Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Advice King This Week



How Can I Figure Out What to Do with My Life?


Dear Advice King,
I'm almost done with college, and I still have no idea what to do with my life. It seems like all of my peers already have everything figured out; I feel as though I've "missed the boat" in some way. The problem is, everything interests me, so it's hard to imagine myself doing only one thing. How can I choose an area in which to start a career? At what age do I become a loser if I haven't decided yet?
- Lifelong Learner

Dear Learner,

Allow me to preface this by saying that you are never too old to learn something new, take a different direction or start a fresh career. The idea that you must go to college immediately after high school, finish in four years or less and suddenly have your life totally mapped out is kind of a crock to me.

If you’re one of the lucky few who can pull it off then I give you “mad props,” as I think the kids say these days. For the rest of us, it’s just not that simple.

It sounds as though some people view your uncertainty is as a weakness, and you’ve allowed others’ opinions about what you should do with your life shame you into doubting yourself.

News flash: The judgments of others are short-sighted because no one will ever have more information about your strengths, passions, plans and dreams than you do.

It’s natural to care what your family and friends think, but remember that the ultimate voice that matters is your own.

Rather than comparing your educational and career paths with those of your peers and worrying that you are behind, rejoice in your love of seeking knowledge, as it sets you apart from the majority — which consists largely of complacent people who are settling for lowest-common-denominator existences.

Plus, you should be proud; it takes a lot of courage to be true to yourself when it would be much easier to fulfill the status quo.

Accepting that a clear direction hasn’t yet shown itself and disengaging from any rhetoric suggesting that something is wrong with you is essential to setting yourself free from the chains of other people’s expectations.

Having said all of that, it’s important to balance your ambitions with a sense of reality. Obviously, you need money to eat, pay rent and do anything else that your life might necessitate. So, get a job that pays the bills and realize that it’s just a stepping stone to bigger and better things.

Becoming a loser shouldn’t be a worry of yours. A loser has no direction, and more importantly, no desire to find one.

That clearly doesn’t describe you. Whatever age you are when it happens, when you find what you are most passionate about, you’ll know. It will feel as natural as breathing.



Send Jess your questions on Twitter @advicefromjess or by e-mail to advicefromjess@ocolly.com

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Tuesday, October 20, 2009

URGENTLY HILARIOUS UPDATE

If you haven't read "Is That Really a Thing?!" from last week, I urge you to do so.

My little article about Mantyhose (yes, panythose for men) was apparently so controversial that it garnered responses from several people, including a couple of guys who actually wear Mantyhose, a woman who didn't like my "characterization of women," and Steve Newman, the marketing director of ActivSkin (who, apparently, sells Mantyhose).


I'm not sure if part of Mr. Newman's job description is to sit at his desk and Google to see who's talking about the latest trends in gentlemen's hosiery... sorry, one moment... I still can't keep a straight face when I put those words together... ahem! My point is, how did he find little ol' me?!

It's always great to hear feedback from readers, especially if it's from a vastly different perspective than my own. However, on this particular topic, I found Mr. Newman's post kind of funny at first... I was wondering if THAT was really a thing!

After talking with Steve, pictured right, he actually doesn't seem crazy. And truthfully, he is so passionate about his product (really, he is - I am not making that up) that you sort of can't help but be endeared to him. Thus, I'm going to be "doin' me some research," and I will write a follow-up piece to explain what I've learned. 

So, be sure to tune in for a Mantyhose update!
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Is That Really a Thing?!

Get Your Own, Rover!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it - I'm a day late posting this week's ITRAT. I've recently taken on three extra writing projects, so it's been very hectic around here. One of those projects is a blog, called "Unsolicited Advice," for the Oklahoma State Daily O'Collegian. It's a spinoff of my Advice King bi-weekly column and will have some of the matierial from this blog syndicated, but there will be a lot of different content, as well. If you're interested, you can check it out at http://advicefromjess.wordpress.com/.

Okay. So. This business of this week's ITRAT. I have to admit, although I think the topic I'm discussing today is abysmally ridiculous, it did also kind of make me go, "Awwww, isn't that cute!"

Anyway, here it is.





Finally, the brilliant minds who brought us the Snuggie have outdone themselves by extending the line of wearable blankets to dogs. Now you can buy your dog one of his very own - now maybe he'll quit stealing yours!

Thank goodness we have marketers out there who are thinking beyond the obvious and providing solutions to our most critical issues! For example:

If you're cold...

Obvious solution: ...get a blanket.

Beyond the obvious solution: ...wear your blanket like a bathrobe turned backward! Never again shall you have the arduous task of holding your blanket while you lie around doing absolutely nothing; behold, the Snuggie!

If your pet is cold...

Obvious solution: ...buy him a little pet sweater. It's not like dogs have some protective layer of fur or something to help them achieve homeostasis in hot or cold environments... Wait. Crap. Yes they do.

Beyond the obvious solution: ...buy him a Snuggie! If you're the type of owner who loves your pet like family, and to whom doggie sweaters simply weren't pointless enough, then this Snuggie is for you!

Sidebar: Am I the only person who clearly sees that the Snuggie for pets works exactly like a pet sweater?! The mechanics are identical! I'm just sayin'.

Yes, it appears that the cumbersome process of covering ourselves with a blanket has finally been streamlined! Think of all of the ways you will save yourself time and precious energy, which can then be channeled into such activities as raising your toothbrush to your automatic toothpaste dispenser!

I'm obviously joking with my faux-endorsement of this product; however, the video ad above is serious, despite its appearance otherwise. I seriously thought this was a skit on Saturday Night Live the first time I saw this.

Wow, with all of the advances in pet technology (the Snuggie, the Poo Trap), pretty soon we won't need to walk, feed, bathe, play with, or even acknowledge our dogs - there will be new inventions, each more clever than the last, that will take the work out of owning pets.

You know, or, you could just, I dunno, not have a pet?



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Monday, October 12, 2009

Is That Really a Thing?!


If Thinking Men Should Definitely Wear Pantyhose Is Cool, Consider Me Miles Davis


This week's "Is That Really a Thing?!" doesn't really need a witty introduction. Let's just cut to the chase, shall we?

Mantyhose.

Yes, that's right.
Mantyhose.

Pantyhose for men, which have been popularized in Europe for some time now, have officially traveled across the pond. Looking at the picture to the left, we can tell that this is not just a really muscular woman. As the psychiatrist said to the naked, male patient, "I can clearly see you're (your) nuts."

I have never actually seen a man wearing these - ahem - mantyhose (it'll be awhile before I'm fully comfortable saying that word), although, that could be largely in part because I live in Oklahoma: Land of the "What in Tarnation?!"

When I was doing my research for this week's ITRAT, I stumbled across this little jewel on a website called "Best of Stupid," which is a blog about, well, stupid stuff. I thought it was a joke. This looks like something you would see on Saturday Night Live; it's right up there with Oops, I Crapped My Pants! and Colon Blow Cereal. I had to find out if this is really a thing.

Enter my new favorite website, E-Mancipate. This site sets out to raise awareness and acceptance of pantyhose as a men's fasion item. The picture to the right is only one of many that made me laugh, out loud, while writing this. I'm not judging these guys, I've just never seen anything like it before. The enjoyment I have gotten out of this topic is rivaled only by the first time I ever saw a drag queen show. (By the way, if you've never seen a drag queen show, you should do so; those ladies straight up know how to entertain!)

