Everyone's Smarter Than Me...Thank God

When I was a kid my mom had a way of keeping me "grounded" when it came to my moderately above average accomplishments.   Making honor roll was never anything to celebrate.  A supporting role in the spring musical meant "you'll have to try harder next year for a lead" and when I graduated 23rd in my class it was "too bad I hadn't made it to the top ten percent".  Perhaps a few more words of encourgement and a little less criticism would've propelled me further forward, but frankly, I doubt it.  And now that Im grown and out here in the big bad world Ican't help but feel greatful not to be saddled with delusions of grandeur.  And oh what delusions they would be, as I have discovered since graduating from my, apparently substandard, top-tier school.

My first job out of school was as an assistant at an investment firm wall-papered with ivy league diplomas and wreaking of that long-term stable success us underachievers are terrified of.  No dot com bubble burst, big government bailout failures for these folks, unh unh. By my calculations, their achievements were due to 1 part luck, 3 parts favorable government policy and 8 parts SUPER SMART PEOPLE.  Mostly super smart people pretending not to be super smart, possibly so as not to frighten the dingbat (me) handing them the weekly report.  Still, I wouldn't have realized what a slacker I was had it not been for their across the board outside the boardroom, high flying achievements .  Nauseatingly, everyone seemed to be some combination of varsity athlete/trend-setter/philanthropic dynamo; or, as I liked to call them, sample resumes on steroids.

I was too dumb to know I was a dummy so I started asking questions.  After I got through the really dumb ones ("What's a ticker?") I moved onto the only slightly less rudimentary  ("One more time, which one's 'net' and which one's 'gross'?). Until after 3 years with the firm I left with the knowledge baseline that I know nothing about investments and should stick to my idiot-proof 401k plan.  My bank sends me a pie chart of how they're investing the funds but I'm smart enough to know I'm not smart enough to assess whether pink,  green and yellow are really diversified properly or not. 

You're thinking these people are the exception not the rule, right?  That it's rare for someone to be a well rounded, well traveled, well versed and well dressed individual, and that these folks are few and far between.  I thought that too.  And then I started working at Bloggle.

Minus the well-dressed piece, my current coworkers are very similar to the former, except they've lived in the 12 different countries the investment folks have vacationed in and they speak the dozen or so languages...fluently.  I'll admit, it was disheartening to discover yet another tribe of super smarties. Frankly it stressed me out for some time.  It doesn't anymore though, and here's why.  You may recall a certain son of a former president who managed to get himself elected to the same position based on the notion that he was just a common guy who liked to hunt and couldn't pronounce "nuclear".  Politics aside, I never understood the logic behind that. I don't want the leader of the free world to be as smart as I am, I want him (or her) to be much, much smarter. I want the person steering the ship to make my head spin when he explains the mechanics of the vessel.  Why?  Because he's the one steering the damn ship!  

The same logic shore side tells me Im actually in a damn good position here at Bloggle. I have walking talking examples of all the things I should strive for and,  more or less, an unwaivering faith in the folks leading my team every day.   Am I still self conscious about the one language I speak and my BA from a non-ultra elite school?  Hell yes.   But I'll take being the dumbest of the smart people over the smartest of the dummies any day of the week, and that is something I know Im smart enough to have chosen right.

Working out is (mostly) working out

If you've been paying attention, you'll notice I frequently allude to working out but have never really approached the topic with full force so I think it's finally time to acknowledge the elephant in the room.  Maybe elephant is a bit much.  How about hibernating squirrel, or maybe adolescent panda?  This isn't working.   It's just me in the room ok?  We're talking about me... being chubby.

I've got these great friends, who are themselves thin as rails, who like to pretend I don't have a little extra meat on my bones.  Dear sweet skinny friends, I appreciate your kindness but I own mirrors so really you can stop lying to me, it's ok.  Really, it is, because I am in fact doing something about it. No, let me rephrase that.  I am doing EVERYTHING about it.  So I'd like to share the many, MANY methods to my uber slow, but still steady weight loss.

