Soul Thumping

Yoga Class - Why is it Always About the Cats?

Several years ago, I attended yoga classes twice each week.  I continued the routine for 2 months, but I just didn't quite get the "hang" of it.  My body honestly did not appreciate being twisted into balloon animal shapes, and my mind wandered.  Over the years, my yoga practice has consisted of attending classes in a one-off fashion, and nothing more serious or devotional than that.

Let's try meditation, shall we?  I did.  Last year I attended a 6-week "Introduction to Meditation" course, meeting one night a week at the Shambhala Center.  I was into it.  I even purchased my own Zafu cushion and Zabuton mat.  Like I said, I was into it...for a while.  Sadly, both cushion and mat are used more by Kwinn than by me.  When I see the mat and cushion, lonely, on the floor, I silently scold myself for not practicing, then I bitch about Kwinn's cat hair.  It's a dismal day when you realize your cat meditates more than you do.

So, back to yoga.  On Sunday, I went to a yoga class.  My first in a few months.  I enjoyed the instructor, and my body found its rhythm during our final sun salutation series, and I felt great.

As with most yoga classes, we ended with shavasana.  My body always feels relaxed during this pose, but for the life of me (no pun intended...you know, life, and the shavasana--a.k.a. the dead pose), I cannot shut my mind off!  During the time I should have been enjoying shavasana, stupid thoughts raced through my head and I felt like there truly was a hamster running in a wheel up there and he was determined to go the full 26.2 distance.  These were some of my actual thoughts (the thoughts I will admit to):

"Oh God, I really don't think I will be able to get off this mat without assistance.  Do I ask T. for help, or do I wait and ask the instructor after everyone has gone?"

"Flea medicine for cats.  Flea medicine for cats.  Flea meds for cats.  Flea cats."  By repeating phrases over and over in my head, I actually believe I will remember them.  Notice, my reminders shorten each time?  The more repetitions I can pack into my brain, the more likely I will remember.  Shorter is better.

This particular instructor likes to use yoga blankets during the corpse pose.  She asked us to put them over us like a blanket.  This is a public studio, so my prevalent thought during the pose, "How many people have had these blankets over them, and when were they last washed?"  I don't skeeve out often about germs, but for some reason, while my head should have been in off-mode, this thought hung around.

"Man, I didn't even shower today.  I can't believe Poseidon and I slept on the futon in the sun porch last night.  Poseidon, I'm sure he isn't even awake right now.  Am I wearing underwear, or did I just throw on my yoga pants?  Did I really see a raccoon last night hanging off the bird feeder while his feet wrapped around the side of the house?"

"Did I buy enough Diet Coke to last until Wednesday?  I don't want to go to the grocery store today.  Shit, what was I supposed to do after class?  Oh, oh, cats.  Flea medicine.  Did I determine which is closer, PetsMart, or PetCo?

While my thoughts raced, and my body tried to relax under the blanket used by many, many yoga practitioners, I'd not really achieved my goal of settling in.  Before I knew it, the yoga instructor's soothing voice was transitioning us from deep relaxation to wake.  My poor head was screaming, "No, no, it can't be over yet, I didn't relax...wait, wait, I'll focus on breathing, I promise I'll relax this time!  Please, I've wasted this precious respite.  Do over, do over!!!!"

And, that was that.  I opened my eyes, reluctantly, and rolled over on my side (amazingly enough, I was able to get up without assistance...I'm having some neck issues).  I got myself up, put away the yoga blanket (back on the shelf for the next victims) and blocks, rolled my mat into the shape of a large straw, big enough for the giant in "Jack and the Beanstalk," and gathered my other belongings.