What I find incredibly ironic about this whole "e-mancipation" theme is that emancipation is a word that is characterized by the process of becoming free of something. For example, teens who are emancipated from their parents become their own entity, no longer under their parents' control.

So, when you mantyhose-wearing men were trying to figure out how to set yourselves free from the unjust and extreme oppression that has held you back for far too long, didn't you do any research? Don't you know that pantyhose are garments from which women have long been trying to emancipate themselves?

Newsflash: Wearing pantyhose does not emancipate anyone from anything, by any stretch of the imagination. They are tight, binding, uncomfortable, and they don't allow the uh, "situation" down there any breathing room. Why would any guy want to subject his poor, defenseless package to such extreme conditions? And in the name of fashion? Really? Really?!

I think I can speak on behalf of most women when I say this: Guys, if you want 'em, you can have 'em. We will totally trade you. In fact, why don't you just take over shaving your legs and waxing your you-know-whattie as well? If it means that I never have to wear pantyhose again, you can consider me a "Mantyhose Ambassador."





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Wednesday, October 7, 2009

How to Give a Speech without Wetting Your Pants!


Advice King in today's OSU O'Colly (reprinted from website; original article here)


Dear Advice King,


I hate public speaking. I’m not good at it and simply don’t enjoy it. I have to give a speech for one of my classes, and I’m freaking out. How can I stop my armpits from sweating and my voice from cracking so I can give the best presentation possible?— Sweaty speech-giver




Dear Sweaty,

Step number one: Breathe with me. In, two, three… out, two, three. Repeat a few times, using slow, expansive, deep breaths. No, we aren’t meditating; we are trying to trick the hypothalamus into calming the nervous system’s “fight or flight” response to stress.

What you call “freaking out” is actually a physiological reaction to any stimulation — internal or external — that we perceive as threatening.

The best way to combat this phenomenon is by changing your circumstances, which usually involves exiting the situation and finding a new environment. However, since this speech is a requirement in your class, you’ll need to rely on changing your attitude toward the circumstances by actively and consciously choosing a different thought.

Example: Instead of thinking, “I can’t do this, these people think I’m an idiot,” decide instead that, “Everyone totally understands how nerve-racking public speaking is, so we share a bond. This really isn’t a big deal.”

When you feel your heart start racing and the adrenaline coursing through your veins, force yourself to breathe slowly and deeply — in through the nose, out through pursed lips as if blowing out a candle — at least 10 times.

This breathing technique forces the heart rate to slow, which then allows you access to your rational mind that you initially bypass by the “fight or flight” response.

Importantly, remember this: you can’t just ignore your nervousness and put it out of your mind, as this will actually cause you to fixate on it and make it worse.

Watch what happens when I say, “Whatever you do, do NOT think about nude beaches!”

What are you thinking about now? Probably a guy with an uncanny resemblance to Sasquatch, splashing around in his birthday suit.

You have to actively choose a better thought and focus on it.

If we break it down to its core as a scientific process and realize our fear and nervousness are simply chemical reactions, those feelings become less mysterious and intimidating.

There are plenty of other ways to improve your public speaking prowess.

Most importantly, know your subject matter inside and out. Befriend your topic; really get to know it. The closer you two become, the more likely your topic will be to comfort, support and encourage you when you’re a friend in need — i.e., when you’ve forgotten what to say.

Also, obviously, but I’ll say it anyway, be likeable. If you really aren’t a friendly or approachable person by nature, fake it.

Smile at your audience and engage them by using eye contact. You’d be amazed at what you can get away with by wearing a big, genuine smile and adding in a small, believable amount of charm. But not too much — we aren’t selling used cars.

Realize that you might mess up or fumble some words. It happens to us all at some point.

The magic is in how you proceed after an embarrassing mishap. Don’t just stand there mumbling, “Um… uh…” Embrace it and use it as an opportunity to connect with your audience.

Laughing it off and saying something like, “Sorry folks, I’m not much of a public speaker, which is why I usually stick to [accounting, engineering, underwater basket weaving, etc.],” will instantly humanize you and might even get a few laughs.

Finally, practice. Practice doesn’t necessarily make you perfect, but it certainly enables you to be comfortable enough with the material to find your way back to your buddy, the topic, should you get lost along the way.
----

Send Jess your questions on Twitter @advicefromjess or by e-mail to jess.king@okstate.edu.



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Tuesday, October 6, 2009

The F Word (and Not the One You're Thinking!)

For those of you who don't know this, I write a bi-weekly advice column in the O'Colly, which is Oklahoma State University's newspaper. I try to read the paper most days, mainly to see what the other staffers in the Opinion/Editorial section are up to.

Yesterday, my editor, James Cooper, wrote a piece called, "UFC Makes Me a Man," that questions such things as the current validity of traditional ideas of masculinity, along with the appropriateness of the use of the word, "faggot." I was so galvanized by his article that I felt compelled to voice my own opinions about it.

So, let's first examine this question of what makes a man a "real" man - other than the glaringly obvious anatomical distinctions.

In my opinion, a real man is strong, humble, truthful, and courageous. Delving a bit further into these characteristics, as I define them for the purposes of this discussion, we see that by "strong," I mean able to handle his life and all of the business that makes it run smoothly, able to stand on his own without the need of approval from others, and capable of showing compassion and generosity without fear that he will be perceived as "womanly."

When I say "humble," I speak of a quality characterized by the realization that you are not the only person on Earth. To me, "humble" means that you respect others, you respect yourself, and you try to do the right things. You understand that the world is a big place, and you are part of the big picture; therefore, your needs can't always come before everyone else's (although sometimes, they can and should).

"Truthful" is pretty self-explanatory. A real man tells the truth. We are all guilty of telling "little white lies" here and there, but the essence of being truthful is this: You decide who you are by being completely honest with yourself about your needs, motives, and traits, you be who you are no matter who is around, and you do these things even at the risk of making someone uncomfortable.

"Courageous" goes hand-in-hand with "truthful." A real man has enough courage to be true to himself, without regard for the attempts of others to shame him. I felt that James's column was truly courageous, because he makes no apologies for who he is (a young, gay man) even though he is acutely aware of the prejudices that are held by many around him.

Did you notice anything about the attributes of a "real" man that I have described? If you were paying attention, you probably noticed that each of those characteristics are applicable to women, also. There is a reason for that: Masculinity and femininity are both subjective and relative to a person's own experiences, attitudes, and perceptions; they aren't measurable items that correspond to predetermined standards.

For example, my husband is a stay-at-home dad. Since raising children and taking care of a home are part of the gender role that has traditionally been assigned to women, some people might view this arrangement as immasculating. However, the devotion Wes has to our daughter and the patience, compassion, and skill with which he handles her every single day serve to remind me regularly what a wonderful man (a "real" one!) he is. I would argue that his job is far more important than mine, even though mine garners a paycheck.

I know plenty of women who are really into sports. Does that make them less womanly? What about if a woman doesn't wear makeup? What if she hates cooking, asks for a promotion, or aggressively closes the sale?

Now let's talk about this "faggot" business. I actually got a little uncomfortable just now when I typed that word; that's how much I loathe it. In fact I think from here on out, I'm just going to refer to it as "the word." With a long history as a slur intended to direct hatred and disgust toward homosexuals, this one ranks right up there with the N-word (which, similarly, channels hatred toward a very specific group of people) in my mind. The word makes me cringe, no matter in what context it is used.

Whether a person is gay, straight, or undecided is of no consequence when I hear the word come out of his/her mouth. Seriously, playfully, hatefully, or otherwise, it is so loaded with hate and charged with negative energy that I just can't abide it. Another one I find extremely offensive: "Fag Hag." This one is used to describe close women-friends of gay men.

