Please send in your time sheet by Friday

This is the first time I've worked for a company that has clients, meaning this is the first time I have to bill my time on a daily basis.

It's a completely different way of thinking about time, and assessing my day. It requires a new kind of consciousness to the way I think about working. I'm not just doing my work for the sake of doing a good job, which is always how I've thought about it in the past. I'm actually taking 10 minutes here, an hour or so there and dedicating it completely to someone else's whims.

You can make the argument that in any job you bill your time to the company that you work for, but when you don't have clients, you're not cognizant that every bathroom break, every Facebook hiatus, every second you spend munching on that candy bar you hide in your desk instead of working is billed to someone.

What if we could extend this work model to the rest of our lives? That question got me thinking about how I spend my spare time, and how much of it is motivated by outside forces, and occasionally, people. I came up with a list of 13 things I do on a weekly basis, and who or what I do them for.

1. Three hours of working out to beauty magazines.

2. About one cumulative hour of sneezing to my guinea pigs. I can't live without them, but I'm deathly allergic to them.

3. Two hours of cleaning the kitchen to my boyfriend and his growing interest in the culinary arts.

4. An hour and a half of changing outfits in the morning to my mother. Her voice will forever echo in my head telling me I can't wear gray, that's not flattering, that doesn't match, etc.

5. Two hours and forty-five minutes of cleaning the apartment to my guinea pigs. Their daily average mess probably doubles their body weight.

6. Four hours of feeling guilty about doing nothing after work to Judaism.

7. Seven hours of still not doing anything despite the guilt to Facebook and the age 23.

8. Three hours of late night snacking to the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

9. Five hours of nagging my boyfriend to my mother and chick flicks.

10. Five hours of him taking it to his mother, who instilled Jewish family values in him at a young age.

11. Three hours of wondering if I should wax my eyebrows to my mother.

12. Two hours of realizing I don't actually care to my father.

13. Thirty minutes of throwing up a little in my mouth when the commercials for "Sex in the City 2" come on to realizing working one hour a week and being able to afford fancy dinners, cocktail parties and designer clothes was never intended to be real.

Right now, for now

It's been a really long time since I've posted. Since then, I bumped up my moving date by two months, moved across the country and started a new job. This is the first time in my life I've committed to something without an end date.

It wasn't until I was a junior in college, and began to watch some of my friend start their job hunt, that I realized what I wanted as a 20 something post-college. Some of my friends wanted adventure. They traveled the world, many of them entering teach-English-abroad programs and using the opportunity to absorb new cultures. Others wanted to continue school. I have friends in law school and various other grad school programs.

I wanted stability. I wanted to make my own money, have a career I could excel in, and not have to wonder if after a certain date, I'd be waiting tables or ordering my second batch of business cards.

I've wanted this since I was a junior in college, when I was too young to have it. I wanted it after I graduated, when I was working a great job in Madison, as a limited term employee, enjoying being a professional, but wondering what would happen when my year was up.

I started in DC as an intern at a small online marketing firm. I was an intern for less than two weeks. On Thursday I was hired for, what in all accounts, is my dream job.

I am so excited and I feel so lucky. I worked hard, but I know that I have impeccable timing and a series of very random, and very fortunate events to thank.

My whole life I've always been working for what comes next. In high school I tried to get into a good college. In college I worked to get good internships, and, eventually, a good job. Now, I have a good job, and I intend to stay there for awhile. It's not like an internship, where I work hard to one day get a better one.

We live in a goal-oriented world, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. But it makes me think about the pressure that we all endured as kids, and that, undoubtedly, our kids will feel. For them, everything is about what comes next. It's never about right now, and the few times it is, it's often written off as a distraction.

I don't know if there's a better way, but I know there was rarely an hour, between the time I first heard the word ACT and last Thursday, that I wasn't worrying I wasn't working hard enough to get what I wanted. And that I would fail.

For the first time in my life, I can enjoy worrying about doing well at what I'm doing for the sake of doing well, and not for something far in my future I can't yet comprehend.

