Ahh love, it is in the air. You watch the commercials and go the store and you can feel cupid breathing down your neck like a stalker. Some will say that we shouldn’t show our love only on Valentine’s Day, some will say it’s a Hallmark holiday. I don’t disagree, per se. Yet there is something sweet about devoting one day a year devoting your attention to your beloved. Sometimes we all need that reminder to make us feel special.
Love is a mixed bag of nuts where I am concerned. I have yet to figure out a way to put into words how I feel about it. So I am going to use some of my favorite love quotes to speak for me. Where ever you are, whomever you might be. May cupid’s arrow be kind.
You make me understand how wonderful it is for little lizards when they find that one special rock that’s perfect for sunning themselves on. You make me feel lizard – happy. Randy K. Milholland
I like you. You’re funny and nicely shaped. And frankly, it’s ludicrous to have those interlocking bodies and not interlock. Please remove your clothing now. Joss Whedon
When I think that something could happen to you, it feels bad inside, like I might vomit. Joss Whedon
Love is much like a wild rose, beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense. Mark Overtsy
For it was not my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul. Judy Garldand
Love is everything it’s cracked up to be… It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. Erica Jong
Passion makes the world go round. Love just makes it a safer place. Ice T
Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night the ice weasels come. Matt Groening
Love isn’t a decision. It’s a feeling. If we could decide who we loved, it would be much simpler, but much less magical. Trey Parker and Matt Stone
Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your heart or burn down your house, you can never tell. Joan Crawford.
There is a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so they cannot get away. Unknown
It is only possible to live happily ever after on a day to day basis. Margaret Bonnano
Monday, February 14, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
We do not eat Dairy Cows
A friend and mine were talking the other day and he brought up an interesting point, why does Chick-fil-A use Dairy Cows in their advertising? For those of you not familiar, their promotions are Dairy Cows stating ‘save the cows, eat more chicken.’ I’m no cow expert, though I am from the Dairy State, but normally Dairy Cows are not where beef comes from. I’m not saying that when old Bessie dries up she isn’t made into yummy Manwich sandwiches, but the majority of beef comes from beef cattle. So eating more chicken will not have any real benefit for Dairy Cows. Did someone in marketing not understand the difference in cows, did they think Dairy cows were cuter then beef cows? I ask, why are they using them for their advertising? I think we need to get a petition together to ask them to stop using Dairy cows and start showing nice big Longhorn Cattle instead.
Why do people feel it’s necessary to ask every time they have seen me how the job hunt is going and if I have found a job yet? Here is a little hint, if I get a job, everyone will know, it will not be one of the secrets that I keep. As a matter of fact, when I get a job, there will probably be some type of booty dance involved. So no worries, word will get out, you do not need to continuously ask. Also, if you have ever had to hunt for a job, you know that it is a painfully slow process. It’s boring and annoying and frustrating. When you ask how it is going, do you want me to lament about how it’s boring, annoying and frustrating? About how I’ve applied to over 50 places and have not heard back from the majority of them? Cause I can, but I’m guessing you don’t want to hear that. So do us a both a favor and don’t ask these questions. If any funny stories occur I will share, if I job offer comes in, I will share. No need to ask, I will share. I share.
Moving on, why in all the cute cat pictures do they have writing that implies the while cat can talk; it can’t write or speak normal English? It is always ‘youz stole my cookie’ or ‘Ize so cute’. If they are smart enough to talk, I think they would have the ability to talk in English, not some weird broken down uneducated version of it. Especially since there are pictures of babies with machine guns, smoking cigars stating ‘I’m going to kill you Mother Fucker.’ If a baby can handle the concept of English, why can a cat not. I mean I am all for animals having personality, but let’s draw a line and state they can speak English. As a matter of fact all my pets have personalities. Farley is a Surfer dude, laid back and relaxed. He’s thoughts often run along the lines of ‘Whoa, dude, let’s go outside and smell around’ or ‘I’m just chilling on the bed.’ Lou on the other hand is a five year old boy who has eaten too much Halloween Candy. ‘I’m going to run over here, no I’m going to run over there, no wait I’m going to go chew on Farley’s ear.’ Gabby is a prima donna who doesn’t understand why people are not devoting their whole life to adoring her ‘I’m sleeping, why are you not petting me, the dogs are too close, adore me.’ And Perrin is a curmudgeonly man who hates everyone. He sits in his little home, hissing at everyone that comes by stating ‘you put one hand on my turf and I will shoot if off.’ So I’m all for personalities of animals, but the cute cats that talk uneducated English are annoying.
