While getting the second half of a root canal procedure today, I was contemplating whether or not I could die by drowning in my own saliva.
There I was in the endodontist's chair, bright lights pointing at my face, a pair of protective goggles over my eyes and a dental dam pulled taut over my gaping wide mouth (at last I understand the non-sex-ed reason for a dental dam! Eureka!). I knew the spit was starting to pool at the place where my mouth becomes my throat, and swallowing occasionally was not taking care of business for me. My mouth had been open so long that my lower jaw was trembling uncontrollably. Suddenly I was very aware of how calmly I had been using only my nostrils to breathe during the procedure. I imagined what would happen if I were to panic due to the large and growing pool of saliva down in there. To stop breathing easily and start "getting real" (if I may quote the Real World MTV). This made me stop for a second and almost panic. But then I realized all that would do is cause unnecessary drama and possibly mess up my endodontist's steady hand. And who wants that to happen when he is deep up in your tooth with some sharp, scrape-y instrument? Not this girl. I managed to continue breathing evenly until he finished the job. The saliva pool was just getting big enough for small frogs to dive into when the dental dam was removed and his assistant went to town with the suction tube. Gone was my fear of drowning in my own juices. Hooray for science.
Now I am left fat-lipped and ready to park it on the couch and watch some Netflix. Whose with me?
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
It's Complicated
Karaoke and I have a very deep, very lengthy love/hate relationship.
The thing that seems to be the link that flips my feeling from hate to love is alcohol.
Basically, I am generally adverse to going out specifically for Karaoke. I don't consider it "my thing." However, if a ton of people I know are heading out to do some Karaoke, I will give in and just go, and just swear to myself that I will not be singing that night. The whole first hour I am there, I will groan as friends start filling out the song slips, roll my eyes when someone expresses glee that they have such-and-such song, and generally act like I am way too above all this Karaoke nonsense.
Then inevitably I will realize, after about 3 beers and 5 hilarious performances by friends and strangers, that I DO like Karaoke, and I am damn good at it too! My guard drops and my hand reaches for that pen. Suddenly, it's on.
The weird thing is, usually, if I let myself give in, I end up having a BLAST. I am a pretty good singer and a well trained actress. I know what the people want to see. I have a few great performance songs up my sleeve that I can bust out. I will be there till last call, hooting and hollering for every performer, running up to dance along with them, clapping till my hands are raw, and loving every minute of it.
In a week or two, I will forget all about how fun it was that night, and the next time someone's like "Let's go to Karaoke tonight!" I am right back in denial again, rolling my eyes in disgust and looking for a better plan for the evening. It's ridiculous.
Back in my early college years, I hung out with a couple of people who were quite serious about Karaoke. I figure I must have been dragged along to the Karaoke bar almost every weekend for at least a year. (Okay maybe not dragged...but I did not have many friends at that time so it was either watch TV alone on a Friday night or go to the damn singing bar...so guess which I chose, being the social butterfly that I am?)
We would go there and my friends, who were musical theatre majors with dazzling voices, would put in like TEN slips of paper with songs written on them. They would be up there every 4th song, giving it their all. Oh and they were pitch perfect too, but often the songs were kinda boring. Like "The Rose" by Bette Midler. I mean, for someone who wants to show off, its a great way to flaunt your range, I guess. But who feels like hearing that one on a Friday night at a bar? Instant downer.
I would slink in the corner with my vodka tonic, slightly embarrassed to be affiliated with the hard-core singers of the night. Eventually after the vodka kicked in, I stopped caring as much and slipped in a song of my own. Usually something silly that was more of a statement than a song choice. Think "Bust-a-Move" or "Summertime Girls" by LFO. (Yeah, that one was a big hit, I'll tell you what.)
I think during that time I was starting to feel like one of those people (you know, the ones who go to every Karaoke night in the city, the regulars who always sing that same song and look a little too into it?) and that made me feel uncomfortable. When the DJ knew our names by heart, I could not take it anymore. Luckily, I finally started making more friends and I stopped going.
Later, when we would stumble upon Karaoke happening at a bar and it was later in my college career, the new friends I hung out with would get excited--not to sing, but to play a little game my buddy B coined "Scare-aoke." You try to find the worst song in the book, and you sign your friend up to sing it. Then they have no idea that they are singing (or what they are singing) until his or her name is called. It's pretty great. As long as you are fairly intoxicated. And you sort of know the lyrics.
