Excuses, Excuses

I developed a wretched sort of crick in my shoulder early this week that is variously sending shooting pain up into my neck and down the right side of my spine. Although quite unpleasant, the pain is not debilitating for the most part, but sitting at the computer seems to aggravate it, especially the mousing action. What with traveling three days this week for work and spending the other day at the desk writing reports, I haven't felt up to much evening computing.

Instead, I have been vegging out on the couch with the heating pad. Today it felt a little better, despite driving 268 miles, which is odd, since driving all day often leads to shoulder cramping. Maybe it was all the ibuprofen I gobbled up, six so far today. I think it's time to re-up, though, as the muscles seem to be seizing up again. The last dose was about six hours ago, so I am not sure if the ibuprofen is wearing off, or if the computing is escalating the pain. Either way, I think I better wrap up this sorry whine-fest.

Anyone have any advice for dealing with shoulder pain?

Be Careful What You Wish For

Remember how yesterday, I wrote that I was longing for a cold front to pass through, and also that we were going hiking? It's abundantly clear in hindsight, but yeah... that's a pretty freaking stupid combination. Especially since we had a long drive before our hike and a lack of foresight in checking the Doppler. It was pretty much an unmitigated disaster.

We stopped and filled up the gas tank, grabbed a bite to eat and drove up north. We weren't even five miles away from our destination when the rains hit. Now a little rain is no big deal, but this was a *big* rain. Black sky, faintly tinged with orange, hours from sunset. Hail. Violent thunder and lightning. We tried driving around for a while, being only five or so miles from a scenic lakeshore, in hopes the storm would blow over. No such luck. And no scenery either, since there was very little visibility.

The only twinge of redemption came when we stopped at a cheese shop, and bought a local cheddar. I have mentioned before that extra sharp is my cheddar preference. This local product is marketed as "XXX extra sharp." That's because normal extra sharp cheddar is aged for 9 months, whereas this stuff sat around for three entire years. Mmmm. Three-year old cheese.

I was miserable on the drive home, just despondent. SodaBoy tried to cheer me up, saying we could always go back next weekend. Easy for him to say, as he didn't care about seeing the prairie smoke (Geum triflorum). It was likely brutally crushed by the hail.

Not unlike myself.

Weekend Sick Day

We had been planning on going hiking yesterday, but I finally succumbed to SodaBoy's blight and took a weekend sick day instead. Plus it was so hot! This horrid nasty sticky oppression is no good for doing anything anyway. My garden needs weeding, too, but go out in that? I need a little more fortitude to face such heat. So I laid around on the couch much of the day, reading Anne Fadiman's book The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down. Fascinating stuff.

We also popped out to run a few errands. Early afternoon took us to the pet store for a collar with bells for Elijah. He has developed a nasty little habit of bring live chipmunks onto the back porch. The porch is screened and the poor little creatures easily climb up out of his reach, but they can't escape with the feline jaws of death hovering below, so we have lock Elijah up and then catch the chipmunks and take them back outside. The whole thing is very traumatic for all involved. Except the cat, of course. Cats are far too haughty for empathy. Surprising enough, he hasn't inflicted any visible wounds on the chippies. Just possible internal injuries and definitive mental trauma. No more... now he must suffer the humiliation of being belled. Ha! That will show him.

I also did a load of laundry and a quickie run to the grocery store last night. Evening runs are so much easier, no fighting to get the cart down swarming aisles. In and out, get what you want, no fuss and muss. Only problem is the specialized departments are closed, so no seafood or patisserie goods. But every time I go at night, I think I should always do this.

So we are going hiking today instead, to a Nature Conservancy preserve up north. I still feel a little wonky, but one day of laying on the couch is about my limit. It's quite a drive, so we need to head out into the infernal heat sooner rather than later. We were supposed to get a storm pass through, but it never showed up. Well, there was thunder and lightning last night, but no rain, and no relief. It is hard not to wish for a cold front in times like these. I hope everyone is having a good weekend and finding ways to stay cool.

Violation! Violation!

