Tales from the Trenches Tuesday

Since I was out of the office yesterday, I have literally forgotten it is Tuesday about 12 times today. And after I was all “OMG, it’s BRITNEY on GLEE tonight!!!” it hit me this afternoon that it also means another installment of Tales from the Trenches. And I have rallied and posted for you so I wouldn't let you all down. You're welcome, folks.

I was thinking that I should go back to another college story, since I don’t know if that well will ever run dry. And also in honor of my friend who came down to help celebrate my birthday this weekend, since it was her fault I got into this particular situation.

My senior year of college, one of my very best friends and pledge sisters was dating a guy in the fraternity across the street from our sorority house. I think we all had our phases of wondering how well they were going to fare as a couple. He was a fun guy, but to me they were just so different from one another. But hey, we all date people that aren’t necessarily a good "fit" for us. She was just smart enough to get most of it out of her system in college. While some geniouses like myself continue to date enough losers, creeps and weirdos to write a blog posting about it once a week.

Anywho, as sorority sisters often do, they always want to set up other girls from the chapter with the other guys from that fraternity. Maybe so we could all do the walk of shame home together in the morning and count it as a “sisterhood event”, I don’t know. It just always seems like such a novel idea. And my friend was no exception.

She kept dragging me out when she knew her guy would be out and kept talking up his roommate, MNINM. There was nothing wrong with this guy. I just don’t think I was particularly interested in MNINM. It was close to graduation and I was honestly more focused on just having as much fun as possible in the shortest span of time.

But one night we all ended up back in their room at the fraternity house after the bar closed. As a side note, thank GOD I rarely saw a fraternity house on my campus (a) sober or (b) in the light of day. Because they are dark, dirty and seriously scary places to be in the (a) or (b) scenario. So we are back in the room and I am sure someone thought it a bright idea to keep drinking. At some point my friend and her guy retired to the bottom bunk (I am pretty sure it was tented off with a sheet for ultra-privacy) and I was left chatting it up with MNINM.

I don’t recall all of the specifics (because that was many years ago) but I do remember I thought maybe I could talk this guy to sleep and then I could just go home and it would all be a non-issue.

"So, M – where are you from originally?"

"Oh cool, M. How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

"Interesting – what classes are you taking this semester, M?"

On and on, I kept asking questions. Surely this dude had to be sick of me now, right? No, he wasn’t. Not only was he not deterred by my incessant questioning, he would pre-empt each of his responses by saying

“um…My Name Is Not Matt.”

I kept calling him by THE WRONG NAME. And he let me. He kept correcting me, but I paid no mind at all and just kept on calling him by the wrong name. Frustrated, I went to my last possible move of suddenly remembering, “Oh wait I have a boyfriend!” and hightailing it out of there. God I was so slick in college, making up fake boyfriends. Lesson learned that even if you call someone by the wrong name, you can still fall back on that failsafe line about an imaginary boyfriend to get your ass out of almost any situation.

Instructions for Birthday Weekend: Champagne-Cupcake-Repeat

Hooray! That picture is the most accurate description of how I feel right now because this crazy work week is (just about) O-V-E-R and I have so much fun to look forward to this weekend because …. It’s my Birthday!

I am usually a big birthday hater. Not other people’s birthdays, those I love. It’s my own that I never like. It’s not about the getting older part of it (okay, yeah that became a teensy bit of a reason after birthday #25) but more it is just because I have awful, horrible birthday luck. So many of mine have been so unfun, forgotten, disastrous, traumatizing, or some combination of all of those. To the point where I have come to just dread the day and hold really low expectations for it.

