CAUTION: Women at Work

A friend of mine, who just recently accepted a new job, is leaving a company that was 100% female and consequently, 100% irritating. Her work related stories were best told around a campfire where she instilled fear into her audience with tales of menopausal managers and weekly baby showers. If she had to play one more game of "name that baby food" during her lunch hour, she was going to die. She would go into details of malicious mind games and teenage quality gossip that happened behind her back, and would attribute it to the high levels of estrogen that she could not escape.

Then I started to think... is it easier/better/more pleasant to work with men or with women?

I work in an industry that is dominated by women. Its harder to find a man in our office than it is to find Britney Spears in a parenting class, and although I do work with a few males here and there, pumps, black mascara and highlights are far more prevalent among my colleagues than loafers, aftershave and crew cuts*. So do I prefer working with women or men?

First, unlike my tortured friend who suffered severe FOLD (female overload disorder) from her overexposure to women, I work with a predominantly younger crowd which makes a big difference. Since I work with female "peers", both in the professional and social sense, I all together avoid the awkwardness and various issues that occur when 15+ years separate you and your colleagues. I can only imagine what my friend must have experienced on a daily basis as I have had similar, yet few, experiences trying to mingle with the more "mature" female crowd ... my boyfriend is the youngest of a sales team full of 40 and 50 something men - just imagine the holiday parties I must endure: I'm standing around with women who share more in common with mom as I try to relate to their housekeeping and child bearing woes. These women, although kind, totally don't buy it when I'm shaking my head in agreement about having to take junior to soccer practice while trying to cook a full meal for the family. And that's a big difference between men and women both socially and in the workplace - in the end, men are all big kids and pretty much can relate to one another at some level no matter what age as my 23 year old boyfriend will be put in a head lock by his 53 year old male boss. Yet you won't find me and my group of "mature" lady friends playing slap the Franzia sack (if you don't know this drinking game, you are missing out) as women seem to often look down at their younger, less experienced counterparts and want to keep things far more professional and often times cold.

But age and slap the sack aside, should XX or XY determine if you sign your X on the dotted line with an employer? In my line of work, communication is key and women excel at both truthfully explaining and cleverly manipulating (without risking complete dishonesty, of course). This helps business both internally and externally, and regardless if you agree or disagree with general female tendencies in a social setting, you can't deny that women are pros at thinking rationally and responding to difficult situations calmly at work.

What about the "G" word and infamous workplace "no-no": GOSSIP. Don't only women chatter behind their co-workers back? Whoever thinks only women gossip, is obviously a delusional and hypocritical male. Remember that we're talking about the workplace here, which I have found sometimes brings out a different side to both sexes, so although you won't find a group of men chattin' in up at coffee shop with their boyfriends on a Saturday afternoon, they sure do flock to the water cooler on a Monday morning. Its just the nature of an office setting and both men and women fall victim to it.

How about emotions? Men, generally, are thought of as rougher and more to the point compared to women, which might be considered a "fair" approach. If your male boss doesn't like your work, he tells you and doesn't care if you cry because he doesn't have a cute pack of tissues on his desk anyway. I feel that women are often criticized for dancing around a point to avoid hurt feelings and in the end all you want is the truth so you can do your job. So many of my female friends claim that they rather work for a man to avoid such an annoying situation, but I would venture to guess that once that aggressive male barks at them straight in their face, they would get a little misty eyed and want to turn to the more understanding female colleague for support.

It seems that my thoughts are leaning more towards pro-woman workforces, but what I'm really trying to say is that you need a happy medium or at least a sprinkle of a certain sex to make work tolerable. An all female office results in too many emotions bouncing off cube walls, yet too many men result in a conference room of head locks. I think society is generally finding that female leadership is proving to be very successful, so I would caution men to treat their female counterparts with respect knowing that they will someday be signing their paycheck - muhahaha.

So for all the men and women out there suffering from FOLD or MOLD (the male version of FOLD and seems to fit the sex, doesn't it?), don't despair. Wear your loafers or pumps proudly and remember to look at each colleague as a individual because pleasant, hard working, fair coworkers aren't male or female - they are just simply a person who naturally has those traits no matter what sex (and if they want to gossip with you at the water cooler on occasion that's just a bonus).

*In a continued effort to promote political correctness on my blog, I must acknowledge that loafers, aftershave and crew cuts are not limited to men, and I'm sure there are some very lovely women out there who prefer the more masculine products in life, and I salute you.

