I was treated to this missive:
Where have you been?  Women on here are crazy, never matching their profiles and not knowing what they want. Do you ever log off, because it showed you online all weekend. Good luck in your man hunt.
Oh Hell no.  Okay, I was slightly mortified that I didn't realize you had to actually log off, I figured the site just logged you off automatically.  Nope, so apparently, it looked like I had a 48 hour man search.  But, oh well.  I was going to save my reply for him until later on.  Then, I got busy sharpening my claws.

Dude 3.  Shove.  Not only did this one meet my criteria, he surpassed it.  We only chatted for a minute, and then I granted him phone privileges.  I actually liked him, and was down to meet him ASAP.  So, a couple of days later, we met.  And, it went well.  He didn't just seem interested in me, he stated as much. He was very cute and seemed genuine. I left there feeling pretty good about that find.  We communicated here and there for a few days, but no plans had been made.  He was quickly approaching the deadline! The Wow-This-Dead-Mouse-Has-Become-Tiresome-Think-I-Will-Go-Bat-Something-Else-Around deadline.  And then, I realized it.  He's just not that into me.  He said he was.  He looked like he was.  But he isn't.  I realized that all of his communication centered around how busy he was.  Work Work Work Work.  No one is that busy, though.  So, with that realization, I cut my losses and removed my profile. 

Taking down my profile brought about a sense of relief.  I could now go back to my fairly happy life without the stress of having to "put myself out there".  Putting oneself out anywhere is mentally taxing.  I realized that if I was working and had something else to focus on, I likely wouldn't have conducted this experiment.  But, I had run out of things to clean, I had reached a plateau in my job search, and I just didn't have anything better to do.  I am walking away from this with a clearer understanding of what I am looking for and an even better understanding of what I am not looking for.  Armed with this knowledge, I will just continue floating around, waiting to get shoved from behind.  I hit the "remove profile" button and stepped back into my comfortable life.

One last order of business though.  I emailed Dude number two.  The message stated:

Yeah, I just logged out. 

X Men

If you think this entry is going to be a blistering account of a former relationship, you are going to be disappointed.  But, it will be just as entertaining, I promise.  I came across someone from my past yesterday with disturbing results.  First, though, a history lesson:

January 2006.  I was a recently separated emotional wreck working as a caseworker in Memphis.  I had yet to lose all my secure relationship weight and I did well to drag myself out of bed each day.  Basically, I was a hot mess.  My husband moved out and I was saddled with a gigantic house (and gigantic house payment) that still had unpacked moving boxes in every room.  I would barely respond to my own name, much less a come on.  Standing outside on a smoke break one afternoon, I encountered Harry (not his real name, for reasons you will soon see).  Harry was a delivery driver who visited my workplace 2-3 times weekly.  I had nodded at Harry in passing before, but in my newlywedded bliss, I don't think I ever even made eye contact.  Harry struck up a conversation with me, and I played along as best as I could.  I continued to play along for the next couple of weeks, each time I encountered Harry.  Pretty soon, my coworkers were ribbing me about my "new man".  I had no interest in getting a "new man", as I still wanted the "old man" back.  I learned that Harry was married, unhappily; however, this made no difference to me.  After a few weeks, Harry began stopping by my office and we were bantering like old pals.  Harry flirted with me and I let him.  Parts of my sunny personality were beginning to seep through whenever Harry showed up on the scene, and this did not go unnoticed.  My husband eventually found his way back home and I began to wear my wedding band again.  One day, shortly after the husband's return home, Harry stopped by my office and we chatted for a minute.  It was only after his departure that I noticed that I had been holding my wedding band clad hand under my desk the whole time.  Harry and I were both on the "Fixing to Go Through The Big D" team and I didn't want him to think that I was off the team.  The marriage reconcilliation didn't last long and I began applying lipstick when I heard Harry's truck pull up outside ( Pavlovian response ).  After it became apparent that my marriage was officially in the toilet, I began to see Harry in a new light.  The flirting became more overt and soon Harry was actually sitting down in my office rather than hanging by the door.  Harry was merely a distraction to me, but his presence did me a world of good.  He was the kick in the ass I needed to care about my appearance again (you're welcome, Ann Taylor Loft) and to see that there could be a life after a bitter divorce.  It was a fun and beneficial diversion.  Harry and I never went past having lunch together and an occasional phone call.  Harry was still married and living with his wife, and being the victim of infidelity, I had no interest in harboring a cheating husband. 

