I'd Lik to Buy a Bowel - The Search for Poo

So after a sleepless night, trying to not hear Georgia's shivering, Joe and I got up and packed Georgia into Joe's car for her second visit with the vet.

As I saw them off I began getting myself ready for work, yet all I could think about was what the vet would say.

At around 10:30 a.m. I received a call from her.

“So we have Georgia here, and I just don’t like the look of that lump, so I think surgery is going to be necessary.”

My heart sank.

But I quickly agreed with her decision, and then proceeded to feel the onslaught of questions hammer into my brain once again.

Finally, at around 7 p.m., we were able to pick her up and take her home, with orders to bring her back again for a fresh round of fluids and treatment.

The night was rough; Georgia barely let us touch her and she seemed completely out of it. I was nervous not just because I feared hurting her, but I also feared that somehow, when she had gone under the knife, her personality would’ve changed.

The next day, after dropping her off again and another long day of anticipation, my fears were happily abated.

The vet led us back to see her and we were greeted with a super excited, tail-wagging dog. We were given some further instructions, a couple of medications, and, the piece de resistance, a plastic cone to keep her from licking herself.

We were also told to be on the lookout for vomiting or constipation, so for the past few days, we have been following and watching Georgia’s bodily functions. Luckily there was no vomit and in fact, her appetite had become ravenous.

The one thing we still hadn’t seen was her poop. I began to get obsessed. Every time Joe took her out, I’d ask if she pooped. I’d constantly watch her to see if she pooped. I was even hoping to come home to the smell of poop, just so I knew that her bowels were working again.

I was beginning to get sincerely crazy when Joe texted me that, hurray, she pooped!

I haven’t seen the evidence myself, though. So, even tonight, I found myself standing in my pajamas and bathrobe, feet in slippers, standing in my yard at 8:30 at night, watching my lamp-shade wearing dog for the slightest squat. Classy, I know.

Still, it really says something about how my priorities have changed, even just at 27.

Hearts on Fire?- Part2: The Smooth Operator

I hightailed it to the nearest walk-in clinic, holding my hand to my chest and full freaked out. I wondered if half the reason I was feeling nauseous and light-headed was because I was giving myself a panic-attack.

I walked in and explained what I was experiencing. The receptionist took my information and after what felt like an eternity a nurse finally came out to check my blood pressure. Then she led me into the examination room to use an EKG machine on me. She kept reassuring me that this is just standard procedure when experiencing any kind of chest pain, just to make sure one's heart isn't in any kind of distress.

After that she left and the doctor came in to ask me some questions and assess my symtpoms. He listened to my heart and said he thought he detected a slight murmur. Also he took everything else into consideration and finally offered his diagnosis- Mitrovalve prolapse (or something like that).

He explained that it is a very common condition, especially in women, and other than the odd feeling and the need to just be aware of it, my lifestyle wouldn't change. He then asked if I had an appointment with a primary care doctor yet, and when I said I did, he seemed relieved.

"You'll take this EKG result with you to show your doctor and tell them what I think it is. They'll probably want you to do another one and maybe see a cardiologist, but you'll have to see when you get there."

For the most part, I left relieved on both fronts- I wasn't crazy in thinking something weird might be going on AND it didn't sound very serious.

After a week of waiting my doctor's appointment rolled around- as in today. Of course, it wouldn't be a "me" story if it didn't involve me running late. Although I thought I was good (only like 6 minutes) I was reminded by the doctor that I was informed to be there 15 minutes BEFORE my appointment. She seemed a little perturbed by it, but I tried to apologize profusely.

With that out of the way, she got to examining me. She had me do another EKG and asked a bunch of questions I wasn't sure about like family history and describing the pain.

Incidentally, why is it that when you are out with your friends in a casual setting and they ask you about something minute you can remember the slightest details, yet when put on the spot and the topic is important you feel completely useless and brain dead?

Anyway, without giving me a definite answer as to what I have she did ask me about odd things that could be triggering it-

"Are you a coffee drinker?"

"Yes, but I just started."

"When?"

"Maybe a year."

"How many cups?"

"One a day"

"....Starbucks?"

I was taken aback by that question but she explained that Starbucks has actually the highest levels of caffeine.

When she was finished with tossing out scenarios and possible triggers she made up a game plan for me to follow- I would get some blood work done, an echo cardiogram, and a halter (a heart monitor).

I thanked her for her help and went out to make my appointments with the receptionist.

I have to admit that I was still a bit overwhelmed and nervous as I stood at the receptionist window. However that feeling was gone the second she tried to redial my insurance company and placed them on speakerphone...only to have the recording of a sassy male gay sex phone operator come blaring out and filling the room. Her eyes got as wide as saucers and we both bowled over as she scrambled to hang up the line.

It was then I had a nice little "Jerry Springer- Final Thoughts" moment- life can suck and be super scary. So much so that it's sometimes a drag. But once in a while, God, Fate or whoever, likes to drop something in front of you to remind you what's so great about life and why you want to stick around...you never know what gems you will find. Even if that something is seeing a motherly-type woman accidentaly dial a gay male sex-phone line while on speakerphone.

