Tuesday, July 13, 2010
With The Best Use Of The F-Bomb You'll Ever Hear.
I hate going to the dentist. A lot. I much prefer a trip to they gynecologist than one to the dentist. Really.
A few years ago, after not having been in a few years, I went to the dentist my good friend Jen (and mom to kids' bestest friend Lil) had recommended.
The hygienist was overly nice and professional and gave me the most thorough of exams.
Part of the exam involved the hygienist putting a computer screen six inches from my face and coming at me with what looked like a pen.
It was no pen. It was a camera, which she proceeded to put in my mouth. And to my horror, the image was displayed on the computer screen; six inches from my face.
I immediately squeezed my eyes shut and thought to myself;
I'd rather be looking at a close up of my ass hole than my mouth.
That thought forced me to stifle a giggle, like the fart in church giggle. Restraining my own laughter was difficult and becoming painful.
So when the actual dentist walked in, he saw my face contorted in a pained expression, eyes dramatically squeezed shut, and told the hygienist to turn the computer screen off.
Perceptive guy. And very nice and sweet and cute in a big burly teddy bear sort of way.
When I recommended him to another friend of mine, the office sent me free movie tickets as a thank you.
My good friend Jen's dad is sick. Gravely so. He's been in the hospital since May. She and her mother and sister have been spending long days at his bedside.
Last week, after a long such day, the three of them had dinner at a fancyish place on the waterfront. Salmon, lobster, wine; an expensive meal that they all deserved.
Jen's mom waved the waiter over and asked for the bill;
"It has already been taken care of."
Three heads spun around and scanned the restaurant trying to figure out who picked up the bill for their dinner.
The nice big sweet burly teddy bear of a guy.
Sitting in the driveway with the kids playing with a gigantic beetle that Al had caught.
A woman who was parked on the corner, on my lawn, got her kids off the camp bus and looked over at me. I limply waved and she shot me the dirtiest look ever. Like looks I give people I can't stand.
When Al got home, I told him about the woman's nasty bitch face.
"Silver mini van?"
"Fuck. Yes. What did you do?"
"Oh nothing, just knocked on her window and asked her where she lives. She asked me why I wanted to know and I told her; 'Cause I'm going to come over and park my fucking truck on your fucking lawn'."
And now I hide in the house, curtains drawn, twice a day when the camp bus picks up and drops off.
Which reminds me of this post from last summer back at the old blog.
The old dead blog which has gained a new follower this week.
Today was Owen's first day of camp.
It's not really camp. His school has a summer program, but this year the school is under renovation, so the program is being held at a YMCA camp.
He was already up and dressed and waiting outside when I got up at 7am.
"Owen, are you going to come in and have breakfast?"
He sings to me;
"NoooooOOOOoooooOOOOOooo! I'm gooooOOOOooooing!! ToooOOOOooooOOOO!! gotocamp"
I am not the praying sort.
Happy thoughts, good vibes tossed out into the Universe yes, but actual prayer? Notsomuch.
If I were going to pray, like for Lil's Gampy, or that my house doesn't get egged by bitchy silver mini van moms, or that people get a clue and stop following a dead blog, or that my kid remembers to eat and drink at camp today, it would likely sound something like this:
How can one be reverent and irreverent at the same time?
Brilliant one that boyfriend o' mine.
More random at UnMom