But I don't quite understand how to do that yet. When my brain defaults into, "oh crap, what am I not doing right now that I should be doing to not screw myself over," mode, it takes a minute to remind myself I don't have to do that anymore...for now.

I'm sure there will be some promotion or some project with a very specific long-term goal I'll be focused on soon enough. It won't be long until I forget all about this brief interlude. I just hope that one day, when I have children, and they're freaking out about college or an internship or even soccer tryouts, that I'll remember this, and have something insightful to say. Because right now I don't. I can just say it is what it is. For now.

What's the big deal?

Newsworthy? Sure. Worthy of #4 spot on CNN's Latest News posts on home page? Definitely not. What are you trying to say, CNN?

I think the "Weekend at Bernie's" impersonator's are far more deserving of this honor.

Shirlington Village

Yesterday, Jeff and I looked at an apartment in Shirlington Village in Virginia. Though it’s just out of DC, it’d be a few metro stops and a 20 minute bus ride to get into the city.

The apartment was inconceivably beautiful, with a luxurious rooftop terrace, brand new cabinetry and appliances, a clubroom that looked like something out of a mansion and a workout room with personal televisions on all of the equipment. The leasing office treated us like royalty and we were drunk on indulgence.

Shirlington Village looked like something out of a storybook. Everything—restaurants, boutiques and bars—was new and crisp, down to the freshly laid bricks on the streets and sidewalks.

It had the charm of an old European town with the intrigue of the new and novel. It was perfect. A place a young girl always dreams of living with the one she’s going to marry.

I kept thinking, we could actually afford this. Sure it’s luxurious, but with its distance from the city combined with the dual income toward a one bedroom apartment, it wasn’t out of our price range.

The whole time we were there, I kept imagining bringing my parents to our new neighborhood. They’d be so impressed. She really made it, they’d think. I’d made it, I’d think.

I was so busy looking at designer clothes through store windows and reading restaurant names off awnings that I almost didn’t notice all the baby strollers and toddlers.

That’s when we realized what we’d be giving up by moving to this amazing apartment and this beautiful village—the rest of our youth.

If we lived so far away from the city, we’d probably rarely venture to DC for drinks with friends after work, and nights out on weekends. We probably wouldn’t have much opportunity to host friends from the city at our apartment. We’d make friends, but they’d most likely live near us, and would probably be older and maybe even have children.

We had a choice to make. Luxury verses location. Settling down verses relishing the last few years we have left of our youth.

Once we were out of the Shirlington Village, its spell released us fairly quickly and the decision was easy. Location. Nearby metro. Washington D.C.

I still plan on bringing my family to Shirlington Village when they visit. I know they’ll love it just as much as I did, and I can tell them Jeff and I will live here, one day, when we’re ready.

Good for the Jews

I finally finished "Good for the Jews." Actually, I finished a couple weeks ago but haven't had a chance to write about it until now.

I thought a lot about what to write this final post about, and eventually decided to basically respond to the post I wrote before I started reading.

In my first post, I quoted a Wisconsin State Journal article:

"Spark wanted to ruminate on how the United States seemed to be going after a false enemy in Iraq, and also how Jews are often perceived as much as victims as they are aggressors in Palestine. The idea of the good and the bad guys being hidden from view, living among the rest of society, intrigued her."

After reading this article, I was most interested in finding out how Spark portrayed the Israeli/Palestinian conflict.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that her commentary was almost entirely metaphorical. Though the book occasionally referred to the Middle East, Spark let the characters represent conflict rather than squeezing her own political rantings between dialogue tags.

Instead of forcing one opinion over the other, the book lays out the facts and lets the readers decide for themselves how they want to feel about the conflict between the characters, which I took as a representation for the Israeli/Palestinian conflict.

