teeth


I just ate the biggest burrito I’ve ever seen in my whole life.  I’m in Austin and Jason went to get us food from some Mexican restaurant.  This thing had to be eight inches by four inches and about three inches thick.  I put down a little more than half of it, and the next thing on our agenda is to go shopping for clothes.  I may not need new jeans.  The old ones may not be so baggy anymore.

The hair show on Tuesday was fun.  I was “Punk Girl”.  The make-up artist put red lipstick on my eyes which took three days to fully disappear.  I was like, “Really, how many times do I have to wash my face?”  The answer is eight.  One of the girls was still in high school, and she was like, “Um, I go to Highland Park* High School, and we don’t dress like this there.”  I thought, you know sweetheart, if you think I’ve ever dressed like this in my life or ever will again, you’re fucking kidding yourself.  She had trouble getting into the spirit of things.

One final note: my robo-mouth is done.  I’ve got the crowns and everything, so no more stupid mouthpiece.  When I’m brushing my teeth though, I keep reaching over to grab it and brush it too, but it’s not there anymore!  What a relief.  I’m getting the crowns redone though because the shape doesn’t match my other teeth perfectly.  I’m sorry, after spending $15,000 on my mouth over the past year, everything better be exactly how I want it.  So these crowns are temporary, but still, no more mouthpiece, yay!  Oh yeah, I had this dream last night that all my crowns (I have a total of six) fell off and I lost my wallet and couldn’t pay to get them back on.  Yikes!

*Highland Park is the snootiest area in Dallas.  This girl was sweet, but yeah, she was a little snotty too.

I picked up the dog from boarding today, and he promptly had diarrhea all over my wood floors.  Ack.  Welcome home, Magnus!

Then I went to the dentist where it turns out they had been sent the wrong part for my Robo-Mouth.  So I have to wait yet another week to be finished.  Still, I’m three weeks from being done, so I’m okay with it.

After that, I had to go to Target because there is no food or diet Big Red in house.  I don’t care about the food right now, but having no soda is just totally unacceptable.  When I was getting my cart, this lady came in with her seventy children (okay, it was more like four, but they moved around like Sonic the Hedgehog, so it seemed like a lot more).  They immediately got all sorts of in my way, so I was already annoyed with them.  A little later, I ran into them again and they were dancing and twirling and buzzing all up and down the cereal aisle which was crowded with the dude stocking more cereal.  I couldn’t get out.  Finally, Fuckass the Angry Clown possessed me, and I said, “Jesus Christ, lady, can you control your freaking offspring please?”  Mind you, I like never drop JC bombs, so there’s a rather large indicator of my level of irritation.  She looked at me all shocked, and I said, “What?  I said ‘please’!”  Then she looked like she wanted to kick my ass into Michigan, and considering how I’m feeling all puny and she was like six feet tall and she had about a hundred pounds I me, I kind of didn’t think it was the time or place for a throw-down.  So I fled the scene which required backing out.  Eeeekkkk!

Yesterday I was in that lonely sick place so I thought I was ready to be out and about amongst the peeps.  Not so much.  So I’ll stay home and hang with the dog for the rest of the day.  I bought him a Kong.  I’ve never seen him so happy.

I drove home yesterday because I was sick of being sick around so many people.  The drive was hideous.  It snowed, and I don’t like driving in that crap, and I felt really lousy and was so freaking tired.  But we made it safely, yay!

I still feel shitacular.  I ended up in the emergency room on Christmas day because I was on my last day of antibiotics and was feeling worse than ever.  There weren’t any normal doctors open since it was Christmas, so I had no choice.  Plus my family was insistent.  I felt like an idiot, but whatever.  They took chest X-rays, and I don’t have pneumonia.  At least I didn’t that day, but I wonder about today.  I’m coughing up all sorts of charming stuff and sound very rattle-y (can’t figure out if that’s a word, or if it is, how to spell it).  Anyway, they decided that I had another virus on top of my flu and sinus infection, but they gave me more antibiotics for the infection since it wasn’t getting any better.  Oh also, I just have to tough it out and cough up whatever I can (no swallowing, just spit it out so it doesn’t make me nauseous.  Gross!).  It was a most unsatisfactory answer.  He also wouldn’t give me anything for the nasty cough because he wanted me to cough it out so it wouldn’t settle in my lungs and become pneumonia.  Whatever dude.  I just want to stop coughing and get my regular voice back.

