Brace-face

I got my braces last week. I got clear brackets instead of Invisalign because a couple docs told me I wasn't a good candidate for Invisalign. Here are the top brackets. They're putting the wire and bottom brackets in in two weeks.

While I was looking online for the phone number today, I found this raving review about my new orthodontist's office:

"CRACKHEADS - A DENTAL ASSISTANT DROPED A CRACK PIPE ON THE FLOOR DURING MY EXAMINATION... I THINK DRUG TESTING IS IN ORDER."

Awesome.

I pity the fool

Sorry it's been so long, my sweets. Lots of activity lately. All stressful. I got some kind of weird phone threat about a week and a half ago. It was an older-sounding male. He called at 1:15 in the morning on my house phone. His message said, "If you're a police officer, somebody's coming to get your ass, bitch."

At first, I thought it was the wrong number, since I am neither a police officer nor a bitch. But then I realized it could be a confused drug dealer. You see, even though I'm on the civil side of things now at my job, I still do the drug money forfeiture cases for the police.

This is how is goes down... The SWAT team goes in, takes drug money, and the next thing the drug dealers know, I'm serving them with legal paperwork to keep their money. Paperwork with my name all over it. A quick little search on zabasearch.com, and voila, there's my old phone number and address. It's supposed to be unlisted now, but because it was formerly my phone number at a previous address, it still comes up when you search my name.

So long story even longer, we sent my nephew off to his mom's house for the weekend, stayed the night with friends the next 2 nights, and I filed a police report. I also mentioned it to the narcotics officers I do work for and to our SWAT officers. They were super pissed about it and decided to do their own investigations. No word yet on who it was, but if the number is traceable, I pity the fool is all I gotta say.

I also told my boss, who made some calls and had police driving by and flying by my house all weekend. The police helicopter came around for over a week. While that was really thoughtful and made me feel more secure, it got old after a week. I've only just stopped hearing non-stop helicopter sounds. I'm sure my neighbors were really excited about it too.

I haven't had any problems since the first call. No strange activity around my house and no more threats. But we did step up our security and I'm considering buying a shotgun. So that's good.

There Goes the Neighborhood

I took both cats to the vet Friday. Enid is super heavy, so I had my hands full loading her into the car. I asked Jesse to bring the plastic jug with Moka's used insulin syringes in it so we could dispose of them as biohazard waste at the vet's office.

So we're on the way to the vet, and I don't see the jug anywhere in the car. I ask Jesse if he remembered to grab it and he swears he did. But it's clearly not in the car. So I figure he went in to get his iPod and forgot to grab it or something.

So we get home later, and the syringe jug is no where to be found. So it's not in the house, and not in the car.

Brian took a walk down the street and found out what had happened. Apparently Jesse had put it on top of the car and forgotten about it. Dozens of syringes were scattered all over our street. The jug was there too, but it was pretty much empty.

I just thought it was funny to imagine what our neighbors were thinking when they saw dozens of used syringes in the street.

Woe is Me

This weekend has been rough for all of us. Baby Moka had a hypoglycemic episode Saturday morning. These are the symptoms of a hypoglycemic episode in order of ascending severity:

complete disinterest in food
restlessness
weakness, lethargy
head tilting
shivering
staggering, uncoordinated movements
problems with eyesight
disorientation (yowling, walking in circles, hiding, etc.)
convulsions or seizures
coma

He had all but the last two, plus he had vomiting and wheezing.

We took him to the vet, where he decided to start eating again, which got him sort of back to normal. Then we took him home and it all happened all over again. Except he didn't start eating this time, and the symptoms seemed much worse.

So then we took him to the emergency night vet. This time they said he was having a hyperglycemic episode. In addition, he now had an upper respiratory infection (that makes 3 infections in the last 5 weeks). They wanted $1,000 to watch him overnight. They couldn't do anything to fix him. They could just watch him and maybe stabilize him if it got too bad. I opted for the $250 option (hydration and an anti-vomiting drug) and took him home. This is no less than 10 vet visits in the last 5 weeks. I don't even want to add up the cost.

Anyway, this feline diabetes thing sucks balls. Moka has to suffer through infections and crazy terrible symptoms and there's nothing anyone can do about it. We are now syringe-feeding him, which is a horrible, traumatic exercise for all involved. My emotions are on a roller coaster, controlled by how good or bad he is doing from one minute to the next.

I would put him down, but for the fact that he's supposed to be able to live a normal life after this first terrible part is over, and it makes me feel selfish and weak want to give up on him. The only thing I can do is try to be patient, I guess. It's just really hard having to watch an animal suffer like this.