I am coordinated only if there is no device, ball, disc, net, stick or glove involved.  Translation, any and all traditional sports as a means of exercise are off the table.  I can however shake my groove thang like no no other, so I take every dance/dance cardio/dance conditioning dancey dance class  ever invented.   I love these classes because half the people there have 2 left feet and an AARP card.  I get 60 minutes of staring at a mirror thinking "I'm so young, I've got moves, God I'm good looking!".

If there are no classes I'm interested in at the gym, I hop on an elliptical.  Tina Fey writes in Bosspyants (a novel everyone and their mother should read) about how she dreams up ways of killing people while working out.  This is how I know Tina and I should be best friends.  I don't plot people's deaths though, I plan my fabulous life. I swear I'm not stealing your idea Tina, I've been doing this for years.

The following events all happen in Elliptical Lea's life:

• I have a rocking body, I mean ROCKING.  But not like the over toned greased down 8 pack.  Even elliptical Lea doesn't want that.  I'm just your run of the mill perfect 10. I have pool parties where I wear french bikinis and high heels (high heels around a pool make no sense to me but Elliptical Lea manages to pull them off). 

• I've built my own chain of group fitness/girls night out centers.  We all work out together and I make other chubby women feel good about themselves while groovin to Britney Spears.  Then we hit the showers, do each others hair, and go out on the town.  Somehow people pay me to be a catalyst for making friends and finding hot spots.  Why and how this actually makes money is fuzzy but it does.  On the side I have a non-profit that does the same thing (minus the booze) at after school centers in low income neighborhoods.

• An equally smoking hot boyfriend frequently picks me up in MY luxury car and we go on incredible dates. If the TV I'm watching is on ESPN and there's a NASCAR race, he's a professional race car driver, if it's hockey he's a hockey player, if its a rerun of Real Housewives... I pick between the race car driver and the hockey player.  There is no one on that show I'd want to be within a ten mile radius of.

• I go on Jay Leno to talk about my best selling novel.  I'm somehow enough of a celebrity to warrant an appearance.

One afternoon I spent an exceptionally long time working out.  The rest of the day I had to constantly remind myself none of these things had actually happened.

Back east I used to do quite a bit of walking.  Fun fact, when you remove 20ish blocks of walking a day from your routine, you will gain 5 pounds in 6 months.  Even more fun fact, you'll gain another 5 pretending you didn't gain the first.   After you gain 10 you realize it's time to get your shit together.  So, I recently bought a bike.  Want to laugh?  Watch a grown women with the coordination of jello ride a bike for the first time in ten years.  I've also taken to hiking.  Want to cry? Watch an 80 year old man with walking sticks beat you to the top of the hill.

My ultimate goal is to get down to a healthy weight I can feel good about, and still I know I had some fun getting there.  And if that means I spend the next five years exploring acroyoga or hay bale throwing or unicycle competitions well then by golly sign me up because one way or another I'm getting there. 


 For your amusement, a partial list of additional classes I have actually taken in the name of physical fitness

• Urban rebounding (small trampolines, big fun).
• Step-N-Slide: a device i can only describe as a plastic mat that feels like it's been rubbed down with vegetable oil, affixed with 2 "stoppers" at each end.  The goal of the class is not to die, I think.
• Polynesian (Hula and Tahitian)
• Bikram Yoga: 110 degree room, you literally rain sweat

Socially Slow in Sillicon Valley

I can't believe it's taken me this long to broach the subject on the egregious lack of social skills in Silicon Valley but we're here now so let's get started.

Around here it's no secret the male:female ratio is, statistically, in they lady's favor but that hasn't really provided me an upper hand in the dating scene.  As a good friend recently pointed out, the odds are good, but the goods are odd.  Maybe this sounds overly critical but hear me out.   I think we can mostly agree I'm a fairly attractive, moderately successful woman.  I've got a good sense of humor, and I clean up pretty good; it's only fair to expect similar standards in my male counterparts. Sadly that's currently not what I'm seeing out there, ergo:

Suggestions for Solving the Socially Slow Situation in Silicon Valley

The basics.

