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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cDSHw_eCp7ImA9WhRbGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888</id><updated>2012-02-10T19:44:39.240-05:00</updated><category term="life scripts" /><category term="finances" /><category term="favors" /><category term="nice guys" /><category term="audience participation" /><category term="community" /><category term="boys" /><category term="relationships" /><category term="Zac Wilson" /><category term="Suburban Sabbatical" /><category term="gay friends" /><category 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term="reunions" /><category term="men" /><category term="visitors" /><category term="Lemondrop.com" /><category term="R" /><title>20-Nothings</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>649</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/20-nothings" /><feedburner:info uri="20-nothings" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8ESHc5cSp7ImA9WhRbF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-7403567559465789885</id><published>2012-02-09T07:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T07:00:09.929-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-09T07:00:09.929-05:00</app:edited><title>Perfecting the "Come Hither" look</title><content type="html">I've finally figured out why I A. often struggled to get guys to approach me in bars and B. hate both Mary Louise Park and Scarlett Johansson.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The answer, in a picture, is this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bFGcbDXSQsA/TzNKlswOL6I/AAAAAAAAB0w/isEVHAhs4CQ/s1600/Mary-Louise-Parker.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 242px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bFGcbDXSQsA/TzNKlswOL6I/AAAAAAAAB0w/isEVHAhs4CQ/s200/Mary-Louise-Parker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706987164337581986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OAbctGrp1T0/TzNKrqzlP1I/AAAAAAAAB08/mEqZyOcO7JA/s1600/scarlett%2Bjohansson%2Bpic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 322px; height: 241px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OAbctGrp1T0/TzNKrqzlP1I/AAAAAAAAB08/mEqZyOcO7JA/s200/scarlett%2Bjohansson%2Bpic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706987266894020434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See what they're doing there? Smiling but by no means really smiling?  Saying, "oh, hello there..." without actually suggesting that they want anything to do with whomever they're looking at?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like they're both full of passion and lust and yet don't have a single thought running through their minds. Are they happy? Are they sad? Are they drunk? I don't know, and neither do the men of the world.  All they see is a look that somehow means I AM SEX.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That&lt;/span&gt; is a face I have never made in my entire life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that's not true.  Earlier this afternoon I tried to make it 15 or 20 times in R's bathroom mirror.  I think I got one or two out, but I can't be sure because there weren't any guys in R's bathroom to give me blank sexy-eyes back. The realization came to me after I found myself both furious with and instantly attracted to Mary Louise Parker as featured in a new commercial for Showtime. So if you ever want to include someone in market research about the effectiveness of an ad campaign, I'm your girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It dawned upon me after re-watching that ad on YouTube 3-12 times, that I've spent most of my male wooing years making a face that looks something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-alw_3Ujq7Cc/TzNL5NXBtxI/AAAAAAAAB1I/Le0pPfpbEI0/s1600/julia-roberts-450pxw-ap090312029748.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-alw_3Ujq7Cc/TzNL5NXBtxI/AAAAAAAAB1I/Le0pPfpbEI0/s320/julia-roberts-450pxw-ap090312029748.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706988599019419410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;See what Julia's doing there? She's actually smiling by employing the use of an up-turned, open mouth that reveals ample teeth.  That smile says, "HEYHEYHEY! YEAH! I'm RIGHT HERE! YEE-HAAWW!!" It is not mysterious.  It is not vague.  It is in your face happiness. That is the look I generally met would-be suitors with in my formerly single life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For comparison sake, let's take a look at Julie doing the MLParker/ScarJo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6q1Rofdklxw/TzNMel5T83I/AAAAAAAAB1U/uCULz04DpjE/s1600/julia-roberts-01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6q1Rofdklxw/TzNMel5T83I/AAAAAAAAB1U/uCULz04DpjE/s320/julia-roberts-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706989241260831602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mmhmm.  Closed mouth.  Curious eyes expressing no real sense of a defined emotion. Awkward positioning of the body sos to suggest both flexibility and the potential to walk away at a moment's notice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is she hungry? Is she horny? Men don't know, and so they're compelled to approach her so they can find out. I think... I don't really know what men like about this, but I know that they do, which is an improvement upon my previous 15 or so years of understanding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again, it's this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4avqLCheFgg/TzNNMbamsBI/AAAAAAAAB1g/WxchtxoQRL0/s1600/imgmary-louise%2Bparker4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4avqLCheFgg/TzNNMbamsBI/AAAAAAAAB1g/WxchtxoQRL0/s320/imgmary-louise%2Bparker4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706990028721664018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Versus this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ALwqaWQA-sk/TzNNYQlmq8I/AAAAAAAAB1s/a0DhNKhS6Xs/s1600/MV5BMjE2NTU1Nzk3OF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNzUxOTY1NA%2540%2540._V1._SY314_CR19%252C0%252C214%252C314_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 314px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ALwqaWQA-sk/TzNNYQlmq8I/AAAAAAAAB1s/a0DhNKhS6Xs/s320/MV5BMjE2NTU1Nzk3OF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNzUxOTY1NA%2540%2540._V1._SY314_CR19%252C0%252C214%252C314_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706990231973440450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Are we all clear?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ladies...and guys, I guess? Wait. Is this gender neutral? So it would be:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H-nMMWFcqGU/TzNOGG8FbqI/AAAAAAAAB14/DJLvpW9HfME/s1600/ryan-gosling-cover-nologo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H-nMMWFcqGU/TzNOGG8FbqI/AAAAAAAAB14/DJLvpW9HfME/s320/ryan-gosling-cover-nologo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706991019657359010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Versus:&lt;br /&gt;............................................................................................................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was me looking through about 300 images of Ryan Gosling "smiling." Not a' ONE of them features a millimeter of teeth. Case: closed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a look that says, "hello!" and a look that says, "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;um...can I help you?" &lt;/span&gt;And one has a significantly greater impact on the opposite sex than the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay. I think that about does it for the most ridiculous and yet informative blog post I've ever written.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good luck to you all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-7403567559465789885?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9WWPGmRfPryKoMjrevFH0LQsriw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9WWPGmRfPryKoMjrevFH0LQsriw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/b9DQGqGdt3c" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/7403567559465789885/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/02/perfecting-come-hither-look.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/7403567559465789885?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/7403567559465789885?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/b9DQGqGdt3c/perfecting-come-hither-look.html" title="Perfecting the &quot;Come Hither&quot; look" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bFGcbDXSQsA/TzNKlswOL6I/AAAAAAAAB0w/isEVHAhs4CQ/s72-c/Mary-Louise-Parker.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/02/perfecting-come-hither-look.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YGQXs-fip7ImA9WhRbFk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-6146905322954631176</id><published>2012-02-07T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-07T12:18:40.556-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-07T12:18:40.556-05:00</app:edited><title>Why Breaking Up Is (Digitally) Hard To Do</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3htmZh_FJAM/TzFcsACD6KI/AAAAAAAAB0k/gGGSi2MOWTc/s1600/Picture%2B1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 177px; height: 280px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3htmZh_FJAM/TzFcsACD6KI/AAAAAAAAB0k/gGGSi2MOWTc/s200/Picture%2B1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706444113847773346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A good friend of mine recently went through what can only be described as a very mature break up.  Both parties were polite.  Both parties were honest.  Both parties felt respected in the process. That does not mean there wasn't heart ache and disappointment, it just means no one was in blatant violation of my &lt;a href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2008/07/absolute-truths-breaking-up.html"&gt;previously outlined rules of breaking up&lt;/a&gt;. All seemed discussed and settled; the two would part ways, indefinitely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or...until a few days later when one among the set (obviously not my friend) sent a message via an iPhone app game. It was a friendly message, but an unwelcome and unexpected hello.  Seems they had forgotten to break up over all the necessary digital channels.  According to Words with Friends, they were still friends, exchanging words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out breaking up - like all of life - is now a multi-prong, digital process. You can do it IRL (as the tween set says), and as respectably as it comes, but then you have to work through what to do re: Facebook, Twitter, Linked In, Words with Friends, Hangin' With Friends, Instagram, FourSquare, and any other tools that previously suited your collective fancy. Mutual or not, amicable or hate-filled, no one wants to be reminded that it's "their turn to make a move." It's not. All moves have been made.  The game is officially over. (that's Words with Friends puns, in case you've foolishly decided against counting).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, what to do? You've had the break up convo, post break-up e-mails, and post break-up e-mail convo.  How do you slink out of the followings, friendships and games?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way I see it, you've got three options:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1. Cut off all ties without explanation&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfriend, un-follow, end game. It's not the most mature thing you'll ever do, no, but who cares? The relationship ended.  You don't owe it to Words with Friends to finish the game.  Words with Friends doesn't care...in its current version.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regarding whether or not you're upsetting the other party in your former party of two is the real issue.  Will he/she be hurt? confused? sad? Or, worse yet, will they think you're an immature, sad sack who couldn't finish a freaking game of digital hangman that isn't even called hangman?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For lack of kinder way to say this, who the hell cares?!?! You are no longer in a relationship. If you're the breaker-upper concerned about the dumpee, that's kind, but unnecessary. You're only hurting your former flame more by giving them hope that if the game lives on, so too might your love. If you're the dumpee concerned about whether or not the person who just dumped you will  find your process of digital detaching rude or immature then kindly remind yourself that this person just opted against dating you. Their rights to stalk your Facebook page have officially ended.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2. Cut off all ties with brief, awkward explanation&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Full disclosure, this is what I would do because I'm too chicken to end it all without some formal statement like, "I think it would be best if we stopped playing this game of online Scrabble for obviously reasons."  I can't decide if I would go through with a de-friending or de-LinkedIn-ing, but those are easier to manage because the other person doesn't receive a, "Jessie ended your game," message.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you do deploy this more PC method of cutting ties, try to do it with as little melodrama as possible.  Your goal is to remain the bigger, better person through this break up.  That gets hard if you send a message that reads, "I was going to play GOODBYE, but I didn't have the letters...seems fitting..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3. Do not engage in digital game play or social networking with someone you have been dating for one year or less. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you really need to be playing digital hangman with a person who you talk to 25 times a day? I realize the answer is yes, you need to be playing digital hangman with as many people as humanely possible so there isn't a moment in the day when you're left with zero options for procrastination. But still, there's something to be said for keeping it closer to the chest. Of course, I'd probably give pause to someone who refused to accept my LinkedIn request until we'd be dating for a bit longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it's awkward.  I know it's uncomfortable. I know it requires a degree of self control not common to our generation.  But just think, 10 years ago you'd have to drive your Cabriolet over to some jerks apartment and pick up your CDs in person.  This is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;way&lt;/span&gt; better than that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;*1,000 points for you if you noticed that, if you had the letters in the image up top, you could spell RIP, which is one brilliant way to end the game/relationship. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-6146905322954631176?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cBBlGX22bO4yBf_snariCUq08Bw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cBBlGX22bO4yBf_snariCUq08Bw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/rQahgEMMuMg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/6146905322954631176/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/02/why-breaking-up-is-digitally-hard-to-do.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6146905322954631176?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6146905322954631176?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/rQahgEMMuMg/why-breaking-up-is-digitally-hard-to-do.html" title="Why Breaking Up Is (Digitally) Hard To Do" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3htmZh_FJAM/TzFcsACD6KI/AAAAAAAAB0k/gGGSi2MOWTc/s72-c/Picture%2B1.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/02/why-breaking-up-is-digitally-hard-to-do.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEIMRX4_cCp7ImA9WhRbEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-353959737147074935</id><published>2012-02-02T12:34:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-02T13:16:24.048-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-02T13:16:24.048-05:00</app:edited><title>Two Genius Things To Improve Your Online Dating Plight</title><content type="html">It's rare that I use the words "genius" and "online dating" in the same sentence, let alone blog headline.  But in the case of these two game-changers, the hyperbole applies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meet EATER DATING and HITCH.ME (aka LINKED IN DATING).  Here are their stats:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;EATER DATING&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aINW22xozlQ/TyrSi8Tn0WI/AAAAAAAAB0M/OZabIf1FaYI/s1600/Picture%2B1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 347px; height: 66px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aINW22xozlQ/TyrSi8Tn0WI/AAAAAAAAB0M/OZabIf1FaYI/s200/Picture%2B1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704603375763968354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Origin&lt;/span&gt;: The popular food blog Eater.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mission Statement&lt;/span&gt;: connect like food-minded people through like food-centric dates&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;How It Works&lt;/span&gt;: (their words) "Each day we'll send you new dates that match your interests. And, of  course, we'll send the dates you post to people who might like them.  Then you can check out people's profiles, message, and go out. It's fun,  easy and natural.  People are at their best when they're doing what  they really like to do. And that's what &lt;strong&gt;HowAboutWe&lt;/strong&gt; is all about: helping you to find people who like the same places and want to do the same things as you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Why It Works&lt;/span&gt;: (my opinion) You finally have something very specific to organize a date around, an "excuse" if you will.  I've been dying to try these sandwiches at a specific shop in Los Feliz.  If I were on Eater Dating I'd find someone interesting and propose that very idea.  Now it's not just, "you seem cute" or "I like you profile" but "I notice you live in Loz Feliz, and I've been dying to try this specific sandwich at this specific restaurant.  Want to join me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Who It Works For&lt;/span&gt;: Technically everyone, but it will probably work best for people who enjoy trying new restaurants and are interested in interesting foods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Really?? Compatibility Based on Food Choice?&lt;/span&gt;: What? You've got a better idea? Dating is a numbers game, so the more chances you give yourself to meet someone based on like interested, the better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;HITCH.ME (aka Linked In Dating)&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jvJI5IAD-Es/TyrSwMz6L7I/AAAAAAAAB0Y/tbtNtSywZxA/s1600/Picture%2B2.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 313px; height: 89px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jvJI5IAD-Es/TyrSwMz6L7I/AAAAAAAAB0Y/tbtNtSywZxA/s200/Picture%2B2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704603603532656562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Origin&lt;/span&gt;: That online networking tool that everyone seems to join, but no one I know actually uses, LinkedIn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mission Statement&lt;/span&gt;: Official: connects the professional world and the dating world through a secure online portal. Obvious: you can always get away with pretending it's for networking purposes.  That's how I spent most of my 20s...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;How It Works&lt;/span&gt;: (their words) "Joining Hitch.me is free. After you sign up you get access to members LinkedIn profiles                     and you can filter members based on our extensive advanced search. For viewing members                     personal profile and communicating with them you will have spend Hitch.me credits.                     Credits can be earned on the site by making a secure payment through any credit                     card.                 "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Why It Works&lt;/span&gt;: (my opinion) Call me narrow-minded and career-obsessed, but I do think job-related compatibility is a good and helpful thing. Even if you - a PR maven - have always been attracted to techy types. At least you get a strong sense of who the person is from their employment history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Who It Works For&lt;/span&gt;: Probably best for people who really use LinkedIn.  If you're a musician, writer, or freelance reporter I'm not sure it will apply well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;How is this not the least sexy dating platform ever?&lt;/span&gt;: It is. So what? You want the sexy to come &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;after&lt;/span&gt; you get past the person not being a psycho.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good luck out there, and please report back on your findings!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-353959737147074935?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/00zE1mW7Q6j3y1_XJxrvGHFjcA0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/00zE1mW7Q6j3y1_XJxrvGHFjcA0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/dkYDitnP2KI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/353959737147074935/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/02/two-genius-things-to-improve-your.