A few examples:
• My very first sleepover birthday party was cancelled due to the weather (F*ck you Hurricane Gloria – and YES I am still holding a grudge)
• When the party was rescheduled a few weeks later, someone’s Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag got caught in a box fan causing some legit sparks to fly out of the fan. The almost-fire and lots of smoke caused my Dad to come running downstairs in SUCH a panic that he neglected to realize he was only in his underwear. Traumatizing.
• One year was supposed to celebrate with kiddie friends for a little birthday lunch at a Friendly’s type of place. Then the restaurant caught on fire and burned down the the day before my birthday. Birthday lunch was moved to Burger King. Swanky.
• An attempt made by my parent’s to have a “surprise” birthday dinner for me at a restaurant was ruined by my protesting going out to dinner because I had too much homework. My mom angrily spilled the beans about my friends waiting to surprise me at the restaurant and told me to get my ass in the car. Surprise!!
• This was a few years after my parents had totally forgotten my birthday. See, it’s not just a humorous John Hughes’ movie plot!
• Being a year older than most of my closest friends in college, none of them could legally go out with me for my 21st birthday. I was at the mercy of older sisters in my sorority who I recall being a bit relentless with the whole idea of doing 21 shots. I threw many of those shots out the front windows of Bentley’s (a bar at my school) and will never forget the one that sent my ass running back to the ladies room with a wave of sickness. (Deviled Megs was never again to do a Lemon Drop. No lie, have NEVER done one again.)
• A few years ago I was taking me and boyfriend-at-the-time out for dinner. Yes I was taking HIM out, don't ask as it's not even worth explaining. He then came up with some complication about going to dinner so I said screw it and just cancelled the reservations. He thought it would be funny to then send me an e-card that wished me a “Happy Pancake Day” Let me tell you, that was just hilarious. Haven’t eaten a pancake since.

And while there have been a few fun birthdays (particularly the Vegas/San Diego bash), by and large you get a little taste above of why I just try to avoid my birthday all together.

But I am changing that this year. This year I have fun things to look forward to and would be just as excited for all of it if it all wasn’t tied to my birthday. L even helped me make a birthday mix CD. Because every fun event needs its very own special soundtrack, right?

Tomorrow kicks off with a trip to the Farmer’s Market, then awaiting the arrival of V so a few of us girls can head out to the Sugarland concert. There may also be a very special appearance made my Hair Stylist P…wishes really may come true, haha. There will be tailgating (with champagne) food, good music and good friends. Can’t get any better. (As a side note, how much do you just love Jennifer Nettles? One of my birthday wishes might be to be her.)


Wait, yes it can get better! Sunday (which is the actual b-day) will be spent as a low key Football Sunday Funday watching games. Some more fun friends will be joining the cast for the day with hopefully a few very special guest appearances. Then that night there is not only the premiere of “The Amazing Race” but also the Season 2 premiere of “Eastbound and Down.” It’s like special tv presents just for me.

Monday is a day off from work (I think everyone should observe a day off from work in honor of their birthday) and some time with Mom and Dad who are making a trip down to visit. The birthday train pulls up to its final stop on Monday night, into DC to see my Phillies take on the Nats. Oh and of course, my boyfriend. (Bonus points if you have realized that my birthday is the 26th...and his number is 26)

So for once, I am going to go against type and get excited about this birthday. Excited about this weekend and seeing friends, having fun, and putting all my worries and stresses on hold for a few days. And looking forward to a year that is full of potential and possibilities. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend too, whatever your plans may hold for you.

Who doesn't love a good Giveaway?

So a few weeks back, I posted about a Lilly P print bag I was kind of crushing on (update: it's been purchased, arrived, and I am pretty much in love with it) Today I was really stoked to come across this fab giveaway on College Prepster.

Was further stoked to read the details and find out that the designer the of Tipsy Skipper interned for Lilly and helped design the new sorority prints. Coming across this fun new designer is not going to help the upcoming shopping diet (post on that to come because I def need some help and insights from peeps)

So head on over and try to win some free fabulousness. Cause if I can't win, I at least want it to be someone I know!

Tales from the Trenches Tuesday

Ok, sorry for being tardy to this party once again. Finally got home from vacation yesterday and feel like I have been running around ever since the wheels touched down on the tarmac.

I recently had a request for some Tales from the Trenches: the College Years, so I thought I would take that as a cue and recount one of my more infamous stories. (Yes, I do take requests!)

As has been mentioned in some earlier posts, I was in a sorority in college. That only meant you had more access or opportunities to meet boys; it doesn’t guarantee that you actually did. And as I also mention in an earlier posting, I was classified as being not that cute by some other girls in the sorority. Let’s just say that didn’t give me a whole lot of self confidence when it came to talking to boys in college.

Now, I never want to give you the impression that being in the sorority was an entirely bad thing, because it wasn’t. One of the perks of having a hundred “sisters” was that at these parties/events, it meant you had a whole mess of other girls to try and help set you up with or talk to guys, which happened to be the case when I met C.

