past future sense

Since joining the public relations world and no longer (at the moment anyway) acting as a journalist, I've noticed that I'm not the only one with a shy streak handing publicity for an organization. In fact, most of the PR professionals I encounter, and the ones I seem to like the most, are as equally introverted as extroverted.
Motto: "Think Before You Speak"
Oh, the business ideas you can come up with before sunrise.

So I've been up for 5 hours this morning and it's not even 9 a.m. Thankfully I'm off work for the rest of the day. Back to bed? Nah.
Carpe Diem!

OH! Excuse this girly, superficial moment:
My mom called after watching this clip and said her co-workers wanted to know 1) how I got my hair so shiny and 2) where I got my shoes..?

1) Thanks ladies! My hair looks a hot mess most of the time because I hate fooling with it, so I'll take the compliment. I use Bedhead Control Freak (how apropos) Shampoo and no conditioner because my scalp is naturally oily. Then I spray while damp with White Sands Thermal Spray all over and blow dry in sections with a round brush on high with a concentrator attachment. Doesn't take more than a few minutes or I wouldn't do it. Both of these products were recommended to me by my fabulous friend and hairdresser Jennifer Coghlan of Coghlan's in Laurel, Miss.

I have to document this moment. Physically, it's hellaciously hot July in South Mississippi. Metaphysically, it's a summer of massive change. Like finding myself back in a cocoon, when I didn't know I wasn't already a butterfly. Apparently I am overdue for new wings.
In light of all the change, I've been playing a lot this summer, maybe more than in the last few years combined. It has been clutch to lean on my oldest most trusted girlfriends and to rebuild a new circle too. If not for all these strong, passionate women in my life, starting with my incredible momma, I might have just settled for a summer slump. Instead, we've all been making infamous memories and writing chapters of our best seller.

With all the action, I've been more than a little distracted from my original vision for this summer, which was to take on the project that I was meant to tackle while living in Hattiesburg. And by meant to, I mean God tattooed it on my spine. If I've learned anything this summer, it's not to count your chickens early--a valuable lesson for a chronic planner like me. But if you're in my circle, you know what's been simmering at the back of my mind since last year, and thanks to you, I'm about to crank it to a boil. It's true, you can't stand and stare at the water waiting for the first sign of a bubble. You have to walk away from it, and by the time you've started to forget your hunger, you'll hear the splatter of hot water hitting the stovetop. And by then, you can't ignore it.

This is that moment, the first splash that sends you running, and instantly reminds you of your gameplan that probably needs tweaking. It's urgent and panicked. And then all your experiences that have shaped you for this moment start to kick in and before you know it, you're cooking like the pro you were meant to be. It's not even about the meal anymore.

All this to say, it's finally going to happen and I'm not giving myself a way out. But since a credits page won't be in order yet, I want to pay tribute to all the folks who have pushed, pulled and held me up the last 3 months, some much much longer.

Thelma Lee, my rock, my angel and the woman I hope to be one day. Thank God we share blood
My girls Rosie & Courtney, who keep it moving and never once judged my tears
Brook, my favorite bedmate who is learning all these lessons with me
Adam & Jenn, who are never afraid to call me out but always have my back
Robyn & Jhoesel, my north and my south who always pick up the phone
Steph, my voice of sharp reason
April, my oldest bestie who knows me at best and worst and loves me anyway

If I could bottle you all and keep you around my neck I would. Thanks for hanging around.
The best is yet to come

I've been dark from this blog for what, a month and a half?
Well a lot has happened. Past is past, but here's the future:
- Expanding real estate presence
- Hosting a couple small business workshops for HHDA  (my day job) 
- Learning Spanish
- Going back to school in the fall to prepare for starting MBA program next spring
- Still not over the possibility of starting the magazine
- Working on a book, finally! 

I say possibility re: the magazine because I know exactly how much work it is and I'm terrified. Reality is, I know this is going to happen. It's in my blood and I can't stop myself if I tried.

 Every young pro can probably relate to this HBR article: "The Busyness Trap"...

"You don't have to go from manically busy to a state of Buddha-like contemplation, nor should you. As a driven, ambitious professional, you're not going to be happy or productive if you aren't engaged in meaningful work tasks. The goal here is to escape the busyness trap, and you can do so if you just learn to manage the behaviors that make you frantic rather than eliminate them."

