Majoring in Account[ability]

I am an accounting major.
I am part of the College of Business Administration (COBA) at Clarion University.
All signs are "go" for a graduation in May of 2011.
And I do not plan on sitting the CPA exam.

There are a multitude of reasons behind this decision, but before I delve into the logistics, let me ask you: why am I judged disdainfully for this? I have paid for the same four years of classes as every other COBA student; I attend all the same lectures and study all the same material as my peers, many of whom DO plan on sitting the exam. So what, exactly, is it that makes my decision so inferior to theirs?

Allow me to dismiss the fringe advocates patting my head and saying "you're just scared, you should go for your CPA" by telling you up front: I do not want to be a public accountant. Is that clear enough, professors? Advisers? Peers? Can you step back from judgment on my mental capacity long enough to consent, "Hm, the girl has an opinion?" Because hey, guess what - I have an opinion! Woo! It's really very exciting, see, to have formed this opinion... I feel calmer than I have in ages. Let me run down a few things.

I've already addressed the issue that most look down on me as if I've wasted my time here, or that I'm lacking some mental capacity required that I'm choosing not to take the exam. Look... I don't want to be a public accountant. Have you ever seen tax law? I'm talking about anything tougher than a form 1040- now multiply by the hundreds, add in for big and small businesses, all the different rules and regulations. Tax law is heinously complex, constantly changing, with enough exceptions to make your head spin. Auditing and taxes make up the two biggest departments of any public accounting firm we've (as students) toured or had speakers from. These are very hands-on, customer-interacting, long-hours-and-months sort of jobs. Yes, their payoff may be a lighter summer load, sure. But you see...

Every speaker we've had, every facility we've toured, has had the distinct honor of disrespecting what I find to be rewarding labor. I'm talking, of course, about corporate culture. I believe our last speaker said he "was a mindless drone, [he] didn't know anything about the data he was inputting, stuck at a desk from nine to five." Sir, I'd like to respectfully disagree. Just as The Big Four differ from ParenteBeard which differs from Joe Schmoe, CPA, Tax Consultant, every company is different. I had a wonderful internship at a corporate office. I liked only having to associate with my coworkers. I liked not having to be "out in the field." I like data entry. I like working from x am to y pm - perhaps I like the routine. Whatever the case, I really enjoyed what I did. Desk work. Unlike every public accountant I've happened to meet, I do not enjoy the hustling, bustling, hub-bub and near-insanity of the public accounting field. I am not enamored with the crazy. And I certainly don't want to sit an exam for which I am mandated to spend time in a field which I openly dislike. Why waste anyone's time, including my own, when I can be happy elsewhere?

I could bitch about the changes to the exam, and how I could be grandfathered through on the old rules but it's nearly impossible, or how I could opt for an extra year of school to go through on the new ones, but none of it's relevant, since I'm not taking the exam. I will mention that for a college that spoon-feeds you the idea that you want your CPA or MBA, they suuuuure don't have a lot of information on it, in this year, these years that the rules are changing and every single person around my age is confused with the standards.

I guess the point is... I've finally made the first decision of my college career that brings me some peace of mind and doesn't leave me feeling vastly overwhelmed. I've been asked several times why I chose accounting as my major, and each time the answer varies. The truth is it was a variety of things. I heard it was a growing field. It sounded like desk work. They project decent wages. It sounded like something I could learn. (In a family with talents ranging from nurse to mechanic to painter to machinist, I feel a little lacking in the "inherent talent" and especially the "useful life skills" departments, I won't lie.) I chose it because honestly, I had already crossed out other options. English? History? Don't wanna teach, and what else can you do? Music? Theater? Don't wanna teach, and that's a struggling career field - I want it to be my fun retreat. I am not a risk-taker. I know the value of money too much to want to gamble a stable financial future.

So damnit, world, this is my decision. I'm holding myself accountable for what I want.

And it's not a CPA certification.