What if someone called your mother or father the word? What if it was your child? Best friend? Regardless of your views about homosexuality, surely you wouldn't tolerate this kind of treatment of your loved ones. As James so poignantly pointed out in his piece, even though many people ground their opposition to homosexuality in the Bible, it's difficult to believe that Jesus would ride around in his truck screaming, "Faggot!" to anyone he considered too effeminate. Spot-on, James. Couldn't have said it better myself.

It is a free country, and we do have an amendment that protects people's rights to say this word or any other of their choosing. However, I have the right to say that I don't like it. And that, folks, is the beauty of America.




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Monday, October 5, 2009

Is That Really a Thing?!

How Brushing Your Teeth Can Make You Fat

Thank goodness for the advances in technology that make our lives easier and more manageable!

Where would we be without such creations as cell phones, personal computers, and automatic transmission? And what if no one had ever developed a motor for lawn mowers? I don't even want to think about a world without washers, dryers, and microwaves.

Recently, a new invention has been introduced that is sure to revolutionize personal hygiene as we know it. I have three words for you: Touch. And. Brush.

The Touch 'N Brush is a plastic apparatus that is mounted on your bathroom mirror with two suction cups. A tube of toothpaste is placed inside two plastic clamps, which are then covered with a white plastic shell. Once it's assembled, the magic begins.

Here's how you use this device:
1. Hold your toothbrush under the dispenser opening
2. Apply gentle pressure, which will release the perfect amount of toothpaste onto your toothbrush.
3. Brush your teeth with amazement.

How did I ever get through my morning and evening routines without this? I mean, this thing saves me at least three seconds. It might not sound like much, but that adds up to 36 1/2 minutes per year!

Okay, reality check. Seriously guys? An automatic toothbrush dispenser? In the words of Ron Burgundy, "That's actually amazing. I'm not even mad." Since when were opening a tube of toothpaste and squeezing some out on a toothbrush considered so cumbersome that the ritual necessitated the invention of something to streamline the process? Brushing your teeth is already a streamlined process... I mean, you open the cap, squeeze some out, and off you go, right? Right?

If you want to know why obesity has reached, according to the World Health Organization, "epidemic proportions," let inventions like this serve as a cautionary tale for how lazy we are actually becoming. I know you don't burn calories squeezing out toothpaste the old-fashioned way, but that's not the point. The underlying issue is that people are so activity-averse now that even opening a toothpaste cap is just, well, too much.

What's next, an invention that wipes behinds? Sure, I'm kidding, but I'd put money on the chance that someone was once kidding when they said, "What's next, an automatic toothpaste dispenser? Pshhh, that'll never happen. Surely people aren't that lazy."



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Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Marching Band. Yeah. Marching Band.

My husband Wesley and I were both in marching band in high school; he played the trumpet, and I was on drumline. For us, band was the only thing that existed. Okay, maybe not the only thing, but certainly the main thing. Probably the first thought that pops into your head as you read this is, "This one time, at band camp..." We are all accutely aware of the stereotypes that go along with being in band. Enough, I get it, we're dorks. Got the memo.

What people don't realize sometimes is that band, to the people that are in it, is kind of like a fraternity. You see your bandmates more than your friends or family, and you tend to gravitate toward making most of your friends in band because, frankly, that's the only way you'll have time to have friends at all. It should also be noted that there is intense emotional bonding in marching band. Although many people view the band as a not-so-noteworthy accessory to the football team, there actually is a huge subculture in which people make large sums of money writing music, show concepts, drill (where you march on the field), and the like. Contests are taken very seriously; the intensity of the competitive environment surrounding marching band might be surprising to an outsider.

Why is it such a big deal? Because when you spend five to eight exhausting hours a day developing your talent, with the same group of people, working toward the same goal, you become emotionally invested. It can't be helped - the rehearsal schedule and demands tend to force out the ones who really don't want to be there.

Many people in America love to watch Sunday football. Or is it Saturday football? Wait, wasn't there a Monday night football at one point? I don't know; the point is, I don't get all you sports fans. I don't find watching sports any more entertaining than I would find watching people work out in a gym. It's really hard for me to understand and empathize with people who are genuinely upset over "their" team's loss; I'm not trying to say that their feelings are invalid, I just truly cannot relate (probably the same way most of you would not be able to grasp why someone would pay ten dollars to watch a marching band contest).

This makes me the odd person out most of the time - especially at work, where every single one of my colleagues is a football fanatic. In fact, I have one co-worker who actually buys a new outfit in her team's colors every week in honor of the game - whether she is physically at the game or watching it at home! To be fair, it is the team where she went to college, but come on... really?

August through December are usually very lonely months for me at work because I can't really participate in sports discussions. Occasionally, someone will pop over and ask if I'm going to watch the game this weekend, to which I usually respond, "No. In fact, I don't think it would be physically possible for me to care about football or any sport less than I do at this very moment." Am I taking crazy pills here? Surely I'm not the only one in America who feels this way. I'm sure my attitude about the whole thing is quite offputting, but LBH (let's be honest) - would any of you want to stand around and talk about the drum break before the closing number or so-and-so's new uniforms? Probably not.

Perhaps my aversion to football and sports as a whole is based on how athletically deficient I've always been; I wanted to play sports as a child, but not only did I not (and still do not) understand all of the rules for how the games are played, I felt extremely awkward running or doing any physical activity in front of other people (PE was a nightmare).

This may be why I always gravitated more toward the arts - music in particular. You sports people have football season, we band dorks have marching season. You watch games, we watch shows. You have fantasy football, we have... well, there isn't such a thing as fantasy band, but you get the idea.

Going to marching band contests is quite nostalgic for Wesley and me; we met through band when we were juniors in high school. For us and most other former marching band/drum corps participants, keeping up with our favorite schools' bands keeps us connected with something that helped shape us into who we are. It's not just the performance aspect, it's also the lasting friendships we found, the senses of humor we cultivated, the leadership skills we developed, and the culture and community bonds we created.

Basically, if loving marching band is wrong, then I just don't want to be right.






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Monday, September 28, 2009

Is That Really a Thing?!

Death by Caffeine

Like most Americans, I'm not really what you would call a "morning person." I get up early every day, and every day I think the same thing: "No. Please, just... no." For most of us, coffee (or caffeine in some form) is a way to at least appear to be alive and functioning in our roles as productive members of society. Consumption of caffeine ranges from the occasional coffee drinker to the four-pots-a-day caffaholic. I think I'm probably somewhere in the middle. I wouldn't say that I'm a "Do not even look at me until I have had my coffee!" person, but I've definitely reached the level of, "Things might go a lot more smoothly if we have this meeting after my first cup of Joe."

Perhaps I live under a rock with my coffee maker and arsenal of diet soda, because I only found out this morning that caffeine can cause intoxication, psychiatric disorders, and actually kill you. Yes, that's right... KILL YOU. When I read about caffeine-induced organic mental disorder on drowning.com, I thought it was a joke. But as I read and realized that they weren't kidding, I thought, "Wait... Is that really a thing?!"

Trying to corroborate the validity of the suggestion that caffeine is treacherous, I did what any normal person does: I Google'd. It turns out that there are countless websites, blogs, articles, and the like that explain the risks associated with caffeine use. There are actually diagnoses for caffeine-related intoxication, anxiety, sleep disorder, and many more. And, if a person drinks more than his or her body can handle, the person can have a fatal caffeine overdose. There are actually documented cases of deaths that happened this way!

