I had to get my wisdom teeth pulled. I wasn't going to bother, since they never caused me any pain, but apparently they decided that since I wasn't going to pull them, they were going to rot themselves away. Once they started forming cavities to carry out their evil plot, the dentist said they needed to go. What I wasn't aware of until the oral surgeon told me, is that wisdom teeth should be pulled while you're young - "Not that you're old!" - he kept interjecting unnecessarily. But the older you get, the harder they are to remove.
He was correct, not only because of my age, but also because I have a disproportionately teeny tiny head, with a corresponding teeny tiny mouth. It was difficult for him to move the instruments around, and the will of my teeth to stay in my head had him going back and forth between many different instruments. Everyone understands that tooth extraction is not a pleasant process, but for me it wasn't the pressure on my jaw, or the disconcerting loud cracks you hear as the tooth is ripped from your skull, it was the excessive stretching of my lips. I try to be a good patient, really, but it was too much to have my head facing one direction, and have my lips pulled in the opposite direction. I kept turning my head to follow my lips, which wasn't helping. And all the while, the surgeon cursed and muttered about how small my mouth is, then cursed some more. He even ended up using a pediatric tool at one point. Good call - I've been begging my dentist to use pediatric x-ray film for years; no dice.
With my mouth full of gauze and pliers and drills and circular saws and hammer and chisel (well that's what it felt like), I didn't get to complain back at the surgeon that maybe his hands were just too big. So now I'm thinking that the world of oral surgery could use more people like me, with smaller hands, and an understanding of people with small mouths. I wish I'd had this revelation when I was younger - "Not that you're old!" I mentally hear the oral surgeon interject - because at this point, I'm not sure I'm capable of enduring the many years of school and training to become an oral surgeon. I do, however, know I'm capable of cursing like one.
1/27/2010
1/20/2010
Veterinarian
It's 12:30 Friday, and I am racing through Wal-Mart on a mission to rescue a fish. Net: check. Food: check. Bottled water: check. Boy who tried to kill fish: check.
The tale: I awoke to find my three year old playing in my room with some of his sister's toys. He reeked of tweenerrific fruit-scented body spray. I immediately went into her room to clean up what I was sure was a puddle of body spray on the floor. Instinctively I looked at Bubbles' tank (funny, since every other day since his purchase, I've forgotten he even existed). It was a cloudy, smelly mess, and at first I couldn't even find Bubbles. I was immediately upset, thinking about the poor, helpless animal that had the misfortune of being brought into this family, and how my daughter would react to the death of her first pet, and only 4 days after she got him. I turned to my toddler, "What did you do to this fish?" I sobbed.
"Nothing!" he insisted. But there was the evidence: the trail of water drops, the murky tank water, the inch-thick layer of fish flakes covering the bottom of the tank. Then I found Bubbles, at the top of the tank - thankfully, alive. I had to get him out of there. I called my husband. "Where is the fish net?"
"We didn't buy one yet," he said. Oh, no. "I'd hurry to the store. That fish is going to die." Oh, nonononono.
Hurry I did. I grabbed the net, new food, and some water with one hand while carrying my son in the other. I took my money out while still waiting in line to eliminate the delay of searching for it after the items were rung up. We rushed back to the car, and as soon as we got home I left my boy to get his own coat and shoes off while I ran upstairs to save the dying fish. I got the water to the perfect temperature, grabbed the net, and transferred the still alive (yay!) fish. Rescue mission: accomplished.
I don't really know much about fish. The whole situation may not have been as urgent as I perceived it, but by goodness, I was not going to just wait around wondering if that fish was suffering. And Bubbles is alive and barely moving in all his lethargic bettaesque* glory. I'm not sure I could've done better if I was a professional vet.
*I enjoy making up words.
The tale: I awoke to find my three year old playing in my room with some of his sister's toys. He reeked of tweenerrific fruit-scented body spray. I immediately went into her room to clean up what I was sure was a puddle of body spray on the floor. Instinctively I looked at Bubbles' tank (funny, since every other day since his purchase, I've forgotten he even existed). It was a cloudy, smelly mess, and at first I couldn't even find Bubbles. I was immediately upset, thinking about the poor, helpless animal that had the misfortune of being brought into this family, and how my daughter would react to the death of her first pet, and only 4 days after she got him. I turned to my toddler, "What did you do to this fish?" I sobbed.