A funny story I forgot to blog

A few months back, I was with my boss and two co-workers at a lawyer mixer thing. A prominent local lawyer was there too. He was with a kid, I'd say about 16-years-old. The kid was short and wearing a suit that was way too big for him. In addition, he had long, emo hair in his face, kinda bad skin, and he looked like he hated being there. He stood by himself off to the side while the lawyer schmoozed it up. Typical teenager, pretty much. So I'm introduced to the lawyer and here's how the conversation went:

Me: It's nice to meet you. Is this your son?
Him: No, it's my husband.
Me: Oh. I'm sorry.
My boss & co-workers: (mortified)

So yeah, apparently the "kid" wasn't a kid at all. And the prominent local lawyer is gay. And he is "married" to a much, much younger man. And I am a jackass. Awesome.

Noooooooo!!!!!!!!

I dropped my freaking iPhone and it broke!!!

Oh, Enid.

Our cat Enid has not taken well to the new house. She doesn't like the new Cat Genie, so she's been peeing all over her cat area and pooping on the rug directly in front of the catbox. In addition, she's figured out how to get out of her cat corral, so she's started peeing in our living areas too. She also stays up all night howling and yelping. She's obviously not happy.

Rather than spend more money and energy trying to accommodate her further, we've decided to get rid of her. One lady who loves special needs cats expressed interest, but backed out later. We called all of the no-kill shelters in town, but they were all full.

Then yesterday morning, Brian came up and said, "Enid is officially an outside kitty." She had once again escaped from her cat corral and peed all over the house: under the couch, under the table, all over the kitchen. It was a pee-bath. So he put her outside. It broke our hearts, but it's what had to be done. We were all miserable with her in the house.

So far, she doesn't like being an outside cat. She sits outside the sliding glass doors and stares at us. Sometimes she yelps and cries. When she's not staring us down, she's hiding behind a bush. The good news, I suppose, is that she hasn't run away.

So yeah. If you want a fat, crazy, smelly cat that poops and pees in inappropriate places, let us know.

That's it. I'm buying a handgun.

The people we bought the house from had a garden gnome in the front yard. We were hoping they'd leave it when they moved, but, alas, they took it with them. My good friend Vanessa was very thoughtful and got me one as a housewarming present. I was so excited to put it outside. It was the perfect accessory for my lovely front yard. Every time I came home to the gnome, it made me smile.

Well, then some little fuc$er stole it. I see now why homeowners hate kids. I agree with the mayor that vandals should have their thumbs chopped off. Bastards.

Anyway... my birthday is in about a month, and I will gladly accept happy garden gnomes for my padlocked back yard.

Brace-face

I didn't wear my top retainer in high school, so my teeth are crooked now. (The discoloration on my front tooth is a result of my brother throwing a rock at me as a kid.) If I want straight teeth again, I have to get braces for a year. The cost is $3,000. I'm 30-years-old. Would you do it if you were me?

Don't rent a car from Budget

Brian and I went down to rent a minivan this morning (so that we could haul a bunch of furniture back from Ikea). When we got there, they told us we couldn't rent a car with just a credit card and a photo ID -- we also needed a power bill showing we lived at the address on our ID's. Gee, thanks for failing to mention this when I made my reservation over the phone. They also informed us that the policy applied only to locals. Had we flashed an Oklahoma ID, we would've gotten out of there without a hitch.

So the lady asks, "Is there anyone at your house who can fax a copy of your power bill?" We were like, "Yeah, we'll have our home secretary get right on that.". What the heck is that? We would've loved to have walked away, but we had to get on the road and all the other rental places had huge lines.

They ended up accepting our car insurance card as proof, but only after a huge rigamarole involving three separate bonehead clerks. One attempted to justify the policy by explaining that locals are.transients. He tried to prove his point by asking Brian whether he was born and raised in Vegas. Unfortunately for the guy, Brian answered yes to both. So pretty much all he succeeded in doing was offending us even further. I was livid and went off on the guy. Am I missing something, or is this policy totally f'in lame? They are totally getting a nasty-gram from me.

No kitty, that's a bad kitty!

Last night, I was crawling into bed when I noticed my side of the bed was wet. I moved the blanket and noticed my Burberry perfume bottle was part of the wet mess. Oh no, did it leak onto the bed? I picked up the bottle and sniffed it. Hmmm.... no powerful perfume smell. What could it be? Not having the best sense of smell, I woke up Brian to help me investigate. He confirmed immediately that it was cat piss. Enid strikes again.

