Soul Thumping

For the Anti-Valentine Fan: Museum in Croatia Devoted to Items from Relationships Gone Awry

"A prosthetic leg currently showcased in England at the National Centre for Craft and Design, was donated by a war veteran who fell in love with his physical therapist.

A note says it lasted longer than the relationship because it was made of sturdier material.' "

I read this article from from Huff Post this morning, "Museum Of Broken Relationships: Croatian Museum Showcases Post-Split Mementos" and I had to think, it being being Valentine's Day and all, that those folks not fond of the Hallmark created holiday would appreciate this little gem!

It is a novel idea, creating a museum showcasing, among other things, a garden gnome thrown at a husband...an axe smashing through furniture!

The museum says it's number of visitors on Valentine's Day almost double!  Could be the broken-hearted or the Valentine-haters who would prefer to celebrate breaking up over googly-eyed sappy love stuff, or simply the curious among us.

I personally don't have a problem with the heart-shaped holiday, and I was even inspired to draw a heart on a piece of paper for Poseidon, taping it to the bathroom mirror.  He appreciated the sentiment.  So, whether you are pro or anti-Valentine's Day, this article is entertaining either way.  Enjoy.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Escape from Inadequate Mountain...

What I find the most difficult about being married to a wonderful, sensitive, truly caring soul, is that I am not one.  I'm hyper-vigilant with repressed anger issues, wreaking with constant anxiety, and my "psyche is more complex than most."  I put quotes around that last bit because that is what my therapist read to me when revealing the results of my Rorschach test last year (I recommend everyone visit a Psychotherapist and take the Rorschach test --a.k.a. the ink blot test.  It is eye-opening and the results are eerily dead-on...spooky).

This means a great deal many things, but an important aspect is that I'm so hyper-vigilant and will do anything to protect my feelings from being trampled on at all costs (which also explains why I didn't get married until the age of 41).  I'm not a therapist, and I'm not pretending to be one, but let's just say my entire adult life has involved sitting in the Big Chair (that is a reference to Tears for Fears album, named for the shrink's chair in the movie Sybil) and spilling it to a therapist every week, so I'm familiar with the drill and I am fully aware of what my issues are, whether or not I work on them, well, that is another story.

Back to my original idea.  Poseidon and I had an argument last night that was not pretty.  I won't go into the details, but during our heated battle of words, he called me a name, and this name feels like a brick being hurled at me with brut force, and it causes me to feel inadequate, some things from my childhood, etc.  I immediately shut down and revert back to childhood, pouting, sucking on my thumb, and curled up in bed in the fetal position with tears running down my face.  The only difference between this happening now versus when I was a child, is that mascara is now involved, and instead of tear stains on my sheets, I have tar stains, like a paving job gone severely wrong.

I've made strides in overcoming those past feelings of being inadequate and feeling lower than just about everyone else, but the brain always reverts back to those times stored where emotions were the strongest, and it isn't easy to retrain the brain, though I have been trying and making steps forward...even if they are only baby steps, at least they are heading forward, not backward.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Sally & Linus: Imaginary Love Leads to a Doomed Life

One morning, a few weeks ago, at least, as Poseidon and I were calling each other absurd pet names, trying to see who could make the other nauseous by coming up with the most ridiculous of names, I played my ace card:  "sweet baboo."

Peanuts fans will remember that Sally sometimes referred to Linus, the love of her life, as her "sweet baboo."  So you see, I can't take credit for that quirky little term of endearment, but I occasionally borrow it from the late great Charles Shultz when I really need it.

This mushy conversation then led Poseidon and I down the path of Sally and Linus and I began to philosophize over their terrible relationship, doomed of course from the very beginning.  Why was it doomed?

Because it was a one-way love affair.  Linus didn't return Sally's affections.  Linus was still in that "girls are gross" stage, and Sally was already mature and wise for her young age (maybe it was that gargantuan head of hers...her brain just expanded faster than most and it outgrew her skull) and knew what she wanted.  Unfortunately (or fortunately) we were not privy to their awkward teenage years and their adult years, and what happened between them, but I'm speculating that it wasn't pretty.