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/353959737147074935?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/353959737147074935?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/dkYDitnP2KI/two-genius-things-to-improve-your.html" title="Two Genius Things To Improve Your Online Dating Plight" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aINW22xozlQ/TyrSi8Tn0WI/AAAAAAAAB0M/OZabIf1FaYI/s72-c/Picture%2B1.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/02/two-genius-things-to-improve-your.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEMNQXwzfCp7ImA9WhRbEE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-5642245282261917135</id><published>2012-01-31T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-31T12:54:50.284-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-31T12:54:50.284-05:00</app:edited><title>Things I Used To Do To Impress Boys</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F9dRm5OFaWM/Tyc_IyMyfeI/AAAAAAAAB0A/Cv_Gr7lKoMQ/s1600/Steve6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F9dRm5OFaWM/Tyc_IyMyfeI/AAAAAAAAB0A/Cv_Gr7lKoMQ/s320/Steve6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703596873234939362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In light of the Superbowl this coming weekend, I've been reflecting on a whole host of things I used to do to impress boys. Here, in no particular order, is that very embarrassing list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Know About Sports &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look. Bottom line. I don't know sports. I'm one of four girls. We were raised ballet dancers, not athletes, and my poor father knew early on that we were not the "have a catch in the yard" types.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I understand the basic rules (except for "off sides"), scoring methods, and major celebrities of each game.  I can also name a lot of teams and their locations, but that's mostly because I have a fairly photographic memory, and they're on TV a lot. But when it comes to actually following any given sport (aside from Boston College football from 2001-2009), I don't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aanddd yet in many previous circumstances I have been more than a casual fan of sports (which is the truth. I do enjoy watching them) for the sake of a given male. 99.9% of women do this, which makes it right by virtue of majority.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Know About Really Cool New Music&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a list of my favorite musicians: Tina Turner, Bonnie Raitt, James Taylor, Billie Joel, Billie Holiday. I'll stop there because the rest are pretty much the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt; been cool in the music department.  I know this because when we were little my cousin Geanna was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; cool in the music department, and I was hyper aware/embarrassed about this fact.  To this day she is one of the news editors of a music blog called &lt;a href="http://www.fuckingnostalgic.com/"&gt;F*cking Nostalgic&lt;/a&gt;, and I write listicals about lying to boys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buut I have been to a concert or three with a boy or so who was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;super&lt;/span&gt; into this brand new, underground, blue grass, hipster-ish, cello trio that I became similarly &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;super&lt;/span&gt; into the minute I was introduced.  Did I lie about liking the music? No, never.  Did I make it seem as  though discovering new artists was a thing I was also really into? Yes, yes I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Get Ready To Go Out Really, Really Fast&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is weird, but I used to have this preconception that guys respect girls who can shower and get ready really quickly.  As such, this was a huge practice I adopted in college.  I wasn't one of those prissy girls who needed 45 minutes and three curling irons to get ready.  I was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;whatever&lt;/span&gt; about it.  Who needs to get all fussy about their looks? Who's such a prima donna that they can't get out of the house in 20 minutes or less?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, me.  I am. And when I look at all those pictures of myself from my college years I wish my current me could go give me former me a swift kick in ill-fitting pants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Eat Daring, Meat-Centric Meals&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See above.  Replace "get ready really fast" with "eat crazy meals involving lots of heavy meats."  I'm by no means a vegetarian posing as a meat-lover so some carnivore will love me back.  I'm an adventurous eater who, outside of the company of men I want to impress, would have more likely ordered a pasta dish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buuut I had heard one too many guys complain about that girl who eats like a rabbit, and so I made sure to hide my healthier side until we had a few dates under our rapidly expanding belts. Note: I still kinda do this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Be Really Short and Void of Tone in Texts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my first few years on the dating scene I was all about personality and quirk.  I'd send funny mach.com e-mails and adorable texts just to be clear this guy knew exactly what kind of wordsmith he was getting by selecting me as a (potential) girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I realized that A. most guys don't need/want that much personality, that early on and B. I was spending WAY too much time editing 160-word texts into perfection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Be Their Best Friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I spent a lot of time from 18 to 20-oh-7? being a "guy's girl." Buddy-buddy. Not-too-feminine.  "One of the guys." I was a regular plot line in a lame romantic comedy or episode of FULL HOUSE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until I realized that guys like girls (unless they like guys, but that's something even I can't pretend to be). They like that they can teach us stuff about sports.  They like that they can make us mixed CD's of cool, new music.  They like that we eat healthy, and make them eat healthy sometimes (but only sometimes...). And, if they like us, then they like our e-mails, our texts, and the outfits we come up with after 35 minutes in the closet (though they will openly admit they'd prefer it took 15).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;And So...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out you can't pretend your way into a boyfriend. Or, rather, you can't pretend your way into a legitimate relationship. I feel like that was probably also covered in an episode of Full House, but I was too focused on my love affair with DJ's boyfriend Steve to absorb the lesson. I would have totally pretended to love sports for him...&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-5642245282261917135?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kkd4lh7VohKLfEsBiNuo1a8Nc24/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kkd4lh7VohKLfEsBiNuo1a8Nc24/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/Trd24S56pZc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/5642245282261917135/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/things-i-used-to-do-to-impress-boys.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/5642245282261917135?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/5642245282261917135?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/Trd24S56pZc/things-i-used-to-do-to-impress-boys.html" title="Things I Used To Do To Impress Boys" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F9dRm5OFaWM/Tyc_IyMyfeI/AAAAAAAAB0A/Cv_Gr7lKoMQ/s72-c/Steve6.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/things-i-used-to-do-to-impress-boys.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUAHQXg5fSp7ImA9WhRUFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-4954101636272929043</id><published>2012-01-26T10:23:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T14:55:30.625-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-26T14:55:30.625-05:00</app:edited><title>I have a 22-year-old friend who is walking across America</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/UM73_-y41yE" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" width="420"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week I had lunch with a 22-year-old boy named &lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/Heybram.com"&gt;Ebram&lt;/a&gt; who is walking across America.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, literally walking.  Yes, literally America.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't know that's what he was up to when my sister Sara connected us over e-mail.  He was just a classmate of hers at Boston College (my own Alma mater) who wanted some advice on freelance writing.  He did mention something about being in California on account of the beginning of a journey, but I assumed West Coast road trip, not full country foot trip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we set the plans, I asked if he had a car to get around, and he said he'd be getting around mostly by foot. "That's going to be tough in L.A." I told him, not knowing that L.A.'s got nothing on Colorado...in February.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things started to become clearer when Ebram asked if the cafe I'd chosen had enough room for the push cart he uses to get from one place to another. I envisioned one of those tall, rectangular granny grocery shopping carts common to the New York city set.  But Ebram's push cart is nothing something a granny would use, and it's not something that would fit in New York City. It's cart is the kind you use to, say, walk across America.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He explained his plan to me with a look that acknowledged how crazy it sounds. "But people do it all the time," he told me, "and there's a whole network of people out there to use as a resource."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be honest. I thought he was crazy. I thought, you poor, sweet, idealistic Millennial biding your post-grad time with a, frankly, dangerous adventure. You're like that SNL sketch they ran two weeks ago - &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"You Can Do ANYTHING!"&lt;/span&gt; - that made fun of 20-something lost souls who believe that, so long as it fulfills them, they can &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;absolutely &lt;/span&gt;make a life out of Irish step dancing while doing Chinese calligraphy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my 22-year-old self slapped my 28-year-old self in the face, and I started to look at Ebram through a slightly less cynical lens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the kid wants to walk across America. So he's looking for a great, big adventure.  So he doesn't know what to do with himself after college, but refuses to sit on his parents' living room couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should we be so surprised given the way kids these days grow up? (yeah, I just said kids these days. It's come to that). Many are sheltered in non-diverse suburban communities.  They collect friends on the Internet, not at the bus stop on Hollywood and Vine. They learn through text books and local field trips, not be actually going to nation's landmarks.  And, and maybe rightly so, they're not allowed to ride their bikes past the end of the development.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get why Ebram wants to walk across America. I'm still worried for him, and I'm still not sure he's going to magically know what he wants to do for a living once he gets to the other side (note: my words, not his), but he'll probably know a whole hell of a lot more about who he is, and what he's capable of handling.  He'll probably also have a thousand stories from a thousand people who've lived longer than he's lived.  And if he does end up following the passion that prompted our meeting - his passion for writing - then he'll no doubt have something way more specific to write about than the contents of this very blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I think what you're trying to do is awesome," I told him as he prepped his push cart to take off on another leg of the great walk, and I meant it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why not walk across America instead of taking an entry-level job in finance? At the end of the day you'll learn &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;way&lt;/span&gt; more from the walk than you'll ever learn at the bank.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And isn't that what being a 22-year-old should be all about?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can follow Ebram's journey via his blog -  &lt;a href="http://heybram.com/" target="_blank"&gt;Heybram.com&lt;/a&gt; - and Twitter - @ebrammegally. Or you can earn major karma points and host him on his trip.  Go to &lt;a href="http://heybram.com/ii" target="_blank"&gt;heybram.com/ii&lt;/a&gt; to look at his journey map, see if he's passing through your area, and fill out the google form &lt;span&gt;if you're interested in hosting.  Somewhere Jack Kerouac just rolled over in his grave...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-4954101636272929043?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zEdixHEOcugh-zMlJgqnq_ymlco/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zEdixHEOcugh-zMlJgqnq_ymlco/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/AmUTElcekVs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/4954101636272929043/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/i-have-22-year-old-friend-who-is.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/4954101636272929043?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/4954101636272929043?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/AmUTElcekVs/i-have-22-year-old-friend-who-is.html" title="I have a 22-year-old friend who is walking across America" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/UM73_-y41yE/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/i-have-22-year-old-friend-who-is.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A08HQ309fip7ImA9WhRUFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-6154559657396397953</id><published>2012-01-24T07:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-24T10:43:52.366-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-24T10:43:52.366-05:00</app:edited><title>This is exactly what happens when you go for a mammogram</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S9CT2fAS_JE/Tx358jeWA8I/AAAAAAAABz0/8hJGyQh1HNg/s1600/pink-patient-gown.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 260px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S9CT2fAS_JE/Tx358jeWA8I/AAAAAAAABz0/8hJGyQh1HNg/s320/pink-patient-gown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700987522030896066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Here is the longer version of my story recently published at &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/my-very-first-mammogram/"&gt;Thought Catalog&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;. The full version was only suited for smaller corners of the Internet...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went for my very first mammogram recently because I'm getting close to 30,  insurance covers it, and sometimes my left boob is a little hurt-y.  I realize that is TMI for many readers of this blog (hi Dad!), but I'm disclosing in the name of safety.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because this was my very first mammogram, I was understandably nervous about the unknown details of the procedure.  For how long, exactly, would I be naked? To what degree, exactly, would they be squeezing and shoving my boob into some freezing cold device? Do I technically have enough boob to be squeezed and shoved into said device?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here, to help you move more gracefully through your own first mammogram, is exactly what happened at mine:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I found a failed parking meter five minutes prior and two blocks away from my appointment!! I took this as a sign from God that I did not have cancer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. My doctor's office - and perhaps yours? - is now using an iPad for new patients to enter in their medical history.  Despite having an iPhone, it took me 15 minutes to complete my medical history on this device. It is worth noting that I do not technically have any medical history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. 10 or so minutes later, a Russian woman came to retrieve me.  She called me Jessica, which made me feel older, more official, and like I looked like I had this mammogram thing totally under control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The woman showed me to a dressing room and handed me a pink robe.  She directed me to leave my bottoms on, make sure the robe opened to the front, and go sit the pre-procedure waiting room when I was done.  Then she left before I had time to ask her my 145 questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. For the next 8-12 minutes I hid in the mini room debating  how, exactly, to tie the robe.&lt;br /&gt;Man oh man that robe... First of all, it was too long to be a tunic but too short to be a cute dress. Also, I had foolishly chosen to wear a knee-high boot that day, throwing off the already disastrous proportions.  And finally, none of the placement of any of the eight ties closed the robe in any logical manner.  I tied and re-tied that thing ten times before I was content enough to leave the little room, and even then there was a gaping hole around my chest area, of the not sexy-peep-hole variety.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note: Upon arriving in the special waiting room I discovered that the reason why the robes look like crap is because they're actually the ones that are meant to tie in the back. (some rookie didn't follow directions).  Brand new iPads are a lot more affordable if you're stealing gowns from the hospital, aren't they...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Another 10 or so minutes went by before another Russian woman came to get me for the procedure.  Her name was Oksana, and she actually did look like what Oksana Baiul might look like 17 years and 35 pounds after the '94 Olympics.  As such, I believe it was her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Oksana brought me to a room with curiously good lighting and instructed me to lay on my side.  She then squirted a gel fluid onto my boob (which was blessedly warm) and proceeded to rub my boob using one of those x-ray sticks they use to tell pregnant women if they're having a boy or a girl.  I did not laugh even though it tickled like hell.  I remain very proud of this fact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now heeere's where things got tricky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oksana lingered around several areas of the boob and took what I believe were photos based on a camera-like clicking sound.  I had a clear view of the monitor showing the picture of whatever results from the x-ray wand, but I was too afraid to look, so I just looked up at the ceiling the whole time and focused on not giggling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After an amount of time that I felt was particularly long based on absolutely no prior experience with this process, Oksana gave me a towel to wipe off the remaining goop.  She then said two things in what I believed to be a very grave voice: "Do you have any family history of breast cancer?" (I do not) and "I need to go review your films with the doctor." And then she left, rather quickly in my opinion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so I'm like, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;okay, I have obviously cancer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long procedure? Family history question? Immediate need to review films with the doctor?  I watched six out of eight seasons of Grey's. I know imminent bad news when they're keeping it from you. This. Was. Bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent the next 15 minutes deciding how to tell my parents and outlining the book I would write once I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;kicked&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this thing&lt;/span&gt;! (it was a collection of humorous essays).  I may or may not have also practiced my reaction to the news, out loud. I was going to go with a combination of, "oh god..." and, "are you sure?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While the above paragraph is written in a comedic tone, there was NOTHING comical about sitting in that room for 10 minutes and waiting to find out that I did NOT, in fact, have cancer.  As it turns out the doctor ALWAYS has to review the films and ALWAYS comes in to let you know the results.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note to Mammography Offices: THAT'S a detail you want to share with your patients before the procedure begins.  