fro yo?

As indicated in one of my previous entries, I have an inexplicable fascination with the bro. I think it's because I genuinely wonder if they realize how insanely ridiculous they are, and at any given moment I'm waiting for the hidden cameras to pop out or at the very least for someone to yell, "psyche!"

About 2 weeks ago I was going for a run, and fine I'll admit it... I had my booty shorts on. But to counter the booty shorts, I had my iPod on, a clear indication not to talk to me. During the second half of my run, as I headed north on the lake toward my apartment, I had a bro encounter that I can't help but document.

Feeling slightly winded and wondering if hailing a cab the rest of the way home would result in a loss of street cred, I found myself running shoulder to shoulder with a bro. He was shirtless and freshly waxed (adhering to bro rule number 1), and proceeded to ramble off a list of nearby gyms. I deciphered this to be the bro way of asking me if I worked out at these locations, and curtly said no to each one. It was probably my severe disinterest and annoyance with this guy that kept him intrigued... after all, the bro doesn't like being ignored. He then introduced himself in typical bro fashion... a fist pound.

The bro proceeded his attempt to impress me by telling me about his days as a personal trainer and repeatedly commenting, "You look really fit." (The bro is no longer employed as a trainer and now earns his bank selling flowers wholesale through his family's business.)

During a light jog that gradually turned into a sprint to lose this guy, I began to worry that the bro just might follow me all the way to my apartment. Nearing the end of my course and after declining a ride on his scooter, the bro then asked, "So can I take you for a low fat fro yo sometime?" It was at that moment, politeness took a backseat to my laughter and once able to speak again, I replied, "I cannot believe you actually just called it that right now. That's the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever asked me."

Probably feeling rejected and hopefully embarrassed, the bro then made a U-turn, but not without first giving me a fist pound good-bye.

a nose ring in corporate america

A question that almost everyone asks me at some point is, “So what's the deal with that? (gesturing to my nose ring).”

Working in corporate America, I can’t say I’ve seen a single other nose ring, let alone any other facial piercing, on a non-Indian woman. In fact I’ve been told that when describing me, people will say, “You know… the girl with the [nose tap].”

I wish that when asked about my nose ring I could dive into the time I spent traveling through Southeast Asia and some spiritual ceremony I went through, resulting in the small diamond stud that plays such a large part of who I am.

Although not nearly as interesting, this small piece of jewelry does hold a large part of my self-identity. Replace Southeast Asia with the blue collar town of Buffalo, NY and add the girl who never quite felt like she ever fit in.

The weekend after I graduated from a strict all-girls Catholic high school that banned all visible piercings, I immediately walked off the graduation stage, and armed with my best friend and my best friend's mother, walked into a tattoo/piercing shop. It was around 11am on a Saturday and my only intention at the time was to go there with Meagan while she got her first tattoo, and never really considered doing anything myself.

At the time Meagan was 2 months shy of 18, and in NY it was still illegal for anyone under 18 to get a tattoo, even with parental consent. So rather than waste the trip, Meagan's mom had her rose tattoo that had severely faded during the 20 years she had it, retouched and transformed into a dragonfly. To this day when I catch a glimpse of it across the top of her right breast, I smile, as if we're members of some secret club.

I can't even remember what my thought process was at the time, but at some point I decided that I didn't care what my father would say, and I pointed to a blue stud and proclaimed, "I want that on the left side of my nose." Suddenly, I found the petite Native American woman at the tattoo/piercing parlor bent over me, and in about 20 seconds I was pierced. Later, when my father did eventually see it, he told me it looked like I had a white-head on the side of my nose and asked if I wanted him to pop it. Occasionally he still asks.

Two months after getting my nose pierced, I wound up at a house party with my then boyfriend. After a few dozen shots too many, and praying to the porcelain god, the next morning my nose ring was gone and the piercing had healed. When Meagan's 18th birthday finally rolled around, we hit the nearest tattoo parlor where she got her first tattoo (a blue heart with wings on her lower right side) and I got my nose pierced for the second time.

