Keeping Up With the Joneses

I never settled on something to give up for Lent.  I was raised Presbyterian, and we weren't very strict about this tradition; in fact, the suggestion I remember was to add something on to your routine, but I truthfully have not paid much attention to this very important season in the Christian calendar.  But my Facebook observations extensive research indicates that people today seem to use these 40 days to make or break healthier habits.  I spent some time trying to figure out what my weaknesses are, what I use to fill the voids in my life instead of turning to my relationship with God.  And I admit, I wasn't willing to sacrifice watching dumb TV shows.  


Tonight, after I got tired of watching said dumb TV, I got on Facebook for a few minutes.  I don't spend much time on this site; I tend to use it more to track birthdays, and spend maybe 10-15 minutes surfing a few times a week.  While a number of users deactivate their accounts for Lent, the reason most often cited is because they spend too much time there.  But my problem is that Facebook causes me to sin.


It makes me covet.


It makes me ask, why have all of these people out there managed to move their lives forward to exciting places, cool jobs, starting their own families, when I am stuck?  It makes me wonder what I am doing wrong, why despite all of my hard work nothing has changed.  It causes me to compare myself to others, to be jealous, to be pissed off.  So I'm taking a break to see if that helps me re-center myself, just as soon as I finish telling people "Happy Birthday!"

I have a bitta Britta in me

Community has really been there for me in these last few difficult months.  And by Community I don't mean the people in my life, but rather, the TV show.  The quirky humor, outrageous stunts, and flawed characters resonate with me, and probably with all of our desire to be accepted just as we are and spend our days in epic paintball fights.  It adds a touch of whimsy to my current life, with just enough reality to keep the show fresh.  I didn't like it the first few times I watched, partly because the Britta character annoyed me.  But I quickly realized how many of my own characteristics were reflected (in an exaggerated way) through her storylines.

1. I am a bit of a buzzkill.  Blame it on older child syndrome, being perpetually overly responsible and able to identify all of the things that could go wrong in a given situation while others float in blissful acceptance of life's risks.  That's why I made a good lifeguard, and why I recently scolded the boys (cough cough men in their mid-twenties) at a party for throwing firecrackers at each others butts, when, just as I had feared, one really did send sparks into somebody's eye.  I try to turn the worrying off, I try to use statistics to convince myself that the chance of anything happening is slim, but invariably, my anxieties are proven right.  Sigh.

2. I'm kinda intense.  I always wondered why my stories were met with awkward silence.  Apparently, some of my life experiences and philosophies are sorta extreme.  My good friend Andrew finally pointed this out to me, and it's been very helpful.

3. I wish I was doing more to change the world.  I've traveled, I've interned, I've rallied, I've raised and donated money, but it doesn't feel like enough.  Especially not now as I sit in the comfort of my own apartment, albeit surrounded by used furniture, two rescue kitties, and unable to use my bathroom sink due to unexplained plumbing issues.  I do feel like I'm at my job for a reason, getting excellent training in a hard-to-come-by and much-needed skillset in the nonprofit and ministry realm.  I sometimes just wish that the next steps were more clear.

4. I expect too much from myself and other people, and am continually disappointed.  While Community has been there for me, community has not.  I think this may be related to No. 3, that people are often unsure of how to response to crises outside of their own experience.  I was raised to let someone know that you're thinking of them, even if all you have to say is that you don't know what to say.  And even as I feel a bit lonely and surprised at the lack of response from friends (with some very notable exceptions), I also feel guilty for not being updated on what's going on in their lives.  I guess we TwentySomethings are pretty caught up in our own continual crises of self and security.

6. I used to pronounce bagel wrong.  I have no idea why.  I still have to focus sometimes to make sure I don't ask for a "bahgul."  I also used to refer to bags as "begs."

Snarkolepsy

noun: pathology.

a chronic social disorder characterized by excessive desire to lash out through extreme sarcasm and cynicism. Possibly emerges at inappropriate times; those afflicted may not even realize they are having an episode. Has contributed greatly to the humor in pop culture that defines today's TwentySomething.


origin: well, I thought of it last night, but it turns out somebody else already coined the term. drat. this, however, is MY definition.

You know you graduated with the class of 2009 if...

10. You find yourself feeling jealous toward freshmen and sophomores who still have several years of school left.

9. You talk with said freshmen, who admit they have no idea what they’re going to do when they graduate, and you say, yeah, me neither.