Signs. I'm not talking about Mel Gibson.

My blog following, as small as it may be, is the greatest audience of all time because I have recently been talking with some of my friends... er... I mean, my fans, and they have been giving me some great topics that they want Stejamoe to speak about. Yes, I just referred to myself in the third person. Its my blog and I can do what I want.

So, last night I spoke with a good friend who is in a bit of a love conundrum and we talked out her predicament. Long story short, she met a great guy who has given her all the initial signs that he's interested, but now is leaving it up to her to make the next move, and that move takes a lot guts and is best accompanied with a vodka tonic. Since my own good relationship is a result of me making both the first AND second move (sans vodka, thank you very much), my advice to her was to tuck her pride in her pocket, go out on a limb and if it went well she would represent all the strong women out there and have a wonderful man in her life, and if it didn't go well, I would be the only person to know and hate the loser guy forever. We ended the conversation with her committing to make the next move and promising that she would keep me updated in regards to whether I would: a) be making a new friend with the wonderful man she would now be dating or b) making a loser guy's life a living Hell with my crafty ways (you mess with my friends, you mess with me, and its just so darn fun to mess with stupid boys' heads).

This morning I get an email from my love conundrummed friend asking me, "do you believe in signs?". (I know that "condrummed" is not a word, but it should be.) She proceeds to tell me that after our female empowering conversation last night, she pondered our discussion, took a deep breath and suddenly experienced various signs that were the equivalent of a vodka tonic, which then inspired her to be the strong, independent woman that she is and make the next move. The success of this move is still to be determined, but in the meantime, she's relying on my fabulous advice (again, its my blog and I can say what I want) and the signs she experienced, which has led to this blog post and questions what are signs and do you believe in them?

What is a sign? I believe a sign can be a hint, a warning or a divine clue that inspires you to make both trivial and difficult decisions. For a trivial example, I've been trying to cut back on Starbucks to both shed a few extra pounds and save a few extra bucks. The other day I received a Starbucks card from my boss and took it as a sign that I should visit my dealer (aka the Starbucks Barista) and buy a mocha because after all, the drink would be free and I considered the gift card to be a hint that I should treat myself to a cup of love.

An example of a more significant sign would be when I ran into my now boyfriend 3.5 years ago when he was just a hot guy who I met only for a moment, never thinking I would see again among 42,000 college students, and took the second random run-in as a sign that I needed to ask him out on a date.

I also think a sign can be an indicator that you made either a good or bad decision. An example for that would be me starting this blog because it wasn't a sign that inspired me to start it - to be honest, I just wanted a creative outlet - but it has been all the positive feedback and all the resulting conversations from my posts that I consider to be a sign to keep investing my time and thoughts into it. Now, if I were to find a horse's head in my bed tonight, I would take that as a sign to STOP blogging.

Do I believe in signs? Sure. Why not? As I mentioned, I relied on a sign to make the first move with my now boyfriend and by doing so, I was able to create my own love filled and promising future. If I didn't take that sign, perhaps the only man in my life would be "Scary Train Boy" (see October 19th 2007 post) and I'd forever regret not going on out a limb and asking that hot guy out. I've relied on signs and gut feelings for a lot of important decisions so I have to pay homage to the concept, but when it comes down to it, a sign is just a more romantic, magical version of an excuse to do something that you want to do, but just need validation for - and there is nothing wrong with that.

I realize that some signs are very freaky, and my good friend who inspired this post has some very valid and strange examples that would justify her signs as being divinely sent, but I don't want these signs she experienced to take away from the fact that she just did a very brave and commendable thing on her own. I think signs are like your dad waiting in the pool with his arms outstretched as the toddler version of yourself takes a deep breath and dives in. In the end, your dad was a sign that you'd be safe, but you still had use your own muscles and bravery to take that leap.

So to my love conundrummed friend - whether you rely on signs, excuses, friendly advice or just your own instinct, never let it diminish the strength of your decision because in the end, sign or no sign, I know you would have made the right choice.

I'm going to take the length of this blog post as a sign to get back to work!

Stretch Out Your Beer Pong Elbow... Its Homecoming Time!!!

There is nothing like half naked men with painted chests and drunk alumni hanging out with students half their age. There is nothing like honoring the days when you would drink from 7 am to 7 pm, nap, and then drink some more. There is nothing like a college homecoming.

