WHAT IS IT ABOUT SORORITY GET-TOGETHERS…

…that makes me worry about the state of the world. Actually, it’s more the female race that concerns me. Let me elaborate.

This past week, my sorority “family” got together to wish one of the girls good luck before she moved to Arizona. (In case you’re a little confused by the “family” concept, let me offer a brief explanation. When you join, you are paired with a “big” who serves as your teacher, guide, and – if you’re lucky – friend. If your big takes more than one little, you have a “twin.” And the family tree grows from there.)

I should also note before I get too far into this discussion, that joining a sorority was never something I planned to do. No one in my family (real one that is), ever went greek in college. But, being a lonely out-of-stater, I thought it would be a good way to meet people – and I was right. In fact, since I’ve left college, I’ve come to appreciate the connections even more. This little get-together, for example, was a welcome break from the monotony of my work week.

The get-together was a potluck, and although my first instinct was to bring a dessert, I "thought healthy" and sprung for a veggie tray. I’m glad I did. Once I got there, I realized that everyone else had brought the most fattening foods imaginable: pizza, bread sticks, cordon bleu balls (you better believe sorority girls had fun with that one), cheesy hash browns, pigs in a blanket, and pumpkin cookies with cream cheese frosting, to name a few.

The crazy part was that everyone there seemed to be on a diet! During the meal (which only some of them actually ate), they discussed how they were limiting their intake to 1,200 calories a day, cutting out carbs altogether, or trying to shrink their midsections down to double zeros so they could dress as sluts (the hot kind) for Halloween. So why did they all bring fattening foods? It beats me. Maybe they were indulging in their heads. Or maybe they were trying to derail their fellow dieters so they looked hotter in comparison.

But back up…1,200 calories?! That’s not even enough to sustain an itty bitty Barbie girl who doesn’t move an inch all day. Last time I checked, whole grains and fruits (which – gasp – contain carbs) make up pretty big chunks of the food pyramid (and MyPlate). And double zero? I hate to break it you darlings, but you’re no longer pre-pubescent!

Now I won’t pretend like I’ve got all this “living a healthy lifestyle” thing mastered myself (after all, my sweet tooth is the biggest one in my mouth), but I DO read a lot about nutrition and health.  I follow health magazines on Twitter, read nutrition textbooks for fun, and listen to podcasts such as Fat 2 Fit (http://www.fat2fitradio.com/), which I highly recommend. I feel like I have a good understanding of how to keep my body healthy.

Based on the knowledge I’ve acquired, I feel pretty confident saying that what these girls are doing is NOT healthy. It’s insane. Starving yourself only slows your metabolism and makes it more likely that your body will lose muscle instead of fat. Plus, you're miserable. Plus, once Halloween is over, they’ll likely gain the weight back (PLUS more). Is it really worth it?

Now I can’t say whether this behavior is more common among sorority girls than in the general female population, so I apologize for my somewhat stereotypical approach to this discussion. However, after attending this get-together, I couldn’t help but be concerned, frustrated and motivated to write about it.

Come on ladies. Let’s strive to eat healthy foods (enough of them!), to exercise regularly, and to enjoy a treat on occasion without feeling like we just committed a sin akin to adultery. After all, life is short. And I think it should be sweet, too.

WORKING OUT AT A “NORMAL PERSON” GYM

Once I moved to the ‘burbs, I pretty much gave up on outdoor running. First of all, my apartment complex is surrounded by roads with 35 mph speed limits, little to no shoulders, and plenty of squirrel pancakes. Sure I like pancakes, but I’d rather eat one than become one (the Bisquick kind – I’m not THAT weird). Second of all, as part of my rental agreement, I am able to attend a nearby gym for free…lucky me! In other words, they charge me for it monthly whether I decide to go or not. So I go.

Working out at a “normal person” gym has been an adjustment. At college, I got used to being surrounded by people just like me – same age, same T-shirts, same beer bellies. But at “normal person” gym, I feel completely out of place. My fellow gym-goers seem to fall into two categories: fit enough to sell the newest workout DVD on infomercials or large enough to qualify for the next season of The Biggest Loser.

