The other Jaded Journalist

Love me, Jaded

2011-09-01T23:56:00.000-07:00

I've been sitting at my mother-in-law's laptop for a little over an hour now, I'm sure, totally reminiscent of my typing girl photo I joyously posted in contribution to the bloggerific namesake, The Other Jaded Journalist, or TOJJ for short. My precious.

Why am I experiencing writer's block, you ask? Well, I'm experiencing an identity crisis.

No, not this kind. But Magic: The Gathering could be considered part of the problem...

Alright, here's the deal:

I got married on March 12, 2011. (Follow the link for more info on that than you'd ever like to know.)

Therefore...

I am, no longer single-y jaded, the only real jaded feeling I could cling to/identify with, after I got my Lisa mouse office job.

In fact, I feel like I'm really a different person than I was back in June 2010, the last time I posted on this blog. Little did I know then what I know now; that I'd meet my husband to be at the end of July 2010, which would rock my world (in mostly good ways; SEX!) and lead me into the roll I assume now:

A Childless Housewife, and a reluctant one, at best.

Unfortunately, both of those blogger identities already exist, the former in a hilarious feminist Mormon housewife named Amy and the latter in a calm Canuck named Melanie. Maybe, I could hybrid the two: The Childless, Reluctant Housewife?

So here's my dilemma: do I change my blogger name and this blog in its entirety? Comment away! Meanwhile, I'll continue my research and work on my "life changes" posting for Real Women Anonymous. It's gonna be big.

Quarter-life Crisis

2010-06-06T23:07:00.001-07:00

Disclaimer: This entry is along the Hank lines, of why I started this blog in the first place.

I recently had a mental breakdown, and for me, it was rather puzzling as to why. My life is good, if not great. I have a stable, full-time job with more benefits than I've ever had in my life, I have a supportive ward with friends by the dozens and I live in a good place with great roommates.

So why the depressive spell? I guess it has to do with the fact that I started to feel trapped. I'm endlessly working, trying to pay off debt which is good, but I really got fixed on the fact that no Prince Charming has come along to sweep me off my feet. I have come into adulthood and will never be taken care of by a parent again (in the sense that everything is provided for me). I'm an archetype Alice, and I don't want to fall through that rabbit hole to find that there are more things I don't want that I must become.

What would you do with $92,000?

2010-04-05T18:45:00.000-07:00

During an Institute class quite a few Tuesdays past, we studied Jacob 1-4 and discussed the three main topics; pride, greed/wealth and sexual sin.

Our teacher, Sister Jolene Smith, wrote on the chalkboard "$92,000," which intrigued me. She then posed the idea that we had just been given this sum of money, and we had to spend all of it in a few hours. (Funny that she posed this situation prior to what actually happened to Paul Fischer April 1st - an ironic, real-life April Fool's joke.)

So what would you do? Would you be able to spend it all? We broke into groups and as the Grinch would say we "puzzed our puzzlers." Some groups debated on whether tithing should be paid on the sum. Several boys yelled out "VIDEO GAMES!" to hearty chuckles.

My group consisted of Garrett Myler and another young man. I told them that my immediate thoughts when we were given this situation were that I could spend about half of it - pay off my school debt, car, credit card. "But after that, I really can't see where I'd spend the rest. I'd probably put it in savings," I told Garrett.

"I totally could spend it, " Garrett blurted out. His plan included buying a small house, flipping it and making a large profit somewhere in the LA area. His ability to know exactly what he'd do with the money (and the fact that it had nothing to do with immediate financial concerns) rather frightened me. Yes, his plan was a good one, but to know exactly what to do with it, to feel entitled to it with hardly any thought was... very LA.

I thought again about how I would spend that extra $ - now came the bigger question:

What does it mean to live rich?

Not like servants and gold silverware, but the middle-class ghetto version? Here's my spin.

Being rich is...

Buying fresh new razors and never having to feel the burn from re-using one.
The ability to use the a/c and heat controls at will, without worrying about the bill.
Owning enough cute shoes to trade off so they don't get old and smelly.
Being able to get gas and not worry if I'm getting the cheapest price.

Having a never ending supply of milk! Maybe I'd buy my very own cow.
Never resorting to eating the stale bread, the stale anything, because you have sufficient to buy good food. (my stomach would appreciate not playing the risky game, "Is this expired...yet?)

Let's go back to good food - I'd own a juicer, eat organic fruits and veggies and have the means to cultivate the best tasting food on the planet. The ability to always eat something I'd want to eat, rather than resorting to that old donut in the break room.

Having an extended collection of music - more John Mayer, less crap rap (even if it's good for driving in LA), so I can choose between the radio and my own favorite mixes.
Living in a place where I can have a pet - a kitty! And maybe a pug dog.

Final thoughts: maybe I'd travel, own a cute home, do some charitable stuff.

Being rich, though, is nothing without family and friends who love me. In that, I am exuberantly and fortunately wealthy.

Feel free to leave a comment about what you'd consider "living rich." :)

500 Days of Summer

2010-04-01T18:45:00.000-07:00

I realize this blog has turned into the antithesis of its creation - I keep talking more and more about myself and less about journalistic type things. So here's one to spice it up.

My friend Ken wrote a blog entry about this movie, and I'd heard many good things about it, but I just barely experienced it last night. And what an experience it was! I have officially fallen in love.

The best part of this movie is how accurately different parts of a dating relationship are portrayed - so accurate, at some points, that I felt uncomfortable, pained; my throat automatically groaned and I gently rocked myself back and forth on the couch. How had someone understood and nakedly exposed what I've felt and gone through many times over?

I thought I felt the same way with "He's Just Not That Into You," but I was sadly mistaken. That was really the poor man's version - it touches the surface of a jaded dating life, but doesn't quite cut it with the sappy ending.

Now, 500 Days of Summer, on the other hand, puts it out there from the very first minute into the film: "This is not a love story, but it is a story about love." (paraphrasing) In other words, it's about all the twists and turns, cuts and bruises that end up on your heart; the idea of a soulmate, one true love. But love, even an immature kind, is wonderful, and it's worth it! Or is it?

In the end, I have to say it is the journey, not the destination, that is important in finding true love. To quote C.S. Lewis, "Experience is that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn."

The message of this movie: every experience you have concerning love helps you learn what will lead you to that true love you seek.

Five friggin' stars, my friends! Now, a question for you; is "true love" worth it?

Not so jaded?

2010-03-05T00:20:00.001-08:00

It's been WAY too long, but know that I have thought/craved/needed to blog for quite some time. Like since I got a full-time job at the beginning of December (Thank you, Lisa Mouse!) that has allowed me to

A) make some real money,
B) be paid a wage that makes my bachelors degree totally valid,
C) Let me come back to Church, with nights and weekends off - yay!
and D) made my life a whole less jaded. I now work somewhere with "Casual Fridays," paper pushers, my own phone extension and professional email address. In the words of J-Lo, "More 8-1-8" is so fun!

As the work portion of my life is taken care of, I am still jaded in dating/singledom respects. I am frustrated with Mormon boys, plain and simple. But I know there are more important things to concentrate on, like time management, becoming more musical (playing piano), a fitness guru - all things I can control. Like John Bytheway says, being single is like sitting at a piano, waiting for someone to sit down so you can play a duet. In the meantime, there's this other piece of sheet music that says "single, fulfilling life."

And I want that. I truly do.

Why are idiots allowed to be in management?

2009-11-14T09:34:00.000-08:00

Sorry I've taken a leave of absence from my blog and have only been teasing you with titillating Twitter tweets (say THAT 3 times fast, lol). But I'm a workin' girl.

Yes, I work in retail, and yes, I'm overqualified to be a part-time associate. Shoot, I could be in corporate at the company I work for, doing their PR.

But back on topic - why is it that mean and jerky people are managers, and the nice people who SHOULD be in management aren't?

Case in point: I finally told off my assistant manager (AM) this week after they pushed one button too many (when I say "ok" during a gripe session initiated by her, meaning I understand what she is saying, NEVER say "no, it's not okay!" like a smart @ss right after. I will cut you!), and the next day when my manager asked about what took place and I explained it, she said she would talk to the AM about her management skills. YESSS! :)

My friend Andrea said she can't picture me telling someone off, so here's what I said, pretty much: "AM, I am LISTENING to what you are saying; I am doing my best here! You are not giving me ways to fix the situation you are talking about, and when the situation happened, you were on break and not in the backroom so I couldn't contact you." In response, my AM said I should've called her because I had her number, to which I said, "I have it on my cell phone. So you're telling me that I should've gone to the backroom when you told me implicitly today that I was NOT to go back there because we are too busy." Yeah. The AM shut up right after that.

And this AM is two years younger than me!! That's why I wasn't worried about speaking up, especially since in the past, when she's critiqued me for my performance for an obscene amount of time. Seriously, how long does it take a GOOD manager to say "You did well here, but you need improvement here?"

My AM loves to say instead, "You messed this up. Really bad. And this thing you did well? Not so impressive because the thing you did bad overshadows it."

Did I also mention that in a previous performance bashing, she said, "I know you have a year's retail experience at a different company, but you haven't shown us anything that shows it." Isn't that horrible? Especially when company policy says that during progressive counseling you are not to mention anything outside of their performance with the company. I probably should've called corporate and reported her, but I didn't. I figured in the long run, I'd be the one to get the ax.

I hate working with someone who has no respect for me and thinks I'm incompetent. Contrary to her belief, I do NOT come into work everyday with the mission of letting our sales numbers drop. I don't sit around idly watching people shop in our store - I proactively seek them out, bugging them with promotion banter and "How can I help you today?" I don't see how making me work and letting another associate who is being paid the same amount as me during a shift stand and talk with you about sports (while you desperately flirt with him) helps the "team" get tasks done faster. I also think my AM needs to lighten up about things, because our manager isn't even as concerned about things as she is!

Now, for more rants such as mine, check out the forums at www.retailsucks.com. I highly recommend it for any retail worker! :) My favorite thing? The description of a customer: "I want my items cheap, inexpensive, and free."

If you sold out and got a Twitter, say "Tweet Tweet!"

2009-10-02T11:10:00.000-07:00

Tweet Tweet.

Yes, my fellow readers - I, The Other Jaded Journalist, decided to make a Twitter account for this blog. And myself.

"Hypocrite!" you may shout. "You said you hated Twitter in that one post that gained the most comments of any of your posts! How can you become a member of that which you despise?"

Quite easily, actually.

Here's the story: one night, I decided to venture onto Twitter and view celebrity tweets. As a lover of all things celebrity/entertainment news, I was delighted at what I found - real celebrities schmoozing with each other! I clicked on all of Ryan Seacrest's friends and found myself in a world of Hollywood glitter.

But then, Lisa had to break my bubble. Little known fact - a good amount of celebs don't use Twitter; they have ghostwriters post stuff they would probably post if they did. And another - celebs can pay people to make fake accounts to follow them, so it looks like they're popular.

How messed up is that? I know, I know, it's Hollywood, people are fake. But as Shaq said (who is the sole author for his account) in a New York Times article, "It’s 140 characters. It’s so few characters. If you need a ghostwriter for that, I feel sorry for you.”

Now, for the 5 things I've discovered that make Twitter enjoyable:

1) hashtags - these became incredibly useful for those following the twitter coverage during the Iran election. Basically, it's like google search on Twitter, using key words like AOL used to, for any topic that's currently "hot." For instance, #samoa and was a big one yesterday, with the earthquake and tsunami that devastated its people. Today, #Congratulations Rio is big because Rio De Janiero was chosen as host for the 2016 Olympics.