"Nothing!" he insisted. But there was the evidence: the trail of water drops, the murky tank water, the inch-thick layer of fish flakes covering the bottom of the tank. Then I found Bubbles, at the top of the tank - thankfully, alive. I had to get him out of there. I called my husband. "Where is the fish net?"
"We didn't buy one yet," he said. Oh, no. "I'd hurry to the store. That fish is going to die." Oh, nonononono.
Hurry I did. I grabbed the net, new food, and some water with one hand while carrying my son in the other. I took my money out while still waiting in line to eliminate the delay of searching for it after the items were rung up. We rushed back to the car, and as soon as we got home I left my boy to get his own coat and shoes off while I ran upstairs to save the dying fish. I got the water to the perfect temperature, grabbed the net, and transferred the still alive (yay!) fish. Rescue mission: accomplished.
I don't really know much about fish. The whole situation may not have been as urgent as I perceived it, but by goodness, I was not going to just wait around wondering if that fish was suffering. And Bubbles is alive and barely moving in all his lethargic bettaesque* glory. I'm not sure I could've done better if I was a professional vet.
*I enjoy making up words.
1/14/2010
Dietitian
I gained weight over the holidays, of course. It was unavoidable. I tried to be sensible when eating out, but what was I going to do, waste a whole takeout box on the last two bites? So I just ate them. And dessert. There are a lot of restaurants that serve pie. I also made pie for Christmas. And cheesecake. And we had to eat the Christmas dinner leftovers before they went bad - between meals out.
But now, the holidays are over. Egg nog is being liquidated from the stores, and I don't have enough visitors now to justify baking desserts. I have time to exercise again. I'm back at work, where I pack a sensible lunch every day...and where there are sugary treats brought in for every conceivable occasion nearly every day. And if there isn't some form of baked goods lying around, there's always the vending machine.
I want to lose these holiday pounds, really. Professional dietitians tout food diaries as a simple and effective weight loss tool. Keep a journal, pinpoint where your extra calories are coming from. Here's mine: Breakfast - cereal, small piece of cake. Lunch - Grilled cheese sandwich, slice of pie. Snack - Chewy Chips Ahoy, 15 random individual chocolates picked from the open candy jars on my coworkers' desks. Dinner - pasta, Snickers bar. Hmm, or Peanut M&Ms. Or Snickers bar. Peanut M&Ms? Or Snickers?
See, dietitians? At least I'm writing it down.
But now, the holidays are over. Egg nog is being liquidated from the stores, and I don't have enough visitors now to justify baking desserts. I have time to exercise again. I'm back at work, where I pack a sensible lunch every day...and where there are sugary treats brought in for every conceivable occasion nearly every day. And if there isn't some form of baked goods lying around, there's always the vending machine.
I want to lose these holiday pounds, really. Professional dietitians tout food diaries as a simple and effective weight loss tool. Keep a journal, pinpoint where your extra calories are coming from. Here's mine: Breakfast - cereal, small piece of cake. Lunch - Grilled cheese sandwich, slice of pie. Snack - Chewy Chips Ahoy, 15 random individual chocolates picked from the open candy jars on my coworkers' desks. Dinner - pasta, Snickers bar. Hmm, or Peanut M&Ms. Or Snickers bar. Peanut M&Ms? Or Snickers?
See, dietitians? At least I'm writing it down.
1/07/2010
Gift Wrapper
My favorite part of the holidays is finding the perfect gifts for everyone on my list. Even long after the gift exchanging has completed, I still find myself oohing and ahhing over what a great gift that <insert cool object here> would be for <insert friend or relative here>. And sometimes I go ahead and buy the gifts, where they sit until I am ready to (gulp) wrap them, which - left without a special occasion deadline - can be a while.
