Columbus, Ohio has been quite the tolerant host to my antics over the past four years. In fact, I cannot believe that it has put up with me without so much as an arrest or broken bone. I think you can all join me as i release a massive sigh of relief, although i did end up taking home some serious scars as souvenirs. But in all honesty, if the city of Columbus were a human being, I would give her a great big hug, maybe even a parting gift. It has been a good run, Columbus, and now that I have gone for good, I know that I won't forget ya.
Packing up four years of college life is quite the experience. First of all, I cannot be the only one who has acquired an unbelievable amount of useless shit over the course of my time in school. By the end of the year, my living room was packed with items leftover from our ongoing festivities, sort of like a live scrap book. A quick glance at the mess would tell you everything from what we wore on Halloween to our drunk habit of taking things off the side of the road. One time I walked into our living room to find a shopping cart that my roommates took from a local bum, frankly I'm surprised the bum wasn't taken with it. And of course there is no mistaking what school we went to, as our house displayed so much scarlet and gray that you would think we were opening up an Ohio State gift shop. After all, OSU is not just a school, it's an internationally recognized brand. You may think I'm being presumptuous by saying internationally recognized, but I was in Tel-Aviv one time when an Australian man in an Ohio State Football t-shirt came up and hit on me. No joke. The guy had never even been to Ohio but apparently "dug the shirt, mate." You can honestly find an astonishing array of Ohio State memorabilia out there. I mean, I enjoy a good OSU serving bowl just as much as the next guy, but OSU toilet seats, really??
Anyway, my point is that there are hundreds of things I would have rather done then sifting through the contents of my living room. Moving is definitely one of the most inconvenient and physically draining things to do in life. I should know, I have moved every year in school. In the freshmen dorms, I even hated the idea of moving. I was so against moving out that my parents were halfway to Columbus from Cleveland before I even started to take down my Jack Johnson poster, you know the one. I was SO against moving out that I was the very last kid on my floor to leave. At one point, I had both parents, both R.A.s and the dorm manager helping me load the car. Of course it's never comfortable opening up your armoir doors to reveal half the year's empty liquor bottles to the people that were supposed to be monitoring your underage drinking. At that point however, they were just elated to get me the hell out of there and back in Cleveland where my parents had the pleasure of housing me for the summer.
Packing up your stuff is an unnatural feeling for so many reasons. While we rent off-campus housing, after an entire year of living somewhere, it truly becomes a home. You come back to the same place night after night. You collapse on the same furniture, turn on the same t.v., snuggle under the same covers in the same room that becomes your own personal safe place. No matter how drunk you are, your body becomes programmed to stumble back there, and never fails to do so. Even on major holidays like Cinco de Mayo or St. Patrick's Day. Then one year later, it cheats on you with some new, hussie tenants. The nerve.
The sheer number of tenants that come in and out of these houses would make one scratch their head in disbelief. Many of the houses were once quite beautiful, but are now falling apart after too much commotion and debauchery. One time I was dancing on a table at an annex house when the entire floor busted in and the basement ceiling near collapsed. That same Realtor rented out to my girlfriends and I the following year, elated that for once they were saved renting a big house to boys. Little did they know, the condition of the house after we were done with it forced them to perform a complete reconstruction of the insides, turning our security deposit into an investment for future college kids to do the same.
Off campus houses are so old they remind me of a grandpa that cringes every time their grandchild wants a piggyback ride. A porch can be hanging on by a plank and yet, we will still find some way to balance a game of flip cup on it. Most of the houses have significant historical value however. At one point many of the fraternity and sorority houses were plantation homes, that are still connected by an underground tunnel that was part of the Underground Railroad. Now, those tunnels are caved in, and I can imagine that the old conservative plantation owners would not be happy to know that some of these places are now known to foster quite inappropriate actions of unmentionable Ohio State quarterbacks. Oh, and the antics and hormones of several thousand other people.
As I packed away my college memorabilia, it brought back so many great memories, though some a bit void of details due to alcoholic intake. In contrast to my lethargic moving out, the boys moving in were so enthusiastic that they had arranged to move their stuff in before we had even moved ours out. To ease on their move, they purchased a couple of cases and were basically having a homecoming event going before we had even said our goodbyes. Nothing made me more nostalgic then watching the seven of them walking into my house holding an empty keg shell in each hand. These guys were ready to party, and a part of me wasn't quite ready to leave college. So I had a couple beers with them. This last move was definitely the hardest. I wasn't only moving to a new house, I was moving to an entirely new state. While I am excited for what's to come, I am going to be sad about the end of college for a long time.
It is about that time for my summer in-between to end, it is September, after all. For me, September usually means back to school shopping, and while this time around the only pencils bought will be part of Banana Republic's Autumn line, it still represents a new year and a fresh start. In my first post, I mentioned that I refuse to be that alum who think the glory days are over. In fact, the term "glory days," (like the term, "real world.") is meaningless and redundant. As I move to Chicago and begin to work on my career, I will strive to attain personal goals, and strive to stay out past midnight as my alcohol muscles will be quite weak after my college hiatus. To me, college was a necessary stage in life and a vast pool of stories to utilize in my everyday banter. In the summarized words of the great Mark Twain, it was the best and the worst of times, the age of wisdom and foolishness- the period was so far like the present period, that some of its nosiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. If you have no idea what i'm talking about I suggest you forget going to grad school all together and go back to 10th grade English class ("don't mind if I do, meem.") And if you DO know what I'm talking about, then you know that we needed college to get us through to the next stage of life, and every learning experience was relevant. Mark Twain, knew his shit, he understood that life is a cumulative final. College was ultimately the path to take to get our diploma, and the fact that I learned more on the east side of High Street than the west side, was simply the extraneous benefit from my tuition costs.
Meem
Friday, August 27, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
At That Age
I can tell that I'm maturing because last night I brought a bottle of Chardonnay to a house where the boys were placing bets on whether one could chug a beer in 7 seconds. I could not have been less interested in the precedings and thus considered myself an official adult at that moment. Believe it or not there once was a time when I thrived in such activities. Chugging, Shot-gunning, beer bonging, you name it! Don't get me wrong, I'll be the first to pour an upside-down margarita down your throat, and in no way, do I think that I am above a good old-fashioned beer pong game. However, at that particular moment, I wasn't impressed with the fact that someone could perform a seven second chug. Maybe if it was done in six.
