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[mydebacledlife-blog]

SOBER TAILGATES SAY WHAT?

Aye, fight and you may die, run, and you’ll live… at least a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willin’ to trade all of that from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies (the faculty of the University of Nevada, Reno) that they may try to take away our fun during Beat UNLV week, but they’ll never take our fun at tailgatesssssssss.” Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think the infamous Braveheart speech goes something like that, right?

Recently, The University of Nevada implemented a new rule stating that student tailgates will become an alcohol-free zone from now on. This new rule really rustled my jimmies. This change is likely administration’s attempt to create a safer, calmer tailgate. But despite these good intentions, sober tailgates are actually problematic in more ways than one.

Of course there is the obvious: the aspect of fun being taken away right before our own eyes! Where else am I going to be able to beat frat boys in cornhole while proclaiming my uncanny love for the Pack?! Let’s be honest folks, football isn’t everyone’s favorite pastime and despite my love for the Pack, they kind of suck.

If I have to sit through my team losing to teams like UNLV you bet your ass I am going to need a few brewskies in me. Let’s not forget to mention, cold weather is rolling in, which means we are going to need a beer coat. Listen, I am not turning a blind eye to the problems alcohol can cause at tailgates, I am just being a realist. Underage drinking in college isn’t going to stop, so we might as well bring it back to supervised tailgates!

Ultimately, the unfortunate truth of the matter is with drinking banned at tailgates, a hefty majority of regular student tailgaters will no longer show up. The most recent home tailgate, when the Pack took on New Mexico looked like a barren ghost town. There were no students to be seen, which had a direct effect on attendance for the football game itself. The only word that comes to mind to describe our Wolf Pack attendance would be pathetic. It seems the sober tailgates bring down the entire gameday morale. We need to gear up and put on our favorite pair of beer goggles in hopes that through these lenses the Pack will look like they aren’t falling apart.

College students just want to be able to hang with their peers and throw a few back before the big game. Tailgating was one of the only events at our university that drew some organizations together. During school spirit weeks such as Homecoming or Greek Week, the lingering sense of competition is at an all-time high. Greeks are ready to rip each others’ throats out to be crowned champion. However, events like student tailgates bring us all together to hang out and remind ourselves despite dividing organizational lines, we are one big proud Pack.

That aside, administration must realize the problematic effects of sober tailgating. The reality is college students are never going to stop drinking, that is just a ridiculous notion. Drinking in college is part of the culture and it would take a hell of a lot for that to ever change. At least when students were able to drink at the tailgates they were monitored by police officers patrolling the tailgate.

Since I was a freshman, I have never been to a tailgate without the police nearby. This was reassuring for student’s safety when attending the student tailgate.

Instead, students are going to feel pressured into being sneaky with alcohol, which is dangerous. It’s like the administration is that overbearing set of parents who don’t give their kids a little slack in their leash. The kids (us the students) when out of their parents’ sight are just going to go buck wild. This isn’t ASU people, we don’t want that.

However, in all seriousness, what I find the most scary about the startup of sober tailgates is that they will potentially be a cause for some students to drink and drive. Before the implementation of dry tailgates, it was common for students to soberly drive to the tailgate, drink there then attend the game or walk home. The time spent at the game allowed students to sober up before entering their vehicles and risking their own lives and the lives of others on the road.

The new regulations at the tailgates will not cease drinking before the games; however, it seems obvious to me that students will want to drink prior to even heading to the game. This means it is more than likely for some students to pregame, then get in their cars to drive over to Mackay Stadium. That is an enormous risk, I would not be willing to take.

Now entering the dawn of Homecoming Week, there is so much excitement surrounding this school spirit week. Usually we kick off the week with the Undie Run for all of the freshmen to show off their pre-beer-bellied bodies before the DC ruins them entirely. Then of course, the beloved talent show for the Greeks to display their boy-band moves. And, the famous March to the Arch and so many other spirited events. However, typically, the most anticipated event of the week is the Homecoming football game. But if the attendance is anything like New Mexico’s game, Homecoming is sure to be a flop.

It is up to us, the students of The University of Nevada, to band together and rightfully regain our objective. We must take back the forsaken land of the student tailgate spot!

[mydebacledlife-blog]

LET’S MEDITATE INSTEAD OF GETTING INEBRIATED

It’s 5 o’clock on a Friday in the streets of the bustling Big Apple. The work week is finally coming to a close and the trendy inhabitants of up-and-coming hotspots like Soho and Brooklyn get ready to take the nightlife by storm. Happy hour is just beginning and with that being said it is first nature for us to assume booze will be in the mix. After all, the notion that it’s 5 o’clock somewhere dawns upon us and the infamous drinking hour has only just begun.

An inaugural happy hour known as “Shine,” premiers at The General Assembly, an institute of technology located in the heart of the beloved city. However, something seems unfamiliar about one particular new happy hour in New York City. A regular attendee of any happy hour seems to be absent. Alcohol is nowhere to be found.

A pretty unconventional idea, right? A happy hour with no alcohol. What is the point?

Upon reading about the new trend sparking, it really started turning wheels for me. What a healthy alternative for a night on the town. This idea really resonated with me on a personal level. It forced me to think about all of the things I have done with my friends in the last six months that could be considered substantial. And aside from the concerts, music festivals and other rare occurrences I can’t remember many instances where my weekends weren’t consumed with hopping between bars. This mentality couldn’t help but make me think there has to be a lesson to be learned from the very hipsteresque happy hour taking place nearly 3,000 miles away.

Don’t get me wrong, I know just as well as any of my peers that drinking can be a real riot. I’m not saying college students should cut drinking out of their lives and stop going to bars in order to lead a more meaningful life. That just seems like a silly notion to even propose.

But something new is happening in the four walls of those New York City bars that are holding events like “Shine”. People are leaving feeling a sense of enlightenment. They are going to happy hour to meditate instead of to get inebriated. They are winding down with green tea drink specials and vegan appetizers, while having a few sober laughs. They’re exhibiting healthy habits while still being able to enjoy the nightlife. No regrettable mistakes are made during these happy hours and the girls you meet in the bathroom will actually remember your name after leaving this gathering.

