plaque and car accidents

i went to the dentist yesterday. i hadn’t been in about 4 years, because it’s been about that long since i’ve had dental insurance.

i came away with two barely visible cavities and a few upcoming solutions for a few of my dental gripes. all in all, painless.

the last time i visited the dentist, however, was very much the same as all previous dental visits - the scraping of the teefs with a sharp metal hook. and this time, there was none of that.

technology has breached the dental field in my absence it seems, and they now use ultrasonic vibrations to vibrate off the plaque that they would normally spend 15 minutes scraping. i had my doubts, but it worked. i felt like i was away in the peace corps for a decade.

on a lesserly happy note, i have spend the last week admitting to myself what i really am (and more accurately, what i am not.) i’ve read lots of medical material in the last few months that has taught me a lot and in ways taken away hope of things, but given me support in others. saying it aloud to amanda solidified it for me. the years of doctor visits and medication changes, the candy coated explanations about my medical status, the waiting to recover the "me" i once was - all of that put into focus by one simple statement which i was reluctant to admit for years. i feared skepticism, alienation, pity, judgement. i worried that admitting something was wrong with my brain would make me defective, damaged, less of a person, that i would appear less attractive, less sane, more the person to be avoided and not to be trusted.

i hoped it would get better - the sadness, the guilt, the worry, the physical side effects. and now, a decade later, they are all still there most of the time - now coupled with isolation, indifference, and cognitive problems. and far from better, i feel like i’m worse off than i was. but i know that a few parts of me are healed, and more parts of me are healing. and my doctor promises she won’t give up and there are lots of options left.

still, i spend much of my time in solitude, interacting only with my housemembers and calls to my mom, but shutting out all other contact. i can’t think clearly, i can’t spell some of the time (or type), i can’t remember things, i can’t think in the correct sequences, and i have trouble remembering basic words. and all that has created this cavity in my self confidence that has further pushed me away from feeling comfortable with other people regardless of who they are.

as amanda, the brilliant, pointed out, just because the old me isn’t coming back like i thought it should, that doesn’t mean the new me will be bad. that it’s okay to let the old sharon die and invite the new one in and see what she’s all about. and in many ways, she’ll be the same, but in others she won’t. and that’s okay.

and that’s what i have to learn.

i could blame heredity, i could blame a car full of drunk teenagers who made a lousy traffic decision and changed strangers lives, i could blame doctors for discounting my symptoms as laziness because they were too busy to consider anything else, i could blame friends or family for not understanding, not believing, and not having any compassion, i could blame a medical friend who preached to my family at a holiday meal about how he was convinced that it was all in my head and there was nothing wrong with me - but blame is pointless.

i have my sight, my hearing, my heart, my limbs, my brain (though part of it doesn’t function the same) - and i have a loving family, a small circle of people who love me and a mom that understands on a different level than anyone else i know. i have a lot. and i forget to focus on what i have instead of what i don’t have.

and like the cathartic emptying of the house and subsequent garage sale, i have to find a way to drag out the guilt, the pointless worry, the bad memories, the items in my life, my room that remind me of bad events, all the negativity in my body and the mold i made of who i think i should be and put it by the curb with a "free" sign. and it should leave me plenty of room to rebuild the me that has a vague blueprint and a lot of potential.

just because things don’t always go your way, doesn’t mean they will go badly. maybe the unknown has more potential than our imaginations?

post-yardsale thoughts

post-yard sale thoughts

we had our annual yard sale today. it was a success, and raised more than enough money to fund our weenie roast to follow.

it was a nice, sunny day as we pulled lounge chairs out to the sidewalk, listened to Frank Sinatra, and met lots of new neighborhood people.

i think the quote of the day came from Amanda.

i was sipping a rockstar and had just finished a transaction when Amanda looked at me sideways, and said, "you just sold that lady a pair of pants for a quarter." I looked at her as if to say, "yeah, garage sale. hello?" her response? "she just drove off in a beemer."

yeah.

