Posts Tagged ‘life isn’t fair’

For someone who dislikes the dentist so much, I’ve been spending an awful lot of time there recently.

You see, I went a couple weeks ago for my routine six month check up. I’d been taking fine care of my teeth, still not flossing as much as I should, but not neglecting them or chowing down on sweets. Basically, same old, same old.

So then WHY did I have six tiny cavities? Three on each side of my top teeth?

It doesn’t make any sense! And it’s not fair!

And neither of those sentiments have any bearing on the fact that I have to get them all filled – in two separate appointments.

Last Wednesday was the first one. I had a few hours between work and class, so what better way to kill time than in a dentist’s chair? With a drill in my mouth? And so numb that I’m drooling?

During the torture, I realized that even though I’ve been numbed before, I hadn’t been that numbed for that long ever. The procedure was over around 3:30 or so, and I didn’t regain full feeling until close to 6:30 – an hour and a half into class.

Imagine trying to be friendly and outgoing and make good impressions when smiling makes you look like you still, “got a little joker action going,” as the boyfriend put it.

I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think that’s in How to Win Friends and Influence People.

So why do I bring this up now? Because the second appointment is this afternoon. I will again be subjected to various tools picking at my teeth and again have to go to class resembling a deranged villain. One who drools.

Everyone will be clamoring to sit next to me. Guaranteed.

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According to the website, “The Darwin Awards salute the improvement of the human genome by honoring those who accidentally remove themselves from it…” and, I’m blogging, so I clearly haven’t done that. But I did do something fairly ridiculous that makes me question my own intelligence.

A little background: Until now, I’ve never had any real food allergy/bad reaction (except for a couple times with shellfish and alcohol, but that’s a different story for a different time). And I’ve always always had a bit LOT of a sweet tooth.

Bad/stressful day? Pass me a Snickers bar, please.

Celebrating? Of course, I’ll have some chocolate cake.

And this was all well and good up until this past weekend.

Without going into too much unnecessary detail, I started feeling ill after a Saturday brunch of chocolate chip pancakes, and proceeded to throw up throughout the course of the day, several times, in two separate parks. (And one playground. Sorry, kids.) A quick study of some recent stomachaches compared to the food I’d eaten previous to the pain showed chocolate to be the culprit.

I was, understandably, bummed.

Which is probably why, when my mom suggested that maybe it was milk chocolate that was bad, and I’d be okay with dark chocolate, I wanted her to be right so badly that I tested the theory.

Oh, and did I mention I tested it at work? I’ll take that award, now.

I was craving chocolate like whoa, so I got a box of dark chocolate raisinets. Delicious, right? Wrong.

Especially not when they come back up…four times in two hours. And not when you have to email the office manager to tell him that you threw up, and could someone come clean that stall? And not when you get home, start to sip your ginger ale and realize that that doesn’t want to stay down either, because chocolate has screwed your system but good for the day. And definitely not now, when even your home bathroom smells like vomit.

All because I just had to know if I could have some kind of chocolate.

My new nemesis *shakes fist*

When I told my boyfriend, who was with me for the pancake fiasco, about the experiment (and its consequences) he responded, “Ok, it’s chocolate. Or some key ingredient in chocolate. Sucks to be you.” (To his credit, he did not say, “I told you so,” or call me an idiot, though I know he was/is dying to. And he also checked in to see if I needed anything, when I was home, curled up in the fetal position.)

When I told my mom, she said, “Maybe you’re part dog. You know, this is why they can’t have chocolate – it wreaks havoc on their system.

So, I’m either a dog or an idiot – or both. And either way I’m not getting any Easter candy this year.

Thanks a lot, body. You win again.

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Whenever I have any sort of doctor’s appointment, I always try to make it early in the morning. I like to get it over and done with and go on with my day.

On today’s agenda? The dentist. A routine cleaning and…a filling. *eeek!*

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the dentist is my least favorite of any type of doctor. Yes, even the lady bits doctor. His tools look (and feel) like torture devices; he’s NOT gentle; and I end up getting all drooly. And that’s just for the cleaning.

For the filling – my first in a long LONG time – he had to bust out the drill.

On the plus side, they numbed me up a bit and let me listen to my iPod.

On the minus side, I could still hear AND feel the drill digging into my tooth. (I’m cringing even as I write this. I re-feel it every time I think about it.)

After what felt like an eternity of scraping, poking, and drilling, the dentist finished up and he said, “Well, that was the quickest and easiest filling I’ve done in a while.

Good grief. If that was quick and easy, I don’t ever want it to be long and hard.*

*I know.

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I’ve been behind in my blog reading and writing, and was going to wait to post until I was all caught up. But, after scanning my Google Reader this morning and seeing this same plea pop up several times, I thought that I’d take a cue from several other bloggers and re-post it:

My name is brandy. And I have a blog.

And a plea.

I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds. Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog- as personal as the dude that I adore (who I actually met through my blog- single ladies, let that be a very good reason to blog, the possibility of meeting someone as wonderful as my man), but I need your help. And it involves my dude.

