Absurd Anxious Thoughts

"An anxious mind doesn't know the difference between possible and probable." - me

Unedited anxious thoughts that I have had:

- The guy in the apartment below us is moving out because I dropped my shampoo bottle in the shower one too many times.

- That dog collar jingling sound behind me isn't a person running with their dog. It's actually a murderer using a dog collar to trick me so that he can murder me. Possibly with the dog collar.

 - That sign says "Free Water," but what if they don't really mean free? and then I look like an idiot taking a cup of water from their giant water jug. (I ended up accidentally taking 15 water cups and dropping the other 15 on the ground.)

- I just touched the crosswalk button with my finger that has a cut on it. I'm going to get herpes!

- That woman living out of her car is going to shoot her dog because I made it bark when I walked past.

- I better not walk barefoot in case any stray heroin needles are laying around.

- I silently judged that girl in my mind and she is now coming up behind us to take her telepathic revenge, push me to the ground and kick me off the cliff.

I'm Pooped

Josh and I were riding in the car yesterday and wondering where the phrase "I'm pooped" came from. I think it was because I had just said something along the lines of "Sheesh, I'm pooped" like the 80 year old that I am.  It's such a funny phrase. Why do we say we're "pooped" when we're tired?

I mean, there have been a couple of times when I was tired after pooping (you know what I'm talking about). Sometimes known as a log jam, pop-a-vein-in-your-head-poop, can't get the train out of the tunnel, Houston, we have a problem, or plain old constipation. The kind where you end up with a ring around your butt because you've been sitting on the toilet so long. This is not where the phrase comes from.


There are two theories: 

Ever heard of a poop deck? Like when you're watching a pirate documentary on The History Channel. The Latin word "puppis" means "stern" as in the stern of the ship is in the back. Or as in your mother is so stern she never poops.

Side note: Why do we never question word origins past the Latin word? "Well there you go, the Latin word is puppis, that makes total sense. That totally sounds like what the back of a ship would be called....yeah, yep. There it is, the puppis. Those Latins, thinking of everything." 

Ever heard an airplane start to konk out? (Hopefully you havent'). Some in the 1920's described it as a "poop poop" sound. Coincidentally this was also the time period where a cartoon named Betty was saying ridiculous things like "boop boopity boop." 

I think the airplane one makes more sense, but here are some quotes from REAL PIRATES about being pooped. 

Can you imagine grown men running around on a ship shouting "We're going to be pooped!" I can and it made me laugh wonderfully. 

Julia Vincent Hetherton

Disney Intelligence

Dads are notorious for mixing up certain things. Maybe it's a Hollywood stereotype, or maybe they just care about other things like having fun and teaching their kids how to work hard. Regardless, my dad has been guilty of mixing up kids' names and ages. I have been called Bubba more than once in my life.

Children like to be experts in some sort of field. Kids pick a "major" when they are young that they can be a know-it-all about. One kid I nannied for chose dinosaurs. He dropped his dinosaur coloring book and exclaimed "Oh no! My field guide!" JW, my friend growing up, was a Scooby-doo expert. 

I, personally, was an expert on many things. They included, but were not limited to: gorillas, Disney, Harry Potter and cultures. The anthropology kind, not the petri dish kind. 

My father was not a Disney expert. I took this into account and tolerated his questions while we watched movies together. Still, there were some days where I found his lack of knowledge disturbing.

Once when I was 5, I was watching Robin Hood and he paused as he was walking past the living room. In an honest attempt he said "What are you watching Julia? Cinderella?"

I tried to hide my chagrin, but I'm sure I shook my head and put my hands over my eyes as I said patiently, "No, Dad, It's Robin Hood." 

He smiled, said "ohhh" and walked away. My attention had been adverted from the animated foxes as I watched my dad and contemplated how to help him. He couldn't go through life mixing up Ariel with Aurora! If you don't know Disney, what do you know?! Nothing!

My plan was to periodically and stealthily test his abilities to probe just how much he did or did not know. I started with some fairly basic Disney movies, Snow White, Peter Pan, etc. 

I would put the movie in and wait for my dad to walk by and then casually call out, "Hey Dad, do you know what movie this is?"He would watch for a few minutes and guess something like "Pinocchio?" (I was never watching "Pinocchio." That movie is awful.)

As I grew, I realized that the more you know, the more you realize you don't know. I found that there are more important things in life than Disney knowledge and that my dad knew quite a lot about business strategy, making dumb jokes, not sweating the small stuff, and helping people to feel important.

He still doesn't know the difference between Baloo and Bagheera but I know the difference between a good dad a great one.