This next part is not really my story. But I love it so much I am compelled to share it, I may not fully remember the conversation clearly, but this is the jist. We are in the bar, chilling out, when Dan comes back from the bathroom and states ‘I’m going to the bathroom when I hear someone walk out the stall without flushing. I craned my neck around to get a look at the guy who didn’t flush as he washed his hands. After I finished my business I went to the stall to verify that he didn’t flush, and true enough there was kids in the pool that he had dropped off.’ As Dan is telling this story he is looking around the bar, to find the guy who shit and didn’t flush. He sees him at the bar.
Points at him and states loudly, ‘That’s the guy, that’s the guy that took a shit in the bar and didn’t flush’
Poo Guy: ‘Wasn’t me’
Dan: ‘No, it was, I saw you. You shit and didn’t flush. Were you just in the bathroom?’
Poo Guy: ‘Well yes, a bit ago, but it wasn’t me’
Dan: ‘Dude, you took a shit in the bar bathroom and didn’t flush. What kind of person does that?’
Guy totally ends up flustered. Thank you, Dan, for being my hero. For calling out the person who doesn’t bother to flush the toilet when they are done. We need more people like you in the world.
Why do people feel it’s necessary to ask every time they have seen me how the job hunt is going and if I have found a job yet? Here is a little hint, if I get a job, everyone will know, it will not be one of the secrets that I keep. As a matter of fact, when I get a job, there will probably be some type of booty dance involved. So no worries, word will get out, you do not need to continuously ask. Also, if you have ever had to hunt for a job, you know that it is a painfully slow process. It’s boring and annoying and frustrating. When you ask how it is going, do you want me to lament about how it’s boring, annoying and frustrating? About how I’ve applied to over 50 places and have not heard back from the majority of them? Cause I can, but I’m guessing you don’t want to hear that. So do us a both a favor and don’t ask these questions. If any funny stories occur I will share, if I job offer comes in, I will share. No need to ask, I will share. I share.
Moving on, why in all the cute cat pictures do they have writing that implies the while cat can talk; it can’t write or speak normal English? It is always ‘youz stole my cookie’ or ‘Ize so cute’. If they are smart enough to talk, I think they would have the ability to talk in English, not some weird broken down uneducated version of it. Especially since there are pictures of babies with machine guns, smoking cigars stating ‘I’m going to kill you Mother Fucker.’ If a baby can handle the concept of English, why can a cat not. I mean I am all for animals having personality, but let’s draw a line and state they can speak English. As a matter of fact all my pets have personalities. Farley is a Surfer dude, laid back and relaxed. He’s thoughts often run along the lines of ‘Whoa, dude, let’s go outside and smell around’ or ‘I’m just chilling on the bed.’ Lou on the other hand is a five year old boy who has eaten too much Halloween Candy. ‘I’m going to run over here, no I’m going to run over there, no wait I’m going to go chew on Farley’s ear.’ Gabby is a prima donna who doesn’t understand why people are not devoting their whole life to adoring her ‘I’m sleeping, why are you not petting me, the dogs are too close, adore me.’ And Perrin is a curmudgeonly man who hates everyone. He sits in his little home, hissing at everyone that comes by stating ‘you put one hand on my turf and I will shoot if off.’ So I’m all for personalities of animals, but the cute cats that talk uneducated English are annoying.
This next part is not really my story. But I love it so much I am compelled to share it, I may not fully remember the conversation clearly, but this is the jist. We are in the bar, chilling out, when Dan comes back from the bathroom and states ‘I’m going to the bathroom when I hear someone walk out the stall without flushing. I craned my neck around to get a look at the guy who didn’t flush as he washed his hands. After I finished my business I went to the stall to verify that he didn’t flush, and true enough there was kids in the pool that he had dropped off.’ As Dan is telling this story he is looking around the bar, to find the guy who shit and didn’t flush. He sees him at the bar.
Points at him and states loudly, ‘That’s the guy, that’s the guy that took a shit in the bar and didn’t flush’
Poo Guy: ‘Wasn’t me’
Dan: ‘No, it was, I saw you. You shit and didn’t flush. Were you just in the bathroom?’
Poo Guy: ‘Well yes, a bit ago, but it wasn’t me’
Dan: ‘Dude, you took a shit in the bar bathroom and didn’t flush. What kind of person does that?’
Guy totally ends up flustered. Thank you, Dan, for being my hero. For calling out the person who doesn’t bother to flush the toilet when they are done. We need more people like you in the world.
