Monday, March 14, 2011

Flash me those pearly whites

I spent all last week at the dentist. I had to have two teeth filled and then I had to take my eight-year-old to the orthodontist. Teeth are one of the body's greatest design flaws. They are like having knives in your kitchen covered in that candy apple coating. Sure it's pretty and shiny and SEEMS hard, but it ERODES. The first time you pour a Coke over it some of that prettiness disappears. Of course the knife is still effective so its hard to throw it out, but it just doesn't look as good.  It's the same with tooth enamel. Tooth enamel is all white and awesome and you are all "I have such a beautiful smile!" And then you go to the dentist and they tell you that a big bunch of that pretty white coating is just gone. And it's never coming back. You would think that teeth would be made of something harder and more durable. Like titanium. Or diamonds. For god's sake I have jewelry that is stronger than my teeth....and it doesn't even have a job to do.

Having teeth filled is possibly the worst form of torture ever. Actually its not the filling part. Its mostly the shot of Novocain thing. I hate hate hate having things numbed. I am totally convinced that no matter what anesthetic or how much is used, that I will totally still feel whatever is happening. In fact, before my first c-section I pretty much clung to the anesthesiologist and yelled repeatedly "I'm gonna feel it! Make sure I can't feel it!" Because, of course, the anesthesiologist had never done his job before and totally needed my guidance on how things were supposed to go. you AREN"T supposed to feel the knife slicing into your abdomen. Gotcha. Good thing you said something because I was just filling your spine full of Hawaiian Punch. So you can imagine my angst before the fillings. But the dentist was really good and was like "Let's come up with a hand signal so that I will know when you need me to stop and take a break for a minute." And my thought was "Won't you be able to figure it out when I bite you?" But she works with children so that probably wouldn't phase her...just like the panicking adult didn't really phase her. 

After having my teeth drilled and filled I got to take my eight-year-old to the orthodontist to discuss strategies because his teeth are TOO BIG and crowding each other. In fact, he is eight and has only lost six teeth because there is no room for the other teeth to come in. The orthodontist said he is a seven-year-old mouth-wise. I am still not sure if that was a compliment or some big criticism of my parenting abilities. Honestly, it's like evolution planned for there to be orthodontists. His teeth are too big for his head. What the hell, Teeth? You never hear that about, say, the pancreas. No doctor is ever like "We need to fit you with a gut extender so we can make room for your spleen." Even goldfish know when to stop growing to fit their environment.

The best part about Dental Week was that the orthodontist's office had complimentary cappuccino. A big machine with a "take all you want" sign on it. It's like he knew I was coming in or something. Or maybe he just figures that if people erode their teeth with hot beverages he will create a demand for more dental work.

So last week I learned that 1) teeth are stupider than goldfish, and 2) my kid's orthodontist is either a sales genius or a misguided barista.

Pretty productive if I do say so myself.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

My hiatus ends with this

I haven't posted in a long long time. And there is no good reason for it. Well...there is a reason, but it's not a good one. I got all "I don't have anything good to say" and then I just didn't say anything. It's really just internet pouting. Have I mentioned before that I might just be mentally twelve years old? So I should probably apologize in advance for the possible ADD nature of this post. But I won't. 

Sooo....this past weekend was my birthday. I turned 36 so now I am officially closer to 40 than I am to 30 and that kinda freaks me out. I did the same thing when I turned 29. Most people are all like "Oh my god! I can't believe I am turning 30 (or 40 or 50)!" and I am always "What about turning 33, huh? God that's a total bitch. It's like you aren't even 32 anymore." And for some reason it makes sense to me and people are always trying to figure out the correct response to something like that. They are never sure if they are supposed to agree with me or maybe they are the odd ones because turning 33 never even phased them. 

But even with the internal freak out, it was a really good birthday. My mom and I drove up to Cleveland on Saturday to visit my grandparents for the day. Driving in a car for that long definitely leads to a lot of conversation. With me being a pharmacy tech and my mom being a nurse in a urologist's office, part of our conversation turned a little "shop talk." I never thought that bonding with my mom would include the words "Viagra" and "penile injections" but it totally did. Here's the thing.....I feel I need to share some of this conversation because it is actually a Public Service Announcement. Are you ready for it?

We Do Not Care About Your Personal Penis Activities. 

There are specifics to that. One, we do not care that your Viagra is too expensive. Neither do we care to hear things like "I will just have to be more selective about when I use it." My job is to count out the little pills and put them in a vial and then take your money. I cannot control the pricing for your escapades. Two, we do not care that "it is your anniversary." We do not need a calendar of your special events nor do we really want to know how you will be spending them. We are happy to do our jobs, but please cease making us be professional in the face of such statements. We do not know the proper sympathetic statements to make when presented with them. Nor do we really want to spend time figuring them out. 

Moving on.....

Part of my birthday weekend I spent shopping with my mom searching for the elusive Perfect Pair of Jeans. And get this! I found one such pair! They fit right. They aren't too long or too short. They make my butt look good (and isn't this really the only qualification for Perfect Jeans?). They aren't too dark or too light. They are in a smaller size than I usually wear....and I don't really care if the designer of said jeans does that thing where they call them a different size so the woman buying them is all "Oh my god! I wear a size 6 now! I am TOTALLY buying these!" The tag says "size 6" and that is all that matters to me. But I totally did the thing that all women do when they find the Perfect Jeans. I only bought one pair. Why?! Why did I do this? I have a theory. I think that women and jeans are like those dudes who can never commit to just one chick because they are convinced that someone better/hotter is just around the corner. That is women and jeans. We are commitment-phobic about our pants. 

One more thing....

I spent last evening at a Girl Scout event with my daughter. Three of the women there said to me "Wow! You have lost a lot of weight!" Why is it that in my head I hear that as retroactively calling me fat? Of course the sane part of my brain just thanks them, but the crazy gnome controlling the other half of my brain? He whispers "She just insulted you in the past." I add this to my list of reasons to be wary of Girl Scouts. 

I don't have a good wrap-up for this post. I tried, but I just can't come up with anything that ties this all together. Just roll with me.