Category Archives: work

On Kaiser, Defeatedly

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Updated February 24, 2016 — this post was written a long time ago. Since then, I’ve changed my viewpoint on Kaiser as a whole, and am actually a huge fan of their services. I ask that you read this post, of course, but also read my updated post — it’s after being a Kaiser member for 4 years, so it’s got a lot more wisdom in it, hopefully.

TL; DR: Adderall rant, Kaiser Permanente, ADHD.

You may know that I’m lucky enough to be on my mom’s health insurance (since I’m not yet 26). You may not know that we recently switched from a PPO to an HMO. We were hesitant to make the change, but we reviewed all of the coverage and pricing plans and realized that we would save several thousands of dollars over the course of the year by going with an HMO…Right now, I’m thinking that perhaps I’d be willing to sacrifice any amount of savings in favor of a PPO.

After getting a work review that involved a negative look at my lack of focus in mid-2011, I realized that it was finally time to address something I’d known about forever but had never really acknowledged. I went and spoke to my primary care provider about the possibility of having ADHD.

She was initially dismissive, as I expected her to be, and insisted that I get an official evaluation. Several hundreds of dollars later, I was fully evaluated for all learning disabilities and ADHD. The results were exactly as expected: zero learning disabilities (even the things I’m terrible at are well within the “average” to “above average” range, which soothes any fears of inadequacy but makes me wonder how bad everyone else could possibly be at math) coupled with hardcore ADHD. It’s surprising that I was able to get this far without serious complications – apparently, I’ve just developed a really functional network of coping mechanisms.

Post-diagnosis, we began to medicate. The first round was Ritalin, to which I reacted horribly. I still shudder to think about it. The next round was a more common medicine, to which I have adapted quite well, other than a few side effects such as forgetting to eat. My insurance company was hesitant to cover the drugs, and so for a few months, we paid out-of-pocket while working with the doctors and pharmacy and insurance company to get it all worked out. Ugh. After rejection after rejection, I was worn out, but we won a series of logistical battles and got my meds covered. (I left the most awkwardly grateful voice mail for my doctor’s assistant and her nurses – I was so happy.)

Finally, life was beautiful. I had my meds covered by insurance, I had a supportive team behind me that understood the situation, was monitoring my weight and vital signs, and was generally kicking ass at work as a direct result of my medication and other approaches to treatment. However, my room and car did not magically become cleaner. (In my mind, I thought I would turn into Monica from Friends and have to have everything neat and orderly. Obviously that’s not how it works.)

But the bottom line reared its ugly head and now I’m beginning yet another difficult round of obstacle hurdling, in the form of the looming giant Kaiser.

This morning, I met with one of their mental health drones, where I immediately handed her a full copy of my initial diagnosis and report, hoping to avoid having to go through the next hour and fifteen minutes. But alas, I was not so lucky, and instead, was subject to an interrogation of sorts.

This sounds silly, and is totally immature and the wrong way to approach these things, but I always panic. I know there’s an answer that they’re looking for, and I know that I need to display symptoms of ADHD without looking manic or insane. The psychologist who did  my initial evaluation made me feel so at ease about the whole process, so that it felt less accusatory and more geared toward me.

Instead, I found myself second-guessing each question, and trying to remember how I answered questions like “how many drinks do you have per week?” with their pharmacist during the initial call to establish health history and transfer of medications. (Oh yeah – there’s an initial call where they lecture you about deciding to have children. I think I got an over-eager pharmacist – his three-minute lecture on what to do if I decide to get pregnant was not only above the call of duty, it bordered on completely inappropriate. He’s lucky I was at work, or I would have torn into him about how offended I was. Instead, repeating “I am well aware” in an increasingly-icier tone had to suffice.)

The problem with this process is that I know it’s very necessary. I am well aware that ADHD medications are wildly abused and heavily regulated by the government. I get that doctors can get into trouble for over-prescribing and for lack of attention to detail.

However, I’m shocked because while I have such a hard time getting the medications that I have a demonstrated need for, I know personally or know of people who are prescribed any number of medications and who abuse them, distribute them, and otherwise misuse them. And the minute I go in with another issue, it’s medication, medication, medication. I don’t want to have to have a 7-day pill-box full of stuff. I don’t want a collection of uppers and downers and middlers. (Middlers aren’t a thing…yet.)

I really hate the fact that I immediately feel suspected of some wrongdoing. I hate that they assume that I’m going to use the medicine for an illegitimate purpose. No, I’m not going to snort it or sell it. Instead, I’m going to go to work every day, take my pills, and maintain a professional demeanor. Is that seriously so hard to imagine? Just because I’m young doesn’t mean that I’m trying to take advantage of the system. I’m sick and tired of feeling like a criminal just because I’m trying to get a prescription.