May 2006.  Thanks to the huge confidence boost from Harry, I tossed my hat into the dating ring and met someone who I was crazy about.  After a couple of dates, we were inseperable and I soon had his mug posted all over my office.  I had a new light in my eyes and a new bounciness that was a welcome, albeit unfamiliar, change from my usual morose personality.  I wasn't that gung ho on life after my honeymoon!  Harry noticed the change as well, and also all the pictures of my new man.  It became slightly awkward between Harry and I after Harry expressed regret that he missed his chance.  The next few months passed with dwindling visits and calls from Harry.  Not that I really noticed, I was so wrapped up in the Best Boyfriend Ever that I likely wouldn't have noticed an A bomb exploding in my living room.  I resigned from my job in favor of taking a job close to BBE and never got to say good bye to Harry.  As Harry and I resided in the same small town just outside of Memphis, I figured I would run into him at some point.  And then, I promptly forgot about Harry.

September 2008.  After returning to the small town after a year of making a go of it (it being living together) with BBE (yeah, that kind of sucked), I wondered about Harry and wondered if he still lived in the same place.  And then, I promptly forgot about Harry.

Yesterday.  Perusing Facebook, I noticed a familiar face on my friend suggestion list.  HARRY!!  I looked at his page and learned that he had divorced, but was listed as "in a relationship" with a Stephanie.  I honestly thought, "Good for Harry" as I clicked the add friend button.  Isn't it ironic (truly ironic, not Alanis Morrisette ironic...black fly on a glass of white wine is contrast, not ironic) how our paths cross again, when I am basically right back in the same place I was 4 years ago.  I received an almost immediate message back from Harry which said, "Who is this? Storm".  Storm. Storm?  Did Harry join the X-Men since I last saw him? Sensing that this was about to become a train wreck but being unable to resist the urge to create a little drama, I replied with something to the effect of "Um, yeah, sorry, I thought this was Harry's page, but obviously I am mistaken. Have a nice day."  Not 30 seconds passed when I received Harry/Storm's reply.  It said, "I am his girlfriend. Storm"  Umkay.  So, I explained myself and said that I had known Harry a few years ago and simply wanted to catch up with him.  Storm replied that she would let him know that I friended him.  Really?  REALLY?  Not long after, I received confirmation that I had indeed been welcomed into the closely guarded fortress.  But what's the point now?  I already know how life turned out for Harry.

So, what's the deal?  How is it that the jealous hysterical crazy bitches nab the fairly good guys?  I am assuming that Harry was a good guy; however, he did carry on with me while he was still married.  But still, Harry was a nice guy who didn't seem to have ill intent.  I hate that he was able to get out of an unhappy marriage only to be castrated.  It is really disheartening for this boundary respecting gal to see someone break all the rules and claim the reward.  I would rather digest my dog's toenails than request my man's facebook/email/cell phone password.  Who freaking does that?? Storm does.  Storm.  I can't let that go.  If your real name is Stephanie, then Steph, Steffie, or even Annie would be appropriate.  Storm tells me so much.  I bet that is a pretty accurate account of her disposition though.  Do what I say or I will cloud up and rain all over you.  I checked out Storm's profile, and felt a little sorry for her.  She isn't cute.  She doesn't even fit Stephanie.  She looks more like a Melissa to me.  No offense to Melissas.  Who gives themself a moniker like that???  It is like she wants people to be afraid of her. 