The only problem with hashtags is that people who want their tweets to be read will add the word to their tweet. So usually you have to search through a bunch of tweets that have nothing to do with the topic. Where's the moderator on this problem, I wonder?

2) accounts by comedians/media - Twitter is a great place to try out new bits for these witty folk. Check out Dane Cook, Steven Colbert and Chelsea Lately on my "following" list for them.

3) fan fiction accounts - the other day, "The Office Copier" added me to his following list.He (or she) tweets what a copier may think. Mad Men characters are all the rage, along with Harry Potter, Glee and The Office.

4) Twitterature - yes, some lucky English majors got a chance to rewrite several literary works into 140 character blips. What's disappointing to me, though, is the rule isn't one tweet per work, more like "as many tweets as necessary to capture the main points." Guess it's better than Cliff's notes.

5) Like People magazine, it allows me to combine my two loves - following celeb fodder AND current news. Plus, y'all get to see my random thoughts :)

As much as I'm addicted to Facebook, Twitter is fun to play with.

Now comment! Tell me what you think, my reader bebes!

Facebook is part of any 20-something's relationship

2009-09-28T13:45:00.000-07:00

This video NEEDS to go viral.

An interview with the blogger

2009-09-25T15:38:00.000-07:00

A long while back at a family gathering, my auntie Suzie asked me to explain where I got the picture of the girl at the typewriter at the top of this blog, along with the story behind the name, The other Jaded Journalist (which, by the way, comes up with my blog if you google it - yahoo!). I figured other readers might be interested as well, so here goes an interview... with myself. :)

Five questions for The other Jaded Journalist

1) Let's start off with the name. Why The other Jaded Journalist (TOJJ)?

When I first decided to write a blog, I did it as an outlet for my journalistic creative juices. I wanted a cool alias, rather than my name, so I googled "journalist" to get some ideas. I love the word "jaded" to describe myself, so I searched for "the jaded journalist" and up popped Michael Krogmann, a fake entertainment reporter for the first season of American Idol. Being that I love pop culture and music, I thought it'd be a perfect play on words to become "the other Jaded Journalist." And that's the story.

2) Where'd you get that cool retro photo?

I wish I could tell you! Another google search for girls on typewriters led me to that pic, but I didn't write down the source (bad journalist), just downloaded it into my computer and now it haunts me. I do know that it's a screen clip from a 1930's movie in which the character is a single girl trying to make it in the newspaper world, but of course involved in some boy/girl hijinks dating stuff. Also, I love typewriters as much as I love the stationary aisle - it's a writer's romantic obsession. (Don't get me started on my love for Christian in Moulin Rouge...)

3) The Aerosmith song is pretty self-explanatory, but I'll ask anyway: Why did you choose it?

It perfectly describes how I can be jaded - as an LDS single twenty-something woman navigating through the singles wards/branches and boys who toy with my heart, with where my life is compared to where I want it to be, and, as a journalist, being able to see both sides of an issue. Check out this amazing quote by Jenkin Lloyd Jones, a respected and well-known jaded journalist, for more on that.

4) What do you want readers to take away from your blog?

I've tried to make this blog my take on story ideas/news that I'd like to read in any magazine or newspaper, with a columnist's view, of course. Many newspapers and magazines (reputable ones, not Perez Hilton) now let their reporters keep their own blogs, with their own takes on stories and events. I hope it's similar to that. I try to stray away from "dear diary" type posts, but every once in a while I find something interesting I like or need to vent.

Oh! And here's some advice for you readers: I like to put links on words that I find interesting or poignant to making my point, so please click on them. I do it on purpose.

5) Did you ever think people would read it? Have you made any cool connections because of it?

When I started, I mainly did it for myself as a creative outlet, to keep my writing skills fresh. I'd love to go back to Los Banos someday and help Tony Dutra make The Paper into my kind of newspaper, but for now, this is a great place for me to write.

But to answer the question, I figured a handful of friends and family would read it. I was greatly surprised when my auntie Suzie told me she'd been following it, because I didn't give the link out to people (except on Facebook). She is a great writer as well - we are soul sisters in that respect. I remember when she wrote a food review column for the Gilroy Dispatch, and I got to go with her and review the chicken strips. That was a kick to be mentioned in her column when I was a kid :)

As far as cool connections go, Merriwether is definitely my fav. I found his blog one day and read for like, 2 or 3 hours. I added myself as a follower of his blog and squealed when I saw that he a) posted a comment on one of my posts and b) added me to his "Mutual Admiration" blog roll. I was able to answer questions he had about the Church's welfare system, as one of his posts was about going to a Houstin cannery to process peanut butter.

Hope you enjoyed the one-woman interview, readers!

2009-09-24T01:34:00.000-07:00

Just a short clip that means a lot to me at the moment.

Sidenote: Been meaning to share it for a while; the day it was posted felt like one of the loneliest days of my life.

Thank goodness, I am never truly alone.

A Lane Bryant short story

2009-09-03T16:01:00.000-07:00

Sidenote: My dear readers, I did it. Two blog entries in one week?! Astounding, I know! But I've been holding this one back for a while, waiting for just the right time to let you take the plunge into my meager retail existence.

A letter to the amazing author...

August 3, 2009

Dear Catie,

I randomnly found your blog today when I did a google search on "getting credits at Lane Bryant." I currently work at the Lane Bryant in Merced, CA, and am planning to transfer down to the one in Valencia. As I was talking to the sales manager this afternoon, she explained that the amount of hours I could get as a part-time worker would depend on my sales performance. The next words out of her mouth were, "So how are you with credit?"

This is one thing my fellow part-timers and I agree on - it seems that getting people to open credit card applications are more important than your ability to keep the store looking organized or even your customer service skills. It's the one card managers can use to say who's the most valuable employee, since we don't work on commission or dollar sales. Oftentimes when the end of the day numbers come in, it's more disappointing to have not made the credit goal than the sales goal.

Why is it so important to have customers open credit cards? If anything, I think it'd be more important to have customers use the card once they opened the account. (After all, debt on a credit card would be a company's best friend, you would think.) But we aren't told to press that, only to get fresh new accounts every day.

Anyway, sorry for the tangent. I wanted to ask permission to repost your essay on my blog. I don't have a very large following, but it's something that rang true to me as I read it.

Thanks,

TOJJ

and now, on with the show!

The Size Four Lane Bryant Salesgirl

- an essay by fashionista blogger Cuffington

... As I grew older, I was very observant of what other girls my age wore, and one thing that I consistently made note of was that, to put it bluntly, people who were overweight had no taste. They wore the same thing day after day: sweatpants, big shirts, shapeless dresses. Even up through high school, it was the same thing, day after day, sweaters and sweatpants and unflattering jeans. I shrugged it off as an odd coincidence, my size four, six-foot tall frame not getting the bigger picture until years later.

There was a tiny bit of security that I carried with me; every woman in my family was tall and thin, even after having children, and I knew that with genetics on my side I would never be one of those girls wearing sweatpants. It made me feel safe throughout my adolescence. I may not have pretty skin or hair or big boobs as I got older, but I knew that I would never be the one who walked in to the high school reunion having doubled or tripled her size after graduation.

It was something I could count on. While some of my friends worried if they would be bigger when they got older, and some jogging before and after school every day to stave off their eventual weight gain, I shrugged it off, secure in my pre-disposed genetic code, that I would never have to concern myself with that.

The opportunity to see how the plus-sized world lived came a few years later, in the form of desperately needing a summer job during college. The video store that I had worked in the previous two summers had closed down. I was devastated; that job had been the only place of work I had ever known, and I use the term “work” loosely. At Captain Video, I sat on the counter most of the time, watching whatever movie was playing, eating Rice Krispie treats, talking with my co-workers, and occasionally helping a customer if they needed it. I couldn't believe I got paid to do what I did; it seemed too good to be true.

It was. The store closed down after losing money and I was out of a job.When I came home from college the following summer, my mom suggested I work at a store in the local mall, maybe a bookstore or a clothing place. Clothes. Of course! I made the rounds at all my favorite stores, Nordstrom, Banana Republic, even the Gap, which I didn't even like that much but thought the discount would be worth it. None of those places thought I was worth it, however, as the weeks went by without a job offer.

During that time, my mother was hassling me to apply at Lane Bryant, a clothing store in the same mall that she used to shop at. “There's a 'Help Wanted' sign in their window,” she said. “You should go for it.”

Lane Bryant was once a trendy, high-end national store chain that sold to women who were extra tall like her, or, to those who needed plus-sized clothing, but in recent years had narrowed their business focus to just the plus-sized market. At first, I scoffed at the idea. That was not a place for me. Me, a size four, a six foot tall string bean, working at Lane Bryant? The sizes in that store started at size fourteen! It's not like I thought I was too good to work there, it just didn't seem like – no pun intended - a good fit.

But my mom kept bugging me, no doubt wanting to see me gainfully employed and out of the house. “Just go in and apply,” she said. “What harm could it do?”

Not only did Lane Bryant accept my application, but the store manager called me in for an interview the next day. I came into the store, asked for her, and was lead to a back office. A not at all plump woman with brown hair styled in the layered Jennifer Aniston look that was so popular at that time sat me down in a swivel chair. She held my application in her French-manicured hand, and looked me up and down. “Why do you want to work here?” was the first thing out of her mouth.

“Oh, I have great custumer service experience,” I lied, thinking back to my video store days when I'd sometimes get through an entire shift without helping anyone. “I have extensive cash register training,” I added, “and I'm a quick learner.”

“That,” the manager, whose name was Sherri, said, “is a great reason to work here. You know what we value here at Lane Bryant? Diversity. Lane Bryant celebrates all kinds of women, especially ones with positive attitudes. It's not just about the clothes. Look at me,” Sherri said, spreading her arms out and making motions toward her torso, “I can't wear the clothes here. I'm a size eight. But it's not about sizes. It's making women feel beautiful and looking great, no matter what their size. How does that sound to you?”

“Oh, it sounds fantastic,” I gushed, while thinking, please, please give me this job. I need money BADLY. “Great,” she said. “Now... you won't be able to wear the clothes here, either. Or anything from the Venezia line.” (I wondered what 'Venezia' meant but I figured I'd find out later.) “But that's okay,” Sherri continued. “Lane Bryant is owned by The Limited, so just wear stuff from there, or what looks like is from there. Okay?”

“No problem.” Sherri told me to come into the store the next morning to begin my training. I shook her hand and left the store, taking a minute to eye the women working there, folding jeans, dressing mannequins, chatting with customers, all between the sizes of fourteen and twenty-eight, the sizes that Lane Bryant carried. Hello, I said to them silently. I'm your new co-worker. Nice to meet you.

***

The next morning I showed up for my training before the store opened. I wore pressed black slacks, a lavender shell, and dressy black shoes. Sherri and I were the only people in the store, and we sat in the back office once again. Sherri popped in video after video into a VCR and I watched their instructions on a tiny white TV while she sat in her office doing other things. Just when I thought I couldn't watch anything else that had to do with merchandising an underwear table, properly folding a pair of jeans, preventing theft, or convincing a customer to apply for a Lane Bryant credit card, Sherri appeared with one last video tape.

“This one's fun,” she said, feeding it into the VCR. “I like to save this one for last. It's not exactly... well, true, but I really like the ideas it presents. It leaves you with a positive feeling when you walk away.” The video began with soothing music, something that would be playing in the lobby area at a day spa, and featured shot after shot of old-world architecture, Renaissance paintings, and marble sculptures of human figures. A woman's voice began to narrate.