Its mid-October and universities are preparing for the flock of graduates, both recent and more "established", who will join the undergrad population and celebrate their school's history of violent football games, obscene chanting and excessive drinking. When I was an undergrad I remember being terrorized by a pack of drunk 40 year old dads turned 21 year old wannabes who, with their mock turtle necks underneath their school spirited sweatshirts, tried to persuade me and my friends that they knew of a great after bar. Oh, alumni.

Its funny how your former, younger, drinking self emerges when you return to your old stomping grounds and its even funnier watching little league dads and kool-aid moms put on their game faces and become the most offensive fans in the stadium during homecoming. With this in mind, I would like advise my fellow recent grads to move forward with caution because, unlike your more established counterparts, you will not be looked at as the funny, old alumni, oh no... you will be put on a pedestal as you are now in the real world, yet still could blend in with the regular college crowd, and when the older, established, mock turtle neck wearing alumni are buying students drinks, students are buying YOU drinks... and shots... and boots full of beer... and a nasty combination of liquids better suited for nail polish removal.

Think about it. When you were in college, you had friends of all classes and when they graduated, leaving you behind, it was like the red carpet of past students during homecoming. You would see your favorite classmate from the year before and you would glamorize their real world existence which probably wasn't anything more than a bedroom in their parent's house and an entry level position at a dry company, but still, they were "out" and deserved a drink! And those recent alumni were so drunk on pure college bliss that they accepted every drink graciously, which was then followed by them trying to get the bar to participate in a school chant and finished with the comment, "don't EVER graduate" (in slurred, alumni speech, of course).

Now most of my friends have pretty heavy work schedules that have eliminated the M-F drinking conditioning of their college days (please note the emphasis on MOST as I realize some my friends are still a version of their college self, but instead of drinking in the token campus bar, they are sipping high priced booze in a suit with their coworkers on a random Tuesday night), and they have definitely toned down their weekend habits as the real world is exhausting... and expensive! But although we may honor our newly found adult drinking limits during our day to day lives, there is something about going back to our Alma Mater that brings out the students we once were.

So as you begin to stretch out the elbow you play beer pong with and prepare to celebrate homecoming as a recent grad and less established alumni, please remember that although current students don't know much about the real world, they DO know how to drink, and your arrival to campus will merit Bradgelina-like attention which will result in many drinks and many beer related game challenges. So don't get too caught up in the undergrads adoring you, and don't be THAT girl or guy who can't keep up with the youngins', BUT please DO all of us "real-worlders" proud and kick every undergrad's ass in beer pong. Go Team!

Birth Order: What am I? A Gerbil?!

Over the weekend, I read an article in TIME Magazine about birth order (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1673284,00.html) and how it has been scientifically proven that your personality is greatly impacted by where you fall in line among your siblings. This concept is by no means a new idea, and TIME has done numerous articles on birth order over the past few years, and being the youngest child that I am, I feel the need to both confirm and challenge this increasingly popular belief in relation to my family.

First comes the confirmation...

I am the younger of two girls in my family and my sister is the typical first born in many ways. According to the research, first borns tend to be more reserved, more in control and always seem to have the bigger bedroom compared to their younger siblings (okay, the research doesn't specifically reference bedroom size, but it does discuss how first borns are often given more resources due to a sense of entitlement that comes with age). For example, when my sister and I were growing up, her bedroom was like the Taj Mahal compared to my shoebox, and when I hit my teenage years and started to value closet space, my mom would justify the space difference by claiming she gave me a choice, and I went with the smaller room. Considering that was only one year old when we moved and couldn't speak let alone choose a room for my future needs (I was all about sippy cups and Big Bird at the time and not really concerned about square footage), this decision was made solely on birth order.

So not only did my sister have the larger, first born-entitled, bedroom growing up (and the "I'm better than you" attitude that went with it), she had four years of complete only-child bliss before I bounded into the world, and according to the TIME article, even in the primitive animal sense, the eldest child is accustomed to getting 100% of their parents' resources, which leads to the expectation of constant attention and inability to accept the needs of others, specifically of their younger siblings. The perfect example, and my mom is going to kill me when she reads this, is when I was just a wee one and my sister and I would both need lunch. My mom was alone, and because I was child numero dos, her resources were quite stretched, so she would prop up a bottle between the rungs of my crib and then tend to my older, attention needing sister. As my sister enjoyed a PB&J with a side of my mom's love and attention, a baby Stephanie was stuck alone like a gerbil in her crib sucking on a bottle that could not be held by her mother because her older sister required the one-on-one time. When I heard this story from my mom, I asked her if she was kind enough to put a salt block in my crib since I had to be fed like a rodent. Obviously, my mom was doing the best she could and its really just a funny story that I tease her about, but in the end, true to birth order, I'm used to making due with what I have (even if that means being fed like a rodent), while my sister doesn't like change and wants things her way.