I saw him at a party (sorry, I refuse to call them “mixers” like other schools do because at my school that word was reserved for the splash of soda/juice that went into our drinks) and told one of my sisters (we didn’t use that word either, but I’ll use it now) that I thought he was cute. We had an upcoming event called “Screw Your Sister” where girls in the house were supposed to set each other up with their dates. The “screw” kind of gives the wrong impression as you were really supposed to set the girl up with someone she thought was cute. Or maybe it's because you hoped if you were set up with a cute guy that the "screw" would come after the event? Huh, maybe that was it -- show's you how naive I was in college. Anyway, C agreed to go with me but then realized he would be out of town that weekend. Then as it would happen….no one bothered to then set me up with someone else in C’s place. I remember sitting in the house’s study the night of the event as everyone else got ready to leave thinking I actually did end up getting screwed after all.

C felt bad about not being able to go to the event, so I asked him to go to my sorority's formal a few weeks later. I mean he said yes once so, I thought there would be a good shot that he would say yes again. I am a real risk-taker that way.

We had an ok time at formal – I mean you get to put on a fancy dress and drink, so really how bad is it going to be? So we continued to hang out with each other somewhat regularly after the formal. But it was really….well, boring. I mean it was also college, so of course eventually every evening/activity came around to going out, drinking and hooking up. But talking to him was borderline painful. I kept waiting for him to come out of his shell. I didn’t realize that that’s just who he was, yhere was no shell to come out of.

Yet I KEPT hanging out with him. Eventually someone asked me why (as well they should) and I told them it was like this - if you hadn’t eaten in a really long time, and someone came up and handed you a cracker, you aren’t really in a position to bitch that it's a stale saltine and you were really in the mood for a triscuit or a wheat thin. Or one of those fancy snooty water crackers. You take the damn saltine and are just happy anyone offered you a cracker at all.
Tales from the Trenches is brought to you today by the letter C for Cracker. Because sometimes a stale, boring saltine is better than nothing at all.

So cheesy...so unnecessary...

But there is some small part of me that wants it because I think it is just too cute. Maybe I need to hurry up and adopt my little asian baby so I can buy girly things for someone other than myself.

Mean Girls and the Politics of Pretty

I have found myself thinking about the movie “Mean Girls” quite a lot lately. It’s a smart and funny movie, I mean what else would you expect from Tina Fey? But we (and by we I mean us girls) find it funny because on some level we can all relate to that high school experience. Being on the outside looking in. Or being on the inside and trying to maintain your status there. Finding out that the place you want so desperately to be may not be the place that is best for you. I think we all also remember that feeling of stressing over the perfect outfit, or worrying about having a bad hair day, or obsessing over the number on the scale and what size jeans you could fit into.

I don’t know that I feel right using that word “remember” because for some of us (and I would wager it is actually more of us than some people will actually admit) those circumstances and those feelings are not a memory, they are still a reality in our day-to-day lives. Mean girls still exist and they walk among us.

I understood what it meant to be pretty and popular in high school, and I never quite reached either of those, probably hovering somewhere in the middle tier if you will. But I knew what it meant for me and my “status” when I made it onto the cheerleading team. That’s still an inner ring in most high schools that many girls strive for. Hell, I tried out and failed before I finally made it onto the team. What I was truly longing for was that sense of belonging, of being a part of something. And I so enjoyed the camaraderie and fun I experienced as being on that squad. However, I would be a huge liar if I said I didn’t enjoy the perks that came with all of it. They weren’t the reason I wanted to be on the team, but they sure didn’t hurt either.

I had that same experience all over again when I pledged a sorority in college. I was a little skeptical about the whole Greek life thing, so I didn’t join right away. While most freshman rushed and pledged right away, basically within the first few weeks of arriving to campus, I was just trying to adjust to the whole transition from high school to college. Living in a dorm room with a total stranger, trying to make friends on my floor, figuring out where all my classes were (all on the complete other side of campus – like a 25 minute freaking walk away). But I met people in my dorm and in my classes who did join sororities and they were all pretty nice and normal, so I dipped my toe in during the spring semester. That’s when our campus had an “informal” rush period, where you could kind of come and go to houses as you pleased. I ended up not pledging at that time, but knew for sure I would do it the following semester.