See, I am a horribly gift-wrap-challenged individual. I am afflicted with the inability to cut a straight line into wrapping paper, whether with scissors or one of those special wrapping-paper-cutting tools, even on paper that has those handy grid lines. Tape will split down the center of the roll when I try to tear it. I can even screw up a gift bag (they tear; who knew?). I read a tip somewhere along the series of tubes we know as the Internet that wrapping a gift using tissue paper and cinching cellophane around it is, like, the easiest thing ever that, like, looks as though it was totally not easy. Easy, sure, but do you know how much cellophane that takes? Hint: more than a little. Although, in all fairness, I can't say with certainty I was even doing that right. For a long time, my favorite toy store was Zany Brainy, who would wrap the presents for me...but they closed. Once, I bought an oddly-shaped toy that was too big for any of the bags I had on hand, and I had *no* clue how to wrap it. So I tried to shape my own "bag" out of practically transparent tissue paper. It sort of worked, since it was for a baby, and didn't really need to be a surprise to anyone except the baby, who I'm sure could have cared less about it even being wrapped at all.
I am also guilty of having committed the ultimate gift wrapping sin: using too little paper and having a section of exposed present. The only thing you can do in this situation is to unwrap and start over with more paper. But that's not what I did. I simply took a scrap of the wrapping paper and taped it into place over the gap. Oh yes, I went there.
Let me state on record that it is rare that I even notice how well a gift to me is wrapped. There are exceptions, such as one particular friend of mine who uses gift wrap as her artistic medium (expensive ribbon, stamped images, extravagant gift tags, bonus small gifts used as further decoration), but outside of that, my attitude is more, "Hey! A present! Whatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisit?" And I hope that my giftees feel the same when I present their, you know, presents. Even more so, I hope that they feel that the gift is as perfect for them as I did. Because at the end of the day, gift wrapping is like a book cover: you look at it once or twice, but it's the inside you're really going to enjoy. So, if you're my friend or relative, know that I've chosen a gift for you that I believe will delight you and bring you years of enjoyment. Just don't expect a professional wrapping job, unless Zany Brainy reopens.
See, I am a horribly gift-wrap-challenged individual. I am afflicted with the inability to cut a straight line into wrapping paper, whether with scissors or one of those special wrapping-paper-cutting tools, even on paper that has those handy grid lines. Tape will split down the center of the roll when I try to tear it. I can even screw up a gift bag (they tear; who knew?). I read a tip somewhere along the series of tubes we know as the Internet that wrapping a gift using tissue paper and cinching cellophane around it is, like, the easiest thing ever that, like, looks as though it was totally not easy. Easy, sure, but do you know how much cellophane that takes? Hint: more than a little. Although, in all fairness, I can't say with certainty I was even doing that right. For a long time, my favorite toy store was Zany Brainy, who would wrap the presents for me...but they closed. Once, I bought an oddly-shaped toy that was too big for any of the bags I had on hand, and I had *no* clue how to wrap it. So I tried to shape my own "bag" out of practically transparent tissue paper. It sort of worked, since it was for a baby, and didn't really need to be a surprise to anyone except the baby, who I'm sure could have cared less about it even being wrapped at all.
I am also guilty of having committed the ultimate gift wrapping sin: using too little paper and having a section of exposed present. The only thing you can do in this situation is to unwrap and start over with more paper. But that's not what I did. I simply took a scrap of the wrapping paper and taped it into place over the gap. Oh yes, I went there.
Let me state on record that it is rare that I even notice how well a gift to me is wrapped. There are exceptions, such as one particular friend of mine who uses gift wrap as her artistic medium (expensive ribbon, stamped images, extravagant gift tags, bonus small gifts used as further decoration), but outside of that, my attitude is more, "Hey! A present! Whatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisit?" And I hope that my giftees feel the same when I present their, you know, presents. Even more so, I hope that they feel that the gift is as perfect for them as I did. Because at the end of the day, gift wrapping is like a book cover: you look at it once or twice, but it's the inside you're really going to enjoy. So, if you're my friend or relative, know that I've chosen a gift for you that I believe will delight you and bring you years of enjoyment. Just don't expect a professional wrapping job, unless Zany Brainy reopens.
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