“My name is Sophie,” she said, with all the calmness of a flight attendant telling you to relax and enjoy your flight, “and many years ago, I traveled to Venice, Italy. I was amazed at what I saw.” Images of white marble sculptures faded in and out on the screen. Sophie went on to say that during her stay in Venice, she was deeply inspired by the paintings and sculptures that featured fuller-figured women. She was thrilled to see those sorts of body types celebrated, and when she came back home to the States, she decided to create a clothing line that was especially made for women with fuller figures. “I named it Venezia,” Sophie explained, “after the city that inspired it all.”

My mouth must have been hanging open a little when Sherri walked back into the room. What a load of crap. Why did they need to invent a story like this to get people to believe in what Lane Bryant was about?

“Are you taking this all in?” Sherri asked. “I know it seems like a lot. The rest of your training will be out on the floor today with Tiffani. She's the assistant manager.”

“Alright,” I said, trying to shake the hokey Sophie bunk out of my head and focus on the positive aspects of Lane Bryant as a company. They were paying me much more that what the video store ever did. And I could still get a discount on stuff here. Maybe one day I'd see a purse or a necklace that I liked. Either way, it was just for the summer, and I was going to stick it out.

A few minutes later, the women who worked the opening shift made their way into the back of the store. Sherri introduced them to me one by one, and as we said our hellos, I could see a question flicker behind their smiles. What am I doing here, you ask? Just trying to earn a living. Please don't look at me like that.

Training with Tiffani was a whole different world. She was in her mid-twenties, probably a size eighteen, with long blonde high-lighted hair. She always wore little black heels. “I'm so excited to meet you!” she exclaimed, shaking my hand. “This morning I'm going to lead you through our foundations section.”

“Foundations” was a fancy word for bras, underwear, and “body shapers,” little Lycra shorts that women wore beneath their outfits. “Don't say girdle,” Tiffani advised. I eyed the bras. Would they have my size? The smallest one I saw was a 36C. That's a definite no, I thought.

“Look at these!” Tiffani exclaimed. “We just got this shipment in yesterday.” She held up a black satin lace-up-the-back corset with wire boning. “You could work this a lot of different ways. Wouldn't it look so hot under a blazer?” I had to admit that it would. Tiffani draped it over her arm. “It's very 'Sex and the City.' I'm going to try this on during my lunch break,” she said. “Oh, and next month we're doing a lingerie promotion. Every Lane Bryant employee gets a free bra!” Great, I thought. Maybe I could give it to my friend Jacqui, a size sixteen who laughed in my face when I told her where my new job was.

When it came to giving employees working hours, Lane Bryant had a few tricks up its sleeve. Everyone was paid by the hour and no one made commission. Each employee, however, was expected to sell at least one hundred dollars worth of clothing for each hour that they worked as well as sign up one new customer for a membership to the Lane Bryant credit card every day. At the end of the week, everyone's numbers were added up. The top third of the sellers kept their full working hours for the next week. The middle third worked for part of the week, and were also on standby. And if you were in the bottom third, you hardly worked at all, possibly being on standby for every shift, and maybe working just one day each week. Needless to say, this created a tremendous amount of pressure for the saleswomen to compete and fight for those top spots.

I hit the ground running and at the end of my first week, I was in the middle third. The week after that I was in the top third, and as the weeks went by I slowly worked my way up the chart. One week I was the number three seller for the entire store. “Way to go, Skinny,” one of my co-workers said. The next week, I was number one. No one said anything. Being number one was a coveted spot, and I knew it was somewhat of a fluke that I had claimed it. I was not some dynamo saleswoman; I had just been lucky. I was proud of myself, but I didn't brag about it. I never made the number one spot again, but I worked hard to get sales and still stayed high up in the ranks, so my hours were never jeopardized.

This was 2000, the summer of python, or in most of the fashion world's case, faux python. Python pants, jackets, belts, bags, anything that was usually leather was now also made in a python skin pattern, in every color from dark brown to teal to hot pink. Lane Bryant sported a line of python pants, mini skirts and matching jackets in purple and cherry red. These were more of their trendier pieces, and they were displayed at the front of the store. Nearby were business suits and blouses in bright, splashy summer colors, and beyond those were flirty silk summer dresses with slits up the sides. I tried to remember how long this store had been in this mall. I had no idea; I had never paid attention to it before.

Then, a new idea hit me. I had to have been the stupidest skinny girl ever to ponder over why her overweight classmates had no taste in clothes! It was not as if they wanted to wear sweatpants and saggy sweaters every day, it was the fact like there were not enough stores like this around to provide them with an opportunity to wear anything different. I couldn't believe my closed-mindedness. How could this not have occurred to me before?

I refolded a table of mint green capri pants, shaking my head and laughing at my own foolishness.Every once in a while someone would wander in to the store and not realize it was a store for plus-sized ladies until a few minutes in to their shopping experience. I think sometimes if I was working toward the front and I was the first salesperson they saw they didn't automtically think anything was different. It was fun to watch these “regular sized” women come to this realization, then find a tactful way to escape the store as quickly as possible. It was as if they would be exposed to “fat germs” if they stayed in there a minute longer and would spontaneously gain fifty pounds.

One day a small group of size zero fifteen year old girls wandered in to the front part of the store. I was working in the front and graced them a welcoming smile. They smiled back and started looking at leather jackets. About a minute later, like a flock of birds, all of them suddenly stopped what they were doing and looked around rapidly, their blonde ponytails shaking from side to side. The realization had come; they knew they were in “that” kind of a store.

Immediately, they all started giggling loudly, and quickly walked, then ran, out of the store. I glared at them as they whizzed past me. “If you're going to laugh at fat people, then stay the f*** out of my store,” I thought.

***

On a trip to the beach later that summer, I neglected to put sunscreen on the tops of my feet. The next morning my feet were so red and swollen that I couldn't walk or even fit shoes or socks over them. After a trip to the emergency room and a diagnosis of second-degree burns, I was given a doctor's note and told to stay off my feet for the next four days.

And so began four days of rest, where I was allowed to lay on my mom's queen-sized bed, watch TV, and eat ice cream, my swollen, blistering feet wrapped in damp washcloths. After watching a marathon of "Roots" on the History Channel, and as a result feeling incredibly depressed, I decided to read to change things up a bit. The book I had was Culture Jam by Kalle Lasen, founder and editor of the magazine Adbusters.

Up until that point in my life, it was the most anti-corporate, anti-consumerist piece of literature I had ever read. It totally changed my perspective on how big business in America worked, and how the media perpetuated the image of an unattainable life. I was fascinated by the ideas that the book presented. Consumerism was eating away at America, it said. Modern day slavery still existed. The only solution was to not buy into the lies that were heaped upon us by mainstream media. Shopping did not lead to fulfillment, it only left you with a sad, empty feeling.

I saw that feeling present in the eyes of my neighbors. One had recently bought a Corvette, another had just gotten a boob job. I saw it in the faces of friends at school, who religiously watched “Sex and the City” every Sunday night and felt horribly incomplete, bemoaning the fact that they didn't have the amazing wardrobe or enough cash to get manicures every weekend like the characters on the show did. I also saw that feeling in the customers who came into my store, eager to try on a new purple python pantsuit.

The book fascinated me. I devoured it in three days and by the time I returned to work, bandages still on my feet, my mindset had become very cynical in regards to the consumerist lifestyle. The main ideas from the book that I took with me were that big companies, even one like Lane Bryant, were horrid institutions. They stomped on the little people at the bottom of the pecking order (people like me!) and blatantly lied to consumers to make as big a profit as possible. I was immediately suspicious of everything that Lane Bryant stood for. They didn't really want to empower larger women by making stylish clothes that fit them – they just wanted to take their money by presenting the idea that possessions brought about happiness. Well, I was not going to be part of that racket anymore.

This didn't mean that I quit. I just slowly cut down my aggressive salesperson tactics. I stopped pushing people to apply for the Lane Bryant credit card. My desire for women to not get further into debt had overridden my desire to be a good employee and make my numbers. I cut down on the times I tried adding on accessories at the cash wrap. And when a woman tried something on and asked me how it looked, I said, “I don't know. Do you really need to buy that? What do you think?” Even with this dramatic change in sales tactics, my weekly numbers stayed up and I remained in the top third.

About a week into my new anti-consumerist sales campaign, a new girl joined the Lane Bryant team. Her name was Nicole, and she was younger than me, with a sunny smile and an impossibly upbeat attitude. Tiffiani paired me up with her on her first closing night so I could show her how to fold down the underwear table.

“You girls are awesome!” Tiffani exclaimed as she strutted back to the office to count the day's earning, snapping her fingers and singing an old disco song.

More, more, more!

How do you like it, how do you like it?

More, more , more!

When Tiffani was out of sight, I asked Nicole what she thought of Lane Bryant so far.

“I love it,” she said. “I just watched a bunch of videos this morning. The one about Sophie, and Italy... it was ...” she searched for the right words, “it was just so inspiring. It was really cool to learn where all of this,” she gestured to the clothing displayed all around us, “came from.”

“Yeah,” I began, leaning in closer to her and lowering my voice. “You know, all that 'Sophie' stuff? It's not real. They just made it up. Lane Bryant isn't being truthful with us. They're based out of Cleveland, Ohio. I looked it up. 'Sophie' doesn't even exist.”

Nicole's face fell. I could see that I had broken a little piece of her heart. Oh well, I thought. It's better she find out now, before the corporate machine swallows her whole.

About a week later we had a store meeting. The staff was being prepped on the lingerie promotion that was about to happen throughout the store. We were each given a new bra for free as part of the promotion, to encourage conversation about it with our customers. I had requested a 36DD in sky blue to give to my friend Jacqui. Everyone sat in a circle in folding chairs, clutching their new bras and wolfing down donuts and muffins that the managers had provided.

Tiffani spoke first. “Did you ladies know that 80% of women are wearing the wrong bra size?” Several quiet gasps and ohs! rose from my co-workers. I frowned. I had heard this “fact” before. It was about a year ago in Nordstrom. Their lingerie department was having a promotion and a saleswoman had thrown a number my way, except then, it was 75%. So the number had actually gone up since then! Someone obviously wasn't doing their job.

My skepticism was at an all-time high. This is just another trick, I thought, a line fed to women to get them to come in and try on bras. I raised my hand and was immediately called on.

“Yes, Catie?”

“Yeah. Where did you get that number?” Everyone turned and looked at me.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I mean, how could someone come up with that figure? Do they walk around and ask women if they're wearing the wrong bra size and eight women out of ten say yes?”

No one said anything. I lowered my hand and crossed my arms, waiting for an answer. Ha, I thought. I've got you now.

Tiffani jumped right in, as smooth as can be. “These facts were given to us from corporate headquarters. They did some extensive surveys, and that was the number that they came up with.” Everyone seemed satisfied with this answer. People turned and faced the front again. My little revolution had been squelched. You guys don't get it, I thought.

I knew my days in that store were numbered after that. I just couldn't stomach the idea of playing into women's insecurities by having them buy stuff from me. I had to quit soon. I needed a way out.

In late July, I figured one out. I told the managers a half-truth, because if I told a flat-out lie, which I am horrible at doing in a believable way, I just knew that they would see right through me. I said that our family's house had been for sale, which was true, and that we were moving to California, which was also true, and that the house had sold suddenly, much sooner than was expected, and that we had to move to California much earlier than we had anticipated. This was not true at all. The house had not sold yet, but how were they to know? My managers accepted my resignation and asked if I'd come back next summer. I said probably not.