D texted me at one point that he was driving around playing with his new GPS.  I tried to call him since I thought it was less than a great idea to drive while texting (though I have to admit I’ve done that, oops).  He didn’t answer, so I left him a message.  He texted back a while later: “U sound like shit”.  Awesome.  Well, I was all snotty and hoarse, but still!  I think I sound somewhat better now.  Not quite like normal, but not as bad as that day.

J and his wife L are getting married today.  I know that sounds weird, but technically they’re already married – they got married here a while back by a JP so they could get her green card process rolling, and today they’re doing the big family church wedding in Cancun.  I would wish that I were there, but if I were, I’d make a spectacle of the wedding with all my hacking.  So it’s best that I’m home.  It sucks because I can’t be around people and I’m getting lonely.  I don’t normally care if I have alone time.  Actually I usually crave alone time.  But when I’m sick, after a few days I want people.  I just feel really isolated right now, and I don’t like it at all.

I have to pick the dog up from the “spa” tomorrow morning.  I guess at some point I’ll have to get off my ass and put my Christmas presents away so he doesn’t eat them.  I also have a dentist appointment tomorrow to get the molds made for my crowns and to put the last piece of the implants on.  I hope I feel better tomorrow than I do right now because I don’t think it’s going to be fun there if I’m still like this. 

All righty then, the term “eat own ass” was used to find my blog.  Very interesting …

I got my hair done today, and it’s still not the right blonde.  I’m okay with it because it’s a pretty strawberryish blonde, but it’s not blonde blonde like it’s supposed to be.  We know what to do now though.  Of course, we did say that last time, and look what happened.

My dog is being horrible lately.  He’s decided it’s a good idea to bite my clothes, but he misses and gets me instead.  My arms are all bruised up which I at first blamed on my new … hunh, what to call him?  “Fuck buddy” is way too crass, “boyfriend” isn’t right, and “lover” is just gross.  “Person I’m seeing” is all wrong too since if I were just “seeing” him, I probably wouldn’t have done what I’ve already done quite yet.  Wow, stream of consciousness is fun, isn’t it?  I guess “fuck buddy” is probably most accurate, but gosh, that makes me sound like a dirty little whore.  Hey, I’m a single girl of the 2000’s and I have needs, dammit!  And toys don’t hug back.  That’s kind of pitiful.  Anyway, I originally thought, “He must’ve grabbed my arms pretty hard.  Hunh, I don’t remember him doing that.”  He didn’t.  It’s the damn dog.  He needs some Valium.

I’m totally behind on my Christmas stuff.  I haven’t done my cards yet.  I’ve barely done any shopping, and what little I have done hasn’t been shipped to the recipients yet.  The stress is an excellent diet though (she says while eating Gingerbread Men straight out of the box).  I also have a tendency to eat while standing over the sink, if you must know.  I specifically used to not eat over the sink because that was so bachelorish, but now I’m like, “Hey, why use a plate when there’s this nice sink here to catch the crumbs?”

I have my dentist’s appointment tomorrow to check how my implants have grafted to the bone.  If it’s all good, we’ll make molds and I’ll have crowns soon!  I hope they’re ready – that stupid flipper is really a nuisance. 

My dentist appointment was rather sucky.  They were able to place the implant, but the bone isn’t healed enough yet to place the abutment (it’s this space capsule shaped thing that screws into the implant that spreads your gum tissue to keep it from shrinking).  Apparently the abutment weighs too much for my healing bone to bear it.  So it’s going to be a little longer than expected before I’m all finished.  I remember a little more than normal because they only let me take half a Halcion when I got to the office.  The one I took before I got there was apparently quite enough.  Hailey had to tell me how to take the second bit.  I remember looking at the pill in my hand and the little cup of water she gave me, and I was confused because it wasn’t my water bottle.  How was I supposed to take a pill without my water bottle?  I guess I looked at her funny because she went, “You might want to put the pill in your mouth and then drink the water.”  Oh, okay.  That’s how it works.  I also remember getting the shots, but not much after that until I went to bed at home.  My mom got me up at three so she could go home, and I stayed awake for about thirty minutes.  I woke up again around seven.  I spent the rest of the evening in a stupor, watching Big Brother, Sleeping with the Enemy, and Stick It.  So I finally went to bed for real around one.  I had bizarre dreams, including one where the ex-boyfriend showed up and said he was taking the house and the dog.  Uh, I think not!