Laid Bare
I have never been good at expressing my deepest thoughts and feelings. I’m not good with one on one relationship, not when they matter. The ratio between how well I will do with sharing to how important the relationship is equals Pi. I would rather stand in front of a crowd and amuse them then try and make a real connection in the world. Which is why I find this blog so nice, it is about amusing a bunch of strangers and a few friends. Maybe that is why I find it easier to write down my thoughts and feelings, those deep murky places that live inside of me. As a wiser man than me stated ‘I write because I am too afraid to say some things out loud.’ Very few people know me, the real me. I am an excellent story teller, but few ever see the hidden depths of my stories. I have layers upon layers of complexity in me, but the very basic core of which I am is all very simple. I’m just a girl wanting to be loved. So here are some of my secrets that have eaten away at me. Sometimes I think they are all that I am, yet I’m beginning to believe I am so much more than these things.
I have been so desperate for love that I have forgiven inappropriate touching, a sexual attack, physical, emotional and mental abuse in hopes that I would be loved. I thought that if I forgave them they would love me and treat me right. That if I loved them, they would learn how to love me. For the longest time it never dawned on me that first I needed to be desperate enough to love myself and not forgive those that do harm. That letting people abuse me would not make them love me. That their abusing me was not a form of love. I never understood the concept of loving myself enough to not put up with it.
I am by nature optimistic; I believe that people are inherently good, that when push comes to shove they will do what is right. Yet I feel that people will for whatever reason hurt me. I am often road kill on their way to their happiness. I have yet to figure out why this happens. Though I do spend good portions of my time creating theories. Sometimes I think it is karma, to make up for all the bad things I have done, except I’m not sure what bad things I have done to deserve this life. Other times I think that bad things just happen. And sometimes I have no answer at all.
I lost a baby, which is one of the dumbest phrases ever. I didn’t lose him (yes in my secret heart I think of him as a him), it’s not like losing a set of keys or your homework, where you just need to retrace your steps to find the missing item. My body betrayed me, didn’t do what it was suppose to; create a warm nurturing environment for him to grow. It devastated me. Broke me in ways that nothing else could. If I knew all the words in the dictionary I still would not have the vocabulary to explain. Yet from that, I found something. Myself. It was a long process of staring into the darkness and deciding to turn, walk away to find the light.
I have at various points been diagnosed as being manic depressive, having anxiety, OCD and ADD. Every day is a struggle within my brain. I don’t think they way others do, I don’t feel the way others do. I don’t see the world the way others do. These are neither bad nor good statements, they are merely statements. Yet for whatever reason I have been at various times in my life suicidal. I haven’t escaped suicide because I found faith or something to live for, I didn’t have a moment where I was too scared to die, I didn’t have someone rush in at the last moment before I took action to save me. (Though I did have someone reach out to me once when I was drowning in the darkness, and he is forever in my heart). Every time I sank that low I didn’t commit suicide because I was terrified that the ones I loved the most would not care if I was dead. That I would die as unloved as I felt. So I didn’t in the hopes that someday they would love me as much as I love them. Even when I’m not suicidal, even on my best of days, I worry that I am unlovable. This is my biggest fear, more than snakes, more than being homeless, more than anything in this world or the next I worry that I will be unloved. Which means I reject all those that do love me, and hold myself separate from them.
I am a complex contradiction of emotions. I feel that I am worthless and have no value, at the same time I am incredibly narcissistic and believe that I have the power to control things, and that I am the center of everything. These contradictions often leave me confused and unable to figure out how to move forward. How does one live with the belief that they are worth nothing, yet everything revolves around them? It creates anxiety in me, as I feel that I am required to fix everything yet I don’t know how. I constantly feel like I am letting down everyone.
I eat to hide. I drink to remember to feel. I get lost in imagination.
I tell the truth. I may at times avoid a conversation, but I don’t lie. I may sidestep a question, misdirect your attention. But I don’t lie. Except I do lie. I lie to those that have hurt me, those that I still love. I lie to them all the time. I am nothing but a huge liar when it comes to them. I tell them it’s ok. I tell them it’s forgiven. I tell them what they need to hear so they are not upset. I lie. It’s not ok. They have wounded me. They have disappointed me. They have abandoned me. I have not forgiven and I have not forgotten.
I have been so desperate for love that I have forgiven inappropriate touching, a sexual attack, physical, emotional and mental abuse in hopes that I would be loved. I thought that if I forgave them they would love me and treat me right. That if I loved them, they would learn how to love me. For the longest time it never dawned on me that first I needed to be desperate enough to love myself and not forgive those that do harm. That letting people abuse me would not make them love me. That their abusing me was not a form of love. I never understood the concept of loving myself enough to not put up with it.