Fellas,  if you have any snowball's chance in hell of interacting with anything better than a mop you're going to need to bathe, cut your hair regularly, and corral that facial mange into something presentable, or else get rid of it...daily. You've also got to spend more than 10 seconds choosing clothing to put on, and that clothing needs to be clean.  I don't want to count the number of men I've seen out here wearing high-water khakis, dirty gamer tshirts and Tevas with sport socks.  Do not tell me you coordinated that outfit, passed a mirror and thought it looked good.  No one is that stupid.  But just in case you are, try remembering the four S's: Shower, Shave and no Socks with Sandals.

Alrighty, moving on.  

You look like a normal human being, hooray!  But now you also have to act like one.  I'm amazed how many men are incapable or unwilling to approach a woman.  We're not all cold hearted bitches... okay that's a lie, yes we are.  Nevertheless, you crave our company.  So, when you're out after work and you see a gal you'd like to get to know, just remember the reverse law of gravity applies; any drink that's emptied must be replenished: what goes down must be filled back up.  Listen, this is good news. For a mere five to ten dollars you get to skip trying to coordinate any type of meet-cute.  You can avoid the 99.9% failure rate of a pickup line.  All you have to do is say "Hello, my name is...", and then utter the six most beloved happy hour words a woman can hear, "Can I buy you a drink?".  I've heard men insist it's hard to muster the courage to do this.  Is it?  I mean I guess all we ladies do is shove miniature humans out of our hoo hahs but you're right, sounds pretty painful to say hello.

Just a side note to all the "gentleman" out there complaining about this added expense in their lives, I guarantee I've spent five times as much on bras, tampons,and mascara; and I'm still making 70 cents to your dollar.

Onward charge.

Okie Dokie, we know each others names and my martini is in hand.  What next?  Oh, you thought buying me a drink was the extent of your responsibility for this interaction?  You assumed you were purchasing my undivided attention and sole propulsion of this conversation? As if that cocktail is tuppence in a hat and your silence is screaming "Dance monkey dance!  I've bought you a drink now entertain me."  Let's be super duper clear here.  The drink bought you an introduction and my fleeting attention, nothing more.  It's not a proxy for your personality.  You have to actually open your mouth and form complete sentences that make me want to continue to engage in conversation with you.


Final thoughts.

I'm obviously not the leading authority on successful dating as, to state the obvious, I'm still out there on the hunt.  I have however had a decade of experience and have run the gamut of failed approaches.  Some final suggestions to avoid questionable social skills:

• Don't lead with your money: I really don't care how many billions that app you're developing is going to make.  This approach is literally screaming at me with flailing arms "I DON'T HAVE  A PERSONALITY.  REPEAT, I DO NOT HAVE A PERSONALITY. I HOPE YOU'RE A GOLD DIGGING WHORE.  I DON'T HAVE A PERSONALITY"
• "Noticing" a woman, making eye contact and walking over to introduce yourself is good, staring at her for 30 minutes is creepy.  We've seen the 20/20 specials.  We've got mace for that.
• A little cologne can smell nice.  Bathing in it will induce allergic reactions, to you AND your scent. 

 


 

Simple Simon

If you have ever been to a baby shower, chances are you've wasted a perfectly good weekend afternoon.  In my experience these events are attended by women who are  a.  pissed they can no longer have children, b. intent on pestering me because I don't have children or c. overly enthusiastic about sharing every painful moment of their childbirth experience. They are not fun events.... unless there's booze, and only the really cool showers have booze.  (God bless those sweet sweet women who are willing to take one for the team and serve up the sauce even though they can't partake).  Why go at all then?  Because I love my friends.  No seriously, pregnant friends, I love you. That is the only reason I'm at these things.

