Tricks For Screwy Teeth

Okay, my teeth are fine now. 

But, there is a trick to use if you ever have the kind of problem I did with my Bugs Bunny temporary veneers. 

This trick also works like a charm if you have red or swollen eyes. 

Are you ready?

Girls, show some bosoms!  Nobody even looks at your teeth or eyes if you are flashing a bit of bosom.  This trick is also good for bad hair days, pimples on your nose, or even if you have crossed eyes.  Believe me, the guy at the store won't be wondering about the pimple on the end of your nose when you are at the check out counter.  He will never notice that your teeth look like those of a seriously deranged rabbit.

My dentist yesterday seemed surprised that I had been concerned and unhappy about my very long, to the right slanted front teeth for 10 days.  She said, "I thought they looked fine."  (Never trust a dentist to tell you the truth.)  The dentist also told me that the porcelain veneers would look perfect.  (I didn't trust her with that one either.)  Much to my surprise, (and delight), that part was true.  They do look fine.  The color is perfect as it matches all my natural teeth.  One of my fears is that I would have two snowy white chicklets replacing my two front teeth.

I have had a recurring nightmare for years.  I'm out somewhere in public and I bite into an apple.  My two front teeth come out in the apple.  There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  I'm horrified realizing that my teeth are just "gone".  As a result of this dream, I make sure to never eat apples in public, okay I don't eat apples at all now. 

Apples are bad in a lot of ways.  Look at Adam and Eve.  If it hadn't been for an apple, we'd all be running around naked in the Garden of Eden being pain free and happy all the time.  This all sounded a bit strange to me actually.  If it was true about Adam and Eve and the Snake and the apple, why isn't the first commandment "Thou shalt not eat apples"?

Now all I have to do is pray I don't lose these veneers in my sleep and swallow them.  I really can't afford to do that.

Nor can I afford to buy a bunch of new low cut sweaters.

A Little Long In The Tooth (Literally)

I had a bad day.

Last Wednesday, I bit into something and chipped one of my front teeth.  I made an appointment for the dentist that afternoon, not wanting to wait and make it worse.

My dentist is a lovely young Vietnamese woman.  She fixed me up like new (actually better than new), but she also admonished me that my two front teeth were "worn" and they would continue to chip unless we did something about them.

I was curious about what she recommended because she had at one point tried to steer me toward veneers.  I had been fairly clear that I really had no interest in what she called "a movie star smile".  (To me, the overly white and perfect teeth look like chicklets.)  My dentist again mentioned veneers made of porcelain and assured me she could match my existing natural teeth in color.  This would be a very simple process and would solve my problem of thin and worn front teeth.  I thought about it for a moment and said, "All right!  Let's do it." 

I went in last Friday and she made a mold (ugh) of my teeth and the proceeded to file the teeth down to about half of their normal length.  This required that I get a shot to numb me and I really didn't expect the shot either.  (This was a simple procedure, right?)  When I saw that the teeth were now munchkin sized, I got a little scared but she assured me that she would make me some temporary veneers until the real ones got back from the lab in about 10 days.

There was another mold taking event that included acrylic stuff that hardened too much in my mouth, got stuck,  and had to be chipped out.  By this time, I am not much of a happy camper.  My dentist was sweating and swearing in Vietnamese by this time because the mold goo and acrylic didn't want to come off my teeth.  I was going into full blown panic attack mode.  She tried to reassure me by saying "Oh this is nothing!", but I was far from reassured.  I could visualize the real teeth breaking off completely with the chips of acrylic. 

Finally, she got the stuff off my teeth and she announces she has to make another mold.  I asked her if I couldn't just go with the munchkin teeth for two weeks and she said no.

The two hour process was finally over I thought.  I sat up and she handed me a mirror.  I had two big bunny teeth, about twice as long as my original teeth staring back at me in the mirror!  I started laughing (but it was a bit hysterically).  She asked me if they were too long and I snorted saying "Are you kidding?  Look at these things!".  (I think my laughing scared her a little bit!)  She said, "Yeah, they looked shorter when you were lying down.)  I was sputtering with laughter and thinking I was going to wet my pants.

