Soul Thumping

Approaching the Official "In my 40's" Date...Quickly

D-day is nearly here.  I have--counting today--3 days left before my 41st birthday, at which time I will be "in my 40's."  It sucks.  In my head I'm still 26 and I own the world, but we all know I'm not (and certainly don't think I own the world any longer, and DON'T really want to ever be in my 20's again).  My mid to late 20's were cool, but I was still a child.  There were a couple of years while in my 30's that I enjoyed a little, but I wasn't in my zone, but I know already that my 40's will be the best years of my life (so far).

Why will my 40's be the best years of my life?  I'm finding my way back to being comfortable who I am.  I'm also not waking up and contemplating what might have been.  I've never been married because I never felt that I had to be married, so there was no pressure or settling on someone or something, which has been the greatest of all attitudes to adopt, for me.  Why?  Because I don't have to look back and wish I'd done things differently, and I had time to find out all about me (the good and the bad).  Because it means I've never been trying to find someone (though I have found my soul mate now, Poseidon), if it happened, it happened.  I never stressed about having a baby before 30 (or any age really).  My biological clock may tick like most women's clock, but mine has a mute button, and I chose to use it.  Now I'm at a point where I feel like everything else is gravy!

So, as I'm approaching the big "41" I've done some reflecting, some journaling, etc., and I have a few more days to share those thoughts in my blog, so expect more posts than usual this week.  As I love to dole out unsolicited advice, what better time than now to give some "guidance" to the 20 and 30 year old greenhorns who think the world belongs to them and they are the only ones who've ever been that age... Let me first say this:  I have great friends who are in their 20's and early 30's and I mean no disrespect or offense to you just because of your age.  The friends I have who are in their 20's and 30's are mature, cool chicks who have at least one foot in reality with a solid understanding of who they are and where they might want to go!

--Fortuitous "Almost in my Forties" Observer

I Miss My "Friends"

I don't watch weekly television shows now with any regularity (I try to watch House because I wish I could be as honest as he is...ok, maybe not that honest), but I was thinking today that I really miss Friends.

Friends was my favorite show back in the day.  I felt like the characters truly were my friends and when I came home after a rough useless day from work on Thursdays, I couldn't wait to unwind with a glass of wine and hang out with Monica, Rachel, Chandler, Ross, Phoebe, and Joey.  I tuned into my Friendsand tuned out the rest of the world.  I took solace in their plights, zinger lines, and recurring neuroticism.  I liked it there, in that funky small apartment in Manhattan.  It was a little like my own tiny apartment at the time, only I was living in downtown Raleigh, not Manhattan (I know, huge difference).

I think what attracted me to this series was the fact that I didn't have many friends of my own (and I still don't), and I envied their connection and closeness, yet was overjoyed with it at the same time.  I didn't have many friends because it was always difficult for me to find and make connections with people that go beyond superficial (and I still have this issue).  Not because most people are superficial, but because Idon't know how to connect.  This time, I'm not blaming other people...yeah!!!  I'm putting the blame solely on me.  Write that down folks because my next post will be back to blaming or bitching about someone else.

The older I get ('gulp', and I am getting older), the more I realize how important these deep connections with people are, and if you have them, count yourself lucky and don't screw them up.  As for me, more years of therapy to understand why I don't want to make friends, and fortunately, cable so I can catch my Friends almost any day of the week if I want to, just in case I do feel like playing.

--Fortuitous Observer

A Man's First Trip to a Makeup Store

Every year I go through my makeup drawer (ok, drawers, I have multiple) and weed out the scads, heaps and gobs of unused lipsticks, limp dirty blush brushes, and ridiculous eyeshadow palettes that I was never going to wear anyway (it must have been my alter-ego Fuchsia who told me it was ok to buy that chartreuse glitter eyeshadow).  I throw out everything that is a year old (or in some cases, more than 5 years old).  I toss it, make a list of what I need to buy this year, and then next year I go through the entire process again.  Weed, throw, list, buy, weed, throw, list, buy, and so on.