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well, so when my phone rang at eight, I wasn’t a happy camper.  I had to answer it though, because it was Ex-Husband, and he normally only calls that early if Munchkin is sick.  Well, Munchkin isn’t sick.  No, he waited until this morning to give his progress report to his dad.  Most of it was just fine with a mix of A’s and B’s.  There was, of course, one glaring exception.  He has a 53 (a 53!!!) in Language Arts.  He had a 100 for his homework grade, and then three zeroes.  The zeroes were in projects that clearly are a large part of his grade.

Confession:  I must suck as a mother because I had no freaking idea that this kid had any projects due.  Everyday, I ask how much homework he has, and what subjects, and he goes to work.  He tells me he’s done with everything, and I sit there like the biggest sucker in the world believing him.  We put the kid on speaker phone and proceeded to tag-team him, trying to get to the bottom of this crap.

Me:  What were these projects?

Munchkin:  Book reports.

Ex:  What books did you read?

Munch:  We had forty-four to choose from.

Me:  Well, what did you choose?

Munch:  It doesn’t matter.

Me:  Yes it does.  I want to know what books you read.  And by the way, what happened to the reports?

Munch:  They disappeared.

Me:  They dis-a-peeeeered?

Ex:  How did they disappear?

Munch:  I don’t know, they just did.

Me:  Where did they disappear from?

Munch:  I don’t know.

And on and on, like that for thirty minutes.  We were finally able to ascertain that one book was of their choosing rather than on the list.  He was reading it over here.  It’s on my nightstand at the moment, and it’s about 80% finished according to the bookmark.  It turns out he never read a book off his teacher’s list for the second book report.  He finally confessed to never writing the reports either, but boy did he stick to that mysterious disappearance theory for a looooong time.  Oh, and I still don’t have a clear understanding as to what the third zero was for.

I’m shocked and appalled.  First of all, I feel like shit for not knowing he had these projects.  I also feel like shit that he didn’t think he could come to me and say he was behind and needed help.  Second of all, I’m just completely baffled as to how he could just not do the work.  I mean, I have turned in some shoddy work in my time, including a thirty page paper on the Iran-Contra Affair for a poli-sci class in college that I wrote in two nights.  I got a D+ on it.  What the hell is the plus for?  Just give me an F and be done with it.  But I turned that piece of shit in.  Anyway, thirdly, I don’t understand how he thought he was going to get away with it.  Did he think we wouldn’t notice?  Apparently.  I think that’s sad, and that just contributes to my feelings of being a self-absorbed piece of crap mother.

In the end, we have decided on the following punishments:

1.  Munchkin is grounded.  Duh.  But he’s not the kind of grounded where he goes to his room because he’ll just go to sleep in there.  Nope, he’s the kind of grounded where he gets to sit at my desk in the family room and do homework and read and study until his eyeballs bleed.

2.  Once his eyeballs have bled, he gets to either a) clean his room at his dad’s if he’s there or b) clean whatever I tell him to at my house.  We’ll start with his room, and then he can scoop dog poop.  It just goes downhill from there.  I have a father who once made me clean out the grooves of the little rubber seal that goes around the fridge door with a Q-tip.  He said, “Nobody will notice if you do it, but everyone will notice if you don’t.”  Really Dad?  To this day, I have never checked the grooves in somebody’s door seal to see if they were up to snuff.  Needless to say, thanks to my crazy parents, I can find a cleaning project where none is to be had.

3.  No soccer until his grades are back up.

4.  As he is obviously not ready to be treated like he has any sense of responsibility, we will be checking his backpack everyday.  He has to write down all assignments, homework, test dates, and projects.  And we have to check all his work.  This means we’re having to trust him to actually write down all the work, but I think he understands we’re serious.

5.  He’s writing apology notes to his soccer coach for not being able to play and for screwing up the roster, and to his Language Arts teacher for not doing the assignments.

6.  He’s doing the damn assignments whether he gets one point of credit or not.  This one was my mom’s idea.  I gotta say, way to go Mom!  That’s using your evil genius!

We also have an appointment with the school counselor tomorrow morning.  This is kind of an ongoing problem.  Not the deal with not turning stuff in – I mean more the problem of not applying himself, not pushing himself, and not expecting more out of himself.  It’s like if it’s going to take more than five minutes of effort, he won’t do it.  This kid is in all AP classes because that’s what his teacher’s recommended.  He got good grades on what he did turn in.  His homework grades were all good, but his test scores fell a bit from his homework scores.  That just tells me he’s not studying for his tests, and he’s not checking his work on his tests (that’s always been a problem).  I want to know why he’s like this.  He’s in seventh grade and he says stuff like, “I’m dropping out of school.  I don’t want to go to college.”  Maybe he needs therapy.  I don’t know.

