People who design & promote knitting/crochet patterns like this? They will be immediately packed off to Taste Camp, where severe re-programming will take place.

(Oh, and you KNOW who’s in charge of Taste Camp.)

That’s the line that has rolled around my head for a couple months, ever since I went to the dentist for my regular checkup, and inquired about teeth whitening. I had thought it cost around $200. And I was seriously considering it, because while I have many things I don’t invest a lot of angst or energy in, I do like my teeth. I’ve got “lucky teeth”, or at least that’s what I’ve been told my whole life: when people have asked if I ever wore braces, and I said “No”, they always said, “Wow, you’re lucky.” I believe ’em – my teeth are pretty straight, and I take fairly good care of them.

So back to the tooth-whitening adventure. To have the professional trays made, and your first set of whitening solution? FOUR HUNDRED AND TWELVE DOLLARS. I must shout that amount. Because there were times over the past 2 months, even as long as five minutes, I decided I was going to do it, despite the cost. And then I’d hear that voice in my head saying, “What price vanity, Jennifer?” So I did some internet research. And some eBay perusing. I decided to risk it on eBay, having read the different auctions thoroughly and intently, as though I was signing away my life’s savings. The grand total damage? $89. Not cheap, but that’s about what the “professional” grade Crest white strips will run you at the dentist. For my $89, I received a month’s worth of 22% whitening solution, and dental forms & putty you activated by kneading the two balls together. A mailer to send the forms back, and complete instructions.

Here is where you get the glimpse into the obsessive-side of my brain. I read the directions three times, at least. For once you knead the putty together (for 40 seconds, timed maniacally with a watch), you are now in a window that is slamming shut. You must roll the putty into a small snake, place it in the dental tray, position said tray in your mouth, and imprint your teeth CORRECTLY. Getting the gumline, but not biting THROUGH the putty. This is apparently what costs the $350 at the dentist’s office, that expertise, and unlimited putty if they fuck up. Which I did, on my first try, and so I read the directions again, 2x. Because I only had one extra set of fuck-up putty. My next two attempts came out “OK”, but not being a trained putty-form-dental-tray maker, I was still concerned. But then I noticed in the directions “take pictures of the forms if you are at all concerned about if they’ll work.” Hello, you haven’t met me, have you? I like to cover my bases. (Because it costs a bunch more if you arrogantly send in your f-d up forms and they’re not right. Like another $20 or so, to get replacement putty & a mailer and all.) So I take pictures. Big ones. Detailed. I send the eBay seller four of these, so big he can use them as wallpaper on his computer, if he so chooses. He emails me back, these look fine, send them back.

So yesterday, I got my little plastic dental trays & I had my first hour of whitening while we watched a movie. I think I’ve got the real-deal, the solution isn’t expired, it’s the same stuff sold at the dentist & you can’t buy it direct. My plastic trays fit my teeth like painted-on latex, and I paid a 1/4 of what I’d have spent at the dentist. And I guess the answer to my question? I like my vanity anywhere from 50%-90% off retail.

My next job: at-home-dental-tray-putty-form-teeth-impression maker:

Is that you gotta read a book. (I know! WTF?!) I tried this past month, and just could not get into it. (American Woman, by Susan Choi. Good luck.) So I emailed two of my book club members about my predicament and they both encouraged me to attend book club, for the social aspect ‘n’ all. I did, it was quite enjoyable, I mean good god, Phyllis brought triple cream brie with rosemary crackers & there was a profuse quantity of lemon bars. Best of all – GET THIS – the majority of the attendees did NOT read the book! And here I was feeling all high-school-dropout about it. I’m psyched about the next book, “The Secret History” by Donna Tartt. I wish I could knit & read at the same time, but I just can’t. CAN’T equals WON’T don’t you know? I love the remnants of self-help books that never quite leave you.

And now I’ve violated the first rule of Book Club. You know what the first rule of Book Club is, right? I can’t say any more. Edward Norton is lurking.

