A Sign of the Times

A tag in my alleyway. Wouldn't it be nice if I could throw my debt in the dumpster?

The Reason I am Still Unemployed

To Whom it May Concern,

I am writing this cover letter to apply for the position of Entry-Level Account Management Support Peon Teammate. I learned of this position through my friend John Johnson, who works as Next-to Entry Level Assistant to the Vice President's Aide. I believe that my natural character and learned skills render me an excellent match with AlmostAwesome Social Marketing, Inc.

To begin with, I have a great deal of experience working with angry clients. The most important action when dealing with unruly customers is to provoke them enough to become unruly in the first place. Had I not sufficiently degraded the quality of the situation, I may never have made them mad and thus learned how to appease them. Secondly, I am very good at completing boring tasks in the least time-efficient way possible. This is achieved by distracting myself in asking unnecessary, ignorant questions to other employees. You will note that this also fulfills the aspect of your job description that asks me to "demonstrate strong communication and team-work skills." I love teams because they allow me to delegate tasks to other members when I do not want to complete them. Moreover, working in teams allows me to blame my mistakes on others. The job description also calls for a detail-oriented and organized employee. One example of my detail-orient is my paying close attention to my Facebook account. I check my Facebook every 20 minutes during the work-day, ensuring that I know exactly what my friends are doing. I organize my responses to them in a logical manner, i.e. I respond to the most juicy gossip items and best party invites first. Finally, you ask me to demonstrate my sales experience. I am in fact completely inept at selling anything at all. However, there are many stupid people currently being paid thousands of dollars to do similar levels of nothing-ness and I therefore believe that I am qualified for this position.

I would like to schedule a time to meet in person so that you may establish that I bathe myself. Feel free to contact me on my MySpace account: 2cute4u2handle@myspace.com. I know that the description asks me not to call with inquiries about the status of my application, but I think that if I bother you enough times you may hire me simply to be rid of my calls. Therefore, I look forward to leaving you a voicemail in a couple of hours.

Thank you for your consideration.

Ending in a Good Place

This post is about trail running. It's really about being nice to yourself, respecting your accomplishments, and taking time to appreciate progress. All the things that I didn't let myself do when I became caught in the continuous quest of success, its overseer (expectations) and its outcome (self-punishment). Its running downhill at the end.

Trail running is a kick in the ass. To complete a trail run, follow these steps: 1.) Find small mountain, peak, or big open hilly space; 2.) Put on running shoes; 3.) Run uphill until you reach the top of the peak, and then maybe around a little bit more; 4.) Run back down.

I love trail running.

I love trail running because I love putting myself in 3rd gear. I love being chased by squirrels and dodging branches and feeling my heart beat in my chest. My lungs fill with the freshest Colorado air. I like trail running with other people, hearing our feet hit the ground and seeing the little pillows of dust fly up. I love it when hikers and mountain bikers look at me like I'm insane. And I love standing at the peak, looking at the gorgeous, green Colorado landscape stretch in front of me.

And then I love the run back down. There's nothing more exhilarating than watching your legs move quickly and freely up the very same mountain that forced you to exhale heavily on every step, the muscles in your legs stiffening with every lift. When you run up a mountain you know that it is very difficult; there's not doubt that you're getting a workout. But when you run back down you realize just how far you went. You see rocks and marvel, "I just jumped over that?!" I don't think that I would have the same sense of accomplishment after my trail runs if I didn't go back down. Surveying one's work after the fact creates a sense of pride and gratification. It's a celebration of one's accomplishments.

In my disease and the years leading up to it I lost the ability to celebrate my accomplishments. I was constantly working to achieve but when I finally reached the end it was never quite good enough or there was something more to do next. I could never just loosen my knees and run downhill, all hell flying lose behind me, laughing at myself.

Today I undertook EMDR therapy for the first time. Its a way of reframing the habitual negative thoughts in one's brain, like placing the old memories in more thoughtful, productive places, or accepting them and moving on completely. Today we found my "safe place," a nice memory that I feel calm within and can recall in times of need. My safe place is the sun-room at my Auntie Val's house, complete with Auntie Val giggling in the corner (she's wearing blue). To complete the EMDR session we opened by imagining my safe place, putting myself there with all my senses aware. Then we recalled a memory of one of the first times my disordered thoughts got a hold of me. Over and over we recalled this memory, recognizing the emotions that came up each time. The session ended where it started: with my Auntie Val in my safe place. "I'm not going to let you leave feeling sad and vulnerable," my therapist said. "Sit here in your safe place and feel proud with the hard work you've done."