Nowadays, with a fiance who thinks Karaoke is the bees knees (seriously he loves it, and is really good, especially with songs by Ray Charles--we threw him a birthday party at Lincoln Karaoke and it was a night that will go down in history as the best Karaoke night ever), I continue to struggle with my initial "ugh" feeling when Karaoke is mentioned. I still don't want to seek it out as a weekend activity. Yet I know deep down, once I have a drink or two, it will become a fun way to spend the evening for sure. So for now, I am just working on being more open to the suggestion than I used to be. So far, so good. Just ask the good people at Mullen's last Thursday night.
The thing that seems to be the link that flips my feeling from hate to love is alcohol.
Basically, I am generally adverse to going out specifically for Karaoke. I don't consider it "my thing." However, if a ton of people I know are heading out to do some Karaoke, I will give in and just go, and just swear to myself that I will not be singing that night. The whole first hour I am there, I will groan as friends start filling out the song slips, roll my eyes when someone expresses glee that they have such-and-such song, and generally act like I am way too above all this Karaoke nonsense.
Then inevitably I will realize, after about 3 beers and 5 hilarious performances by friends and strangers, that I DO like Karaoke, and I am damn good at it too! My guard drops and my hand reaches for that pen. Suddenly, it's on.
The weird thing is, usually, if I let myself give in, I end up having a BLAST. I am a pretty good singer and a well trained actress. I know what the people want to see. I have a few great performance songs up my sleeve that I can bust out. I will be there till last call, hooting and hollering for every performer, running up to dance along with them, clapping till my hands are raw, and loving every minute of it.
In a week or two, I will forget all about how fun it was that night, and the next time someone's like "Let's go to Karaoke tonight!" I am right back in denial again, rolling my eyes in disgust and looking for a better plan for the evening. It's ridiculous.
Back in my early college years, I hung out with a couple of people who were quite serious about Karaoke. I figure I must have been dragged along to the Karaoke bar almost every weekend for at least a year. (Okay maybe not dragged...but I did not have many friends at that time so it was either watch TV alone on a Friday night or go to the damn singing bar...so guess which I chose, being the social butterfly that I am?)
We would go there and my friends, who were musical theatre majors with dazzling voices, would put in like TEN slips of paper with songs written on them. They would be up there every 4th song, giving it their all. Oh and they were pitch perfect too, but often the songs were kinda boring. Like "The Rose" by Bette Midler. I mean, for someone who wants to show off, its a great way to flaunt your range, I guess. But who feels like hearing that one on a Friday night at a bar? Instant downer.
I would slink in the corner with my vodka tonic, slightly embarrassed to be affiliated with the hard-core singers of the night. Eventually after the vodka kicked in, I stopped caring as much and slipped in a song of my own. Usually something silly that was more of a statement than a song choice. Think "Bust-a-Move" or "Summertime Girls" by LFO. (Yeah, that one was a big hit, I'll tell you what.)
I think during that time I was starting to feel like one of those people (you know, the ones who go to every Karaoke night in the city, the regulars who always sing that same song and look a little too into it?) and that made me feel uncomfortable. When the DJ knew our names by heart, I could not take it anymore. Luckily, I finally started making more friends and I stopped going.
Later, when we would stumble upon Karaoke happening at a bar and it was later in my college career, the new friends I hung out with would get excited--not to sing, but to play a little game my buddy B coined "Scare-aoke." You try to find the worst song in the book, and you sign your friend up to sing it. Then they have no idea that they are singing (or what they are singing) until his or her name is called. It's pretty great. As long as you are fairly intoxicated. And you sort of know the lyrics.
Nowadays, with a fiance who thinks Karaoke is the bees knees (seriously he loves it, and is really good, especially with songs by Ray Charles--we threw him a birthday party at Lincoln Karaoke and it was a night that will go down in history as the best Karaoke night ever), I continue to struggle with my initial "ugh" feeling when Karaoke is mentioned. I still don't want to seek it out as a weekend activity. Yet I know deep down, once I have a drink or two, it will become a fun way to spend the evening for sure. So for now, I am just working on being more open to the suggestion than I used to be. So far, so good. Just ask the good people at Mullen's last Thursday night.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Shred Update
Well I have moved on to level 2 and it sucks even more than the first. Jillian still tortures me and tells me she literally wants me to feel "like you're going to die." Thanks Jillian.