Sally probably chased Linus all throughout junior high and high school, trying to gain his affection by throwing herself at him, endeavoring to outshine any competition that came along.  She probably attended drunken bonfire parties just to show him that she could hang with the rest of the girls that Linus may have been eyeing, downing shots of tequila and throwing herself at him (I'm only making up my own stories here, and I am absolutely sure that Charles Shultz would not have gone this way, so I don't want anyone screaming at me, ok?).

I suspect she even followed him to college (she was accepted to Princeton, Dartmouth, and Brown, but she followed him to the party university), still trying, but never capturing his affection or winning him over.

Sally more than likely grew up with some deep psychological issues over being rejected at such an early age.  Presumably spent most of her adult life in and out of mental facilities (some in-patient and some out-patient).  While out on a program meant to reinstate her into society, she in all likelihood was able to find Linus' address on line and started stalking him and his wife and 2 kids, which promptly got her sent right back into the room with the pretty white puffy walls where she stayed for the remainder of her sad life.

What's the moral?  There really isn't one because I'm just brainstorming and typing as I think, so I didn't intend to have a moral, but if there is one, it's plausibly something like, "Don't date girls with large heads," or "Stay away from girls who wear the same dress for 40 years."  I don't know.  insert your own moral here ______________________________.

 

--Fortuitous Observer 

My Last Days of Single-hood

My upcoming wedding at the end of this month has triggered some impromptu introspective reflections about my life and my single status and what that has meant to me over the years.  I can honestly say that I have enjoyed being single.  There were times when I wasn't in a relationship that I thought I was so over being single, but those moments were short lived and infrequent.  I've always considered myself to be a fiercely independent person and I have been (and still am) comfortable being alone.  I not only enjoy my autonomy, I've embraced it.  Let's face it, I'm getting married for the very first time at the age of 41, so I've had the necessary time to get to know all about me and what I want and don't want out of life.  I've dated some great guys and some not so great guys, but the one person who has always been there for me, is me!

Getting married wasn't an item on my life's little checklist that absolutely had to be checked off.  I went through my adult life with the attitude, "If I found someone I wanted to grow old with (and I have...thank you Poseidon), then great, and marriage might be something that happens."  But, if it doesn't , I would go on living my single life with ease.  I mean, why do people have to be part of a couple to be happy?  I've been involved in more than one relationship where I was actually happier being alone!

I was reading one of the blogs on Psychology Today called "Living Single - the truth about singles in our society," and there are some great posts about being single and the debate about whether being "coupled" is better than being "single" or the other way around.  Anyway, while perusing the posts, I found this great quote:

“What a commentary on civilization, when being alone is considered suspect; when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it – like a secret vice.”

–Anne Morrow Lindbergh

There is still a stigma attached to single-hood (especially women) and it seems so medieval to me.  I've been in groups of friends where I was the only single person and I felt as though I was being pitied or there was something inexcusably wrong with me.  Are you kidding me?  My life always looked better to me than those couples' did, so no pity for me please (by the way, many of those people are divorced now, and not just on their 1st divorce)...envy me!

I've also known women (and a few men) who were desperate to get married because they no longer wanted to "be alone."  I personally never looked at being single as "being alone."  I looked at it as the freedom to make my own decisions and choices without having to consider someone else.  I also looked at single-hood as a teacher, allowing me to become strong and capable all on my own, which it did.  I get so mad when I hear a woman say, "My husband has to take my car to the shop to get the oil changed (and I hear this quite often)."  Why does your husband have to do that?  Why can't you do that?  I can change my own flat tires; I can dig myself out of a snow storm; I'm comfortable going into any restaurant by myself, ordering a nice lunch or dinner and people watch for a couple of hours; I've traveled to many countries by myself; I've lived in big cities by myself; I've lived in small cities by myself.  These are just a few things that I, as a single person, learned to do and I am very comfortable with doing them.  I almost feel my intellectual and emotional growth would have been stunted had I not stayed single so long.

