Tips from The Sis

Hey guys, as some of you may know, The Sis is here in DC, too! As she is also living through the intern/extra job/no time cycle, I wanted to bring her in to share some advice. Read on for a guest post by The Sis!

 

Hello fellow blog-o’readers! I’ll start with two things—first, a welcome/thank you to Aftan and you, her dedicated (yes, DEDICATED—so spread the word!) readers on what may be the first of many guestspot blogs (spogging? Blottings? Hmmm…). Second, is an apology to Twin, since I’ve been promising her I would write a guest blot/spog  for….oh, about 8 months. *Insert wry—I mean, ashamed, very very ashamed face—here.*  Sowwy seester. *Sincere chagrin this time*

That being said, I’ll get write to it (see what I did there?).

I’m going to delve today into that messy, discontinuous, often painful, always transforming, unexpected, surprising, character-building experience we all face after college (or any other kind of school for that matter): getting a job. I know Twin has expounded on this before, her tips and her experience, expertly wielding both realism and hilarity, and maybe only a slight dash of hyperbole. I want to add to this topic, provide some advice that was given to me, as well as my own reflections on the matter now that I have been in this job-hunting underworld for over a year.

I moved to DC over a year ago, taking a stab in the dark and a leap of faith with an internship at an Undisclosed Relevant Organization (URO). To my dismay, the internship had been somewhat (read: a lot) misrepresented to me over my phone interview, and the job was nothing like I was expecting it to be. But I trucked through, despite my disappointment and dissatisfaction with the turn of events, determined to make what I could out of the experience.

Essentially, the experience was a very humbling one that taught me how to continue to give my best efforts for a supervisor for whom I held little to no respect or affability. This is, actually, a very, very important lesson. You may not always like who you work for, whether it’s your direct supervisor, CEO, or a lateral colleague in another department. You cannot let this affect your performance. No one wants a surly, unhappy employee, whether or not they’re justified.

One positive thing the internship did provide was some new connections to expand my network. Since Twin has amply dissected this topic, I’ll only add that she is absolutely right. In this day and age, in this city, it’s not really WHAT you know (although that does help!), it’s WHO you know. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve witnessed obtaining jobs because of who they knew already on staff. It’s important. Do it. You can’t get anywhere on credentials alone anymore—there are too many people with equivalent experience, and too few jobs. You need another foot in the door.

One of the people I met gave me his idea of some valuable fresh-to-the-job-market advice. I found his thoughts particularly helpful, which I will share. First, he recommended getting business cards. It’s an easy, smooth way to exchange contact information, and it avoids the awkward tackiness of “Oh, erm, let me scribble down my email address for you… Do you have a pen?”  You don’t need a job to have business cards. 

Or a pen. Get a pen.

So where can you pass out these cards? Why, at events of course! Policy events, social events, informational events, you name it! Also, who knows when a chance encounter on the metro can turn into a serendipitous opportunity? Got your business card on you? Sweet, now you look smooth, prepared, AND professional.

At these events will be like-minded people who usually have a job in that kind of field. Be personable! Chat them up! Keep your ears and eyes peeled, and start a conversation with someone next to whom you are sitting!

And try not to be too utilitarian. Beginning a conversation, even though, yes it’s DC and that’s how everyone does it, by asking what they do is obvious and can backfire, especially at such an obvious networking-potential event.

Instead, try to start a conversation through a back door. Show your interest in them as a person, not as someone you hope can do something for you. “Hi, I’m So-and-So. Pretty interesting so far, huh? I like what the speaker said about [fill in the blank]. …What brought you to this event? Oh, really? Tell me more. That’s so neat, I love work like that as well. I hope to work my way to [fill in the blank]. ” This works a lot better than, “So, what do you do?”

At the end of the event, maybe you can ask for an informational interview, to learn more about the kinds of things that person does, and their tips or thoughts on how to accomplish that. People are much more responsive to enthusiastic individuals sincerely interested in a conversation rather than someone who clearly just wants to use them to get somewhere else. Odds are, at the end of the interview, they’ll either offer to be of some help to you or perhaps put you in touch with someone who can. At the very least, they’ll remember you. Especially if you stay in touch with them (depending on the rapport established of course).

