Anyone have those words that all your life you cannot spell? Here is my partial list:
Phyciatriy
Lisence
Counceler
Excersise
Definetly
Dyxlexia
Is it selective dyslexia or am I just a terrible speller? Is it yet another syndrome I am going to be diagnosed with? Only if they can catch me!
DON’T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!
“Now, you want the nitrous oxide, right?”, asked the dental hygienist.
Hell, yeah!
“Yes, please”, I responded. My hands were already balled into fists.
Wikipedia: dentophobia or individuals with post-traumatic stress disorder, caused by previous traumatic dental experiences.
The latter is the category I feel I fall into. I’m not going to bore you with horrific old stories of needles hitting a nerve or anything like that, just suffice it to say, I have “dentophobia”.
I like to think there is an upside to everything. This particular silver lining is called nitrous oxide. It’s not exactly a high, just a nothing feeling. So much so that the 45 shots I got in my gums and cheek for a recent root canal didn’t even faze me. Even when I think the dentist did hit a nerve and a jolt of electricity went through my tongue, I didn’t flinch. Amazing stuff. I would enjoy my life so much more if I could wheel a canister of it around during the day the way oxygen patients do.
My cousin in England served me a sparkling wine last year and after more bottles than I am willing to admit to sampling, I have yet to find something comparable in this country. That’s when I came up with an idea that I could sparkle my own wine.
I used to drink wine mixed with Sprite because I breastfed my youngest daughter for so long that I had to start drinking! I figured that diluted wine would be the safest bet. This is TMI isn’t it? Still, adding Sprite to wine wasn’t exactly the thing I was looking for.
Last night I was at my sister’s. I had bought her a Soda Stream last year for Christmas. My sister carbonized some plain water and added it to my wine…it was delicious. I heard recently, that if you drink equal amounts of water with your alcohol you won’t get a hangover because you won’t get dehydrated. Well, I thought maybe if I added “sparkling” water to my alcohol it would kill two birds with one stone (I’m always looking for ways to streamline my drinking). Still, adding sparkling water to my wine wasn’t the thing I was looking for.
I had read an article called “Going Rouge with my Soda Machine”. It was like it was written for me. The author had tried sparkling his lemonade and it didn’t work out so well, something about a “mess”. He said the Soda Machine manual forbids using anything except plain water.
I’m still going to try to Soda Stream the wine straight, warning or not. Two reasons; I want to and I’m no longer breast feeding anyone.
Last week Allison came home from school with her “story of the week” I like to call it. I’m always afraid of these because I wonder how much this school is affecting her psyche. After all I’ve tried so hard not to let my psyche affect hers. It’s complicated.
This is the story this time:
Allison: Today in science class Mr. Ross passed cat guts around the classroom.
Me: What? Did you say cat guts?
Allison: Yes, and we could touch them if we wanted to. I touched the kidney and it made my fingers tingle even after I stopped touching it.
Me: Yeah, formaldehyde will do that to you. You washed your hands after this right?
Allison: Then I touched the liver, well I thought it was the liver, but it turned out to be the bladder and it was full of urine!
Me: (dead silence, but with a horrified expression).
I’m not sure if you’ve already read the “screamo” post earlier, but that was the night it was brought to my attention that at least my family thinks that I am a geek. I don’t have any idea what the criteria of a geek is. Actually, just like everyone, unless you are “beautiful”, “rich” or “thin” no one likes to be labeled. Especially when it is a false label! Which this clearly is!
“I am an outsider,” I say, “not a Geek!”
A nerd? Creative? Eccentric? Or am I everything? Maybe I am granted a pass to all extreme or weird behavior because I have been diagnosed with BPII (Bipolar II). I’m shortening Bipolar II now. I’m tired of writing the whole thing out. It makes me feel like I am trying too hard to make that distinction between the manic depressive kind and the kind I have. I guess I am trying hard because it still does matter what people think of me.
My sister said the other day, “We always considered Aunty Katherine the eccentric in the family, then we thought it was Daniel (our cousin). It turns out it was you all along”.
I still haven’t got back to her exactly how I feel about this. And the fact that obviously there has been some great discussion going on behind the scenes about where I belong in the family. I mean really, Daniel has been dethroned as the resident crazy person and now the crown has been passed to me? Should I have been watching for the smoke to turn white?
I’ve been married now for 20 years. You don’t have to be married for 20 years or married at all if that is your preference. Here are my pet peeves when sleeping with someone. I mean really sleeping, not having sex or anything.
1. “Leg zaps” I like to call them. Restless leg syndrome is what the experts call them.
2. Sleeping diagonally.
3. Being “dead weight” and being too small, weak and tired to move your partner no matter how much lower body strength you can muster with both feet against the back of the person that is intruding on your personal sleep space.