I am by nature optimistic; I believe that people are inherently good, that when push comes to shove they will do what is right. Yet I feel that people will for whatever reason hurt me. I am often road kill on their way to their happiness. I have yet to figure out why this happens. Though I do spend good portions of my time creating theories. Sometimes I think it is karma, to make up for all the bad things I have done, except I’m not sure what bad things I have done to deserve this life. Other times I think that bad things just happen. And sometimes I have no answer at all.
I lost a baby, which is one of the dumbest phrases ever. I didn’t lose him (yes in my secret heart I think of him as a him), it’s not like losing a set of keys or your homework, where you just need to retrace your steps to find the missing item. My body betrayed me, didn’t do what it was suppose to; create a warm nurturing environment for him to grow. It devastated me. Broke me in ways that nothing else could. If I knew all the words in the dictionary I still would not have the vocabulary to explain. Yet from that, I found something. Myself. It was a long process of staring into the darkness and deciding to turn, walk away to find the light.
I have at various points been diagnosed as being manic depressive, having anxiety, OCD and ADD. Every day is a struggle within my brain. I don’t think they way others do, I don’t feel the way others do. I don’t see the world the way others do. These are neither bad nor good statements, they are merely statements. Yet for whatever reason I have been at various times in my life suicidal. I haven’t escaped suicide because I found faith or something to live for, I didn’t have a moment where I was too scared to die, I didn’t have someone rush in at the last moment before I took action to save me. (Though I did have someone reach out to me once when I was drowning in the darkness, and he is forever in my heart). Every time I sank that low I didn’t commit suicide because I was terrified that the ones I loved the most would not care if I was dead. That I would die as unloved as I felt. So I didn’t in the hopes that someday they would love me as much as I love them. Even when I’m not suicidal, even on my best of days, I worry that I am unlovable. This is my biggest fear, more than snakes, more than being homeless, more than anything in this world or the next I worry that I will be unloved. Which means I reject all those that do love me, and hold myself separate from them.
I am a complex contradiction of emotions. I feel that I am worthless and have no value, at the same time I am incredibly narcissistic and believe that I have the power to control things, and that I am the center of everything. These contradictions often leave me confused and unable to figure out how to move forward. How does one live with the belief that they are worth nothing, yet everything revolves around them? It creates anxiety in me, as I feel that I am required to fix everything yet I don’t know how. I constantly feel like I am letting down everyone.
I eat to hide. I drink to remember to feel. I get lost in imagination.
I tell the truth. I may at times avoid a conversation, but I don’t lie. I may sidestep a question, misdirect your attention. But I don’t lie. Except I do lie. I lie to those that have hurt me, those that I still love. I lie to them all the time. I am nothing but a huge liar when it comes to them. I tell them it’s ok. I tell them it’s forgiven. I tell them what they need to hear so they are not upset. I lie. It’s not ok. They have wounded me. They have disappointed me. They have abandoned me. I have not forgiven and I have not forgotten.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Long Goodbye
My family makes leaving an Olympic event; you need stamina and training to do it. We don’t just leave; we amble, linger, dillydally and tarry our way out the door. We have whole conversations instead of a simple good bye. It is well known that if you want to leave at 1, you best start saying goodbyes around 12. The amount of time needed to say goodbye is a complex formula. Take the length of time since you have last seen each other. Divide by the amount of children or other family members waiting to leave. Times that by the wind-chill or humidity factor outside. Factor in the importance of the next to do item you have to leave for. Add the importance of the event (such as wedding, funeral, Fourth of July, second Sunday of the month). Times that by the odds of seeing each other within the next month. This will give you a rough estimate of the time needed for a goodbye. Other factors can come into play, if two people are saying goodbye to the same person, length can either increase or decrease in proportion to the relationship of everyone involved.
Now I have recognized that not everyone can leave this way, most people seem to say, bye, catch ya later and walk out the door. I do not know how to do that. So instead if I want a ‘normal’ goodbye I feel the need to say BYE and scuttle out the door like a cockroach running from the light. I’m told that this makes people feel awkward and uncomfortable. I’m not a fan of it myself; I need at least 20 minutes to part ways. Anything less than that and I feel fractured, drifted, at a loss. Yet most don’t want to give me the 20 minutes I need, they get frustrated and are politely shoving me towards the door so they can slam it in my face. I have yet to figure out how to explain to them that I do not do quick goodbyes. That my wanting to linger is a testament to what they mean to me or a testament to my genetics.