So that fall rolled around and I went through the formal rush process, and for those of you reading this that know it, you know how exhausting and monotonous that whole parade can be. The same conversations over and over….cheeks aching from your plastered on permasmile….worrying about what to wear, what to say. They always say it’s a mutual selection process, but that’s just something nice the Panhellenic folks have to tell you. As a rushee, you have little power over anything. When I got on the other side of things I saw girls not invited back to the next round of parties because they wore something that someone didn’t like (silver pants) or their hair was bad (cheesy highlights) or they “seemed dorky” (in my house that probable meant she enjoyed reading actual books). I hate admitting that, but it happens. And as things turned out for me, I got into one of the “good” houses. All of that other Panhellenic PR about every house being a good house is total sh*t. Kind of like saying Ivy League Universities and community colleges are the same thing because they are both higher education institutions. Anyone on a college campus – whether they are Greek themselves are not – can tell you who the good houses are and who aren’t.

Here’s the thing…for the most part I felt really out of place in that house. I felt like people were looking at me while singing that “One of these things is not like the other…” song in their head. Most of these girls were total knockouts….they may have been the mean girls in their own high schools for all I know. I just felt so much like I stuck out. I had a friend from the dorms who had pledged that sorority the previous Spring, so I figured she maybe just campaigned hard for me to get a bid, so I did. And for all that time I was in the sorority in college, I could never ever shake that feeling of not fitting in. Of not being pretty enough, never being comfortable with my weight (no mater how large or small), and just being totally unattractive.

It wasn’t all my doing, or my thoughts and feelings that were at fault. I remember once when I was running for a position on the chapter’s council – the rush chair. I had purposely taken committee and assistant positions for the rush periods that came after I was initiated, trying to learn and get experience for the position I wanted to eventually run for. But I wasn’t slated for the position by the outgoing council…I later heard that the person that would be leaving that rush chair position had argued that I wasn’t really the person that would be best to go out and welcome the rushees – that someone prettier should be the first person that steps out to greet them. To be fair, that may not be *the exact* words because that happened a LONG time ago and I can’t remember them verbatim. But I was informed about it by more than one person, so that sentiment was expressed loud and clear. It didn’t matter that I had the experience and the ability. Basically what kept me off the ballot was that some of my “sisters” didn’t think I was pretty enough to do the job.

I was really crushed after that experience. I remember some nights I didn’t go out to parties with the rest of my sorority friends because I just felt too ugly to leave the house. I know that likely sounds overly dramatic to some of you, but I can remember that paralyzing feeling like it was yesterday because I still feel it at times today. I am not saying I blame these feeling entirely on my sorority experience, but I know it’s a very large part of it.

I tried very hard to not let the negative election experience sideline me entirely. When I returned for the spring semester, I decided to pull a “screw you” and go run for the same rush chair position for the Panhellenic Board – it would basically put me in charge of rush for the whole campus and oversee the rush chairs for each of the 15 chapters. And shockingly enough, I won. I wish I could say it was because I was the most qualified or ran some fantastic campaign. But in being honest, I think I largely won that election in much the same way that I lost the one in my own chapter. I ran against a girl who was way more qualified than me. The thing is, she was not in a “good” house. I think people voted for the letters on my chest more than they voted for me and what they thought I would do in the job. While I still feel badly about that, I think everything happens for a reason because I ended up doing a truly fantastic job with my position and had some of the happiest and most rewarding experiences ever during that time of my life. But I know the politics of pretty was what likely got me elected.

The pretty factor and mean girls aren’t isolated to high school and college. They are alive and active in our lives today. Would you watch the Real Housewives of any city if they were average-looking, non-surgically enhanced moms, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and loading their kids into minivans to go to soccer practice? Probably not. Hell would we continue to watch these shows if all the ladies got along and were nice to one another? No, that would be boring. So we tune in and watch these women go from the nail salon to the hair salon to the tanning salon, flip tables at restaurants and argue with one another for sometimes no reason at all other than it gives them something to do. (as a side note, they keep giving these housewives microphones and telling them they are fabulous vocalists – please stop doing that Bravo)

And we can’t just say “oh that’s reality TV” and explain it away. A few weeks ago, California Republican Nominee for Senate Carly Fiorina was still wearing a live mic and was recorded mocking Barbara Boxer’s hair. She caught a lot of flack, obviously. But she’s not saying anything other women don’t say when they are out with friends on a Saturday night, or when they comment on a celebrity’s new look. Even Elena Kagan has received a large amount of press for her looks. HER LOOKS. Something that has no bearing on her ability to do the job. Last time I checked being hot was not on the requirements list to be a Supreme Court Justice. I mean Stephen Breyer doesn’t exactly rev my engine, but that doesn’t really have a bearing on his ability to do the job, know what I mean??