Things I Think Count For Exercise

*I'm trying this out here first so that maybe I can peddle it into an article for the Yahoo Network. Let me know what you think (or if you have any suggestions, please gimme a shout out).

Like I think everyone in the world, I constantly battle the pressure to stay healthy by getting the necessary amount of exercise one needs every day. Also like everyone else, unfortunately, time is usually a factor. But what I've read and discovered on my own is that sometimes the oddest things we do everyday can actually be considered exercise- at least in my eyes. Read on for my tips and please let me know any tricks you have learned.

1.) Using the Stairs- When I'm at work, spending numerous hours at my computer, rarely getting up or moving around, I figure I am entitled to a 15-20 minute walking break. And when the weather is lousy (or my usual walking buddy is absent) I still like to get at least some exercise by hiking up and down the stairwell. It's virtually empty and I can actually get a pretty good sweat going in a few minutes by taking steps two-at-a-time.

2.) Playing with the Dog- One of the benefits of having a yard AND a dog is that I can "work out" without even leaving my property. I'll usually toss the ball and then race the dog to catch it. If I beat her I toss the ball again. If she beats me I lunge after the ball everytime she runs past. Plus I get a whole other muscle group involved when I have to carefully but quickly dodge her little "presents" around the yard. It's surprisingly fun, and constantly sprinting, throwing, and lunging actually gets my heart pumping.

3.) Parking Far Away- This one could be applied anytime, depending on how strapped you are for time, the weather (and how many bags you have to carry back out). But I like purposely parking farther away because you do get those extra few steps added to your exercise for the day. Nice bonus-- on a crowded day you will have less trouble parking and exiting, since most people want to get as close as they can to the store.

4.) Household Chores- Laundry and Cleaning- I really never thought this would count, but I think it should, and according to things I've read, sometimes it legitimately does. Hauling armloads of laundry down a few flights of stairs, crouching to stuff things into a washer and dryer, then pulling it back out and bringing everything back upstairs- you can definitely burn some calories. Mopping, vacuuming, and scrubbing also give your back and arms a good workout. I guess that's why they call it "housework"!

5.) Playing Baseball and Boxing on the Wii Sport- I love our Wii and one of the reasons why is it basically comes with a workout regime- the Wii Sports. Sure it's fun anyway, but when you actually want to blast some energy and feel a burn in your arms for days, try the fitness mode of the baseball and boxing. Trust me; it's exhausting and exhilarating at the same time.

It's true I am not a licensed health advisor and I may have no clinical proof to back up what I say. All I know is that by doing some or all of these things, I am able to break a sweat and lose my breath- two signs I'm pretty sure are all the proof I need. And the best part is that these are things I would do anyway.

Now if only there was a way to incorporate sitting on my butt as exercise...

Whiney Wednesday

Despite the fact that I had a fairly good day, I still feel like bitching a little bit. Not over anything big, but maybe you can relate to some of these little annoyances...

1.) My toenail keeps snagging the inside of my sock, even though I gave myself a pedicure less than a week ago! It's probably not even the nail, it's probably some dry skin. And speaking of gross...

2.) I have a scab on the inside of my nose that is so annoying and SO painful. Yet my nose keeps running, so I blow my nose, and then I see blood. How does my nose run AND be super dry at the same time!?!? It doesn't make sense. It's this weather...and speaking of weather.

3.) I know everyone says "March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb", but I always sorta thought that had something to do with it just being rainy and then sunny, not temptingly warm and blissful and then bitter cold. The high tomorrow is going to 38...38! In March!! Ugh, get warm already...my spring clothes are waiting.

4.) (Enough of the chain segues..) There is a woman who walks to work everyday and I always pass her when I'm driving. I used to do the polite head nod and smile but I have a weird history with this woman.

Back in the summer when we first moved in she had befriended me and often chatted about dog-related stuff. One day she mentioned how she thought her dogs and Georgia should have a play date (and if you heard this story already feel free to move on), and when I agreed I was immediately regretting my decision. Her one dog snapped at the other so bad it's ear began to bleed.

I was trying to suggest another time but she seemed determined and eventually just dropped both dogs into the yard. I was still tense but they played ok (if not a little rough and bullish). Anyway, they stayed for a while until finally she left and Joe and I agreed never to allow her over again.

Since then I still see her walking by but I am so terrified of another "play date" I thought it best just to cut that friendship off, so I try to find ways to avoid eye contact. Sometimes I just NEED to change the radio station at that exact moment, other times I need to reach for my phone for some reason, and still other times I just make a dazed or concerned face, pretending to ponder over life's mysteries or just trying to really really concentrate on driving.

Anyway, those are my current annoyances, but other than that, life's not too bad. How bout you? Leave a comment, won't we?