On the side of the Israelis you have Ellen (Esther) and her cousin Mose (Mordechai). I don't think Spark intended for Ellen to be unlikable, or come off as stupid, but I had a hard time rooting for her character. Though she is sweet and well-intentioned, she makes stupid decisions based on convenience and refuses to think about anything outside of her day-to-day life. She prefers her simple yet satisfied mindset. While her cousin Mose is a strong supporter of Israel, Ellen refuses to take sides.

Mose, on the other hand, would be very difficult to dislike. A smart and sassy old Jewish man, Mose knows everything and never fails to disseminate his never faulty knowledge to those around him.

He's a beloved teacher at a Madison high school that encourages teachers to think and teach creatively. When Hyman Clark takes over as principal, the two of them immediately clash and Mose is convinced Hyman is out to get him.

Mose's outrage at Hyman, who represents the Palestinians, seems paranoid at first. He takes unreturned e-mails, disapproval of his teaching style and more small details to mean anti-Semitism. You think, so you don't like your boss. That sucks. Not the end of the world.

But **Spoiler Alert** as time goes on, Hyman's actions worsen, until it becomes clear that his rage is targeted at Mose because he's a Jew. In the end, we find out Hyman was a former white supremacist in the south.

The story ends with Mose as the good guy and Hyman as the bad guy. Israel is the victim and the Palestinians are the aggressors. But woven in between Hyman's demonstrations of anti-Semitism and his disturbing past is his failing marriage and weakness of character. We find out he was once an accountant who lost his business to refugees simply because they were refugees. He was justifiably angry about his circumstances when he joined a club that promised they could do something about it.

Hyman is not a smart man, and didn't understand he was joining a white supremacist party. He thought he was just fighting for what was rightfully his. Of course, by the time he realized this he was already brainwashed with propaganda and a full-fledged Neo-Nazi.

Spark leaves it up to you if you want to feel sorry for Hyman. You certainly wouldn't take his side, but there's an element of tragedy in his story. He's lonely, vying for the love of his wife who seems to hate him, and doesn't understand why an honest worker suddenly lost a portion of his business. It's ignorance that makes him evil, not malice.

But, evil is evil and though you start to feel sorry for him, you recognize that this is not someone you would root for.

Of course, the Israeli/Palestinian conflict is much more complicated. I don't think Palestinians are evil. I think some Palestinians are evil (suicide bombers) and the rest just want to survive. There is certainly an element of tragedy to their story, and I do feel sorry for the innocent.

Still, when you take a step back and look at the issue as a whole, things look a lot different.

How to remember a tragedy

When I saw the trailer for Robert Pattinson movie, "Remember Me," the only thing that caught my attention was how many 13-year-old girls were going to rob their parents blind seeing it eight times in theaters. Like my proceeding generation's "Titanic," minus the Oscars.

But then I heard about the "twist" ending (skip to the 5th paragraph if you have any desire to see this film). Apparently, we're under the impression the story takes place in present day until the last moments, when it's revealed it's actually 2001 and RPatt walks into one of the towers.

This is hardly the first movie to make money off of a tragic 9/11 death, but it seems worse for some reason. Maybe it's the vampire who glitters in the sunlight turned terrorist victim, or the fact that the final scene was in no way related to the rest of the film.

I always have been skeptical of 9/11 movies. They argued they were memorializing the travesty, but in the end, they were still making money and getting famous.

But it makes me wonder about Holocaust movies. "Schindler's List" was not only one of the best movies ever made, but it had an element of honesty to it that I haven't seen in most other films based on real-life tragedies. Spielberg's intentions seemed pure, that he made the film to raise awareness, though I'm sure it didn't hurt his wallet or reputation.

A few weeks ago, Jeff and I saw "Shutter Island," starring Leonardo DiCaprio as a WWII vet traumatized by what he found in the camps. It didn't feel cheap or exploitive, and we both really liked the movie. But it's still a horror movie that used the Holocaust to enhance the thrill. I didn't even think of that until I heard about "Remember Me."

I've been to one Concentration Camp just outside of Prague. I visited Terezin as a sophomore in college when I went on an alternative spring break trip with the UW Hillel. It was actually on that trip that I met Jeff, and it was at that camp where we first had a meal alone together.