We were rudely awoken this morning by the sound of a neighbor across the street mowing the lawn. It was 6:50 am. Who ever heard of such a thing? I could have sworn there was some sort of city ordinance about not mowing before 8 am, but when I did a half-assed search of the internets, I didn't turn up much. It much just be common decency that would make such demands. I did determine that you can't let the grass grow longer than 8 inches. Good thing SodaBoy is out mowing now, or we might have been in violation on that one.

The second crappy thing to happen today involved another neighbor, and another noisy tool: a chainsaw. Even ickier. The woods behind our house are owned by the university, so this morning when three men starting cutting out a large tree, I went up in the woods and asked them if they were with the university. Seems reasonable, right? They own the land, they can cut trees if they like. Silly me. It turns out my next door neighbor had hired them.

These neighbors have been very nice to us. They actually came over one day this spring when I was at work, and asked SodaBoy about removing another tree. The tree in question is dead, and is right along the apparent property line between our yards. The neighbors weren't sure exactly where the line was, and they wanted to get an OK from us to take down the tree. I kind of like having the dead tree there, as it provides great wildlife habitat, but since we don't know exactly where the property line is either, and they were so nice about it, we acquiesced. I suppose it could become a hazard eventually, so it did not seem like a wholly unreasonable request.

However, they did not ask us if they could cut a large living tree from the university property. And the tree cutting crew today did not touch the dead tree we'd talked about. They only cut away at a tree they had no right to touch. The tree was partially down, having apparently blown over in a storm years ago, before we ever moved in. But it was still alive today, and fully leafed out over most of it's branches.

I was furious about the situation. My blood pressure and heart rate surged. Those woods were one of the main attractions for us in buying this house. We've always been prepared for the possibility the university could develop back there. We just weren't prepared for random neighbors to treat it as their personal woodlot. I called university security, and they seemed concerned, agreeing to send someone right out. Although two squad cars appeared fairly quickly, the officers didn't do shit. They simply informed the tree cutters that they were on university property, and then left. They didn't even talk to the property owners.

Today I lost all respect for my neighbors, and learned that university police are huge pansies.

Falling off the Radar

I'm sorry for pulling this little vanishing act. I assure you this was not my intention: I do plan to return to blogging. As soon as I can get my shit together. I had every delusion that I would be able to keep on blogging somewhat regularly once I started working again. However, it is a sad but true fact that I had been unemployed throughout the entire existence of this blog until last week, and still only managed to post three or four times a week. You bloggers with a job, and kids, too? I am truly in awe. You must not sleep.

My job is not of the variety that enables blogging at work, and I am not of a temperament where skipping a lot of sleep is advisable. I am still hopeful that I will settle into more of a routine, thereby freeing up more time to blog and generally just have a life. But I'm not quite there yet. Give me some more time. I am having a hard time adjusting to be being owned again.

Dispatch from the Working World

I had thought my timing in getting this new job was pretty good. I got offered the position during my second interview, after months of sending out resumes, stressing out, and losing sleep. The job offer came just one day after I claimed my very last week's worth of unemployment benefits. I was a day or two away from temping. [Sometime I will write about some of my past temping experiences to better explain my dread of it.]

Then this nor’easter hit, and I started to think my timing was pretty lousy. Yesterday was just my second day of work. I did not feel like I had the option to call in. When I left for work in the morning, the plow had not yet visited my neighborhood. The snow in the street was deeper than my car’s clearance. Luckily SodaBoy was around to help. For two blocks, we alternated shoveling and pushing, building up momentum, and getting stuck again. The main roads weren’t much better. I slid into a snow bank turning onto the highway onramp. Out came the shovel again.

The office was pretty empty yesterday. Many sensible people stayed home. My return commute was almost as bad as the drive in. I was terrified that I would not be able to get home. My street itself is flat, but this entire part of the city is on a hill, and we live near the top. I made it home by running a red light and two stop signs. Stopping would have been too dangerous, and luckily there was no traffic. It stopped snowing last night around 9 o’clock and I was optimistic about my odds for clear roads today.

When I got up, though, I could see that no plows had returned since their single pass down our street at noon yesterday. SodaBoy was working today, so I was on my own. If I got stuck, no one would be here to push me out. There was a car stuck in the snow with hazards flashing in front of the house next door. As my departure time approached, I felt a horrible cramping in my stomach. I have never been afraid of driving in the snow before. I didn’t like it. I tried to comfort myself by taking deep breaths, and telling myself the main streets would be clear. They were not.

