Breakfast at Target: Whiny Wednesday

Coming off the week of Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and the latest "Giving Tuesday" (which I think is a long overdue addition), I'm adding my own contribution: Whiny Wednesday. I can't figure it out, but lately I feel like the season of holiday love and cheer has been traded in for rudeness, narcissism, entitlement, and big meanie-headed jerks. Despite my "30 Days of Thankfulness" posts on Facebook, my newfound zeal for the Christmas craziness, and trying my darnedest to be positive and cheery in my 27th year... I'm constantly having the rug of decency pulled out from under me, and I'm starting to panic.

What else is there to do but blog about it?

So, my friends, a good old fashioned Breakfast at Target rant might help me out...

Ladies & Gentlemen: 
Whiny Wednesday

A very frustrated SuperGirl. By Ricken Art on Deviant Art.

Why are emails and phone calls so hard to return? 

Seriously, my job productivity depends on it. I have a personal 24-48 hour policy for all communications. I don't understand how people can be glued to their phones but not take two minutes to confirm or at least acknowledge simple inquiries. A month might have been acceptable in the wild west circa 1880, but I'm pretty convinced you're a lazy-pants if I have to spend that long just trying to move things along. I'm always flabbergasted at folks who say, "Thanks for returning my call/email!" -- well, you're welcome, but isn't that just doing my job? 

Why is "excuse me" so hard to say?

It's unbelievable how many people would rather thrust their shoulders or elbows into my back or dramatically weave through the space between myself and the aisle, a'la Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment, instead of piping up with a quick "excuse me" or "pardon me." I know I'm a big girl, but as shocking as it sounds, I DO move. So sorry I didn't see you sneaking up behind me -- as soon as I get my boob job, my next procedure will be getting eyes in the back of my head. I'd hate to make you uncomfortable being polite.

How are companies with sketchy policies and crummy customer service STILL in business?

I have had not one, but FOUR terrible interactions this week with places of business who all gave me the royal Cinderella treatment (evil step-sister kind, not the rags-to-riches crap). Absurdly long holds, crummy background music, mispronouncing my name (despite getting a new and easy to pronounce last name), the scoffs and heaves and sighs while they process my request, and the grand finale of "well, sorry, there's nothing we can do." SORRY? Yes, YES you are. (PS. This isn't even related to holiday stuff... dear Lord, I hope this isn't a bad sign.)

When did Instagram become the new MySpace?

Y'all know I am a fan of all things hipster - it entertains and delights my wanna-be plaid wearing, cooky music lovin' self, and Instagram makes me happy with all it's "film"-esque photos of food and fixtures and what normally would be plain, everyday objects/moments. But scrolling through and seeing endless slews of self-portraits (or "selfsies" as I've recently discovered they're called) rattles me back to 2003 where mirror-flashed humanoids and duck-faced freaks had the proverbial long arm awkwardly dangling along the photo. I understand we all have a good hair/face day worthy of a little self-promotion (I'm due for one in 2014, I JUST know it), but c'mon, we don't need 84 versions of it. And the multiple filters don't make it any easier to digest. (*But I will always love ridiculous animal/family photos - you can post 284 versions of those with as many filters as you want.)

He is my husband, my hubs, my main man, my main squeeze, my lover, my lov-ah, my favorite, and/or my mister. But for the love of scotch, he is NOT my hubby.

"Hubby" rhymes with chubby. "Chubby" is not endearing. "Hubby" is for squealy girls who can't think of a more clever nickname.

Likewise, I am not his "wifey." I am his Imperial Goddess Deserving of All Her Desires.* Ah-thank you.

(*Oh lighten up, my desires are a sandwich with glass of cheap wine, GAWSH.)

But really...
In a world where literally we are more "social" than ever, you'd think we'd have evolved in our social courtesies. Yet instead, folks publicly denounce people, carelessly make fun at serious events, openly purge their most "didn't-need-to-know-that" information, cowardly hide behind the computer screen with their brazen remarks, and shamelessly self-promote how cool/bad-ass/intellectual they think they are... and I'm wondering if I've ever made anyone roll their eyes and feel the same about me. If so, it was never my intention. And I'm happy to treat you to coffee/wine/waffles and prove to you I'm just a small-town girl, living in a blurry, scary world.

And luckily...
I am very, VERY fortunate to have a group of friends, family, co-workers, bloggin' buddies, and the occasional happenstance encounters that always remind me humanity isn't totally doomed. And if it is, WELL, thank goodness for reasonably priced drinks at happy hours.

And, with that, the evening is drawing to a close and I'm happy to have survived the hump of this week. Thursday is Friday eve, so I'm lookin' up on the downhill slide.

If you've got rants to share and things to get off your chest, consider my comments section cheap therapy. Have at it!

Hugs & High Fives,
C

The Holidaze are Here Again

I have a confession. 

A dirty, terrible, embarrassing confession.

I listened to Christmas music the beginning of Thanksgiving week.

Home Alone (20th Century Fox)

NO,

Not the day after Thanksgiving.

NO,

Not even Thanksgiving evening.

I blared "Holly Jolly Christmas" in my car after work and, with no remorse, summoned my inner Burl Ives and bellowed my deepest "It's the most wonderful time of the yeaauuuur".... 

