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The World According to Me

June 6, 2011 By StaceyRobinson Leave a Comment

For about five minutes, several years ago, the title on my business cards was to have been She Ra Princess of Power.  Really.  We were re-tooling the department, brainstorming new titles that would better describe our actual job functions.  I suggested She Ra, because, well, I figured I was that all-powerful.  That, and because I wanted a tiara and a sash.

Up on the white board it went.  And there it stayed, until someone suggested a few more business-like titles.  What stuck was Strategic Relationship Manager.  Utilitarian, sure, but with little pizzazz.   I told everyone the story though, of how I got to be She Ra, Princess of Power for a little while.  I say all this because, deep down, I really do believe I am She Ra.  Or at least that I have She Ra-like powers. Mostly.   There are times when I want to shout “If you’d just do it my way, the world run so much smoother!”  And by the world, I of course mean my life:  if you all would just follow my rules, my world would run infinitely better.

Really.  They’re not difficult rules.  Here’s a sample:

If God had meant for their to be flavored coffee, God would have created flavored coffee beans.  Cream is acceptable.  However, if you add whipped cream, you now have a milkshake, not coffee.  Even if it’s hot.

Drive-through lanes were invented for speed and convenience.  They are not designed for question-and-answer hour.  Seriously— when’s the last time the menu changed in any meaningful way?  It’s a burger.  Or chicken nuggets.  Or fries.  Move on.  Drive through.  Oh, and this doesn’t mean drive-and-then-stop-and-check-your-order or contemplate-just-how-hot-that-coffee-is.  It’s hot; trust me.  Put the cup in the cup-holder and drive.

Lettuce doesn’t belong on a sandwich.  Ever.  It is slippery.  No good can ever come from a slippery sandwich.

You are not the arbiter of how fast the fast lanes on the highway should be.  If you find yourself zipping along in the far left lane, happy in your three-miles-over-the-posted-speed-limit haze, oblivious that the car behind you is all but kissing your bumper, and more cars zoom past you on the right (some of whose occupants are looking decidedly annoyed, and some gesticulating madly, one finger at a time)— move over.  Highway driving is a cooperative effort, people.  Cooperate.

You’re not so special or so important that you cannot wait the extra two minutes and NOT block the intersection.  And stop being fake-surprised when motorists with the actual right-of-way give you snarky looks.  You drove into that intersection precisely so you would get caught and wouldn’t have to wait for the next one.

Regardless of ever-changing grammatical rules, irregardless is not a word.  Ever.  And while we’re at it— “your” is NOT the same as “you’re,” and there’s a difference between “who” and “whom.”   Likewise there, their and they’re take some thought.  There’s no excuse for bad grammar or bad spelling— even while texting.

I am all for your religious beliefs.  Have at ‘em.  Practice with all the fervor and passion and joy you can muster.  Do not, however, mistake your faith for my fact.    Feel free to do or not do as your God commands, but don’t legislate those thou shalts and thou shalt nots for the rest of us.

Simple rules, right?  Follow them, and the world continues to spin on its axis, and I don’t spin like a mad dervish, riffing on some nefarious infraction or misstep.  I can be a benevolent Princess of Power, as long as you play by the rules.  My rules.  It always comes back to that.

Here’s the thing though: I’d give them all up, every single one of my beloved rules, if we could all practice these:

Patience.  Tolerance.  Kindness.  Love.

Let’s face it: we all have our own battles to fight and demons to exorcize.  It costs us nothing to comfort or care.  Indeed, a kind word can heal a broken heart or give hope where once there was none.

Even She Ra, in all her glorious power, can’t hold a candle to that.

Interested in reading more about the world according to Stacey?  Check it out here.

Filed Under: Humor, Misc, Opinion, Uncategorized

Why Grad School Ruined My Life (and Made Me Fat)

May 2, 2011 By Dashing Gray 4 Comments

I know, I know. A higher education is supposed to open doors. More degrees = more opportunities, and all that. And since I am someone who in fact works in higher education, I must believe in it, right?

The answer is yes it does, and yes I do. I definitely wouldn’t be where I am if it weren’t for my master’s degree, and the fact that I have one at all is a great point of personal pride.

But tell that to the 15 extra pounds I packed on—and still haven’t lost—in year one of grad school.