He’s a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He’s the kinda guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job. He’s the guy who sent flowers to me at school- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He’s a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred. He’s made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He’s listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.

The holidays have hit us hard. He’s recently been told he may have something called multiple myeloma- an incurable cancer, that gives a person an average of five years of continued life. Though this news has came as a shock, he continues to be exactly who has always been- spending his time worrying about me, rather than worrying about himself. He’s the most selfless individual I know- (he stayed late on Christmas Eve to work, so his co-workers could leave early) and a post like this would never be something that he would promote or encourage but when I’m overwhelmed and feeling helpless, the blogging community has always given me tremendous support and comfort, two things I desperately need at this time.

As I write this, the future is uncertain and we aren’t sure what’s happening. He’ll need to see an oncologist soon, to verify what’s going on in his body. My hope is that everyone who reads this think positive thoughts and if you are a person who prays, could you add him to your list? (You can refer to him as ‘brandy’s hot awesome dude’). If you don’t pray, please keep him in your heart.This cancer is only a possibility and I believe that the prayers and positive thoughts of people can make sure it never becomes a reality.

I want to give a big thank you to the blog owner who scraped their original blog plans and graciously put this up. My goal is to get as many people as possible to see and read this post. If you are reading this and want to help, copy and paste my plea into your blog or send a link through twitter, so more people can keep him in their thoughts. I would be so very grateful (even more grateful than I am to my friend who first showed me the picture of Ryan Reynolds on the cover of Entertainment Weekly. If you haven’t seen it, google it. You. Are. Welcome).

I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making- but this is life. Right now. And I’m throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you and if you know anything regarding MM- please email me (my email is on my blog). This isn’t a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It’s just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be with the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next. Maybe it is silly, but I really do believe that positive thoughts can make a huge difference. Thank you for reading this and if you haven’t already? Please tell someone you love them today.

I did.

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I called my dad last night to ask him a completely mundane question, and this is the conversation I ended up having:

Me: (hearing something in the background) Oh, sorry, Daddy (yes, I still say daddy) – are you still at work?

Him: No, I’m in the Eagles locker room.

Me: What? The Eagles Eagles? Why?

Him: It’s some promotional thing for [X, Y, or Z]. We get a tour of the field and the locker room.

Me: Do you get to meet the players? (approaching screech level)

Him: Some of them. We’re not sure who yet.

Me: And you didn’t invite me? (ah, there’s the screech – as I calculated how I could have left work early, caught the train, etc.)

Him: Well, I didn’t know if you’d be interested. I invited Mom.

Me: She doesn’t care! (Also, she’s in Raleigh right now. )

Him: I know.

Me: You’re so lucky this wasn’t a chance to meet the Phillies. I would have killed you.

Him: I know. Okay, gotta go. Tour’s starting.


Speaking of the Phillies, though, their first NLDS game is today…at 2:37pm (who schedules these things, anyway?)! I’ll be at work, but still trying to keep tabs on the game by watching on ESPN.com.

I can’t promise that I won’t be cheering OR cursing at my computer screen, though.

Oh, hello unemployment. How are you today?

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*Nat King Cole

As I was running last night, I noticed that a lot more people seemed to be out and about than usual for 10pm on a Monday. But then I realized that this wasn’t the young professional crowd, who had just let happy hour run a little long; they were teenagers. Somehow, even in this heat (or maybe because of it), I had forgotten that it’s summer vacation.summertime_by_barns

And I’m a little bit jealous.

Summer used to mean summer jobs, sure, but also days at amusement parks and frequent afternoon visits to Rita’s. It meant hours by the pool and trips to the beach. And when you wanted those trips extended, playing hooky then was a lot easier (and more guilt-free) than it is now.

Summer meant staying out late and sleeping in. Playing pick-up games of volleyball on the sand courts, or ultimate frisbee and soccer on the nearby fields. It meant having a party on a Tuesday, just because you felt like it, and driving around with the windows down and music blasting.

I heart roller coasters.

I heart roller coasters.

Sure, it might be possible to still do most, or even all, of those things. But the difference is that now you have to squeeze them into your weekends, instead of spreading them out through the course of the summer. And if you over plan, or over schedule, it starts to feel exhausting – completely defeating the purpose of time off.

When you’re in school, the system gives you 2-3 months off, and it feels like a reward for working your ass off during the rest of the year.

When you’re an adult you get (probably) about two weeks of vacation time and a guilt trip if you decide to take it all at once.

There’s just something about that that doesn’t add up.

I want my summers back, please.

At least I still have my Rita’s.

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This past week felt like I was burning the candle at both ends. I was constantly exhausted, stressed and, quite honestly, a little cranky. I’d already decided to take today off as a mental health day.

And then I realized that it wasn’t just for mental health, but that all the stress and exhaustion has actually manifested itself into something bigger. I’m actually legit sick. Complete with the stuffed-up-can’t-breathe-ness and the hacking cough that makes people run for the Purel. So attractive.


I wanted to use my mental health day to both be productive and relax – preferably in the park, in the sun. As it is, it might be a while before I even leave my bed. Thanks a lot, God.

Appreciate it.

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