The Thomas Crown Affair

I had the day off Thursday so that I could enjoy a leisurely dental appointment - one of my molars was cracked and I needed a crown to fix it. Yes, it's true, I enjoy going to the dentist. Ever since my friend, Mrs. T., introduced me to her dentist, Dr. Tom, I don't mind dental appointments at all. Dr. Tom and his office staff make my appointments fast, fun, painless and totally void of stress. And no, it's not just because of the laughing gas. Speaking of nitrous oxide...Dr. Tom's office has the scented kind: bubble gum, mint, vanilla, etc... When he asked what "flavor" I wanted, I decided that since it was 10:30 AM I'd ask if they had bloody Mary or mimosa scented. No such luck; I went with vanilla.

The first time I was ever knocked out for a dental procedure was when I had my four eye teeth removed before getting braces. After that I was also knocked out to have my wisdom teeth extracted. I didn't "need" to have my wisdom teeth out, they weren't bothering me or anything, but the Peace Corps required that they come out. Peace Corps you ask? I guess that's more blog fodder on which I'll need to work - or that I'll need to work on - if you don't mind me ending a sentence with a preposition?

Dr. Tom's office is cozy. They remodeled about a year ago and the space is comfortable, clean and inviting. The receptionist and accountant are extra sweet to me and always ask how Doc. B. is doing. They got to meet Doc. B. when we attended a holiday party at Dr. Tom's house a couple of years back. What fun and what a home he has. I'm thinking that the seven crowns he's done for me over the years have paid for part of his pool? Thank goodness for medical spending accounts.

My childhood memories of the dentist are all about the University of Michigan dental school. For what I'm guessing was a very cheap price, my parents were able to get all four of us kids in there to have our cleanings and fillings done. The catch was that it was a student who worked on your teeth so he/she had to have constant supervision with lots of checking, double checking, and triple checking to ensure the work was being done correctly. The best part was that a teeth cleaning meant at least a half day off school and a filling was for sure a full day off. I'm thinking my student dentist's name was Desa but I can't be sure. I never could understand her too well and I think she was from Egypt. She had me chew so many of those red tablets that I could have been the child lead in an Anne Rice novel. Especially since my fangs had not yet been removed. You know what I'm talking about with those red tablets, right? I think the technical term for them is "disclosing tablets" - the ones that tell you where you missed when you were brushing. In any case, the fillings I had done at U of M, so Dr. Tom has told me, fill virtually my entire tooth. So he can't replace fillings on me, he has to do crowns.

I have yet to experience my first root canal. He tells me they aren't as bad as everyone says they are - strangely, I believe him... Hopefully I won't be finding out anytime soon.

One Year Ago

Today marks the one year anniversary of Murphy’s death. It’s hard to believe he’s been gone for 12 months – especially after the years of enjoyment he brought to my life. He was born in Battle Creek Michigan on February 5, 1988. As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, his first cat box was in an adult foster home that cared for men with Down Syndrome. There were other cats in the litter, I don’t know how many, but I do know he had a brother. In this photo, Murphy is just days old and that’s his sibling on the right.



His mother was a Persian named Moonbright Weber’s Samantha. I don’t have a picture of her, but I do have a shot of Murphy’s dad whose name was Kitty Lands Flaming Shainasee. He was born on 8/13/85 and was a flame point Himalayan-persian.



Murphy was always a little stand-off-ish and some people thought he looked mean because of his facial features. But really he was the sweetest boy who loved his step sister, Maddie, and who made me happy through any number of sad times in my life. He watched a lot of people and jobs come and go. He moved with me to the 8 different homes/apartments I’ve lived in over the past 18 years. And all of that without complaining or expecting anything except a little food, water and a clean litter box.

Here are some more photos in memory of The Murph…Also known as: Smurf, love bug, butter, bug, hun bun, sweet boy, stretch Gordon, muffin head, fluff ball, squeezer cat, special mister, fluffinator, jaba the hut, etc…

Internet Creativity

How many times have you seen an invention that you wish YOU had created or read an article that you wish YOU had thought of first? Since starting the blog, this happens to me all of the time, mainly with another person's words or ideas that make me laugh or think. Yes, it's a form of jealousy - call it "genius envy" if you wish. Take that phrase for example. I just thought of "genius envy" - made it up all by myself. But then I thought, wait, let me google that and see if anyone else has already claimed it. Sure enough, there is a musician (trumpet player) named Ron Horton who has an album by the same name. I've never heard of Ron Horton or his album - so does that mean I'm copying him? Is this what patents and trademarks and copyrights (oh my!) are all about?