I hold it to be truly evident that college students do not always receive the recognition they deserve for how much is expected of us. Most of us are expected to go to school full time, while holding a job to keep us afloat, while juggling a social life, maintaining relationships both personal or romantic on top of having to explain to those around us where we see ourselves in 10 years.

It is scary being a college student. Living for the weekend is an easy escape of reality. We have one too many drinks and wake up the next day feeling unrefreshed and repetitive. Drinking can be a nice easy escape of the daily pressures we face. But maybe, just maybe we should adopt some similar sober Soho practices and ditch the Patron for a more placid Friday night with our friends.

I encourage my peers to take a night off the booze. It’s 5 somewhere. Pass on the invitation to half-off margaritas and welcome with open arms the chance of quality time for meditation and enjoying the ability to remember your new night on the town.

[mydebacledlife-blog]

DON’T GIVE UP ON LOVE

Roses are red, violets are blue, it’s not love that sucks so stop acting like such a tool.

Chad Lords. That was the name of the first boy who broke my heart. No boy rocked a polo and cargo shorts better in the whole first grade class than Chad. He had big brown dreamy eyes and dusty blonde hair that could break any 7-year-old’s heart. Unfortunately for me I went through puberty way too young, shot up to about 5 feet tall in the first grade and looked 30 years old in comparison to my elementary school peers.

So basically what I’m trying to say is I never had much of a chance with the first grade hottie. Of course at the time, I was oblivious to the fact that Chad had his sights set elsewhere, so I patiently awaited the calendar day of love to tell my adolescent heart throb my true feelings.

First-grade Valentine’s Day came. The love notes were not in shortage. I, of course crafted a love note tailored especially for Chad. I believe my boyish penmanship scribbled in red crayon “I like you as more than a friend.” What a romantic I was. Move over Shakespeare. First grade Ali is kicking ass and stealing hearts. Am I right? Wrong.

I experienced my first heartbreak that day. Chad gave an intricate card cut out to Haley Wilson, while I got one from the “smelly kid Thane.” Looking back I am not sure how I didn’t see that one coming. Haley had perfectly groomed blonde hair and only wore Limited too. I wasn’t much competition.

What I didn’t know that day was while the Valentine’s Day cards weren’t in shortage, I would soon come to find out that life’s heartbreaks would not be either.

In my 21 years of life I can confidently say I have had my heart broken as well as broken a few hearts of others. For those who have experienced heartbreak, you know that there are not many things that are worse. When your heart is broken you find yourself in the same sweatpants for one too many days trying to relate every song on the radio to your recent breakup. Chinese takeout becomes the dinner standard and you find you may have a future in the FBI based on your social media stalking skills. It’s not easy. In fact, it sucks.

If you’ve ever truly been in love you know the feeling, there is nothing better in the world. Love heightens all of your senses. It plants a fire in your heart and turns your everyday routine into some sort of cloud dance. You become so smitten you feel as if every love ballad ever written is custom-made for you and your special someone. It’s almost absurd in many ways. Love has a way of making you feel like a little schoolgirl. It can drive you mad and can bring you to do things you would never normally do. Love in its purest form is unexplainable. No matter what anyone says there is nothing more special than sharing life’s most precious moments with another person.

Unfortunately heartbreak has the same sort of effect. It consumes you as well, in different ways of course. It can feel as if it is eating you from the inside out. All of a sudden the background music to your life does a swift shift in mood from “I’m Walking on Sunshine” to some pathetic Adele song. It becomes hard to look out of your car window without feeling like you’re in some sick music video meant to be in black and white. Everything around you transforms into some little reminder of your love lost.

“I can’t do laundry anymore, because I used to do laundry when me and my ex were dating and it just brings back bad memories.” Okay folks save it.

Both love and breakups bring out the most irrational versions of ourselves, trust me I’ve been there.

But the ultimate lesson learned that I hold evident with all my being may be a cheesy one, but valuable nonetheless.

“It is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.”

Love is an unexplainable force. And arguably the most important thing we have in this life. We can see this by simply looking at any life trial thrown our way. Whether we look at people’s regrets or deathbed wishes we see a reoccurring theme. Everyone wishes they loved a little more valiantly.

Of course, we cannot love without the inevitable risk of heartbreak, which makes love seem terrifying. To trust another being with your whole self in hopes that they love you back with similar unconditionality.

There are infinite forces working against love at all times to see that it fades, which makes love look like this big scary entity of uncertainty. And in many ways it is.

I have had my heart broken a few times since the first grade and I can’t say it gets easier. There have been days where I resort to binge eating salt and vinegar chips and don’t brush my hair. I’ve had days where I polish off a bottle of wine alone and sing Taylor Swift songs (the country Taylor Swift of course). There’s days where seeing happy couples weaves knots in my stomach.

But as I get older and heartbreaks come and pass I realize the most important lesson of all is to never give up on love. Love is the greatest thing we have. It is consuming, complicated and scary. There is always risk for it to fail and to truly be enamored with love your heart is always on the line. But I can promise there is nothing like being in love. The feeling that no matter how bad your day goes you know you have a shoulder to cry on at the end of the day. Being in love makes the simplest of days feel like you’re walking amongst the stars. It isn’t always easy, but it is worth it.

So this Valentine’s Day change your sentiment. Don’t shoot down the idea of love or revel in envy of those around you who have found something you may have not yet stumbled upon. Stop subtweeting your ex and dwelling on the bad in a relationship. Change out of your sweatpants and stop listening to “I hate my ex” themed love ballads.

Chad Lords may have broken my 7-year-old heart that day, but I learned to love after him (and let me say thank god because cargo shorts are not my forte). The way I look at it it’s simple. Instead of weeping, scheming ways to get back at your ex, loathing those in love or giving up on the idea of love entirely take a second to revel in the fact that there is more love to be felt.

Roses are red, violets are blue being heartbroken might suck now but never being in love is worse, you fool.

[mydebacledlife-blog]

WOULD A WOODSTOCK REVIVAL WORK?

