Poor Dolly

Will somebody PLEASE take these doll clothes off of me? It's so degrading. . .

The Disgrace

Let it be said, I am a HEAVY listener of Collective Soul.
Which is why I did not appreciate this hacked up version of the song.


Even if it's probably going to win the contest for him.

It was already slow. There was no reason to sing it like a bad Vegas lounge singer.

Just listen to a few minutes of the original. More depth. More interesting.


Excuse me, I have 86 Collective Soul songs calling to me. The David Cook version is certainly not one of them.

The Pursuit of Whiteness

When I was 7 or 8 years old, I thought it was super cool to spin around and around in the swimming pool. I could go really fast, for a very long time. But, when I spun, it made my hair go in my eyes and I couldn't see a thing. Which is why I didn't notice the pool's edge, and upon flinging my head back to get said hair out of my eyes, I smacked my face right into the concrete and broke my front tooth off about half way up. If I allow myself, I can still remember the zinging pain that went clear up into my eyeballs. So instant. One moment, playing and having fun, the next moment, completely consumed by what I can only describe as high-pitched pain. I have no idea what that means, but believe me, it hurt.

The dentist met us at the office, stabbed a needle into the bone in the roof of my mouth (and we wonder why I don't like shots in my mouth) and gave me a beautiful fake tooth. Which lasted until I was 12, when I fell and cracked it. And that lasted until I was 15 when the whole piece got knocked off again during a game of kissing rugby (because Shane didn't really get the concept that just because girls were willing to play kissing rugby, it didn't mean the girls wanted the wind knocked out of them and their teeth cracked in the name of a kiss). And after 3 shots in the roof of my mouth, I became a lot more careful about the fake tooth.

So, 20 years later, the composite material is starting to look pretty bad. It's stained from my heavy coke addiction (the soda kind!) and the bonding is starting to look a little weak. Plus, it isn't very smooth- it has some weird ridges on the front. The time has come to redo the tooth. Except that presents us with a little complication. All of my teeth have suffered from the cola. One of my teeth looks like I've been sucking cigarettes up against it, it's so brown. Or yellow. Just ask Nate, who kindly points out my yellow tooth and mustache as often as he sits on my lap. The turd.

Which brings us to the caustic chemicals. I am now in the process of bleaching my teeth. After they have reached a decent whiteness, we will again inject the bone in the roof of my mouth, remove the old composite, clean it all up and put a new composite on. I believe I will also veneer all 4 top teeth in order to give a better color match. But I haven't decided yet.

In the pursuit of whiteness, I am finding that I have a few issues, which I am loathe to discuss with my dentist. Because I'm pretty sure he already told me all of this, and I wasn't listening. I listened a little, but I figured the bleach would come with instructions in the package. It didn't.

If you know the answers, feel free to help a girl out. Because I can't afford to make this guy any crankier than I did when I started trash talking about his music. He's nice, but everyone has their limits. Honestly, my smile depends on you. And we all know how very vain I am.

1. If the bleaching is supposed to take 2 weeks and I have 8 tubes of bleach, should I be using 1/2 of a tube each day? Because honestly, that seems like a LOT of bleach.
2. Is it better to bleach at night?
3. If I bleach at night, do I brush my teeth after bleaching but before bed?
4. Or is it better to leave the bleach on after I take the trays out?
5. Does anybody really care about my bleaching dilemmas?
6. If I miss a day, will it set back the whole process, or will it not really make a difference?
7. If I miss a day and do it the next morning, will my teeth fall out if I bleach again at night?
8. Am I off the Coca-cola for the rest of my life? Because we all know how much I love Coke with Lime on a hot summer day.

And it's 100 degrees here. And my AC isn't working.

Laundry Monster, and Other Assorted Household Evils

Short of going out and purchasing all new clothes for the family, which I am opposed to less because I am curbing our spending and more because I hate shopping, I must live in the laundry room today. And by live, I mean slowly be crushed by the weight of the 9,000 lbs of dirty clothes, socks, and underwear. But, as a reward, once I am finished with the washing and the drying, I then get to spend the next 4 days beating encouraging Ellie to fold and put them all away. Because it's her job. I have HIRED her to fold and put away clothes. I pay her. Well, not really, because she never actually folds and puts away the clothes. They just multiply like bunnies across the family room.

And after the laundry, I feel compelled to clean the bathrooms. Because they stink. As always. Don't worry though. The boys will be getting out cleanser and washing the walls.

Collective Soul

One of the benefits of living in Southern California is that many of the casinos book bands for smaller venues in hopes of bringing people in to gamble. The tickets are usually priced well, and the crowds are small-ish. Sure the bands are often older, but I'm older so it works out great.

