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...