I'm Getting Married!

Yes, it's true. I'm officially of the Market.

As of April 4th, I am an engaged woman. Zachary swept me off my feet, and I'm not sure when I'll have them firmly planted on the ground again.

I know it's nearly February (YIKES!) and we're getting married in May (holy cow...so close!) but I've been really busy with, well, life, and planning this wedding!

First, weddings are expensive y'all. And I've wanted to pull the plug and do a courthouse ceremony more than once during this process, but Zack continues to squash my fears by telling me "it's not a big deal" and "I mean, we'll have everyone together so it'll be great" and then I go full force into my wedding crafts (again).

Second, life tends to speed up when you've got a huge thing you're planning. I feel like I blinked, and it was Christmas. And now January is nearly over! If time could slow down for just a second, that would be amazing. I swear, I'm taking in as much as I can, with how fast this is flying by.

Now, before you get any further, know that I couldn't be happier that I'm marrying my best friend. I am so in love with this man, you have no idea. I can't wait until we have babies, and get old and wrinkly together with our seven dogs and four grandchildren. But, something has really been weighing on my mind about this whole marriage thing. What if I don't want to change my name?

I know it's traditional to take the man's last name. And it's not that I don't like Zack's last name, because I do! I think it's great! I just, LOVE my last name. It's been my last name for the past twenty-eight years, and I don't know how keen I am on changing it. I mean, I could hyphenate it, so it'll be Kristiane Elisabeth Spires-Timmons, but c'mon. That's really long to put on a drivers license, or on any legal document. Plus, how would my signature look?! It'll be one super long scribble!

My children would have Zack's name, that's not in question. And I'm not one of those liberal, feminist, crazy ladies who has to keep her name in order to hold on to what makes her female. But I am one of those crazy, feminist liberals who loves her last name, and doesn't think she should need to give it up in order to start a life with someone she loves.

I have days where I would LOVE to be Mrs. Timmons. And in reality, that's what I'll be. But I'll also be a Spires. Forever. I want to have the same last name as my mom, and my sister, and my dad. I want to stay a Spires. I'm weirdly attached to my last name. It's not the only thing that makes me, well, me, but it's a huge part of who I am. I researched it for weeks back in the sixth grade for a heritage project, and I know all the origins of 'Spires' and any Gaelic or Welsh heritage it holds. I found my family crest, and drew it on a piece of cardstock to go along with my report on how awesome my last name was. (again, Timmons is just as awesome a last name, it's just not my name...) Then, there are days when I'm reminded that 'This is your last (Insert holiday here) as a Spires!" and I burst into tears.

I think in my mind, if I'm not a 'Spires' anymore, I can only be a 'Timmons'. I know that's not really the case, and that I'll always have my family, but I mean, I won't be (just) a Spires. I will (also) be a Timmons. I'll be part of two different families. One from birth, and one by choice (Zack's choice to incorporate my crazy self into his loving family) and maybe it's difficult to wrap my mind around.

I've been so independent for so long, that I've just been used to calling my own shots, but here comes Zack, and he wants to marry me, and be my husband. But he lets me be independent. He lets me spend time alone if I need it. He respects when I need to make a mess in the basement because I've had a random surge in creative energy, and he doesn't get (too) mad when I don't pick my mess up for a few days (read weeks). He even supports my decision to keep my name! I know that's not like, a crazy concept for most people, but a few generations ago, it would have been really frowned upon. Some people replace their middle names with their maiden names, but I just like my middle name too much to go that route. Elisabeth is just too cool of a middle name to let it be shunned because I'm getting married.

I guess I'll just have a ridiculously long name because I'm very attached to my birth name, and it's not going anywhere. Good thing I have a few months to decide! (Lets be honest, I'm not going to make any sort of decision until the night before we have to get a license. I'll totally forget about this until then and freak out about it when the time comes.)

What would you do? Was changing your name hard? (not physically, but emotionally) do you wish you would/wouldn't have changed your name? Did you feel different? Was it hard to get used to writing a new name? I feel like these are things that should be addressed in any marriage class!

Reality Check

No need for pretty words because this blog will now be dedicated to my journey to rediscover my health and get myself back on track to being health (and fitting into my fabulous wardrobe that I've painstakingly curated). 

The basics:

Current weight: 192.2 (as of ten minutes ago)

Height: 5'1"

Goal: 155 pounds by my birthday in November

Subsequent goal: 1/2 Marathon by October

I'm keeping this blog to be accountable to my goals and to show people it's possible to work full time, study to get a CPA, and take control of your health. I will be accountable to myself, and now the internet. 

How do I plan on achieving this goal? Following a strict Paleo diet and exercising at least 4 times a week. I'm going to try and post a few of the recipes I make each week so others can collie along if they wish, or learn more about this diet. I was pretty a strict for a few months, and I felt amazing. Then all of life happened at the same time and I made excuse after excuse as to why I couldn't get it together. No more. My health is too important. It's time to get back on track. 

Office Etiquette

Before I come to work, I have to mentally prepare myself for battle. Not a battle against co-workers, or a battle against my superiors; no, I have to mentally prepare myself for a battle against ignorance and my inherent nature to ask ‘did you really just say that?’  It takes, on average, thirty minutes getting ready for work, a ten minute drive, and no less than six minutes in the parking lot to revert my mental stage back to that of a middle schooler before I walk into my building. Before I’m criticized for my use of hyperbole, I should point out that 76% of the staff (28/37 people) are not college educated, and barely graduated high school. This, however, does not excuse poor behavior. Nine employees have attempted college, seven have graduated with degrees, and four of those employees work in accounting.  While I am sympathetic to those who didn’t have the privilege to attempt higher education, I refuse to be discriminated against because I’ve chosen to better myself in order to achieve a career I can be proud of.  I don’t believe that being uneducated is an excuse for childish behavior in the work place. When you work for an international non-profit, there is a certain professional code to adhere to. The following are things you shouldn’t do, under any circumstance. Mainly because common sense would tell you this is not proper business etiquette. 

·         The use of Comic Sans as a font for emails

·         The use of emoticons when responding to peers

·         The use of word art in emails to officers in the organization

·         The use of ‘ain’t’ in an email. To anyone.

·         Giving tax advice if you’re not up on tax laws of nonprofits.

·         Using profanity when speaking to a member of said organization on the telephone, in an email, etc.

·         Being inebriated from seven in the morning until midnight at an international convention for twelve days straight.

·         Smearing your chest on a glass window of a bar to get attention.

·         Publicly stripping to get free drinks.

·         Upon arriving at your destination: pounding six shots to get as wasted as you can.

·         Propositioning female staff.

·         Watching ‘Teen Mom’ or some other program on your work laptop during business hours.

·         Sleeping on pallets in a back room while on the clock.

·         Emailing 33/37 employees to tell them you’ve brought something in for the office to celebrate your birthday (cake, cookies, cupcakes, marzipan fruits, etc.) and purposefully leaving the others off because you don’t like them…

OK, that last one was pretty much the one thing that suffocated any flame I may have still carried for my job.  The selfishness and pettiness in that one act turned me cold towards a majority of the employees here, and set in motion actions that can’t be taken back. I filled out applications for three companies, sent my resume to a head hunter, and spoke to several contacts to get a feel for who was hiring. I think what made me the most angry about that last bullet is who committed the unnecessary offense.  First: I wouldn’t have eaten any of the cake. Not because I’m trying to prove a point, but because I don’t generally eat sweets. Second: I’m an amazing baker. Anything I would have made would have put her ‘mud pie’ to shame. (Not that I’m bragging, but I’m asked to make confections for office functions, and friends all the time. I’m making eight dozen this weekend for a birthday party. I’m pretty good.) Third: I understand that this person doesn’t like me. That’s perfectly fine. But when the majority of us ‘under-appreciated, underpaid, and overworked’ employees leave (at the same time) she’ll be stuck doing my job. Maybe being nice to me would convince me to leave some type of instruction.  My list of grievances could go on, and on and on, but I think I should keep the list short and sweet for now.

Stay tuned.

Wrong Occupation

The moments where words are building up in my head, my fingers, aching for release, are the worst moments of my day. They are the worst because they strike while I’m at work, doing menial accounting tasks, or fixing someone’s mistake, or unable to find a pen. The pressure of my thoughts is almost painful against my skull. These are the moments I begin to question my degree switch. Maybe English wasn’t such a mistake. Maybe the mistake was making my major something I’m good at that can make me money, instead of something that will feed my soul. I always push these thoughts away, justifying them with the rationale that “You hate what you’re doing because of where you are, not because you don’t like it.” This place is toxic. From the moment I mosey in at 9:00 (or 9:30…10:00…) I am overwhelmed by an ominous feeling. It’s not the typical anxious feeling I’m used to, its worse. The feeling is much worse than anything I’ve experienced. The moment my feet cross the threshold, and I enter “9-5” world, my soul feels heavier; my heart beats faster in my chest. My attitude changes from carefree to unbearably cross and I emit an aura as black as my coffee. The air is suffocating and the only reprieve I get is the measly half hour for lunch a day. I should be grateful. I know this. I should be rejoicing that I have a job. I should be thanking my stars that they’ve kept me employed through over fifteen staff changes. The notion that I should be happy doesn’t make it so. My fingers ache to type something other than a form letter; to be useful to the world, not just to serve glorified factory workers who have been given an iota of power. The ache is so apparent that I feel my heart pulse in my fingertips. I’m good at what I do. One of the best in the company (which isn’t really saying much, as I’m one of 6 people who aspired to amount to more than a high school diploma or a GED) but I’m good at other things too…riding a bike, singing, building forts, none of which I’m getting a degree in. I guess I need reassurance. I need to know that even though my life is consumed by accounting, and terrible business decisions at the hands of morons, I can still write; I still know grammar; I still love using semicolons; I am more than what this job makes me. There it is. That’s it! I am more than what this job makes me! My fingers now ache less, and my breathing is similar to other human beings, not erratic and staccato like before. I needed the reassurance that my brain still works, and the wealth of knowledge I’ve gained until this point isn’t lost, just filed away until I can put it to good use. I feel better.