Ready for the cherry on top of the “Fuck you, HMO” sundae? I had to take a drug test to get a prescription for Adderall. I had to drive across town to pick up medicine that I was told wasn’t there when I went to pick up my other medicine two weeks ago – it was. And while I was there, I had to pee in a cup. A drug test? Are you kidding me?

I get that they want to make sure that I’m not abusing other drugs – I’m not – but at the same time, I’m a patient. I’m in their care. This is supposed to be a team effort to ensure my health and well-being. Instead, it seems like I’m being observed, held for the full 48 hours waiting for the indictment I know won’t come. I’ve never been drug tested before in my life. Not for any job. Not for any activity. Not for anything. And yet, to get a prescription for something that I’ve already been taking for 8 months, I have to go put my card in a box, push a doorbell, and wait to be handed a plastic cup,

In order to get the new prescription, not only do I have to pass the drug test, I also have to get an EKG at some point in the next few weeks. Do they think I have endless amounts of time to spend not working and getting tests run? Ridiculous. God, it’d probably be easier to buy my meds off some kid on the street.

The mental health drone was quick to assure me that segmented health care is great, once you get used to it, and that she’ll contact me via email but we most likely won’t meet for another year. I’m fine with that, but I guess there’s a disconnect for me between “be well” and the fact that I’m just a member number and a urine sample to them now. I’ll wait in their lines. I’ll wait for my name to flash on the board so I can go stand in another line. I’ll never see the same Kaiser employee twice. I’ll be stickers on a piece of paper. I’ll be copays. But I won’t be Katie Barry, the person. I won’t be Katie Barry, who has individual needs.  I’ll be that damn member number and nothing more.

I realize that this will pass and that my level of indignation is probably a little over-dramatic. But I don’t care. I feel like a head of cattle and I hate it. I’ve always been a little bit on the sensitive side, afraid to get into trouble, and feeling so scrutinized, like I’ve just been called into the principal’s office, for something I can’t help is more than just a bit disconcerting to me. I imagine that as we continue with this journey, I’ll get more comfortable with the system, but for now, I’m annoyed, overwhelmed, and seriously not happy with my providers or the level of care I’m receiving.

On the Weekend Full of Children, Not as Creepily as that Sounds

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None of my friends want children. I want them. At least I did, until I spent the last three days herding twenty-one three and four-year olds around. They’re adorable, I swear, but oh my goodness, so many tears. So many bathroom breaks. Such a challenge to keep them happy, make sure they all have their stuff, and then on top of that, try to keep them entertained.

I don’t know how parents are able to work eight hours (or more) a day and then go home and be rockstar parents. I have enough trouble trying to manage the work-life balance myself (apparently a glass of wine does not count as dinner and cleaning is something you have to do 24/7).

But they’re so cute. During the nap time that wasn’t, I was playing with a little boy who had a stuffed zebra. I would make kissing sounds and “kiss” him with the zebra on his face and arms. He took the zebra and did the same thing to me, laughing. Zebra kisses are the best kind.

Another little boy was telling me all about his family. “Mommy said that some daddies don’t want to be daddies and that some mommies don’t want to be mommies,” he said, so matter-of-factly. I hope that his mom also explained that being adopted means that your biological parents wanted the absolute best for you and made a brave and beautiful choice to give you to another family. (Or as Avery, my neighbor would say, traded you in.)

My brother is a fascinating human being. Very wise and observant. The most kind-hearted individual you will ever meet. The kids in South Africa loved him and I have no doubt that his group of middle-schoolers loved him just as much. Mike was thrilled at the prospect of being able to do some field research. Both of us were adopted, and Mike is studying sociology and biology in college. He wants to focus on the nature vs. nurture question that plagues us all. (Does it plague you? Perhaps not. But I see so many similarities between myself and my birth mother, but also a great many similarities between myself and my mother.) He was excited to see how adoption has played a role in the lives of these children, particularly because of the race difference between them and their parents.

Camp was great. I hope that the parents got a lot out of the sessions, and I hope that all of the kids had enough fun that they’ll be willing to come back next year.

After camp, I babysat. (Child overload, mind you.) We went to Chuck E. Cheese. (Ha, the middle child used to call it “Yucky Cheese” before she could pronounce it. I find her description to be rather accurate.) Flashing lights, colors, the smell of pizza, the terrifying guy in a Chuck E. suit (mascots are one of my biggest fears – no idea why). The girls were thrilled to go home with tiny prizes – a ring for the baby, a magic trick for the middle one, and a bracelet for the eldest.

The mom and dad are some of my favorite parents. They’re always asking me about my life, and have been so incredibly supportive (and curious about) my ADHD diagnosis and the ways in which I’ve chosen to address it. (They’re dealing with it too.)

The mom was like, “What’s your boyfriend’s name again?” I started laughing. “I guess [her husband] didn’t fill you in….” I said, and proceeded to give her the quick update. Unlike a lot of people who give me endless amounts of crap about my dating habits, they’re fully supportive of them. She’s always reminding me that this is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing at this point in my life. I love it because instead of feeling that what I am doing is a negative thing, they totally see that you date, you change your mind, and you find something else more exciting, challenging, and fun. It’s so good to have people in a happy marriage who support me so much.

