back to my roots

I had to get a root canal today. It wasn't fun, but to be honest, it wasn't that bad. I kind of enjoyed the opportunity to lay down and rest while recovering from my cold.

In the midst of having the nerves removed from my molar, I had the following contraptions on my body:

1. protective vest for x-rays; are these things made of lead?
2. shaded glasses to reduce glare from dentist's lamp
3. plastic contraption forcing my jaw open and prohibiting me from speaking coherently, and causing a large amount of drooling
4. a bib

I had a strange realization in the middle of the process that threw me for a loop. For anyone who has endured this procedure, you'll probably know what I'm talking about. For those of you lucky ducks who have evaded the throws of a root canal; use your imagination.

Not only was I laden in dental armor, but there were all these different people in the room, milling around, dictating to me what was happening (since obviously my senses were impaired). I felt very out of control of my faculties, and had pangs of vulnerability mixed with fear, and frustration at the inability to communicate. Suddenly it dawned on me, that this must be what it's like to be a very elderly person in the care of others.

I've volunteered in nursing homes and for a hospice, and have plenty of experience with older individuals. Until now I never had a realistic perspective on what it's like to be in their (orthopedic) shoes. It was scary and unpleasant.

I don't speculate that I will have that many experiences with the elderly in the near future, but when I do, I will definitely interact with them differently.

If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck...

the Ford Flexyour average hearse

The Ford Flex is a full-size crossover manufactured by Ford. Its styling is based on the Ford Fairlane concept unveiled at the 2005 North American International Auto Show.

Does anyone else notice the striking similarities between this new vehicle and a hearse?! Who wants to ride in back? Wayyyy too creepy for me.

How Dinosaurs Became Extinct

Fire and Wine

Wednesday evening we made plans for our realtor, Zoee, to stop by and enjoy a celebratory glass of wine in the new house. We wanted to show her what it looked like with all of our stuff, and to thank her again for finding such a gem for us. Around 8:30 as Zoee and I were drinking wine and chatting on the couch, when Jim popped in from the office to ask if we smelled something funny.

At first I didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary, but as we explored the house, we all distinguished the unpleasant aroma of something electrical burning. Jim, Zoee and I followed the smell to the back of the house, where we were shocked to see smoke coming out of the wall behind the keypad of our newly installed alarm system. Not good.

I vaguely remember Jim and Zoee telling me to call the alarm company, but I was not messing around. This may not be a “fire,” per se, but there was smoke and that signals an emergency in my book. (Emergency is defined by Jessica White as something that she cannot fix herself and would hurt herself becoming involved in; something tax dollars should fund e.g. police, fire, etc). I launched into safety mode and darted off to call 911 with one hand while grabbing my fire extinguisher in the other.

Within minutes a ladder truck arrived with lights on, but thankfully no sirens. Three firefighters walked in, and while I recognize that they are required to wear a lot of equipment, these folks were enormous to begin with. Not joking, they were giant people. They dwarfed Jim’s six foot tall frame made me feel like a child.

They trekked to the scene of the crime and as soon as they were out of sight, two more entered through the front door, one carrying a five foot long axe. If that man thought he was going to chop down a wall in my new house he had another thing coming. I had visions of throwing myself in front of his axe to stop the destruction in its path. My second thought was to try to control the hysterical laughter trying to escape me. My life is random, but this was ranking high on the strange adventure list.

It only took a few minutes for the emergency personnel to determine that the problem was with the alarm, and we’d be safe as long as we didn’t plug it back in. Throughout the whole process, I was on my cell phone arguing with the alarm company, and Jim and Zoee calmly continued to drink their wine. As the gracious team of firefighters made their way out of the house, one of them commented that they had initially thought they walked into the wrong house; that generally, people are outside waiting for them and hysterical, but we were just sitting around drinking wine. Life is short, why not enjoy the chaos.

Auron

When I don't write about something it's because I don't want to deal with the associated feelings it will cause. I have intentionally not yet written about Auron, because I felt that words could not do justice to the pain I'm feeling. I don't want to have to fully absorb all the sadness by writing, but I know he deserves the tribute.

He was a truly amazing dog, loyal beyond any other I have known, and so completely loving. Jim raised him from a baby, and they had a bond so strong nothing could come between them. Even on late nights when Auron was exhausted, he would abandon his bed to sit in front of the door to wait for Jim. It didn't matter if I was home, he would stay at his post until his master arrived. This even happened if Jim was in the bathroom...the dog wouldn't budge from outside the door until he knew Jim was safe and sound.