“We believe in universal human rights, ethical business practices, unfettered creative expression, free trade, the loving care of our planet, the power of the individual to make a difference and the overwhelming impact of communities to act as agents of peaceful change.” Those are the core principles inscribed by the music world’s original festival, Woodstock.

Bethel, New York, in August 1969 might have set the stage for one of the most pivotal moments in music history. A fusion of art alongside some of the greatest performers of the era including Jimi Hendrix, The Who and Janis Joplin took stage on a dairy farm to perform for nearly half a million people.

The United States was at a pivotal moment in history. The Civil Rights Movement was coming to a close, while America’s involvement in the Vietnam War peaked in 1969. It was a time of chaos in the States. However, in the midst of the disarray, music brought together over 500,000 people for a four-day demonstration of peace, love and an appreciation for the arts. Woodstock undoubtedly made history. According to Woodstock.com, singer/songwriter Joni Mitchell recounts Woodstock as “a spark of beauty where half-a-million kids saw that they were part of a greater organism.”

Flash forward to 1999 where a 30th commemorative anniversary of Woodstock was held. However, this time around Woodstock would live in infamy. Woodstock was an absolute disaster and quite honestly made an absolute mockery of the festival’s premises. There was nothing peaceful about the numerous cases of sexual assault, arson and outbreaks of violence.

Not to mention the music pretty much defaced the art of Woodstock. Artists such as Limp Bizkit, Korn and Insane Clown Posse were among the performers of the ’99 Woodstock held in Rome, New York. Need I say more? ICP boasts lyrics such as “I stuck her with my wang, she hit me in the balls. I grabbed her by her neck, and I bounced her off the walls.” Absolutely nothing about those words promotes any sort of peace or universal human rights. Instead, these lyrics advocate for sexual violence, which is just what occurred. According to an article by Rolling Stone, 44 people were arrested and only one was actually charged with sexual assault, despite many counts of witnessed rape at the festival. It was a total abomination. Violence ensued even further with accounts of vehicles being driven through crowds, vendor tents being lit ablaze and crowd surfing going horribly wrong.

Aside from the continuous appropriation of rape and violence, the festival upcharged everything, making the festival more of a scramble for money versus a haven for peace of mind. According to “19 Worst Things about Woodstock ’99” by Rolling Stone, water bottles were charged at a rate of $4 a piece and eventually sold out entirely, leaving the crowd dehydrated and exhausted. This strays far away from the original principle of Woodstock in which 100,000 tickets were sold prior to the event; however, tickets for the original festival ended up being unnecessary. As floods of people flocked in, Woodstock ceased selling tickets and just admitted entry to everyone who traveled to be a part of this monumental musical movement. The four days at Woodstock ’69 were more about community and less about money. The ’99 revival of Woodstock transpired into nothing more than a monopolized mess.

So why is this rant about a festival that happened 17 years ago necessary? Michael Lang, Woodstock’s original organizer, participated in a recent interview conducted by Poughkeepsie Journal, which announced that the festival may be coming back to life for a 50th anniversary celebration. Despite the horror that ensued in ’99, Lang is reportedly pushing forward with plans to bring the festival back to be bigger and better than ever. He is currently collaborating with numerous other partners to discuss plans for the festival that would take place in 2019.

Music festivals are a large part of modern culture. The festival scene has evolved from one monumental music festival that originated in ’69 to festivals from coast to coast to cater to any music enthusiast’s liking. With the rise of the music festival scene, it is no surprise  considerations to bring the original festival back are in full swing.

However, Woodstock has a lot of making up to do. If Lang and other collaborators plan to host Woodstock anything like it was in ’99, we can all agree that the festival is a complete and utter waste of time. It would not be a memorable tribute to one of music’s greatest moments, but instead a total mockery. Owners of the event need to totally change their vision back to match goals of the original Woodstock. I’m sorry, but if any artist that promotes violence in their song lyrics or in their daily life is invited to headline the festival, Woodstock can receive a big “hell no” from me. The revival of Woodstock just seems like an opportunity for ravers and headbangers to tarnish the principles intended for Woodstock in the first place. We already have festivals like EDC, Ultra, Coachella and more. If Woodstock intends to model the festival based on inspiration from existing festivals, I say just save us all the trouble and don’t bother. The point was to unite people with music. Woodstock made people feel like they were a part of something bigger than themselves for a minute without having to worry about paying insane amounts of money for water bottles and ticket prices. It was an escape from worldly issues happening outside the confines of Bethel, New York. It truly was a movement instead of a monopolized entity.

I don’t think it’s impossible to discount the notion that a peaceful, successful Woodstock can be created. In fact, Outside Lands, an annual festival held in San Francisco, California, has a peaceful ambiance. Held in the beautiful Golden Gate Park, festivalgoers are provided with the opportunity to take part in digital detoxes, art viewings, food tastings and the showcasing of beautiful music. However, ticket prices are high and there are no direct principles enforced to promote peace at the festival. However, it could potentially be molded into such given the right measures are taken. The music scene is different now. A large majority of this generation is listening to musical groups like Mumford & Sons and Adele instead of Korn and ICP. If any musicians that promote violence would be invited to headline the 50th anniversary, the whole premise of the festival would already be a walking incongruity.

The fact of the matter is times are different now. It isn’t 1969 anymore. This generation is glued to outlets of technology, and with the constant flowing of bad news, some would argue we are becoming more desensitized to violence. However, there are many millennials who go to music festivals to enjoy the music, find a release and escape from the troubles of everyday life much like the youth that engulfed a dairy farm in a small town in New York during that August in the ’60s. I don’t think it’s impossible that a new-age, peaceful Woodstock can be done; however, if owners don’t acknowledge the abomination ’99 was and bring back the principles that made the festival so special, then I think we can all make like Bryan Adams and leave that festival back in the summer of ’69.

[mydebacledlife-blog]

SORRY, BUT THE SERVICE INDUSTRY STOLE MY SOUL

Limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, anger, heresy, violence, fraud and treachery. These are the infamous Nine Circles of Hell depicted in Dante’s “Inferno”, but I guess somewhere between publishing discrepancies and the editing process Dante carelessly cut out some of the most important layers of hell. Dante forgot to mention the deepest, darkest circle of them all, the 10th circle, which would obviously be working in the restaurant industry.