It felt like running downhill. All of the sweat and stiffness was whisked away by Auntie Val's bubbling, falling giggle. I saw that I had just put in an incredible amount of effort and I now deserved to feel safe, happy and proud. I took a moment to respect my effort. I left a little lighter than I arrived.

After I'm done with this post I'm going to find a picture for it. Then I'm going to re-read and edit it. Once I'm satisfied with it's content I'm going to re-read it once more. For that final read I'm just going to like it. I'm going to enjoy it and be proud of it. I hope that when you all see it you will enjoy it, too.

10:39 later...

Last weekend I ran a race called "Step Up For Cancer." It was a big cancer benefit where racers ran the stairs around Dick's Sporting Goods Park. I won the race as the fastest female, finishing in 10 minutes and 39 seconds. Guess what I won? A free ticket on Southwest Airlines! So I'm going to visit my best Muslim friend in Virginia for her wedding. I. Am. So. Excited. She is having a traditional Muslim ceremony with her ravishing Argentinian beau. Not only that, but her brother and his Indian/ Pakistani fiance will also have their ceremony at the same time. Then, our other best friend is coming from New York to attend the ceremony as well. Together, we will go back to New York, where I will spend time with her and some of my other long-lost loves. Did I mention the fact that my family friends are so graciously letting me stay at their place in Virginia for free?

Basically, for a mere 10 minutes and 39 seconds of work, I've gotten a week of freebies and the chance to see one of the most beautiful, touching wedding ceremonies I will surely ever encounter.

It pays to be healthy.

I'm Just Not That Into Them

There are a few topics in which Americans feel cautious to discuss: religion, sex, and politics are examples of conversations that most of us are unwilling to introduce. People feel too defensive about their opinions on the matter or are so accustomed to encountering defensive attitudes that they are unwilling to take the risk. The topic of this blog, however, is not religion, sex or politics, but a hidden taboo so safeguarded by the average American that even the utterance of a contrary belief can cause unlimited scorn. The topic is this: I do not like animals.

I was a vegetarian for six years but not because of animal rights. More like animal wrongs. I just didn't think animals tasted good. I had no interest in them at all, whether it be saving them or eating them. If we've already stepped onto the Honest Path then I should probably admit that I love leather. And I love fur. I like to wear animals, okay, not because they're animals but because it makes me feel like a hardcore biker chick or a rich mafioso's wife. Is that so wrong? (Even though I opened this blog to commenting, I beg of you to recognize the rhetorical questions herein).

I don't care how cute or sweet or loyal or strong Rover is, he is not my friend. Believe it or not, there are others who feel the same way that I do. They asked not to be named in this blog for fear of retribution. Retribution, because they cannot form a loving relationship with that hairy, smelly, slimy thing others call a companion. I remember the first time I told one of my friends that "I really wasn't an animal person," and she looked back at me, eyes wide, whispering, "Neither am I!" We are a small and cautious minority. I feel that I must use this space to enlighten the majority of animal lovers on what it's like to just not like animals.

Walk only five blocks through Denver and you'll likely come across some sort of storefront dedicated to animals. Where women once had girl's spa days you can now get a massage, mani/ pedi and aromtherapy with Fido. Is your dog showing signs of depression? Anxiety? Loneliness? Take it to the dog therapist and they'll throw in a free session to help you deal with the emotional distress caused by empathy for your lovely pet. Buy the perfect outfit for your pet's big night and then take it to the pet dry cleaner the next day. Think your pet might be your long-lost great Aunt Edna? Take it to the pet psychic, who can surely help you to connect on another plane. As if wiping their behind and vacuuming their hair wasn't close enough.

I considered the value in the market for animal goods and services. There's obviously a demand. I wonder how it's come to be that in this economy people won't spend on groceries but will buy their pet a $30 ball-throwing-thingamabob. I am glad to see people spending at all, doing their part to keep the economy moving. Useless things for your pet: the modern stimulus package. However, if people are running up their credit or refraining from saving in order to keep Murphy's coat shinier than Tucker's, we've got a bigger problem.