at the end of our sale, we put the remaining, unsold items out in front with "free" signs (there's still stuff, if you need some shit.) i even posted an ad on craigslist saying, "post garage sale miscellany, come take it home - it's free." and i got a response from a girl with "kittykat" in her email address asking, "could you deliver?"

now, you have *got* to be fucking kidding me right now. that could be the most inane thing i've heard all day. something tells me, however, that it won't be the stupidest for long.

hope you're having a fantastic saturday.

going through 'the change'

no, not menopause. and not like jeff goldblum in "the fly", although let's face it - nothing 'changes' about his characters at all from movie to movie.

i'm talking about another change, that doesn't seem to be precipitated by anything.

i noticed it when i was driving to work last week. no stereo.

i can't remember a time when i drove anywhere with the music off. it's mandatory in my car. but not lately. and it happened without my consciously realizing it.

i thought about the other things in my daily life, and there are a few other differences:

i don't really drink anymore. a beer on special occasions, maybe.
i crave chocolate.
i watch TLC (okay, i did that before.)
i am comfortable spending an evening alone.
i sit on the porch and read with the blind cat.

does this mean i'm old? insane? reclusive? depressed? mature? none of the above?

whatever. i'm rolling with it. even if i am the single, pink-haired chick on the block with the cats who talks to herself. being that girl ain't so bad.

advice from the girls

lately, i can't even wake up for work on time. yet on saturday and sunday, when i should be sleeping in, i'm awake at 6. or 8.

so i ate a donut and am drinking a coke zero, and i figured i'd sit down and type.

i've been thinking a lot lately about choices. particularly the bad choices i've made, and oddly, i'm really okay with a lot of them.

i have brilliant girlfriends. i don't like girls very much. but the few girls i do have at my side (if only figuratively) are incredibly amazing, and i wouldn't give them up for anything. well, i might consider it if steph and becca keep not reading my blogs. okay, no. jokes. only jokes.

probably a little over a year ago, i spoke to my guru and success coach sunny. and i was freaked out about getting older while everyone i knew was married or with kids, and i was regretting all the idiot men i had dated. i was wasting time when i could have been out searching for the man of my dreams. what if i missed him? what if he was there, but i didn't know because i was too devoid of self esteem that i let myself date some arrogant prick with a guitar, who was the only one that thought the world of himself? i missed my destiny, and now i'll never be happy. i'll spend the rest of my life alone, muttering to myself, drinking redbull and rocking back and forth maniacally on my bedroom floor.

i was then lectured on the error in my thoughts, and it's one of the many things i think of when i feel like i've wasted something - time, love, energy (that sunny, she's rad. she should start an advice column for crazy tattooed women with emotional problems.)

she explained to me that by dating the liar, the idiot, the pushover - those events allow me to get to the good stuff. they are stepping stones, and without going through them and learning from my mistakes, i will never get to where i'm supposed to be. they are chapters necessary to the story, and if i skipped them, that is when i would be missing something.

it's like the less pleasant things in our lives are the dress rehearsals for the big show. that way, when the curtain opens, we've been through it before and can avoid the pitfalls that we know from experience. we have practice boyfriends, practice jobs, practice experiences. and without practicing, we would never reach the real thing.

i have a piece of paper that i carry around that is a portion from an email written by another of my precious girlfriends, heidi (it should be noted that most of the girls in my life that have provided me with guidance, support, and words of wisdom are all virgos like me: heidi, sunny, amanda, nicole..) and heidi has this to say:

'sometimes letting go of something kinda good allows up to find something really spectacular. whatever you do, don't settle. if he can never put you on top of his list, or devote more of his time and energy to you, and that's a non-negotiable item for you, then you have to let him go. if it's something you can live with without it being disruptive to your self esteem and self confidence, then try and give it a shot. just please don't sell yourself short. you are way too amazing and incredible for that.'

this doesn't apply to just me. and if you find something in it that you can be guided by, print it out and put it somewhere where you can see it. i'll talk with heidi about copyright infringement issues, but i imagine she'll be okay with it.