I get ever so excited thinking about what I'm going to buy, what new things I want to try, how I'm going to keep it under a million bucks, etc.  I start out being sensible (and that goes directly out the window without passing Go), thinking only of earth tones and natural vegetable or mineral-based products, no testing on animals!  Humans, ok, but not defenseless bunnies and rats (I had a pet rat once so I'm a bit sensitive to the rights of rodents).  This year was no exception.  After purging everything that was old, possibly moldy, or just plain hideous (like the bright orange blush), I was finished.  I sat down, made my list and was ready to go to Sephora and make my purchases.

This year, Zeus asked if he could go (I think it is cool that he asksif he can go), and I said, "Sure, if you don't think you will be bored and rush me through the process."  I take makeup buying very seriously.  I wasn't always so "girly," really up until a couple of years ago I didn't care so much about makeup.  I suppose that is one more thing that happens when one turns 40...vanity.  Anyway, you see, I can spend hours, and I mean actual hours, in Sephora stores and I don't want to be hurried.  I want to take my time and savor every eye-popping color and smell.  There are so many bright goodies and sparkly powders to see.  It makes me want to try out each and every one!  Zeus seemed up for the challenge, so I let him tag along.

As soon as Zeus and I step foot in the store, I let go of his hand and immediately head toward the first shiny tacky thing that catches my eye, which happened to be Urban Decay's shiny yellow eyeshadow.  I don't wear yellow eyeshadow but it was like crack for the optical nerve and I headed straight for the tiny little pot of gold (don't worry, I didn't buy it).

Zeus reminded me of a deer caught in headlights.  He stood still for a few seconds and followed me around.  He was mesmerized.  I can understand, to a man, a store dedicated to makeup must be such an alien, decadent, oh wait, stupid concept.  I think he may actually have thought he was dreaming the entire trip.

He followed me in a stupor as I grabbed the items on my list, and of course, items that were not on my list.  After about 30 minutes, I had everything I came in for, including crap I didn't need and probably won't wear.  Zeus was drawn to a shiny jar of teal sparkly eye-shadow and he wanted me to own it!  He was so hooked on this that he said Santa may get it for me for Christmas.

Before I checked out, Zeus spoke up and asked, "Why do I not see any Fire Engine Red eyeshadow?"  I told him we had already passed it a few aisles back and he thought I was kidding until I walked him back to the shelf displaying the red powder (along with deep dark blue, lime green, and more yellow, etc).  He was impressed I think!  Next to the bright red was a little tester pot of dark glittery purple.  He liked that purple and wanted me to try it on.

I finished my shopping and we walked hand-in-hand out of the mall to find some dinner, me in purple glitter eyeshadow and bright pink glitter blush, and Zeus with an expression on his face as though he had just spent two days on Mars (or in a coma).

--Fortuitous Observer

Amazing Grace & the CLEP Exam

This isn't my usual funny, sarcastic blog (I know, I know, I'm sorry for trying to get serious for once).  This is something that happened to me that is a total mystery, something so profound yet confounding that it is difficult to explain it, but I'll try (of course).

My father passed away from esophageal cancer on August 11, 2004.  I went to the wake and the funeral and I was miserable at both.  I didn't like seeing my father in a casket with entirely too much makeup on, and the pink lipstick was over the top!  At the funeral, my cousin Toni sang "Amazing Grace" which was one of my dad's favorite songs, and he always loved her voice.

A few months after the funeral I was trying to finish a degree and I wanted to "test" out of some classes, which means I take the CLEP examination for the course, and if I already know enough about the topic, and pass the test, I don't have to take the classes, etc.  So, I had scheduled a CLEP exam at a small college in Philadelphia, where I was living at the time, called Manor College.  I didn't even know where Manor College was, but I followed the directions.  My exam was scheduled on a Saturday at noon.

I gave myself plenty of time to get there, but due to road construction (imagine that, road construction in Philadelphia).  I had to take several detours around this construction (or "destruction" in Philadelphia...not to go off on a tangent, but due to the unions in Philadelphia, things get finished at a slower, relaxed pass because that means, well, more money), and I was hopelessly lost.  I was frantic.  I drove up and down streets, looking for the school.  If one is scheduled for an exam and more than 5 minutes late, they won't let you in!  I was in a panic, tears streaming down my face.  I had the radio on, and out of nowhere, "Amazing Grace"  started playing.  I was stunned.  I hadn't heard this song since my father's funeral, and the radio station I had on, a college station, wasn't in the habit of playing gospel music.