***

Even today, six years after that summer of working in a store whose merchandise I could never, and no doubt will never wear (I still weigh the same that I did in high school, still fluctuate between a size two and four), the fact that I was once an employee at Lane Bryant has not been laid to rest. It comes up in job interviews when my past employment is discussed. Potential employers, especially if they are women, look over my resume, do a double take and say, “Wait – you worked where?” It comes up in conversations about working when the subject gets to the hardest job we've ever had.

In the summer of 2004, an event was put on by Portland's queer community called Fat Girl Speaks, a fat pride event, similar to gay pride. It was advertised everywhere, and there were going to be discussion panels, speakers, fashion shows, art exhibits, burlesque shows, poetry nights, and of course, parties. I was fascinated by this idea and wanted to go to support the cause, and to see what it was like. I had recently broke up with someone special (someone who, coincidentally, was quite overweight) and I did not feel comfortable hitting the town and going alone. I could just imagine what it would look like – a tall skinny girl walking around at a fat pride event, gawking like a tourist, seeing how it was for overweight women and what they struggled with. I wanted to hang a sign around my neck that read “I am here as an ally. I used to work at Lane Bryant – don't judge me!”

But even if it was widely known that I once worked at Lane Bryant, what did it matter? Working at a store that sells clothes to a certain demographic does not mean you automatically understand their plight. I never actually walked in their shoes. Who was I to assume that I understood what they went through? I called my friend Jacqui to see if she wanted to go with me (Jacqui was now, coincidentally, working at a different Lane Bryant across town) but she was away on vacation. During the nights that Fat Girl Speaks took place, I sulked around at home, ate Twizzlers, and watched reruns of “The L Word.”

Looking back, I should have gone. What harm could have been done? It was probably a very open, positive environment, and I missed out on it because I was afraid of being marginalized. Now, every time I walk past a Lane Bryant (of which there are many) or Ashley Stewart or some other store of its kind, I feel slightly nostalgic. I think back to that particular summer when I needed a job and worked harder than I ever had before. It opened my eyes by dropping me into a world where I was the minority, the one that didn't fit in as well as the others.

It is a huge privilege to observe fat culture from the distance that I do. The fact that fat pride events even take place are definitely a positive thing, but I do not think it is a reflection of overweight people gaining acceptance in society. With constant news stories about celebrities and everyday people getting various types of surgery to deal with their weight and the soaring popularity of plastic surgery amongst the general populace, there seems to be a widening gap between those who are overweight and content and those who are overweight and miserable.

Just last year my friend Jacqui got breast reduction surgery because she was having back problems, and after that procedure she had liposuction done to the sides of her body to, as she put it, “balance” herself out. Even with myself and my whippet-thin frame, I occasionally long for more shape: larger breasts, a rounder bum, fuller hair. There are products and procedures available to me to satisfy those needs as well.

Will I eventually buy into it? That seems to be the one constant with everyone's body struggles: no matter what it is you want to change, someone is out there to sell you something to make it happen. And whether your niche market is Lane Bryant, Petite Sophisticate, or somewhere in between, there are always racks and racks of clothes to drape over yourself while you wait.

Station fire

2009-09-02T21:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday evening, as Lisa and I looked out her balcony to the eery orange haze that is the Station fire, I mentioned how scary it was to be so close to it. "Finally, someone understands!" Lisa remarked, as only those who live in L.A. and have dealt with this fear of losing their home can understand; of an evacuation order sent through smoke detectors or reverse 911 calls; of knowing there is only one highway snaking towards freedom from the flames.

For a long while, I never thought twice about wildfires in Southern California. "Serves those rich people right," I maliciously snickered, reasoning that the choice to build in areas prone to fire left no place for sympathy.

But now, being less than 20 miles away, my view has changed. The dust (actually ash) on the trunk of my car I swiped with my finger could be made up of more than the Angeles forest - it could be people's homes.

The truth is, wildfires are generally horrible - red-orange monsters who save a lottery-chosen few and obliterate many.

My heart goes out to all those affected by the Station fire. May you mourn and finally rebuild the burnt edges of your homes and your hearts.

Photos from Invisible Children's "The Rescue"

2009-08-03T15:56:00.001-07:00

FINALLY! I'm home and productive enough to get these pics posted.

This event happened back in April, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. After all, sleeping outside in the freezing fog-type cold in the name of ending Joseph Kony's Ugandan war is a night one can't forget.

That's the basic premise behind "The Rescue," an event put on by Invisible Children to represent the abduction of Ugandan children who have been forced to fight in a 23 year-long war for a man named Joseph Kony, leader of the Lord's Resistance Army. An abduction walk and night spent in a mock LRA camp happened in cities all over the world on April 25, 2009 by members and friends of the non-profit group Invisible Children.

As a substitute teacher, I know children face many hardships in life, but one which no child should be indoctrinated into is war, Kony's pure terrorism. War should be left to grown-ups. If you look on Chelsea's green shirt, there is a gun holster on the side, and on the back, they make it look as though a teddy bear is hooked on, like the child grabbed his teddy bear and hooked it to his gun before heading to the war zone - so sad!

The flags helped us know when we reached our goals for the event. If the red flag was hung, that meant we had media attention (i.e. newspapers or tv would cover the event). If the white flag was hung, we had met our quota of writing 2,000 letters to political leaders asking for them to do something about the war. If the green flag was hung, we reached our donation quota. If the purple flag was hung, a mogul, meaning someone famous in the world (i.e. celebrity, political leader) had come to the event.

Steve-o rescued Phoenix

Jeff Foxworthy rescued Atlanta

and Oprah rescued Chicago, whose participants had waited for five days for someone to do so.

Let me know what you think. Loves!

Who needs toliet paper when you have Kleenex?

2009-07-15T17:20:00.001-07:00

Okay, this is going to be another random blog because...

I am ON LOCATION!

In gorgeous Stevenson Ranch, CA... this is the view from my friend Lisa's apartment. I thought I would never get used to it, but I have :)

Let me back up - at the time of my last post, my gal pal circle (known as the Awesome Amigas) was begging me to consider job searching in L.A. It took me a good month of praying to get off my butt and do it, but I feel confident this is where I'm supposed to be.

The first weekend I spent here, I took a day to be a Hollywood tourist. Armed with a trusty Rand McNally and my observant eyeballs, I successfully

A) saw the Hollywood sign (but obviously couldn't get closer than Franklin Street)

B) cruised down Hollywood Blvd and walked down the Walk of Fame

my first view of the stars - I literally squealed :)

Where better to eat than McDonald's?

One of my souvenirs from Hollywood - a "serious" Lincoln from McDonald's :)

C) stumbled upon Grauman's Chinese Theatre

D) cruised down Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills and was astonished at how close the LA Temple is to Santa Monica Blvd, C) and put my feet in the water on Hwy 1 between L.A. and Malibu.

By the end of that day, L.A. had me. I had fallen head over Prada heels in love.

To end, two things I learned:

1) Hollywood has this amazing, glam-trash appeal - colorful storefronts and people who look like they stepped out of the 80's glam rock scene. It's my favorite part of L.A., for the moment :)

2) Drive fast, even if you don't know where you're going. You don't want to be given the bird by a 90 year-old grandma with a Lakers flag in the back window.

Bridal Party over heaaa! H+A

2009-05-30T07:51:00.001-07:00

"According to a new Gallup poll, 52% of people say they're opposed to gay marriage, 45% of people say they're in favor of it. That means the remaining 3% are for gay rights, they just hate going to weddings." -- Jay Leno on the Tonight Show, 5/29/09

This past weekend, one of my best friends got married to her true love, which got me to thinkin' (as this would be the 7th wedding I've been in/been a part of) -- what five things should every good bridesmaid bring to a summer wedding? Here's my list:

1) Safety pins - seems like every bride chooses a sash to go with the bridesmaid dress that will not stay put. Luckily, this was not the case with my friend's wedding, but otherwise, safety pins are always a great need. Although I did save a friend's dress from being surprisingly strapless.

2) Sunscreen - I learned of this essential from the very first wedding I was in, when a childhood friend got married at age 18 and I got FRIED. Summer weddings = sunburns, and the bride is usually the last one to remember to apply some of this miracle product. Douse her in it - she'll thank you for it later.

3) Camera - Nowadays, with the ease of digital photography, memories can be captured that the paid photographer may miss. Plus you'll want to update your social networking profile picture post-wedding!

4) Bobby pins - Weddings are the days when the women of the wedding party force their hair to do amazing twists and turns, feats of strength that invariably require Aqua-Net and these torture devices.

5) Bottle of Water - It's going to be hot, and either you, another wedding party member, or the bride herself will need refreshment. A fun (but expensive) variation is an Evian mineral water mister. J-Lo had it in her toolbelt in The Wedding Planner.

For other ideas of what a summer wedding survival kit should contain, check out

http://www.msandmrs.com. My favorite is the comprehensive Wedding Day kit.

Also, I had the opportunity to be the "Food Czar" for the wedding, which was REALLY fun, even if at times I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Thank you to all my "minions," without whom I would've never gotten everything done at the reception and wedding luncheon. :)

A blog entry about nothing

2009-05-18T22:31:00.000-07:00

So I'm going to pull a Seinfeld and write a blurb about the topics I've been thinking about doing a blog entry about.

Confusing? Good. Hopefully bullet points will distract you more.

During all the Miss California marriage stance media chatter, I've really decided that I feel marriage is between a man and a woman. I've been fooling myself in my "separate but equal" stance, telling people that it's more about the definition of the word and that I support a same-sex union as long as it had a different name. And yes, my religion has something to do with it.
I'm so sad that Jon from Jon and Kate plus 8 has a history of clubbing and flirting with younger girls (see US weekly article), that their children have to hear about all the nasty rumors and wonder if all the fighting mommy and daddy do isn't just "love taps."
I had an amazing experience participating in Invisible Children's worldwide protest known as THE RESCUE on April 25th at Fresno State (will blog extensively about this later). I'm so glad I learned about this event, the unseen war in northern Uganda and this organization. Thank you Chelsea Wood and all the members of Invisible Children UC Merced for letting me bum along with you!

That's it for now... be on the lookout for my Rescue post!

Peace and love, my bebes.

Little longer than a Tweet from Congress

2009-04-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

Ah, my faithful followers - I have not forgotten about this blog. Let's just say I had a grey period (is it grey or gray? Consulting AP Stylebook... gray) but now I'm back, bursting with colorful blog-related musings.

My first topic - Who came up with the idea for the status update?

You Facebookers know exactly what I'm talking about.
"[Your name] is [insert cool thing you're doing here]."

Then it evolved to an optional "is."

Myspace stole it.
Now Twitter thinks they OWN it.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

M - Th 11p / 10c

Twitter Frenzy

comedycentral.com

Daily Show Full Episodes

Economic Crisis

Political Humor

Thank you, Jon Stewart.

Here's a few of my "grunts" on status updates:

1. Myspace status change is the poor man who stole Facebook's genius. Remember when we had no choice? When all it used to say next to your name was "is in your extended network?"

2. In my opinion, Tweeters are an elite, wealthy group of iPhone or BlackBerry users who figured out a new way to pass notes under the boss' nose.

3. "Check out my status update" is SO much easier to say than figuring out the correct grammatical usage of "tweet." (I twittered, twitted, twatted? I'm a twit, twitterer? Like to drink tweet tea?) Ask the news programs that viral-ed this mess: they're all confused.

4. As far as I know, not one of my college-age friends "Tweet," but most of them use Facebook. Status updates are easily read on the vast-reaching home among my network of friends, while Twitter puts you in white padded room of sorts, an html prison where you must bang your cup on the bars to find fellow inmates. Here's an SAT analogy to use as a reference.
Facebook: easily connected network for pretty much anyone: :Twitter: a bandwagon even your mom^ wouldn't jump on.