There was a restaurant in the middle of the camp. The tables were small and Jeff and I ended up alone at a table for two. In many ways it was the beginning. Later that night we had our first kiss.

The restaurant was on the nicer side, but they still played American rap music. It wasn't censored and they played unedited cuts they definitely wouldn't play on U.S. radio stations.

The thing was, it didn't feel that weird, because the whole experience didn't feel real. I tried so hard to imagine the horrors that must've occurred, but I just couldn't. I felt like I was looking at a recreation, a movie set. I wanted to feel what my ancestors must have felt when they were there, but I couldn't separate the place from what it was at present: a museum.

I felt the same way when I went to Yad Vashem in Israel. The photos of bodies piled on top of each other were in expensive frames, and the relics of family's stolen keepsakes were in pristine glass boxes. I wanted to be angry and scared and sad. I wanted to cry.

Watching movies that integrate the Holocaust or any tragedy, really, into their plot do the same thing to me. With the exception of movies that exist solely to portray the horrors of the time, these films make me connect a tragedy that should not be forgotten with blood sucking heart throbs and men who see ghosts.

I don't know how to make anything in history feel more real in the present day. Maybe it's just me, and other people can break through those museum quality barriers. Or maybe it wasn't a coincidence that I kissed Jeff for the first time the day I walked through the camp. It's possible we connected on a different level in a place so consequential in the history of our people.

But if that's the case, I didn't know it at the time. I just know when I think about the horrors of the Holocaust, I really hope I don't imagine Leonardo DiCaprio invading Germany at the end of the war.

Photo: Railroad tracks in Terezin

Where do we go from here?

It doesn't matter how smart, strong or mature you are. Serious decisions are some of the most difficult challenges we all has to face.

If you're lucky, like I was, your parents prepare you for these conundrums over time. Chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Do you want to be a cheerleader or a pumpkin for Halloween?

Deciding who to invite to your Birthday parties, how to confront friends that have let you down. Choosing classes in high school, and choosing a college.

But there's almost nothing anyone can do to prepare you to make life decisions with another person.

Sure you learn to compromise with your siblings, but our disagreements were better preparation for the LSAT than they were for a relationship. You learn to bargain down your opponent until you get as close to your way as possible.

No one tells you it doesn't work that way in a relationship. They tell you to be a strong woman, to put yourself first, to not give your life up chasing a boy.

But what happens when that boy supports you and respects you, and you realize that giving him up would be more than painful--it would be wrong.

So you have to decide together.

For the second year in a row, Jeff and I have had to decide where to live. Last year, when we were both still in college, it did not go well. We tried everything. We went through every hypothetical, we tried to compromise and we tried to weigh whose options were better where.

We realized we can prepare as much as we want, but most of the time, the end result is nowhere near what either of us would've predicted.

What I've learned through the process is to let go. I don't like to be surprised, and I don't like to wait for things to happen. But when it comes to things like uprooting your life, there's only so much you can do. Sometimes you just have to breathe and remind yourself you're strong enough to take in whatever's coming.

Jeff and I decided to move to Washington D.C. at the end of May. It was a long process and a hard decision, but it was better this year. We talked a lot and we worked hard to gather as much information as possible. But we had fun, too. We took breaks. We went to movies. We bought each other dinner. We reminded each other no matter what we decided, we'd be starting our lives together. There's no wrong answer for that.

In a relationship, you're supposed to compromise. But I don't see it like that. Compromising is a give and take. But I don't want to take anything away from him, and he doesn't want to take anything away from me. The perfect place for me might be a nightmare for us as a couple. The bottom line is, if your significant other isn't happy, there's no way you can be either.

In the end, we put all our cards on the table. We made pros and cons lists but we didn't use them. We talked, and then we put it all aside for a few days and the answer became clear. All facts aside, we knew where we wanted to be. We realized we'd known this all along.

Photo: Jeff and me in DC, battling the wind to pose for a photo