 Personally, I find myself feeling like I must multi-task at all-times thereby giving no one effort my complete attention. And, duh, everything suffers a little as a result.

How do you force yourself to slow down when that just feels plain unnatural?

I recent read a blurb that a woman and her best friend give each other "permission" instead of gifts for special occasions. Permission to do nothing for a whole weekend. Permission to say no (to anything) twice in one week. Permission to make a big purchase. Sounds kinda desperate, but let's face it, I'm not gonna give myself permission to do these things. I just do them and feel guilt later that nullifies the whole thing. And no I'm not Catholic. Sometimes you just need a little accountability, even if the goal is to be less productive than usual. Permission sounds like a great gift to me. That and a double bottle of cab.

My 26th birthday is coming up next week. So who's gonna give me permission?

Given my new lease on life--that is, a freer schedule and more peace of mind than I've had since before my 20's (read: smaller income), it's time to tighten up my finances. Numbers are not my strong point, never have been or will be. And money, forget it. I wish we'd revert to the barter system, or shells. I can collect some shells son!

Last month, I wrapped teaching "How to start your own business" at one of the local community colleges. (Don't ask for my credentials, apparently none are required.) It was an 8-week course that introduced me to some wonderful characters, each with a classic American dream. One of my more interactive students was a woman with excellent math skills who wanted to start her own bookkeeping business. One of her goals was to offer courses to individuals on how to keep their own home/personal finances, and I picked up a few tips from her.

On her recommendation, I kept ALL of my receipts from April. Serious task for a chronic spender like myself. Now that May is almost over, I finally got motivated to compile all my documented spending into a spreadsheet to see what I could learn, where I can cut, etc. Ah, elusive spreadsheet formulas how I loathe thee! The sum of my expenses subtracted from my income = #$%^&*!

So here's what I learned...

Total # of recorded purchases:  74 (2.5+ per day!)
Biggest expense category:   Fuel (due to former commute) @ $570+
Followed by:  Dining out @ nearly $400
Rent/Utilities/Cable bill:  < $350 (God bless the South!)
Groceries:  > $200
-----------------
Overall Synopsis: Ouch!? Spending happens almost daily, with more spending on Tuesday, Thursday and Friday than any other day of the week. On days when I started out with two purchases, 90% of the time, I made at least another two purchases by the end of the day. My biggest spending days coincide with special occasions that require eating out more than once and gas or coffee fill-ups. When I use my debit card, a night that would otherwise cost $20 magically ends up costing $40.

So, to set myself on the right financial path or something, here are some new wallet rules:

1) Leave it at home 3 days out of the week - Working as close to my home as I do, there is no excuse for eating out at lunch time when I can zip home for a meal that costs less than $3.  

2) Take cash when going out and cap it at something reasonable.  

3) Schedule monthly shopping days to reduce impulse buys. TJ Maxx is my guilty pleasure, and I always end up spending $50-100 there thinking I got a great deal when really I didn't need that many throw pillows and bottles of extra virgin olive oil to begin with. The shame! Putting the shopping trip on the calendar reigns in spending and gives me a reward to look forward to. 

4) Be more proactive about deal-hunting. (Ex.: My mom called me last week to let me know that Backyard Burger is giving away a free burger when you join their email list. Takes just a few seconds and no gimmicks, promise. Davis and I picked up our free burgers today guilt-free.)  

5) Spend more on groceries and less on dining out. If I splurge a little at the grocery on that $7 polenta, it will amount to a dozen side dishes costing less than $.60 a piece. So worth it.   

Two extra pointers that have already served me well:
* Always tip 20% regardless. There is a service industry karma, and it will come back to you, probably in the form of a $10 bill in your dirty jeans.
* Recycling options are out there. I pay $13/mo for my recyclables to be picked up weekly. It has reduced my trash output dramatically and extended the life of each garbage bag. Probably won't break even financially on that one, but it's one bill I that actually gives back to me in a meaningful, circle of life kinda way.

My opening song is an homage to my financial woes and to the last Grupo Fanstasma show at the Thirsty Hippo that was May 14. Serious sweat. Twas a DGT y'all.