The dentist filed the teeth down a little and said "How about now?".  I took a look and said "Great!" although they were far from great.  I now had two long chicklet teeth that both slanted slightly to the right.  (My original teeth were not crooked.)  I asked her if the veneers would look better than this and she swore that they would.  I simply couldn't stand one more minute in the dentist's chair so I said they were fine.

I got home and showed Alex and CT.  Both of them said "Oh they look fine!"  What liars those two are!  I looked like Jessica Rabbit or Bugs Bunny.  One or the other. 

I was blurting out my tale of woe about the munchkin teeth and such when Alex made me feel so much better by saying, "It's just like getting plastic surgery.  You just can't go get a new nose and say that you want your old nose back!" 

Now that really helped.

A Kiss Is Just A Kiss

Isn't that romantic?

Just a little kiss between friends.  That's fine.

I remember my first non-family kiss when I was about 10 years old.  A boy kissed me on the lips.  I was pretty much unmoved by the kiss.  In fact, I thought it rather a strange thing for him to do.

When I was 13, I had a boyfriend who was 16, soon to be 17.  Jim had his own car and was going to be a senior at the high school I would attend in the fall as a freshman.

Jim was a tall blond guy and most of the girls I knew were crazy about him.  He had an easy manner and won over my mother almost immediately.  When he asked her if he could take me to the movies, she said yes.  However, her caveat was that we had to walk to the movies as she didn't want me in a car with a boy.  Actually, I think my mother was so delighted that I had stopped being a total tomboy that she would have agreed to letting me date any male no matter what his age.

I thought the guy was okay, but I wasn't enchanted all that much.  Jim was about 6'4" tall and since I was 5'3", I thought we looked sort of stupid together.  As we walked down the street toward the movie theater, Jim told me he had parked his car around the corner and we could take it and Mom would never know.  I told him no.  Either we walked or I would just go back home.  (I didn't lie to my mother.  Okay, yeah, I lied to her but I didn't want to get in the car with this guy.)

We watched the movie and he tried to hold hands during it.  Our hands were sticky from popcorn and it was gross.  We walked back to my house after the show and talked and laughed a little.  I really wasn't sure what the hell he wanted from me.  I was about to find out.

Jim came up on the front porch with me and I got my key out.  All at once he bent over almost in half and kissed me!  No big deal, right?  Excuse me!  Big fat deal.  The guy stuck his tongue in my mouth.  I was paralyzed with horror and disgust!  Excuse me?  I mean, I knew about how babies came to be and all, but nobody had warned me that guys like to stick their tongues in girl's mouths!

Jim was my boyfriend for the next year.  He drove me to school and home from school every day and bought me lunch too.  That made him a pretty good boyfriend.  Of course, we did get to go out in his car eventually and he spent most evenings just trying to get me to "park" somewhere with him.  I really had no interest in French kissing and getting my boobs felt, (not with him anyway). 

I was madly in love with Jim's best friend, Gene.  Gene could stick his tongue in my mouth any time he wanted.  Alas, it was not to be.

Wife For Lease

I finally figured out what I'm really good at!

I am really a good wife.  Last weekend, my girlfriend CT moved in with me and my husband Alex.  CT is one of my oldest and best friends.  She recently sold her condo and left this morning on a planned vacation to Texas to see her family.

Rather than rushing into finding a place to live right after the two week close on her condo, she accepted my invitation to stay with us while she sorted out her living situation.  CT is an architect, an artist, and a truly fun person.  Alex loves her as much as I do.  CT and Alex share a birthday and a love for goofy movies, including sci-fi and slasher films.  I'm at a loss to understand either of them.

CT is a pretty low maintenance woman.  She's staying in the blue bedroom off the parlor because she has allergies and the dogs fur is abundant in Harry's apartment.  Harry's apartment has more space, but CT prefers the pet-less blue room.

I am delighted to have her with us.  CT was amazed that I actually cook a complete dinner every night.  She was astounded when she found out that I pack a lunch for Alex every evening and that I also pack one for her.  I think what really blew her away is that I do laundry (including hers) three times a week. 

Alex and CT get home after work about the same time.  They both come in and I ask them if they'd like a beer or a glass of wine.  They both change into "play clothes" when they get home.  After they change, they sit in the kitchen chatting and watching me cook while they enjoy their pre-dinner libations.

