We've all seen at least one viral picture of a woman in public with her dress stuck in her underwear, completely unaware she is being photographed. The online sharing and snickers will continue for hours on social media until the cute seven-year-old is caught on video wiping his booger on a stranger's jacket while the stranger stares at a van Gogh in the Met (true story by the way). I have seen these pictures thinking, "If this ever happens to me, I will be mortified!"
Today, I was that woman. My dress wasn't actually stuck in my underwear; the right side was tucked under my backpack for the full seven minutes it took me to walk from the parking deck to my office. I only noticed six minutes into the commute when a young guy passed me in a hurry, and I felt a slight breeze on the back of my right leg. I reached back, felt skin and whispered, "Shiiiiiiitttttttt" to myself. I pulled my dress down and continued to walk like it didn't even happen.
I am sharing this story because I realized something about myself, something important. I did not care. I'm not just saying I didn't care; I honestly did not care. I did not die. I did not hyperventilate. I don't think I even blushed (anywhere). I only continued to walk to work like it didn't even happen. I did not care that at least fifteen strangers saw more of me than I would have liked (though I am glad I have been training for a half marathon) but it was just a thing. One more thing in a whole string of things that happen to us while we breathe.
Now having said all of that, I will say that Girl Code was broken because there were two women behind me the entire trek down the sidewalk and they said NOTHING to me or assisted in helping me out. I would never let a woman, or man, go through that! I will let that go this time because I am in a cool place with me right now.
It has been 11 long years, but tomorrow, I will once again be a palindrome...I will be 44. Do I expect to see a herd of fluffy white unicorns in my front yard when I roll out of bed on my birthday? No, but that would be the best birthday present in the history of birthday presents. You know, I wasn't quite sure if more than one unicorn is referred to as unicorns or unicorn (like deer), so I googled it, and apparently, it is common knowledge (to all but moi) that a herd of unicorns is actually referred to as a "blessing." Good God, we never stop learning, do we?
I just spent 2 of the last 5 minutes reflecting on my last palindromic age: 33. I believe I expected it to be spectacular, simply because it was a palindrome, and I was disappointed that not one magical thing happened to me that year (that I can recall...I can tell you, no unicorns sang "Happy Birthday" to me). 33 turned out to be quite dull. When I was 22 I doubt I realized I had reached a palindromic age, and at 11, I couldn't have given you the definition of palindrome, so progress has been made.
So, what does 44 mean to me? Nothing really. I've matured enough to know this birthday will be devoid of all things mystical, and I won't see those unicorns grazing in the front yard (they would starve...no grass there now anyway). The skies will not be filled with rainbows, unless the circumstances are just right, and the odds are not worth considering. No, it will be just another birthday, but another day alive, another day to breathe, so I will be excited. Who knows, maybe Poseidon will bake me a unicorn-shaped birthday cake?
What have I done since reaching my last palindromic milestone? In a brainstorm fury, here is what I can come up with (though I cannot remember every bump, scrape, or pat on the back) in no real order (I mean, that is the point of brainstorming, right?), and forgive my punctuation, as that is never important when brainstorming--something else I've picked up in the last 11 years:
Went through 2 or 3 relationships, had some bad dates (remind me to tell you someday about the guy who wanted to be a cat and was having whiskers implanted in his cheeks, if I haven't already), had some good dates, decided singledom was the life for me, lost some weight, got back in shape, moved twice (2 different states), bought a house, started a blog, met Poseidon, got engaged, changed my mind about singledom, got married, changed jobs twice, lived through a recession (is it over?) joined Facebook, joined Polyvore, joined Pinterest, joined several other online time sucks that I can't remember now, sent approximately 10,000 emails to spam, had my gallbladder removed, made many new friends, grew apart from some old friends, lost my father to cancer, traveled to (some for work, some for pleasure): Brussels, London, Dominican Republic, Alaska, Oklahoma City, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Seattle, Turks & Caicos, West Virginia, White Plains, NYC, Austin, San Antonio, Nashville, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, The Outer Banks, Atlanta, Newberry SC, Cedar Key, DC, Bahamas, Tampa, took up running, ran a few 5Ks, managed to not kill my two cats (still), took up sewing, attended countless concerts, took up biking again, attended some boxing classes, sporadic yoga practice, had only 1 cavity, had a couple of moles removed, more than 20 facials, neck surgery, probably bought more than 150 pairs of shoes, changed my hair color at least 4 times, did some house remodeling (nearly resulting in divorce...do not try to replace a toilet with your husband...call a flipping plumber, please), bought several cell phones including the smartphone I have now, changed my mind about PC's superiority over macs, decided there isn't any age I would revisit, made peace with myself, and most importantly, learned to relinquish some of my imagined control over the universe back to the universe...where it oh most certainly belongs. I'm exhausted.
