Have You Heard?! My Two Best Friends Are Getting Married!

There are some people you meet and you just know they're going to be an important part of your life.



One of my earliest memories of my friend Abby involved a tiny graphic t with a popped-collared-polo underneath it. The polo was bright pink. The t-shirt was green and read 'Green-Eyed Goddess' on the front. She lived down the hall from me and Jess on the 4th floor of Beede Hall at USD. I was convinced she'd go Theta and we'd never talk again.



Somehow, we convinced her to go A Phi, and the three of us roomed together our sophomore year in the house. We got the 4-man room with only 3 people, which made people kind of hate us. That and the fact that we, along with Tess and Amanda, ran in a group and called ourselves the 'BC'... It was so hot in our sorority house that fall that we'd go out to my parent's minivan to put on makeup in the air conditioning after my ghetto Cavalier broke down in the middle of the street. I'm fairly sure either Abby and Tess or Jess pushed it out of the intersection that day.



I'm getting ahead of myself.
Before I became friends with Abby, I was friends with Pat.



I first met Pat as Jess and her roommate (and my dear friend) Ashley's bff from high school. I came to know him as the guy who could get us into Lambda and onto tables to scream 'B-A-N-A-N-A-S' to the beat of that horrible song. That house was so dirty your flip flops would stick to the carpet as you walked. Somewhere between shotgunning beers and drinking jungle juice in the basement, two of the most important people in my life caught each other's eyes.



Some portions of my college experience run together, but I believe it was our junior year that Pat, Chris, Nick and Robb got a house down the street from A Phi. We stormed out of it a few times, but it quickly became our second home.





Our junior year came and went, and when we didn't get enough of living together in the sorority and spending time with the boys down the street, we decided to live together in Sioux Falls for our last real summer. Oh, and Pat lived with us, too. He even puked up spaghettios in the hallway one night.



Our senior recruitment went by in a flash...



D-Days was a typical hot mess...



And by our last formal, it was finally setting in-- our lives would never be the same not living within 50 yards of all our closest friends.
I guess that's why Abby and Pat did the most sensible thing and moved in together.
No one likes to be apart from their best friend.



It's been three years since that photo was taken, and it doesn't feel like a single day has passed. Every time I talk to any of my friends from college, specifically those mentioned in this post, it is like we never skipped a beat. Reunions feel like old times. And it was this past October, in Vermillion, moments after Abby, Tess and I took this very picture, that Pat told me he was going to propose.



It's been a long 9 months keeping my mouth shut.
It's impossible to put into words how happy I am for the two of you. I know Robb feels the same way.



To two of the best friends a girl could ask for-- I love you both and CONGRATULATIONS. I promise I'll be done with the cheesy tributes within the next week. Ok, maybe it will take me a month or so.



It's times like this that I wish I lived closer to home so that I could pop a bottle of champagne with you.
Cheers to friendships that have lasted longer than trends, time zones, and just time in general. xoxo.

Politics, Ethics, and Race

Yes, yes, it's been awhile-- let's pretend I have some excuse and move forward.

I thought a lot about whether I should post this, and I have a feeling it might just piss some people off. That's a risk I'm willing to take.

I left work livid today. More fired up than I have been in a very long time.

Today I was called an unethical journalist and a racist. I'm not sure which made me more angry.

Both accusations are 100% ridiculous.

I grew up in the smallest of small towns; at Census count, 950 people and only one race. Still, I can honestly say I've never let the color of someones skin impact my actions or thoughts. I believe everyone is an individual; there are horrible white people just as there are horrible black people-- the same is true about any race. Today, however, was not the first time I've been accused of racism while facing racism at the same time.

Following along?

Four weeks into my first full-time job as a reporter I was still that naive small-town girl who thought race didn't matter. Turns out, I was about to enter a world where race relations not only mattered, but they defined an entire tribe of people.

Only 1% of the country's total population is Native American; South Dakota is nearly 10% Native. More than 50% of that total was in my coverage area.

Up until landing the job at KELO I had only met a handful of Native Americans in my lifetime, and to me, people are people. We all want the same things-- happiness and safety. This was before I knew about all deep-rooted history that happened right in South Dakota (schools aren't teaching the full story-- just a heads up)-- how 120 years was not nearly enough time to wash away the blood and tears that still stain Wounded Knee. When I walked onto the Cheyenne River Sioux Reservation in June of 2008 I had no idea the fight the Lakota Sioux fought to secure this land that the white man nearly ripped away in attempted genocide.