She also said some things that made me glow inside. She told me that they think I’m adorable (surprising, considering that I show up at their house on a weekly basis with no makeup on and generally disheveled), and she pointed out that she sees me as being more mature than my peers, and said that she absolutely understands the frustration that comes with trying to date within my age group.

Agreed. But all the old ones are a touch crazy: a 43-year old once asked me to dinner – which I was totally down for – but then told me that his wife left him for the tennis instructor (note to self: never let my husband get a tennis instructor) and texted before our dinner to tell me that he had some weird “viral rash” and that he was fine, but uncomfortable. First of all – what’s a “viral rash”? and second, this is a statement that falls under the “way too much information before the first date” category. Obviously, you can imagine my reaction: there was no first date.

That was a terrible story to end such a happy, rambling blog post.

So here’s this:  My first task upon returning to my desk: looking into buying 500 units of logo-branded silly putty. I love my job.

On Volunteering, Excitedly

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Exhaustion to end the week, but the exhaustion is the best kind.

Mike and I have volunteered to be counselors at an adoption camp this weekend. We started today, and will go until Sunday. Mike will be working with middle and high schoolers, and I’ve been assigned to Pre-K. (I can’t even tell you how excited I am! Pre-K is the best time. They’re still so cute and baby-ish, but you can see their future grown-up selves starting to shine through.)

The camp is an African Caribbean Heritage Camp – it’s been held in Denver for 14 years now. Most of the counselors are of African or Caribbean descent, but since Mike and I were both adopted, we fit the counselor profile as well. This year’s theme is: The Colors of Us: Celebrating Transracial Adoption.

We meet the kids tomorrow morning, and Mike will be up early to go on a day-long white water rafting trip. (White-water? Not so much. We had terrible snow this winter, and it’s already August, so I feel like it’ll be more like a float trip with some bumps along the way that will stand in for rapids.)

While the counselors are keeping the kids entertained, the parents are attending different sessions and workshops all centering on adoption, race, and culture. One of the sessions held on Saturday will be discussing white privilege through the lens of transracial adoption. The high school kids will be attending the session with their parents and the counselors, and I think that’s an awesome opportunity for discussion and reflection. I’ll be curious to hear what Mike has to say about it.

Mike and I haven’t gotten to do anything like this since we were in South Africa, and I know that we’re both really looking forward to this weekend.

Cute stories, quickly, before I fall asleep on my keyboard:

My mom’s little neighbor, who’s still working through adoption in her mind, asked me how old I was when I was “traded in” the other day.  Hah, I had such a good laugh about that. Traded in, like they just wanted a newer model or something.

AND…..

Guess what I got at Costco today? (Besides a Polish sausage covered in spicy mustard.) Both seasons of Party Down for $11.99. Life is beautiful (and so is Adam Scott).

Going to be a hectic – but very fun – weekend!

On Breakfast in Bed and Bitches, Pragmatically

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I changed my mind about the potential chauvinism deal. I mean, I didn’t change my mind, exactly.

You’ll get your chance to explain where you’re coming from. You will bring over brownie mix, and he’ll make brownies. You’ll watch movies, ones that you haven’t seen but that he thinks you’ll like. He’ll be right. You won’t sleep because you will be too excited. You will talk about everything. You will tease each other. You will make plans. You will talk politics and find some common ground. You will fall asleep and when you open your eyes, he will be walking through the door with the bacon and eggs that he woke up early to make just for you. You will be so happy. You will do the dishes as quietly as you can, since he’s asleep. You think feminist thoughts while you’re doing the dishes. You will leave him cherries in a bowl in the fridge. You will awkwardly say hello to his landlady on the way out, then panic and wonder if you should have made better conversation than “Hi!” as you shut the door.

***

I have been working at the same office building for a year and a half. I have never had an assigned parking spot, but every day, I park in the same spot. For the past week or so, I’ve been noticing that if I don’t get to the office early enough (ha, my definition of early is much different from yours, I’ll imagine), someone will be in “my” spot.

So yesterday, I had to park in a different spot. Our parking system is totally unintelligible and strange, so when you see a spot that has no number painted into the concrete at its opening, you assume that it’s free. So I parked in one.

I went to my car after work to see a note. “THIS IS A RESERVED PARKING SPACE.” Pssh, like hell it is. So I texted my boss and told him that it is probably time to see about getting me a real parking spot. My lovely lady boss went down to greet the very scary building secretary today, and was met with resistance. Lots of resistance.

And, to top off that resistance, the scary building secretary said something to my lady boss about how she recognized my license plate and also the fact that my car had duct tape on it. What exactly does that have to do with anything?