I said goodbye to Tanya, then headed off to the pet store.  I bought the flea medicine.  I forgot cat litter because that didn't come up during shavasana, damn it.  As I walked toward the check out area, I noticed some fluffy pet cushions on sale.  "Kwinn and Kat would love those," I thought, then realized these cushions were not filled with buckwheat, simply polyester fluff, and therefore will not advance Kwinn's meditation practice, so I paid for what I had, drove back home, where Poseidon was napping on the sofa, Kat ran upstairs in anticipation of being given medicine (she would rather be eaten to death by fleas), and Kwinn nodded my direction with what looked to be his version of namaste.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

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How REALLY Not to be Invisible in Your Forties - Part II - Women in Their 40s

Smile Coffe photo attribution: Stefan Flöper / Wikimedia Commons / CC-BY-SA-3.0 & GDFL 1.2+

 

Please, can we eliminate chronic bitch face ladies?  It isn't cute at any age, it's annoying, you don't look important or confident, and in your 40s, it is down right unattractive.  I myself carried the look around for most of my adult life.

S M I L E

If you don't want to be invisible in your 40s (Part I, if you missed it), you need to retrain your face...you should learn to smile.  It isn't hard, and you will not only change your own outlook on the day, you will make everyone you come into contact with remember you. 

One evening, I'm guessing it was 2 or 3 years ago, while walking out to my car after a long day at work, a man, a stranger, said, "Hey, smile!" as he approached me.  What a jack ass, telling me to smile.  What if I don't feel like smiling?  I drove home, seething mad, but before I reached my house, I gave the request barked at me by this random stranger some thought, and I realized two things:

1. I was guilty of chronic bitch face
2. I no longer wished to be a sour-faced looking shrew

Yes, it annoyed me that this guy told me to smile, but thankfully I let it soak in, in a positive way.  It dawned on me, for the first time, that I actually thought walking around with a pensive, "don't you dare approach me" look on my face made me feel protected or hard as nails, completely unaware that I was giving off an I-am-so-lacking-in-confidence-that-I-must-show-you-how-aloof-and-uninterested-in-anyone-and-anything-I-am look.  Ewww.

If people watching from afar was a paid profession, I would be a billionaire.  I notice women who smile in crowds, because there are very few of them who do smile.  Women who seem to smile for no reason are an enigma, and I instantly want to know more about them.  I watched the women at the gym yesterday, call it research for this series, and I saw not one woman, of any age, smiling...except me.

When I'm walking down the street and come into contact with someone, male or female, I put on a true Duchenne smile, and I almost always get a great smile back.  If you are in your 40s, 50s, 60s, etc., and you are in a group of attractive yet unsmiling, detached 20-somethings, and you smile, you will be noticed.  Smiling at others shows an interest in something outside of yourself, something bigger than yourself, and others, especially strangers, see this, and you will not be invisible.

I read this quote a few months ago, and it is completely sexist (I don't know who said it, but it was more than likely a man):  "Women who aren't smiling just aren't as decorative."  I'm going to apply this to women and men.  My smile advice isn't just for women.  Neither sex is as decorative without a beautiful smile.  I've read studies that say women are more attracted to men who do not smile, but I call nonsense.  I personally love to see a man smile.  I think them derisive and self-absorbed if they don't smile.  I can see that a young woman lacking self-esteem might be attracted to men who don't smile because they need to feel dominated, controlled, one-down (you know, looking for that bad boy).  But come on, you're 40 now and so over all that, right (a subject for another part in this series)?

So decorate yourself with a full-on-rearmost-molar-exposing smile and brighten someone else's day, who'll hopefully pay it forward with her (or his) own smile, and so on, and so on, until...drum roll please (ratta-tat-tat)...all chronic bitch faces become extinct.  Smile!  Be visible!

 

--Fortuitous Observer

 

Which of these women would you first notice in a crowd?

Pink Panther Smokes and Drives a Silver Convertible Mercedes!

I saw Pink Panther today, driving a convertible.  Serendipity again finds me because if I hadn't decided to take the day off today, I would have missed this most absurd chance sighting.  I couldn't make up this silliness if I tried!

