Soul Thumping

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 Friends and 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 at the time, 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 I don'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

Thieving Squirrels

I was hoping to enjoy a teeny bit of snow and bird watching early this morning, but it was too warm and snow rarely graces North Carolina with her presence, and the squirrels have stolen my bird feeder, again.  Yes, the little bastards literally stole it.  Chirp, chirp, chirp?  Nope.

The "burglary" happened a couple of months ago and I've been too cheap to spend money on another bird feeder because this latest theft is the second in what appears to be a desire for absolute neighborhood domination.  Poseidon found a feeder that is guaranteed to be "squirrel proof" but I'm skeptical.  I'm skeptical because it has a price tag of almost $90, but mostly because the manufacturers of this guaranteed squirrel proof bird feeder haven't met the sly kleptomaniacal rodents with fluffy tails bunking in my backyard.

I have blogged about these bugger squirrels in the past.  They don't give up, and I have to respect that, I truly do.  It may take them weeks or months to filch the bird feeder, but they will.  They will attack it, poke it, pull at it, and chew at it until it cracks open like a pinata full of sunflower goodies.  I've personally witnessed them involved in acrobatic feats that would stun the most avid viewer of the Animal Planet channel, just to break open that feeder.

I miss watching the cardinals, the blue birds, the finches, and even the woodpecker who used to pop in for a snack.  I miss them and their beauty and grace and the rave reviews they gave my seed in the "Uptown Birdy Times" but I'm not ready to spend $90 on another feeder (I also think I'm still too young to become a birdwatcher, but having lived in urburbia for many years, I forgot what they look like so they are a bit like a circus freak show to me...I can't help but watch).  Anyway, until such time I decide to shell out the bucks, I will have to enjoy squirrel watching instead of birdwatching and allow the score to stand for now:  squirrels - 2, birds - zip.

Damn, I wish it would snow...

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Cough Syrup & Lies!

Poseidon is sick, I'm sick.  I suffered through a month of hell with an upper respiratory infection November through December; an infection that wanted to keep a strong hold on to me like it was hanging over the side of a cliff about to plummet to its death or likely to be dropped into a boiling vat of wax.  I finally shook the thing after getting two shots, one in each hip, at the same time (I believe I mentioned that in another post, Flossing and Fainting).  That was an experience to journal about and pass along to my grandkids (oh, wait, I don't have/want kids, so how am I going to get grandchildren exactly?  Can you adopt grandchildren?  Not saying I wanna, just curious...).

Anyway, as usual I'm whining.  To make matters worse I realized today that I'm going to be 41 next month.  Yup, that's right.  I'll be, officially, "in my 40s" which sucks.  This is making me think that perhaps I have no (or limited) control over my health now that I'm on my way to middle age.  God, I'm growing more depressed as I type.

What happened to the vim and umph of my youth?  As a kid I could walk around for days with a snotty nose, sniffles, watery eyes and that raspy cough (the one that as an adult makes me run like a bat out of hell when I hear it coming from a kid).  It took so much to knock me down and make me give up playing and take a spot on the couch or my bed, gulping down teaspoons of cough syrup.  Actually, I think that is why I refused to admit I was sick and feigned perfect health:  I didn't want to take the cough medicine.  Kids, your parents are lying to you when they tell you if you hold your nose and take it you won't taste it.  You will and it tastes like shit.

So, now that I've whined, I need to buck up and get over it.  Poseidon had to get two shots yesterday (he is much worse than I am this time), and he has to take 3 different meds, including a cough medicine, and he isn't whining.  I forgot to tell him to hold his nose when he takes it.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Tapeworms Instead of Liposuction?

Zeus, I mean Poseidon (Zeus now wishes for me to refer to him as Poseidon in my posts...we'll see how long I keep that up), and I were talking about tapeworms the other night.  I think he brought the subject up because I can't imagine why I would.  He had some medical fact or something he had read about involving tapeworms and wanted to share, so I listened.  I then started down my own warped path of thinking, and I had an "aha" moment, though I'm sure I can't be the first person who has thought of this.

