On Marriage and Weddings: Part One

The idea of living in a house, a place where I will likely be for a few decades with a man I am legally obligated to has never been my idea of happiness. It would likely evolve into the tragedy that was the movie “Revolutionary Road.”

In movies and in life, I know the boys always feel like they’re losing their buddy, whenever one of their friends get married, while women seem to rejoice and celebrate the event. All I know is that I have lost more friends to weddings than to traffic accidents, alcohol, or anything else for that matter. As I watch my friends lives change outwardly, families pulsating and growing, finances ebbing and flowing, I have remained outwardly one of the most static characters in my own life. On the inside I have changed but haven’t coupled up or even had the desire for children.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about weddings, in between going to them. I know if I got married and there was even a handful of people as unenthusiastic as myself sitting in the audience I would consider elopement. Why must we all attend these events? I know they need witnesses and maybe a wedding is a means to prove something to the other person- professing your love in front of a large audience and all.

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Don’t Fear the Reaper?

grim_reaper

Does the mid afternoon sunshine cause you to pause and reflect as you watch the particles of dust before you float around in the sun’s rays? I can remember how it suspended my thoughts to this higher consciousness since I was around five years old. I specifically recall one event. My aunt and grandmother would sometimes take me on day trips, often to Stockbridge, Massachusetts. On the drive home, one particular trip, I distinctly remember thinking as the sun shined through the car window and into my face, this is all going to pass before you so quickly and will be gone faster than you can imagine. Then I remember feeling sick to my stomach, that sinking feeling that sometimes lies in truths.

In retrospect, that’s pretty deep for a five-year-old. I knew then that life was fleeting, and that one day I’d be all grown up and that one day my grandmother would die, and that one day everyone else would too. But in that moment, a time when I was far away from death or illness, it felt like death was something that happened to other people, not my relatives. I believed this half heartedly hoping it was true like how older children still believe in Santa Clause, well, kind of, but know he’s a mythI experienced this feeling of living in a realm of immortality until of course, the day I was woken up by an early morning phone call telling me that my grandmother had cancer, it was that day I could no longer ignore the imminence of death.

Even after she died, and I was in my early twenties, I felt the same sense of immortality. It wasn’t until I sprained my wrist, my first injury ever, that I began to realize how fragile my life was. And of course, there’s nothing like a brush with Death to make you realize how quickly a life could be taken. When I talk about Death, I am not talking about it in the verb form as inthe act of dying. I am literally talking about Death himself, The Grim Reaper.

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Memories

It’s funny how memory works and how it doesn’t. How we remember things the way we want to remember them rather than how they really were. The new Britney Spears dance song, “Till the World Ends” is an intense pop club anthem that brings up many vivid memories from my past. Just hearing it takes me back to the days of finagling myself into clubs that were for 21 and older when I wasn’t. When I listen to this song, I can see the low lighting, and flashing strobe lights of the club. I can almost feel the vibrations of the speakers against my body as I picture myself back in time, dancing in stilettos in a glittering sea of people. It was a whimsical time full of fashion, fun, and fabulosity- wait, am I thinking of my life or the entire premise of the TV series Sex in the City?

Rewind. Most of what I described was true, the sore feet the next morning from the stilettos, the nerves wondering if the bouncer would let me in, the sweaty gyrating crowds. It was fun, those nights were late and full of alcohol and chain smoking, smokey eyed make up and the sparkliest earrings money could buy. The mornings were full of hang overs mainly, and then the inevitable memory recall. Who knew trying to think of the previous night’s events in chronological order could be so challenging? Then there were the inevitable conversations with friends about the night, the “I said what?”s, and the mocking of anyone who was exuberantly creepy or offensive.

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Weekly Update: Art Shows!!!

Hi Everybody! As implied by my title, nothing too new on the writing front- but I do have some exciting artsy things coming up this weekend! Saturday night the Freight Street Gallery in Waterbury, CT is celebrating their 2 year anniversary with an Art Show Up. Many local artists and bands will be there sharing their art. I will be participating in this show! Below I’ve posted a few pictures of some of the pieces I have in the show.

If you won’t be in the area I will share some of my work with you below.

It doesn't hurt to invite Frida to an art show

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Surviving Sexual Assault by Conquering the World

"Pearl in Shell" via Blue Eyed Ennis

I recently had an anniversary. About a year ago, I was unable to sleep and up late at night calling anonymous help lines. To even admit this, I am bashful. Who wants to represent the image of a person who has reached the point in their life when calling anonymous help lines in the middle of the is nothing out of the ordinary? I did this for about a week until one night I was connected to a local hotline, not one of those 24-hour hotlines that have someone sitting by the phone around the clock. Nope, the person I spoke to on this particular night had been sleeping and was woken up because it was their night to watch the hotline. For the next few days this counselor, the one I had awoken, relentlessly called me until I agreed to go to the Rape Crisis Center in my area.

