Friday QuoteDay

“You don’t have to get a job that makes others feel comfortable about what they perceive as your success. You don’t have to explain what you plan to do with your life. You don’t have to justify your education by demonstrating its financial rewards. You don’t have to maintain an impeccable credit score. Anyone who expects you to do any of those things has no sense of history or economics or science or the arts. You have to pay your own electric bill. You have to be kind. You have to give it all you got. You have to find people who love you truly and love them back with the same truth. But that’s all.”

— Advice Columnist Dear Sugar, The Rumpus

Weekly Flâneur: Glow

Click to enlarge.

A certain shine. 

 

Interior of Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Cathedral

 Charlotte, N.C., 2012

Small Reminders

My hairbrush is full.

A few years ago, I was in a car accident. Coupled with the jaw fracture and TMD that resulted from my chin becoming instantly and intimately acquainted with the steering wheel, were a host of emotional hurdles with my job at the alt weekly. The stress of missing work, anxiety over the whole ordeal, and an undiagnosed stomach issue on top of post-accident pain meant my body wasn't in the best shape. And exactly six months after this traumatic period, my hair started falling out. My kind doctor informed that for some people, stress and body trauma causes hair follicles to die. A few months later, new follicles grow enough to push the old ones out completely. It happens to women after pregnancy. Hormones make their hair shiny, and post-birth it starts to shed. I wasn't bald by any means, but my first gray hairs grew in place of the brunette strands that decided that the body they were growing on wasn't worth the stress anymore and peaced out.

I started shedding like a molting bird earlier this month, leaving long strands tangled in the shower drain and pillowcases, dropped on the kitchen counter and weaved on the sofa fabric. A joy for Mr. B to live with, I'm sure.

I pick them up in confusion and frustration. What's up, Hair? Why the sudden exodus? There's been no stress, no broken bones, no bodily harm. Freelancing isn't a gold mine, and unemployment isn't all roses and sunshine, but it's all an easy affair compared to my previous work experiences. My marriage is lovely. Mr. B is a prince.

It wasn't until I remembered to count back to six months prior that I realized the source of my hair loss. Oh. Stig's death. My biopsy. Of course. Bodily and emotional trauma, all in one fell swoop. (I wrote about it here, if you are a new reader to the blog.)

Like the seemingly innocent Facebook reminder that popped up telling me that Stig had a birthday, my hair is clogging my brush, is swishing down in my face to remind me. To make me stop. To give a pause in the early moments of my day and remember a dear friend.

You aren't forgotten, friend. I promise you that. My glass is forever raised to you.

S & N, toga party style.

Adventures In Unemployment

September Edition

Realize that the guy who comes to mow the lawn on Wednesdays is here on a Tuesday.
Everything makes much more sense.

Think about writing a Young Adult novel about lesbian mermaids.

Realize that it would just be the plot of The Little Mermaid.

Realize that there are no new plots, anyway, so there. Lesbian mermaid and human princess.

Realize that mermaids may not recognize differences in human sexuality and all mermaids could be pansexual. Or asexual. Or fish-sexual.

Realize book idea would no longer by YA.

Think about dusting the bookshelves.

Think about mopping the floor.

Think about mopping the floor like Cinderella, with hot, sudsy water and bruised knees and singing.

Paint nails while thinking. (Color: Platinum Diamond)

Paint toenails. (Color: Same as above)
 
Think about baking bread.

Eat leftover broccoli and sesame tofu Chinese take-out.

Apply for a job on Indeed.com that already received a bazillion applications. Repeat until frustrated or sending applications to jobs already applied for 11 days prior. Repeat process on Monster and CareerBuilder just to be sure. 

Facebook.

More fucking Facebook.

Think about buying a lotto ticket and winning $200 million.

Realize that $200 million would probably be only half that after taxes were paid and wonder if $100 million is worth buying a lotto ticket.

Google the lyrics to "Rubber Ducky."

Try to decide whether it would be best to make a cup of tea or take a nap.

Wake up an hour later and check Facebook.

Realize that maybe during that nap there was a dream? Maybe you had a dream where you saw Paul McCartney walking down the street and you immediately dropped down into a exaggerated Wayne's World-esque "we're not worthy" bow and then maybe Paul McCartney said something like, Hey girl, wouldn't be on my knees on the street if I were you or people will get the wrong idea, but it was actually witty and clever? And did you really just dream about a Beatle making a blow-job joke?

Realize your subconscious made a reference to a movie you saw on cable 20 years ago and yet somehow your brain can't remember the periodic tables or your own phone number or the directions to the dentist.

Think your brain might have actually subconsciously remembered a blow-job joke that was in the movie and spend the next 20 minutes reading Wayne's World quotes on IMDb. (It didn't. And based on quotes alone, Wayne's World is a stupid movie.)

Realize you have wasted an hour on IMDb but now know more about former SNL cast members than Lorne Michaels.

Think about watching a few episodes of 30 Rock.

Think about clearing off the coffee table.

Think about the fleeting existence of life.

Think about coffee.

Realize that it is indeed Tuesday, not Wednesday, and that along with it being the night to take out the garbage and recycling for morning pick-up, this all repeats tomorrow.
 

Friday QuoteDay

“I once asked an economist in Africa, after spending the day traveling through an African country seeing women working in the fields, women working in the markets, women fetching fuel, women carrying water, women tending children – I asked, ‘Don’t you think it’s time we count women contributions to the economy in some way?’ And he responded, ‘No, what they do is not part of the economy.’ And I said, ‘Well, if every woman working in the field, in the markets, in the homes were to stop working for a week, I think every economist would learn they are definitely part of the economy.”

