psychic bleach powers!

A few days ago I was in Target and thought, "I should buy some bleach spray." It's been a long time since I had any, I couldn't remember why I stopped buying it, and I couldn't think of why I needed it. But I bought it anyway.

I also noticed that my usual dishwasher detergent now comes in a variety containing bleach and grabbed that, too, even though I have plenty of dishwasher soap. Huh.

Today I went back to get a prescription filled for the antibiotics that should clear up the case of strep throat I now have. And I'm using the bleach spray on every surface possible and putting every dish I touch immediately into the dishwasher so I don't get anyone else sick...

Can I can get a Psychic Premonition Of Necessary Disinfecting Powers Amen?

That's right.

you know you're a geek when:

Your friend tells you that they checked to make sure no good sci-fi shows were on before they call, just so they know it's a safe time to call you.

*nods*

Smart man you are, GD. Ha!

honk! move over bitch!

PMS is a magical time. It's the magical time of the month when my mental prisoners get to exchange positions.

You know, usually I keep the angry bitch locked in that little cage where she rattles her bars and hisses at me, "It's only a matter of time till I get out, you know..." Me and logic just ignore her. After all, she is correct.

Then along comes PMS and suddenly logic is smashed into the little cage and I can see her lips moving but I can't possibly hear her over the banshee like victory screams of the newly freed angry bitch.

Currently angry bitch is looking over at the old timey bicycle horn that my grandfather gave my son to put on his bike. He's between bikes right now, so the horn just sits and waits. In the meantime, it sits and waits next to the back door, which I am going to fling open and start squeaking that stupid noisy horn over and over and over again as soon as my neighbor's child stomps on the goddamn deck ONE. MORE. TIME.

Yes. If you can't beat stupid, why not join it for a good old game of denial? When my neighbor comes upstairs to ask me what in the world all that noise is, I will stare at her stupidly and say, "Gosh, I don't know! I heard that, too!" and blink. Because, angry bitch reasons, if she can't figure out that her obnoxious brat is making shit in my house rattle, then I am most certainly not the kind of person who would, say, stand on her deck honking a tiny horn over and over and over again to demonstrate what it's like to live next to obliviously obnoxious neighbors.

I'm just sayin'.

D.C.

Ring my bell:

What can I say? I love weird people. People who aren't ashamed of their weirdness. I adore Leslie Hall.

Stop! Nappytime!

As if I need a darn good reason to get more sleep. Me and insomnia go way back, as does my ever growing booty.

the strange things I dream:

"You must sacrifice the princess to save the children."

That's the last thing I remember hearing in my dream before I woke up sobbing. I was the princess, apparently.

I was on some other small planet, and humans were trying to inhabit it. Unfortunately, it was already inhabited by some large scary creature that was eating people. The dream is fragmented and I don't think I could make much sense of it if I tried, but I remember the end of it.

I was trying to convince the people attempting to colonize the planet that they shouldn't be there, that whatever the creature was, it deserved to have it's own land and stop being treated like a monster. It wouldn't be eating them if they went away, duh. But they argued with me, and at one point I had to go outside. I was leaping from one high place to another, trying to keep myself safe from the creature, but the last time I jumped I landed precariously on what looked like a stacked up pile of chairs. I started to topple over, but I knew if I did, I was a goner. The beast was next to me and was watching my slow descent.

I fell onto a table, and it was covered in my old journals. I landed on my hands and knees on top of them, and started sobbing. I could hear the creature behind me speaking, and he said something about how he was claiming me for a mate. That was what he had been seeking. My falling down signified my defeat, and he was claiming me as his mate. No one could help me.

I desperately starting flipping through the pages of my old journals, reading the prose within them and trying to burn the words into my memory, because I knew once he took me away I would lose everything that made me human.

That was where the dream ended. I was about to be carried away, but I was still crouched where I had landed, desperately leafing through the pages of my own past before I changed into something else, and I heard one of the humans explaining the situation to another human by saying,

"You must sacrifice the princess to save the children."