4. Snoring, enough said.
5. Leaving the TV on and falling asleep on the remote.
Me: “Give me the remote before you fall asleep.”
Him: “Oh, I’ll turn it off before I fall asleep.”
Me: “Yeah, and I just crawled out from under a rock.”
6. Being hit in the face with a partner that is flailing around in a violent dream. It happened to me one night. It really was pissed me off!
7. “Spooning”.
8. Coming to bed after I’ve already fallen asleep.
9. Cold feet. His cold feet always somehow find their way into the arches of one of my feet. They are like heat seeking missiles.
10. And the number one pet peeve: Cracking ankles and toes. Oh wait that’s me, never mind.
John and I were out the other night having a hamburger at a bar that has really good bands playing every Saturday night. We never get to go because for some reason John will spend $800 on a kayak, but won’t spend $5 on a cover charge. I picked up a flyer, and it turned out the weekend that Emily and her husband, Paul, were coming there was a showcase of metal bands playing.
“Great,” I said, “we’ll take them here that weekend”.
I sensed John didn’t really believe that I would plan this, but I did. That Saturday, Emily got Grace to sleep, Tristan babysat and off we went. I was really quite proud of myself for planning a night out, just like the old days I thought to myself (really old days, like 30 years ago).
We left at 7. We got there at 7:10. We just walked right in, giggling that the bouncer wasn’t there to charge us the cover charge. John was over the moon. He must have mentioned it a couple of times before the drinks arrived.
We were talking and laughing. It was really fun until we started to look around and notice the band members coming in one by one, bringing in their equipment. A lot of them had those t-shirts with very disturbing images on them, devils, hatchets, ghosts, skulls etc. The table started to doubt what kind of music was going to be played. Not me, of course, I had seen the flyer.
To prove it to them, I dug around in my purse. After a while I pulled out the flyer, found the date and pointed out that it did indeed say“Metal Band Showcase”.
Paul laughed and said, “Metal is screamo!”
“No, it’s not, Metal is Heavy Metal”, I said a little condescendingly (just a little, really).
“No, mom, Metal is screamo,”Emily said, with a lot of condescension in her voice.
I look at John for help and he gives me a helpless shrug.
“No”, I continue this ridiculous argument, “Heavy Metal is Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stones.”
“No, mom,” Emily says patiently, “that’s classic rock”.
“What? I don’t understand”, I keep looking at John begging for some clarity, he’s no help!
Then the band starts and I am still holding on to my naive belief that the band will begin its opening set with “Gotta a Whole Lotta Love” or “Living on a Prayer”. No such luck.
The music started out okay, until the singer began to roar into the microphone. I’m sure there is a technical name for the noise that came out of that kid’s throat, but I can’t imagine that it is more descriptive than roaring.
Everyone thought it was so funny, but I didn’t. I was thoroughly disappointed. We left after the drinks and went over to a boring old bar and had chicken wings. John’s only recollection of that night is that at least he didn’t have to pay the cover charge.
Recently I thought, “I think Alex would have loved Adam Lambert. I think he would have thought he was beautiful.”
I miss my best friend Alex. I don’t think about him every day anymore, that bothered me when I realized it.
He did not think he could take life anymore and killed himself 17 years ago. I remember the day like it was yesterday, but on the other hand it shocks me sometimes when I realize he’s really not here anymore. I don’t want to write about a lot of sad things and try to extract deep emotions from you, except maybe a giggle. Alex would not have minded, he was irreverent to say the least. This was the man that dressed as a pregnant Linda Ronstadt for Halloween. Those size 13 pumps were really something to see!
Missing Alex made me realize I miss having a gay friend. I think I’ll have to go out and get one. It can’t be that hard. I am a girl after all.
I miss that sense of fun and joy that only a gay man and a straight woman can experience. I think, for me, it is finally feeling understood by a man. And for the man maybe an intimate look into femininity? Come on gay men, help me out here, what is it?
A couple of weeks ago I thought my luck had changed and I had fallen head over heels for a gay man again. Alas, it turned out he is just a nerd and a married nerd to boot. I mean from the Big Bang Theory nerd. He is a live action role playing (LARP to those of you that are in the know), War Craft on line, making swords for his outfit for the “ren” fair nerd. If shortening The Renaissance Fair is not a dead giveaway of a through and through nerd I don’t know what is. Though I am strangely fascinated with him, it’s not the same.
I’m not a spring chicken hanging out at the clubs anymore, so where does a seasoned mature woman find a man of the “musical” persuasion (Alex’s terminology, not mine)? It’s hard to meet anyone interesting when all you are doing is working with children, coming home to children, carpooling children, you get it. I can’t just walk into a gay bar and start picking up men. Or could I?
I wonder if Adam Lambert is lonely.
Can
anyone
out
there
relate
to
the
pain
of a paper cut on my mouse finger?
anincidentallife.com 
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