April 2011

I had four cavities. FOUR. Now I just have four more fillings in my mouth. And a numb face.

Here’s the worst thing about this morning, and perhaps the worst thing one can ever hear while enjoying a visit to the dentist: “Oh, you aren’t supposed to be able to feel that.”

Fantastic. Apparently my mouth requires about eight shots of Novocaine as compared to the original three he figured would do the trick. I have to be honest though. What exactly is accomplished by having nerve endings in one’s teeth? Teeth don’t obey my commands, they can’t wiggle about in my mouth if I so desire. Just don’t get it. The only thing accomplished by the presence of nerves in my teeth today was that I now understand why people are afraid of the dentist and that awful drilling noise.

I’m sure most of my readers take much better care of their teeth than I do so you’ve probably never found yourself laying in the chair in the dentist’s office, face numb, four different apparatuses sticking out of your mouth, wishing your dentist would realize that though one side of your mouth is numb that doesn’t mean the other half is and his hand resting on your lip which is poking into your canine doesn’t feel great, and wondering, ‘What the hell is happening in my mouth right now,’ but that’s where I was this morning. And it is impossible to ask any questions during this process, though it sounds like the dentist and hygienist have no relationship and a forced conversation about Survivor is taking place over your head when the nice thing would be for them to explain what they’re doing as they do it.

But since that is apparently unnecessary, the only knowledge I gleaned from my appointment is that Boston Rob is apparently just as devious as ever and it’s shocking the producers of the show are allowing him to do whatever scandalous thing he’s doing this season. And of course now I’m on CBS.com watching episode one of this season. I think perhaps my dentist is being paid to sponsor Survivor.

Since I had a few questions (ie, Why must they DRILL into my teeth when they are trying to patch a hole? and WTF is that blue light thingy?), I’ve done some research while my face regains some feeling. For those that are curious, they drill to remove the ‘brown’ part of the filling (this is disgusting…and also highly questionable as I found this information on YAHOO Answers) and then to rough up the tooth so the filling will stick. And the blue light just sets the filling and dries it quickly. And now that I’ve read this, I remember that my sweet dentist I had most of my life back home actually DID explain the process and I knew all this already. Apparently, old age is setting in.

As a bonus, I will quickly relate the fun doings from my birthday gathering last night. I think the whole thing can be summed up by saying that the advent of camera phones makes letting loose around friends and coworkers a risky undertaking. They look like they are texting! But they are actually taking a photo of you stuffing your face!

Also, I must thank a few people for making the time to hang out with me last night. I have yet to create nicknames for any of my coworkers at this job (crazy! I’ve worked here for over six months!), so I suppose it’s high time I rectify this situation. The Café Queen gets a special shout out for spearheading the whole event. My Rock-Star-in-Businiess-Casual friend, I think (I was still feeling the effects of my margarita at the time), apprehended my bill and paid it, which was incredibly generous and I thank her whole heartedly. Off-the-Grid Friend made a late appearance and I hope I didn’t embarrass myself too thoroughly. Apologies, if so. Not that he’ll read this… And Sweet-but-Naïve friend rounded out the gathering. All in all, a good time was had. By me. I can’t speak for them 🙂

In closing, I would like to say that I’m quite pleased that my face is numb because I went to the dentist, not because I am still drunk from last evening. A win for my ever-tested self-control!


Sometimes I take a step back from my life and I think to myself, “Thank God I have the blog, otherwise there is nothing redeeming in this situation at all.”

Today was one of those days.

I won’t bore with the details of my atypically awful day at work – aside from saying that our network was down and we couldn’t process credit card purchases for an entire hour and a half, which lead to the extreme displeasure of a great many dissatisfied customers and culminated in a heinous bitch yelling at me at the highest volume imaginable in front of a line of customers and demanding that I give her her wasted hour of shopping back. I am told I should have suggested she do the hour’s activities in reverse and see what happened. However, I simply told her that there was really nothing I could do to help her with that and offered a free drink from our cafe. She declined in typical heinous bitch fashion and stormed out, still yelling.

But the day had hope! I needed but a bit of a pick me up in the form of a shower, but I had big plans for my evening. I was going to make the two-hour trek up to Birmingham to attend a wedding shower for my delightful cousin and his charming fiance being hosted by my parents (among others) at their home. No matter that I have to make the two-hour trek home again tomorrow around lunch time in order to work another nine hours and then fall without thinking into a blissful sleep for the next seven hours before I have to get up and go BACK on Sunday… yeah I’m off the subject again. The point is, I was  hopeful despite the promise of a busy weekend to follow.

