Goodbye 2013, Good Riddance

In a matter of hours, we'll be saying goodbye to 2013 and welcoming 2014 with open arms. Perhaps, some of us will be welcoming the new year with a slur of well wishes, sloppy kisses and glazed eyes. Whatever the case and however we welcome 2014, I gratefully wish 2013 adieu. Good riddance!

Okay, perhaps I shouldn't really be kicking 2013 in the ass and out the door, but in the grand scheme of things, 2013 was rough. (Kids, being in your 20s kind of sucks. Stay in college forever.) I had a rough time living in New Jersey and interning in NYC. I tried to comfort myself with the idea that things would get better and I was just paying my dues. In short, they didn't. I danced my way out of that office.

In the following months my luck in the employment realm involved no uptick whatsoever. Was it karma? Perhaps. (But Karma, when will you work with me?! Huh?) I'm still waiting, hoping and working for the tide to turn in that respect. My moment of triumph will come! (Hopefully? Maybe? Oh, I sure hope so.)

Illness also plagued the house of Cybill this year. Well, it sure hit me that's for sure. This year, I took my first trip to the Emergency Room as a patient. My ailment? The Mumps. Now, before you go running to pump hand sanitizer and calling up the CDC about an unvaccinated scoundrel running amok, I did get vaccinated. I also learned that vaccinations don't last forever. Okay, now you may go ahead and call the CDC while pumping hand sanitizer.

While getting sick with the Mumps is a dark cloud that will forever loom over my 2013, it had a silver lining (and I'm not talking about Bradley Cooper). Sitting in the ER, colored in all shades of hot mess (though showered, I decided to forgo running a brush or my fingers through my hair prior to my arrival) I met the man I told my Mom I would marry. The ER doctor working that Friday morning was handsome in every way a man could be handsome. However, he wasn't handsome in the typical definition of the word. I'll update all of you if the universe allows our paths to cross again...

Mumps and handsome doctor aside, this year, I also got to witness one of the greatest girls I'll ever meet get married. (Definitely a redeeming moment for 2013.) Colleen made a beautiful bride and her wedding to Jimmy was definitely a highlight. The anticipation leading up to the day was palpable by some, but the excitement and the fun was tangible by everyone in attendance! Talks of the next wedding is now ringing, though it'll be a few years until then.

All in all, 2013 wasn't too bad, but I'm still happy to send it off. I had my peaks and my valleys, like anyone would, but I'm looking forward to the clean slate brought in by the new year. I'm hoping for 2014 to be the year of triumphs! I hope for one moment of triumph followed by another, beginning with Florida State winning the BCS National Championship game!

With all of the hope I've swept under the 2014 rug and another year in my 20s, I hope I'm not setting myself up for a disappointment. (As a hopeless optimist, it's a daily occurrence.) Perhaps I'm not setting myself up. Perhaps this is what life is like in your 20s. I mean, Helen Mirren seems to agree with me.

I hope y'all have a marvelous time celebrating the promises of the New Year, because whether or not you're ready here comes 2014. May it be a great year year of triumphs! Now, if I can only find someone — aside from my cat — to kiss when the clock strikes midnight...perhaps, I should call the Doctor?

Sincerely,

Cybill

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Upon My Death, Follow These Rules

Okay, so this post may be a little morbid in thought, but let's take like PR pros and "spin it," I'm just being proactive. (Selfishly, I also what I micromanage my funeral.)

First things first. You're probably asking yourself, "Cybill, why would you write such a horrific blog post?" To that, I answer with: (One) I've recently envisioned myself in a horrific car accident. (Knock on wood.) I don't know how it ends, as I shut my eyes and shake away the feeling creeping down my spine, but in the event that it's death and this vision becomes reality, I'd like to know I was prepared. (Two) I recently finished Mindy Kaling's book, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns), in which she has a chapter specifying rules for her funeral. I thought I'd take a page — or in this case a chapter — and outline my own funeral. Trust me, I'm doing all of you a favor.

Second things second. As the majority of my friends and everyone in my family don't know about this blog, I'm leaving these rules to be found and executed by the friends in the know. (I hope you ladies accept your mission, otherwise, we're in the shits.)

Rules and Regulations
1. If you're crying, stop. I didn't live a life worthy of tears. No one was able to breathe easy because I lived my life. I'm not being self deprecating, it's a fact that I have accepted. * However, tears are acceptable in private quarters.

2. Food must be present, preferably food that I particularly enjoyed, so don't skimp on the desserts and baked goods. An array of breakfast foods is completely acceptable and I wouldn't mind if my funeral is to be catered by Chick-fil-A.

3. Black attire is not necessary. While it is the historic color of mourning, I don't require you purchase and/wear black. I do, however, require you to be comfortable. It's miserable enough that I'm no longer there, I don't want to add to that burden. **

4. Multiple flower arrangements need not be present. One simple floral arrangement consisting of lavender roses and white hydrangeas will be plenty. I would have enjoyed flowers when I was alive, so y'all missed your chance there.

5. Music that invokes the desire to dance shall be the only music played. Think songs along the lines of Manfred Mann's Do Wah Diddy. I also encourage dancing. I want people who aren't invited to my funeral to wish they were, because it looks like an awesome party. Feel free to invite those people.

6. To the person(s) entrusted to delivery a eulogy, you better do a damn good job, I'll be listening. Please feel free to include humorous stories of my unparalleled wit and fiercely independent spirit. If you can't think of any examples to portray those characteristics, make them up, but make them believable or complete and utter crap that people won't know whether to laugh or be offended. However, I don't want a roast. Roast me and I'll crawl out of my grave to haunt you.

7. The prayer cards to be distributed at my funeral must include the phrase, "Badass chick from the Moulin Rouge" below my name. ***

8. Ex-boyfriends shall be informed of my passing and invited, pending they are in utter grief and regret ending the fight to win back my heart. Invite anyone you deem fit, but make sure they don't celebrate my passing the way you'd celebrate passing an exam.

9. Permission to print and/or distribute these rules and regulations are permitted. Copy and paste them in emails, if you find it necessary. I completely understand, it's probably easier.

10. In the event I do live a fabulous life, get married and have children, these rules and regulations do not apply. Some of them might...check with my lawyer or next of kin or whatever.

Sincerely,

Cybill



_______________________________________________________________________
*In the event that I was able to live a life noteworthy of a movie or Nobel Prize, public tears are permitted. Furthermore, these rules and regulations will be considered null and void. Please see updated rules and regulations.
**While I do wish for you to be comfortable, I do suggest people (mostly you, Lamb) wear pants. A dress or a skirt will work as well.
***Please emphasis the sarcasm in this sentiment, as I am fully aware of the occupation held by the "chicks of the Moulin Rouge." 

Good ol' Sibling Rivalry

What is it about the holiday season that reminds you just how much your family can drive you to an extreme state of mental and emotional exhaustion? Yeah, sure, there's the Hallmark aspect, full of love, joy and merriment, but I'm going to call bull if you tell me it's like that all. the. time.

I grew up with an older brother. We were close in age, being only 14 months apart. Naturally, sibling rivalry developed, lines were drawn and there have been plenty of times I didn't hold back in throwing a punch. Finally, we parted ways and packed some miles between us when he moved to college. It was a blessing, seriously. Aside from not having to share a bathroom — Hallelujah! — the pressure to be "better"didn't seem so omnipresent. But now, when he comes home from his hot shot job in Chicago, my status as an unemployed college graduate, living at home is highlighted ever more in the eyes of my parents. God, help me now.

My brother has been home for less than 24 hours and I've already found the desire to stick a fork in my eye, jump off a bridge to a rocky death and hash it out on this blog. Oh, you think I'm kidding...I'm not, that's why I'm on here.

As this holiday season drags on, I can only imagine where my angst will take me. The Christmas party slated for tomorrow is already marked with a red flag as I brace myself for the question I've grown to hate, "What are you doing now," — or any other variation. The sassy side of me will answer, "Just dickin' around," or "Nothing. I'm freeloading," but whether or not that side will attend, is a fate yet unknown. It'll also be a hard fight to keep her from surfacing as I get sassier with increased frustration.

So, call me bitter, call me a Grinch, call me someone who is sick of the comparisons, because I'm over it. I may not have a job (yet) and I sure as heck don't have a retirement plan, but I can do some pretty damn amazing things and I think I'm a pretty kickass person, regardless of your opinions or bank statement.

Sincerely,

Cybill

Bite Me

Disregarding the fact that it's the holiday season and joy should be the default emotion, I'm sulking and I don't care what you really think.

Chalk it up to whatever reason you can muster, but facts are facts and some things in life just suck. Finding out you have a flat tire when you need to get somewhere can be an example. Folding laundry is another. We all have them. Our "hate" list. Whether or not your list includes people is a different story, and my list isn't of that sort.

In efforts for full disclosure, I'm particularly peeved in regard to the job hunt. The job hunt is an unfortunate fact of life. You need money — if you boil things down to logistics, maybe you can get by without it — and you need a job to earn money. Landing a job usually requires applying to jobs. All facts understood. However, it doesn't make the process any less unpleasant.

Let me map out my thought process for you.

I am the type to research an agency, company or what have you, prior to sending an application. Research is a must, as you want to make sure you "click." As I was structured to be optimistic — a blessing and a curse — I find myself excited about joining a team. However, that isn't always the case.

After crafting an application consisting of a resume and doting cover letter, I wait. And wait. And wait. As cruel reality would have it, I don't here back. Yes, there is the standard, "Thank you for your application. We will review it carefully and contact you if you meet our qualifications," reply. There is also nothing. No confirmation. No salute to your efforts. No recognition of existence. To that, I say, BITE ME!

I've discussed this predicament with friends on multiple occasions. The feelings of frustration is present regardless of whether or not I hear anything, but which situation is worse? Receiving the "You're extremely talented, but we've selected another candidate that better suits our needs," email or nothing at all?

Whether or not you're asking me, I'm going to give you my opinion and I'll say, hearing nothing is a fate more cruel. On behalf of all applicants — specifically myself — we'd like some recognition of our efforts, despite how feeble you may consider our skills or attempts. Have some humanity...or some simple consideration for our time and efforts.

...okay, my disgruntled rant is over.

Sincerely,

Cybill

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New York, I Didn't Love You

Union Square Park | January 2013

With complete understanding that my feelings toward New York City may go against popular opinion, I have to state, New York, I didn't love you. Now, I'm not saying I hate you, because I definitely didn't hate you. I just wasn't happy when I was with you...

I was living in New Jersey and interning with an agency in NYC earlier this year. From January to April, for five days a week, I would wake up before the winter sunrise, catch a bus at a New Jersey mall and shlep over to Port Authority. From Port Authority, I would navigate through the city's underground tunnels to catch the N, Q or R train which dropped me off at the Union Square stop, that I was convinced was soaked with urine — yes, it smells that bad. Often arriving an hour before my office opened and an hour and a half before my supervisor reported to work, I'd hide away in a corner of the closest Pret, Starbucks or Panera to avoid the bitter cold. I hated all most if it.

To add to all of this, my roommate in New Jersey (who also happened to be family) seemed unpleasant during most occasions. Though a hard worker, her work just never seemed to bring her joy and believe me when I say, misery loves company.

Washington Square Park | April 2013

Despite her moodiness, premature sunsets and mind numbing cold, the free moments I spent in the city  hanging out with fellow interns did redeem NYC to a certain extent. (New York, you better thank those moments and those people. They showed me how some people can love you.)

With my meager salary (something every staff member marveled and laughed at whenever mentioned), I would sometimes forgo the warmth of hanging out in Pret, Starbucks or Panera — I couldn't afford to buy a $4 coffee everyday, espeically since free coffee was in the office. Those mornings I spent braving the cold, I'd often stroll through the streets of the city. In the early hours of the day, the streets lacked the hustle, bustle, push and shove that was notorious when wide awake. It was nice and I enjoyed it (except that one morning when an older man shoved pass me to get off the train — I'm looking at you, you old grouch). It was very Audrey Heprbun a la Breakfast at Tiffany's and I was Holly Golightly, except without the black dress, questionable trips to Sing Sing and "occupation" that would bring the disappointment from my mother to a whole new level.

At first, I'd keep my walks between 23rd street and Union Square. I'd stroll west and then south toward the office building. Nothing crazy. Nothing extravagant. One morning, I even decided to brave the cold and sit on a park bench in Madison Square. I was desperate for anything resembling fresh air at that point. However, that lasted all about two minutes, before I briskly walked into an Au Bon Pain to warm my hands which I swear was starting to crack from the cold.

Rooftop View | April 2013

Those first mornings venturing around the city probably didn't favor a growth of warm feelings. However, they did provide a some good stories with my fellow interns, Catrina and Lesley. Those stories provided the laughter that helped us survive life in the trenches. More often that not, I'd worry the laughter from Catrina would lead to reprimands from our supervisors. I didn't realize my mishaps — like taking the ill-advised deep breath exiting a subway train — were so funny Catrina couldn't control her laughter, maybe they were so pathetic they became funny.

One of my favorite moments was the afternoon Catrina and I snuck up to the roof of the office building, disregarding any and every sign that stated an alarm would ring. With the door ajar, we doubted the alarm even worked and our audacity rewarded us greatly. Not only were we able to get an amazing view of the city, we found a future lunch spot, void of any crowds, but busting at the seams with some well deserved "fresh air." That spot was perfect when the weather finally warmed up mid-April.

In retrospect, New York City, with it's early sunsets, bitter cold chill and stern-faced residents wasn't too bad. Would I say my feelings have changed, no, but I would go back to visit. Maybe my love or admiration for the city takes more than a few months...maybe I can learn to love it...maybe.

Sincerely,

Cybill 

Organic Development

Tuesday, I wrote about what I hope would come out of my blog and how I hope it would be delivered. I concluded with the fact that I really don't have a clear cut idea of any of it. There are bits and pieces of the puzzle that have found where they belong, but the big picture is yet to be completed.

Since then (and really, since the birth of this blog), I've muddled through the development. A part of me felt the burden of having to publish a post, regardless of whether or not I was happy with the content. Recently, I've come to realize that no such law or rule exist. It was simply an unrealistic and completely absurd pressure I placed on myself — an act not uncommon.

Armed with my "revelation," I vow to defend myself from the pressure of having to publish a post. I hope to post stories of things you may be interested in knowing and I'm excited to share. Those posts will develop organically (because I hear organic is all the rage) and be shared accordingly. Whether or not my posts will be consistent is a horse of a completely different color, but I hope to eventually find something resembling consistency. Ultimately, I guess time will tell.

Sincerely,

Cybill

{Picture Credit}

Tuning My Blogger Voice & Finding a Purpose

I've had this blog for almost two months. In that time, I've updated when I can and what I know. I've shared some stories of moments spent abroad, of things that run around in my mind and of course, news about college football. However, I still don't really know where I'm going with this blog.  I don't know where I want to go with this blog. I still don't really know what I want to accomplish with what I write and what I share with all of you.

I often weigh what stories from my past, moments in my present and hopes for my future, I should share with you readers. On one side of the scale, I'd like to keep a certain level of anonymity. I'm not about to air out my laundry — clean or otherwise. But on the other end of that scale, I know when it comes to a blog and blogging, a certain level of vulnerability and candid humor works. It lets you know I'm real and by no means do I have anything figured out.

Aside from the stories I share, I toy with the many ways to tell them. My voice, my blogging voice, my writing style and however you read these words, have a major impact on whether or not you think I'm a crap of a writer. Those opinions dictate whether you'll keep reading, whether you'll visit this page again or you'll decide to follow my blog.

At the end of the day and when we've reached the end of the road, I guess it doesn't really matter. I don't blog to gain followers. I don't think I blog to be reassured that I'm not a screw up in life. I blog in hopes that someone may feel that it's okay not to have it together. And I blog in hopes that you enjoy what I've written. Whether that means you leave my blog laughing and thinking, "This girl Cybill is a hot mess if I ever saw one," or "Damn, I wish we were friends in real life," I hope you know I'm being honest and I'm as multifaceted and can be as verbose as it may appear.

I guess, I won't have all my questions answered today and this puzzle remains unsolved. But, I'll keep on writing. I'll keep on blogging. I'll keep being a little sassy and sarcastic with a side of encouraging and endearing (at least that's what I hope y'all are getting from this). In time, maybe I'll have things figured out...then again, maybe I won't.

Sincerely,

Cybill

{Photo Credit}

Thanksgiving & College Football

Thanksgiving has come in gone, December is officially in full swing and we just had a crazy weekend of college football. In short, Alabama no longer stands on top. That spot now belongs to Florida State (holla!).

I hope you and your family had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday! Whether you chowed down on turkey, turducken or filled up on stuffing and cranberry sauce, I hope the feeling of satisfaction from a meal was nothing compared to the gratitude for what you have.

As for me, my family and I celebrated Thanksgiving evening and the following days in Orlando. My brother arrived (surprisingly on time) from Chicago Wednesday evening, so my family of four was reunited once more. The next day — Thanksgiving — my Mom had to work (the pains of a career in the medical field) so we celebrated when she got home. After our meal, we jetted to Orlando. Orlando has some pretty awesome outlets (just in case your were wondering) and the rest of the holiday weekend including surviving the crowds (and some of cold) around some of those outlets.

However, the craziest thing to go down this weekend was of course, college football! Do y'all keep track of the madness (not to be confused with March Madness — that's basketball)? Oh my goodness, what a weekend! Rivalry weekend is always fun and this one definitely lived up. While my Seminoles may have had a rough start, they were able to get in shape and come out with a victory over the Gators. Ohio State and Michigan took it the fourth quarter, but no ending could compare to the Iron Bowl, Alabama at Auburn.

Before I continue, I should state that I have no affiliation with Alabama or Auburn. However, one of my closest friends, Colleen, would probably rank Auburn as her number two favorite team. Our mutual friend, Kristen, is an Auburn graduate. With that, I guess you can conclude that I'd side with Auburn. You can probably conclude that I didn't mind an Auburn win, especially since it'd mean my Seminoles would sit atop the rankings! And they are sitting very nicely at #1!

Some may say it isn't something to write home about. It may also feel like birthdays. You know, when you're a year older and people ask if you feel any different, but you don't... Well, I don't know about you, but #1 sure feels better than #2.

Before I say adieu, I leave you with a story...

With Carling, Liz, Kallie, Gabby & Colleen | April 2012

"'twas the night after Auburn and all through the land, not a 'Roll Tide' was uttered, by a Crimson Tide fan. — They used to be boisterous, they used to be loud, they used to be boastful, and cocky and proud. — But they lost all their swagger, they lost all their swing. For one little second had changed everything. — The score, it was even. The clock had run dry. When Nicholas Saban then started to cry. — He demanded a second be put on the clock. The worse that could happen? A miss or a block. — But fate it is fickle, and greed has a price, and what happened next just wasn't too nice. — The previous kicks, wide left and wide right. So he put in a rookie, 'twas not very bright. – The kick was a boomer of 56 yards, but the extra yard needed was not in the cards. — And back in the end zone, a lone Tiger stood. He caught that ol' football, he caught it real good. – He started to run, he heard the cheers grow. The Crimson Tide offense? Too fat and too slow. – One hundred and nine, he ran for the score. If need if could have run one hundred more. — The crowed it erupted while storming the field. The Crimson Tide's season was settled and sealed. — A cry of 'War Eagle' soon echoed the plain. Nick Saban's expressions was one of pure pain. — And up in Ohio they shouted "Go Bucks!" for it gave hope to all, well except for the Ducks. — And in Tuscaloosa you could hear a pin drop. And in Tallahassee the Tomahawk chop. — For the night after Auburn, the Tide does not roll. The new boss in town wears Garnet and Gold."

Sincerely,

Cybill