I learned a valuable lesson that morning about race and perception of people.

As a one-woman-band, I traveled everywhere alone; even two hours away from home base in Rapid to cover flooding on the Res. I had almost my entire package shot when I stopped on the way out of town to get one last wide of sandbags lining the ditches next to nearly-destroyed homes.

What happened next is as much a blur of bad memories as something I will vividly remember for the rest of my life.

A blue crown royal with dark tinted windows slowly crept up on the street to where my company car was parked, still running, with the hatch open. My heart dropped into my gut as the car came to an abrupt stop. A man, mid-30's, got out of the driver's seat. Arms flailing, he started screaming things about 'my people' and 'the white man' and 'this is my land.' He kicked over my camera and tripod; both bounced off the pavement. He then pushed me down, and started to take his anger out on the company car, kicking in the side. I threw my equipment in the back of my SUV and sped away in the opposite direction, getting lost on my way out of the Reservation and back into cell phone service.

Every person I've told that story has looked at me in amazement and asked almost the exact same question: They really sent a blonde-haired white girl to cover the Reservation alone?

I don't know if he thought I was there to patronize his tribe, but I know he thought I was there for the wrong reasons. And considering South Dakota's history, I can look back now and almost justify his actions. But I can't. I was there to do a story on an Emergency Declaration signed by Governor Mike Rounds; I was there to bring attention to an issue that I still believe is a travesty. South Dakota's Reservations are severely impoverished and forgotten.

It took me awhile to feel comfortable going back and I never returned without a companion, much to KELO's oblivion. Cat's out of the bag.

Today's situation couldn't have been more different.

Florida's newest Governor, Rick Scott, gave his State of the State address today, justifying his $4.6-billion in proposed cuts to education, government jobs, and pension plans. As with any political point, there was a counterpoint-- today, in the form of 32 organized rallies protesting across the state. One was held in affluent downtown Naples.

I was set for live shots at 4:30, 5, and 6. The protesters were scheduled to start their march at 4:30 right through my live and down 5th Avenue. When it came time for us to go on-air, the group had suddenly stopped about a half block away from our truck. It occurred to R and me that they were waiting for some sort of cue from us that it was ok to start walking; that they would wind up on TV with their homemade signs and 'Stop Scott' t-shirts. We waved to them that they could go on with their march and we'd go on with our live. That's when I heard screaming from about 20 feet away and a 'standby' in my IFB.

A newspaper photographer I had never seen before came marching up to me and got less than a foot away from my face to yell; "Staging?! That's not journalism! You can't tell them where and when to go!" Literally IN MY FACE and less than 30 seconds away from an anchor toss to see it all go down live on the air. R was screaming for him to move as an anchor started to read the intro and I knew I was up in a box on screen. Luckily, the mystery man walked away-- through my shot, but away-- and on with the protesters.

Now, we weren't staging anything. Even if we were, there's an unspoken rule that you don't mess with another journalists' game. There is a time and a place to address ethics, and in the middle of a live shot is neither the time nor the place.

I stumbled through the 4:30 hit and made it smoothly through the 5. That's when I went to figure out who the eff this guy was.

It took all of 30 seconds of me being in the crowd for him to seek me out.

"If you have something to say to me, say it to my face."

By then I had figured out who he worked for, knew we weren't partners, and I went off. In the middle of a crowd full of activists, we were having our own rally-- print vs. television. Apparently he didn't have enough with just me; he started walking toward the truck and toward R.

At this point, I had to call my boss because if I didn't, I would've called the police. This random and R were in each other's faces; the guy even put his camera on the ground as if he was going to throw a punch! My boss gave me some solid advice: "Tell him if he doesn't leave you alone, you're going to call the cops."

That's exactly what I did.

Me- "If you don't stop bothing me and walk away from our live truck, I will call the cops and have you arrested for harrassment."
Him- Raised eyebrow- "Now, we're not going to go down the 'white lady calls the cops on a black man road' are we?"

Oh... did I mention he was black?
Oh... did I mention that R is black, too?