One of my most frequent pet encounters is at the park. From no less than 1/4 a mile away a pet walker can see me. As we near, they do not move to reign Buddy in. When I finally reach them and am forced to run another 1/4 off the trail to avoid Buddy
(usually muttering some sort of irritant under my breath) they look at me with an expression of ignorant shock. "Oh, can you not run through my dog?" they seem to ask. Of course, I also experience animals from afar when I hear their owners call to them. This is an infinite source of confusion to me. I remember seeing one man call in panic, "Ashley! Ashley! Ashley!" I looked around- did he lose his child?! Then, I saw some hairy thing barreling toward him. He hugs it. "Oh, Ashley, I was so worried about you!" Between the Ashelys, Freds, Charlies, and Ramonas I can't figure out who's human or who's pet. I'm beginning to wonder if the owners can't either.

Then there's the interaction I get with the pets that live in my house. I know that many of you are rolling your eyes right now because I do in fact live with a lot of animals. A dog and three cats is a few too many. One of the cats has five toes so I'm really past the threshold on this one. I also must admit that their owners are dismally inept at taking care of them, meaning that the house smells atrocious and the animals irritating. Still, when my roommate went out of town I offered to take care of her cats. I didn't really have a choice but I still hoped that having some responsibility for them might increase an emotional feeling of connection. After changing the litter two times, I definitely felt something emotional, but it was far from connectedness. I'm sick of their hair showing up in my toothbrush when they treat my sink like a personal pool. Or the dog barking at a leaf rolling lazily through the street. What's fun about that?

Many people say that the reason they love animals so much is for the undying, unquestioning, limitless love and affection. I've got several bones to pick with that one. Indeed, I do not give love and affection to animals so I should not expect it in return. Yet they treat me in the same way that others interpret to be a display of love. They lick me, drool on me, jump on me, make odd noises at me, and follow me around. I see this as normal animal actions, not love. I follow my parents when they feed me, too. Then there's the fact that limitless love and affection is not in itself grounds for love in return. If that was the case, I never would've broken up with my spineless ex.

When it comes down to it, I don't despise animals. I think they're cute when they're little. A lot of the time they do funny things, usually out of stupidity, but I enjoy the gesture nonetheless. And they're a great way to forge a connection with a hottie (I would be a liar if I said I hadn't used my parents or a friend's dog to go flirt with fellow walkers at Cheeseman). But, as a non-animal-fan of mine once said, "I simply don't have that emotional connection with them." No matter how cute or cuddly or kind Winston is I don't want him knocking my knees when I walk by, getting stuff on my clothes, or mewing outside my window at night.

In fact, one of the reasons I was most hesitant to write this blog was because I feared that it would end up being a ranting entry. I loath ranting blogs and never want this to become a space where I argue, complain and bitch my thoughts away. So I'd like to close with a letter to all you pet lovers out there, expressing my solidarity.

Dear Pet Lover,
I understand that Harley is the best thing that ever happened to you. I am so happy that you and Harley can share breakfast in the morning, roll around in the grass together all day, and sleep curled around one another at night. It looks like a beautiful and loving relationship, which is all we can really hope for in this world. Sure, I will pet Harley. If it makes you smile I will find something on his massive fury facade to compliment. I will listen to you tell me all about how smart Harley is despite having a brain the size of a pea. You are welcome to bring Harley when we go to the park. In return, I ask only this: Please pull Harley back when he confuses my lower leg for an interested female. Do not let him treat me like a couch or chew toy. And when I'm running pull him even one inch closer to you. If he chases me I will kick him. That's just the way it's going to be.

I respect all you pet lovers out there. I apologize, but I just don't get it. I'll stick to talking to my plants, thanks.

Be an animal lover, just like Sarah Palin!

A Great Quote!

Thanks to a new friend:

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal."
-Albert Camus

I posit:

Why not redirect one's energy? Normalcy is a fallacy, I believe.

I Got Hoes

Forgive me for my lack of class but I really couldn't come up with a better title for this post and am confused by what politically correct means these days, anyway (see my post: "Racism? Really?"). Since I understand that a great deal of my readership is of the, how can I say, aged population (just like fine wine) I should probably explain that "I Got Hoes" is a line out of a very famous rap song and is oft repeated by those classless barbarians that we call youth. Moving on!

This is it: I love women. No, I'm not using this blog as a space to come out (someone please make sure that my Grammy still has a pulse). Really, I don't think it could handle it- first India, then eating disorders, now she's a lesbian?! What's next- a picture of her lower back tattoo?! What I'm saying is that I've met so many unique, brave, fun-loving, adventurous women in the last few weeks. I'm awestruck by this phenomenon. I can hypothesize on the root of the movement but the fact of the matter is that more women are taking charge of their lives, trying new things, opening up to opportunities, and doing it all with an unfathomable level of relaxation and grace. Since when did women get so, well, cool?