There are many things in life that I once thought were cool that I just can't wrap my head around anymore. In high school I remember sneaking out during the day for the sole purpose of smoking a cigarette. I now look back thinking that I probably didn't look as cool as I felt as I puffed away at that cancer stick. My little way of rebelling against the evil parents and teachers that were trying to educate me (how dare they!). Furthermore, why wasn't my ungrateful ass sitting in school and paying attention like the rest of the kids. I actually saw the valedictorian of my graduating class the other week. Instead of my continuous effort to misbehave, he directed his energy towards getting a free ride to an upstanding university. He ended up graduating in four years with an M.A. in Accounting and a job. Now who's having more fun... ehh still me probably, but at least he is sitting smugly in his cubicle as I scatter through careerbuilders.com.
Yet I'm not sure if I regret my adolescent shenanigans. There's an age-old competition between the worth of book smarts versus street smarts, I think it is important to have a heatlthy balance of both. Today's society pretty much requires you to have a bachelor's degree unless there's a pretty damn good reason not to, i.e. your high school start up blew up. After all, millionaires are allowed to be drop outs. On the flip side however, understanding the fundamental principles of Copernicus will not help you talk your way into closing a business deal... or really closing any deal. Wink, wink. Thus, it is vital to mix up your studies with continuos doses of life experience. Have we learned nothing from Ms. Frizzle and her psychadelic Magic School Bus?
Besides for the fact that Ms. Frizzle liked to go green in several ways, she was known for encouraging her students to do three specific things: "take chances, make mistakes, get messy." She understood the value of learning beyond what was written in her schoolbooks, even if it was only because she refused to support the evil bank accounts of big business that pumped out new editions every year. Frankly I wished I had more teachers like Ms. Frizzle, encouraging me to explore this beautiful world we live in. When I was fifteen in my most confusing of high school stages, I could have used her wise words and compassion. Even if her skewed fashion sense would have most likely encouraged that hiddeous hemp that was strung around my neck. At the end of the day, her students walked away not only gaining a scholastic lesson, but a life lesson as well. Yet I must accept that no school district can afford to send their third grade classes on a field trip through the human digestive system to learn how the body functions, after all, we are in a recession.
Growing up is a tricky thing. One day you're a third grader thinking that life's biggest hardship is figuring out how to extend your bedtime, next thing you know, you're a teenager figuring out how to extend your curfew. As I sat there last night, watching bros take cheap beer to the face, I did feel a bit of nostalgia about my college experience. I met hundreds of fun and interesting people, partied hard, even got a few nights of studying in. :) And even though it would be nice to tell prospective employers that I can crunch numbers like Count von Count on crack, I wouldn't change one single thing.
Meem
There are many things in life that I once thought were cool that I just can't wrap my head around anymore. In high school I remember sneaking out during the day for the sole purpose of smoking a cigarette. I now look back thinking that I probably didn't look as cool as I felt as I puffed away at that cancer stick. My little way of rebelling against the evil parents and teachers that were trying to educate me (how dare they!). Furthermore, why wasn't my ungrateful ass sitting in school and paying attention like the rest of the kids. I actually saw the valedictorian of my graduating class the other week. Instead of my continuous effort to misbehave, he directed his energy towards getting a free ride to an upstanding university. He ended up graduating in four years with an M.A. in Accounting and a job. Now who's having more fun... ehh still me probably, but at least he is sitting smugly in his cubicle as I scatter through careerbuilders.com.
Yet I'm not sure if I regret my adolescent shenanigans. There's an age-old competition between the worth of book smarts versus street smarts, I think it is important to have a heatlthy balance of both. Today's society pretty much requires you to have a bachelor's degree unless there's a pretty damn good reason not to, i.e. your high school start up blew up. After all, millionaires are allowed to be drop outs. On the flip side however, understanding the fundamental principles of Copernicus will not help you talk your way into closing a business deal... or really closing any deal. Wink, wink. Thus, it is vital to mix up your studies with continuos doses of life experience. Have we learned nothing from Ms. Frizzle and her psychadelic Magic School Bus?
Besides for the fact that Ms. Frizzle liked to go green in several ways, she was known for encouraging her students to do three specific things: "take chances, make mistakes, get messy." She understood the value of learning beyond what was written in her schoolbooks, even if it was only because she refused to support the evil bank accounts of big business that pumped out new editions every year. Frankly I wished I had more teachers like Ms. Frizzle, encouraging me to explore this beautiful world we live in. When I was fifteen in my most confusing of high school stages, I could have used her wise words and compassion. Even if her skewed fashion sense would have most likely encouraged that hiddeous hemp that was strung around my neck. At the end of the day, her students walked away not only gaining a scholastic lesson, but a life lesson as well. Yet I must accept that no school district can afford to send their third grade classes on a field trip through the human digestive system to learn how the body functions, after all, we are in a recession.
Growing up is a tricky thing. One day you're a third grader thinking that life's biggest hardship is figuring out how to extend your bedtime, next thing you know, you're a teenager figuring out how to extend your curfew. As I sat there last night, watching bros take cheap beer to the face, I did feel a bit of nostalgia about my college experience. I met hundreds of fun and interesting people, partied hard, even got a few nights of studying in. :) And even though it would be nice to tell prospective employers that I can crunch numbers like Count von Count on crack, I wouldn't change one single thing.
Meem
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Yupps and Downs
There is a place where the young professional runs ramped through the streets. They live amongst a jungle of skysraping structures and underground mazes that reach every little nook and cranny of the urban mecca. Where a cocktail can be purchased at any hour, and a delivery service can bring a mind-blowing, and sometimes disturbing array of products to one's doorstep. A homeland for all that is driven and power-hungry. A dreamland for every brave entrepreneur, wishing to capitalize on the drool dripping from the mouths of those thirsting to exhaust their lines of credit. Woken up by exorbitantly priced and complex alarm clocks, these corporate soldiers become ready for combat. With their caffeine ammunition and SmartPhone artillery they are ready to work tirelessly to prove that their degrees provide some sort of return, particularly a lack of sleep.
Welcome to the big city my fellow twenty-somethings. It's about that time for us to ditch our plastic Target bins and buy some actual furniture. Redeem our educations for some sort of salary and begin the rest of our lives as productive members of society. It's kind of exciting really, in an I'm-scared-to-death sort of way.