On my drive back from voting (early voting is going on in most states now people, so please get out there and vote), I was stopped at a red light and by mere happenstance, I looked in the rear view mirror.  I did a double take.  Sitting in a silver Mercedes convertible behind me was a man in a full Pink Panther suit, with one arm on the door, smoking a cigarette, and bopping his head back and forth to whatever music he was listening to.  How is it that I see this fantastical shit?

I stared in the rear view mirror, because frankly, I didn't know what else to do.  The light turned green and I was so happy to see that he was going my direction!  I wanted to pull out my iPhone and snap a picture but I was too flabbergasted to find the phone.  All I could think was how lucky I am to have experienced this wondrous slice of life!

Alas, he turned left at the next light, and that was that.  Honestly, I haven't been this excited since seeing the Christmas Panda!

 

--Fortuitous Observer

How REALLY Not to be Invisible in Your Forties - Part I - Women in Their 40s

 

Harsh reality coming, so please cover your eyes if you scare easily:  Women in their forties...are invisible.  We are. 

 

Articles and blog posts about not being invisible in your forties are many, but I've read very few that offer real, meaningful advice.  I'm making sweeping generalizations here, but most women want to be visible to someone, some group, strangers, etc.  If I said I didn't care, I would be lying.

H E A L T H Y

I'm just going to get to it, starting with the very first thing you need to do if you are in your 40s and you do not want to become or remain invisible:  You have to get healthy.

What is healthy?  Everyone has their own definition of "healthy" but make sure your definition is coming from a doctor, not self-diagnosed.  Healthy doesn't mean skinny.  Healthy doesn't mean, "I'm plus sized and I'm going to embrace my size and nothing else matters."  Healthy means a complete package, not just weight management, normal blood pressure, being disease-free, etc.  Here is the WHO's (World Health Organization) definition of health:  "Health is a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity."

I'm not a Hollywood size 0 with amazing muscle tone, flawless skin and the perfect smile, and I will never be, and neither will most of us.  Why?  Actresses, models, superstars and socialites can afford surgeries and the latest $500 cellulite cream (cellulite cream does not work ladies...ever), personal yoga instructors, daily massages, personal trainers, private nutritionists, chefs, etc.  The rest of us cannot and should not expect to look like the beautiful 40-something women of Hollywood.  It just isn't going to happen.  That doesn't mean we can't be healthy and visible in our 40s.

Healthy means you are doing everything you and your doctor can to make sure you feel well, physically and mentally.  If you are not eating properly,  exercising in some way (even a few minutes a day) for mental, emotional and physical health, taking care of your teeth (Poseidon scolds me for not flossing, but I admit, I hate to floss), your skin, etc., you aren't healthy, and you will be invisible.  Smoking?  Stop.  Today.  Your hair, your skin, your teeth, all suffer from cigarette smoking (not to mention the internal damage...you know, lungs).  Stop.  Get some help from your doctor, but please stop.

Exercise.  You have to.  You can't make excuses.  I have hypothyroidism.  I take Synthroid.  I suffer from chronic depression and anxiety.  I exercise...several times a week, and I take a low dose of an anti-depressant (I now take half the dosage previously prescribed since realizing exercise is the best anti-depressant).  Hypothyroidism isn't a disease, it is a condition, and it is treatable.  It isn't an excuse for not exercising.  Set up an exercise program with your doctor.  If a doctor ever tells you that you can't exercise, get a second opinion.  You might have some specific limitations, but a good doctor, one who truly wants you to be healthy isn't going to tell you that you aren't allowed to exercise.

I don't like having to go to the gym after work when I'd rather go straight home and turn on the TV or jump online and vegetate like a Lima bean.  I don't particularly like getting up on Saturday and going to the gym or for a run when I can stay in bed and do nothing.  But I do it, because I want and need the feeling I get afterwards.  I do it because it's what my mind and my body need to make me feel good about myself which makes me happy, which makes Poseidon happy, which makes my coworkers and the strangers that have to deal with me on a daily basis happy.  You get my point.  You just have to do it.  The best motivation for exercise is finding something you enjoy doing.  Try a group fitness class, stand-up paddle boarding, dragon boat racing (my sister suggested this, and I have no clue what that even is, but it sounds cool).  Do something that gets you moving that is enjoyable.  Start small.  Take a walk down the street.  The next day, take a walk around the block, and before you know it, you've walked a mile.  Build strength, give your metabolism a boost, but most importantly, feel good from the inside and out.  When you feel good inside, you radiate outside and you won't be invisible.

