The Junk Drawer

I swear I’m not a vain person. If I was, I’d work out at the gym every day, in full makeup and a cute outfit. But I don’t and the result is something I think they call Letting Yourself Go.

But over the years, I’d always been bothered by a decidedly non-cute part of my body that I couldn’t tolerate anymore about the time I turned 40.

I had fangs.

My canine teeth used to be very pointy and I was always self-conscious of them, such that I hated smiling broadly, especially in pictures. The teeth are also positioned slightly higher up on the gum than my other teeth, making them more noticeable if I wasn’t careful to smile close-lipped.

I had been seeing my wonderful dentist for years before it finally occurred to me to ask if anything could be done about them. He said “Sure, we’ll just cut the tips off, file them down and then cap ’em.” God, I wish I had thought to ask sooner.

Before I knew it, I was fangless, happy, and smiling big again. I even saved the tips. For what, I don’t know. And evidently I lost one. Here’s the one that survived.

I’m not the first in my family to be introduced to cosmetic dentistry. One of my sisters used to have a space between her teeth, with which she used to entertain friends and family. She had a remarkable ability to squirt water through the space in a half dozen directions. Grab your raincoat!

I was sad when she got the space filled because isn’t it a sister’s duty to perform water fountain stunts whenever I wanted?

And my other sister got braces in her thirties. God bless her. Can you imagine? Of course, when you have braces as an adult, and anyone makes fun of you, my guess is you can tell them to go to hell with confidence. As a kid, not so much.

So have any of you changed something about your body that you hated? If you’re like me, you’re happy you did it and wonder why you waited so long.

Now everybody say cheese!

Someone once asked me if I would post my typical daily routine. I won’t do that because it would bore you to tears, but I will tell you what I do first thing in the morning. The cats don’t get fed, I don’t make coffee and the newspaper has to wait.

The first thing I do when I get up is check my blog for comments because they make me laugh and set the tone for the rest of my day. At least until I run into my first cranky client at work.

Your comments give me a little glimpse into your world, but I want to learn a little more about my readers. So for the next couple days the blog is all about YOU.

You gotta dig deep because this is all about firsts. Ready?

1.   When was your first kiss?

2.   When did you first start buying holiday or birthday gifts for other people and stop thinking about what people would buy for you?

3.   When was the first time you thought of yourself not as a kid/teen, but as an adult?

4.   What do you remember about the first time you drove a car?

5.   Tell me about your first pet.

6.   What was your first job?

7.   Who was the first teacher to make a positive impact on your life?

8.   If you’ve lived in more than one house or apartment as an adult, tell me about your first one.

9.   What was it like the first time you got drunk (assuming you remember).

10. Did you marry your first love?

Answer all, some or just one that really got you thinkin’!

Yeah, that’s right. We buckled up our takeout food. Got a problem with that?

First person to correctly guess what comprised our precious cargo gets a Junk Drawer magnet. Hint: There was a protein (x6) and a side (x2).

To those who were following me on Twitter two hours ago, we never got the ice cream.

Boring post coming up. My apologies, but I’m desperate.

I don’t ask for much in this world. I just want my washing machine to clean clothes, my microwave to heat stuff, and my vacuum cleaner to suck up dirt.

It’s not sucking anymore.

At least not very well. We have a cheapo Red Devil vacuum that we’ve had for a couple years. The only benefit is that it’s very light, unlike my former Bissell vacuum that made me feel like I was pushing furniture around every time I cleaned.

But it fails to suck well enough and I want your recommendations on a new one. All it needs to do is adequately vacuum up kitty litter and not spit it back out through the sucky part.

And it needs to have its electrical cord coming out the top, not the bottom.

Look at this stupid thing. See where the cord comes out? Try vacuuming with that. It falls on the floor, I curse, I run over it, I curse, do the mambo trying to get at it, and I curse, all while trying to dodge kitty litter spraying out like shrapnel.

If you have an unhealthy love for your vacuum cleaner, I want to hear about it. Does it make you want to vacuum for the sake of vacuuming? Do you brag about it to your friends? Did you give it a name?

Bring it on. I need the exact make and model. Money is no object. It just has to have a cord that won’t trip and kill me, and it has to suck real good.

More importantly, is it enough to save my retirement account?

Yeah. So since I let my sister guest post yesterday, my three cats wanted to get into the act. I’m sensing a little attitude.

Lucky

Dear Bigfoot — When you try to pet my head with your disgusting foot, do you not think for a moment that I won’t bite your freak, ugly toes? You have it coming. And p.s.? I wouldn’t show those things in public.

Shadow

Dear Gigantic Person — I’m black. All black. You can’t see me at night, but you know where I lay down on the bedroom floor. Why must you always step on me when you get up to go to the bathroom? I’m pretty sure you can crush me. Load.

Stinky

Dear Peon — If you fail to bring me breakfast in bed one more day this week, you’re going to find a gift on your pillow. I poop outside, you know. I can poop anywhere.

And thus concludes the first and last guest post from my ungrateful cats. They shan’t be getting their own blogs anytime soon.