Auron would lick everything incessantly: your hands, face, the carpet, his paws...we always joked he had OCD. He was so well behaved, even during bath time when he was miserable, he would sit quietly as I lathered his emasculated self with cherry vanilla shampoo. He did have a propensity for diving into the trash, and once ate about three pounds of jerky from the cabinets, but I can't blame him, we left it within reach. Auron's quirks were endless: refusing to eat unless we were home, being obsessed with car rides, squeaking his balls, etc. I'm so glad he had a few chances to come to work with me at PetSmart where he was a perfect gentleman.

Despite reaching middle age with grace, he never lost the puppy mentality and appeal. So much so that people constantly commented on how youthful he acted. His ears made him seem like a cartoon character at times, one went forward, the other went back, like they were controlled by a hidden remote control.

Losing him unexpectedly was horrible. I would never wish that type of situation or the accompanying pain on anyone. I think a part of me is still in shock, and refusing to process the whole truth. I never, ever thought I would be this affected by losing a pet. But things are just different. I miss so many things about his presence, and the way he would always lay at my feet as I was on my laptop on the couch is something I will never forget. I may have been his step pet parent, but I think we had our own special bond.

I think what breaks my heart more than anything is the fact that dogs are the most loyal, trusting creatures in the world. They depend on you to take care of them, and love you unconditionally even when you forget a feeding, or are too lazy for a walk. It hurts to know that we weren't strong enough to be with him in his final moments, and maybe that was selfish, but maybe it was the right choice. I just feel such guilt like we somehow broke that trust by having to say goodbye. I know we made the right choice, but I wish it was easier to feel confident about it. Somehow, even with the vet's diagnosis, it still feels like we betrayed our best friend.

I know that in time the pain will subside, and we'll be able to come to terms with his passing, but as for now, it's a huge void. Bruno does seem to carry on Auron's spirit somehow, and I'm so glad they had some time together. The puppy is even carrying on the crazy ear phenomena!

Through all of this I guess I've learned that it's impossible to prepare for the unexpected, and that when it does happen, your family and friends really do provide the support you need to carry on. I feel so lucky to have such a strong support system, and I hope Auron has one in doggy heaven.

When Life Gives You Lemons

Make Lemon Bars and Lemon Poppy Seed Bread.

Airing My Dirty Laundry

I am really, really excited about my new washer and dryer, so much so that I’m actually writing about this to others. The Twins, as I like to call them, are being delivered by the appliance stork (otherwise known as Home Depot) tomorrow, and I have been waiting all week to watch them reach their rightful home.

My excitement has been bubbling beneath the surface for quite some time. When Jim and I moved in together last year, we found a great place, but the 1970’s stackable washer/dryer set was an embarrassment to the art of clean clothing. Nevertheless, I immediately took charge of our laundering needs, and essentially forbade him from washing his own clothes…lest it disrupt my system. I became resentful any time I left town and he took over the task; a parent with empty-load syndrome.

It was a reward to shop for new ones when we got the house, and that bubbling excitement soon burst to the surface. We made the purchase at Home Depot last weekend, and the clerk must have sensed my enthusiasm, because before we checked out, he printed out photos to “tide me over until the real thing arrived.” I wasn’t embarrassed. I told him with confidence that they would go straight onto the fridge, even if it made the other appliances jealous.

I don’t know why I have always loved doing laundry. It must be the satisfaction of quickly being able to see the fruit of your labors, accompanied by the refreshing scent of clean. Or the fact that these machines have been so personified that it is difficult not to treasure them, name them, knit them their own Christmas stockings… Here’s an excerpt of the product description:

Sensing technology adjusts to the needs of each fabric SenseClean system for intelligent fabric care Sensor Dry auto adjusts the drying time for optimal care Machines that are
sensitive, intelligent and flexible. Really, how could I resist?

One man's trash...

Before we moved we had to decide whether to try to sell all the things we wanted to get rid of, or just to donate them. We pretty quickly decided to donate everything.

Donating isn’t just the charitable thing to do; it also spares you from the embarrassment of showing strangers all of your crap. Not to mention the fact that spending an entire weekend day making small talk with people who are interested in my junk would undoubtedly lower my IQ several points.