Tidbits about me:
I eat my macaroni and cheese with potato chips.
I cannot sleep with any body part hanging off the bed. I think I never outgrew my fear of the monster under the bed.
I have an active and vivid imagination. Often when I am in that gray time between sleep and awake my imagination punishes me. It sends me imagines of snakes, often giant, man-eating snakes that are going to gobble me whole. I’m terrified of snakes, small ones, big ones… they are all the same to me. They send shivers up my spine, goose bumps up my arms; they steal my breath and my voice. During that gray time, my brain sends them to me. When this happens I make my brain send polar bears in. Big fat, fluffy mean polar bears. Polar bears make the snakes go away. Moral: Polar Bears beat snakes and I’m crazy.
I dislike raisins. I feel they are dead grapes and do not understand why people eat them.
Ed Norton pisses me off. His mere existence raises my blood pressure and makes me want to rage against the world. Writing that statement makes me want to punch kittens in their adorable faces.
Now I have recognized that not everyone can leave this way, most people seem to say, bye, catch ya later and walk out the door. I do not know how to do that. So instead if I want a ‘normal’ goodbye I feel the need to say BYE and scuttle out the door like a cockroach running from the light. I’m told that this makes people feel awkward and uncomfortable. I’m not a fan of it myself; I need at least 20 minutes to part ways. Anything less than that and I feel fractured, drifted, at a loss. Yet most don’t want to give me the 20 minutes I need, they get frustrated and are politely shoving me towards the door so they can slam it in my face. I have yet to figure out how to explain to them that I do not do quick goodbyes. That my wanting to linger is a testament to what they mean to me or a testament to my genetics.
Tidbits about me:
I eat my macaroni and cheese with potato chips.
I cannot sleep with any body part hanging off the bed. I think I never outgrew my fear of the monster under the bed.
I have an active and vivid imagination. Often when I am in that gray time between sleep and awake my imagination punishes me. It sends me imagines of snakes, often giant, man-eating snakes that are going to gobble me whole. I’m terrified of snakes, small ones, big ones… they are all the same to me. They send shivers up my spine, goose bumps up my arms; they steal my breath and my voice. During that gray time, my brain sends them to me. When this happens I make my brain send polar bears in. Big fat, fluffy mean polar bears. Polar bears make the snakes go away. Moral: Polar Bears beat snakes and I’m crazy.
I dislike raisins. I feel they are dead grapes and do not understand why people eat them.
Ed Norton pisses me off. His mere existence raises my blood pressure and makes me want to rage against the world. Writing that statement makes me want to punch kittens in their adorable faces.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Dentist - Take two
Sometimes I think bad things happen to bad people, and sometimes I think bad things happen to good people and then sometimes I think, I need to stop thinking and just punch kittens. Either way, bad stuff is going to happen.
I had to take a return trip to the dentist. Figured it would be easy; just put the crown on my once broken tooth. I was naive and wishful in my thought process. First step is for the dental assistant to remove the temporary cap, she pulls, she tugs, she twists.. the thing is not moving. I on the other hand have managed to clench my fingers and toes in response to the pain. She decides that she needs to saw it off. That is right, saw it off my tooth. I’m not sure why I didn’t get up and leave, just let the temporary cap stay on till nature decides it needed to come off, but no, I agree. So they numb me up and I sit there while she pleasant sticks some type of rotating blade in my mouth. About 20 minutes later, she is back to pulling and tugging. Luckily I was numb, so I didn’t feel a thing. Another 20 minutes goes by and she gets all the little pieces off. Then she goes, well your gums are a little irritated.
Irritated is a mild word. What was actually going on is my gums were bleeding profusely from the damage she did. This wouldn’t have bothered me, except when they tried to put the crown on, it wouldn’t’ fit right, cause my inflamed gums were getting in the way. Their solution was to suggest lasering part of my gums off. Not only would this stop them from being in way of the crown, but it would also cauterize the bleeding. Again, I ask myself, why I didn’t just leave, but I didn’t instead I say let’s do this.
So they pull out their nifty laser and start doing their thing. I hadn’t completely thought about what was meant by cauterizing the gums till I smelled the pleasant smell of burning flesh. I fought bravely against both the panic and the nausea that was coming. I thought I was holding it together rather well till I realized that I could feel ‘heat’ along my gums. I talked myself through that was still holding on, but then they blew water across the tooth. It was like a thousand pinpoints of pain in my mouth, I felt it to my toes. I swiftly let them know that I could feel pain. There was then a discussion about trying to numb me back up or letting them finish as they were almost done. Again, I should have just left, but instead I said go ahead. So they continued on. My hair stood on end, my toes curled in pain, but finally they finished, and the crown was on with a good fit.