This is obviously not intended for everyone I know, because many of you are supportive and encouraging. It comes as cyber-frustration to a scholarly world where we (those of us - there are others - who don't want our CPAs! gasp!) are looked down upon as underachieving and lazy. Frustration to a society where wanting the 1950s stay at home wife role is undermining to women. If you've taken the time to read through this, it probably wasn't intended as a rant towards you - but thank you for sharing your time to take consideration of my thoughts. I really appreciate it. :)

Social... lite

I went through a mild Facebook friend purge yesterday - nothing serious, just people I never talk to, never really did, never knew in person. I'd like to think that I was pretty amiable in high school: I talked to anyone, and I didn't have an "enemies" (or, at least that I was aware...), so it's hard for me to say "oh, let's delete so-and-so, I haven't seen them for three years anyway." Why? That line of communication is nice to keep open, to keep up with their life even if you haven't exchanged pleasantries for three years. If I were to take the initiative, I could be that person who pops up on their wall with a "hey, long time no see! how's life treatin' ya?" Because honestly? I normally enjoy those messages. It's the thought that somebody took the time to check in on your life, without wanting an in-depth play-by-play, just the same as running into each other at the grocery store or movie theater.

Perhaps that should be a goal of mine - to touch base, hopefully put a smile on someone's face.

Double D (and not batteries)

Okay, so it's been fifteen ages since I last laid eyes on blogger but I'm back and damnit, have I got something to say.

Double standards SUCK!

Since when was it a-okay for people with bee-stings (sorry, my A-cup friends) to write lengthy articles on how superior having small boobs are but the moment anyone a C or above dares to raise their hands and half-hesitantly respond "Hey, I kinda like my boobs..." they're labeled as "braggarts?!" Whoa, Bessie, sorry God blessed me with much more than a B-cup and that I'm happy with it. I have absolutely NO problem with you liking yourself, at all. You could be -A or Triple E, and hey, if you're happy, I'm happy for you. So if you want to be all "AHMG I LOOOOVE MY LITTLE BOOBIES!" that's all well and good, but you'd better not get all snarky when we turn around and proudly proclaim, "I love my big boobs!"

Because I'll tell you to kiss my equally large posterior, chica.

I like the size of my chest. It's mine. Yes, it can be a distinguishing feature. Yes, it can get obnoxious when clothes shopping and especially bra-shopping. But I think I have nice curves to accentuate them - I'm not a Hollywood Barbie, top-heavy and out of proportion with my implants. (Cough... Heidi Montag-Pratt anyone?) I like filling out dresses and I do know how to dress for this body. I know I'll never be as thin as a lot of girls with smaller boobs that I know, so I'm actually rather thankful to my natural endowment for hiding some extra pounds I may put on.

I have some bones to pick with society, though. Seriously, the minute I wear a cami outside somebody's all "OMG! Cover thine eyes, child! That women is a harlot!!!"

... So perhaps I'm over-exaggerating, but really, let's look at this. Fashion magazines have everyone in the most popular styles, the dropped necklines and cleavage-accentuating necklaces. So it's okay for the A-cups to show off all that skin from collarbone to bellybutton, but it's not okay for us to show a little cleavage? Oh, I forgot, I can show half the skin but I'm still the sluttier one, because my boobs are bigger? Please. Smack yourself. Do you know how stupid you sound? I'm not asking to parade around in an XS cami that does about as much as an unpadded bra for me - I'm asking not to be judged if I wear a two-piece swimsuit or wear a dress with a v-neck.

//end rant. I promise.

For now.

because there must be a cure.

Snapshots- photographs;
Photographic memory snapshots,
freeze frames, stuck in time forever young.
You play in the yard
grass-stained knees, shoes long gone
Mommy and Daddy are away but
you are having the best time at Aunt's house!
Snapshot.
Kitchen table, snack time
Oreos and milk, famous milk mustaches
Silly little laughs over pointless events.
Snapshot.
Smiles for you, always for you;
a little gift, a hair ribbon.
She always wanted a girl, she'd say
as she put it in your hair.
You, you didn't understand but
you kept it in anyway, knowing
that it was special.
You felt special.
Snapshot.
Asking, what did you do with your curls?
As you climb into her lap,
not knowing the importance of
bone thin legs and white skin and these
ugly dark circles under her eyes; no,
you wanted to know where her hair was.
And she laughed and kissed your cheek.
And she never did give you
The Answer.
Snapshot.
Had it been merely months, or had
it been years?
She doesn't remember your name and you,
older than your years always,
know that this is a problem that
for once you can't solve.
And you try to tell the other children-
they don't understand.
Freeze.
Pan parlour, zoom in.
Open casket, pasty corpse.
This isn't her, you insist to-
of all people - yourself;
This isn't her, you say,
because she was always laughing.
Photograph:
Woman and girl.
A pink ribbon on a shirt,
and a pink ribbon in your hair.

living and learning

I have quite a few good, close friends. Of those friends, there are about three with which we have an unspoken motto, if you will: "live and let live."