Anyway, you know those old photos that have been made into greeting cards with funny captions? I wish I had thought of that. Well, today I saw a variation of that idea...

My neighbor forwarded me this website and I just about peed my pants. One because it was so clever, but two because I would have had easy access to the material - vintage sewing patterns. These two Atlantan's made my day and I'm thinking the website will also resonate with my sisters - since our mom was a home economics teacher and still is a master seamstress...

threadbared

Once you go to the website, click on "about us" and get a laugh out of the biographies. Then, just for fun, browse through their sewing patterns and captions. Made me chuckle and I love to share chuckles. "Chuckles" are one of my Dad's favorite candies and he's been known to willingly share them - must be where I get it...

Mom's Day

I'm pretty sure my mom has never much cared for Mother's day. I can't put words in her mouth, but I think she dislikes the pressure it puts on other people. You, know, feeling like your family has to do something special for you just because it's mother's day. Or maybe she just doesn't like the attention? I'm not sure which it is, if either, but I'm going to go ahead and do something special for her and give her attention too...a mother's day blog entry.

Here's a picture of my mom when she was 14; wasn't she pretty!?. She still is. The last time she visited here in Atlanta, we were out for a walk around the neighborhood and we passed an older couple. The woman said to my mom "you have the most beautiful hair"! My mom smiled and said "thank you" but the woman just kept on gushing about how nice it looked. It is some pretty gray hair, mom. I'm hoping mine looks the same whenever Pam, my hairdresser, says I can stop coloring it. My guess is that date will be some time shortly after I've single handedly, fully funded Pam's retirement account.

One of my fond "mom memories" is how she was my number one fan during my high school basketball career. She would go to all of my games and cheer from the bleachers with her own made up phrase: "That a go, Carrie O." That support from the stands has continued on throughout my life. Whatever I've wanted to try or be, mom has been behind me 100 percent. And she's this way with all of her kids and grandkids.

It's pretty amazing that mom and dad will get in the car and drive for 12 hours just to come see us. And when they get here, they don't just sit around - they work in the yard or on the house as if they were contractors with a deadline. And when we're done working, mom will sit on the front porch with me and drink a glass of wine.

I have many wonderful mom memories, but here are just a few to let her know I love and appreciate her:

* she helped me make a very cool sweat suit in high school sewing class
* she used to pack my lunch every day and would write a sweet note on my napkin
* she made my prom dresses, but didn't make me where dresses when I didn't want to
* she took care of me when I had mono and when I had foot surgery
* she's always available by phone for cooking emergencies and/or reminding me how to make pie crusts
* she put together a recipe box for all of us kids that included the family meals and desserts we love
* and when I come home to visit, she always prepares my favorite dishes, like tater tot casserole.

I hope you have a terrific day, mom, and go ahead and let people be nice to you!

Stairway to Heaven?

I hate to acknowledge that an aspect of my self-diagnosed obsessive compulsive disorder involves counting my steps. I revealed this to Doc. B. on a recent jog, that to pass the time, I frequently count my steps between landmarks and/or count the number of steps for each breath in and out. She already knew that I had a habit of counting stairs. This came up in a conversation with some friends when I disclosed the fact that I knew how many steps there were on the staircase in our house. As usual, I’m sure that alcohol was probably involved in this confession as I don’t think I would have admitted it otherwise. Since the cat is out of the bag now, I figured I could come clean on the blog too. Oh, and by the way, Doc. B. counted the steps in our house only to find that I was indeed correct.