Serious Tissues

If you've ever wondered what that bulge in my front pockets were, I can tell you, it's not because I'm happy to see you. Well, maybe I am, it depends on who you are. They're actually something much more special. Much more precious. Much more...two-plyed.

Yes, dear friends, if my love of Glenn Miller, "I Love Lucy" and "Golden Girls" re-runs, and my driving ability weren't enough, the fact that I feel absolutely helpless without a tissue would solidify the theory that I AM, in fact, an old lady.

I don't really know when this became such an obsession. I guess because too often I can recall situations where I was suddenly struck with a runny nose and had no way to help it. I can clearly remember one incidence in middle school in which our class was in the middle of some big test; the kind they didn't even allow you to get up from your seat once it began. I was fine up until I was about halfway through. My nose felt cold and suddenly I realized my nose was runny (you ever get those kinds of runny noses? Where the mucus is body-temperature so you don't realize till you feel it get cold on the outside of your lip? Sorry, too gross?) I tried to carefully reach into my desk or pockets for a tissue without drawing attention from my teacher. As my nose continued to run, I became more panicked, suddenly hoping to find something, ANYTHING that might help me not look like "that kid": the kid in your class that looks disheveled and messy, and might even have a certain odor. I was petrified of being labeled "that kid." When I had searched every pocket and every crevice in my backpack, now not even caring if the teacher thought I was cheating or not, I was forced to use my hand by pretending my nose was just itchy. That, of course, made it worse. By the time the test was over, I had become more concerned over my nose than my score, and had lost pretty much all concentration. I tell you, I might've been in Harvard had I just 1 damn tissue with me all those years.

It still took me a few years to finally choose need over style, and so I'd simply stuff each pocket with a fresh tissue. Anytime I spotted one of those cardboard cubes anywhere I'd take a tissue, whether I really needed it or not. Of course, at times I would still be caught unawares, and would therefore have to rely on desperate measures. Here's my quick run-down of tissue-like back-ups...

1.) Toilet paper- Probably the most obvious second-choice paper product. Easily accessible, usually still soft on the nose, and flushable. However, unless it's a good quality brand you are likely to end up blowing your nose on your hand, anyway.

2.) Napkins- Again, depending on the brand, could be soft and sturdy enough. However, usually not-so kind to the nose and because they are usually thicker it's difficult to stuff one in your pocket.

3.) Paper towels- Not kind to the nose at all. Not flushable and not pocketable. But will get the job done.

4.) Sheet paper- Yes, I do mean an actual piece of notebook lined paper. And yes, at one particularly desperate point in my life I have used this. Aside from the obvious negatives...like it can cut your nostril and oh yeah...its GROSS...there is a way to use a piece of paper to wipe your nose. You just have to know the method to my madness (and this was actually taught to me by someone. I forget who, but if you're out there and by some miracle actually reading this, God Bless You). Take the single sheet and crumple it up into as tight a ball as you can. Unravel it and repeat. You basically continue these same steps at least 6 or 7 times, and believe it or not, the paper begins to take on a cloth-like feel. I was quite amazed at the transformation. By crumpling it up over and over it begins to breakdown. If you have the time (or interest) I highly suggest trying out this little science experiment.

Anyway, sorry if this was a gross one, but I think you got the idea. So the next time I am around you and I sneeze, instead of saying 'Bless You', try saying "Tissue?" My jean pockets, my purse, my laundry dryer, and I will all thank you.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Teeth

Ok, I PROMISE this one's gonna be short. My back aches and I don't know how long my computer will last. So let's get right to it.

Even with having a shortened day, it still seemed to take forever. Why is that? Why does it so often feel like the half days are twice as long. Oh well, eventually 2:30 rolled around so I gathered my stuff and headed out. I was going to try and stay longer but I wisely chose to err on the side of caution (and logic) in case I got lost on my way and left a little earlier.

In case anyone forgot, a few weeks ago I met with a dentist who advised I consult an oral surgeon as to whether or not my wisdom teeth would need to come out. I had immediately brightened at the prospect of not having to go through that oral torture, thinking no one ever got a reprieve from that. She handed me the X-rays to show the doctor and then I'd come back the following week to fill a cavity and I'd let her know what they said. I called and made the appointment, and prayed the doctor would tell me what I wanted to hear.

When I came into the office the woman behind the desk handed me paperwork to fill out and when I had finished I handed it back to her. I didn't feel like flipping through a magazine, so instead I took in the sights of the office. It differed quite drastically from the homey feel I got from the dentist's office, with their plush chairs and warm light. Instead, this place reminded me of a hotel lobby. Elegant but cold and impersonal. I shifted slightly in my chair, trying to readjust my ancient pink shirt with the hole at the bottom and peasant-like slipper shoes, just to fit in more. Even as I walked back and forth to the front desk I felt bad as my too-long jeans scraped the bottom of the floor with every step.

Again, I was the only person waiting so it didn't take long before my name was called. I followed a scrub-clad girl to a small office where she took my blood pressure and then the X-rays I had brought with me. As she stuck them into the square of light to get a better look, she let out a semi-startled exclamation.