I couldn't understand how I could save anyone, since the creature ATE people. Maybe if it got to mate it would stop eating people? Would our biological systems even be compatible for mating? Never mind the fact that I did not want to, it wasn't an option. I was claimed, the humans considered me a necessary sacrifice and that was that. But what was I going to become?

Then I woke up crying.

how I spent my Mother's Day:

I spent the day watching my son grow balls, basically. The same kid who used to cower at the sound of someone raising their voice actually willingly stepped onto this, his first real roller coaster ever.

The Alpengeist, at Busch Gardens.
Length: 3828 ft
Height: 195 ft
Drop: 170 ft
Speed: 67 mph
Inversions: 6
Duration: 3:10



After that we went on Big Bad Wolf...



Then the Curse of DarKastle, a few other rides and Apollo's Chariot. Apollo's Chariot was so freaking fast that I opened my mouth to laugh (ok, ok, in terror) and my entire mouth immediately dried out. I spent the rest of the ride trying to peel my lips from my teeth so we wouldn't pull back into the station with me looking like a braying donkey. Hee haw!

This kid's video is tweaked out, but I don't know how you could possibly film it. Even watching the video is making me laugh/cry.



Man, what a good time...

A mug of breakfast, how lovely!

I haven't been sleeping very well, which was illustrated for me this morning:

I started water boiling. Putting the tea bag (Lady Grey, thank you) into the lovely blue and white ceramic mug, I pattered around, cleaning this, organizing that, and finally decided to eat some cereal. I pulled out a box of my son's cereal (Cap'n Crunch) and then filled my mug to the brim with it. It filled up quickly, so I tried to pat it down, and it wasn't until my left hand hit both the coffee mug and the crunchy bits of cereal did my brain register that anything was wrong.

I looked down.

There was my mug, full of Captain Crunch and coming off the side was the string to a teabag. I stared at it stupidly for a moment and then said to the empty kitchen, "Oh dear. That's not a good sign."

I am proud to report that I had procured a bowl for my cereal and the boiling water made it to the tea after all.

I am slightly consoled that just yesterday I watched my son put his shoes on the wrong feet and later my husband announced to me, "I put my boxers on backwards." He dropped trou. "Look- no pee hole."

Birds of a funky feather...

holy rudeness, Batman

A moment ago I was talking to my husband on the phone. I saw another call was coming in, but I didn't recognize the number. I told him I'd call him back, and I clicked over to answer it.

I answered the call with a friendly, "Hello?" and a girl answered my greeting with:

"Aww shit, I got the wrong numbah."

And she hung up. I stared at the phone and exclaimed, "Holy crap, are you RUDE!" I even contemplated, briefly, calling her back and saying, "Aww, shit, I called you back," and hanging up.

But no.

sometimes life is like that

status report:

I know I've mentioned my current state of withdrawal (for those of you not regular readers, I'm weaning myself from the medications I was put on during physical therapy for a delightful fall involving my triple somersault down some concrete stairs). What I'm not mentioning is the total fucking hell it's causing, because frankly, it's embarrassing.

To clue you in: I'm a wreck. My nerves are shot, I go from giddy and feeling optimistic to bleak depression to barely controllable rage.

Jack and I had one incredibly shitty night last night, although I dare say it was far worse on my end. He just had to deal with his crazed bitch of a wife. I had to deal with some ill timed sarcasm from Jack, which inspired a kind of rage that scared the fucking shit out me, honestly. I spent an hour or two in our bedroom crying because I was horrified I might actually beat the shit out of my husband. Yah. His incessant patting of my butt and laughing at the fact that I was "obviously over-reacting" did nothing but further enrage me. When I tried to explain what was going on he just didn't take me seriously at all, and some rather nasty things were said. Nothing we won't get over, don't worry about that. In fact, he seemed fine about it last night even. I wasn't, and the whole experience was so disturbing that I'm still freaked out. The first half of the day I couldn't decide if I still wanted to kick his ass, just on principle.

