Pardon my drool

Last Friday while eating dinner, I had the disturbing sensation of a piece of my molar falling onto my tongue.  Unfortunately, this coincided with my dentist's absence at a conference.  I was referred to a colleague of my dentist, who we'll just call Dr. M for purposes of anonymity.  I went to Dr. M under the pretense that the severity of the break would be assessed, and they may or may not need to do work.  It sounded harmless enough, right?

It turned out that a nine-year-old crown from a root canal was to blame (another traumatic dental visit that culminated with an exclamation from the endodontist, and I quote, "You have the longest roots I've ever seen!"), and I was tricked---er convinced that a temporary crown was necessary to prevent any further breakage.  After two sets of x-rays for one tooth, I waited patiently for Dr. M to arrive.  He did, and I was lulled into a sense of security by his friendly conversation.  He informed me that I had not one, but two broken teeth.  How could I not know that I was a walking jack-o-lantern?!  Once adequately numbed, the kind dental hygienist with the English accent sat down and said gently, "We'd like to use an Isolite on you."  Say what?  It turned out to be a small light attached to what appeared to be a miniature floor mat, which allowed them to actually see what they were doing.   I would recommend buying stock in this product, as it simultaneously provided a light source while holding back that pesky tongue.

They asked me if I wanted to listen to some music while they worked, and provided me with an iPod Nano and headphones.  To my surprise, when I pushed play, I was bombarded with hardcore gangsta rap, complete with b-words and n-words.  After quickly skipping to the next song (thankfully Alicia Keys!), I closed my eyes and prepared for the procedure.  A few moments later, I heard, "Where did it go?" I opened my eyes to find Dr. M and the English Hygienist frantically searching my mouth for some errant object. I wish this was an exaggeration!  They never found said object, but figured it got sucked up in that thing that sucks up spit (sorry, I have no idea what it's called).  After much grinding, drilling, pulling, and yanking, they finally got the old crown off.  Dr. M excused himself and the English Hygienist got to work on the temporary crown.

All kidding aside, the staff in this office worked extremely hard to fit in a "visiting" client with a complex dental issue.  That being said, I was subjected to a substance that makes cough medicine taste like cotton candy.  I should have known when the English Hygienist said, "I'm sorry, but this might taste bad." Might?!  I'm not really sure what it was, but when it danced onto the taste buds on the back of my tongue, the saliva faucet turned on.   English Hygienist's solution?  Shove a gauze into my mouth, resulting in me gagging (it takes a lot, believe me).   Then, after she worked diligently to get the temporary crown just the right size and shape, she ---drumroll please--dropped it on the floor!   I fully expected her to blow on it and put in my mouth.   She didn't of course, but used some (disinfecting?) wipes to clean it off, and popped it in.

So 2-1/2 hours later, I made my way to the front desk to settle the insurance information, all the while drooling on the counter like a teething baby.  So here I am, with a Novocain hangover, nursing an aching tooth.  The bad news, I have to go back in a few weeks and in the meantime, I can't eat anything sticky or chewy (isn't that pretty much everything except soup?).  The good news, I made some new friends at Dr. M's office and they fixed my broken tooth.

So the moral of this story is that no matter how far you think you have made it in life, you are one shot away from a drooling, gagging catastrophe; and if you're lucky, it will be at the hands of some very kind and capable dental professionals.

A real "situation"

Sorry for the absentee blogger everyone. I blame it on the three ‘S’s: School, Soccer and Stress. I’m sure I could come up with more s-words, but this isn’t that kind of blog.


So, I have a confession to make, and many of you know this already: I subscribe to US Weekly and have for many years. Now some of you may snort and say, “I would never stoop so low as to read that filth.” But guess what, I catch y’all reading it when you’re at my house (don’t worry, I won’t name names). That’s right, you know who you are! Like you, I enjoy seeing my favorite movie or TV star wearing designer gowns, seeing pictures of them traipsing around Hollywood (look, they’re pumping their own gas!), or my personal favorite, the fashion police.