8. You stop while doing everyday activities and think, could I make money doing this? And then: is it legal? And finally: do I care?

7. You realize that the only jobs you’re qualified for are the same ones you were qualified for prior to getting your four-year college degree.

6. Your firefox tabs are set to craigslist.com, monster.com, and fmylife.com.

5. You wonder, should I go on a date with this guy just for the free meal? His parole officer has high hopes for his rehabilitation…

4. You scramble for change in the parking lot.

3. You started bringing your laundry home again, ‘cause everyone’s already picked up the quarters.

2. What do you mean, “bring my laundry home?” I live at home, fool.

1. If it wasn’t true before, you start to see why socialism might not be such a bad idea.

and what do YOU do for a living?

June 13th, 2009. In a surreal fog, I find myself walking down the aisle surrounded by esteemed professors in ridiculous hats that somehow signify their level of education - the smarter they are, the more insane the hat (I've always wondered who thought, hey, let's celebrate graduates by having students wear squares on their head!). As the climactic swell of Pomp and Circumstance fills the auditorium, I march (very carefully) up on stage, where I cannot do anything embarrassing for the next hour and twenty minutes (possibly a new record). In a bizarre moment in my year of rejection, I've been awarded one of the top honors in the college for acing my classes and doing lots of community service. Faculty seem confident that I will go on to do great things.

October 15th, 2009. After months of job hunting and scores of lengthy applications, I'm on my way to my first day of work as a college graduate. I pull up into the free metered parking space, because I can't afford to pay the garage price, and walk quickly over to the K-Street Mall. In the 45 seconds it takes to get from my truck to my place of employment, I get two catcalls. When I get to the building, the blackened windows heighten the suspense of the experience. I walk inside...and am terrified.

The other employees are covered in blood, sores, and boils; there are hatchets and worms coming out of their heads. Skeletons with glowing eye sockets hover in the corner, but I pretend not to notice them. Fog filters through the black sheets that line the way to my station, where it suddenly dawns on me that I've never actually worked a cash register before. A man I've never seen before comes up, and in a booming scary movie voice introduces himself: "Hi, I'm Ghost! Welcome to my home!"

Err, thanks.

I spend the next three hours fumbling with the cash register in the near complete dark, distracted by the incessant screams and calls for "FRESH MEAT!!" that come from the black all around me. The one-eyed hunchback keeps warning me, "I can seeeeeeee youuuuuuu," as I whimper, "I'm just the cashier!" As Ghost teases one of the customers as to how frightened he was, reminiscing of the old days when he used to carry a snake around his neck, someone else comes in from the back. "You mean like THIS ONE??"

I didn't realize it was fake until after I had hurled myself in to the corner, screaming at the same pitch as the man who ran out and probably had to change his pants.

When the end of the night comes, I close out the cash register and ask for security to walk me to my car. The guard mentions that I have managed to park around the corner from the hotel with the most number of registered sex offenders in the city, and suggests an alternate location for my next shift.

Um, done.

On the drive home, I can't help but marvel at God's wonderful sense of humor. In all honesty, I would much rather work in a haunted house that employs such vivid characters who are working hard for a living than wasting away in a stuffy suit at a desk with people who are full of their own credentials and sense of entitlement from the universe. I just hope it's the last I've seen of the snake.

Song for a Cat

The true Jason Mraz fans, those of use who loved him even before his peppier melodies were overplayed on the radio, have his earliest live recording at Java Joe’s. He reveals that one song, entitled “Little You & I,” was, in fact, written for his cat. The tender lyrics were not penned for some fleeting lover, but his loyal feline companion.

Thank you, Mr. Mraz.

As Nathan recently reminded me, Linus IS the man in my life at the moment, and I am glad to have a song that celebrates that special relationship. Because I have become painfully aware in the past months just how many songs are about love, happiness, and other things that I have looked down upon from my snarky, empowered position of a single young woman. Sure, there’s worship music, but that often sounds like a love song if you’re not listening too closely. And you can only listen to so much angry girl rock before you just want to light something on fire.

We need more songs that celebrate the chaos of the twentysomething. Songs about unemployment and living in crappy apartments, navigating the terrible world of dating and finding community after college, frozen yogurt and police raids next door (yes, this happened in Davis), Facebook and watching TV online because we can’t afford cable – upbeat, mournful, sarcastic, lyrical, it doesn’t matter. So, all you composers out there, get on that.