"Oh!", she said. I knew what she was surprised by, but I still waited a second.

"You're noticing my extra wisdom tooth?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Yeah, you do have one...huh", she said.

"Yeah, and the kicker is that my sister is missing one," I said. She turned around to face me, and asked if we were twins.

"No," I said, "but close. 13 months apart." She remarked again at the oddness of that, and then went to find the doctor. Soon he came in and confidently stuck his hand out to shake mine. The warmth of his palm had barely left mine before he quickly replied, "Yup, you need them all out."

Crestfallen, I tried to point out what Dr. Baig, my dentist, had which was how close my wisdom teeth were to the nerves in my mouth.

"Oh, they're always like that. That's not a problem." He then began explaining to me what to expect from the procedure and healing time. I tried to listen intently though I was still coming off the shock at how quickly hope had been ripped out of my hands. When I had asked my questions I went back out to the front office to pay for my visit. A visit that literally lasted less than 20 mins.

"$55, please," the woman said. She then did some calculations and showed me what to expect, financially. I got another whole dose of shock and apprehension. Not only would I have to get all 5 (5?! I'm a freak) taken out, but I'd have to shell out over $1,000 to do it!

It doesn't seem right; I'm basically paying someone a grand to fix something that isn't even bothering me. Oh well, I guess it's preventative. I just hope the pain would be worth this prevention.

Anyway, my insurance for surgeries doesn't kick in till November anyway, so I have some time to figure it all out. Ok, chickees that's it for me. See you back here 2morrow.

Checked Out

*Sniffle, sniffle* *Hack, hack*. Goddamnit. I hate being one of those people constantly complaining about their ailments, but I'd like to catch a freaking break please (instead of a freaking cold). Oh well, it's probably just what I deserve after drinking a bottle of wine myself. Joe took the liberty of pointing out the obvious.

"You should know yourself by now. You get hammered after half a glass. You really should've just had one". Yes, truer words have never been spoken. But at any rate, onto tonight's post, which was also suggested by Joe.

So as I alluded to just now, I woke up this morning feeling a bit sickly. I noticed it on Sunday, but again, as I mentioned, I was simply chalking it up to mere hangoveritis. I was hoping the headachey, throat sorey, nose drippy feelings would have dissipated. No such luck. And on a Monday, too.

Thankfully my day at work was pretty much the usual. An old fremp stopped by with her baby son and we all went for a little walk, which brought about a nice break in the day. But eventually it was time to get back to work, so we waved a goodbye to our former fellow fremp and walked back upstairs.

Every so often my eyes would shift to the little clock on the bottom screen. 1:45 p.m. My mind went to the three things I wanted to get done today...1.) Grocery shop 2.) Stop by the farmer's market for fresh apples 3.) Take the dog for a run. As soon as it was the end of the day, I mustered up my snotty and dazed self, and went to my first errand.

Wegmans is a great place for groceries. Their selection is incredible and their prices are hard to beat. However, the problem with Wegmans is that EVERYBODY wants to shop there. And apparently, Monday is the official Baltimorean food-shopping day, because everyone and their mother seems to show up on that particular day.

I had gotten a little bit of a head start (shhh, don't tell the office), so I managed to find a parking spot and cart without any hassle. I was also relieved to not have that many items on my list; just some basics like milk and juice but what I really wanted was one of their rotisserie chickens. They taste great, their cheap, and (if I really am getting a cold) I can use the carcass for some homemade chicken soup. I was all set.

I happened by the cold/flu section, and thinking I might as well prepare myself (or Joe) grabbed a bag of throat lozenges and cold medicine. I went about the rest of my list pretty quickly and then it was on to the chicken. I walked over to the check-out aisles, where the chickens are usually found...and there were none.

I figured maybe they just hadn't put them out yet so I pushed my little cart over to where the full meat section was. I noticed a woman cleaning the case and approached her. Now another thing I usually love about Wegmans is their employees. I swear the majority of times I've visited the people could not be nicer or more relaxed. So, I waited a second for her to ask me if she could help me (which I really do love when employees do that. I know they really don't WANT to help me, but it breaks the ice so much nicer than having me do it). When she didn't, I asked her myself.

"Excuse me.." Again, I waited for the cheerful smile or at least encouraging voice. Instead, she barely glanced at me before continuing with what she was doing. "Are there any more rotisserie chickens coming out?" I asked as sweetly as possible.

"All out," was all she mumbled out, as she cleaned the racks.

"Ok, thanks very much..." For what, I have no idea.

Feeling now the frustration of a dinner idea down the toilet I quickly whipped together an idea and after spending a good 15 min. getting the new ingredients together I made my way BACK to the check-out aisle.

Now, I have another weird thing. I usually like to see who's working the check-out aisle before I enter their lane. Ideally I go for the 30+ women, because they don't give me sideways glances or suppressed anger when I whip out a coupon or two. Unfortunately, the shortest (and nearest) lane was being handled by a 20 something girl. Not my favorite, but it's better than a guy.