I also know way too much about the stairwell at my office. It takes 5 minutes for me to walk down from the 21st floor and another ten minutes to walk back up. So it’s been one of my standard 15 minute break activities since I started working here at the Federal building. You’d think that an iPod would be entertainment enough while I’m hoofing it up and down these stairs, but no, my counting continues. There are 24 stair steps between each floor, 12 stair steps between each landing and 6 steps on each landing. There are nine Automated External Defibrillators, and eight signs that say "no food or drink in the stairwell". I should note that in addition to the iPod and the counting, there are always other things to do and see in the stairs. For example, for the past three days, there has been a copy of a Code of Federal Regulations just lying outside the door to the 19th floor. Who would leave this there and/or not realize that they dropped it? And what should one do when confronted with this situation? Should I turn it in to the lost and found or just leave it there? And despite those warnings about food and drinks, fellow federal employees, likely named Hansel and Gretel, usually leave me a trail of crushed Cheetos or popcorn so that I can find my way out of the stairwell. And if it's not actual food, it's gum and candy wrappers. One day I found nine pennies. It was pretty obvious that someone had been dropping them from above to see where they would land. Clearly other people have fun in the stairwell just like me. And can you imagine these stairs in the middle of a fire drill? Thank goodness I’ve only participated in one of them since working here. It’s very difficult to stay in step with a crowd of people, many of whom have not been in the stairwell since the last fire drill. It took substantially longer then five minutes to get to the first floor exit.

I’ve had a pedometer in the past but it went on the blitz and was more frustrating than helpful. For example, I would jog for 30 minutes and it would only register 14 steps. This is very annoying to someone with a step counting obsession. So I was pleasantly surprised when my friend, Mrs. T., presented me with a new pedometer today. "They" say you should get in 10,000 steps per day. I should have no problem hitting that goal and maybe, just maybe, I’ll give my brain a break and let the pedometer count my steps? Nah…probably not.

Take me out to the Ball Game

I’ve been promising my buddy Kowski that I would make sure her name got into a future blog entry. Little did she know it would be all about her. The majority of my vast readers do not know Kowski so I better start there – with some history. Kowski and I worked together at one of my former employers. We had an immediate bond because we were hired just two weeks apart, went through training together, and were then placed in charge of a most unusual group of 25 employees - affectionately dubbed "the island of misfit toys". I’m sure there is a reason we were placed on this particular team – no doubt we also fit the requirements to be shipwrecked on that island. Kowski and I became quick confidants, went to lunch together, supported one another and figured out, what I viewed as, a great team approach to managing our group of employees. Over the three years that we worked together, Kowski also filled in as my "little sister", since my own siblings live so far away. I got to push her around, make fun of her, be bossy, and do all of those things that big sisters get to do. And, like a good little sister, Kowski took it well and of course dished it right back at me. It was not uncommon to hear the old "I’m rubber, your glue…" statement, have paper wads flying over the cubicle walls, or see Kowski do one of her infamous "booty slap" dances. Oh, and she makes a mean Boston Butt Roast that led to many requests whenever we would have a work pot luck. Non age-appropriate comments were the norm and included: "Kowski, you better get your butt in here tomorrow for the pot luck", or "Kowski, your butt smells so good!" or "Kowski, how do you get your butt so juicy". As you can imagine, when I left my former employer, I missed my day-to-day interactions with Kowski. But I would of course never tell her that to her face because that would be way too sickie sweet for a big sister to say.

Now that I’ve been at my new job for over a year, Kowski and I still get together every so often. Usually we go to baseball or football games since we both like to drink overpriced beer out of plastic cups and drop peanut shells on the floor beneath us. One of my most enjoyable sporting event memories was going to a Falcon’s playoff game with Kowski. All of the fans were revved up from tailgating and many had been drinking heavily even before the kick off. So when Kowski and I got to the game, we got in line for our dogs and beer so that we too could join in the fun. After paying the vendor way too much money, I carried the snacks, while she juggled a glass of beer in each hand. As she turned away from the vendor, a fan from the opposing team stumbled into her and splashed beer onto the front of her Falcon’s jersey. He apologized profusely, with slurred words, and promptly began using his bare hands to wipe off the front of Kowski’s chest. Just try to get the visual of her trying to maintain a hold on her two beers while this drunken man is rubbing all over the front of her shirt. Kowski tells me that, in what was to be expected, I was laughing too much to try to do anything to help her. She looked like she was in too much shock to do anything either.

