I Know You Are But What Am I?

I went out with J last night since we haven't done anything, just us chicas in a while. We ran into some welcome, familiar faces in addition to the usual unwelcome and unfamiliar faces. I don't understand why guys think that just because a girl is out in a bar she wants to be picked up. What's the thought process here? "Wow, that girl is hot. I bet if I go over there and lay my best line on her she'll want me baaaaad!"

I digress. Although, I complain, a laughable pick-up line from a slimy chump would have been better than what actually happened.

Random Dude: (To J) Wow, you have great hair.
J: Thanks. What’s your name?

(This is where they make their introductions to each other, but I'll spare you that dialogue.)

RD: I love that color.
J: (Pointing at me) She colored it for me.
RD: (To me) Oh, what’s your name?

(This is where we make our introductions as if I hadn’t been standing there the entire time.)

RD: (To J) You look really great tonight.
J: Thanks.

(He walks away for a while. Then he decides to come back after a long time of contemplating his next move with J.)

RD: Wow, that’s a great shirt you’re wearing.
J: Uh, thanks.
RD: (He looks her up and down) You really look great tonight.

(He emphasizes his point with two classy thumbs up and continues…)

RD: (He then looks me up and down) You look… (He see-saws his hand in a so-so fashion and continues) … ehh.

Me: (Shocked and upset, but never one to miss a beat, I look him up and down and say…) You look, um… (Without completing my sentence I give him two hugely emphasized thumbs down and walk away.)

I know, I know, I lowered myself to his level, but he totally deserved it. (Na-nana-nana-na!)



But what sucks the most is that what this stranger said actually had an effect on me. I did cry, twice, once in the filthy bathroom of the bar and the second time after I got home and told Bridge Man what happened. The end result: all of my plaguing insecurities are hanging on a neon light right above my head to remind me that maybe my ghetto fabulous booty isn’t so fabulous, maybe my ebony hair is too dark for my face, and maybe, just maybe, all of those insecurities that I pass off as just that, are not figments of my imagination but honest-to-goodness facts that I’ve chosen to ignore.

Sleeping Tiger

Everyone has his or her childish moments, right? At some point, we’ve all felt the undying urge to spread a juicy piece of gossip like wildfire. We’ve all thrown a tantrum or two when a jerk cuts us off in traffic – our response: the appropriate finger and several choice words. Moments like this truly exemplify the caveman in us all.

Teenagers, of course, embody the essence of angry, ape-like fury. When they get mad, the shit hits the fan, the kitchen cabinets, and the coat tree from down the hall. They (I guess) have an excuse – they’re teenagers. They are going through one of the most trying times of life.

What about adults? What’s our excuse?

Last weekend I went out to a bar with a couple of friends but before we could even make it inside, two full-grown men were dueling it out on the sidewalk. One in particular kept swiping his thumb under his nose, plucking at his shirt (dirt-off-your-shoulder style), and gruffly yelling, “What!? You wanna fight!?” All the while, two of his cronies were holding onto him with a grip that suggested to the other fighter, “If we let go, he’s gunna to go ape on your ass!”

As I witnessed this display, I pictured (and maybe this directly correlates to the amount of time I spend watching the Discovery Channel) a big monkey pounding his hairy fists on his equally hairy chest, picking his nose, and grunting while his two smaller monkey friends dance around him, screeching at the other monkey fighter to back off.

Who knows what the fight was even about - but what a pathetic display of machismo, yes?

My point?

Well, I’ve had some angry, ape-like moments myself and they tend to occur right around the same times of the day – early, early morning or mid R.E.M. My college roommates learned quickly not to disturb my slumber. For example:

G: (Whispering) Xteener? Xteener?
Me: (Abruptly) Huh?
G: Can I use your computer?
Me: (Even more abruptly) Yes.
G: (Almost apologetically) I need your password to log on.
Me: (Wordlessly, I get up, stomp my way down the hall to my computer, slam the password onto the keyboard, and stomp my way back to bed.)

I can’t even imagine what G was thinking. I later apologized, wrote down my password for future use, and explained my irrational morning anger. She was, fortunately, very forgiving.

More recently…

Bridge Man: (Oh-so-sweetly) Babe, it’s time to get up.
Me: (Nothing. I heard what he said but chose not to respond.)
Bridge Man: Xteener, babe, time to get up.
Me: (Not very nicely) I KNOW! I’m getting up, jeeze!