Lately however, something has happened to my beloved rag. I don’t know who the “celebrities” are anymore. For several weeks now, I have been subject to articles about teen parents (when did they become celebrities?), some kids who live in “The Hills,” and some charming-looking thing called Snookie? Really? Who are these people and what are they doing in my gossip magazine? And can anyone please explain to me who the Kardashians are, and why they insist on wearing a Sephora makeup counter on their faces when they appear in public?

In the olden days of reality television, people actually had to accomplish something; some sort of race, challenge or skill competition. Now, it seems a theme is loosely contrived, producers locate the worst of mankind and poof! A star is born. I’m not even convinced that people are even watching these shows. Here is my conspiracy theory: The TV networks own the gossip magazines, they create the worst premise ever for a reality show, insert obnoxious “personalities,” feature them in the magazines with a catchy caption, then while you’re waiting in line at the grocery store, you glance over and decide that while it would undoubtedly be a waste of your time to invest any time watching the show but you’re just too curious to see the blowout took place on the Real Housewives of New Jersey reunion episode. Instant ratings!

I’m not going to do anything hasty like cancel my subscription…yet, but if this phenomenon continues, I will be forced to part with my weekly source of guilty pleasure and move on to more intellectual pursuits.

Vegas

Okay, first an update on the 4” heels as promised.  The good news is that I did not sustain any injuries during the wearing of said heels.  I also received a compliment about my attire from a man who looked and sounded like he could have been on Jersey Shore.  (disclaimer: I don’t actually watch Jersey Shore, but I read about them in my trashy magazines, honest)  I wore the shoes on the night we went out on the town, and I have to say, I really pulled them off.  No really, I had to pull them off at midnight because of the blinding pain in my feet from wearing the shoes for 7 hours straight.  So, the moral of this semi-Cinderella story is that once in a while, it’s fun to get dressed up in the fancy heels, but sometimes even more fun to kick them off and just dance in your bare feet.  Which is exactly what I did.
 
The highlight of our trip to Las Vegas (no, not the debut of the heels), was the food.  Here is a recap of the gluttony that took place in the city of sin:
 
Friday:  
• Lunch: a very spicy bloody mary in the airport bar.  It had vegetable juice so it was healthy right?  
• 1st Dinner: We wanted something “light,” so we went to the House of Blues ordered pizza, buffalo wings, and something called “fish fingers” (that the wait staff kept calling “fish nuggets,” either way, not sure what we were eating)
• 2nd Dinner: After a mile and a half walk (and never leaving Mandalay Bay. All kidding aside, there were actually two Starbucks in the resort), we arrived at the Border Grill, starved, and ready for a real meal.  I was suspicious of the Mexican theme of the restaurant, as I consider myself a connoisseur of authentic Mexican food, and this place looked about as far from the border as you could get.  The details from here get a little sketchy, and not because of the mojitos and margaritas.  We ordered the special, which was pistachio encrusted tuna steak, resting on a bed of risotto.  What happened when we ate our meals can only be described as food nirvana.  I am no foodie, but whoever came up with that dish should be awarded a medal.  
 
Saturday:
• Breakfast: Buffet, because you have to do at least one when you’re in Vegas, right?  It didn’t disappoint either.  The highlight for me was the chilaquiles.  
• Lunch: Red White and Blue café at the resort.  Again, we were going for light and actually managed to accomplish it this time.  We had a simple but healthy pasta salad with asparagus, tomatoes, and fresh mozzarella topped with balsamic vinaigrette.  Delicious!
• Dinner: Italian this time, at Nove Italiano.  The restaurant was near the top of The Palms, had a great view and it was fancy!  I ordered a strawberry balsamic drink thingy, and the snapper, which was great except for the fact that it was staring at me while I was eating it.  
 
Sunday (or “what-is-this-pounding-in-my-head-if-I-don’t-find-a-starbucks-stat-someone-is-going-to-lose-a-limb” day):
• Breakfast: Merely a formality of a croissant due to impending lunch plans (which was still fabulous by the way)
• Lunch: Carnegie Deli at The Mirage.  Need I say more?
 
