Mean Girls--not only in the box office

There's something that separates the boys from the girls. Anatomically; yes, of course, but there's something else that happens to girls that just does not happen to boys. It's that first time you get stabbed in the back, or hear a nasty rumor spread about you, or find out that your best friend is actually your worst enemy. It's almost like a rite of passage into Girl World.

Being back in a classroom environment, I witness girls getting their first bitter taste of just how nasty girls can be to one another. Their bloodshot, weeping eyes above their tear-stained cheeks rips my heart out every time because I know exactly how they're feeling. I've been there too many times before. For example...

Location: Kuehnle Elementary - Best Friend Ann and I met New Friend Pam who lived up the street from us. New Friend Pam and I became fast and furious friends, leaving Best Friend Ann glaring from her living room window. A week later, New Friend Pam received a note from me in her mailbox letting her know that she was not a welcome addition to our group and that she needed to move away again. It was written on Best Friend Ann's stationery.

Location: Klein High School - The summer before my freshman year in high school ushered in the realization that my best friends in middle school (the equivalent of "The Plastics") would cease being my friends and instead opt to hang out with older boys. No problem. I had just joined a 90-girl dance team...I could find friends...right? Wrong. The friends I had made at first stopped calling about two months in, leading to several Friday nights with my parents. This, on top of braces and a not-grown-into nose, made for lots of "character building." Luckily, Molly, Meagan, and Nicole came to the rescue about a month later.

Location: Southern Methodist University - Where do I even begin? If people think high school girls are nasty, then they have obviously never gone through "recruitment" at a private college. We are trained to politely (and sometimes hypocritically) tear girls' reputations apart. I can remember being out and meeting some unsuspecting first year that had come up during "pic show," and thinking, 'Ohhh...that's the girl that did (insert whore-ific act) ; she does not display the ideals of a Tri Delt lady...' Meanwhile, the girl who had given that 'con' is busy hooking up with an entire frat house.
I could go on for days about evil girls in college, but I digress.

Location: Ethel Hedgeman Lyle Academy - my classroom - I had reprimanded one of my students who was not doing her given assignment, even after I nicely told her to do it. This is the same girl who I had given 3 after-school detentions for being a bitch to other people. She rolled her eyes and started passing a notebook back and forth with this other girl. I had seen this before...it was a Burn Book...I could smell it a mile away. The stench of venomous words and vitriolic emotions is unmistakable. I confiscated it, out of pure curiousity. What I read took me back 10 years. It read:

How Ms. Slater gonna look at me like I'm crazy cuz I was talkin.
I know...Big fish woman ass anerexic bitch
I know she's just testing me, but I'm not gonna get in trouble this week. Otherwise, I
woulda beat her ass before I step in her class
I'm wit u on dat
She get on my nerves. I wanna strangle her, cut her up, feed her guts to my aunt's
cats, then throw the rest in the Pacific Ocean and feed it to a humpback whale with
her dog-lookin ass...I hate her.

Sweet, right? I was appalled and shocked and I felt like I was back in middle school. My heart sank into my stomach; but instead of crying to my mother, I decided to conference with them and get to the bottom of it. One of them cried and apologized profusely. The other, showing no remorse, had her parents called for making threats against a teacher. I suspended her, her mom looked at her with deathrays shooting from her eyes, and then she cried and apologized profusely.

I obviously have learned how to handle these situations. But what do you tell a girl who has just gotten her emotions stomped upon by another girl who's just as fragile? It's not like how it was when you were growing up. As much as you want to take out your weeper for TCBY and bad mouth that other girl over a large cup of 96% fat free frozen yogurt, the perpetrator at the helm of the issue is also a child...and you're the adult now.

I just don't know what to tell them, except that it will never change. Girls will probably always be horrible to one another; what changes is how we handle it. I suppose we've reached that time in our lives where we should unselfishly forgive that heartless bitch, but we do not, should not, forget. Be nice, ladies.

Elevator Small Talk

You have seven floors to say "hi." After that, the doors close and the probability of ever seeing your stranger again, is next to nothing. Listen carefully, because next time you find yourself in this square box breathing in the same air as your neighbor, you’ll think twice before staring down at his shoes searching desperately for something interesting on his shoelaces to concentrate on. Instead, you’ll step into the air-tight deathtrap (pardon my pessimism, but if you really think about it, you’re riding in a flying box suspended in the air held only by a 2-guage cable) stare that person directly in the face, and say "hi."

Isn’t it funny how fascinating your nail-beds become when you’re riding in the elevator. In an effort not to make contact with your neighboring passengers, your hangnails suddenly become the most interesting thing about you, and you force yourself to fix a serious gaze onto them, well aware that the Suit next to you is probably wondering what’s so great about your nails.

Then there's the nonchalant glance at your phone, as if you could care less whether or not you have a missed called. (Although you've been compulsively checking it like clockwork waiting for the bell to go off alerting you that yes, someone else in this world does know you exist other than your Mother. By the way, parents and siblings should count against your call log. It's their job to call you, doesn't count in my book.)