At the intersection of two emergency snow routes, a city bus was stuck in the snow, and traffic was backed up in all directions. Finally a university police officer arrived to direct traffic and I drove on. I made it to the office with no real problems, and made it safely home again, too, although I had trouble getting both into and out of the office parking lots. I was practically overjoyed with relief at the improved conditions by the time I drove home tonight. The highway was actually clear and even my street had been plowed. Rejoice!

So while my first week at the new job has been extraordinarily stressful, the anxiety was all weather induced. The job itself has been going really well. It is always hard to tell how a job will end up from first impressions: what is initially new and exciting could always become dull later. But so far I am very happy with the situation. My supervisors have assigned me to tasks that I can work on independently, where I am immediately contributing, and also getting to learn a lot of background information about several big projects which I will be working on more in depth later.

And tomorrow is Friday, so I can wear jeans. This might just work out after all.

Feeding the Birds

I am getting really discouraged because I haven't heard back from that prospective employer I interviewed with last week. I guess the interview didn't go as well as I had thought. That's the trouble when you view the world through rose-colored glasses. Only I am not known for being especially optimistic; I must be getting desperate. See, I thought when they said things like they could market my skills and how I had much more experience than other applicants, I thought that meant something good. It wasn't just them being polite and me lapping it up. Or maybe it was. The bottom line is they haven't called back.

So I am feeling a little poopy. Watching the birds is one of the only things cheering me up these days. I got a bird feeding complex for Christmas, a big stand that hold three different types of feeders. There is the house-shaped one that holds black oil sunflower seeds, a cylindrical one that dispenses nyjer seeds, and then the peanut feeder. We couldn't find any unsalted shelled peanuts when we were buying birdseed, so got cracked corn instead. The corn is not very popular; we'll have to look elsewhere for the peanuts. We didn't get many visitors at first, with the unseasonably warm weather, just a few friendly chickadees. Once it got cold, other birds showed up.

It is so fun to look out the window and see a rainbow of species jostling for seeds. We regularly get gold finches, titmice, chickadees, nuthatches, chipping sparrows, cardinals, and woodpeckers. The house finches were late to the party, but now show up in droves. I think the blue jays will show up once we get some peanuts. I wish I understood their behavior a little better though. Some days it's a mob scene out there, with every feeder full to capacity and a queue of hungry birds fluttering around the birches waiting for their turn. Other days, it is completely desolate. Today, for example, I have not seen a single bird. Where are they all hiding?

In Sickness and In Health

SodaBoy has been sick the last few days, with a bad cold that is migrating from head to chest. In the last three days he hasn’t strayed from bed except to the couch. This has meant even more television than usual. Now, I’ve been sick and I understand that it’s no fun. I was prone to strep as a youth, and fairly susceptible to bronchitis as well, and I even had scarlet fever once. The only childhood illness I missed out on was chickenpox, mysteriously enough.

[I had one reddish spot at the same time my sister had chickenpox, but other than that, none of the normal symptoms. This will frighten me if I think about it too much, as I don’t want to get it as an adult and end up with shingles. Adult onset chickenpox is clearly a foolish thing to fret about, though. My grandfather had the pox twice, once as a child and then again as an adult. There are no guarantees with immunity.]

Even reading can be too much of a strain when you feel like crap. Intellectually, I know that; I remember it from my own past suffering. And, yet... despite knowing all that, I’m still struggling to suppress my resentment about the constant television chatter. It’s driving me bonkers! There is no escape. Frankly, it is the biggest disappointment of home ownership. Living in apartments for years, I constantly fantasized about having a house and being able to get away from the idiot box. But it’s not really possible. I can hear it jabbering from every.single.room in the house, even the basement.

As a kid, I could read through anything and everything. I would carry books to the grocery store and read while Mom shopped. I would happily read away while Dad watched television. Not a problem. I never saw Star Wars until I went to college, because when it came on cable and Dad watched it? Yeah, I was busy reading. Somewhere along the way, I mostly lost that skill. I’m much more easily distracted as an adult. And reading? Reading is easy compared to writing.