Connected to this is the notion of connecting over drinks or other casual settings—people are more relaxed, approachable, and communicative with a beer in their hand. So go to those networking happy hours! They exist for a reason! Whether it’s an organized young professionals happy hour (they exist all over) or just an informal outing with friends, go out. See and be seen. In a city of high stress, high tempo, high workload kind of jobs, most people loosen their ties and hairnets at a bar at the end of the day. Also, be open to events with people you might not know so well; they can connect you to other circles. You know that game, Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon? Yeah, well, it’s true and applicable.

Speaking of alcohol…. In addition to being a perfect wingman for happy hours, I might also recommend alcohol when writing cover letters. Cover letters should be passionate and tell the potential employer about yourself, but not in a boring, predictable, template manner. And sometimes there’s no better way to eschew over-formality and embrace creativity and flow than with a drink in hand. DO NOT BLAME ME IF YOU TAKE THIS TOO FAR. Discretion, people; we’re professionals.

Finally, faithful readers, find out what and who it is that does the kinds of thing you like. Don’t just think of the Big Name Places. Look at littler organizations. The organizations that may not be as well known—competition there might not be as fierce, either. Find those places that are in your field, find their offices, go to their events, talk to them. Be present.

That about sums it up for my first guest entry. I hope I’ve adequately been able to share some of the advice provided to me, and that you can take it and run with it, little peacocks. There is so much I could say on the matter, more heavily weighted in my own personal experiences and tips, but this is a nice start.

Things that have happened in the interim – a 2-month recap

I went Home.

While normally I’m happy to babble endlessly about my home and my family, right now the thought of doing so just makes me homesick. I refer you to this post. Or this one.

I went to some weddings.  

Three, to be precise, three Saturdays in a row. Family, friend, friend. Notable moments: rafting down the river for my cousin’s ceremony, seven boats all lashed together while the vows were said over the water; bonding over mutual beer snobbery (and too many Jack-and-Coke’s) with my other cousin; discovering a high school bud is getting hitched next week and oh wouldn’t you like to attend?; seeing The Sis and another childhood best friend as bridesmaids.

I got really sick. Again.

Nasty head cold this time, layed me out for about a week. Unfortunately I had to fly back to DC before it had run its course, and all the subsequent pressure changes left me deaf in one ear for about two days. I actually warned my boss, “I’m not ignoring you, I just can’t hear anything you say.” It was freakin hilarious. In a "I think I might be dying" kind of way.

Btw, this dang cold is still hanging on. I’ve been sniffling for about three weeks now, and I had a relapse last week that turned into a sore throat. It also significantly impacted my ability to complain.

I discovered that my hometown has what’s dangerously close to a “nightlife.”

Since I’ve been gone, Brookie’s Cookies (yes you read that right) acquired a liquor license and a backyard patio, complete with a stage and a fire pit. Add in live music and drunk people with a tendency to stand too close to the flames, and you’ve got an instant hit.

We also have a new bar – one that could actually be considered DC-chic. No dirt floors or panties on the taps here! A DJ playing club music even attracted a small dancing crowd, and yes, I rocked my moves with the best of them.

Apparently I’ve got game?

This is news to me – I consider myself more of the ‘lovable dork’ variety, not the ‘sexy stranger’ you’d hit on in a bar. Case in point, I recently remarked that I must be a reincarnation of the awkward Liz Lemon from 30 Rock, and my friend listening quickly (too quickly?) agreed.

However, while at home I "picked up" a very handsome cowboy at a bar, and in the last week I’ve been 2/2 for exchanging numbers with other targets attractive gents. We’ll see where this goes, cuz I’m a bit suspicious of this new trend and don't quite know what to do with it, but I’ll keep you posted.

While we’re on the subject of my vanity…

I continue my search for a great DC hair stylist.  
I had a great stylist all through high school who understood my hair’s thickness and natural curl, and who always managed to cut flattering layers. However, factor in DC’s higher humidity and 4 extra inches of hair, and you get this: 

Yesterday a friend called me "Extra Hair."

