2012

Really? Already. Was hoping to delay the new year a bit longer.

I’ve made no resolutions. I would like to be better at everything this year and that kind of karma request isn’t really fair or specific enough for all the little karma fairies who make sure what goes around comes around.

The year creeped into my world without any amount of fanfare or excitement. We watched the original Swedish version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo on Netflix. We paid too much money for a so-so lunch at a farm-to-fork restaurant in downtown Charlotte. The service was appalling, though the hostess was managing the rotation of cattle, I mean people, like the pro she apparently is. It’s too bad our waitress was a bitch. And not good. At all.

We did get some much needed down time as a couple. There was no fighting, nitpicking, nagging or marital disputes. Me and The Candyman oozed The Love.

However, there have been things, little poking sharp things, at the base of my skull that are creeping into my frontal lobe now that the holidays are over.

These sharp things are things that I don’t want to think or talk about, like at all.

1. Congress voted to extend unemployment insurance for 2 more months. Yippee! for 2 more months! And then what if there are no more extensions?  Options include:
   1. Finding a part-time and/or minimum wage job doing…what exactly? Exactly what am I over-qualified for in that regard? What am I physically capable of doing (my knee and my back aren’t always healthy and let’s be honest, I’m no spring chicken)?
   2. Working in marketing for The Candyman to help him and his firm. But my husband would be my boss and I hear the pay isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
   3. Find myself a dark, empty corner somewhere, curl up in it and await December 22, 2012, when the world blows up.
2. December 22, 2012. The Mayans have been kind of spot on for like, the last billion years, right? 
3. Having enough faith in myself to accomplish, oh anything.
4. The gelatinous look of my thighs.
5. Wondering whether or not the fact that I have been unemployed for a year totally discounts me as any kind of true applicant to any job whatsoever.
6. Becoming a permanent stay-at-home wife with no kids, which most people might just call lazy. Or stupid. Or unmotivated. Or [insert your insult here].
7. Figuring out my delinquent North Carolina State Sales & Use tax, of which I had NO IDEA I was supposed to file. Or how to file. Or when to file.
8. Our 2011 taxes. Fuck. Someone just shoot me now.

The Candyman does a good job of deflecting these worries of mine. Sometimes I think he’s too good at it. He’s not the kind to wear rose-colored glasses, but his view of success and failure is WAY different than mine. Our life perspectives are spectrum opposites. My checking account balance is a constant state of worry. For him, his balance is the highest its ever been on a regular basis in his whole life. Boom. Perspective.

Sometimes I just want to give Perspective the big, fat finger because I simply want some money in my damn checking account. Money that I earned by doing things I’m really good at that apparently no one thinks I’m really good at anymore. I was great when I was employed. Now what? I suck because some Douchebag¹ ran my company into the ground?

But being bitter won’t help. Granted, I’m getting really good at being so and I’ve always heard you should do what you’re good at. Hm. Maybe I’m missing some new employment opportunity here…..

So I’m going to try to shoot myself up with a syringe filled with New Year Hopefulness. I’m looking for a vein, looking for a vein….

Some things I’m potentially not bitter about. Yet.

1. Attacking the big bag of vintage lace my aunt gave me. A lot of it is hand made, antique (not just vintage, but truly over 100 years old) and simply divine.
2. The January issue of Carolina Bride, that TruLu Couture is supposed to be featured in.  Or have a picture in. Whatever.
3. An email back from the mom who wants to purchase The Emma Veil for her daughter. This mamma could use the sale.
4. America’s Mart in Atlanta next week. I’m going to network, keep abreast of the décor market and try to convince someone to hire me. OK, I’m not really looking forward to this as it might just depress the hell out of me, but I’m attempting optimism.
5. The new season of American Idol. Shut up. This girl needs a weekly Steven Tyler fix.

Then there are a few things I’m considering.