Assuming the shower does not have booze, or sometimes even if it does, some form of entertainment needs to fill the otherwise silent gathering, because even if you ooo and aaaah over every freakin onesie mommy-to-be unwraps, this still only takes 45 minutes.  What do you do with the rest of the time?  BABY SHOWER GAMES!!!  You might be asking 'Why the hell would grown women sit in a circle and do cross word puzzles, or list diaper brands?'  Well let me tell you why.  We are, all of us, starved for conversation.  Co-workers are wondering which side of the family the hillbillies are from, college roommates are wishing it's still ten years ago and you're celebrating finals with tequila, Great Aunt Mildred is wondering when skirts got so short and girls stopped being ladies, and the future grandmothers are both wondering who the favorite is going to be and who's going to get left out of baby's first Christmas.  The whole thing is one overextended silent moment from blowing up and it makes us all so desperate to keep the conversation going that we are willing to play a game called "Lick the Melted Chocolate Bar That Looks Like Baby Poo and Guess Which Brand It Is". 

The problem with the games is that all they do for me is remind me how little I have in common with present company and how not ready I am to enter that stage of my life.  Take my most recent experience.  At the last shower I attended we played "Finish the nursery rhyme".  Out of 25 I think I knew 4.  One of the answers I got right was Simple Simon.  The line goes:

Simple Simon met a pieman going to the fair

Now I seem to remember this being maybe number 19 or so down the list. And up to this point all the ladies are recalling stories they told to their children or were told to them as children and oh aren't these sweet memories.  Do you know how I know the Simple Simon rhyme?   It's in the movie Die Hard with a Vengeance. My connection to this situation is a terrorist wreaking havoc on Manhattan. I'm no expert but I doubt this bodes well for any future in motherhood.  It certainly didn't help to connect with the other ladies in the room.

Who knows, maybe the former roommates and the moms and Mildred have that same out-of-place feeling I do.  Maybe we're all suffering through the activities with the same sense of unease.  If that's the case, maybe we should start a new tradition.  No more baby showers.  If a woman you know and love gets knocked up you make plans to meet over a meal where you congratulate her, write her a check for Baby X and wish her the best of luck.  No tea, no awkward moments, and no candy bar poo. 

And just for the record,  there is one baby shower game I love to play.  It's called "guess which gifts mommy's going to return".  I don't have hard evidence, but I'm pretty sure I win every time.

Life Lessons with Lea: You Can Do It, Put Your Back Into It

I've recently come to realize that not everyone is well-versed in the art of home management and general labor so I'd like to take this opportunity to share my knowledge base on a few tasks I think everyone should be able to do

In no particular order:

1. Plunge a toilet:  Honestly you'd think anyone could do this but I've had a lot of roommates and almost none of them had this skill.  The trick is to establish suction, weighing more than 90 pounds also helps.  Then just put your weight into it.  Oh, you're grossed out?  You think this isn't a classy topic and/or you find this inappropriate for a blog?  Well God help you the next time we're at a house warming and the happy couple's 2 bed, 1.5 bath is down to a .5 bath because of you.  I will not be coming to save your mortified ass.

2.  Assemble IKEA furniture:  I was disturbed to discover you can pay someone else to do this, as well as deliver the item to your house.  You're negating the purpose of entering that glorious hell hole to begin with.  It's DIY for a reason.  IKEA isn't just saving you money, oh no.  They're building your analytic skills, testing your strength, and, for domestic partners, affording you an opportunity to measure the endurance of your relationship.  If you're wondering whether that handsome gent or fine lady you're currently shacking up with will make a solid life partner, buy a tv stand and assemble it together.  The proof will not be in the assembly process (as you will likely curse, cry and vow painful deaths for each other before reaching step six) but rather how you approach each other in the 1-3 days following the ordeal.  If you're able to laugh about the 5 hours it took to figure out side A was actually side B it's likely you can add those monogrammed towels to the registry.  If you're still bitter the casters won't work, perhaps you should hold off on booking that non-refundable honeymoon.

3.  Check the oil in your car: This is such a baseline life lesson with Lea I don't even have anything funny to say about it, just check your oil regularly (Thanks Dad!).