Grad school, though great for intellectual development, is not exactly the prime place to optimize one’s girlish figure. Major stress + no free time + a billion late-night caramel lattes is not a good combination. Oh, the love-hate, addictive relationship I have with those lattes.

And then there’s the actual content of those grad-school classes. Grad programs, particularly those for Higher Education, are all about sensitivity to diversity and personal identity development, so most classes become sociological debates. Combine two years of this as a full-time student with a year of GA-ship in the Women’s Center, and you develop this near-constant, uber-feminist, damn-the-man, “what do you mean when you say ‘gay’?” mental feed that is very hard to turn off. Super Bowl beer commercials aren’t advertisements, but the misogynistic media oppressing women (and what does that body wash commercial say about men’s identity development?). Pop culture vampire movies are blatant demonstrations of white privilege. And can you believe the lies that Disney sold us as children?

You want to see my inner social-justice crusader go ape? Try suggesting to this 20-something, master’s-holding, recently engaged (after much related overanalyzing) individual that it’s selfish for a woman not to have children.

Yes, life was much simpler—albeit suckier—before grad school. When you’ve been constantly exposed to those kinds of debates, it’s really hard to just turn them off. I overanalyze everything. And you, dear reader, usually get a taste of that inner insanity in this blog.

The latte habit isn’t easy to kick, either.

Filed Under: Humor, Misc, Opinion, Politics

In Defense of Home

April 22, 2011 By Dashing Gray 7 Comments

I live in the far-west suburbs. Or rather, I live in a semi-rural area that most “true Chicagoans” would probably equate to shoe gum in the hierarchy of suburban prestige (assuming they were willing to admit that any suburb deserved any prestige, or that where I live even qualifies as a suburb). Nonetheless, it is more modernized and populated than most people give it credit for, and I generally find things here to be pretty satisfactory.

It seems that most people who live in Chicago proper are vehemently passionate about their lifestyle choice and are willing to engage in a heated debate about it with anyone who will listen. I don’t exactly mind this; it is good to show pride in where one is from. Maybe Chicagoans have always been this way because they incorrectly interpret “the Second City,” as an insult from New York, Chicago’s older and even more prestigious sibling. Or maybe it is because the most vehement people I know on this subject are from extremely small towns themselves—far smaller than where I live now—and are desperately trying to shuck off those past identities in an attempt to urbanize and modernize.

No, I don’t necessarily mind this ferocity because we should all be ambassadors to our hometowns; if we won’t defend where we live, who will? However, I do not apprciate the flak I’ve been receiving from these very city folk for my choice of homestead. Their arguments are always a “top this,” an “either-or.” They come out along the lines of “I love Chicago. It’s great. Too bad where you live sucks. I bet you wished you lived in Chicago.” I mean, not in so many words, but you get the point. This will not stand.

So, in defense of home, here’s my top-10 list:

  1. I am a 20-something who not only lives in more than 300 square feet of space, but who also owns it. I don’t have to worry about leaky windows and dangerous electrical from the turn of the century because my building was built in 2004.
  2. I don’t have to work two jobs to maintain my standard of living, which in turn provides me with the time to enjoy where I live.
  3. I can hop in the car—without going outside—whenever I want and drive it to the location of my choice. Once I arrive, I can park there. My car is waiting for me upon my return, and the trip doesn’t smell like urine. My beloved garage protects my car from snow, and gas is as affordable as it’s ever going to be.
  4. Free corn, anyone?
  5. There’s a local place where I can buy mixed drinks for less than $5 regularly, and there’s no cover charge or coat fee. Similarly, I can afford to eat out regularly. Too regularly, probably.
  6. I can go to any restaurant/club around whenever I want—and actually get in.
  7. No random roommates.
  8. I can walk down the street without being hassled for money.
  9. I don’t pay the highest sales tax in the country.
  10. There are actually trees here. And grass. And bike trails. And you can actually use them because a billion other people aren’t also there getting their weekly dosage of nature.

And, might I add, that the big-city benefits are a train ride away?

So there you go: why where I live is worth it. No, I probably won’t live here forever. No it’s not my ideal place. But it’s a pretty great start. You should come visit sometime—and hey, enjoy some roasted corn while you’re here.