Tonight, in an effort to prove our stupidity, we left our home where the thermometer read 99 degrees and drove out to Palm Desert area (Hi Katz!). It was kinda similar in temperature to driving into the mouth of hell. I'm thinking it was over 110 in Indio today. But anything for Collective Soul, a band I have been listening to rather incessantly for at least 6 months now.

Because I can dance to them. But not when anyone I know is here. Not to worry. I know my limits. In fact, someone with the initials JS who likes to mess with my teeth but shall remain anonymous recently told me I dance like Elaine from Seinfeld.

I like them because they do really interesting things with their guitar lines. Except in the song Hollywood. I really don't care for the recorded version or that one. In concert though, he added a little AC/DC (I think. I'm not a huge AC/DC fan, so it's hard to be sure) in the middle and perked it right up. Ed Roland, lead singer, was also not shy about paying a little tribute to The Killers, which made me feel all sorts of better about my guilty addiction to them. It was great to hear Collective Soul live because it was obvious that not only do they have genuinely interesting music, Roland has a great voice, unmixed, and they seemed to be having a lot of fun entertaining the crowd.

On the way to the concert, Dave asked me what type of people I thought would be there. I confidently said, age group 25-40, guys in button down shirts with collars and light denim, girls showing lots of cleavage, mid-height heels, and lots of alcohol. And other than a few funky old people getting down in the bleacher type seats, I was pretty much right on. I'm gonna say the anomalies were comped by the casino. Dave was impressed by the accuracy of my prediction. I was disturbed by the 60-year old guy who danced like a big-bellied white boy, but he knew all the words. Clearly a fan. And, we fit right in, sans the cleavage and the alcohol. Dave wore the dark denim rather than the light. I boycotted fashion and wore a dirty T-shirt (because as it happens, I am also boycotting laundry), frayed jeans, and Rebi's shoes. Which were not mid-height heels and were not well received. One drunk bimbo actually eyed them derisively. Or maybe she was just grumpy that I was laughing because she looked like she had sprained both ankles on her cute shoes, and yet continued to hobble around in them.

Sadly, this is the first concert of my life where there was no mosh pit. And frankly, I really missed it. I felt old, standing there in my row, dutifully in front of my seat, trapped behind 3 people swaying with their arms locked, essentially forming a wall between me and the stage. I know I have to come to terms with my mortality at some point, but I wasn't ready to do that in the smokey haze of drums and guitar rifts. And I'm secretly afraid that I might dance like the old big bellied white guy- infinitely worse than dancing like Elaine from Seinfeld.

Always too short, I was pretty bummed when the concert ended. So Dave took pity on me and bought me a T-shirt. Rock on. I can continue to boycott laundry until Monday.

Prince Caspian

I took Ellie and a friend to Prince Caspian last night. And honestly, I loved the movie. I expected to enjoy it, but not as much as I did. I think I loved it most because I was able to view it through the lens C.S. Lewis intended, with Aslan as an allegory of Christ. I'm not going to say much more about it because I don't want to spoil it the first weekend it is out. I will just say, if you view Aslan through the filter of divine deity, it brings more depth to the film. And if you choose not to, the film is excellent without it.

But this post is not about the movie. Can I talk a minute about the 11-13 year olds in my life?

We don't watch a lot of TV around here. Some Cartoons on Saturdays, some Discovery Channel on Sundays, and an occasional American Idol or so. I don't watch the news and most of my TV viewing I do over the internet, with my headphones on. But I didn't realize how different that really is from other families until the past few days. On Thursday, I was taking my oldest and her friends to dance, and they were discussing news coverage of some gang related violence somewhere in the world. (I wasn't listening very closely, apparently) They were frightened by this. Even though our community is fairly quiet and mostly harmless. I could feel genuine anxiety over potential gang violence and them getting caught in the cross-fire. However that news story was presented, it effectively made suburban tree-lined America feel specifically dangerous to these 13 year old girls.

Last night, before the movie, Ellie's friend talked about several recent things, including an interview with Madeline McCann's parents, another 20/20 story about an abduction, and then the old Elizabeth Smart abduction came up. And again, there was a palpable anxiety there. These children believe that they could be abducted by strangers at any time. "In broad daylight" was said a lot. Because somehow, the thought of stranger abduction is made more frightening by it happening during the day rather than being snatched from your bed in the middle of the night.

Are we doing our kids a disservice by allowing them to see the constant attention things like Natalie Holloway and Elizabeth Smart and Madeline McCann? Several of my children's friends have issues with continued anxiety. But my girls are largely untouched, even a little baffled by the intense emotion. I think it's because the news is not constantly on, filling our house with worry and anxiety and fear. Which I am glad of. I want them to feel that they can be kids, and play outside, and walk to friend's homes and ride bikes together and not be constantly worried that someone might kidnap them. In broad daylight.