5. In order to describe a Twitter tweet, you have to use Facebook as a reference. "It's like writing on walls, only all your friends can see it," user allocate on digg.com said. So that's a limited-word status update, right?

In conclusion: iphone or Blackberry? around $600. Reading status updates on Facebook that are longer than 140 characters? Priceless.

Now excuse me, I have to do something that rids my mind of a noisy bird.

3F = Facebook Fan FOREVER!

^My mother decided to try out Twitter, thinking she'd find as many people she knew (through me or herself) that had Facebook. The reality? She found one lone random dude from "The Forums" she regularly posts at, who tweeted in essence, "Guess there really isn't anyone on here."

He's Just Not That Into You

2009-02-23T22:19:00.001-08:00

No, this is not a review of the movie, or the book, or anything related to Sex in the City (although that show is QUITE fabulous - seriously, "What A Guy Shouldn't Do" 101).

It's a reflection/celebration/mourning of the day I met a boy. Exactly one year ago I met this boy, and we dated.
And broke up.
Twice.

The second breakup was recent - a fortnight ago. We may have loved immaturely, and I was a fool to hold on so tight, but it was love, on my side at least.

So as a commemoration of this day, I've compiled a list of songs & song lyrics that describes how our relationship went.

First time...

"Oh, little cutie, when you talk to me, I swear the whole world stops. You're my sweetheart and I'm so glad that you are mine - you are one of a kind and... Oh! I'm into you. And girl, no one else would do, 'cause with every kiss and every hug, you make me fall in love."- With You By Chris Brown

"I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds, and baby, the way you make my world go 'round... I just wanted to say, I'm sorry"- Sorry by Buckcherry

Second time...

"You were like my lover, and my best friend, all wrapped into one with a ribbon on it." - Rehab by Rihanna

"There's only 1 thing, 2 do, 3 words 4 you - I love you." - 1,2,3,4 by Plain White T's

"When it's good, then it's good, it's SO good, 'til it goes bad..." - Sober by P!nk

"'Cause any time you needed me, I'd be there - it's like you were my favorite drug. The only problem is that you was using me in a different way than I was using you."- Rehab by Rihanna

"You run and tell your friends that you're leavin' me... They say that they don't see what you see in me. You wait a couple months then you gon' see, You'll never find nobody better than me." - Heartless by Kanye West

"Being with you, is so dysfunctional. I really shouldn't miss you, but I can't let you go." - My Life Would Suck Without You by Kelly Clarkson

"I can't take it any longer, thought that we were stronger, all we do is linger, slipping through our fingers. I don't wanna try now. All that's left is good-bye, find a way that I can tell you...I hate this part right here... I know you'll ask me to hold on and carry on like nothing's wrong. But there is no more time for lies, cause i see sunset in your eyes. " - I Hate This Part by the Pussycat Dolls

"When you see my face, hope it gives you hell... when you walk my way, hope it gives you hell..." - Gives You Hell by All-American Rejects

"I cheated myself, like I knew I would." - So Good by Amy Winehouse

My new resolution:

"You can't give up, looking for a diamond in the rough. You'll never know when it shows up." Gotta Be Somebody by Nickelback

"Sarcasm" News

2009-02-05T21:19:00.000-08:00

Question: Why do people turn away from traditional media and toward "sarcasm" news, such as The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and The Colbert Report?

These shows/tv personalities are our generation's Jay Leno and David Letterman, with Conan O'Brien being the obvious middle man between the two.

In traditional media, the reason why both sides are presented and nothing else is so readers/subscribers can then choose sides on their own. If a journalist had an opinion on an article from the beginning and then presented both sides, wouldn't he/she find more information on the one side they supported? The objectivity would not be there. Bias would.
And so the reader would be more likely to choose the side the journalist supported, as more
information was presented to make that side look favorable.

But here's the irony with "sarcasm" news: you can still make a somewhat-educated decision on which side you support, with the clear news poking its way through. (My long-winded answer.) It's the satiric formula the experts have been using for years: give clear-cut news line, followed by brilliantly funny commentary.

For example, one of my favorite Colbert segments at the moment, continuing from my last post...

And a freakin' HILARIOUS one about the U.S. "honeymoon" with the President:

Another journalistic-type shows I enjoy: No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain

and The Soup! (seriously, this is how I feel about Twilight fans)

Barack Obama is as American as Coca-Cola

2009-01-20T20:37:00.000-08:00

Today is historic. And of course I have thoughts on the key word of the day, Barack Obama. Do you know that Google currently contains 80.8 million search results for those two words? He's just a little more popular than Barbie (71.4) and twice more perused than Coca Cola (42.8).

This is definately true among kids, as I watched the inauguration with squirmy kindergarteners this morning. "Barack Obama's the coolest man in the world!" one little boy exclaimed, with a quizzical look on his face when I asked him why.

For me, this is why:

1) He brought back the rock-star status to the office of President of the United States. My mother, bless her heart, has a passion known to many in our town as "the forums." To make a long story longer, she posted her opinion about the amount of money spent on the inauguration, saying, "The office of the President of the United States is not royalty, nor a rock star." To which I say, thank you, President Obama, for BEING a rock star! Who has seriously aspired to be President, or heard a kid say during the Bush administration that they wanted to become such? It was about as dead of a career choice as an astronaut, until a strong-talkin' senator from IL showed up on Oprah and surely snow-balled into political history.

2) He is a modern day Martin Luther King, Jr. I made this connection early on in his candidacy, and firmly stand by it - not because they are both black, but because they brought together a diverse plethora of people for a peaceful cause. I realized this was even more true as I eagerly listened to an address King gave to students at UC Berkeley about stopping the war in Vietnam. (Yay for random stuff on classical stations!) Equality, the power of grassroots efforts, stopping wars where our mission is unclear: there are definite parallels that cannot be ignored. See Is Barack Obama the Messiah?: Martin Luther King = Nelson Mandela = Barack Obama for more.

3) Finally, he made a believer out of a straight-laced Mormon Republican. I still remember the day I had to defend my presidential choice to a Mitt Romney follower, also a past president of the BYU-Idaho College Republicans.
"Okay, Here goes; why Barack Obama?" he said with a "show me what you're workin' with" kind of grin.
My response, which illicited an impressed head-nod and well-placed, "Okay, I'll give you that:" "He had his 14-point plan/political agenda up two months before Romney, and I still don't see a concrete plan from him on how to fix America."

Welcome home, our true Mr. President. Welcome home.

One Step changes everything

2009-01-15T19:32:00.000-08:00

Or more like one click. I wasn't feeling in the mood to blog, but knew I wanted to because a) it's been too freakin' long, and b) I turned 25 on Wednesday. Luckily, some music on Heather's blog got my muse juices flowing and reminded me of my wonderful time in OR. Thanks, cous!

On turning 25...

"So scared of getting older,

I'm only good at being young.

So I play the numbers game,

To find a way to say that life has just begun."

"Stop this Train," John Mayer

As you can see, there is a definite theme here. On my morning walk (hopefully the beginning of many more - take that, New Year's resolution!), I had an epiphany -

I miss school.

I'm good at it.

I've learned a lot from it.

So I realize the only way to go in the direction of the stage of life I wish I was already in is by going and remembering the things I've learned there

translate to the real world, such as:

1) There will be times in life where you have to just sit and wait.

2) Sometimes you have to give the wrong answer in order to find the right one.

3) Recess is now called exercise, and it's not as fun as an 80's-themed P.E. session with Mr. Vickeroy.
4) Playing hard is just as important as working hard (elementary school memories come to mind, of Butt's Up, Handball, finding ladybugs/putting them in jars, making scissors out of weeds, Freeze tag, softball...).

5) Manners and common sense are always appreciated when used among the masses.

6) There are strict rules to follow, a method of organization to every madness. When one follows these rules, good things usually happen.

7) There will always be someone to kiss your boo-boo's, even if the lips used are yours.

8) Every once in a while, a person needs a good cry, juice, and nap-nap.

9) Doing something nice for someone else will make you feel better.

10) Not everyone gets in trouble for doing the wrong thing. In fact, there are many times when you can break the rules and no one a) notices or b) cares.

11) When you're not sure what to say, listen instead.

12) Name calling always hurts.

13) The smell of crayons, pink erasers and chalk will inevitably draw you back to some classroom you called home, and a teacher you secretly called mother.

"Some say every day is just one step closer to death.
I say every day is just one step closer to life - and understanding."

- Colby Ranae

Britney Spears is my emergency hero

2008-12-17T18:14:00.000-08:00

I know, ANOTHER blog about Britney Spears?!

Oh contraire, my diligent readers - it's only the perfect description of what I did on the night of December13th.

Let's start from the very beginning...

I had a fun night out in Fresno with close friends and was driving home to Merced, when the calamari I had earlier that evening wasn't settling right. (Sidenote: I'm a girl who, seriously, NEVER throws up, even when it'd be the best way to expel whatever toxins are in my system. My mom's the same way - there has to be something MAJOR going on.) I passed a well-lit gas station, thinking I could make it the last 20 mins, but finally had to pull over on a random country road, Mariposa Way, and let vomit happen.

I wish I could say "that's all I have to say about that," but no - after I was done, I realized all the doors were locked. My keys, purse, cell phone, jacket, and everything else useful was staring at me inside. Oh, and the last reading of the temperature gage inside my car was 37 degrees. (Later, I learned that it got down to 28 degrees, which explains why I couldn't feel my thighs.)

So I do what any civilized girl in her mid-20's does:

turn into survivorwoman! :)

I walked about half a mile towards Merced, and as I prayed, came up with an idea to break the driver's side window. I turned the opposite way and start walking towards my car, searching debris on the side of the road for anything umbrella-like... aha! A long plank of wood!

So it is, as I'm walking in the "bitter" cold, using this plank as a glorified walking stick, that a thought runs through my mind - This would/will make an excellent blog entry.

Now, back to the window - I hit it several times with the plank, realizing that it's no use. Something metal, that's what I need. I think about braving the side of the highway again, but shudder at the thought, then turn to prying a metal pole from someone's country yard who OBVIOUSLY wasn't home (curses on you if you were - I needed help!). I again hit the window, and as I admit defeat, I see my cell phone light up with a text from a friend, a friend I know would be so worried if he knew what had happened to me thus far. I almost cry, then circle the car, deciding to walk back towards Fresno, towards the gas station, along the side of the road.

Then the dogs came.

They were protecting their almond orchard from this obvious crack-laced lunatic, but I knew better than to stare them in the eyes. I walked pitifully parallel, just hearing their jaws snap, the twin's hot breath blazing in the cold night. They stopped at the edge of their property, but I could still hear them long after I'd passed.

My eyes turned toward a red truck turning at a rail-road crossing, which sparked my next idea: cross both lanes of highway and follow it (at least the driver would still be awake at this hour and probably take mercy on me). I scramble to the crossing, which turns bright red as a long cargo train approaches. After a small eternity, I make my way to the first house I see and knock on the door. Several times. There's a van parked out back, so at least they have kids. Or Mafia connections.

Finally a man in his mid-40's comes out wearily and listens to my prisoner of war statement, then utters "No hablo inglés." No problem! I sputter, "Car broken, need phone" in my favorite language and get what I need - a lifeline to the outside world.

To make a long story short(er), I am very appreciative of the kindness of these strangers. They let me borrow a shirt to wear, a blanket to cuddle, and are understanding when I go outside to throw up yet AGAIN (oh man, I will NOT be eating seafood any. time. SOON). Their high-school age daughter, who recently had her appendix out, smiles as she hobbles around to help me in every situation. I made sure to get their names, address and phone number to thank them properly later.