Another thing that jumped out at me in the TIME article was the reference to baby books. According to research "family scrapbooks are usually stuffed with pictures and report cards of the firstborn and successively fewer of the later-borns--and the later-borns notice it." When I read this, it was like TIME had spent a day in my shoes. My sister's baby books (PLURAL) are quite the collection of memories and my baby book (SINGULAR) is one page of pictures from the moment I popped out all gross and ugly followed by pages of... nothing. Thank God I have my memory and know that I too had a great youth like my sister who can refer to those memories in volumes of books dedicated to her, while I must fish for them in the cobwebs of my mind. No, I'm not bitter, but yes, this relates to scientific research that first borns walk into a life of pre-given attention, while those who follow need to create and earn that awareness, which results in the youngest children being more creative, funnier and more rebellious than their older siblings - why do you think this youngest child started a blog?!

Now comes the challenge...

Birth order research constantly support the success of first borns and the sometimes pitiful downfall of their younger siblings, specifically the youngest, due to the attention and privilege first borns receive. TIME's article references famous siblings including the Bush Brothers, the Royal Family and other families whose youngest child is the rebel and often falls into the shadows of their other siblings successes. As an adult, my sister is very successful, but when we were growing up, she was always being compared to me as I tended to be involved in more activities and was just overall more outgoing. In fact, I think my sister to this day resents me for being in the spotlight, which is very non-oldest child-like (I'm sure she's stabbing the voodoo doll of me as we speak).

Researchers also claim that younger siblings like to "court danger", but I'm queen of fearing physical peril. According to research, last born siblings like to play very physical sports and lean towards adventure and like to push the limits - bungee jumping, sky diving, rollercoaster riding, etc. For me, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride is my definition of a "thrill" ride, and non-stop shopping during the holiday season is what I consider an adventure. I played volleyball throughout my school days to avoid face-to-face confrontation and found athletic relief knowing that a net separated me and my competitors. So, danger is out of the picture for me even though I should technically welcome it.

Although I'm the typical last born when it comes to cracking jokes and excelling at creative tasks, I'm also level headed and according to research, my parents SHOULD turn to my sister to assume various responsibilities anywhere from "watching out" for me or taking care of the house when they are away, as "us" younger siblings would tear the place apart. Au Contraire! My sister, although reserved and mature in her own birth order right, is not as organized and "street smart" as me and contrary to research, my parents have always turned to me, the youngest, to put out any fires. Even in my social circle, I'm the level-headed "mom" of the group who thinks a few steps ahead to avoid any unpleasant situations. But according to research, I should be the one who my friends need to watch and coax down from dancing on table tops because, dammit, I'm the youngest and should be living only for the NOW, but alas, I personally live for the tomorrow and my 401K.

Conclusion...

Birth order research is important and valid; however, its not infallible. There are just so many variables outside birth order that impact our personalities beyond socioeconomic status and race (see article for further explanation), so although my days of being fed like a gerbil, and the outcome of it, are indicative of birth order, my tendency to follow the rules and my fear of chaos would hint that I was meant to be the oldest. So maybe I'm just a first born stuck in a last born body or better yet, maybe I'm a gerbil stuck in a human... you'd have to ask my mom about that :)

Social Etiquette Meets "Scary Train Boy"

I'm a commuter. I sit on a train for a total of 2 hours every day right along side all the 45 year old dads who think that I'm going to go back to college any day now, but 1.5 years later, I'm still there. It has been during these past 1.5 years in which I've learned that the train is by far the most interesting microcosm of human behavior and more specifically, the train is the best place to observe social etiquette, or the lack thereof.

For example, I have sat in the same seat in the same train car since I began commuting - last car, right side, 4th seat up. My fellow commuting comrades have marked their territory as well and we all do the same thing every morning knowing the "dos" and "donts" of the 6:34 am train. The man who sits a row in front of me pops open a diet coke like clock work as soon as he settles in. The woman to my left will always be working on her laptop and start packing it up as soon as we hit the second to last stop. I will have my nose buried in a book and close it once we pass a specific apartment building that has become my own personal landmark hinting that my destination is near. And no one talks. It is silent. You always know when a newbie gets on because they either are on their cell phone (a big no-no on the 6:34) or they try to strike up a conversation with their neighbor (aka - the morning kiss of death).