Yuppie is an acronym. It stands for Young Urban Professional Person and the word is synonymous with suits, money, and a slight negative connotation when utilized by anyone who works a blue collar or service job. Frankly, I can't really blame them. The people scuttling around the world's metropolises with their gadgets and briefcases are smug, high strung and judgmental. In fact, I will absolutely make sure that my children work in the service industry, just to develop a bit of character and the common decency not to yell at a waiter if they don't like their soup. Anyway, in an earlier post, Holly pointed out that she despised the pointed question of "what are you doing?" Well as I start participating in more activities inherent with this particular yuppie tribe, I am frequently asked, "what do you do?" This question explores several different personal inquiries that yuppies are fascinated by, including but not limited to, how much money one makes, how respective individual's career connections can enable their own, and if this specific someone threatens their own future business endeavors. To be quite honest, the last time I felt so judged was when my 6th grade girlfriends stopped letting me sit at their lunch table.
To prove that my maturity level has made significant progress since my days of wearing sparkly denim from Limited Too, my actions now will differ from those performed then. Instead of shying away and finding a different lunch table to sit at, I will step up to the plate and prove to Gretchen Weiners and her business card waving crew that I am capable of surviving in this concrete jungle, despite their judgey looks that pierce straight threw their expensive eyewear.
Up until now the corporate world has put me in a distressingly familiar place where I seem to find myself consistently: the friend zone. While I try not to complain, as this usually removes me from the punch line of jokes guys tell each other about their dating prospects (*again, please note I said usually), it does get a little old. Honestly gentlemen, it's great that I have a "great personality," and all, but the next person who feeds me this line will witness a reaction to rival America's when BP decided to tie dye the Gulf Coast. Like the men in my life, I feel like prospective employers speak to me with that same friendly demeanor. It's not me really... It's them. And like the men in my life, I just want to lash out at these companies and ask them to stop sugar coding their regret e-mails, with their encouraging statements and good luck wishes. Just tell me how it is, corporate America! Is it my liberal arts degree that turns you off? Is it the fact that I don't have enough experience?? I want to exclaim that I am an intelligent and capable woman! You want me to work 9-5? I'll be at the office by 8 and leave by 6. I want to tell them that I will be THE employee of their dreams!! Yet perhaps I will take my own grandmother's advice and trust that the right job/boy will come.
It is hard to complain about the fact that I still don't have a job because I have spent an ample amount of time at the swimming pool this summer. I'm really just soaking up the last drops of freedom before signing an offer that will disable the enjoyment of cocktails before noon forever. Yet as this summer-in-between is coming to an end, I'm finding that my desire to move on with my life-after-college is exponentially growing. While I have spent four years shuddering to myself thinking about 7 AM wake ups and long commutes on a suburban kids' death train (public transportation), I am now happily retiring my liquid dope pitchers and out r inn mugs. After all it is truly time for me to grow up and I can't hate the fact that my collection of pencil skirts will inevitable triple. I have never been the one to shy away from a change of scenery, and it will be my personal initiative to make this move no different. After all, life has its ups and downs, and there's no reason to act all yuppity when inevitable life changes force us to close our bar tabs and move on.
Meem
Welcome to the big city my fellow twenty-somethings. It's about that time for us to ditch our plastic Target bins and buy some actual furniture. Redeem our educations for some sort of salary and begin the rest of our lives as productive members of society. It's kind of exciting really, in an I'm-scared-to-death sort of way.
Yuppie is an acronym. It stands for Young Urban Professional Person and the word is synonymous with suits, money, and a slight negative connotation when utilized by anyone who works a blue collar or service job. Frankly, I can't really blame them. The people scuttling around the world's metropolises with their gadgets and briefcases are smug, high strung and judgmental. In fact, I will absolutely make sure that my children work in the service industry, just to develop a bit of character and the common decency not to yell at a waiter if they don't like their soup. Anyway, in an earlier post, Holly pointed out that she despised the pointed question of "what are you doing?" Well as I start participating in more activities inherent with this particular yuppie tribe, I am frequently asked, "what do you do?" This question explores several different personal inquiries that yuppies are fascinated by, including but not limited to, how much money one makes, how respective individual's career connections can enable their own, and if this specific someone threatens their own future business endeavors. To be quite honest, the last time I felt so judged was when my 6th grade girlfriends stopped letting me sit at their lunch table.
To prove that my maturity level has made significant progress since my days of wearing sparkly denim from Limited Too, my actions now will differ from those performed then. Instead of shying away and finding a different lunch table to sit at, I will step up to the plate and prove to Gretchen Weiners and her business card waving crew that I am capable of surviving in this concrete jungle, despite their judgey looks that pierce straight threw their expensive eyewear.
Up until now the corporate world has put me in a distressingly familiar place where I seem to find myself consistently: the friend zone. While I try not to complain, as this usually removes me from the punch line of jokes guys tell each other about their dating prospects (*again, please note I said usually), it does get a little old. Honestly gentlemen, it's great that I have a "great personality," and all, but the next person who feeds me this line will witness a reaction to rival America's when BP decided to tie dye the Gulf Coast. Like the men in my life, I feel like prospective employers speak to me with that same friendly demeanor. It's not me really... It's them. And like the men in my life, I just want to lash out at these companies and ask them to stop sugar coding their regret e-mails, with their encouraging statements and good luck wishes. Just tell me how it is, corporate America! Is it my liberal arts degree that turns you off? Is it the fact that I don't have enough experience?? I want to exclaim that I am an intelligent and capable woman! You want me to work 9-5? I'll be at the office by 8 and leave by 6. I want to tell them that I will be THE employee of their dreams!! Yet perhaps I will take my own grandmother's advice and trust that the right job/boy will come.
It is hard to complain about the fact that I still don't have a job because I have spent an ample amount of time at the swimming pool this summer. I'm really just soaking up the last drops of freedom before signing an offer that will disable the enjoyment of cocktails before noon forever. Yet as this summer-in-between is coming to an end, I'm finding that my desire to move on with my life-after-college is exponentially growing. While I have spent four years shuddering to myself thinking about 7 AM wake ups and long commutes on a suburban kids' death train (public transportation), I am now happily retiring my liquid dope pitchers and out r inn mugs. After all it is truly time for me to grow up and I can't hate the fact that my collection of pencil skirts will inevitable triple. I have never been the one to shy away from a change of scenery, and it will be my personal initiative to make this move no different. After all, life has its ups and downs, and there's no reason to act all yuppity when inevitable life changes force us to close our bar tabs and move on.