As I listened to the song, tears still streaming, I began to calm down, and an almost peacefulness took over.  I took a deep breath, and I looked up, and directly in front of me was Manor College.

I made the exam on the dot, and passed.  Thanks Dad.

--Fortuitous Observer

Prosperity: The Family Reunion - Part II

As I mentioned in my previous post, my family had a reunion during the July 4th holiday weekend at my aunt and uncle's home in Prosperity, SC.  As I'm unemployed, I felt it couldn't hurt to spend some time in a town called "Prosperity."  It's a quaint little place not far from Columbia, and my aunt and uncle have a house on Lake Murray, which isn't too shabby in itself.  Anyway, back to the reunion story.  Some background on my family:  my grandparents live in West Virginia, and my mother and her 3 siblings were all born and raised there.  My siblings and I were also born in West Virginia, but we lived in Georgia and North Carolina at various times during our childhood.  What this means, is that most of those who attended the family reunion are West Virginia hillbillies, however; most of them do have all of their teeth, or at least a full set of dentures (and no one wore overalls).

Oddly enough, I don't have much family fodder to spout off about.  I know, I know, it is most unusual.  Most of my observations during this trip were outside of my family.  For instance, the hotel we stayed in during the weekend in Prosperity.  I am used to traveling for work (ok, when I was working), in fact, I was a road warrior and 90% of my job involved travel.  I say this because it makes me an expert on business travel, maybe even a bit of a snob, and as I have almost zero patience for just about anything and everything, I tend to be easily annoyed with vacation travelers who don't understand travel etiquette.

For example:  The free continental breakfast in the morning at the hotel doesn't mean that your misbehaved, loud brats can run in and out of the line and between other guests in the line, grabbing bagels with their snotty little fingers while you go back for your 3rd helping of biscuits.  The fitness center is for those of us who exercise routinely and want to keep the momentum going during our vacation.  It isn't for your 10 year old kids (the kids who you let run like wild antelopes in a game preserve throughout the hotel because you don't want to be bothered watching them) who think the exercise bike is a toy.  It's just not.  My brother made the comment, and I think it seems fairly accurate, "It's as if people lose all sense of social etiquette when they check into a hotel."  Ok, for those of you who do watch your kids and don't let them run around like they've been caged in the garage for 6 months, I salute you and I don't mean to lump you in with the above.  Thank you.  I sincerely mean that.

I have to say that the most memorable part of the family reunion trip to Prosperity, SC would be the subtle reminders that we were indeed in the "Bible Belt."  These reminders came in the form of signs posted throughout the area.  Here are my two favorite:        

This was a large sign outside of what appeared to be a thrift or antique store:
                 We are Open
          We take credit cards
          Jesus is Coming!

This one was on a sign outside of a Baptist church:
           Dusty Bible, Dirty Soul

But of course, the coolest thing about Prosperity, SC is that they have a Piggly Wiggly grocery store.  You don't see many of those around anymore, so I bought a Piggly Wiggly T-shirt to remember the trip.  "I'm Big on the Pig!"

 

--Fortuitous Observer

A Shameless Plug:  Pat's band, Polynya, just released their new CD, Crop Rotation.  Listen to the "People In Pictures" track!

Are Kids Like Cats?

You've probably heard people say that cats always gravitate toward people who actually don't like cats.  It's true.  My almost sister-in-law doesn't like cats.  She says, and I quote, "They freak me out.  They want to steal my essence."  She may have some deep-rooted childhood traumatic story about a creepy cat who bit her or something, but I think it's an excuse so she doesn't have to check on my cats when I'm out of town (just kidding T).

She was hanging out at my house one day last week, and my Siamese cat, Kwinn, descended upon her immediately.  It's a fact!  She let out an almost inaudible gasp each time he got near her, like the wind had been knocked out of her (or the cat was stealing her breath).  I would call him over (and he always comes when he is called because he is a mama's boy), and would come sit with me, but he would continue to stare at her, like he was plotting something devious.