My car took a beating in Chicago. I was the hit part of a hit-and-run, leaving a giant jagged wound in my back bumper. My windows were spray painted. (For like a month, I had to roll down my window to turn left because the word “PAIN” was in my way. I eventually paid a guy $8 to razor-blade the paint off.) My front side bumper was hit. I was driving along a narrow street and a man opened his door, shattering my side-view mirror.

All of these things are parts of Chicago that I will carry with me until my car dies, because even though I pay Allstate a significant amount of money each month in “full-coverage” insurance and have never been in an accident that they had to pay any money for, it’s going to cost me my full deductible to fix each individual incident of damage, which at current count is 2 new bumpers and whatever else they decide that they’ll need. Duct tape, on the other hand, is $4/roll, and every time I buy it, my insurance doesn’t go up.

With the transmission starting to get janky – through no fault of my own, it’s a 3rd gear pressure switch thing, whatever that means – I’m making important decisions and stocking away money to fix that when it goes rather than keeping up with your needless aesthetic expectations.

So, scary building secretary, the reason that my car looks like it belongs to an undesirable is merely because of the financial advantages to not fixing my car (plus, no one wants to steal a car that’s not worth chopping up and selling). Don’t think that I haven’t looked into it, because I have. Stop judging people for what their cars look like. The quality of their hearts and souls is of far greater importance.

The conclusion here? I now have an assigned parking spot. I am annoyed about it. But…the parking spot coupled with my brand new dual monitors (46 inches of computer screen!) means that I am having a great week. I am so blessed to work where I do. I am so grateful. Currently bitchy, but so incredibly happy.

On Almost, Miserably

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Clouds over Denver International Airport at Sunset

(That’s what half-relief looks like.)

It’s a touch melodramatic, but whatever.

No one wants to fail. Or even come close to almost failing. But brushing the sharp edge of great accomplishment and even greater ruin is something that must be done. It builds character.

This particular task was a big project at work. We didn’t have to do it, but I pushed. I wanted to prove that it could be done. And we almost had it. I was there. I spent my Friday night typing answers into spreadsheets (damn you, spreadsheets!). I emailed updates to my team, as we had previously discussed, so that everyone would be on the same page. I was ready. I sat down this morning and I started the remaining pieces. I was prepared. I coordinated work efforts. I printed ahead to avoid the same conflicts we’d run into previously.

But as it always does, time slips away when I most need it to linger. The final pieces didn’t come together until way too late. The printers are like prehistoric beasts that amble on at their own speed (well obviously, they’re machines. You can’t make them go any faster). The humans who feed them (imagine me as zookeeper here) are caught up in the middle of a million things, and so the beasts spit out the wrong pages, printed on the back of the right pages, or worse yet, you survive printing only to meet a downfall somewhere else.

I hate team efforts. In theory, they’re so great. Everyone will work together, and it will all be good. But in the end, something always goes wrong. Then there’s the inevitable finger-pointing and attempts to come up with new plans. (Not that I’m saying that happens all the time to all people, I’m generalizing. But I’m also not wrong.)

Not that I’m so afraid they’ll fire me. I mean, I live in a constant state of fear of termination – even though I’ve never been fired from anything in my life – so much so that every time my boss emails me and says, “Come into my office,” even if it’s a meeting I’ve called, a jolt of panic shoots through my heart. I imagine that by the time I finally quell that fear, I’ll be called into an office somewhere only to enter entirely nonchalantly and given the news that I’m being let go. So instead, I think I’ll just keep letting the tiny panic happen. It’s reassuring.

I so desperately want to prove that I can handle it. I like it. I like challenge and projects, and being busy. I so desperately want to be able to handle it. “It” is the crushing weight of projects right now. I want to think that they’ll all be perfect, that they’ll be shipped off quietly and early, that we’ll manage to finally get one done where no one has to stress, but I don’t imagine that will ever be. That’s the problematic nature of team efforts. They don’t get easier with more hands, but they don’t get easier with fewer hands, either.

For my part, I swear I’m trying. I’m trying so damn hard. I worked so hard to avoid any of these problems this time. I corrected. I made adjustments. I thought ahead, but apparently, not far enough.

I found myself driving to the airport at 7:30 pm, pushing the accelerator down with abandon, gripping the steering wheel and staring intently into the distance, wishing that I could somehow close the gap between my location and my destination with sheer will.

[Of course, my gas light came on. With 50 or so miles to go, the gas light is a terrifying thing. I never let the tank get low. I’m the type of person who fills up at a quarter tank. This was, of course, just another inconvenient error in a month that’s seemed to be an endless tragic comedy of all things unintentional and yet so disheartening. Think of the new tires immediately after Las Vegas. Another example? Yesterday, I put my ice cream in the fridge instead of the freezer. Perhaps it’s early-onset dementia, but perhaps it’s just life overload. On the plus side, I made it back to my neck of the woods without running out of gas.]

I arrived with time to spare. For the second time in as many months, I got free packaging. The address checked out. Everything fit neatly. In less than five minutes, I was on my way out the door, finally headed home. So that’s a relief. We made it. Hectic and hellish, but done.