I used to consider myself a bit of an optimist. I had a bright outlook on humanity as a whole and was eager to meet new people, and submerge myself in social scenarios. That was until one day I made a terrible mistake. Days before I turned 21, I applied via Craigslist to a “server’s wanted ad.”

I would move on to get the job and training started almost immediately. When I began training, there appeared to be a common theme present in almost all my new co-workers. They were all undeniably jaded. So young and naive to why everyone around me looked tired, and all had the same cynically sarcastic sense of humor, I had no idea that my optimistic feelings on humanity  and life as I knew it would soon be tarnished.

Soon I would view accomplishment as simply being able to make it through my shift with my pen. I’d begin to lose sleep to night terrors of the ketchup I forgot to bring table 4 and have to replace my “fuck you” thoughts with a smile and “thank you for coming in” closing message.

Working in the restaurant industry takes a little part of your soul with no intention of ever giving it back. Here’s some insight into what it’s like to work in the restaurant industry.

First of all, you must thicken your skin, or you won’t last more than a week. There’s no crying in baseball? No. There’s no crying in taking the potato skins out to the needy guy sitting at table 33. For some reason, some people seem to lose all sense of moral decency when passing the threshold of restaurants. Suddenly “manners” become a taboo word of a different tongue, and you find yourself questioning whether you are working your day job or are some sort of indentured servant. Take it down Queen Elizabeth, you’re in a Denny’s, not Buckingham Palace, sorry to inform you but there is only one way to make scrambled eggs and they don’t come with a side of pixie dust for you, or anyone else. You have to be able to take orders and do it with a smile on your face.

Restaurants teach you that humans are wired to make things difficult for others around you. The dreaded “right this way folks. This is your table,” only to hear “Umm, actually I’m sorry but can we sit over there.” No, you can’t. If you were able to sit there, don’t you think we would’ve went there in the first place. You lead people to their table and like clockwork, there’s some mysterious magnetic field pulling these people to a table on the clear opposite side of the restaurant.

Working as a server you begin to realize we have fiercely entered the zombie technology apocalypse. Servers can pretty much agree one of the rudest most awful thing a customer can do is refuse to make eye contact while ordering because you’re consumed with Stacy’s Facebook relationship status. Please, it takes two seconds to look up from your less than interesting social media apps and order cheese enchiladas.

Common courtesy is clearly a thing of the past when closing time approaches. Also, the restaurant closes at 10 p.m. By no means does that make it acceptable to wait until 9:59 to come in the restaurant. Are you going to eat your food in 60 seconds? Didn’t think so. Come back and see us tomorrow, during business hours.

Then there’s the infamous party of 30 who wants to somehow split the check 45 ways. Listen, your gluten intolerant, no nut, light ice order was really difficult enough. The least you could’ve done was bring cash and deal with this at home. I mean for God’s sake, I don’t even have enough booklets to put your checks in.

One of the darkest realities of serving is that you dread interactions with international tourists. Not all (of course), but many foreigners don’t understand the concept of tipping. In America, it is common to tip 15 to 20 percent. Typically, servers’ livelihood depends on tips. Travel across the globe to China or Australia and tipping servers is an almost unheard of art. It’s almost a matter of self control in not greeting our foreign friends with a little disclaimer like, “Hi my name is Ali, I’m your server this evening. And Please remember Toto, you’re not in Australia anymore. Leave 20 percent, cheapskate.”

You realize you’re truly in the bottoms of hell in your restaurant when you’re even scared to serve the religious folk. If you’ve worked in the restaurant industry long enough chances are you’ve dropped a bill only to receive literature pamphlets as monetary compensation. And while the gesture may be noble and lead to some higher enlightenment, it sure as shit isn’t going to pay my WiFi bill.

Working in a restaurant is definitely no walk in the park. It can crumble your optimism and chew you up and spit you out. You find yourself doubting the greater good of humanity, and genuinely start to “hate everyone.” Luckily, most of the people who work as your peers feel the same way you do. They’ve been stiffed on checks and have gotten the pain in the ass “can we sit somewhere else table.” So as hard as it may be, find solace in your co-workers. Put a smile on your face and refrain from putting hair in the guy’s food who has made you run you back to the kitchen for the 17th time. Don’t let the restaurant industry get the best of you.

[mydebacledlife-blog]

[mydebacledlife-blog]

[mydebacledlife-blog]

INVEST THE SAME AMOUNT OF TIME IN FRIENDSHIPS AS YOU WOULD IN YOUR ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS

Time and time again we find ourselves reading compilations of circulated love-life jargon. We read countless stories regarding the search for fulfillment in our relationships, while the theme of friendship takes a bit of a backseat. I thinks it is safe to assume that the rom coms we so often watch have us looking for love or at least awaiting its arrival, whether we are actively seeking it or not.

However, through a series of unforecasted events I have developed a special appreciation for relationships. That of the special relationships and fulfillment of not love interests, but  genuine friendships.

According to a statistic from The New York Times, “Today [only] 20 percent of Americans ages 18 to 29 are married, compared with nearly 60 percent in 1960.”

With marriage becoming more of a distant future idea versus something happening sooner than later, it makes me wonder if people can genuinely be just as happy in the meantime as they would be if they were spending the time with the love of their lives. I guess I have always been a bit of a romantic whether I’m in a relationship or not. The idea of achieving that soulful satisfaction a spouse provides has always been an idea I fancied.

However, with the social norms changing, and marriages tending to happen later in life it separates people into two other categories. Those who find solace in being alone and those who find impassioned completeness from friendships.

With more of us entering adulthood unmarried, we begin to mold into the people we will evidently be the rest of our lives not based off companionship of a romance, but instead apace with friends. I began to find affinity with those made from a similar mold as I; As I stepped into “adulthood” it appeared it was more enjoyable to do so accompanied by genuine friends.