When first interviewing post-graduation, I felt dyed hair and piercings just might be frowned upon, so I reverted back to my natural dark brown hair color and removed my nose ring. Once hired, I continued with the more conservative look and even sported neatly pressed button-down shirts and creased pants. For months I dressed in what felt to me like clown clothes. I felt uncomfortable, unattractive, and a million miles from being myself.

After about 8 months I decided that I just couldn't do it anymore, and didn't care what the consequences were. When I looked in the mirror I didn't recognize myself and felt incomplete. One night out of curiosity, I decided to see if my nose piercing had closed and was almost nervous to find out that it hadn't. Once it was back in, there was no going back. Wearing it on the weekends or after work simply wasn't an option. I found myself needing it in order to feel and look like myself.

The irony in my nose ring is that I absolutely hate my profile, and hate my nose in particular. To the extreme that I can't help but feel horribly unattractive when people sit at a 90 degree angle from me. It's my crooked nose and my big forehead that somehow become comfortable and sometimes even beautiful (but only sometimes) when I have my nose ring. Without it, I found myself constantly touching my left nostril and incredibly self-conscious.

Everyone asks if it hurt or how I blow my nose or if I have a lot of boogers. Just for the record, the answers are:

1. Not really. It was sore for about a week but the actual pain only lasted for a few seconds.
2. Same way I always have.
3. The inside of my nose ring does tend to accumulate some "crusties" but I'm not gonna lie, I enjoy a good nose pick from time to time, so I think of it as a win-win.

in the land of cordin

who i spend 90% of my day talking to..

Cordin: but whoever thought button fly was a good idea for men should be fired

Cordin: i just want to fire people i think

Cordin: the city of cordin, you will have no pigeons being fed, no buses blocking intersections and no button fly jeans

Cordin: also in this beautiful land one can find an endless flow of parfaits

an ahh haa moment

"When I was single, I decided I wouldn't marry a man unless I could be proud if we had a son who turned out exactly like him." - Maggie Mason

I'm not sure marriage could have been put more perfectly into perspective than with that statement. As timing would have it, about 2 weeks ago when I was at home in New York, my friend Michelle and I found ourselves at a table for two with a bottle of wine in a dimly lit restaurant. Michelle is one of those friends whose friendship I'm able to step right back into regardless of the number of months that have gone by.

As we polished off the bottle of wine and I was secretly thinking we should have ordered another, our conversation inevitably led to discussing our latest dating adventures. It was at this point Michelle told me of her 'revelation.' After walking in limbo for far too long wondering, "Exactly what is this?" she had an 'ahh haa' moment of her very own. In her revelation she realized that life would in fact go on with or without a guy. That she's doing just fine on her own. And really what's the worse that would happen if a guy rejected you?

It sounds obvious enough but so many girls (and yes I can speak from personal experience on this) get hung up on being with a guy that it doesn't even matter who that guy is. They truly believe that their heart will never heal... that they'll remain alone forever, and that there isn't anything else in life that could possibly be worse than how they feel at that given moment.

While I too have been guilty of these sentiments, it is 'ahh haa moments' like the one Michelle had that realigns my perspective.

the bro

The bro can typically be found prowling in such places as, spring break destinations (Cabo and Daytona Beach rank high in the list), dance clubs, and most commonly at the gym getting his swell on. I have been fortunate enough in life to work in close proximity to one such bro, and have been inspired to write a how-to-guide on achieving bro’dom of your very own.

• Undershirts: The foundation of bro’dom relies on a bare, waxed chest. So first things first... if you own any undershirts throw them away immediately. The bro can never be seen with an undershirt on, and is much more likely to be seen with no shirt on at all.
• Body hair: Rid yourself of any body hair. The one exception to this rule is the subtle yet masculine 5 o’clock shadow, as the bro can be spotted with this look often.
• Self-tanner: You may think this bronze look comes from a tanning bed, but this is a common non-bro misconception. You can only pull off that perfect tan by using a bro-approved spray-on tan. You may wonder, what's bro-approved? The answer to this is, any spray-on tan that a half naked girl applies to you while telling you how good your 6 pack looks.
• Cuff links: No bro ensemble is complete without the professional and high class touch of cuff links in all social situations. The bro can be seen anywhere from the office to a sporting event with the perfect cuff links to compliment all settings. Extra bro points if they match the pinstripes in your pants.
• Axe Body Spray: It is vital for every bro to smell good at all times and for everyone in the room to know it. Douse yourself in bro-approved Axe body spray, because all bros know that the commercials don't lie.
• Cologne: The only bro approved cologne is one you cannot pronounce correctly. Common bro brands are colognes such as Acqua Di Gio and L'Eau d'Issey. This scent, accompanied by your bro body spray, will get the attention of any girl.
  