Above:
- Console table (Pier1), originally $200 purchased on sale as a gift so technically free
- TV stand (location & price unknown), a gift
- Round mirror (TJMaxx), $20
- Four-drawer chest (antique), $60
- Egyptian art work and 2 Japanese prints (The Orange Peel), $14-20 each
- Woven folding screen and white lamp (The Emporium), $40 & $24 respectively
Previous photo:
- Eurosham pillow case (Anthropologie), $14 on sale
- Drapes (TJMaxx), $60 total for 2 sets of 2 panels each

That's way more than I like to spend for curtains, but with our hot summers, they will pay for themselves in energy bill savings.

And yes, I do get an unusual amount of furniture as gifts, mostly from my sweet mother. She finds out what I am missing, then finds it on sale and calls to let me know it's a gift from her to celebrate fill-in-the-blank significant event, but "don't tell Dad." She works hard to earn her money, and it amazes me how happy it makes her to spend it on her family, especially in a savvy, frugal way. Because of her, I am a master deal-hunter in training, and I hope to be as generous as she one day.

One last thing: the television and stand will probably have to go all together. I never watch it. I keep telling myself I'll watch work out vids in here and get super fit or something like that, but that definitely hasn't happened.

Each night when I finally give in to getting ready for bed, I feel like I'm surrendering the battle in an ongoing war against unconsciousness.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

As a chronic journaler, important life landmarks are always a conundrum. Too much going on and too little time to document it.

Thursday was my final day of work as the director of a non-profit organization I helped start three years ago to revitalize historic downtown Laurel, Miss. On paper, three years doesn't seem that long--it's not even a college career. But I gave that position my all, sometimes as the cost of my happiness, and certainly my health and sanity. Overall, the experience was terribly rewarding. I've been looking forward to my final day for some time now because of what it symbolizes for me: the close of a long, arduous chapter in my life that will shape me forever.

I got a chance to have one last lunch with a few of my favorite folks and returned to my office to find this beautiful arrangement from my former boss Eric Roberts.


As I made my last ever 45-minute commute home, scenes from the past three years began to play out in my head like an old slideshow. And the bittersweetness that comes with any major life change suddenly hit me.


I'll be leaving behind a lot in that town--some great friends, two incredibly supportive former bosses, excellent resources, and who knows exactly what else. Of course, the friends I will be taking with me, but professionally,  I'll be starting over.

I'm thrilled to start my new position working for another revitalization program this time in the town I now live in and have loved for the past 9 years. My first day is Tuesday. I expected to be at least a little nervous about the transition, but honestly it feels like the most natural move ever.

I consider this 4-day weekend of unemployment my last hurrah to do whatever I feel like, gosh! So what did I do? Friday I had a spa appointment at Eden followed by a 4-hour calzone and pizza lunch with my former office neighbor and dear friend Bill Holloway. How very Italian of us. Of course, I couldn't miss Live at Five, one of the last concerts in the spring series downtown. Stayed out a little too late that night, which made it tough to get up, but did not stop Davis and I from tackling a massive two-room paint job at the apartment. We worked from 8 a.m. to well after 5 p.m. With some serious elbow grease, my dressing room/office improvement project is that much closer to completion. 

With so much productivity yesterday, I don't feel so bad about sitting around doing as little as possible today. I bet tomorrow I won't be so fortunate.

Look y'all, I know we're all supposed to take the news about the Thirsty Hippo closing in stride, but damn. I just shed a factual tear or two while sending out what I know will be my last Facebook invite to friends and strangers for a Grupo Fanstasma show. I just don't know Hattiesburg without that place. Say what you will about it, that tight set of walls is what brought real music to this city.

When I was 17, long before Facebook was a twinkle in Zuckerberg's eye, I got my first invite to the Hippo from my English 101 prof, Markeda Wade. Devastatingly sharp woman whom I still have a crush on to this day. She scribbled a note at the bottom of my essay covering the topic of sobriety (oh, the irony folks): "I'd like to buy you a drink at the Hippo one day."

Later that semester while toting my virgin Nikon SLR around downtown Hattiesburg, I ran into a posse of Latin dudes at the bagel shop before it was Southbound who told me to check out their band that night at the Hippo: "We'll put you on the guest list."
That ended up being Grupo Fantasma in its original lineup, before their Grammy award. Before the London tour with Prince himself. Yes, that Prince.