Unless I want to end up with drivel like this.

Enough Already With the Damn Teeth

Yesterday I had a headache all day. The intensity varied, but the headache never went away. At one point I had to stop unloading the dishwasher and lie down because the associated nausea was so bad. So when I got ready for bed last night, I prepared for the situation: sinus pills and my lavender eye pillow within easy reach on the bedside table.

I don’t often remember my dreams. When I do, it usually means I’ve been sleeping poorly, which has been happening a lot lately. Last night was a good example, as sometimes the pain from the headaches can be bad enough to wake me from a sound slumber.

I dreamed that three of my back teeth from my upper left jaw dropped out in one fell swoop. The three teeth were attached to one another, like a little mini-denture. In the dream, I rinsed the teeth clean, then went to the dentist’s office, teeth in hand. I explained to the receptionist that I had a dental emergency. She proceeded to pull the dental emergency velvet cord that was hanging nearby.

Here things get fuzzy and I don’t remember any more details, but I woke up shortly after, with my head still throbbing. I took a sinus pill, and got out the eye pillow, and eventually drifted back into a light sleep.

Then I started dreaming again. In the second dream, I had just woken up from a dream where three of my teeth had fallen out. Naturally I went to a mirror to make sure it was just a dream. During the dream dental inspection, I was happy to discover all teeth were still in place. However, all was not well... I found two loose teeth, both wobbling and making that horrible grinding noise that teeth make right before they fall out.

I had one losing-my-teeth dream already earlier this month. I know this is a common dream, cross culturally. People everywhere dream about teeth falling out with horror. I'm sure it's just symptomatic of my stress about not finding a job, or spilled over holiday stress (the last of my numerous family Christmas celebrations was yesterday evening). But three times in such a short period? When I don’t ordinarily remember my dreams at all? It’s a little much for me. Someone else can have a turn.

Step right up, don't be shy. Free nightmares!

Bullets of Holiday Stress

It's that time of year isn't it? We all run around like chickens with our heads cut off, and for what? I seriously think it's mostly out of guilt and obligation. OK, that's not entirely fair, but I am a big curmudgeon. We've covered that in enough detail I think.

Honestly, I think children are the reason most people carry on with this nonsense. I said to SodaBoy this very morning, "we've got to have a baby to make this whole Christmas thing more fun." Now I'll join Turtlebella on the thinking-about-having-kids-for-all-the-wrong-reasons bench.

So SodaBoy's parents are in town for the next bunch of days. Don't ask me exactly when they are leaving, because right about now I can't imagine that far away. Right before Christmas I believe.

This left me rushing around madly the last few days, trying to prepare for other upcoming family events. Entertaining doesn't leave much time for anything else.

Not to mention cleaning. I swear, we have company so often it's the only time I clean. This isn't a good strategy. If people stop coming, will the house fall into chaos?

Now I must rush off and change. As I whined about over at Phantom's, SodaBoy's parents favor early dinners at fancypants restaurants. They do not tolerate denim. I am all about denim. If it's not comfortable, I don't want to wear it. Too bad nobody asked me.

I am looking forward to the appetizer at the la-di-dah restaurant we are going to tonight, but after that... I'll be too full to enjoy myself. And being stuffed in fancywear does.not.help.

Bullets of Banality

Our cat rules. It's snowing out, the big-flaked, fluffy kind that is especially scenic. We haven't had much snow around here yet this year, and decided to take a walk up to the open area to see if Elijah would be as enthusiastic a walker in the snow. Short answer: yes.

We toyed with the idea of buying a tree today, but it just didn't happen. We did go out to run some errands, but I have one of my evil headaches, and didn't have the energy to wrestle with a tree.

We did rule out the possibility of buying a tree at one of the big box stores. Not only do they not have blue light specials anymore, but the store we visited doesn't carry fresh-cut trees anymore either. Only the kind in a box, and they don't even smell nice. Bah!

I did get a box of holiday cards while we were there though. Maybe they will help me get in the spirit. Of course I selected a variety featuring cats.