Every train has different etiquette and about a year ago, I took the 7:11 am and those "locals" were yuckin' it up, sharing donuts and stories, and to be honest, I was scared. I missed the silent, familiar faces of the 6:34 and feared that someone had already muscled their way into the last car, right side, 4th seat up, claiming it as their own (thankfully, I have resumed ownership).

So basically, every train has its own style, from my 6:34 library on wheels to the 7:11 mobile college party, that its riders adapt to making for a great National Geographic article - "Behaviors of Commuters in their Natural Habitat: The Metra". However, just as a lion disturbs a pack of gazelles, "Scary Train Boy" has forever disturbed my commuting surroundings and is THE epitome of someone who has no concept of train etiquette or just social etiquette and norms in general...

I was on my regular train back to the burbs (which happens to be a very mellow, quiet train, similar to my morning ride), minding my own business, listening to Justin Timberlake on my iPod (if I remember correctly, I was all about "SexyBack" at the time). It was unusually crowded on the train that day and just as I was ready to let JT serenade me and "take it to the chorus", I noticed that the 20 something guy who just sat down next me (later to be named, "Scary Train Boy") was asking me a question - now this where I SHOULD have left my headphones on and kept my train ride between me and Justin, but no, I'm not rude, so I take off my headphones and say, "excuse me?"

Now before I go any further, let me paint a picture for you - this "Scary Train Boy" is a little under 5 foot 5, has a gaming belly (aka - a beer belly not induced by alcohol, but by long afternoons of Xbox), long sideburns, tiny wired rimmed glasses and small, little rat teeth. Now mix that with the comic book store owner from the Simpsons and you can now picture him. Obviously, this isn't what I saw when he first starting talking to me because I'm not THAT judgemental and honestly, he just looked like an average nerd before he opened his mouth.

Anyway, as soon as "excuse me?" came out of my mouth, the next 60 minutes would be the most painful moments of my entire train riding experience. Long story short, "Scary Train Boy", starts a conversation and won't shut up. And on my very quiet train, he's talking very, very loud about everything from comic books (I kid you not) to one night stands. And since I painted the picture of him for you, do you honestly think he's had a one night stand? He then starts asking me if I have a boyfriend to which I respond, "YES. A very SERIOUS boyfriend, who is very aggressive". Now my fellow commuters are starting to snicker and look at us, and I'm mortified - I have a reputation to maintain on the Metra, you know.

I'm not rude and if you remember a recent post, I'm nice to a fault, but as the time ticked with "Scary Train Boy", I became downright rude. I would put my earphones back on as he was talking - did that stop him, no? I then text my mom to "please call me", so I could excuse myself to answer a very important call who was just my very confused mother on the other line. The train was packed, I was sitting by the window, I was trapped and of course, his stop was AFTER mine.

This was the first, but not the last time I encountered "Scary Train Boy". About once a month, he'll pop up on my train and somehow happen to find me. I now have a system down - if the train isn't crowded, I'll say that I was just getting up because a friend just called to say that they were sitting in the back of the train and I invited me to sit with them. Or, if the train is crowded, I'll text my mom, "STB", and she'll call me to chat for the next 60 minutes - God bless that woman.

So I guess the point of this long, hopefully funny, story is to bring to every one's attention the interesting social world we live in. Even if you don't commute everyday like I do, I'm sure you've experienced your own little microcosm of social behavior and I know that everyone has witnessed public etiquette gone very, very bad. So when you're standing in line at Starbucks, take a look around and you'll notice a well oiled machine of activity and those who don't know the "rules" stand out and annoy you to no end. Hopefully, "Scary Train Boy" doesn't happen to be in that line asking you obscenely inappropriate questions.

If you have your own stories of socially dysfunctional people, I'd love for you share them!

You Say Tomato, I Say Dating - Part II

To conclude my thoughts on the definition of dating, I want to reference a conversation I recently had with a good friend. This specific friend has mastered that art of dating that my mom had once so flawlessly executed, and she openly admits that she receives her share of criticism in regards to her style. But she also confidently says that she's just one girl in a big city of people, so having a "flavor of the month" is just a way for her to find THE flavor of her life, and there is no harm in openly and frequently dating especially if she's not giving the flavors any real "sugar". How sweet it is.