Meem
Sunday, August 1, 2010
PDA Jam Rules
I recently noted that I have been a beer pong player and enthusiast for eight solid years now. While this number may seem high, suggesting that I am quite the old bat, I did use my fingers to subtract 14 from 22, so waiter, you can bring that Shirley Temple over here please! While eight years almost constitutes a third of my time on this fine earth (disheartening me a bit about my life's purpose) it seems to have flown by. I was warned that my time in high school and college would seem short, but I never remember hitting fast forward. Just yesterday I was conjuring up ways to sneak out of my parent's house after getting in right before curfew, now the word 'curfew' isn't even in my vocabulary. How the hell did my adolescence escape me so quickly, and where have I been?
On the pong table apparently, as it remains to be my favorite drinking game. Amongst the dozens of dizzy bats, flip cups and other forms of former PG-rated activities, pong is far superior. A classic and versatile sport, I have played pong in the most diverse of venues against the most respected of opponents in the league. From using candlelight during a notorious Cleveland storm, an inflatable raft in a pool, or on an unhinged closet door in the freshmen dorms, where there is a will, there's truly a way. Even if it means using your grandmother's porcelain china for the water cups.
While pong technique itself is a gentle science, there is a whole other aspect of the game that can completely dictate your reign on the table, the pong partner. Your pong partner needs to be selected carefully, as there is little room for mistakes in this critical game-time decision. I for one, know that there are certain people that I cannot ever play beer pong with, even if we are actually great friends in life. I would go as far to say, I select beer pong partners as carefully as I select partners in another critical realm of life: dating. Yes, my friends, I went there.
On the pong table apparently, as it remains to be my favorite drinking game. Amongst the dozens of dizzy bats, flip cups and other forms of former PG-rated activities, pong is far superior. A classic and versatile sport, I have played pong in the most diverse of venues against the most respected of opponents in the league. From using candlelight during a notorious Cleveland storm, an inflatable raft in a pool, or on an unhinged closet door in the freshmen dorms, where there is a will, there's truly a way. Even if it means using your grandmother's porcelain china for the water cups.
While pong technique itself is a gentle science, there is a whole other aspect of the game that can completely dictate your reign on the table, the pong partner. Your pong partner needs to be selected carefully, as there is little room for mistakes in this critical game-time decision. I for one, know that there are certain people that I cannot ever play beer pong with, even if we are actually great friends in life. I would go as far to say, I select beer pong partners as carefully as I select partners in another critical realm of life: dating. Yes, my friends, I went there.
"Meem the Nati has gone to your head!!"
"I thought that snowboarding accident last year wasn't that serious!"
It's okay everyone, I really think I'm on to something here. That statement may seem a bit far-fetched, perhaps even a little twisted. Yet time and time again, I have seen that my beer pong chemistry with a boy translates to my romantic chemistry with that individual in life. (Thankfully nobody reads this blog thus saving several friendships from becoming a bit awkward) Nonetheless, just think about what makes two people good partners, in pong and in dating. In pong, one needs to be consistently accurate, while the other needs to come in the clutch with redeemers and strategic bounces. One needs to always keep a considerate eye on how the other is holding their pong beer, urging them to finish it or else risk the chances of the other team making their personal. There needs to be strong communication between partners, creating intricate bounce-shot combos that will throw off the other team. Additionally, compromise becomes key as one person needs to understand if their partner shoots more effectively at a classic triangle versus a sideways rearrangement, or maybe a rhombus versus a diamond. This compatibility, consideration and compromise translates directly to how successful two individuals will be in a relationship. Every couple has to find a strategic balance in order to function healthily and happily, this same philosophy plays out in the great game of pong.
The ultimate, underlying factor however, is that you must want to play together. Many times, I have looked on enviously as my girlfriends get to play with adorable partners who keep them laughing for days, making all the right shots. They giggle with each other in-between turns, keeping their down time interesting and fun. Meanwhile, I'm stuck with cute boy's gnome-of-a-friend and could not be more unhappy. While Prince Charming is sweeping my girlfriend off her feet across the table, I am forced to make small talk to hygienically-challenged individual, who can't make a cup to save his life. Just as this respective partner is showing me the collection of dead bugs in his pocket, my girlfriends' Casanova is sinking a spinner into a cup, one which due to my distraction, I failed to blow. At that point, I am so frustrated and turned off by Tweedledee next to me, that I would rather go gossip with the gals in the ladies room, and could care less about coming out victorious in the game.
Team chemistry only ignites one's developed beer pong skills, which is why partner bonding ends up using NBA Jam Rules to their full advantage. NBA Jam Rules are, in my opinion, integral to a great pong game, as I never truly trust a household that doesn't play by these rules. NBA Jam sequences have both ignited and been the result of deep chemistry between teammates. I actually don't think that the most notorious couples in history would have made it through the night if they hadn't been running the table for several key pong games prior to their declaration of monogamy. Marc Antony and Cleopatra, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, hell, don't tell me that Bonnie and Clyde weren't "on fire," before getting together. Its a proven tale, time and time again. Chemistry on the pong table leads to chemistry in the errr, can't quite spell this one out for you guys, but you catch my drift. Flirtation creates a spark, a spark creates an agenda, and next thing you know it, both you and your partner are on fire, on and off the table. After all, we're in our young twenties, isn't this the time for our libidos to dictate our decisions? Or did that excuse expire after going through puberty? Either way, I find that this pong partner-attraction theory, might as well go down in history alongside Newton's Laws of Motion. I mean, velocities have to change when forces are applied, right? How about the force of attraction? My friends in serious relationships are holding down the table far longer than any of us single folk. I'll be passed out clutching half a Jimmy Johns' sub well before they give up their spot. I know this magic is real, and I am not envious for the love they share for another, or the comfort of having a significant someone, but for how long they can run a pong table on any given night. Give they have that special pong partner.
When I look at a dating prospect, I never fail to check out his beer pong form. Confident demeanor, unique shot, a true gentlemen always stands a good elbow's distance away from the table and NEVER punches a wall if he misses a shot. While socially reprehensible, I wouldn't even mind dating someone who may shoot a mischievous bounce every once in a while as a playful taunt towards the other team. And what does a girl have to do for someone to jump over the railing to fetch a rogue ball for her, after all, we're often playing in heels. Perhaps I am completely jaded, maybe a bit too much of the tainted rinsing water has landed in my beer cups over the years, but I always seem to play my best games with dating prospects as partners. It's simple physics really, or maybe it's chemistry- I don't know, I was never really that great at either. All I know is that I'd much sooner be "heating up," with a partner like the desirable Kobe Bryant, before any of his other 7' NBA colleagues. Especially because Kobe is such a champ that he'd never dent a wall from a missed shot, or dent a loyal team for a hotter prospect.