I also bought a new shower curtain liner. Fascinating, I know. But I am so damn sick of that Chester the Molester of a curtain that is in there now. This new one might not be any better, but I had to try something.

Could someone please rant about how badly sliding glass doors for the shower suck? Pretty please? 'Cause maybe then I would stop coveting them so much. From where I'm sitting now, they look pretty good.

Today was the first day this week I didn't apply for a job. Blame the headache. Yeah, that's right, the headache. Blame this entire post on the headache, actually. I just cannot think straight. It's prolly a good thing I didn't apply for a job.

Sink Patrol

If such a thing is possible, my posting may be even lighter than normal for the next few days. Mary from No Polar Coordinates will be arriving shortly to stay with us for a few days. As I write this she is barreling down the Thruway, hopefully clear of the fog that obscured the highway earlier in her journey.

I have violated the universal code of hospitality. Basic etiquette dictates cleaning the house when expecting company, and I did engage in this ritual. My breach of propriety is due to procrastination. I cleaned the upstairs bathroom today, this afternoon in fact. For shame. A guest should never be able to detect that cleaning has just occurred. The idea is to make things appear that they are always clean. I cannot smell any chemicals myself, but I was immersed in them for over an hour this afternoon, so my sense of smell is completely unreliable at this point.

Why yes, I did say over an hour. Why yes, that does seem excessive. I am beginning to think I am extremely inefficient at this whole bathroom cleaning business. My bathroom is average size, with ordinary fixtures. Except that damn sink! I’m growing to loathe the thing, more and more each time I try to clean it. So I will dispense with some unsolicited advice: never ever ever buy a pedestal sink. Mine looks much like this:


I did not select the sink; it was already here when we bought the house. It is attractive, and clearly relatively new. The whole bathroom appears to have been remodeled sometime in the last five years. Aesthetics are not the problem. But, it sucks to clean like nobody’s business. All those exposed surfaces, ceramic ridges, water lines. Ugh. If you simply must have one, do yourself a huge favor and consider one with a simpler design, at the very least one without ridges on the stem.

The Pediatric Ward

I slept late this morning, raindrops drumming on the roof. These days that are so cold and wet and gloomy, practically dark at midday: my inner caveman doesn’t like them. Deep in my reptilian brain, the voice says, go back to sleep, can’t you see, today is a lousy day for hunting and gathering, go back to sleep. Good day for it or not, I must go foraging later, with a run to the supermarket, but the inner caveman’s not listening.

I do have a good reason to be so exhausted. Last night I spent 8.5 hours in the pediatric emergency ward with my friend T and her baby R. Apparently, shortly after we left their house on Saturday, R became violently ill: vomiting, diarrhea, high fever. He had refused all food and drink since then, and the family pediatrician said if he wasn’t drinking again by 5 pm, he’d need to go to the hospital for rehydration.

After checking in with reception, and then meeting with the pediatric triage nurse, we settled in for a long wait. The emergency room was packed. After several hours in the waiting room, we were finally shown to a room, only to wait some more. The place was so full that several families were stationed on beds in the hallways. The nurse told us that Monday nights are the absolute busiest time on the pediatric emergency ward, but the trend is different for adult patients, who come in Fridays and Saturdays.

Even after several hours of intravenous drip, R was still dehydrated enough so as to be admitted to the hospital. It was 1:30 am before the room was ready for him. See why I’m tired now?

Update: D just called, and R hasn’t been discharged yet. D was up at the hospital this morning, but cannot stay because their older son A is also sick, and the doctors don’t want him there. So I’m on my way back up now to keep T company and help her out with whatever I can. My guess is she was too worried about R pulling out the IV to sleep for even a minute last night, so I’ll stop whining about being tired now.

I am the Lamest

Today has been pretty meh. I vomited this morning, which is never an auspicious start, although things often improve after that, because really, they can’t get much worse. For the record, I am not sick; I am not pregnant; and it wasn’t something I ate.

I had just showered, and the water was backing up a bit in the tub. After I toweled off, I decided to actually solve the problem, so as to avoid a repeat performance with tomorrow’s shower. I really hate standing in shower water, and just forget about baths. I will never be a bath-taker. I don’t dig hot tubs, either. I might be crazy, but at least I’m consistent.