At this point, my mouth was ready to catch flies. I could not believe he pulled out the race card for no reason at all. He even looked at R for backup! "You're not going to let her get away with something like that, are you brother?" R had my back, of course, and I finally got him to walk away, but not before getting a stare down.

This situation had NOTHING to do with the fact that this man was black. If he were any other race, I would have reacted the exact same way. He was out of line to get in my face, to get in my shot, and to get involved with some unfounded, unnecessary ethical battle.

When did skin color become justification for being an asshole? Or justification for one race not to stick up for themselves? In both instances, South Dakota and downtown Naples, it was like I wasn't supposed to say anything because 'that's racist.' Isn't it racist to ask me to keep quiet just because I'm white? Am I really supposed to let someone a) threaten my well being or b) make false accusations against me just to avoid offending anyone?

I know this isn't the most succinct post I've ever made-- I usually like to put a bow on a story or a lesson learned at the end. I guess the only lesson I took away from both experiences is that there are indeed racist people in the world... they just may not be who you expect.

And don't ever question my ethics.

Here's some advice: Let's stop giving each other bad advice.

Registries. RSVPs. Tacky bow bouquets and pink shot glasses. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I'm in that awkward stage that happens in your 20's where every season is wedding season.

Seems many of my friends are already married, engaged, or talking about getting married. Totally normal in our age bracket. It can also be totally annoying.

I'm not one of those bitter single girls. I don't have a wedding dress picked out and posted on my fridge, waiting for 'the one' to pop the question. However, I do think that some (not ALL) girls let being married to go their head in a bad way. There's an heir of pretentiousness that I don't understand at all. And some of the things they say are even more confusing.

Women give other women some pretty horrible advice.

I spent part of my weekend at a bridal shower for a dear friend here in Naples. The event was held at a club house in a gated community next to tennis courts and a private pool. Caterers served quarter-sized bites of food in 8-minute intervals while Celine Dion played in the stereo. The ratio of single girls to married/engaged girls was about 3:20. Pass the champagne, please.

We played this little game where you had to write anonymous advice onto little cards and the bride had to guess who each tidbit was from. There were two categories-- Sweet Advice (mine- always stay best friends) and Sexy Advice (mine- be selfish. What? That's legit...). Let's just say not everyone hit the nail on the head with advice quite the way I did.

Among the worst--

"Make him think it was his idea."

"Have sex to get him to do the dishes."

"Let him believe he's right, even when he's not."

I was well aware of the disgusted look I had on my face. I couldn't help it. That's HORRIBLE advice, single or not. I looked around the room and saw a group of beautiful, intelligent, strong-willed women with great big personalities who apparently thought unnecessary lying and manipulation was the key to successful relationships. And for them, it is. But I'm not that kind of girl... and I would never tell my friends to be that way, either.

Why would you ever let a man believe he's right when he's clearly wrong? How is he going to learn what's right? That seems awfully counterproductive and a recipe for being miserable right up until the moment when you snap and tell it like it is. It all sounded dishonest and shady.

It made me think of all the unsolicited bad advice women get on a daily basis. One of my best friends just recently read an awful book titled "Settling For Mr. Good Enough" or something like that. She didn't seek out the book-- her sister gave it to her. Thanks, sis.

The author; a 40-something, single woman who has never been married but seems to think she's fit to teach other single girls how to get a ring on it. The premise, according to my friend (I'd never read that garbage), is that you shouldn't disregard men because of 'little things' that drive you nuts about them-- like unattractiveness or an annoying mother. In a sentence: It's okay to settle.

She's seriously trying to get me to read it. I think it's blasphemy. If you're like me, you don't settle in your career, you don't settle with the people you decide to be friends with... why would you EVER settle on a man?

The shower wasn't the only event I attended this weekend among a group of women and dozens of drinks. I randomly got connected with my sorority's local alumni group recently and its first event was a wine tasting with artisan appetizers. The food was light; the drinks were heavy. Aside from one friend in her 30s, I was the youngest person there by a good 30 years. They were all amazed at the heels I was able to wear and the fact that I had Internet on my phone. They all had a son, client, or family friend they wanted to hook me up with.

