The Hardest Part of Life After College: Eating?!?

Life after college can be an adjustment, that's for sure. We leave that campus that we've come to know and love-- beer cans, puke piles, libraries and all-- and get shoved into that adult life that most of us really don't want to face. But real life is a reality, and a harsh one sometimes.

When we graduate and eventually get jobs and apartments, we know things have changed in our lives. Maybe it's that mommy and daddy are no longer supporting us financially or that we finally have to learn how to scrub a toilet for the first time. We're not used to having our friends a couple of miles away, nevermind across the country or even, in some instances, across the world. We all go our separate ways and the vast majority of us survive. Our parents and their parents made it on our own, so we can, too, right?

It takes time to establish ourselves and to "find our footing" as we venture out into the unknown. We often face challenges that we never really expected to confront. One of the biggest, it seems, for our generation? Money. Of course. That's the evil that plagues every generation, always has, and probably always will.

But the second biggest? Eating. OK, maybe it's not the second biggest, but it's a big one. I have no credibility on this front, I haven't read any data on the subjects, nothing. I'm just going by an incredibly unscientific poll of my friends... and considering some of their comments I heard in passing.

Anyway, you'd think it'd be a great relief to escape the dining hall. It's maybe even more exciting to never again enter that frathouse kitchen that-- c'mon, admit it-- should be marked as "unsanitary" and "hazardous to your health" by the health commission. I mean, I don't know about you, but I most certainly don't miss overcooked Easy Mac from the microwave or elastic band-like dark meat chicken (skin and bones and all) from the school cafeteria. (I'll admit, though, that I do miss my favorite cafeteria workers who really worked way harder than I ever will. Shout-out to Pat and Beverly and the lady with the missing teeth!)

So now that I've passed that phase in my life, I somehow live in an apartment with a beautifully updated kitchen. And what do I do with it when I'm there? I stare at it. It's not like it's so gorgeous that you'd find it on the cover of some home magazine, and I certainly don't have any art hanging up that's so marvelous I can't take my eyes off of it. Yet I stare. And keep staring. If you were to watch me you'd think I'm confusing this space with a page out of a Magic Eye book.

Alright, so maybe I'm exaggerating a teeny bit. Just a little though. I really have done more than turn on the faucet. Yep, I've turned on the faucet, managed to catch the water in ice cube trays and even put those trays in the freezer to--POOF-- make ice!

But really, I have cooked a dinner here and there, had a couple house parties that involved more than calling my favorite delivery guy, even experimented a little with some baking. But this whole cooking thing really remains an obstacle. I just can't seem to do it well-- or well enough to my liking-- and I certainly don't have the time to perfect it. It's always easier to call the local sushi place and order a couple of rolls than to pull a Julia Child and create a masterpiece from simple household ingredients.

Today, as I was legitimately contemplating what to make before dinner after I rush home from work but run out again to meet a friend for a movie date, I came across a great blog: In Good Taste, written by Maris Callahan, another twenty-something living in a major city. You can find it here: http://ingoodtasteblog.typepad.com/in_good_taste/. Maris began this endeavor in 2008, right before I was nearing the end of college yet before I knew that I'd soon have to actually make sure that I eat and do it in a semi-healthy way. It certainly seems like this girl has something figured out. That, or she knows how to photoshop a photo of food she whipped up to make it look extremely appealing. I think I'll believe that she does it all herself and it's all legitimate, though. :)

Here's how she explains her blog in her "About Me" section:


How many times have you looked into the fridge of a young, single man (okay, or woman) who works long hours outside of their home, to find nothing but a six-pack of beer, half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio and leftovers from last night’s Chinese take-out?
I’ve seen my fair share.

My name is Maris Callahan and I began writing this blog in May 2008. It has since evolved into a resource for twenty-somethings, like me, who want to cook healthy meals with some indulgences. Whether you're starting your first post-college job, newly married or looking for fast, easy weeknight meals, my goal is to show you that anyone can cook, no matter how much time or experience they do (or don’t) have.


What do I take from discovering this site? I'm learning that, with a little help, we can tackle the parts of post-college life that might seem a little intimidating... to say the least. A few mouthwatering pictures, some easy recipes and a talented writer really might be able to make the difference. If she's got a recent grad who has this amazing talent of overcooking everything she pops in an oven can get excited, maybe we all can.