Upon taking a recent trip to Nebraska to visit my best friend for her 21st birthday and a much needed mental health trip on my part, I came to discover it wasn’t romance nor a self-indulged trip of self-love that began to mold me into the person I hoped I would be. It was instead the friendships I chose to invest in. I came to the conclusion that friendships provided me with many enrichments I sought out in early adulthood — intellectual connection, similar moral values, enjoyed company, a support system and character builders.

When visiting my best friend Lexi, I for the first time acknowledged a constant in my life. The presence of Lexi and all my other best friends. Despite all of the poor relationship choices I made or the lows I faced in any self-conflicting battle I faced, my friends weren’t far from my side.

My good friends challenged my political stances, pushed me to be a better person, provided me with mental stimulation and enriched me with substance filled conversation. I realized the genuine friends I surrounded myself with pushed me in positive directions and made my aspirations I yearned for seemed more attainable.

Friendships, if catered to with care provide something relationships don’t. They provide a simplistic satisfaction romantic entanglements might not. They stimulate us emotionally whether it be accompanying us during  Netflix Benders, consoling us after detrimental blows life throws our way or just embarking on everyday adventures with us.

I think we seek fulfillment in romantic relationships when completeness is right in front of our faces. We can all carry the mentality of G Eazy’s new top-40 hit, “Oh, it’s just me, myself and I Solo ride until I die ‘Cause I got me for life.” Save it. Having a sense of self-empowerment and independence is great. You’re a romantic like myself? great.

However, connections as special as friendships seem to take a wayside because there is no ceremonial tying of the knot. As marriages become a thing that occur later on in life people assume roles of self-indulgence when they could instead invest themselves in genuine friendships that could provide just as great fulfillment as any romantic interest.

There may not be any ceremonies to make friendships official. Marriage becomes more distant and that means friends may become more of our primary life partners. So invest the same time you would in friends as you would in love interests. Don’t waste your time having small-minded conversations or subpar adventures with friends while awaiting a fairy-tale romance. Because truth be told, friendships can provide just as much fulfillment, if not more if you open your heart to friendships as you would to romance.

[mydebacledlife-blog]

SORRY MY VOCABULARY IS MORE COLORFUL THAN YOURS

I wouldn’t say I have a low tolerance level for people by nature. My patience at times can be pretty pristine. I can handle most people that others would consider  “unbearable.”

I pay no mind to people who smack their mouths around like goats when chewing food. I stray away from trampling the dreaded slow walker. I’m not disturbed by people who cut in line or follow too close when driving. I even refrain from rolling my eyes at the kid who asks one too many stupid questions in class (yes, there is a such thing as a stupid question).

I believe it to be indisputable that these are some of the worst people (yes, I know we all know people who match these descriptions, so stop pretending you don’t). However, the worst kind of person is the one who claims they don’t curse.

I didn’t realize how much this irked me until recently. While out with a group of friends, I found myself chatting with a group of people I didn’t know.

As I grew more comfortable with my new-found friends, my colorful vocabulary started to flow free. With my entire family being from Brooklyn, New York, I guess you could conclude that I was never really sheltered from profanities. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, in this instance.

In the midst of telling one of my famous overly-animated Ali stories, I dropped the “F bomb” without a second thought. As most of the group laughed at my story, I saw one of the group members tense up and roll her eyes.

With a disapproving look, the disgruntled girl snarled, “It really is unfortunate to me when people feel the need to use ‘bad words.’ It really takes away from their sophistication.”

Then and there it dawned on me. People who don’t use curse words are the absolute worst.

Cursing is a form of expression. It symbolizes passion in someone. We swear when we feel strongly about things. We use swear words when we are bruised emotionally and physically. We curse when we are mad, sad and even so happy about something we don’t know how to convey the extent of our joy without the use of a curse word. Others see it as offensive, I see it as an emphasis on expression. Which leads me to think those who substitute alternative euphemisms have stones as hearts.

Imagine how tasteless some of our favorite movies would be if no one cursed? Linda Blair wouldn’t have scared anyone when starring in “The Exorcist” if she was calling her priest a “jerk” instead of spewing out countless profanities. Clean versions of songs on the radio are painful enough, am I right?

These words aren’t just entertaining or a form of expression they are actually biologically proven to numb pain. According to “Nine Things You Probably Didn’t Know About Swear Words,” and article by Time Magazine, Swear words “are cathartic, helping people deal with emotion as well as pain” . Looks like I’ll cope with a bad toe stubbing much better than the judgy wench I met at the bar.

Many people that consider swear words a sort of “taboo” seem bland and less passionate than those who don’t. They come off ingenuine and almost masked. It’s hard not to assume those that reject using curse words aren’t judgmental. Trust me buddy, you’re no more elite than I because you chose to shout “jiminy cricket” instead of “shit” when you broke a nail. If anything you’re confirming you have no personality and probably go to sleep before 9.

Why would one purposely refrain from using these words? Some believe those who curse are ignorant or blatantly offensive. Sorry my vocabulary is colorful, that doesn’t mean I am any less intellectual than you are.

So save yourself the trouble. Stray away from those who consider swear words as taboo.

I’m not ignorant for cursing, I just have a fucking colorful vocabulary, okay?

[mydebacledlife-blog]

GROUP MESSAGING — A NECESSARY EVIL OR JUST A NUISANCE?

Smartphones bring us many things. They make it possible for the Internet to always be at our fingertips. They provide us with millions of apps whose purposes range from attempts to simplify our lives to Tetris-like games. And who could forget one of the most coveted features of smartphones — group messaging.

It allows us to stay connected with our cliques of friends all at once, and this can either be a convenient component or a giant pain in the ass. And in most group messaging cases it isn’t one or the other, but instead a combination of  the two.

We’ve all heard that patience is a virtue, right? In order to be successful throughout life one must maintain one’s composure in some of the most trying times. We have to stay calm behind the dreaded “gluten free, non-fat, coconut milk, triple espresso”  Starbucks guy. We somehow manage our road rage in busy parking lots when cars selfishly take up two spots. We even bite our tongues when the hypochondriac in our friend group is complaining about her newfound ailment of the week. But if there is one time our patience is ultimately tested, it is at the sight of 147 new text messages via group text when you walk away from your phone for a mere 10 seconds.