I don't mean to sound insensitive or disrespectful, but I have to wonder... Weren't there any signs before it reached that point that maybe you had one too many double-espresso lattes? I know that for me, drinking even half of one popular energy drink (whose ads boast of making people fly) sends me into a jittery tailspin of fidgeting and using too many words in my sentences. I interpret that reaction as a sign that I shouldn't have anymore caffeine for awhile. Am I just taking crazy pills here, or don't most people have small-scale reactions like this before it reaches truly damaging heights?

The blame for most caffeine-induced hysteria is aimed at energy drinks. One article on Inventor Spot even states that some energy drinks contain the same amount of caffeine as fourteen cans of cola. I don't think that is necessarily brand new information to most people; the fact that it's called an "energy drink" pretty much indicates its purpose. Moreover, if you are drinking something that has a name sounding anything like, "Extreme Hard-Core Brain Damage Energy Fun," "You Really Can't Handle This, You Big Pansy," or "If You Ever Need to Run 57 Miles, This Is the Drink for You," that's probably a good indicator that there's some type of stimulant in it and you might want to, I don't know, monitor how much you're drinking?

Granted, I have to make the statement that in some cases, a person's caffeine threshold may be unusually low or perhaps the caffeine interacts with some other existing condition to cause caffeine-related disorders. I know there are outliers. But, for the rest of us, can we please just watch it a little, please? If people abuse caffeine, sooner or later it will be illegal to drive with an open container of coffee; and if you think caffeine-induced anxiety is a big deal, just wait until you see the effects of caffeine deprivation-induced road rage.



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Wednesday, September 23, 2009

My Fiancee Is Empathetically Challenged


Advice King in the OSU O'Colly (reprinted from O'Colly website)

Dear Advice King,

I am living with my fiancée, to whom I’m engaged to be married next spring. She is a hairstylist who entered her profession right out of high school, whereas I am almost finished with my degree. As a senior getting ready to graduate, I am often stressed out about classes, projects and exams. My fiancée can’t relate to this and tells me I am “just overreacting.” How can I make her understand the challenges that college presents?
- Harried Hubby-to-Be

Dear Hubby,

For some people – commonly referred to as “hard-headed” – true knowledge can only be obtained through experience. Your fiancée hasn’t experienced college, and it sounds like that has prevented her from relating to your stress about the demands placed on you as a student.

Although you can’t fault her for her absence of experiential information, there’s actually a larger issue at play. Can you guess what it is?

Empathy is defined by Encarta Dictionary as, “the ability to identify with and understand somebody else’s feelings or difficulties.”

From your fiancée’s get-over-it-and-stop-whining attitude, it appears as though her empathy chip went missing when she came out of the factory.

It might not seem like a hugely important issue on the surface, but it does warrant some examination. Is it a deal-breaker? Probably not. Is it a red flag? You betcha’.

The real question here is this: Is your fiancée able and willing to take your difficulties seriously, whether they are real or imagined? Is she prepared to get on your team and support your feelings, even if she doesn’t think you should feel that way?

Reminder: She’s your fiancée. That means that you will be married with the implicit expectancy of staying that way forever.

I’d venture a guess that this isn’t an isolated incident; chronic dismissers of others’ feelings – or, “the empathetically challenged,” as I like to call them – can rarely just decide one day to start empathizing and then execute that decision immediately.

Don’t be fooled into thinking that once you graduate, this problem will disappear. This trait is highly likely to surface regularly as variations on the same thing. A close friend of mine is married to an empathy-deficient man, and they’ve been having different versions of the same fight for seven years.

As my friend and her husband have successfully worked on their marriage, so it will take effort from each of you: time, patience and honesty from you, and willingness, compassion and understanding from her. If you cannot give each other those things, you shouldn’t be together in the first place.

----

Send Jess your question on twitter @advicefromjess or e-mail jess.king@okstate.edu.




Sunday, September 20, 2009

Is That Really a Thing?!

For my very first "Is That Really a Thing?!" weekly segment, I wanted to to really start off with a bang. If you don't appreciate third-grade level humor, you might want to stop reading right now.

This is a product I just discovered via the magical portal known as the internet. It appears that "they" really have thought of everything, up to and including - yes, this is for real - flatulence absorbing pads. They are small pads of activated carbon, covered with soft fabric, that adhere to the inside of your undies. Where do I even begin?!

Let's start with the product name: Subtle Butt. I assume this is intended as a play on the word "scuttlebutt," but I really don't get it. I think that with a product like this, they should have gone all out with a giggle-inspiring name that simultaneously acknowledges the awkwardness and usefulness of the pads. I'm thinking of something like, "Toot Terminator," "Fart Annihilator," or perhaps something more catchy, yet subtle, such as, "Bombs Away."

Also, I'd really like to know who is actually purchasing this product. I have never seen it in stores and I don't know of one single person who would ever admit to using these Toot-sies. Would it be acceptable to give them as a gift to someone? What would you do if your mom included this as one of your stocking stuffers?

I would love to have been a fly on the wall at this product's first development meeting.

Person 1: "Okay guys, it's time to roll out a new product. Let's put our brains together... what is a need that our customers have that hasn't been addressed?"
Person 2: "What is that smell? Did someone have boiled eggs for breakfast?"
Persons 3, 4, and 5: "Awww man!" "That is wrong!" "You should have left the room!"
Person 1: "Oh my gosh. Oh. My. Gosh. This is it! This will be my masterpiece... I've got it! We shall create... a flatulence-absorbing pad. We really can change the world!"

It probably went nothing like that, but I just can't imagine being the guy who invented the Fart Pad. What would you even say? It could even result in a nickname that sticks until death. To preserve the integrity of this segment, I won't go into names that I would call someone who invented this product, but you get the idea.

So, is the Subtle Butt Flatulence-Absorbing Pad really a thing?

Amazingly, yes.


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Friday, September 18, 2009

Feeding His Brain... Literally

One night last week, I was a couple of hours later than usual arriving home from work due to a meeting across town. It was at a restaurant, so I went ahead and ate there before I went home (what was I supposed to do, say "No" to pizza? Right...). When I finally did get home, I found that Wes had been waiting on me to eat dinner. Since he only had himself to worry about at that point, he decided to play around and cook something, "just to see if he could."

As he took his first few bites of the chicken and potato concoction he so adventurously created, he became shocked as he realized what had happened. "Oh my gosh... This tastes REALLY GOOD! I did it! I cooked something!"

For Wesley as a brain-injured person, this was a huge accomplishment. One of the most difficult challenges faced by many brain patients is the loss of their ability to complete process-oriented tasks. For example, when Wes was still in rehab during the early stages of his recovery, the instructions by his physical therapist to, "pick the book up off of the table, walk to the other table, and lay the book down," were pretty much just not gonna happen. The fact that he has evolved so far in his recovery that he can actually follow through with preparing the food, deciding which pan and method of cooking it to use, seasoning it, keeping track of how long it has been cooking, and stop cooking it when it is ready to eat is enough to bring a tear to my eye.

The outcome of Wes's initial experiment was his new passion for cooking. The next day, while I was at work, Wes had his mother take him to the store to buy ingredients for a recipe he had picked out. When I arrived home that evening, I opened the door to the smell of masala and fresh cilantro. Wesley was making Indian food - my favorite! When I looked at the recipe he was attempting, I was amazed by its length, involvement, and intricacy. That recipe had more ingredients than I've used in probably, oh I don't know, three years? He was visibly proud of himself, and with good reason. One year ago, he wouldn't have been able to even read a recipe, let alone know what the ingredients were and find them in a store.