1. A new blog. Thinking totally anon so I can swear and shout and stomp my feet without reservation. I guess mentioning the fact that I want to write privately on a public forum isn’t exactly smart. But you know, I’m thinking about it.
2. I think about THIS blog all the time and what it exactly means. Is it important at all? If it went away, would the world mourn one less blogger/wedding resource? Me thinks not so much.
3. Dropping the blog, TLC and everything creative in my life and simply looking for a full-time job that has a 401K and health care. Period.
4. Pour everything I am into TLC and drop everything else like a hot potato. Solid focus on the ultimate creative effort. That means less blogging, less looking for a full-time gig, more of a world filled with vintage lace. 
5. Getting knocked-up, just for shits and giggles.

See. All kinds of poking sharp things. No happy-happy-joy-joy (God, I miss Ren & Stimpy) posts about starting fresh and being positive and all that. I’m still my same snarky self, come 2012 or high water.

How’s YOUR New Year shaping up?

¹For the record, I totally won the internal battle not to link to a YouTube video I found of said Douchebag from 2009 spouting some bullshit about how the company was poised to dedicate itself to the particular market he was being taped for. We pulled out of that market less than 6 months later.

Eating Cake

I couldn’t sleep last night.

I made a banking error that had me tossing and turning well past the time I should have been snoozing away. The error was eating at me. It was stupid. I’d made it before. All the more reason to be mad at myself for not learning it the first time. It’s not my personal banking, it’s my TruLu Couture banking. It’s not a big mistake, but it is a stupid one. It’s got me paying fees and fines and smacking myself upside the head, for those fees and fines are money out the door that got me ZERO in return.  Infuriating.

So I got up  in the middle of the night to send a few emails and try to right the wrong; to give myself some sort of peace of mind that I was fixing what I had inadvertently screwed up. I stayed up until all hours of the night managing what will most likely be about a $75 jack up. Yup.

I look at that relatively small dollar number and shake my head in wonder. It makes me remember the biggest single order I ever personally signed off on, which was just shy of $1M. I mean, I’ve managed millions and millions of dollars in merchandise over the years. How can $75 keep me awake at night?

I suppose it’s all relative. The $1M order kept me tossing and turning then, now the $75 keeps me up. Great.

As 2011 starts to wrap up, I find myself more reflective this year than in years past. Perhaps I’m just more conscious of it; there’s more thinking time at hand, you see.  Or maybe this shit just starts to happen when you get older. It’s hard to determine the cause, I just know it’s happening.

I had myself a little revelation of sorts a week or so ago. I realized that I have been spinning my wheels, spreading myself too thin. I’ve been spending too much time on things that are completely peripheral. Tasks. The minutia. I realized I’m approaching my life right now the same way I used to binge-eat. I’d want a piece of cake and instead of eating the piece of cake, I’d eat everything around the piece of cake in order to not eat the piece of cake. Now substitute that piece of cake for my career and I think that metaphor is clear.

In order to get at the cake, I had to remove those snacks circling the cake. Those “snacks” are actual things though. They make up  people, projects, expectations and deadlines – most of which make me little to no money, but take up an exorbitant amount of my time. They fill me up with something that isn’t cake, invoking a sense of fullness, but not satisfaction.

What sucked about this little cake revelation is that I had to make a few difficult phone calls. I had to explain to people why eating the cake was more important and profound than snacking. I had to let some people down in my honesty, but honest I was. I’m sure there will be a ripple effect to some of these decisions. I’ll deal with them as they come, I suppose.

I’ve made some mistakes this year in running my new business, on this blog and in my life. Mistakes in a small business are more blindingly apparent than they are when working for someone else, where mistakes can be fixed before anyone realizes you made one. You can work furiously behind the scenes and emerge shining and sparkling, like it was an effortless task that brought you this nugget of more shine and more sparkle. There was that moment of the big reveal.

Those moments nowadays are few and far between. There’s less to judge myself with and by. Where is the bar to be set? What is the measure of success today? Tomorrow? Better goals must be made with means to accomplish them, that I know for sure.

There are some interesting good things that have happened this year. Save a day where I had a terrible migraine, I haven’t been sick this year. I used to get sick all the time: sinus infections, bronchial infections, stomach flus, laryngitis. I felt like I was constantly battling some sort of something. Perhaps I’m less susceptible now since I hardly ever leave my house. Perhaps it’s because I sleep more and better (with the occasional restlessness like last night). I get to see my parents more often since we live only a few hours away now.  I’m better able to assess my needs versus my wants. Those are good things, right?