One of many Hippo nights with bestie Robyn

A couple years later, I arranged for my friends Colour Revolt to come play their first Hattiesburg show at the Hippo, tacking on a local band to bring the crowd. Little did I know that the local band, Cottage Industry, employed a skillful drummer I'd eventually get to know pretty dang well, a.k.a. my present day better half.

One Wednesday night a small group of us went bar hopping with the mission of ending up at the Hippo's open mic ritual and actually performing, not a shred of talent amongst us. Naturally, as you do when you lack skills, we read poetry. A smattering of unrelated quotes and senseless jokes from the course of the night handwritten on a paper napkin. My roommate and I were elected as the narrators. I will never forget addressing the bar owner directly as he adjusted the mic to fit our short stature: "So you're kind of an asshole right?"
He agreed. Respect.

Davis and I began our relationship with a random, epic night that started at the Hippo. A Griffenz show to be precise. If you don't know the Griffenz sound, I sweat you just a little, but I sweat them harder for not being a band anymore. Four years later, my drummer and I are still together, and it's rare we don't take a trip down that little alley on Main Street at least once a month. Over the course of his music career he's been in half a dozen bands, performed countless shows there and been pelted with plenty of coasters by Brad, one of the Hippo owners. I'm told this is a sign of affection.

Many other slightly blurry and yet crystal clear nights have been had there, and I know I'm not alone in this. It has little to do with the beer buzz, and everything to do with the combination of close quarters, warm rainbow lights and excellent EQ-ing by the beloved mgmt. I will even miss the bathroom graffiti, specific familiar insults that have long been edited off the walls.

So, despite promises of a brighter future for my dear bar, I can't help but dwell on the past as the last month in Hippo history is close upon us. Like upbeat music at a funeral, the whole experience will be met by me with seriously mixed emotions. And barring being run over by a bus, I aim to be at every last show. Thank God I get paid tomorrow, however, my employers may as well have made the check out directly to The Thirsty Hippo (R.I.P.) because that's where my hard earned dollars will gladly go.

I'm so sold.

Yesterday morning a I loaded up and made a drive I could handle in my sleep to the beautiful countryside where my father was raised and where I spent all my summers growing up. My best friend calls it my family's village, which makes it sound like there are so many of us when really there are only 10 when we all show up. Nine now that my grandmother has passed.

Pinola, Miss. is a tiny town that used to have a post office and a gas station, but the gas station closed so there is little besides wide open spaces, a few houses and the old school.

My dad's side of the family lives essentially on one street surrounded by miles of pines and bordered by a river. He grew up on a farm with every manner of livestock. He was the first in his family to get a college degree, and then a masters. I'm proud of him for that, and I know my grandmother was too. After school he moved mom and I to suburbia outside of the capital. Only my closest friends know that I grew up half city slicker, half barefoot, horse riding country girl. Every summer and most weekends, I chased my boy cousins with sticks through the woods, sank in quick mud, started fires, raced to put out fires, and never once reacted to poison ivy. I had the childhood that 90s movies are made of.

This is the place I love coming home to. The entire family gathers as often as our schedules allow, cook all morning, stuff our faces silly, sit around and 'visit' as is the Mississippi way, then fall comatose to tryptophan and take a collective nap where we land. It's a beautiful thing.

I'm a little overcome at the moment. There has been a local blog link floating on Facebook that I've been trying to read for several days, but it wouldn't load for me until just a few moments ago. What I knew is that a soldier who died in action in Afghanistan was brought home to rest this past Saturday in his hometown of Brandon, Miss., which happens to be my own.



When I played the video on the link, it suddenly hit me like an anvil that Sgt. Jason Rogers is someone I once met. Several years ago I dated a guy from Pearl, Miss. He would often tell me about his best friend Jason who was a marine stationed overseas. I finally had the chance meet him one year over the holidays while Jason was home, almost near the end of a very long tour. I was nervous about the introduction because he was so important to Chris.
We hung out at Jason's home, and I met some of his family. Then we drove to a nightclub in Jackson that has changed names so many times, I couldn't tell you what it was called at the time. I wasn't 21, but I did have an id on me that I had borrowed from a friend for a recent trip to SXSW.
I was called on it by the bouncer and not allowed in. We were with several people, but I didn't have my own vehicle. Chris would have to take me home, but I didn't want to ruin this chance for he and Jason to spend time together. I called my best friend and asked him to pick me up from the club so Chris and Jason could stay. That's the only time I can recall seeing Jason, although I'm sure there were a couple others.

