RFR: Social Media - Regular or Decaf?

This is my first Request for Response (RFR) post and I’m hoping to gain a little insight through your wisdom and opinion.

I've been asked to do a short presentation about social media to a group of young to middle-aged, unemployed, professional services people (mainly accountants).

Among the basics (defining social media, why social media, etc), I want to briefly touch on the difference between say, the Facebook page we created in college and the LinkedIn profile we've developed in the past few years.

But I can't adequately address that topic because I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. What is the difference between our Facebook account and our LinkedIn profile? Is there a difference? Should there be a difference? Do we steer people towards our Facebook page or do we steer people towards our LinkedIn page? And are they mutually exclusive?

I think it might be similar to ordering coffee. When it comes to social media in relation to our personal versus professional lives, do we order regular or decaf?

A strong cup of regular is the Facebook page I created in college. Four hundred and some photos of me doing various activities, including many, many documentations of me and my close friend, Red Plastic Cup. And then there's the occasional wall post that makes you blush or retch or wish you had clicked that "ignore" button when the person in question requested to be your friend.

A cup of decaf is my LinkedIn profile. It lacks full exposure to my personality. My LinkedIn profile is professional, career-oriented, focused, concise… and completely boring.

In other words, Facebook is me on a Friday night with close friends and LinkedIn is me at an interview. My co-workers would be just as surprised to meet the "Facebook" Meguire as my friends would be surprised to meet the "LinkedIn" Meguire.

The two social media outlets functioning as two separate entities worked fine for a while. Facebook was my personal account, LinkedIn was my professional account. Like my life, I was happy to keep work and pleasure separate.

But those lines were quickly blurred when I received a friend request from the senior HR person at my firm. That request was quickly followed by other requests from co-workers who I "know" but don't really "know."

Do I let these people view my Facebook page? Which links to my blog? Which links to my Twitter username?

My point, I suppose, is that social media makes it almost impossible for split personalities. I’m loosing the ability to be one person at work and another person at home. And to be honest, I don't think that's a bad thing.

But I think it is new territory. And I have no idea how to navigate it.

I find that I am more comfortable "being friends" with "strangers" if they fall in my age group and consequently understand the role social media plays in lives and careers. But I'm much less inclined to "accept" those requests that come from my seniors or those who are significantly older than me – those who just created a Facebook account or just joined Twitter. I'm wary of them. I'm worried that they won't fully understand the birth of social media and what it means (has meant, continues to mean) to my generation.

I've cleaned up my act since the dreaded HR request. I didn't change that much on my Facebook profile, but I did update things. And I certainly untagged myself in all those photos with Red Plastic Cup.

And I'm okay with that. Because like any social media outlet, if it isn't updated frequently or if it fails to provide relevant, honest information, it's not a completely accurate reflection of who the individual is.

So my question to you: how do you reconcile who you are at work and who you are in your personal life when it comes to social media interactions?

Obamistakes

I'll post this for those of you who think I promote Obama's presidency as Christ's second coming.

Who is fact checking these speeches? I know A LOT of recently laid-off print media fact checkers that would jump at the opportunity to offer the same service to the Obama administration (most recently, Denver's Rocky Mountain News... the city's oldest paper). Bill-O and Annie "I wish I could lead my own" Coulter will have a hay day with this for sure...

Bully. Philly. SIDDOWN!

Remember the lady from this post? The one who asked me if I “even have an infectious disease,” adding three question marks onto the end of her sentence?

Well I met her today.

She had penciled-in eyebrows.

And when I nervously glanced into her eyes I felt my shoulders fold in and my back hunch over. Excuse me Miss, do you have a shell I could borrow? Because I feel like I might shit my pants a little bit from intimidation.

Which I find interesting. Because I’m not easily intimidated.

This woman was probably six inches shorter than me, probably 20 pounds heavier than me, and had the smoothest and tightest ponytail I’ve ever seen.

