On…

Routine maintenance
I went to the dentist today and managed to only disassociate for about 30 seconds. I’ve only recently started doing this and it freaks me out a little. I didn’t used to be bothered by visits to the dentist, but I also used to looooooooooove broccoli and now I’ve started picking it out of my food in utter disgust. Anyway. I got a purple-and-clear toothbrush and a new package of floss, all for being such a good patient. I think the hygienist was a little mad that my teeth weren’t falling out of my head or that I didn’t have Erupting Gum Disease or something. I suppose that if I cleaned teeth all day long, I’d be looking for some mystery and excitement, or at least some serious decay. Sorry, lady. My teeth were “good … as usual.” Grumblebitchsigh, sayeth the hygienist.

My future

I’m trying to decide between a couple different scenarios. Scenario 1 involves buying a house right here in River City, taking the GRE, going to grad school, and having a baby. Scenario 2 (no more important than Scenario 1; I simply thought of it second) involves moving out of state (my top two choices are Chicago and Ann Arbor), taking the GRE, going to grad school, and having a baby. Until I typed them out, I didn’t realize they were quite so similar. I attended a (toe-squishing) luncheon last week that celebrated the arts and seriously considered staying here as our arts community seems to be thriving, at least in an underground-but-not-really-subversive-since-it’s-supported-by-the-mayor way. Also, I am about five percent famous for my writing and I enjoy my fame (I’m gonna live forever! I’m gonna learn how to fly … FLY!). I suppose my wee bit of fame means I can move. If I were Really Amazingly Famous, then maybe I’d stay. I don’t know. I see pictures of other cities’ landscapes and think I should move. Then I think about how well I know this city and how long I’ve been here and how comfortable it is and think I should stay.” Then I listen to my neighbors stomp around upstairs and think, “Move. TONIGHT.” And then I think about squishy babies and buying my parents’ house if/when they move to another state and the people I know here and I think, “Stay.” And then … well, you’ve more than gotten the point by now.

Beverages

I tried drinking some Pure® Cranberry juice with my lunch and found it waaaaay too sweet. I had to cut it with water to make it quaffable. I don’t know much about daily sugar consumption. Is it okay in juices? Or am I just doing as much harm to my body as I would by drinking a can of Pepsi? Not that I would drink Pepsi because Pepsi sucks ass.

Work

I’ve actually been doing some for the past three days. Will wonders never cease.

Cute stuff

Gizmo and George are spoiled brats. They only like to drink water as it falls from the faucet. This was no problem when I lived in a place that had An Actual Human-Sized Tub. Now that I have World’s Stupidest Bathroom that includes a too-big sink for the space, a toilet that I’m pretty sure leaks after it’s flushed, and a shower stall (oh the humanity!) that reminds me a bit too much of my dorm days, I’ve had to be ingenious with water solutions. Sometimes I can get George to drink from the sink faucet in the bathroom; sometimes she flips out and jumps down and looks at me with wide eyes that say, “Stop trying to slowly drown me!” More often than not, I find myself slowly pouring water from a cup into a Tupperware container on the floor. The noise attracts the cats and they approach the water slowly, realizing "Yay! The wet stuff is back!" and begin to flip their tongues against the stream. Cutest.thing.ever.I.swear. And then Gizmo reaches out a paw and bats at the water. And then they both get water in their tiny noses and they kitty-sneeze, which makes me giggle and swoon and get all uterus-throbby (even though, yes, I know I can’t have kittens). And then the Tupperware is empty and we start over. It’s a tedious process but at least I know they’re getting hydrated.

Weird things I think of

Target is having a baby sale, which made me think I could go to Target and pick up a baby on the shelf. If they run out of babies before I get there, do I get a raincheck? Are all the babies on sale? Or just a select few? Do they come with any accessories or are they like Barbie dolls? Will they come packaged in a standard color onesie and then I have to buy everything else, like the tiny plastic shoes and all the career kits? Is there an extra charge to make the kid look like me? Do I get to write my name on the kid's butt, a la Xavier Roberts?

Weird II

One of the baby items on sale is a bopsie. Or a boopie. Whatever – it’s that pillow that moms use for propping up baby while breastfeeding. I imagined Madonna, in her young mother days, being approached by a breast pump company about doing a commercial while singing “Express Yourself.”

Nip/Tuck

The show is causing me to have nightmares. Not that I’m going to stop watching it. I’m just saying. Also, person or persons who have the third disk of Season 3 checked out at my friendly neighborhood Blockbuster: bring it back!

Writing a novel

As I mentioned in a previous post, I’m going to participate in November’s National Novel Writing Month. I’m trying to think of a good story to write and wonder how much preparation I can do prior to November without actually starting to write the novel. I suppose thinking of dialogue is fine, but am I cheating if I write it down prior to November? If it’s only five words, is that okay? I keep imagining two people in their 20s who have stopped for food after a night of clubbing. The young drunk character embarrasses the hell out of her designated driver friend by announcing, apropos of nothing, “Ice cream makes me poop!” I have no idea who these people are, if they’re in a Denny’s or a Waffle House or in the drive-through at Taco Bell, or what has caused this important message from the Lactose Intolerance Committee of America, but the line came to me over the weekend and made me laugh and I want to use it. [Update: I have since changed my mind about this.]

Laundry

Soon.

Starbucks

This morning, I was officially called a regular by the all-too-perky barista who told me what I was going to order before I said it. Now that they know my order in a very two-all-beef-patties-special sauce-lettuce-cheese-pickles-onions-on-a-sesame-seed-bun way, I’m tempted to start ordering something entirely different, like black tea and a muffin. Actually, that sounds pretty good. Hmm.

Five years later

I don’t want to say much about 9/11 because the whole thing still makes me feel ill. Suffice it to say, I haven’t forgotten about the tragedy, the people lost, the lives affected; I don’t think there’s any way I or anyone else could. For the first time in years, I flinched today when a plane flew overhead. My thoughts are with everyone affected by the attacks, especially today.