My hairbrush recently snapped in two while I was brushing through my 80’s-style mess long tresses, so I’ve bumped this up on my list of priorities.*

Also, I should probably get signed up at a doctor’s office now that I have regular health insurance.

I continue to not know what to do with my life. 
I recently got a job, but that doesn’t mean that stressing about my future has ceased.  I still feel like I need a plan. Grad school? Foreign service? Waitress through Scotland? Move to LA? Choices, choices….

*I don’t know why you’d really care about this issue, because I hardly care. I just thought my hairbrush breaking was hilarious and I wanted to mention it.

Disturbing content HERE

Okay, yall. I'm gonna apologize for the disturbing content I'm about to post. Hhhhyeah. You'll be grossed out. These images are not for the meek.

My apartment has cockroaches.

To those of you who are rolling your eyes and muttering, Psh, well I've dealt with cockroaches for years, this is not blog-able content...Congratulations. You've dealt with cockroaches. You win an award. But this girl has NOT ever had to deal with them, and she's struggling a little with the adjustment.

I think Montana must be too cold or not humid enough or something, but honestly. I've never seen a cockroach before in my life. So when I was doing dishes and a brown, shiny, look-I-have-jointed-legs-and-an-exoskeleton bug-thing crawled up the disposal, I didn't react, ahem, well. Meaning, I yelped and dropped the plate back into the sink. Luckily, The Sis was with me at the time, so I pawned the bug-removal-situation off on her.

"Aw, it's just a lil Junebug!" she said, scooping him up in a bowl and depositing him in the grass outside.

I had my doubts about that, but I kept them to myself. Don't Junebugs have cute green and white stripes on them? And aren't they smaller? As in, NOT the size of my palm?

But hey, people every day choose to solve their problems by avoiding the very questions and details they should ask for--I joined that noble and classy crowd by choosing not to think too deeply whether that bug was an actual Junebug or not.

This incident faded from my mind. Until one night when I was sitting on my bed, minding my own business.

And something scuttled across the floor. Buried itself in a shadow by a stray sock. The sock wiggled.

I yelped again, and then froze. The "something" looked suspiciously similar to that "Junebug" from a few weeks ago...$%@! I thought. I'm the only one home. That means I have to deal with this.

Just to clarify. I can take care of myself -- I don't have a problem killings bugs or fixing faucets or grouting bath tile, or what have you. I DO have an issue with bugs that have exoskeletons. I dunno what it is, something about their shiny quality, the way they *crunch* when you kill them. They just seem so alien. So...evil. As if they are on a single-minded mission to destroy me.

When I was in middle school, my science class did an animal-dissection unit. We dissected giant worms, giant bullfrogs, aaaaand giant locusts from Africa. I had no problems with the former two -- I played with the frog lungs just like everyone else (you could actually make the lung inhale by forcing air into it with an eye dropper!) -- but I took one look at that locust and told my lab partner, "Josh, you're handling this one."

The "something" still sat camped out by my sock as all these pleasant childhood memories coursed through me. I pulled myself together. Armed with a cup and a plate, I trapped the invader and took him to the bathroom. "Let's see how you handle being flushed down the toilet," I told him smugly.

Turns out he handled it just fine. Since he refused to be flushed.

The backwash from the flush carried the little bastard back from the pipes, right back into the toilet bowl, where he proceeded to crawl calmly up the porcelain. Horrified, I pumped the flush handle repeatedly, but the water pressure wasn't recovered enough to do any more than sputter half-heartedly. The bug, whom I was certain was a cockroach at this point, had almost reached the rim. I grabbed at the toilet seat and slammed it down, hard, knocking the little cuss back into the water. Where he promptly crawled right back up the porcelain.

This process repeated itself until the water pressure recovered. It was a very lady-like situation, me cursing at the toilet while slamming the seat down over and over.

Eventually the water pressure recovered, and I sent that sucker down to the sewer to die. Done-zo. Gone. I was flushed with success (see what I did there?), but I had a new problem. Great, my apartment has cockroaches. 