On the business front, there have been successes. I got mentioned on SMP as well as several other blogs who believe in me and support me (thanks y’all!). I’ve been told one of my pieces will be in the January issue of Carolina Bride magazine. I’m for sure featured in Premier Bride magazine come April. I’ve sold some stuff and have hopefully, made some brides happy on a day where they deserve to be the happiest they can be.

It’s these small accomplishments that I need to keep me moving forward towards my cake.

And as you brides (past and present) know, a slice of cake can sometimes cost you $75.

Cast Your Vote for Crazy!

A dear friend of mine requested this post and I am obliging because I believe….

A while back, I wrote a post on mental illness and a theater program called Erasing the Distance. You can find that original post here. It’s a long post so I’ll summarize here:

Erasing the Distance, a theatre company in Chicago, uses the power of performance to disarm stigma, spark dialogue, educate and promote healing surrounding issues of mental health. The company collects the true stories from people whose lives have been affected by mental health issues.  The group then crafts these stories into theatrical pieces which they then perform for schools, faith groups, community organizations, and the general public. After the performances, they hold discussions so the audience can create dialogues in a safe forum.

The point is that this is an incredible charity organization that sheds light on mental health issues through theatre. ETD was founded in 2005 and has been seen by over 26,000 people! The organization is in the running to win a HUGE grant through Chase Community Giving. Chase is giving 100 small charities over $3M in grants, and your vote will help decide which one!

When my friend asked for my help in soliciting votes, she included several links to several other blog posts doing the same thing. One of these posts particularly resonated with me as the title made me laugh: If I’m Crazy, Do I Get More Clicks? The post made me think. She has a point. Many of us in the blog world eventually get to the point where we can write about our troubles. Not the kind of troubles like budgets or RSVP’s or in-season flowers. I mean serious troubles. Some of my favorite wedding bloggers have touched on the subject of mental health on more than one occasion.  I’ve written about my own body image issues and eating disorder before mostly because after a while, you feel safe on your blog. You feel compelled to share, to help through your own personal experiences. To work your shit out through the process of writing and self-examination. You draw strength from the sharing and receiving feedback from followers. That’s empowering on a certain level.

Sadly, not everyone has that same outlet; no safe place to discuss. Erasing the Distance provides that safe place for a lot of people. No judgment. No blame. I think that’s a good thing.

So I’m going to ask y’all to help them win this grant. All you have to do is click a few links and you’re done.

First, click on the button below. It will take you to the voting page for Erase the Distance. Before you can cast your vote, you have to hit the “Like” button at the top of the page for Chase Community Giving. Then cast your vote for Erasing the Distance. As an extra favor for me, link it on your Facebook page and ask your friends to help too. Tweet it. Blog it. Share it anyway you can.

Erasing the Distance has made it into the Top 100 and there are only FIVE DAYS left to vote, so PLEASE help this amazing charity and vote today!

Thanks, y’all!

Mrs. Fussy Britches

I’m fussy and I freakin’ know it.

There are so many thing to bitch about today, I just don’t know where to start. Let’s get the jealousy bullshit out of the way first, OK? It seems like a good place to start.

Computer/On-Line/Blog Shit

I am both jealous and enraged at the blogging world today. I am definitely not a part of the Kool Kid Klub. I get it. I am constantly the last to know about every little damn thing happening in BlogLand on a regular damn basis. I miss all sorts of conversations on Twitter, mostly because the folks I know/follow are all West coast based and while they are taking their afternoon Twitter breaks, I’m swilling Two Buck Chuck and trying to figure out yet another way to disguise ground turkey into something palatable. I don’t post enough on Facebook. I totally don’t understand StumbleUpon or Google+. There are blogging events, seminars and webinars that I’m sure would help me, but I never hear about them until someone shows up in my Google Reader (which, by the way, is so clogged and backlogged, I don’t even know what to do with myself), blogging about how fun-freaking-tastic this event or that event was. And the reality? I can’t afford to go to any of these events anyway since most are held not in Charlotte, NC.