Shit.  He’s too smart for this garbage.  Oh, I forgot to mention that in the middle of the phone call, he faked a heart attack so we’d stop talking about it.  “Oh my God, something’s very wrong!  My chest hurts!!!  An elephant is sitting on my heart!  No, really, I’m dying here!”  I’ve got my work cut out for me.  

My mom is coming over tomorrow to babysit me after my dental work (and drive me to and from since I’ll be googly-fucked on Halcion), so I was cleaning.  She instilled in me very early the family value of “If you don’t clean when your parents are coming over, it means you don’t care about your family.”  We’re twisted, it’s true.  She used to get diarrhea for like two weeks before her parents came to visit because they freaked her out so much.  I was in the powder room when I noticed a puddle of pee around the toilet.  At first I was going to blame the dog, but I keep that door closed all the time so he won’t eat my stupid Longaberger baskets (it’s a cult – don’t drink the purple koolaid!).  I know I didn’t pee all over the floor.  I’m a clutz, but dang, I would be really impressed with myself if I could miss like that.  So I called the only suspect left, my munchkin.

Me:  Um, I have a really weird question to ask you.  When you went to the bathroom at my house, how exactly did you go?

Munchkin:  I sat down because the dog was in there with me and I didn’t want him to drink my pee.

Me:  Okay.  Please don’t do that anymore.  Just don’t let the dog in there with you, and then you can stand like normal.

Munchkin:  Why?

 Me:  Because you missed.  I guess you were pointed sideways or something because there’s pee all over my floor.  I’m going to have to clean your pee.

Munchkin:  Oh, sorry.

“Oh, sorry.”  That’s all I get is “Oh, sorry”???  I guess it would’ve been a bit much to ask for his dad to bring him over here to clean it himself since it is a forty minute round trip, but no, “Oh, sorry” does not cut it when I’m on my hands and knees cleaning a 12-year-old boy’s pee.  Urgh!  On the bright side, it wasn’t the dog, so his housebreaking is holding up.  And on another bright side, my house is pretty clean now, so I feel good about that.  Part of the cleaning did involve shoving a pile of papers that need to be filed or shredded into a drawer, but hey, what my mom can’t see isn’t there.  Hopefully she doesn’t snoop while I’m knocked out! 

since I’ve had any sex.  I think.  That’s a rough estimate, but I’m pretty sure the last time was in April since ex-boyfriend and I quit having sex about a month before the break-up.  I’m starting to fear that I’ll forget how to do it or I’ll be so nervous that I’ll be horrible and whoever it’s with will be like, “Uh, are you a virgin or something?”  Sure, a virgin with a twelve year old son.  I guess I could watch Showtime late at night for instructional and/or educational purposes.

Anjelica suggested I look at match.com for an age-appropriate man.  Yeah, I told her the whole horror story from a couple of weeks ago.  And yeah, she too mentioned that she knew I had a crush on D.  Fuck!  Can I not hide a single emotion?  Must I be such an open book?  Anyway, I decided to take a glimpse of available dudes between the ages of 35 and 45 within 25 miles of my zip code.  TruCowboy69?  Ick!  What a gaggy thing to call yourself.  Unless he was born in ’69.  At any rate, using 69 in your fake name is probably not the best way to attract a non-grody woman.  Not that I have anything against 69ing.  I just don’t think it’s necessary to name yourself thusly.  There was another one named 6FootNoBackHair.  That made me laugh.  There were a few that were cute, but for the most part, I think it was a bunch of 55 year old men trying to pass.  Not that any of this matters – I really cannot go on a date until after my dental work is finished.  Can you imagine this … “Excuse me, I have to take out my partial because I find it impossible to eat with it in.  Never mind my hillbilly look, k?  Thanks.”  Yup, I don’t think I’ll be going on a date for at least three more months.  That’s okay.  I’m supposed to be on a dating moratorium until after Valentine’s Day anyway.

Speaking of my stupid teeth, I get the other implant placed next Tuesday.  That gives me about two more months before they can finish the first implant and do the crown, yay.  Then the new one will be ready about mid-December.  So I should be all done by Christmas.  I cannot begin to stress how happy I will be on the day this is finished!

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