Meem
"I thought that snowboarding accident last year wasn't that serious!"
It's okay everyone, I really think I'm on to something here. That statement may seem a bit far-fetched, perhaps even a little twisted. Yet time and time again, I have seen that my beer pong chemistry with a boy translates to my romantic chemistry with that individual in life. (Thankfully nobody reads this blog thus saving several friendships from becoming a bit awkward) Nonetheless, just think about what makes two people good partners, in pong and in dating. In pong, one needs to be consistently accurate, while the other needs to come in the clutch with redeemers and strategic bounces. One needs to always keep a considerate eye on how the other is holding their pong beer, urging them to finish it or else risk the chances of the other team making their personal. There needs to be strong communication between partners, creating intricate bounce-shot combos that will throw off the other team. Additionally, compromise becomes key as one person needs to understand if their partner shoots more effectively at a classic triangle versus a sideways rearrangement, or maybe a rhombus versus a diamond. This compatibility, consideration and compromise translates directly to how successful two individuals will be in a relationship. Every couple has to find a strategic balance in order to function healthily and happily, this same philosophy plays out in the great game of pong.
The ultimate, underlying factor however, is that you must want to play together. Many times, I have looked on enviously as my girlfriends get to play with adorable partners who keep them laughing for days, making all the right shots. They giggle with each other in-between turns, keeping their down time interesting and fun. Meanwhile, I'm stuck with cute boy's gnome-of-a-friend and could not be more unhappy. While Prince Charming is sweeping my girlfriend off her feet across the table, I am forced to make small talk to hygienically-challenged individual, who can't make a cup to save his life. Just as this respective partner is showing me the collection of dead bugs in his pocket, my girlfriends' Casanova is sinking a spinner into a cup, one which due to my distraction, I failed to blow. At that point, I am so frustrated and turned off by Tweedledee next to me, that I would rather go gossip with the gals in the ladies room, and could care less about coming out victorious in the game.
Team chemistry only ignites one's developed beer pong skills, which is why partner bonding ends up using NBA Jam Rules to their full advantage. NBA Jam Rules are, in my opinion, integral to a great pong game, as I never truly trust a household that doesn't play by these rules. NBA Jam sequences have both ignited and been the result of deep chemistry between teammates. I actually don't think that the most notorious couples in history would have made it through the night if they hadn't been running the table for several key pong games prior to their declaration of monogamy. Marc Antony and Cleopatra, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, hell, don't tell me that Bonnie and Clyde weren't "on fire," before getting together. Its a proven tale, time and time again. Chemistry on the pong table leads to chemistry in the errr, can't quite spell this one out for you guys, but you catch my drift. Flirtation creates a spark, a spark creates an agenda, and next thing you know it, both you and your partner are on fire, on and off the table. After all, we're in our young twenties, isn't this the time for our libidos to dictate our decisions? Or did that excuse expire after going through puberty? Either way, I find that this pong partner-attraction theory, might as well go down in history alongside Newton's Laws of Motion. I mean, velocities have to change when forces are applied, right? How about the force of attraction? My friends in serious relationships are holding down the table far longer than any of us single folk. I'll be passed out clutching half a Jimmy Johns' sub well before they give up their spot. I know this magic is real, and I am not envious for the love they share for another, or the comfort of having a significant someone, but for how long they can run a pong table on any given night. Give they have that special pong partner.
When I look at a dating prospect, I never fail to check out his beer pong form. Confident demeanor, unique shot, a true gentlemen always stands a good elbow's distance away from the table and NEVER punches a wall if he misses a shot. While socially reprehensible, I wouldn't even mind dating someone who may shoot a mischievous bounce every once in a while as a playful taunt towards the other team. And what does a girl have to do for someone to jump over the railing to fetch a rogue ball for her, after all, we're often playing in heels. Perhaps I am completely jaded, maybe a bit too much of the tainted rinsing water has landed in my beer cups over the years, but I always seem to play my best games with dating prospects as partners. It's simple physics really, or maybe it's chemistry- I don't know, I was never really that great at either. All I know is that I'd much sooner be "heating up," with a partner like the desirable Kobe Bryant, before any of his other 7' NBA colleagues. Especially because Kobe is such a champ that he'd never dent a wall from a missed shot, or dent a loyal team for a hotter prospect.
Meem
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Camp Life
Go back to your favorite playground as a child one of these days, and notice how small everything looks. The once massive jungle gym is now merely a couple of plastic tubes and a mini dome. The swing set that used to send you to the moon can now barely hold your beer gut. The field of dreams where you played intense kickball games is now easily cleared with several long strides and the monkey bars seem flimsier than the ancient bar stools at your local dive bar. As a child, I loved the playground. The excitement of the seesaw was comparable to the exhilaration of the Millennium Force and a trip to the sandbox was never complete without making a new friend. There is truly no better team building exercise than building the world's largest sand castle with a perfect stranger. Even in my youth, I was a sucker for a good networking oppurtunity.
Recently I went on an Alternative Spring Break Trip where forty other young adults and myself sacrificed a week of body shots in Panama City Beach to work on community service projects in the Negev desert. Due to the fact that this desert has yet to follow suit with the Mojave's display of resourcefulness, there is very little to do for a group of party animals in their prime, and thus we were quite limited in our afterhours activities. There was however, a massive playground where the village kids entertained themselves during the day, but was completely deserted in the evenings. Every night after getting a bit sauced up at the local grocery store (for lack of an actual bar) we would head to this childhood mecca and play around until the wee hours in the morning, way longer than any of our moms would have ever let us stay. One can laugh at the fact that we had nothing else to do but play around like little kids at summer camp, but there is no argument to the fact that college kids can turn anything into a drinking game, and this was no exception.
Similarly, I went to a local swimming pool yesterday and observed the ridiculousness of what was going on around me. I remember a time when swimming meant diving for rings and jumping off the diving board, there was not a single fear of stepping out in public in a bathing suit, nor any question of what bottom-top combination would make my stomach look more defined. Yet at this pool, the floaties and flippers were replaced with blow-up pong tables, while diving for rings was upgraded to diving to attempt an underwater beer bong. The only plastic pool toys in sight were the red and blue Solo cups filled with foreign liquids and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves just as much as the swim time that was held in such high regard as a kid. Really the only aspect of the day that remained characteristic of a summer camp experience was the fact that that the dozens of people in the water seemed to ignore the existence of the indoor bathrooms, a situation made worse due to the mass liquid consumption taking place. Ultimately this means that said pool was no cleaner than the pee-infested water of your local baby pool, regardless of the age difference of respective occupants. Please attempt to hold down your lunch however and continue reading, I should have posted a disclaimer with that thought.
