Oh, Doctor!

I've been teasing my husband about how the hygienists at our dentist are all in love with him. I know, another dental blog. Normally a trip to the dentist doesn't inspire much more than an improvement in dental care, but not ours! After the cannibal dentist event, I took another child in and while we were waiting to be examined, two hygienists came giggling into the waiting room and said,

"We just had to meet the wife of our favorite patient. He is SO handsome!" (giggle, blush, rib jab).

Umm, ewww? True, the guy is easy on the eyes and he is devoted to his work out regimen, but do you really say that the the Mrs.? And what am I supposed to say in reply? Thanks? I know? I just smiled and gave them my patented nervous giggle. I guess if they were going to act on their crush, this was better than some alternatives I could think of. But, today... was my turn in the chair. I know my dentist likes me. He always tells me and anyone in the vicinity that my teeth are like pearls and he wishes everyone was as devoted to their gums as I am. Hey, you take your boosts where you can get them. Today, though, as I'm laying there wondering if they tilt the seat back another inch if my feet will go cartwheeling over my head and I'll land in the tray of tools, Dr. Bill sits beside me after my cleaning and begins the usual "oohing and ahhing" over my choppers. Then... he notices my blouse! I have a little mirror in my mouth so I can't contribute to any conversation other than eyebrow maneuvers and unintelligible throat noises. Good thing I was a communication major. He says,

"Look at your blouse! What a pretty color! It's just perfect for you, and your eyes, and.... everything."

(Me: move eyebrows, drool, and grunt in appreciation).

"You know I love your teeth, I tell you that all the time. You're pretty cute, too! Have I ever told you that?

(Me: grunt, snort, gargle)

"Oh, well I'm telling you now, for the record."

I roll my eyes back in search of the hygienist, praying she is paying attention. I catch her gaze and remember she is one of the ones who likes my husband. I'm thinking, "Where am I, 1970?" She just looked at me from behind her mask and gave me back my nervous giggle.

Fortunately, my dental insurance "picked up" the whole visit.

Keystone Cops

I have a love/hate relationship with eBay. I've been buying a lot and selling a little for a couple of years. Don't let anybody fool you, selling on eBay is a ton of work! The cleaning, the pictures, the posting, the terms: it's exhausting for the little to be made. And, if you've sold something that is sentimental to you, the seller, chances are the winning bidder won't have the same rose colored glasses you do and object to the quality. This happened to me once with a baby outfit. I had her send it back for a full refund and the set now rests in my cedar chest with the other things I will never part with. I took that as the eBay god's way of telling me not to sell my baby clothes. Obviously I was selling the wrong things. I've just "won" an auction for a vintage badge from my sorority. I say "won" because, although I am jumping up and down and my heart is still racing, I shelled out a pile of money to keep it out of the hands of evildoers! My little eBay nest egg is empty! People, if you don't want your badges/pins/pledge pins anymore, give them back to your greek letter organization or local chapter. Don't sell them, you will just be giving sentimental sorority girls like me a big, old heart attack.

Keystone Cops, Unite!

Call me Bubble

I've just returned from Nashville, which was marvelous. There was actually a flake or two of snow while I was there, which is funny because the last time I was there, 20 years ago, it snowed! That time it was ankle deep. I stayed at the Opryland, which is massive but nice and I'm sorry to say, reminded me of Disneyland. I wish I could say it reminded me of some wonderful southern location, but I don't have that knowledge, so Disneyland it is. The architecture was similar to "New Orleans Square" at the Mouse House. I think I need to venture further than the nearest theme park. I like Nashville and at one time I was very close to moving there. The funniest thing that happened on this trip was meeting someone who reads my blog! It isn't difficult to type away at home in my jammies. But to have the acknowledgement that real people are reading this stuff was a bit unsettling! But, on I go.

You can't pick your nicknames. Once in college this guy tried to get everyone to call him "Biff" ( am I dating myself?) but we thought that was goofy and refused to do it. Nicknames come from inside jokes, name derivatives and baby talk. There are cousins in my family who call their Grandpa both "Bumpa" and "Papa". Same guy, two different nicknames that came from the toddler perspective. My great- grandmother, for whom I was given the name, "Mable" (and you thought I was making that up! Oh no!) was known as "Bubble" to all of her grand and great grandkids. Come to think of it, there wasn't a "Grandma" in the bunch, they all had nicknames. Not that I'm in ANY hurry for the distinction, but I would love to be known as "Bubble" to my grandkiddos. Of course, if I try to press the name, it will be rejected for whatever they come up with. Just don't call me "Grandma". Ever.

Prince!