Every time I encounter sad facts of life like this one, I shake my head.  I once went through a man's wallet to check for evidence to support my suspicion and it was a week before I got up the nerve to confront him with it.  Not because of the actual finding and probable fallout, but because I had stooped to a new low.  I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall yesterday when Harry got home from work. 

Storm: Hey, you better have remembered to pick up my tampons and red bull on your way home and, by the way, who is this girl?
Harry: Yes, I got them right here, and also picked up a raw steak for you (stands back and throws the bloody meat towards her gaping mouth).  I used to know her when I worked for Noname Delivery Company. 
Storm: (picking the bits of raw meat from her fangs) Damn right you used to know her.  Good thing you gave me access to your facebook.  I can see that I am going to have to monitor this situation closely.  I took the liberty of adding her for you, but I by God better not see any communication between ya'll, you got that?
Harry: Yes.  Thank you so much for coming into my life, Storm.  I am so glad you are here to help me with decisions such as this.  Here's the list of all the women I spoke to today, just as you requested.
Storm: Good, now get in there and fix me some tater tots.

Is there room in the world for women such as myself, who would prefer to relate to men as equals, not as things to be controlled?  I am fairly certain that someone cheated on Storm.  And now, Storm is not going to let that happen again.  Storm believes that she has complete control of the universe and can somehow intervene in every situation to keep her man.  Poor Storm.  Some day she will have to face the sad reality that there is no way she can be everywhere all the time.  All her thunder and lightening can't seal up every crack.  Conversely, all the freedom and trust in the world isn't going to deter a man who is down to cheat.  Storm and I are obviously in the same boat, both wishing to ward off the harsh reality of taking risks in relationships.  Weather is not a force to be reckoned with, and being on a boat in the middle of a storm is a very bad place to be.   Good luck to Harry, hope he remembered to pack his life jacket. 

And now you know why I changed his name, to protect both the guilty and the innocent (whichever he may be).  It is sunny and there isn't a cloud in sight here, and I prefer to keep it that way.

Strip Mall University

Ok, so I am now convinced that my evil twin (or maybe one of the other personalities a la "United States of Tara") is wreaking havoc on my search for meaningful (profitable) employment.  I have never had this much trouble getting a job.  I have been told that I interview well.  I have a professional, spell checked, and concise resume.  I have twelve years experience and a degree.  I would even consider taking an outrageous pay cut, just to have some place to hang out for 6-8 hours a day.  WTF is wrong here?? 

It has recently occured to me that Bachelor's degrees are now worthless.  What I am about to say is controversial, and many people may not like it, but I speak from my own personal experience.  The post high school educational system in this country is fast becoming the credit system of the last decade.  Just the same as not everybody 'deserves' to own their own home, not everybody 'deserves' a Bachelor's degree.  These days, anyone can get a degree.  There are satellite campuses cropping up in small towns all over Tennessee.  At first glance, this seems like a good idea.  I mean, education is important, right?  Not so fast.  Some people just were not meant to attend college.  Providing a college education to every Joe Six Pack does not lift up education, it simply floods the  market.  It also creates a sense of entitlement that, as we now know from the housing crisis, will eventually completely devalue the Bachelor's degree.  For example, The University of Tennessee offers a BSW at their Ripley campus (campus=tail end of a strip mall).  So, basically, Jane Q Public can attend college for a couple of hours a week and in a few years...Voila! College graduate.  But, what exactly has she learned?  What sort of experiences has she had?  I have been told that it is impossible to fail in this environment.  Of course it is.  The powers that be that were so instrumental in bringing the campus to their lovely town can't have a failure rate.  So, JQP will be passed along.  The number one reason places like Ripley can't get industry in their towns is the lack of an educated labor pool.  So, what's the quickest way to remedy that?  Give everyone a degree.  But what about the education?  Allow me to illustrate for you the 'education' I received in college:

1. Failure is always an option.  When you don't do the work, you fail.  Simple as that.  There was no facebook, no sharing assignments, no email chains, no take home tests.  I learned this lesson the hard way, with lasting effects.  Sure, laying around my dorm room watching "Jenny Jones" was awesome; but when grades came out...oops!  That lesson served  me very well in the workplace.  I can guarantee that if 50% of my class failed a course, the university would still be up and running.  Can the same thing be said for Strip Mall U?  That's the point, some people will fail.  Out of those folks, some will get their asses in gear and buckle down, and some will be eliminated.  It's the way of the world.  I was the only person vested; therefore, it was a test of dedication.  I could very well still be answering the phone at a doctor's office (admittedly, best job ever), but I was dedicated and able to pull it together without any outside assistance.  That, gentle readers, is the difference.

2.  College is an expensive investment.  I didn't qualify for financial aid.  A year too early for the Hope Scholarship in Georgia.  The Hope Scholarship is a great program, for the deserving.  But, just like so many other government programs....it's original intent was morphed into an entitlement program.  My dorm exploded my Sophomore year.  1993 brought every high school graduate out of the woodwork.  1994 brought all new faces.  You know why?  They were replacing the inaugural Hope Scholarship kids that flunked out.  And so on and so on.  There were some definite bright stars out of the bunch, but 13% of recipients don't make it past the second quarter.  Eventually, 18% do not graduate Georgia Board of Regents Report.  18% doesn't seem like a lot, but consider the cost of each semester and multiply that by 4200 students who didn't cut the mustard.  Government entitlement programs make it clear that your aptitude and intelligence are less important than your neediness.  Receiving a college education is a privilege, but it is quickly becoming a right.  When you shit the bed on the state's dime, you should go home.  If a college education is truly important, there will be a way to get it.  If not, there is still a way to get it...so how do you tell at graduation which students were a good investment and which were simply just continent? 

3. Getting a degree involves sacrifice. It shouldn't be easy. Working isn't easy, and really, isn't college supposed to prepare you for work?  I resided in the uncool dorm for three years.  While most of my friends were out getting married and buying homes, I was studying the floor for an errant quarter.  The freshman 15 was a joke, as there was no way I was gaining any weight on a diet of ramen noodles and a weekly Big Mac (quartered, so as to last for four meals).  I tried pot in college for the first time, but ultimately had to give it up because it was too expensive.  Not to buy, but the groceries the insatiable hunger required were not in my budget.  Did I want to haul my lazy ass to the library to type papers?  Hell Naw.  But I did it.  Did I want to sit in a classroom with a barely fluent professor and frantically take notes? No.  Did I want to make peace with the obnoxious bitch in the room next to mine who had an affinity for Shania Twain at ear splitting decibels? No.  But, that peace making prepared me for the doofus in the next cubicle.  All that dime splitting prepared me for responsibility.  Rushing to my job at the doctor's office when I would have rather attended a study group taught me about sometimes having to do things I didn't really want to do. I am certainly not saying that one must live on campus to receive a full education, I did the commuter gig for a while too.  It is not fun, nor is it easy.  Time management takes on a whole new meaning when you get off work at 5 and you must be seated in a classroom 60 miles away by 5:45.  Had every opportunity been handed to me on a silver platter, I would have had to test the concept of sacrifice out at work....not a good proving ground. If I had been able to hang up my smock and drive 2 miles to my campus twice a week to sit in a class of no more than 20 students while each lesson is spelled out for me, that would certainly be convenient...but would it be educational?   What are strip mall graduates sacrificing?  Money....no.  Full time work (and full time salary)...no.  Time...no.  Lessons on how to deal with adversity...you bet.