The Comfort of Illness

Sometimes I wish I could go to Phil Collins in the 80's and tell him it's okay that everyone hates him for selling out Genesis and being on the radio all the time. I don't want him to feel bad about himself. I don't want anyone to feel bad about themselves. The thing that I spend most of my life doing, besides trying to find my keys in my purse, is making sure that other people feel validated and valued.

My sister, similarly, has a desire for Benedict Cumberbatch to succeed in life. She doesn't know the man, but she feels an inclination towards him and his happiness.

(I searched for "Benedict Cumberbatch thumbs up" and this showed up.)

It is natural to desire happiness for the people we feel an emotional connection with. Even if the connection is because of mad drum skills and a strong, high voice or a playfully intelligent personality and precise acting.

Driven by this desire, we often try to fix the problems of the others around us. We operate on the assumption that if given the chance to have painful things taken away, they would have them removed. We can be confused when others (and ourselves) seem to stay in a difficult circumstance.

This is because there is a duality: we can want to be healed and simultaneously have fear of an unfamiliar life.

One of the beautiful and perplexing things about life is that we can feel more than one emotion at a time. If my 8am class is canceled at 7:50am, I can be simultaneously peeved that I already got to school early when I didn't need to and happy that class is canceled and I will have time to work on other things.

One subtle thing I have noticed is the comfort of mental illness. It can be tempting to assume that people with anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, etc. want to not have those afflictions.  And it's true, we don't want those burdens. But there is also a part of us that doesn't remember what life was like without those things. It is familiar to us. It absolves us of responsibility in our lives to a certain extent. There are some benefits, whether real or perceived.

Kay Redfield Jamison is a pyschologist with manic depression and she wrote "An Unquiet Mind." In it she says, "I have often asked myself whether, given the choice, I would choose to have manic-depressive illness. ... Strangely enough, I think I would choose to have it. It's complicated. Depression is awful beyond words or sounds or images ... So why would I want anything to do with this illness? Because I honestly believe that as a result of it I have felt more things, more deeply; had more experiences, more intensely; ... worn death 'as close as dungarees', appreciated it - and life - more; seen the finest and most terrible in people ... But, normal or manic, I have run faster, thought faster, and loved faster than most I know. And I think much of this is related to my illness - the intensity it gives to things." Dr. Jamison clarifies that she would only choose manic depression if medication were also an option. She would not choose to have it without medication. 

A knowledge of this duality can color and benefit the way we act with individuals who have been given a challenge. Instead of being frustrated or confused at behavior, we can have a desire to understand. We can feel a desire to understand this duality in ourselves as well. 

Listen to others and yourself. "How do I feel about this aspect of my life? Are there things I'm doing to keep it there? Is it worth the trade off? Would I choose this if given the choice?"

Julia Vincent Hetherton

Mouthwash in the Time of Elevator

    This is a guest post by my talented sister, Jessica Grissinger.    

  It began with me having a dentist appointment in the middle of the day. It was obvious to me that I wouldn’t have time to go back to my house to brush my teeth for my appointment, so I had the great idea to bring mouthwash with me to use on the way to my car. Everything about that day was going great, I was even a bit ahead of schedule. That is, until I got on the elevator to go down to my car. I made sure that I was getting on an empty elevator so that I could clean my teeth in private. You don’t see people swigging mouthwash on a regular basis so I thought it was something that would be embarrassing to do in public. Then again, I have to leave the room to blow my nose if I'm in class, so maybe it’s all in my head. 

I quickly glugged some mouthwash after getting into the elevator. My plan was to get off the elevator, find a trashcan, spit out said mouthwash and get on my merry way.

Three floors from my destination, a mother and her daughter got on with me. "Oh my gosh what do I do?" I thought.  Given my fear of being thought of as a public mouthwashing weirdo, I try to hide the liquid in the back of my mouth and avert my eyes to the dirty corners of the elevator.

By the way, isn’t it just a given that you don’t talk to strangers in an elevator? Sadly, my efforts were to no avail. It turns out that they were attending a college orientation that morning. Here I was, a living, breathing-through-her nose college student they could ask questions of. It was already too late for me to put in my ear buds and it would have been very rude to ignore them. In a moment of bravery that will never receive the recognition it deserves, I swallowed my mouthful of Crest. Just in case anyone is curious, the intense minty flavor burns like heck. Right as I gulped, I remembered the warning on the back label to not swallow any amount of this stuff, and here I am downing a good bit of it. I don’t know if they could tell that I was in shock by the burning sensation going down my throat and the fear that I might keel over right there from alcohol poisoning, but I’m pretty sure I hid my emotions quite well. There might have been a slight twitch in my right eye as this was all happening. I then answered their questions and we chatted a bit until they got off one floor before my stop. I can honestly say I probably had the cleanest breath those dentists have been around all day.