Through a series of misfortunate events (both of my own making and of the kind that fate likes to throw in just for fun), I keep coming up short lately (in life, too, not just work). Tomorrow, I’ll walk in there and take responsibility for everything, and I’ll feel like a failure.  I’m just so frustrated. With myself. With this summer. With all of it.

But at least now I can look forward. Hopefully tomorrow will bring something wonderful. Tuesdays are usually such good days.

On ADD, non-“disastrous”ly

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From The Economist:

Attention-deficit disorder (ADD) is another entrepreneur-friendly affliction: people who cannot focus on one thing for long can be disastrous employees but founts of new ideas. Some studies suggest that people with ADD are six times more likely than average to end up running their own businesses. David Neeleman, the founder of JetBlue, a budget airline, says: “My ADD brain naturally searches for better ways of doing things. With the disorganisation, procrastination, inability to focus and all the other bad things that come with ADD, there also come creativity and the ability to take risks.” Paul Orfalea, the founder of Kinko’s and a hotch-potch of businesses since, has both ADD and dyslexia. “I get bored easily; that is a great motivator,” he once said. “I think everybody should have dyslexia and ADD.”

Firstly, hotch-potch? Googled it. Turns out it’s English-English for hodgepodge. Relief! I had a moment of panic during which I thought I’d been using “hodgepodge” incorrectly for years. Blimey.

I swear, though, I’m not a disastrous employee, although I will admit to being awesome at disorganization (you should see my desk) and procrastination. I do my best thinking when I’m on my lunch break. I am lucky enough to work in an environment conducive to my needs and my abilities. Since I work in a non-traditional office setting, I find that I am able to adapt my work tasks to best meet my own needs. It doesn’t hurt that I have a managerial team that understands my strengths and weaknesses, and is always ready and available for help and guidance. In the year and a half (has it really been that long!?) that I’ve worked at my company, I’ve been able to add a variety of tasks to my job description. I never have to do one thing for too long, and consequently, am usually happily busy and engaged. I am also allowed quite a bit of creative input, which has led to some great things. I’m also accruing various responsibilities, which means that I can’t get too far off track (ever) or we will suffer disastrous consequences (probably).

 

On work, industriously

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Lately, I’ve been on a work high. (And no, it’s not because I’m spending too much time with my highlighters uncapped.)

I’m finally feeling incredibly fulfilled by what I do. The fact that I have my own office doesn’t hurt either, nor does the shoes-optional policy we have here. (!!!! If you know me, you know how much I detest shoes and socks. Barefoot = productivity. Barefoot and in business clothes = I’m taking over the world with my awesomeness.)

I have nothing but incredible respect for my bosses.

My boss – who knew me before he hired me because we played trivia on the same team – was so accommodating of my lack of focus, and it’s mostly because of my very gentle yearly review last year – in which he mentioned that I’m great but that my lack of focus was preventing me from tackling more responsibilities – that I got evaluated for ADHD. Since being diagnosed (and medicated), I’ve noticed that my work productivity has skyrocketed.

He always says “we are not what we do,” and he means it. Family comes first. Yes, work does have to leave the office sometimes, but nothing is so important that everything else must be sacrificed in favor of the bottom line.

They created a position for me, and I’ve ended up picking up responsibilities here and there, creating quite a complex and interesting job description. From writing proposals, scheduling and attending demos, web development, client relations, technical support (but only sometimes) and everything else marketing to changing the toner and handling shipping issues, I’m never bored. And furthermore, as I learn more, I am able to do more. Last week, I got to amend a database design to include specific functionality for a potential client.

It’s not like I’ve not had some misses, as well. Remember last year when I tried to organize a building-wide blood drive? Apparently, I work in a building full of scrooge’s, because no one would donate and I ended up filling the schedule with my family, who were more than happy to donate to save my ass.

(While I realize that the rest of you do all of this all the time, this is relatively new for me. This is my first “real” job – even though I’ve been here for 16 months – and it’s the first time that I’ve really felt like my contribution matters. These are the firsts that I’m never going to have again, and I intend to savor them. So shut up and wipe that smug look off your face. You were 23 once.)

I sincerely hope that they find me as valuable as I find them.

Of course they do, I’m Katie Barry.

About the highlighters – post-ADHD diagnosis, I went from being way too laid back to being way too uptight, particularly about documents. I find that I’m only able to really feel comfortable if I have a printed copy of my proposals that I can highlight as I go – so that I can later go back and reference stuff. I color code them based on whatever categories I decide deserve particular attention.

Ordering office supplies one day, I saw that boxes of highlighters were on sale for $1. So I bought a bunch. Apparently, one of my co-workers and my boss were in the supply room making fun of me for all the highlighters, and wondering why I had purchased so many. You don’t pass up $1 highlighters. psssh.