MISSION CRITICAL info folks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the doctor informed me that I did not have cancer based on the x-ray stick results, I asked her if Oksana was going to come back and get me for the actual mammogram part. After all &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; unexpected nonsense I was itching to shove my boob in the freezing cold machine and get outta there!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when I found out that I was only scheduled for a sonogram, not a mammogram.  Apparently those are the preferred method of screening these days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note: I did end up seeing the mammogram machine inside another examination room, and it didn’t look that scary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-6154559657396397953?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UbQAZ5Wv_bFmhol1XIeZ4DL_wrA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UbQAZ5Wv_bFmhol1XIeZ4DL_wrA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/Pf808NuDV0k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/6154559657396397953/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/this-is-exactly-what-happens-when-you.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6154559657396397953?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6154559657396397953?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/Pf808NuDV0k/this-is-exactly-what-happens-when-you.html" title="This is exactly what happens when you go for a mammogram" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S9CT2fAS_JE/Tx358jeWA8I/AAAAAAAABz0/8hJGyQh1HNg/s72-c/pink-patient-gown.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/this-is-exactly-what-happens-when-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkINRX05cCp7ImA9WhRUEE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-4112860385212883077</id><published>2012-01-19T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-19T14:16:34.328-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-19T14:16:34.328-05:00</app:edited><title>When it is okay/right/appropriate/safe to say "I love you"?</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qk7s-hkJjc0/TxcbO0UZLGI/AAAAAAAABzc/WRiBQhlnaJo/s1600/2460768232_2f633e48c1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qk7s-hkJjc0/TxcbO0UZLGI/AAAAAAAABzc/WRiBQhlnaJo/s320/2460768232_2f633e48c1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699053794836950114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A week or so ago I got an e-mail from one of my best friends from college.  The subject line: "those three words......" Her question: when, if ever? is it too early to say "I love you"??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is how I responded:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A. I love that you sent me this e-mail.  Means the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;B. I  don't have an official answer, but I have written on the subject  before.  &lt;a href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/01/who-should-say-i-love-you-first-and-why.html"&gt;Here's that post - "Who Should Say I Love You First, and Why?&lt;/a&gt;" &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Ed Note: yes, I market my own former blog posts to my own best friends). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But regarding the question of "WHEN" someone should say "I love you" here are my thoughts:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I  love you" for people who don't throw that term around, is a very big  deal.  It means, not only, I like dating you, and I want to sleep with  you, and I want to be your girlfriend, but "I feel really strongly about  what we have and want to see it continue to a serious way."  That's why  I think it scares so many people.  They don't want to make that big  proclamation unless they're SURE the other person feels the same way.   So in that way it has nothing to do with the amount of time you've been  together and everything to do with how you feel about each other.  I  knew I loved R after we'd been together for about 2 months.  I said  "I love you" around month 3.5, but that's mostly because I was all cheesy  about it, and wanted to say it at a special moment.  But there was no  doubt in my mind about how I felt, and pretty little doubt in my mind  that he felt the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think THAT'S the most important part of finally saying it.  Yes,  there's always some doubt in your mind that the other person isn't QUITE  there yet, but you mostly know that when you say it, they're going to  say, "I love you too" or at least let you know how much it means to them  that you're sharing that love.  Some people want to have their own "I  love you" moment meaning you could say it to him, and he might want to  wait to say it to you in his own moment.  Totally fine and  understandable, in my book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So can you say it too early? Yes, if you have no indication that the  person you're with feels the same.  You can "I love you" bomb someone, and that will probably not go over well.  But if you're feeling it strongly, and you suspect he feels the same, it's just a very, very special formality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Update: She said it, he said it back, and according to the exclamation point-heavy e-mail, it was very, very special. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-4112860385212883077?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KPS-YA1dSi9DVu4dDSvoER24CWM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KPS-YA1dSi9DVu4dDSvoER24CWM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/s51XZfVujiE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/4112860385212883077/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/when-it-is-okayrightappropriatesafe-to.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/4112860385212883077?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/4112860385212883077?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/s51XZfVujiE/when-it-is-okayrightappropriatesafe-to.html" title="When it is okay/right/appropriate/safe to say &quot;I love you&quot;?" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qk7s-hkJjc0/TxcbO0UZLGI/AAAAAAAABzc/WRiBQhlnaJo/s72-c/2460768232_2f633e48c1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/when-it-is-okayrightappropriatesafe-to.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0IBSH8_fCp7ImA9WhRVGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-6393933082117462514</id><published>2012-01-17T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-17T10:52:39.144-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-17T10:52:39.144-05:00</app:edited><title>Food for Freak-out: The bad news about getting paid to do what you love?</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B_Uu7WTMy58/TxWYn3kpk3I/AAAAAAAABzQ/zlVHLozr1Pg/s1600/revolutionary-road_l.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B_Uu7WTMy58/TxWYn3kpk3I/AAAAAAAABzQ/zlVHLozr1Pg/s320/revolutionary-road_l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698628714207220594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I read the follow excerpt from an article called &lt;a href="http://youarenotsosmart.com/2011/12/14/the-overjustification-effect/#more-1728"&gt;"The Overjustification Effect"&lt;/a&gt; that I found on a website called YouAreNotSoSmart.com. I should have known any article from a website by that name would piss me off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It's a long piece with a lot of history on psychologists' understandings of the way humans are motivated and fulfilled - interesting stuff if you're interested in that stuff.  Below is the chunk that I felt most applied to me slash us.  In a nutshell - if you get paid to do what you love, you'll begin to associate that work with a monetary reward versus a natural sense of fulfillment, and after awhile, you'll stop enjoying the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Here's the excerpt.  My thoughts are below.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Maybe your story goes like this: Work is just a means to an end. You  go to work; you get paid. You exchange effort for survival tokens and  the occasional steampunk thong from Etsy. Work is not fun. Work pays  bills. Fun happens at places that are not work. Your story is in no  danger if that’s how you see things. In an environment like that  Skinner’s assumptions hold true, you will only work as hard as is  necessary to keep getting paychecks. If offered greater rewards, you’ll  work harder for them.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Maybe your story goes like this though: I love what I do. It changes  lives. It makes the world a better place. I am slowly becoming a master  in my field, and I get to choose how I solve problems. My bosses value  my efforts, depend on me, and offer praise. In that scenario, rewards  just get in the way of your job. As Kahneman’s and Deaton’s study about  happiness showed, once you earn enough to be happy day-to-day,  motivation must come from something else. As Kahneman and Deaton’s  research into happiness and money showed, the only material reward worth  seeking once you have a bed, running water and access to microwave  popcorn, are tributes, symbols to all of your merit, stuff that  demonstrates your effectance to yourself and others. Ranks, degrees,  gold stars, trophies, Nobel Prizes and Academy Awards – these are  shorthand indicators of your competence. Those rewards amplify your  internal motivations; they build your self-esteem and strengthen your  feelings of self-efficacy. They show you’ve leveled up in the real  world. Achievement unlocked. They help you construct a personal  narrative you enjoy telling.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The overjustification effect threatens your fragile narratives,  especially if you haven’t figured out what to do with your life. You run  the risk of seeing your behavior as motivated by profit instead of  interest if you agree to get paid for something you would probably do  for free. Conditioning will not only fail, it will pollute you. You run  the risk of believing the reward, not your passion, was responsible for  your effort, and in the future it will be a challenge to generate  enthusiasm. It becomes more and more difficult to look back on your  actions and describe them in terms of internal motivations. The thing  you love can become drudgery if that which can’t be measured is  transmuted into something you can plug into TurboTax."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Every time I read this excerpt I cringe a little.  I am a person who falls into the second category - a person who aspires to get paid to do something I love.  This theory implies that I will eventually come to dislike what I love because it will be associated with the same employer/employee frustrations of any old job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Fine.  I buy that.  I see how that could becoming incredibly taxing. But what's my alternative?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Is the article really saying that I'm better off working a job I do not like and pursuing my passions on the weekend? Americans spend an outrageous percentage of their life at work.  Are we just supposed to not enjoy an outrageous percentage of our life so that we don't taint the fulfillment of our passions by bringing them into the pay-for-play structure?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The article doesn't offer any advice on what you're supposed to do if you have a passion that could become your paycheck. Should you ignore it in favor of more mundane work that pays the bills? Should you find work that's close but not cigar in an effort to preserve the work you truly love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Or should you do what I intend to do - go for it knowing that some frustrations, a different structure of motivation or a slightly tainted passion is better than ignoring the passion all together?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I demand a follow-up piece.  I want to know what the frustration level of a 75-year-old who never pursued their passion looks like versus that of one who did, even at the expense of some pure joy around that art. And I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; want that research to come back in favor of my life plan...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-6393933082117462514?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/E4aGhr_ZicT2nkWgVN_QgCFqSjA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/E4aGhr_ZicT2nkWgVN_QgCFqSjA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/E4aGhr_ZicT2nkWgVN_QgCFqSjA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/E4aGhr_ZicT2nkWgVN_QgCFqSjA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/fA7a9g-CwkE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/6393933082117462514/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/food-for-freak-out-bad-news-about.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6393933082117462514?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6393933082117462514?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/fA7a9g-CwkE/food-for-freak-out-bad-news-about.html" title="Food for Freak-out: The bad news about getting paid to do what you love?" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B_Uu7WTMy58/TxWYn3kpk3I/AAAAAAAABzQ/zlVHLozr1Pg/s72-c/revolutionary-road_l.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/food-for-freak-out-bad-news-about.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0INQnk_eSp7ImA9WhRVE0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-1825759347397076355</id><published>2012-01-12T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-12T10:19:53.741-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-12T10:19:53.741-05:00</app:edited><title>Are You A Young Adult?</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S2Qax8xjqgg/Tw3zh7Oen-I/AAAAAAAABzA/ifyhr7ua7Xg/s1600/charlize-theron-.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 176px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S2Qax8xjqgg/Tw3zh7Oen-I/AAAAAAAABzA/ifyhr7ua7Xg/s320/charlize-theron-.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696476867853197282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         &lt;style&gt;@font-face {   font-family: "Times"; }@font-face {   font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }&lt;/style&gt;     &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:10pt;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:10pt;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;Answer the following yes or no questions to determine just how much like Mavis Gary - Charlize Theron’s WAY less than real-life ready character in YOUNG ADULT - you are!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;1. Do you wake up face down on your bed in last night’s clothes with a massive hangover more than three times each week? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;2. Do you chug diet coke in a futile effort to get over that hangover? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;3. Do you have a dog named after a major fashion brand or reality TV personality? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;4. Do you neglect that dog on a regular basis? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;5. Do you live less than 100 miles from your hometown but treat it like it’s an alien planet? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;6. Are you currently harboring a deep-seeded love for a former flame that is not at all grounded in reality? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;7. Is he happily married? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;8. Do you often find yourself wearing the same shirt several days in a row? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;9. Is it often a shirt that you woke up in one day, several days ago? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;10. Have you ever had a total and complete meltdown, then immediately slept with someone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;you genuinely do not like? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;11. Do you believe you have the capacity to learn from your mistakes and become a better person? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;12. Are you drunk right now? Y / N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Scoring&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;Give yourself one point for every “no” answer, two points for every “yes” answer on questions 1-11, and five points for a “yes” to question 12.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;Results&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;20-27 points – What are you doing with your life? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt;The answer is, all the wrong things.  Put that dog up for adoption, cut back on the booze, and get over the man. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Bridget Jones’ Diary &lt;/span&gt;is an excellent read for this sort of life transformation.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;15-20 points&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; - &lt;b style=""&gt;You’re teetering, friend. &lt;/b&gt;Things are touch-and-go, but you’re not quite the disaster you could probably be.  Congrats for that, but watch yourself if any adorable dogs become available or former flames become engaged.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;0-15 points&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:100%;"  &gt; - &lt;b style=""&gt;You’re an actual adult. &lt;/b&gt;Kudos! Feel free to rub this in the face of your less-than real-life-ready friends and/or siblings.  You may be slightly boring, but at least you’re not anything like a fictionalized character in a dark romantic comedy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-1825759347397076355?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vxu0Hu5BtL9B_o-Gdwr6Ptf-srA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vxu0Hu5BtL9B_o-Gdwr6Ptf-srA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/HREytwsRVs0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/1825759347397076355/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/are-you-young-adult.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/1825759347397076355?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/1825759347397076355?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/HREytwsRVs0/are-you-young-adult.html" title="Are You A Young Adult?" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S2Qax8xjqgg/Tw3zh7Oen-I/AAAAAAAABzA/ifyhr7ua7Xg/s72-c/charlize-theron-.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/are-you-young-adult.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0AHSXg-fSp7ImA9WhRVGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-1150961917684860865</id><published>2012-01-10T07:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-17T10:55:38.655-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-17T10:55:38.655-05:00</app:edited><title>Things I learned about parenting by taking four kids under 12 to Disneyland over Christmas break</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bsiqCZp_hDs/TwY1ZV3or_I/AAAAAAAABy0/qhSWDcARfbY/s1600/strollers3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bsiqCZp_hDs/TwY1ZV3or_I/AAAAAAAABy0/qhSWDcARfbY/s320/strollers3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694297488340070386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the day before New Year's Eve, R and I joined his sister, brother-in-law and their four kids under the age of 12 for a day at Disneyland.  Here is what we learned about parenting from that experience:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Don't take four kids under the age of 12 to Disneyland on the day before New Year's Eve, aka two days before the Rose Bowl, when an extra 45K people descend upon the already insanely crowded Winter Break crowds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. iPhones and Blackberries are an essential element of waiting in line without one child killing another.  Ensure that yours' are stocked with enough games for a 60 minute Space Mountain wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. When Space Mountain breaks down minute 55 of a 60 minute Space Mountain wait, it's important to remain calm to provide a positive example to the children.  This will be among the hardest things you've done in your life because you JUST WAITED 55 MINUTES FOR ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!! And you didn't get to play &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;any&lt;/span&gt; iPhone or Blackberry games.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. A snack-filled child is a happy child.  Buy them snacks whenever they are requested, immediately following the request.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. It is important to have at least one child of stroller-riding age so that you can use the stroller as a moving storage locker for things like extra clothes, extra snacks, and balloon animals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. It is also important to have at least one child of stroller-riding age so that you, the parent, can take a break from waiting on 55 minute lines every once in awhile.  Someone needs to stay with the baby...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Four kids is A LOT OF KIDS, jam-packed theme park or not. But sure to think about that before having four whole kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Be prepared to spend your day with your financial blinders ON.  