When dinner was ready, he apprehensively brought me a plate with Eggplant Masala on it. "I hope you like it," he said.

I took the first bite and I. Was. Blown. Away. It was so incredibly flavorful and delicious, and my heart swelled with so much pride for how hard he had worked, that I nearly cried right there. I told him how much I loved it so many times and with such intensity that I'm sure he thought I was faking it after awhile; but, I was serious. It tasted like something I would have ordered at a restaurant.

The next night, Wes dared to make a complicated turkey burger recipe with even more ingredients than the night before. Once again, delicious. The night after that, chicken and potatoes with a special creamy masala sauce. I know it seems like we've been eating a lot of masala lately, but um, have you ever had it? It's kind of a big deal.

Each night for the last week, Wesley has made something out of the Indian food cookbook that my mother gave me for Christmas; and each night, I have been impressed again and again at Wes's accomplishments.

You see, this type of activity is EXTREMELY theraputic for a brain patient. In fact, at rehab they had a weekly program where they would pick a meal, shop for the ingredients, and prepare the meal with the therapists. And now he can do it all by himself. What's even more significant about this is that Wesley took the initiative and did this all on his own - no one taught him how, no one told him he should do it. Cooking forces you to think constantly and monitor changing and sometimes potentially dangerous conditions (usually, brain-injured individuals and ovens/stoves aren't a good combination); the analyzation and process-oriented thinking required exercise the left brain. Conversely, the creative outlet and possibilities for alterations in the recipe typically enhance and nourish the right brain.

Do you have any idea how important this is for Wesley? It is really satisfying to watch him continue to defy the doctors who said he probably wouldn't be functional again or the therapists who told him that if you haven't recovered fully after a year, you never will (yes, someone actually said that to him). Not every brain patient is as successful as Wes, though. It is sheer determination and the refusal to accept the dire prognoses given to him that has motivated Wesley to work at his recovery. And trust me, he has worked his ass off.

I am so, so proud of this man that it is almost painful.




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Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Kanye Pest

Surely, by now, you've all heard about the latest antics of artist and producer Kanye West. For those of you who live under a rock (which you'd have to do in order to have not heard about this, because it is like, the ONLY THING being reported), here's a recap: At the MTV Video Music Awards, country artist Taylor Swift won the award for Best Female Video. An emboldened (and according to rumors, drunk) Kanye stormed the stage, swiped the microphone from Swift, and proceeded to go on a tirade about how much better Beyonce's video was, citing on his blog later that he's "...not crazy, ya'll. I'm just real..." (according to ABC News's website) Oh, you're real alright - real annoying, real delusional, real self-righteous, and probably a littany of other adjectives.

 I'm sure Beyonce was just thrilled... because Kanye's endorsement is definitely something to which every person on Earth aspires (at least, that's how he sees it), and now her name will be connected to his for awhile - what a lucky girl! [Note: Okay, let's just get this out of the way. Beyonce hasn't done anything wrong, she's obviously talented, and she actually seems really nice... but I am sick of her too. Ever heard of overexposure? Market saturation, anyone?]

What is most shocking to me about this situation is how shocked everyone seems to be. Are you kidding me, media? It is not shocking at all; that's like saying it's shocking that Clay Aiken came out of the closet (and I know people who actually said that).

What about at the VMA's in 2007 when he trash-talked Britney Spears, then raised the bar for being classy even further by exploding backstage in a fury of I'm-Awesome-and-You-Are-Just-Trying-to-Keep-Me-Down-ness? Because you didn't win an MTV award? Newsflash: No one over the age of 16 gives a frick about MTV music awards. They barely even qualify as a music channel now; lest we forget that every time most of us flip to that channel some show is on about douchbags and their idiot girlfriends who whine, "If he doesn't change this time, I am done!" But, I digress.

Ah, yes, and who could forget the crown jewel of Kanye's logical PR moves? Hurricane Katrina, anyone? I was watching live when West said that President Bush "does not care about black people" while covering the incident with Mike Myers, who mirrored on his face what pretty much everyone in America was thinking: "Did that just happen? I am sooooo awkward right now..."

Sadly, until the media stops paying attention to his antics, he's not likely to shut up anytime soon. Whether we love him, hate him, or both (I can't stand him, but Late Registration is one of my favorite CD's), we're all talking about him, which is exactly why he does this crap to begin with (although, I'm still not sure about the reason for that mullet-mohawk weirdness that he was trying to pull off last year).

Kanye, you're a brat. No one thinks you're funny, and you have trampled all over the last nerves of millions of people. Finally, although you are arguably very talented, no level of ridiculosity (is that a word?) in your haircut or so-called "outfits" is going to make us overlook the fact that you are a big, fat, whiny baby.


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Monday, September 14, 2009

True Blood Finale a True Dud

Like pretty much every person I know, I waited with night-before-Christmas excitement - for what seemed like an eternity - to watch the True Blood finale on HBO.

I have to say, I was a bit disappointed for a few reasons. Most of all, the cheesy dialogue was so awkward that it actually made me a little uncomfortable and embarrassed for the characters. I guess a certain amount of "cheese" has to be written in when you're doing a storyline about imaginary creatures who sacrifice shape-shifters in preparation for the arrival of a deity with the head of a bull; but I truly felt like they could have done better (it's HB flippin' O, for crying out loud).

And, ah yes. That storyline. I've wondered for a long time how they were going to make this ending work... all season long, we've been convinced that Maryann couldn't be killed. Nobody could figure out how to get rid of her, or how Sam was going to escape death (although I think most of us kind of knew he would somehow pull through). We thought it was all over for Sam when Eggs (really? Eggs? That's your name?) stabbed him in the heart - but, shortly thereafter, Sam shape-shifted into a white bull, outsmarting Maryann into believing that he was the god she kept calling "my husband." That whole husband/wedding/Sookie being the bridesmaid thing creeped me out too, but that's another blog entirely. Sam was able to kill Maryann by jousting his horn right through her... a fulfilling and victorious kill by all means, but come on.

"You mean, all we had to do this entire time was cut out her heart?"

Lame.

And, can we just talk about Bill for a minute? Please tell me I am not the only one who has noticed the evolution of this character. When True Blood began, Bill was the mysterious bad boy who drew Sookie in with his Southern Charm and cool demeanor. He almost seemed like the James Dean of vampires, which is what made me keep watching True Blood, despite the fact that it's about vampires and I'm usually not into that kind of thing. But something strange has happened to Bill... he's become so cliche, like something out of a demonic B-movie. His contrived intensity and the unnatural feel his Southern accent has taken has really turned him more into the Rev. Jesse Jackson of vampires. No, worse... he's the Darrell Hammond parody of Jesse Jackson. Does anyone else see this? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills here!

I am interested to see what comes of the new storylines that were introduced: Sam searching for his biological parents, Jason shooting Eggs in the head and then running off into the night, that alcoholic cop who sounds like Billy Bob Thornton in Sling Blade covering for Jason, and who could overlook the obvious cliffhanger, did Eric kill Bill? Unfortunately, I think the direction of this show next season will be one that involves more episodes with Evan Rachel Wood as the vampire queen. Loved her in Thirteen - but come on, Evan Rachel! Could you BE anymore junior-high-drama-production-of-Hamlet?