PS – Swisher comes tomorrow! And I’m 24 on Friday! It’s been such a wild year! Time is flying!

PPS – All of those exclamation marks were absolutely necessary!

On Gender and Ambition, dejectedly

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(I still have backlogs of articles I’d like to address, so hopefully I can start posting and writing my critiques, comments, etc. soon!)

Madeline sent me this link last week and I thought I’d share the article with you.

Before you read it, know this: I’m a huge believer in the idea that there can be successful co-parenting, or successful relationships, or marriages full of good sex (or all of those things combined with monetary comfort!).

While I don’t think I’d last too long as a stay-at-home mom, I also don’t imagine my future to be full of trying to work 60 hour weeks and then awesome parenting while my husband just hangs out.

Note to readers: this is all coming from my childhood. My extreme paranoia about terrible husbands stems from my past experiences. My mom worked her ass off trying to support us all financially (and put my brother and I through private schools) while my dad didn’t take on the additional burden of stay-at-home dad (including, but not limited to: laundry, cooking, dishes, cleaning, childcare, etc.) even though it would have been well within his means and skill set and would have drastically improved the parental-contribution-to-the-family-via-work balance that did not exist.

Admittedly, my memories have been lost to my own subconscious erasure as well as the emotional tints that seem to color our own recollections of the past. Therefore, I can claim no exact memory validity yet still claim personal memory legitimacy. Whatever. You try to recollect and see for yourself how difficult it can be.

Regardless, as a young, twenty-something woman, I do feel pressure. Tons of pressure. Some of it is self-inflicted and some of it stems from a whole host of other influences. That pressure to succeed drives my work ethic, my independence, my stubborn sense of self, and my panic about the future. (Always panic, that’d be my motto.)

I always read the comments, too. Sometimes they’re far more enlightening than the content of the article itself. Since this one only has three, it wasn’t difficult to get through them. Here’s the lengthiest (is that a word?) one:

BRYANROBB
I expected more from you, Good. This is terribly one sided reporting, and borderline misandristic to the likes of Jezebel. No wonder men don’t want to marry, every which way we turn we’re getting boxed and blamed. Did you ever stop to consider that the older men who make more than their women counterparts are the last vestiges of a bygone era? Soon they will retire, and as the women age through the system it is very likely that these young women will make more than their male counterparts. Also, give me the kids over cut throat corporate America any day. The two earner model is the cause of our failures as decent parents, all so we can afford more stuff? I don’t care who works and who doesn’t, but someone needs to be home with the kids in the formative years. And sure, I’m definitely for subsidizing child care. For single MOMs and DADs. Too bad almost all low income entitlements go to girls and men are exempt. Stop waging war on men for Pete’s sake.

I don’t disagree that this article is very one-sided. But then again, there’s not enough space in the world to give equal time to discuss women’s ambitions while simultaneously deconstructing the reasons that men may feel maligned by the media and neglected about the social pressures they face.

This article isn’t about men.

The only time that the author (whose posts I generally adore, by the way) could REALLY use some more statistical reference is when she says,

And while women are consumed with the problems of “work-life balance”—trying to maintain a successful career while raising a family—men seldom feel as much pressure or face as much doubt about their ability to “do it all.”

I don’t know that she’s entirely correct in making that assumption. I’d argue that men are feeling the pressure to “do it all” but instead of being accepted, they’re facing the same social stigmas that have kept gendered activities as segregated as a 7th grade school dance for so many generations.
Regardless of our new stances on equality and whatnot, we are failing to accept that there are differences. In our quest for equalization, we’ve neglected so much about individuality, about personality, about biology, and in doing so, we’ve created a situation that’s arguably far worse than before.
Take the emergence of “stay at home dads,” for instance. Advertising for household items is always geared toward women. Stay at home dads aren’t given the same amount of respect. It’s emasculating, I’m sure, to know that people don’t value what you do. But then again, welcome to the flip side of things.
For me, a household has many factors for success. You need cash flow to buy supplies, necessities, etc. But you also need to address the rest of it: chores, bills, laundry, parenting, cooking, shopping, maintenance, etc. Those two elements (the cash flow and the “rest of it”) need to be in harmony in order for a household to maintain successful balance. Communication is key. More than that, all parties need to recognize the importance of contributions made for the common good of the household.
Honestly, the thing that scares me most about this article is the bad sex after marriage, not to mention the extra weight, less money and more stress. But then again, it’s up to those women (obligatory heterosexual bias of the media comment here) to stand up to their husbands and tell them what’s up. I won’t stand for more housework, more stress, and less sex. And he’ll know that before he marries me. If that’s a deal breaker, I will have chosen the wrong man.

Why Are Young Women More Ambitious? They Have to Be


The headline of a new study by the Pew Research Center claims to have discovered “A Gender Reversal On Career Aspirations.” But upon closer inspection, the study appears to imply that young women are more ambitious than men their age across the board. Sixty-six percent of 18 to 34-year-old women rate their career high on their list of life priorities, compared with 59 percent of young men. This figure hasn’t really “reversed,” but it has shifted markedly in the past 15 years—in 1997, only 56 percent of young women felt the same way, compared to 58 percent of men.