Group messages can really be a nuisance in any friendship. There are so many ways a group text can go terribly wrong. It is nothing but a total pain when your group text blows up during your absence and you have to spend time playing catch up. Sometimes a group text can be a breeding ground for drama (depending of the friend group of course). You can find fellow group texters getting senselessly upset over your lack of interest in whatever the hot topic of the group text may be for the time being. It seems at times group texts are more of a chore than something positive.

However, despite the potentials for disaster, they also can present positive features. Many can argue you aren’t a real best friend group if you don’t have a group text. I can genuinely say that I know every day, majority of the day what is going on in my friends’ lives thanks to the group text. I never have to ask everyone’s’ plans nor do I have to check in on anyone’s day, because I just know it. My group texts between my friends serve as a constant comedy hour. The ongoing texts I share with friends only create a sense of increased closeness amongst my group.

The group text feature is also essential when you need multiple opinions or want to tell multiple friends’ stories that happened throughout your day. It provides convenience and helps create coveted bonds.

That being said, there are definitely rules of group chat etiquette one should abide by. Thou shalt not multiple text (unless your news is so stellar it can only be conveyed via four texts). Thou shalt listen to thy neighbor when they have a sweet story to share (or at least one they think is worthy). Thou shalt not text when others are in places of solitude (Knowledge Center, job interviews, etc.). And of course most importantly, thou shalt not remove themselves from the group text without proper goodbyes. Otherwise you just look like a drama queen that, for lack of better words, “can’t hang.”

So when all’s said and done, the question remains: Is group texting a time-wasting pain in the ass, or does your group text serve as a vital day-to-day tool? Despite all the text blow-ups, conversation catch-ups and senseless chat, group chats are essential to strengthening relationships, providing convenience and keeping things interesting. Although it might take the patience of the Dalai Lama to not explode when the group chat goes off, patience is a virtue, and preserving the group text is just that — a vital virtue.

[mydebacledlife-blog]

ALL I NEED IN THIS LIFE OF SIN IS ME AND MY GIRLFRIENDS

Before Blake Lively was Serena Vanderwoodsen, the most coveted girl in the Upper East Side, before America Ferrera showed us the true meaning of inner beauty in “Ugly Betty”, before Alexis Bledel’s finale of everyone’s favorite mother-daughter bonding show, “Gilmore Girls”, and before Amber Tamblyn stormed the soap scene playing one of the biggest roles on “General Hospital” the four girls came together In “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.” They played starring roles in one of the most important cinematic displays of the power of female friendships.

I might not have known the magnitude of the movie as an 11-year-old when it debuted, nor the priceless importance of having strong female relationships, but upon rewatching the movie as a 21 year old with a little more life experience, I was reminded that there is no greater force to be reckoned with than strong female friendships.

There are many great big screen depictions of female empowerment through the outlet of friendship. We have the classics, “Thelma and Louise”, “Beaches” (A real frickin tear jerker) and “Steel Magnolias”, but for millennials there is such a sense of relatability in the “Sisterhood”.

Rewatching this movie with a few of my personal closest girlfriends I realized just how important this movie really was for female friendships. Through tragic deaths, boy troubles, family drama and more of life’s whirlwinds there was one constant — the girls were always there for each other whether they were experiencing some of life’s biggest blessings or life’s most unfortunate tragedies.  There is something distinctly special about the relationships formed between your closest girlfriends.

When the workload heightens, love life crumbles and life’s odds just seem to be against you there is a calming reassurance women find in confiding in their lady friends. Adulthood isn’t easy. As a female, navigating adulthood is especially hard, but with a solid group of girl friends it is manageable.

Upon reflecting on all the relationships I have shared in my life whether they be friendships between males, love interests or female friendships I recognized a particular affinity for the bonds I shared with my best friends that were women.

As social norms change and a large majority of society tends to put marriage and other relationships off, women seek companionship elsewhere — which tends to blossom from friendships we share instead. We are often told romantic relationships are supposed to make us whole, when at my age, more often than not the relationships that ensured more of a sense of completeness were the relationships between my girl friends.

The blast from the past in watching “The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants” sent me into a revelatory thought of the completeness I found in my own personal relationships. Seeing the chemistry between the fictional best friends made me naturally think of the bond I shared with my best friend Lexi, whom I met back in elementary school.

Although Lexi and I had met in our early fundamental school years, it wasn’t until entering adulthood that I really realized how compelling our friendship really was.

My friendship with Lexi was a cultivation of drunken idiocracies, stories with no real punchlines, obscene inside jokes and an innate trivial sense of intimacy that many find in family members or romantic interests. We had at-home Jeopardy battles, shared horror stories of our experiences at the gynecologist and tried to create a shared Spotify playlist to show each other what we were listening to lately even if my music preferences were too folk-inspired for Lexi’s liking. We never held back in sharing our thoughts on politics and asked for advice when we came upon strange intimate interactions. Lexi has always been a constant in my early adult life— cliche but I almost feel like I wasn’t entirely me before my friendship with Lexi blossomed.

It seemed that there were many things in life that depreciated me whether it be piling too much on my plate or my love endeavors that resulted in heartbreak. When in fact, my relationship with Lexi was just the opposite. It provided fulfillment and aided to mold the person I wanted to become. Whenever life became a little pressing I found myself wishing Lexi was always around. Our friendship had a way of simplifying things.

I found comfort and joy in just about all undertakings we took on whether it was working the world’s worst summer job or going out dancing all night. Lexi’s friendship was enriching and dependable. It didn’t require maintenance and just was in its simplest form — fun.

“The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants” reminds me of the relationship I now share with Lexi. Although we do not share a pair of magical pants we are often in very different places on different schedules due to college. But, our friendship isn’t a task. Lexi doesn’t fall short of providing the contentness many would say result from romances or any other of life’s relationships. The same can be said for the rest of my bonds with my female friends. They don’t take second to any other relationships because the bonds women share with their women best friend counterparts is different — it’s special.

The fictitious bond the girls share is genuine. It is real and relatable. The girls are never trying to one up each other or push their own agenda. Whenever trouble calls, they are there for one another. It is a great example for girls to model.

