Classifieds By: Karen Pilarski

Warning: When I write blogs, they are not about being unhappy in my job or relationships.  My blogs also are not meant to bash a business or person (s).  Just random reflective thoughts as I try to make it as a writer. Thanks-KP

  Piles of red circled job classified ads sits on the table. Musty smell of old newspapers linger in the air. The computer has browsers opened to LinkedIn and local newspaper employment postings.

Books about resumes and social media presence littered the living room. My head dizzy with thoughts of New York City and writing. I wondered if I watched too much 'Sex and the City' and 'How I Met Your Mother'.

The sudsy drama and exciting lives of those characters danced in my mind. Secretly I felt I could totally be a 'Carrie.'The only difference was that I was married and living in Wisconsin. I looked at my arm and noticed the dull imprints of red inked circles on it. I'm ready to tell different stories. I have traveled all over this land, with ink in my writing hand.

Looking up I noticed my two brown leather diploma cases with gold trim, spelling out where I graduated from. My two degrees are a Bachelor's degree in Professional Communication and and a Master's degree in Instructional Design and Adult Education. I remember the graduations, champagne and confetti. The hope of tomorrow left a glow on my face as I approached the stage. Happiness and eager to start my career gave a little pep in the step.

Now looking at the classifieds leaves me feeling defeated. All this experience and fancy terminology for the ideal job candidate. What ever happened to finding talent and helping a person grow into a job role?

In college I was editor of the college newspaper. I had no experience when I was chosen as editor. I grew into the role and blossomed. I eventually started writing for local community newspapers. My niche was writing about children and community events. Five or ten years experience in writing wouldn't give me the rich experience I had as an editor and freelance writer. There are writers with decades of experience but maybe not as much drive. Why does years of experience equal quality? The next breakout best selling author is waiting for someone to take a chance on them.

I know I did the right thing by becoming an educated woman. Unfortunately the lack of concrete experience bites me every time I apply for a position. I'm told "you don't have the experience." I know I'm not the only college graduate to feel this sting of employment rejection.

All is not lost. I do my best adhering to the 'rules' of networking. I use social media to create my presence and I blog. I meet interesting people in the the journalist field for coffee dates. Twitter has allowed me to talk to people I may not have had the opportunity to chat with before. I have met inspiring and memorable contacts.

Like a good writer, I keep up with blogging in hopes that The New Yorker, The New York Times or any magazine or newspaper will take notice. 'Experience' can only take someone so far. It is talent that makes magazines sell and readership to increase. Talent is how writers gain the knowledge they need to make in the media industry. I've heard a person has to start somewhere.

How does a writer gain experience if no one is willing to offer the opportunity in the first place? Here I am ready to take a bite out of the big apple of life and make a go out of my sheer thrill of journalism.The only thing that is needed is for someone to take a chance and circle my name with red ink.

Just Deserts By: Karen Pilarski

When I was five years old, my younger sister and I stayed over by my aunt and uncle's house. We slept on single air mattresses. At dinner our plates had a piece of meat, potatoes and peas. Our faces turned the same vomit shade as the vegetable. My aunt promised a special treat if we both cleaned our plates. Gulp! Our parents never forced us to eat healthy food like this. I thought about stuffing my face with chocolate and ice cream after I finished these mini green pellets. I chocked down each spoonful until the plate was spotless.

My sister on the other hand made disgusted faces at her plate. My aunt made her sit there until she ate those peas. The peas turned cold and mushy. My aunt's patience wore thin. She made my sister throw away the peas and said I could have my treat. I wondered about my sweet impending reward. Maybe it would be moist cake or cherry pie. She went into the freezer and pulled out a single popsicle. It wasn't even a good flavor. I ate it anyway but shot dirty looks at my aunt for tricking me.

Funny how people anticipate their just deserts and often are left a bit disappointed. Perhaps it is the sense of entitlement that bitters the sugary taste of what is thought to be owed to them?

It is often displayed in court cases such as suing or divorce. One party thinks they deserve everything for all the pain and suffering they were put through. After all the legal drama is over no one is happy. Someone walks away victorious but not scratch free. There is always a speck of dismay that looms. Is what the person deserves really what they deserve? Is it actually what the person wants?

In my own life I have felt I deserved my just deserts in the form of a relationship or job. When I was nineteen I thought the twenty-seven year old musician I dated belonged with me. My immature heart thought I was in love. When he broke my heart I felt I was owed some compensation for the pain I was going through. I felt this way despite my friends telling me he was a jerk and not worth my time.

I lost touch with him after a while but heard he suffered a few setbacks. It might be assumed that I was giddy with the him getting what he deserved. Time had moved forward and I dated other people. The just deserts had no importance now that I was no longer hurting. I realized I just wanted him to hurt the way I was hurting.