Today’s young women aren’t planning to make any sacrifices on the home front, either—they’re prioritizing their personal lives, too. The amount of young women who say that having a successful marriage is one of the most important things in their lives has risen nine percentage points since 1997, from 28 to 37 percent. For young men, that stat is trending in the opposite direction—from 35 percent in 1997 to 29 percent now. More young women than men care about being a good parent—59 percent, compared to 47 percent of their male counterparts. It looks like young women are more likely to be thinking consciously about their priorities, period. Do dudes just not give thought to their futures at all?

Perhaps guys aren’t mulling their life priorities because they trust that marriage, parenthood and career usually work out better for them in the longrun. They’re right about that. When women begin their careers, they earn virtually the same as their male peers (95 cents to every dude dollar), but as they near their early thirties, the pay gap widens—women have kids, take maternity leave, and stall their careers for a few years, or else they get passed over for promotions and yearly raises. By the time a women nears retirement age, she earns around 75 cents for every dollar a man her age earns.

Although marriage is lower on young men’s list of priorities, they’ll fare better when they eventually tie the knot. Numerous studies show that married men are happier, live longer, make more money, and experience less stress, while married women are rewarded with more housework, less money, worse sex and a few extra pounds. And while women are consumed with the problems of “work-life balance”—trying to maintain a successful career while raising a family—men seldom feel as much pressure or face as much doubt about their ability to “do it all.” Women still end up performing the majority of the parenting, regardless of their jobs, and despite public platitudes revering the work of motherhood, the lack of universal childcare and inadequate (or nonexistent) parental-leave policies set women up to fail.

No amount of girl power—or denial—can obscure these deep-set gender dynamics. Women are acutely aware of the need to be especially ambitious in order to succeed—the same extra ambition any marginalized group needs to climb the career ladder and crack glass ceilings. It’s the reason more women are getting college degrees, and the reason why many women try more intently to find a mate at a younger age (although that’s changing). The sexual economy, as well as the professional one, are simply skewed in men’s favor, especially as the years go on. Why wouldn’t they be more relaxed about their life choices?

Photo by (cc) Flickr user gcoldironjr2003.

article source: GOOD

On Being Wrong (and admitting it, ugh)

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The other night, I made false claims as to Colorado’s status on the list of most STI infected states in the US. (I was absolutely bullshitting, for the record, although I think that one of my co-workers – or somebody?, in an attempt to scare me into post-collegiate celibacy, may have planted a statistical seed in my mind at some point that obviously blossomed into anti-fact.)
I double checked because I don’t like being wrong.
Turns out, it’s not Colorado at all. We’re not even in the top ten. It’s basically all of the South. And then New York and Illinois rounding out the top 10. (Get it, Chicago, and Joliet, and Urbana-Champaign. But mostly Towanda.)
Anyway. I apologize for spouting out untruths and have to clarify them because otherwise, my catchphrase “I’m not wrong” carries less weight.

(Ha, this is exactly like when I told Emily that we’re probably selling guns to Iran. Which, in all fairness, we probably are. Although we’re probably selling them through untraceable third-parties on the black market. I was just leaping across the middlemen to draw broad conclusions and left out the important middlemen parts. She looked at me like I was some sort of horrible anti-patriot. Needless to say, awkward situation ensued and I’ve avoided spouting out my beliefs on gun running ever since. Until now.)

In other “being wrong” news: I was talking to Tobias last night about my failure at the grad school thing. And basically, he reminded me that I’m an idiot (he didn’t actually call me an idiot) for only applying to one place [I was only thinking tuition cost] and then told me that he applied to more than 12 places before being accepted. He also reminded me that there are plenty of people actually working in the field who have super legit qualifications and are vying for the same spots. This made me feel better, although I didn’t admit it to him. “There’s no way I’m going to make you happy today, is there?” he asked. I shook my head, determined to be as difficult as possible.

On the plus side, it looks like my freelance job came through! I’m about to add WordPress to my list of skills, although I’m hoping that I can convince her to go another direction. I’m excited – this is going to be a challenging (and hopefully incredibly rewarding) project!

On Everything

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The Broncos won last night!! Such a good game to be at! The fourth quarter was lovely! And the weather was nice. I’m still not on the Tebow bandwagon, but at least I’m feeling a bit more proud of our team. Uncle Mike wins awesome Uncle of the Year award for hauling us back to the Light Rail station at DU, and also because his commentary during the game always makes me smile. He’s the best to sit by.  (Also, Mom and I were reminiscing about the drive to Chicago all those years ago. And he still wins for that.)