4.  Use a pointed shovel:  Having volunteered with a variety of nonprofits I've seen a lot of corporate volunteers who have clearly never seen dirt, much less been asked to shovel it.  Here's a tip for the next time you find yourself digging a hole upstate for the body of that guy you just whacked; force the point downward by stepping on the top of the shovel and using the weight of your body to push into the ground.  I guess this could also apply for the practice of common gardening, but the sense of urgency and thus need for proper technique seems more relevant in the dead body scenario.

5.  Fold a fitted sheet: I'd be willing to bet my last pair of clean panties (US dollar equivalent of fifty bucks... roughly what I'd pay to not have to go commando all day) that if I were to sneak into your house and open your linen closet chances are there is a balled up crazy pile where folded fitted sheets should be  I'll admit, I learned this one exactly how you'd think I would... from Martha Stewart... on Oprah.  Right?  If you had to bet money wouldn't you guess that would be the winning combo to learn this technique?  Ok so what you do is find the corner seams and with your index finger fold one corner over the other, repeat on the other side and then... ok maybe just youtube it.  Honestly I don't think I can explain this one via blog, but you should know how to do it.  If you can configure wireless internet in your house, you can fold a fitted sheet.

I'm sure I'm missing a lot of important odd jobs able-bodied people should be capable of, but these are the first five that popped into my head.  Stay tuned for part deux! 

Shut Uppa You Face

Well hey there friends, remember me? I'm that slacker who can't manage one measly blog post per month. Aren't I just the worst? Shouldn't I have a really good excuse for not showing up even once in the entire month of January? If I told you I was off feeding starving children in Africa, would you believe me? No? What if I said I've just been in a funk and have been devoting my weeknights to my couch and my weekends to tequila? Sound more like me? Aww, you guys know me too well. It's clearly door number 2 which is just this side of absolutely ridiculous, given the obscene state of spoiled I'm currently residing in.

We all know I grew up in blue collar country and had the privilege of living on the fortunate side of the middle class fence, meaning I never went to bed hungry, rocked some seriously awesome Gap outlet attire and went on vacations where we could afford campsites with running water and electricity. Let me be incredibly clear here, this was a good life. I know most people in this world are not as fortunate, which is the point I'm getting to... eventually.

Silicon Valley is a bizarre environment mainly removed from reality. On Planet Fortunate we eat local organic food, travel to exotic places semi-annually, and drive luxury SUVs. Teenagers decide which top-tier college they'll go to based on proximity to ski resorts, real estate exchanges hands like baseball cards and everyone knows what a 401k is. It's that thing they have to fall back on in case the pre-IPO start-up they're at does NOT end up making them a gazillionaire. It's a strange place for someone like me who, up until a few years ago, thought if you'd ever been to Europe and/or drove a vehicle with leather seats you were loaded.

I don't want to dwell on how disturbed I am about the mentality of the general public around me. They've got their own diamond encrusted, trust fund problems to deal with. Today I want to talk about what an asshole I am as I find myself complaining about "heavy traffic", "crowded gyms" and my "stressful job". Really? Life sure must be rough what with my 30 minute commute, luxury fitness center and gainful employment. Out here on the west coast I've begun to forget what it was like working minimum wage, scraping together quarters for laundry and wondering how I was going to pay the heat bill come January. I think I could benefit from a little perspective to set me straight.

This morning a song popped into my head and I found it so fitting, it sparked my ambition for this post. When I was a kid my father used to play this record and it always made me feel so good. It's incredibly easy to convince yourself you've got it rough. It's even easier to give yourself license to complain about how rough you've got it. I think Joe Dulce had the right idea. I hope that the next time I start to feel annoyed or unhappy or just generally pissed I'll be able to stop and take a step back from the situation. I'll remind myself that itsa not so bad, itsa nica place if I'm even thinking of bitching about whatever minuscule injustice I'm suffering at the moment, I'll just be happy and shut uppa my face.

The Christmas Tree

As Christmas trees go, most people have pretty strong feelings on artificial vs real trees. Our house was a real tree kind of house. Personally, I love real trees, but only AFTER they've been purchased, dragged home, propped into the stand and strung with lights. All the crap you have to do to get to that point is enough to push you to the edge.