People’s looks (and that includes weight) remain one of the last openly acceptable forms of bigotry. It’s awful and it’s wrong and it’s something we probably all do to some extent. I may be more apt to it or more susceptible to it because I’m a female. And I can do all I can to try and not be one of the mean girls. To take people for more than their attractiveness or ability to dress well. But we all have the ability to leave the world a little “prettier” than we found it that day, by smiling at a random person on the street, or complimenting a coworker on their jacket/necktie/haircut. The least we can do is try and make people feel good about their looks as well all live in our beauty-biased world.

On that note, thanks to my sorority sisters for taking pity on me. I see pictures of me on bid day with my long, long hair, beyond pale jeans and doc martens and I physically cringe. Thanks ladies for overlooking my fashionably challenged self and getting me into some black pants and chunky Steve Madden shoes and changing my life forever!

Sorority House Time Machine

I recently went back to my college sorority house for the annual Senior Dinner. No, I am not one of those weird old ladies just hanging around the sorority house trying to relive my “glory days”. I was invited as a guest after I recently agreed to be an advisor to the chapter. I am sure this decision will provide me with loads of headaches and needless drama…but all of that makes for some of the best and funniest stories so I will give it a try for a year and see what happens.

So after the dinner is over and everyone is enjoying their cake and coffee, each of the girls stands up to say what their plans are for after graduation and a favorite sorority memory or what being in the sorority means to them. And I admit that I got a little choked up listening to these girls talk about meeting their best friends there and that they would all be in each others weddings someday and moving into apartments together after graduation and all of their rosy sounding hopes and dreams for the future.

I got choked up because I remember when it was me sitting there – all my plans and dreams for what life was going to be like after leaving college. And here I am, MANY years later, and not a lot of what I thought or even planned has come to be. Now, don’t get me wrong, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing at all. Not all of us want the same things at 32 that we thought we wanted at 22. I just thought my life would be a lot, well different. It’s nothing about having a more glamorous job, or being married vs. being single, or any sort of crazy timetable I had set up for myself about what age I wanted my first child by and my second child by and all of that. I was never one of those girls. I have always been pretty independent and never really worried or even thought about there being guys or babies in the picture to worry about.

But my 32 year old self was sitting there listening to all these 22 year olds full of hope and smiles and wide eyes. And I just felt kind of sad. I had kind of forgotten about a lot of the goals and hopes that my 22 year old self had because I am well past the point where I had to make some tough admissions that some of them were just not going to happen. I envied their ability to look at everything that would be possible for them because it was all there in front of them. A blank slate so to speak that they were going to go out and put their mark on. I found myself being a little envious, and wishing I had my own blank slate right now or had that same sense of excitement and anticipation about what was going to happen next.

I was lucky that I got to have a time in my life where I lived in a castle, with a bunch of great girls all around me where there was always someone to talk, commiserate with or go out with. Had dinner served every night at 5:15 and my biggest stress was probably finding a date or a dress for formal. The view from there was pretty damn good – anything and everything seemed possible. Now I worry about bills to be paid and finding enough hours in the day to get all my work done. Sometimes dinner doesn’t happen until 9 at night and it’s a bowl of cereal because I am too tired to cook a real dinner. I miss my friends and having people around me to talk to and spend time with because now we are all separated – by miles or jobs or families or children. I wish I knew then how good I had it. Because some days, I would give anything to be back there.
So I need to do something to find my inner 22 year old. I don’t know what that is exactly. I’m hoping it doesn’t involve Jagermeister or bad decision making. But seriously there should be a way to still have some semblance of that “anything is possible” attitude. That excitement and anxiousness about turning the page to find out what happens next. I need to find it soon so my older self doesn’t look back at me now and feel any shred of disappointment.