For once, I'm actually really REALLY excited for the holiday season.

Buy on Ebay here!

I'm ready for the chaos and explosion of lights and tinsel and glitter that sends the old year off into a blaze of bedazzled, holly-covered glory. I'm excited for the local neighborhoods to be covered in clumps of Christmas lights and giant inflatable holiday characters. I'm thrilled at the idea of matching pajama sets and artificially flavored gingerbread things and giggling every time I decorate the tree with, A-HUH, "shiny balls."

The crazier thing? It's for no particular reason at all. 

No travels, no big events, no special guests.

I think it may be that I didn't really get to experience much football cheer this year (yes, here in the south, it's a holiday season of it's own). Halloween, too, came and went so quickly I didn't have time to get excited about candy and costumes. I've got a backlog of festive vibes and I'm almost nervous I'll be a hurricane of garland and bells and pine-scented centerpieces, soaring through the starry sky in my velvet and fur-trimmed ensemble. 

And for my longtime readers,you know I dread the holiday season. 

I loathe the crowds and spectacles of mass consumerism and I'm really creeped out by mall Santas.

Scrooged (Paramount Pictures) 

But this year, I'm looking forward to all the tacky decorations and crappy gifts. The overplayed R&B and pop remixes of classic carols. The family drama and cocktail induced small talk.

I'm excited that John & I get to start our own holiday traditions and have our first Christmas as our own little family, thus beginning my downward spiral into the 10th level of Christmas insanity where I find Christmas sweaters with knitted scenes of snowmen and reindeer stylish.
I'm okay with it.

The Holiday (Columbia Universal Pictures)

In other words, I'm going a little more Cindy Lou-Who over Scrooge this year.

BRACE YUH'SELVES.

Hugs & High Fives,
C

The Dramatically Mundane: Navigating Adulthood

My dear, sweet blog...

Via Instagram (@celiagwhiz)

 

... how I've missed you so.

There are an incredible amount of posts I've started and can't seem to finish; my words come out weak and tasteless and I've somehow forgotten the pure and wonderful art of simply writing. 

Or, writing simply.

Guess the best thing is to do is start again with a deep breath and a flex of the fingers.

Here goes.

I've now been a 'Missus' for two months and a higher ed 'professional' for three. Both the adventure of marriage and that of gainful employment have proven to be anything but smooth-sailing, and I 'spose I'm supposed to chalk it up to the survival of 'experiences' we're supposed to have, carefully chronicling and putting them in the back pocket of our lives. 

But sometimes, 

I just want to wake-up without the feeling like I need a
helmet and a flask of vodka to get through the day.

The job has been an interesting nut to crack. I'm having less days I feel completely stupid or a total failure, which is good. I guess. A girl trained in observations, in assessment and interpretations, I'm obsessive about efficiency and details, the big AND the small picture and the connections within... and somehow, lately, I've felt disoriented and apathetic and overwhelmed. I repeatedly tell the students I interact with to always think about the impact they've had in their projects and internships and career development experiences... and I'm often left to wonder if I'm doing the same. The desire to do so gives me some motivation to get up and get to work. Sadly, I'm also a girl who needs the occasional, though small, validation... I need to know I'm not a sallow-faced paper-pusher waiting on a paycheck, but truly a member of a team, an organization that wants to move forward and up and towards the brink of something really, really cool.

(That said, I really enjoy the paycheck, as modest as it is. I really, really like to eat.

Oh. And my co-workers are pretty fantastic. I'm lucky I'm surrounded by happy faces.)






Via Instagram (@celiagwhiz)

Marriage, however, has already proven to be a worthwhile endeavor. John and I are having real conversations about real things, like taxes and budgets and curtains. It's nice coming home and seeing him with arms open wide and a freshly poured glass of cab' poured just for me. He lets me rant and share stupid ideas and toot freely and STILL treats me like a lady. He genuinely cares we go to bed on good terms, wake-up with ambition, and take all the opportunities we can to learn, to grow, to improve. I've done my part to manage the household, make healthy meals, and seize opportunities to explore, to feel, to exist. No matter how frickin' fast the world seems to spin, no matter what load of crap life seems to throw at us, and no matter what fears or disappointments loom overhead, we always have favorite episodes of 30 Rock, healthy rations of bourbon, and an old, warm blanket to share. To remind us that we may be helpless and powerless and confused and worn-out... but, Lord, if we aren't tough to keep down. 

 

So, in a nutshell, I'm still adjusting to this daunting transition of adulthood, and I'm beyond grateful for your patience. Because, heavens knows, patience is a virtue I'm woefully lacking.
 

Via Instagram (@celiagwhiz)

(But if sass and ambition were virtues,

I'd be a downright self-righteous little tart.)

One day I'll figure it out.

Thank to you all of those still supporting me as I do.

 

 

Hugs & high fives,

C

Sorry to those who already follow on Instagram.
To those that don't, I follow back. And comment obsessively.

________________________________________

PS. Our rockstar wedding photographers are at it again - they put together a feature for Style Me Pretty and, as crazy as it seems, those silly SMP's decided it was worth telling the world about. Or at least a bunch of wedding obsessed readers. 

(You know the drill: Leave a comment for the hungry bloggin' folks.)