Four Thoughts

1. I passed a woman entering the restroom as I was leaving it, and couldn’t help but notice that she smelled like a combination of some heavy, flowery perfume and a sack of just-delivered Chinese food. My brain couldn’t seem to decide between having my eyes water from the perfume part of the equation, or to start the drooling process at the idea that an egg roll or two for lunch suddenly seemed like a very good one indeed.

So now I’m sitting here with my stomach growling, but feeling vaguely nauseous.


2. It doesn’t look like the written part of the state exam for my license is going to happen before our upcoming beach trip. I’ve made my peace with it for the most part (really, I have!) except when I think about how many brain cells we intend to kill while we’re down there (if the beer/vodka/tequila “budget” I’ve set for this trip is any indication).


3a. I’ve just realized that this Labor Day escape weekend tradition thing is the one time each year that we are able to get away for a few days and spend those days doing exactly what we want to do, with no obligations to anyone or anything else for the entire trip. I hope that’s enough for you to understand why, every time I’ve thought of this trip in the last month or so, I’ve nearly wept with sweet, aching, anticipated relief from my day-to-day existence.

(Okay, that last bit made me sound ready to be strapped onto a hospital bed while some merciful doctor pumps great vats of Prozac into my veins. Or like I’m ready to be clubbed to death to end my misery. To clarify, my day-to-day existence is actually pretty awesome, if you don’t take into account things like work, a broken house, a trashed yard, the precariously balanced-for-now relationship with Sister, dental angst,* not winning the lottery ever, work, and oh, work.**)

* oh yes, see Number 4
** NOT that I’m talking about work

Unless there’s a lost weekend in there somewhere, I cannot think of one instance in the past four years, besides our trying-to-be-annual beach weekend, in which Monk and I have been on a trip that didn’t revolve around an obligation or five, usually involving family, being stranded without a vehicle, moody friend drama, or some combination of the three.

(I know, I’m hearing violins, too.)

Hell, I think one long weekend of self-indulgent, lazy, anti-social, drunken and depraved behavior is the bare minimum, for everyone, but who the hell cares what I think? I stopped paying attention to this thread a long time ago, what are you still doing here?

3b. So, when Assistant 2.0 (see double asterisk note above), whose husband makes so much money she doesn’t have to work; so much money they’re custom building their new house (down to the voice-activated electronic do-everything system specially designed and installed)… the same Assistant 2.0 who went happily without a job for their first 5 months in Dallas, and has yet to complete her 90-day probationary period here… When this woman complains to me that she needs a vacation, and then later, as I go over my out-of-office dates with her, tells me not to rub it in… [edited: Monk just commented that my post seemed rather dark today, so I've removed the violence and would like to take this opportunity to mention puppies and bubblegum.]

[And rainbows.]


4. Something is wrong with my teeth and it is my parents’ fault. I grew up with regular dental check-ups, fluoride treatments (at least, I think that’s what they were- for all I know, those mouth trays could have contained magic non-boob-growing poison), and the understanding that sugar was forbidden, evil, allowed only on special occasions, if a new moon was at the quarter crescent phase and the church sermon was brought to us by the letter Y, or if I managed to smuggle some candy up to my room. Sugar became the Forbidden Fruit of my young life. Naturally, I went off to college and began my Anything Sugar is Better campaign, which is still active today.

TONS of sugar consumed, YEARS of dentist offices avoided, and now I’m realizing that something might very well be wrong with my teeth. Teeth that used to open beer bottles with ease, that presented a braces-optional issue in my youth (I declined, thinking that imperfections were what makes us unique and special and no one told me what a load that was), teeth that have remained cavity-free in the face of sugar, nicotine, coffee, and non-flossing abuse throughout the years. I think their undefeated reign is over. I think I need to schedule a cleaning and x-rays very soon, but I’m terrified, people. I know this is the moment in my life I’ve been dreading- the moment the dentist tells me your beautiful, zero cavity record has been broken, and most of your teeth must now be pulled and replaced with tiny wooden planks that have not been weather-proofed, and also? your mouth right at this very moment is dissolving and you are going to die. And all because my parents wouldn’t let me have sugar when I was growing up.

1 comment:

Blogger Lisa said...

My parents (mainly mom) was a total sugar Nazi growing up. What's funny is that if she would have looked at a label for canned fruit, she would have realized that the stuff had as much sugar as a Twinkie.

But anyway... I'm totally into Soda and all sorts of candy stuff too.

And my hubby has a lazy weekened EVERY weekend. Can I trade ya hubbies for one weekend? It would be nice to get some stuff done around here!

9:55 AM  

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