XOXO,
R.

The Truth Behind the Tough Girl

I've always maintained that girls are meaner and more manipulative than guys. I've had boys and men do some pretty horrible things to me over the years, but rarely are their actions as calculative, cunning and downright evil as those I've observed from girls.

I think that I'm starting to understand-- on the most basic of levels-- why girls are so cruel to guys sometimes. This explanation and analysis is barely touching the tip of the iceberg, that much I know. But observing a conversation between two college aged girls this morning on the way to work really made me stop and think. It went something along the lines of this:

Girl A: "I was SO mean to him for all of August. Like really cold to him. We'd be at parties and I'd just flat out ignore him. Sometimes I'd even make a nasty comment. Then at the end of the night he'd come up to me and ask if everything was alright and I'd just say "yep!" and not let him know anything about what I was thinking. I'm a terrible person," she admitted with some edgy sarcasm and a giggle. Her friend's giggle echoed hers.

Girl B: "No I totally understand. I've been doing that, too! I'm so mean to him!"

Girl A: "Yea, that's just how it is. I think though when I was being mean I subconsciously realized that I was scared-- scared to have a boyfriend. I always freak out when some guy says we should be boyfriend and girlfriend. That's when I get so mean and back off!"

This blip of conversation gives me some insight into a part of girl-world that I like to distance myself from. One reason girls treat guys, as these two described it, "like shit," is because they're scared. It's frightening to think that maybe someone really likes us for who we are, and moreso to think that the other person will ultimately decide they don't like us. If we're mean, of course we won't get the guy of our dreams anyway, but at least it will be our fault in a direct sense and not because the guy decided he didn't like our kind, compassionate side.

So immediately when I arrived at work I went online and started talking to one of my friends who works nearby. I started telling her about the conversation that I had just witnessed. How could these girls be so blatently rude to their love interests? I wondered. If they're that mean, I thought, no guy will be interested in them, nevermind keep them as a girlfriend!

Sure, I've read books like Why Men Love Bitches where the author encourages girls to be tough and, at times, difficult, holding their ground without being swayed in any other direction. Being tough is one thing-- not putting out too early on into a relationship, not allowing the guy to always choose a restauarant or decide on the plans for the night. None of those books, though, and I really mean not one,encourage bitchiness or catty behavior.

My friend, we'll call her H., provided me with a seemingly accurate and to the point response:

"Honestly," she explained, "I think if I wreck things ahead of time I can't get rejected... because I already took care of it." She proceeded to add that "it's one of those things I do when I think I stand a chance and I can't believe my luck."

After thinking about her comment-- one that, really, when I consider it, makes sense-- I wondered what this all means. What could I do with this information, not only to help her realize that she's beyond worthy of a doting boyfriend, but also to help the boys in my life learn how to deal with their Ice Queen crushes?

First, it's important to realize that some girls really are downright mean and have very few redeeming qualities. It's unfortunate but it's true and a fact of life: there are just some people out there who are exceptionally mean and nasty. There's no changing that.

Beyond that select group of people, though, there are plenty of good-hearted, caring women who put up that tough facade to protect what's really some ultimate form of kindness mixed with fear on the inside. The issue at hand, of course, becomes the challenge of differentiating between the mean bitchy girls and the nice bitchy girls. (Sounds absurd, right?) This might be a silly analogy, but here's what I think of: when I'm eating a juicy Maine lobster-- OK this is going to be a quick analogy or I'm going to get too hungry-- the shell seems exceptionally tough and strong. When I finally crack it and get to its meat, its sweet and juicy and feels like all of the effort was very much worth the work.

Should girls be kind up front? Of course. Is there ever a reason to be bitchy? Definitely not. But do girls, just like men, feel the need to protect themselves from potentially hurtful situations? Duh, of course.

So to all of my guy friends out here, this is my thinking-- you've gotta crack that lobster, baby. You've gotta work hard to get to the very core of that girl, the girl you truly believe is sweet on the inside, even if she displays a hard shell. We're all scared at times to take risks, but of course if we never do we'll never get where we really want to be in life.