*sigh* I knew going into this that the medication(s) would be a bitch to come off of, but I never foresaw THIS kind of reaction. The drugs themselves aren't even that strong! It's not like I'm hooked on heroin, for fuck's sake.

I have to say, it's giving me a much better understanding of why it is so difficult for people to kick drug addictions. I just thought, hell, I quit a fifteen year smoking habit just by going cold turkey, and it sucked but whoopdeedoo. I can do this. No problem. *another heaving sigh* I did lots of recreational drugs in my teenage years, and when I decided I was done, I just stopped, no problem. I really didn't think this would be any different. But then again, I never did any drugs on a daily basis, consistently, for eight straight months, unless you want to count coffee.

I am incredibly erratic right now, and trying my damnedest to keep in hidden from not just you, the reader, but everyone. So... now you know.

In the meantime, you may expect random shit to be posted, a whole lot of amusing crap I find on the internet mostly. I'm working really hard at keeping myself positive, but it's a constant battle right now.
So, if you're wanting something juicier to sink your teeth into, be patient.

the turtle:

Slow, methodical, enemy of cats.


I didn't know turtles could go commando. You learn something new every day.

geek love in action

Today, my husband sends me this from work:

The Word of the Day for May 06 is:

sprachgefuhl \\SHPRAHKH-guh-fuel\\ noun

: an intuitive sense of what is linguistically appropriate

Example sentence:
One review of the book praised the author's sprachgefuhl and her graceful, literary style.

So, in reply, I sent him this:

un·pro·nounce·a·ble (ŭn'prə-noun'sə-bəl) Pronunciation Key

adjective
1. impossible or difficult to pronounce correctly [ant: pronounceable]
2. very difficult to pronounce correctly; "an unpronounceable foreign word"; "unutterable consonant clusters"

Later he sends me this from his camera phone:



So I open up GIMP and get to work, then send him back this:



We're freaking dorktastic.

my teeth: a love/hate relationship

(Image property of Sarah Mensinga whose blog can be found here.)

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow morning. I am, uh... freaking out. Perhaps I should say "freaked out" because that implies less action somehow. Maybe I shouldn't be pondering the correct usage of the phrase "freaking out" because I am, in fact, too freaked out to really think clearly about it anyway.

The whole thing is ridiculous. I'm going in tomorrow to have my root canal built up and be fitted for a crown on that tooth. This is fine and happy. What I am afraid of is the rest of the news. I have another tooth that I thought needed a root canal. I finally got up the balls to have it done a month or two ago, I forget. Anyway, when I went in I ended up seeing a different dentist, and the new dentist told me, "I don't think you should have a root canal done. I think you should get that tooth extracted and get an implant instead."

Since I was prepared for a root canal, I didn't warn her that I am rather afraid of dentistry. I've learned that dentists make a strained face when I admit that to them, like I'm a rabid dog next to a doghouse, they are standing on the sidewalk, and they're sizing up just how long the chain connected to my collar actually is. It's hard to see when it's all coiled up like that... can I reach them and if so, will I bite? Should they back away slowly? Run? Or stare me down? Say, "Nice doggy"? What to do, what to do...

So, I tend to not mention it unless it involves a procedure that I know will freak me out. The first time I had a root canal I was freaked out. The first time I had a wisdom tooth pulled I went balls out hysterical. I never went back to get the other wisdom teeth pulled, however. I can still hear that sound. I swear to you, I know it's ridiculous, maybe even childish, but I cannot bear to ever hear that sound again. I want to be knocked the fuck out, and if not, I don't think I can do it. I've come through some major shit in my life, but the sound of my tooth being pried from my jaw bone sends waves of terror throughout my very core. I don't know why. It's just so very wrong.

Had my new dentist had any idea about any of that, she might have had some idea of how well I would receive her news that I would not being having a root canal, but instead should have my tooth pulled out. I tried to hold it together and not burst into tears. I was doing ok until she went on to tell me that an implant is a simple procedure: they drill a screw down into your jawbone and that's what the implant attaches to. Very permanent, she said. Quite simple, she said. Best option, she said.