the point is this: as long as you are following your heart, your head, your intuition (i'll blog the most terrifying moment of my life later, and we can revisit intuition) then you're not wasting time. you're taking the necessary steps to get to the next phase of your life. then again, if you think you're wasting time because deep down you know you're not doing what you feel like you should be doing, then reassess. even better, let me know and i'll give you my girls' phone numbers. heidi's on the east coast so there's a time-zone issue, steph doesn't like to be called when she's sleeping (and for that matter will bitch at you if you get her an "admiral nelson" and coke instead of captain even if it is cheaper), becca works at night, rita is always available when she's not in class, amanda rarely answers her phone, nicole has little time between her fantastic hairdressing prowess and her own blogs, and sunny has to fit you in somewhere between her husband dave, who gets a lot of lecture time, and her adorable kid. but i promise if you need something, at least one of them will be around. i think if they were all available at once, the planets would align and we would never have any problems ever again. but this is not a perfect world, and let's face it, my beautiful girls have things to do, people to see, crimes to solve, and their own lives to run. and they aren't wasting any time either.

tavalaccio

when i lived in vail, there was this dark, cool little (expensive) restaurant about 10 miles away called Tavolaccio.

the first time i went there with my boyfriend, i loved how romantic it was. it wasn't one of those red and white tablecloth with baskets holding bottles of chianti type of italian restaurants. it was open, simple, had delicate drop down lights, and comfortable chairs tucked around glass tables. i don't know much about italy, but i know that there is the spaghetti italian, and then the OTHER italian (northern italian, maybe) with dishes like vegetables with shrimp in white wine sauces, and chicken with mushrooms, and lots of words i can't pronounce. this restaurant was the latter.

i loved how warm and fuzzy this place made me feel. it was dark, loud with the combined murmur of voices, and delicate italian music in the background. the wine may have added to the fuzziness, but the sparkling water they served was just as good - even though it was 8 bucks. it sparkled, though.

whenever i suggested to have a meal there, i got shot down. my boyfriend's reasoning was that it was, "too expensive" even though i offered to pay, "too loud" which was part of the reason i loved it, and he didn't like the food (i think in a way, he was as overwhelmed with the exotic menu, but not in the good overwhelmed way i was.

he was out of town one week, and i decided, on a tuesday night, to go by myself. i often like to eat dinner by myself, and hadn't really had a chance to do so once i started living with someone.

the place was extremely busy for a tuesday, abuzz with voices and the sharp sound of wine glasses clinking. i had dressed myself up (and looked pretty good, i thought) and was excited at the possibility of a long, romantic dinner with myself. and at this restaurant, dinner took time. you'd be there for 2 hours easy.

at the time of this story, there were only italians working there - the family who owned the place, i believe (ie lots of accents and language barriers. before they closed a few years back, they had a more "american" staff, which kind of bummed me out.) the host at the door asked if i was meeting someone, and i said, "it's only me tonight." he looked at me strangely and a bit condescendingly, which i experienced a lot eating out alone, and he walked me back to the back corner of the room next to the kitchen. the table he sat me at was oddly placed, as though they had pulled it out of the back to accommodate people on the fly on a previously busy night. this night was busy, but not busy enough for me to sit me at this table stuck in an awkward space facing a closet. i assume he did so because i was by myself, and just figured it didn't matter where i sat (that is, it didn't matter to HIM.) anybody who has eaten out with me frequently knows that i'm extremely uncomfortable with my back to an entire restaurant and/or facing the corner. i like to see the whole room, or if not just the front door. don't ask me why, it just is. and this could have possibly been the most worrysome table i had ever sat at. however, i was a waitress, and got frequently annoyed when people asked to move tables, so i decided i would stick it out, have some wine and a good meal, and enjoy my evening in solitude. i wasn't going to let my night plummet simply due to seating. after all, i was wearing my favorite perfume, and my then long hair was pulled up just right - as we long haired women know, it's not often we get the hair right when it goes up. but when it does, boy, watch out.

about 20 minutes went by, with waiters back and forth, foreign and heated discussions in the kitchen, and the constant bustle of a tuesday that was perhaps busier than they expected it would have been. and still, nobody acknowledged me.

i half thought about leaving, or simply going up to the bar to get a glass of wine - i could wait patiently if i had wine. the more i contemplated what i should do, the more subconscious i get about being alone, being in the most awkward table in restaurant history, and being ignored despite that i was so close to the waiters' entrance to the kitchen that i could feel air rush by as they passed me every few seconds.

in my last ditch effort to maintain the pleasantness that was supposed to be my night, i got the attention of a guy in a suit, who seemed to have some sort of upper tier position in the place.