It only took 2 hours. It is now, just shy of 12 hours later and my gums are still ‘irritated’ and my jaw aches.
I do not know if I have the perseverance to go back to the dentist ever again.
On a different note, I was recently introduced to a new product.
Handerpants – Underpants for your hands.
• Breathable Cotton
• Form Fitting
• Prevents Chafing
• Absorbs Sweat
• Distracts Enemies
• Non Toxic
• Great For Jazz Hands
Do not delay, get a pair today!
http://handerpants.com/ (note: the infomercial is worth your time)
I had to take a return trip to the dentist. Figured it would be easy; just put the crown on my once broken tooth. I was naive and wishful in my thought process. First step is for the dental assistant to remove the temporary cap, she pulls, she tugs, she twists.. the thing is not moving. I on the other hand have managed to clench my fingers and toes in response to the pain. She decides that she needs to saw it off. That is right, saw it off my tooth. I’m not sure why I didn’t get up and leave, just let the temporary cap stay on till nature decides it needed to come off, but no, I agree. So they numb me up and I sit there while she pleasant sticks some type of rotating blade in my mouth. About 20 minutes later, she is back to pulling and tugging. Luckily I was numb, so I didn’t feel a thing. Another 20 minutes goes by and she gets all the little pieces off. Then she goes, well your gums are a little irritated.
Irritated is a mild word. What was actually going on is my gums were bleeding profusely from the damage she did. This wouldn’t have bothered me, except when they tried to put the crown on, it wouldn’t’ fit right, cause my inflamed gums were getting in the way. Their solution was to suggest lasering part of my gums off. Not only would this stop them from being in way of the crown, but it would also cauterize the bleeding. Again, I ask myself, why I didn’t just leave, but I didn’t instead I say let’s do this.
So they pull out their nifty laser and start doing their thing. I hadn’t completely thought about what was meant by cauterizing the gums till I smelled the pleasant smell of burning flesh. I fought bravely against both the panic and the nausea that was coming. I thought I was holding it together rather well till I realized that I could feel ‘heat’ along my gums. I talked myself through that was still holding on, but then they blew water across the tooth. It was like a thousand pinpoints of pain in my mouth, I felt it to my toes. I swiftly let them know that I could feel pain. There was then a discussion about trying to numb me back up or letting them finish as they were almost done. Again, I should have just left, but instead I said go ahead. So they continued on. My hair stood on end, my toes curled in pain, but finally they finished, and the crown was on with a good fit.
It only took 2 hours. It is now, just shy of 12 hours later and my gums are still ‘irritated’ and my jaw aches.
I do not know if I have the perseverance to go back to the dentist ever again.
On a different note, I was recently introduced to a new product.
Handerpants – Underpants for your hands.
• Breathable Cotton
• Form Fitting
• Prevents Chafing
• Absorbs Sweat
• Distracts Enemies
• Non Toxic
• Great For Jazz Hands
Do not delay, get a pair today!
http://handerpants.com/ (note: the infomercial is worth your time)
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Green Suckers are Evil
Friday afternoon I’m happily sucking on a green sucker, diligently working. The sucker taunted me with its crunchy goodness, so I caved and bit into it. Apparently the sucker was the Chuck Norris of suckers, as it chipped my back molar. About half of it was gone. At first I was mildly alarmed, then reality sent in… I would have to go to the dentist. My internal alarm went RED.. DANGER DANGER!
If you are a family member or child do not read this part… though it could be a PSA.
