My cereal assures me it contains “onyx sorghum” and thank god for it. I’ve been clamoring for some onyx sorghum.
Don’t you hate it when people call it “breakfast cereal”? What the hell else would it be? Oh, we sat down to some dinner cereal for Thanksgiving. Had us some Sugar Pops and gravy.
In my eternally full datebook, I’m on like day 95 of Having Somewhere to Be Either Before Work, at Lunch or After Work. When this happens, it makes me hate everything, including the phrase “breakfast cereal.”
Yesterday I had a dentist appointment, and careful keepers of their Books of June’s Events will pause with their pen over the page. “Why, she just had a dentist appointment in the summer! What gives?” [puts down pen and gazes out window soulfully]
Way back at the beginning of this year, I used an Ulta gift card to purchase this toothbrush with a blue light in it that allegedly whitened your teeth. I used that blue-light toothbrush faithfully until my summer dental appointment, when my dental hygienist was all, MOTHER OF GOD, WHAT’S HAPPENED TO YOUR TEETH?
I went from having “1, 1, 2. 2, 1, 2” results when they stick that little poker of intimacy up in your gums to measure you—just a little pinch between your cheek and gum—to “4, 3, 4. 5, 4, 3” results. It was terrible. I got a Sonicare brush right there at the dentist for $145839 million, threw away the blue-light-special toothbrush, and commenced to good oral hygiene again.
(When you had to go to Kmart with your mom, did she say, “Well, if you see anyone in here, it means they’re at Kmart too”?)
But the dentist still made me come in in three months just to make sure I was being good. And that is why I spent my lunch hour getting poked, and not like in the good old days when I had a boyfriend.
My new hygienist is blissfully quiet, a respite after the disordered last one I had at the old place who was stuck on Chat mode. But this time she was a little TOO quiet. She was sticking that pokey thing up in me, she was The Poker’s Wild, over there, but saying nothing. She was Ellen Jamesian.
The suspense was killing me.
“I’m memorizing the numbers so I can type them in,” she finally said, and right then I realized that usually there are two people there, one to say out loud, “3, 2, 1…” and the other to type it in. But this time she was a lone poker. Was was one pokey man.
I don’t want to be Alfred Hitchcock, over here, dragging out the suspense, so I’ll let you know my numbers are much improved. Now I just gotta go back in FOUR months to make sure I’m still being good.
At the end, she was rustling about in the drawers, and I knew I was getting the free toothbrush.
I love the swag bag at the dentist.
As you further know from your Big Book of June Events, I base how the next few months of my life are going to go on what color toothbrush they give me at my cleanings.
LAST time I was there, when my gums were 867-5309, they gave me a LAVENDER toothbrush, and I was all MY LIFE IS GOING TO SOAR and then
rear-ended, month-long concussion, lingering fear when stopped at red lights.
So yesterday I got new lip balm (vanilla mint), floss, toothpaste and?
A navy blue toothbrush.
But I figure if I thought lavender was going to be so great, maybe navy blue won’t be so bad. Maybe my color system is unreliable. I know. It’s hard to believe.
I’ve got nothing much else to tell you beyond the note you should make that I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT AT NOON TODAY and tomorrow I GO BACK TO MY DOCTOR AT 10.
But one more bit of housekeeping before I go. Remember two weekends ago when that teenager was here, my lawn guy’s daughter? As she selected books to take home, she photos inside one. They’ve been on my desk ever since and I will show them to you and then put them in the cubby where I’ve shoved photos in such a chaotic way, and do you know what I might could have done in that
I took to have a concussion? Is organized the photos.
Despite the fact that this photo claims to be from January 4, 1996, I know that is not true. This is Michigan, late summer/early fall, in I think 2004. My mother and I had lunch at The Turkey Roost, my favorite restaurant of all time, then we headed to Judy’s Pies, there, and got a blueberry pie, THEN we headed “up north,” as they redundantly say in Michigan, to my mother’s then cottage. They always call them “cottage” in Michigan and not cabin or lakehouse or any other word other regions use to describe a vacation home.
I like the formal purse/casual shoes combo. And also that Judy had I had on practically the same shirt.
BABY TALLULAH. Enough said.
…There. Now I’ve shoved those photos into the hellhole that is my current photo storage system. Oh my god.
Also, one more thing before I go. May I offer just the teensiest complaint? A soupcon of censure?
This blog. It’s, like, an hour of my day each morning. I write it here, and then I go to work. As the day progresses, I get, whatever, 40? 50? emails that are each of your comments. I like getting your comments. I like getting them here.
What I don’t want? And god love ya. But if you actually know me, or we’re social media friends, what I don’t want is to have to discuss whatever I wrote, you know, somewhere else.
I don’t want to have a talk about it on an instant message. I don’t want a text discussing it. I’ve put in the effort right here. I’ve said what I want to say that day. I’m done now. Now I just want to hear what you all have to say, without the pressure of responding. If time permits and I’m inspired to reply to one of your comments, my reply is IN THE COMMENTS. That’s where I want all blog things to be. Is in my comments. Not seven other places in my life.
Does that seem unreasonable? It’s just something that seems to be happening more and more and I wanted to address. Nothing makes me sigh beleagueredly more than a text or IM that starts, “I read your blog today, and…”
Because NOW I’m expected to fashion a reply. A full reply. About something I already spent an hour writing about at the expense of many other things I could be doing. Now I’m expected to further discuss it with you behind the scenes.
Am I being cranky or does that seem irksome to other people? If this were happening to you would you also feel sort of a pressure or obligation when this happens?
Anyway, that’s what’s on my mind today, and now I must go brush teeth.
Remember, you don’t have to put in a name or email address to comment! Remember, here is the place to comment about my blog! heeeee.