So we left Vegas for home, with lighter pockets and swollen bellies.  We didn’t have a bad meal in Vegas, but as great as the food was, the best part was sharing it with good friends.  

4” Heels: Early Mid-Life Crisis for the Working Girl?

I recently went out and bought myself a pair of 4” heels in anticipation of an upcoming trip to Las Vegas.  Having been to Vegas on numerous occasions, I had to wonder what possessed me this time, to have the urge to buy shoes that will undoubtedly cause me serious injury, public humiliation or at the very least a trip to the podiatrist to explain why I have bunions the size of golf balls on my feet. 

I’ve observed a phenomenon that happens with busy women of a certain age (no longer in your twenties, but not quite well into your forties).  They’ve survived the first few years of raising their children, or building their careers, also known as the “I could care less what I look like right now, just let me get through this day” phase.  They want to feel attractive again, but not in same way they were when they were young and naive.  Had the discovery of the aforementioned gray hair pushed me into this phase of my life?  Am I having an early mid-life crisis, and the shoes are merely a pre-cursor to some female equivalent to the sports car?  I wasn’t completely sure what my reasons were, but I knew one thing for sure, I needed to find that pair of shoes.

So with more than a little trepidation, I marched down to my local shopping mall and headed for the trendy shoe establishment that was certain to contain the breakout shoes I was looking for.  I found a pair that didn’t scream “I’m a hooker!”, took a deep breath and tried them on.  Before I stood up, I voiced my hesitations as to whether I would be able to pull the shoes off to the uber-helpful, young effeminate male sales clerk.   He assured me that I could, as though he was saying this to Carrie Bradshaw, instead of the frumpy non-hottie who had walked through the door.  Bless his little heart.  So, I stood up tentatively.  The salesclerk almost squealed with delight.  He said, “Oh you can so pull those off!”  At first I thought he was just gunning for a sale, but then he explained that most of the customers (luckily he didn’t specify “younger”) who try on shoes like these can barely stand up, let alone walk in them, which I was clearly doing.  I glanced cautiously in the mirror at myself and was surprised at what I saw.  The shoes made my legs look twice as long as they usually do and I realized I was standing a little straighter.   And they really weren’t as uncomfortable as they appeared at first glance.  Hmm..maybe the salesclerk was onto something.  Maybe age, life experience and a lot of early morning jogging had prepared me for this moment.  So, after issuing an ominous warning to the sales clerk about how if I ended up in a cast because of a shoe-related injury, I was going to hobble back and beat him with my crutches, I bought the shoes.

I leave for Vegas on Friday, and I can’t wait to wear my new shoes for a night out on the town, even if they represent the early warning indicators of some bigger crisis that may result in my family and friends nominating me for “What Not to Wear.”  There will be a part two to this story, and my hope is that it involves more fun than first aid.  Photos to follow.

Why a blog?

So I've decided to try blogging.  Why?  Several reasons actually.  First, I want to write a book, and I figured why not practice my writing skills on relatives, friends and any bored, random person who doesn't fit in the first two categories.  Second, I've wanted to start a blog for a while now, and maybe it was the discovery of my first gray hair two days after my 35th birthday that made me start to wonder what I was waiting for.  Nothing like a healthy dose of mortality to provide motiviation to pursue your dreams!  Third, I actually have some interesting things to say.  Now those close to me may be surprised by this, knowing my history up to this point has been varying stages of (in no particular order): paralyzing shyness, unable to come with an angry retort until about an hour after the fact, reserved, less shy but still very guarded, balanced only by occasional bouts of verbal diarrhea.  Even my usually loving and supportive husband seemed surprised at my announcement of said intended blog, gently reminding me that other peoples blogs are sometimes about exciting travel destinations.  My determination wasn't diminished, however, even after I dug the salt out of my busy-working-mom-who-dreams-of-travel-to-exciting-destinations-so-I-can-blog-about-them wound.  So here I am. 

Why 'I'm just saying'?  Well, the title seemed appropriate, because I'm not really trying to change the world or make life-altering statements (although I might make one accidentally); I just happen to find things in life interesting and funny.

So read, enjoy, be annoyed, whatever.  I'm just saying...