But, girls, don't make the guy do all of the work. I know it's hard to believe, but not every man out there is out there to hurt us. In fact, many represent the very opposite: they dream of making our lives easier and more pleasant. We've just got to let them in-- with proper protection, of course! :)

XOXO,
R.

Freaks (or Freakshows?) on the Subway

Consider this my official prediction: one day I'm going to be in trouble, and I mean big trouble, for too closely observing people in public. I'm not talking about a quick glance at that woman who's so thin her bones protrude, or sneaking a peek at that guy who's spitting chewing tobacco into an empty Pepsi bottle. (Really though, man, it's 2010, not 1910!)

No, I'm talking about staring. Really staring, gazing intently at someone's odd behavior or dress, sniffing their unusual scent (gross, right?) and eavesdropping on their cellphone conversations. I'd hesitate to say that I'm nosey-- even though I am-- but rather curious. Exceptionally curious. Like "Curious George was my role model growing up" curious.

Considering this is one of my most prominent personality traits, it makes my subway commute to and from work interesting and, yes, I'll say it, the best part of my day. Not only do I get to sit back and relax while someone ELSE drives me around, I get to encounter people from all walks of life that I otherwise don't bump into. What a better place than a major city for me to fulfill my thirst for observation?

Today in particular proved especially interesting on the subway. Actually, this week has been interesting in regards to transportation all around for me. Let me explain.

I hopped on the train at my normal stop, ready to do my daily reading on my Blackberry. After I finished a quick phone conversation, a flash of color in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Apparently I had sat next to a woman who sported a wild Hawaiian print silk shirt, dandruff covered black pants and a stretchy visor, the tacky kind only a grandmother wears. Sure, she was quite a piece of eye candy to a girl like me who's interested in the oddities of life, but really she didn't appear to be anything special.

It wasn't until I realized that my iPod was dead and that I'd have to rely on other forms of amusement that I noticed that she was reading. Reading to herself and aloud. Now what, you might ask, was so interesting about her reading? Everyone reads on the train to work, you might think.

She was reading erotic literature. Yep, right there, right next to me, a girl sitting close enough to see what she was reading. As she muttered to herself about how Clyde groped Charles so tenderly that Charles... ok, enough... I won't go further, my stomach sunk and I feared that I'd get sick all over her.

Before I knew it, this woman had finished reading her story. She was already at another webpage where she was selecting criteria in an erotic literature search engine so she could amuse herself with another story. Apparently her fetish is man-on-man first person POV. I'll admit that's way more than I'd ever want to know about someone I'm simply watching from a (slight) distance.

Anyway, I'm realizing that the more I seek out these unique people in my travels, the more that I find. Yesterday while being attacked by miserable humidity, I stepped into a frigid cab in order to go on an errand for work.

"Welcome to my cab," the cabbie exclaimed.

"Thanks," I responded.

"I hope you like the music that I've selected for you," he continued.

"Yes, it's fine, thank you," I said, further proceeding with my destination's address.

"I want to tell you about something that not everyone knows," he began, as I half-tuned him out. "The most important thing in this world is money. Money. The second most important thing is school. And everything after school and even INCLUDING school costs money!"

I attempted to tune him out, but realize the impossibility of this task as he asked me questions of opinion following each of his statements.

"But did you know," he questioned, "that the President of the United States of America will help you out with all of this money? Did you know that if you pick up any phone, dial zero, say 'Operator, I want to be connected to the President of The United States of America,' she'll put you through to a White House operator, operator number nine, and you can tell this person that you want to petition for the jubilee status. Do you know what the jubilee status is?"

"Um, no, sir, I don't know what the Jubilee Status is."

"Well 18 million people in Massachusetts are ahead of you! They already petitioned! And they're having all of their bills and college loans and rent paid for by President Obama! You can look it up! We're all entitled to it under The Constitution. Look it up, article 3C-L3!"

I couldn't wait to jump out of his car. Really, I almost considered having him pull over and letting me out early, only so I could brave a walk in the heat to get rid of this crazy man. But I made it safely to my destination (surprisingly, he was an incredibly safe driver) and forgot about him for a couple minutes. That is, until I made it back to my desk and decided to look up the article number that he had stated.