In the last couple of weeks I've met four women who left their homes and moved to Denver just for the fun of it. They heard that it was a nice place to live so they packed their bags, met a roommate through craigslist.com and showed up here a week later. I met these women at social groups like yoga events and running clubs, which they looked up on the internet and joined. They showed up alone, smiled and struck up conversations. They drank a glass of wine or a beer and left alone when they wanted to go home. Most were unemployed and talked candidly of how difficult it was to look for a job, explaining that they tried not to place to much pressure on themselves. "I work on it a little bit a day," said one women. "Then I explore!" These women weren't fierce or intimidating. They were just looking to see something new, meet someone new, try something fun. They were devoid of judgments about the situation and that left them devoid of judgments about themselves or me.

I can't get enough of these women. I want them old, young, curvy, skinny, long-haired, short-haired, blue-haired, send em' my way! These women make me feel so much more confident about myself because they are all so differentiable. For the first time I feel like I really fit in because none of us really fit in so all of us are in, period. At groups and events I find myself gravitating toward the women, although this leads me into the potential negative aspect of feminine appreciation: I really have no patience for men.

Since I've been out of treatment I've undertaken a couple pseudo-relationships. I use the term "undertaken" with sincerity because that's how it's felt. Today I noticed an advertisement for property managers and I thought, "Hell, what about a boy manager? How much would that cost?" After a couple botched attempts I came to the realization that I do need a lot from a man right now and if he cannot provide it then he's a goner. "It's okay to be needy," said a girl in my ED support group. I also think about a good friend who remained uncommitted for years, saying, "I just have really high standards." I thought she was insane to miss out on the glorious-ness that is falling in love. She now has the most spectacular relationship with a guy totally above par. She was needy and committed to getting her needs fulfilled. I plan to do the same.

It's difficult for me not to be judgmental of the men my age, though. I see women enjoy a drink or two and sunnily ask for a water next and then I see men downing their sixth can of beer with a look of disgruntled hopelessness. I see women admitting that they are unemployed and holding out of a position that is fulfilling to them and I hear male friends calling me up with stale sales-pitches that they admittedly loathe to give. I see women going places alone and men rolling five-deep to meat-market bars. The only men I like talking to right now are nerds, old friends and grandfathers.

I don't blame men. I actually place blame on the warped societal standards that we've created for a "successful" man. I think women have been allowed to grow slowly, quietly and personally, while masculine toys have received steroid-like treatment and men suffer the pressure of trying to be economically sound in an unstable economy. It can't be easy to see more and more women get better jobs, run faster and party cooler. Men could use a break, sans the booze.

I'm sure this is a phase (good, because my Grammy is worried that I'm becoming a feminist). But I'm really into women right now. Until men buck up, I think that's just the way things are going to have to be.

One of my favorite cool, creative women: the model, Veruschka

Calling all Comments!

Not only is my Muslim friend great because she's not a terrorist, but she's also great because she's very good at blogging and has shown me many secrets about my blog that I never knew before. For instance, I know which of my posts are the most popular ("How to Lose a Job in 4 Days." Gee, thanks guys). I also know that people in Singapore seem to read it often. And I've learned how to change the "comments" settings so that non-Gmail or Blogspot users can openly comment on my posts. I wish that I had learned how to do this ages ago. Taking the time to try might have helped.

So feel free to say whatever you'd like! I love feedback, advice and constructive criticism. And if you notice a grammatical error please, please let me know- that's not what my Undergraduate degree is for, nosireeBob.

Racism? Really?

In America we teach our children that racism exists from an early age, albeit picking and choosing what kind of racism to discuss. Several glaring examples are always easiest: African slaves and the Holocaust. Then, teachers tactfully talk about other types of racism, like wrongs committed against Native Americans and our own Japanese concentration camps. We've all heard racist comments from that neighbor/Uncle/coworker, causing a stutter, eye roll and sigh. In the last few decades it seems that conversations about political correctness, racism and equality have increased; workplaces now bring outside consultants in to lead courses on diversity, schools actively accept students on a basis of diversifying their populations, and more and more inter-race couples marry every year. Of course, there are still fierce debates about whether aggressive diversification and ethnic support policies foster or harm equalization, but at least the conversation has been opened.