And I swear, if I hear about one more blogger who got some stupid freaking book deal because they write about the same bullshit fluff I do? Like, OMG. I might off myself.

And let’s talk about book deals for a second. That crazy bitch Teresa from the Housewives of New Jersey? SHE got a book deal for a an Italian cookbook where she stole (allegedly) recipes from her mother-in-law and called them her own. In one episode she referred to “ingredients” as “ingrediences.” Yeah, that bitch got a book deal. Clearly, getting paid to “write” is all a big pile of doo. And as a society, why are we constantly rewarding the stupid?

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I got an email today with a link to the “Top 15 Way to Build Your Social Media Traffic.” Um, yeah. The advice was not to talk about yourself in your Tweets and blog and whatnot. I should Offer Solutions, Offer Ideas and Show Pretty Pictures. Yeah, OK. I have blog PROOF that isn’t always the case. I’ve even written about this before: this blog LOSES traffic the more I write about JUST wedding crap.

And then I read a post about Pinterest Etiquette. Are you fucking kidding me? How far does all of this social media crap really need to go? I’m starting to think that no one really knows much about anything, most of all me.

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And my desktop computer (yes, I have one) has contracted so many effing viruses (which I seem to catch when searching for info on sewing – how random is that?) that I just know I’m going to have to go back to the original factory settings which I know is a process that will make my head explode. I’ve been putting it off for weeks and using my laptop (which was free and totally appreciated) for everything. That would be OK for the most part except that it’s freaking VISTA which isn’t compatible with some of the other programs on my desktop which creates yet another annoyance and time sucker. My knee-jerk is to break down and call the Geek Squad to come to my house and fix everything. Um, no. Have y’all ever checked out their website? For the cost to have someone come to your house and fix your shit costs as much as buying a new damn desktop. AND PEOPLE PAY FOR THAT CRAP.

Local News

So I’ve had some experiences out and about in local Charlotte as of late. So. Not. Fun. I have a couple of projects I’m involved in and they make me want to scratch my eyes out. Why? Stupid People and Mean People and the occasional combination of the two, that’s why.

I’m helping out on a particular thing that in theory and model and historical successes is spot on. I believe in it. I think it’s a good thing. However, I’m working on this project because the person before me fucked it all up and is no longer a part of this theoretically awesome thing. That person was a Mean Person hiding out as a Nice Person. It is also starting to look like the Mean Person was also a Stealing Person and I’m playing damage control. In this role of janitor, I’ve had to hear some not-so-happy people complain about the project.

I get that. If I heard that someone was potentially/allegedly stealing from me, I’d be pissed too. I AM NOT THE PERSON WHO MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE STOLEN FROM YOU. In fact, I’m the person who is trying to help you. Oh, and you? Yes, you. Peripheral Person who isn’t supportive of the project , isn’t involved in the project but knows lots of Stupid People who are gossiping about the project? Take your high school antics elsewhere. Take your husband’s Bank of America/Wachovia/Insert Bank of Choice stolen-from-the-people bonus money and bitch elsewhere. We’re all full up here.

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There’s this weird sort of attitude amongst folks in this town that there’s a pecking order, starting at the “top” with the Old Money of Charlotte. This is followed closely and fervently by the New Money of Charlotte. Third in line, clawing their way by veneered tooth and French manicured nail is the New Money of South Charlotte. And I thought L.A. was bad!  The West coast ain’t got nuttin' on these vicious Southern women. Do not be fooled. It’s total gangsta mentality behind all the “bless her heart” bullshit. 

Me? Pecking order schmecking order. I can’t believe people actually play into it. I went to an event recently where the owner of a big, cool company was in town. A friend of mine has worked for this big, cool company in their headquarter location for the last 16 years and she told me to go say hi and introduce myself and mention the mutual connection. I did. I ended up in a conversation regarding the domestic versus import business with the guy when the band started playing. He asked me to dance. “Shake Your Body Down” by The Jacksons was playing, no one was dancing and that is a really good song. So we busted a move, me and the BMOC. This event was hosted by a local children’s hospital and there were a shit-ton of fancy pants contributors there. When the song ended I walked off the dance floor, breathless and laughing with this guy and for the rest of the night, all people did was STARE AT ME. I smiled, drank the free booze and left feeling a lot like Julia Roberts in Mystic Pizza when she went to the fancy country club with her fancy boyfriend who ended up being a total tool. Yes, the nobody who is new to Charlotte busted into your little playground and made friends with the BMOC. Don’t worry, I didn’t stay long or pee in your sandbox. Sheesh.