I began putting my items on the conveyor belt and noticed her shoot a sweet smile to a customer in front of me whom she had just finished up with. A good sign in my book. When it was my turn I also mentioned that I had one of those reusable bags and would like to use that as much as it could be filled, if that was ok.

She took the thing like it had snakes in it and settled it in front of her. As she began beeping the items I suddenly realized my check-card was gone. I remembered I had left in the pocket of my fleece, back in my car. The girl seemed to sense my panic as I could see out of the corner of my eye her casting an unsmiling face towards me. Thankfully I remembered I had my "in-case-of-emergency" credit card so I was able to complete the transaction. But still, I sensed a tone with that girl, like she couldn't wait to exhale a nice hearty breath of exasperation right at me.

Of course, it's possible I'm just too sensitive, but who knows...

Anyway, I could go on but this sucker is long. Maybe more tomorrow. Till Tuesday then!

Good Night, Sleep Tight...

Oh man, it's so hard to be motivated to do ANYTHING right now: the rainy weather, the fact that all the VIPs of my office are out as well as my fellow fremps, I'm a little hungover... But I'm going to muddle through, especially since I dropped the ball with posting last night. Plus I got the Hairball rockin in my ear on the radio, so let's do it.

The rash (and they mystery of its origins) continues, but I have a new theory. I did some research and I think I know what it is- bed bugs. Here's my case.

1. For one, as I was driving to work the other day I was listening to the radio as always, and that news fellow Josh Spiegel mentioned that there is an unusual amount of reports coming in of people with an infestation of bed bugs. He listed off a few cities in the area where people had complained and one of them was our old residence of Cockeysville. Also, he reported that the reason for this influx of bugs is due to the fact that the pesticide usually used to kill these things has been outlawed.

2. I originally thought the cause was fleas. It made sense; Georgia itches herself and we never really treated her for them. But when we looked her over thoroughly we didn't see anything. Not a single fleck or bloody spot. And online they said you'd see at least remnants of them if not the actual insect.

3. I compared the images of people affected from flea bites v. bed bugs. The flea bites were small and concentrated in red. Meanwhile, bed bugs leave big welt-like bites that are pink. They looked exactly like what I have.

4. According to one website, they claimed flea bites are found around ankles and legs, never above that, whereas bed bugs can be found all over (and found in other spots that a mosquito could never get to).

5. One of the biggest mysteries is why I'm itching myself bloody while Joe is completely unharmed. A website also claimed that either the bugs preferred my blood to his or he was being bitten too but just not getting any kind of reaction. This is necessarily proof for bed bugs, but just explains why only one of us is getting tortured.

I told Joe my findings the other day and he said he'd go look up some websites too. While I was making dinner he went up to the bed to check for bug waste, which the website said you'd find. He came back downstairs saying he still didn't see any conclusive evidence to support this theory of mine. I asked him about this speck or that, but he reminded me that there was no way a bug could produce waste that big. And since we do let Georgia up on the bed sometimes, there's no way to be sure what's from her and what's from these bugs.

I'm still leaning towards the bed bug idea, relieved to think we had finally figured this mystery out. Unfortunately I can't be 100% sure, and now I'm worried to see a dermatologist because I'm afraid they won't know what it is either. Sigh...so the mystery continues. I just hope we figure it out before I run out of (apparently) tasty blood.

Day at the Dentist

I'm gonna try my hardest to keep this sucker brief cuz my last few posts have been epics, and as my English teachers used to constantly warn me in red ink on my papers..."you're being too verbose". Basically a nice intellectual way of saying you are rambling and blathering on so long that people are getting bored. And I'd hate to do that, so I'll (try to) keep this under a couple hundred words.

Although that will be difficult with tonight's topic, which is all about my day at the dentist.

I was thrilled when my insurance finally kicked in, although I had to kick my butt to actually call and make an appointment with a dentist, one recommended by my fremp. As soon as I hung up the phone with the receptionist my stomach was engaged in a gastronomical tug-of-war. Part of me was really excited to finally talk to someone about the bar in my teeth, the possibility of getting my wisdom teeth pulled, but ESPECIALLY my extreme sensitivity. However, as estatic as I was for that I also got those ol' childish fears of getting in that dentist chair again.

I remember as a kid doing everything necessary to avoid that chair: stomach bug, a big test I couldn't miss, even the off chance my mom was too busy to take me. But eventually I always landed in the same spot, sitting in the stiff tall chair of Dr. Maquire's office, staring at plush clowns and Dr. Seuss books while a muffled woman tried to calm my lurching stomach and sensitive gag-reflex while she applied chalky paste that lingered well after the visit was over. The only consolation at the end was that Dr. Maguire gave out these little tokens which you then took over to a big carnival-like counter and traded them in for stickers, pencils, sugar-free candy (yuck), or my favorite, a spin on the prize wheel. What can I say? I guess I should've realized then that I'd have a thing for gambling when I got older.