Julia Vincent Hetherton

The Body

This is a story about body image, but it starts with a kissing story.

I started this post 5 months ago. I've been unsure of how to present this without it sounding like I'm fishing for compliments. Just know that my purpose is to share my thoughts with the universe and hopefully they will benefit a few people.

I didn't get real kissed until I was 24 years old. I got kissed on the cheek for the first time when I was 23 years old. Scandalous, I know.

I was in an airport with a boy that had taken me on a few dates and I could tell that he was feeling nervous about something. He kept looking at me and then looking away. When he had to leave for his flight and I for mine, he gave me a hug and then out of nowhere kissed me on the cheek. (Ok, maybe anyone with at least one eye and a brain would have seen it coming, but I didn't.) I was so surprised, I elegantly said, "Oh....thanks."

I was walking away trying to figure out how I felt about it all and kind of chuckling to myself at the absurdity. Truly bewildered, I thought, "But, I'm fat..."

That was honestly my second reaction.

I believed because I wasn't an Athleta model or that girl on campus I just saw, that no one would like me. That was simply not true. The moment in the airport and a few others started a process that changed how I perceive myself.

I want to share the 5 shackle-breaking moments I had with my body perception.

1. A Black Red-headed Swedish Model. 

God answers a lot of my prayers through Yahoo articles and podcasts. I happened upon an article about Sabina Karlsson. Which lead me to her Instagram profile. Which lead me to drink in the genuine and subtle confidence that she projects. I saw how she held herself and how she looked at me as if to say, "Look at me, I am unique and I am beautiful. Not because of the rules set forth by society, but because I know who I am." It gave me permission to feel that way about myself too.

@thesabinakarlsson

Photo Credit: JAG  Models

 Photo Credit: Anastasia Garcia.

2. A Book.

It's not one of those "Eat what you want AND lose weight!" scams. It's more of an, "Eat what your body tells you and quit being so neurotic about dieting!" scams. And by scams, I mean that they try to hook you with catchy things like the horrible subtitle they chose. So cliche. However, the principles in the book are gold.

I didn't realize that I was allowed to feel pleasure from eating. Like, I'm allowed to feel heady when I eat a really good piece of bread or soup or full flavor yogurt. I learned to let myself fully submit to and experience the very real pleasure of eating. 

3. I can have fat and be fit.

I used to have a black and white perception that if I wasn't perfectly fit, I was a couch potato. Not so.

 Real conversation I've had:

Coworker: how was your weekend?
Me: "It was really fun, I went on a 70 mile bike trip."
Coworker: Moves to look at my body and says incredulously "Wow."

Yes, I have body fat and yes, I can also sit my rear end on a bike and exercise. They aren't mutually exclusive.

4. No one can pass judgement on me and I shouldn't pass judgement on anyone else. 

If someone food judges you, (makes snide/passive aggressive/demeaning comments about what you are eating) tell them to go handle their own business, because what you're eating sure isn't theirs.

Skinny shaming is bad too. Things like "You're so skinny, I hate you *fake laughter*" That is not a compliment. I don't know when girls started thinking that saying "I hate you" was a compliment. It's not.

5."Perfect" and "Awful" aren't the only body types. 

There are a million. Actually, there are 6,987,000,000. You don't have to be perfect to be attractive.

Own it!

Ultimately, moving toward this frame of mind is personal. And painful at times. And wonderfully freeing. And it has to be a choice. A choice to believe that you are beautiful and that you have worth. No one is going to give you that knowledge. The beauty industry is still trying to scam you out of your money. You will still wonder what people think of you. 

What you can control is fully owning the peace of mind that comes from reveling in the miracle of your body, mind, and spirit. 

Julia Vincent Hetherton

The Elementary School Crush

I have learned the hard way to never volunteer for anything unless you know explicitly what it is that you are volunteering for. Otherwise, you end up in the middle of the elementary school library pretending to be in love with a boy that you feel most icky and uncomfortable around.

"Can you show me how to use scissors?"

I looked at Ian in poorly veiled disbelief. By third grade, you should know how to use scissors.

"Yesss." I suspiciously went to reach for the scissors in his hand, meaning to give him a demonstration and then be done with it. He didn't move his hands out of the scissors though. He wanted me to guide him. I realized that he just wanted our hands to touch. Clever. But not clever enough to make me like him. Ian was a boy who had been shyly trying to show interest in me, but I was not having it. I showed him how to use the scissors and quickly went back to my project. 