Days later, I've finally recovered from the food poisoning/stomach flu and tramatic stress I went through that night. But one quote keeps coming to my mind, that I'll never forget:

"Six billion people in the world, six billion souls. And sometimes… all you need is one."
-One Tree Hill, Season 3

Messiah is the olympics of sight-reading

2008-12-10T18:42:00.000-08:00

So I'm way excited to sing the alto part of Messiah in less than half an hour at my old high school. It's pretty much the only regal part about being a Los Banos High alumna.

And let me tell you, all Merced people who claim Los Banos is too far a drive and are not coming to see me sing tonight - it's NOT! I love it. It's home to me, considering you wouldn't get to see me if I didn't "sacrifice" and make the 40-min drive. Gas is cheap, so no excuse there.

Now, enough guilt, and here's to Christmas! (Again, so glad I'm doing something Christmas-y tonight!)

2008 Christmas survey: (thanks Jess!)

1. Egg nog or Hot Chocolate? Hot Chocolate with marshmellows. What's with this whipped cream stuff?!

2. Do you wrap presents or bag them? both

3. Colored Lights or White? white are cool for icicles (because there are no colored icicles in real life), "twinkle" lights are colored.

4. Do you hang mistletoe? I think we should in our apartment. Not like we'll get any action, but it'd be kinky.

5. When do you decorate? Sometime when it's actually December.

6. Favorite holiday dish? All the sweet stuff. Russian Tea Cookies RULE.

7. When & how did you learn about Santa? I remember getting my first bike from him that had a tag with my name on it. That was good enough for me!

8. How do you decorate your tree? I'd love to do themes, when I have money/am married.

9. Snow...love it or dread it? LOVE it. Never driven in it, but love it more than hate it.

10. What is the most important part of the holidays? Spending time with family. Remembering the reason for the season. The giving spirit is what I enjoy most.

10. Can you ice skate? As I say "whoa, WHOA!" with fear in my eyes. That and roller-skating are right up there with deep-sea diving. Oh, and "A Christmas Story." No thank you.

11. Do you remember your favorite gift? I can remember my least favorite gift - isn't that sad? It was a box of popsicle sticks. And my brother got rubber bands. Yeah. Ask my mom.

But favorite, hmm... Mall Madness. That game STILL rules.

13. Favorite holiday dessert? fudge
14. Favorite memory? Just being with my family on Christmas morning. Oh, seeing the annual "funny daddy" photo, especially the one where he was holding Gak.

15. Do you have a special ornament? Several. That's what elementary school does to you :)

16. What do you do on Christmas Eve? Sadly, no major traditions with my family. I do like to watch "Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer," claymation version, at least once during the season.

17. If you could have anything for Christmas this year what would it be? Peace in Darfur. Materialistically, gift cards from Lane Bryant, Target, and Olive Garden.

Womanizer

2008-12-08T14:09:00.000-08:00

At this very moment, I'm "chair dancing" in my parent's office, listening to one of my favorite guy-bashing songs. You GO, Britney Spears!

Am I weird for crying a little as I watch her live performance of this song?
Maybe.
I'm just so happy she's pulled herself together. I really am.

As a journalist who's followed her successes and blunders, I feel it is my duty to share my review of her MTV documentary "For the Record." After all, I DID look up her shaved head during a journalism class at BYU-Idaho. You can't keep me away from People magazine! :)

My conclusions:

Say what you will about Britney, but it horrifies me that she is so heavily followed by paparazzi. One scene in the documentary made that perfectly clear, when she couldn't go into the front of a store because the crowd was too aggressive. My favorite song of her "Blackout" phase (which, in this respect, still hasn't faded) is "Piece of Me." I felt justified in buying that song because I believed in it. The crazy "leave Britney ALONE!" youtube video couldn't be more true.
Yes, the documentary didn't reveal "secrets" or a true confessional. ("Yes, I did [insert drug or alcohol reference here]; Yes, I abandoned my babies; Yes, I became a partier, and it ruined me.") But what do you expect when she is still so heavily analyzed in the media? These mysteries will come out later "in [her] book." As my CORE teacher Mr. Orsetti told me in 8th grade, secrets in history are always revealed; you just need to wait around long enough. (Several mysteries I look forward to finding out: who shot JFK & Bobby Kennedy, the whole story behind the deaths of celebrities Natalie Wood, Marilyn Monroe, Heath Ledger and Anna Nicole Smith.)
This is truly the era of "the comeback." I never even considered "Blackout" as her comeback album; ever hear "Gimme More?" It's a track she'd be happy to hear in one of the many clubs she frequented during that period of her life. It actually makes me sad to hear it; it's her Glitter. But "Circus" is hot - it's Britney reincarnated, just as Madonna reincarnates herself on every album.
Let the girl make music and dance, if that's her form of therapy (remember Judy Garland?). So what if she says she feels she doesn't need to pay a psychologist to analyze her feelings?! If it works for her, that's all that matters, and I, for one, am more than willing to watch her entertain. That's what she is to me - a true entertainer.
Overall, it was spellbinding - totally worth my hour and eight minutes.

And for those of you who think "Why devote an entire blog entry to Britney Spears?" I say, "Why the hell not?!" I respect strong, independent women who embrace their sexuality; who say to Holly Housewife and the average 20-something young woman, "It's okay to feel sexy."

Take that, womanizers everywhere!

Belated "I'm Grateful For" List

2008-12-04T11:53:00.000-08:00

Alright,

I've had my pity party.

(Or I've at least covered the "wounds" with band-aids and neosporin.)

Inspired by Jessica's Thanksgiving blog entry, here's what I'm grateful for.

(Now with pictures!)

I am grateful for...

Music I can harmonize to

(Check my cousin Heather's blog for some GREAT stuff)

Hoodies, central heat, kitties - things that keep us warm!

Dishwashers

Mistakes I make

the Atonement

Blogs

(even the married people blogs I follow, which at times make me bitter and sad that I'm not tending to a home, husband and kids at the same time as them.)

And last, but not least, the chance I have to serve.

Also, here's an awesome email forward:

(remember when there was no Myspace or Facebook, sunny?! Those were the days! *spits in her spittoon on a back porch somewhere in Louisiana*)

I am thankful:

…for the wife who says it's hot dogs tonight,
because she is home with me, and not out with someone else.

…for the husband who is on the sofa being a couch potato,
because he is home with me and not out at the bars.

…for the teenager who is complaining about doing dishes,
because it means she is at home,
not on the streets.

…for the taxes I pay
because it means I am employed.

…for the mess to clean
after a party
because it means I have been
surrounded by friends.

…for the clothes that fit a little too snug,
because it means
I have enough to eat.

…for my shadow that watches me work
because it means
I am out in the sunshine.

…for a lawn that needs mowing,
windows that need cleaning,
and gutters that need fixin'
because it means I have a home.

…for all the complaining I hear
about the government
because it means we have
freedom of speech.

…for the parking spot
I find at the far end of the parking lot
because it means
I am capable of walking
and I have been blessed with transportation.

…for my huge heating bill,
because it means I am warm.

…for the lady behind me in church
who sings off key
because it means I can hear.

…for the pile of laundry and ironing
because it means I have clothes to wear.

…for weariness and aching muscles
at the end of the day
because it means I have been
capable of working hard.

…for the alarm that goes off
in the early morning hours
because it means I am alive.

and finally, for too many
emails, texts,
Facebook wall comments,
and Myspace messages
because it means I have friends who are thinking of me!

Help, by the Beatles

2008-12-03T13:16:00.000-08:00

There's a bountiful cornicopia of holiday blog entries I have yet to read, and of course, I've waited too long to blog again, but here's the thing readers:

I'm jaded.

I feel caught up in the noise of life, and no one but my mother (thank God for her) seems to care.

I feel the holiday triology - Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas - have passed me by, even though Christmas hasn't taken place yet. My church group has done nothing festive that would serve others. As a Christian, I want a freakin' service activity!

And why is Thanksgiving the bastard child that is overlooked because there's no Thanksgiving music, no commercialized Thanksgiving candy? That bugs the crap outta me. In my retail store, we started playing Christmas music THE DAY AFTER THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION. How jacked up is that?!

Also, is it just me, or are there times when you really need to talk to someone about yourself, and all they want to do is talk about themselves? Like, last night, I tried to get away to talk to some friends about what was ailing me, and I seemed to just keep quiet as I listen to them give their continuous monologues, where you, the eternal listener, have to insert an occasional smile and half-hearted laugh as you think in your mind, "If only they would ask about me. If only they would take two seconds to say, 'So Megan, I'm just going to shut up and let you talk. You never talk, and I know you've had a long day. So just let it all out. I'm here for you. I'll sacrifice my selfish ways just this once.'"

There is an saying President Henry B. Irying quoted in his 2004 General Conference address that goes like this:

"When you meet someone, treat them as if they were in serious trouble, and you will be right more than half the time.”

Will someone treat me?

Car-lagged, but safe and sound in Merced

2008-11-24T23:43:00.000-08:00

My camera and cell phone are charging, I still have a load of stuff in my car, and my roommates are abnormally chatty. What does this mean?

I'm HOME! :) Who knew I'd ever be excited to be back in Merced?

I've discovered so many things;
about myself.
about eternal families.
about my dear roommate, Amy.
about what heaven truly will be like (to paraphrase Dane Cook, it'll be like meeting all your relatives at the airport, and one of them will yell, "Guess who's dead, sucker!").
about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Who knew a road trip would strengthen my testimony so influentially?

"The temple is the reason for everything we do in the Church.

The temple was the reason our pioneer ancestors left their established homes and came west.

It was the reason they suffered privation and even death.

Temple covenants were the reason that, although babies were buried along the way, those pioneers could sing: Come, come, ye Saints, No toil nor labor fear; But with joy wend your way.

Some lost everything but came into the valley with everything, really—

temple ordinances, sacred covenants, and the promise of eternal life together as families."

- Sister Elaine S. Dalton, "A Return to Virtue," November 2008 Ensign

Simply having a wonderful time in Medford

2008-11-23T08:19:00.000-08:00

This blog is written on location, in Medford, Oregon!!! :) Isn't that exciting, everyone?
(All three of you that read this thing?) I'm here for my cousin Heather's wedding - she's in my blog roll, so that means she's famous, at least in my subdivision of the blogosphere. Speaking of which, the funniest thing happened yesterday a few seconds after I met Nicole, who's married to my cousin Kevin (is that called a cousin in-law? Enlighten me please). After telling me how nice it was to meet me and telling me about their son, Noah, I perked up, saying, "I follow your blog." She enthusiastically replied, "You do?! Wow! How do you know about it?"
That's the power of a blog roll, my friend - the power to connect people who are distant relatives, or relatives you haven't seen in 5 years, such as the many I met and reconnected with this weekend. So before I go too far, I'd like to give a little advice as a novice blogger to the veteran bloggers: PLEASE include friends and family on your blog rolls! You connect more people than you realize by doing so. I've stumbled on to many a delightful blog in "stalking" through this feature.

My aunt's up, so I'll make this quick:

Heather and Jason's wedding was wonderful.

Beautifully simple.

Full of family
and the loving spirit
of laughter,
happiness,
and all things
Smith,
Zimmer
and Poetschlag!

