Orangerie Events

I compare 2011 to a piñata.  I navigated my way through the year blindfolded with a bat.  No sense of direction and no clue where I was hitting.  Sometimes I swung and missed.  Sometimes I pounded and made contact.  Regardless, I kept trying.

It’s not that it was a bad year.  There were certainly highlights and moments of bliss.  But as I sit in a reflective state of mind, I’m happy to see it go.  Last year was a big snowball of excitement laced with challenges and disappointments.  There was no stopping the momentum as it rocked and rolled down a slippery slope.  For everything I did right, I did something else wrong.

It’s twelve days into the new year and I’m just now ready to fully transition into 2012.  I spent the first week of the new year in a flu coma, sleeping with a hankie glued to my nose and a cold compress stretched across my forehead.  My body ached with even the slightest movement and I exhausted an entire bottle of Nyquil.  The last thing on my mind was drafting resolutions for the coming year.

I feel like myself again.  In fact, I feel like a better version of myself.  I’m not a newbie to new year’s resolutions.  I feel this exact way every January.  I’m motivated and determined to change.  Even as a child I would write my resolutions in my Hello Kitty diary.  Usually putting those thoughts to paper were about as far as I got and within a week, I was back to my normal habits.  Despite my awful track record, here I am, composing my resolutions and keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll follow through.  Since you didn’t have the secret key to my diary as a child and couldn’t hold me accountable, I’m publicly posting my resolutions/goals for the coming year in hopes that on December 31, 2012, we can all look back and see how far I’ve come.

1.  Gym + Routine

My goal is 3 days a week, every week.  I’ve complained I don’t have time when the truth is I haven’t made time.  My husband is so dedicated to his fitness routine and it really is commendable.  I think I sometimes take the fact that he stays in great shape for granted.  I know me going to the gym makes him happy and it makes me feel better about myself so it really is a win-win.

2.  Spiritual Revival

Quite time.  Daily motivation. Weekly spiritual feedings.  I live such a blessed life that is so far from what I actually deserve.  If I truly want to succeed professionally and personally in the upcoming year, I need to improve my spiritual foundation.

3.  Less Caffeine – More Water

This is a huge one for me.  I love Coke.  I love Sundrop.  I love Bojangle’s Sweet Tea.  Lately I’ve fallen in love with Mountain Dew.  I hate water.  I can’t stop cold turkey.  I’ve tried that before and it never works.  I do, however, want to make a conscious effort to drink less sugar and hydrate my body instead.  Here’s the plan:  I’ll start tracking tomorrow.  Today I’m going to take it to the limit for old time’s sake.

4.  Floss

What is my opposition to the thin white string?  It takes like a total of two minutes during my nightly routine and for some reason it’s the one thing I always negotiate omitting.  Not anymore.  Floss and me are just about to become best friends.  We’ll never be best best friends like Chase and floss.  They took their relationship to a whole new level in Puerto Rico when Chase created a makeshift banana hammock thong using only a sock and floss.  I know that leaves you with such an amazing visual.

5.  Travel Abroad

Clearly this isn’t a resolution but more of a goal.  It’s been 7 years since I planted my feet at Heathrow and I’m literally aching to be a foreigner again.  I want to be lost in a language I don’t know, surrounded by architecture and history with a backpack, a map and a couple of the people I love most.

6.  Call My Grandparents

It’s as if I’ve lived under the assumption that they’ll always be there.  I spend countless hours on the phone every month and yet rarely do I pick up the phone and call to just say hello.  I don’t ever want to look back and regret that I didn’t take a little break to just talk to my Nana, Paw Paw or Meme.  I’ve set an appointment in my calendar for the same day of every month as a gentle reminder to pick up the phone.

7.  Blog Like It’s My Business

Essentially it is part of my business and it’s definitely an area I can do better.  I’m so excited for this new year and all of the ideas I have in store.  You’ll notice (and if you haven’t then please do look to your left now) that I’ve changed how I’m categorizing my entries.  That’s because I have a new line up in store bursting with recipes, style advice, proposal stories and of course, my weddings.

