Oops...

Open mouth and insert foot. No matter how hard I try to not say the wrong thing, I do. I can probably insert my foot into my mouth a good seven times in any conversation. The more I try to save it, the worse it gets.

I apologize to anyone I have ever made uncomfortable.

Somehow in the last week I've been causing not so fantastic moments, but this time it has nothing to do with what I did or did not say. Shocking.

I wish I could sit here, saying I don't know how that happened, but unfortunately, actions speak louder than words.

It began last week and I'm convinced no one from maintenance will ever enter this apartment, again. Hope nothing breaks.

It began innocently enough. My sister and I went to see West Side Story on Thursday. Because I'm a believer in being dressed appropriately for the theatre I was in the bathroom straightening my hair. Because I didn't want lose hair to stick to my shirt I was straightening my hair in my bra and a pair of basketball shorts.

You know that moment in horror movies where the audience knows someone is going to get killed because she is in just her bra?

It was kind of like that.

The day before Chris walked into the apartment, holding a piece of paper telling us maintenance would be around the next day to check smoke detectors.

By the time I was getting ready it was close to 5 p.m. so I figured they would come the next day. I need to stop thinking, figuring and assuming.

You probably know where this is going.

I had a clump of hair pinned to the top of my head, another clump in my mouth and the other side of my head looking as straight as it would be. I was looking like a hot mess.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. I yelled, "one moment." And not two seconds later the front door swung open.

For those who have not been in our apartment, the front door is in line with the bathroom door. Meaning when both doors are open you can see from the porch into the bathroom.

We stood there for about 5 seconds, staring at each other before he quickly closed the door. I fled to the bathroom to pull on a T-shirt. He knocked again and I answered.

He walked in, staring at his shoes. He walked within 10 feet of the smoke detectors, while staring at the floor and declared them in working order. Note to self, do not start a kitchen fire. There is a chance they really don't work.

On Friday I turned in a work order basically saying our kitchen sink is falling apart. Not really, but it's not important to the story.

I was taking a break from editing my novel by playing Kinect Sports Season 2. Since it was snowing outside I thought nine holes of golf would be perfect. On hole three there was a knock on the door.

I answered it, fully dressed, showed the maintenance guy the sink and went back to my golf game. My back was to him, so I couldn't see his face, but I do know I looked ridiculous. It's impossible to play Kinect and not look like a deranged bunny rabbit.

Anyway, while playing golf you need to put your hand to your eyes, like you're shading your eyes from the sun. It allows you to see the hole. You also have the ability to change your club by reaching your right hand straight out and saying what club you want.

Tons of fun.

Yes, I'm doing this in front of him. The best part of Kinect Golf? I can use my baseball/golf hybrid swing with much better results than in real life. The result? Me golfing like Goof, only my legs don't twist together.

I heard him snort.

I'm not sure if that was out of laughter or out of something from the drain going up his nose.

He had to leave and come back; when he came back I was playing Kinect Football, and was running like The Roadrunner in place.

He definitely had no idea how to proceed with that one.

At least I'm not inadvertently insulting them. That's a bonus.

What is funny about this all this, because ya' know, that wasn't funny at all, is I've also terrified the UPS delivery man.

Long story short, there was a UPS delivery man who talked to all of his customers. If you signed for something he would ask how your day was. He would see me all the time around the complex in the summer he assumed I was a teacher. I told him I was a writer trying to make money.

He began inquiring about my writing every time I signed for a delivery.

After I got married he was delivering our wedding gifts, when he noticed I changed my signature. He asked if I got married and I told him I did about three weeks ago.

The next day when he was delivering another box, he gave me a card saying, "Congratulations!" He has also given me and Chris a Christmas card.

He asked how the job search was going.

We would wave to each other when we were driving. For a while I was seeing him once or twice a month when he was delivering something to the apartment.

He was delivering a box a couple weeks ago when I commented how I hardly saw him anymore. He said it was because I stopped ordering stuff. Actually, people stopped sending us stuff. We like cookies.

Anyway...

No, I said. I haven't seen you driving around. He said he got promoted and wouldn't be delivering anymore. This was his last delivery, he was training a guy.

The guy he was training was halfway down the steps with a petrified look on his face. Like, oh my God! What have I gotten myself into?! I have to talk to people?

His poor replacement was leaving boxes on the porch for about a month before he started knocking on the door. He still looks scared when I open the door.

If I somehow insult you, terrify you, or do anything to make you uncomfortable. Please join the club and I am truly sorry. I swear I do not mean to say or do anything to intentionally hurt your feelings or anything like that.

Rest assured, it could be worse. Just ask maintenance or the UPS guy.

Surviving The Dentist (barely)

I've found the definition of adulthood.

Even if you don't want to, you still have to.