Chris later told me that Jason had chosen to go back overseas to continue fighting, that he wouldn't be finished when this tour was over. To be honest, I couldn't comprehend it at the time.
Now it's clear to me that Jason was prepared to die for what he believed in and that's exactly what he did.

I'm proud that this marine was from Brandon, Miss., and that the community came out to pay their respect, without the cheap interruption of Westboro Baptist Church's antics. I've had my run-ins with that group, but that's for another blog post. The fact that they were kept out shows a turning of the tides in the battle against hate acts. Jason Roger's loved ones can take comfort in knowing that his life was not in vain, and his death certainly wasn't either.

I am so glad I'm off today. Yesterday was hellacious. Thank God for our intern. The deadline for Main Street Award nominations is postmarked today. We finished 72 pages miraculously at 6:15 p.m. yesterday. Much crawfish and beer were consumed. Also, while I'm out, 20 new Sugar Maple trees will be planted on the main street in downtown today.
That should make an impact. Thanks to Bill Holloway for wrapping up this project the past couple days while it's been so crazy in my office. It's the final conclusion (hopefully) of a streetscape beautification effort we've been working on since at least January. As an added bonus, we received a grant to replace 16 street lamp bulbs with more energy-efficient alternatives by May 30. Downtown Laurel will be greener and greener overnight.

This afternoon I'm showing some north Mississippi clients several homes. I love working with first-time buyers and making sure they get the best deal possible. In the mean time I'll be juggling these books:

Every night before bed, I find myself trying to pack in about a dozen activities, most of them online. What I really want to do is crack open my library book and escape, but instead I usually wear myself out from chasing web rabbits and accomplish nothing. Then I crash.

There's obviously such a thing as too connected.

Earlier tonight, the internet was down. That forced me to get some things done without distraction. What would normally take a few hours was completed in just one.

I'd like to invent a peace and quiet button that would automatically shut down all technology within a 500 ft radius for at least an hour at a time. It wouldn't sell very well but my life would be much more balanced.

(Nancy Drew just couldn't resist getting in the pic)

He mentioned that he was selling all of the items. I made him an offer for $60. Sold! I picked it up on Monday with Adam's help, and there we have it, an incubator for all my folded clothing items that seem to be reproducing in the dark. It's a huge improvement to my office/dressing room situation. The drawers are surprisingly deep, and after putting almost everything away, I still haven't filled it. An excuse to go shopping?

Something unexpected happened this morning. On a whim, I attended the 9 a.m. city council meeting, partly because it will be the last one before I wrap up my current job (in 6 days!!) and also because I wanted to inform the council members that we received a grant to purchase more energy efficient street lamp bulbs for the main street through historic downtown.
While I waited for a chance to speak, the councilman whose ward is occupied by downtown said some very kind words about me and the program I've been administering for the past three years, then he asked the room to join him in applauding me.
I got choked up! And that never happens over something in real life, only finales of my favorite shows or those ASPCA commercials with Sarah McLachlan.
No matter how exasperated I have gotten with that small town, Laurel has always managed to be worth it. Three years of sweat and tears aren't regained with a few seconds of applause, but it was certainly a kind gesture that I'll remember fondly.

Without my current, fading position, I would never have been given a shot at the new job. I'm grateful for all the steps it has taken to form this dance, even if the rhythm is a little erratic.

It's a self-proclaimed fact that I decent taste. For the most part.
However, when it comes to choosing a desk, my track record is shoddy--plain embarrassing really. You'd think, as a writer, I'd be rather particular. Problem is, I fall faster for a desk than a school girl for Mr. Turner from Boy Meets World. With no evaluation whatsoever, I've consistently picked my last three desks haphazardly, completely based on my mood in the moment I was looking, or in some cases not looking, for a new writing surface.


And so it goes, I have ended up with this 90s contemporary glass and metal concoction with no storage whatsoever. I'm sure my genius train of thought was something like: "ooh, I can write to-do lists on the surface like it's a dry erase board." Because I don't have enough places to put my incessant to-do lists. Riiiight. At least it was free. This desk was tucked in storage at an Antique Mall in the downtown where I work, and they were dying to get rid of it. I am such a Sucker.