Last night, Poseidon asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I said, "Hmmm, I dunno, I'll think about it." My birthday is less than a month away, and I assumed, being a Pisces and all, I would find something au courant, the newest wrinkle, to pass along to Poseidon (I'll pick it out, he'll pick it up--or have it shipped--and I'll open it with an open-mouthed surprised look on my face).
Well, not even 24 hours after Poseidon's question, and I know what I want for my 44th (God, can it be true that I'm really going to be 44?) day of existence: A doll house. Not just any doll house: This doll house! A coffee table/doll house, all in one!
I found this beautiful mod doll house, handmade in the UK by Amy Whitworth Design, on Qubisdesign.com today and I want it like mad. But, with a price tag of £400 (plus shipping of course, and that my friends isn't going to be cheap from the UK to North Carolina), I've landed safely again on planet earth, and will be happy with a new pop up book or whatever gift Poseidon deems all the rage.
I've never given dolls the boot. My twin sister and I had our Barbies and their houses and cars until we were 15ish (then we reluctantly gave them to a younger cousin), and driving and high school moved to the forefront. I actually have a few Barbies now that are hanging out patiently in their boxes, in a large, comfy closet, including this Versace Barbie (a Christmas gift from my sister several years ago), this Bob Mackie Sterling Silver Rose Barbie (also a Christmas gift from my sister), and the Japan Barbie (a Christmas gift from Poseidon one year, based on my desire to be a Samurai), to name a few. I bet my dollies would love to see the light of day every once in a while. That is a topic for another post...Poseidon complains that I never take those dolls out to play. I know he will demand a tea party, thrown by me, with every doll in the closet present, chewing on scones and gabbing about who knows what, before he accepts another doll (or doll house) into our home.
I can't help it. I am fascinated with dolls. In addition to Barbie, my sister and I have also collected porcelain dolls since the age of 7 or 8. These dolls too, unfortunately, are boxed away in the attic, planning their escape and my punishment. I rue the day they learn to climb out of those boxes. It will not be pretty.
In 1999, I started collecting Tyler Wentworth dolls. Tyler Wentworth is made by The Tonner Doll Company. I was (still am) in love with these dolls. I have several Tyler dolls, and rather than looking for specific photos of them to include, I'll post a link to this awesome Pinterest board filled with Tyler pictures...OK, here is one picture, Tyler Wentworth "Opera Gala" doll, one of my favorites from my collection:
Now it seems I'm turning my attention to doll houses, mostly the mod, contemporary styles, and I've seen some truly first-rate doll houses lately, but I have to admit, this Amy Whitworth Design, on Qubisdesign.com is by far my favorite!
I have no real point to this post, except that I love dolls and now apparently doll houses, and I can't seem to grow out of them, but I don't want to. One can never be too old to make believe, and this 40-something Gen xer is happy to be able to solder wires, use a drill like a champ, change my own flat tire (if I absolutely have to...I can call AAA now), but still gush over the prettiness of my doll's hair before her big night at the opera.
Today I was thinking I would write my own horoscope for the week (I did this a few months ago), but then I found this piece of hilarity, and I know I can't come up with anything this brilliant. The fab thing about this Piscean overview is that it is so reallynoreally dead on, but I'm living about three feet off of the natural ground or in Narnia, so what do I know?
Pisces
Everywhere you go, laughter and comedy ensue. This would be great if you were trying to be funny. You are deeply confused by the idea of sex. As far as you are concerned, if it didn't happen in "The Velveteen Rabbit", it doesn't exist. Piscean women wear long floaty dresses and enormous amounts of unusual silver jewelry. On hikes. Pisceans claim to love the stars, but the only constellation they can find is the Big Dipper. If they cannot find it, they cry. You remember what you were wearing on March 3rd, 1981 but forget your own address. You have no sense of direction. The people you find going in reverse at 70 m.p.h. on the expressway are usually Pisceans. Pisceans are most likely to die by falling out of a window or getting run over by a truck. That is, of course, unless they live with a Cancer. Pisceans are so zoned and perpetually endangered that they can bring out the maternal instincts of a Leo. Don't be fooled, however; many Pisceans can surprise you by kicking your ass and the asses of your four imaginary friends. While Leos tend to achieve the most fame in the field of entertainment, Pisceans strive to achieve historical greatness by sheer fluke. They are proud to tell you that Michelangelo, Galileo, George Washington, and Albert Einstein, none of whom had an agent, were all Pisceans. What they won't tell you is that so is Ted Kennedy. Pisceans claim to want "honest criticism" of their work. Then they commit hara-kiri on the floor when you say you don't like it. Never try to use logic with a Pisces; he or she is living about three feet off of the natural ground or in Narnia. Their tools of debate are non-sequiturs, quotes from Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and, of course, crying. It wouldn't matter what linguistic devices Pisceans use to describe philosophical concepts because they aren't positive they know what they're talking about anyway. You cry over dead animals in the road but feel no remorse about mowing down humans you don't like. Cancerians say one thing and do another. Scorpios say one thing and do it just for spite. Pisceans say far too much and do whatever the hell they want.