From the moment you pull up to the parking attendant, to the moment you leave you will be &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hemorrhaging &lt;/span&gt;money. Try not to think about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. No child's opinion on "what to do next" should be taken into account after 9:00 pm.  Between 9:20 and 9:40 their bodies will crumble in a pile of overwhelmed exhaustion. Nod and smile kindly when they say they want to stay in the park until midnight.  They will never in a million years make it past 10pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Despite the long lines, the mini melt-downs, the ride malfunctions and the extreme expense, there is NO greater feeling than seeing the ear-to-ear smile on a child's face when they experience the magic of Disney.  That line contain absolutely zero sarcasm, and yes, I believe Disney is magical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then again, R and I were with four incredible kids and two fantastic parents, who were no doubt responsible for getting us all through the day in one, happy piece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay tuned for the follow-up to this piece: Things I learned about life by taking my boyfriend's parents to Disneyland over Spring Break, coming this March!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-1150961917684860865?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qMWnR8GAqbCCzElwoJ-QZ00Gtpw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qMWnR8GAqbCCzElwoJ-QZ00Gtpw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/MsCA-87ATpM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/1150961917684860865/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/things-i-learned-about-parenting-by.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/1150961917684860865?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/1150961917684860865?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/MsCA-87ATpM/things-i-learned-about-parenting-by.html" title="Things I learned about parenting by taking four kids under 12 to Disneyland over Christmas break" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bsiqCZp_hDs/TwY1ZV3or_I/AAAAAAAABy0/qhSWDcARfbY/s72-c/strollers3.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/things-i-learned-about-parenting-by.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QMQHs6fCp7ImA9WhRWF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-6697517696297414360</id><published>2012-01-05T07:00:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-05T12:43:01.514-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-05T12:43:01.514-05:00</app:edited><title>This explains why people are guarded                 (well...some people...specifically this person)</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YTc1uVJKdeY/TwTpB6PVL6I/AAAAAAAAByo/quD8tAX97Ek/s1600/Supergal_by_toxic_teen.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 196px; height: 268px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YTc1uVJKdeY/TwTpB6PVL6I/AAAAAAAAByo/quD8tAX97Ek/s320/Supergal_by_toxic_teen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693932047925850018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R and I were having a conversation on the hike down from Runyon Canyon about the way I used to approach dating prior to our meeting.  R likes to talk about this because it's a confidence-boosting reminder that the way I dated other people prior to meeting him was bad/wrong/ridiculous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This specific conversation was about the psychology behind the actions of a "guarded girl."  R was saying that a girl with a tough exterior can be difficult to date because a lazy guy assumes she should be treated as tough as she's acting and a sensitive guy assumes she's not into him (that's a paraphrase. He wasn't so general).  I was saying that a guarded girl is guarded for a very specific reason, at least I know I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm using the term "guarded girl" here to describe how I used to feel and behave in previous dating situation, not to stereotype a entire group of female or male daters.  Guarded means lots of different things to lots of different people, and it's rooted in even more different feelings. Yes, that is a giant disclaimer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This type of "guarded" R and I were discussing - aka my former type - exhibits as a girl with a tough exterior - she's edgy, she dishes it out and she can take it right back, she isn't overly emotional.  She doesn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;need &lt;/span&gt;attention.  She doesn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;need &lt;/span&gt;affection.  She doesn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;need &lt;/span&gt;anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But what may seem like a personality type or act is actually more like a defense mechanism used to protect against getting hurt.  The best way to explain it is to explain how the whole guarded game works using the example of giving and receiving affection in a new relationship - a real trouble zone for any guarded person. This is the example I provided R that made him look at my as if I was a foreigner and/or alien.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this case "I" am a guarded girl/person and "you" is a guy I'm newly dating. Here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I open up and ask you to be more affectionate - small version: outwardly flirt with you more to illicit affection from you, big version: tell you I'd like if you were more affectionate toward me  - I am off-setting the natural balance of things in the relationship.  "Natural" would be you offering me affection because you want to offer it.  Unnatural or forced is me having to illicit that affection.  So by acting in a way that seems as though I don't need the attention or affection (aka being guarded), I'm testing whether or not you're inclined to be affectionate toward me naturally.  In this way I can determine how much you like me (in my mind).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If this seems sick and twisted, it's because it is. Try to focus on the fact that I got over this, as most people do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to guarded girl - &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt; to be a popular Disney kids super hero.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a nutshell - I say I need something, you give it to me because I said I needed it, not because you necessarily wanted to or would naturally have done so.  This is why many a fight between this kind of girl and a guy attempting to date her goes: Guy, "well how was I supposed to know that's what you wanted?" Girl, "I shouldn't have to tell you to be more affectionate! You either are or you aren't!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both people are right, and yet both people are also sort of wrong. Yes, people are naturally vulnerable to a certain degree, but people can adapt for the ones' they love if they know what those people need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this making sense? This notion that the reason a girl who might otherwise be an emotionally available softee wears an iron-clad dating vest is because she's testing the guy's own emotional availability? And, more importantly, that how he behaves without her prodding is a sign of how he really is and really feels?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is logic to it, and that's not just my former self talking.  Unfortunately the reality is that relationships - even early ones - are about a give and take.  You MUST be willing to stick your neck out there and be clear about the kind of dynamic you're looking for in a relationship, even if it means scaring a guy away - actually, exactly BECAUSE it can mean scaring a guy away, the wrong guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These days I don't hold back, emotionally speaking. Mostly that's because I'm with someone who made it clear how he felt, and didn't hold back himself.  But the other reason is that all the guarded game play got exhausting after awhile.  Being a version of yourself fashioned to determine the boyfriend-ability of the guy you're dating just takes way too much effort after awhile.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-6697517696297414360?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7xHTlXMvV7zHiehJRycs6lOCaQs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7xHTlXMvV7zHiehJRycs6lOCaQs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/ZV51EdGhIQs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/6697517696297414360/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/one-version-of-psychology-behind-being.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6697517696297414360?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6697517696297414360?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/ZV51EdGhIQs/one-version-of-psychology-behind-being.html" title="This explains why people are guarded                 (well...some people...specifically this person)" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YTc1uVJKdeY/TwTpB6PVL6I/AAAAAAAAByo/quD8tAX97Ek/s72-c/Supergal_by_toxic_teen.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/one-version-of-psychology-behind-being.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQMRH06eSp7ImA9WhRWFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-7684914049226105712</id><published>2012-01-03T13:38:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-03T14:19:45.311-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-03T14:19:45.311-05:00</app:edited><title>Resolving, 2012 edition</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GV8Q2TXHiZw/TwNUwhNN9UI/AAAAAAAAByE/MS1cV2hnGFI/s1600/tiki-2012-glasses.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 207px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GV8Q2TXHiZw/TwNUwhNN9UI/AAAAAAAAByE/MS1cV2hnGFI/s320/tiki-2012-glasses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693487546450703682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hello and Happy New Year after the longest blogging break I've taken to date.  It felt good to take a breather from the regular writing, but it always feels better to come back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Naturally the first post of 2012 shall be resolution-themed.  Luckily this one is a two-fer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Here is a link to the article I wrote for &lt;a href="http://www.thoughtcatalog.com/"&gt;Thought Catalog&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/20-new-years-resolutions-for-20-somethings/"&gt;20 Resolutions for 20-Somethings&lt;/a&gt;. It contains lots of advice I am giving and some advice I am taking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. But because this is a smaller and far more personal corner of the world wide web, below are my actual New Year's resolutions for 2012.  I would like to also mention whether or not I accomplished my resolutions for 2011, but I can't remember any of them. Luckily I won't have that same problem in 2013 because they'll be right here...one more reason you should probably start your own blog in 2012.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2012 New Year's Resolutions&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;1. Read the newspaper more regularly - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;and not just the arts, travel, and dining sections. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Get those Dr. Scholls inserts for all my high heels - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;my dogs have been barking a lot more lately, and from what I can tell they're saying things like, you've got five more years before mandatory heel surgery...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3. Place more phone calls to friends&lt;/span&gt; - I'm in touch over e-mail, text, gchat, Facebook, and Twitter, but it's not the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;4. Podcast&lt;/span&gt; - I have a feeling this was one of my resolutions from 2011...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;5. Print out pictures and put them in albums&lt;/span&gt; - because someday I'm going to be too old to know how to use a computer, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;then&lt;/span&gt; how will I look at all my Instagramed photos of the food I've ordered at restaurants?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;6. Be more in touch with my Meme in Minnesota and my Poppop in New Jersey - &lt;/span&gt;they both love to read, so I think I'll also send them books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;7. Develop more of/any form of poker face&lt;/span&gt; - not for the purpose of playing poker but for the purpose of conversing with crazy people, sitting in on miserable meetings, and/or convincing my boyfriend that I won't fall asleep during the movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;8. Pack more lunches for work - &lt;/span&gt;the money and calorie savings make this a no-brainer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;9. Continue to address crippling road rage&lt;/span&gt; - and/or continue to find better short cuts during rush/all hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;10. Go "Hm" less -  &lt;/span&gt;So apparently I go "hm" a lot.  Like, I ask you a question, you give me an answer, and I respond with "hm."  My "hm" means many things. 1. I find that interesting.  2. I find that strange.  3. I find that unlikely/wrong/bad/displeasing. 4. I am now thinking more about whatever it is you said. I have been known to "hm" things like that lady inside my GPS (Her: "Turn left on Highway 405" Me: "Hm") and Siri (Her: "There is no rain in tomorrow's forecast" Me: "Hm").  Regardless of how valid the "hm" may be, I think it annoys some/all people, and I think it would be best to say either what I'm actually thinking or nothing at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Kindly share your hopefully equally bizarre resolutions in comments below. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, as always, wish me luck!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-7684914049226105712?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IjOye3Md4260AtZHCyzuh34X7Yw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IjOye3Md4260AtZHCyzuh34X7Yw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/4r_okEsr6Kk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/7684914049226105712/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/resolving-2012-edition.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/7684914049226105712?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/7684914049226105712?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/4r_okEsr6Kk/resolving-2012-edition.html" title="Resolving, 2012 edition" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GV8Q2TXHiZw/TwNUwhNN9UI/AAAAAAAAByE/MS1cV2hnGFI/s72-c/tiki-2012-glasses.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2012/01/resolving-2012-edition.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EERH47cCp7ImA9WhRXE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-5551276012371828473</id><published>2011-12-19T10:22:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-19T10:46:45.008-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-19T10:46:45.008-05:00</app:edited><title>Sometimes deciding you want something is the first, best step</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K-4gPw3lYpM/Tu9bpcxUtkI/AAAAAAAABx4/QjfwRaFuWiA/s1600/DinnerinArt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K-4gPw3lYpM/Tu9bpcxUtkI/AAAAAAAABx4/QjfwRaFuWiA/s320/DinnerinArt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687865622048060994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at a really lovely holiday dinner party last weekend attended by some good friends, some acquaintances, and some people I'd never met. It was the sort of event where conversation usually centers on what movies people have seen, what industry news people have been buzzing about or who already has plans for NYE (see, LA isn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that &lt;/span&gt;bad).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which is why I was so shocked when one of the acquaintances among the group sat down next to R and me, and started telling us about the dates he's been on recently.  I said something like, hey _____, what have you been up to lately?" and he said something like, "been going on a few dates, you know, getting out there (note: in paraphrasing that I made whatever he actually said sound like something I would say.  He is not nearly as cheesy.) R followed with something like, "good for you, man." (again, my voice).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conversation would have typically shifted from that little triplet to, "so, see any good movies recently?" except that _______ had a little more to say.  I won't butcher this one.  What he said was essentially, "I realized recently that I'm really ready to be in a relationship, so I'm focusing on it more, and treating the dates differently."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart swelled like that of a Jewish mother slash relationship blogger (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;imagine &lt;/span&gt;if someone was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;both?!&lt;/span&gt;) Here was this not-particularly-close friend telling me and my boyfriend that he's committed to being in a relationship and finding love, all in a manner that made it as simple as finding a new job. "I'm ready to explore other opportunities, so I'm applying around."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It really struck me.  I can't decide if that's because I've known far less mature men in my time, or if it's because this man was comfortable enough to share his position at a casual dinner party.  Or maybe it struck me because he was so casual, and yet so clear about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want a girlfriend.  Don't care who knows.  That's how I feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm a victim of a generation less apt to feel that way.  Or maybe it's that we didn't want to admit we felt that way? In my five years in Manhattan and 1.5 years in L.A. I've heard one, maybe two people say that, and both of them were women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This guy was not only confident in his choice but also confident in himself to confess it to us. Again, I don't know him well, but in that moment I felt I knew him well enough to do exactly what his move warranted in return: I set him up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I've said before, &lt;a href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/10/there-are-really-only-six-ways-to-meet.html"&gt;there are 6.5 ways to meet someone&lt;/a&gt;, and anyone who takes advantage of one of those ways before my very eyes deserves to be rewarded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;______ will find someone to be his girlfriend, and probably pretty soon.  Part of that will be because he's a great guy with great qualities, but a lot of that will be because he is ready, and had the courage to share that with new friends at a lovely holiday dinner party.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-5551276012371828473?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WdWFB_p6Cv42Des-6zYmDimW4Fo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WdWFB_p6Cv42Des-6zYmDimW4Fo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/YN_dUmJSDm4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/5551276012371828473/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/sometimes-deciding-you-want-something.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/5551276012371828473?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/5551276012371828473?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/YN_dUmJSDm4/sometimes-deciding-you-want-something.html" title="Sometimes deciding you want something is the first, best step" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K-4gPw3lYpM/Tu9bpcxUtkI/AAAAAAAABx4/QjfwRaFuWiA/s72-c/DinnerinArt.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/sometimes-deciding-you-want-something.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkUERHYyeCp7ImA9WhRXEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-2642780508974722953</id><published>2011-12-16T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-16T13:30:05.890-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-16T13:30:05.890-05:00</app:edited><title>Reflecting on Iraq and the very specific set of 20-nothings involved</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0hhGDOQPmwg/TuuOFq5tXEI/AAAAAAAABxo/ZllzXlbtXoY/s1600/ar131462627584557.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0hhGDOQPmwg/TuuOFq5tXEI/AAAAAAAABxo/ZllzXlbtXoY/s320/ar131462627584557.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686795182552210498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the war in Iraq is officially over.  It has been one year short of a decade since it began.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This isn't a political blog, so I won't share my feelings about the justification for why we went to war, the reasons we were there for 9 years, and what our leaders should do now that it's over.  I will say that I was and remain opposed to the war and am very happy that it's over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was 19 years old when the war began - one year shy of being a 20-nothing myself.  