Is money an issue?  Exercise is free.  You don't have to belong to an expensive gym or buy weights, and if you do buy a gym membership, make sure you are using it.  Walking and running are free.  Can't afford to go to the doctor?  I understand.  Try finding a free health clinic.  I've done that.  Can't afford a prescription for depression or hypothyroidism?  Email, phone, or mail the pharmaceutical companies, because most of them will help you pay for your medication or give you a 30-day free supply.  I know this is true, because I've had to do this.  Are you seeing a doctor for depression and anxiety but you can't afford antidepressants?  Ask your doctor for free samples.  Pharmaceutical sales reps visit doctors regularly and give them samples of their drugs.  Again, I know this is true because in my 20s I began suffering from chronic depression and my doctor gave me free samples of Zoloft for over a year.  Swallow your pride and ASK.

The bottom line:  You are important enough to be happy and visible (especially important and visible to yourself) no matter what your age.  Something I finally realized in my 30s (it took me a while longer than it should have):  Nobody is going to make me better but me.  You can continue to make excuses, or you can be a happier version of you.  Your choice.  Nope.  Stop it right there.  There is no, "but."  You either do the work needed to be happy, or you don't.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Spitting in Public - Why Does This Still Shock Me?

On a trip to New Orleans, 1993ish, I encountered something so disturbing it will never be erased from memory.  Not ever.

My then boyfriend and I were in the elevator of our hotel, heading in to drop off some crap we bought, before our walk around the French Garden district.  We stood next to each other in the elevator, and a man and his son got on at the same time, standing against the wall opposite us.

Neither of these people said a word as they stared down at their shoes, but as soon as the elevator doors closed and started its climb, this cretin boy, drew back, and hocked a ball of spit across the elevator...where we were standing...missing my head by only inches.

I was in shock!  The little bastard (who was maybe 10 or so), and his father, the big bastard, just stood there, watching his spit slide down the mirrored wall like an incoming train.  My boyfriend was horrified.  Speechless.

The simpletons got off on the next floor, without saying one word, and boyfriend and I were left in horror.  Outrage.  We couldn't even exchange, "Oh.My.God's" with each other.  I didn't want to believe that a kid could be that barbarous.  He was (probably still is...in prison).

I bring this up because some coworkers and I witnessed a landscaper spit into a large container garden during lunch today and we were all in agreement that this was just gross.  I know people (and by "people," I mean disrespectful deviants) spit in public, and it dumbfounds me more than it should, but sometimes when I see it, I'm blown away at the spectacular rudeness of it all.  Still.

Maybe I'm just jealous because I can't/won't spit in public?  I'm envious of those degernerates who just.don't.care.  They can let a ball of spit fly in the wind without a second thought about its final resting place.  That is it...I must be jealous because I know I wouldn't be good at spitting in public, and any lame attempt I make to do so will end with spittle running down my chin, not the tacky mirrored elevator wall or a tourists head.  The uncouth have better aim.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

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Five for Friday - Ghostly Pictures

Ever see a picture that sends little goose bumps up and down your arm (or in my case, the hair on my rather hairy arms stands at attention)?

I love the feel-good creepiness I experienced as a child during October, so I chose some eerie, spooky pictures/illustrations that take me back to that feeling.  Ghoulies and ghosties, welcome to the table!

 

 

Photo from seasonofshadows.com

 

 

Photo from supershareware.com

 

 

Photo from vectorpile.com

 

 

--Fortuitous Observer

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Beautifully Scary

How NOT to Handle an MRI and End up Starring in Someone's Blog Post

A meltdown prior to an MRI isn't a pretty thing to have for sure, so what could be worse than freaking out prior to your MRI?  Having a witness to the meltdown...who happens to blog.