My last post, while therapeutic in a way, did not help in the "get-it-out-of-my-system" way I prefer. Instead I haven't stopped thinking about that whole deal. It was years ago. I need to move off this and onto other things. Like Prince at the Superbowl. First, let me tell you about the Janet/Justin Superbowl. When her top ripped off and exposed her pierced breast I sort of tilted my head to the side, squinted my eyes and said, "Did I really just see what I think I saw?" At the halftime show with Prince I did the same head tilt-squint and said, "Isn't this a little Austin Powers?" I love Prince. Correction, I love the old Prince who was always reliably naughty. His stage shows were great, but bawdy and funny. Then, not long ago, I read that he was changing and we wouldn't hear any cursing or see any questionable antics or lyrics from him anymore. I was happy for him, if that's what he needed to do, but this new Prince would take some getting used to. I went to see him in concert, proudly wearing purple, of course and his show was indeed PG and not the NC-17 I'd grown to appreciate. Well folks, after this halftime show, I think the old Prince is back, sense of humor in tact. I couldn't be happier.

Are you saying I'm bitter?

I'm here, really I am. I've been blogging away, just not posting anything. I use my blog as therapy, you see, and some entries are just not fit for public consumption. There is one in draft-form about my views on the Pro-Choice debate. See? Too dicey a topic and I was really upset at the time, so, no-posty. Another one was a dissertation on the song, Lips of an Angel. No, I'm not kidding. That song is such a sad commentary on relationships, and if I hear it one more time I may do something rash. Short of that, I blogged about it and I feel much better. Not going to post that one, either.

I have had a huge blast-from-the-past that has really tipped me upside down. This is tricky because I know there is a possibility that one of the people involved may read this post, and with that I'm just going to take my chances. Some things need to be said. A long, long time ago, I moved to a new state with my young family. We joined a church that seemed to have what we were looking for: young people, fun activities, spiritually fulfilling, great music. After we moved and reported to our friends how great everything was in the new town, several of them packed up their families and moved as well. We were very involved with the church from early on and were celebrated as a fulfillment of a prophecy concerning the growth of this church. This was heady stuff for us being young, new to the church and relatively new as believers. But, we were eager and willing to give whatever we could to the church. This is a church that was born from the splitting of another church (red flag!). And, to tell you the truth, the town of 80,000 in which this church resides is FULL of church splits. People new to the area think it's just lovely how many churches we have, without realizing they all used to be the same church. I'm not talking about outgrowing the sanctuary and needing to plant a new church. I'm talking about mutiny. I'm talking about people who decide their pastor is wrong and go and start their own church where "the truth" will be taught. Sorry to digress, but you need to understand the atmosphere in this place, not exactly brotherly. We were having a lovely time and had been members for a few years when, apparently, the Pastor's Wife decided she had had as much of us (mostly me, she was always very friendly with my husband) as she could take. After we were featured speakers at the church's Marriage Seminar and Radio show, life at the church was never the same. Here are the areas of PW's (Pastor's Wife) attack:

1) Bad Mother: I refused to spank my 2 year old and would not take the advice of using an object (wooden spoon, hairbrush) to spank with as an alternative to using my hand. They also advocated snapping the fleshy part of an infant's thigh with a toothbrush when they "misbehave". I didn't know infants could misbehave, but apparently I had a lot to learn. The actual "You are a bad mother" quote came from a time PW noticed my 2-year-old drank milk from a baby bottle. I guess I was spoiling her.

2) Bad church member: PW circulated a story that had me storming into her office (yes, PW needed her own office complex) and telling her that I was too important to serve in the nursery. Hi, these people hit babies with toothbrushes, you had better believe I wanted to be in that nursery. When we met with PW's husband, the Pastor and presumed leader of the church, he said, "You're right. She lied and has a problem with you but I am married to her and I'll deny this meeting ever happened."

3) Evil: yes, evil. Part of my badness was being a sorority member. I was told to take back any oaths I had made and repent. But the kicker was one night, when we were not in attendance, a lecture was given, complete with flowcharts, about how we (specifically me and my family) were not part of any prophecy and, in fact, were sent by the devil. I'm not even sort of kidding. They were shown how we had come in, and who we brought with us and how evil we all were. They said anyone who had come into contact with us could come forward for cleansing, and several people did. Like my old best friend, for whom I served as her Matron-of-Honor at her wedding to the man we introduced her to. We were shunned. Not that we didn't already have one foot out the door, but this made it official.

Since then we have had many people call us who eventually left under similar circumstances or after having realized what actually happened with us. A lot of people are still there. Some of them were dear friends of ours. Dear, like people we had listed as alternate guardians in our Wills. That kind of Dear. Now, even all these years later, these people will reverse their shopping carts if they see us at the grocery store. The PW completely ignores me. She will talk to my husband, but not me, even if I look her in the eye and say, "Hello". It doesn't matter where we are, it happened once at a movie theater and again not long ago at a funeral.

So, did the eager Young Married Group Leaders, MOPS leader, intercessory prayer group member, choir member, run to another church? Um, not so much.

Oh, and my blast-from-the-past? Meeting, in a totally random fashion, my old best friend's new best friend. They are all going to a marriage seminar at that same church this weekend. Good luck with that, and, watch your back.