Tomorrow is National Adoption Day. Did you know that there are over 107,000 kids in foster care waiting to be adopted? A lot of them won’t ever be, which is really sad. Every child deserves a family.
I hope that when I grow up (a little more), I am able to be a foster parent or at least get involved in helping foster kids find good adoptive homes.

http://www.ccainstitute.org/our-programs/national-adoption-day.html

Also, Mike just finished writing a big paper for his psychology class about adoptions and success in life. If you’re interested, you might email him and ask for a copy. I know that he spent a lot of time working on it and considering all of the factors that can affect people who’ve been adopted.

My boss (who has four adopted children of his own) always says that kids who are adopted only want to know two things: why they were given up and who their birth parents are. He’s so right. I know why I’m where I am today and I know half of who my birth parents are, but I find that as I get older, the desire to know just what my biological father looked like grows stronger. Where is this nose from?!

I’m stoked to procreate the regular way one day and have kids who look like me, but I think that should I run into conception challenges – I’d absolutely consider adoption over other fertility stuff. (Not knocking all the IVF and surrogacy stuff, just saying.)

Today is Grandpa George’s birthday (he would have been 86) and my half-birthday. Mom always sends me a text on my half birthday, and every year, I have no idea that it’s today until I get it. (This is also just another piece of evidence that she loves me more than Mike – he doesn’t get half-birthday texts or facebook wall posts.)

Happy Birthday Grandpa George! I emailed Grandma to say that this would have been the age we would have started to tease him about being very elderly.

Pretending that you’re not as poor as you are is getting to be really stressful. I know that I make a lot of lifestyle choices, including my adventures, but each of those choices involve a lot of careful planning and sacrifice. I am so grateful for all of the support systems I have in my life – I know that if I was desperate, I could call Mom, but at the same time, I’m so determined to be completely independent that I won’t dare. There’s no need. I won’t rely on anyone to take care of me. Not now, or ever.
Once bills and rent and loan payments are made, the daily budget sits somewhere around $15 (give or take) – which sounds like it’s good enough until you realize that filling your car up with gas is two days worth of life expenses. Everything comes down to “how many days do I lose?” if I do or eat or buy this or that or the other thing. That said, I refuse to let experiences pass me by. I will not stay home and let life go on without me.  There are so many things I’d like to do (like get Simon a new bumper, one month of life expenses) that fall by the wayside. I spend a lot of time stressing out about this (and retirement), especially since I feel like so many of my friends (all of them) are making more than me.
I realize I shouldn’t complain. I’m really lucky. I’m happy at work; I’m learning a lot; it’s a laid-back environment (which I need and thrive in).
But it makes me feel like I’m not good enough, not as smart, not as talented, not as driven, not as successful, not as goal oriented, not as focused, utterly lacking potential for growth. (There’s a lot of NOTs in there, and I’d like to be able to focus more of my energy on being less NOT and more BE – as in I AM successful, I AM goal oriented, I AM focused, driven, etc.) It’s just overwhelmingly frustrating and really scary. I would like just one month where I could buy a new pair of jeans (a week or so out of my budget). Or boots that didn’t come from Target (3x the daily budget). Or eat three meals a day. Maybe next year. Maybe I just need to find another weekend job. Or start babysitting more. I’ve been eating the same damn baguette (1/7 of the daily budget) for three days now, and I’m getting about as annoyed as it is stale.

Sorry, that was ridiculous and completely self-pitying, but it needed to come out. I need to remind myself that I’m wallowing sometimes. It helps when it’s public – it makes you think twice before having any self-depreciating moments. It also enhances the wince and the inner shame. Both are great character builders.
🙂

Tonight, one of my favorite bands is in town. I didn’t even know they were coming (what does that say about me?) until yesterday when I saw that they had tweeted from Colorado Springs. But they’re going to be here! And I have tickets! And I’m beyond excited! Between this concert and the one in two weeks (Mickey Avalon), I am crossing two bands off my bucket list. It’s going to be a productive end to 2011.
Shwayze – Get U Home
Shwayze – Crazy For You
Shwayze – Drunk Off Your Love

Tomorrow is up in the air. I’m either going to take Mike’s car and go up to the mountains before babysitting, or I’m going to write my personal statement for grad school and get the mountain of laundry done before it threatens to eat both me and Carlos.
I’m secretly hoping that laundry wins this battle. I have just wanted to get rid of everything I own lately. I just want to pare down my clothes pile so that I’m only keeping what I’ll actually wear. I would also like to clean the entire apartment from top to bottom.

It’s been one of those really long weeks. I’m physically and mentally exhausted. I’ve done a lot of stuff, though. Boulder, Broncos game, Suite 200 – never again, whatever it was that I did on Monday night. I’m in a great mood and I’d like to channel this positive energy into something useful, like a clean apartment.

Also, because I haven’t subjected you to the torture that is looking at cat pictures lately, here’s Carlos just waking up. Notice how annoyed he looks to be bothered. I love him so very much. And I’d like to think that he loves me too. I think he does.