Anyway...
The city of Las Vegas has an amazing new marketing campaign called Camp Vegas. I don't know if you've seen this deliciously graphic and succinct commercial but it truly encompasses the idea that youth is no longer in fact, wasted on the young.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbIF9HZyjkk&feature=player_embedded
Perhaps it is the availability of the new age sorcerer's stone known as Botox and other age-defying technology that keeps adults young, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that while my childhood is gone, my youth never has to be. In nearly every one of my liberal arts classes, there were senior citizens who were part of a community program in conjunction with Ohio State to allow individuals to sit-in on classes without actually taking them for credit. I never really understood this when i was younger, after all, my time was precious and class would sometimes inflict on commitments in my social life. Yet, after awhile, I started realizing that the learning process will never stop, but only get more intricate after I clean all the Natty Light out of my ears and really start paying attention to what's going on around me.
The Camp Vegas commercial does not only display the global desire to drink and subsequently rub down a beautiful stranger, but a thirst for experiencing life to the fullest possible potential. As a child, one can have the imagination to build a complete fantasy world in the comfort of your own mind. As an adult, one has the mental capacity and is able to find the resources to build a reality from this fantastical imagination. Though there is no longer the luxury of comfort, as one can lose a home or a grip on reality with a faulty investment, adults truly have the advantage of freedom in pursuing actions out of their thoughts. Even now, I have friends who have built lucrative businesses from the ground up, ones who are attending medical school to save lives and find cures for devastating diseases, and even others who are writing thoughtful blogs that will motivate and inspire their peers (ahhh got ya!).
So what can we learn from our childhood selves that can help us as we continue this trek into our adult lives? For one thing, I will continue not to take candy from strangers. This rule, in fact, is crucial to college girls as they venture onto numerous beer pong tables and explore various sports team annexes throughout campus. To this day, I make sure that I watch the bartender make my drink and I'm not accepting foreign shots from questionable looking men (only attractive men-kidding mom!). I will also vow to continue helping my fellow peers in sand-castle building and any other other difficult endeavors they may attempt. After all, you never know when you, yourself, will come across some quicksand and will need a hand in turn, or a quick push on the swings to get you back to your regular pumping-pace. Additionally, it is important to take heed to the rules of the pool, while understanding how to bat your eyelashes at the lifeguard who will cut you some slack if you mend them a little bit. Boys- I understand you don't use mascara and thus your lashes do not have the body to pull off this particular maneuver. In this case I would suggest you acquire some adequate sales skills (Ohio State Calling is always hiring -the highest paying job on campus!) or perhaps know how to get a hold of a good lawyer. Finally, childhood should have ultimately taught us that a rough fall may have scraped your knees and made you cry ("yea right Meem, I never cried"), but you always got up, cleaned your bruises, wiped your tears, and continued to mark your territory as the master of the playground. And if that analogy really doesn't do it for you, register yourself to Camp Vegas, grab a cocktail, and if you're not smiling in mere minutes then good riddance Grinch, I don't know what to tell ya.
Meem
Recently I went on an Alternative Spring Break Trip where forty other young adults and myself sacrificed a week of body shots in Panama City Beach to work on community service projects in the Negev desert. Due to the fact that this desert has yet to follow suit with the Mojave's display of resourcefulness, there is very little to do for a group of party animals in their prime, and thus we were quite limited in our afterhours activities. There was however, a massive playground where the village kids entertained themselves during the day, but was completely deserted in the evenings. Every night after getting a bit sauced up at the local grocery store (for lack of an actual bar) we would head to this childhood mecca and play around until the wee hours in the morning, way longer than any of our moms would have ever let us stay. One can laugh at the fact that we had nothing else to do but play around like little kids at summer camp, but there is no argument to the fact that college kids can turn anything into a drinking game, and this was no exception.
Similarly, I went to a local swimming pool yesterday and observed the ridiculousness of what was going on around me. I remember a time when swimming meant diving for rings and jumping off the diving board, there was not a single fear of stepping out in public in a bathing suit, nor any question of what bottom-top combination would make my stomach look more defined. Yet at this pool, the floaties and flippers were replaced with blow-up pong tables, while diving for rings was upgraded to diving to attempt an underwater beer bong. The only plastic pool toys in sight were the red and blue Solo cups filled with foreign liquids and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves just as much as the swim time that was held in such high regard as a kid. Really the only aspect of the day that remained characteristic of a summer camp experience was the fact that that the dozens of people in the water seemed to ignore the existence of the indoor bathrooms, a situation made worse due to the mass liquid consumption taking place. Ultimately this means that said pool was no cleaner than the pee-infested water of your local baby pool, regardless of the age difference of respective occupants. Please attempt to hold down your lunch however and continue reading, I should have posted a disclaimer with that thought.
Anyway...
The city of Las Vegas has an amazing new marketing campaign called Camp Vegas. I don't know if you've seen this deliciously graphic and succinct commercial but it truly encompasses the idea that youth is no longer in fact, wasted on the young.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbIF9HZyjkk&feature=player_embedded
Perhaps it is the availability of the new age sorcerer's stone known as Botox and other age-defying technology that keeps adults young, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that while my childhood is gone, my youth never has to be. In nearly every one of my liberal arts classes, there were senior citizens who were part of a community program in conjunction with Ohio State to allow individuals to sit-in on classes without actually taking them for credit. I never really understood this when i was younger, after all, my time was precious and class would sometimes inflict on commitments in my social life. Yet, after awhile, I started realizing that the learning process will never stop, but only get more intricate after I clean all the Natty Light out of my ears and really start paying attention to what's going on around me.
The Camp Vegas commercial does not only display the global desire to drink and subsequently rub down a beautiful stranger, but a thirst for experiencing life to the fullest possible potential. As a child, one can have the imagination to build a complete fantasy world in the comfort of your own mind. As an adult, one has the mental capacity and is able to find the resources to build a reality from this fantastical imagination. Though there is no longer the luxury of comfort, as one can lose a home or a grip on reality with a faulty investment, adults truly have the advantage of freedom in pursuing actions out of their thoughts. Even now, I have friends who have built lucrative businesses from the ground up, ones who are attending medical school to save lives and find cures for devastating diseases, and even others who are writing thoughtful blogs that will motivate and inspire their peers (ahhh got ya!).