I just weakly stared at her and tried to not pass out. Pulling a tooth is enough to bring on hysteria, now she's adding in the idea of a drilling a screw through my gums and into the bone of my JAW? Is she MAD? What kind of crazy alternate universe does she reside in where one can casually mention a thing like that as if we were discussing the weather over a lovely cup of tea?

It was at that point that I managed to softly mumble, "I, uh. I, uh, have a...problem...with dentists...I should mention. Uh. Anxiety disorder. Uh." She blinked and paused, then said, "Well, we can give you a sedative, that should be no problem." I continued to stare at her, trying not to cry but helpless to stop it while I told her, "I'm ON medication. I took two Xanax this morning before I even came in. I took another one while I was waiting for you to come in here."

I think that was the moment she grasped the direness of my predicament. Her eyes opened wide and she did good, I have to give her credit, for not letting the expression of shock remain on her face for more than a passing moment. She wiped her face expressionless again and said, "Oh. Well. I see." She motioned to the nurse and said, "We'll make sure that your referral clearly states that you require heavy sedation." Miserable and desperate I asked, "How heavy? Because... I don't think I can be conscious. Really. I can't even promise you I'll ever make it to that appointment, even if they knocked me out for the procedure."

Perhaps some people don't mind admitting they are a wimp. I have no problem telling people I don't watch scary movies, and that Gremlins was too scary for me. I can't even think of Jurassic Park without seeing those damn raptors running through the kitchen with their scary agile hands that can open doors... That kind of wimpitude I can deal with. The fact is, I could sit through a whole scary movie. Well, maybe. When a boyfriend made me watch "Event Horizon" I was so terrified I couldn't even leave the room. I just sat on the couch, plugging my ears and screwing my eyes shut until it was over. He thought I was ridiculous.

It's that kind of fear that's embarrassing to me. It's the kind of fear that overrules all rational thought and immobilizes me. And really, there's few things worse than people who don't understand it and try to reason with me:
"It'll be fine."
"You're getting all worked up over nothing."
"I had it done, it's no big deal."
"Just relax."
"Try some deep breathing."
"Ask them for headphones so you can't hear it."

Or the all time stupidest advice when dealing with terror:
"Just get over it."

Yes. How stupid of me. Why didn't I think of that? Oh. Right. Because it's stupid. Yes.

The problem is, tomorrow morning I go in to the old dentist I had, the one that told me I could have a root canal on the other broken tooth, and get a second opinion from him. He may very well tell me that it is indeed hopeless and I will have to accept my bolt-in-the-jaw reality. For now, however, I am still desperately clinging to the tiny shred of hope that he can do a root canal and save me from the terror that is an implant.

Tomorrow he may confirm my worst fear (concerning my jaw, at least), or he might give me wonderful news and tell me the root canal is indeed a possibility. In the meantime, my crazy, anxiety prone ass is just periodically freaking out and alternately, trying to wipe it from my thoughts. When it comes to fear, it's better to just get it over with. I want to find out now. I want to find out yesterday.

But that leads to the next problem: if he tells me I need the implant, I have to get it done. At the very least I have to have the tooth removed. I suppose I could just walk around with a gap in my teeth, right? Wrong. I'm too vain for that. If the tooth must come out, something damn well had better go in. My other option is a bridge, they tell me. That involves grinding down the teeth next to the tooth that would be pulled, and super-gluing some fake teeth on top of those. That sounds stupid, but it does carry the joy of not having a bolt in my jaw, however.

No matter what is decided about this bastard tooth, the fact remains that I still have my other wisdom teeth to get pulled anyway. There is no way around that. Those damn teeth are the reason I am in this predicament. I was told fourteen years ago that I would need to have my wisdom teeth pulled, but I decided the dentist just wanted me to help pay off his speed boat. I decided, in my youthful non-dental-schooled brilliance, that I would be fine and to hell with getting teeth pulled. My wisdom teeth came in fine. My bottom teeth became a little bit crooked from the pressure, my jaws hurt from time to time, but no big deal.