That's around the same age as thousands of soldiers who were shipped off to Iraq while I studied Communications and flip cup in a cozy enclave outside Boston. I turned 20, then 21, then graduated from college and spent the following six years defining my life in whatever way I saw fit.  I struggled.  I questioned things.  I made a million choices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life from 20 to 28 was completely perpendicular to that of a soldier in the Iraq war, if that's even a saying.  We were parallel in age but completely opposite in life milestones. My life was entirely my own to direct.  Their lives hinged on assignments, tours, and life-threatening operations. I cannot imagine their experience, no matter how hard I try to relate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not have numbers or stats, but given the news coverage, I can assume that hundreds of them are now permanently injured, and even more will suffer from PTSD for decades to come. Many left in their first year or so of marriage, others missed the births of children or their first months of life, and even more delayed all those fundamental firsts of being a 20-something while they endured another list of firsts no one should ever have to experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder how they would define being a 20-something in America?  I wonder what they think about dating or hooking up?  What's their feeling on how the economy has affected our coming-of-age in America or how different today's post-grads are from those ten, twenty or thirty years prior?  What is their feeling about how they spent the first eight years of their 20s? How is it that they want to spend the next?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have an agenda or thesis statement for this post, I just felt compelled to say something about who these soldiers are and what they've given up as we mark the end of this unprecedented time in our country's history.  There is a group of people whose personal history is forever changed because of their time in this war.  In many ways those people are my peers, and yet I could not feel further from their experience over the same exact years I lived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I know is that I could not have survived what they survived, which is why, on this momentous end to a momentous time, I am eternally grateful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-2642780508974722953?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rZoWwJqUWaiwUnbbutTrVASdaNY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rZoWwJqUWaiwUnbbutTrVASdaNY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/p19Jq8oe00Q" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/2642780508974722953/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/reflecting-on-iraq-and-very-specific.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/2642780508974722953?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/2642780508974722953?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/p19Jq8oe00Q/reflecting-on-iraq-and-very-specific.html" title="Reflecting on Iraq and the very specific set of 20-nothings involved" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0hhGDOQPmwg/TuuOFq5tXEI/AAAAAAAABxo/ZllzXlbtXoY/s72-c/ar131462627584557.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/reflecting-on-iraq-and-very-specific.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkIFRHwzeip7ImA9WhRQGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-2206696368079578021</id><published>2011-12-14T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-14T13:48:35.282-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-14T13:48:35.282-05:00</app:edited><title>Girl scores $1,200+ in free meals from Match.com dates, blogger laments state of the dating world...</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GkwnoobEeuc/TuFjSJVoxtI/AAAAAAAABxE/h7iIKu3uP3E/s1600/Picture%2B1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 181px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GkwnoobEeuc/TuFjSJVoxtI/AAAAAAAABxE/h7iIKu3uP3E/s320/Picture%2B1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683933368113743570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If &lt;a href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/things-we-can-all-learn-from-1615-word.html"&gt;last week's post&lt;/a&gt; about Mike who doth protest too much was a gem, today's is a blood diamond.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meet Jessica Sporty - the girl who wracked up $1,200 a month in free dinners via match.com dates. &lt;a href="http://articles.businessinsider.com/2011-11-29/news/30453560_1_match-com-roommates-japanese-restaurant"&gt;Here is the article that broke her "story"&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.brobible.com/bronews/story/chick-uses-match-date-free-dinners"&gt;here is a "news story" ABC ran about her experience&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a few important details before we get into the "here are my thoughts on this mess."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Her $45k salary was not enough and she needed at least an extra $500 a  month and sometimes $1,000 to pay her credit card bills and afford her $1,475 a month apartment in Murray Hill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-The investment &lt;a style="font-weight: normal; font-size: 100%; text-decoration: underline; border-bottom: 0.075em solid darkgreen; padding-bottom: 1px; color: darkgreen; background-color: transparent;" class="itxtrst itxtrsta itxthook" href="http://articles.businessinsider.com/2011-11-29/news/30453560_1_match-com-roommates-japanese-restaurant#" id="itxthook0" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span id="itxthook0w0" class="itxtrst itxtrstspan itxthookspan" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; font-weight: inherit;font-size:inherit;color:darkgreen;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;banker types were thrilled to woo her with extraordinary restaurants like the underground taqueria &lt;a href="http://esquinanyc.com/" target="_blank"&gt;La Esquina&lt;/a&gt; and a Japanese restaurant, &lt;a href="http://www.megurestaurants.com/menu-overview/" target="_blank"&gt;Megu,&lt;/a&gt; in Tribeca. One guy even took her to a champagne bar and purchased a $200 bottle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-She went from easily spending $500 a month on dinners alone to having someone else dole out an average of $60-plus per night. She also stopped eating lunch and opted for a light breakfast to save even more. &lt;div style="overflow: hidden; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); text-align: left; text-decoration: none; border: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-One of [Jessica's roommates] called for making spreadsheets about each guy who took  them out for their drinks and/or meals. It included names, photos and  details from their Match.com accounts. The girls also let each  other know where they were going for the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-“It was exhausting," she said. "I needed my sleep, and I was done playing the game," Sport said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Jessica currently has a boyfriend who she did not meet online.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd also recommend watching the "news story" so you get a feel for Jessica's person and attitude about this whole thing, but that's up to how much time you allot to wasting each day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay. Now here are my thoughts on this mess:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Ultimately this is a silly story about a girl who took advantage of guys using technology that makes this all very easy and common. As I said to Matt when he passed it along, "I don't have much to say about this other than 'some people are assholes' or maybe 'most people are assholes.'  But then I thought harder about it and realized that there's a bigger issue here surrounding why people are enabled to be such assholes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-$1,457 on a 45K salary is not financially responsible, especially if you want a lifestyle that costs between $500 and $1,000 a month in dinners. Someone should have told Jessica that before she moved into the city.  She needed a way to "have her cake and eat it too" which seems to be a condition with which many 20-somethings are plagued. I once had 5K in credit card debt to prove it. Taking advantage of men so that she could dine at the hottest spots and still afford the finer things in life was more important to Jessica than being a decent human being.  This is a problem, world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-To play my own devil's advocate - any man dumb enough to buy a $200 bottle of anything on a first date is cooking his own goose.  It is nice to treat someone to a nice meal, but you can get a nice meal for $60, total. Or, better yet, start with a drink and see if you actually like the person enough to take them to Megu. I suspect that's not what the date is about for these guys, though, which means they're not entirely innocent in this game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Not eating lunch so you have enough money is a big, big problem.  It's not healthy and it represents a massive issue with budgeting and prioritizing money.  Sorry to go all MOM on that detail, but it's not a flip and funny practice of a savvy, single New Yorker.  It's an eating disorder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-The news article and subsequent ABC News interview don't really address how Jessica felt about any of these man.  She's never asked if she feels like she used them.  She's never asked if she feels like she was owed these dinner.  All we get is her saying that she's "traditional" and that she believes a man should pay for dinner on the first date.  But was she out to meet a boyfriend? Was she actually interested in any of these men? Did she do this for absolutely anything beyond free meals? Resolving that, "at least that awful date was worth a free meal," is one thing. Developing a spreadsheet to track your train of free dinners is another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Bottom line: this isn't fair to online daters and it isn't fair to women.  That's why this isn't just a "some people are assholes story," it's a "one bad apple can spoil it for the bunch," tale.  It's an exaggerated example of a selfish and shallow woman who reflects poorly on the world of online dating, 20-something women, and, frankly, New York City (yes, my heart just hurt a little typing that).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please, please don't do this, ladies.  And guys, please be a little more sensible about what you're giving a woman on the very first date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Hollywood, SO HELP ME GOD if you give this girl a book deal...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="overflow: hidden; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); text-align: left; text-decoration: none; border: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End rant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Holidays!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-2206696368079578021?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1_UNpe1-e0cwLn9byfiy4mk_CS0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1_UNpe1-e0cwLn9byfiy4mk_CS0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1_UNpe1-e0cwLn9byfiy4mk_CS0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1_UNpe1-e0cwLn9byfiy4mk_CS0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/130mWc7WKJU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/2206696368079578021/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/girl-scores-1200-in-free-meals-from.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/2206696368079578021?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/2206696368079578021?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/130mWc7WKJU/girl-scores-1200-in-free-meals-from.html" title="Girl scores $1,200+ in free meals from Match.com dates, blogger laments state of the dating world..." /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GkwnoobEeuc/TuFjSJVoxtI/AAAAAAAABxE/h7iIKu3uP3E/s72-c/Picture%2B1.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/girl-scores-1200-in-free-meals-from.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcHQXkzeyp7ImA9WhRQF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-6837406410773008288</id><published>2011-12-12T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-12T13:53:50.783-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-12T13:53:50.783-05:00</app:edited><title>The Blog is 4 Years Old This Week</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-czWJ7Thx6kc/TuZJzbYVRrI/AAAAAAAABxQ/IfEj4poz-cI/s1600/birthday4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-czWJ7Thx6kc/TuZJzbYVRrI/AAAAAAAABxQ/IfEj4poz-cI/s320/birthday4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685312727473800882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;When I graduated from college, I remember wondering if I would ever have as significant a growth experience over a mere four years. My time from freshman to senior year was life-defining, and luckily my roommates saved the four years of quote walls that prove it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today marks another four year chunk of time, and as I look back on the 640 posts I've written since starting this blog in December of 2007, it's frighteningly clear what a significant experience this too has become. Chief among &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;all&lt;/span&gt; the experiences that have been so significant is the experience of seeing changes in my writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my "new life" of pursuing writing for more than hobby slash weekend recap, the idea of "voice" is a constant.  Finding your voice.  Writing in your voice.  Defining your voice.  Honing your voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had no clue what the concept meant for a very long time.  People would say they enjoyed my voice or related to my voice, and I would smile and nod.  I knew this voice situation was a good thing, I just had no idea what it really meant or how I made it happen. So I threw pride to the wind and asked around...for about 3.5 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is what I now believe I know about the writer's voice, and how it is found:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your "voice" is the consistent tone and rhythm that defines the your writing.  Like a band has a "sound" a writer has a "voice" - qualities that make everything by a given writer sound and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;feel&lt;/span&gt; the same.  Short, to-the-point sentences, perhaps.  Long, extremely descriptive passages, maybe.  It could also be extremely conversational language or the use of lots of dialogue.  Every writer has their style.  A writer's voice is both the consistent use of those style elements and the cadence of the writing. Literally when you read a series of pieces by a given author they should all feel like they have a similar "beat."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My voice, for example, is extremely conversational (often at the expense of grammar...).  When I write, I am literally saying the words in my head and then typing them into the little Blogger box.  If I read a sentence back and it doesn't sound like something I would say out loud, I change it. I have a very specific conversation style in real life. I think it's a mix of extreme honesty, self-deprecating humor, and the use of real life-inspired metaphors to explain things, but you guys would probably know better.  My voice on the page is my voice in my head, which is why some of my closest friends say they read these blog posts in my actual talking voice (which must be super weird).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I found that voice is still a bit of a mystery to me, but I think the truth is that I found it because I wrote SO DAMN MUCH.  Two or three posts per week for four years plus additional freelance writing assignments and all the stuff that doesn't make the blog.  All that writing, reading back, and re-writing makes you incredibly familiar with the way you think and write.  It just starts to come out a certain way because the writing muscle shifts into autopilot.  When I'm having a really difficult time with a given piece, I always realize it's because I'm trying to write in a voice that isn't mine.  When a post writes itself, I realize it's because I let go and wrote exactly what felt right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize that's the most simplistic definition of "voice" and "how to find it" that one could give, but I think that's because discovering your voice should not be difficult; it should be natural. The tough truth is that writing naturally - without ideas of what you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;should&lt;/span&gt; sound like or who you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;want&lt;/span&gt; to sound like - is incredibly hard.  I know this because I sometimes attempt to write sitcom jokes, and when I read those back it's like they were written by a stranger who I instantly hate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I believe the point of this post is to say that "voice" is not something that happens overnight, but over 4 years of nights, it's something you cannot help but develop.  And if there's one piece of advice I can offer (outside of advising people to write as much as humanly possible) I'd say that you absolutely have to&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; like&lt;/span&gt; your voice, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;own &lt;/span&gt;your voice, even if you always thought you'd be the greatest dramatic screenwriter of the 21st century but somehow end up a quirky comedy writer.  Don't fight it. It will fight back harder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;On a 4th blog birthday aside:&lt;/span&gt; My feelings at this four year mark are not entirely different from those I felt at the blog's &lt;a href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2008/12/blog-is-one-year-old-today.html"&gt;first&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2009/12/2-year-blog-birthday-and-20-nothings.html"&gt;second&lt;/a&gt;, and &lt;a href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2010/12/blog-is-year-older-today-and-maybe.html#comments"&gt;third birthdays&lt;/a&gt;.  I am grateful.  I am proud.  I am extremely aware of how much this  writing experience has changed my entire life.  And, above all, I remain  so, so rewarded by the connection to all of you that this blog allows. Please keep e-mailing, commenting and reading.  We've got two full years to go before I age out of this whole crazy project.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, as I say every single year, thank you Pierson, for forcing me to start it in the first place.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-6837406410773008288?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HzaUKTkVmmkqXpvPsopIQInCmI0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HzaUKTkVmmkqXpvPsopIQInCmI0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/W_1RyAeSBz0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/6837406410773008288/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/blog-is-4-years-old-this-week.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6837406410773008288?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/6837406410773008288?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/W_1RyAeSBz0/blog-is-4-years-old-this-week.html" title="The Blog is 4 Years Old This Week" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-czWJ7Thx6kc/TuZJzbYVRrI/AAAAAAAABxQ/IfEj4poz-cI/s72-c/birthday4.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/blog-is-4-years-old-this-week.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEBQ3o9fyp7ImA9WhRQE0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-5384859511868631909</id><published>2011-12-08T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-08T12:50:52.467-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-08T12:50:52.467-05:00</app:edited><title>Things we can all learn from the 1,615-word e-mail that investment banker wrote to the girl who "lead him on"</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xLXGchJ5z7Y/TuAKwNdOV8I/AAAAAAAABw4/_9WWgx5WUgU/s1600/iStock_000003237600Small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xLXGchJ5z7Y/TuAKwNdOV8I/AAAAAAAABw4/_9WWgx5WUgU/s320/iStock_000003237600Small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683554553103800258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guys, today is a special day - a very special day - for it is only once in a brilliantly blue moon that we're gifted the kind of gem my friend Nic forwarded my way yesterday afternoon. "I feel like you'll appreciate this," he said.  Understatement of the fiscal quarter, Nic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Via &lt;a href="http://www.observer.com/2011/12/new-york-investment-banker-sends-1615-word-email-re-you-leading-him-on-during-your-date-together/"&gt;this link&lt;/a&gt; you'll find an e-mail written by a man named Mike to a girl with whom he enjoyed one date. Unfortunately, girl did not feel that same enjoyment.  Mike followed-up hoping for a second get-together. Girl never replied.  The story would end there, like so so many stories have before, except that Mike is not so so many men.  