Nothing. Of course nothing. There's no such thing as Jubilee Status.

But what if, I thought, there really is something called the Jubilee Status in our country, and maybe I had just written down the numbers incorrectly? So of course, being the gullible and curious person that I am, I googled "Jubilee Status." To my disbelief, I came across a blog, similar to my own, where someone else had chronicled their adventures with brown cab #9. Not only that, but tons of people afterward commented on the post, relaying similar tales of this crazy man who they unexpectantly encountered on trips to the airport or City Hall. See http://tellhimfred.com/2008/01/11/welcome-to-crazy-town-population-your-cab-driver/#comment-24167 for the post and a more accurate description than I could ever give. (It's funny, I almost promise.)


So yes, this cab driver was insane. As one woman described him, he's "batshit crazy." That very well might be the case. But, nonetheless, he made my ride an adventure unlike any other I've ever had in this city. And the woman from this morning? Same thing. As weird and sick of an experience as that was, it entertained me and provided me with a conversation started at the very least. I think I'm learning to appreciate the nutty people in life and realize that, just like the woman's shirt, they bring a little color and spice to our lives.


XOXO,
R.

A Commentary on Our Generation

It's true: my job isn't very intellectually stimulating. Sure, I have days where I'm crazed, days where I don't know which task to tackle first. All in all, though, as my friends so lovingly joke, I'm someone's "bitch." (Sorry to all you feminists out there, but it's true.) I support someone else, an MD who runs research labs that have discovered countless genes-- discoveries that have already saved some labs and will hopefully save many more in the future. Did I go to a highly-recognized school to support another person? No. Did my family have to shell out well over $200,000 just so that I could earn my meager salary that pays the rent but doesn't allow for a ton of disposable income? Nope, definitely not.

That said, I'm happy. Really, I am. OK, I know that doesn't sound convincing, but you just have to take my word for it. On a miserably humid day like today, I'm thankful that I don't believe in that I'm not drenched in sweat chasing four year olds through a sprinkler at camp like I used to back in the day. (I'm more grateful that I'm not cleaning up after their accidents post-sprinkler on any day.) In fact, I'm sitting here with a smile on my face (on the inside at least) because I'm covered in goosebumps from the chill of my office's air conditioning. And on days like this, believe me, it feels amazing to be inside a freezing high-rise in my jail-like cubicle; my small salary feels worthwhile. Plus, I work for a great company and with and for great people, so really, who am I to complain?

Overall, though, I am grateful. My job can feel "below me" at times and it for sure isn't comfortable getting myself out of bed and into the unpleasant weather, only to sit at my desk to schedule someone else's appointments and apply for his multi-million dollar grants. But each and every time that I feel like this flat out sucks (aint no classier way to say it, honestly) I remind myself-- thankfully I'm not at home. I also try to remind myself that maybe in some indirect way I'm helping others-- if I schedule my boss's time to take a breath or eat a bite of sandwich, I'm helping to manage his time so he can save lives.

Now, please understand, I'm not knocking any of my friends who are at home and living with their parents. I understand that people have loans to pay and that many people can't get jobs during these unfortunate times. I mean, according to the most recent estimates, almost 10% of the American population can't get a job. That's nothing to laugh at. As they say, tough times call for tough measures, and those measures might include moving back into a childhood home with a mom and dad who insist on attaching a GPS armband to their kid to monitor their whereabouts at all times.

What I don't respect, though, are the people who could find themselves financially capable of moving out and being on their own, but are unwilling to take any job that they consider to be in that "below them" range. I have plenty of friends like that-- friends who won't take a job that pays a decent salary because they don't immediately sense any upward mobility coming from that position.

As I rode the subway this morning-- my ultimate destination after Starbucks being this cubicle, of course-- I skimmed The New York Times as I always do. Now I wasn't actively thinking about this whole having a job vs. not having a job concept, but I think it's always in the back of my mind during my commutes. Anyway, one of the top ten articles, American Dream Is Elusive for New Generation: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/07/business/economy/07generation.html?_r=1&hp. The article essentially profiles a guy who's a couple of years older than me who sits home unemployed day after day. He turned down a job that offered him a $40,000 salary, feeling it would fail to lead him in a worthwhile direction and that the pay was too low. Meanwhile, his parents support him: they pay his rent, his cellphone bills and allow him send out only four or five resumes per week. (They're, of course, not enablers or anything.)