Why can't we ingest tapeworms instead of having liposuction or spending so much time at the gym?  I'm being serious in a weird way, because I'm curious, mostly.  Liposuction is costly and there are dangers associated with it (ok, I suppose there are dangers associated with tapeworms also), and then there is the painful recovery process.  Seriously, I've watched enough episodes on the Discovery Health Channel to know what is involved in the liposuction process, and the recovery does not look pretty.

What about a tapeworm doing the work for us?  Isn't it more natural?  It's a living organism that has to eat anyway, so why not let it eat the food for us until we reach our ideal weight?  All you have to do is drink some infested water or, even easier, eat undercooked or raw fish, pork or beef.  Maybe my next sushi outing will result in a tapeworm.

Listen folks, I'm not really suggesting you go out and eat raw meat or chug a tall cold glass of dirty water, so please don't do that.  I'm just curious.  Poseidon brought it up and I'm merely thinking out loud.  By the way, has anyone reading ever had a tapeworm?  OK, I'm off to they gym.  I hear there is a new smoothie store going in next door to the gym.  I'm going to ask them where their water comes from.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

I'm Not a Fashion Blogger...But I'm Playing One Today

I love fashion.  I read several fashion and style blogs when I can (only the funny or unique style blogs, not the run-of-the-mill magazine blogs), and I own oodles of books on fashion, famous fashion designers from long ago, the history of fashion, fashion ads, fashion illustrations, etc.  I used to tear out pictures and ads from Vogue or Harper's Bazaar and tape them to my walls just to remain inspired for upcoming shopping trips (until I realized that taping pictures to the wall will pull the paint from the wall, then I used thumb tacks, until I realized they leave holes in the walls.  Now I just leave the pictures in the magazines and dog-ear the pages), even if I know I can't afford the Jimmy Choo shoes.

I get so excited just thinking about shopping trips that it isn't uncommon for me to dream about these trips for days.  I sometimes plan strategies for my shopping excursions:  do I tackle sweaters or dresses first?  Pants and skirts next?  What about shoes?  Shoes require a special trip alone.  Upcoming shopping trips can also spark a full-on case of anxiety in me, but I just take some pills and continue onward.

There are so many fashion bloggers out there, some good, some boring, some ridiculous, many with terrible grammar, and I'm not going to pretend to be one, but I'm so excited about a purchase I made at a vintage store two weeks ago (thanks to Tanya for finding this store!!) that I have to write about it.  You see, it has been a while since I've perused the racks of a vintage store, and to actually find a great buy, something I'm more than excited about, well, I'm all aflame.

My find?  I'm so glad you asked!  A vintage faux leopard short coat (not a true pea coat, but close).  It is in amazing condition, and it doesn't smell like moth balls or stale pee (like many vintage items can).  No kidding.

I've worn my new coat a few times and I feel like a 1960's fashionista prowling the streets.  OK, maybe not prowling exactly...how about strutting or strolling?

Anyway, here's hoping everyone has a fashionable day wearing whatever makes you feel grand (yikes, that sounds like a fashion blogger to me...somebody stop me).   

 

--Fortuitous Observer

If I Had Only to Worry About a Radio Station...

One night while Poseidon (oh I nearly forogt, Zeus now wishes to be called Poseidon) and I were driving back from somewhere, we were listening to the local classical station and he was giving me some background on this particular station.  A few years ago, some people were up in arms when a rivaling classical station went off the air.  There was a big to-do because now there was only this classical station and the station seemed to cater to the "blue collar" classical station listeners because they only played well-known pieces, nothing avant garde.  This of course upset the ruling class in the area because they would not dare bring themselves to listen to Beethoven's "Ode to Joy."  That "pop" piece is for "commoners." 

This story annoyed me.  At the time I was going through a great deal of personal stress, with having been unemployed for the better part of the year and worrying everyday whether or not I would lose my new house, my sanity, and if I would have to start pilfering the neighbors' garbage cans on Monday nights (Tuesday morning is trash day in my neighborhood) in order to eat.  I'm a bit of a music snob myself.  I don't like "pop" or "rock" stations much, preferring college stations playing indie and non-mainstream stuff, but that's my preference.  I'm not going to throw a fit if another pop music station comes on the air.  The majority of people listening to radio prefer those stations.

