Not dead.

Call off the search party. I'm still alive!

The other day I was walking down the street to meet a friend at Starbucks when I realized my bra was twisted. In ONE city block I managed to undo it, untangle and re-fasten, while continuously walking in a moderately populated area. That's right. Some may say I'm a magician of sorts.

I suck at this blogging thing. But I have a few reasons to be pretty excited and potentially have stuff to blog about in the near future. (That said, I definitely had things to blog about earlier only I came down with a case of laziness and then just didn't. My summer was pretty awesome. I got to see my sisters! Yea!!! They all came for a visit, including the one I like, the one I love and the one I made cry in a board game. I'm just kidding. I've made all of them cry in a board game...) In the last week Netflix has made available this past season of TV shows, which was exciting. I kind of live for TV. But not like in a pathetic sort of couch potato way -- in an incredibly scholarly, ambitious person with a thriving social life kind of way. I mean I'm not sitting there in my bathrobe for hours on end watching the tube. I wear pants! Also Halloween is just around the corner. It's my second favorite holiday (after Arbor Day). So sit tight. I may post again before 2011 comes to an end... But no promises.

Oh X-men, how I love thee!

So many things have happened in my exceptionally exciting life since I last posted three years ago. I saw the new X-men movie (my review rating: an order of General Tso's and three pieces of cheesecake!) I heart X-men! But sometimes I feel like those fake Harry Potter fans who claim to LOVE Harry Potter and then go on to identify their favorite MOVIE. (You know who you are, and you should be ashamed of yourself. You may as well be illiterate.) That said, I love the X-men movies and have not followed the comic book series, BUT let me explain myself. I think I should be excused from my own judgement because comic books suck. There, I said it. They are soooo much work for soooo little content.

"Oh, look at me. I'm a comic book. I'm pop art with a fortune cookie fortune worth of dialogue. Love me. Follow me. Invest fifty years into seeing how my story unravels..."

(sticks out tongue, makes fart noise, thumbs down sign). Please, comic book. No one will wait in line at midnight for your latest edition and then lock themselves into their adult apartment to continuously read you for two days, surviving on minimal sleep and pizza delivery breadsticks while neglecting to study for their upcoming law school final exams! (it's an expression.)

Also the dentist and I are taking a break with the hopes of renewing our relationship in November (when, as a term of our romance, he will clean my teeth). I know, I know. I was bummed too. But it's for the best! We just want different things. He wants to see other people, or as he calls them "patients" (whatever that means), and I don't want to pay him for more work. I'm not going to floss just to spite him.

Dating in the 90s

This is exactly the reason I’ve never kept a journal, or at least one that lasted more than a month. I’m very aware of my strengths and weaknesses (the few that I have) and consistent journaling definitely falls in the latter category.

Okay. I think I may be dating my dentist. I mean we have been seeing each other for awhile now, and pretty regularly (like every Thursday morning for the last 3-4 weeks). And I’ve definitely invested in him (we’re talking hundreds of dollars). And we’ve made future plans together (I usually schedule them with the receptionist, but it’s implied that he sees us going somewhere). So yeah. It’s pretty much the healthiest and most successful relationship I’ve had in a looooong time. Hold out all single ladies out there!!! There’s probably an optometrist or ear, nose & throat specialist out there just waiting for you! You just need good health/dental/vision insurance and have something physically wrong with you – both are absolute prerequisites to dating these days. (Note: You may be able to sub in a mental illness for a physical health problem. Results may vary.)

Like the man-eater pro that I am, I made excellent conversation and effectively seduced him. Here’s how… When he asked about how my temporary crowns were treating me, I told him how (like a genius) I was chewing gum, and the gum pulled the temporary crowns off my real teeth nubs, and I had to spit out my fake teeth and reinstall my young person dentures mid group conversation. That’s when I knew I had him hooked... No worries. I’ve already begun to write my guide to flirting and dating, anticipating the obvious demand. Due in stores Summer 2012.

Tooth Decay & Soul Appraisal

Damn my parents and their hereditary play-doh teeth! I paid a visit to the dentist, or as I will now refer to him, the wallet leech, and received some bad news. No, not tooth cancer, but an equally awful diagnosis: two crowns and three fillings (fortunately the mortality rate is very low.). I wasn’t shocked to hear that I needed work. I’ve had a literal baker’s dozen of cavities in my life because my teeth suck. They are apparently very soft and love a good cavity (who doesn’t!?). What I was NOT prepared for was the bill. Despite having dental insurance I am now on a payment plan that only requires a fraction of my paycheck for the next 18 months… and my soul upon death (unfortunately appraised for less than I was counting on).

A Conversation With My Grandma

There’s so much pressure that goes into that first posting! That first post should set the tone for the blog, be representative of future postings, and really reflect me. So I thought to myself, what should I write about?!??!? I thought about writing about my very busy weekend where, aside from working, my time was divided between Angry Birds and learning Busta’s rap in "Look at me Now" (which, by the way, I’m getting prett-y good at. Which is semi-impressive because I’m very white. Very white = white without swag)… I mean I was stumped. I had invested five, maybe ten, WHOLE minutes in this thought and still had nothing. So I dropped it for the day. And then I spoke with my grandma the following day, on Mother’s Day.

A conversation with my grandma…

Grandma: And every time we went up to the Air Force base to dance, your grandfather would wait and watch for me to pass through that gate.
Me: Like a stalker?
Grandma: No, no. He wasn’t doing anything screwy. He just thought I was the prettiest one there.
Me: So, like a romantic stalker?
Grandma: Yeah. Your grandfather was so jealous, and I didn’t even go with any boys. I went up there with all my girlfriends.
Me: Like a lesbian?
Grandma: No, no. I would dance with the boys. ALL the boys; from all over the U.S.
Me: Even the black guys?
Grandma: Oh god no!!! Never.