Since I could actually see something partially blocking the drain, I pulled out the drain stopper, and the attached six inches of hair and soap scum. Ugh. I know, this is a fairly normal occurrence, and not cause for alarm. But I have an overactive gag reflex, so this sort of thing can be a challenge for me. I set the whole mess down in the tub, and retrieved a plastic grocery sack. Placing the entire drain stop inside the bag, I managed to tug loose the slimy monstrosity.

Problem solved, right? Yes, that would be the case were I a normal human. No such luck. At the moment of separation, just when the mucilaginous hairball broke free from the drain stop, the bile rose in my throat. Luckily I hadn’t eaten yet, so things weren’t as unpleasant as they could have been, but I had already drank both my morning Earl Grey and a glass of orange juice. And orange juice burns on the way back up. [Is that self-pity coming through loud and clear?]

Anyway, now my pipes are clear, and the water is draining nicely. But you know what? I don’t care how evil the stuff is: next time I’m just using Draino.

The Height of Rudeness

Saturday night we went to the movies too see Borat, which was hilarious, as expected. I know, I know… it’s politically incorrect and horribly disrespectful to a whole assortment of different folks. But Sacha Baron Cohen has an amazing ability to draw out unsuspecting people and make them comfortable, exposing their prejudices for all the world to see. Many of the things people say to him are profoundly disturbing.

We don’t go the theater often, watching most films at home via Netflix. I think the last movie we saw in the theater was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Saturday night reminded me why I prefer to wait and enjoy most movies in the comfort of my living room. First of all, the mall was sickeningly crowded (and, yes, SodaBoy checked; it was the only theater in town showing Borat). The movie sold out, and luckily the clerk warned us it would be, telling us to arrive early to get decent seats.

So after getting a quick bite, we entered the theater super early and settled in for a long and tedious wait. The theater was already more than half full, 25 minutes before the scheduled show time. I’d scrounged around looking for reading material, but sadly found only an apartment rental guide. Not terrifically exciting stuff.

Then the evil witch came in. OK, maybe I exaggerate, maybe she was perfectly nice. But the woman who sat next to me was emanating stink lines the way Pig Pen radiates dirt lines. She must have gone swimming in her dagnasty “perfume.” See, I told you: she isn’t really a nice person. Nice people do not subject everyone in a 20 foot radius to their favorite chemical stench. It’s just not cool. So throughout the entire course of the film, my eyes burned, my nose ran, and I had a headache. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Of course I was too chicken to tell her off, and by then it was too late to get other seats with a decent viewshed. But, I really don’t get it. Why do people think such behavior is acceptable? Do they think it makes them more attractive? Because in my book, such smug arrogance with the complete and total disregard for all others, combined with just plain smelling bad, is hugely UNattractive. That evil witch.

Why November?

I am a bitty baby blogger, new to the game. See the Archives? They are quite desolate. The page setup? Cookie cutter template, no fancy embellishments. [Oh, but I’ve got plans.] I just did my first meme last month. I am not even a very reliable writer, averaging only maybe three or four posts a week. My all time record is three days in a row. So I understand why I wasn’t consulted: no one knows about me. Plus, if they did… well, let’s just say, they are probably not too impressed.

But, why November?

I am referring, of course, to NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month, which officially started yesterday. Basically how it works is you agree to post every.single.day for the entire month of November. Bloggers who already post daily might think it’s absurd; I can’t help but think it’s a little silly myself. We need a whole speshul month?

But I also think I understand the idea: it’s a challenge, at least for bloggers like me. The lazy ones. It’s not that I’m completely immune to the charms of challenging myself, either. Signing up would almost certainly result in me posting more, if just to avoid the shame of failure. And that would be a good thing, right? If I’m not going to post, why even have this foolish blog? So why, you ask, why didn’t I sign up for NaBloPoMo?

I hope you’re ready to hear the lamest excuse ever…

Yeah. See, November’s not really the best time for me. What with the holidays and all. Most years we travel out of state for several days to a family home that, while luxurious, would not be conducive to blogging. We’re not the only ones who travel this time of year, you know. Lots of people do it.