As part of the office/dressing room makeover, I wanted to add some functionality to my work surface, since I won't be buying a new desk anytime soon. Fortunately, Office Depot had sale on desktop organizers, so I picked up two magazine files and two mail trays for a total of $12. The price overruled that they are girlier than my taste.

I am officially the worst blogger ever. Maybe you'll understand why when you see this photo of my soon-to-be home office. It's the second bedroom in my 1950's apartment that I've been using as a closet/dressing room and quasi office. (And when I say 1950's, I mean the complex was built then, not that I have decorated it adorably with influence from that time period. Puh-lease.)

The biggest issue with this office is that I'm never motivated to go in there and do work. I always end up in the living room so Davis and I can chat while I write. Or on days when the weather is as lovely as today, I'll set up shop on our tiny front porch, with Nancy Drew looking out the window over my shoulder.

The last couple of weeks have been particularly tumultuous, with the public announcement of my job change and starting work (ever so slowly) on my new side business, not to mention life's usual distractions.
So, please pardon my mess, but under this dreadful pile of clothing and paperwork is a room with some real productivity potential. I am posting it for all the world to judge as motivation to redesign the space into something worth showing off. Ahh, help!

(Excuse the tilted appearance and blur--had to seam 5 photos together using Dermandar.)

Since taking those pics this morning, I have put up all the clothing where it needs to go.
Then I made a list of all the functions that this room needs to achieve.

Now I'm basically Googling creative solutions to all these needs and seeing how all the pieces can fit together in this 10' 9" x 12' 7" space.
Next time, I'll draw out my plans and hopefully by early May, I'll have a brand new room. Any suggestions on paint color?

Oh, I almost forgot! The secret from previous posts is that I got a new job, working finally in the city where I live. I will be able to bike to work!

Is for the birds.
In regards to my little secret- every time someone unexpected calls me I panic, thinking my cover is blown. I think I'm pretty tense. Just a few more days.

In other news one of my best friends from college gets hitched in Nashville this weekend. It will be a reunion straight out of 2005. And that leaves just a slim few of us who haven't tied the knot. I've been in a relationship for four years, but we're in no hurry. Almost everyone I know who's married is miserable and poor. Not really a selling point.

One of my dear friends turned 66 today! I don't usually hang out with senior citizens, but then again I work full-time in a retirement town. I was in a room full of people saying 50 is the new 40, and adjusting glasses on the bridge of their nose to take drunken photos. I'm pretty sure I'll act like that when I'm that age. I can only hope.

The words I have to express are not words. They are ancient blessings in a tongue I've never heard. They are colors, or something. Basically there are no words available to me.
Ok I'll try. Imagine the job you wanted in college before the real world cut you to shreds. Imagine busting balls to make the pieces fit so you could at least stay in the same field. Imagine having your named dragged in the dirt by haters who are bored and boring. Imagine feeling 40 years old before you turn 25.
Then imagine having not only a way out, and back into your youth, but a chance at that dream job.
I have never been so grateful for an opportunity. Today I got the answer to yesterday's lingering question, really a question I've been asking for months and honestly years now: Will I ever get to do what I love?
The answer came back today, and I quote "with resounding acclamation."
Soon I'll be able to spill the beans. And they will flow like a river.

Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life. I've always resented that statement. Even love is hard work. But if you do what you love, you will love to work. I had that once, and in one month, I'll have it again.

I'm beside myself. I'm some red bull commercial. I'll dream of flight tonight, I'm sure of it.

For the first 25 years, I was the hare. In my next 50, I'd like to be the tortoise.

I may not be very fast, but I have always been racing to an imaginary finish line. And the run itself has distracted me from asking the question, what exactly will I do when I get there? Let's be honest, I'm not 100 percent certain where there is either. I've just been going. And now I'd like to start slowing.
I'm the worst about making epic promises to myself and publishing them to at least 10 friends. There's a certain jinx too, we all know, with airing your plans before they hatch.
So without going into details, in the next 36 hours I'll know whether the dream I've been scheming for months and wishing for years will come true or not.

With bated breath,
- j