I hadn't been to a dentist since those last adolescent years, except for getting my braces. But once college came and went I was forced to prioritize when it came to finances, which meant pushing that yearly check-up off to the side. Before I knew it, the years passed and my teeth took the punishment. But once this senstivity thing became too much to bear (I knew it was bad when I was eating a peach with a knife and fork and wincing whenever I took of sip of water that wasn't tepid), my priorities shifted again. And so there I was, back in a stiff chair, but there were no plush clowns or Dr. Seuss books.

I came in right on time, miraculously, filled out the little paperwork, and waited. It must have been either a slow day or they didn't get an unreasonable amount of clients, because I didn't see another soul come and go while I waited. I took the opportunity to look around to assess this office. Not surprising it was different that Dr. Maguire's, who specialized in kids and young adults. This place did have a few toys and magazine for the younger ages, but for the most part it was set up like a grown-up's living room, with current magazines and big comfy sofas.

The hygienist opened the door, introduced herself and ushered me in.

"So, how long has it been since your last dental visit?" she asked casually.

"Umm quite a while. Like..7 or 8 years..," I said sheepishly. She merely smiled and then asked what I had come in for. I told her I needed a cleaning desperately, but quickly added my issue with sensitivity, paranoid I'd leave the office without getting the problem addressed. She smiled again and led me to the X-ray machine. Afterwards she led me back to her small office and the tall chair.

As I sorta mentioned before, I have this metal bar thing that is stuck to the back of my bottom front teeth which I've had since I had braces. It was supposed to be removed years ago, but like I said, I never got around to it. She began working by picking at my teeth with the sharp hook thing. While she didn't seem to have much issue with the rest, I could feel her bracing herself as she hacked at the sludge clinging to the metal bar. At one point she had no choice but to rest the heel of her palm on my cheek, smushing my face as she pulled and pulled. I'm pretty sure my head even nearly lifted off the head rest.

At brief moments she paused (probably to catch her breath and give her hand a rest), she asked me what I do. Suddenly the spotlight was on me.

"I, uh, brush twice a day, and I used this mouthwash.." I said, trying to plead a case.

She smiled once again, and said, "No, I mean for a living."

"Oh", friggin idiot, "I'm a temp. For *&^%*. But actually I work for Roth Staffing."

"She gave me a perplexed face, "I don't really understand.." It's times like these I wish I had a simple job to explain. I'm a teacher. I'm a plumber. I'm a tight-rope walker. These are all titles that give people precies information about what you do and then move on. Instead in my case, I feel the need to go into detail so I just end up confusing people anyway. I guess it doesn't help that half the time I don't even know what it is I do exactly.

After I gave her the best explanation I could she simply nodded and went back to the Everglades that are my teeth. I embarrased myself only once more when she offered me to swish with water and I couldn't figure out how to work the faucet. She had to show me, which definitely made me feel like the word DUNCE was slowly emerging on my forehead. But the rest of the visit went on without another hitch. The dentist came in and applied some de-sensitizing paste on my teeth and they do feel a bit better.

Sorry for this rushed ending, but I can tell by the bar at the side of this text box that I am being "verbose" again, so I'll leave you all for tonite. See you tomorrow!

Cap Scratch Fever

Holy hell, it's been awhile. Yeah I know I completely spaced, and I'm sure you all have missed my odd ramblings and rants. This week has been full of activity, none of which included writing, so to make up for it I'm posting on a Saturday, something I never like to do but stories are starting to back-up on me like bran in a muffin. Or does that make you go? Oh well, sorry to be gross, but then again, gross is the topic at hand.

WARNING- Do not read ahead if you have eaten, are eating, or about to eat OR are easily queasy.

As some of you may recall I've been dealing with a bothersome rash that appeared only on the right side of my body. Well, it's been spreading. I noticed a few more bumps around the original area, and now there are some on my ankles, on my leg, my back, even one on my cheek (and I don't mean on my face...). Luckily these are easily hidden-not some much the case for the three on my arm.

I try like hell not to scratch, especially at work. I really would prefer to not have people walk by and see me scratch myself, wondering what the hell I have. So I slather on the Cortaid (thanks again, Mrs. G!), which does soothe it enough so I don't notice. But every once in a while, something will graze the surface of my skin (a desk, a door, my jeans) and suddenly the itch is ignited furiously. I feel like a torture victim, trying to will away the urge to grab a piece of paper, a pen cap, even the little "innovation" toy the company gave us (with the perfect little sharp edges) and scratch myself into oblivion. You ever see that episode of Friends when Pheobe and her boyfriend get chicken pox and she tries to scratch herself with the Monopoly pieces?...I understand her character's pain.

Instead I just try to pretend I'm crossing my leg over my lap or stretching so that I can satisfy the smallest amount of scratching relief. Even still, I worry my coworkers are going to glance over and catch on, so instead I just go into the bathroom and hide like someone sneaking a smoke, where I can scratch to my heart's content.