— Sec. of State Hillary Clinton

Weekly Flâneur: Floored

Click to enlarge.

Skeletal photography from a dead press.

Part of the floor mural "Welcome to NoDa," by artist William Puckett, in the atrium of NoDa @ 28th.

Charlotte, N.C., 2012

Friday QuoteDay

"I look at really painful stuff in life as if it's gold, because you can go back and pan for it, mine it and it's powerful. The negative things and terrible things have paid off. To be an outsider is a blessed and joyful thing."

— Margaret Cho,  totally awesome. 

Weekly Flâneur: Last of the Summer Sunsets

Click to enlarge.

Hello, Autumn. 

Taken in my backyard, Charlotte, N.C., 2012

You Find Me

Every so often I check my blog's stats to see how people came to FitC. Here are 10 things Google believes FitC is about, accurate or not.

1.) Dirty Cat:

Bagheera is not amused.

 Despite the "FUN" arrows, Bagheera is not having any of your shenanigans.

2.) Serious Research:

Do your own homework. Don't copy mine.

3.) Pervy Fangirls:

You. You GTFO. Now. Because I don't know whether to be offended or turned on.

4.) Do What Now?

I don't know what you want. You want David Bowie? Here's some David Bowie.

When in doubt, you can never go wrong with David Bowie.

How Many More Years?

Short video I shot as the crowd gathered to watch MSNBC news film live at the EpiCentre in Charlotte, North Carolina, spontaneously begins to chant "Four More Years!" at the mere mention of Obama.

Friday QuoteDay

“Traveling is like flirting with life. It’s like saying, ‘I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is my station.’”

— Lisa St. Aubin de Terán, English writer

Weekly Flâneur: DNC Edition

My hometown of Charlotte, North Carolina, is hosting the Democratic National Convention this week. For those unfamiliar with the election process in the states, think of the DNC as a big party. The DNC unites delegates from every state to discuss and celebrate the party platform during the election year, and it's the place where United States President Barack Obama will officially accept the nomination to run for re-election on the Democratic ticket.

What better way to celebrate four more years of Obama than with a collection of pics? Big names are in town, and the city is a circus of politicos and protesters. Many places won't allow cameras without an anchorperson and a boom mic attached to them, so the following shots are exterior Charlotte street scenes, a live taping of a TV show, and general convention madness. Enjoy! 

Welcome to the Queen City!

High fives: The official logo of the DNC.

We're turning left at Obama Ave.

Adulthood

Back in June, Sarah at Rainbow Reverie asked the question, "In what ways are you still a kid/teenager/generally irresponsible?" in her post 20 Ways In which I Am Not A Grown-Up. Her list was in preparation for the big 3-0 (a monumental number that tends to throw all of us for a loop). The ship has sailed on my 30-year benchmark (hello, 31!) but I strangely find myself no closer to complete grown-up-hood at 31 than at any other age. Why? 10 Reasons:

1.) I am writing a list of reasons why I am not a grown-up when I should be working.

2.) I stop for pizza after exercising at the gym. Which I eat on the drive home. By myself.

3.) Potato chips and ice cream ARE YES THEY ARE an acceptable dinner.

4.) In a side-by-side comparison of the summer when I was 15 years old and the summer I am 31 years old, not much has changed:

Natty, age 15: Watched Sailor Moon episodes, ate tons of hot dogs, ran around the woods with friends, lived at the neighbor's pool, stayed up late, baby-sat for $5 an hour in preparation for my first real job come Autumn.

Natalie, age 31: Watched Sailor Moon episodes, ate tons of (veggie) hot dogs, ran around outdoors with friends, lived at the community pool, stayed up late, wrote for 10 cents a word in preparation for a grand real job (or dependable freelancing) come Autumn?

Differences: All the activities at 31 included copious amounts of alcohol (hence the running-around-outdoors-in-the-dark), and when it finally came time to hit the hay, naked time with my significant other. At 15, hitting the hay meant a bowl of late-night cereal and Nick at Nite, before entering detailed handwritten pages in my various diaries.

5.) Once -- one singular time -- there was a rabbit in our backyard. Now every time I look out the window to the backyard I expect there to be a rabbit hanging out and munching on the clover.

6.) I wanted Matt to catch said rabbit and carry it to the local creek where my turtle friends live and see if they would race.

7.) I have turtle friends. Big as dinner plates. They eat hot dog buns and noodle casserole. (And apparently the neighbors take turns feeding them.) 

8.) No, really, I am procrastinating by writing this list instead of real work. We'll call it taking a break. This is not unprecedented behavior.

9.) On my office wall is a Xena: Warrior Princess calendar. It was my favorite Christmas gift last year from Matt. Proper grown-ups have calendars that feature stoic mountains with inspirational phrases. Or, you know, Doctor Who.

There's still a few months left of 2012 if you want your own! (Image via Amazon.)

10.) It seems when one reaches a certain age, swimming pool activity means sitting waist-deep in the water with a beverage in hand, sunglasses firmly planted over eye make-up, hair completely dry and body never getting wet above the navel. I am not one to shun various fun beverages, but my pool activity involves goggles and headstands and wet, tangled hair.

In all other ways, I'm sure I am a respectable and productive member of society. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go work eat Twizzlers and play on YouTube. As adults do.