Along with the wonderful wedding agenda...

buttermilk pancakes made by Uncle Greg in the morning
going to the temple to see Heather and Jason get sealed for time and eternity in the Medford temple (Brittany, I got an awesome video for you of Heather and Jason coming out of the temple!)
taking photos, being in photos, and talking with Daniel, the photographer, who's Jason's brother, about Utah weddings and which places he's been kicked out of for getting that perfect shot
going to Aunt Jean's place for the luncheon and to watch the BYU-Utah game, or in my case, playing with my two dear second-cousins, princesses in the family sphere
running around preparing for the reception
enjoying the moment and laughing with family at the reception
kissing, smiling at and tickling the cousin princesses every chance I got
placing a booty of presents in my car and unloading them back at Heather's parent's home, where I'm currently typing in the kitchen

I did something else at the end of the day.

I listened to Taylor Swift's "Love Story" and, coincidentally, fell in love with it!

The above video is from her Country Music Award performance just a fortnight ago. Her thing during award performances is to change her outfit mid-performance, like "Should've Said No." I know it's simply velcro, but I was mesmirized when I saw her jeans and hoodie split in two, revealing a classy little black dress. So cool! She actually had the best "showy" performance of the night, along with Jason Aldean, in my opinion. The sound system was bad for the other performers, or they were pitchy, which is a let down, because you hope artists always sing on key. (At least I do.)

Well I'm going to get ready for church, since it is Sunday, and converse with my aunt and uncle.

Expect a tasty musical morsel more on Taylor Swift when I'm back in Merced later this week. She and John Mayer are two of my favorite artists now.

P.S. Favorite quote from Heather (these are first words she spoke to me yesterday morning as I woke up): "Good morning. I need chocolate already."

A blog is like a flower; nourish it, or thoughts will die.

2008-11-18T23:52:00.000-08:00

My list of "story ideas" for this blog seems so long, yet I know I will eventually get to all of them, in time. But the key is to post new crap more than weekly, though not hourly^, as that would just get plain ANNOYING.

So here's a little tidbit to go along with the GG banter - it's the funniest thing to know my mom has texting and picture-sending abilities on her phone now. My parents finally broke down and evolved from the cell phone "brick" age to *gasp!* the clam-shell.

The second text I received from my mother?

^ "I Get A Sidekick Out of You," Gilmore Girls, Season 6
[The group walks on. Rory types as they go.]
LORELAI: Mm, secret admirer?
RORY: It’s Dad. He gave me this thing as a gift, you know. However, he also got himself one, and since then he’s been text-ing me every five minutes. It’s insane. You should have told him no when he ran this past you.
LORELAI: I think it’s nice you have a real Daddy-daughter thing going on here.
RORY: Oh, yeah. He’s shopping for celery at the supermarket. They’re running a special.
LORELAI [laughs]: He’s just excited.
RORY: Yeah, well, now he’s in the canned peas aisle. Apparently he doesn’t like canned peas, but he does like pea soup. Interesting, no? No!
LORELAI: All right, give me that. [She takes the Sidekick and begins typing.] Um, okay. "Your daughter’s about to see Richard Gere’s penis, enjoy your celery!" That should shut him up for a while.
***
RORY: You want me to see if Dad can go with you?
LORELAI: What?
RORY: I’ve got him right here, he’s turning left on Main and he found a buffalo head nickel in his glove compartment.
LORELAI: No, I don’t know. It’s Saturday. I’m sure he’s busy.
RORY: He’s just left the hardware store and now he’s parked on the side of the road trying to decide how many tacos he wants. I vote three, ‘cause two just never seems like enough.
LORELAI: Okay, fine, so he’s not busy. But the wedding is starting in forty-five minutes!
RORY: He can be here in twenty.
LORELAI: Seriously?
RORY: Wow. Four tacos. Quite a man, my father. So, what do you think? Should I pull the trigger?
LORELAI [sighs]: Tell him to bring me a taco.
RORY: Will do. [Reading] T.P.T.D.I.
LORELAI: What does that mean?
RORY: Totally psyched to do it.
LORELAI: He's making up his own acronyms?
RORY: Yeah, and he just learned how to make the happy face.
LORELAI [snorts]: Sorry, kid. What can I say? He was really hot in high school.
***
LORELAI: Rory, your father has something he wants to tell you.
RORY: Yes, I just want to apologize for my Sidekick stalking. I realize now that I have a problem.
LORELAI: Which is the first step to recovery. The second step is that he's now giving the Sidekick to me!
RORY: No!
LORELAI: Heh!
RORY: That's worse!
LORELAI [miming using the Sidekick]: Hi Rory! What are you doing? What are you wearing? What are you thinking? What about now? Do you miss me? Do you think I'm pretty? Where do babies come from?
RORY: Thanks a lot, mister.

What IS a blog?

2008-11-10T11:19:00.000-08:00

So Prop 8 won, and I have time again to blog.

Finally, the blog post you've all been waiting for... (or maybe I've been waiting for - who reads this thing, anyway?)

I entered the blogosphere (the world of blogging) due to the prompting of friends with one essential question that needed an answer:

What IS a blog?

Well I googled, and I couldn't even find a blog entry that defined what a blog is! Until now, seriously, just now. Why didn't I think of the "Dummies" series?

"The word blog is actually a mashup of two other words—Web and log—so if it sounds made up, that’s because it is. A blog is a chronologically ordered series of Web site updates, written and organized much like a traditional diary right down to the informal style of writing that characterizes personal communication." - Blogging for Dummies by Susanna Gardner and Shane Birley

Now, here's where the definition gets tricky - a blog CAN be a casual journal of sorts, but it can also be a chaotic mix of facts about various topics that the blogger (a person who keeps a blog) likes. Blogs must be of a certain category and/or appeal to a certain demographic in order to keep up a following.

Some of these blog categories are:

Diary/Family Updates - Picture a never-ending Christmas letter written by a perky housewife... or a collection of thoughts and experiences from an alternative fuel scientist/family man who loves to take his kids outside and explore nature (see "Merriwether's Journal", a blog I stumbled upon due to a Google search and absolutely ADORE!)

Side note: Most married people have blogs. Most single people have Facebook.

Crafting - Not my cup of tea (another blog post will discuss this more fully), but they're out there. See "The Adventures of Rory and Jess and Sadie" for a blog roll - a list of favorite blogs the blogger posts on their blog. (Oh yeah, I'm skilled in my use of blog lingo.)
Food - Click on any of the blogs listed at http://www.foodblogblog.com/. You won't be disappointed. I'm still drooling.
Academics/Research - Check out http://theanthrogeek.wordpress.com/, an example from a friend who shares my love of humor, Dr. James Mullooly of CSU Fresno. It pays to have a best friend dating a Fresno State professor - well, maybe not fiscally, but in laughs and good times. Shoutout to Jim and Violette! That's just how my blog rolls.
Business/Technology - Paul Allen "the lesser" came and spoke to BYU-Idaho students while I went there. He co-founded Ancestry.com, myfamily.com, LDSmedia.com and founded Provo Labs. Check out his blog here: http://www.paulallen.net/
Religion - I'll be biased and post a blog directory, entitled the Bloggernacle, whose authors are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Also check out St. Blog's Parish (Catholic bloggers) and J-Blogosphere (Jewish bloggers).
Critique of media/own version of news they feel is worth following - Most famous example is a man named Matt Drudge, whose blog The Drudge Report, a right-wing news site, brought blogging to critical acclaim. According to his wikipedia entry, "He first received national attention in 1996 when he broke the news thatJack Kemp would be Republican Bob Dole's running mate in the '96 presidential election. In 1998, Drudge again made national waves when he broke the news that Newsweek magazine had information on an inappropriate relationship between "a White House intern" and President Bill Clinton (the Monica Lewinsky scandal), but was withholding publication. After Drudge's report, Newsweek published the story.

Other thoughts I had about blogs:

-Are there too many to search through? Would someone be able to stumble on to your blog or could they find the same information somewhere else on the Internet?
-You might have a place to leave comments, but what if you really don't care what your readers/subscribers think? Like an uninvited guest who won't leave, awkward social graces

How are blogs are similar to social networks (i.e. Facebook/Myspace)?
- They are casual.
- People use widgets/applications that are cutesy.
- People list other blogs in blog rolls, like a "Top 8 Friends" list.
- You have a profile, along with your text reel (says who you are, silly quotes you enjoy, Internet identity or alias).
- Other alias' can leave comments, such as a Facebook or a Myspace Wall/personal message/comment/guestbook.
- You learn/utilize graphic design skills.
- You spend loads of time updating them in your spare time, feel a need to keep things current/fresh for your readers/subscribers.
- You are not getting paid for this time, although some seem to think blogging is a get-rich-quick scheme, which journalism never was. Blogging for this financial motive is like thinking that being a finalist in "Publisher's Clearing House" really means something. In reality, there are MILLIONS, if not billions of blogs out there right now*, whereas in the days of Matt Drudge, it was a novelty.

Problems bloggers face:
- They suffer burnout. No new material or current updates. A "dead zone," if you will.

- Not making as much money as they thought they would posting ads on their blog.**
- Changing of genres. What was once an intellectual masterpiece becomes a family newsletter.
- This is turn changes a blogger's target audience. Who is REALLY reading this blog? A mother in Southern Virginia who was really looking for Topic A and connected with something you said? Solely my friends and family, who read it to be nice?
- Blogs are written in first-person, which as any journalist knows is taboo in the newspaper world. Call them mini-columns (which require the reader to remember that what is written is opinion with some truth/facts mixed in to back it up), editorials or, if less grammatically correct/have a rambling nature, letters to the editor.

What bloggers can learn:
- there are smart people in all walks of life, says Glenn Reynolds
- we are all part of the human experience; one person is as upset about being cut off in traffic as the next guy
- who they truly are, or who they like to pretend they are.

* How many blogs are there? <-- A blog entry from February 11, 2008

**From Paul Kedrosky, a financial blogger who makes money with ads: "Couple comments... first, blogs don't have to be dependent on ads. For example, I use my site to sell services (and soon products) and don't run ads at all. I make far more money doing this than I could with ads. A blog that requires 5-10 updates a day is just not a good purchase because it's so dependent on the owner and on constant work... there's no leverage so hard to really sell it for much of anything or even find a buyer. A blog that is only occasionally updated, promotes a specific product/service, and has self-sustaining traffic is a much wiser purchase even if the revenue scale is smaller. "

And to close, here's a funny comment I found on a random blog:

"Don't feel bad. It's not that your blog is worthless: it's just worth less." Comment by John F., March 5, 2008 @ 9:22 AM

Election Day: Please Vote YES on Prop 8!

2008-11-04T07:15:00.000-08:00

Book on Prop 8

2008-11-03T09:21:00.000-08:00

Just a little note to say I'm working on an amazing project for my branch, one I came up with as I walked around Merced putting door hangers on houses about voting/Prop 8 on Saturday.

I'm making a book about our experiences with being involved in the Yes on 8 Campaign. It's going to be AWESOME!! Wonder if I should try to get it published?

Apparently, I'm a racist

2008-10-31T23:06:00.000-07:00

The following takes place at Dos Palos High (DPH) between 1-2:38 pm (gotta love Jack Bauer!):

I can't blog at the moment, but I'm sitting here in my classroom at the moment, shaking and gulping back post-sobs of sick sadness. I'm finally starting to gain control again, and an immense headache is forming. Actually, in our Mexican/American world, the headache of hate, bigotry and intolerance will never stop.

It started out as an ordinary day - an insomniac takes a sub job at DPH. Now, I don't blame this incident on the teachers or all students or anything crazy like that. It was a small band of disrespectful students who fell into the mob mentality - what's good for the group is good for all. Lemmings, sheep, call them what you will.

Here's what happened: I came into the classroom and said what I normally say to establish order in the midst of high school teenager chaos: "Okay, settle down, be quiet please. I'm Miss Byers, I'm your substitute teacher today, and now I need to take roll." Then I immediately start down the list, without a moment's notice, because at this point they should have heard at least two sentences from my voice. In college, they don't start over or wait for the class to be quiet. That should stop at the end of elementary school, ideally, in a perfect world.