So how can we define dating for 2007? I don't think you really can. My mom and good friend have the same old school mentality of keeping dating casual, frequent and constantly changing. But a majority of people I know either keep dating really, really casual to the point of "I'm not sure if we're just friends" or take it the other extreme of getting bent out shape when they write on some one's Facebook wall of the opposite sex and conclude their comment with a ":)" - "What does that mean?! Is he cheating on me?! He doesn't put ":)"s on my wall!!!"

Below are my own, personal definitions of the many layers of dating, take them for what they're worth:

• "We're Talking" = You met someone at a bar, gave them your phone number and now you talk with them randomly on a Tuesday night and you can't seem to remember if they were cute or not - this has little to no potential of going somewhere serious and a HUGE potential of being awkward when you finally meet up with them again
• "I'm Seeing Someone" = Casually talking or hanging out with someone who you may like to date; this person most likely has or will spend many nights with you and your roommates on your couch watching Sex in the City
• "We're Dating" = Seeing someone who may have the potential of being more and this includes going to functions beyond the bar scene and your couch; somewhere in this period you will most likely meet the parents
• "I'm in a Relationship on Facebook" = Whoa, this is getting serious; you are telling all of your 413 closest friends that you're taken
• "This is my Boyfriend/Girlfriend" = Take this one for what its worth; I once had a "boyfriend" for 3 days in the 6th grade and I now have a boyfriend who I know will be in my life forever and turn into "something else"; if your significant other refuses to say this word even if things are serious, be worried, but if he/she acknowledges the term but doesn't throw it around like is confetti, don't be too concerned

So you say Tomato, I say Tomatoe. You say dating, I say what's your defintion?

You Say Tomato, I Say Dating - Part I

What comes to your mind when you hear "dating"? If you're part of generation X or Y, chances are you all have a very different view and definition of the word, which leads to a lot of miscommunication and confusion. "Dating" to some people means casually seeing more than one person at a time with no strings attached, but for others, it can also mean a monogamous relationship that comes paired with the title "girlfriend" or "boyfriend". So how should we define the word for 2007?

When my sister and I were growing up, my mom would always tell how us how during her "dating years" she would have dates every Friday and Saturday night with different "gentlemen", and would question why we weren't doing the same. No, my mom wasn't encouraging us to be, for a lack of better words, "loose women" (love you, Mom), she just didn't, and probably still doesn't, know that the term "dating", and romantic relationships in general, are not what they used to be.

First, I've found that the actual "date" is dead. I realize this isn't going to be true for everyone, but on average, it seems that dates have gone from the one-on-one dinner and a movie of my mom's era to the "come over and watch a movie with my roommates so they can judge you" date of today. I think the more casual approach to dating is due to the fact that so many people meet one another in bars or other potentially judgement impaired settings that when it comes time for the sober meet and greet, there is power and safety in numbers, so the first date that includes your roommates seems like a smart first move. Then once you get comfortable keeping it casual, the fine dining seems like an unnecessary cost and "ta-da!", you don't know if you're "dating", "seeing each other" (is that the same as dating?) or "just friends". Damn.

Second, men today are no longer the chivalrous, confident men of yesterday, which I believe has greatly impacted today's definition of dating. This isn't entirely men's fault and because I happen to have great men in my life, I rather stress the variables that men in the dating scene cannNOT control, to give them some benefit of the doubt, which includes the increasing reliability on the woman to make the first move. Compared to my mom's dating day, its more acceptable for the female to approach the male and I think this a result of women finally taking control of every aspect of their lives. But this has confused the dating scene. I am in serious relationship and was the one to make the first move by asking him out and although we're now 3.5 years into a great relationship, I think it threw him off in the beginning and I had to continue sending "signals" for him to finally take dating ownership. This isn't a bad thing, its just part of the explanation as to why "dating" is no longer black and white.

And what's most interesting in today's dating scene is how "serious" things get so quickly. My mom always made the argument that she could casually date different lads without things getting taken out of context with absolutely no lines being crossed. As politically correct and liberal as my generation is, we sure do like to commit and keep things conservative. Going back to my mom, her kind of dating was considered normal, and I feel that if a young person today consistently has different dates with different people even withOUT any hanky panky, they are considered promiscuous (insert Nelly Furtado's song now). Its seems that if you go out on a REAL date (not a TV party with the roomies) and then you see that person out with someone else the following weekend, all Hell breaks loose. "How dare he/she". Did you even really like them? Well, no. But still, you were kind of, sort of annoyed that someone you were "dating" was out on a date with someone else.