We went to a Braves game earlier this week with Kowski’s friend "Stella" (name changed to protect the not so innocent). Stella and I both live in town, but Kowski lives OTP (outside the perimeter). Since Kowski would be driving ITP (yes, inside the perimeter), she decided just to take the afternoon off of work so that she and Stella could make a day of it. They began their day by bobbing and weaving Kowski’s Nissan Altima through the immigration rally at the State Capitol – final destination: the new aquarium. The plan was that they would tour the world of fish and then call me when they were on their way to my house. So I get a call around 5pm that they are waiting for AAA to show up and take care of Kowski’s battery. Apparently, when you leave your lights on while you are in an aquarium for five hours, your battery can go dead. First, I couldn’t believe that they had actually spent five hours there, but second, why weren’t they just asking someone to use some jumper cables? Well, as I was getting ready to hang up, I could hear Stella in the background saying she’d found someone to jump the car. She moonlights as a club dancer so you can imagine that she probably didn’t have any problem finding some guy to jump her, errr, the car. Stella is one of those annoyingly skinny girls who can eat whatever I eat and then some, without gaining a pound. Shoot, at the game, she ate a hot dog and a half, drank a beer, munched on peanuts, and then still had room to flag down the cotton candy guy for some of that pink, gross, sugary stuff. After they got the car started, they arrived at my house and we hung out on the porch. We chatted a bit before the game to catch up on each other’s lives. During our conversation we, as usual, kept the compliments to a minimum. But speaking of butt, Kowski did tell me mine looked smaller. Thanks for always making it fun Kowski!

Pounding the Pounds - Republished from 4/28/06

Since my last blog entry touched on weight issues, I thought I’d go ahead and continue them in a separate document. I have had this written for a while and was saving it until I could get some photos downloaded to go with it, but I’ll add those later. PHOTOS ADDED 5/4/05 - Before and After - I'll add a "now" somewhere else!

For those of you that have known me for a long time, you are aware of my struggles with weight. I’m pretty sure I topped the scales at 200 pounds (+/-) at some point during, or right after, college. I stopped getting on the scales when it hit about 185 but I’m sure I got bigger. How could I not when I ate lunch at Wendy’s every day for a semester – well, we were on the quarter system so it was a tad bit shorter than a semester. I had a single with cheese (500? calories), large fries (350? calories) and, for good measure, a diet coke every day for ten weeks. This was in the 1980’s, pre-super sizing, but I certainly did not need to see the movie by the same name to know what eating fast food would do to me.

I feel certain the only way I made it through working at McDonald’s as a high school teenager without hitting that 200 pound level was by playing basketball all the time to burn it off. After college I eventually joined Weight Watchers for a month so that I could get the basic materials as well as an understanding of how the program worked. By continuing on their plan, all by my little old self, I was able to get down to about 130 – a whopping (not to be confused with a Burger King Whopper) 70 pounds lighter than what I’m sure I had been. People told me I looked emaciated at that size and I simply wasn’t able to maintain it – I didn’t last too long at that low weight.

Since losing that huge amount of weight, I’ve hovered somewhere in the middle. And even though I was probably considered "overweight" by the body mass index charts, I’ve felt generally overall healthy, I’ve developed a great routine of getting up and going to the gym in the mornings, and I still have plenty of my favorite foods and drinks.

But since turning 40, I’ve been ratcheting it up a notch. Ripley’s believe it or not, I’m not drinking as much as I used to. And as much as I like my beer, I’ve tried to switch to red wine at least some of the time. And would you believe I don’t always eat everything on my plate? What a novel idea. I try to drink more water than I used to as well. I'm closer to that low weight than I've been in a very long time.

But the real secrets: less stressful employment and yoga. The job change could not have been better for me. I’m done with proving to myself that I can do the corporate ladder climbing. I’ve also shown that I can, if I want to, actually do a great job of supervising people without wanting to either jump in front of or blow torch the next car that cut in front of me on Georgia 400. Okay, I would probably still want to have a cocktail every night but at least I wouldn’t be suicidal or homicidal! And I’ve also changed my perception of yoga. I always pictured it as a fru fru way of stretching and "exercising", but thanks to some wonderful teachers as well as my fellow yogis, I know it can be a true workout, not to mention a very grounding and centering activity. When Doc. B. first started doing yoga, and swearing by it, I really didn’t believe her. But now I’m sold. And now when people ask me what I’m doing to lose weight, and I respond with "yoga", they don’t believe me either. Anyone care to join me at my next yoga class and find out for yourself?