But if you want to read the most outstanding blog written with paws and claws, head on over to see Daisy the Curly Cat.

Those of us who leave comments for Daisy, as if we are actually talking to Daisy, have decided it doesn’t make us too mental. Embrace it.

The Junk Drawer celebrates its first-ever guest post. Actually, it’s a guest email I received last night from my sister, Ann of the Shampoo Bag.

I decided her rant had all the qualities I look for in a blog entry: customer service hell, a hatred for waiting in line, idiots and pizza. And so I give you …

Ann Buys a New Cell Phone 

Gather round kittens, for I have a story for you…

What is with Verizon Wireless? Is this the worst environment in which to purchase a phone AND in which to interact with the buying public?!

First, step right up to the kiosk where there is no way of knowing who’s next. People are swarmed around the counters, all looking, standing, touching, but you have no way of knowing if a person is being helped or is waiting to be helped.

So, you belly up to the counter with rainbows and stars in your eyes hoping that a customer service rep will notice your pathetic-ness.

Next, you have someone’s attention and state your business. In my case, I wanted to purchase one cell phone and one Blackberry. I already knew which model I wanted so we launched right into the TRANSACTION. Fork over your license, birth certificate, cemetery plot deed, and a tube of blood.

During the data entry portion of the program, I begin looking for the bar stools and refreshments. Why must the customer be forced to stand for the entire transaction? I sent Regan for pizza and a soda while I waited for the rep to finish the sale.

In the middle of watching the reps SIT WHILE WORKING, I was informed that the only Blackberry in stock was pink. That was lovely, except I was buying it for Don.

So Jeanette mentions casually that the Circuit City Verizon kiosk in BETHLEHEM has a silver Blackberry that he may like instead. So, after having nourishment to continue making this purchase, we leave the mall and drive to another freakin’ store to pick up the other phone.

As you may know, the Verizon kiosk is located just inside the Circuit City store. I already see five people swarming the kiosk, where only one sales rep is visible.

Let the screaming begin.

At least this place has a sign in sheet. There is one couple deep in conversation with the only rep. He’s got one cell phone on his belt loop, and another in his hand. His wife keeps touching the model phones. OK, can you just pick the one you need. You can read all the features yourself, stop asking questions and buy one, dammit!

While I’m waiting, swear to God, a man is beside me WAITING IN LINE TO PAY HIS MONTHLY BILL!!!!!! He left his house, got in his car, drove to this store, signed a sheet, and waited in line to pay a freaking bill with cash. I’d hate to know what he does with the rest of his time.

So, after waiting 30 minutes, it’s my turn. Yes, my silver Blackberry is sitting on the counter waiting for me. The rep activates the number, answers my questions, and I am on my way home.  Only 2 hours and 30 minutes out of my life that I’ll never get back.

ann of the cell phone bag

Blogger’s note: And now we wait for all the Verizon people to show up, arguing that their system doesn’t need improvement.

What makes me weirder?

a) I watched The Bourne Ultimatum and freeze-framed this newspaper shot so I could read the fine print.

b) I noticed a mistake in grammar, called my husband into the room and excitedly showed him what I’d found.

For the record, he gave me the same blank stare as the time I made him get in my car without telling him why. After we drove around for five blocks, I stopped and showed him why I made him come with me.

My odometer turned over to 77,777 miles!

Well, I thought it was something.

So can you spot the error?

It’s been almost two months since my last plastic bag update. For those new to this blog, I’ve been monitoring the status of a plastic bag that got stuck in a tree outside my building at work. It’s been hanging on for 167 days.

Incidentally, a few people have asked me if it has a name. I’m partial to Windy, which was the name suggested by longtime reader, Alan Bamboo.

The bag hasn’t moved from its original spot, but take a closer look now. Notice the split down the right hand side through the "T" in Wal-mart?

We’re expecting hard rains this weekend, so maybe it’ll cause the split to continue and at least pull down the right handle from one of the two branches it’s stuck on.

Thank you, Rich T., for helping me move a gigantic piece of furniture away from the window to the roof so I could get outside for up-close pictures.

To the woman who saw me walking back into the building from the roof, don’t worry, I wasn’t going to jump. Although I might have if my work week had gotten any worse than it had. TGIF and all that.

Have a good weekend, everybody!

Until the first snowflake falls, this is where I’ll be blogging:

I love sitting out on my patio, enjoying the morning or evening air. The stillness, the peace, the tranquility. It’s the one space I where I can get far from the ear-splitting, earth-shaking tremors brought on by the theater-quality audio system my husband bought to accompany our HDTV.

The audio system that has my cats hearing things that aren’t really in the room and now they need therapy.

The audio system that requires its own stupid remote control.

The audio system that is the size of a microwave and needs its own stabilizing table.

The audio system so sensitive that when I moved one of its speakers to dust, it gave my husband a coronary and prompted a lecture that every time I move one of them — so much as an inch — the whole system needs to be recalibrated and don’t you understand hi-tech audio, woman?

Um. No?

I don’t know what I’m going to do in winter. Earmuffs? Cone of silence? Move?

I’m curious where you guys blog. Drop your comments in the drawer — quietly.