Yesterday I had my 3rd MRI this year, and holy magnetic resonance, Batman, I've got 2.5 months left in this year, so I could possibly squeeze in at least one more before the calendar rolls us over into 2013 (biting sarcasm in its purest form fully intended).  Seriously, these MRIs are getting mad old, but yesterday's MRI experience was spectacular!

A woman in the waiting room was obviously not happy to be there.  She started out by pacing back and forth.  She then began rocking from foot to foot, which isn't unusual

Freaking out over an MRI : )

because maybe she was having back or leg pain or something related to why she was having an MRI in the first place.  I noticed these things because I'm a people-watcher, but nothing screamed bats-in-the-belfry until she started sighing, loudly, like she desperately wanted to get someone's attention.  She had mine.

 

I was obviously staring at this point (I couldn't help myself), and she caught me staring, so I smiled, and turned back to the magazine I was reading.  She decided to sit down.  She sat next to a gentleman babysitting his grandson while the kid's mother was having her MRI done.  She began repeating over and over again, "This is ridiculous, just ridiculous."  I don't know if she was talking to the gentleman next to her, or herself.  The gentlemen wasn't saying anything, which leads me to believe she was out of her tree.

More pacing again.  The pacing went on for another minute, then she picked up a magazine from the basket on the floor, gave it a split second look, then threw it (literally, she threw it) back in the basket.  At this point she was making me itch.  I don't know why, nerves I suppose, but I was itching.

It was less than a minute after throwing the magazine that she threw her purse, maniacally, into a chair.  Then, she picked up the purse again, looked inside, threw it back into the chair like she meant to kill the thing.  I mean, you do you, girl, but this scene has moved from quietly amusing to disturbing as hell.  I wanted to draw my legs up into my own chair and start rocking back and forth.

Turns out, crazy train wasn't even waiting to have her MRI.  She'd already had it.  She was waiting for the technician to bring the CD of her images out to her so she could drop them off at her doctor's office.  Her display of unzipped psychoville drama was merely impatience at having to wait.

I know that MRIs can be a nerve-wracking experience--I've had 3 of them so know about the nerves--but on behalf of those who have to witness your full-on unglued interpretive dance sequences, please ask your doctor for some valium before your next MRI.  Thanks.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Do People Still Steal Stupid Stuff?

Yes, yes they do.  Despite my pretty alliterative title, this is an ugly topic because there are some ugly cretins out there.

Poseidon and I went to the Carolina Panthers football game yesterday.  Rain was in the forecast, so we purchased a couple of hooded rain ponchos the day before, just in case.

The game was more than a little boring, and the Panthers lost, though both teams played like kids on an elementary school playground.  Still, we like watching football, and the beer was cold, and the junk food was hot, so we weren't complaining.

There was even a near brawl during the 2nd quarter between three young Seahawks fans and a much larger mob of Panthers fans, which ended before it began with the Seattle boys being removed from the stadium.  There were several Carolina football fans in the stands ready to make punching bags of the spindly hipsters, so fortunately for them, security intervened or it would have been an unpleasant scene for all.

During the 3rd quarter of the game, Poseidon and I decided to get some food.  We didn't want to carry all of our stuff with us, so we left Poseidon's rain poncho, still in its zippered pouch, under his seat, along with the game program, a bag of peanuts, etc.

I think you know where I'm going with this, and you would be correct.  When we returned to our seats, we noticed that Poseidon's rain poncho was gone.  I was astonished, truly stupefied.  I cannot believe that people still steal random shit.  I mean, it would be a different story if it was actually raining!  For the love of Pete, you simpletons who took the poncho, if you can afford to buy tickets to the game, you can afford to buy a flipping rain poncho from Target (although, I'm going to admit, those little vinyl beasts are expensive)!