I have a fear of the dentist. This started when I was in high school. One day, after getting high with some friends, I came home to my mom telling me I had a dentist appointment to get a cavity filled. For apparent reasons I couldn’t tell my mom I was too high to go to the dentist, so off we went. Now I had never experienced paranoia when high, but things were soon to change. I sat in the dentist chair ready for my filling. Once the drill started I realized this was a BAD DECISION. I don’t recall much about the specifics, but this I know, I was certain the dentist was trying to kill me. It was going to be a slow and painful death; there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was trapped in that dentist chair. I do not recall the specifics of how I escaped my demise, but this I know, ever since I have severe anxiety about going back to the dentist. (Moral of the story: Don’t do drugs)
So here I am 33 years old with a chipped tooth, the thought of going in to the dentist makes me want to wet myself, but having known severe dental pain, I know I there is no way I cannot go. So I start calling dentists. For reasons I do not completely understand, no dentist offices were open on Friday afternoons. So I make a 9 am appointment for Monday
Monday comes with minimal pain. Off to the dentist I go. I resist the urge to drive into oncoming traffic to delay the inevitable. Things are going well; new dentist is very nice, dental assistance is nice. Office is soothing, yet I can feel the mind numbing terror swimming through my veins. I’m not sure what they said, the words root canal, pulling and deep drilling were all involved, when they came to talk to me about cost I was numb with terror, so they just sucked me into agreeing to pay. I sat in the chair, trying desperately to crank my iPod loud enough to no longer hear the drill. Instead I got a mix of Nervous but Exicted with drill as background music, not the best combination. With all the technology that exists why are they not able to make dental instruments not sound like weapons of torture? Also, I have a theory that those that chose the dental profession were Spanish Inquisitors in past lives.
I managed to not make a fool of myself, generally speaking, no crying or screaming or running out. The point that really tested me is when they were creating the molding. I had to bite down on the foamy cement stuff (sorry if I confuse anyone with the technical terms) I started drooling, of course I didn’t really notice since my mouth was numb. I noticed it when I drooled on my bib. The dental assistant kindly offered to lean me back so that I wouldn’t drool on myself. This seemed like a great idea, till I realized I couldn’t properly swallow due to an inability to close my mouth. Also, based on taste I was slowly drowning in my own blood and saliva. Finally the dental assistant removed the template and suctioned out my mouth. Stuffed it with gauze, as they told me that I might have some bleeding due to my gum being torn up while they were drilling, apparently my gums are exceptionally close to my teeth (are they not suppose to be?)
I leave the dentist and stop at the gas station before going home to be drugged. While trying to talk to the clerk I drool a little blood out. I’m sure he will still respect me in the morning.
If you are a family member or child do not read this part… though it could be a PSA.
I have a fear of the dentist. This started when I was in high school. One day, after getting high with some friends, I came home to my mom telling me I had a dentist appointment to get a cavity filled. For apparent reasons I couldn’t tell my mom I was too high to go to the dentist, so off we went. Now I had never experienced paranoia when high, but things were soon to change. I sat in the dentist chair ready for my filling. Once the drill started I realized this was a BAD DECISION. I don’t recall much about the specifics, but this I know, I was certain the dentist was trying to kill me. It was going to be a slow and painful death; there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was trapped in that dentist chair. I do not recall the specifics of how I escaped my demise, but this I know, ever since I have severe anxiety about going back to the dentist. (Moral of the story: Don’t do drugs)
So here I am 33 years old with a chipped tooth, the thought of going in to the dentist makes me want to wet myself, but having known severe dental pain, I know I there is no way I cannot go. So I start calling dentists. For reasons I do not completely understand, no dentist offices were open on Friday afternoons. So I make a 9 am appointment for Monday
Monday comes with minimal pain. Off to the dentist I go. I resist the urge to drive into oncoming traffic to delay the inevitable. Things are going well; new dentist is very nice, dental assistance is nice. Office is soothing, yet I can feel the mind numbing terror swimming through my veins. I’m not sure what they said, the words root canal, pulling and deep drilling were all involved, when they came to talk to me about cost I was numb with terror, so they just sucked me into agreeing to pay. I sat in the chair, trying desperately to crank my iPod loud enough to no longer hear the drill. Instead I got a mix of Nervous but Exicted with drill as background music, not the best combination. With all the technology that exists why are they not able to make dental instruments not sound like weapons of torture? Also, I have a theory that those that chose the dental profession were Spanish Inquisitors in past lives.
I managed to not make a fool of myself, generally speaking, no crying or screaming or running out. The point that really tested me is when they were creating the molding. I had to bite down on the foamy cement stuff (sorry if I confuse anyone with the technical terms) I started drooling, of course I didn’t really notice since my mouth was numb. I noticed it when I drooled on my bib. The dental assistant kindly offered to lean me back so that I wouldn’t drool on myself. This seemed like a great idea, till I realized I couldn’t properly swallow due to an inability to close my mouth. Also, based on taste I was slowly drowning in my own blood and saliva. Finally the dental assistant removed the template and suctioned out my mouth. Stuffed it with gauze, as they told me that I might have some bleeding due to my gum being torn up while they were drilling, apparently my gums are exceptionally close to my teeth (are they not suppose to be?)