Then there’s scenario B. You step over the ledge separating the stationary world from the moveable world when Mr. Litheeeyum holds your stare, wishes you a good afternoon, and picks up a conversation with you as if you’re an old friend. After you realize there isn’t anyone else in this small room and yes, he’s talking to you, it’s too late, he’s already staring at you wondering if you’re a mute because you won’t answer his question. You hastily spit out “yes” and nod your head politely, secretly praying he didn’t ask if you worked Sunset Boulevard at 4am and that’s why you looked familiar. Next stop, reality. The doors open.

Who knows, maybe your deathtrap is really the window to the start of something. Note to self: the stairwell should always be your second option. Moveable rooms are much more interesting.

Since writing this post, "Huh" has become much more confident about riding in elevators with boys.

Speech! Speech!---If you speak it, they will fake it.

A few weeks ago I was asked, as the President of the Rotaract Club of St. Augustine, if I would give the keynote address at the Youth Leadership St. Johns graduation. While you may be thinking, "what an honor", really the circumstances are not that flatering. I do work at the Chamber which is the organization that houses the YLSJ program, and the Director of the program is also the VP of Rotaract...so it was really more of a convenience thing, I guess. Regardless, I thought my days of speaking to an audience of slightly-annoyed, cooler-than-thou teenagers were over--but I guess not.

Oh, and like the really mature 23 year-old I've grown to become, I stayed out until 3 a.m. the night before and decided to get the most drunk I've been since homecoming 2006. I really thought my days of waking up at 7 a.m. with the signature dry mouth and headache from hell that only too many glasses of wine can leave behind were over--but I guess not.

Yeah, I lead by example.

I was so nervous when I began that I stumbled through the first two lines of my speech, but eventually I caught my breath and made it through sentence after sentence of anecdotal crap. About four minutes into it I realized I was gripping the podium. I eased up on my death-hold and was relieved when I got through the (insert light laughter here) parts, and the audience did as they were supposed to. And I was even more relieved when they clapped at the (please god, insert appluase here) part at the end. Its not like they shook the room, but it lasted long enough for me to skip back to my seat. All in all, the speech went well, but I look forward to the day that I can truly be a great public speaker--the kind that doesn't get super-nervous or rely heavily on a script.

Funny enough my boss turns to me after the whole deal was over and asks me why I didn't do public speaking as a profession...I think it is her way of telling me I suck at my job and she wishes I would just quit and travel the world speaking at youth leadership graduations. ha. I'll take whatever compliment I can get from her---she's french, they are hard to come by.

I did get some pretty flowers out of the deal...and then they asked me to take photos at the event. So when I wasn't speaking I was crawling around on the floor trying to get a good angle, power suit and all.

Another day I can walk away saying I love my job/organization (er, whatever I represent these days) even more.

Fwd: RE: RE: Fwd: Send this to 2,589 of your friends or have bad luck for the rest of your life

There is something I've realized. Something that has recently struck me. It's really quite phenomenal (ha, I hope you are laughing kylie--mahnahmahnah).

People actually believe that when they receive e-mails with stupid poems or poorly written stories about love, death, religion, etc., that if they do not forward it to 10 of their not-so-close co-workers that they will have bad luck, lose an eye, or be cursed with a sudden bought of ugliness. Seriously. I mean they have to believe in them--otherwise, why the hell would they do it?!? Some may say its just to forward a fun message or a good laugh, but when I receive forwards that are sent to exactly 10 people, I begin to get suspicious.

I've received similar emails from several different people in the last few weeks including--but not limited to--my aunt, a member of an organization I belong to, and a local town council member. These people have little in common (with the exception of gender...c'mon ladies...really?!?) and are of different ages, backgrounds, races, and education levels. From a mass communications perspective this is really brilliant. Its practically universal and extroadinarily simple--hell, even before the ease of the internet, people actually hand wrote and mailed such letters. Think about the author of these works, their messages have a larger audience than any press release/news story I will ever write. It kind of makes me want to write one myself...a claim to fame, of sorts.

Hey, have you read my latest forward I authored?? I've forwarded one million copies already...

I know what you are thinking--it's just a fun thing people do and nobody actually believes something bad is going to happen to them. But I disagree 89% because I look around my own office and see how difficult it is to get people to communicate with other people when the only threat corresponding to the failure to do so, is the loss of their job, and its still hard to get them to do something in a timely manner. Perhaps if my boss' next demanding email had a disclaimer at the bottom that if I do not call at least five different printers to receive quotes in the next hour that I will never have good sex again I'd be a little more eager to chat-it-up about glossy v. matte and whether I want the 20 lbs. bright white or something a little thicker.

Could you imagine if the "chain letter" philosophy was valid to all things in life--OOPS! You've just been infected with AIDS, please pass the disease on to ten people or you will be infected for life...