I think seven resolutions for the coming year is a good, attainable number.  Let’s take note of two items not on the list, particularly for my husband who likes to get on my case about these things:

1.  Going Out to Eat – I’ll still continue to do this frequently.  I like it.  It runs in my family.

2.  iPhone – No matter if TMobile starts paying customers to use their phone service, I’ll never get rid of my iPhone.  It will still be attached to me like life support and if a particular someone decides to leave his dinosaur non-smart phone behind, he’ll just have to suck it up and pay the extra fees.

The new year is a new beginning for me.  A clean slate.  A fresh start.  It will be the first year that Orangerie Events is my full-time job from start to finish and I can’t tell you how excited that makes me.  It is packed with amazing clients and stuffed with cross-country traveling for destination weddings.  It’s loaded with close friends getting married.  It’s another chance for me to become a healthier and happier version of myself.  It’s a giant, busted open piñata raining down colorful confetti.

The August sun had clocked out as the full moon started its shift.  We were celebrating the five months we had spent together drenched in laughter and learning about love.  We only had two weeks left before he’d leave me and our sleepy small town for college.  He was chasing a dream and I was chasing him.

On an ordinary night, an ordinary boy made an ordinary girl feel more extraordinary than anyone had before.  A chair sat centered in front of a keyboard, surrounded by candlelight and beneath a canopy of dancing summer stars.  A suburban backyard had been transformed into a stage for an audience of one and I was front and center.  I can’t remember the lyrics or recite the melody but I’ll never forget the way he looked at me while he poured out his heart with each chord.  Even though the ending wasn’t happily ever after and the memory has faded from color to black and white, it’s a chapter from my past that will always make me smile like opening an Hallmark card with sound.

The truth is, I was always attracted to guys that were attracted to music.  It was my vice.  If they could pick a string or carry a tune, I was hooked.  Music was my drug of choice and there’s a list of boyfriends who were addicts just like me.  Sure we had other similarities, but music bonded us.  The vain part of me enjoyed being their muse.

I haven’t shared this bond with just past suitors.  My cousin Matt and I would spend hours on the phone in middle school singing duets.  We would giggle each time Matt would change the lyrics to make a song silly or quite frequently to make a song dirty.  Our pre-teen song selections varied from R. Kelly to Alabama.  Top favorite?  Richard Marx and Donnas Lewis with “At the Beginning.”  Thank goodness our taste has improved.

I was fortunate to spend two uninterrupted hours with Matt this past weekend at the park in my hometown.  We did what most normal 27-year-olds do – we hit up the playground and put on a concert for Redwood Park.  We introduced each other to new artists, we sang some of our all-time favorites at the top of our lungs and we even resurrected songs we hadn’t heard since 8th grade.  He was just as infatuated as me with the way words and notes mesh together to form a time machine that transports you to a place in your past.

As I was swinging back and forth in the sunlight with someone I dearly love next to me, I felt carefree.  I know our shadows in the gravel were those of adults, but I swear the time I spent with Matt on the playground made me feel like a child.  And just like how hearing Howie Day will put me on a train in Paris or how listening to Blue Merle will place me dancing on Bourbon Street, I now have another special moment in time that will immediately come to mind when I hear a certain song.  I’m one lucky grown-up kid!

P.S. – Matt still changes lyrics to make songs dirty. It’s still funny.

P.S.S. – Yes, that is my apple bottom in the first picture. I have no shame.

I’m like a volcano.  I’ve been lying dormant for years.  Three years to be exact.  Despite my lack of outward emotion, I’m consumed inside.  In fact, I think I’ve reached my tipping point.  If I don’t initiate this conversation, I’ll choke on the words I haven’t said.

Although I’m an eternal optimist, I’m well aware this is not going to be easy.  The dialogue is going to sting.  The reaction is going to be unpredictable.  The outcome uncertain.  It will probably go nothing like how I have it playing out in my mind.  It may be worse or if I’m lucky, it could be the very thing the recipient has been waiting to hear.  The only thing I’m confident about is that we can’t keep ignoring the elephant that joins us every time we’re together.

All of our closets are full of skeletons.  It just so happens that I opened the door and their bag of bones came crashing down around me.  The moment I vaulted the secret was the very day I buried someone without them actually being dead.  I’ve had to compartmentalize them into two categories and force myself to remember the million perfect moments we shared together before June tasted so bitter.  Although the selfishness within me would like to think the truth is a lie, I’m far more concerned about their happiness.  It’s been an exhausting silent struggle to watch as they battle to cope with their identity when I know exactly who they are.