I call upon my women friends whenever I need uplifting. I can rely on them to tell me the truth and act as a moral guidance. They never turn down a glass of wine and tell me how pretty I am when I find myself crying in the bathroom of some shady bar. The women that aggrandize my life give unselfishly and supplement our friendships without asking for much in return. They are empowering and enriching and women should both acknowledge and take more advantage of these genuine bonds.

[mydebacledlife-blog]

UBER ETIQUETTE — A FEW PIECES OF ADVICE TO ENSURE YOU’RE NOT AN ANNOYING PASSENGER

Saturday night and you’re feeling right. The downtown Reno bar scene is alive and thriving. Drinks are steadily flowing and good times are definitely being had by all. But eventually, after hearing “Can’t Feel My Face” for the sixth time, The Weeknd isn’t the only one going numb. If this wasn’t a sign enough the night should come to an end, your roommate has inevitably entered that part of the night where she thinks it’s a good move to text her ex. Logically you decide it’s best for all parties if you turn in for the night.

You can’t tell if you’re too lazy to make the trek home or if you’re just downright drunk. But what’s the difference right? The time has come, my friend. Request an Uber.

Your phone screen illuminates with the fleet of cars in your area as you patiently await your fate.

Then BAM! Chad, who drives a black Honda Civic, is at your beck and call, just a mere four minutes away. Before you even get in the Uber, you feel like you already know so much about Chad. Aside from knowing the make, model and color of his car, you know Chad has an impressive 4.8 stars and a profile picture that looks like it was taking during a J.C. Penney personal photo spread. We can all already take a pretty educated guess on the kind of guy “Chad” is.

Despite the lack of style Chad may or may not have, he is the captain of your Uber ship, The commander on the SS Uber. He is the assurance that you and your (less than composed) roommate are going to get home in one piece.

But first, in order to assure this ride is smooth sailing, you must know there is an unspoken etiquette in the Uber ride you’re about to venture on.

First off, an unwritten rule is that you must apologize. We still are unsure why this trend is an Uber-mannerism must have, but think about it. After a long night have you ever gotten into an Uber, taxi or lyft and didn’t initially open up with a “Hey, uh yeah I’m so sorry.”

Uber drivers everywhere, although puzzled by your unprovoked apology, serve as a great conscience clearer. I’m guessing this apology stems from a subconscious need to right wrongs such as singing Mariah Carey at Cal Neva karaoke or the six rounds of  $15 drinks you spent at St. James. Either way the apology, although completely unnecessary serves as a fresh start and opens the doorway for a clear conscience and entryway into the rest of the Uber journey.

Once in the Uber one of the worst things you can do is remain quiet. This is a perfect opportunity to practice your conversational skills with strangers. I know at times it almost pains you to not exclaim your unwavering love for Uber while bashing every cabbie in a 100-mile radius, but for the love of God try to refrain from your drunken proclamation of Uber love. This is probably the most generic conversation Uber drivers hear every time someone gets in their car. For Chad’s sake, don’t beat a dead horse.

Instead, maybe politely inquire on whether or not Uber serves as their full-time job or just a side gig. It is human nature for others to enjoy talking about themselves. And let’s face it, after the amount of gin and tonics you’ve probably just guzzled down, it’s safer Chad does the talking anyway. But in all sincerity, this segue into this conversation can be a great way to network. Many Uber drivers have other careers. In my personal experience, I have had Uber drivers that manned yachts, invented online poker apps and used to limo drive for some of Hollywood’s most lavish celebrities. Who knows what your driver’s day job is? It doesn’t hurt to strike up that conversation. Who knows maybe you will have a valuable business card by the end of your ride.

Another huge Uber no-no is assuming position as co-captain during your expedition when you don’t know your ass from your elbow when it comes to directions. And instead of telling your driver on three separate occasions that he missed a turn because you are too busy regrettably tweeting your night’s play-by-play. Do Chad and yourself a favor and let MapQuest take the lead here.

For those of you are versed in Ubers you know that some offer special amenities such as tissues, a candy bowl filled with undesirables and in some cases if you’re really lucky, the Uber driver will even have an aux cord. It is blessing enough if the Uber driver recognized radio stations can be less than average, making the aux cord a man’s best friend. But don’t take advantage of this luxury. Refrain from playing the first 30 seconds of six of your favorite pop songs. Choose confidently and with thoughtful caution that you will be able to make it through the song. This is not only an Uber etiquette, but any car trip common courtesy.

Uber is a convenient service that can be a fun little experience if done the right way. But Ubering is a craft. Avoid basic questions, keep the Biebs off the aux cord and be fully attentive when giving directions. Make sure to leave a comment if you have an enjoyable experience and most importantly, don’t forget to generously star your driver.

[mydebacledlife-blog]

YO YG, WHY YOU ALWAYS HATIN’ ON MY BAMPUS?

This weekend I learned a few things at Reno’s Biggest Little Festival. I learned lemonade ruins turf, the female freshman population own more leotards than the Russian ballet and most importantly, I learned that YG sucks.

On Saturday, Sept. 10, Rapper, YG, aka “Young Gangsta” (obviously) put on the worst performance since Ashlee Simpson’s epic lip sync fail on Saturday Night Live. Well, I wouldn’t really consider it an actual performance considering he was 20 minutes late, bitched like a “Hills” character for 25 minutes about our college sound system not being “up to par,” played other rappers’ songs for five minutes, then finally after much unnecessary anticipation, YG performed for a whopping 20 minutes.

I think many of us could agree we heard more from YG’s hype man than from the rapper himself. The hype man came out guns-a-blazin (not actually) begging the crowd to scream for YG or he wasn’t going to come out. After that shit storm, YG’s hype man better start begging for fans to come to his show.

When the rapper blew out his sound system in the first 10 minutes of his set he complained more like a reality TV show cast member than a self-proclaimed man of the streets. Street cred aside, the rapper, dumbfounded on the stage chose to call out our sound system instead of doing what he is paid to do- rap.

The rapper is speculated to have made about $50,000 for the gig.