For the last year and a half I've been putting it off. Every six months, for as long as I can remember, I was forced to sit in the electric chair, waiting for my doom.

For the last 23 years I have trained my dentist, Brian, and the hygienists to perfection. We had it down to a science. Get in, get out, no cavities, here's your sticker and new toothbrush. The tartar pick was used quickly and painlessly. One quick lap around the teeth and I'm done.

When my insurance changed I had to say goodbye to Brian, and hello to another dentist. So not cool.

This dentist is drooling over my wisdom teeth. Actually drooling. You would think the Tooth Fairy gave him a percentage for all the teeth he pulls. I only got a dollar, I'm thinking he gets $50 for every tooth.

Brian says I do not need them out. My friend who works in the teeth industry, who I'm pretty sure is friends with the Tooth Fairy, says they are fine, unless they are infected.

This guy was ready to find a shovel and dig them out. I told him they were fine. I think in the process of disagreeing with him, I started the Wisdom Tooth War, historians will be talking about this for years to come.

On the plus side, the new hygienist did give me an option for toothpaste flavor and used a smaller electric toothbrush. The fruit punch flavor is pretty good, but cherry is still better. 

The five things I hate about the dentist:

• The scrapping sound of the tartar pick and electric toothbrush
• It is worse than nails on the chalkboard.
• I will white knuckle the arm rests and clench my eyes, waiting for it to be over
• When the hook of the tartar pick digs into my gums
• For the love of God! I'm not a fish!
• I tend to kick my leg out, since I can't scream. I apologize to the hygienist that walked through.
• Feeling like I can't breathe
• I have the worst gag reflex known to man. I will gag brushing my teeth if the foam gets to be to thick.
• Add someone with an electric toothbrush and I am done for. Ask any of the hygienists I threw up on.
• Not being able to hold "Mr. Sucky"
• I don't like crud floating around in my mouth. I want it out. I also feel like I'm drowning when there are fingers and instruments in my mouth.
• I couldn't hold onto "Mr. Sucky" at my new dentist's office. But I could request it at any time.
•  I put dolphins and Orcas to shame with my amazing jumping ability to clamp down on "Mr. Sucky."
• Yes, I am aware I am being obnoxious
• I did not bite. It's a bummer when you are older than 10-years-old.
• It's frowned upon to bite the fingers that went into my mouth without my permission.
• No means No. Even at the dentist.
• Not getting a sticker!
• For the last hour I have had someone's fingers in my mouth. I have been scrapped, prodded, poked, scratched and am now bleeding. I should have a sticker

Brian would give me a sticker. He gives me a sticker and I don't bite him on my next visit. Training a dentist is not a lot different than training a puppy.

So, here I go, off to train another dentist. I wonder if he would learn by the rolled up newspaper approach? No, that's obnoxious.

Mission: Declutter

It started innocently enough. It was January 5th and time for the ornament holder (Christmas tree) to come down. Down came the ornaments, lights, stockings, Christmas cards and other knick knacks.

The room looked bare without everything, but it was still cluttered. Extension cords, stadium chairs, video games, power cords and pillows cluttered the room.

Pushing the thought, "we need to move," to the back of my mind, I procrastinated and began scrolling through USA Today. The most popular article that morning was how to de-stress in your own home.

I can hear it now. What do you have to be stressed about? You sit on the couch all day wearing your pajamas. Yes, I sit on my couch, mostly because I do not have a desk. I am wearing clothes, thank you. And no, I have nothing to be stressed about.

The article went on to say things like cluttered cabinets where you can't find anything, or messy refrigerators can make people feel stressed.

Uhhh, yeah. I'm thinking this article was written by a hippie.

I looked around the living room. There is a wide open corner now that the ornament holder was gone. The room is a pretty good size, if I could move the surge protector that holds a million cords, it wouldn't look so messy.

Cords and wireless box to the corner. The lamp had to be moved so the cord could reach. A book shelf was also thrown into the corner, and viola! The room lost its clutter feel.

I did feel a bit better, I did not so squished.

Time to tackle the cupboards!

Seven jars of Prego, six jars of salsa, ten cans of chicken noodle soup along with other miscellaneous cans that took up the entire cupboard. It was cluttered so badly, we groaned when he had to find something in there.

Find a buddy!

Sesame Street would be so proud. Everything was matched to the item like them. If it was on of these things that doesn't belong, it was placed to the side and stacked appropriately.

I don't know if it de-stressed me. I did feel a sense of accomplishment. I was on an organizational high!

I attacked the fridge, the other cupboards, my closet, my dresser finding things to donate, recycle and throw away.

The hippie journalist was onto something.

I don't feel less stressed, I do feel like our tiny apartment is slightly bigger.

I'm thinking this can hold me for another several months until we find a bigger place. When will that be, you ask?

At this rate, probably ten to eleven months from now. But it's okay. The cupboards are organized.