Archive: Minutia

This week, I had a dentist appointment to pick up my retainers now that my teeth have been straightened. Why, yes, I felt like a teenager! Thank you for asking. I suppose getting a retainer is one of those lost childhood activities I have now reclaimed in adulthood. Or something. Now I just need to forget it on a cafeteria tray, I guess.

Once seated in an exam room, one the assistants came in with two plaster teeth molds, each with its own pink, wiry retainer. She gave me the top retainer, showed me how to position it in my teeth, and let me try to insert it. I struggled to get the position right, so I hopped up to watch my progress in the mirror. I still couldn’t get it. Was this normal?

The assistant sat me down and tried to do it. “They usually just pop right in,” she said. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Comforting!

“Let’s try the bottom one for now,” she suggested, and she handed me the other retainer. I had my doubts about this one because I have two oversize bony growths that complicate everything concerning my bottom teeth. I cry almost every time I have to get x-rays taken. Taking the impression to make the retainer was another similarly distressing process.

Snap!

The bottom retainer adhered to my teeth and gums smoothly, and I was momentarily speechless. How was that so easy? What was wrong with the top retainer?

One of the three dentists at the practice stopped in to see what the problem was with my top teeth. He tried to insert it, but to no avail. Then, he picked up the plaster cast where the retainer had rested.

“This isn’t right,” he said. “These aren’t her canines. These are someone else’s teeth.”

Um, what?! There was my name, scrawled in Sharpie, at the bottom of a plaster cast of someone else’s teeth. Which meant that … someone else had my teeth! And who knows where they were!

The dentist tried to pass it off as the fault of “the lab,” but the assistant kept puzzling through it, saying, “But Dr. Joe, this is our handwriting …”

Ohmygah. The thought of plaster teeth floating around the dental universe, mislabeled and unclaimed, was too much me, and then I realized that they were setting up to take a new impression for my top teeth. “Please, don’t make me take another impression,” I begged. The last time, the gummy goo slid down my throat and almost choked me, and I almost knocked out the hygienist with my uncharacteristic thrashing.

The dentist waved me off. “Don’t worry! Here’s a topical anesthetic.” He dabbed a long Q-tip into my throat. “There. Now you won’t be as likely to gag.”

Well, I didn’t gag or thrash, but I only left with one retainer and an uncomfortably tingly sensation in the back of my throat. I’ll be back for my second retainer in 7-10 business days, so let us all say a little prayer that no one at “the lab” will mix up anybody’s teeth this time.

Ted has been letting us sleep through the night, but mostly because we’ve been letting him run rampant around the house instead of putting him in his crate. We think he mostly sleeps outside our bedroom door, and he’s always waiting for whoever gets up first to let him out. When I hear his tags in the hallway, my body stiffens involuntarily because I’m just waiting for him to startle me with his insistent barking.

Unfortunately, JG has had to clean up some accidents around the house in the morning, even after we’ve restricted Ted’s water intake in the evening. This weekend, we are going to try to let Ted sleep in the room where his crate is, though not locked into the crate, to see if that makes any difference. We’ve also started using an ultrasonic pet trainer to curb Ted’s tendencies for shoe-chewing and dishwasher-invading, so it could be effective in getting him to stop barking at night. We’ll see. Overall, I’m confident that once Christmas is over and our schedule normalizes, we will be able to institute some sort of solution. For now, we are wallowing in limbo, and I’m just grateful that we’re getting some sleep.

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I am still going strong with the gym at work, and so far, I enjoy Pilates the most, now that I have a clue what I’m doing and don’t have to interrupt my movement to watch the instructor. This month, I tried a Power Yoga class, but it seems like the aim of the class was to relax me and send me to sleep, instead of toning my core and improving my balance. At the end of my last class, the instructor read us a very long spiel about self-esteem, which is when I decided to finish out my pre-paid sessions and then go back to only Pilates.

My Total Body Conditioning class is killing me, despite some minor, incremental improvements in the areas of jumping rope and overall exercise recognition. I am at the bottom of the heap in the class, but that doesn’t stop me from becoming all red-faced and frizz-haired by the end of it, so I don’t think anyone thinks I’m slacking. I found out that this session used to be called “boot camp,” which did not serve to alleviate the intimidation factor. If I had known that, I never would have tried it. Nevertheless, I know it’s good for me, even though my muscles inevitably cry out in agony two days later.

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This week, I got an e-mail that reminded me how I am a Brand Enthusiast for Gap. Oh, yeah! They sent me a “custom” cheer (with my name spelled wrong, ahem), and a note that I should keep my eye out for something in the mail. Yes! That is how to get my attention, people.