So on Tuesday I was coming right home, something I hadn't done for a few days since Joe's truck broke down and we had been sharing my car, but his friend/bandmate Dyl was picking him up from work. I was all set to make some dinner, go for a nice jog, come home, light some candles, put on some Barry White, and scratch myself to death. I never once suspected the horror I was about to be faced with.

Now, let me explain that Georgia has been doing better and better at being left home alone. She only whines and barks a little when we first leave, and she holds her little bladder until we get home. Only occasionally, when she just can't hold it anymore, does she have an accident. But nothing, NOTHING has come close to this...(also, Joe's parents were coming for an overnight visit, and being the spaz that I am I had wanted to clean the place top to bottom, even though they were only coming for the night. But really, the place wasn't in shambles, so I figured a good hour of cleaning should do it...)

I open to door and am met with the stench of death and misery. Georgia hops off the sofa and as I come in further is see the carnage. A cow-patty sized (and color) pile of vomit on the floor. Coming in closer I see another, this one more orange-reddish and on the rug. Then I see another brown pile. I face the sofa and on the small square rug I spot two fresh urine stains. I go carefully into the kitchen to see another brown pile of vomit, followed by a few chunks of poop by the door. I was flabbergasted.

I quickly ushered her outside and grabbed my phone to inform Joe. As I did that I noticed Georgia eating something else and realized it was the bits of old food that were coming through the hole in the garbage bag in the trash can. I shooed her away and let her drink water instead, waiting for Joe to pick up the phone. When he did, I could barely suppress my frustration.

"You know all those brownie points she got for not messing in the house?? She just cashed them in!", I said.

"Uh, oh, what did she do?" he said.

I startled prattling on about all her various excrement littering the house. He let me go on and then said finally, "Well, leave me something to clean up."

"No," I bit back, "there's no point, I'll just clean it all up, don't worry about it." He said he'd be home around 8 and that they'd probably end early. Still, I knew he would be exhausted by then, and besides I wanted it to be cleaned up right away anyway. Truthfully, it didn't take all that long, it was more just the drudgery of it.

When I had cleaned up all the piles of vomit and poop, I decided to still try and take the dog for a jog, hoping whatever was left in her system that was making her sick would be cleaned out thoroughly with a little exercise. Thinking back on it now, it probably was minor animal cruelty. Imagine you had been sick all day- would you want someone yanking you along for a freaking jog? Sure enough, as we made it to the top of a hill she began wheezing and then threw up whatever she had been eating from the garbage right onto the pavement.

I cut it short and instead we walked the rest of the way. Finally at home, she drank lots of water and played outside while I cleaned. Afterwards I let her back in and she seemed fine. At around 8 Joe and Dyl showed up and Georgia got up from the couch and puked again, right on the rug, right after I had JUST scrubbed the damn thing clean! They left again, and I still monitored her, to make sure she was ok and had lots of water. That night Joe and I were awoken numerous times by the sounds of the poor dog heaving. I had resolved that if she hadn't improved by the morning I would call the vet's office.

Thankfully, she woke up with an appetite and ate her food right after away (something she hasn't been doing at all lately). And I am happy to report that whatever her stomach ailment was has gone away. She's back to frolicking in the yard, chasing squirrels, and playing with her toys.

I, on the other hand, continue to look at sharp objects as possible scratching tools for these odd bumps. Oh, well. You can't win 'em all.

Eggzema

I was setting about making breakfast for myself this morning when I went to crack an egg and it felt unusually heavy. After a few good pounds against the cutting board I was finally able to remove a thin shard of shell and peered inside. The egg had congealed in the oddest way, looking as if it had turned to ice-like mush. Before I allowed the nausea to come to my throat I quickly slipped the odd egg into a clear plastic baggy. I was about to toss it in the garbage when I thought I'd try to get one more look at the inside. All I could see were darker flecks of yellow yolk suspended like the insect in amber in Jurassic Park. I threw it away and called down to Joe in the basement.

"Hey, I just saw the oddest thing," I said.

"What?" he yelled back.

"It looked like a half-fertilized egg," I said, expecting to hear the usual "grooooss" reply.

"That's good. That's a sign of a good omen."

"A nasty egg is a good omen?"

"Yeah, anytime you crack open an unusual egg it's a sign that something good is coming."

I picked up a different egg, checking it's weight in my hand and when I recognized the normal movement, cracked it on the cutting board and let it drop in the hot pan. As it sizzled I thought about what Joe had said. I tried to imagine what good thing could possibly come my way. A few extra bucks in my paycheck? Maybe a promotion? While the ideas were tempting I decided not to be too rash with an assumption. And that's exactly what I got...a nice, itchy, blotchy rash.

Now this may be a little TMI for some and if you are squeamish about skin issues, well, you may want to skip till tomorrow's post. But since this blog is about my life and what the current goings-on are (and because I do so enjoy remembering I'm not alone), I thought I'd share.