Stupid cat. She picked the wrong time to piss on the bed. We're looking at $2,000-$4,000 mattresses to take to the new place right now. Essentially, we're at a cross roads. Do we take the retarded cat with us to the new place or send her to the glue factory?

Brian is terribly upset by the thought of giving her up. He keeps saying that it's like having a retarded kid. We just have an obligation to deal with it. But I disagree. She's a pet, not a human, and we've given her a great life for more than 7 years. Even our vet told us that most people would not keep a cat with so many behavioral problems. Besides, I think she'd get adopted right away anyway. She's very beautiful, and she might do better in a home with no children and no other cats. That's my theory anyway.

So that's where we're at. Should she stay or should she go?

We do the weird stuff...

They're out of stock on Captain Hammer Groupie T-shirts online. Maybe they'll have some at Comic Con this week though.

That totally blows

Guess who's going to be meeting fans at Comic Con this Saturday? My favorite singer, Tori Amos.

Guess who's only going to be at Comic Con on Thursday and Friday this year? That would be me. :-(

My heart is broken

We didn't get the house. They accepted an offer last night. It's possible it was sold even before they got our offer.

:-(

God will punish you

Brian has a strict "no horn" policy in his car. Every time somebody cuts him off or nearly hits him while I'm in the passenger seat, I reach for his horn because I know he will never honk it himself. He's always able to fight me off before I can honk it though.

In my car, it's a different story. It's not that I'm a liberal horn-honker. I'm just not afraid to use it in non-emegency situations to communicate my distaste for what other drivers are doing.

So last night, I'm driving home from seeing Ironman (which freakin' ROCKED, btw), and I'm trying to merge onto the freeway, but this guy won't let me on. Well, my lane is about to let me right back off the freeway, so I slam my brakes and merge behind the guy at the last possible second. In a mini-exercise of wrath (a total sin, mind you), I honked my horn. Unfortunately, it got stuck.

I slowed way down hoping to lose the guy I had just honked at. The last thing I needed was for him to shoot me for laying on my horn. I proceeded to slap and punch my steering wheel in an effort to get it to stop honking. This continued for the next 15 miles. Instead of going home and waking up my neighbors at 10 o'clock at night, I pulled into a parking lot to see if I could fix the problem.

I turned the car on and off, and nothing. I got out and kicked the steering wheel, and nothing. The sound blared on and on. So agitating. So embarassing. Straight out of Little Miss Sunshine. I looked in the owner's manual, and there was nothing about the horn getting stuck. I called Brian to come help, then called Triple A to see if they could help (having to yell over my deafening horn for the lady to hear what I was calling about).

While I sat there waiting, people kept driving by and slowing down to see why I was honking my horn. Was I slumped over the wheel? In need of help? Stealing a car? I just waved them on by. Nothing to see here, keep moving along people.

Forty minutes after it started, Brian managed to get it to stop. (My hero.) Although I was tempted to test the horn to see if it would get stuck again, I resisted. I've learned my lesson. I have now implemented a strict "no horn" policy in my car as well.

Hip-Hop Hoor -- oh hell no.

I tried the hip-hop dance class at the gym last night. It was a fu$&ing tragedy. I knew it wasn't going to be pretty when I noticed that the front row was all Asian strippers in midriff hoodies and sports bras.

After five minutes of poppin' and lockin', I was ready to go. My friend Bethany wouldn't let me leave though. Later, the guy in front of her wouldn't stop looking back at her and laughing. She almost cried. I knew we should have left earlier...

I don't think I was the worst in the class. I caught maybe every 4th step or so. But I definitely did not have a good time. And it was not enough movement to be considered a good workout. So I wasted an hour, felt like a gimp, didn't get my cardio done, and hurt my knee.

But for some reason, we're going to try it again next week.

Someday, we'll look back and laugh

So I went and saw my girlfriend Sarah Silverman for the second time about a week ago. Brian was supposed to go with me, but he wanted to geek-out with his guy friends, so Vanessa went with me instead. In exchange, Brian was our designated driver, agreeing to drop us off and pick us up.

So the night's going great. We have dinner at the Pink Taco, get our drink on, go see Sarah Silverman, take some pictures of Sarah with my iPhone, hang out with some nice, funny girls from the audience -- everything's cool. Until I try to show one of the girls something on my iPhone and realize... it's gone.