So what I’m saying is, why not choose a month without a major travel-inducing holiday? How about February? I honestly don’t know too many people inconvenienced by Groundhog Day.

A Bit Early for This

Every winter I turn into a dragon. My skin becomes terribly dry. My hands will crack and bleed; knees and elbows turn to leather; large scaly patches develop in strange, unexpected places like the backs of my arms, or my sides. Out of absolute necessity I might get out the moisturizer every few days, but I am not dedicated enough to apply it very frequently. Part of my problem is I detest the slimy feel of the stuff. My first instinct after using lotion of any kind is to run and wash my hands. Most fragrances also irritate me (quite literally).

I’ve always attributed this dryness to heat. Furnaces seems to crank out excessively dry air, and it would explain why I don’t suffer the same malady in the summer months. So what is my problem now? The early signs have started: my hands are already roughening up. However, we haven’t turned the heat on yet. Oh, there was temptation. It was 54 degrees in the house when we got back from the wedding Sunday night. But we persevered. There are goals to be reached, after all, standards to be upheld. It's been years since we've turned on the heat before November 1st.

I did go up in the attic and bring the space heater down for SodaBoy the other day. He loves that foolish thing. I haven’t spent much time in the immediate vicinity, though. Why should my hands be dry already? Why, internets, why?

Call Me a Luddite

I had a new experience this past weekend, with a portable DVD player, of all things. Mind you, I’ve seen them before from a distance, in other peoples’ vehicles, and always found them very distracting. Especially at night. Especially when they are mounted up high in the vehicle, right by the rearview mirror. The glare those screens produce on a dark night can be virtually blinding. And if they effect me, the driver of a separate vehicle, so acutely, I am pretty suspicious about the impact they have on the attention and focus of the driver of said vehicle. I know some people favor them to stupefy their children during car rides, but I don’t have kids, so can’t appreciate even that dubious boon. OK… we might detect a wee bit of bias here.

Flashback to Friday. We are three hours into a six hour drive, heading up the northway. The scenery is spectacular, everyone jumping over themselves to point out another scarlet hillside, another rocky outcrop, another pristine lake, another funny sign. Conversation is buzzing. We make a pit stop at a fast food restaurant, get a snack of french fries. When we hit the road once again, T gets out the portable DVD player and starts up a movie. Based on my preexisting notions regarding these things, I immediately feel a little bristly, a little bitter. All of a sudden, I have to keep quiet so as not to drown out the movie; all human conversations cease.

The sun was still shining; I wanted to continue enjoying the beautiful scenery. I vowed to myself that I would ignore the damn thing, and carry on with my delight; it would just be a solo experience instead of a group one. But the problem is, I am terrible at ignoring a TV screen: it's the main reason I am so ambivalent about them. It is always a companion that initiates viewings. I do enjoy certain shows, but hate watching the crippety-crap that comprises the majority of all programming. I hate how watching TV is such a passive activity. I hate how I turn into a vacant minded slack jawed drone.

Of course, I inadvertently got sucked into the movie, American History X, which I had never seen before. The movie is profoundly disturbing, featuring racism and violence, tragedy and redemption. Overall, a quality film, although unpleasant to the utmost degree. When it was over, D made a comment about how depressing it was, and T defended herself, saying that’s why she couldn’t watch it at home (they have two small children). And I understand that sentiment: it’s definitely not imagery you would want a toddler waking from a nightmare to stumble upon whilst seeking parental reassurances.

So even though I liked the film, I don’t think the experience changed my perspective of the technology significantly. I guess it’s cool that such things exist, because apparently much of the world enjoys them. But me? Not so much.

Grumble, Grumble

I feel a need to complain a bit about women’s clothing. Does anyone on the planet understand how the sizing works? What is this 6-8-10-12 crap? What are the units? Why is there no uniformity? I might wear a 6 from one store and a 12 from another. I might wear a 6 and a 12 from the same store. The numbers seem completely and utterly meaningless. This is part of why I hate shopping so much. Often when I shop for clothes, I get frustrated and buy nothing. Other times, out of desperation, I buy crap I later decide I hate.