So, to summarize, I spent most of the show laughing with Wes and trash-talking. It was so lame that I wonder if they should even bother next season.

But, I have to confess... I'm still going to watch it - every episode.

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Wednesday, September 9, 2009

It's Not Brain Surgery... Or Is It?

Did you know that every year in the United States, 1.4 million people sustain a traumatic brain injury (TBI)? Of those people, 50,000 die, 235,000 are hospitalized, and 1.1 million are treated and released from an emergency department. That's not even counting the folks who never seek treatment for TBI, usually because they don't realize they've had a serious injury (even Natasha Richardson thought she just had a headache, and there are countless cases like hers).

It should be noted that technically, traumatic brain injury is "a blow or jolt to the head or a penetrating head injury that disrupts the function of the brain" (this definition and previously mentioned statistics are all taken from the CDC website). However, many people in the community use the term loosely to also include stroke, anneurysm, and arteriovenous malformation (AVM) victims and survivors, although this portion of the brain-injured community is not included in the CDC's statistics on TBI. I will be using TBI as I've just described, loosely, because all survivors will be faced with similar obstacles - no matter how they arrived at that point.

Yes, it seems that the brain-injured community is much larger than most of us think. For me, it was a completely shocking revelation to see TBI's effect on my husband and all of the patients with whom he had rehab; my complete lack of awareness of this population and their challenges were embarrassing. For those of you who don't know, Wesley (my husband), was diagnosed with an AVM in June of 2008 and underwent two brain surgeries, which, initially, left him completely disabled.

Imagine feeling great today and waking up tomorrow unable to speak, walk, brush your teeth, feed yourself, or even use the bathroom. What would it be like to not even have a concept of what an alphabet or letters are, let alone recite them? Now, imagine that as the weeks go by, you begin to recover memories of your past. Eventually you realize that you were once a fully functioning adult with a rewarding life and loving family, and now you can't do any of the things you used to. You're completely dependent... and you know it. Can you see yourself here? This is what my husband, and millions of other survivors of TBI, experienced.

The heartbreak of watching people endure a terrible ordeal such as this literally causes me pain. I remember that when I used to pick Wes up from outpatient rehab in the afternoons, sometimes I'd have to go inside to sign a form, talk to a case manager, and the like; nine times out of ten, I left nearly in tears as I imagined what these other patients' stories might be. I constantly heard stories of the struggles patients had, both during rehab and after; one of the most recurring stories involved various patients being treated horribly by people outside their close-knit communities - the general public - because they were perceived as "slow" or "stupid" (their words, not mine). Why do we presume that a person has a "normal life" if their injuries or challenges are not immediately visible? I think that one way you can tell if you are treating people the way you should be is to imagine if you found out tomorrow that they'd had a stroke or other brain injury that left them unable to do or understand certain things. Would you feel guilty about something you said to or thought about them?

This discovery and acute awareness of the brain-injured community made me want to do something. Anything. I wanted to help; I just wasn't sure how to do it (after all, I was nine weeks pregnant when Wes went into the hospital, and suddenly thereafter I became our family's sole provider). Luckily, an opportunity has presented itself to Wes and me. The Oklahoma Chapter of the Brain Injury Association is relocating from Oklahoma City to Tulsa, and both of us were nominated to serve on the board. I'm so happy and proud to say, this morning I was notified that our nominations were accepted.

I feel like this is my chance to contribute; to help others the way Wesley and I were helped along the way by incredibly compassionate, wonderful, complete strangers. My goals for serving in this position are to raise awareness of this population of people and help the general public understand some of the challenges and hardships they face on a daily or even hourly basis. I'm so very excited to have this opportunity; it is one I won't take lightly. Needless to say, Wesley is thrilled, as well. He has a special ability to really connect with TBI patients and their families, helping them to cope with what has happened to them.

As Wes would say, "Be good to your brain."

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Should I Move to Be with Him?


Advice King in the OSU O'Colly (reprinted from O'Colly website)

Dear Advice King,
I’ve been dating a guy for three months now. He lives in Washington, D.C.; we met in January through mutual friends while he was in Tulsa (my hometown). At first, we talked on the phone all the time – just as friends – until I went to visit him. Ever since, we’ve been officially a couple and have been traveling back and forth every few weeks to see each other. I honestly believe that this guy is “the one,” and I want for us to be together. When is it too soon to move to another state to start a future with someone? How can we keep the connection when we are so far apart?

- Long-distance Lamenter

Dear Lamenter,

I once faced an eerily similar situation – but with different cities and the complexity of a commitment to the military (his, not mine). I was just as sure as you are about this guy, and, after knowing him for two months, I married him and moved away from everyone and everything I knew to be with him.

Not only did I resent him for my homesickness and lack of social connections, but a year and a half later, I finally discovered all of the cheating, lying and self-destructive behavior that had been going on behind my naïve, unquestioning little back since the moment we met, and I filed for divorce the very next business day.

I don’t presume to know that your guy is or is not a creep – or, “hiding his crazy,” as I like to call it – but you shouldn’t, either. Three months is hardly long enough to really know someone when you live down the street, let alone halfway across the country. You can be anyone you want when the main ties that bind are telephone lines.

If you really feel in your heart like this is something you should pursue, then you owe it to yourself to give it your best shot; but you must do it carefully, cautiously and wisely.

Give it a few more months in your current arrangement to allow time for some of both your inevitable dirty laundry to air itself. If you don’t run screaming for the hills, it might be time to examine what opportunities Washington, D.C., holds for you — other than just being this guy’s main squeeze.

It shouldn’t be about whether he would move for you; rather, it should be an issue of whether you would still move there if he didn’t exist.

Most, although not all, relationships cannot handle the pressure of one person being “the reason” for another’s relocation.

As for keeping the connection, my advice is to be open and painfully realistic about what you each expect from the relationship as far as exclusivity and what is regarded as inappropriate conduct. And remember, although he may be perfect for you, nobody is perfect!
-----
Send your questions to the Advice King on Twitter @advicefromjess or via email: jess.king@okstate.edu





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Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Let's Get Hammered!

I got completely hammered, nailed, and leveled this weekend.

As I'm sure you guessed, I'm talking about hanging pictures and the like on the wall (what were YOU thinking?). I guess I forgot the amount of engineering required to do something as simple as put a nail in a wall and hang a picture on it. It's just not that simple! And, if you live in an apartment like I do, there's added pressure to get it right the first time in order to avoid covering the wall in holes (which you will have to patch up later).

Personally, I don't really care about having things hanging on the wall. I'm hardly ever home, and when I am, all I am looking at is my beautiful baby girl and my wonderful husband; so the idea of buying picture frames just to put on the wall, and then finding all of the pictures necessary to fill those frames, is seriously more trouble than it's worth. But, it's important to Wes - apparently, it's troubling to him to spend all of his time at home staring at completely empty, white walls. So, I bit the bullet and put the crap up. The things we do for love.

Although I still have the stud-finder (which still makes me laugh every time I say it) and the laser level that I jacked from my parents about three years ago, I didn't figure out how to use them correctly until I had already broken off several drywall anchors in one wall and illustrated another with a barage of pencil marks. I was covered in white drywall powder and sweat, and I became so irritable that at one point I actually told Wes that if he whistled one more time I would beat his [hiny].

Eventually, I was able to finish the job that Wes has been after me to do for the entirety of the three and a half months that we've lived there; but if I see another hammer, screwdriver, or drywall anchor anytime in the foreseeable future, I'm going to vomit.