So why is it that I seem to notice so much racism around me? In fact, I've come to wonder what racism actually is today. After all, we can't forget about the big mixer, that effervescent 'G' word: Globalization. The borders of Europe grow fainter and fainter as citizens are encouraged to explore, live and work in other countries. With an increase in civil war there is also an increasing number of immigrants, asylum-seekers and refugees. Universities offer programs like "International Studies" and "Intercultural Communication." Citizens from every country are more likely than ever to encounter someone foreign. How can anyone be racist today?

To help me understand my own experiences I turned to the good ol' Webster's Dictionary. Accordingly, it defines racism as: "a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race." In some ways, racism that I've recently encountered does follow that trajectory, but in others it certainly does not. There are two instances in particular that I'm having difficulty understanding. Allow me to share them.

The first happened a couple weekends ago. I brought a very white, blond-haired American and her equally Caucasian boyfriend to a club with myself and my Puerto Rican friend. We were sitting at a table reserved by my Puerto Rican friends' friends who all looked like they may be of some Hispanic descent. At the end of the night my friend realized that her phone had been stolen. She flew off the handle, screaming that my "stupid Mexican friends stole her phone." I was mortified and tried to shut her up compassionately but saying, "I understand, this is horrible. Just please do not use that term. We can talk about it later, but please don't bring race into it right now, okay?" Eyes wide, chin out, she exclaimed, "Well that's what they are, right?!" I said, "I don't know! My friend is Puerto Rican but who knows!" She spent the rest of the night cursing Puerto Ricans.

When we got back to our place, I looked at her and asked, "What am I?" She stared blankly at me. "I could be Norwegian. I could be German. I could be Welsh. Can you really tell?" I pointed out that in that situation she was the minority, she was the odd man out, and therefore presumably the least trustworthy. She didn't stay over that night.

Scenario number two: I was chatting with a man with dark skin and an accent that I placed somewhere in North Asia or the Middle East. I finally asked him where he was from. He paused for a moment before leaning in and quietly saying, "I am from Pakistan and I am Muslim but I am not a terrorist, no no no, I am not a terrorist." I wagged my head and said that I had lived in India and thought he might be from the North and that one of my best friends was Muslim. That seemed to put him at ease. He explained, "Everyone in this country thinks I am a terrorist when I tell them where I am from so I say that I am Indian."

Then, there's the fact that I was just recently "let go of" by an Arab man. And before that I was fired by a Japanese man. And before that I struggled to work with a Mexican man. When I explain this to some people they offer consolation that "a lot of people say Arabs are hard to work with." Yet my friends involved in international business, one of which has also worked for my previous employer, say, "Ya, it probably wasn't a good fit."

So where does racism fit this day in age? I chalk the statements of my racist friend up to habit: when she was in her most distressed state she turned to what she knew, which was racist ranting (I've heard her mother do the same). For the Pakistani man, he experience racism and actually further fostered racist misunderstanding by trying to protect himself from it. As for my friends and family, they're trying to say anything that will detract from my placing all the blame on myself. They are trying to shed light on a difficult situation, in the way that seems to make the most sense. And it does make some sense, after all. Turning to bad habits, botched protectionism, and reframing the truth? Sounds a little bit like an eating disorder...

I'm not sure what it means to racist, or not to be racist, this day in age. With the advent of the European Union many countries have enacted policies of cultural protectionism, trademarking things like ancient styles of basket weaving and all Swiss chocolate. China and Brazil in particular have rose to prominence by securing their borders against the fiscal and physical infringement of outsiders. While equality seems to be on the tip of everyone's tongue, reality seems to be pointing a different direction.

This is all very vexing to me. When it comes down to it, there's very little I can say: one of my very best friends who has taught me so much about God, faith and love is Muslim. She looks German. My boss and I weren't a good fit and working with anyone from another culture has been difficult for me. I really like ethnic food. I really like living abroad. Given the ever-changing nature of our world today I don't think the complexities of this discussion can be sorted any time soon.

In closing, I'd like to acknowledge that it is the second full day of Ramadam. Nearly 1/3 of the world's population is fasting. People might seem a little irritable (but we can't assume every irritable person is Muslim, now can we). So, go hug a Muslim, I say! Find one in the street, offer them a cheerful pat on the back, and remind them that you respect them for being who they are- and starving for it!

Here's a picture of my favorite Muslim friend:


Send a virtual hug her way, if you dare!