I approached my landlords about the situation. Now, my landlords are WONDERFUL. But they wanted to be sure that these were cockroaches, and not "water bugs." Which apparently plague the area as well.

Allow me to illustrate.

THIS IS A WATER BUG

THIS IS A #%$^@*& COCKROACH

As you can see, class, the bug on the left has two pairs of legs and little horns. The exotic design on his back may be considered mildly interesting. The spawn on the right, however, has six legs and antennae. Notice a distinct LACK of horns. No design, other than a design to haunt my dreams forever.

The creatures I've killed have all had antennae. They are cockroaches.

Aaaaa I can't even look at these pictures anymore. Sorry to disturb you all with them. *Shudder* I can't believe I had to save them to my computer to write this post. I'm gonna go die now.

Editor's note: Aftan's apartment is regularly visited by The Orkin Man, aka The Bug Guy. A lapse in his visits allowed the spawn of cockroaches, but that has been remedied. Apartment = re-bug-proofed. Cockroaches = gone. (I hope...)

Fried chicken, donuts, and BEER: a Churchkey experience

I’ve been meaning to write this story up for a while, but hey, sometimes life happens – say, perchance, your car gets towed (through no fault of your own, might I add), or you realize you’re a legal American citizen and must therefore pay taxes – and before you know it three weeks have passed and you’ve almost forgotten that you had a blog in the first place.  

Contrary to the tenor of my last couple posts, this one should serve as a reassurance that I am, in fact, enjoying my life here in DC. Really! It’s true! My friends are great, my sis is great, and as always, everything is better with beer.  

So. A couple weeks months back, The Sis and I decided to leave work early and take advantage of the unseasonably warm spring day. How best to do this? Hop a few blocks over to Churchkey for happy hour, of course. For non-DCers, Churchkey is one of, if not THE best bar for beer in the District. It boasts a selection of over 500 beers from all over the world, as well as a pretty yummy menu. Being an employee of a liquor store, and therefore knowing a bit more about beer allotments for the District than your average Joe, I can say with some authority that Churchkey is often allotted certain specialty beers that almost no one else receives from distributors.  

Sadly, I had not yet been to Churchkey before this day. *shamefacedly hides in a broom closet* 

The Sis and I arrived at about 4 o’clock. The bar was largely empty at this early hour, except for some sort of film crew that was occupying all the tables near the windows. I grumbled to myself – living the last year of my life in windowless cubicles has made me crave sunlight like a withered plant – and sat down at the bar, as near as possible to the windows.  I assumed the film crew was updating the menu, taking new shots of meals and such. I didn’t pay them much mind, largely because The Sis and I had engaged the bartender in a lively discussion about beer. 

Another plus of working in a liquor store: I actually kind of know what I’m talking about. We chatted about hops (this girl is NOT a hops fan), maltiness, fruity crisp notes, and the inherent superiority of Salmon Fly Rye, a beer brewed out of Montana. (Okay, I talked about the inherent superiority of Salmon Fly Rye, and the bartender listened patiently and had the good sense to agree with me.) Occasionally other bartenders would meander past us and offer their opinions. 

After a few minutes of this, a member of the film crew sidled up on my right and leaned his elbows on the bar. Score one for being a cute girl in a bar, where the only other competition is your look-alike twin sister, I thought. 

“Hey,” Film Crew Guy said. “You ladies seem to be having a very dynamic conversation here…you sound like you really know what you’re talking about.” We do. As already established. “Would you be interested in participating in our TV show?” 

Say what? Sure!! I washed my hair today, so why not? 

Film Crew Guy explained that his show, ABC’s The Chew, was doing a special about different eateries around DC. Churchkey was chosen for its beer reputation and for its unique sandwich called “The Luther.” The Luther is essentially a behemoth of fried chicken, donuts, and maple syrup. A surprising combination, and surprisingly good. (UNsurprisingly, it’s probably worth at least 4 heart attacks.) 