As an example: back in May, I bought two pairs of jeans produced by the same manufacturer. Both were labeled as being the exact same style/cut. I bought one pair in size 8 and one pair in size 10, in different shades of blue. The fit is completely different between the pairs of pants. The size 8s fit great, very comfortable, whereas the size 10s turned out to be both snugger and shorter (a full two inches shorter!). If I had noticed this in the store, I wouldn’t have even bought the 10s, but I suck, plain and simple. I suck.

Since all his existing jeans were decomposing as he wore them, and multiple holes can get chilly this time of year, we went to the dreaded mall yesterday to get SodaBoy some new jeans. It seems to me, from the outside looking in, that shopping for men’s clothing is much, much simpler. Numbers have units; they mean something. Here in the states, numbers are measured in inches. A 34 inch waist is a 34 inch waist is a 34 inch waist. Also annoying: the department store where SodaBoy bought his new Levis does not stock Levis for women, only hoity designer brands. Sigh. I may have to go back to wearing men’s clothes.

Dental Awkwardness

I had a dentist appointment yesterday, just a routine cleaning, but the actual dentist cleaned my teeth instead of a dental hygienist. He did not do a very complete job; he didn’t do any scraping at all and only very perfunctory polishing, flossing and stain removal. I drink a lot of tea, and like my teacups, my teeth get stained. My normal hygienist Irina does a very thorough job. She is patient, meticulous, and hardworking. She will keep me in the chair for an hour if she has to. Dentist had me in and out inside of 25 minutes, and only deigned to remove the stains from the front of my teeth, and not the back as well. Which will make my next visit that much more unpleasant. I do not cherish the whirring grind of the stain removal tool.

Spacing visits out every six months ensures the stains don’t get too bad. But it was my very insistence at my last visit upon returning in six months that landed me in the chair with Dentist in the first place. For the last few years I’ve noticed the intervals between scheduled appointments creeping up, from six months, to seven months, and eventually all the way up to ten months.

I finally complained last time, asking Dentist at what interval the ADA recommends cleanings. I admit I was leading the witness, because of course he answered "six months." I then pounced, and asked why I would have to wait ten months to get in for my next cleaning. Basically it boils down to them having too many patients: Irina and the other hygienists are all booked up ten months in advance. So they granted me the privilege of coming back in six months, but having Dentist clean my teeth instead. Foolishly, I accepted, and look where it got me.

The other negative consequence, aside from poorly cleaned teeth, was actually spending 25 minutes with Dentist. Eeep! I have always thought he was a little creepy, but never really wanted to blame him per se. Isn’t everyone a bit of an anti-dentite, when it comes right down to it? No one likes going to the dentist, after all. It is an unpleasant environment, so I’ve always tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he merely seemed icky by association.

I have been going to see this particular Dentist my entire life. He gave me umpteen dreaded flouride treatments as a child; he pulled four molars before I got the braces he recommended; he did a great job capping my front tooth to prevent further damage when it chipped. He has a daughter exactly my age, and a son exactly my sister’s age, and we all went to high school together.

Having said all that, I really don’t know him very well. Most visits, the hygienist does all the work and he pops in for five minutes or less at the very end. But this long history must make him feel some sort of non-existent closeness, because he is forever asking personal questions and passing judgments. For example, SodaBoy and I shouldn’t be living together, as we’re not married. Scandalous! Never mind that it’s none of his business, or that we're more than old enough to make our own decisions.

Yesterday Dentist sank to a new low. He started off by asking me how old I am, fairly innocuous. I politely told him 32, leaving the still the same age as your daughter part of the thought unsaid. He then proceeded to tell me I need to hurry up and have some babies, because I don’t have forever. There is apparently an expiration date "down there." I steered the conversation away from me at that point, asking about his daughter and her fecundity, since he was so enamored with the subject of spawning.

But holy WTF? I can’t even begin to wrap my brain around how very inappropriate this line of inquiry is. Am I supposed to thank him for pointing out my declining fertility? Why does he think it’s any of his business? Couldn’t this line of questioning be very painful for some people? What if I couldn’t ever have kids? What if I chose not to have kids? Why should I have to justify anything to him? Would he hassle a 32 year man about hurrying up to have kids? Or is it just women who are subjected to this bullshit?