Of course things are better now, I'm employed and I've been able to go to Kroger for my groceries instead of fighting my neighbor's dog for his scraps during the middle of the night, but I'm still annoyed by this story.  If the only thing in my life I had to stress about was a radio station, how wonderful would life be?  The existing station plays classical music that some listeners, who aren't particularly educated in every nuance of classical music, but have listened to a little of it, can enjoy (thus having expanded their horizons).  I think that is awesome.  How great it must be to be a member of the "ruling class" in this area, since their lives are so obviously stress-free that they can devote their time to worrying about the lower classes enjoying a bit of Bach.  Let them eat cake.

 

--Your humble servant, Fortuitous Observer

It's Cold in the Shadows

In keeping with the new year theme, I thought I would be serious for a second or two, so I asked myself if I learned anything in 2009 and my answer is a shy, "Yes, yes I did."

I learned in 2009 that I'm a whiner.  Some inconvenient things happened to me this year:  I got laid off, didn't feel well most of year, both physically and mentally, and had a couple of worrisome potential health issues.  My hair started breaking off in small pieces (I'm told due to stress), started snoring for the first time in my life, thought my cat (my baby) may have cancer (turns out he doesn't, he just pukes...too much), worried about losing my new house, unemployed for 7 months, oh, yeah, and I turned 40.  There are those who endured far greater problems than insignificant me, yet I whined.

I learned in 2009 that I can survive all of this shit (sorry Mom, I'll try to be more lady-like and clean up my language in 2010, though it isn't a huge priority), though I considered giving up many times.  Some days I didn't want to get out of bed at all and it was an internal struggle just to face another day.  It really is hard to keep a smile on and whistle the "Brady Bunch Theme" song in your head when you have to dog paddle like crazy just to keep your head above water.  Grin and bear it?  Ha, ha, screw that.  It's impossible to just pretend all is well in the land of make believe.  Life isn't make believe.  Sometimes it's hard, but it can be navigated (maybe not always in the most convenient or direct route).

I learned in 2009 that life isn't supposed to be easy or fair.  If life was easy and lovely everyday, it would be nirvana, not the daily grind we call living (or survival in some cases).  I also believe in karmic retribution and I've pissed someone off big time.  I know that.  I also know that I've taken many lumps and I've given out some lumps, but I'm still trying to erase those bad karma points, one at a time.

I learned in 2009 that no one is going to do my living and take my thumps for me.  It's up to me, and me alone.

I remembered in 2009 that I have an inner-self that is stronger than I am right now or could ever be and she used to be in charge.  In 2009 she quietly waited in the shadows and spoke in a tiny voice to me sometimes, just to remind me she existed; that she was there.  She is getting louder now and she tells me she is cold in the shadows and she would like to come out and play again.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Imbecilic Things I've Done - Confessions of a Gen Xer

Now that the new year and decade is immovably upon us, I've been doing the obligatory reflecting and I've realized that I have done some asinine things in my life.  I don't think I'm apologizing for them because these things, no matter how idiotic, have assisted in shaping me into the person I am today, good, bad, or insane.  I just feel like sharing.

This list is by no means a "no stone unturned" catalog of confessions.  I'm sure I've done things not included in this little lineup that I'll be reminded of at some point, either in this life or my next one as a bug (not to mention, my mom may be reading, and I don't want to give her a heart attack...yet : ) 

· Made rocket fuel in the 3^rd grade from a number of household cleaning products and tried to ignite it with my dad’s lighter

· Mixed Pop Rocks and soda together to see if I would explode (I didn’t)

· Hitchhiked drunk with my friend Josie (I won’t use her real name) one night just for laughs – oh, and because we were drunk

· Asked a cabbie in Albuquerque if he knew where I could buy pot.  Also asked him why Bugs Bunny never made that “left turn at Albuquerque”…he didn’t know the answer to either question

· I’ve broken all of my toes, on both feet, at least once.  This really isn’t my fault.  I have brittle toe bones and no control over their snapping into pieces.  I stopped going to the doctor long ago.  Now I just make my own little splints from nail files (or popsicle sticks, but I rarely have those) and tape

· When I was 8, I stuck a bunch of straight pins in a girl’s hand because she wanted to join our club and that was how she would prove her worthiness

· Accused the same girl of stealing the club’s money (an entire 20 cents), even though she didn’t, so we could have a reason to kick her out of the club