The fit ones wear bright, skin-tight, “look-at-me” outfits and perform exercises I never encountered at my college gym (e.g., walking backwards on treadmills). What’s more, they all seem to know each other, like they’re in some muscle machine cult that gets together once a week to admire their sculpted bodies. (Maybe they don’t really know each other but have spent so much time in the gym they’ve been forced to bond over dumbbells at one time or another…yeah, that’s probably it).

The larger ones always seem to be swimming in oversized tees (which is funny because by the end of their workouts, it often looks like they actually went for a swim). Now I must pause to admit that I don’t have much room to criticize when it comes to over-sweating at the gym. In fact, my mom once told me she thinks I might have hyperhidrosis (a condition involving excessive perspiration), but that’s another story. I actually admire those “not so fit” ones for putting up with muscle machines and their “I’m hot and I know it” gym clothes. Just cover your stomachs, ladies, seriously. The only place I want to see a six-pack is on Brad Pitt or in my fridge.

But anyway, back to me and my awkwardness. So here I am – fresh out of college, not super-fit and not super-fat. I swear, they look at me like I’m a different breed of human. They’re probably thinking, “What is this blond thing with outdated sorority T-shirts, tight calves and love handles?” (The tight calves come from spontaneous speed walking contests – also another story).

When I walk in front of the treadmills to grab a cleaning wipe, I feel eyes searing into the back of my head. (I even dropped my iPod once in a moment of discomfort, calling even more attention to myself…smooth move. Then I hightailed it out of there. I still do.)


Perhaps one day I’ll find my place at the gym. Maybe I'll even be a muscle machine. Ha, or not. I guess for now I'm stuck sticking out. At least my love handles won't!

POST-GRAD DEPRESSION…

…is a very real phenomenon. I have anecdotal evidence to prove it.

One night, a 22-year-old went out to dinner with her parents (who were visiting from out of town) and her aunt and uncle (who live nearby). She listened as they spoke of her genius brother’s achievements at Princeton and the wild success that awaits him. She smiled and nodded as they commented on her cousin’s street smarts and unmatched work ethic. Surely, despite a poor GPA, he will excel in the real world, they said. Then they asked about her “new and exciting post-grad life.”

Question: “So what types of projects are you working on at your job?”

Answer: “Oh, editorial projects.” Reality: I cut and paste so often my fingers get sore. I enter data into massive spreadsheets, stuff envelopes, and – if I’m lucky – pick up lunch for meetings.

Question: “So what’s your social life like?”

Answer: “Oh, well we have happy hours for work and I try to keep up with my college friends in the area.” Reality: It’s nonexistent. I live by myself and have no friends nearby. I talk to my boyfriend on the phone, though!

As the recent grad drove home in the dark to an empty apartment, she flipped through radio stations to find a song that reflected her mood. Then she sobbed all the way home (wiping tears from her eyes as fast as she could so she didn’t total her precious Ford Taurus).

Well if you haven’t figured it out by now, the 22-year-old is me. I’ve never been an emotional person. In fact, I’ve always been inexplicably happy. But I’m pretty sure I’ve cried more in the last month than I did in my first year on this planet (and as my parents can assure, that’s saying something!)


In addition to the loneliness of living in a one-bedroom apartment, the challenges of keeping a long-distance relationship strong, and the loss of all things "college," I'm struggling with the lack of direction in my life. I had school figured out. My goal for the past 17 years of life was to get the best grades I could. And with a GPA of 3.984, I think I did pretty well (sorry to brag...I have to cling to whatever positives I can find right now).


Well it gets worse. I realized the publishing industry isn't the place for me. Since then, I've had a hard time continuing to motivate myself to pursue sales. Sure, it's a paycheck (which God knows I need). But it's nowhere near my passions: writing and editing. I thought I could suck it up and convince myself that I had a “passion for sales.” But acting has never been my strong suite. Who am I kidding? I can’t even tell a white lie to save my life.


I’m pretty sure the sales managers could see right through me. But still, they strung me along, always providing that tiny glimmer of hope. Finally, after being given a THIRD sales book to read, I got the balls to ask about my real chances of getting a sales job. There’s “a possibility,” the manager said. But he drew out the words and tilted his head to the side. He might as well have told me I didn't have a prayer. At that point, I came to the realization that my time would be better spent searching for other opportunities.

So it looks like I’m on the road again. I need a new direction. Some signage would be nice.