"excuse me, may i have a glass of wine?"

he spoke in an incredibly thick accent. "no one has come for you?"

"no."

"how long have you been waiting here, senorina?"

"um, maybe 15 minutes."

i saw a change come over his face, as though someone working in the restaurant would later get an earful of italian for ignoring guests.

"senorina, this is unacceptable! please, let me get you whatever you like. please, let me bring you a glass of italian wine, yes?"

and before i could answer, he whisked himself away and came back in what seemed like seconds with a gigantic glass one quarter full of wine so cold, the glass had condensation up to the line the wine was poured to.

"senorina, i am very sorry about this. what else can i do for the senorina?"

i loved that he called me that. and that he talked about me in the third person.

"well, actually, i feel silly at this table. would it be okay if i sat somewhere else?"

"whatever the senorina wants! pick a table, beautiful lady."

and he walked behind me gently, encouraging me to pick my favorite table in the place. i was half tempted to choose a table with occupants just to see how far i could go with him, but i thought against it, and picked a table at the window.

he explained to me that he would have his best waiter (obviously this guy was the manager, or more likely i thought at that point, after surveying how well dressed he was, the owner) vincenzo take care of me and get me anything i needed.

i sat and looked out the window, which was frosted over around the edges because of the snow outside. the glass emitted a coldness down the side of my body that was next to it, and i sat there, satisfied and feeling good.

vincenzo came over shortly thereafter, and by his demeanor had heard about my shitty service (or lack thereof) since i had been there. his english was by leaps and bounds worse than the previous guy, and he also used 'senorina' like it was going out of style. he, too, often referred to me as though i were someone else altogether. i totally loved that part.

i had begun my second glass of icy-cold italian white wine when my salad came (dinner was very much supposed to be drawn out at this place, and i had probably been there an hour by this point. and i was relaxed and happy.) my pre-dinner salad was something i had come knowing that i wanted. it was a small bed of dark leaves that i couldn't pronouce, with an even more exotic sounding cheese, some dressing i couldn't identify, and artichoke hearts. and it was all situated so beautifully and artfully on this tiny plate - most of the guys i know would have bitched about the portion, but i figured that it was never a good idea to have too much of a good thing. i started thinking about that salad before i even got to the restaurant. i felt guilty ordering it, as i should have been more frugal considering the price of this place. but i told myself i wanted to do something nice and allowed myself to have whatever i wanted. my salad was $18.

at the bottom of that glass of wine, i felt myself getting a bit tipsy. i felt like i wanted to always feel like i did just then, like i had no money problems, no relationship issues, and nowhere in particular to be but right there.

vincenzo, who had been doing a damn good job of making sure i always had what i wanted, came by to ask what "the senorina" wanted to eat for dinner. i started to open up my menu and then said, "well, what do you like?"

he seemed perplexed by this, but after some coaxing, i got him trying to explain some of the items on the menu. i handed it to him and told him to bring me the best thing there. he stood there hesitantly, as though it were unheard of for someone to go to dinner without knowing what they would end up eating. i assured him that i wasn't picky, i trusted his judgement, and that i wasn't allergic to anything. whether he understood or not, i don't know. but it seemed to convince him enough to go on about his business.

not far from me was a table of about 15 people. they weren't speaking english, and since i sat down i had tried to determine what language it was and had long given up. they were obviously family, had finished dinner before i came and had progressed to coffee and after dinner drinks, and were the loudest of anyone in there. the table was cram packed with half empty, or completely empty wine glasses. bottles of wine scattered the table, as did martini glasses and other assorted spirits. i did a quick survey of how many drinks they must have each had based on the amount of glasses in front of each person, and it staggered the mind. man, foreigners can drink, can't they?

