Sunday, November 12, 2006

Combination plate

Sometimes, when I have the time to actually sit down and write, I'm certain that nothing interesting has happened lately...except:

Guess Who's Pregnant?

Nope, not I. Just about the entire blogosphere is though, and also, it turns out, my husband's best friend's wife. Or my husband's best friend's sister. Or someone in his life who I don't know very well. Rob made the announcement to me while I was busy trying to think about something else, but he seemed very excited about it. And I wanted to throw something heavy at him. Doesn't he realize that he's talking to a woman with a seriously accelerated baby-brain? He can be thrilled beyond belief for someone else, but he won't say peep about his own family? How does that make sense?

The Perfect Dress Wasn't

Why did it have to fit so perfectly, and be so outside of my budget? Even with a $50.00 giftcard, it was either the dress, or a week's worth of groceries. Sometimes I hate being financially responsible.

He Can Now Use Staves

Come the first of the year, Rob will have a staff position in the company he has worked for...for nine years. It's about fucking time.

Real Estate Ninjitsu

Viewing a house that you can't afford and have no intention of ever buying beats the pants off of touring a house that you painfully, desperately want - no, need - to buy. Rob and I got to masquerade as relaxed, qualified home-buyers. I felt like some sort of home-buying ninja, and it was great fun, viewing a house sans the horrible "oh God, oh God, must have it" feeling. What business did I have blatantly wasting a real estate agent's time, you ask? My parents, who currently reside in a condo in Southern California, have been shopping for a house in the Pacific Northwest. So naturally, when they mentioned they'd found something they really liked, I had to check out the goods.

Hell Has Frozen Over

Prepare to get out those space heaters and crank them up, because it's official. Remember my husband? Yeah, well, I do too, but I'm pretty sure that some mad scientist sneaked into our house and used him in some sort of brain-swapping experiment. He is eating vegan food...and loving it. A few nights ago, I improvised a kung pao "chicken" recipe (using eensy cubes of lightly-fried tofu), and Rob can't stop talking about it. Tonight, I made Sushi Salad, which he mmm-ed over. And he has been asking me to do something with quinoa. Quinoa, people! This from the man who, when I met him, said he didn't feel "fed" if his meal didn't include meat!

BiB
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Friday, November 10, 2006

Classy with a capital "Ass"

Dear Administrative Services Manager,

The next time you schedule a meeting with the Managing Director and Operations Manager about me, do not make the subject line of your meeting invite "Noelle etc." I have access to your Outlook calendar. In fact, you made sure that I did, so that I would know what your schedule was like. Anyone, when checking on the status of appointments and interviews, is bound to recognize her own name. Well done, there.

I understand that you may need to meet with our mutual bosses about me, but really? I shouldn't know about it. And you're the one who always seems so concerned with "maintaining confidentiality." One would think you'd know better. I suggest you try out some of that "professionalism" that you're constantly trying to make the rest of us believe you possess.

Yours sincerely,
Noelle (etc.)

BiB
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Wednesday, November 1, 2006

Conventional wisdom teeth


"Whoa! The lady has wisdom teeth!" Dr. S exclaimed as she peered into the back of my mouth.

And I do - for now. Four of them. They probably should have been removed long ago. Those molars have been trying to come in for ages now, which, unfortunately, has caused me a fair bit of pain. In fact, several years ago, when Rob and I were first dating, I complained often that "my guuuuummms hurt." Our age-difference was already a joke among his friends and family when he realized the extent of his cradle-robbing: his bride-to-be was teething.

A few weeks ago, after becoming fed up with my pathetic whimpering - "Owww...my teeeeth hurt..." - my husband set up a dentist's appointment for me. First of all, no fair! I have been purposefully avoiding the dentist for months, and he just...up and makes an appointment for me? Seriously, what gives? Secondly, he was shrewd enough to choose a female dentist, thereby encouraging me to feel less nervous about the whole process. Again, no fair! How is it possible that my husband can be so thoughtful and so mean at the same time?

Oh, and thirdly? My wisdom teeth have to come out, the sooner the better. Completely lame. If I leave them be, they'll just continue to cause me pain, and probably end up damaging the teeth around them. Double lame. Fortunately, it shouldn't be a major procedure. The bottom teeth are most of the way through, which will mean the surgeon won't have to dig around under bone and muscle to find them (eeeewww!), and, according to Dr. S, the top teeth should just "drop right out." Oh joy.

When I relayed all of this information to my parents, my father replied that his wisdom teeth had been the exact same way. My mother made a joke about "genetics at work."

My understanding of genetics is limited to high school biology class and the occasional Discovery Channel special. But I still understand the basic idea. If two people combine their genetic material to create a new person, of course that new person is going to have things in common with its sources. And yet, I am completely amazed by this fact whenever it is brought to my attention, or I have an opportunity to observe it. I love people-watching, and when noticing families together, I'm always a little surprised and delighted to realize that a child has his mother's hair, his father's smile, etc.

Lucky me, I got my father's teeth: fragile, crowded, prone to sensitivity, and apparently, impacted. Awesome.

Parents pass morals, values, attitudes and traditions on to their children. Most do what they can to raise their children in an environment that promotes mental and physical health. But some things we can't help passing on, as much as we'd prefer to keep them to ourselves: heart disease, cancers, hair loss, mood disorders, low self-esteem...

I often wonder how my children will look - brown-eyed blondes or blue-eyed brunettes? - but I'm also beginning to wonder what their health will be like. Will they get my persnickety stomach? Allergies? My brain chemistry? Will I find myself watching them for sleepwalking or signs of clinical depression? We can treat so many things with science and medicine, but there is no vaccine against bad genes.

If nothing else, I pray they wind up like I did: with their father's teeth.

BiB
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