Don’t. Mess.

And I didn’t. I can’t tell you the last time I sat in a doctor’s waiting room for more than 20 minutes without complaining. (Yeah, yeah, it’s true. Get over it. I’m paying them to see me. They’re delivering a service to me. I’m the customer, they’re the retailer. Get your shit together and be on time.) But this woman… I can’t challenge her. Because she would kill me. Beat me down. Do three snaps in the “Z” formation, lips pursed, hand on hip, telling me I better sit down on my little ass and wait a goddamn minute because she’ll get me when she’s good and ready. Mmmkay???

Although she never let on, I know she knew exactly who I was. I was the “Leo” from the phone with the attitude.

Not so tough now, hu girl? Bully on the phone, Philly face to face. SIDDOWN!

Haha. Okay really, I was intimidated but we were cordial with each other and the words coming out of her mouth were polite.

But if I were a man, I would’ve walked around with my balls covered.

Faux Retail Therapy

Today was a not-so-good day. Irritations at the office, frustrations with friends, and a pending three hour "diagnostic" GMAT test this evening will drive any woman to a little retail therapy.

Unfortunately, my bank account is at rehab (I hear it's going to be a long recovery). The next best thing? A little wishful spending. And as long as I'm wishing, I might as well wish big, right?

So, in a perfect world, Tuberculosis would be eradicated in Haiti, Afghanistan would be the new Sweden, Bill O'Reily and Keith Olbermann would be great friends, and I would wear this to work:

Nanette Lepore "Waterfall" Top, $245, Nordstrom

L.A.M.B. Side Pleat Pencil Skirt, $185, Nordstrom

Ella Moss "Mirabelle" Cardigan, $124.90 (on sale!), Nordstrom

Christian Louboutin "Decoltissimo 85", $575, Barney's New York

And if it were a little chilly outside my three-car-garage home in San Francisco, I'd ask my 6'5" talldarkhandsomeandripped husband to help me put this on before I jumped in my 2010 Audi Q9:

3.1 Phillip Lim Cropped Trench, $675, Barney's New York

And if I can be more shallow, please, I'd like to show you what I would wear as accessories:

"Meets-The-Eye" Earrings, $24, Anthropologie

Alexis Bittar Tapered Bangle (Red) and Tapered Bracelet (Lavender), $55 & $120, Nordstrom

And finally, to turn your current retching into a real live reach-for-the-trashcan-vomit, like a diamond on top of a gold band, I would be carrying this:

Louis Vuitton "Speedy 25", $995, Louis Vuitton

What's in a Name?

I realize this may be the pot calling the kettle black here, but can we please discuss WHY people try to get creative with names?

I'm not necessarily referring to the Apples and Cocos of the celebrity baby boom. I'm more irritated with the Emmaleighs. Judees. Kimberlees.

I realize that individualism is important. Parents want to give their children unique names... names that communicate the "specialness" or perhaps "unordinaryness" of their children. And I equally realize that a 10-year-old pre-pubescent girl wants to find her identity... and it's more than likely she'll want to stand out. As a result, Ashlea becomes Ashleigh. Danielle becomes Danyell. Michelle becomes Mashell.

But come on.

Mashell?
Judee?
EMMALEIGH?

It's just a little much, people. If you want a unique name, by all means, change your name. But don't change the spelling of your name and think it makes you more unique. It just makes you a "unique" speller... and by unique I mean weird

Spelling Sheridan

I was an English major in college. And there is this Gilbert-Grape’s-Mom massive misconception that English majors are accurate spellers by nature. It’s just not true. Some are, yes. Some English majors have the natural ability of spelling everything correctly. Others, like me, often have a difficult time spelling words like “chance.”

Chance? Chanse?

Seems stupid, I know. But it’s a fact. I can’t spell.

Fortunately, spell check curbs my embarrassment a bit. It’s a crutch really – I over utilize it. I find myself typing out notes… before handwriting them… spell checking them… and then writing them on the sticky.