The Job Hunt

When the poo hit the fan at my last job, I applied for a position here in Charlotte that was very specific in nature. It’s one of those jobs that I could pretty much do with my eyes closed. I’ve mentioned this before, it’s one of those positions that I wouldn’t have lowered myself to a few years ago. So I applied and got ignored. I’ve subsequently applied more times than I can count for various positions within the same company, to be ignored on a regular, ongoing basis. I apply now, almost as a joke – just too see how long I might be ignored. So far, we’re looking at 15 months. Anyway, the specific position I applied for is now open. Again. So I applied, again. I was dying to include the following as my cover letter:

Dear Folks Who Like to Ignore Me:

I am applying for the position of Job I Can Do Blindfolded that you are advertising for again in the span of 15 months, recently located on HelpingDumbAssesFindAJob.com. You might recall the last time I applied. You might also recall the other 800 billion times I’ve sent in various versions of my resume in the vain effort to grab your attention with alternate fonts and formats.

In regards to my qualifications for the position of Job I Can Do Blindfolded, you’ll note that I’m over-qualified. You’ll note this if you actually read my resume. You might consider hiring someone who is qualified to do the job this time around. Because I do my homework (or am just a sneaky SOB), I noted that the last person you hired for this position was fresh out of FIT with the requested “X” years experience in what you say is required for success in Job I Can Do Blindfolded . Get eaten up by the Big Boys, did she?  As a regular window shopper in your store, it looks like she over assorted with too many similar colors/styles/materials. It looks like she bought too many of the same designer labels that everyone else has and gave them higher price points, which probably affected your margins, inventory turns and ended in a loss of revenue and profit. Your private label branded goods? *YAWN* Mark-down city, eh? Sorry to hear it. Retail is a bitch.  Perhaps you should consider hiring one to get the job done?

Just a suggestion.

I look forward to hearing from you to discuss the career highlights noted in my resume. Oh wait, you probably haven’t actually read it, nor this cover letter. I guess we’ll just go back to you ignoring me.

Warmest Regards,

T30SB

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I’ve read a lot about what you should and should not put on your resume. There are about a jillion rules out there. As a part of my exit package from my last job, I was a part of this placement program that helps you with all sorts of things from interviewing skills to resume writing and all that. It’s a great program, good people. We are not referred to “fired” or “let go” or “downsized.” No, no. We’re “displaced.” Like refugees. It makes everyone feel a little less sucky about themselves.

But I digress, back to the resume stuff. I just wanted to clarify that I consider myself educated in resume writing at this point.  I have read that you should not put your blog on your resume if it talks about personal stuff. I get that. Makes sense. In theory.  Me? I have my blog on my resume listed under “Relevant Experience.” Meaning, the folks that I’ve applied to AGAIN might be reading this blog RIGHT NOW (Hi! How are you? Just totally disregard all the swear words and bitching [oops, there I go again!] and stuff and call me for an interview. I swear, I am totally professional and will kick ASS [totally not a swear word] if you hire me!). You might think me a fool, but hear me out. This blog exists. All you gotta do is Google my name and there I am all over the freakin’ place: Twitter, LinkedIn, Etsy. There is no hiding at this point. Any HR manager worth their salt will Google someone before they hire them. The reality is I don’t lie, other than telling telemarketers that they have the wrong number. I hate lying. I SUCK at lying and particularly lying by omission. I talk too much about random stuff to try to keep secrets. Trying to hide the existence of this blog is just not something I have the time or mental capacity to do. And while I might be reckless regarding my own privacy, the fervor in which I maintain my company’s code of conduct is unparalleled. You don’t want me to blog? I won’t. But until then, I won’t hide the fact that it exists.