In the Giametta house, the tree was typically a 2 day event, and day 1 wasn't pretty. Day 1 involved yelling and untangling and sweating and more yelling, a stream of sap and eight dead bulbs. I was not an active member of day 1, strictly an observer. And still, I cringe when I think about it. Day 2 went better. Someone busted out the Christmas records (ya I said it, Christmas records), the kids were allowed to hand the non-fragile ornaments and generally fewer four letters words found their way into the conversation.

When I got my first apartment I was 19. The place was half a shoebox. It was a two bedroom apartment (which was actually a 1 bedroom apartment with a wall added) and I lived there with three of my closest friends. We didn't have money for toilet paper, much less a Christmas tree so we were all pretty stoked when my mom's care package arrived. Inside was a 3 footer, lights already strung. Also included: 2 dozen homemade ornaments and knitted scarves in our school colors (Go Huskies!). Yes, my mom is Suzy Homemaker.

That year and every year since, I've put up my three foot tree. It takes 2 minutes to assemble, never needs to be watered and carries with it a lot of great memories.

Life Lessons with Lea: On Dating

You'll note I am far behind on my post-per-day quota. I had a crazy first 3 days of December. Mostly they involved bars and friends. And yes that's a valid excuse. You're allowed to say "I didn't get around to doing it because I was drunk" until you're 30.

Ok, so dating. In the ten-ish years I've been dating, I've collected the following half dozen truths. Ten years, and this is all I've got If anyone has anything helpful to add, please let me know.

1. If a man asks for your phone number and then never calls you, he was hit by a bus: It's tragic really, hit by a bus and all. So sad, he seemed like a real nice fella. But death by public transit is the ONLY logical explanation for why he has not called you. Seriously, ladies stop asking you're girlfriends why he didn't call you. He was hit by a bus. Move on.

2. Smiling helps: I know this sound really simple but I swear to God this is an extremely vital component. As it turns out, most of the male population prefer happy women to cranky ones. The man who wants an unhappy woman? You don't want him.

3. If he texts you more than 3 times the day after you give him your number, walk away: If he mentions his mother on the first date, run.

4. Short men feel like they have something to prove.

5. Tall men feel like they have nothing to prove.

6. You either want Brandon or Dylan. You cannot have them both: I don't think anyone reading this is too young to remember the original 90210, but if you are between the ages of 12 and 20 and happen across this blog, this roughly translates to Team Edward or Team Jacob, though it's not an exact parallel. Either you get the bad boy or you get the good guy. It does not matter how dynamic the dude may be. He will never be both mysterious, mischievous and exciting, as well as sweet, considerate and supportive. And at the end of the day you have to pick which one you want. Luckily, this is easier than it sounds because you knew which guy you wanted at the beginning of the day. We're wired at birth to want one more than the other. Don't believe me? Pose the Dylan vs Brandon question the next time you're out with friends. See how long it takes for the yelling to start.

Life Lessons with Lea

My how I'd love to say this blog has gone without a post in oh so long because I've been killing it in California with my super sweet job at Bloggle and a smokin hot social scene that makes those Jersey rats look like shut-ins. Truth is I've just been a bit lax in noting the noteworthy and taking the time to share the meaty bits with y'all. Luckily I've had a recent influx of material, hooray! So kindly stay tuned as I do hereby vow for the entire month of December, I will post EVERY DAY. In the meantime, I've compiled some random suggestions for every day life that I think 9 out of 10 people will find helpful.

1. Don't reload your smartphone gift card while in line at Starbucks. Seriously Jerkwad, it's 7am. No one cares that you have the latest app and a digital wallet. You're standing between me and my coffee. I wil cut you.

2. Locker rooms aren't for cell phones. Who actually wants to sit in a locker room and have a 10 minute conversation about what's for dinner? Apparently a lot of people. Listen ladies, if I'm naked from the waist up, or down for that matter, I don't feel comfortable with you being on the phone. Those things have cameras. Put them away.