The FedEx man delivered a slim, white package containing a snazzy t-shirt with unfortunate cap sleeves. As anyone who has ever shopped for or with me knows, I do not enjoy cap sleeves, as they make my already bulky arms appear uncomfortably squashed into their timid embrace. So, I just included the tee in a gift for someone who had mentioned liking that specific shirt. No harm, no foul.

Except for that whole misspelled name thing. I’m going to judge this a win/fail.

By the time I sat down at my desk this morning, I had already accomplished the following:

• Emptied the dishwasher
• Set up a slow cooker of beef burrito filling for tonight
• Washed the dirty dishes from dinner prep
• Took Ted to the park
• Made a cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal

Look at what working from home hath wrought! I can hardly believe it. Let us glaze over the fact that “took a shower” does not appear on this list.

My main motive for visiting the park was to get some pictures of the “Ted frolicking amid fall foliage” variety, but almost all of the leaves were on the ground already. I settled for walking on gravel pathways and trails through the woods for about an hour, during which I spotted four chubby squirrels and encountered the same hardcore runner three times. When we set off for home, I was glad I had thought to put an old towel on my passenger seat to protect it from Ted’s wet paws, although it didn’t prevent muddy prints from showing up on the passenger arm rest and the center console. Oh, well.

Back at the ranch, I checked my work voicemail and set my outgoing message to my “working remotely” spiel while I put on the kettle for tea. Out of the blue, I decided to make myself oatmeal for breakfast, partly owing to a major surplus of old-fashioned oats. (I rushed out to buy ingredients for raspberry bars to thank neighbors who agreed to watch Ted at the last minute only to get home and see that I already had a canister of oats sitting in the baking drawer. Oof.) I read the instructions on the package, and six minutes later, I had a cute, single-serving bowl of oatmeal. I’m still not sure what possessed me to make this particular breakfast, because I have never really liked hot cereal, and I can’t remember the last time I ate it. Even as I spooned the finished product into a bowl, I had a swift flashback to my parents’ kitchen, where I sat and whined about having to eat oatmeal or cream of wheat before the school bus came. My adult self defied my childhood restrictions and added brown sugar and dried cranberries to the bowl. Well, I’ll be! Oatmeal is kind of delicious!

Thus, I entered my work-at-home day on fire and ready to go. During our normal online morning check-in, JG commented, “I can tell how much energy you have through Gchat even.” Who knew that exercise and a real breakfast could have this effect? Let’s just add this feeling to the long list of Why I Need to Figure Out How to Freelance Already.

Which magazine should I read? Two years ago, I had a subscription to Real Simple, but it exasperated me with its “best buys” that were way out of my price range. Last year, I tried The New Yorker, but I could not keep up with the steady barrage of reading material. If only I could get the first issue of every month! That would be just right. So, this year, I’m back to Real Simple, and I remember why I let it run out the last time. I’m not completely sure why I feel the need to get a magazine every month, but it’s nice to have something to flip through during an idle ten minutes or so. Should I try Martha Stewart Living, despite my innate distrust of Martha? Is Everyday Food worth it? Are there any other magazines out there with recipes, entertaining ideas, and thrifty living? Or should I just let this go and accept the fact that I’d rather read books?

What should I do in Dallas? I’m visiting for the first time next month for a conference, and I’ll be there for four days. Most of my hours are spoken for, but I am on the hunt for places to eat that are moderately inexpensive, fairly casual, and not sketchy if I go by myself. Also, I may have a free morning or afternoon to entertain myself, so any suggestions for cheap (but preferably free) activities or attractions within walking distance are also appreciated. According to my very cursory search on Google Maps, my hotel is near The Majestic, if that means anything to anyone. In a more general sense, what is specific to Dallas, in terms of food and culture? What shouldn’t I miss? What’s the weather like in October?

What can I edit or write for you? Lately, I have come to the realization that, ultimately, I want to be a full-time freelancer. I knew when I took this job that it has a certain expiration date, so I am taking steps to make a concerted effort to seek out freelance editing and writing jobs with the hope that I can strike out on my own when the time comes. So! To that end, I have posted a new link in my navigation bar to a For Hire page — special thanks to OPH and Val for proofreading it! I am paranoid about being schmoozy, but I have to keep reminding myself that I’m just networking! Which is my favorite thing! It seems to be an occupational hazard of soliciting work. You, there! Do you want my card?

Seriously, though, I would really appreciate any leads or advice. Do you have any projects that could use an editor? Does your organization typically hire freelancers? Do you know anyone in a similar position I could contact?