4. College is big.  Colleges come in all different shapes and sizes.  In my hometown, LaGrange College sits high upon a hill (one hill).  My alma mater, The University of West Georgia, sprawled across several acres.  Bigger still, The University of Georgia requires a map.  A typical registration day started by standing in line at the Registrar's office.  Once you received a slip of paper, you must then transport that paper to an advisor (always located at the most remote location from your starting point) where you will sit and wait for your esteemed advisor to blow into the office and sign off on said slip.  This wait could vary between 5 minutes and 5 hours...appointments mean nothing. Once you have secured the signature, you will then return to the now doubled in size line at the Registrar's office to select your classes (yes, I went to school in the dark ages...before online registration).  Unfortunately, one of your classes is full already, so now you will be required to attend open registration the following week, but we will get to that in a moment.  After you have registered for all but one of your classes, you will now make the trek to the bookstore to purchase your materials (the walk back won't be as bad as your pockets will be much lighter), and then it is off to the Bursar to pay for all the madness.  The following week, you rise at 6am to get a good place in line outside the gym.  Once you have been granted entry, you will wander from table to table, begging classes.  At this point it doesn't really matter what class you get, just the number of hours.  "I need five hours, whatcha got??" can be heard echoing off the polished hardwood.  When you finally obtain a seat in UBW 101 (underwater basket weaving), it's back to the Registrar for more stamps and signatures.  Back over to the Bursar and then finally the bookstore (for your basket weaving supplies) and you're done!  How great would it be if all you had to do was walk through what used to be Cato's, register at the old Western Auto, then finish up at the former Sally's Beauty Supply?  All that bigness serves a purpose.  One of the most valuable lessons I picked up was how to deal with red tape.  Nothing at work is ever as simple as it should be.  When I have to refer a client to a community resource, I already know that it will not be as simple as picking up the phone and Presto...client referred.  I will patiently navigate the red tape and deal with seemingly impossible scenarios.  You know why?  Because I have done it all before.  I expect red tape.  There is a whole big ol' world out there, learning to navigate it is key. 

5.  Speaking of big worlds, isn't college supposed to broaden your horizons?  What sort of education can you get in a 5 mile radius?  Honestly, how many different types of people are you going to encounter?  Sitting at a desk all day answering calls from Jerry, Fred, and MawMaw; only to go to lunch to sit at a table across from Jerry, Fred, and MawMaw; returning to work and then getting off at 5 to drive a block to school to attend class with Jerry, Fred, and MawMaw.  Stopping by WalMart after class to run into...guess who!  "Get a degree without ever leaving your hometown" seems to be the mantra these days.  What exactly does one learn from routine and familiarity?  I would love to know how a strip mall BSW gets an education in society and people from a textbook. 

Perusing help wanted ads has shocked me into a reality I never expected.  The jobs that I qualified for 5 years ago now require a Master's degree.  4 year degrees are the new high school diplomas.  The influx of "educated" candidates has forced employers to raise their requirements but not their compensation or their standards.  Just as the real estate market was flooded with buyers, the work force is now flooded with degrees.  Unfortunately, the seller's market crashed.  Offering a mortgage to every breathing American destroyed our economy.  Offering a degree to every breathing American will do the same.  So much more than sheepskin goes into a college degree, the education comes from the process and the sacrifice.  This June, I will begin classes to further set myself apart from the degreed masses.  I have to admit, it is a tad bit disheartening to put forth the time, money, and effort to get an advanced degree just so that I can qualify for the same jobs I competed for 5 years ago.  I get the concept of bettering myself and all that jazz, and I truly do value education and opportunity, but when Tammy down at the Dollar General has her degree framed next to her cash register...something has gone terribly wrong.

Spring

I love Spring.  Seems like the best things have always happened to me in the Springtime.  This year, I kicked off Spring in NOLA (and for the record, Spring starts at Easter...not by the calendar.)  New Orleans was great, I ate too much and rode my hotel elevator down 23 floors with Bruce Willis.  So, this past weekend was spent with two loves...New Orleans and Spring.  When I came home, I was ready to tackle another love of mine....yardwork. 