Not long after that, I reluctantly showed up at the doorstep of this old house turned office building in the middle of the city ready to talk about what happened to me ten years ago. As I rang the doorbell and waited for security to let me in, I figured that talking to a counselor couldn’t possibly make me feel worse than I already did.

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Trial and Error with Scarlett O’Hara

Gone-With-the-Wind-classic-movies-663199_1024_768Is it sad that Scarlett O’Hara, Vivien Leigh’s character in Gone with the Wind, used to be my idol? Is it ironic that I too grew up to be emotionally unavailable and heartless? I’m not really heartless (my boyfriend has dropped the H-bomb a few times during heated disagreements) but I am without a doubt “emotionally unavailable.” I can be compassionate, caring, concerned for others, but when people show the same feelings towards me, I am often just plain cold, and unsure of how to react. This is a common defense mechanism adopted by many who have experienced excruciating pain and rejection. It is just one of the results of abuse and neglect. I think this is why I idolized Scarlett O’Hara. It was not just her beauty and tenacity, but the strength and power she gained from being unfeeling. As a young girl who had already experienced much sadness, I too thought I could just put up an emotional wall like she did; rather than internalize the pain, I adopted her “I can’t think about that right now. If I do I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about it tomorrow,” attitude.

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The Two Hayleys

"The Two Fridas," by Frida Kahlo

Above is one of Frida Kahlo’s most famous paintings, “The Two Fridas” or “Las dos Fridas.” She painted this shortly after her beloved husband asked her for a divorce. The Frida on the left of the painting is dressed in conservative attire; likely the acceptable societal clothing of her time, while the Frida on the right dons bright colored clothing that resembles her Native Mexican lineage. Who is Frida? Is she torn between what society expects her to be and who she truly is? The division of herself as two separate entities certainly suggests she has two faces, the true Frida, which likely sits on the right, and the Frida she presents to the world on the left. Somehow her impending divorce  has caused Frida to spilt and come forward as two very distinct selves in this painting.

If you look closely you will see that the conservative Frida in the white dress has cut her vein with scissors. This snip implies an end to the circuit that keeps the two Fridas together. But who is leaving who and which personality, each so different, will prevail?

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Rory’s Story Cubes Challenge

A few weeks ago, I shared my new game “Rory’s Story Cubes” with my friends in the Blogosphere. Together we came up with some great stories and even got the attention of Rory’s Story Cubes themselves!

This week, I’ve posted a new Story Cube arrangement and added an optional challenge. Below I reposted my explanation of the Story Cube game and this week’s optional challenge.

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A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes…

My friends hate Disney World. This bothers me. I don’t hate Disney, although they’re a huge corporation; a big conglomerate that doesn’t stop at Disney but sprawls over oceans and across continents like most historic empires. I don’t think my friends hate them for this reason either. Although they blame their hatred of all things Disney on their high ticket prices, and $5 bottles of water, I think it is something that goes deeper than this.

Lately, I’ve heard a lot of talk about people disliking Disney’s “Princess” message, and that it’s dangerous for little girls to grow up thinking they are one day going to find their “prince charming and live happily ever after.” I will admit to being a victim of this mentality, but reality made sure it didn’t last for long. I don’t think I’m the only woman who after years of dating jerks and creeps, was surprised to find out that even “Prince Charming” is less than perfect, human if you will. Regardless of this surprise, I still don’t hate Disney.

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If You Don’t Have Anything Nice to Say….

Since becoming a serious member of the Blogosphere through participating in my own site, writing for Gender Across Borders and The Huffington Post, I’ve adopted one simple etiquette policy: if you don’t have anything nice, don’t say anything at all. Although it is evident through some of the nasty comments I’ve gotten (though few and far between) and through reading the comments on other popular websites, many people don’t fly by this rule, and prefer to spew vile and hide behind the anonymity that the World Wide Web often provides.

Although I apply this rule to my internet comings and goings, there is no doubt in my mind that most of us first heard the phrase, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all from our mothers or some other parental figure during a time where the phrase was to be applied to everyday life before the internet existed. There are many reasons why this is a good policy. Many of those reasons includes common courtesy, being a nice person, and otherwise overlooking another’s indiscretions and personal failures in favor of letting karma work it all out for you. Another reason is because when you say something mean or nasty with intent to harm, it sometimes comes back and bites you in the butt, or as Donald Trump recently demonstrated, it sometimes comes back and bites you in the butt before you can even formulate the words, “Your Fired.”

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