FCG introduced us to the host of the show, a jet-lagged but energetic Kiwi named Jason, and explained that they would do a couple takes of Jason interviewing us, and then us actually eating the sandwich and commenting on how much we loved it. [Obviously, we loved it…people aren’t interviewed to give their REAL opinions.] We ran through these scenes quickly, eating little bites of the sandwich each time. The Sis was a little hesitant about eating too much of The Luther, and rightly so; one bite had to have been at least 1,000 calories.  I had every intention of maintaining discretion as well, but…hey, I actually did really like the sandwich. [Meaning I ate the whole thing.] At one point FCG complimented us on our acting skills and presentation – “Wow, you guys actually sound perfect, like real actors!” Why thank you, I told him. I actually had the lead in my 5th-grade Christmas play.

For those interested, the clip of the Chew can be seen here. Thanks to my friend Jon for pointing it out! And ignore the fact that I sound like a ditzy sorority girl.

At the end of the shoot, Jason gestured toward our drinks. “What are you guys drinkin? Next round’s on us.” Why thank you, Jason. We chatted with him and the crew a while longer before meandering back over to the bar, which was packed at this point with people just off from work. Actually, a little crowd of them had been watching us during the entire interview. 

Our favorite bartender came back over and chatted with us for a moment, but he was much busier now. Didn’t matter too much, the people next to us were very interested in our interview and what was going on. [Note: by “people next to us” I mean “that guy next to my sister,” and by “interested in our interview” I mean “interested in her phone number.” But I digress.]

Eventually, one guy approached us and introduced himself as the manager of the bar. “I hear you ladies are the new face of Churchkey!” he exclaimed. We are? Okay, I guess I can handle that.  We chatted with him about beer and other things, explaining just how good a tall Coldsmoke is – it’s another beer out of Montana, a rich stout that people also make into a special ice cream. The Sis and I made it very clear: if he wanted his bar to TRULY be the best in the District, it needed to import some Montana beer. After all, we have one of the highest ratios of micro-breweries to people in the entire country!  

True fact. Maybe.  

Point is, we convinced him, and discussed a few different import strategies. And as we were talking, he mentioned that Churchkey does its own version of a beer ice cream, and insisted that we try it. On the house. The Heart-attack Yummo Sandwich Luther followed by beer ice cream? Okay, I guess I can handle that. 

“Well, it’s been lovely chatting with you ladies,” the manager said, preparing to depart. “How about we comp your tab for the rest of the night?”  

I think my eyes bugged out of my head. Free beer and food at Churchkey for the rest of the night!? Okay, I think I can handle that. 

I had been about ready to leave the bar – I had a date that night across town. After the manager’s offer, though, I quickly dialed my date and explained the situation. He agreed to the change in plans immediately. Smart guy.

And that’s how I got interviewed for a show on ABC, got a free tab at a favorite bar, and arranged to import Montana beer all in the same night.

I guess I kinda like this DC town.

Pardon the hiatus. Vacation.

I went home to Montana for a few weeks. And I gleefully did not even THINK about this blog. Well, that's not exactly true, I thought about in the sense of how much I loved not having to think about it. Does that make sense? Whatever.

Anywhooos...home was filled with family, water skiing, eating, hiking, horses, sailing, eating, basically all the things that make life wonderful. Allow me to make you jealous with the following pictures:

A view from within my favorite National park...Glacier

Saw this bear walking across and then along the road. So,
naturally, I snatched the camera out of my dad's hand
and leaned out the car window to get as close as possible.  

The Sis and I hiking a mountain near our house.
Not bragging here, it literally is a mtn. One of the
Rockies. Sadly dogs had to be leashed. It's a
National Parks thing.

Dad and I canoeing with the pooch. She hates cameras,
seems to think they're gonna suck out her soul or something,
but she was still for this shot.

Doesn't my home rock? I can't believe I'm out here living in this cramped metropolis when I could be back there. (And that, my friends, is the short version of the life-crisis I had upon returning to the city...trust me, you don't want details.)

Also, let me share a quick list of the things I saw in the middle of the road on my drive to the Montana airport at 3 am: One skunk (alive), two flirting deer (the buck was at least a 5x5 [that means his antlers had 5 points on each side, which made me hanker for a gun]), a coyote, a herd of at least 6 buck, ranging from spikes (look it up) to another 10 point (aka 5x5), a skunk (dead), and someone on a horse herding another horse in front of him with a dog trotting alongside.