I’m not a therapist.  I have zero training in this sort of thing.  I’m just a girl trying to make sense of this life I’ve been given and I have an open heart that’s willing to accept someone just as they are.  The specifics for the conversation haven’t been determined.  I don’t know when or where.  I only know it will be soon.  I’m confident in my decision to end the charade, prepared for the consequences and praying for the best.

If I’m able to convey only one message after the shock has subsided and the tears have dried, I hope they realize I’ll never not love them.  My motives are pure.  I’ll never be judgmental.  They will always have a place in my life even if we have to wiggle and squeeze the pieces to make them fit.  I’ll always think they hung the moon.

This past weekend I celebrated the 27th anniversary of my birth.  Even though it’s not a significantly important age in the scheme of birthday milestones, I can’t recollect a birthday that has ever been more meaningful to me.

I grew up on Goody Two-Shoes Lane.  Okay, really it was Mountain View Circle and Lee Pearson Road but you get the idea.  Chase often jokes that while he was out partying and experiencing life, I was out Christmas caroling.  It’s true.  I caroled at nursing homes and even in the back of a hay-filled trailer around neighborhoods.  When I wasn’t caroling, I was at school.  When I wasn’t studying, I was at cheerleading practice.  When I wasn’t cheering, I was at church.  I lived a sheltered and predictable life until I left for college and even then it took me a few years to jump off of the bridge just because everyone was doing it.  In some ways I miss that innocent, Christmas tune carrying girl.  She was so convicted.  Undeniably committed.  Her priorities were perfectly aligned.

I’m not going to lie, year 26 was a doosey.  When I think back on where I was last year at this time and where I am today, it’s almost as if over the last 365 days I invaded and inhabited a new planet.  It’s been a year flooded with tough decisions, tight finances, pleasant surprises and breaking boundaries.  My hair is back blonde and I can add guacamole to the list of foods I like.  I traded the job that required working in collared shirts and pleated pants for a job that allows me to work in pajamas.  I’m still stubborn and insistently independent.

I have felt like a huge disappointment recently and especially over the last month.  It’s been a tough realization for someone who has always tried so hard to be perfect.  I’ve given my best but at times it hasn’t even been good.  Despite the fact that I’ve let people down by not meeting expectations or by not being present for family dinners, I am still in awe at the outpouring of love and support from this past weekend.

I felt incredibly blessed as I looked around the dinner table at the people that came together to celebrate the start of a new year and a new chapter.  They will never completely understand what it meant that they drove four hours to be there or that they brought a bottle of my favorite wine or that they baked 48 cupcakes or that they tied balloons to my mailbox or that they encouraged my Forever 21 addiction.  Their words, their hugs, their simple presence made me extremely excited for year 27 and beyond grateful for their place in my life.  So this is my thank you to the smiling faces that indulged in some Italian food with me on Friday, to the ones that sent their love from afar and to the couple that presented me with a birthday cake and song at their wedding.  I’m so excited about the next year and even more so that I’ll be sharing it with each of you.  You’ve saved me from myself.

Usually when I set my mind to something, I follow through until I can put a little check mark next to it.  I had talked about a girl’s trip to San Francisco with my dear friend Megan for years.  Megan moved to Dallas last December which means our time together is limited.  It may have taken us longer than expected to plan the getaway but last week we finally stopped talking about how nice it would be and actually experienced it.

We spent two days in Napa Valley and two days in San Fran. I was intoxicated the entire trip.  And no, not just because of the wine.  I was drunk off of constant laughing, shopping, over-indulgent dining, road tripping, sharing, city sounds, exploring and living in the moment.   We weren’t on anyone’s schedule except for our bladders and bellies.

I can’t tell you how much I needed the time away to recharge my batteries.  I needed the quality time with a close friend.  I needed to gossip and talk about celebrities as if I have their numbers on speed dial.  I needed to be with someone that would appreciate a three-story Forever 21 as much as me.  I needed to get dolled up for a night out on the town and feel the pavement beneath my heels.  I savored each and every moment as if I had never traveled or spent time with Megan before.