A lot of small talk and wine later, I realized advice from this age bracket was a lot more practical than that given out at a 20-something's bridal shower. Most of these women are going through their first divorce or are on their second marriage and employ the same no-bullshit approach that I do to life.

Among the best--

"Don't rush the search for a husband."

"Value your girlfriends."

"Whatever you do... Dear Lord, don't get pregnant."

Now that's advice I can get behind.

High School Is Not Forever

I should be sleeping.

I should, at the very least, be getting ready to sleep.

I usually do a pretty good job of leaving work at work. There are some things heavy on my mind tonight.

I should be sleeping, because I have to be in early tomorrow to see a 14-year-old accused of killing a fellow student have his first appearance in court.

This is the second time in a month and a half that a 14-year-old kid from the same high school is accused of taking another's life. Last month I spent a long, exhausting and emotional day covering the most horrific story of a 14-year-old accused of shooting both of his parents to death. Today, one of his classmates was arrested after allegedly stabbing a 16-year-old to death at the bus stop-- on the same street as the prior event, no less. It felt eerily similar. My heart aches for these kids.

14.

Do you remember being 14? What you were like? Freshman year seems so long ago.

My upcoming birthday will mark a full decade since I was that naive age. I don't think my 14-year-old self ever believed I'd turn 24. I know I didn't think that wifebeaters would ever go out of style (and yes, I actually believed they WERE in style...)



I've been thinking a lot about teenagers lately.

Just last weekend, I went out to dinner with the mom and one of the girls I nannied for in the summer of 2005. She was 9 when I first met her; she's now a teen. 15 going on 30. Her friend was along, too-- a girl I had never met but learned all about via Facebook. Sweet, beautiful, fun teen girl.

Her classmates hate her.

The two friends, unfortunately, have to go to different schools. The one I nannied for goes to a private Catholic high school, while the other goes to public. Apparently, this public school is very cliquey (what high school isn't?) and the now-sophomore spent her entire first year and a half of her four-year stretch crying herself to sleep every night. Girls are mean to her. They won't talk to her-- even those she cheerleads with every day. She's begged and cried to her parents about switching schools to no avail. She's miserable and lonely. And I suspect it doesn't stop when she leaves school for the day.

I don't mean to sound like an old lady- but times have changed since I was a kid. In high school, I remember having to 'dial-up' to use the internet and MSN Messenger was the hottest thing around. No one had heard of Facebook and only the very coolest people had Myspace (ugh, Myspace). Now, not only can anyone post anything they want about you on Facebook, but they can do the same on Twitter, Formspring, and God knows what else teens are into these days.

Last week the Today Show was in town picking up on one of our local stories; two high school girls were arrested for harrassing a classmate online; apparently using photoshop to put her face on lewd photos and posting them for all to see online. How humiliating.

The reports on national news of online bullying should be a warning-- this stuff is only going to get worse. How many suicides, or girls who cry themselves to sleep every night, will it take before we all stand up and say stop?

Even without modern marvels we all use on a daily basis now, I think I speak for everyone when I say being a teen sucks. Everything is the end of the world. If your friend doesn't sit with you at lunch, you obviously are the most unpopular person in the class. If your crush doesn't smile at you in the hall, you clearly look like crap that day. And if you get a bad grade on that test, you probably won't get into college. Your body is changing, your friends are changing, the relationship you have with your family is changing... you have to make very adult decisions like 'what do you want to do for the rest of your life', even though you can't imagine the next year of it.

The kind of pressure I felt in college, in my first job, on a daily deadline basis-- none of it compares to being 14.

We lost a few friends in the Class of 2004 to suicide. 2 friends in the matter of a few months; bringing our class total to just 37 students. That's a tough statistic in such a small group. We all felt it. Today, I feel it again for the kids in the freshman class of the high school I've mentioned.

If any teen is reading this-- I know it sounds cliche, but things will get better. High school is such a tiny, miniscule portion of your life; as an adult, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but most of your experiences in high school WILL NOT MATTER in ten years. As someone who is about to hit that milestone, I can tell you the only thing I did in my teen years that impacts my life now was getting a tattoo on senior skip day (that's permanent).

Please keep the families and friends of all the teens I've mentioned in your thoughts-- they may seem tough as nails, but if you remember what being a teen was like, you know they need all the love and support they can get.

Be kind.