everybody at this table was at least 40 years old, and some up into their 60's. they were jovial, and behaved as though they were at their own house - it was like eavesdropping at a party in some stranger's living room.

there was a girl at the table - the only child there, and she couldn't have been more than 10. she was absolutely gorgeous, which again made me try to determine where they were from. her hair was thick and long, and she was as fidgety as you'd expect she would be after hours in a restaurant, bored out of her mind with nothing but adults telling stories and laughing, who showed no sign of leaving.

i caught her looking at me several times, but she looked away when i try to catch her eyes.

vincenzo brought my dinner, which i noted immediately was something i would have never ordered on my own due to the ingredients, but i was excited to try it. he left to get me another glass of wine with a, "buon appetito!"

as i was eating, this girl kept watching me. at first i thought it was boredom, and then as it increased, wondered what it was about me that interested her. my guess was she thought it was odd that i was alone.

her mother caught her staring at me, and said something to the girl. the girl sort of shrunk in her chair, embarrassed, and if her mother had asked her a question, she declined to answer it.

her mother turned to me, as if to apologize for her curious child, and smiled at me gently.

"she like the hair, that she saw on the TV, with the movie stars," and made a sort of swirling motion at the top of her head, indicating the sticks i had in my hair.

growing up, particularly as i got into high school, i got into a habit of pulling my hair up onto my head and fastening it with a pencil (there weren't any fancy, bejeweled hair sticks like they have now.) i had gone shopping in a chinese import store in the "old town" section of the town i grew up in, and was delighted to find that they carried sticks for my hair. i had looked everywhere for something exactly like that for years so i could separate myself from the pencils.

the woman explained to me, mostly by pantomime, that they weren't for hair - that they were chopsticks for kids, as they were smaller and shorter than regular chopsticks. they were ornate, and the perfect size and texture. at $1.25 each, i bought about 10. over the course of time, i would lose pairs and have to go back to buy another handful.

after a moment of sadness for destroying my perfect hair for the evening, i pulled the sticks out of my hair, and motioned for the girl to come to my table. she shrunk into her mother's side but kept her eyes locked on me. her mom looked at me, and with a few words, encouraged her to come over to me, which she did with a sense of trepidation and excitement.

as she walked up, i held her shoulders and turned her around, with her back to me. it was weird doing it on someone else, but i twisted her hair up as i had done my own, and pushed the sticks in to secure it. i turned her around to face me, and it looked really good - better than i had anticipated it would due to the amount of thick, heavy hair she had.

i motioned for her to go back to her mother, and her mother gasped, arms outstretched when she saw her. there came a flurry of excited voices from the entire table as they all took time from their own discussions to give this poor, bored, beautiful girl attention that she hadn't gotten all night. there was some oohing and oohing, each of them either kissing her, or holding her face and turning her around to see. i smiled at myself and kept on eating my dinner, which could have been the best thing i've eaten before or since.

she made her way around the entire table back around to mom, and as i looked up, the entire table was waving and calling out to me. most of it was words of appreciation, or what sounded like it, and several "buon appetitos" to which i returned the sentiment and realized by the sound of my voice that i was indeed a bit intoxicated.

the girl whispered in her mother's ear, and they both got up and came over to me.

"can it be okay that i take her to the mirror? to see?"

i nodded, and noticed i was still getting waves from these strangers, who no doubt were highly inebriated by this point.

they returned from the bathroom, mom thanked me very sincerely, and gently pushed her daughter toward me and made a motion to her to take the hair sticks out and give them back to me. i stopped the girl and told the girl it was okay, though i'm not sure she understood, and directed her back to the table. "are you sure? that if the keep it, is okay?" i was tempted to say, lady, that's like a dollar. really. but i smiled and nodded, feeling a little lightheaded and content.

she said thank you again, and asked if i could come show her how to do it. i walked to her side, undid her daughter's hair, twirled it up, and secured the sticks fairly well for my state, and perhaps a bit too tight as she winced a little bit. i went back to my chair, and sat down to finish my dinner. the entire rest of my meal, this girl, who didn't understand a word of english, just smiled and waved at me every little bit, beaming at her new transformation.

i was finishing my entree when they all got up to leave. each and every single person at that table came over to me, in a single file line, and shook my hand and wished me well and thanked me in an attempted form of english. i felt overwhelmed when they left, and sort of awed that such a small thing turned into what it had.

vincenzo came over and offered me dessert. i was full, but i wanted to have a taste of something decadent to end my night. i asked him whether he thought the chocolate mousse pie or the tiramisu was better, to which he answered only a "yes" and whirled around to the kitchen. halfway there, he turned and came back.