• Gold chain: The only way to accompany your bare, tanned chest is with a gold chain. Because without a chain your undone buttons would just look ridiculous.
• Casual wear: When going casual it is acceptable for a bro to wear a vneck, if and only if, this vneck is accompanied by a suit coat.

**Special shout out to two anonymous co-authors for their thoughts and contributions to 'the bro.' Couldn't have done it without you.

a night at the turtle races

The hardest part about my job is simply trying to explain what it is I do as a consultant. Basically, if you want to work insanely long hours, have no life outside of work, and party like a rock star, consulting is the industry for you.

Today is day 13 out of a 20 day work stretch - crack the whip and forget what a weekend is! The only thing that makes this experience remotely tolerable is the amount of excessive drinking we do as a firm, and last night was no different.

After a full work day and a mandatory firm happy hour, a group of us from work ventured to the north side of Chicago for a little known recreational activity - turtle racing at Big Joe's. It looks like your typical dive bar in an obscure neighborhood... that is until they busted out the turtles!

Here's how it works... for every drink you buy, you receive a few raffle tickets. With each round of turtle racing they pull 6 tickets out of a hat. If your number gets called, you get assigned a turtle. If your turtle wins the race, you get free stuff. Simple enough.

Perhaps it was the fact that I had started drinking at 5 that day or maybe it was round after round of refreshing pitchers of Miller Lite, but I found this activity particularly entertaining.

In the end we drank, watched some turtles, and I beat out my co-workers with a winning bet on lucky turtle number 5.

big time executive

A reality that I think everyone has to face is the fact that they’re never going to be considered an adult in their parents’ eyes. We could live to be 90 years old and as long as our parents are still kicking around, we will always be the child. In the seven years I have lived away from home and on my own, I have thought of myself as an independent adult more and more frequently. It’s a self-identity that I had almost taken for granted until I returned home this past weekend and came face-to-face with my mother.

I had convinced my manager to allow me to work remotely from my mother’s house on both Friday and Monday so that I could have a long weekend home. Each Monday at work my team, which consists of about 15 people, attends a team meeting to update each other on progress, issues, whatever. Since I was at home I dialed into the meeting and was placed on speaker phone while the rest of my team gathered in a conference room.

I had decided to use the house phone for the meeting in order to save minutes on my cell phone and warned my 13 year old sister to stay off the line. About 10 minutes before the end of the hour long meeting, my mother unexpectedly comes home early from work and decides to make a phone call. The following is what transpired:

Random team members: [insert business jargon here]

My mother: HELLLOOO???? [pause] HELLOOOOO??? [pause] HELLLOOOOO???

Meanwhile I’m bolting from room to room looking for the source of my mother’s call and eventually find her in her bedroom. Just as I’m running into the room, arms flailing to signal for her to stop, as if in slow motion she says:

My mother: HANNA GET OFF THE PHONE!

Panicked with embarrassment, I immediately end the call both from my mother’s phone and the phone I was using.

Afterward the obvious question to my mother was, “Why would you pick up the phone, hear people talking and continue to say hello over and over?!”

My mother: I heard MEN’s voices on the line! I thought your sister was talking to MEN!

Me: How could you possibly mistake the voices of 50 year old men for 13 year old boys?!

My mother: Well you know kids these days. They go through puberty early and have those deep voices.

Me: Mom you are SO embarrassing!

My mother: Well excuse me big time executive. But we don’t make conference calls around here.

It only took 30 seconds on a conference call for my mother to remind me that I will never really be an adult in front of her; meanwhile, my mother’s legacy lives on at work, as she is suddenly the most popular person in the office without ever having set foot in it.