We were in the 2nd to the last row, and not a huge crowd in that section, and I have my suspicions about which ass hat stole the poncho, but who really cares, right?  It doesn't matter which aborted-attempt-at-being-a-decent-member-of-society took it, it just matters that someone did take it, thus, ensuring my cynicism will live on, so thanks for that you vile filching dimwit.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Five for Friday - Cowboy Boots and Creepy Calendars

Simple pleasures--isn't there a saying about simple minds, simple pleasures?  Doesn't matter, these are the silly, simple things that are keeping a smile on my face this lovely autumn Friday:

 

 

  I wore my new cowboy boots to work today.  I've never owned a pair of cowboy boots, but these boots are amazing, which makes me feel amazing, which makes me smile even more than usual.  Yee-haw, y'all.

 

 

  Finally turned my Emily the Strange calendar over to October, and the October page is so stinkin' cute.  Nothing much out there cuter than a zombie kitty, no?  Big smile on my face each and every time I look up (note:  I recently learned that Emily the Strange t-shirts will now be available for little girls at Target, so now that Emily is finally selling out after more than a decade of being the cool underground gal she was, I will probably part ways with Emily).

 

 

  My GP told me I could start running again.  My chiropractor said, "No" (that is the shortened version...longer version can be found here) but my GP said, "Hogwash, there is no reason you can't run."  So, I ran on Wednesday night for the first time in over a month, and I still have the smile on my face.

  Poseidon and I will be in Charlotte on Sunday, attending the Carolina Panthers vs. Seattle Seahawks football game.  Excited, and yup, I'm smilin'.

  The snake plant on one of my shelves is finally coming back to life.  I was told it's next to impossible to kill a snake plant, but I very nearly did (I'm smiling at that, too), and because it seems happier today, I'm happy.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

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Five for Friday - Ghostly Pictures

Death by Acorns

I foresee an epic battle in my neighborhood; a battle so fierce that King Arthur himself would applaud me for my ferociousness.

I suppose I never thought of an acorn as a bitter enemy, something I need to take up arms against, but those buggers are doing their damnedest to put me in a shallow grave...early.

Last night was my third night of restless sleep due to Mother Nature's little brown cap-wearing nuisances dropping on my roof, and I'm ready to declare war.  I need my sleep or I'm going to be so cranky that Poseidon will lock me in the little people room.  I don't like the little people room.

Maybe you are thinking, "The acorn is a small tree nut, how much noise can one actually make?"  Perhaps I'm just being baby.  No, I don't think so.  An acorn or two plummeting to earth via my roof isn't such a big deal, but when a whole damn oak tree of acorns launch in one night, I'm thinking machine gun rounds couldn't be louder.  Just as I start slipping into a deep REM sleep, "BAM!" another acorn lands on the roof.

I'm going to head off on a slightly different path now, because a buried memory just came back to haunt me...

Several years ago, in my early twenties, my downtown apartment building was shaped like a U, with a courtyard in the middle, and during the fall, it was such a gorgeous place to live.  There was one particular week that I remember well.  As I walked from my building to the street, nearly everyday for the entire week, I was pelted, in the head, with an acorn from a HUGE oak tree in the courtyard.

The first couple of times this pelting happened, I thought very little of it.  The third day, I was irritated.  I looked up and I saw several squirrels scurrying along the branches.  Those little rats-with-tails were throwing acorns at me, on purpose.

Of course, I didn't really believe they were doing this to me intentionally, but now having seen the Geico commercial where the squirrels high-five each other when they cause near accidents, I'm not so sure.

Back to present day.  I can't decide if the acorns are falling from the oaks onto the house naturally, or if the squirrels are helping them, and by "helping" I mean hurling them like Olympic discus throwers because of the anti-squirrel bird feeder in the backyard?  Maybe I'm barking up the wrong tree (haha) with the acorn thing.  Perhaps it is the squirrels we need to defend our kingdom against?

photo from thedailycuteblog.com

 

 --Fortuitous Observer