Oh, if only you could know how badly I felt about this one. Bridge Man is the most mild-mannered person you’ll ever meet. He rarely gets angry or yells, so yelling at him is like punching a puppy in the nose. Awful. Of course he didn’t get upset with me but he did say that he hates when he has to wake me up. Absolutely dreads it.

Fabulous. I’m a jerk.

Hobby #1

I am an amateur photographer. This is what I have to show for it...


I call this one "Duck Butt"


This is just one of the 56 trillion pictures of the sky that I have taken. Right after a torrential downpour the sky was literally the color of fire and I was so drawn to it I just grabbed my camera and walked around taking pictures until the sky cleared.


I went to see Obama announce his candiacy for president and ended up watching the security for most of the time.


My friend J and I chilled in the grass with a bottle of Molti Bianchi. She wasn't aware I was taking this picture.


I took this picture while I was standing in the Pacific Ocean in So. Cal. This is where I belong and I can't wait to go back.


Bridge Man took this picture - it's a view from Hollywood Blvd. This one's my absolute favorite.

The Green Eyed Monster

I am a member of two online social networks where thousands flock to get a daily dose of creeping on the people they don’t really know. Before I was hip to the crazies out there, my profiles were open for everyone and their brother to see. Almost daily I would get a message or a friend invite from someone named Tiffany or Bunny who proudly parade pictures of themselves in negligees for all to see. I eventually wised up to this and made every online profile I’ve created as private as private can be. Now the only people who can creep on me are those that I choose. It’s amazing the relationships that have rekindled from these networks. I can now have daily conversations with people that I haven’t seen or heard from in years.

Lately, it seems like I’ve been catching up with a lot of people from high school. It’s like an online class reunion. This person now lives in Colorado. That person moved to California right after college. So-and-so works for a huge conglomerate in NYC. And what’s-his-face is moving to Texas in a few months. After hearing their stories I can’t help but be jealous. How did they manage to remove themselves from central Illinois?

I had a conversation with one of my closest friends, J, recently:

J: I have to go to St. Louis soon to check out everything with the Navy.
Me: So you’re really going to do the Navy thing?
J: I don’t know. I want to keep my options open.
Me: What are your other options?
J: I want to move to Colorado.
Me: You suck. I don’t even have the option of leaving this hole.
J: Yea, it’s nice.

It’s not that I don’t like life in Corn Country. My nuclear family lives here, I enjoy changes in the seasons (to an extent), my man (Bridge Man) and his family live here, and… well, that’s about it. Those are the reasons I’m staying.

More specifically:
- Bridge Man doesn’t want to move too far away from his family.
- My mom is not in the best of health and I want to be near her for anything that she needs.
- My nephew is only 2 years old and I don’t want to miss these vital, growing-up years. He needs to know his Aunt Xteener.

Yet, there are so many other reasons for me to leave. I could get a different, better, and a more rewarding job anywhere my heart desires. I want to experience different things and people and cultures. I want to have these experiences under my belt before I finally decide to settle down. I even have a mental list of all the places I want to live.

Yes, my reasons are selfish. I understand this. But what’s a girl to do?

No, really… what should I do?

Me, Myself, & I

- I drink at least six, 20oz bottles of water a day
- Therefore, I constantly have to pee
- I hate feet, no matter how clean or pretty they are, I hate them
- I have numerous irrational fears including: the dark, being alone, and feet
- I make a list for everything, rarely are these lists completed
- I am not a vegetarian, but I hardly ever eat meat or eggs
- My mom is my hero
- I have two sisters and two brothers
- I would like to have a dog, please
- I hate going to the doctor
- I get a headache every work day around 2:30
- I have sprained an ankle three times in my life, last week being one of them
- I didn’t get my license until I was 21 years-old, I didn’t own a car until 25
- My cell phone is permanently attached to me
- I have more hobbies than I can usually handle including: beading, sewing, painting, writing (songs, poems, articles, etc.), the guitar, hooping, and singing (just to name a few)
- I am more comfortable when covered with a blanket, whether I’m cold or not
- I can’t be by myself for longer than 30 minutes
- I am always running late
- I am a huge procrastinator, but do my best work at the last minute
- My hair looks different every month
- I have a flip-flop addiction and would wear them every day of the year, including the winter, if possible
- I have a chap stick addiction, I keep one in my purse, desk, night stand, bathroom, car, and silverware drawer
- I cry a lot
- I’ve been dating my man for eight years – we are high school sweethearts
- I’m a mild hypochondriac, and as of late, I have diagnosed myself with diabetes
- I say “I’m sorry” too much
- My favorite place in the world is Southern California
- I can out-burp a 300lb man with a beer