Now, I don't want my single friends out there to think I'm abandoning them by getting hitched.  I'm feeling a little guilty about that to be honest with you.  I accidentally found someone I don't mind spending the rest of my life with and marriage is our way of celebrating that.

I don't think I'll have the opportunity to "miss" being single, because I'll be the same person after the wedding vows are said that I am now.  Just because I will no longer check the "single" box under marital status doesn't mean my independence and autonomy goes out the door with it.

So, I have no regrets at staying single for so long.  It was the best life choice I could have made (for me).  On the flip side, I'm also looking forward to growing old with Poseidon and starting new adventures together while keeping my independent spirit in tact.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Legally Licensed to Wed

Poseidon and I went to get our marriage license yesterday morning in downtown Durham at the office of the Register of Deeds.  It was a hot (wait, who am I kidding?  It wasn't just hot, it was torrid, hell-like scorching hot), early, and I was fearing there would be a line out the door, with unbearable waiting for hours behind a rope, waiting our turn to be called like cows to the slaughter (sorry for using such distressing imagery there) to the next available marriage-license-issuer.

Fortunately, my fears were unfounded and the entire process of obtaining our marriage license proved to be swift without complications.  Only one other couple was applying for a marriage license.  They spoke very little English and I was trying to follow along (I should have paid more attention in my 3 years of Spanish classes in high school, but I didn't) as the license issuer was asking about their place of birth and mother's maiden name...I guess they forgot to put that down on the license application.  Anyway, we simply filled out a short form, showed our drivers license and Social Security cards, paid $60.00 in cash and took a marriage oath.

The marriage oath was a curious thing.  We had to raise our right hands and read aloud (together) words on a card.  The oath we recited centered around our making full disclosure of being legally able and willing to marry.  She asked if we wanted to swear or put our hands on the Bible.  We opted to swear.  I'm sure this oath held much more importance originally, but it seemed a bit silly to me while we were reciting the words.  Maybe because I was reading much faster than Poseidon so he stepped up his pace at the same time I tried to slow down, which made us both stumble over our words and caused me to giggle.

So, all-in-all, it was a pleasant experience and we now have a license to wed.  I wonder if they ever gave psychological exams to folks before allowing them to apply for a marriage license?  Thankfully, it is not required now.  I think I recall my mother telling me that she and my dad had to take a blood test before they could apply for a license, but that was in 1968.  Times were much different then and I suppose officials wanted to make sure humans were marrying humans and there were no aliens involved.  Hmmm, it's a good thing I didn't have to take a blood test.

--Fortuitous "E.T." Observer

Father's Day...For My Father Who Has Passed

It's Father's Day, and because my father passed away a few years ago, I thought I would post an article I wrote about him for the paper I did some freelance work for in Philadelphia.  Here is the online version of the paper, with my article.

Happy Father's Day Dad.  You are missed.

--Fortuitous Observer

Soulthumping Postcards

It just hit me today that It has been a year now (actually, a little over a year) since I started my blog.  Don't worry, I'm not going to bore anyone by "reflecting" on the year, because I did that in January, and throughout the year, ad nauseum.

I got a postcard from Poseidon today.  I haven't had one in quite a while (no, he isn't away, and yes he does live with me, he just likes to write and send me post cards sometimes while he is at work...so sweet) and as usual, when I see one in the mailbox, an impromptu, uncontrollable little smile dances across my lips : )

Have a wonderful weekend everyone.  Do something that makes you smile!

--Fortuitous Observer

Pajamas for Everyone and Welcome to Karl!

Wow!  First, I can't believe I haven't blogged in some time now, and I miss it, but planning the wedding is taking more time than I thought it would (sigh).  However, I'm in a pretty good mood because tomorrow is Friday, AND because one of my favorite people ever, Karl K. has popped up on Facebook.  Welcome buddy!