And her two lackeys on either side that are exercising along with me are more annoying than they were in the first level. Their perfect abs glint in the harsh florescent lights of the workout studio. They "glisten" instead of sweat. And their long, toned legs reach their supple bouncing breasts as they do the "high knee" running in place during the cardio circuit. All the while their smiles are so frozen that after a while I swear it looks more like sneering.
Anyway enough about the hate. I have to make an honest confession. I have not been shredding every day. I started out strong. I did! I think I did it every day for about 10-12 days. But then I went to California to welcome my new niece into the world...and then I came back and the sun was so bright and warm that I thought it tragic to stay indoors for my workout when I could be running outside (Jillian-free)! So I have been alternating between what I consider "running" (jogging and walking for about 30 minutes) and a few days of the shred each week.
The result?
I somehow weigh more than I did when I started. (And my pants are tight too, so don't give me that "muscle weighs more than fat" business.) What the heck?
I try, people. I really try. I would say at this point in my life, I am more active than most. I ride my bike to work at least twice a week if not more. I shred a few times a week. I run a few times a week. Otherwise I walk everywhere I go in Chicago. So what is the problem, body?
Oh yeah...it's all that beer and chocolate I consume on a regular basis.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Open Letter to the Lady Bug I Almost Swallowed
Dear Ms Lady,
So how did you get into my water bottle anyway? I mean, I am pretty sure you came out of the tiny nub that opens and closes, and there isn't a whole lot of room in there. Did you hop on while I was biking, perhaps? Or were you somehow in the water machine at work and just fell right in and swam your way up to the sucker-part of my water bottle lid? Either way, pretty impressive work, my friend. Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible would be impressed.
Anyway, so when you were poured into my mouth with a mighty suck from my lips, did you think you were going to die? I would have. I am assuming it was pretty dark and warm and terrifying there. I know I almost crunched down on you in confusion. Did you feel my hesitation as I realized that something foreign had come out of my water bottle?
When I spit you out in the sink, I must say I was pretty shocked to see you. I thought perhaps you were a peanut skin or a gross piece of food that made it's way into my water bottle somehow. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that you would be a living creature. Especially one I happen to find cute. Usually.
Well, we both know how it all ended. I gagged, shuddered, half-yelped and told everyone at work about our shared moment. Then, realizing that you had been strong enough to live through the whole retched experience, I decided to scoop you up and let you go outside. You refused to fly so I tossed you off my hand and you landed with a tiny thud on the concrete. I ran back inside, still a little grossed out.
I hope you were able to get your wits about you and figure out how to move on with your tiny little life. I am still a little shaken but moving on just fine with mine.
Sincerely,
LR
PS you better be a sign of good luck, you bitch.
So how did you get into my water bottle anyway? I mean, I am pretty sure you came out of the tiny nub that opens and closes, and there isn't a whole lot of room in there. Did you hop on while I was biking, perhaps? Or were you somehow in the water machine at work and just fell right in and swam your way up to the sucker-part of my water bottle lid? Either way, pretty impressive work, my friend. Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible would be impressed.
Anyway, so when you were poured into my mouth with a mighty suck from my lips, did you think you were going to die? I would have. I am assuming it was pretty dark and warm and terrifying there. I know I almost crunched down on you in confusion. Did you feel my hesitation as I realized that something foreign had come out of my water bottle?
When I spit you out in the sink, I must say I was pretty shocked to see you. I thought perhaps you were a peanut skin or a gross piece of food that made it's way into my water bottle somehow. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that you would be a living creature. Especially one I happen to find cute. Usually.
Well, we both know how it all ended. I gagged, shuddered, half-yelped and told everyone at work about our shared moment. Then, realizing that you had been strong enough to live through the whole retched experience, I decided to scoop you up and let you go outside. You refused to fly so I tossed you off my hand and you landed with a tiny thud on the concrete. I ran back inside, still a little grossed out.
I hope you were able to get your wits about you and figure out how to move on with your tiny little life. I am still a little shaken but moving on just fine with mine.
Sincerely,
LR
PS you better be a sign of good luck, you bitch.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wordpressed
Due to a number of people expressing their satisfaction with wordpress.com, I thought perhaps I should look into possibly switching where I poo out these thoughts of mine. Maybe it is time to change the liter, eh?
I mean, I have been here for four or five years already. And really, the site is pretty rudimentary. (I hope some blogspot police don't read this and can me somehow because of that statement! Ack!) There are only a few backgrounds and everything is very simplified, which I do like. But sometimes, it is nice to have fun options. Bells and whistles and such.