Don't get me wrong. I don't mind my other friends butting in on my personal life, being very outspoken about their opinion on my actions. That's what friends do, and sometimes it's necessary. For instance, if I started frequenting dark alleys subconsciously, I'd like one of them to point out how incredibly stupid that was.

It's nice, though, to be best friends with people, able to share anything and everything, and not have them judge you for something you've done or are doing. Well, I don't necessarily mean judge; that implies that my other friends are jerks. What I'm trying to say is with this smaller group, we don't care what each other does. We will give our opinion, we don't fight about it, and we let each other live and learn. There's only so much advice you can shove at somebody before they're going to go do their own thing anyhow, right? And who's to say what didn't work for you won't work for them?

One of my friends had a boyfriend to whom she tried explaining this concept after he had just stopped talking to one of his friends who started dating a girl he didn't like and/or approve of. Now, this particular boyfriend turned out to be a mentally abusive douche, but that's beside the point. He didn't understand the "live and let live" concept - in fact, he told her it was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard, and you had to "protect your friends" and "tell them what you really think." For the former, I have no argument. For the latter, I'd say, we aren't keeping anything from each other, we're just not presenting it in an I'm-going-to-tell-you-my-opinion-and-you'd-better-do-as-I-think-or-we're-fighting sort of way.

What do you think? Do you let your friends live and learn? If yes, with or without any input? If no, why not?

all the small things

It's funny how the little things sometimes hit you, always when you least expect it. Today I was feeling remotely studious (read: I have a take-home essay test for Money and Banking and my professor's book, yes as in he wrote it, and it is only available in the library, for an hour at a time, and you can't take it out of the library) so I headed over to the library. I was already annoyed that I had to trek up there in the first place, because I wish he'd just make more than 2 copies and let us remove them from the library. Then after I'd arrived, checked the book out, and chosen a table at which to study, I realized I'd forgotten my headphones. Urgh. It wouldn't be so bad except I prefer to study on the first or lower floor, because you have access to the circulation desk (that book's gotta be turned back in or re-signed out within one hour), the computer labs, and lots of clocks. Unfortunately, those floors allow you to talk freely. And while most people can keep it at a whisper, there are those that feel the need to speak at conversational level, and when there are groups of them it turns into a dull roar.

Have you ever tried to study amongst the cadence of people being taught derivatives and hangover remedies? Yeah, I'd much rather listen to my Avatar soundtrack.

So there I am trying to study the monetary system and I look up as a beautiful chain of snowflakes swirls past my window. It was literally a picture-perfect moment.
I can recall for you how small, how delicate they were, pristine, glistening with a golden glow because against all odds, the sun was out and here were some snow flurries. In that breathtaking instant, I was so happy that I could see just that one little thing. And then it was gone, tossed into the heavens to go who knows where, and then there were just regular old snowflakes to watch dancing down into the open, snow-covered lawn, before those too, faded so quickly I thought I may have imagined the whole flurry if it wasn't for new arrivals to the library shaking snowflakes from their hoods and scarves.

Moments like that make me long to remember the magic in the little things. It makes me long to see them through somebody else's eyes, like imagining my young cousin Drew coming to visit and seeing his very first live snowfall. Or even taking me back to this summer, when my soon-to-be-stepcousin Kyle saw his very first fireflies. I wish I could have witnessed this 17-year-old boy with a mason jar and holes drilled in the top chasing fireflies at dusk, like I so often did as a child. I remember JIF Peanut Butter jars with cut grass in the bottom, lighting up like the fourth of July when you finally got enough fireflies... Gosh, I can't even remember the last time I did that. Where does it all go? The joy for the simple things? We have to find it and relish each moment of it that we get, because I feel in that moment, we find peace, and hope, and love.

occasionally creative

I have books of poems lying around, some of which may never see the light of day. But there are some I actually enjoy, and when the mood strikes me I may share them. Now is one such moment, as I flipped open my journal to pen something and found this short piece.