Filed Under: Misc, Nostalgia, Opinion

A Light in the Darkness

April 21, 2011 By StaceyRobinson 4 Comments

Long ago, I quit Graduate School to become a political activist.  I had been working on my PhD in Early Modern English History.  Tudors and Stewarts and Puritans, oh my!  I was gung-ho, until I realized that almost the only people who care about Early Modern English History are other Early Modern English historians.  I gave up my full Fellowship to–as my parents so eloquently put it– become a professional street walker and beggar.

I was filled with the passion to fight the Good Fight.  I was Don Quixote, but I was going to win my battles rather than tilt at stray windmills.  Five years and several thousand miles later, having traversed the country a dozen or so times, I quit the national poor people’s organization for whom I had been working, a little bedraggled, a lot broke and much bewildered.  I kept looking around for all that I had accomplished, that we, as an organization, had accomplished, and saw… the detritus of really good intentions.

We fought to give people a voice, to find power in numbers.  We got a few stop signs.  A handful of crack houses boarded up or torn down.  We got enough press that Mayors and Police Chiefs learned to take our calls and listen to our demands.  Mostly though— we demonstrated on bread and butter issues that fed our souls and fired us up.  I was so determined to Save The World and Make A Difference, but I was drowning in a sea of windmills and broken lances.

The issues that plagued us twenty-five years ago, when I was young(er) and rousing rabble eighty hours a week or more— they’ve grown.  The rift between the Haves and the Have Nots is wider and more treacherous than ever.  Poverty.  Ignorance.  Hunger.  Disease.  Global Warming.  Hatred.  War.  Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?  I wish.  They are legion, these Horsemen, and they spread devastation in their wake.  They’ve had a few millenia to gain in power and scope.  Human history is the story of our inhumanity, a desolate and sere desert of indifference and despair.  My fear whispers for me to throw up my hands in surrender to the enormity of the task, to just walk away.  The need is so great.  I could be devoured by this need that grows daily and swallows hope.

It would be so easy to turn away from this overwhelming need.

I could, but I don’t.  Instead, I do what I can.  I light a candle, a flicker of hope in this darkness, the flutter of a butterfly’s wings that becomes a storm.  The task may seem insurmountable, but I can’t avoid it.  The Talmud tells us: “It is not your duty to complete the work, neither are you free to desist from it.” (Pirke Avot, 2:16,15)

My job, as I see it, as I have been taught, is to light the candles and flap my wings.  Again and again and again— because I can, because I must.  Because I change the world every time I do.  And all those candles, mine and yours and on and on— they light the darkness and beat back despair.  They kindle hope:  A stop sign.  A voice.  Hope where there once was none.  It is the best of our humanity.

Are we our brother’s keepers?  Yes.  I believe that having a roof over your head is a right, not a privilege, that access to medical care, or clean water to drink, or food on the table— all of that is a right, not a privilege.  And no: I don’t have an answer on how to pay for all this; I just know that we must.  It is our humanity at stake, and how could I turn away?  How could I look into my son’s eyes if I turned my back on such need? How can I not pass this candle flame to him?

My son, my twelve year old— he wants to house the poor and feed the hungry and fight for justice.  And he has learned that he has his own candles to light.  And he does— because he can, because he must, because he, too, can save the world.

Read more from Stacey on her personal site.

Filed Under: Motivate, Opinion, Spirituality

Moms and social media: Is the tide turning?

April 8, 2011 By Melanie Myatt 2 Comments

I met up with a blogging friend last week and asked her how she was doing.

“I’m…good.  I think.”  This was not the reply I was expecting.  It turns out that she had just that morning made the decision to take a three-month hiatus from all social media (twitter-ing, blogging and facebook-ing).  While the decision had not come easily, she found herself feeling pretty good about it once she finally made the decision to do it.

For me, her decision followed on the heels of another announcement by a blogger that she was going to be cutting back on her blog commitments.  We wouldn’t be able to find her in her usual place because she wanted to take some time to see what other kind of writing she could do.  What could she accomplish if there wasn’t a word limit?  What would happen if she had the freedom from a weekly deadline?

Both of these women express questions and desires that I myself have been exploring.  While I came relatively late to the mom-blogging scene, various connections have allowed me to make writing commitments for multiple internet locations.  Blogging allowed me to find my voice, to satisfy my love of writing and my egotistical need to speak and feel heard.

Now that I have found my voice and experienced the thrill of being heard, I feel stretched thin by my many and various blogging commitments.  I feel something bigger and deeper wanting to make its way out of my brain (a book?  a story? an essay?), yet with 4 kids, 2 personal blogs and 6 other blog communities, I simply cannot find the time to sit down and see what is inside me.