At the end of the day no one wins. Especially if revenge is the true motivation. Retaliation doesn't make what is deserved appear. Cockiness might not even earn you a popsicle. The only thing left is mushy cold peas on a plate. That is no dessert.

Think Bacon By: Karen Pilarski

Wisconsin is known for dairy and beer. It is also a well known fact that at the Wisconsin State Fair offers creative uses for bacon. The fair has had chocolate covered bacon on a doughnut sandwich.  I've never been a lover of fatty cured strips of meat. None the less people in my neck of the woods love crispy pieces of greasy heaven. My wonderful friends *Alicia and *Cathy are addicted to the breakfast staple. Alicia was having an icky type of today and I tried to cheer her up. Without thinking I blurted out "think bacon." She laughed as if I was joking. I was dead serious.

There is a saying that goes "bring home the bacon." Translated, it means bringing in the money. The money is the good bacon. When I'm mad at the world and just want to quit everything I think bacon. I need the bacon to pay rent, bills, food and the piece of crap van I'm still paying off. Not to mention student loans, clothes, and insurance. Lately it seems the bacon dwindles down as soon as it is brought in. Especially since the government seems to keep much of the bacon I make.

As any bad day survivor can attest it would be simple to tell someone off. Let the words fly out with a spray of spit to seal the deal. Sometimes the fantasy is better than the reality. At least in my head I wouldn't lose a job or relationship. Most of all I wouldn't have the anxious walking on egg shells feeling when around the person I yelled at. I'll save the sweet revenge scenarios for dreaming.

Think bacon when assessing a situation or person. There are individuals who just scream 'bad bacon'. Bad bacon personalities are the ones that are salty and cause high blood pressure. Bacon often leaves a greasy slick spot on a napkin or plate. Negative/jerky people leave their own slimy stain on the day. The nastiness can clog up a once good day and make it unbearable.

 How can eating the fat be avoided? Just cut the grossness away. My friends who are bacon addicts might recoil from this suggestion. If the fat is not minded than another option is to limit the bad bacon intake. I was advised that I should limit contact with several strips of bad bacon in my own life. I have been happier and the blood pressure has decreased. Be pleasant and kind to rude personalities. Nothing irks a crummy person more when the higher road is taken.

That doesn't mean there is a need to consume the artery thickening words fed. Often I am the bigger person. Many people may have family that is not tolerated well. The thought of them is similar to tofu to meat enthusiasts. For my Wisconsin peeps, light beer. Blah! Yucky individuals who are not interacted with on a professional basis but still have to have contact. It is perfectly fine to cut off that type of fat if it is bad. It doesn't make me or anyone else immature, just realistic. Frankly my cholesterol and blood pressure levels are high enough.

For my own sanity I choose to not consume that type of bacon anymore. I hope my clever antidote doesn't ruin anyone's plans for the upcoming fair or breakfast. Just remember when the day is miserable to think bacon.

Poker Chips and Slot Machines by: Karen Pilarski

Slot machines whistle and flash along a pattern of florescent light bulbs. People in fanny packs and visors choke on the smokey air. Scantily dressed waitress offer free drinks hoping for a tip. Here is a tip. Life is a gamble. All colorful chips can be placed on love, career or reputation.

Without a crystal ball it is hard to predict future wins and losses. A death grip clutches the dice of chance hoping to clean up nice. I wonder if luck isn't in the gambler's favor. Who picks up the pieces when the chips are down? Who steps in when pockets are pulled inside out and the shirt off the back is lost?

Everyone has had a streak of good or bad luck. Then there are the life gamblers who can't seem to catch a break. The perfect mate, job or lifestyle is slightly out of reach. It is as if a mirror was broken or an umbrella was opened indoors. There is a foolish feeling each time the linty quarter is placed in the slot machine or chips are placed on the table. Personally I have a sense of stupidity and hurt when no one is willing to give me the shirt off their own back.

I have taken a few chances on relationships. Often against my better judgement I put trust and faith on red for love. I'm not just talking about romance but friendships and family relationships as well. Sometimes the relationship was worth the risk and other times I lose my shirt. Mostly I lose my heart which is my most valuable asset.

If I allowed myself to become bitter and jaded I would never take a risk again.  In Vegas the rule is the house always wins. In life that is not always the case. If I believe in myself and take chances then I always win.

The Underdog By: Karen Pilarski

The Underdog

By: Karen Pilarski

Underdogs are the ones who are not expected to win or not the ideal choice. I have often felt like one in my lifetime. My twin brother and I were born on a snowy January morning in the late 70's. We were quite premature. I weighed a mere four pounds. My brother weighed more and was also born first by a minute. I joke that he was selfish and hogged the womb. I was very sick and put in an incubator while my brother was taken home. I wasn't expected to live. Somehow against the limited expectation, I survived. My first victory under my belt! 