Sunshine child with softest curls
Gurgling, she explores her world
Blue eyes that just take it in
Harmless as she gives a grin
Little fingers grasp and hold
Two of mine to take control
And then we walk across the floor
One step, two steps, always more
And who am I to deserve this?
Unwavering trust and a moment's bliss?
Strange to me, a stranger's touch
Could ever make me feel so much
The precious gift not mine to share
By looking into golden hair...

M.P.H.

... and no, I don't mean miles per hour. Common abbreviation, I know. What I want to portray, though, has nothing to do with speed - unless it's how fast I'm getting to the gym.
Mental and Physical Health. MPH.
I wish there were a speedometer for this kind of MPH.

What prompted today's post was something so trivial, something so ritualistic to anyone in the U.S. who has ever held a driver's license. I went to get my new license, and as everyone knows, you get a new picture taken.

I am overweight.

Now, dont' run away in a panic. This isn't a "woe is me, I'm so unpretty, I'll never be loved, I look horrible" cue-the-tears-and-dramatic-music. This is simply a reality check, mostly for my own benefit. I'm by no means obese. I'm a fully-functional, mobile young adult. But... I've gained a lot of weight, most of it in the last year. I am very unhappy with the way that I look right now - No, not in comparison to America's ideal woman, but compared to the way I've looked before. Summer of '08 I joined a jujitsu class, and I really got into shape for the first time in my life. I was toned, I felt great, and most importantly, my asthma was pretty well-controlled. That is, I could endure far more in my day-to-day life - I really only needed my inhaler during sparring sessions. It was AMAZING.

I kept up pretty well for a while even after having to drop the course due to school. And then my classes got harder. I dealt. I was OK.

And then people started dying.

I have come to realize that although I can combat stress-eating, I cannot resist grief-eating. It's too much of a knee-jerk response. I don't show grief well. Alan's the emotional one - I'm the strong, rational one. At least to save face. Maybe I seem cold. Either way, my sorrow gets stomped on, and I seal it up and move on. Who wants to deal with that? I don't. I have shit to do, stuff to finish. So... I ate. I ate pretty much anything available, because if I felt full I could feel "content." Or I had an upset stomach to worry about and could sleep away the world.

Unhealthy. I know that. You don't have to tell me. For a while, it was OK. I was still exercising, so it didn't take hold at first. Then everything went downhill. The funeral count was going up and then I got academic probation. Hoo boy.
I am 5'3" and I weigh almost 170 lbs.
I say almost because I don't have the guts to go weigh myself. It was a little under that when I was weighed at the end of last semester, when I had to go in for my ear infections.

I'm always at the upper end of my BMI - just the way I'm built. I won't starve myself to try to look like a model. But this is ridiculous. I was a solid 144 lbs when I took jujitsu - "overweight" by BMI standards but I was solid muscle and damn, I looked pretty good. I just want to get back there. I'm going to start tracking my MPH, and that's part of the reason I'm here, on my blog. The first step is admitting you have a problem.

The second step's a doozy.

clock in slow motion

I've not written much over break. I'm also not pimping my blog on Twitter anymore. I mean, the link's there. But I figure, if people really want to know me or know what I talk about, they'll find me. Eventually I may even find a way to integrate this with my Facebook feed? Yeah... I'm not real good with cross-referencing stuff, so that may be a while. I'm thinking about cross-posting to Xanga and MySpace, too. (Yes, I'm still on there, and they are private, so I wouldn't try if I were you unless you're a friend IRL. I try to spare the internet my share of personal woes.)

I feel like break went so fast! Then, I think the idea of school puts me off a bit, being on academic probation and everything. It's kind of like horseback riding. You know you can do it, but then you get so complacent that you do something stupid - you stop paying attention, you don't tighten the girth right - and WHAM! Your horse takes off and you're eating dirt, the wind knocked out of you as you stare up into the branches. Granted, school isn't exactly the same. I cannot pinpoint for you exactly what I did, what motions I did or did not go through, that caused my grades to reflect my brain so poorly. But the concept is the same: back in the saddle. You gotta get up there and ride again, because if you don't now, you never know when you will.