For how many mom bloggers is this the case?  We jumped on the mom blogger bandwagon, excited about the various opportunities to express ourselves in many different ways.  Now how many of us, having found our voice and, in many cases, an audience, want to pull back from social media commitments to see what other kinds of writing we are capable of?

James Franco told Politico, “Social media is over. Still up there. Going down. You heard it here first.”  With the impact that social media has had on civil uprisings and revolutions of late, it is hard to believe that this is the case.

In the case of mom bloggers, however, is James Franco on to something?

Time will tell.

photo by tosaytheleast

You can find more of Melanie’s musings (at least for a little longer!) here and here.

Filed Under: Opinion Tagged With: , , ,

Menial jobs.

March 11, 2011 By Amie Kus Curie 14 Comments

Sometimes, it seems like rampant selfishness is going to ruin the world. Everybody puts themselves first, which in and of itself is not a bad thing, but they seem to do so at the detriment of others. People are SO self-centered that they can’t even see beyond the exact moment in time. To counter this, I have a proposal.

factory#3 CPUEveryone should be required to work in a menial low-respect job. Not forever, but for a while – long enough to understand what it’s like.

These include:

  • Retail
  • Food service
  • Custodial work
  • Referee / Umpire
  • Secretary

After working retail during the holiday season, how many of us would continue to dig through a pile of clothing for the perfect size while leaving the rest in a shambles? How many of us would leave the fitting room overflowing with clothing we couldn’t bother to hang up?

How many of us would refuse to tip our servers for a mistake the kitchen made after waiting tables for a few months?

If we had to spend a few months picking up other people’s garbage, would we still litter and stick gum on the undersides of tables and toss cigarette butts on the ground?

Would we continue to scream at referees and umpires at our children’s games if we had once been that ref or ump?

Would we be more conscious of the work involved in putting together a mailing under someone else’s name if we had done it before? More understanding of the speed of our dictation?

People need a bit of compassion. If we can’t imagine ourselves walking a mile in someone else’s shoes, we need to actually get into those shoes and start walking. And then we’d learn that just a little civility, and a little extra work for each individual, makes the world an infinitely better place. We all just have to do our part.

<a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/yshrhara/2961461410/” title=”factory#3 CPU by yshr, on Flickr”><img src=”http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3032/2961461410_8d966e5787.jpg” width=”500″ height=”333″ alt=”factory#3 CPU” /></a>
Filed Under: Motivate, Opinion Tagged With: , ,

Love Games

March 8, 2011 By Newtritionista 9 Comments

I hate to say it but all girls are crazy. We just can’t help it especially when it comes to men and dating. We sit around over analyzing text messages, voicemails, and my all time favorite question, “Why didn’t he call?”

It’s the worst, it really is. All we want is find a man who makes us happy, is that so much to ask?

Being a single girl in the dating world for quite some time, I have realized we will never find out why… he didn’t call, he ignored you at the bar, he didn’t ask you out again and instead asked out your best friend, he totally disappeared into outer space?…rude!

What’s a single girl gonna do in this big city of bachelors?

Play. The. Game.

It’s very simple.

Don’t make yourself so available: so, you want to play games? Men like a good chase, which is half the fun of dating. I hate it when men make up excuses and say how busy they are, busy shmizzy. We are all busy and I think it’s a big load of crap. If he’s into you, he will make time for you PERIOD. In the meantime, you’re busy too- duh. Don’t make yourself so available, please.

Let him wonder where you are and what you’re doing: Don’t text, call, email, gchat, etc. If you have to, take his number out of your phone and give it to a friend. Under any circumstances DO NOT find a reason to contact him… unless you’re over it or he has a personal item of yours that you want back.

He’s just not that into you: Men are very simple. If he likes you, he will contact you. If he’s not then he won’t. You don’t have time to sit around and analyze why he didn’t contact you. HE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. Now, move on.

Don’t think you’re the only one: I HATE to say it but us ladies are attracted to total jerks. It’s just the nature of the beast. Unfortunately if you are dating someone he most likely has other girls in the mix, especially if you met him off a dating website. Unless you are in a fully committed relationship you MUST keep your options open. This will not only help your own sanity but it will make you feel more confident. I’m not saying to whore it out but there is nothing wrong with talking to a couple boys at once.