So what can we learn from our childhood selves that can help us as we continue this trek into our adult lives? For one thing, I will continue not to take candy from strangers. This rule, in fact, is crucial to college girls as they venture onto numerous beer pong tables and explore various sports team annexes throughout campus. To this day, I make sure that I watch the bartender make my drink and I'm not accepting foreign shots from questionable looking men (only attractive men-kidding mom!). I will also vow to continue helping my fellow peers in sand-castle building and any other other difficult endeavors they may attempt. After all, you never know when you, yourself, will come across some quicksand and will need a hand in turn, or a quick push on the swings to get you back to your regular pumping-pace. Additionally, it is important to take heed to the rules of the pool, while understanding how to bat your eyelashes at the lifeguard who will cut you some slack if you mend them a little bit. Boys- I understand you don't use mascara and thus your lashes do not have the body to pull off this particular maneuver. In this case I would suggest you acquire some adequate sales skills (Ohio State Calling is always hiring -the highest paying job on campus!) or perhaps know how to get a hold of a good lawyer. Finally, childhood should have ultimately taught us that a rough fall may have scraped your knees and made you cry ("yea right Meem, I never cried"), but you always got up, cleaned your bruises, wiped your tears, and continued to mark your territory as the master of the playground. And if that analogy really doesn't do it for you, register yourself to Camp Vegas, grab a cocktail, and if you're not smiling in mere minutes then good riddance Grinch, I don't know what to tell ya.
Meem
Monday, July 26, 2010
So What Are You Doing?
"So what are you doing?"
This question is like a chameleon adapting to its different environments.
After a few too many $1 mug refills, the question is waat r u doign
A quick but efficient T9 word text at work/school is What are you doing?
And the flirtatious inquiry sent electronically or personally is so what are you doing... :) The smiley face is crucial on that one.
But now that damn question is my number one pet peeve.
Extended family, nosey neighbors, friends from high school - everyone and their brother asks me that question. “So what are you doing?” It’s a two part question to gauge my intelligence: a. Did I graduate b. Do I have a job. At first, I did not mind answering this because I was fresh out commencement and eager to share my accomplishments. “Yes! I graduated! And now I have a job!” It sounds good right? That’s what I thought
Now I get pressed to divulge more. What was my major? Communication. I instantly feel the burning, judgey judging eyes. I don’t know how this major, based on the human condition of..oh I don’t know..COMMUNICATING was given a bad rep. I’m not going to point my a finger at the football players wandering in late to class because I did get to work on a project with James Laurinaitis my sophomore year. Perhaps it was the fine ladies of Alpha whathaveyou taking up an entire row and drawing in children’s coloring books during lecture (true story) Whatever the case, communication as an area of study has been deemed unworthy in the eyes of my questioners who have daughters attending Northwestern grad school or have graduated with a doctorate degree themselves. Sure, my classes didn’t involve organic chemistry or engineering projects that kept me awake for 5 straight weeks but don’t we all remember the biblical story of Babel? Just to recap, the plot was that everyone forgot how to communicate with one other and they all DIED (or something like that)
My job brings about another round of furrowed brows. Telling adults that I’m in social media marketing just leaves them dumbfounded and telling colleagues that I’m in social media marketing just leaves them thinking they’ve found dumb. (ha...that was bad) Moving on
Clearly I’m a bit bitter. Maybe it is because I’m struggling with a summer in-between of feeling proud that I’m in adulthood and also incredibly jealous of those still living their college glory days. Or maybe it is because I feel I am being unfairly cast as a girl who sits on facebook all day as her job and has a degree in talking - gold star to you Holly! 4 for you Glenn Cocoa! Or maybe it’s just because I’m on my period and extremely emotional...probs just that.
While I appreciate the people who truly are concerned with my well being and wondering how my life is shaping out, I am just getting sick of being asked all the time. It has become the go-to conversation starter and frankly, I miss the days of the initial “how are you” and then letting my intellect and wit steer the conversation from there. So I’m just going to set the record straight once and for all:
“I graduated from The Ohio State University with a Bachelor of the Arts degree from the College of Social and Behavior Sciences with a focus in strategic communication on June 13th, 2010. I am currently residing on campus in a house with five other girls and my lease expires on the second of September. I am working at a start-up digital marketing agency where I am an account manager of several local establishments and the director of online business development for a national company”
Now watt r u doign ??
Hol
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Does Your Company Have an Oval?
One of the highlights of my senior year of high school was the college visits that routinely got me out of school for a completely legitimate reason for once. This was a key opportunity for me to really stretch my social wings and utilize all my newly developed party tricks in the enchanting realm of the college world. Oh, and I guess it was also kind of important to see where I would attend school for the next four years. To this day I remember the feeling I got as I took my first steps on Ohio State's campus. Even though there were several solid choices in the running, something about OSU just seemed right to me. Or maybe it was the hundreds of barely dressed coeds laying out in the oval that convinced me. This was nearly five years ago however so it is understandable why I do not quite remember.
Anyhow, its a little funny how looking for a job reminds me of applying to different schools. While it is nice that I have been provided with countless of opportunities to pursue, at times all these choices can be a bit overwhelming. Initially one must decide where they wish to live. Personally I did not exactly have utter liberty in this sector of my decision as my mother's separation anxiety drives her to call me three times a day as it is. One of the reach schools I did apply to however was Arizona State in part of a little wishful thinking that I could be studying all day in my bathing suit (though my topic of interest would probably have had no academic focus). The process was a breeze considering ASU's application was a bit reminiscent of a third grade aptitude test, though I never ended up going there. I ultimately narrowed down my decision (and calming my poor mother's nerves) to two schools: Ohio State and Ohio University. OU actually ended up playing a stringent PR game as I visited during Palmerfest and participated in activities that make me never want to have children for the sheer reason that oneday they will be 18 and participating in them. In the end, I chose Ohio State, a decision I have only regretted when I am forced to walk to class, knees deep in snow.