Yeah. I love Montana.

Apparently, DC suffered through a hurricane and an earthquake while I was away. Darn. Missed 'em.

Why I want to maim Blogger with a high heel, and other things you may have noticed

So, dear readers, you may have noticed that my blog has transformed a bit. New layout, new URL, new...stuff. Yeah, Blogger and I had a little spat, and Blogger won.

Long story short, I used my school email as the login name for my old blog, but the email listed on that blog was my personal email, and between that and having something called a "Google Profile" (which I should know about since I currently work in New Media) Blogger just couldn't take it anymore. Said something about the two accounts fighting with each other, and there was a constant request to "please logout or switch user accounts" or some such nonsense. Blogger said I had to fix this. I agreed.

Blogger told me to delete one of the accounts. Makes sense, I thought. My school email was defunct and unnecessary at this point, so I would terminate that one and my blog would transfer over to my personal email, rather than my school one.  This made sense to me, because my personal email was still listed as the official mailing address for the blog.

Yeah. Blogger often doesn't make sense. So it locked me out of the account. Oh, this is mildly annoying, I thought. But so far it's mostly funny. As soon as I email Blogger and get access restored, it will make a great new blog post. Haha, laughs to be had by all! Yeah. No. Because the next day, Blogger promptly deleted my blog.

Blogger: Haha! Suck-ah!!!

This momentarily stunned me -- surely not? -- and then it prompted nothing short of ALL CAPS RAGE!!!

I scrambled, had an almost-heart-attack, and frantically g-chatted The Sis.

Me: (Paraphrase) Sister!!!! My blog is gone!!! Can you find it???
The Sis: A, quit freaking out, the link still brings me there.
Me: Oh...But are you SURE??
The Sis: (Paraphrase) Of course I'm sure, it's right...oh shit. 


So. Old blog gone. I angrily huffed over to WordPress and built a new blog from scratch (after a kind and compassionate soul emailed me the content from my old blog that she had ripped from her Google Reader...fantastic friend, fantastic technology. I owe her a hug. But not you Google, cuz this is kinda your fault in the first place). Then I discovered how NOT customizable WordPress is.

Which brings me back here. Back to Blogger. Something I so don't want to do, but it's kinda like riding the Red Line of the metro -- you hate to do it, you know it will break down at some point leaving you stranded and late, but you aren't cool enough to own a car so you have no choice. I'm not flush enough to pay for a customizable WordPress, so here I am. I have no choice.

Sorry, I said "long story short" and I totally didn't mean it.

But now you know why things are a bit different, and also why it says I uploaded 18 new posts in one day. Psh, no one is that good. BUT I promise to make up for my lapse in posting with another entry within the next few days.

Cheers to all your patience, and to my non-existent patience which I am still trying to work on. I hate you, Blogger. And I still want to mangle you with a high heel, because thats about all the use I have for high heels.

Blame it on the...stress

I stole the title of this post from a song, “Blame It (On the Alcohol)” by Jamie Foxx.  Good song for running and dancing.  Maybe not so good for attaching to my name in the public blogosphere. So...blame it on the alcohol stress.

Really. I don’t drink copious amounts of alcohol on a regular basis, so I can’t usually blame my klutzy behavior on being tipsy.  Thus, when you see me acting klutzy…that’s just me. Totally sober.  For a while I aspired to be like my sister (the Sis), the graceful ballerina, but I’ve kind-of given up on that.  (Kind-of…)

Actually, I have another theory.

Sometimes, I believe STRESS makes us do or say things that a normal person wouldn’t do or say.  Stress negatively affects us in a variety of ways, ranging from exploding at a friend because she asked you to pass the salt (couldn’t she see I was busy?!) to tripping in public (from lack of sleep, of course).

Allow me to list just a few ways in which stress can de-rail your life:

Sentences that don’t make sense.

“My, what quiet feet you have!”  Clearly an insensitive individual has snuck up on a stressed student, and the stressed student responded in a charming but unconventional way.

[To a guy]: “Your hair inspires poetry.” …No explanation.  Stress level must be off the charts.