If you’re in a situation (yes, that’s what I like to call dating …it’s a situation, not like the Jersey Shore):

Play it cool: He wants to go out with his buddies, “Great! Have fun, Bye.” If you’re easy going about what he does and show that you have no reason not to trust him, he will go out and have you on his mind. If you throw a fit that he never spends time with you (especially if this is a new situation) he will just want to get away from this nagging, annoying, girl. Be cool. It’s so hard but if you start up with him or nag him, you will end up pushing him away.

Side note: I am quite the fit thrower and have gotten myself into some hot water because of it. Drunk or sober, don’t do it. Guys hate it and it’s the BIGGEST turn off.

Patience is a virtue: Dating is a marathon, not a sprint. You aren’t going to fall in love at the blink of an eye. It takes time. Be patient. Men don’t understand that us crazy women don’t have patience and we want answers NOW. All I have to say is don’t rush into things just take it day by day. It sucks, but you must be patient.

All in all, you gatta brush it off and say to yourself “ life is too good to let some guy come into the picture and mess it all up.”

Someday you’re prince will come, just when you least expect it…ughhhh. So stop looking for Mr. Right and enjoy life. Party your tush off, branch out, focus on your career, keep yourself busy, and enjoy the simple things life has to offer.

You can read more from Newtritionista at her personal site here.

Filed Under: Motivate, Opinion

Do you read your spouse’s email?

March 4, 2011 By Garima Nahar 5 Comments

I don’t. Well let me correct that, I could. I know his password; I could very well go in and ‘check out’ the emails! Do I? No. Does he? No. Have we glimpsed? Yes. We share the same home laptop, so chances are one of us stayed logged in even after we were done with the machine, and so we have glimpsed at the other’s email with no purpose. Instead, we clicked “log out” and moved on with life!

Simple.

Is there anything wrong? One can argue. Should we do it? My opinion: definitely no.

It’s just encroaching on one’s space. I wouldn’t like it if he read my emails. It’s not that I am hiding anything from him — it just does not feel right.

My emails in a day could vary from different deals, my blog related emails, sales pitches, emails with my girl friends, our weekend plannings, an reminder email to myself, recipe, POA, Facebook updates, birth announcement… It just depends. But it’s still stuff that’s mine. In this digital age, the emails are key to connectivity as well. I have nothing to hide, but still it’s personal.

A while ago, I organized a Birthday Surprise lunch for him. I could use my email knowing very well, he would not log in my account and wonder why suddenly there is an increase in Evite activities. He couldn’t care less. He has ordered gifts for me, knowing very well, I am not checking his account to see “Order has been shipped.”

It’s just not for the surprises. It’s for basic trust. Letting the person be and giving them the space and the respect for having their own thing.

What about you? Do you check your spouse’s e-mail? (Even just occasionally?) Do you think it’s okay to share passwords? Do you care if your spouse reads your emails?

You can read more of Garima’s musings at It’s a Start

Filed Under: Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Characters of a city…and being called the “b-word.”

March 3, 2011 By Fabulously Awkward 7 Comments

Each large city has its own cast of characters. From our rather sensational political scene to the everyday people that roam the streets, Chicago is no exception. We have our mayor-elect Rahm Emanuel as well as our very own expletive-laden @MayorEmanuel. We also have our friendly Streetwise vendors and the guy that panhandles at the Subway and calls you names if you don’t purchase his requested food stuffs. This morning, as I waited for my blue chariot (also known as the blue line), I began to think more of these everyday characters.

There is the preaching man that nearly always rides in the very first car on the blue line around the same time as I do each morning. He wears a crudely fashioned crown, blue jeans always ironed with a sharp crease on the front. Each day, he sits patiently waiting as we approach our stop (Clark and Lake). As we leave the Grand station, he stands up, gathers his worn sandwich board and begins preaching. He doesn’t talk about God, or Jesus, or at least not that I’ve heard. He preaches about the government, and people taking your money, and not letting people making you feel “stupid.” (He always puts extra emphasis on the word “stupid.”) When the train pulls into Clark and Lake, he moves toward the front of the doors. When the train doors open, he sprints up the escalator to wherever he perches for the day.