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Friday, September 4, 2009

Am(bien)nesia

Like most people, I lead a pretty busy life. I'm a full-time student, mother to a 7-month-old, wife to a brain injury patient, an intern at a media company, an advice columnist, a blogger, and I work full time. I'm definitely not complaining; I have many blessings in my life for which I give thanks every day, and I love being busy. I guess some people just work better under pressure. But, I digress.

Because of everything I have going on, my mind is constantly racing. Efficient? Yes. Annoying? Absolutely. I can't get to sleep, and when I do finally fall asleep, I usually wake up obnoxiously early. In fact, it is 6:00 a.m. and I have been in the office for an hour already. I talked to my therapist about this and she prescribed me Ambien CR about two months ago. It works wonders - definitely a quick fix for sleep deprivation - but at 27 years old, I find that when I take it, I need a babysitter.

You see, there's something about Ambien that makes my entire being scream, "I MUST EMBRACE TECHNOLOGY!" This irrational insistence usually manifests itself as long-winded, nonsensical Facebook posts on the walls of anyone unfortunate enough to show up in my news feed. I've also been known to write cryptic emails and send mysterious text messages, and occasionally have very long, important discussions with my husband. When I wake up the next day, I remember none of this. None. My latest Ambien-induced blunder was about three nights ago, when I was going about my bedtime routine. The events as reported to me by Wes go something like this: Ellie woke up extremely congested and wheezy (she has severe allergies and asthma-like symptoms which require breathing treatments and close monitoring). I thought she was so sick that we would have to take her to the doctor the next morning, which made me think I would be late for work. So, I did what any rational person would do: I sent an email from my BlackBerry to all of my co-workers, including my boss. Here is an exact copy of the email, cut and pasted (this is not a joke, I ACTUALLY sent this):

"I'm going to be late, Ellie is very wheezy so we're gonna give her a breathibg trtnt first thing. Could we possibly move the meeting to 11 or I can meetp privately w scoot when I get back. Also I ujusttkk my ambien awhile ago so if I misspell stuff then I'm sorry! The bottom lime is ths: ill be there at some point and maybe someone can tell me how themtg wentm jessy need seepy"

Does this remind anyone else of a drunk-dial? A couple of things to point out: 1. My boss's name is Scott. I'm not sure who Scoot is. 2. I'm not sure why I would be talking about fruit (the bottom lime? Who are you, Jess?). 3. There are words in there of which even I'M not sure of the meaning. 4. Notice how I artfully ended the letter with "jessy need seepy." No punctuation, no indication that the letter was ending, just a random declaration.

I'm not alone in this; I Google'd to find more Ambien horror stories, and there were so many sites that I actually had a hard time choosing which link to include with this email. One story, taken from user Pennemu on digg.com, is as follows:

"This happened to my girlfriend, who's a nurse. She put her Zyrtec and Ambien in the same bottle, thinking that because she's a nurse, she'd be fine. So in the morning she went to take her Zyrtec and accidently took an Ambien instead. Of course I didn't find out what had actually went on much later. So we're sitting in bed watching TV and she starts speaking in a some what slow manner. As this continued, I started to become worried. As I turned to talk to her the bed moved a little, and she yelled at me to stop shaking the boat. Then she started crying because she thought I was a gorilla. And her eyes would close periodically for short amounts of time. After she go over the crying she started telling me about how my left eye hated her and wanted to kill her. While my right happened to be friendly and like her a lot. I believe there was also something about alligators and some chipmunks hanging out in the room to. I was very worried. But all the strange symptoms seemed to subside after about an hour and a half."

Nothing that strange has ever happened to me, but is this Ambien we're talking about here, or LSD?


*Note: Wes and I have now set a policy that I am restricted from any use of technology including internet, email, and phone as soon as I take my pill. So, don't worry, I won't likely be calling any of you to bail me out of jail in the middle of the night.

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Monday, August 31, 2009

Are You Kidding, Poo Trap?

I was very troubled this weekend trying to decide if the new product, the Poo Trap, is real or just a form of social experiment to prove that people will buy ANYTHING. Sadly, I think this apparatus is for real (or, "fo' rizzle," as I think the kids are saying it these days).

Are we really so lazy that it is now too much trouble to bring a baggie along to dispose of the doody when we walk our dogs and ? If you are creative enough, you don't have to touch it; you just turn the baggie inside-out, snatch up the stinky, and off you go. I'm so disheartened to discover that we would rather strap a ridiculous-looking contraption onto our furry companions to hold a baggie over their bums while they do their business. Will people actually use this? Or, is it targeted to late-night shopping channel addicts who have a closet-full of Snuggies and a case of ShamWow towels sitting in their foyer? Were the creators of this product sitting in their board meeting and somehow made a bet?
Guy 1:"Dude, guys, check this out. No, seriously, this is funny. Listen. So, we develop this really complicated harness thingy for a dog, and it has a slot where you can juxtapose a baggie right over his rear... to catch his poop!" (Uproarious laughter follows)
Guy 2: "Oh, man, that is hilarious. I bet you couldn't sell a single one of those! I mean, people are stupid, but they aren't THAT stupid!"
Guy 3: "This sounds like the perfect bet."
Guy 1: "Hey Guy 2, I'll bet you a hundred bucks that we sell a crapload (no pun intended) of these things!"
Guy 2: "Okay, but here's an extra challenge to make it interesting: You have to name it the Poo Trap! Ha!"
Guy 1: "You're on, sucka'!!"

I'm sorry, but if you are seriously too lazy to clean up the ca-ca after your dog lays the cable, then maybe you should reconsider taking care of another living thing in the first place. Two reasonable exceptions I can see: 1. You are physically disabled or otherwise injured and are unable to reach the poo 2. You are elderly and afraid that bending down to pick up poo would be a falling risk. Okay, if you're in one of those situations, you get a pass. The Poo Trap is probably right for you. But the rest of you? You have no excuse! And let's not even delve into the embarrassment you are sure to cause your poor little pooch if you make him/her wear a plastic bag over his/her ass. Seriously. They say that dogs don't have the power of reason, but I don't buy into that. I see the look in my mom's dog's eyes when he has to do his business in front of all of us - that is pure doggy humiliation.

Come on people, dogs already can't help it that they have to hump things (legs, trees, other dogs, stuffed toys) every now and then. Can we really not let them keep one tiny shred of canine dignity?

Please tell me this is a joke.

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Thursday, August 27, 2009

Girl Gone Mild

Last night, I had dinner with a new friend whom I just met this week. We'll call her Amber. She's 18 years old, a freshman in college, and is in a sorority. She's also gorgeous, friendly, and has a cheerful voice; definitely not the kind of girl who would have been friends with me (a dorky band-nerd who was - let's face it - kind of aggressive) in high school.

It would be all too easy to make the honest mistake of prematurely writing Amber off as a naive, superficial, dim-witted former cheerleader with nothing but boys, parties, and fashion filling her spoiled little head. But that's exactly what you would be doing - making a huge mistake.

As Amber and I sat and talked over salads and pizza that later made me regret having a stomach, I stood pleasantly corrected about the unfortunate stereotype with which I had previously, ignorantly associated her. It wasn't that I assumed she was an idiot or anything, I was just... prepared for her to be. (Sidebar: Let's be honest. Aren't most 18-year-olds know-it-all morons? I definitely was.) But Amber is no idiot. Articulate, intelligent, and with uncharacteristically-low-for-a-teenager use of the word "like," she told me about her family, her friends, her sorority, and her plans for the future - all with the calm self-assuredness of someone who has her act together.