This is nothing against yard sales; I actually love them, but only as an attendee, never as a host. I would have been mortified if I had to show my closest friends and family members some of the things Jim and I just parted with, never mind putting them on display them to carloads of random strangers and neighborhood joggers.

“Look! Everyone! I have held onto this old stained bedspread for six years!”

“Going once…going twice…Tupperware containers without matching lids!”

Before rapidly squashing the notion of selling our wares, I had traumatic visions of elderly women trying to barter with me to lower the sticker price on my old towels and kitchen utensils. I could not endure this.

Needless to say, I already have plans to go to a neighborhood yard sale this Saturday. I just gave away all of my stuff and need someone else’s.

Strange Things You Find When You Move

30 pounds of sticky rice. 30 POUNDS. I would venture to guess no one I know has ever had 30 pounds of sticky rice in his or her pantry. I would love to explain how this came to be, but I much prefer leaving it a mystery to you all.

House of Tricks

Call me crazy, but I believe in fate, coincidences, signs, omens and luck. I’m not sure which of these came into play to purchase the house, but I’m convinced there was an outside force involved. Some quite unusual happenings helped it fall into place.

We first saw this house on a weekend tour where we saw about ten homes in total. Jim and I loved it, but decided we loved another house more, and to go for that one first. We ended up being outbid, and returned to make an offer on the first house.

We offered. They countered. We countered. They stopped returning our calls. WHAT?!

We assumed they were waiting through the weekend to see if any other offers came in, but we didn’t hear form them even on Monday. Bad feelings set in.

We later found out that a buyer offering cash had swept the house out from us, and we were left stunned and disappointed. Despite our initial attraction to a different house, we had since fallen for this one, and it was the first house that I had a really confident feeling about pursuing. I was devastated when I was told it was not meant to be. I refused to accept it.

The next week my friend Sarah called with some startling news. She had randomly discovered that the person who had stolen the house from us was her neighbor! Keep in mind that there are millions of people who live in the Phoenix area, and we are in the middle of an insanely active real estate market. The fact that we were connected to the person who got the house was fascinating and frustrating all at the same time.

A few weeks later we had found another house we liked and had an offer accepted on. As we were making arrangements to have our home inspection done, I balked. I got very uneasy about the house, and we ended up retracting our offer. No more than five minutes later, our agent received an e-mail that the offer on our favorite house had just been cancelled.

The timing was mind blowing. We were able to move quickly to re-offer and secure the house.

We closed on the house last week, and I picked up my keys yesterday. I also learned that Jerry, the man who was in charge of my mortgage proceedings, was a friend and fraternity brother of Scott, the man who sold us the house. Neither of them realized they were involved in the same process until yesterday, when they were both copied on an e-mail.

I guess when you hear that things will work out when you find the right house you just need to believe it.

Yes!

Wigging Out

Wig Out:

To throw a fit or go crazy, usually caused by something, but sometimes spontaneously caused by build up of energy.

Stuffleupagus

Nothing makes me regress toward childhood faster than being sick. I caught a cold this week and have gone back in time several years each day since. I think today (Day 5) I am somewhere between 10 and 12 years old. I'm still capable of feeding and clothing myself, but my whining has increased and I haven't left the couch except for popsicles and juice. If I don't start feeling better by tomorrow, I think I may end up needing to be burped and spoonfed.

On a brighter note, spending the past few days on the couch has led to watching approximately 24 hours of television, and to catching up on all of my recorded shows. After being deluged in mindless reality TV for several days in a row, I am more eager than ever to cut our cable service. This stuff is not making me any more intelligent. We can hopefully use the money we save to go out and do something more entertaining than what I'm seeing on the screen.

Who's Dumb Bell is it Anyway?

I've realized that I write about the gym a lot, but the gym is a literal breeding ground for awkward, humorous and unexpected events. Putting together hundreds of sweaty strangers is like an improv comedy show that none of the cast are aware they're participating in.

Today, Erin and I were lifting during a very busy time at our gym. When I say we were lifting, note that we are 25 year old girls. We lift 5, 10 or 15 pound dumb bells, and use machines, but no matter how experienced we are, we're petite girls. Leave it to fate that we ended up next to a man, also lifting, who easily weighed 300 pounds and looked like his name should have been Hercules.