After dinner, I encourage CT to join Alex while he walks the dogs.  When they are out on their stroll, I clean up the dishes and make their lunches and set the coffee pot up to be turned on in the morning. 

CT had a late meeting last night.  She didn't get home until after 8 PM.  Alex and I had beef tacos for dinner, but I made a tuna salad for her because she is not really that keen on red meat.  The tuna salad was served on a bed of lettuce, with chilled asparagus, heirloom tomatoes, hard boiled egg, red onion rings, and capers.  CT commented that she would have to start giving me "wife money" like Alex does.

Actually, I couldn't agree with her more.  This random comment made me realize that I'm sitting on a gold mine.  (Okay, "sitting on" might be a little more racy than I intend  as it might imply something a little more carnal in nature.) 

In any case, I can see a market for this type of service. I'm cheerful and I smell good.  I usually make an effort to look attractive before my spouse comes home from work.  I'm a good cook and a proficient and reliable laundress.  I raise my own herbs to ensure that they are fresh for my family.  I can discuss current affairs with ease.  I take accurate telephone messages.

I'm thinking I could supplement my income by hiring out as a "professional wife".  When I was a working woman, I would have loved to have had me at home.  I would have paid dearly for someone who cooked meals, kept my house clean, and did my laundry, was attractive and smelled nice  and did it all with a smile!  I would have never even considered making sexual demands of someone like me.   (Well, maybe I would have, but I also know that extra service would have cost a lot more money.)

The "professional wife" business is really a good idea, don't you think?

Why Buy The Cow If The Milk Is Free?

Okay, I give up!  Why?

My Mother used this saying to keep me virginal for a long time.  She convinced me that there was an absolute correlation between having unmarried sex and buying a cow.

I think I was 9 the first time she imparted these words of wisdom to me.  I would be 15 before i realized that one thing really had nothing to do with the other.

I don't even like milk, never mind if it's free or not.  And believing that a man would chose a wife so that he no longer had to pay for milk was simply ridiculous.

Mom had a few things wrong, and a few things right.  One thing that was big with my mother was manners.  She wanted her 4 daughters to be polite and to have perfect table manners.  I got the polite part.  I am always polite until it's time to not be polite, but that's another subject all together.

When we were quite young, about twice a month Mom took us on the streetcar to downtown San Francisco for lunch.   We all got very dressed up for the occasion, white gloves, dresses, shiny black patent shoes.  At the time, I was about 7, my younger sister 5.  (The baby was only 3 so she stayed at home with a babysitter.)  We always went someplace "fancy".  Mom wanted to make sure we knew our table manners.  My sister and I looked forward to these outings as much as we looked forward to a dentist visit.

While we were encouraged to get whatever we wanted from the elaborate menus, we were also watched closely for behavior transgressions.  We got a sharp reprimand from Mom if we did not place our napkins on our lap, or if we spoke much above a well modulated whisper.  We were admonished to keep our elbows off the table and to maintain an upright posture while dining.  Further, speaking with one's mouth full simply wasn't done, nor was smacking one's lips while eating.

These hour and a half manners lessons were exhausting to me and my sister.  And we wondered why we didn't just go get burgers at the local drive in restaurant.  However, in time, the outings became much more enjoyable.  We learned not to break the rules and it all worked just fine.

Now this may sound harsh, but I used approximately the same training technique with my own kids.  From a very young age, they both learned what was and wasn't acceptable while dining.  I'm pleased to say that both of my kids have perfect table manners.

Perfect table manners is not really about always using the right spoon.  It not even about not laughing during a meal.  It really seems to me to be more about not hunching over one's plate as if you are afraid it will be stolen from you at any minute.  It's about bringing your food to your mouth while you sit upright, not leaning over the plate to make the distance between food and mouth as short as possible.  It's about not talking with a full mouth.  It's about not smacking your lips while you eat.  These things are really disturbing for me to watch.

It may not be fair, but it bothers me more when women show bad table manners than it does when men do it.  (It also bothers me more to see a woman drunk and obnoxious than it does to see a man similarly impaired.) 

