Today, I got the good coffee.

Today was payday so I was getting some groceries after work. Blissful in my newly-paid state, I gaily meandered up and down the aisles just like a really happy grocery shopper. I really do enjoy it. All the selection, the safe way club points, the idea of being able to put things I want into my basket and take it home with me and devour it all to myself at anytime I want, it’s just all a very happy experience for me. Sometimes I get adventurous; sometimes I like to take risks.

As I thought about the crazy week I had coming up, I found myself being dragged to the coffee aisle by some sort of unstoppable force meant to keep my sanity in check. Must stock up on coffee, my conscious told me.

Smelling the fresh grounds only heightened the whole experience. I stood there deeply observing all the different kinds of coffee...flavoured, instant, Nabob, Folgers. It was like I was actually contemplating which kind I wanted, wait for it, wait for it; there it is...the no name kind!

My heart sank a little as I reached for the stodgy and budget friendly coffee.
As I stood there holding the no name brand coffee, I was approached by a cart that stood so awkwardly in front of me that I had no choice but to almost skip out of the way. That’s one demanding cart I thought. But we are in the coffee aisle, so perhaps they are just tired, a bit cranky. I can most certainly relate to this, so, I smiled politely at the man pushing the cart as he scurried by like an important man on a mission.

I looked over to see what the hell was so important. A mother and a young 20’s something daughter were picking left and right off the shelves so freely, and tossing them into the cart. The dad followed the mom and daughter as if groceries would get thrown at his head or something if the cart was not readily available. The cart was full. Full of really good stuff. The activia yogurt. Lots of Vitamin water and red bull. Why the fuck does the girl need red bull, she’s got her parents helping her grocery shop!

The mom was saying things like “Get whatever you need sweetheart” and “Are you sure that’s all you want honey?”. She was so loving and sweet. The daughter was tossing all the great stuff into her surely paid for cart of groceries, and the father and mother followed her and supported her with tons of love and attention.
I felt tears coming up from the very core of my stomach. I was so angry, so jealous. I looked down at my no name brand coffee, and half full basket of discount and no-name brand only groceries.

I choked back the tears, and through deep breathing I somehow managed to divert myself from a very public and ridiculous meltdown.

I put the no name coffee in my basket, and continued past the 3 of them, chin held high, no tears, proudly carrying my much smaller selection of groceries.
As I walked through the pasta section, I thought about how Miss.Charmed would never have to worry about discount groceries, no name coffee.
She’s never had to choose between groceries and gas.
She’s never had to make up stories to the person at the bank.
She’s never had that gut wrenching worry and uncertainty so many of us live with everyday.
How am I going to get by, what it will be like tomorrow, next month, next year, how am I going to make it and how the fuck am I supposed to live off my faith and who are the crack pots that told me that it would be enough, that it would be all I need!?
And is there no one out there that can tell me it’s all going to be okay without all that fear and pity in their eyes!?

Perhaps she will never have to ask herself these questions. But she will also never appreciate the things I do. She will never ever understand how wonderful the good coffee can be, because she’s never had to buy the bad coffee.
I was instantly calmed and aware as I realized that perhaps in some strange way everything happens for a reason, and its all a blessing in disguise, because I know that every little moment in life is something to be so thankful for.

I walked out of the grocery store, smiling and so grateful.
Today, I got the good coffee.

A late night dose of desultory

There is a certain lifestyle, and atmosphere that is perceived in our society of wedding planners, and the 'oh so glamorous' life that comes with this very sexy, very trendy career. They strut their stuff around on reality TV, controlling, ‘coordinating’ everything including an over bearing bitch of a bride that reacts just as intensely to the slightly off-hue of the lilac sashes as one might react to the Iranian pilgrims being killed in Iraq.

This wedding planner, apparently, has super human powers. And the poor bride, apparently has developed a mental disorder that will soon lead to a WW3 style melt down. In turn, it leaves oh so loyal bridesmaids smiling politely through their thoughts of, “How did this crack-pot land a husband and I can’t go on a date that doesn’t result in me running the other way wondering why the hell I started dating again in the first place’. That alongside the wedding planner cursing the effin bimbo that somehow used her wedding planner super powers to mind-fuck you into actually believing that this job was, glamorous.

Its 10:30 at night, and for a wedding planner, this is a really good time to really dig into the nitty gritty of her O.C.D. And for myself, fundraiser by day, and wedding planner by night, 1:30am would also be a great time to work on the wedding business. I’m exhausted. I’ve had meetings every night this week, and my days are a by-product of the production schedule of my life. It’s a detailed timeline of tasks and to-do’s where fun is scheduled, and seemingly ridiculous tasks that one would normally sub consciously do..they go in there as well. My excel template actually remembers the phrases “6PM meeting in Kensington”, and “Meet with caterers”...because it’s a staple in my production schedule of life.

My excel spreadsheet is bored of the timeline that is my life.
That’s really fantastic.

What keeps me going then? What is the motivation and drive behind this deceiving, lonely and mis-understood career choice? Perhaps the freedom of choosing your own hours? Well, these days, the production schedule chooses my hours, so really you can conclude that your clients choose your hours. Another woman’s need to schedule a wine tasting on a Friday night, determines, or solidifies my lack of a social life. Or what is it?

I should really tell you the answer to this on the day of my next wedding, during the dance, when I’ve sat down for the first time in 14 hours, and seen clearly for the first time in real life, the product of the late nights, the biting your tongue, the polite and smiley banter, the justifying everything, the twittering late at night, just because you know other wedding planners are up that late, looking for someone who understands. It’s lonely, and I’m just tired.

But really, I know it’s worth it, I might not understand why or how most days, but that nagging voice, and a very inspiring blog of a miss Melanie Jones, keeps reminding me, that you just don’t give up, you just don’t ever stop when you really want something.

Following your dreams would not have the same impact if it we’re easy. There’s something to be said about having to fight really really hard for something, and having to really visualize what life will be like when you’ve finally ‘made it’. Whatever ‘making it’ is. The Secret would kick my ass right now, for not truly understanding that I have already made it. Life’s a journey, and part of following your dreams is understanding that everything you have right now, is something to be grateful for.
This blog started out as a rant about how Reality TV has completely shattered any real meaning behind the wedding, with a valentines-day-esque attachment to publicity and marketing gimmicks.
Now I’m apparently ending with a bit of The Secret Inspiration. Everything you see in your life you created with your thoughts. What did Ghandi say...be the change you want to see in the world...

Yep, quoting Ghandi..if that doesn’t scream bed-time I don’t know what does.

Apologies for the random a.d.d and tired plutherer of material above.
L