My love of yardwork began as a child.  I wanted to be in charge of my own yard.  My father cut the grass, that was that.  Whenever I expressed an interest in tall grass removal, I was shooed away with a gruff "cutting grass is a man's job".  This infuriated me.  Haven't I proved myself worthy?  I didn't hang out in the kitchen all day organizing spice racks!  I spent my free time in "the shed", wreaking havoc on my dad's welding supplies, grease guns, and plywood.  It brought about a confusing time for me, because I abhored housework (woman's work), but was discouraged from yardwork (man's work).  Should I not be able to choose?  It is no wonder that later on when I was searching for a "rewarding" career, the same man told me "the only reward you need to concern yourself with is a paycheck. You can't just sit around enjoying yourself for 8 hours a day.  It isn't American."  The few times I was allowed to ride on the mower, it was always with the blade up...thereby kicking off a life of spinning my wheels.

Fast forward 15 years.  My exhusband and I lived in a quaint little house with a quaint little yard.  Finally, a yard of my own!  I purchased a 'power mower' and set about creating a lush lawn that would have made some sort of lawn publication had it not been located in Berclair.  My ex preferred to sit inside and smoke pot all day, so all yard duties fell upon me and I loved it.  I planted flowers, bushes, and herbs.  I mowed the grass every week.  I purchased more outdoor power equipment.   Mowing patterns were tested, patchy areas were seeded and pests were exterminated.  I had gloves.  After a few years of this bliss, ex and I decided to upgrade to nearly an acre of land out in the country. 

The whole marriage thing died before the next Spring.  The previous homeowners had taken very good care of the lawn in my new house and I was determined to keep it up.  I was a little nervous about trying to tackle all that grass with my power PUSH mower; but figured I was a strong and independent woman...so off I went.  And after two passes, I power pushed that mower right back into the garage and power called my dad.  Shortly thereafter, he arrived with his big person's mower and made quick work of the yard.  Quick MAN'S work.  The irony didn't escape me.  As I stood in the kitchen, admiring my dishes, my dad was passing back and forth, doing his man's work.  I died a little with each pass. 

A couple of years have passed and now I, once again, own a quaint little house with a quaint little yard.  I still have that 'power mower', though I have since lost most of my outdoor power equipment to and due to several MEN.  Last year, I hired someone to cut my grass as I didn't have time (I was busy not enjoying myself for a paycheck...thanks dad).  This year, because I am currently unemployed, I can't afford that luxury; therefore, my first order of business upon returning from my trip was to take care of the backyard. 

I borrowed a weed eater from my mom and stepdad, and of course, the rental agreement spelled out that I was to be supervised in the operation of this equipment (because I am 9 years old).  As I was trying to start said trimmer, I experienced some difficulty.  I choked it, half choked it, flooded it, primed it, and after several pointers from my non yardwork doing mother, and several tongue bites, I finally started it.  And promptly made her go inside.  It was great to be the one shooing someone off!  After murdering the weeds, I wheeled my mower out and gassed it up.  It started right off, and I went happily along, attacking clover mounds.  After about five minutes, my mower coughed and then passed out.  I couldn't restart it.  I turned it over and removed all the clogs from the blade and vent.  Nothing.  I checked the oil.  Full.  I checked the gas.  Full.  I kicked it.  I cussed it.  I smoked.  I may have even wept a little.  After sitting on the patio and giving the mower the stink eye for about ten minutes, I decided to give it one more try.  Walking up to it, I silently cussed it.  One yank on the cord and...cough cough cough...nothing.  I felt a searing heat come over me and thought about the $100 a month I was going to have to come up with to have yet another MAN take care of this problem for me.  It was then that I released the Kracken on that mofo.  And with a fury I never knew I was capable of, I yanked that cord almost clean out of the motor and cough cough cough...IT STARTED!  

I love Spring.  Things that have been dead or thought dead, magically spring back to life.  Brown becoming green.  Cold turning warm.  I have been trapped indoors with indoor activities (frantically searching for a job, sending out resumes, going over my budget with a fine toothed comb, etc) for far too long now.  And the thing that I am most looking forward to is hanging out with my recuperating dad.  Going to pick him up, bringing him back here for a nice lunch on the patio, and then shooing him inside whilst I set about my woman's work.