I found myself excessively impressed with this girl and her well-adjusted, down-to-earth theories about sororities ("It's doesn't make me who I am, I am my own person and I don't have to share their opinions"), parties ("I'm not a big drinker; I don't like to lose control of myself and act like an idiot"), and sense of self ("I don't like to conform to what the group does; I know what's right and wrong and I don't just go along with things"). Yes, Amber is pretty in the way people with perfectly symmetrical faces tend to be, but without those pesky senses of entitlement and superiority that usually accompany great beauty. And yes, she's very friendly, but every word is genuine and sincere. She carries herself with self-respect and humility, and denounces most of the risky and self-destructive behaviors that this generation seems to find acceptable (i.e., drinking too much and dancing naked on a table, dumbing oneself down to attract men, and taking one's clothes off for Girls Gone Wild cameras - all of which are somehow justified as "the New Feminism" or "just knowing how to have fun," but are really huge, unappreciative steps backward for womankind).

I know many very respectable, accomplished, brilliant women, who make me proud of my gender and embody the reasons why women have made such great strides in the last 100 or so years. It's not that these women are hard to find, they are just hard to find at 18 years old - an age characterized by confusion, the need to belong, conformity, and constant search for one's identity, values, and true self. Basically, Amber is exactly how I wish I had been at her age. This girl has a clue.

The experience of getting to know this new friend can really be summed up in one word: Refreshing.

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Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Babies Break Your Heart

I once had someone tell me, "Being a mother will break your heart again and again." She was the corporate trainer at a bank where I used to work, and although I'm not sure how that subject came up in the middle of learning about Regulation CC (or, "Reg CC," as we call it in the biz), those words have rung true again and again.
Since the moment I had Ellie, I've been wrapped around her tiny little finger. Her rosy little cheeks, big blue eyes, huge gummy smile, warm little belly, and familiar baby smell completely hypnotize me into a baby-induced stupor. I know it sounds cliche, but I honestly never thought I could experience this kind of love for someone.
There are poignant moments I've experienced with Ellie that still make me a bit tearful. Her first immunizations, where she belted out the cry that says, "How could you let them do this to me? You have betrayed me!" Walking into the bedroom and seeing Wes lying on the bed with Ellie propped up on a pillow in front of him, listening to him read her a story (which was as much for his benefit as it was hers). Actually, watching Wes with her pretty much anytime - the love he has for her, the tenderness with which he handles her, the way he always seems to know exactly what she's trying to tell us - amazes me. The first time Ellie smiled, it was so pure and beautiful that it made me cry a little. And her first laugh... it really did break my heart. I really do love her more than my body can absorb - fellow moms, you know what I mean!
My heart was broken again last night, about every thirty minutes or so, as Ellie woke up in a screaming fit because her poor little nose was running and she couldn't breathe. It wasn't serious, she isn't in need of a doctor or anything, but just the idea that I can't do anything at all to make her feel better except hold her and suction her nose (which she does NOT like) is torture. It makes me feel so helpless, and it reminds me that I can't protect her from everything. That seems unfair; babies are so innocent and perfect. I hate knowing that one day she will have to grow up and experience disappointment, loss, and pain along with all of the joy.
I give thanks every single day for Wes and Ellie... they truly are the best reasons to wake up that I could ever hope to have. And although Ellie continually exceeds the allotted amount of cuteness any baby should have, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Show Better Leadership

Here's a link to one of my favorite blogs.

Show Better Leadership

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Thursday, August 20, 2009

You Can Pick Your Nose...

...but you can't pick your family. Or, is it you can't pick your friends? Wait, no, I think it's actually something about not being able to pick your friend's nose (a policy that I think we can all agree should stay firmly in place). Whatever the old adage is, it is true that we don't get choices about our biological acquaintances. It's also true that every family has its own set of issues. At 27 years old, I've finally figured out how to truly appreciate and value my family. When I really look closely, I see the amazing qualities that each and every member of my family possesses. My dad's ability to communicate and elicit cooperation from people, my mother's zany creativity and child-like joy, the amazing way my sister can paint pictures with her written stories; then there are my brothers, who keep me constantly laughing but also surprise me frequently with their integrity and willingness to do the right thing - even when it hurts. And my husband and daughter... they could have a separate blog altogether. Wes is the best daddy I have ever seen. It sometimes literally brings tears to my eyes to watch him with Ellie and see his love for her and the tenderness with which he handles her. I could go on forever gushing about them.



This epiphone of sorts has allowed me to finally ditch the childhood baggage that seemed to manifest as a giant chip on my shoulder starting when I was about 14. Admittedly, I had an easy childhood, for the most part. I had two parents who stayed married (and in love, which is even more rare) and raised the four of us kids to be responsible and have integrity. But, let's face it, even people who are products of the cushiest childhoods have issues with their parents. Maybe one offhand remark your father made sticks out in your mind, or you remember being punished excessively for something that wasn't really that heinous of a crime. Perhaps your parents were more strict than any of your friends', and you've now grown up to watch your younger siblings who still live at home get away with everything.



Be that as it may, I've learned that the difficult part of being open-minded is usually accepting the fact that people have radically different beliefs, opinions, etc, even if you don't accept the views themselves. Additionally, people change. Their rules for self-governance change as new information comes about. This is true for pretty much anything or anyone.

No parent is perfect, and today I can only imagine what kind of issues we will give Ellie as she grows up. But my parents worked damn hard for us, and any kid would have been lucky to have them. We don't always agree on everything, but I love my family, and I accept all of them - parents, brothers, sister, grandparents - as they are.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

You're Never Too Old to Be Embarrassed

There really is nothing quite like the feeling you get when you realize you've coasted through six hours of your day with a giant chunk of food in your teeth. Of course, the intensity of that embarrassment is proportional to the sum of how many people you've interacted with during that time, how often you have shown your big "toothy" smile, and the percentage of how confident you are that there is absolutely nothing amiss about your appearance.

After a long stretch of carefree, nothing-in-my-teeth days, I arrived home yesterday after a particularly tiring day of work and class. As I walked into the bathroom to take my jewelry off and put it away, Wes said something funny - which made me laugh - and I happened to catch a glimpse of my teeth in the mirror. My heart sank; there it was. A huge. Piece. Of parsley.

I immediately became embarrassed as I reflected on all of the day's wide-mouth grins and belly-laughs that caused me to unwittingly display this stray chunk of vegetation lurking in a crevass between two of my front teeth. I have to admit, I was a little angry. After all, I had been in close proximity to co-workers, fellow students, and strangers wandering the halls of OSU-Tulsa; yet, not a single person bothered to alert me to the parsley's presence. Surely, someone must have seen it! That got me thinking.

This experience raises an interesting question about social protocol. Should we, as good citizens, give another person the courtesy of cluing them in when they are unknowingly in a potentially embarrassing situation? Or, would it be better to avoid what will likely be a painfully awkward moment by keeping mum?

Here's my philosophy:
Sure, it can be uncomfortable when someone tells you that something about your appearance is out of place - you have a brown stain on the seat of your pants, you have food in your teeth, there's a foreign object dangling from your nose, a stream of toilet paper is stuck to your foot, and so on. However, wouldn't it be better to encounter that discomfort with one person rather than with every person you see for the entire day because you are blissfully unaware that people are wondering if you have mold growing between your teeth? The former seems much more sufferable than the latter.

So, committ a random act of kindness - give someone the memo when they are subject to humiliation by means of something that could be completely avoided. Wouldn't you want it done for you?

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