While the party factor is important, as I sit here laughing at the idea of me trying to entertain my ADD self at Wright State, there are other big variables one must take into the equation. While looking for jobs, as colleges, one must take into account a huge aspect that affects all walks of life: location location location. Location is huge because it affects the demography, cost of living, and how many pairs of fake boobs you will see in their natural habitat. Location will dictate what activities one will be involved with, the kinds of people one will meet and most importantly the new clothes one will have to consider buying, for practical purposes of course. After all, there is no better place to rock $600 boots then on the cold Chicago streets (Dad, if you're reading this, it is just a mere comment on how cold it is in winter, and not at all suggesting I would really like a pair http://shop.nordstrom.com/S/3099890/0~2376778~2372808~6007659~6011963~6025467?mediumthumbnail=Y&origin=category&searchtype=&pbo=6025467&P=1).
Location is also an issue when deliberating the proximity that one wants to be with people who they know and a culture they can relate with. While I'm sure there is a demand for young professionals in places like Boise, Idaho, I don't think I could ever quite get myself to move there, especially given that potatoes are my least favorite starch.
Another big issue to consider when looking for a job is deciding what the hell you really want to do. This is a bit of an issue for me, considering that while I would ultimately like to have my own show on the food network, I don't think there are any available time slots right now. While the execs at FoodTV decide how they're going to break the news to Robyn Miller that her recipes suck and she will be replaced with "Meem's Party in the Kitchen," I will have to figure out something else. So now, one takes in their skills and weaknesses, their likes and dislikes, and determines where to direct their job hunting efforts. This process of elimination is sort of how I realized that my lack of consumer-restraint disallowed me to make a proper financial planning major, and my sole computer use involving Microsoft Word and the internet took CS&E out of the running.
Similarly to searching for a major, I am a bit lost on this job search. Long gone are my parents' hopes that I could have settled with an accounting degree and a definitive job offer immediately after college. Instead I graduated as a History and Political Science double major with a minor in Econ. This means that I was very, very good at figuring out exactly what major-minor combination would be least likely to guarantee me a 6 figure salary. It is uncanny, really, how my job search has become a similar cat and mouse chase to picking my major, as tricky commitment issues have always seemed to dictate my decisions. Can I really spend three years of my life with my head stuck in a book in Law School, or work a desk job indefinitely in the corporate world? Probably not happily, hell I can't even commit to a breakfast cereal. Plus, in this day and age there are just so many options. I feel like I could be selling myself short if I don't find something I feel good doing. After all, you can find a job doing anything these days, careers are not limited to your classic occupations anymore. Kids are not going to grow up exclaiming they want to be a teacher or a firefighter, they're going to be saying they want to run a hedge fund or be a social media relations consultant.
At the end of the day, I chose Ohio State because I felt home here. I only hope that my future job hunt will result in a fit that will work just as well.
Meem
Anyhow, its a little funny how looking for a job reminds me of applying to different schools. While it is nice that I have been provided with countless of opportunities to pursue, at times all these choices can be a bit overwhelming. Initially one must decide where they wish to live. Personally I did not exactly have utter liberty in this sector of my decision as my mother's separation anxiety drives her to call me three times a day as it is. One of the reach schools I did apply to however was Arizona State in part of a little wishful thinking that I could be studying all day in my bathing suit (though my topic of interest would probably have had no academic focus). The process was a breeze considering ASU's application was a bit reminiscent of a third grade aptitude test, though I never ended up going there. I ultimately narrowed down my decision (and calming my poor mother's nerves) to two schools: Ohio State and Ohio University. OU actually ended up playing a stringent PR game as I visited during Palmerfest and participated in activities that make me never want to have children for the sheer reason that oneday they will be 18 and participating in them. In the end, I chose Ohio State, a decision I have only regretted when I am forced to walk to class, knees deep in snow.
While the party factor is important, as I sit here laughing at the idea of me trying to entertain my ADD self at Wright State, there are other big variables one must take into the equation. While looking for jobs, as colleges, one must take into account a huge aspect that affects all walks of life: location location location. Location is huge because it affects the demography, cost of living, and how many pairs of fake boobs you will see in their natural habitat. Location will dictate what activities one will be involved with, the kinds of people one will meet and most importantly the new clothes one will have to consider buying, for practical purposes of course. After all, there is no better place to rock $600 boots then on the cold Chicago streets (Dad, if you're reading this, it is just a mere comment on how cold it is in winter, and not at all suggesting I would really like a pair http://shop.nordstrom.com/S/3099890/0~2376778~2372808~6007659~6011963~6025467?mediumthumbnail=Y&origin=category&searchtype=&pbo=6025467&P=1).
Location is also an issue when deliberating the proximity that one wants to be with people who they know and a culture they can relate with. While I'm sure there is a demand for young professionals in places like Boise, Idaho, I don't think I could ever quite get myself to move there, especially given that potatoes are my least favorite starch.
Another big issue to consider when looking for a job is deciding what the hell you really want to do. This is a bit of an issue for me, considering that while I would ultimately like to have my own show on the food network, I don't think there are any available time slots right now. While the execs at FoodTV decide how they're going to break the news to Robyn Miller that her recipes suck and she will be replaced with "Meem's Party in the Kitchen," I will have to figure out something else. So now, one takes in their skills and weaknesses, their likes and dislikes, and determines where to direct their job hunting efforts. This process of elimination is sort of how I realized that my lack of consumer-restraint disallowed me to make a proper financial planning major, and my sole computer use involving Microsoft Word and the internet took CS&E out of the running.
Similarly to searching for a major, I am a bit lost on this job search. Long gone are my parents' hopes that I could have settled with an accounting degree and a definitive job offer immediately after college. Instead I graduated as a History and Political Science double major with a minor in Econ. This means that I was very, very good at figuring out exactly what major-minor combination would be least likely to guarantee me a 6 figure salary. It is uncanny, really, how my job search has become a similar cat and mouse chase to picking my major, as tricky commitment issues have always seemed to dictate my decisions. Can I really spend three years of my life with my head stuck in a book in Law School, or work a desk job indefinitely in the corporate world? Probably not happily, hell I can't even commit to a breakfast cereal. Plus, in this day and age there are just so many options. I feel like I could be selling myself short if I don't find something I feel good doing. After all, you can find a job doing anything these days, careers are not limited to your classic occupations anymore. Kids are not going to grow up exclaiming they want to be a teacher or a firefighter, they're going to be saying they want to run a hedge fund or be a social media relations consultant.
At the end of the day, I chose Ohio State because I felt home here. I only hope that my future job hunt will result in a fit that will work just as well.
Meem
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