This merits a Part II post once I get some feedback on how "dating" can be defined for 2007. Or is that the beauty of dating in 2007, that times are changing and so should relationships? Do people get serious so quickly because a relationship is the only thing that is stable in 2007 with so many other issues surrounding us?

Do I Have "Non-Confrontational" Written on My Forehead?

I'm nice. I can't help it. I think its a positive attribute to have, but it sometimes kicks me in the butt, and my cheery disposition is often used against me. So not fair.

The security staff at the building where I work is the perfect example of people who use and abuse my "niceness". It all started about year ago when I came into work on a Saturday to finish up some last minute details for an event I was attending the following day. My building, usually buzzing with commotion and full of the sounds of clicking heels and ringing BlackBerries, was silent that Saturday morning and I could almost hear the hallways whispering, "get a life, go home". Feeling sorry for myself, I was even more saddened to see the same security staff I see Monday through Friday sitting at the front desk. I gave a friendly smile, a smile they had seen every morning for at least the past six months, and went about my business.

A few hours later I was ready to finally enjoy my Saturday, or at least what was left of it, and on my way out of the building, I looked up the 80 stories and thought, "hey, this would be a cool picture". Okay, so that's a lame thing to think of, but normally, when I'm at work I'm surrounded by hundreds of hurried people and never had the chance to really sink in my surroundings, so on this Saturday afternoon, I was taken back by the view.

So, I step back. Pull out my snazzy camera phone. Point. Click. And then get grabbed by security.

Within seconds, a man from the beloved security staff, who I was just feeling sorry for hours before for having to work on a Saturday, had his hand wrapped around my wrist demanding that I give him my phone. If only I knew the man's name I would have been like, "George or Chuck or Whoever, its me! The NICE girl you see every morning - I'm not doing anything wrong. And its Saturday for God's sake!".

Turns out, you can't take pictures of the building according to "George or Chuck or Whoever", which is nonsense because I was on public property and I'm pretty sure that every person who has every taken an architecture tour in the city has snapped some photos of this specific building. So what was really happening here? I'm convinced that the building security needs to make a "smack-down quota" and since I have "I'm non-confrontational" tattooed on my forehead, I'm the perfect target.

Recently, I was waiting in the lobby of my building for a friend as we were meeting for coffee, and "George or Chuck or Whoever" approached me once again and told me I couldn't "loiter" and asked for proof that I worked in the building. I have seen these damn security bullies, M-F for the past 1.5 years! I don't look like trouble. I don't look like I don't belong in my casual business attire. I do look NICE. That's the problem. The security can say they are doing their job by harassing me, which is obviously the better choice compared to Mr. Money Bags, CEO of "I Make More than You" Corp., who would throw a fit.

Its such a shame that nice people are taken advantage of and the grunting, pushy, attitude-heavy folks get to avoid issues such as my security staff woes. However, in the end, nice prevails, and I have reaped major benefits from my own niceness - free coffee (for nicely saying and not barking my Starbucks order to the barista in the morning), promotions (for being someone that people enjoy working with), a great boyfriend (trust me, the good ones don't like the bitch, they like the nice girls with a cute butt) and amazing friends.

So to "George or Chuck or Whoever" - let me say this - harass me all you want... you ain't breakin' my nice!

Random Acts of Kindness

Tis' the season for candy corn and tis' the morning for a random act of kindness.

I always dread waking up at 5 am every morning to make my daily, grueling commute. Monday mornings are especially hard, and I feel like I'm back in the 7th grade because I once again consider Sunday nights the worst "school night" of all - the fun of the weekend comes to a screeching halt and I have to crawl into bed early and start a full week of work... all over again.

This morning started like every other - I arrived at work, sifted through the 100+ emails that landed in my inbox over the weekend, eyed my schedule for the day and wished I was still buried in my glorious bed - but then some kindness, mixed with some candy corn, changed my entire morning... my colleague, friend and cube neighbor, knowing my love for candy corn, dropped two huge bags filled with the sugary goodness on my desk with a note recognizing a recent project we worked on together that turned out to a be a great success.

Two things come to mind: first, Brach's bags filled with corn and pumpkins can truly make any day a good day and second, a random act of kindness can make your day, your week or even just your life, better. I know, I know, I should stop being emotional about Halloween candy, but on a gloomy Monday morning, having someone acknowledge a job well done with something that they know you enjoy, can make you realize that are so many little things to look forward to each day, and each day - EVEN Monday - is another chance to experience a random act of kindness which reminds you that you are surrounded by good people.

