I’m sitting here staring at would could be possibly the biggest pile of clean yet unfolded laundry I’ve ever seen.  What do I do when confronted with laundry?  I blog. 

I also had to go to Walmart today.  I couldn’t believe how easy it is to shop there - at 8.30 in the morning.  I had almost escaped without any Walmart experiences (you know, like seeing a child beaten in the toy aisle, a baby running around barefoot in a dirty diaper, really fat people in spandex - you get the picture) when while checking out, I caught sight of a woman pushing a child in a shopping cart.  The little girl was cute and probably about 3 years old.  And what was she eating for breakfast?  The breakfast of champions:  a Coke.  A regular Coke in a plastic bottle.  Okay first of all, hello caffeine - what 3 year old needs it?  Second of all - well, I don’t even need to discuss the nutritional value of a Coke for a toddler.  My head said, “Don’t Judge!” but it was too late.  I can never escape Walmart without finding SOMETHING or SOMEONE to judge. 

Mike is spending the week out of the house. I made it through last week.  It was odd that the only horrible night I had was during the week.  I think that had more to do with recovering from what could be described as the world’s most intense 12 hour stomach flu (the house was nicknamed “The Vomitorium” because with the exception of Mike, we all had it).  Every time I’m sick, I have one bad day during recovery where I just am depressed and cranky.  I was dreading the weekend and while I missed the girls a bunch, I was very busy.  I also spent a lot of time working on the room, hanging curtains and bringing pieces of furniture back so that the room feels less like a place to crash and sleep and more like a place to hang out.  I also met the downstairs tenant.  Her name is Kristine and she’s fun, nice, and we have a lot in common.  She was kind enough to invite me to a movie with another friend of hers, who made delicious tilapia and acted like it was no big deal that a complete stranger was horning in on her evening with Kristine. 

This week, I’m enjoying being back home with the girls.  I’m not enjoying the housework but as Ethan Hawke said, “Reality Bites”. 

That’s all this blog is going to be about for now. I hope you like rainbows, because you’re going to be seeing a lot of them. 

By the way, I wanted to find a cool geeky image of a rainbow.  Instead I found this one. Hopefully you find it as entirely disturbing as I do.  It’s a unicorn peeing a rainbow.  And that, my friends, is what I’m all about. 

Scene:  Checking out at WalMart, stuck behind a caravan of friends with 4 kids between them. 

Girl #1: Check out my new tattoo, Bobby.  Just got it two weeks ago.  (lifts tank top above her bra, points to stomach)

Boy #1:  Wow, sweet!  Is it finished?

Girl #1:  No, not yet.  The guy wants me to shade it in with black, but I’m thinking about doing a lighter green.  See?  Like this one.  (points to top of right breast, still showing her bra)

Boy #2:  Did _____ do your tattoo?  Cuz that dude is awesome.  When I got my balls pierced, he did ‘em right.

Girl #1:  Nope.  ______ did the tattoo.  _____ pierced me. 

Me:  said silently, but like a fervent prayer:  Please god, please god, please god do not show the girl your pierced scrotum.  PLEASE. 

Boy #2:  Well, if you ever want your ass pierced, he’s the guy to do it.

I need a shower. 

For those not in the know, Odontophobia is fear of teeth or dental surgeries/procedures.  I’m not really afraid of the dentist, but I’m generally afraid of teeth and all the things that go with them (bad breath, yellowness, cavities, stuff stuck in them). 

Here’s the deal. I loved the dental hygienist I used to see when we lived in the city. She was Russian, no-nonsense, and would frequently yell at her coworkers and mutter “Stupid Americans” under her breath.  I seriously loved her.  She was refreshing and unlike anyone else I knew, and she would always give it to me straight.  However, as the years passed (I’m not saying how many, but less than 5 and more than 1), I realized that driving down to her office was not likely to happen, given that it was 25 minutes away from my house.  When I took the girls in for their cleaning this year, I just sucked it up and made an appointment for myself.

I knew it wasn’t going to be very pleasant.  That’s what you get when you don’t go every 6 months - a lot of scraping and grinding and poking. However, my new (and very nice, albeit American) hygienist uses something new to me:  it’s the same Cap’n Hook instrument I’m used to, the thing that scrapes the gunk off your teeth, but hers vibrates and makes this horrible high-pitched whining sound as it dances all over your gumline.  A few times it literally felt like a white-hot pin stuck in my gum, vibrating its little heart to death. 

Then I heard her say, “Need to show you something.”

Egads. It’s never good when they stop scraping and blowing water into your throat long enough to pull out a mirror and bend your lips back over your head. 

Turn out I’d been missing a spot on number 27, whatever that is.  It’s one of my lower teeth.  Plaque had built up, and when she removed it, my gum had receded beneath it.  Then she said some scary words, ending in, “Mumble mumble give it six months and then we’ll see if you need a skin graft.”

Excuse me, Whaaaaa????  A skin graft?!?!  Yep, she pleasantly explained, flashing beautiful plaque-less teeth at me.  “We simply remove some skin from the roof of your mouth and stick it on the gum.” 

I started to dry heave.  She looked at my face and said, “Well, if you don’t want the skin removed from the roof of your mouth, we could always use donor tissue . . . “

Wow.  Nope.  Not interested in having random mouth tissue sewn into my gums, but thanks anyway. 

I have six months to brush it gently and floss a lot, and hopefully it will repair itself.  Believe me, if I ever needed motivation to floss, being told about “donor tissue” (*involuntarily shivering here*) is definitely the carrot in front of my horse. 

Other than that, I also found out I have an extra bone in the roof of my mouth, an extra cusp on one of my wisdom teeth, and no cavities.  I also had a lot of bleeding from all those silly bitewing x-rays that jabbed the heck out of my lower jaw.  Glad that’s over - for another 6 months at least.  Donor tissue.  Gag. 

The other day, I went to my other least favorite grocery store (Walmart is still in the number one position).  Food Lion, my neighborhood food store - or so they say.  We’ve called it the Food Poodle forever because the lion looks more like a . . . .well, you get the point.

No one was in the store.  It was mid-morning, and I had a few things.  One lone cashier stood at the end of her lane, thumbing through Star Magazine and looking supremely bored.  “Are you open?” I asked, knowing full well she was.  She sighed loudly and said, “Yep, right here”, gesturing at the lane.

I pulled all of my items out of the cart and she began to ring me up.  After the 4th item, a woman came up behind me.  The cashier suddenly looked stunned and said, “Oh, you can’t check out here.  This is Express Lane only,” and she points above my head at the sign.

Note:  I hate people who go through the Express Lane when they have more than 12 items.  However, it was an honest mistake. I apologized profusely to the woman behind me who laughed and said, “Seriously, it’s no big deal - just go ahead and finish her order.” 

The cashier, however, had other items.  She said, “I can’t, not allowed.  She started to push my items back into my cart while voiding things quickly.  She realized the cash register wouldn’t let her void my lone yogurt, so she called over the intercom for help in the Express Lane which was now the Slow Lane.  The lady behind me sighed and said again, “Really, I don’t mind - it would probably be faster for you to just ring her up.”  Oh, the wiseness of that woman!

Literally 5 minutes go by with me standing there watching my ice cream melt while the cashier mutters under her breath about the “deaf manager” and the lady behind me grows increasingly impatient.  We strike up a conversation about the Y (it was obvious we had both come from working out there).  Finally the manager shows, looks at my 13 items, and says, “You should just ring her up. There’s no point in making everyone wait.”

Yep.