Gain Some Real World Experience

Lately, I've been exploring the cringing thought of what an interview actually is. Before graduating a few years back, I heard my college professors liken it to going on a date. Well, if that's the case, I completely under dress for my dates, but I can see the similarities.

Arriving at an interview, you try to be early and show that you're conscious of time. Your heart is racing, perhaps because you ran a few blocks to get there on time, and your palms are a little sweaty. Like with all of my dates, I introduce myself with a sturdy handshake and look each person in the eye while thinking "I will own you."

For the first time in my life, I went on an interview where the company presented themselves to me. Every single job I've ever applied for, and interviewed with, was always the opposite. It was about what I could do for the company and how I could better their business. The concept of the company trying to sell itself to me first was a brand new experience. Needless to say, I immediately applied it to my dating life and expect every girl to sell themselves to me. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Almost everyone can agree that their dates have been about trying to "sell" themselves to the other person. Either they were trying to impress or just be someone they're not. It's something most people have come to recognize and I hope they shed that kind of thinking or they're in for a rude awakening. It's this realization that has helped me out in my daily life and has made me a happier person.

Ok. Life lesson over. Go have some fun, kids.

Commemorative Plates

Imagine my frustration as I'm cruising down the highway when I was suddenly cut off by someone who didn't signal. They flew right past me and across to the next lane. In a raging fit of anger, I silently muttered their demise in my car and turned up the radio. I'm sure they got the point.

After a few minutes, I completely forgot about the incident and continued on my way to work. Everything was going smooth and I was enjoying the ride. Suddenly, the same car was within my vision. The very first thing I did was turn down the radio and concentrate on the car. Nothing was muttered until my eyes settled on their license plate. Wouldn't you believe it? They were from Jersey. God help the person who would have to read my eulogy if our interaction resulted in my death. 

"We're here to celebrate the life of Eric Remly, who was so suddenly taken from us by the douche of Jersey. Too young and too soon. May he rest in peace and Jersey lay in ruins." That's about right.

Terrible thoughts of how much I hate Jersey ran through my head. There was more muttering and raising of the stereo volume. It was then that the car slowed down and I got a better look at it. I had been so wrong. This driver wasn't from Jersey. No, not at all. He was the tragic victim of my prejudice because he had the most recent New York plate.

Oh God, could he ever forgive me? This poor man must not have seen me when he was merging. For all I know his turning signal was busted. Man, did I feel like crap.

It's all that damn Yellow's fault.

No. That dude was jerk. 

Get It Together, Man!

A startling revelation occurred this morning while I was getting dressed. I had just finished taking a nice shower, washing my hair with my designer shampoo and conditioner, and shaving with an old fashioned safety razor and a mug of warm shaving foam that I whipped myself. Freshly clean, I stepped into my room and went about my usual morning routine (a loosely used term since I normally wake up at 11am or noon).

I reach for the top shelf of my dresser and pull out a pair of clean boxer briefs. I step into them and admire myself in the mirror. Both arms slip through an undershirt and I'm ready to continue. That's when it hit me.

Let me go back and elaborate a little. Everything about the shower was completely true. I spend way more on toiletries than most men and like to think that it shows. I do shave with a safety razor and whip my own foam because I get a better shave from it. That's where the truth ends, or rather, where I decide to omit it.

Stepping into my room is like walking through a scene in Aladdin. There's dirt on the carpet, clothes hanging and thrown about the room, and a fez wearing monkey. Ok, maybe the monkey doesn't exist, but for all I know he could possibly be living under my bed (I haven't looked there in years). Frankly, I rather my room be named the Cave of Wonders with my own Princess Jasmin waiting to show me "a whole new world", but there never is and there probably won't be if I keep this up.

Sadly, I must continue my confession. The top drawer is empty. The boxer briefs were pulled out of the laundry bag on my floor and they're ripping. Lord knows when the last time I folded my laundry and placed them in my dresser was. There's also no mirror because I'm a pretty big guy and I'm sure I'd just get sad every time I looked into it.

But, seriously. When did I become this unkempt version of a man I never imagined myself to be? I'm sure I'm not the only one either. One look at some of the places my friends call home can help validate my point. Of course, I've never really noticed any of this until I found it in myself and neither has anyone else. It just seems that somewhere down the line, we gave up caring about our surroundings and solely focused on the immediate self.

Well, here's my personal challenge. Get it together. This is a challenge from myself to myself. Get things in order and become a man. Not just a teenager living in the body of a man and foregoing all the lessons my family taught me. Do I really want my mother yelling at me to pick up my room?

Several people told me that my last post made me out to be someone who thought they were cooler than most and a ladies man. I hope that this has shown them that I'm not at all what they perceived.