So, to my candy corn-giving colleague - thank you for making my morning so much better, in fact, I've almost forgotten about my glorious bed and the fact that's it only 9 am on a Monday. And to everyone else - whether you give someone a bag of candy corn, a quick note or a pat on the back, remember that it feels just as good to give as it does to receive.

PR = Please Rephrase

If you were to ask me what I did for a living, I would say "I'm in public relations". That gets the normal of response of, "Ah, I see. That's the same thing as advertising, right?" Um. Not exactly. I thought I would take this time to explain what I do for my own sake and for the sake of every other person out there who is in PR and needs to "Please Rephrase" what those two letters actually mean, which doesn't always translate into what Samantha Jones does.

When I'm trying to explain PR to one my feminine* friends, I always use the following example:

Pick up a copy of Cosmo - you'll most likely come to a section that highlights "must have" make-up/jewelry/clothes/whatever. Most of us, myself included, read those articles, and if the price is right, will go out and buy that Lancome Juicy Tube or ask for a pair Michael Kors flats for a Christmas gift from the unsually hip Santa.

So now you're walking around town with your hot, juicy lips and super trendy feet and you can thank a Lancome and Michael Kors PR person for that. Because all the articles you read that mention a product, were most likely touched by someone in PR. PR is advertising you don't pay for. By me mentioning the brand name of lipgloss and a pair of flats on my unheard of blog is an amateur verison of doing PR for those companies. (To Lancome and Michael Kors: please send cash, I do not accept checks.)

So why PR and not advertising? While ads are valuable and sometimes even provoke a cult following like those Geico Cavemen, it's editorial content that today's consumer really listens to. Let me go back to my Cosmo example - chances are you've seen a glamourous, big lipped ad for a Lancome Juicy Tube. Great - another gorgeous model with pouty lips that you'll never have. Now you read an article by a Cosmo reporter who has "done the research" and determined that a Juicy Tube is a "must have" for fall and by the way, Jennifer Lopez and Jennifer Aniston carry it in their Gucci handbags. What appeals to you more? The glossy ad that you know what paid for? Or the hip, cool reporter who knows her stuff and is sharing her insight with you?

Don't get me wrong, ads are a vital part of any campaign and its an entirely different beast. Its just that as society becomes more critical and cynical, companies need to get smarter and reach out to the people their consumers are listening to and trusting because we often don't trust corporations on their own.

And if you're wondering, no, I don't do any work with Cosmo or get to play with lipgloss and cute shoes. I spend my PR days pitching stories on technology companies and the only freebies I get are trial versions of CAD software - aren't you jealous?

*Please note that I've seen quite a few males pick up copies of Cosmo in hopes to see naked chicks and I also know that certain males who do not find naked chicks appealing, consider Cosmo the Holy Grail, so I want to be PC and say " my feminine friends" to avoid those gentlemen out there who like lipgloss and respect that this season is all about flats.

Who is Stejamoe and Why is She Speaking?

Prounounced "Stee-ja-moe", it has been my nickname for almost a decade.

Back in the day, I was doing a school fundraiser and filled out an order form for all the things I had sold. A week later, all the orders were in and I waited paitently to hear my name to gather my lame, chotchke prizes ...

"Jimmy "... "Kyle "... "Sarah"... "Scott"... "Jenny"... "Stejamoe?!" Who the hell is that?!

It turns out that if your hands are in the "home key" position on a computer keyboard, and you shift your right hand one key to the right while trying to type "Stephanie", you end up typing "Stejamoe". The person inputting all my information was apparently in a data entry frenzy, and the name has stuck with me ever since.

So why does this Stjeamoe need to speak? A few of my colleagues have recommended that I start a blog because I always have some random thought or funny observation that would seem fitting to share with a larger audience. I also happen to be in public relations and know how valuable blogs and bloggers are becoming in the media sphere and spend hours every day reading up on industry expert blogs to determine new trends in my clients' industries. These bloggers are considered valuable influencers and they recieve some pretty shnazzy stuff just so they can blog on it and share, what will hopefully be, their positive opinion with the world.

So although I may have no authority whatsoever in any kind of industry, I'm hoping that I will someday be flown to Italy to play around with a new line of makeup or be sent the newest Manolo Blahniks so I can sing the praises of the finely crafted pair of pumps. By the way, I'm a size 8.5.