Let me tell you that when I was looking for work, I sent in close to fifty resumes per day. I did anything that I could to land a job. When I was looking to switch from one job that was too unbearable to the next, I was even willing to take a pay cut. A pay cut! Anything to maintain my independence. I would have rather sat and answered phones all day (with memories of my undergraduate career lurking in the background) just to be able to pay my own way. No job, I realized, is below me, and it shames me to think that so many of my peers are willing to mooch off their parents-- the same parents who have already supported them for well over twenty years-- just because they don't want to do something that, to them, feels degrading.

I don't know much about the business world, but I do know this: it looks much better to be doing a job like mine than to be sitting home and watching TV all day. No employer wants to know that a candidate spent the past sixteen months watching Hoarders and The Bachelor on DVR and Seinfeld on syndication. Getting up and going to work every day-- whether it's working construction or as an investment banker or scrubbing filthy toilets-- is a much more valuable use of your time.

So, to the people of my generation, I have to say that I almost plead with you: get up and do something. Prove your intelligence and your good work ethic, and that The New York Times has been portraying us incorrectly. And for the love of God, drop that Chipotle burrito, get off your parents' couch, erase that higher-than-though attitude from your mind, and work hard like the rest of us. Our grandparents, great-grandparents, even our parents did it, and there's no reason we shouldn't.


XOXO,
R.

PS: For more on how others perceive members of our generation, please see this article from a May edition of the New York Times Magazine: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/30/magazine/30fob-wwln-t.html. Again, another reason to prove everyone wrong.

Dating and Relationships and Seeing Someone and --OH HEY-- Why all the terminology?

The whole dating scene is tough enough as it is. We wonder if he's interested in me? Should I ask him for his number? We've gone on a date, but when is it OK to suggest hanging out again?

As tricky as it might be to navigate this part of our lives, we make it more complicated on ourselves. How do we do this? Well, we girls tend to insist on labeling things. No, not just putting a label to some things. Labeling everything.

So while we're considering our status with Mr. Lacrosse Player, we're wondering if maybe we should just go out one one date to test the waters with Mr. Suave Businessman because, hey, Lacrosse boy and I aren't technically "in a relationship" yet, right? Or maybe it's a question of whether you're "seeing someone" versus "dating" versus "in a relationship." What do each of these phrases and words means exactly? And what differentiates them?

Well it's so we can justify our current situation to outsiders, of course. We want to be able to tell our best friends that there's a new man in our life, but that we don't think it's serious enough to the point that we'd call it "a relationship." We also want to experience the thrill of telling an ex that we're not longer single and that we're in fact currently "seeing someone."

Does anyone really know what "seeing someone" means? And who's to say that we're seeing someone before we're dating, or that we're in a relationship after we're officially dating that dude who we met after a sweaty bump-in at the gym?

This topic seems to keep coming up over and over again in conversation with both my closest guy and girl friends. Yet as often as this idea surfaces, no one seems to have come to any conclusions. The one thing that we have figured out, however, is these labels definitely mean something. It's just what that something is that we really don't know.

It seems labeling what we have with someone as a relationship boosts both our confidence and level of happiness. Not only do we at least believe that we belong to that person and they belong to only us, we also feel secure in thinking that we're protecting our health, that our partners are not partnered with anyone else. Here we're addressing a legitimate and real concern, and although the label fails to prevent most people from cheating, it somehow gives a tiny reason to consider not to. The word relationship taps us on the shoulder like our fairy godmother, reminding us that we've committed ourself to something or, in this case, someone.

Anyway, I think that this is a unique post in that I'm not writing with any answers or any opinions. Imagine that-- for once in my life, I'm lacking a definitive opinion! This is where I want to hear from YOU. What do you think? What do these words mean to you? And is it important to differentiate between different phases in a relationship or should we just let things go on their own timeline?

Tell me what you think. I want to hear. We all do.


XOXOX,
R.