This came from Astrology Weekly. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some hiking to do (in my floaty dress and silver baubles that make wind chime sounds when I move), followed by some crying.
Yesterday, February 20th, was my birthday (somebody make them stop already...crap, scratch that...the alternative is becoming worm food or having my ashes strewn across parts unknown, and I'm not ready for that just yet). Poseidon and I went to the mall (egad) and then dinner, and while hanging out during our 15 minute 30 minute wait time, we started jabbering about the place being crowded obviously due to peeps celebrating President's Day (apparently it is an occasion to patronize your local chain restaurant).
Our discussion led us to down the path of Washington's actual birthday, and I said I believed it to be the 22nd of February, so we assumed naturally that G.W. was a Pisces. Poseidon and I both being Pisces didn't see George as being the flighty, dreamy sort that we are known to be (other signs may use less fun words to describe us fish, like: procrastinator. shilly-shalliness, etc.).
Anyway, I was doing some reading on our first president this morning, and I learned some cool things. For instance, his actual date of birth was February 11, 1731, which would make him an Aquarius, but Britain changed to the Gregorian calendar (in 1752?), and this put his birthday on February 22, 1732, making him...wait for it...a Pisces!
Reading this brought me back to the original discussion Poseidon and I had, and what fishy traits did old George have? I found an interesting site which explores business success through Astrology, and they listed the Piscean leadership characteristics attributed to the Father of our Country, and by George (I of course completely meant to do that), he is a Pisces (though I'm sure they could just as easily have linked him to the sign of Aquarius as well):
Each sign has its keyword, a phrase which captures the essence of the sign. The keyword for Pisces is “I believe.” At the highest level, Pisceans operate from an instinctual, connected space, tapped right in to the wisdom of all.
“The only true freedom for Pisces comes through spiritual orientation. When they are true to their real nature Pisceans have a high and holy destiny and are the true saviors and servants of mankind.” (Isabel Hickey, Astrology A Cosmic Science)
“Pisces is the most sensitive sign of the zodiac and emotions are strong and deep in this sign. They are moody and introspective and hard to understand.” (Ibid.)
“Pisceans need to be alone and …retreat from contact with the world in order to retain their equilibrium.” (Ibid.)
“[Pisceans] never feel that they do enough so they often overwork, putting stress and strain on the physical body.” (Ibid.)
“The mutable signs (Pisces is the mutable water sign) express themselves as a desire to find knowledge; and with their flexible and adaptable approach, they are not only able to find new knowledge but also have the ability to use it. They bring new ideas, new facts and new ways of seeing things into the world view of the tribe.” (Bernadette Brady, The Zodiac: Urban Tribes)
“Pisces is a water sign, thus [they are] empathic, [they feel] the emotions of others or of patterns. They can empathize and understand, blending their energy with all things. To them the world and its events are a feast of omens and signs.” (Ibid.)
Mutable water indicates the quality of…nourishment – flowing everywhere, without limitations, distinctions, or judgments. (Eric Meyers, Elements and Evolution)
Happy birthday to all my fellow Pisces swimming out there!
I'm a Pisces. When people meet me, they automatically assume I'm a Pisces without too much background information or deduction on their part. Why? Because I exude flightiness, quirkiness, flakiness, and all those other "ness" words that go along with the strangeness (see, there is another one) that is a Pisces. Being a Pisces also means that I put the "pro" in procrastination, which irritates me to no end. Damn it, I'm irritated with myself just thinking about how much I procrastinate.
Today I decided to look up my 2010 horoscope (see there, we are half-way into 2010, and I just now look up what the year has in store for me) on various horoscope sites on the net, and I found exactly what I thought I would: snippets and novellas on the quirkiness of the fish. Here is one:
"Pisces is a fickle minded sun sign. It is also the last sun sign of the zodiac. It signifies conflicting and clashing signals with a deep and wavering mind." (I got this from this site: http://www.horoscopes-love.eu/pisces-2010-horoscopes.php):
No shit! Usually when I meet a Pisces, I can tell immediately they are a Pisces without them divulging that highly classified information. Other signs, not so much. I match the characteristics of my sign perfectly...oh, and so does my betrothed, Poseidon. He is a Pisces as well, which means we never get anything accomplished. We dream and scheme, yet most of our plans never come to fruition. Drat.
Why am I sharing this? I don't know really. Today has been an odd day full of curious, conflicting little vignettes of memories, aggravation, annoyance, excitement, plans, etc. I feel exhausted. Like I've been on a roller coaster that tried to make me sick on purpose. I feel like I can't swim upstream, but I can't float back down stream either (enter me sighing here...through my gills).
