Toastmistress

Back in February I joined Toastmasters, an international club that helps people become better public speakers. Today, I finally did my first speech, the "Ice Breakers" speech. The only purpose of the Ice Breakers speech is to introduce yourself and begin speaking in front of an audience. I thought I was going to kill it, but there were a few awkward moments when no one laughed at my jokes. Overall, I give myself a B. Here's my speech:

Fellow Toastmasters and Distinguished guests,

My name is Brianna, and I am a nerd. I was destined to be a nerd because I was born on one of the nerdiest possible days, March 14, 1984. It is the day that would have been the Albert Einstein’s 105th birthday, which is also known as “Pi day” to math geeks everywhere, because the date is 3.14. And though there are many nerdy things about me, perhaps the most distinctive is the fact that I am a word nerd.

My love of words goes back to when I started my first journal at the age of five. From that age it was clear that I was a phonetic genius, writing about my “rood mom” --rude spelled R-O-O-D-- and my dog Daisy--spelled D-A-Z-Y.

Or perhaps my parents are to credit for my word-nerdiness. In our household we had a list of forbidden words: kill, die, and hate. When fighting with my brother I wasn’t allowed to say “I want to kill you,” or “I hate you.” But, “you’re a dingleberry/wildebeest/hemorrhoid/vomit face“ was perfectly acceptable. By putting limitations on my vocabulary, my parents forced us to be more creative with our insults.

And these insults often found their way into the pages of my journal. When I was five I wrote about my cute puppy and adorable baby sister, but when I was 13, I wrote about my stinky old dog that needed walked and bathed, and my stupid, annoying, bratty little sister.

By the time I got to high school, my little sister was no longer stupid and annoying—those terms were reserved for my parents. It’s a story you’ve all heard before; like the typical teen, I wanted a later curfew, fewer chores, and I didn’t want to drive my younger siblings to school. But I wasn’t a typical teen. What my journal didn’t say was that I started a reading club in the school’s library, was the captain of the Math Bowl team, and attended a writing workshop with middle-aged hippie women in the desert. Needless to say, my phone wasn’t ringing off the hook with invitations to the prom. But, the pages in my journal were filling up.

It was only natural that when I went to college I would pick a major related to writing. I majored in English at Westminster College, but at that point in my life I didn’t have a lot of time for writing in a journal—I had bigger priorities in life, like learning how to take tequila shots and attempting to get into frat parties at the U. But, I did submit a short story to a literature conference in a desperate attempt to meet the keynote speaker, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. So, I created a story inspired by one of my friends' childhood stories. It was about a little girl who got the flu and stuffed toilet paper up her nose to keep it from running. In my story, when the girl bent down to sniff a scented candle, the toilet paper caught on fire and burned off her nose and she had to get a prosthetic nose. I thought it was a fine display of black humor, and it even got a few laughs. And when I say “a few,” I mean one or two laughs. Regardless, Kurt Vonnegut ended up canceling, but I did get to meet Norman Mailer. For those of you who don’t know, they’re both dead now.

But my writing career did not end there. While I was in college I worked for the Salt Lake Tribune as a newsroom assistant, a job title also known as “secretary,” “office slave” or “resident scapegoat.” One day the newspaper was short on freelance writers, so I volunteered for the job and wrote a story about grills. No, I’m not referring to the charcoal or gas-powered cooking appliances; I’m talking about diamond encrusted mouthpieces worn by rap musicians. I know you’re probably thinking there is no possible way my journalism career could have gotten any better. But you’re wrong.

The high point in my career was when I got my first front page story, what we in the newspaper business call “steak-sauce” because it’s on page A1. My story was about a local woman who found a rat head in a can of green beans. But that’s not even the best part. When I finally scored an interview with the representative from the green bean company, he claimed the rat head would be safe to eat because it was cooked in the can and rendered commercially sterile. The company was Allen Canning, in case you’re wondering which green beans to avoid.
Soon, I found out what all newspaper employees eventually learn—it’s impossible to live off of minimum wage. So, I jumped ship and found my true calling in life—librarianship. In 2008 in the span of two months, I quit my job, got married, and moved across the country to South Carolina to attend graduate school to get my Masters in Library and Information Science. It was the perfect career choice for me, because I love books, cardigan sweaters, and telling people to shut up. One year later, my husband Matt got laid off from his job in Carolina. His former company in Utah offered him his old job back, so we returned to Utah in a move Matt equated to being held back a grade.

I found work with an IT research company. Even though I don’t get to read books to kids or shush noisy people, I get to help our clients find the information they need, so I enjoy my job. I finished grad school three weeks ago, and my goal for the next few months is to read, knit, and be as lazy as possible. And of course, learn to be a better speaker through Toastmasters. Thank you.

For my second speech, I need to focus on organization. I'll need to make an introduction, main points, then a conclusion. I was thinking about this as a topic:

How to lose friends and alienate your fellow Toastmasters (and distinguished guests)

Step 1: Mention tequila shots in your first speech.

Step 2: Do not laugh or smile at speeches that start with "At Fireside last week" or "When I was on my mission."

Step 3: Walk away quickly after speaking, leaving the podium unattended as much as possible.

In case you didn't figure it out, I made all three of those faux pas at Toastmasters in the past two weeks.