And I've fallen off my share of horses.

That off my chest, I'll admit I'm trying to be optimistic about this semester. I've already gotten wayward reviews of a few professors - we shall have to see, I'll save judgment - and I'm down to 15 instead of 18 credits, which is shitty when compared to say, the 12 I thought I was going to get away with, but FAR better than a full courseload. My birthday's Monday, and I'll be spending it in Clarion, hopefully prepping for the start of classes on Tuesday. My plan is to leave Sunday after church, since I'll already be in Kittanning. Unfortunately, I haven't even started packing... urgh.

I haven't gotten to do a lot of the stuff I wished to over break. I DID get to go ice skating, which was a brilliant time with Radish and Jade, much-needed for the three of us. Primanti's afterwards was the icing on the cake. I did not, however, go visit Grandma Thelma in her new apartment, or see my Dad as much as I'd have liked... Honestly, it's really hard for me to explain if you don't have divorced parents, but finding time - no, not finding time. MAKING time to go see the one you don't predominantly live with is really difficult, especially when you're at that awkward stage between teen and adult. (In my case there are also many more factors to the ugly situation, but I'll spare you the details.) I am still at that age in the childhood mindset of "if he wants to see me, he'll make the plans." The adult part of me responds with, "Well he thinks you're a big girl now, you have to make plans with him." Can't I have a fucking compromise? For Christ's sake, I'm 21 and a student, not a full-time working adult where I have to pencil you in for you to get some time with me. I wish sometimes, perhaps selfishly, that he'd make more of an effort to make plans with ME, instead of always waiting on me to make plans with him and in the interim making me feel guilty that I'm not at that very moment. I apologize that our similarities in interest end with music and family. Even the latter is strained occasionally. Believe me, I wish I could be like my brother, mechanically inclined and able to help him out in the garage, to give me that excuse of time with him. But no, if I go over and we have nothing planned, we kinda just sit around and stare at each other. Unless we turn on the TV, and don't get me wrong, we've watched some pretty cool informational shows. But... yeah.

I've found that there can be an abundance of stupid, petty arguments on Twitter - and this is only a recent discovery because when I followed very few people, this was a rare occurrence. The topic can range from Mac v. PC (so tired of that) or ATT v. Verizon (also beat to death) to Pens Fan v Puck Bunny. I'm slowly learning to tune it out, but peacemaker that I am, it's a hard thing for me to do.

Blogging this right now also keeps my mind off of Haiti.

In other news, today - er, yesterday, Friday - was my great-grandmother's 96th birthday.

In other news... I lead a pretty sad excuse for a life.

another bridge to clarity

I wish I could be as charismatic and witty as Ginny over at That's Church, but alack, I guess I'm not there yet. My best words come when I'm overly emotional, and when that happens, not many people read them. Ah well. I will learn with time, I suppose, how to once again write for an unknown and ever-uncertain audience. For now, I beg you to forgive my occasional wordiness and my too-frequent tangents. =)

A year ago yesterday I sat on my Grandpap's couch and ate cake in celebration of his 75th birthday. "Three-quarters of a century," he said in his gravelly voice. "I've seen too damn much!"
"Aw, Grandpap, you're pretty much history walking!" I teased. "Another 25 and you'll be a museum artifact!"
He shook his head at me, half-smiling. "Nah, kiddo, you get to be my age... see your brothers and sisters die... you get to thinkin' maybe you don't wanna stick around too much longer."
I chuckled and continued eating my cake, letting the comment slide; he and my dad, they prefer realism/borderline pessimism whereas I prefer optimistic with a touch of logic. He had a few minor health problems, but he'd be fine, right?

He would have celebrated his 76th birthday yesterday. We would've all gone over, discussed the weather, roasted in the heat (his house was always SO freaking hot - he was always cold, these last few years), eaten some cake, and in typical birthday festiveness, congratulated him on making it over three-quarters of a century. He never made it, though. He had a mild heart attack in early summer, I think, and from there it was turn after turn for the worst, until one day... he was gone.