I just don't think I am ready for that much extra stuff. I wish I was, I really do. But I will take my one-push publishing option at blogspot over the insanity that is the wordpress dashboard any day. I suppose if I had the proper assistance from someone who rocked at wordpress blogging and could navigate me around the site, that would really help. But currently, I am alone on this mission.
On top of that, I have been having trouble actually tracking who even reads this stuff and I recently added some sort of counter thingy to see if it would help. But since I am so awesomely lame at technology sometimes, I can't seem to figure out how to read it properly. Plus the company just sort of emails me randomly with a statement of how many hits I got, but there does not seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. It has been a little frustrating.
So about a week ago, I ventured on to wordpress.com. I was instantly intrigued. It all looked so easy! And so many options were at your fingertips instantly. It immediately asked me what I wanted to have for a blog name and of course I chose to continue the old Winnie the Pooh word-play that is poopoocorner. And they had it! Suddenly I had set up a blog over there! It was great. I felt excited, like I was on the brink of a huge turning point in my blog life (did I really just write that? Why does that sound so moronic?).
Then came the time when I started clicking around on all these options. Widgets. Extras. Backgrounds. Places to sign up for free fonts. Places to add your favorite blogs. Places to organize comments and archives and all kinds of other crap I had not really thought about. And when I tried to go to these options and implement them, it became very apparent that I did not understand all the jargon or what I was really doing. I mean I could not even find the place to start writing! It was pathetic.
I don't think this is necessarily wordpress.com's fault, by any means. They are awesome and I have seen some real snazzy blogs come out of there. Truthfully I am a bit envious of the quality of their blog format. It is me. I am the one who is hesitant in this relationship.
I just don't think I am ready for that much extra stuff. I wish I was, I really do. But I will take my one-push publishing option at blogspot over the insanity that is the wordpress dashboard any day. I suppose if I had the proper assistance from someone who rocked at wordpress blogging and could navigate me around the site, that would really help. But currently, I am alone on this mission.
As a result of all this exploration, I now have dominion over poopoocorner over at wordpress. Currently, there is nothing there but some generic thing wordpress puts up initially for you. One day I hope to switch over and somehow archive a link to this blog over there. Or maybe figure out how to move it all over there in one big chunk.
In the meantime, I am staying put. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Elevator Observation
Why do people press the up/down button even though it has obviously already been pressed? The button lights up once pressed, which clearly alerts potential elevator riders that yes, the car is coming soon. There is no need to press the button again. The elevator will get there when it gets there.
Yet there are some people who seem to think it will somehow make the car come faster if they walk up to the already lit button and press it. Again. Or maybe even press it two or three times in rapid succession, just in case.
It is such a weird phenomena that I witness every day at my place of employment. We are on the 46th floor of a 48 story building, so elevator riding is part of my daily commute. Of all the dumb elevator maneuvers people pull (and there are many, as we all know), this one astounds me the most. It's bordering on OCD behavior, or perhaps control-freakishness. Someone already pressed the button. There are lots of people waiting already. And some guy (or girl, though I see that less often for some reason. Trust issues, guys?) walks right up with authority and hits that button like he just saved all our lives. Like we were waiting here in the lobby for NO REASON whatsoever, just hoping someone would come hit the button and summon our only mode of transportation. Thank you sir! You saved us all from a life of standing aimlessly in a lobby area, unsure of our future and what our purpose is. Thank God you showed up and pressed that lighted button, or who knows what could have happened?
It's ridiculous. Also mildly hilarious.
I just needed to point this out.
I am done now.
It is such a weird phenomena that I witness every day at my place of employment. We are on the 46th floor of a 48 story building, so elevator riding is part of my daily commute. Of all the dumb elevator maneuvers people pull (and there are many, as we all know), this one astounds me the most. It's bordering on OCD behavior, or perhaps control-freakishness. Someone already pressed the button. There are lots of people waiting already. And some guy (or girl, though I see that less often for some reason. Trust issues, guys?) walks right up with authority and hits that button like he just saved all our lives. Like we were waiting here in the lobby for NO REASON whatsoever, just hoping someone would come hit the button and summon our only mode of transportation. Thank you sir! You saved us all from a life of standing aimlessly in a lobby area, unsure of our future and what our purpose is. Thank God you showed up and pressed that lighted button, or who knows what could have happened?
It's ridiculous. Also mildly hilarious.
I just needed to point this out.
I am done now.
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