I leave the dentist and stop at the gas station before going home to be drugged. While trying to talk to the clerk I drool a little blood out. I’m sure he will still respect me in the morning.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Hi, Leg Warehouse, my friend needs a leg to stand on
I haven’t blogged lately as I seem to be surrounded by asshats and it makes my humor hide. When I started this blog I was very specific with myself that I did not want to turn into rant sessions but I do believe I’m going to have to make an exception. I’m hoping if I purge my spleen my funny will come back and show itself in the light of day.
First, if you a liar, as in someone who lies, you do not have the right to get mad at people who are upset and hurt by the fact that you lied to them. You do not get to be offended that you are then labeled a liar and in general, an asshat. You want to not be called those things, don’t be them. Very simple concept. We even teach it to our children, most of whom understand the concept. Also, after a certain age, I’m going to say 7 or 8, you are required to start dealing with your problems. Not ignore them in hopes that they will resolve themselves. Or in hopes that someone else will come and clean up the mess for you. This doesn’t work, if anything it often makes the situation worse.
Second, I’m tired of the fact that based on what I am seeing/hearing no one understands the basic concepts of parenting. A) You will always have to be the adult in the situation. B) You need to set an example; the goal should be a GOOD example. Being a user or abuser does not qualify. C) If you want to be part of your children’s life, make the effort. D) It is not just a hallmark sentiment, time truly is the best thing you can give kids (well anyone in reality). E) If you have spent multiple years ‘playing’ the role of father in their life, you are their father, biology be damned.
Third, no one wants to grow up. Ideally if we knew what we were getting into, we would have opted out. Unfortunately no one has yet to locate the opt out button. You need to pay bills, you need to provide for your family, you need to take responsibility for your life and your mistakes. If you want the benefits of being an adult, then you should act like one. If you want to be respected, you need to be respectable. Otherwise except the fact that you are a child and will be treated as such.
Fourth, bullying is an exceptionally weak characteristic. You can not be a strong person by bullying others. Calling names, pointing out flaws, wishing harm and overall putting down of others does not make you better than them. It makes you weak and pathetic. Don’t assume that those who chose not to engage in the behavior are too weak; assume they are strong enough to not engage in childish games. If you want to be the ‘better’ person, the stronger person, live your life as an example. Tearing someone down has never made anyone the better person; it only shows an extreme weakness of character.
Fifth, if any of this sound like I’m taking to you, I may very well be. I highly recommend you look at your life, and make some very changes. No one likes an asshat. No matter how fun of a word it is.
First, if you a liar, as in someone who lies, you do not have the right to get mad at people who are upset and hurt by the fact that you lied to them. You do not get to be offended that you are then labeled a liar and in general, an asshat. You want to not be called those things, don’t be them. Very simple concept. We even teach it to our children, most of whom understand the concept. Also, after a certain age, I’m going to say 7 or 8, you are required to start dealing with your problems. Not ignore them in hopes that they will resolve themselves. Or in hopes that someone else will come and clean up the mess for you. This doesn’t work, if anything it often makes the situation worse.
Second, I’m tired of the fact that based on what I am seeing/hearing no one understands the basic concepts of parenting. A) You will always have to be the adult in the situation. B) You need to set an example; the goal should be a GOOD example. Being a user or abuser does not qualify. C) If you want to be part of your children’s life, make the effort. D) It is not just a hallmark sentiment, time truly is the best thing you can give kids (well anyone in reality). E) If you have spent multiple years ‘playing’ the role of father in their life, you are their father, biology be damned.
Third, no one wants to grow up. Ideally if we knew what we were getting into, we would have opted out. Unfortunately no one has yet to locate the opt out button. You need to pay bills, you need to provide for your family, you need to take responsibility for your life and your mistakes. If you want the benefits of being an adult, then you should act like one. If you want to be respected, you need to be respectable. Otherwise except the fact that you are a child and will be treated as such.
Fourth, bullying is an exceptionally weak characteristic. You can not be a strong person by bullying others. Calling names, pointing out flaws, wishing harm and overall putting down of others does not make you better than them. It makes you weak and pathetic. Don’t assume that those who chose not to engage in the behavior are too weak; assume they are strong enough to not engage in childish games. If you want to be the ‘better’ person, the stronger person, live your life as an example. Tearing someone down has never made anyone the better person; it only shows an extreme weakness of character.
Fifth, if any of this sound like I’m taking to you, I may very well be. I highly recommend you look at your life, and make some very changes. No one likes an asshat. No matter how fun of a word it is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)