Getting back to one of my last blog posts...so I did finished sewing my first dress, the orange dress I spoke of in my Zipper Madness post, and it came out ok, but I f'd up the sleeves, which is ok.  I was rather calm about it (thank you weekly neuro-feedback sessions!!!) and I considered it a learning experience, which is soooo unlike me.

Anyway, my next project is making pajama pants...for Poseidon (click here to see the fabric I'm using...yes I am).  The awesome part about this sewing project is that he is my fiance and he can't not wear them (double negative?), no matter how shitty they come out.  I mean if one leg is shorter than the other, he has to wear them and act as though they are the finest pajama pants he has ever had.  Truly, he does have to do that.

OK my pretties, I know, this has been a short stupid, not-so-funny blog, but I will update you on this project soon and I will add as much sarcasm and self-degradation as usual.  I've also vowed to get back to blogging at least twice each week, but I'm also a flake, which means doing what I make myself promise I'll do at times goes undone : (

It's nice to be back!

--Fortuitous Observer

Bridezillas and Bridezillas-to-be

I suppose I haven't blogged about it yet, but Poseidon and I are engaged.  Yup.  He proposed, I said yes, we've set a date (in just a few months actually). made the guest list, I bought a dress, ordered invitations, etc.  I'm not the bridezilla type, so no haggling over details and fluttering about from one florist to another, harassing every cake maker in town, pissing off everyone I know.  Why?

First, I can't be a bridezilla because of my inability to cope with crushing anxiety.  Actually, the anxiety doesn't even have to be crushing, just present.  I'm anxious and stressed enough on a day-to-day basis, and fretting for days over the color of my groom-to-be's cummerbund or whether we have chocolate, raspberry, or celery-flavored cake (Poseidon requested celery-flavored cake...freak) would send me straight to the hospital, begging not to be resuscitated should it come to that.  I swear, I'm not kidding.

My second reason for not turning into a bat-shit-crazy bridezilla:  I don't want people to hate me.  Take note of these things bridezillas and bridezillas-to-be for your own future happiness because you are going to want someone there in your old age to change your diapers for you or at least come and visit you in the "home."

Getting engaged then picking a wedding date 2 or 3 years in advance just to reserve the "best" photographer in town or the "trendiest" chapel in the entire county is, well, stupid.  Those years you spend planning, demanding, screeching like a maimed animal and just being an overall bitch will follow you for the rest of your life.

When you start gossiping about your best friend, whom you've asked to be your Maid of Honor, because she gained 5 pounds and will screw up your wedding pictures, you better think about it.  It will get back to her (you think the other bridesmaids aren't going to stab the bride in the back?) and she will hate you for the rest of her life.

Do you think your husband won't remember you calling him an incompetent dimwit because he answered the phone one day and told the florist that carnations will be a fine substitute for calla lilies?  He will.  Trust me, 10, 15, 45 years later...he will bridezilla, he will remember.  He might forget sometimes, but maybe when you are 90 and sitting on the porch together drinking some lemonade, and you have an accident, he won't change your bridezilla diaper.

When you call your mom a lazy fat cow because she can't take the day off from work (again) to go with you to another dress fitting (and oh my, how I feel sorry for bridal shop owners who have to deal with bridezillas for a living), she isn't likely to forget it.

Know this bridezilla, they will always secretly despise you.  You might think you can be a bridezilla for 2 years, and then after the wedding day, the switch flips to, "Oh, I was just stressed out while I was planning the wedding, let bygones be bygones," but that doesn't happen.  I've wondered why it is that many brides rarely, if ever, talk to their bridemaids after the wedding, and I realized while writing this blog why that is.  They loathe the bride.

I'm high strung and I like doing things my way and all that, but I want to get married because I love my Poseidon, not so everyone looks at me and pays attention to me on "my special day."  I can't see flipping a lid and spending thousands of dollars on one day, and it isn't even a full day!  Don't get me wrong, it's an important day and I want to enjoy planning it, and I'm sure I'll always remember my wedding day if Poseidon decides to go through with it.

--Fortuitous Observer

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