He is a bizarre, angry genius. Instead of burying his face in a dirty martini or blogging about it, like normal people would do, he fought back, hard...and really, really weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is - there are actually some valid statements within Mike's 1,615-word rant.  They're rendered obsolete by the sheer insanity of the rest of his diatribe, but I've taken the time to separate what is NUTS from what is VALID so that we may all learn a lesson...or 1,615.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;"FYI, I suggest that you keep in mind that emails sound more impersonal,  harsher, and are easier to misinterpret than in-person or phone  communication. After all, people can’t see someone’s body language or  tone of voice in an email."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VALID - &lt;/span&gt;e-mails can be difficult to fully interpret on account of the lack of body language and tone of voice.  Then there are some e-mails whose intended tone is completely lost on account of their bat-shit-crazy content.  I suggest that you keep that in mind too, Mike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;"You played with your hair a lot. A woman playing with her hair is a common sign of flirtation." &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NUTS, and frankly INSULTING. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt; Girls play with their hair for dozens of reasons that have nothing to do with you, Mike. They may be nervous. They may be vein. They may be bored. They may be wearing a brand new wig to cover their newly shaved head on account of recent chemo treatments. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;Take &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;You said, “It was nice to meet you.” at the end of our date. A woman  could say this statement as a way to show that she isn’t interested in  seeing a man again or she could mean what she said–that it was nice to  meet you. The statement, by itself, is inconclusive"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NUTS, or in this case WRONG. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;"It was nice to meet you" is the blow-off, and everybody knows it. Examples of conclusive statement include: Can we do this again sometime? Do you want to come upstairs? I had a really, really great time... or no words at all because you're too busy making out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;If you don’t want to go again, then apparently you didn’t think our  first date was good enough to lead to a second date. Dating or a  relationship is not a Hollywood movie. It’s good to keep that in mind."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VALID. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Real life is not a Hollywood movie, it's true Mike. What exactly that has to do with the first part of this paragraph or the idea of this e-mail overall is unclear, but the Hollywood is not equal to life fact remains. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;You’re very busy. It would be very convenient for you to date me because  we have the same interests. We already go to classical music  performances by ourselves. If we go to classical music performances  together, it wouldn’t take any significant additional time on your part."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ALSO VALID. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;I can't say I've ever heard that pitch for a relationship, but facts are facts and those facts are true. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;I assume that you find me physically attractive. If you didn’t find me  physically attractive, then it would have been irrational for you to go  out with me in the first place. After all, our first date was not a  blind date. You already knew what I looked like before our date."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NUTS, sadly. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;I hate to break this to you Mike slash man-at-large, but sometimes girls go out with guys that they do not find physically attractive. They may want free dinner. They may want to feel good about themselves. They may be hoping the guy is better looking in person.  Unfortunately there are lots of reasons, none of which are particularly good.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;People don’t grow on trees. I hope you appreciate the potential we have."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VALID.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt; But really not a great argument for why this girl should date you. Stick with the "saving-time-via-shared-activities" thing. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;Am I sensitive person? Sure, I am. I think it’s better to be sensitive  than to be insensitive. There are too many impolite, insensitive people  in the world."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VALID, but...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt; There is a difference between being sensitive and being &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;NUTS. &lt;/span&gt;Mike, I agree that too many people are far too insensitive, and perhaps if you had written a 200 versus 1,615 word e-mail to this woman you could have helped the cause of sensitive men everywhere.  Unfortunately, you did the opposite...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;"I suggest that we continue to go out and see what happens. Needless to  say, I find you less appealing now (given that you haven’t returned my  messages) than I did at our first date." &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAHAHAHA. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;If you don’t want to go out again, then you should have called to tell  me so. Even sending a text message would have been better than nothing.  In my opinion, not responding to my messages is impolite, immature,  passive aggressive, and cowardly."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;VALID, completely and totally. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Call, text or e-mail, people.  Lie if you have to, but don't just drop off the face of the earth. Now you have the potential to receive an e-mail akin to this gem as motivation to do the right thing. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;I have tried to write this email well, but it’s not perfect." &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WRONG. This e-mail is perfect Mike. Absolutely perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The question is...is it real?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-5384859511868631909?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JOkUm23g4UsXpQn0ryr-eU4YT-0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JOkUm23g4UsXpQn0ryr-eU4YT-0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/ITrikn7ent0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/5384859511868631909/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/things-we-can-all-learn-from-1615-word.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/5384859511868631909?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/5384859511868631909?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/ITrikn7ent0/things-we-can-all-learn-from-1615-word.html" title="Things we can all learn from the 1,615-word e-mail that investment banker wrote to the girl who &quot;lead him on&quot;" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xLXGchJ5z7Y/TuAKwNdOV8I/AAAAAAAABw4/_9WWgx5WUgU/s72-c/iStock_000003237600Small.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/things-we-can-all-learn-from-1615-word.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUQCR3g_eSp7ImA9WhRQEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-4562576216145629012</id><published>2011-12-06T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-06T12:42:46.641-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-06T12:42:46.641-05:00</app:edited><title>Driving Miss Jessie: a tale of female empowerment</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KnZiCXqGQhk/Tt0lwMnFW-I/AAAAAAAABws/gwyBCRnwwGc/s1600/Driving-Miss-Daisy-inside.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 261px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KnZiCXqGQhk/Tt0lwMnFW-I/AAAAAAAABws/gwyBCRnwwGc/s320/Driving-Miss-Daisy-inside.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682739814760537058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         &lt;style&gt;@font-face {   font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }&lt;/style&gt;     &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Sunday night I had R drop me off and then pick me up following my SUNDAY NIGHT SEX TALKS show (he can't attend because he is a boy), and it threw my entire sense of independence for a loop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;And you thought you had problems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;When I was single, I used to make lots of grandiose statements about the things I would &lt;i style=""&gt;never&lt;/i&gt; do if/when I got into a relationship.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’ll &lt;i style=""&gt;never&lt;/i&gt; be one of those PDA-couples.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’ll &lt;i style=""&gt;never&lt;/i&gt; share a Google calendar of our collective plans.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’ll &lt;i style=""&gt;never&lt;/i&gt; “we” every single thing the two of us do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Primary among my “nevers” was an entire list of no-no’s involving cars. I cannot explain the origin of this issue, but I have a whole string of preconceived feelings about female independence and cars.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t like it when the guy always drives.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t like it when the girl expects him to drive. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;And I &lt;i style=""&gt;really&lt;/i&gt; don’t like it when a girl lets her boyfriend drive &lt;i style=""&gt;her &lt;/i&gt;car while she “passenges.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I had a friend in college who relinquished all driving duties the minute she got into a serious relationship.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was car her and yet he assumed full control.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This annoyed me endlessly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It’s worth noting that I spent 100% of my previous dating life without a car of my own.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I dated my high school boyfriend from 16-17 (pre-license years in New Jersey) and the rest of my relationships were conducted in either Boston or New York. So these “issues” of mine were never tested.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I never had a car for a guy to never drive.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;And then by some bizarre twist of inconvenient fate, I got both my first car and my first meaningful adult relationship at the exact same time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I was determined to follow my pre-planned plan. I would drive 50% of the time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I would never make him drop me off places because I didn’t feel like parking.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And my car would by mine to pilot.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I wouldn’t be some helpless housewife relinquishing my independence one car ride at a time. I am 28! It is 2011! I drive a Salsa Red Jetta! Hear my engine roar! (had to, sorry)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Here is what I have learned about myself, R, cars, and the nature of female independence in the 12 + month since I’ve had both a boyfriend and a car:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I’m not a very good driver.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is not to say that I get into accidents or breaks laws, I just fluctuate between intense road rage when I know where I’m going and intense anxiety when I don’t.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m getting better with each 45 minute commute, but my magical, romance with a sporty ride and the open road is not in the near future, if it exists at all. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;    &lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I don’t particularly like driving.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Even when I’m having a great driving day, I don’t enjoy it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Plus it’s shockingly void of the intense feeling of satisfaction and female empowerment I’ve been envisioning all these years.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Real puzzler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;    &lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;R is a really good driver.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He has six years of practice on me and does not fluster under extreme traffic or complete loss of direction. He does make this &lt;i style=""&gt;very&lt;/i&gt; obvious face when he’s pretending to know where he’s going but has absolutely not idea, but it’s a silent face, so it’s fine. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;    &lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;R really likes to drive.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I haven’t asked him if he experiences an intense surge of satisfaction and male empowerment, but I’m trying to tone done the gender studies so our relationship feels less like getting a minor in women’s lib. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;    &lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;It’s often very nice to be driven, even if it is in your own car. I don’t think I’m turning back the feminist clock when I say that if feels like to have someone in control of getting you from point A to point B. You may feel safe.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You may feel secure.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You may feel a little romantic if/when that person opens the door. It’s not necessary, but it’s not negative. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I asked R to drive me to my show on Sunday night because I didn’t want to worry about parking on Santa Monica Boulevard and lugging all my stuff into the bar.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Also, I have to go into the back door, which is through a dark alley that can feature some unsavory characters.&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;These are all the reasons I started to explain this to him over our pre-show sushi dinner. Then I cut the female empowerment crap and told him the truth: I’d like you to drop me off because I get a little nervous before my show, and it would be nice to have you there to send me off.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’d also like you to drop me off so you can pick me up when the show is over and stop in for a drink to meet some of the ladies. And finally, it will be nice to ride home together so I can tell you about every detail of the show on our drive home!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Wow. That was big,” he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;But it wasn’t really.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They’re just cars, and it's just driving...unless you choose to make them the cornerstones of your own feminist agenda, in which case, e-mail me, and we’ll have a chat.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-4562576216145629012?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2Ykm_L4CWIjUtz26w-ZpfEKug7U/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2Ykm_L4CWIjUtz26w-ZpfEKug7U/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/rkoNvYEFbPQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/4562576216145629012/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/driving-miss-jessie-tale-of-female.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/4562576216145629012?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/4562576216145629012?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/rkoNvYEFbPQ/driving-miss-jessie-tale-of-female.html" title="Driving Miss Jessie: a tale of female empowerment" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KnZiCXqGQhk/Tt0lwMnFW-I/AAAAAAAABws/gwyBCRnwwGc/s72-c/Driving-Miss-Daisy-inside.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/driving-miss-jessie-tale-of-female.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0UFSHY5cSp7ImA9WhRRGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-2045107469064159666</id><published>2011-12-02T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-02T13:06:59.829-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-02T13:06:59.829-05:00</app:edited><title>All I Want For Christmas, literally</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GCTQHae4wxM/Ttfdc4wWo0I/AAAAAAAABwU/EIDaCRBZHQ8/s1600/Free-Christmas-Wallpaper-Santa-Claus-Reading-Your-Wish-List-508x317.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GCTQHae4wxM/Ttfdc4wWo0I/AAAAAAAABwU/EIDaCRBZHQ8/s320/Free-Christmas-Wallpaper-Santa-Claus-Reading-Your-Wish-List-508x317.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681252943292441410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Santa slash All My Friends and Family,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe I have been reasonably good this year (I paid off all my credit cards &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and&lt;/span&gt; didn't intentionally rear-end any cars!) and, as such, would like to request the following gifts in honor of the upcoming holidays. I've provided images where necessary. Please see me with any questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1. For all Los Angeles drivers to be better drivers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want them to get off the phone and pay attention to the road.  I want them to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; gun it when that green arrow light turns on.  I want them to stop blatantly running red lights.  I want them to use their blinker every time they intend to turn and never accidentally ride with it on for 10+ bloc&lt;span&gt;ks. &lt;span&gt;And, more than anything else, I want them to go faster,&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; always&lt;/span&gt;, but especially on Olympic Blvd between Beverly Glen and Robertson.  It is a STRAIGHT SHOT people! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Some cozy, plaid shirts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some thought-starters.  I'm not picky about color. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pwL-ofnIYmM/TtfSMaOPnsI/AAAAAAAABuc/qsiYlKf5qPw/s1600/A3E473C2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 202px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pwL-ofnIYmM/TtfSMaOPnsI/AAAAAAAABuc/qsiYlKf5qPw/s320/A3E473C2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681240565590499010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TNzs7zG5WEU/TtfSPqhwtMI/AAAAAAAABuo/ZXLR5cxntSw/s1600/AAAADJTY15EAAAAAACq42w.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 173px; height: 185px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TNzs7zG5WEU/TtfSPqhwtMI/AAAAAAAABuo/ZXLR5cxntSw/s320/AAAADJTY15EAAAAAACq42w.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681240621506933954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qRnSmE57zks/TtfSTmH3r4I/AAAAAAAABu0/D2SBLfzHZo0/s1600/CC598496.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 186px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qRnSmE57zks/TtfSTmH3r4I/AAAAAAAABu0/D2SBLfzHZo0/s320/CC598496.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681240689044074370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3. The Occupy Wall Street movement to come back strong and a little more organized&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it's good, noble, and necessary, and I think there's got to be a way for the organizers to maintain their presence within the constructs of what the various cities will allow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;4. To stop dreaming about being super late and unprepared for things. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point of spending 6-8 hours in a peaceful slumber is to re-charge for the day ahead!  Enough of this running around without my contacts on (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;constant &lt;/span&gt;dream feature) realizing I'm about to blow it on one of the dozens of projects I'm juggling in dreamland.  I want sex dreams or amazing-deals-shopping dreams for all of 2012!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3pavp5xaTzI/TtfUaDkf6YI/AAAAAAAABvA/QtXunNAn9bE/s1600/60f2ca00ea7529de8680d4b0b279c716.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 191px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3pavp5xaTzI/TtfUaDkf6YI/AAAAAAAABvA/QtXunNAn9bE/s320/60f2ca00ea7529de8680d4b0b279c716.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681242999051250050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;5. A really nice smelling candle for my bedroom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;It's just one of those things you never think to buy yourself, right?&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;Here, conveniently, is a picture featuring my favorite brand! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;6. Adele's vocal chord issues to be resolved&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm worried &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sick&lt;/span&gt; about her you guys! We need all of our top people on this because she has &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;got&lt;/span&gt; to get better, pronto  (note: this gift request is also made on behalf of my sister Dani, who has also been pretty good this year).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nUY7u4WxpvI/TtfXEJTXdsI/AAAAAAAABvw/KFrYUr32zro/s1600/aztec-cardigan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 151px; height: 224px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nUY7u4WxpvI/TtfXEJTXdsI/AAAAAAAABvw/KFrYUr32zro/s320/aztec-cardigan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681245921167767234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; 7. Something in Aztec print&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm really loving the trend, and would like it in my life slash closet. Here's a fun option from Forever21!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. For E! to eliminate at least one Kardashian program currently running on its network.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;What do they have now? 4? I don't think I'm asking for much here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t1WSIX76SWY/TtfYjTPjh7I/AAAAAAAABv8/SRK01Wl7iBs/s1600/il_fullxfull.229756730.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 128px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t1WSIX76SWY/TtfYjTPjh7I/AAAAAAAABv8/SRK01Wl7iBs/s200/il_fullxfull.229756730.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681247555923707826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;9. One of those rings where some lovely word like "oui" or "love" is written out in silver cursive. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those are so cute, right?? Every time I see one on Pinterest, I re-pin it! Note: I'm not in love with the diamond over the "i" in the "oui."  Just saying...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;10. To complete my first feature film&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;This is a gift I will/must give myself/the people who are waiting patiently for me to finish it.&lt;br /&gt;It's getting &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; close guys, promise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LBgP7Rw-TbA/TtfcYeZJeFI/AAAAAAAABwI/zCJbSm5dMpo/s1600/the-sharpie-pen-fine-point.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 135px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LBgP7Rw-TbA/TtfcYeZJeFI/AAAAAAAABwI/zCJbSm5dMpo/s200/the-sharpie-pen-fine-point.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681251767984683090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;11. A lifetime supply of Sharpie pens! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are beyond a shadow of a doubt the finest pens on the market (in my opinion), and when I find myself needing to write something and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; having a Sharpie pen at my disposal, I'm bummed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;12. Silver earrings &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could use some big hoops and a dangly option or two.  Nothing fancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;13. A stronger command over Los Angeles driving short cuts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to know how to sneak around insane traffic stoppage without having to get out my GPS or find my location via the molasses-like Internet connection on my Blackberry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;14. To be producing a regular, 20-Nothings podcast&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jwIh0TQrqjQ/Ttg3bRE1HyI/AAAAAAAABwg/pvVaed8CTmU/s1600/tumblr_lr8ppfGPPT1qzioo4o1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 154px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jwIh0TQrqjQ/Ttg3bRE1HyI/AAAAAAAABwg/pvVaed8CTmU/s200/tumblr_lr8ppfGPPT1qzioo4o1_500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681351871507537698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;See "to complete my first feature film" replace "the people who are waiting patiently for me to finish it" with "the hundreds of thousands of people who are yet unaware of the impact it will have on their lives." &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;15.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;This&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; office, and with it &lt;a href="http://www.elledecor.com/celebrity-homes/articles/shortlist-jenna-lyons"&gt;Jenna Lyon's&lt;/a&gt; entire wardrobe...and son. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That should do it for this year!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-J&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-2045107469064159666?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-xx3A3inCZFx4XYGiikCxWBl0mE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-xx3A3inCZFx4XYGiikCxWBl0mE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-xx3A3inCZFx4XYGiikCxWBl0mE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-xx3A3inCZFx4XYGiikCxWBl0mE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/ta6k0BWhMt8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/2045107469064159666/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/all-i-want-for-christmas-literally.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/2045107469064159666?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/2045107469064159666?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/ta6k0BWhMt8/all-i-want-for-christmas-literally.html" title="All I Want For Christmas, literally" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GCTQHae4wxM/Ttfdc4wWo0I/AAAAAAAABwU/EIDaCRBZHQ8/s72-c/Free-Christmas-Wallpaper-Santa-Claus-Reading-Your-Wish-List-508x317.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/all-i-want-for-christmas-literally.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQFSHo6eCp7ImA9WhRRF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-3066621834037331645</id><published>2011-12-01T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-01T12:58:39.410-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-01T12:58:39.410-05:00</app:edited><title>December SUNDAY NIGHT SEX TALKS details + performers</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D7mn6zJT6-U/Tta_Fr4HawI/AAAAAAAABtU/ictceODrfbU/s1600/For%2BBlog.12.4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 176px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D7mn6zJT6-U/Tta_Fr4HawI/AAAAAAAABtU/ictceODrfbU/s400/For%2BBlog.12.4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680938084372802306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/213143"&gt;(CLICK TO BUY YOUR TIX)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's that time of the month again! Another SNST is this coming Sunday, and in honor of December, we're making this storytelling session holiday-themed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday, December 4th at 8:30pm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, five hysterical and talented performers will take the &lt;a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/bar-lubitsch-west-hollywood"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bar Lubitsch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; stage for the third installment in my girls-only, R-rated storytelling series. Sorry, but it really is NO BOYS ALLOWED.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The topic&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;: All I want for ChrisKwanzMakkah is ______________________.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The format&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;: Free-form storytelling based on the prompt. The show will run 1 hr.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The talent&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;: TV writers, feature writers, stand-ups, actresses and moi!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Tickets&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;: (Oooone more time... ) $6 at &lt;a href="http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/213143"&gt;Brown Paper Tickets&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The  first two shows were a huge success, so don't miss out!  E-mail me at  20Nothings@gmail.com with questions, comment, talent suggestions and   positive RSVPs!  Hoping to see many of you on 12/4 (sorry boys...).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2_NbB1uEsUk/Tta_yZFFq5I/AAAAAAAABtg/PSKno7jHjjY/s1600/IMG_0232_2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 201px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2_NbB1uEsUk/Tta_yZFFq5I/AAAAAAAABtg/PSKno7jHjjY/s320/IMG_0232_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680938852421053330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://twitter.com/alexcooley"&gt;Alex Cooley&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KyPysOIUw1M/Tta_8m4FuBI/AAAAAAAABts/mnEx_rR37K0/s1600/carley.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 222px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KyPysOIUw1M/Tta_8m4FuBI/AAAAAAAABts/mnEx_rR37K0/s320/carley.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680939027923318802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Carley Steiner&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LrAyEqt52-o/TtbAS0UaVpI/AAAAAAAABt4/7efEQMxVXFs/s1600/mel087.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LrAyEqt52-o/TtbAS0UaVpI/AAAAAAAABt4/7efEQMxVXFs/s200/mel087.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680939409488893586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2780877/"&gt;Melissa Marie Stephens&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nBXVnbkybX4/TtbAcL1j45I/AAAAAAAABuE/z8LVNRmTmVI/s1600/melissa-hunter-headshot.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 161px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nBXVnbkybX4/TtbAcL1j45I/AAAAAAAABuE/z8LVNRmTmVI/s320/melissa-hunter-headshot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680939570420769682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://twitter.com/melissaftw"&gt;Melissa Hunter&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tv4_OPEo7Kw/TtbAjeqicdI/AAAAAAAABuQ/Cftpg3bE2h8/s1600/tumblr_lrv0ct83Rt1qbvlnf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tv4_OPEo7Kw/TtbAjeqicdI/AAAAAAAABuQ/Cftpg3bE2h8/s320/tumblr_lrv0ct83Rt1qbvlnf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680939695733895634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jccoccoliispretty.com/"&gt;J.C. Coccoli&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-3066621834037331645?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2tVpzDp3T7tQypq8IB3RFhJtsis/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2tVpzDp3T7tQypq8IB3RFhJtsis/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/ibEcNrlAy8U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/3066621834037331645/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/december-sunday-night-sex-talks-details.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/3066621834037331645?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/3066621834037331645?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/ibEcNrlAy8U/december-sunday-night-sex-talks-details.html" title="December SUNDAY NIGHT SEX TALKS details + performers" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D7mn6zJT6-U/Tta_Fr4HawI/AAAAAAAABtU/ictceODrfbU/s72-c/For%2BBlog.12.4.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/12/december-sunday-night-sex-talks-details.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEBSHk4cCp7ImA9WhRRFko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-893142197764676716</id><published>2011-11-30T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-30T11:30:59.738-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-30T11:30:59.738-05:00</app:edited><title>I recently heard some bad advice on LOVELINES regarding what defines a slut</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RD-nV_tr5kA/TtV19S-fQVI/AAAAAAAABs8/wggSD2KIENU/s1600/Picture%2B2.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 307px; height: 113px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RD-nV_tr5kA/TtV19S-fQVI/AAAAAAAABs8/wggSD2KIENU/s400/Picture%2B2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680576200924152146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm sitting in some bizarre, late-night traffic the other day, flipping the old radio dial, and I stumble upon a blast from our collective pasts - &lt;a href="http://www.lovelineshow.com/"&gt;LOVELINES&lt;/a&gt;! Apparently it's still around and hosted by some guy named Mike, some girl named Simone, and its now-famous originator, Dr. Drew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dropped in on the program at the beginning of a call from a 17-year-old, Midwestern girl named Katie. Katie was calling to ask the hosts if the amount of sex she's having makes her a slut.  Her story is that she's been sleeping around and experimenting since breaking up with her boyfriend, but is, "worried people are going to think [she's] a slut now." In response to the question of how many different partners she has per month (I think Dr. Drew asked), she said, about four.  Katie asked the panel (and this part I remember clear as day), "Like, how long should I wait in between having sex so I'm not a slut?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm listening and thinking, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;whoa&lt;/span&gt; that's a loaded question, and four people per month is a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lot &lt;/span&gt;for a 17-year-0ld slash anyone, but let's see what the experts have to say. Surely they'll address the bigger issue of how she feels about this sex and why she's doing it versus the number of partners and time span between sexual encounters.  They'll probably also get into why she doesn't want to be a slut and what being a slut means in her mind. After all, these people are professionals, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike and Dr. Drew punted to Simone (the girl) to respond, resulting in a confusing and unclear answer that I think boiled down to, "you should wait at least a week between sex partners."  (in fairness, Simone said that's what she would do). Simone did acknowledge that Katie is young and should spend time thinking about how long she waits in between unique partners.  She also admitted that a "slut" is hard to define (&lt;a href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2008/09/what-defines-slut.html"&gt;here's my own attempt from way back when&lt;/a&gt;).  But she in no way addressed the bigger issues at hand (in my opinion): what does Katie think it means to be a slut? why is she concerned about being a slut? what is motivating her to have the sex she is having in the first place? how does she feel about herself after the sex? What about before the sex? What if the answer is, "yes, you're a slut," - then how would Katie feel?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get that this is a radio show and not a psychology class, but if 2011 is anything like 1999 then impressionable young teens were listening in to that call on the Walkmen (iPhones?) they have stuffed under their pillows.  And unfortunately those kids got a hackey answer to a pretty significant question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, even though I doubt this will reach Katie, doubt many teens read this blog, and am perhaps less qualified to answer than Simone, here is how I would have responded:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Katie, the whole word slut - what it means, who is one, who gets to decide - is really tricky.  Some people think you're a slut if you sleep with anyone before you're married.  Other people think there's no such thing as a slut and that you should be able to sleep with whomever you want, whenever you want to.  Then there are people who think being a slut is about being careless about sex and your body.  There is no right or wrong answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I personally think that the word "slut" should have much more to do with how you feel about the sex you're having.  Does it make you feel empty? Does it make you feel weird? Do you personally feel like it's too much, or are you totally comfortable with it?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It sounds like you're worried about what other people think of the amount of sex you're having.  Why is that? And are you worried about it yourself? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Now, aside from the whole "what-defines-a-slut" thing, I have to be honest with you and say that multiple sex partners per month at your age makes me worry. The decision to have sex is a very important one because it affects your body and your mind, and when we're young - like you are - we know less about our bodies and minds.  If I were you I would think carefully about who I want to have sex with, and more importantly, why I want to have sex with that person. People have all sorts of definitions and labels for all sorts of thing - especially when it comes to sex - but the only thing that's important at the end of the day is how you feel about yourself and how you take care of yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope that's a helpful answer.  If I were you I would also talk it over with a good friend so you have more time to think through your feelings. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-893142197764676716?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yTZNcZNOqVKa7iVEQqmg4Z1bUOI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yTZNcZNOqVKa7iVEQqmg4Z1bUOI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/rL_dXw1ykZg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/893142197764676716/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-recently-heard-some-bad-advice-on.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/893142197764676716?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/893142197764676716?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/rL_dXw1ykZg/i-recently-heard-some-bad-advice-on.html" title="I recently heard some bad advice on LOVELINES regarding what defines a slut" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RD-nV_tr5kA/TtV19S-fQVI/AAAAAAAABs8/wggSD2KIENU/s72-c/Picture%2B2.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-recently-heard-some-bad-advice-on.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYNSXoyeyp7ImA9WhRRFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-5799144327212557907</id><published>2011-11-28T14:50:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-28T15:46:38.493-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-28T15:46:38.493-05:00</app:edited><title>Things I Learned At My 10-Year High School Reunion</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-86TY1HmjhFk/TtPydR11zDI/AAAAAAAABsw/-aLO3WnolKA/s1600/NT63SilhouettePic_A.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 120px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-86TY1HmjhFk/TtPydR11zDI/AAAAAAAABsw/-aLO3WnolKA/s320/NT63SilhouettePic_A.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680150139863682098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I survived, and not just barely.  Despite the apprehensions, nerves, and my mother's insistence that I was wearing something out of season, the event was a success.  100 of the 300+ FTHS 2001 grads attended, and 75% of the people I was most excited to see were part of that group.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course no highly-anticipated, first-time, 20-something experience is without its list of learnings.  Here, in no particular order, are mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1. Ten-year high school reunions feature three kinds of conversations:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;2-minute, faux catch-ups with people you weren't really friends with (How are you? How's your family? Great! So good to see you!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;10-minute, legit catch-ups with people you, sadly, didn't keep in touch with (Actual questions about what the person is/has been/intends to do)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;35-minute conversations with people you've remained friends with and/or know everything about through Facebook (Mostly gossip about everyone else in attendance)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;The first are awkward, the second are nostalgic, and the third remind you why you kept in touch with these people in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2. People either look exactly the same or DRASTICALLY different.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;99% of the people look only 10% different, 10 years later.  The girls look slightly older, more mature, and seem to have stopped doing that make-curly-hair-straight-with-lots-of-gel thing.   The guys are more chiseled in the face, have filled out a tiny bit in the middle, and seem to have stopped going tanning three time a week (note: I'm from Central Jersey).  And then there are the few people who have either lost of gained massive amounts of weight.  These stats are taken from a sample of 100 people, but I'd bet they're pretty typical of all classes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3. VERY few people who were together in high school are still together.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, this could be attributed to the sample size or the dynamics of my graduating class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;4. Fewer people were married than I thought would be, until I thought harder about it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the national average is something like 30 for men and 28 for women now?  