3. Asking a woman you just met to "hang out" is not acceptable past a certain age. That age, in my mind, is 25. Look, this isn't a money thing. I'm not saying that I'm expecting Michelin star restaurants and carriage rides but I'm in my late twenties. You need to man up and suggest a specific time, date, and activity you'd like to share with me. Dinner and a movie is really not that complicated.

4. Hugs are underrated. Hugs are awesome. Short of awkward co-worker situations, more is better in the hugging department. With co-workers, you can always substitute with high-fives. High-fives are lawsuit-free hugs in disguise.

5. You should always have a spare package of toilet paper. Pay attention, I said package, not roll. Why people feel so reckless in life they won't even protect their own hineys, literally, is beyond me. It gives me anxiety just thinking about the emergency run to the grocery store. Don't put yourself at that risk.

6. Chocolate and Liquor: Spend the extra money on the good stuff. If your choice is between a 5 pound bar of Hersheys and a handle of Smirnoff or a 5 ounce bar of Godiva and a liter of Grey Goose, go for the latter combination. Joi de vivre aside, you'll feel better in the morning.

7. Mayonnaise and Potato Chips are not good for you. Seems pretty freakin obvious, right? And yet somehow I keep seeing commercials where some fancy chef "hand selects" the "quality ingredients" that go into this garbage and the narrator tells us all how much the company cares about the families who consume their product. I pray to God the general public is not believing this poppycock but if the election of some of our government officials is any indication, people believe a lot of stupid things. Loved ones, please don't be those people.

8. Fanny Packs are not in again. I don't care if you saw Sarah Jessica Parker wearing one in a celebrity trash magazine I don't understand the purpose of. They're not back. Write it down. Not even if you're european.

9. Everyone can make soup. Honestly, boil broth and add vegetables and/or meat. This is not a complicated task. Campbells should be out of business.

10. Never buy cheap shoes. Your body can't afford that mistake, even if it's only rotated into the wardrobe periodically. Also, people are judging you based on them. Seriously.

7 Things I learned at Walmart

Officially, I passed the decade marker in the working world about 6 months ago. I count 15 jobs in ten years. And I can guarantee that I have learned something from each and every one. But the longer I'm employed the more I believe to be true that no job has taught me more than the three years I worked as a cashier at Walmart. Law firm, Fancy pants investment company and Bloggle don't get offended, hear me out.

I was brought up believing the world needs ditches and clean toilettes and gas in their cars just as much as doctors and lawyers and celebrity chefs. We're all just making the world turn and if you're doing your best to provide a service you should hold your head high. But I'll be honest, there was a time when I avoided mention of my Walmart days. When I tell people I worked at Walmart I've noticed something odd happens. For just a split second I can see their expression change and I swear in that moment I know they're searching for a buck tooth or a glass eye or some rare skin disease they hadn't noticed before. Apparently folks don't think too highly of the profession but the truth is that job had a greater influence on me than any other place of employment. I learned more about ambition, dedication and society while working at Walmart than I have learned at any other company since.

If this were a serious blog I'd tell you all about the meltdown of the nuclear family, the failure of our nation's public assistance program and the negligence with which our society dismisses manners and common decency. And I'd throw in some soap box shouting on the strength of Middle Class America and the value of a dollar earned, so you could see both sides. But you'll notice the tone of this blog generally plays on humor so we'll save those topics for another forum.

Therefore, without further ado:

7 Things I Learned While Working at Walmart:

1. If you didn't shit your pants today, today was a good day. One particularly rough day I had a woman come through my line with only a package of Hanes Her Way. When I started to bag the item she stopped me saying "That's ok dear, I don't need a bag. I'm going to go put those on right now" *only slightly lower voice* "I just soiled myself". Can't complain about the snowy drive home after that now can ya?

2. Condoms come in different sizes. I was 16 when I started working at Walmart. I rang up a man one evening, mid 50's, pot belly, overalls, dirt under his fingernails. His order consisted of two packs of condoms. When I told him the total he asked me if he could return them if they didn't fit. He thought it was funny. I did not.