"i'm sorry, i think it's my english not too good. which?"

after some further discussion, he understood and told me the tiramisu was the better choice, and went off to get it.

at this point, there were few patrons in the restaurant. the temperature outside had chilled considerably, and i was one of perhaps 5 people left.

minutes later, vincenzo came back with both desserts and presented them in front of me, like i was a food critic. he told me to enjoy both and asked if i needed anything else.

"no, thank you. just the check."

"the senorina doesn't have a check."

although somewhat drunk, i was certain i had a bill, and without really knowing how much my entree or any of the wine cost, i knew that said bill was well over a hundred dollars.

"vincenzo, yes, i do."

"no, the senora already took the check," he said, sounding as though i should have already known. "did the senora not say?"

"no, she didn't," i smiled, and realized that they all knew what she had done as they walked by my table on the way out with their goodbyes. quite sneaky to leave before i found out, too.

vincenzo insisted he buy me a limoncello, which more or less was pure grain alcohol with some sugar and lemon in it, all rolled up into a shot-type glass that was meant to be sipped. needless to say, i had to sit there for quite some time before i was able to make my way home.

it was so cold as i walked outside, and the snow crunched under my feet. i silently wished i could magically be home in bed already, but enjoyed the quiet ride home and the snow falling in front of my headlights.

i called my mom before bed and retold her the story.

"mom, seriously, i gave that girl two dollars worth of hair sticks, how on earth does that equal a couple hundred bucks?"

"it wasn't the sticks, sharon. it was the effort, and the attention. i'm sure that was worth more than money to them."

i wasn't convinced, but i was happy. and in no time at all, i was warm and sound asleep in my bed, dreaming limoncello dreams.

revenge - like candy, but tastier

i don't think of myself as reactive. or retaliatory. or intentionally mean. but, when someone deserves it, i can't help but fantasize about getting even.

at least the things i wish to do are mere fractions of the original offense. i'm not malicious, after all.

i had an 'friend' who recently did the wrong things, in the wrong order, on a day when i felt great.

now i wouldn't normally coerce friends into my plans (who am i kidding? i don't usually follow through out of all-consuming kindness.) but fortunately sunny is highly coercible. in fact, she usually takes my idea and makes is 80 times cooler than i could ever make it.

lesson for today: never do a redhead wrong. two separate times. with the same tactic. okay, once? i can look past it. twice? your ass is mine. and i will tear it into a thousand pieces and hand it back to you in a box. with a pink bow.

happy birthday, mutha fucka.

what the eff

what the eff?

i woke up this morning, grabbed my rockstar, and left the house to my car for my morning commute. as soon as i walked outside, i could smell the smoke from the fires north of san diego.

i got to work, and nobody was there, which was very odd. my boss showed up about five minutes later and said, "good morning! thanks for coming. now go ahead and go home."

evidenltly, the fires have spread, and there are 7 fires burning in san diego county currently. many of the execs at work were evacuated from their homes.

i get home, and i'm watching the news with the roommates. tv is freaking me out. i'm getting texts from friends in the area, and i'm having flashbacks to the flood in 1997. i have my laptop, ipod, and black doc's ready to go if they kick us out of our house. shit, i hope they have wifi wherever i get sent to when they evacuate. unless, of course, i get emphysema before then (which is odd, because as i was typing that, my mailman walked by with a face mask on for the smoke..)

i'm making light of this, but i'm freaking out a little. the beer i'm about to drink will help (is pre-10am too early to start drinking in the midst of a natural disaster?)