My cell phone usually rings around 3:30, 3:40 in the afternoon, and it’s JWo, leaving work. So when it rings at other times, during the workday, I’m a little alarmed. It just rang (12:30) and I’m sitting here at my desk putting out some small brush fires (it is best to use a side-to-side sweeping motion across the fire), and I got a little alarmed. Like, what else is going to happen today? Around noon, my work phone rang, I’d pick it up, and there was nobody there. By the third time, I was giving my phone the Hairy Eyeball. FIVE TIMES this happened, until on that fifth time, Representative Dennis Moore’s recorded voice started talking about some f’n banjo get-together speakeasy he’s gonna have over in Fairway and since I work and live IN MISSOURI DENNIS, and therefore can’t VOTE FOR YOU, I hung up. With much spluttering and swearing.

So back to my ringing cell phone & my nerves all jingle-jangle. I answer.
“Hello?”
A ginormous pause on the other end. OK, not helping the anxiety I freely shovel around every day. I’m worried about one of my friends right now and I am running from Dennis Moore.

“This isn’t George’s D&D Electric, is it.” a woman on the other end stated.
“Ah, No. This is Jennifer’s Brushfire Service. So sorry. Can I interest you in Dennis Moore’s hoedown in Fairway?”

When my dad told me he was divorcing my mother (6 years ago or so), I was a huge mixture of things – relief, dismay, shock, and most of all, sadness. I’ve never had much of a relationship with my mother, it’s always been with my dad, and yet that family, such that it was, was all I’d ever known, and its disintegration seemed to challenge the very foundation I stood upon every day. A year or so later, when my father told me he was marrying someone else, I still can see James, sitting on the side of my bed, and as he held me in his arms as I sobbed, telling me that he was my family now, and to let my sadness go. I didn’t quite grasp the significance of what he was saying at the time, because I didn’t understand how to “be family” with anyone but my parents, and really only my dad, if you put it under the microscope.

The past years have opened up my eyes so much more, far beyond what I arrogantly believed I thought I already knew. For all through my “formative years”, I spent many, many significant points in time away from my parents – Christmas, college summers, because we were fighting or because of impending snowstorms, and I told myself throughout all those times, that family was something you could make yourself. I cooked enormous Thanksgiving dinners for friends. I spent Thanksgivings alone. I fancied myself independent, selective, choosing my new family, year-to-year. I ignored the fissures of grief, over the family dynamic I didn’t have, couldn’t create, couldn’t fix. I spent a lot of my younger years in a turmoil I couldn’t even understand. Those pockets are still there, somewhat scarred over, somewhat healed, most of them are now like an inactive volcano. I don’t erupt with grief at everything. Probably because I have such family with James. And I have such excellent, treasures of friendship. Some are closer than others, some drift in and out like the ocean, some are far-flung and sporadic, some are just beginning – and yet all those connections are so deep, they pull focus away from the core that is no longer, they give me strength, they motivate me to keep giving.

I recently helped a friend through a rough break-up, packing the ex’s items & providing distraction & fun. His thanks were so heartfelt, and to that, my reaction was surprise. Surprise that my actions merited such emotional thanks, because they really were done without a second thought – and that surprised me as well. I’m a selfish, selfish, did I mention selfish? – person. I clutch my time like little Charlie Bucket clutched his golden ticket to Wonka’s chocolate factory. People don’t think “giving” when asked for the first word to describe me. (“Loud” is usually a common response.) But I like that I have it within me to give, even if it’s not my second nature. I feel more complete, having given my friendship & support & love to those who really need it, and here is where I show my age & experience: it is now given to those who won’t suck it up and give nothing in return.

I love the notion of fixing things, even though I know I’m not that powerful. Given that, it’s not surprising that I married someone who also wants to fix things. And so, I dedicate this blog to JWo, because whenever I hear the song “Fix You” by Coldplay, I think of him and how he always wants to make my sadness disappear. He is my family, and I love him for that gift. His light guides me home.

There is work being done in the building. What sort of work, you innocently inquire? The sort of work that makes the air smell as though there are a thousand black markers with their caps off, and we are back in college mounting art projects on foam core with the fixative spray. This scent is telling some gland in my body to generate saliva at the back of my tongue, and the saliva tastes like I have been sucking on an old tin can. The gnomes that reside in my brain, they do not like this smell, and several have sat down in the corner. A couple are stomping their feet while shouting, “I don’t like this!” so it also feels a little headachey without being so severe, we find ourselves in the car driving home. One person here thinks it is affecting his nervous system, as he has run into walls several times today. But he could just be klutzy, and personally, I can never use motor skills or lack thereof as a good litmus test, I trip on lo-pile carpet, for heaven’s sake.