I FREAK OUT. We ransack my purse, my pockets - it's nowhere to be found. We check with security, they check the theater - no luck. Lost and found also has nothing. Another Sarah Silverman show is about to start, so they tell us to check back after that. So we go to the dance club for a little while, then decide to head home.  On the way out, one security guard tells me she thinks they found my phone. I was like, SWEET! But then I check lost and found, and they still have nothing. I sit around (now with Brian) for another hour and a half, waiting for the show to be over and sweating security about having my phone and not giving it to me. In the end, they found nothing. 

Defeated, we decided to leave. We called the phone one last time before we left. Just then, my purse started vibrating. Turns out, it was in there all along. 

Brian was not pleased.

I tried to explain that we had all searched the purse - all four of us drunk chicks, and not one of us saw it. It must have been divine intervention. I really think the phone somehow teleported back into my purse, cuz I'm telling you, it was not there three hours before. Brian wasn't impressed. I tried to explain that it was a good thing we found the phone in my purse, not a bad thing, but that also didn't work. Brian was pissed, and I was going to get the beat-down, whether I liked it or not...

Can't... move... legs

After my weight-gain this week, I got all motivated to start hitting the gym again. I went this morning for an hour and a half. Not a sissy hour and a half, where I rest for a long time between sets and do a wimpy setting on the elliptical. Oh no, it was hard-core. I felt so good about it afterward, I decided to bike to my eye doctor and to the bike shop later on. Not a good idea, as it turns out!

I left at about 4:30. I just had to pick up my new glasses by 5. The place was only like 2 miles away. I figured 20 minutes was plenty. Not enough time, as it turns out!

Apparently, I don't pay much attention to "topography," so I didn't realize it would be UP HILL THE ENTIRE WAY. I also never really paid much attention to the way gears work, so didn't realize I WAS UNNECESSARILY IN FIRST GEAR THE ENTIRE WAY. It was 5:15 by the time I got to the eye doctor. They hadn't locked the doors yet, so I went in. I think the lady was going to tell me they were closed, but then she saw that I was pouring sweat, heaving and wearing a bike helmet. I think she felt bad that I'd worked so hard to get there just to be turned away, so she took me.

By the time I got done there and at the bike store, it was dark. I had to buy lights for my bike, actually. Which was fine. I probably needed them anyway. But then I had to bike home in the FREEZING COLD, downhill the entire way, so it was EXTRA BREEZY for me. I had snot running down my face the whole way.

By the time I got home, it was 7pm and I looked a mess. Why did I even bother putting on makeup and blow-drying my hair? I had to be at an event at 7pm, so on top of everything, I was late.

So that was my exciting adventure to the bike store. On the bright side, I got to see bunnies along the bike trail and got to eat a big sushi dinner because of the 1000 calories I burned today.

Dental Hell

My last appointment was by far the worst dental experience I've ever had. I cannot put into words how excruciating the pain was. It was worse than getting a dental implant drilled into my jawbone. Worse than getting my wisdom teeth out. Worse than having two root canals done in Mexico. Worse than heart surgery (and they shut my body down and sawed me open to do that sh*t!).

Long story short, a year after my root canal (American this time), my dentist figured out that my endodontist accidentally left a nerve in there, and that's why it never, ever stopped hurting. It started to hurt A LOT more recently because it got infected. The infection caused the novacaine they attempted to inject me with last week to have no effect. Something about the acidity and the pH being off. So, basically, I HAD A ROOT CANAL PERFORMED WITH NO ANASTHESIA!!!

No wonder it hurt so f%@$in' bad! See? I knew I wasn't just a whiny baby! Bastards...

I thought they stopped in the middle of the procedure last week because I was sobbing, shaking, and jerking so violently. I hyperventilated too (for the first time ever).

So today, I thought I was going back for more. You can imagine my joy when they told me they had gotten it all last time and that all I was there for today was an X-ray. Oh thank you Lord Baby Jesus!

They said it looked good for now, but I have to go back in two weeks to see if the pain stays gone. Fingers crossed...

More of my dental curse

Got some bad news from the endodontist today. I guess that tooth that I spent $1100 getting a root canal on is cracked now, so they're going to have to just pull it out now anyway. That means another who-knows-how-much to get it pulled and another $2200 for ANOTHER horrifyingly painful implant procedure. Motherfu#@er.

It seems my baby Moka has inherited my dental curse as well. He and Enid had their teeth cleaned today. Moka needed 2 extractions. Total cost for anesthesia, cleanings, extractions, and medication = $608. Fu$%ing Go# Da@% Motherfu#@er.