I guess I falsely assumed that my suburban NJ town would marry earlier than the national average, but as it turns out most people were in serious relationships or engaged but not yet married.  So, kudos Freehold, NJ!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;5. It's sort of hard to remember how close you were with some people. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You remember your best friends, and you remember the people who hated you, but that group in the middle - surface friends and friendquaintances - can be tricky to reconnect with after a decade.  There will be some surprise "omg-it's-soooo-good-to-see-you!!!" and some equally surprising cold shoulders.  Best to just roll with this and take every hug hello as it comes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;6. On average, people are &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;just &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;starting to have their lives together. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This goes with the whole most-people-aren't-married-yet thing.  Ten years ago I bet most people would have been working in the same field for at least five years,  buying their first house and not envisioning any massive changes in the near future.  Today it felt like people had just settled into the rhythm they intend to keep for the next decade.  There were first or second year lawyers, people just out of grad school, and people who had transitioned from one career to their current career.  Or maybe that's just the way I decided to see the crowd on account of my continued and incomplete career change...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;7. Some people may or may not inform you that they really wanted to make out with you all through high school. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This will likely be booze-induced and definitely be awkward.  Just hope some awesome people are standing next to you when it happens so you can all remember the magic together.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-5799144327212557907?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0Fgv2k9uLcjinfWjpc8b8VtkqXY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0Fgv2k9uLcjinfWjpc8b8VtkqXY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/pkYT939ESxk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/5799144327212557907/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/11/things-i-learned-at-my-10-year-high.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/5799144327212557907?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/5799144327212557907?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/pkYT939ESxk/things-i-learned-at-my-10-year-high.html" title="Things I Learned At My 10-Year High School Reunion" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-86TY1HmjhFk/TtPydR11zDI/AAAAAAAABsw/-aLO3WnolKA/s72-c/NT63SilhouettePic_A.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/11/things-i-learned-at-my-10-year-high.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUEQn4_fyp7ImA9WhRREko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-1893124019489157314</id><published>2011-11-22T07:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-25T22:30:03.047-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-25T22:30:03.047-05:00</app:edited><title>Six Fashion Trends That Make Me Feel Old</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gW8KUveZtYQ/TsvfStogstI/AAAAAAAABsk/laoNCEDi2jU/s1600/taylor-momsen-4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 321px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gW8KUveZtYQ/TsvfStogstI/AAAAAAAABsk/laoNCEDi2jU/s400/taylor-momsen-4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677877267810792146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         &lt;style&gt;@font-face {   font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }&lt;/style&gt;     &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I remember watching the old church ladies who sat in the front row of my suburban New Jersey church roll their eyes as a jeans clad parishioner precessed up for Communion.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“What do they think this is??” I could hear their eye-rolls says, “the Costco?!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Two weeks ago I had a similar reaction to a young professional I saw sporting a less than professional, but not doubt young, look.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“What do they think this is??” I said out loud to the wall of my cubicle, “a Hollywood club?!”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I am not old, nor am I a church lady, and I have been know to take some real fashion risks, but there is a time and a place and a season and a standard.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And there is also, apparently, an age when you look at some of the wilder fashion trends and go, “how &lt;i style=""&gt;dare&lt;/i&gt; she!” versus what you used to say, which was, nothing. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Five Fashion Trends I Cannot Get Behind/You Know You’re Old When...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;1. Leggings as pants (without a long shirt covering your butt). &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;To me this is the clear plastic bra straps of the new Millennium.  Tight pants are one (bad enough) thing, but not pants are another. If you wanna rock them with your glitter Ugg boots to pick up coffee at Joan's on Third, go for it, but the office should be reserved as a zone where people remain curious about the exact outline of your buttocks and twinkie (the term my former ballet teacher bizarrely used for crotch). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;2. Black lace bras under see-through shirts. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt; &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;This is a &lt;i style=""&gt;big&lt;/i&gt; West Coast thing, and, I will be honest, I enjoy it at the right venues.  Those venues do not include work, a fine dinner establishment or a baby shower.  Now I'm going to say something that I will likely live to regret, so I'll blame the church lady now living on my shoulder: you look like a hussy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;3. Beanie hats in-doors, all day&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fedoras, cowboy hats, J. Lo floppies, some berets - all reasonable hats to wear indoors as a piece of your ensemble. They are a fashion item.  Wool beanies made popular by ski instructors and people who are freezing cold are a function item.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;No, I cannot explain to you why a guy wearing a wool beanie makes me aggressively roll my eyes and a girl wearing a floppy beret does not, but it probably has something to do with the fact that the girl is me, and that I am now old. &lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt; &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;4. Raccoon eyes&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Seriously, what are you doing? Trying to make your eyes look bigger (they don't)? Expressing your anger through make-up application (that's weird)? Showing your support for actual raccoons (they don't want it)?&lt;b style=""&gt; &lt;/b&gt;You look weird, and sad, and like you think this brunch restaurant is a futuristic Vogue editorial spread (which it might be, but you're not in it). Smokey eyes = sexy. Black eyes = who hit you?&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt; &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;5. Platform shoes so high you can only wear them sitting down&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;See above. Replace sad with "freakishly tall" and Vogue editorial spread with "couture runway show."&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt; &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;6. Insane up-dos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;This one is the most curious to me.  I understand a sloppy pony or a loose bun.  I'm also kinda into that thing where you make a big loop and plop it on top of your head.   What I can't get behind is this look where the pony tail is akin to a dirty rats nest that sits somewhere neither top, nor back, nor side of the head. I have a feeling the look is meant to say, "I care so little about this day/myself/you that I'm just going to make rave hands with my hair and then slap a hair tie around it."&lt;b style=""&gt; &lt;/b&gt;So if that's what you're going for, mission accomplished. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;There was a time when these fashion infractions wouldn't make me look twice.  I lived in Manhattan for five years, after all.  But it would appear that I'm shifting from a Greenwich Village freak-show enthusiast to a judgmental old church lady...with a blog. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;Please share your own old church lady fashion opinions in comments, so I don't feel like the only curmudgeon under the age of 60.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-1893124019489157314?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SFAwPHg98o4-SF4yoYs5h_mQZxc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SFAwPHg98o4-SF4yoYs5h_mQZxc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SFAwPHg98o4-SF4yoYs5h_mQZxc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SFAwPHg98o4-SF4yoYs5h_mQZxc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/Xn6XPk_YQT8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/1893124019489157314/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/11/five-fashion-trends-that-make-me-feel.html#comment-form" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/1893124019489157314?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/1893124019489157314?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/Xn6XPk_YQT8/five-fashion-trends-that-make-me-feel.html" title="Six Fashion Trends That Make Me Feel Old" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gW8KUveZtYQ/TsvfStogstI/AAAAAAAABsk/laoNCEDi2jU/s72-c/taylor-momsen-4.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/11/five-fashion-trends-that-make-me-feel.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUHR34zfip7ImA9WhRSFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-2205125889511845888</id><published>2011-11-18T13:32:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-18T14:07:16.086-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-18T14:07:16.086-05:00</app:edited><title>Why I Think Some Millennial Women Are Burning Out At Work by 30</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zry7hUIU7Dk/TsarzHrBZjI/AAAAAAAABro/Iev5JtRuzQw/s1600/256afbeeaafc48cc_burnout1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 170px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zry7hUIU7Dk/TsarzHrBZjI/AAAAAAAABro/Iev5JtRuzQw/s320/256afbeeaafc48cc_burnout1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676413275068261938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You won't be shocked to hear that &lt;a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/larissafaw/2011/11/11/why-millennial-women-are-burning-out-at-work-by-30/"&gt;this recent Forbes article&lt;/a&gt; on young women burning out at work before the age of 30 caught my eye.  I am a woman. I am burning out at work, and I am before the age of 30.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The piece is a good read on a very interesting topic, but I think it missed one big area of "why" that's worth discussing whenever discussing women under the age of 30.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the very  valid reasons the article does attribute to this burn-out trend:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Women have been working their tails off since high school to compete for the best colleges and best jobs&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Many Millennial women have Type-A personalities (which is tied to the first reason).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Women are more inclined to view life as a "sprint" versus a "marathon." (note: the article doesn't delve into why, but I assume this is some a-woman's-brain-just-works-that-way situation, or perhaps the reason this article left out, which I discuss below)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Women have unrealistic expectations about the early years of employment, namely that they won't be so brutal.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;Some of these reasons focuses on the fact that women are frustrated that they have to do so much.  They're not burning out because they're overworked and putting excessive pressure on themselves, they're burned out because they didn't expect the work to be so hard.  That's fine and valid, but it's not the area of this issue that interests me. I want to talk about why women put such excessive pressure on themselves to succeed  from 2-0 to 3-0 in the first place.  It's here that I think the article misses a giant point.  Don't kill me for saying this, but what about:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Women are rushing to achieve success before they transition into being mothers&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;If someone had interviewed me for this article that's exactly the rationale I would have given.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I am extremely driven to succeed and have been since I first joined the work force for two reasons 1. because my career is wildly important to me, and I want to succeed for my own, personal fulfillment and 2. because at a certain point I intend to transition out of being so career-focused and into being more family-focused.  I've know this for many years, and I think about it constantly as I plan my next career moves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Maybe that makes me oddly traditional for a Millennial woman? Maybe it makes me too cynical about the fact that today's women can "have it all"? I don't know what it makes me, I just know that it's how I feel and therefore very much a part of how I engage with the work place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;As I type this, I wonder if my confession will get a lot of backlash from people who find my position archaic and anti-feminist. Is the idea that I'm compelled to ascend to a certain level of success before I start a family too narrow? too vintage? too much? I honestly don't know, nor do I know if it's the right way to approach my career and my life. I just know it's a source of motivation and a very real truth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So all I'm saying is that if you're going to write an article about how women under thirty view their role in the work place, especially one that discusses why they're overwhelmed, you can't ignore the idea that around the age of 30 women think very seriously about adding a second career to their lives.  If I'm thinking about it, others are too.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-2205125889511845888?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rB-95aYDL-9AXhiEyh04byP6nks/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rB-95aYDL-9AXhiEyh04byP6nks/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/20-nothings/~4/3Kf5o2zyIWQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/feeds/2205125889511845888/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/11/why-i-think-some-millennial-women-are.html#comment-form" title="11 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/2205125889511845888?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1941531919762541888/posts/default/2205125889511845888?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/20-nothings/~3/3Kf5o2zyIWQ/why-i-think-some-millennial-women-are.html" title="Why I Think Some Millennial Women Are Burning Out At Work by 30" /><author><name>Jessie Rosen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15166093199743818277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="14" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iFATcWiKsbU/SZoebAiQ9AI/AAAAAAAAAWI/VVT1itQG2wI/S220/20nothingsgirl.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zry7hUIU7Dk/TsarzHrBZjI/AAAAAAAABro/Iev5JtRuzQw/s72-c/256afbeeaafc48cc_burnout1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>11</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://20-nothings.blogspot.com/2011/11/why-i-think-some-millennial-women-are.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8NSX4ycCp7ImA9WhRSFEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1941531919762541888.post-2426096675538548445</id><published>2011-11-16T14:41:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-16T15:54:58.098-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-16T15:54:58.098-05:00</app:edited><title>How to receive notes on the first draft of your first feature film...from your boyfriend</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IXvOokKom-I/TsQbJG8gROI/AAAAAAAABrY/ndWBd2KywWk/s1600/w4p3_ScriptNotes_sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 191px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IXvOokKom-I/TsQbJG8gROI/AAAAAAAABrY/ndWBd2KywWk/s400/w4p3_ScriptNotes_sm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675691273690825954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hz2HG85NIUg/TsQa799L-VI/AAAAAAAABrM/QxK-46GbqHg/s1600/w4p3_ScriptNotes_sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There is nothing quite as terrifying as the moment you receive notes on the first draft of the first feature film you've ever written, especially if those notes are coming from the person who has elected to date you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Notes" is the catch-all term for suggested changes to your draft, AKA a line-by-line review of all the things you did poorly/wrong.  This makes the notes process akin to you unhinging your brain and saying, "here is the summation of all that I believe is funny, smart and well-written, please judge it out loud and in front of me!"  Then, add to that the fact that this script is not for hobby or sport, but rather a piece of material intended to launch your entire career. Yes, some of that is an overly dramatic, over-exaggeration.  No, that doesn't remotely change the way you feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, based on all-too-recent-events, I give you my personal HOW TO guide for coming out of your very first notes session both alive and still in a relationship. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wear something really nice&lt;/span&gt;.  I find people are less-inclined to be cruel if they think you look particularly good, especially if those people date you.  So, for example, PJ stretch pants and a man's flannel shirt would be the wrong thing to wear, especially if you're pairing that ensemble with day-old hair and your coke-bottle glasses.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Consider time of day when scheduling your notes session. &lt;/span&gt;Early morning can be tricky because your entire day will likely be ruined based on the notes.  Similarly, 10:30pm on a Tuesday when you're fighting a nasty sore throat can be tricky because it's 10:30pm on a Tuesday and you're fighting a nasty sore throat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sit across from, not next to the note-er&lt;/span&gt;. Close proximity is your enemy in this process. You want to establish a professional distance between yourself and the other party, so that when he knife-jabs a note directly into your creative core, he'll have to get up from the table and walk his butt around it to deliver the appropriate, apologetic hug. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Think twice about making a stink about any note that comes prior to page 65. &lt;/span&gt;Trudging through 70 more pages of notes while employing the silent treatment is not pleasant or convenient.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Don't say the following: &lt;/span&gt;"Writer to development executive, that was a shitty note." But if you're going to, definitely don't add, "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Listen," &lt;/span&gt;to the front of it and deliver it dripping with nasty tone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Remember to say thank you for specific notes throughout the process. &lt;/span&gt;This will endear your reader to you and make it seem as though you are both happy and stable.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Try not to flip to the last page or check the time on your non-existent watch through the session. &lt;/span&gt;I don't think this advice requires an explanation. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;When the notes session is complete, thank the noter-er in your most convincingly sincere voice. &lt;/span&gt;This person just spent the past 1.5 hours coddling your sensitive writer psyche through 115 pages of notes on a script he sped-read so you could turn it in on time.  Prove that you know and appreciate that as much as you should. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;This post was written with love and admiration for R, my very first note-er, and Michael, my roommate, who arrived home &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;just &lt;/span&gt;in time to catch the worst of it all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1941531919762541888-2426096675538548445?l=20-nothings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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