There is also the guy hocking Streetwise occasionally on the corner of Lake and LaSalle who uses the same lines on the ladies day after day. He likes to come up to me and says, “Do you know what your smile is like?” I always respond with a “What?” He invariably response with, “It’s like a spring flower.” I tend to play along, but there was one day when my boyfriend was accompanying me down the street. The Streetwise man approached me and gave me the old, “You know what your smile is like?” line. My boyfriend, having heard this line before (and also having a bit less patience than I) responded FOR him. “Yeah, yeah. We know. It’s like a spring flower.” I’m fairly certain that that guy called my boyfriend the male version of the b-word.

There is also the rather mean homeless man that occasionally stands by the blue line entrance at the opposite end, not only panhandling, but also requesting specific Subway sandwiches if you appear to be entering the nearby Subway. I walked by him one day on my way to Subway for lunch. As I passed him, he says to me, “Hey lady. Get me a meatball sub? Extra olives.” I chuckled then promptly forgot about him as I waited in line. I left the Subway, my sandwich in tow, when I walked by the man again. I quickly realized that he was dead serious. “Where’s my sandwich?” he demanded. “Um, sorry, guy, I forgot.” I did feel guilty about it for a minute until he screamed after me, “BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!” I hate that guy. I don’t think I have been back to that particular Subway since.

I am pretty sure that if @MayorEmanuel called me a b-word, it might make my day. I suppose that’s just how I roll. Some characters can pull off the profanity and make it funny, while some characters are the villains. And there are so many characters, funny men and ladies to those rather nasty villains. One thing is for certain, these characters paint our Chicago a colorful one, and one that I won’t be leaving anytime soon.

Photo property of the author.

Read more from Fabulously Awkward here.

Filed Under: Entertainment, Humor, Nostalgia, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

Rage against the (wedding) machine.

January 20, 2011 By Fabulously Awkward 5 Comments

I am a member of the newly engaged. Yes, I was one of the thirty-seven people on your facebook friend list changing my status after the holidays. Right before Christmas, my handsome man got down on one knee and bestowed me with some bling. While I did not start sobbing, the moment was very special. We celebrated with champagne, wine and an expertly-cooked pork tenderloin.

The reality of the whole wedding planning set in soon after that. Not even a month after that snowy December evening, I am realizing the various stages of being engaged.

Of course, the first stage is utter excitement and wonder. I finally get to be the bride. My friends? Those girls better get ready to don some floor-length taffeta and FIGHT TO CATCH MY BOUQUET. People get to buy me fancy kitchen gadgets. Cuisinart food processor, come to mama! Buying bridal magazines is fun! Yay for weddings!

The next stage is the feeling of being completely overwhelmed. How will I pay for this wedding? How do I get everything done? When am I supposed to get married? Who will be my bridesmaids? Do I even WANT bridesmaids? What if no one gets me my Cuisinart? The questions just do not stop.

That overwhelming feeling has since turned into a state of anxiety. In fact, just last night I had a dream that I had forgotten to bring my wedding dress to the venue. (As an aside, who else besides brides-to-be and party planners use the word “venue” in daily conversation? Seriously.)  What if people don’t like the wedding? Am I doing it right? What about all of these etiquette rules?

I feel all of these things at various parts of the day. One constant emotion that seems to be ever-present throughout this whole wedding process is my general rage at the whole wedding machine. Theknot.com has infiltrated my life to the point where their “Make your wedding unique!” emails are now delivered directly to my spam mailbox. While I want to wear the white dress and eat cake and drink champagne as much as the next girl, I refuse to go into debt to do so. Something tells me there is something wrong with the world when the sample “budget” weddings are $25,000. That is ludicrous.

One might think that a girl like me might say, “Screw it!” and choose to elope. I considered it, I really did. However, upon careful reflection, I decided that I do want to say those vows in front of my family and friends. So have a wedding? We shall. I am not spending $25,000, though. Screw THAT. Oh, and the bouquet toss? Not doing that either. Save the dates? Emailed out. Sorry, Emily Post, I feel you judging me from there. Regardless of whether I choose to make my wedding by the so-called appropriate standards or not, I will be married in less than four months. That’s the name of the game, right? Not color-scheming or keeping up with the Joneses, but marrying “the one.”  Consider it done. Sans theknot.com. (Oh, but with the Cuisinart. I really do dream of that food processor.)

Photo is property of the author.

Read more from Fabulously Awkward here.

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