When in Springfield

I usually pride myself for being media savvy and not falling for marketing ploys and gimmicks. I am, as you know, in that biz myself. I’m schooled on the tricks of the trade. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I fell. I fell hard. I've been Simpsonized.

Where I am right now

Last December I graduated from college with major in Advertising and Integrated Marketing Communications and a double minor in Psychology and Sociology. I thought I had set myself for life. During the time it took for me to get my BA, something in the world of business changed. Now you need nothing less than a Masters degree to make any money in this life. In high school, it was pounded into our heads that we would never get a decent job without a degree and I believed them.

First I went to a community college and paid the tuition out of my own pocket. (I’m pretty proud of that.) As I got closer to finishing my Associates degree I began planning the rest of my educational career. I had everything set up. I was going to start at SIUC that fall. All of my classes transferred over with ease. I had all of my classes lined up. I knew where I was going to live. I had a list of everything I was going to need to take with me. I did not, however, have the means to pay for any of it. I applied for financial aid but was not eligible, not because my parents made too much money but because they didn’t make enough. Sounds backwards, huh? I won’t go into the whole “woe is me” drama of it all but let’s just say; make sure you file your taxes every year. I applied for every scholarship known to man. (Surprisingly, they don’t give engineering scholarships to communications majors. Go figure.) And I tried to apply for loans on my own but loan companies don’t want to give money to 22-year-old college students with no credit and making $5.15 per hour.

At the very last minute, in a moment of weakness, I asked for help from a family member, my aunt T who had recently completed college. I wanted to know if there was anything I was overlooking, if there was secret money somewhere that only post-grads knew about. I figured she had been through the rigmarole and might be able to help me out. And help she did. Ever so graciously, she co-signed on a loan for me and I went to school that year.

The next year, I was 23 and able to get a loan on my own. Having never gone through the process on my own, my aunt T was willing to help me whenever I miffed it up. The next (and last) year I was 24 and finally able to apply for financial aid with my own tax information. Every question and quibble I had, my Aunt T would get a call from me, and without missing a beat she always knew how to help. I finally graduated.

Right out of school, I got a job at an Advertising Agency with a big fancy title. It was like the freaking American Dream. The pay was mediocre, but I assumed that’s how it goes for most entry-level workers. After two months of working there, I was already unhappy in my position. My bosses promised big things from the very beginning and rarely came through. They would tell me that I was “in training” and not to worry because, before I knew it, I would be up to my ears in marketing plans, copywriting, and advertising campaigns.

Six months later, I am still filing paperwork, answering the phones, and refilling the same paperwork that the big wigs can’t seem to put away after they’re done. (Come on now, didn’t we all watch Sesame Street when we were growing up? Clean up your freaking toys when you’re done playing with them!!)

I have expressed my dissatisfaction:


Me: Big Boss Man, I am looking for new challenges and projects that will stretch my skills in my position.

BBM: I know that you’re bored but I’m just too busy to take the time to show you how to do the things I hired you to do. (I may have embellished a little.)


What ticks me right off is that I don’t need to be shown how to write copy for a commercial and I don’t need to be shown how to create a marketing plan. I just spent the last three years of my life (not including my time at the community college) preparing for this damn job in which I make less per year than the amount I'll have to pay back in student loans.

So, what’s my solution to this predicament? I’m back in school. Not to get my masters degree but for cosmetology. (My apologies for that ‘one-eighty’ I may have just pulled on you.) Yes, I have decided that, in the mere eight months I’ve been in the advertising industry, that “I just can’t do it cap’n! I just can’t do it!”

Who knows, I may stick with advertising if I can find another, more fulfilling position. But, for now I just can’t wait around for something amazing to happen to my career. I have to know that I’m working towards something because, right now, I can’t help but feel like I’m going to be reorganizing that damned filing cabinet until I’m 80.