 Growing up I still had mountains to climb. Due to my premature birth I was late in my development.  Amazingly I learned how to do the normal things infants and children do, just later than others my age. The notion is funny now since I feel I was late to do many things like go to college, get married, learn to drive amongst many milestones.

  My family consisted of five brothers and three sisters. My father often said to the boys, especially my twin, that he would be a doctor or lawyer. The girls were treated like caregivers. It was a female's lot in life to babysit and clean. No one told me I could be those things. Nor did I think much concern was given to what the girls would become. Needless to say there wasn't much expectation for me. Boiling in my blood was the ambition to become more than a babysitter.

 Due to development issues I also had emotional issues. I would cry easily or scream for no reason. My father certainly didn't have patience with me. Looking back, I ponder what child doesn't actually do those things? Teased and bullied by my brothers, my esteem was often lower than the ground. I felt dumb and ugly. I struggled in math and reading. In the fifth grade my academics and outlook changed. I had a wonderful teacher named Mr. Mansfield who encouraged and believed in me. My grades and esteem shot so high it poked holes in the clouds.  

In high school, math was still a sore subject. I failed algebra more than once. The teachers always said I tried very hard. That is one attribute I admire about myself. Even if the odds are not in my favor I try my best. I managed to pass math with a 'D.' That was a hard earned 'D.' During high school I didn't make the cheerleading squad. In true form, I went back and tried again. I made the squad and even was promoted to captain! 

 Four years after high school I started college. See what I mean by late in life? Timid, unassertive I began my studies at a college. I struggled in math and semantics. My hardworking power proved useful because I was successful in those courses. I took a news writing course. The teacher observed something special within me. She took me under her wing and let me fly. She made me editor of the college newspaper and was like the mother I never had. She mentored me and taught me how to be a reporter, editor and teacher. Most valuable was how she taught me to overcome the underdog status. 

Despite the lack of expectations of a few, I now have a master's degree. My work has been published. Big achievements for a newborn not expected to make it past a few breaths. Finally, I have a passion for writing so hot it burns not to do it. From time to time I may fall under the underdog status. Especially, as I attempt to stand out in a competitive job market. With a cheering section and hard work, other people’s past expectations, doesn’t matter. I expect to win because I am my own ideal choice.

The Lost Weekend By: Karen Pilarski

This weekend I felt young again. On Friday night I went to a work function. During the event I felt lost and depressed. I was seated with the higher ups and didn't talk much. My colleagues were sitting at the other end of the room. Just a semester ago I had graduated. Six months later and still in the same place (physically and emotionally) and I felt stuck. I made small chat with my colleagues as I was getting ready to leave. A friend and I invited some girlfriends over to my apartment for some drinks. We giggled and talked about love, sex, work and all sorts hot topics. Between the sips of wine we munched on Andes Candies and Peppermint Patties. Tipsy and less inhabited we acted like college students. Close to midnight my girlfriends left and I passed out at the computer desk. Ironic thing was it was a throw back to college.

 In the morning another friend contacted me to go to the mall and meet up with another friend. We went around the mall and gossiped like we were back in high school.

That evening my brother, his boyfriend and my sister invited me to go to the mall again and out to dinner. It is funny how family and good friends can make you act ten years younger. My brother's boyfriend borrowed me a book that was a compilation of people's journals and diaries. After each entry there was a section called "My adult self." The now adult would explain the behavior or give an update. When I was a teen I didn't journal. If I had, I would have been mortified. As I was skimming the book in the car my brother was blaring songs from the 80's.

We went to a local restaurant where the clientele was of the older age range. We thought it was funny we were the only younger people there. We laughed at a few toupees and conversations overheard. In typical form, my siblings quoted movie lines to each other. This habit annoys anyone who is not related. Afterwards we cruised the mall. All of us angered the sales people with our loud laughter and antics. As we walked around I forgot about my actual age and just enjoyed being around people who were like me. Carefree, amusing and energetic. Somewhere between the pretzel stand and gaudy cell phone covers cart I let go of myself. The smell of sprays of perfume and freshly baked cookies lingered in the air. I allowed feelings that were brushed aside to surface. I felt angst, jealousy, happiness, sorrow and longing. I didn't need to express it, just allow the feelings to wash over me.

On Sunday, My sister invited me over after he went to work. We watched old  movies such as "Sixteen Candles" and "Trains, Planes and Automobiles" and "13 going on 30." During the movies and dinner I thought about being carefree. Even though there is stress and hard times upon me, it is nice to cut loose.

Those movies dealt with friendships, family and acting unlike yourself.  I took the messages of the movies to heart. I just can't be stuffy, professional and put together 34 year old Karen at all times. This past weekend I managed to live out my childhood, teen and early adult years. In the safe company of those who knew me best, I tore down the facade and acted free.