Not Just Your Garden-Variety Neurotic Smartass.

Dental Damn and Dumpster Diving.

Good Morning! My back is starting to feel better at last, so it’s a lovely day here in the hood.

I could really use all of your good thoughts today, because Jasmine has an interview for a full-time job this morning. If she were to get it, that would be truly wonderful. She’s been looking for a job for quite some time and pickings have been less than slim.

The rescue lady came and picked up the mama cat yesterday, so now we’re down to just my cats, the kitten we’re keeping, and the kitten Jasmine’s friend is keeping. I almost hate to split them up because they’re so incredibly sweet together, but we really don’t need four cats – a point that was driven home particularly hard last night when all four of them were in my room and most of them were on my bed screwing around while I was attempting to sleep. I am a cat magnet. All four of them are gathered around me right now, waiting for my next move.

Today I plan to work on my little code training book and do some cleaning, but not much is on the agenda.

I sorely need to go to the dentist. I grind my teeth at night (and sometimes during the day, too) to such a terrible degree that the enamel on them is shot, and at last count I needed a couple root canals and a few cavities done.

I also knocked out the permanent retainer on my bottom teeth, and it’s gotten incredibly hard to floss in the areas my teeth have sort of shifted back, so I probably need that replaced.

Speaking of retainers, I have a story that is probably my dad’s favorite story of all time – the retainer story. When I was in junior high, like many kids, I had braces on my teeth. I had them for three years, because my pre-braces teeth were pretty gnarly. If I can find a photo, I’ll scan one and post it later, because my stacked-up, crooked, gap-filled, buck teeth are really something to see.

After I had the braces taken off during my eighth grade year, I had to wear a retainer on my top teeth. This was pretty standard. The retainer had sort of a plastic plate with a wire that went over my teeth, and I had to take it out in order to eat.

During my lunch break at school, I typically wrapped it in a napkin while I was eating so that nobody had to look at my icky gross retainer; and one fateful day, I accidentally threw it in the garbage. I didn’t realize it until I arrived home, and I promptly freaked out.

My father, not wanting to purchase a new retainer (which I now completely understand), drove me to the school the next morning, which happened to be a Saturday, so that we could dig through the garbage and find the cursed thing.

Now, it should be noted that although I am from the hood, I went to a rather posh private school in a rather nice neighborhood. Tuition was on the house if one was a church member, so did I attend church until the eighth grade? You bet. So not only was I dumpster diving, I was dumpster diving in chic, white-bread, suburbia.

I was mortified, to say the least, and ready to beat my father to death with a shovel for humiliating me in this manner.

We dug through bag after bag of garbage, and I felt like I was out there scrounging through the trash for a lifetime. My dad’s favorite aspect of this story is that I could tell when we were getting to the junior high lunches, because very few of them had been eaten. Eating disorders and private schools are made for each other!

Finally, I found the damn thing, covered securely in a napkin for safekeeping, next to an uneaten apple. I never lost my retainer again, and my father tells this story at least four times per year as either a cautionary tale or just a fond remembrance.

Feel free to leave me a comment if you’re reading! I do love a good comment.



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