During library story time Ian tried to sit next to me, but I feigned a need to ask someone a question so that I could move. It wasn't that I was trying to be mean, I just felt uncomfortable with any sort of lovey dovey vulnerable stuff.

I was uber excited to be reading "Hank the Cowdog" for story group. At this point in my life I thought that these books were great literature. (They’re not. Sorry to anyone who is a sincere Hank the Cowdog fan.) I was pumped. I was ready to hear about Hank's adventures. I settled into my criss cross applesauce position.

Ms. Librarian started to read. In the middle of the chapter, she asked for volunteers. My hand shot up. I have terrible luck and I'm usually not picked for things. I have never once won a game of bingo. Ever. The last time I played, every single one of the 30 people playing eventually won and I still kept losing. They had to rig it so I could get my fruit snack prize. I'm never picked to be the kid on the stage for the magic trick and I don't win contests. 

"Let's see........how about Julia." I was picked to come to the front. "Yes!" I thought. "My bad luck is over!" Then I heard who was called up as the second volunteer. 

"Ian, you come to the front."

Iaaaannnnn! Not Iaaannnn, the kid that makes me feel squirmy! I gave Ian an insincere smile. He gave me a very sincere smile. Too sincere. Bleck. 

"Let's just get this over with and forget the whole thing." I thought to myself. I heard Ms. Librarian’s voice echoing from a distant realm as she started to explain what we were going to be acting out. 

"Julia, you are going to be the girl dog that Hank is in love with. Ian, you are going to be Hank.”

I was staunchly avoiding eye contact with Ian, but I could feel his giddy smile. For the next fifteen minutes I had to read a sappy, poorly written love scene with Ian. I had to howl my affections at him. My first howl wasn’t convincing enough so she had me do it again.

Two years earlier in first grade, I was at the same school. PE class back then was fun. I was still blissfully unaware of my lack of athleticism. My PE teacher was not. Mr. Terango excitedly told us that he had a new game for us to play. He stood in front of his squirmy group of 6 years olds and announced that he would need a volunteer.  All hands started flapping in the air, including mine. I was chosen.

I proudly stepped up beside Mr. Terango, my ponytail swishing and my skort looking cute. I looked up at him and waited for him to tell me what my super-important-job would be.

“Julia, you are going to be one of the cones. We are one short and so you get to sit in the middle and divide the sides.”

I looked at him like he had just told me that I “got” to be a cone. Which he had. Since when has it been a privilege to act like a three dimensional piece of plastic that smells funny? Too stupefied to contest him, I sat in between two orange cones for the rest of the period and watched balls zoom over my head as my classmates had a great time playing a game.

So if you ever ask me to do you a favor and I ask “what is it?” Just remember that I once had to howl at a boy in the library and be a traffic cone and then tell me what it is that you want me to do. 

Gris Gris in the Bayou

"Do you think palm readers make any money?" I asked my dad as we passed a place of business dedicated to the supernatural arts.
"Probably not." A few minutes of silence and then, "My cousin was one."
This is a typical sort of conversation when your dad is from South Louisiana. There is always a cousin or uncle involved in the story and they always did something extraordinary.

"Your cousin was an Olympic skater."

"Your uncle has a crawfish farm."

"Your cousin was a bull rider."

"My uncle threw a brick at me once."

Of course, they never are your actual cousin. It's like your grandma's aunt's son. But to simplify it, everyone is just "cousin."

My dad and his cousin Kirby were working at the same job site one day when my dad went to put something in the back of Kirby's car. He opened the hatch and in the back were all sorts of black candles and other voodoo paraphernalia. My dad was startled and when he looked over, Kirby said, "Don't you get into this."

Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen of New Orleans

My dad didn't need any convincing. He already had an experience with Cajun white magic or "gris gris" when he was 10. Gris gris is the nice version of voodoo. A traiteur uses gris gris to heal people. When I asked my dad how to spell traiteur, he threw out a couple of letters and then said "Ah I don't know how to spell it, I just know how to pronounce it."

My mawmaw, Marie Alix, had a friend tell her "Meh Alice, why don't you take Chris to a traiteur?" Never one to pass up an opportunity to improve health, my grandmother carted her son over to the old Frenchman's place. My dad didn't think there was anything wrong with him that needed fixing. As a matter of fact, my grandmother wasn't sure what needed fixing either, but there was probably something. When they got to the mysterious traiteur, my dad was worried that he might need something fixed after the experience. Or in his words, "That place scared the crap outta me." The man started to mumble things in French, threw some salt at my dad's face and then pronounced him healed.

I think the only thing the traiteur cured him of was a desire to meddle with gris gris. Good, bad or otherwise.

My dad at his first communion.