This started me down one of those "deep-thinking" paths I take that make almost no sense to everyone except myself, so I only share this stuff in my blog because almost no one reads it anyway!  OK, so I'm thinking that maybe kids are like cats?  I don’t have kids and most people would swear that is a good thing because I’m pretty sure I don't have even one maternal bone in my body.  I'm 40 now, so if I don’t have at least one maternal bone in my body, I probably never will.  I’ve told friends that I’m like a hamster:  I would probably eat my own babies.  The first time it cries, that’s it, eat it and no more noise.  I joke of course (well, maybe).  So, why is it that kids seem to like me, or at least find me so interesting?  I’ve had kids come up to me for no reason and hold out their hands or walk over and smile and say, “Hi.”  I've even had kids on planes who want to touch my hair or my face.  It's weird.

Kids of all ages seem to do this.  Even two weeks ago, while on my daily run to the lake, a school bus let some grade school children off at the stop near my house, and a young girl with long brown hair and braces, probably about 12 or 13, smiled a huge smile at me and said, “Hello.”  That isn't the first time she has done this.  It's just the first time I thought about it.  I politely smile back and say hello.  She seems like a very sweet girl and I try to be nice, but in the back of my mind, I'm wondering what she wants from me!

I was in a restaurant a few months ago, when I first moved back to the Raleigh-Durham area, and a little girl in front of me, probably around 3 or so, wanted to play peek-a-boo with me.  I wasn't interested, so I went back to listening to my cell phone voice mail.  OK, all of you mothers out there, don't hate me.  It's not that I was being mean, I just don't know how to relate to children.  I don't.  My brother and sister don't have kids (and probably won't...and shouldn't), so I don't even have nieces or nephews to deal with, which makes me clueless when it comes to kids.  I know they slobber, they scream, and they need constant attention.  That's all I know.  They make me very uncomfortable.  They are like spooky tiny little people.  It's like they know I don't like them, so, like cats, they must come and find out why.  I think they want to steal my essence!

--Fortuitous Observer

Little Ghoul Baby

OK, It just might be official:  I may truly be a freak.  I've always had a vivid imagination, and I tend not to be scared of most things.  I am a horror movie fanatic and I love to be scared.  Truly, I do.  During my early adult years I became entranced with horror movies, especially those made during the early to mid-70s.  I enjoy turning off all the lights in my house, lighting some candles, and popping a scary movie in the DVD player while I sit with my head half under a blanket, watching these flicks that are sure to disturb the normal person.  I'm un-phased.  I don't even have nightmares.

There are things, however, that creep me out (snakes, spiders, roaches, people picking their nose in public, etc.), but I'm not afraid of them.  Let's just say I love to be scared, but I don't believe I ever thought I had an unusual love of the macabre.  That is, until a few weeks ago.

My boyfriend has known from the beginning of our courtship (do people still use that word?) that I am crazy about scary movies and I have a large DVD collection of these flicks, and he has always seemed to think this was cool.  I was "cool" until a few weeks ago.  Now I think I've gone from cool to creepy.

It started when we took a trip to the plant nursery and bought several additions for my front yard (I'm trying to brighten it up a bit in case I have to sell...remember, I'm still unemployed).  As we were digging the 2nd or 3rd hole for our newly purchased plants, I blurted out, "Wouldn't it be grand if we found a skull or some bones in this hole?"  I felt such an excitement flair up in me and as I was basking in this fanciful, disturbing thought of uncovering some sort of remains that I didn't even notice he had stopped digging.

When I looked up to see why he had halted the digging, I found he was looking at me with an odd expression on his face and he was simply shaking his head.  I think he was a bit scared of me at that moment.  I tend to blurt things out that may or may not be appropriate at particular moments, musings that just enter my mind, and I shrugged this off as one of those moments when I completely caught him off guard.

I didn't think too much about this again until we were watching a scary movie--a great Swedish vampire horror flick called "Let The Right One In"--and I made some comment about the movie.  I don't want to give any of the story away because I highly recommend watching it (I would suggest getting the Swedish version with subtitles rather than the dubbed English version - you can check out the trailer here:  http://www.amazon.com/gp/mpd/permalink/m2G0C4LE7XPH5G but finish reading my post first!), but there is a scene where a body is discovered in the snow.  I again made a comment about how interesting it would be to just be strolling along and finding a body in the snow.  That was a mistake.

A mistake because my boyfriend looked at me again with an expression of concern.  He shook his head, patted my arm (he really did pat my arm), sighed, and said, "Ah, my little ghoul baby."  Like I said, it just might be official...I am truly be a freak.