This was a beast of a man; his Under Armour was struggling not to tear apart at the seams with his every breath. I have never in my life seen a person with biceps this large. As the backstreet Boys would say, they were larger than life. Hercules was struggling to complete his routine amid a bunch of weights someone had left scattered around the area. Anyone who works out knows that it's common courtesy to re-rack your weights. It's like covering your mouth when you sneeze; you just do it. I don't blame him for being irritated that someone had forgotten, but the fact that he asked Erin and me if we were responsible for leaving these weights out was too much.

The barbells he was pushing out of his way were all 120 pounds or heavier. I would be physically incapable of hefting one of those babies off the rack, let alone work out with it. When he asked us if they were our weights, Erin immediately said yes. I also nodded, and told him, "I had them out to practice juggling, but forgot to put them away - sorry."

Our humor is lost on those who take themselves too seriously.

He asked again if they were really ours or not, and I promptly responded, "Sir, you could curl me in one hand and one of those in the other. No they are not our weights, are you kidding me!"

Finally he gets the joke. He grumbled as he put them away, and Erin and I proceeded with our human-sized weights.

Fit(ness) to be Tied

I joined Pure Fitness during my senior year of college in 2005. I did very little research when I chose to join, above what facilities were closest to my apartment, and what the monthly fee would be. For the majority of my relationship with the gym (yes, I called it a relationship) I was largely content. They didn’t have the newest equipment, or the best staff or hours, but it served its purpose quite nicely. At that point, I would have done just about anything to avoid having to work out at the student rec center, which basically doubled as the set of a reality dating show/teenage beauty pageant.

Now, four years later, I am living and working in entirely different parts of Phoenix, and also have significantly less time to devote to exercise. I came to the conclusion that it made sense to quit Pure Fitness, and pledge allegiance to its key competitor, LA Fitness. LA has more locations, better hours and fancier clubs. They have a reputation of being more of a meat market gym, but if you can get past that, it’s a better deal. Naturally this realization resulted in a need to cut ties with Pure Fitness.

Easier.Said.Than.Done.

I’ve heard stories and jokes about the parallels between ending a gym membership and ending a relationship, and I now can vouch for the validity of those claims.

Attempt 1: On a Saturday afternoon I went into the gym, after finding out in advance that it was not possible to quit over the phone. I asked to end my membership and was told that this was not possible during the weekend. Why? The person who processes the cancellation paperwork is not in on weekends. Like any intelligent human being I asked why I couldn’t just fill out the forms and leave it for this person to process on Monday, and I was told it’s just not allowed. Mmmmk.

Attempt 2: On a Monday, I went into a different location and asked to end my membership. A man I’d never seen before was paged to the reception area, likely from a secret storage closet of salespeople, and asked me to sit down to talk this over with him. Oh boy.

Gym Guy: “Why are you thinking about ending your membership with us?”

Annoyed Jessica: “Locations…hours…equipment…You guys don’t have any locations close to my new house. Or my office for that matter. Your equipment is outdated and out of order, and your new hours are not as convenient as they used to be.”

Gym Guy: [shocked] “Really? Where do you live? And most of our equipment is new.”

Annoyed Jessica: “I live in Central Phoenix. And I work in North Phoenix. I’ve checked your Web site and there are no clubs within close proximity to either location. I’m also not happy with the equipment here. I’ve actually looked into three of your competitors and they all have newer equipment and fewer pieces out of order.”

Gym Guy: [now even more shocked] “Well that’s really surprising. Most of our stuff is new.”

Annoyed Jessica: “Yeah, you said that, but you have all the same cardio machines you’ve had since I joined four years ago! Your staff has been telling me for years it’ll be updated within the next six months, but here we are and it’s all the same.”

Gym Guy: [puffing his chest while unable to make eye contact] “I hope you don’t think you’re going to find a better deal anywhere else. If you think you’ll be happier at somewhere like LA Fitness you won’t be. You’ll be coming back here. I have people switching back all the time. We’re a friendlier gym and we really know our members.”

Annoyed Jessica: [not ok with empty threats] “I’ve been a member for four years, do you think one trainer in here knows my first name? No. “

Gym Guy: [getting serious] “Ok, I guess it’s your decision. So can you tell me one more time why you’re canceling?”

Annoyed Jessica: [through pursed lips]Hours. Locations. Equipment. Staff.

Eventually this dramatic little exchange ended in my favor. Somehow I’m still technically a member until the first week of June, but I still feel like it was a victory for the people. It must be hysterical when someone who works at a gym tries to buy a car, or vice versa; do the two powerful selling forces reflect each other like two magnets do?