The Eye Doctor

Currently, Dave is in the process of changing jobs, so all of our insurance benefits will reset. Naturally, we want to use whatever we can of the first one, before we switch. So, everyone has been to (and is going to and will always be going to) the dentist. And 4, of the 5 kids and I were also due for eye check ups.

The office we go to is competent and we've never had any issues with our lenses or exams. But their staff is a little odd. So far, 4 of the 5 kids wear or have worn glasses in the past. Dave and I both wear glasses and Dave and Rebi and I all wear contacts. I do. It's been known to happen. So, as you can imagine, in 3 years, we have spent a fair amount of time at this place. And we see the same doctor each and every time. For 3 years. Throw in an eye trauma or two and we're roughly looking at 25 visits to this doctor. Narcissistic me, I kinda assumed we would be memorable. But, in spite of the fact that I have been in that office 3 different times in the last week, and did I mention that I see the same doctor each and every time?, I sat down in the chair and he introduced himself to me. For the third time this week.

And while looking at my chart, where his notes state that I am a good candidate for eye surgery, he said,"Have any of your previous doctors recommended corrective surgery for your vision problems?"

"Umm, yes. You did. I can see it written on my chart from here. And not only did you encourage me to get my eyes fixed last year, you also suggested it 2 years ago, and 3 years ago when I saw you the first time."

And then, he proceeds to marvel at how freakishly different my eyes are from each other, both in shape and in disability. Because the right one is close to fine and normal shaped but the left one is shaped like a football opposite of how it should be shaped like a football in someone's head, and I'm very nearly blind in it. And I realize that on my fourth visit, I can relate nearly word for word exactly what he thinks of my eye. And what a freak I am, because clearly, with an eye this abnormal, I should be running to the laser surgeon just so I can retain a little dignity.

Except that my prescription has worsened in that eye, so I'm not actually a great candidate for surgery anyway. SCRATCH and it's marked through on my chart with a big black pen. I knew I should have paid thousands of dollars to lay sedated on a chair, with my eyes taped open, while sharp pointy things were aimed at them. That makes a root canal sound fun. And now, I have missed my chance. The black mark says so. Which is OK, because I bet by next year, he will have forgotten why he marked it out anyway and I will get another chance at the knives.

And if only that was the worst part of the visit. But no, I was then required to pick out glasses. And even though there are 3 people who help with that there, I always get the bitchy broad. Every single year and with each and every kid. And, although I can not use the word hate, this is a woman I wish not to talk to about glasses ever again in my life.

Her: So, you need new frames.
Me: Well, these are only a year old
Her: But your prescription has changed.
Me: Right. So I need new lenses
Her: Well, the insurance will pay for new frames. (but only $150. If I only need lenses, why spend the $$)?
Me: If I can find any I like (and please know, I'm starting to feel grumpy and confronted here)
Her: There are plenty of good frames here. (and she proceeds to bring out 4 or 5 of the high end, $275-400 frames. Because I am obviously made of money by the gold and jewels dangling off of me)
Me: Yes, but they are too narrow. It gives me a headache if I can see the edge of the glasses under my eye.
Her: (derisively) They don't make the big ones like yours anymore. (apparently my glasses are the size of dinner plates, even though they are not from the 80's, but from her display. Last year.) And anyway, you're going to have to change over at some point.

And now, I'm just annoyed because 2 years ago, I bought the cute skinny frames and had terrible migraines every time I put them on. I always felt like the rim was in the way of my vision in my left eye. And she is the one who half-heartedly tried to kinda sorta look like she was fixing the problem. Unsolvable, she then helped me spend an additional $300 out of pocket for bigger glasses. Hence the dinner plates currently on my face.

Me: I'm not going to purchase small glasses again just to find out they still give me migraines.
Her: Look at me
I look at her
Her: Well. There's your problem. (and would that problem be that I am STILL listening to you even though I think you're rude?) Your left eye is lower than your right.

Finally! My problems are solved! All I need to do is go to the plastic surgeon, ask him to reform my eye socket a bit higher, anchor my eyeball up towards my forehead so that I no longer resemble Quasimodo and I will be able to wear any cute little thin pair of $400 glasses she is dying to sell me. Does my vision plan cover that?

Or maybe it's time to stop being so freaking lazy and start wearing my contacts.

Me: I'm not ready to pick glasses today after all. I'll just pay for my visit and come back another time. And by that, I mean to pick up a copy of my prescription so that I can shop for glasses somewhere that the sales person can forget for a few minutes that she works on commission and pretend that she gives a rat's a** about her customer.

But you know I didn't really say that last bit. Because I'm a bigger person than that.

Barely.

I did leave. I'll call for a copy of my prescription. Maybe they can fax it to me. . .