Almost immediately upon pulling out of my driveway, it began to sprinkle. I don’t mind driving in the rain, except:


The back windows fall down with alarming frequency. One side is being held up with a broken paint stirrer. The other by an ink pen. Neither solution is ideal or completely functional, though the paint stirrer seems to be the more useful of the two. Anyway, this works out just fine in the summer months because my air conditioner doesn’t work either, and if the windows fall down, all the better.

EXCEPT: When it is raining.

But it’s fine! The pen is wedged in pretty tight and I have to stop and get gas anyway so I can fix things then if (rather, when, if we’re being completely honest) the window falls en route. My plan is clearly foolproof.

PLOT TWIST! The plan sucks. The window fell almost immediately and I was wet and freezing. And I was half-way to Birmingham when my car reminded me that I did indeed need to get gas, so I pulled over in a lull in the storm and started the process of locating my debit card. Which was not in my wallet. Or my purse. Or my pockets. Well. F.

Ok, cash! I had cash in my pocket. $4.30 of it. And gas is… oh. $3.69  a gallon. I was out of gas and had another hour of driving ahead of me. Fantastic.

I went into the gas station and gave the lady the $4.30 and she told me that it was not embarrassing  that I only had that much money, that she’d seen people pay $1 sometimes. Well, I wasn’t going to make it to Birmingham with only one more gallon of gas, but I could get closer, at least.

I’ll be honest, though. There was a young-ish guy sitting there eating something and I tried to engage him in the conversation about my silly mistake of  (apparently) leaving my debit card at home. Yeah. I smiled at him. I made eye contact. I was sort of hoping he would pony up a few bucks to get me to Birmingham. He did not.

By the time I left the building, dejected and rather unsure if I was soon to become homeless and stranded in Sylacauga, it was pouring again. I pumped my 1.23 gallons of gas, getting soaked the whole time. But apparently that woke up my brain, as it was then that I remembered I still had my check book in my purse! Perhaps this amazing establishment would take checks! I would be saved!

And I was. 

I got myself a half a tank of gas and carried on. Soaking wet and being blown about by the open back window, but successfully transported all the same.

Folks, the moral of this story is, before you get in the car to drive more than ten miles, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE A WAY TO PURCHASE GASOLINE. Otherwise, you will have to call someone to rescue you. And no one wants to do that. They will not be getting that hour back, they can yell all they want 😉

Ok. It was Wednesday that I declared to my Facebook Friends that I would mow my grass at 4:30 that afternoon.

Confession: I didn’t do it.

BUT! I did do it this morning (and it’s only like 2 and a half days later!) and that has to count for something, right?

And to be honest, now it’s done, I’m not sure why I was stalling. It was…easy. I think Saturday mid-morning is the socially acceptable time to mow one’s lawn, so I guess it was a good time for me to debut into the world of concerned and involved homeowners.

Only problem with that is, I wasn’t the only person out cutting the grass. My next door neighbor (also a woman) was pulling out her mower at the same time I was dragging mine bodily from the garage.

[Side Note: Dad got me my new wheel key and we successfully engineered the riding lawn mower into full functionality again about two weeks ago. Yay Dad!! I love you!]

Anyway. My neighbor and I were about to be mowing our yards at the same time. I feel like there has to be some unwritten etiquette that I am unaware of in this situation. Whoever gets their mower turned on first goes first. Sort of like…bowling. You don’t bowl at the same time as the people next to you. It’s rude. Right?

Also I felt like an ass with my gigantic riding lawn mower, because the woman next door was using a push mower. An ELECTRIC push mower. I am a polluting, lazy jerk.

My front yard was in the most desperate need of attention, and their front yard is facing another direction entirely, so I made for the front yard first. Maybe like 20 minutes later, I was ready to move on to the back yard and it looked like the woman next door was just making her way around her back yard fully for the first time. She was mowing against the fence our back yards share. Crap.

Her poor little electric mower was being put to the test against a whole bunch of weeds and I was about to cruise along past and shoot my chewed up grass through the fence onto her. That felt rude. But I wanted to get the show on the road! I was hot! And sweaty. And uncomfortable.

But I’m nothing if not polite in awkward situations, so I hopped off the mower and went inside to cool off. I gave her fifteen minutes and then finished up the back yard with some serious ease.

Mowing the grass is actually a very satisfying activity. An hour of work and a dramatic result. Like doing laundry or vacuuming a cat-fur-lined rug. Heck, I may even retain this chore if I ever do get the opportunity to hand it over to a spouse again. He can just use the weed eater.

Because let’s be honest. If it took me 28 years to mow the grass on my own, it’s probably going to be another 28 before I figure out how to operate a weed eater! 😉