While I still think my mother's free milk and cow reference was absurd, I have to give her kudos for teaching her kids table manners.  I'm sorry more parents don't understand that this is an invaluable life skill.

Although, I may be old now, good manners never go out of style.

Stories From Inside A Real Pickle.

This image shows exactly how my life has been since last Thursday.

Everything was fine.  I was getting ready for some serious "spring cleaning", right after I lollygagged in my bubble bath for an hour that is.

I got out of the bath and grabbed my towel.  I felt the dreaded "WHAP!" in my low back.  Trying not to panic, I set about getting my robe on and slipping on a pair of panties.  Nope, panties were not going to be in the cards.

I get low back "spasms" from time to time and they are never fun, but this was one of those times that I realized that life as I know it had changed for the worse.  When these horrible pains hit, they take my breath away, and my legs, and my ability to remain upright.  Dressed in a big white terrycloth robe, I inched like a worm across the floor to get the the bed in Harry's apartment.  I could not walk, but could pull myself with my arms if I took it slow enough.  Sweat was pouring into my eyes making it hard to see, but that didn't really matter.  I knew getting upright enough to throw myself on to the bed would be tricky or impossible.  Either or.

My life flashed before my eyes.  I really hated thinking that I would be found lying on the floor, with no underpants on in a shabby robe moaning in pain.  It's just not dignified.  I make every effort to stay in bed until 9:00 AM because most people (I read this on the Internet), die early in the morning.  This lying on the floor dead and without panties thing is my worst nightmare.

It took me an hour to drag myself to the bed.  I tried pulling the sides of the mattress to get me up, but my legs weren't working and my back went into horrid spasms with any movement of my legs or back.  Finally, I pushed myself to my feet and threw myself forward onto the mattress.  I think I blacked out for a few minutes from the pain.

Never mind, I was on the bed.  I even managed to throw my body over so I could lie there sunny side up.  I glanced at my watch and saw it was only another 6 hours until my husband would be home.  And both dogs climbed on the bed next to me to give me solace.  Or they were waiting to see if I died and then they would eat me.  Either or.


What are these spasms like, you may ask.  Okay, Ladies, imagine you are giving those last ten pushes before childbirth and you have had no painkillers whatsoever.  Gentlemen, imagine you have an Alien climbing out of your low back and using its sharp teeth to get out.  Then magnify it by 10.  You now have some idea of these spasms.  They can knock you on the floor!  They can spin your head like in that "Exorcist" movie.  That's how bad it is.

When my husband got home, I was bursting to go to the bathroom.  He came in the room and saw my plight and said something like "Oh poor baby!".  Well, poor  baby was trying her hardest to roll from side to side to get over so I could possibly sit up.  I looked like a turtle stuck on it's back. 

I realized how undignified this looked and asked (okay, screamed) at Alex to go get me a pair of panties and put them on me.  He did as I asked and I felt so much more able to cope with this miserable pain and indignity.

It's Tuesday now, I have lived to tell the tale.  Always keep a pair of panties handy.

Who's Your Daddy?

 My single red rose bush has given us two very distinctive types of flowers this year.  In the top photo, you see deep red roses the approximate size of dinner plates.  There are six of them.

In the photo below, there are about 50 small roses, a paler color, and the size of drink coasters.

I really never considered the sex lives of roses, but now I feel I must.  It seems rather apparent to me that some rose has been spreading his or her pollen in a new bush.

These roses are not even the same color.  It would be like trying to pass off a Chinese baby as Irish/German to a suspicious husband.   Or perhaps an Irish/German baby to a suspicious Chinese husband.

Now, I know flowers are the result of some kind of pollen spreading routine.  I don't think actual sex occurs, but I've never watched the roses at night which may be why I don't see anything sexy happening.  There is something going on that isn't exactly kosher.

First of all, this is not a new rose bush.  It's been here for 10 years or so.  This is the first year there has been any suspicion of infidelity on my part.  In every other year, the roses have been pretty much the same old thing.  Just roses.

I'm wondering if I should do something to try and soothe tempers out there.  I mean, having babies that are a lot different from what you expected probably causes some traumatic hurt feelings.

I hope the plants lives through this experiment in infidelity.  Some do, you know.  Some don't.