Things we could’ve done with the $50,000 instead:

1.Added a few more parking spaces on campus

2.Constructed an additional bathroom at Our Bar to cut those lines in half

3.Bought 5,000 pitches of Coors at the Wal

4.Pay off Kehoe’s student debt

But really. After much thoughtful reflection I couldn’t decide what was worse, YG’s set or the fans wearing “Bompton” shirts. I don’t know what the hell Bompton means. (No one knows what it means but it’s provocative.) Bompton is the rapper’s coined term for his hometown, Compton. The B comes into play for the “bloods.” Now that we know what it means, we can clearly see why overwhelmingly white sorority girls support the cause: nothing says LA gang violence like future Summerlin moms.

I know what you guys are thinking, Ali “Why you always hatin?”  Don’t get me wrong, it’s nothing personal. I have no vendettas against YG or his hype henchman. But I do think performers should be held to a certain standard of accountability. You’re getting paid thousands of dollars to rap, by god that sound system goes out and you should be free styling like you never have before. I will say, I have a lot of respect for the rap community. I mean the only rap I know is the Andy Milonakis theme song. I am just saying, performers have responsibilities as professionals to begin with. But that responsibility should be taken even more seriously when it comes to performing on a college campus. College students constantly have weights on their shoulders- whether it be paying tuition money, time management between jobs and classes or even just the pressure to graduate on time, concerts such as this serve as an opportunity as a fun escape.

Thousands of dollars in student fees go toward putting on events such as these. ASUN did a great job putting on the festival and bringing a lineup that appeased diverse music taste. The people wanted YG. However, he was a complete let down and nothing short of a disrespect to our campus.

Sorry YG, but the Wolf Pack has to Toot it and boot your ass off the stage.

[mydebacledlife-blog]

[mydebacledlife-blog]

Quit the Yelping

There are certain types of people in this world that, no matter how you look at them, are just the absolute worst. There are slow walkers, people who smack their food around in their mouths when they chew, able-bodied people who take the elevator one floor up, DMV employees, and grocery-store patrons who appear to be stocking up for doomsday and happen to beat you in the footrace to the checkout counter. Recently I was able to add to this list of undesirables — bad Yelpers.

Originally I used to commend other Yelpers for helping

me make the pressing decision of what place in town has the meanest Mexican food. However, the other day my mind changed — and not for the better. What originally started as any other regular day in hell (a five-hour shift at my Mexican restaurant) quickly spiraled into some sort of “Twilight Zone” nightmare.

My shift immediately started in a turmoil of dysfunction when I was called in half an hour early. Although this was an inconvenience, it was nothing I wasn’t used to. A server quit midshift, a line cook never showed and some bratty 7-year-old stuck his fingers in the salsa bar. Just another day in paradise. Obviously short-staffed all around the restaurant, delivering food to one of my tables took a whopping 15 minutes instead of the normal 10. I clearly was dealing with someone who had never worked a customer-service job in their life because suddenly I was no longer Ali the human being who happens to work as a waitress for beer money but rather the peasant woman who brings out Mexican food five minutes too late.

After tuning out a constant string of complaints from my disgruntled customer, I came back to reality hard when I heard the words “You’ll be hearing from me on Yelp.”

It dawned on me. Despite all the disgruntled people I have had the unfortunate opportunity to serve, I never thought to check out my restaurant’s Yelp reviews. There I was with no other choice. For the next few hours I would get lost down the rabbit hole that is the trenches of Yelp. It was here I discovered Yelpers were among the worst of the worst humans.

One of my biggest concerns with the posts really came from my inability to understand who in their right mind even had the time to curate these posts. A common theme I came across was people feeling the need to give a 500-word prelude to why they decided to try the restaurant. Listen, Fitzgerald, this is a basic food review; I don’t need backstory. How about instead you cut to the chase. It’s either the burritos were good or they weren’t. So here’s a simple tip for all you Yelpers out there: better to keep it short and sweet. If we wanted you to carry on for 30 minutes, we would have added you on Facebook and kept up with your asinine election comments.

Then there were the professionals — those who posted Yelp reviews for mediocre restaurants as if they were reviewing a Four Seasons. “The picayune options that proved to be ever too insipid will guarantee me and my pompous ass will not return.” First of all, what the hell does “picayune” even mean? Second of all, if Guy Fieri described food this way, no one would eat at any “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” restaurants. If you’re such an expert, how about you create a review that’s able to be understood by the common folk.

Then of course I discovered the PITA Yelpers. Yes, folks, that means Pain in the Ass Yelpers. These are the critics who go to restaurants expecting the establishment to cater specifically to you. Despite popular belief, no restaurant is held to an obligation to serve gluten-free, vegan, low-carb or half-order options to you. So when you immediately start with dissing a restaurant for its lack thereof, maybe you should consider re-evaluating your diet fads.

Then there were those who used Yelp as a blog forum. If you don’t have feelings on a restaurant, whether they be positive or negative, why waste your time posting? I don’t know about you, but I have a job. In my spare time I am binge-watching “Game of Thrones” and shoving my face with assorted pastries, not Yelping about the “not great but not bad” experience I had at a restaurant last Saturday. I know what they say: “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Yelpers, how about if you have nothing of substance to say other than “no complaints but not good either,” go get a hobby. Because “South Park” said it best: Your insignificant post “is not Yelping.”

All I am saying is that there has to be a better way of using Yelp. Quit the backstory. Ditch the fancy-pants language. Vegans, just stay home. Use Yelp to actually help your restaurant-inquiring peers. If you’ve visited a place recently and the service was great and the food was yummy, cut to the chase and say so! If you had a terrible experience somewhere (I’m sorry), warn others to enter if they dare. Try to refrain from docking points from a tasty restaurant because the interior decor isn’t aesthetically up to your standards (leave those comments for Martha Stewart). Try and remember restaurant staffers are people too. Just because you’ve had one bad experience doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try a place again. If there were no such things as second chances, Keanu Reeves would’ve been exiled from Hollywood a while ago.

Fortunately it’s never too late to improve your Yelping etiquette. Yelp me Yelp you.