--Fortuitous Observer

Sibling Rivalry - Going Cain and Abel

My identical twin sister and I were the happiest of toddlers.  That is, until he came along.  We were our parents' first children, and our grandparents' first grandchildren.  Our aunts and uncle spoiled us.  We had the greatest life until the age of 3. That is when our little brother appeared, bringing with him the introduction of sibling rivalry in our family!  My sis and I were no longer the center of the universe.  We were not happy about this little bundle of yuck our parent's brought home from the hospital and we wanted to send him back immediately if not sooner.  He took the devoted attention away from us and put it on himself.  He was not wanted and needed to go!

I bring this up because I read an article not long ago on sibling rivalry among toddlers where parents seem so concern about this and should children be sent to therapy at the ages of 3, 4, 5, etc., to deal with sibling rivalry.  Good grief people!  Sibling rivalry is normal.  If your kids aren't arguing, there is something wrong (repressing feelings, lurking psychotic thoughts, evilness lying in wait, etc.).  Yes, sibling rivalry ran rampant (that would be an alliteration) between my brother and my sister and I, and I think we are the better for it.  Let me make a disclaimer here:  I'm not a doctor, pediatrician, psychiatrist, or a psychologist, and I'm not pretending to be.  I'm just someone who lived through sibling rivalries, and they are normal.

My earliest recollection of our (and by "our" I mean my twin sister and I) feeble attempts to try and rid ourselves of the little cretin was when my sister and I were 5 and our brother was 2.  He definitely entered the "terrible two's" stage and he was an affliction that we were not prepared to (nor did we want to) deal with.  My brother was given stick horse, a red stick horse (the long stick with the large stuffed plastic horse head on top, with a bridle and rein).  My parents, in their infinite wisdom, decided this was a good gift for the brat.  He didn't ride around on it and play cowboy; he used it as a weapon, an instrument of ache, against my sister and I.  We tattled to no end, but our grievances fell on deaf ears.  One Saturday afternoon my parents were outside and ignoring our pleas (once again) to make him stop mauling us with this "toy."  So, we took the law into our own hands, running inside and locking him outside.  We licked our wounds and assumed we were safe.  That lasted for 2 minutes.  He then, using the stick horse, knocked through the glass door and gained entrance.  We were greeted with the red stick horse swirling through the air with angry vengeful force.  When we came out from hiding, my parents arrived on the scene, and my sister and I were punished for locking him out (of course!!).

The next incident occurred weeks later.  Once again, my parents were outside doing yard work, when my sister and I discovered our mother had left the children's chewable vitamins out on the counter.  Let's face it, those things are like candy.  My sister and I downed almost the entire bottle (It was only 1/3 full anyway).  When my parents came back inside and saw the empty bottle, they were in a panic.  My sister and I told them our brother had taken them.  My parents were shaking him, then my dad was on the phone to the hospital or pediatrician, and there was some concern about iron poisoning, and having his stomach pumped, blah, blah, blah.  We later 'fessed up, but not after he took some punishment.

At the age of 6, my sister and I overheard a telephone conversation between my mother and a friend.  My mother was telling the friend that our little brother was "an accident" and boy oh boy did we run with that one!  We told him he wasn't really wanted.  He just arrived by accident and so now we had to keep him, even though no one really wanted him.  I remember him crying and saying it wasn't true, but it didn't seem to bother him much.  Later he swore he was adopted anyway (he wasn't).

We made him eat mud pies we created.  We made him do our dirty work.  We made him play with Barbies.  We blamed everything possible on him.  I think one of us even tried to chop his big toe off with the garden hoe (or, it may have been him that did that to himself, I really can't remember).  We continued to torture him, both physically and mentally until he reached the age of 6 or 7 (approximately).  By then, he was bigger than we were and refused to take any more punishment from us.  It was good while it lasted.

I guess my point, in response to the alarm in the article I read on sibling rivalry, is that siblings eventually grow out of the rivalry stage (if they are healthy and mature) and learn to get along.  Siblings have to settle conflicts their own way (that is my humble opinion anyway).  As adults, we three are rather good friends and spend most holidays together and speak or email on a semi-regular basis.  For those of you worried about my brother, I can assure you, the bonehead is alive and kicking, and is now down to only 2 days of therapy each week and his scars have healed nicely...

--Fortuitous Observer