In any event? The smell? It must to be stopping now.

Apparently, a few years ago, a dude worked here and he was on a diet. And not any diet, but it was more like Atkins on Crack, from what they’ve told me. The really choice part of his diet was his breakfast, and he would make it here at work. It was a blended smoothie of sorts, made worse because he heated it in the microwave. Nobody was really sure what-all was in it, except it had meat in it, thus the term “meatshake”. And they were RANK. People would literally gag at the smell. As, I’m sure, you’re trying not to do whilst reading this blog. Sorry! Anyhoo, they finally had to have the office manager address his meatshake habit & ask that he no longer consume them in the office. Said dude is no longer here.

I made a joke a couple weeks ago in a meeting, about ‘mmmmm, meatshake’, and after the initial laugh said, “I heard there was a guy here who used to make them!” One of the more senior people here looked at me and said the meatshake maker’s name, but what was really funny was the look in his eyes as he looked at me, gauging whether or not I was going to start making meatshakes because they sounded cool. That look was FEAR. They were that scary. Seriously, can you imagine? Oh, hi, I’m blending up a mandarin-orange-strawberry-chicken smoothie, with bee pollen and ginseng. Wanna taste? Or even better – the SNL classic – MMMMMM! THAT’S GREAT BASS!

I wrote THE BEST blog in my head last night, around 1 a.m. before falling asleep. It was insightful, meaningful, and would have made you really reflect on your life. Well, now that you’re let down & sad and wondering how you’ll get through the day, I should admit I’d also had several amaretto sours & some shots of Hot Damn! prior to going to bed. But that blog, it was awesome! And I didn’t even feel the need to write down some notes to help me today, because it was SO GOOD, I would remember it for sure. Uh, yeah. And then I had crazy-ass dreams about travelling the world by train, and I had ridden the Switzerland-Minneapolis train, but I got separated from JWo on our Minneapolis-Kansas City connection, because a woman on the Switzerland train left her purse & I was trying to turn it in, but those Swiss bitches in Minneapolis could have CARED LESS, and I kept pointing out the woman was of Indian descent, but she spoke fluent English and Italian and she NEEDED to get her purse or she wouldn’t be able to continue her studies back in Switzerland, and finally I threw the purse at those haughty wenches because we were late for the train & we had to run. And the train-entry doors were like the little elevator boxes at Tower of Terror, but only for two people & the door shut before I could get in. But I still made the train by running to the next stop, and then Will Ferrell was behind me, grabbing at me and hitting on me. And of course, I was flattered? But I’m married! So I was all, “Uh, I have to go.” So, I got nothin’ because all I can see in my brain is Will Ferrell and those mean Swiss bitches. And when that’s all you’ve got? You pull out pictures of the dogs. Doesn’t Suzy look scary? She would have come in handy last night at the train station.

I thought I would show you my very horrible breakfast from a workday last week. I don’t eat breakfast from the vending machine too terribly often, but once in a while, lard-based products just sound tasty. Two diet cokes & 32 oz. of water? Why, it’s practically healthy with all that water involved.

A couple years ago, I was very involved in my company picnic, and organized/hosted an eating contest. Each contestant had one minute to finish everything in front of them, and everyone was divided into teams, and you signed up for different competitions. The food contest was hit or miss on what you got (sort of like Survivor – will it be a candy bar? Or the West African dung beetle?) – the “nasties” were pickled pigs feet, pickled quail eggs, spam, and pickled herring. (Not that those are nasty, per se, but just not as common for someone to LIKE.) Surprisingly, people plowed right through them. I was getting a bit worried. Then there were wasabi peas, which people also ate at lightening speed. And then came the finale, the piece-de-resistance: apparently, it’s damn hard to eat a Hostess Cherry Pie in under a minute, and it ended up being the tiebreaker between the teams.

Mmmmm. Lard. And cherries. Slows you down every time. Or in my case, kicks the morning off juuuust riiiiight.

You are interchangeable. Fun, free, and into everything, you’ve got every eventuality covered and every opportunity just has to be taken. Every fiber is wonderful, and every day is a new beginning. You are good at so many things, it’s amazing, but you can easily lose your place and forget to show up. They have row counters for people like you!
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methinks some of my knitting buds might be the same! ;)