Then, one of my teeth cracked. It didn't just crack, it shattered spectacularly and out of the blue. I was working, I wasn't chewing anything, and all of a sudden I had unknown sharp pointy bits in my mouth. I spit them out and was horrified to realize they were, without a shadow of a doubt, parts of my teeth.

I have had nightmares about spitting out my own teeth ever since.

Eventually another tooth cracked, and it just so happens to match the tooth on the other side. Yep. Same teeth, bottom jaw, on either side. I don't know why those teeth seem to be weaker than any others, but those are the ones that gave under the pressure from my very intact wisdom teeth.

I think whoever named them "Wisdom" teeth was being ironic. I've certainly learned a lot from them. Hmph.

When I talked about this to my shrink she said, "What's the big deal, Jill? Just go to a dentist that can put you completely under!" She smiled hugely, sure she had the perfect solution. I just looked at her, poker faced and said, "I'm afraid of being molested." Knowing my history, her face immediately reflected the rock and a hard place that I was so wound up about. "Ah. Yes." She paused. "Why not take someone else in there with you?" I nodded and told her that was the only way I could do it.

Still, whatever needs to get done, I want it done all at once. The bad stuff, anyway. I know me. I know my weakness. I am, at least, being honest and trying to find a way to work around it. The fact is, if it isn't done all in one shot, I don't know if I can stand to go back a second, a third, a fourth time.

I mean, look at me. I haven't even gone to the dentist to find out what needs to be done and I'm a wreck.

I'm so strong about so many things. It pisses me off that I'm such a wuss about my teeth.

*sigh*

wtf denistry

My husband is racing back to the dentist right now after discovering a giant chunk of metal in an empty tooth socket.

He had a wisdom tooth pulled yesterday. Next to the wisdom tooth is (or was) a very large filling on the neighboring tooth. He was told by our regular dentist that the filling would be knocked loose when he had the tooth pulled, but that it hardly mattered since the tooth with the filling needs a root canal anyway. Ok. Fine.

Jack came home last night and was a bit baffled by the loss of the filling. Apparently the dentist that pulled his tooth thought the filling was intact, because Jack asked him before he left. The doctor said the filling was fine, but Jack couldn't understand where it went. It wasn't there.

He just discovered where it went. It was in the empty socket. And this is no small little filling, mind you. It's a BIG chunk of metal, jagged and not good for an empty socket, you know?

So the question now is: did the dentist or nurse knock it into the empty socket with the gauze, or did my husband? Since he was numb, he wouldn't have known. And since he didn't look before he left the office, because he had to keep the gauze in the empty socket, he wouldn't have seen it anyway.

As soon as he told me I just stared at him, horrified. "Call the dentist. Right now. Call him right now and go back in there!" He looked surprised by my expression. "I know it's not good, but I mean, it's out now, so what bad could happen?" he asked me. I have to assume he's a little woozly from the painkillers. I said, "Dry socket? A raging infection? You just pried a jagged piece of toxic metal out of an open wound? OHMYGODCALLTHEDENTISTRIGHTNOW."

The lady on the phone asked him how soon he could get there, and he jumped into the car and left. I didn't want him to drive himself, but my son will be getting off the bus in a few minutes and the dentist wanted him there, pronto.

WTF?

I have enough dental phobia without something like that. The filling, it was the size of a third of his molar, you know? Not a small thing. Not inconsequential. I know there's probably no way to know if the dentist did it or my husband knocked it in there, but still. If it was that damn loose the dentist should have noticed.

*pulls out hair*

blitzkrieg old!

I've noticed a lot of music that I used to listen to when I was younger is being used in songs and commercials now, trying to lure us in with the music of our youth. Ok, dammit, it totally works. But, please, PLEASE marketing executives of the world, PLEASE take into consideration what you're imprinting in our heads!

I cannot hear The Ramones sing, "Blitzkrieg Bop" without seeing the movie "Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius" in my head.

Why, oh why, did you do that to me? I laughed and felt merry in the theater as I watched it with my son, but now I just want to jam out and not see this:


Is that so much to ask?