The trip was more than just a vacation.  It taught me valuable lessons such as:

1.  It’s okay to take some time off the clock and money out of the bank for me.

2.  Even if you think you have reservations, they can still be changed.  Your limo wine tour might not pick you up, your hotel may be overbooked and your flight home may be canceled.  Everything in life in subject to change and it’s the reaction that will either make or break you.

3.  When deciding to purchase six bottles of wine, it’s best to think about how to transport them before getting to the airport. Pulling luggage, carrying a laptop bag with a purse and toting a cardboard box full of vino is one heck of a workout.

4.  Dinner at a fancy restaurant is appealing but sharing a picnic lunch from a paper bag – with strangers – in the middle of a vineyard is much more satisfying.

5.  Catching a cab is like winning the lottery.  And in a world running off of credit cards, you should still carry cash for the cab.  This is especially true when the restaurant you think is within walking distance is actually at the top of Nob Hill and you’re in oh-so-stylish but oh-so-painful booties.  I blame this experience for Lesson Learned #6.

6.  I didn’t listen the last time I told myself “I’ll never drink that much again.” Let’s hope it’s finally sunk in.

Megan and I frequently stated during the duration of our trip that we were so happy we could cry.  I know, we’re such girls.  But it was true.  From the natural beauty of the surroundings to the surprise of finding bottled Cheerwine in a California winery, it was a trip that will permanently be locked inside my memory’s safe.  I definitely left a part of my heart in San Francisco but a much bigger part made its way to Texas with one of the best friends a gal could have.

He was a tall goofy drink of water.  He had hair that looked like it belonged on a Ken doll and a face that could grace the cover of Tiger Beat.  I silently giggled while I eavesdropped in on a three-way conversation where he admitted to my best friend he had a crush on me too.  He was a grade above me and completely out of my league.  Without hesitation, I ended a 8 month “relationship” with my lowly 7th grade boyfriend and began going steady with the closest thing to Jonathan Taylor Thomas that Hudson had ever seen.

Our courtship spanned across a whopping five weeks.  We lasted through a double date to the movies, a dozen non-french kisses, an exchange of Christmas presents and one awkward photo following a chorus concert.  Everything ended the exact same way it began – me eavesdropping in on a three-way conversation with my best friend.  As silly and insignificant as it seems looking back, it was my first bittersweet taste of rejection.

He wasn’t the last boy to reject me and compared to others, he merely cracked my heart instead of breaking it. In retrospect, it wasn’t actually him that left me feeling bruised but rather the act of rejecting my sweet southern self. I can’t claim to only be the victim. I’ve certainly done my share of rejecting. For a better part of my dating career I was a man-eater. I used and abused guys like they were toys and would replace them once I felt they were broken.  I was never comfortable with wearing the girlfriend title.  I was committed to not being committed.  I’ve literally been referred to as a devil woman.  It’s okay – my past behavior warrants the name-calling.  Considering 99% of my so-called exes are now married, I’d say the rejection, whether given or taken, was worth it. I don’t know the status of one anti-Facebook gent. If he still doesn’t have a Facebook profile, college degree, real job or driver’s license, I’d say he’s single. Seriously, what was I thinking?

The act of rejection continues to occur past relationships. For me, it comes now in the form of hearing “We’ve decided to hire another planner.” I could easily sink back into the same emotions just as I did when I heard “It’s not you, it’s me.”  The truth is, sifting through the whys and hows as many times as humanly possible will still never change the outcome.  There is something revealing through the beauty of rejection that challenges me to do more and be more. Not so much for those that rejected me but for those that accepted little ole’ me. It encourages me to be a better planner and friend to prove they made the right decision.

Just because we get rejected by a job, a client, a college, a friend, an opportunity or lover doesn’t mean we aren’t right for another one down the road. If the sum of rejections I’ve endured so far equates to the life I’m living now, it was worth it. And next time I don’t make the cut to be someone’s wedding planner, I’ll remind myself that it only means I’m making room for someone else. If they are anything like the lovelies I’m working with now, I’ll continue to be one blessed chick.  Despite the harassment I endured each time someone saw my reading materials, perhaps that shelf of “You’ve Been Dumped” self-help books I hoarded in 2005 really worked.