Forgetting or mentally re-arranging the times of important meetings.

You drag yourself out of the warm cocoon of bed to show up for an 8 am appointment.  Realize that you’ve nearly beaten the receptionist there, as she is just setting down her coat and purse.  She tells you that the business isn’t even open at 8 and she doesn’t know how you got in the building.

Increasing inability to read.

You might explain to your housemate, “Huh, this feta cheese tastes funny...kinda flavorless. Like it’s fat free or something.  But I know it’s the same feta I’ve always bought.”  You look bewilderedly at the plastic container.
Your housemate says, gently, as if to a child, “Um, it says FAT FREE on the label.  In big blue letters.”

You stare at the container.  You feel ashamed.  You also wonder why anyone would buy fat free feta cheese; you might as well sprinkle snow on your food for all the flavor that fat free feta adds.

Not seeing things that are right in front of you.

Like one of those huge yellow plastic triangles that proclaims, Caution! Wet floor!  You will either slip and fall on the wet floor, or you will avoid that clichéd ending and simply trip over the sign itself, sending it clattering across wet tile.  In either case, you will feel like an idiot.  If you’re really lucky, you’ll fall in a public place so everyone can watch.

I personally experienced ¾ of these events, and I’m quite certain that all of them were due to stress.  It had absolutely nothing to do with innate clumsiness.  Nothing at all.

Beware: if it happened to me, it could happen to you too.  Or maybe it already has – feel free to post your own advice or experiences in the comments!

Networking: Guy-with-a-famous-uncle

A word that most college juniors know, some enterprising sophomores might know, and certainly all seniors SHOULD KNOW is: networking. 
           
It’s a big, fancy word, and I spent most of my college career letting it intimidate me until I realized that networking actually means schmoozing, or rather schmoozing-and-remembering-all-their-names-so-I-can-later-use-them-for-a-potential-job.

        
In short, networking means building a web of wasta, which is an Arab term I learned while abroad that essentially means “connections”.  So networking means building a web of connections. Duh, some of you are thinking. Net-working = working to build a net that surrounds and supports you. Yep, you’re so smart.

        
Once I figured out what the term meant, I quickly discovered that my network was…well, lame.  Rather than an interconnected web joining numerous people and careers together, my “web” seemed to be…me, and one woman I had talked with at CNN.

I believe geometrists would call that a “line.”  Not a web.

How to fix this?  I wasn’t quite sure. All I knew was that it was Christmas break and my sister wanted me to go with her to her college-town for New Years. Fun with the sis + dancing all night + beer = Aftan not thinking about her network.


“You never know, hon,” my father winked at me, “you might meet some nice young man in a bar.”
“Yeah, Dad,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “I’m going to meet boyfriend material in a bar in Montana on New Years.”  I’m sure that is THE NIGHT all the classy guys go out to find all the classy girls.

My dad grinned. “Well, you’re probably right, but maybe at the very least you’ll meet someone with a job opportunity.”

“Yeah, Dad, maybe.” Again, it's a bar on New Year's.

So the Sis and I end up at a favorite bar with some favorite friends.  The Sis is super popular, so all these guys swarm us competing for her attention.  I sit back a little bit and nurse my beer, watching the show. One of her admirers has brought his roomies, and they look as out of place as I, so I strike up conversation with the one closest to me.

This guy looks a little younger, maybe a sophomore.  I’m sure he hasn’t even thought about his network.  We do the basic chit-chat, drink a couple beers. He tells me his major, his hometown (an East Coaster), what he wants to do.  I share the same.


“Wait,” he says when I explain my aspirations and my study-abroad career. “You want to be an international journalist, and you love the Middle East?”  Yep.  “You should meet my uncle.  That’s what he does.”

I stare.  I slide my chair a little bit closer.

“Yeah,” the guy goes on. “He’s a journalist and lives in New York.  When he was covering events in Afghanistan he got captured by the Taliban.  He got released last year and wrote a book about it.  His name is Jere Van Dyk.”

The guy has just become The-Guy-with-a-Famous-Uncle.

My network may have just expanded.