Soul Thumping

On Being Approachable

I stopped by the grocery store tonight, the store I frequent at least twice each week.  John (yup, that it his real name), the cashier in the self-checkout section was there.  Without meaning to armchair diagnose, I'm going to assume John is somewhere on that beautifully colored autism spectrum.  He has been working at my grocery store for at least 5 years.  Only during the last 2 or 3 years has he "recognized" me as a frequent customer.  Tonight he said something to me that made me cry when I was safely tucked away in my car in the parking lot.  He asked me how I was doing and I told him I was doing great, ready to start the new year.  I inquired about his biking (he bought a bike earlier this year and has done a great deal of riding), and he told me he has taken advantage of the warm weather.  He always has some amazing facts to talk about, from the economy in Japan to migrating birds.  Before I left, he said, "I enjoy talking to you.  You are very approachable."  I wished him a great 2016 and headed out with my purchase, and when I got outside, I started to run to the car, not because of the rain, but because I started to cry.

 

This is important to me because approximately 3 years ago, I decided to start smiling.  I started smiling because I noticed no one else was smiling.  I was simply disgusted with passing mean, unsmiling people.  Everyone became ugly and unapproachable and my stomach was upset with so much ugliness.  Seriously.  I found the foul look on the face of the general public repugnant and disturbing, regardless of gender, race, single/married, with someone, alone, with kids, without, with friends/family, without.  I vowed to no longer contribute to that shit.  I began smiling at every stranger I passed.  I felt better.  It's no secret I battle chronic depression.  It's also no secret that these battles have been reduced to minor "struggles" and they are few and far between now.  I feel great, and 9 times out of 10, those I smile at, smile back, even if they have a frown at the time we make eye contact.  My The world is a better place.

How do I know it's working?  I feel better and I think I've made a difference just by learning to smile.  Don't get me wrong, I trust my gut and I have boundaries, but I'm learning to be approachable by flashing a bit of acceptance before I even know a person.

A coworker, a woman I admire and respect, told me that in the past she has received negative performance reviews because coworkers found her "unapproachable and intimidating."  I myself felt that way around her in the beginning, before I knew her.  I know after 4 years that if I need anything she is there and she is an amazing mom, woman, coworker, human, etc.  It took me nearly 4 years to realize this.  I don't want to be that person.  I want people to know right away that I can be approached.

At the beginning of this year, I was in the same grocery store.  I saw a little girl (4 or 5, I'm guessing) walking around the produce section by herself.  We made eye contact and she came running up to me.  She asked me if I could help her find her mom.  I parked my cart to the side and she took my hand.  This little girl, she didn't know me and I didn't know her.  I told her I would of course help her find her mom.  I asked her where she last saw her, what her mom looked like, etc.  We found Mom, who was just as frantic as the little girl.  The mom thanked me, and I told her I was happy to help.  I couldn't help but think, this little girl must have seen something in me that made her want to approach me.  I was so glad she could see whatever it was that she saw.  I would be sad if I thought someone in distress needed help but couldn't find an approachable human.  Travesty.

"You make my heart a little happier when I see you coming in the store."  This kind compliment was given to me two years ago by the owner of the dry cleaner near my home.  I see her only a handful of times each year, but she knows my name and she always jumps to wait on me.  I also cried in the safety of my car the day she first told me that.

I usually don't make resolutions, but if you do, I urge you to consider being more approachable in 2016, because it has improved my life greatly, and I'm willing to bet it will improve the lives of strangers who come into contact with you.  Serendipity is powerful.

Happy 2016 everyone.

 

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Aging Hipsters...Still Rocking

Saturday night, Poseidon and I got our aging rockster on at Cat's Cradle to see an old school local band, The Pressure Boys, playing their second of a 2-night concert benefiting the Be Loud! Sophie Foundation.

I was new to the area during the heyday of The Pressure Boys, but I was a huge fan of their post P-Boys incarnation, Sex Police, in my early 20s.  My friends and I traveled all around the Triangle to hear their "loopy" brand of ska during the early 90s, so I was excited to see my first Pressure Boys show Saturday, and I wasn't disappointed.

Poseidon and I attend local shows frequently, and sometimes we find ourselves on the older side of the crowd (but music lovers are music lovers are music lovers).  We aren't bothered by this, but last night was a rare treat.  We were younger than many (Poseidon and I are pleasantly surprised to see how well we're aging) of our fellow lovers of music, which was super, but I mainly noticed that aging hipsters still love and appreciate their local music, and that powerful observation made the night spectacular!