I’m especially aware of my spelling shortcoming at the office. Although I do spell check 95% of my outgoing g-mails, I’m ten times more likely to read and re-read all work related e-mails. I’m not joking. I read through my Outlook e-mails at least two or three times prior to hitting the send button.

And usually it pays off.

But on a Wednesday. At 4:00 in the afternoon. Two days before I’m leaving for a long weekend in Whistler. It. Didn’t. Pay. Off.

Spell check isn’t fool proof. And in this case, I’m the fool.

Long story short, our company bought a table at a local CFO Awards event (hosted by a local business publication). A few partners and a few senior managers agreed to go, and me and other coworker were to fill the last two spots.

So Wednesday, the day before the event, my boss asks me to send out a reminder e-mail to all attendees. And amongst the who what when where why details, I mention that the event will be held at the Sheridan.

The SHERIDAN Hotel.

I’m not kidding.

And I don’t realize my mistake until I get an e-mail from one of the partners (who “replied all”), that said, “I thought it was at the Hildon.”

Then the horses were out of the gate and running at full speed. The e-mail responses consisted of:

“Mary Ot”

“Wesdin”

“High It”

… and the list goes on.

And throughout the next day these guys would venture out of their corner offices, wander over to my cube, look at me, and smile.

But don’t worry. I told them they were all addholes.

Hello, My Name is Asshole

I have four family birthdays this month: my sisters, my dad, and my brother-in-law.

“It’s a celebration, bitches.”

Last night we had family dinner at the house to celebrate two of the four birthdays. My dad was chef for the evening (he really is quite a good cook) even though it was his birthday. I had the hard job of showing up, drinking their wine, and eating delicious crab dip, halibut cheeks, garlic spinach, and sweet potatoes…

And spilling a full glass of red wine on my mom’s relatively new living room rug.

Now, when you do something like that, you’re an immediate asshole. Because all you had to do was drink the damn glass of wine… and instead you spill it on the new carpet. And your dad ends up getting out the mini shop-vac to clean up your mess… on his day of birth.

No one made me feel like an asshole, everyone was fine with it. My dad said, “shit happens” and did a really good job of getting the stain out before it set in. But still… no matter what people say, you’re the asshole that couldn’t just drink the wine without causing problems.

Shortly after the wine mess gets cleaned up, I’m going for a loaded crab-dip crostini and nearly drop the spoon on the same carpet… flinging crab and the creamy white substance onto my shirt.

And while this isn’t the first time I’ve spent an evening covering in I-eat-aggressively-because-food-excites-me remnants, this just added insult to injury.

The only person not judging me was my brother-in-law… who I think is relieved that the I’m-a-walking-accident role in our family is filled… by yours truly.

And again, no one makes me feel bad about it… but there is a little silent judgment there. Or at least the wish that my family could tell me to go sit on my hands in the corner.

So we have a fabulous, delicious dinner, my mom lights the candles on the cake (the thin, squiggly ones), Erin and Dad blow them out and there the cake sits, in front of my dad, awaiting the first cut.

And what happens?

My dad knocks his full glass of wine onto the cake… covering the dark chocolate icing in Clos du Bois.

And in a not so silent victory, I shoot both of my fisted hands into the air over my head, close my eyes, throw my head back, and quietly say, “yesssssssss.”

Everyone laughs and I get to remove the “Hello My Name Is Asshole” nametag from my shirt.

Okay I'll Do It: 25 Things

Apparently there is this new phenomenon (and maybe it's not new... maybe I'm just behind the times) on Facebook called "Notes." And I've been "tagged" quite a few times for this note called, "25 Things."

And I like it. I haven't responded to any tagging, but I like reading 25 random things about my friends. It's informative, funny, and because I have smart friends, pretty engaging.