Anyway, back to the incident. They wouldn't settle down. They were loud and obnoxious and I told them I'd wait for them to be quiet. I left their teacher a note to explain what happened next:

An incident of intolerance and disrespect took place today in 7th period. I suggest you talk with your students and security about the issue. Mainly, there was a lot of disrespect shown to me as I told them not to talk while I was explaining directions and taking roll. I threatened them with calling security, to have someone chew them out about their behavior. They continued to back-talk and carry on disrespectfully as I waited for security to come. Then security came in and asked me who needed to go with him. I looked at the side of the class that was most disrespectful, and said, "these three rows." Then he said, "okay. C'mon guys."

Students were SHOCKED. Several students then tried to hide/jump into other rows, but I called them out, even as they said they still wouldn't go. I wasn't sure if they really didn't care, or were scared of what would happen next and were trying to act tough as a front.

Finally, one girl who claimed she had been quiet and "didn't say anything," was told by me that I didn't care and she needed to go, because at this point, I was astounded they were STILL talking back! She then let out a profuse amount of profanity and... hate speech, directed soley at me. "What the F?! F'n B, F'n white racist, FAT! FAT white B!" I rolled my eyes and sighed in relief as the door shut.
I explained to the 10 students that remained in the classroom that you should always treat someone the way you would like to be treated, and that if anyone else felt the way that girl did, they were welcome to leave as well. I could see the sadness in their eyes, the magnitude of what just happened in their po-dunk All-American little town. A white girl, was, PERSECUTED? For being white? And the people who did it got punished?

Oh, it was awful. I still feel a pit of sick stones in my stomach. I continued to explain the lesson, and said "I love to teach..." which for some reason made me choke up. I told them just to read the rest of the directions and went to the back to cry.

Thirty seconds later, a sweet Hispanic girl came over and embraced me, saying, "It's okay, I respect you." This of course made me cry a little more on the inside because I could see the symbolism of the Savior, the one who atoned for the sins of all mankind. He truly knows our suffering (DyC 19:16-19). I told her that I want to get into the teaching profession because I speak Spanish and love the Hispanic people. She hugged me again at the end of class and said, "I'm glad I met you."

As I've been sitting here typing this, the girl who was my "enemy" came in and apologized, asking for a hug. She was sincere and kind, and said she just went off without thinking. Then she tried to empathize with the fat comment, touching her stomach roll. That was funny. The racist thing wasn't even mentioned, but oh, the fat one must've hurt her more, I'm assuming she thought in her mind. High schoolers are funny like that: the world's standard of beauty is SO important to them, to be accepted, to not go against the grain.

Anyway, since the apology was given, I feel better. I've forgiven her, but the sting of those words still hurts my broken heart. I've gotta go get paid now - wonder what the sub secretary knows about the incident?

Prop 8 Sign Stealing

2008-10-29T05:46:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know it happens during every election, but here's a follow-up to my previous posted question: Are both Yes and No signs being stolen?

Yes on Prop 8

No on Prop 8 (Way to go, journalists! Great coverage using objectivity.)

And a little extra, from Channel 30 Fresno. Great coverage; who would'a thought?!

Prop 8 - A Mormon's perspective

2008-10-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

Sidenote: I have done the unspeakable blogger sin - stopped updating my blog and let it become a dusty dinosaur. This point will be discussed in my next entry, along with what a blog truly is. I promise to blog once a week AT LEAST from this point forward, and the blog about what a blog truly is is forthcoming. However, I feel a need to blog about Proposition 8 instead, and no, the comments contained are not what everyone is talking about.

So here's the deal, my finite list of lurkers:
I'm blogging about Prop 8*.

(Insert the groans of a million No on Prop 8 supporters here, followed by the groans of a million Mormons who are bombarded with questions about their support or terminal disapproval of "gay/same-sex marriage.")

Most of my feelings about my support of Prop 8 & traditional marriage have been adamantly discussed on Facebook with friends. Here's a few points/ideas that I haven't:

Internal struggles are happening RIGHT NOW among members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints over whether to support or oppose this political and moral issue. I have followed the Web sites for both "Yes" and "No" on 8, along with Mormons For Marriage, and they all reaffirm my voting stance, time and time again.

As an educated member - a Saint who realizes there is a real world outside of a Mormon bubble, a world with black and white questions and gray answers - I feel an urgent need to keep up with the conversation;
to delve into the depths of every doubt, fear, concern and worry;
to allow my blood to boil and cry over the sad, torn feelings and stories of gay Mormons and those who'd rather identify themselves as strugglers of same-sex attraction.

From my lurking, here's what I've concluded:

- The Brethren have asked Church members in CA to devote their time, talents and energy to the "Protect Marriage: Yes on 8" campaign organization. It is NOT a perfect organization, but one that supports our modern-day Title of Liberty (See Book of Mormon, Alma 46:11-12). It was not created by the Church. Let me pull a Biden and repeat that: The "Protect Marriage: Yes on 8" campaign organization was NOT created by the Church.

- Thus, extreme information can be spread by this organization, and Church members should not assume all of it is prophetic scripture or doctrine. What am I getting at? That there are Church members out there who understand the things listed in "Six Consequences if Prop 8 Fails" may not immediately happen or even happen at all if Prop 8 does not pass. I am NOT ignorant; I know getting married in our temples is not the first proponent on a GLBT person's agenda. But the concern of many is, it could be, and no amount of reassuring pats on the back may be enough. Read the Standard Works, and you'll find plenty of reasons to fear the end of the world or what may happen to the wicked.

-On another topic: Don't you DARE assume that I, or any Yes supporter of Proposition 8, hates homosexuals! There are homophobic Latter-day Saints, but I am not one of them. My view: we all have different inclinations to behavior and all have challenging struggles with this mortal body our spirits inhabit. God will be merciful, and that's all we need to remember. It's hard enough to be celibate being single of ANY gender preference. But it is what has been asked of those individuals by God, and I, in turn, am trying my best to comply with that commandment.

-I seriously can't understand why there are so many hate crimes going on from the No on Prop 8 side! You want tolerance, and yet you tear up signs/block roads to Church buildings/flip people off/shout obsenities/use physical violence to get your point across? How is that fair?! How can that be overlooked? I invite anyone to post of bad, malicious things Yes on 8 supporters have participated in; I truly have heard of none. As far as I know, "Yes on 8" opposes that kind of behavior and has specifically asked supporters to stay away from any form of it.

-Finally, Here's one I KNOW I'll be reamed for, but I make a disclaimer: this is my personal opinion...
If members of the Church truly believe in the prophets and apostles, along with the doctrine of the family and eternal marriage, they will support the ban on gay marriage and/or efforts taking place in California. (On LDS Newsroom, read "The Divine Institution of Marriage" and "Interview with Church Leaders on Same-Sex Attraction.) I believe both of these documents are doctrine & a part of modern-day revelation, along with "The Family: A Proclamation to the World." Besides these documents, I believe the things said in the Divine Institution of Marriage broadcast to Latter-day Saint California residents by Elder Cook, Elder Ballard, and Elder Clayton were truly inspired of God. It was a historic occasion in these the last days, and I felt the Spirit strongly convey the messages and concerns of our Father in Heaven. Defending traditional marriage truly is a righteous cause, and I am proud to stand for the family.

*RESOURCES:
Best video I've found (just today, in fact!) for preservingmarriage.org, describing what conclusions LDS/Mormon "Yes on 8" supporters have reached.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-jc4ujp9Ok

Proposition 8, in plain English:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6zbpDe_QhS0

Complete Transcript of the Divine Institution of Marriage Broadcast
https://secure.sunshinepress.org/leak/lds-oct-8-prop-8-broadcast.pdf

LDS Newsroom link to documents regarding Same-Sex Marriage and Proposition 8
http://newsroom.lds.org/ldsnewsroom/eng/commentary/same-sex-marriage-and-proposition-8

Can one person fix the problems of the world?

2008-10-07T23:16:00.000-07:00

An AMazing music video. Thumbs up, Daughtry, thumbs up!

"What About Now?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ylgchWR-Ig

I cried when they showed the part about little kids receiving books, and teachers. Just goes to show where my career/life is headed.

A year later, what the paper means...

2008-10-01T23:44:00.000-07:00

A note* from Facebook, dated July 16, 2008:

As many of you probably have no clue, today is the 1-year mark of me graduating from BYU-Idaho. I didn't actually "walk," due to health issues with my dad, but I count it as the beginning of the end; the end of me being a student, the beginning of me existing in the real world. And a paper, a simple paper stating my full name, a major I've yet to obtain a lasting job in and the golden words "Bachelor of Arts," started all that.

I'll admit, I feel I've regressed in some respects because of this paper, become more jaded in others, but I guess that's what happens when you're a single LDS woman in her mid-20's with a degree in something other than M.R.S. and in a single's branch where you often are the oldest person at an activity. At 24, mind you!!!

So back to the title of this note - what does this paper mean to me? Well I'll tell you what it means.

1) It means you don't receive nice plump checks from financial aid because you're a poor college student - in fact, some damn loan service contacts you every month to make you give back what you borrowed, plus interest, because obviously you're making millions now that you've received this paper.

2) It means you have to figure out which is best - living at home with mom and dad (who still love you and want to see you succeed, although your dad may say you're not to marry until you're going through menopause) whilst friends with careers they've achieved without the blessed paper mock your sad state of being, or living with needy roommates (yes, my friends, it doesn't end at college!) and paying through the nose in payments of all varieties, working for minimum wage at a job you know you're overqualified for.

3) This brings me to another point - deciding on a career that undoubtedly the paper has no place in helping you achieve. Fast food, retail, even a great secretary job can be a pat on the back for those with the label of "student," but once you've achieved that "graduate" title, be prepared for a back slap of cruel mockery. Why didn't your professors tell you the most important thing to gain is 3-5 years experience, not hours in a classroom learning about subjects you may never discuss more than once a year in real life?

4) The paper means optimism. I know I've been on quite a bitter rant, so let me lighten up just a little. Having that paper is a blessing in disguise - you can do what you want knowing you at least have that degree to fall back on, whatever that means. Personally, I know my marketable skill of making balloon animals may make more money than being an investigative journalist.

5) Shocking fact: Not everyone knows how to use their diploma. Heck, I've hung mine above the bar sink in my apartment allowing the late Larry the spider to spin his intricate webs on the corners. Origami may be a viable option: launching the paper as an airplane off multiple skyscrapers in urban areas might even land you a job.

In conclusion, I still don't know what the paper means. But I've learned to carry its weight on my back like the many graduates who've gone before me. The "quarter-life crisis" is not just a cute song lyric by John Mayer - it's what the paper leaves in your path, a fork divulged in a Robert Frost road.

Wait! There you have it - the paper means choices. Guess I'm a smart college graduate after all.

* This note prompted my decision to enter the blogosphere. Soon to come, a post on what blogs really are...

Dedicated to Hank

2008-09-26T23:07:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure how many people will read this blog, but in the spirit of Anne Frank, I paraphrase an entry from her famous diary (sidenote: for the LDS mindset, this is a likening unto myself):

"I haven't written for a few days, because I wanted first of all to think about my [blog.] It's an odd idea for someone like me to keep a [blog]; not only because I have never done so before, but because it seems to me that neither I -- nor for that matter anyone else -- would be interested in the unbosomings of a [twenty four year-old college graduate, scared to take on the world.] Still, what does that matter? I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart."