9 Ways Blogging Makes me a Better Person

9 Ways Blogging Made me a Better Person | The Champagne Supernova

When I spearheaded my new blogging venture at The Champagne Supernova back in December of 2014, I freaked out every time I clicked the “publish” button.

What will people think?

Should I censor myself out of fear that sharing my truths will cause me to become rejected?

Will people see me as vain and narcissistic, an occasional stereotype of bloggers?

Why would other people care to read about my mundane life or my personal opinions?

As a result of freaking out, my first couple posts were pure garbage. I mean, they weren’t terrible, but they also weren’t my authentic voice. They were the watered-down version of someone trying to come across as polished, politically correct, and proper.

Those qualities are fine, but they’re not always me.

It’s been a bit of an evolution, like everything else in life, but here are 9 ways blogging is making me a better person:

Blogging Helps me Prioritize. Like other bloggers, I balance my hobby of writing with a young family, demanding career, and social life. When I started The Champagne Supernova, I had grandiose plans of publishing a blog post twice a week. Then, as I became more realistic and appreciated the amount of work and creativity associated with writing a quality post, those plans were reduced to once a week.

When I first started blogging I found it incredibly hard at first, I just wasn’t too sure what I had to. My friend luckily recommended that I use something like this best wordpress hosting site to make starting a lot easier. I just had a lot of learning to though and I had a lot of expectations when really I shouldn’t have worried so much.

Depending on any number of reasons, it normally relates somewhere in the midst of lacking creativity or not being able to structure and convey that creativity how I wish to 100% of the time. Sometimes I may have to use certain writing apps to keep myself on course when writing, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I might not write at all, sometimes I can write and not seem to stop. Now, I’m lucky if I can pump out one post every week.

And you know what? That’s okay.

The world won’t stop spinning if I don’t publish a blog post. And for the Type A control freak in me, this is difficult, but I’ve just gotta let it go.

Blogging has helped me to establish a hierarchy of what must be done, what could be done, and what can wait for later.

And sometimes that’s blogging.

Blogging Keeps me Accountable. If I write on my blog that I’m going to do something, I pretty much have to do it.

This is exactly why I haven’t posted about my goal to completely give up coffee.

I’m just not there yet.

Blogging Helps me Grow Thick Skin. In the fifteen months I’ve been blogging, I’ve been attacked by internet trolls. One publicly called me a bad mother because I let my three-year-old wear pajamas to daycare. One was another blogger who accused me of hijacking a common phrase from one of her old blog posts (that I never read) and then using it myself.

The pre-blogger me would have called my friends crying and would have considered shutting down the blog for good. I would have responded to these people and tried to reason with them.

You’re gonna like me again, Goshdarnit!

The post-blogger me shakes it off and doesn’t care.

At all.

Blogging has helped me realize that other peoples’ views don’t matter. And there’s definitely a positive correlation between people who are critical (read: haters) and people who don’t have the courage to pursue their own goals. So, generally, I don’t care about other peoples’ opinions unless those people are my immediate family, a handful of close friends, or a person who enables me to pay my mortgage (e.g. The Bossman).

Blogging Taught me it’s Ok to Make Mistakes. After months of empty submissions to the blog for the Today Show parenting team, you can imagine my elation when one of my posts was finally featured and made its way around the internet. Read it here.

There’s a typo in the fifth paragraph. And while it was unlikely anyone else noticed, I noticed and I agonized about it.

For days.

Then I realized, like most things, life isn’t over because of a simple mistake. In fact, life just got better because I learned from the mistake. I make an effort to closely read all of my posts before they’re published to avoid other typos in the future.

You know what? It’s bound to happen again.

And it’ll be ok.

Blogging Inspires Creativity. One of my work colleagues, whom I deeply respect, once said that every person has an inherent need to be creative. Whether it’s painting, singing, writing, knitting, drawing, whatever, we all need to act upon our creativity, and we become unhappy when we can’t do that.

I can relate.

Creative expression sets my soul on fire. It allows me to be “artistic” in a way that my day job doesn’t.

And I’m so much happier now that I’ve pursued it.

Blogging Enhanced my Photography Skills. I bought a DSLR camera in 2012 when my first daughter was born and was painfully intimidated by the lights, buttons, and switches.

F stop. Aperture. Shutter speed.


Just keep it in the automatic setting, I thought. It’s so much easier that way.

Sure, it was easy. But it often resulted in pictures that were blurry, yellow, or dark.

If I wanted good pictures on the blog, I would have to learn how to use the camera in manual. And, just like everything else, practice makes perfect. It took about two years, but now I only use it in manual. And check out this sweet shot I captured last year in Italy, which totally would have been ruined if I was shooting in automatic:

9 Ways Blogging Made me a Better Person - one was it honed in my photography. |The Champagne Supernova Blogging Opens Doors for Connections. I have so many “friends” in the blogosphere who, even though we’ve never met in the flesh, I feel like I know. I read their blogs routinely, celebrate their blogging victories, see pictures of their families, “like” and “comment” on their Instagram photos, and would definitely have a glass of vino with them if given the opportunity.

These bloggers have inspired me to do better and enabled me to have fresher ideas, take better pictures, grow my subscriber list, and jump start my SEO.

Dang for those pesky geographic limitations.

Blogging Makes me be a Better Listener. In the blogging community, it’s all about the conversation. There’s no right or wrong, just a gathering of opinions focused on seeing each other succeed. It’s no longer solely about what I think or what I’m doing, but it’s about reading what other people are doing and understanding whether it is or isn’t working for them.

Blogging Helps me Help Others. Putting my honest struggles and vulnerabilities onto the world wide web, where it will stay forever, has an impact in ways I never realized. Last year after I published a post about my awful experience with the baby blues, a stranger approached me at Home Depot, sobbing. She was four weeks postpartum and was struggling with depression, discovered my blog, and found comfort knowing she wasn’t alone.


It felt so good to know I made her feel good without even trying, just by being honest.

What ways has your preferred creative outlet changed your life for the better? Let’s keep the conversation going.

If you’re thinking about following in my footsteps by starting a blog, this could motivate you to be on track with tasks at home and in the office as you’ll be uploading content daily for your readers.


    #Sorrynotsorry: Parenting Edition

    Eight things I refuse to apologize about in parenting. | The Champagne Supernova

    As a society, we’re always apologizing for something.

    Apologizing that someone got their feelings hurt about something that wasn’t meant to be taken personally. Apologizing for having an opinion about a topic that isn’t the popularly-accepted view. Apologizing for just being our own imperfect selves.

    Don’t get me wrong. There are times an apology is appropriate and necessary.

    Then there’s times it’s not.

    A couple months ago, one of my favorite bloggers, Allison, at the AA blog compiled a list of all the things she was tired of apologizing for. It was genius!

    So- here’s a list of eight parenting things I will never ever apologize for.

    I like to call them the “sorrynotsorry” list.

    Midnight Snuggle Time. I’ve read all the books that say co-sleeping is a cardinal sin. Ok, I’m lying. I haven’t read any of them because I just call my mom when I need parenting advice. However, I’m sure Dr. Benjamin Spock would agree that co-sleeping is a bad idea and blah blah blah. When my three-year-old comes into my room in the middle of the night, says she had a bad dream, and asks if she can snuggle, the answer isn’t just “yes,” it’s “Heck YES!”

    There will eventually come a time when my girls would rather spend the evening at a slumber party chatting about boys over popcorn with their friends than hanging out with little ole’ me. This time with them now is sacred, short, and fleeting. So during the “in-between” time, my kids are free to crawl into bed with me and I’ll protect them from the Boogie Man. #Sorrynotsorry.

    Disciplining my Children in Public. I won’t allow my children to “get away” with bad behavior in public. Permitting them to act like brats by not giving them immediate, age-appropriate, consequences is a loving effort to help them to grow up and be functioning, socially intelligent adults. Usually, this punishment entails hauling off my children to the nearest restroom or private area and putting them in “time out” until they cool it and can return to the group. Or taking away a toy or piece of candy no matter how loudly they protest. Absent certain circumstances, I won’t avoid confrontation for the sake of not making a scene. Because I love them. #Sorrynotsorry. 

    Unreturned Phone Calls. Having kids has somewhat taken a toll on my social life. Before I had children, I’d use every opportunity to catch up with my girlfriends on the phone while I was in the car. Orlando. Miami. Atlanta. Fort Lauderdale. Nashville. D.C. Chicago. Gals in all different area codes. Some of these conversations happened when my kids were in the car with me. However, once my oldest daughter got to the age where she wanted my attention, I decided, once and for all, that I wouldn’t engage in non-essential phone conversations while she was riding with me.

    So instead of jabbering on the phone with a girlfriend regarding what’s going on at work or the best new local restaurant, I’m having a real conversation with my daughters about what they did at school, books they love, what they want for dinner, and how they want to spend the few hours between coming home from daycare and bedtime. And it’s the bomb diggity. #Sorrynotsorry.

    De-Emphasis on Physical Appearance. When I’m around my kids, I make a conscious effort to never comment on another person’s appearance or my own physical insecurities. They don’t need to know about whether so-and-so is beautiful, if so-and-so needs to lose weight, or whether I’m frustrated that my pants don’t fit the way they used to and even my Spanx are getting too tight (darn!) Who really flipping cares about these things?

    Part of growing up is realizing what matters and what doesn’t. And while these things were “important” to me during the immature days of my youth, talking about them now is an unproductive, shallow waste of time. I don’t want my girls to notice whether other women are pretty, have a perfect body, or wear nice clothes.  I want them to notice whether they are kind, interesting, encouraging, funny, talented, engaging, and smart. I want them to be someone’s friend for who they are on the inside and not for what they look like, who they associate with, or what they have. #Sorrynotsorry.

    Saying No. I read somewhere that unless an invite is a resounding “Hell Yes,” then it should be a “no.” I’ve begun using this mantra as a litmus test for deciding whether to accept an invitation. If something isn’t “family friendly” and it doesn’t involve people I love and truly want to hang out with, then the answer is “no.” Plain and simple. (Make no mistake, there are times I do want to say yes, but “life happens” and its not always feasible.)

    Gone are the days of doing things just because I wanted to feel a sense of inclusion and belonging, coupled with a fear that saying no would stop the invitations from coming. Life is too short to be accepting obligations that we aren’t excited to be accepting or purposely hanging out with people who don’t give us the “warm and fuzzies.” #Sorrynotsorry.

    Being Real. I don’t care if wearing mismatched, off-brand workout clothes to the gym isn’t cool. I’m gonna wear them anyway. I don’t care if my jokes are dumb and I think I’m funny when nobody else thinks so. I’m gonna tell them anyway. I certainly don’t care that I’m 34 and still use words like dork and dweeb and Jee Whiz and bomb diggity (see #3 above). I’m gonna say them anyway. I want to set an example to my children to be the people who God made them to be with complete freedom from other people’s opinions. #Sorrynotsorry. 

    Being Obsessed with my Kids. I get it. Other than my husband, family, and close friends, nobody really cares about the funny things my oldest daughter said on the way to school, who their favorite teachers are, or their newest book and movie craze. That said, I’m going to tell the stories anyway and will not feel ashamed about being obsessed with my kids. On that token, I will listen with an open heart to anecdotes other people share about their children and will let them have their turns to be obsessed and will celebrate it. #Sorrynotsorry. 

    Making time for Myself. I can’t take care of my family if I don’t take care of myself. I learned this the hard way when I dealt with the baby blues after my first pregnancy. I refuse to feel guilty about going to the gym, reading a book in a quiet room, of spending time with girlfriends who fill my cup. #Sorrynotsorry. 

    What do you refuse to apologize for?


      After the Fall: Recovering from Humiliation

      How to recover and learn when you fall down and embarrassing things happen in your life. | The Champagne Supernova

      A lot of embarrassing things have happened to me in my life. If I didn’t have witnesses, there’s a chance people would consider my misfortune to be either exaggerated or blatant lies.

      Like the time I got caught huffing oils at work.

      Or the time I cussed out innocent bystanders in an elevator.

      Or the time I got rejected from employment at Red Lobster.

      Well, here’s another doozie that I think we all have a little something to learn from.

      It was October of 2014 and my husband and I attended a destination wedding in the Florida Keys. We were stoked to be staying at a nice hotel and my parents were gracious enough to stay home with the girls, then ages 2 1/2 and 5 months.

      Parents’ weekends away are good for the soul and good for the marriage.

      My husband absolutely loves fishing so we had a few things planned including a trip on one of the amazing FKF Charters.

      How to recover from something humiliating happening to you. | The Champagne Supernova

      Me and Jason on the day of the wedding. Before “the tragedy.”

      The day after the wedding, at the recommendation of our breakfast waitress, we decided to drive 30 miles west from our resort in Duck Key to the No Name Pub on Big Pine Key.

      The waitress said the bar was in the middle of nowhere and was surrounded by key deer, which were native to the area.

      My husband, being the outdoorsman that he is, thought the idea was perfect.

      So we got in the car around eleven and ventured off into the wild blue yonder on a 45 minute ride to head to a restaurant famous for its history, deer, pizza, and cold brewskis.

      When we arrived close to noon, the restaurant was packed and there were people standing in line for a table. It was super casual in what seemed to be a 1200 square foot dining room and dollar bills adorned the ceilings and walls.

      How to recover and learn when you fall down and embarrassing things happen in your life.

      It was only proper to personalize our own dollar bill to commemorate Parents Weekend 2014.

      How to recover and learn when you fall down and embarrassing things happen in your life.

      We finally found a spot at the bar next to two highfalutin gentlemen who lived in Key West. The bar stools were exceptionally tall. We enjoyed our conversation with the men regarding property values, land investments, and working from home over a large pepperoni pizza and two Blue Moon beers.

      How to recover and learn when you fall down and embarrassing things happen in your life.

      The Scene of the Crime.

      Yes, I drank two beers over the course of the entire hour and a half we were at the restaurant.

      The calories and carbohydrates from the pizza effectively cancelled out the beers’ entire alcoholic content, so it was pretty much the equivalent, in my mind, to drinking two glasses of water.

      When it was time to leave, we bid adieu to our new friends and I attempted to step off the bar stool.

      Only it was too high.

      Much higher than I remembered.

      The whole ordeal felt like it was happening in slow motion.

      I fell off the back of the stool and literally crashed into the table behind me, causing the bar stool I was sitting in to topple over. I fell on top of my neighbors’ table, causing their pizza and drinks to splat all over the floor, before I eventually landed on my derriere.

      It was like Wile E. Coyote falling backwards off a cliff.

      When I finally came to, the once-roaring restaurant was completely silent.

      Every single person was staring at me.




      The bartender.

      The yorkie in the corner.

      In a effort to make light of the situation, I stood up, did a gymnast-style pose, and loudly said, “I’m all right, everybody!”

      How to recover and learn when you fall down and embarrassing things happen in your life.But nobody laughed.

      So I skedaddled out of the restaurant as quickly as my bruised ego (and hiney) would permit.

      When I got into the parking lot, my husband asked me if I was okay. I said yes. He then convulsively laughed until he was nearly crying and continued laughing the entire ride back to the resort.

      In his defense, it was pretty funny.

      Then I started thinking.

      The event was a metaphor about life.

      Sometimes when you fall, all you can do is get back up and keep on keeping’ on.

      There’s been so many times in my life where I’ve been handed a whopping slice of humble pie and was glad I kept my eyes on the end goal and continued trying.

      Like the time I studied my head off in law school for final exams and still got a dreaded C in criminal law.

      I felt like an idiot. Especially when I heard some of my classmates bragging about “the one B+ that ruined their chances of grading onto Law Review.”

      Or the time I essentially crawled to the finish line of my first marathon after losing steam at the 20th mile. I wanted so badly to give up after getting smoked by a lady who appeared to be 16 months pregnant and a dude who was on crutches.

      Like the fall at the bar, sometimes there’s no point in dwelling on our embarrassments or letting them define us.

      All we can do is laugh, learn from the situation, and keep moving forward.

      The next morning, my husband and I returned to the same restaurant where we had breakfast the day before and was assigned the same waitress who recommended that we eat at the No Name Pub.

      We told her we took her tip and went to the No Name Pub.

      Then she said, and the good Lord (and my husband) is my witness:

      Those bar stools are really high!

      Apparently, patrons stepping off the bar stools and getting hurt is a common thing.

      Attention personal injury attorneys: go sit at this bar one afternoon with a stack of business cards. You’ll make a fortune.





        Inspirational Quotes: Eleven of My Favorites

        Eleven of the most meaningful quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        This week’s been wacky. I’ve been tired and, frankly, have been suffering a major case of writer’s block.

        I’m starting to run out of anecdotes that make my otherwise mundane life seem more exciting than it really is.


        OK, I lied, I have one.

        As background, I’ve been trying to find ways to focus at work while staying relaxed and, to be honest, my prior method of chugging five large cups of coffee a day was thwarting my ability to fall asleep in the evenings. I was in St. Augustine over Martin Luther King weekend visiting family and came across an adorable spa/health/holistic shop called Sphere that sells essential oils.

        (Disclaimer: I don’t sell oils and am not making any type of commission from this story, so bear with me here.)

        (Another disclaimer: I don’t consider myself to be an eccentric hippie. I just like to sniff the oil and keep-a-moving.)

        Eleven of the most meaningful quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        Kristen Wiig’s hippie skit on SNL.

        I purchased an oil appropriately called “Clarity” and brought to work with me, where I occasionally sniff it throughout the day.

        Because I want clarity, goshdarnit.

        So it’s Monday afternoon (how appropriate) and I return to my desk after a trip to the kitchen. I sit down, grab the bottle of essential oil, open it, move it up to my nose, take a looooooooooong, dramatic inhale, then an equally loooooooooooong, dramatic exhale, and peacefully open my eyes.

        My boss is standing at the corner of my desk staring at me, confused and disgusted.

        I was mortified.

        I was too busy seeking clarity to hear him walk in.

        Boss: What are you doing?

        Me (humiliated): Just smelling an essential oil, care for a whiff?

        Boss, shaking head: No. 

        He walked out of the office without saying another word.


        Why can’t he walk into my office when I’m busy burning the midnight oil? Or while I’m laying down the law (pun intended) during a telephone conversation with opposing counsel?

        Minted's Limited Edition Art Prints

        And so here I am, a couple days later, seeking inspiration on the internet, in my old journals, and from my friends.

        I think everyone has their favorite sayings or mantras that keep them inspired during life’s uninspiring moments.

        Sure, it’s easy to feel inspired when you accomplish something huge.

        Running a marathon.

        Making a big deal at work.

        Keeping the kids alive all day.

        What about all the in-between, less than exciting moments?

        Here are some of my favorite quotes to help me feel inspired when being inspired seems impossible.

        Eleven of my favorite quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        Eleven of my favorite quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        Eleven of my favorite quotes to inspire and motivate you. Eleven of my favorite quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        Eleven of my favorite quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        Eleven of my favorite quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        Eleven of my favorite quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        Eleven of my favorite quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        Eleven of my favorite quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        Eleven of my favorite inspirational and motivational quotes to inspire and motivate you.

        What are your favorite inspirational quotes to get you through the stinky times?



          Crazy People: 5 Ways to Deal with Them

          5 ways to deal with irrational people | The Champagne Supernova http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2016/01/crazy-people/

          The famous wire hanger scene in Mommie Dearest.

          Because of the adversarial nature of my career as an attorney, I’ve dealt with my share of irrational people.


          Nut jobs.


          However, one fairly recent event nearly put me over the edge.

          As background, in the true spirit of a procrastinator, I usually wait until my gas tank light is on before I refuel.

          It’s a game of chicken that I like to play with myself.

          I also prefer not to get gas when my children are in the car because they get bored.

          This event happened after a busy day at work. I was bombarded with preparing for hearings, client reporting deadlines, and responding to emails. My husband needed me to pick up the girls from daycare, and I happily obliged because, after a long day at the office, all I wanted to do was to spend quality time with them.

          And drink a glass of wine.

          As my gas light had been on for quite a while and it was “time,” I decided to pull into a gas station before picking up the girls.

          It’s one of the busiest gas stations in town and, during certain times when it’s inundated with dawdlers like myself, the area around the pumps can be so cluttered with people waiting that it’s nearly impossible to pull in and out.

          (Tampanians: it’s the Sunoco on the corner of MacDill and Platt. You know what I’m talking about!)

          I pulled into the station at 5:45 pm (cutting it close to daycare ending at 6 pm) and was on the phone with one of my girlfriends.

          Then I saw it. It was like manna from heaven. An open pump.

          How can this be? I thought to myself.

          I didn’t linger with questions. I pulled directly up to the pump.

          All of a sudden, I saw a girl in front of me get out of her vehicle and start screaming.

          She looked like a possessed demon. Red faced. Foamy spit coming out of her mouth.

          Uh, I have to get off the phone, I told my friend, I think someone is yelling at me.

          Apparently the girl was attempting to back her vehicle up to the gas pump when I arrived and, unknowingly, “stole” it from her.

          Visibly upset, she was screaming, yelling obscenities, and giving me the middle finger.

          Her reaction was crazy.

          Under any ordinary situation, I would have profusely apologized, gotten back into my car, moved my vehicle, and waited for a different pump. That’s how I would want someone to treat me.

          After all, this was an honest mistake.

          However, this chick’s reaction set me internally on fire.

          She must not have real problems if she’s going to get this worked up over a gas pump.

          So I said nothing and, instead, judged her. She was wearing workout clothes, appeared to be in her early 20s, had her hair in a ponytail under a baseball cap, and was driving an early 2000s model Volkswagen Jetta.

          I decided the likelihood of her packing heat was low.

          So I completely ignored her, got out of my vehicle, and began pumping my gas. 

          She became spastic.

          I didn’t even look her in the eye or acknowledge in any way that she was losing her mind and making a scene in front of every bystander at the gas station.

          I didn’t care. I kept pumping gas. I didn’t acknowledge her and pretended she didn’t exist.

          And it made her come undone.

          She was screaming. Pulled up to the back of my car and loudly called me a Fruity Banana.

          Only it wasn’t a Fruity Banana.

          The first word began with an F and the second word began with a B.

          I continued ignoring her and stared at the digital numbers on the pump.




          Hurry up! I thought.

          Then, the worst thing that could have possibly happen happened.

          The spot on the direct opposite side of my pump became available.

          The girl pulled up next to me, got out of her car, and began pumping gas.

          How can I avoid making eye contact?

          She continued screaming and calling me names. Then, she got on her cellular phone and started talking about me to whoever was on the other end.

          This ordeal was the longest three minutes of my life.

          When my tank was full, I got into my car and moved onto more important things. My kids.

          I don’t know who this girl is and wouldn’t recognize her in a line up. Maybe she was already having a bad day. Maybe she found out her boyfriend was cheating on her. Maybe she discovered she flunked college algebra. Maybe she learned her fitness class was over booked and so she got the boot.

          Who knows?

          Whoever this girl is, I just hope her proverbial tank has since been replenished with love, peace, and validation.

          Because isn’t that what we all want?

          To be loved? To be acknowledged? To feel like we matter, instead of being ignored?

          I don’t regret how I handled the situation. Sometimes it’s better to do nothing. On my end, it was nearly impossible for me to bite my tongue. But I’m glad I did.

          Unlike gas station girl, some irrational people cannot be avoided. Business associates. Members of churches and volunteer organizations. Relatives. People who run in your social circle. People who aren’t “going away.”

          I often wonder the ideal way to handle these types of people.

          I enlisted the help of some colleagues who are in the mental health profession, and they provided input on the five best ways to deal with the crazy people in your life.

          Ignore. Don’t respond to someone who doesn’t deserve a response. You received a rude text? Ignore it. Someone sent you a rude email or asked you a rude question? Don’t acknowledge it. Do you routinely have to see someone who bugs you? Other than exchanging casual formalities (because you’re polite and that’s just what you do), ignore them.

          Raise the White Flag. If someone acts crazy because you legitimately did something to them and you are genuinely sorry, then recognize your wrongdoing, address it with a sincere apology, and move on.

          It takes guts to eat crow.

          Most sane people will appreciate the apology and will provide a clean slate. Ideally, it will no longer be awkward to be around that person.

          Set Boundaries. If you are constantly around someone who pushes your buttons, then recognize it and stay aware of your own emotions. As irrational people are often predictable and the pattern starts showing itself, determine ahead of time how you will deal with this person, and stick to your plan.

          Don’t Take on Their Issues. I once worked with a guy who said he never let other people control the way he feels.

          It stuck with me.

          Sometimes it’s so easy to take on another person’s crappy attitude.

          Guilty over here.

          However, make up your mind that you are going to do your thing regardless of how they are doing theirs. Stick with it. If you feel their bad attitude wearing off on you, then start limiting the time you spend with them.

          Offer Compassion. This one, my friends, is the hardest of the options. You never know what other people are going through, and, like the saying goes, “hurt people, hurt people.”

          I went through four years of college detesting a girl we’ll call Ashley. She never “did” anything specifically to me, per se, but she was an overall nasty person. Hateful just to be hateful. She didn’t try to cultivate female friendships and had a reputation for being stuck up. Fast forward ten years later, Ashley and I reconnected professionally and, at a work conference, she confided to me that her mother was verbally and physically abusive when she was growing up, which caused her to project anger and toward others.

          That explained everything.

          And there you have it, my friends, five good ways to deal with crazy people. Do you have any pointers that I left off the list?





            Getting Older: Nine Best Things

            Getting older is the bomb- 9 reasons | The Champagne Supernova http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2016/01/getting-older-best/

            I turned 34 this week.

            It’s seemingly a baby for those in their forties and fifties. Considering celebrating my thirtieth birthday seems like yesterday, I wonder where the time went.

            I remember turning 18 like it was yesterday. One of my girlfriends came to my house in the middle of the night, decorated my car with silly string, toilet paper, and fun birthday-themed “flair.”

            18 was a milestone because it meant I no longer needed a fake ID to go to shady local clubs and dance the night away to TLC, 98 Degrees, and Ginuwine.

            Turning 21 also seemed pretty recent. My college friends and I went to dinner at a super fancy and exclusive restaurant, Chili’s, before hitting the town and celebrating at various Gainesville landmarks.

            I get it.

            Not everyone wants to get older. We have to pay taxes, shop around for deals on health insurance, and stock up on creams and serums to keep us looking young forever.

            It can really stink. In fact, I wrote a post about it here.

            That said, there are some luxuries of getting older that I didn’t have in my youth.

            Here are 9 of them.


            Major Life Decisions: The Pressure is Off. Decide what do I want to be when I grow up. Check.

            Finish school. Check.

            Pass the bar exam. Check.

            Get married. Check.

            Pop out a couple kids. Check.

            The older you get, the less important life decisions there are to make, because you’ve already checked a lot off your list. Now you can move onto unimportant decisions that don’t require as much brain power.

            Like where you are going to hide the chocolate candy in the kitchen so your spouse won’t find it.

            Fierce Friendships. When you’re young, unemployed, single, and childless (hello: college days!), it’s easy to have a million friends because having a million friends is convenient.

            You have tons of friends in the dorms because you live in the dorms and see those people ten times a day.

            It’s convenient.

            You have friends in class who you study with three times a week.

            It’s convenient.

            Sorority sisters who you routinely see while dining at the house and at fraternity grab-a-dates.

            It’s convenient.

            However, when you’re older, your friendships strengthen because you only have a weelittlebit of time to devote to certain number of people because you’re also juggling your family and cultivating your personal passions. You maintain friends that are deeply valuable because you don’t have time for the crappers. You are dang picky about how you spend your precious time.

            And, in turn, those are some of the deepest lifelong friendships you’ll ever know.

            You Own the 9:00 p.m. Bedtime. When I was younger, New Year’s Eve was planned a month in advance. The event had to contain three things: friends, champagne, and a sequined getup.

            Now, I want to spend New Years’ Eve on the couch, in my pajamas, and I’m the fuddy-duddy who gets miffed when the neighbors set off fireworks, because they spook my dog, Goshdarnit.

            I don’t care about Times Square, watching a glittery ball drop, or having a perfect kiss at midnight.

            On an average evening when I was young, I was still blowdrying my hair, applying makeup, or “pre-gaming” at 9:00 p.m. Now, I am washing my face, brushing my teeth, popping in my retainer, and getting ready to hit the sack.

            It’s glorious.

            Comfort over Fashion. Getting older’s given me a reason to cash in my stilettos for flats.

            Who am I kidding? I never wore stilettos.

            But if I did…

            Yeah, looking nice is nice. But I’m not going to get dolled up just to go to the grocery store when I only need to pick up one item.

            Staying seated at Sporting Events and Concerts. And honoring my obnoxiousness when I ask the person in front of me to sit down because (s)he is blocking my view.

            Having Your Own Money. There’s something incredibly freeing about buying something with your own money that you earned through your own education and your own hard work.

            There’s also something incredibly freeing about wisely choosing not to buy something you would otherwise like to have, but you know it’s a stupid way to spend your own money that you earned through your own education and your own hard work.

            A wise woman once said: “The shoes on my feet, I’ve bought it, The clothes I’m wearing, I’ve bought it, The rock I’m rocking’, ‘Cause I depend on me…”


            Getting Taken More Seriously. For the most part.

            Procreating. While parenting has its challenges, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

            Having your kids tell you they love you beats the cashier at the DMV handing over the plastic driver’s license to your 16 year-old self.

            Watching your kids love and protect each other beats playing flip cup at football tailgate parties of your youth.

            Watching your kids do the right thing in a difficult situation beats college spring break in the Bahamas with twenty of your close friends.

            Kids beat everything.

            Getting older is the bomb- 9 reasons | The Champagne Supernova http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2016/01/getting-older-best/

            9 Best Things About Getting Older | The Champagne Supernova

            Putting Life Lessons into Action. It took me nearly thirty years to learn to keep my (big) mouth closed in certain situations, but at least I learned it.

            It took me longer than thirty years to not let fear of other people’s (meaningless) opinions prevent me from putting myself “out there” and do what I truly want to do. Be it going on a solo trip to Greece or getting a laser eye surgery done from somewhere like SharpeVision, it took me a long time, but at least I learned it.

            It took me nearly thirty years to make a concerted effort to focus on the big picture instead of the minutiae, but at least I learned from it and have a chance to work on it.

            Being young, immature, and inexperienced gives people a license to goof up and make mistakes. Being an adult provides the opportunity to recognize the mistakes and hopefully grow from them.

            Here’s to turning 34. Here’s to major life decisions, fierce friendships, choosing comfort over fashion, staying seated at events, having your own money, getting taken more seriously, procreating, putting life decisions into action, and the marvelous 9 p.m. bedtime.



              The Red Lobster Reject: Served Me Right

              Dealing with workplace rejection: The Champagne Supernova |http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2016/01/rejection

              It was the summer between my sophomore and junior year of college at the University of Florida.

              I accidentally wrecked the truck of a guy I was dating, causing $1,200 worth of damage. And in 2002, that was a lot of money. Especially for a college student with no income.

              After calling my parents and hysterically reporting the news, I did what any logical 20 year-old would do. I opened the local newspaper and looked for part time employment.

              The Red Lobster posted an ad in the classified section for servers.

              Perfect, I thought.

              I didn’t have any waitressing experience, but who cared? I could wing it. At the time, the average entree at Red Lobster was around $12, which meant I would earn good tips and ultimately be able to help pay for the damage to the vehicle while putting some money in my pocket for the school year.

              My boyfriend drove me to the Red Lobster so I could apply for the position in person. He agreed to wait for me in the parking lot while I went inside. (Because, back in “the day”, I didn’t have a cell phone to easily contact him when the application process was over. Read about other modern conveniences that didn’t exist when I was in college here.)

              When I arrived, the manager on duty, a middle aged woman named Barb, advised me that I had perfect timing, because they were about to start interviews, and she invited me to participate. Barb started working at Red Lobster as a busser when she was 15, had leathery skin, a tattoo on her left ring finger, and a gold front tooth.

              I got this, I thought.

              The interview process had two parts. The first was a timed, written exam that was graded electronically. Those who passed the written portion engaged in one-on-one interviews with the management, who made the final hiring decision.

              There were roughly 15 other people in the Red Lobster entrance area who were applying for serving positions along with me.

              They varied in age and gender, but there was one common denominator. They all smelled like a bowling alley: cigarettes and onion rings. Some of them looked like they hadn’t bathed in a couple days. One lady was wearing a Food Lion uniform. There also was a Hispanic man who handed Barb a piece of paper stating that he couldn’t speak English. She directed him to the kitchen.

              I was certain I was the only person in the room with any type of higher education. I was also certain I was the only person who showered in the last 24 hours.

              Being a stuck up, self-absorbed twenysomething, I thought to myself: I’ve got this interview in the bag! 

              Barb corralled us into a room where were given an exam packet, a Scantron-style grading sheet, and a Number 2 pencil. She advised she’d return in ten minutes, and we had to answer as many questions as we could.

              The clock started ticking.

              I felt like Rocky in the Final Countdown. I slicked my hair into a pony tail, grabbed a Tic Tac from my purse, and put on my game face.

              Question One: What animal do baby back ribs come from?

              A. Pigs. B. Cows C. Fish D. Chickens

              Me: Jeez. I don’t really eat baby back ribs and I don’t remember the cook ever serving them at the sorority house. Shoot, I thought this was a seafood place, not a meat place. I guess they’re from cows. Yeah, must be cows. 

              I bubbled in the B.

              Question Two: How many quarts of coleslaw would it take to make a gallon?

              A. Two. B. Four. C. Six D. Eight

              Me: Why is this relevant? Wouldn’t it be easier to just scoop a bunch of coleslaw into a milk jug until it’s full? I don’t flipping know. Eight sounds about right. Moving on.

              I bubbled in the D.

              Question Three: Sally’s meal is $14.99 and Justin’s meal is $12.99. They both order sodas, which are each $.99. Sally orders a brownie sundae, which is $3.99, and Justin follows her lead by ordering cheesecake, which is also $3.99. When it’s time to pay the bill, Justin gives his server a $50.00 bill and tells him to keep 20% as a tip. How much change should the server give Justin? Round the numbers up and don’t account for sales tax.

              A. $3.51 B. $2.99 C. $3.99 D. $4.47

              Me: What? I need a calculator. If I was good at math, I’d be pre-med instead of pre-law. I scribbled some numbers on the side of the examination packet and started getting nervous it was taking too much time. None of my “answers” matched the choice options. I looked at the numbers. Two of the choices end in $.99. All of Sally and Justin’s food and beverage selections ended in $.99. So, clearly, either B or C were correct. I’ve always heard if you’re uncertain of the answer on a multiple choice test, go with C. So that’s what I did.

              I bubbled in the C.

              The questions continued. Some were difficult and others were easy. Eventually, a buzzer went off and Barb entered the room and collected our bubble sheets. She advised us to gather back into the lobby while the computer tabulated the results.

              While we were waiting, nobody else seemed nervous. I saw the Hispanic man leave the kitchen area and give one of my fellow server applicants a high-five, so I assumed he secured some type of position as a cook or dish washer.

              Did he have to take an exam?

              I overheard one of the applicants ask another applicant for a ride home after the interview because she and her baby daddy were in an argument and she didn’t want to take the bus back to her apartment.

              She literally said “baby daddy.”

              After a couple minutes, Barb returned to the lobby.

              Jennifer Daku? she said, eyeballing the room.

              I raised my hand.

              Yes yes yes yes yes! I thought. I must have received the highest score on the exam! That’s why Barb’s specifically calling my name and nobody else’s! She’s probably going to suggest bypassing the serving position and directly promoting me to management without the need for an interview! 

              You didn’t pass the exam. But everyone else can come back to the offices with me for interviews. 

              To say I was shocked was an understatement. I thought Ashton Kutcher was going to swing the front door open and tell me I just got Punk’d. I thought Barb was going to confess that my boyfriend gave her $10 to mess with me and the entire thing was a practical joke. I thought I would eventually wake up from this Cheddar Bay biscuit and Shrimp Scampi nightmare.

              Defeated, I walked to the parking lot, got into my boyfriend’s truck, told him what happened, and eventually started crying.

              The experience was humbling and humiliating.

              Served me right for thinking I was too good for Red Lobster. Served me right for thinking I was better than the other applicants. Served me right for mentally jeering Barb, the Hispanic guy, the Food Lion lady, and the woman with the baby daddy.

              I went in seeking a server position but, instead, got served a dose of reality and it served me right.

              Thirteen years later, I tell the story and laugh.

              It’s pretty hilarious.

              For anyone wondering, baby back ribs come from pigs, it takes four quarts of coleslaw to make a gallon, and the hypothetical server should have given Justin $4.47 in change.


                Family Pictures with Young Children: Not for the Faint of Heart

                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                Does anyone have any xanax I can borrow? Asking for a friend.

                There are worse things in life than taking family pictures with young children.

                Accidentally hitting someone with your car and killing them.

                Biting into a large piece of gristle when you’re eating steak.

                Stepping on a tack with your bare foot.

                That’s about it.

                Of course, it’s much easier if you hire a photographer like Aida Llanos Family Photographer to take your family pictures because they have the experience to be able to take good pictures AND keep the kids smiling! But sometimes you feel like you’re all looking nice and want to capture the moment forever!

                From a “big picture” perspective, I know that sucking it up and taking the family photographs will result in a handful of beautiful pictures that will be cherished for a lifetime.

                And when I say handful, you better believe I mean we are fortunate to receive three decent pictures out of twelve thousand terrible ones.

                I have friends with young children who had to literally re-take family photographs after their honest photographers confessed he or she didn’t receive even one good shot during the photo session.

                However, there is a part of me that puts that down to them not hiring somewhere like this Los Angeles Baby Photography agency to do their photographs in the first place, but I also know how hard it can be to make children, or babies for that matter, sit still for a photoshoot.

                And in the age of Photoshop, Afterlight, and VSCO Cam, that’s pretty bad. But believable. Because photographing young children is one of the hardest things on the planet. Even armed with fancy photo editing tools and applications, photographers are only as good as their subjects.

                Then comes the pressure to jump online and order holiday cards the weekend immediately after Thanksgiving “because that’s when all the good deals are, and you have a coupon code that expires on Sunday, Goshdarnit!”

                And so you order a couple hundred cards to mail to all of your close friends acquaintances.

                Then you freak out as soon as you push the “confirm order” button on your computer, because you realize you chose the “Merry Christmas” card option instead of the “Happy Holidays” one, and you don’t want to insult your buddies who celebrate Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or Diwali.

                So you seek validation that you made the right choice from your husband.

                And he reminds you that anyone who legitimately gets offended by your card can be removed from next year’s list and, therefore, you’ll save $3.


                According to our friends at Hallmark, in 1843, Englishman Henry Cole came up with the idea of sending Christmas cards. Too busy to hand write personal greetings, he hired London artist, John Calcott Horsley, to design something he could send to his friends. German immigrant, Louis Prang, is known for bringing the Christmas card concept to the United States. In 1875, he printed a card that showed Killarney roses and the words “Merry Christmas.”

                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                Early Christmas Card- L. Prang & Co.

                Americans purchase roughly 6.5 billion greeting cards each year. Annual retail sales are estimated between $7 and $8 billion. Christmas cards account for 1.6 billion units of this figure, which includes cards in boxed sets.

                That’s a lotta cards.

                With regard to our personal holiday picture experience, in an effort to be proactive, we had our family pictures taken while we were vacationing in Boca Grande, Florida.

                I envisioned the pictures would be perfect and we would look like a family straight out of a J. Crew catalogue.

                In reality, most of the pictures that “didn’t make the Christmas card cut” look like they came out of a pamphlet for “How to Spot Tortured Children” provided by the Department of Children and Families.

                Like this one:

                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                And this one:

                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                Some call it hugging. Others call it a choke hold.

                We also received “cuts” of our children doing goofy things out of boredom, like this one:

                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                Need to see it closer? Got ya covered:

                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                To describe taking family pictures as “stressful” is an understatement. A huge one.

                First of all, getting everyone out of the house and looking presentable is a struggle. Our clothes needed to be ironed, my hair needed to be blow dried, and the girls needed to be fed. What was initially a 7pm start time with the photographer ended up being 8pm because my time management, coupled with the unpredictability of children, stinks.

                Just as we’re ready to leave the house: “Mom, I have to go potty!”

                Another mistake was attempting to take outdoor pictures in Florida in July, where being outside in the afternoon feels like walking into the epicenter of Hell.

                My makeup was melting off my face. I was terrified of getting sweat stains on my dress. The girls needed to be hooked up to an IV of cherry Slurpees to maintain their charismatic personalities until the photo shoot was over.

                Worst of all, after ten minutes in the humidity, my blown-out hair looked like something out of a 1980s Tina Turner music video.

                Another struggle was getting all four of us to simultaneously look at the camera and smile. By the time the kids were both looking at the lens, I wasn’t looking. Or I was staring at the ground. Or making that hideous face I subconsciously make when I’m stressed out.

                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                Hey guys… look at the camera!

                amily pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                It’s all fun and games until someone is picking their nose on camera…

                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                … or completely freaking out.

                We were grateful to get one good shot of us standing on the famous Banyan Street, even though Arden has a look on her face like The Spanker Man is standing behind the photographer.

                Gotta take what you can get.

                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                Complaints aside, I have a confession.

                I love getting the mail in December.

                I love rushing home from work to open my mailbox and receiving cards with my friends’ beautiful faces. I love seeing pictures of my cousins, who were my first true friends, showcasing their growing families. I love reading the funny anecdotes, stories about adopted pets, children starting school, and news of friends starting fresh chapters in different cities. I love holiday cards that double as birth announcements.

                I love it, I love it, I love it.

                Below is the final Christmas card product. It didn’t turn out perfect, but we aren’t perfect, so the East Brunswick family pictures were a perfect choice for us.

                Special thanks to Synthia at Synthia Therese Photography for her talent, patience, and sense of humor. You are a treasure to our family!

                I wish all of you a wonderful holiday season and hope it involves massive amounts of love, family togetherness, peace, memories, chocolates, cheese trays, nut rolls, fruit cakes, and champagne.

                Lots of champagne.


                Family pictures are the pits- The Champagne Supernova blog | http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/family-pictures/

                  Tips for the Tipper: Holiday Tipping Guide

                  Holiday Tipping Guide from The Champagne Supernova

                  The holidays are expensive and busy. Between ordering gifts for the family, sending out Christmas cards, and attending parties, I’m whooped by December 26.


                  In the past, the hustle and bustle of having a crazy calendar have caused me to forget to do important things.

                  RSVP to a get-together. Attend a previously scheduled hair appointment (yikes!). Keep my New Year’s resolution (from January) of staying the heck away from the cheese trays and chocolate desserts at holiday parties. Hello, elastic waist band!

                  Tipping service providers.

                  Not again, I say!

                  People have different opinions about the appropriate amount of a tip. Some say it depends on the number of years of service. Some say it depends on the nature of the service. Some say it depends on the frequency of which the service provider receives tips throughout the year.

                  I researched the topic on EmilyPost.com, RealSimple.com, and CNN. While these sites were generally on the same page regarding how much or what to tip, I averaged the rules together and came up with this list.

                  Regular Babysitter: Up to one night’s pay and a small gift from your children.

                  Full Time Nanny: Up to one week’s pay and a small gift from your children.

                  Day Care Provider: First confirm whether the day care facility has a policy regarding holiday tipping or gift giving. If there is none, consider giving $25 – $70 and a small gift from your children. The same applies to a regular teacher.

                  Cleaning Lady: Up to the amount of one week’s pay and/or a comparably priced gift.

                  Personal Trainer: Up to the cost of one session or a comparably priced gift.

                  Pet Groomer: Up to the cost of one session or a comparably priced gift.

                  Dog Walker: Up to one week’s pay or a comparably priced gift.

                  Parking Garage Attendants: $10- $30 or a small gift. (I think Starbucks gift cards or lottery scratch-off tickets are always a win!)

                  Mail Carriers: This is tricky, as the United States Postal Service has strict rules about what mail carriers can accept during the holidays: 1) Snacks/ beverages/ perishable gifts that are not part of a meal, 2) Small gifts with little value that do not exceed $20, and 3) Perishable items worth more than $20 (e.g., fancy fruit baskets) must be shared with the entire postal branch.

                  Mail carriers cannot accept cash, checks, gift cards, or any type of currency.

                  Who knew?

                  Gift Wrapper: $1 to $2 per package, not to exceed $10.

                  Picture of Rapper 50 Cent in a Holiday Tipping Guide on The Champagne Supernova

                  Not THIS type of wrapper, silly!

                  Trash and Recycling Collectors: $10- $30 per person for private service providers. If the service is public, check with your local municipality for rules because some areas may not permit tipping.

                  Landscaping/ Yard Worker: $20- $50 per person. If the person comes regularly, you can give up to one week’s pay.

                  Swimming Pool Cleaner: Up to the cost of one cleaning to be divided among the cleaning employees. If a different person shows up at each cleaning, a tip is unnecessary. Our swimming pool cleaner does such a good job. Recently, he has even recommended that we invest in a robot pool cleaner to take care of some of the more hard to reach places. We found some reviews of a few different robot pool cleaners online by visiting the Pool Cleaner IO website so we are definitely tempted to give one a go. Watch this space!

                  Newspaper Deliverer: $10- $30, or the equivalent of one month the subscription price.

                  Hairdresser: $20 to $100, depending on the frequency you see this person. Me: every six months, for shame.

                  (Looking for tips on how to streamline your morning hair routine? Click here.)

                  Workplace Assistant: In addition to a year end bonus your company provides, include a gift that values at least $50. Of course, this depends on your position (read: minions pay less than slave drivers) and the length of time the person has been your assistant.

                  Boss: It’s unnecessary, but a nice gesture. Ask co-workers to see if they’d like to chip in for a restaurant gift certificate.


                    Public Humiliation: Does Anyone Have a Towel I Can Borrow to Wipe the Egg off my Face?

                    The Champagne Supernova- surviving public embarrassment http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/public-humiliation-anyone-towel-can-borrow-wipe-egg-off-face/

                    Something humiliating recently happened to me.

                    It made the list of the top five most mortifying things that have happened in my life.

                    I can’t remember the other four, but they must have been pretty bad.

                    It’s necessary for me to put the scenario in context. In October, my husband left town for a week to go hunting out west. When he planned this trip in August, I got the genius idea of flying to Nashville with my two girls, ages 1 and 3, to visit longtime friends and their families, for the Halloween weekend that my husband was scheduled to be away.

                    All the kids can go trick-or-treating together and I can get in some much needed girl time with my “show-your-butt” friends*.

                    *Show-your-butt friends: people with whom you have solid enough friendships where you can engage in temper tantrums, make extremely snarky comments, and revelations that you’ve had homicidal thoughts toward people who repeatedly annoy you, without fear of judgment or ridicule. People who are good enough friends to tell you if you need to suck on a mint or when it’s time to tweeze your unibrow.

                    I’m speaking hypothetically.

                    The weekend in Tennessee was fun, but exhausting; mainly because Nashville is in a different time zone than Tampa and also because it happened to be daylight saving time, which meant my girls (and I!) were awake at 4 a.m. every day.

                    The Champagne Supernova- surviving public embarrassment http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/public-humiliation-anyone-towel-can-borrow-wipe-egg-off-face/

                    Me and my “show-your-butt” friends in Nashville, where the trouble started. Judging from my major fashion faux pas of “double leoparding,” I should have cried “Uncle” and gotten on the first flight to Tampa.

                    When the weekend was over and I returned to Tampa for three additional days of fun as a “single parent” before my husband was supposed to return, I was struck with career responsibilities of having to commute to Lakeland (one hour away) each day for work on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.

                    I returned to the office on Wednesday after traveling to Lakeland to respond to a few emails before having to jet to pick the girls up from daycare before it closed.

                    The law firm where I work is in an office building that has 41 floors. Accordingly, thousands of employees from hundreds of businesses work in the same building as me. That’s a lotta people. What’s notable is there is a separate elevator bank from the lobby into the parking garage, which comprises the first 14 floors of the building.

                    As I was rushing from the lobby toward the garage elevators to get to my car on time to get the girls by the 6 p.m. deadline (picture the scene from Home Alone where Kevin’s family is frantically running through the Chicago airport to make their flight to Paris on time), I saw three strangers inside an elevator with the doors wide open.

                    The Champagne Supernova- surviving public embarrassment http://thechampagnesupernova.com/2015/12/public-humiliation-anyone-towel-can-borrow-wipe-egg-off-face/

                    “HOLD THE BLOODY DOOR OPEN!”

                    We made eye contact.

                    Anyone with a shred of elevator etiquette knows that if you are inside an open elevator and make eye contact with someone who is heading toward the elevators, you must hold the door open. Or at least make it appear that you’ve made an effort to prevent the doors from closing.

                    (This is exactly why, when the shoe is on the other foot, I always go to the back of the elevator and stare at my iPhone. To prevent the possibility of making eye contact with someone and having to hold the doors open when I’m in a hurry.)

                    As I literally ran toward the open elevator wearing three inch heels (my bunions were-a-barking), I stopped just in time to prevent the elevator doors from slicing off my nose as they shut in my face.

                    I was shocked. Why did these people not hold the elevator doors open? How hard is it to push the freaking “Door Open” button?

                    Uncharacteristically, I loudly declared, “You Assholes!”

                    And then the doors opened back up.

                    The people inside the elevator stared at me awkwardly. 

                    Ashamed and defeated, I had no choice but to step onto the elevator with a handful of strangers who just heard me call them assholes.

                    “I’m not a jerk,” I wanted to explain, “I am just an exhausted mom who has had a shortage of wine and sleep over the last seven days… and the cussing wasn’t my intention… it was my nervous tic!”

                    By this point, another woman had walked up from behind me in the lobby and witnessed the entire event. She followed me onto the elevator, pushed the button to the floor where she was parked, and stared at the ground before she began shuddering with laughter. Her body was shaking. She resembled a youngster who was trying to not laugh out loud in church, which only made her more hysterical.

                    To make matters worse, I was parked on the top floor of the garage. Which meant I had to wait for the three strangers and the hyena to get off the elevator before it was my turn.

                    “Of course,” I thought. “Of course this would happen!”

                    While I probably couldn’t recognize the three strangers in the elevator, I don’t believe I’ve encountered them since my little snafu. I sure hope they wouldn’t be able to identify me.

                    Parenting makes you do desperate things. Traveling halfway across the country while balancing a career and a temporary status as a single parent can turn even the most stable people into lunatics.

                    Not that I’m stable. But you see where I’m going.

                    I’ve forgiven myself for losing my cool and hope the strangers feel the same sense of compassion.

                    Sometimes when we have egg all over our faces, we need to laugh about it, shake it off, and try to do better next time.

                    Or call in the reinforcements (Grandma!) if your spouse leaves town.


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