I think I started to notice it a few days ago. I was changing and noticed three mosquito-bite looking bumps on my upper thigh. They itched like crazy and after scratching for a while they seemed to get bigger and the redness spread, connecting them. I chalked it up to just another bad bug bite and waited for them to go away. They didn't. In fact, it appears they are bringing friends.

The other day I noticed a small itchy bump on the side of that same leg. Again, it itched like hell, but I remembered that scratching can spread a rash so I tried to not indulge in the urge (though I won't lie and say it didn't feel good to use the harsh side of my loofah sponge for an extended period of time in the shower or when Georgia would jump up on my leg and run her nails down my side...whoa, did I just get weird? Oh well, we've all been there, right?).

I finally thought I'd mention it to Joe, just in case he was suffering too and we could get to the bottom of it. He said he didn't have anything like that, but if it spread that maybe I should think about going to the doctor. Sure enough, I woke up this morning and noticed a few new blotches on my stomach and back. It's starting to get ridiculous and I don't even know what to stop/start doing because I don't know what's causing it! I do have some medical coverage now, so it wouldn't be a big deal. But still, I knew a visit would still cost me more money than I currently hold, so I thought I'd do the next best thing.

Instead, I went on good ol' WebMD this afternoon to see if I could self diagnose. The problem is that I couldn't seem to find any symptoms that match mine COMPLETELY. For instance, they did appear unexpectedly, but they are only on the right side of my body. It could be poison ivy, but it's not on my lower legs, just the upper part.

I'm still not 100% sure what it is or what to do. I figure if I keep icing it and refrain from scratching it'll clear up on it's own, saving me both a trip to (and bill from) the doctor's office. Hopefully that's what the odd egg this morning was trying to tell me. But then again, I did trip on the stairs at work this morning and got nearly beaned in the head by a cicada, so what does an egg REALLY know...

A Fool in the Rain

Just thought I'd share my morning today and leave you with a sad pathetic image.

So as I've been mentioning, we've been having frequent accidents with Georgia. Often it is because of our own faults; the door to the backyard was shut or I made the mistake of running upstairs for a brief moment when I knew she had to go (only to come back and find a nice big Tootsie Roll on the hardwood floor). Since then Joe and I have been trying to be like hawks whenever she's alone with us and she starts sniffing.

Luckily, we're starting to get her morning routine down. She wakes us up around 6:30, Joe attempts to get her to go downstairs with him but the damn dog only wants ME to do it (when all I want is to sleep until my g.d. alarm goes off at 7:10), I escort her to the door, she trots out and pees, comes back for the food I put in her bowl, and not more than 10 mins. later she goes #2. This morning was to be no exception.

The crack of lightning this morning woke us all up. Joe, once again tried to encourage her out but that little brown thing kept hopping up near our bed to see me. Terrified she was going to piss all over the floor I finally hopped out of bed in my summer pjs (consisting of a small tank top and short shorts) and hurried her to the door. It took a little coaxing but she finally got the urge and went outside to pee. Meanwhile, I'm standing by the door in my skimpy pjs trying to avoid the gaze of my neighbors.

She jumps back inside and eats. I wait until she is done and then, again, gesture her out the door. She sits and stares at me. I keep waving my arm out the door, even tossing a treat out to get her to go, but still that butt stays on the kitchen floor.

I should mention too, at this point it is starting to drizzle, but I don't care. I keep standing there trying to get her to go out.

When she still doesn't get it, I tell Joe to watch her so I can put on actual shorts and walk her around the backyard.

As soon as my flip-flops hit the grass, the skies open up. Georgia finally follows me, and thinking its playtime, starts giddily dashing to and fro around the yard.

There I was, getting pissed on by big gobs of rain, wearing a little tank top and shorts, thunder and lightning drama occurring right over my head, and a dog leaping and bounding away without a care in the world.

I stood alone in my yard, arms crossed over me, waiting for my damn dog to crap so I could get the hell back inside.

When it finally looked like it wasn't going to happen, I said "eff it" and I stomped back inside. Thankfully Joe took her for a walk (bundled up in a hooded sweatshirt) and she finally did her business.

But as I was standing out there I noticed a guy jog right by our house. I kept thinking, who the hell else would be out here in the rain at god damn 6:45 in the morning? It made me think about a woman Ashley and I met once at a Starbucks who, upon hearing us talk about our fears of losing our bodies when we got older, said, "My trick is to go to the gym everyday before work. And don't give yourself the option to skip."

She walked out and we noticed she did have a great figure for a woman who had four kids, but still. I give alot of credit to people who have that kind of discipline to force themselves up at the crack of dawn to work out, but I think it's not terribly practical for most working people. But who knows? That guy could just be the really smart one and have it so ingrained in his schedule that he doesn't mind it. He's getting the health benefits and good body that goes along with such rigid discipline.

Meanwhile, I'm just the half-naked chick standing in her yard, looking like she's waiting for the mother ship to land. Who's really got it right here?