Old School:
 

Be Loud! 2014, Saturday (I caught of glimpse of Poseidon and I in this video):
 

 

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Twins are Cool...But We Knew that Already

Twins were in the news like crazy this week, and because I'm fortunate enough to be a twin, I read the articles because I like to see what they are saying about us.

The New York Times ran a story on Monday about astronaut Commander Scott Kelly and his identical twin brother, Mark Kelly (husband to Gabby Giffords).  Next year, Scott Kelly will return to space for an extended stay, "and after his return, scientists will closely monitor Commander Kelly to see what changes space has wrought."  NASA will also be monitoring Mark Kelly (now retired).  As the Kelly's will be the only identical twins to have flown in space, scientists plan to do a full genome analysis of the brothers to study how environment changes genes.

Because the twin birth rate in the U.S. is climbing (twin birthrate rose 76 percent from 1980 to 2009, according to the National Center for Health Statistics...yes, someday, we will take over the world), more "twin" studies than ever are being done, which means more articles, more myths, leading to more fascination.

I don't like admitting to reading the Huffington Post, but they also ran a story on Monday that caught my eye, "11 Facts About Twins That Make Them Even Cooler Than You Already Thought."  The number one fact they mention...identical twins do not have identical fingerprints.  We don't!

Another interesting fact (not mentioned in the article):  Though rare, it is possible for identical twins to have different blood types.  Identical twins come from the same egg and the same sperm, so we share nearly identical DNA, but some small changes in DNA can happen.   

So, because it is Thursday, I dug out a TBT picture of me and my identical twin sister, and a selfie we took in 2012.  Wonder twin powers.  Activate.

 

Amphitrite

 

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A Moral Monday Moment

I'm not going to post anything deep and meaningful about the Moral Monday protests that have taken place in our state over that past months because I can't add anything more profound than those words already written by others, but I was looking through the photos Poseidon snapped at some of the Moral Monday rallies, and I liked this picture of me looking out at the crowd under a dark sky.  Fortunately, the rain held off, and we grew in number.  And because I can't end on a serious note, ever...my jeans are baggy!

--Amphitrite

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Ode to the Parking Garage...And To Those Who Leave Notes

Yesterday evening, driving out of the parking garage, I noticed a small piece of paper trapped under my driver's side windshield wiper.  My first thought was, "Oh no, someone hit my car!  But, they were nice enough to leave me a note with their information."  At the next red light, I put the car in neutral, jumped out and grabbed the note.  "Learn to Park 1 space per Car!"  Just like that.  I'm not sure why the author felt the need to capitalize 'Park' and 'Car' but that isn't the point, is it?

You see, I've had bad days.  More times than I can count, I've said "Damn it!" under my breath (who am I kidding?  If I say damn it, it's usually out loud) because someone took up two parking spaces.  I, however, did not take two parking spaces.  I may have parked a little too far to one side, but I have a very, very small car and sometimes when I pull into a space, I just can't tell if I'm in the center or not, but that isn't the point, is it?

I admit I may have done something like this...in my twenties.  When I had time to waste, thought I was the most important being on the planet, and something someone else did made me so angry that my rage at the injustice of it all was seeping from every pore, and spilling out onto the street (ew), but that isn't the point, is it?

After reading the hastily scratched drivel, I wadded the note into a little ball and threw it on the floor of my car.  Of course I was annoyed.  I mean, how dare anyone criticize my parking.  Not more than 5 minutes later, though, the entire thing was filed in my mental filing cabinet under, "no longer care, and completely forgotten."  But, that isn't the point, is it?

The writer of the note obviously had such a terrible day that he/she felt strongly enough about my parking too close to one side (mind you, the entire 4th floor of the parking garage was empty, and there is an elevator) to waste spend time jotting down feelings about my parking job.  What did the note-writer expect to happen?  What outcome was this enraged essayist looking for?  The scribbler wanted only to vent, letting me know I had irritated him/her?  Perhaps, it was simply an expression of principle.  That isn't the point, is it?

So, I, the evil, bad-parking-monster, say to you, irritated driver, I apologize for your inability to park in a tight parking garage and your urge to blame your inadequacies on others.  I have to park in that garage everyday, yet I've come to terms with the issues.  Perhaps bird meditation?  Painting or sketching?  I would suggest healing yourself through writing, but it looks like you've tried that already.  And look...there is no point, is there?

--Amphitrite

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

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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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