2a. People are really nervous when they buy condoms. Ladies and gentleman, don't be. You're doing the right thing. Truth be told most clerks would applaud you if they thought it would be well-received, so I'll take this moment to salute you, for the many years I wanted to but could not. My most sincere gratitude for your decency and good sense to avoid unwanted diseases and pregnancy. Your saving yourself a lot of grief and hardship. So next time don't hide the condoms between 2 boxes of Cheerios. Place them on the belt loud and proud for all to see.

3. Soap and Cheez-Its don't mix. Apparently if you bag soap with crackers, the crackers will take on the taste of the soap. This is actually somewhat true. I did not know this but apparently EVERY MIDDLE AGED WOMAN IN AMERICA DOES because I couldn't bag a single bar of soap without one of them screaming at me not to bag it with food. I've never been able to look at Cheez-Its the same way. Don't think this is an important thing in life to learn? Do you like the taste of soapy crackers? I didn't think so.

4. Not Everyone is Good at Math. About ten seconds after I started working at Wally World I noticed a convenient factoid where rolled coins are concerned. There are 40 quarters in a roll, 50 dimes, 40 nickels, and 50 pennies. This is helpful to know when you have a 5 year old screaming, a mother asking for a price check, a trucker who needs to know where to unload and a witch behind them all complaining it's taking too long to get her Virginia Slims (oh if only I were making it up). Anyway, the quick math is convenient when you run out of dimes. Grab a five dollar bill , wave down the manager, and get back to what you were doing. Thing is, while training new employees on the register, every time I explained the 40, 50, 40, 50 rule, it didn't matter if they were 16 or 60, they didn't get it. Not one person of the 20 or so I trained was able to deduce $10 from 40 quarters. Average this number across America and it makes more sense why our economy is in the shape it is. Can't average it out? That's ok, hopefully you're pretty.

5. The Holidays Aren't Always Happy: The months of November and December were not a time I looked forward to during my stint in retail. Without fail, customers would storm up with heaping carts, moaning and groaning with every beep of a bar code. Folks, Suzy and Jimmy will not feel more loved with presents especially if you toss them under the tree with a garumf and hold the price tag of Christmas day over their young impressionable heads while you chain smoke Marlboro Ultras. Nor will you be forgiven for sleeping with your sister's husband by presenting her with a bottle of Jean Nate on December 25th, Vanilla Fields maybe, but not Jean Nate. Apparently no one has watched the Charlie Brown Christmas special in the last decade.

6. Doritos and Mountain Dew are a Food Group: I'm not really sure why people insist on purchasing these two products in conjunction with one another, and in such large quantities, but I swear I can count on one hand the number of times someone bought one and not the other. If anyone is still left wondering how we've worked our way into the obesity epidemic, please devote an approximate 20% of the problem to this particular food combination.

7. The Show Must Go On: It doesn't matter what tragedy, inconvenience or mal intent is directed your way, you're still clocked in and there's a job that needs doing. So if you get stuck on the register in front of the door, you'll get snowed on during a blizzard. If someone you've never met before decides to have a psychotic episode over the way you've bagged her shampoo, you'll have to stand there and listen to her rant. If your manager happens to be a middle-aged divorcee who's bitter about her life, jealous of the potential of yours, and not above allowing this backstory to treat you like dirt, well Honey, best to grin and bear it because it's much easier to tune her out than it is to find a summer job three weeks before graduation.

And you know, sometimes the boss buys everyone hocho. And sometimes you come home with a great story about this week's crazies. And sometimes the manager schedule changes. And sometimes it doesn't. And that's ok. Because when you're making your way in the world and you're doing the best you can, and you're pushing yourself toward something better, then none of the other crap really matters. This knowledge has been my strongest ally and my biggest strength in every job I've had since. It's the most important lesson I learned at Walmart. Well, that and don't eat at the snack bar, but that's a conversation for another day.