I walked to class that evening in a daze. I was numb, and stupid, and thought well, he's dead and there's nothing I can do about it. I'd already taken a long stroll around town, ending up sitting under a tree in the park staring up at the grey sky. When I got to class I sat down at my desk and stared at my hands; they were shaking. I tried wrapping up my headphones, and that was a chore. I couldn't look at anyone, and when people started asking me what was wrong, I realized I just couldn't do it. I couldn't pretend I wasn't devastated for even an hour and fifteen minutes, and I walked out. That was probably the first time I'd let anyone - and most were complete strangers - see how upset I was. There are a lot of reasons, and I won't list them all here. Most are personal, or family-related.

It's funny how life works sometimes... there's my Grandpap, dead not quite three months now, and then my Nana (great-grandmother, mom's side) who's going to be turning 96 here in a week and a half. Ninety-freaking-six! NOT that I begrudge her her health, of course! I love Nana. It's just... a state of life, I guess, how some live and some die. Although, I think I may rather prefer dying with my mental facilities still intact than living with dementia. Before you start stoning me, think about it... I mean, really, think about it. Losing your mind... that's scary stuff. Think about how much you wig out (or at least I do) when you can't remember where you've left your car keys. Mm, yeah. No. Thanks.

In other news, I went to see Avatar with Munna (she's my grandmother- mom's side) and it was EPIC. The trailer didn't appeal to me in the slightest - not that I was turned off by it, but it failed to catch my attention or attraction. I only went because a) I wasn't doing anything that day and b) Munna was gonna go by herself, and I know going to the movies by yourself is never any fun.

I hope everyone had a great holiday season... it's a time of mixed emotions for me, and always is. I love the holidays, and I love hanging out with my family and friends, but it gets hard, especially having an ex-stepfamily who your father estranges. In that family, my stepgrandmother - Diana - is battling cancer and a slew of problems that came with it, including botched surgeries and leaking wounds. Christmas Eve was cut a little short on that front, and I know she feels terrible about it. My (step)cousin Cole is just so freaking cute! It's so hard to believe he's two and a half already, sheesh... not that he's big for his age (Joey, the son of a family friend, is MUCH taller at the same age) but he speaks so clearly and thinks so intelligently. I hope he goes far. =) My mom worked Christmas this year, but we still all got together to eat a late lunch and exchange gifts mid-afternoon. In the morning, Alan and I went to our dad's to exchange gifts and visit. I ended up not feeling well (tired, cranky, overate) the night of Christmas Day, and so I didn't go back out, which spawned some major disagreement which I will not delve into here; suffice to say I didn't speak to my father until I wished him a Happy New Year after midnight, at a time I was sick (throwing up, fever, headache)... just because I love him.

I'm glad I have such an awesome family to spend the holidays with because it's this time of year especially that I get kind of heart-sick for what some of my friends have - someone to call their own. I'm not the type to pine after a relationship, mind you, it's just a little envy-provoking.

So in more worldly news, the Steelers missed the playoffs, the Pens are in a slump and everybody's jumping ship (jokes) [imo true fans follow their team through Hell if that's where the team goes - I've noticed this to be particularly true of our peculiar breed a.k.a. Pittsburgh fans], and the countdown to the Winter Olympics have begun. Of course I'm cheering on my country (U-S-A! U-S-A!) but I can appreciate that alongside Orpik playing for his country (us, duh) another four of the Pens are representing their home nations- Sidney Crosby (A) and Marc-Andry Fleury for Canada and Evgeni Malkin and Sergei Gonchar for Russia. Woooo! Pens talent repreSENT. (Ok, ok, so I'm not gangster. Or remotely close. I can dream, can't I?) Another cool article for mention is this young woman, who graduated from RMU, which is just too cool not to mention. I mean how sweet is it that this girl from OHIO who went to school at RMU is playing in the freaking OLYMPICS? I thought it was sweet, anyway. Also worth mentioning is the World Junior Championships, which hey, I had no idea existed until about two weeks ago, when my Twitter feed when apeshit over it. Haha. I'm currently only tracking the listings, not trying to catch the games, of course cheering for Team USA. Everyone deserves fans. ;)

I think that about wraps it up; there are so many things to discuss, and so little space here - this layout feels cramped, very narrow. I need to find a new one/have somebody write me a code/figure out these base codes and make my own, but I'm way too lazy for that right now! I guess I shouldn't miss out on over a week of posting, my train of thought wrecks. Haha. Here's to another week of break!