Today, I was tagged by my friend Sophie. And I'm linking you to her blog in the hope that more traffic will force this lady to post more often... because she is a brilliant thinker, brilliant writer, and is, quite honestly, doing us all a disservice by not posting. We'd be better people for it.

But anyway, Sophie tagged me and pushed me over the edge - I'll do it. So here it goes: 25 random things, facts, habits or goals.

1. I love that my dad signs text messages, wall posts, and any other form of electronic communication, "Love, Dad." As if I wouldn't know who it was.

2. I love that my mom's drink of choice (when she was in her 20's) was a Martini. According to my Uncle Ed, Dana Sue really knew how to throw them back.

3. I have seriously missed my extended family since September. I was spoiled by seeing them twice in two months... and now wish I could see them much more often. Especially ya'll in South Carolina.

4. I am a frequent reader of Sizzle Says and desperately want to steal her "The Fella" label (in fact, I've used it once on this blog... and put in quotes... but failed to attribute it to her... I am a bad, bad person.)

5. I am so proud of my friend Randi that sometimes my heart swells to size of a grapefruit.

6. The other half of my current couple has no knowledge of this blog. And I anxious for the day he finds out...

7. Poop is probably the most commonly discussed topic amongst my group of friends.

8. I do not miss high school.

9. I miss some specific friends from high school.

10. I am somewhat obsessed with all forms of social media... currently the leading role goes to Twitter.

11. I often think about the job offer I turned down in August. Great job. Great people. Great opportunity. I love my current job - but there is something about that other opportunity that I just can't shake.

12. My boss is an amazing woman and I learn so much from her. I am one of the lucky ones - not only do I have a job, but I have a job I love, and a boss I love. Not to mention a boss that often takes me down to the bar in the bottom of our building for a "meeting" that involves a glass (or two) or red wine.

13. I can't decide on a hair color.

14. I talk to dogs in a specific tone of voice. Because I love them.

15. I want to get married one day.

16. I never want a man to define me. Or my life.

17. I cannot come to terms with the fact that my abs will never look as they did in high school.

18. I miss dancing. And no, not the type with the pole. The type with the bar, and ballet shoes, and leg warmers.

19. I wish I could cut my hair like Sophie's. And be as effortlessly beautiful as she is.

20. I want to own a house by age 28.

21. I wish I was multilingual.

22. I am not always the greatest friend. But I am loyal... and I like to think I will always, always pull through when it matters most.

23. I can't sit on a problem - I have to address it.

24. I wish I was a web site designer.

25. I wish I had faith like Kaitlyn.

Tweet Tweet

I've recently become obsessed with Twitter. I signed up a while ago and sort of forgot about it. But now I'm back. I had to e-mail the kind people at Twitter and ask them to remind me what my username and password was.

That's never a good feeling.

But I'm tweeting in full force now, mainly thanks to Carly23.

So really, I think you should follow me (name: meguireanne). Mainly so I can follow you... and tweet in your ear all day long.

And Sarah MacKay... I'm nudging you. Consider yourself nudged.

Don't Trip

I made a quick run to the bank this afternoon and two things happened:

1.)I almost fell backwards off the escalator in the center of the City Building.

2.)I saw a lady walking v e r y s l o w l y with one crutch… and I wondered what it would be like to kick the crutch out from under her.

Consequently, I had these thoughts:

1.)If I had, in fact, fallen backwards down the escalator, would I have thought quick enough to fake a pass out? Just lay there with my eyes closed, pretend to come to, and blame my fall on the fact that I passed out from low blood sugar or something? OR, would it just be better to get up (with my face beet red, no doubt) take a bow, and be on my way up the escalator again, holding the rail this time?

2.)Who actually thinks about tripping someone who is already obviously having a hard time? I do, apparently. And I don’t like it. I mean I would not, could not, kick the crutch out from under this poor lady's arm. But the fact that I actually thought about it, visualized it in my head… it’s kind of disturbing.

Here’s to Tuesdays.