Besides, I’ve learned a lot here. I know some wicked html and CSS code. As much as I don’t have time to do it, I know all about Social Media Marketing, automated Social Media Marketing, editing (when the mood strikes) and CPV, Google ad words and all that crap that goes along with running your own bliggity blog. That’s marketable stuff, man. You betcha I’m putting it on my resume.

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OK, I think I’ve bitched myself into exhaustion. I think I’ve gotten it all out. For now. For today. It’s best to vent here versus when The Candyman gets home. He’s got court today and will be tired when he gets home. Besides, this post took me for freakin’ ever to write and now I have to go research 1001 ways to prepare ground turkey.

A Style Council? Please?

I went shopping a few weeks ago for a suit jacket. I had a thing that required it. I thought perhaps I just needed a new top that I could wear with an existing ensemble that had been hanging in my closet since the last time I wore it, which was September of 2004.

What?

So I took said ensemble shopping with me. We walked the mall together. We looked at a myriad of tops and accessories together in attempt to make the old new again. We bought a bright red top and considered some animal print shoes. We went home and showed The Candyman.

Let’s just say that from there, everything went downhill…and fast.

My old outfit fit, therefore I thought it was suitable. Workable. Doable. I thought a spicy new top and some new shoes and hip accessories might bring it back to life.1 I had spent ALL DAY  at the mall with this theory and  Tim Gunn’s “make it work” pulsing over and over in my head. I spent more time than I wanted to trying on crap, checking the sale racks and trying on more crap. In hindsight, the red top was a cry for help. It was an act of desperation.

When I modeled for The Candyman and told him my idea about adding the shoes and the jewelry, he stared. “It’s not you. You just don’t look like you.”

This started a HUGE fight that lasted the rest of the night. The fight broke off into different semi-related segments that all pretty much lead back to the fact that I was super-stressed and taking it out on him.

I went out the next day and returned the red top, went to yet ANOTHER mall and stomped around in a general state of hate and discontent, attempting to find me.

It took me almost 6 hours, but I found a top and jacket I could wear with a totally different skirt. The top was more than I would have ever paid for a plain, black knit top, but it fit (SHOCKER!) and I suppose it balanced out the low cost of the jacket I got. I didn’t show The Candyman. I didn’t want a repeat performance of the last bedroom-cum-runway show so kept my fashion choices to myself.

I did ended up looking like myself and when I came home in the new outfit, he complimented me and said how nice I looked. When I asked, he agreed that I looked like me.

Thank God.

But it’s been nagging at me ever since. What is it that makes me look like me? Since I’ve been semi-self-unemployed-working-from-home for the last year, my necessity for clothes and my budget for them has pathetically waned. I’ve purchased a few things, but always on sale and mostly because of a drastic need for them.

I was looking through my closet this weekend and realized that desperation purchases do not a selection make. Lots of pieces I bought in my mid-thirties. I am no longer in my mid-thirties and the continuation of my old fun and funky, sometimes hippie-chick style seems…..unnatural.  Then again, I’m not even close to ready to shopping at Chico’s where Boxy-R-Us is the costume de rigueur. I don’t want to cut my hair into some coiffed shoulder-length, overly-processed and highlighted bob. I don’t want to look like a MILF or a Cougar, nor do I want to let myself go the frumpy hippy or soccer mom route either.

Skirts too short. Hair too blonde. Boobs to over-processed. Even if you took all that nonsense away – simply too trendy.

And please, for the love of God, someone shoot me if I ever go the way of “The Glam Gals” who promote (and I use that word lightly) fashion for women over 40.

Not that they look bad or inappropriate or anything like that. They just look like they are about to sell me some Mary Kay product and that scares me. These are women I want to run from, even though they might actually be really nice ladies.

I think I still feel the need to channel that Sarah Jessica Parker/Carrie Bradshaw vibe that I’ve identified with before Sex and the City even existed. I still feel that need to be fun and funky, but without baring too much skin, being disgustingly trendy and shall I say it….yes, I will: age appropriate.

  

The question that nags at me constantly is: how do I accomplish that on a shoe-string budget and a waning sense of self-confidence?

Anyone with answers? Yeah, those would be much appreciated.

1 The fact that I just referred to a top as "spicy" might be the bigger issue here.