· Destroyed a neighbor’s garden when I was 9 (along with my sister and our best friend Jenny) because he was mean and we didn’t like him

· Purposely sang the wrong words to the song “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” (you know…”Shitty Shitty Bang Bang) when I was 5

· Taught a 4 year old little boy that I was babysitting how to strike matches (no one asks me to babysit their kids…it isn’t a good idea)

· Stole a pack of Tic-Tacs at a newsstand (that was really an accident, I did plan to buy them but absent mindedly stuck them in my pocket while looking through the magazines – I think I even went back and paid for them)

· When my twin sister and I were little and took our baths together, I always peed in the tub, but told her I didn’t

It's good to share...

 

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Ya Know What I'm Sayin'? - Annoying Conversations

There are those days when I hear someone talking and they make me want to jab a letter opener in both of my eardrums, slit my wrists, pull my eyelashes out, kick my cats (and I love my cats), connect the negative and positives to a battery incorrectly, or go cliff diving on purpose.  Today is one of those days.

I won't say where I am because I don't want to call attention to anyone in particular or call them out.  I don't know this person and he (oops, I've given away the gender) doesn't know me, but I really want to do one of us in:  me, so I don't have to listen to him, or him, so he doesn't have to continue to speak to anyone on the planet.  He has been on a phone conversation for quite some time now, I'm going to say almost an hour.  Every other sentence that comes out of his mouth is, "Ya know what I'm sayin'?"  I'm not kidding.  If I had the time, and too little of a life, I might actually count the number of times he says it because it could make it into the book of world records.

Everyone has their catch phrases, things they repeat over and over.  I know I do.  I overuse the words "absolutely" and "interesting"  when I'm speaking to people.  I hear myself doing it, and I know other people, especially people around me often, hear me overusing these words.  It's probably annoying at times.

Does he say, "Ya know what I'm sayin'" in job interviews or on dates, or if he is married, does his wife not want to smack him?  Does he say that while he is conducting business or whatever it is he does?  I'm not certain, but judging from his appearance, I'm going to guess he is in his late twenties.  He otherwise seems like a semi-intelligent guy.  I'm not making fun of this guy.  I just find him absolutely annoying.  Not in an interesting annoying way even.  I absolutely hope his former high school English teacher can't hear him.  I'm sure she would absolutely be interested in hearing what an absolutely terrible speaker he is.  Ya know what I'm sayin'?  : )

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Flossing and Fainting - A Gen Xer's Ear Piercing Experience

First, I see sparkles, then I feel the blood leave from my hands, arms, neck, chest, legs, then boom, I slump over.  I'm a fainter!  I faint during routine teeth cleaning visits (especially during the flossing), doctor visits (I almost fainted last week because I had to get two shots...one in each hip), hair appointments, etc.  I have been doing this for years.

It's an anxiety disorder.  The first time I actually remember fainting was when I was in the 4th grade.  My mother took my sister and I to get our ears pierced.  I assumed it would hurt, but I wasn't prepared for the pre-piercing trauma which triggered some anxiety that still sticks with me like glue to this day...anytime I'm in a "chair."

You see, the "beautician" piercing our ears had sprained her wrist a couple of days before and it was all wrapped neatly in one of those tan bandages you buy at the drug store.  Unfortunately, the wrist she sprained was her right wrist, and she happened to be right-handed.  She told my mom she would still be able to do the piercing (after all, we did make an appointment).  What?

I went first.  I liken the experience to that of an inmate on death row being led to the chair for the appointed execution.  I sat down in the chair (it was a salon chair, as if I were getting a haircut, not waiting for to have tiny holes punched in my tiny little ear lobes), tense and stiff.  My entire body was like petrified wood as I gritted my teeth, ready for the pain.  She raised her arm with the "staple gun" used to pierce ears (this was 1982) and I saw her hand shaking!  I remember feeling a bit woozy and I know my faced turned white because I could feel all of my blood drain from my hands, arms, torso, legs, and down through my feet, out on the floor.  This "professional" turned to my mom and said, "We can do this another time if you think they will be less scared."  My mom said, "No, go ahead so we don't have to come back."

That's all I remember, except when I started coming to, my ears were pierced, they were stinging a little, and my sister was in the chair, white-faced.

 

--Fortuitous Observer