nubbin' : living a life with nubs

Imagine how much you enjoy and/or tolerate talking to me.

Now imagine how much worse that experience could be if I had little nubs for teeth.

Ladies and gentlemen, that is the fate we all may face if my teeth do not start cooperating.

Almost a year ago, I had some cavities filled. Shortly after, I realized that one of the teeth that had been worked on hurt every time I bit down. I went back to the dentist, and he said that it wasn’t anything alarming. My bite just needed to be adjusted.

No prob, right? Wrong.

I’ve been back THREE times in the past year TO GET MY TOOTH FILED. Yes, filed like a fingernail.

And each time I go, I swear I come out of there with what can only be described as a phantom tooth -- a tooth that I imagine is larger than it really is (because it has in fact been whittled down). Three times this has happened. Which means THRICE my tooth has shrunken in size. And this time was the worst of them all ... I swear I'm beginning to feel an opening where my teeth aren't even pressing together anymore. The nub is on its way.

Needless to say, I am so ready for this madness to end ... for all of our sakes. 

Because I'm pretty sure we'd all prefer that I NOT look like Gollum in the near future. 

P.S. If this post title results in a ton of search engine hits I'm going to laugh so very hard it just may re-set my bite.

P.P.S.S. Points to the person who can come up with the best vampire joke!

hot shots

Tad and I are watching season 1 of this reality show called Top Shot. It's where some of the nation's best marksmen compete to be the best shot in the west.

Well this one particular episode was about trick shooting. They had to shoot a bottle behind them by placing the gun on their shoulder and using a mirror. They also had to throw a cabbage in the air (not too high, mind you) and shoot it before it hit the ground.

After watching this, I had one thought, "Big freaking deal."

To prove my point, I had Tad pull out his Nerf guns and we rigged up a few household items to see whether we had what it takes. And let me tell you, we are awesome. So awesome, that we should go on tour and Pop Tarts should sponsor us.

Here's the recap:

Amanda started out with the cabbage toss (which soon became the pop tarts box toss). Please ignore the mess in the background, because that's just not important. What you SHOULD notice, is the pop tart box, floating in the air, waiting to be shot dead.

And will Amanda shoot it? Well, the picture tells us that she didn't make it THIS time, but by the fifth try, Amanda was consistently hitting the Pop Tart box.

Notice the dart in mid-air! And what concentration Amanda brings to the sport!! AND THAT STANCE! Mo Vaughn would be so jealous.

To achieve the behind-the-back shot, Tad rigged up a stand of boxes (probably boxes from the hallway that you saw in the previous picture). Then, the unfortunate Pop Tarts box was placed on top. Using a L'oreal compact, Tad was able to successfully spot the box and blow it off its stand. Amanda achieved this as well.

Thanks for tuning in to this episode of Tad and Amanda Show Big Shots that Their Shots Aren't As Big as They May Think. Join us next time when they walk on burning coals!

unstoppaBULL

Growing up in the Chicago suburbs, basketball was always a very happy thing. Michael Jordan was in his prime (when was he NOT in his prime?). And I watched with my family as our Bulls secured two three-peats and the best record ever in NBA history. 72-10. I even have the t-shirt to prove it.

I don't remember ever feeling scared or anxious or worrisome. It wasn't a matter of whether they would win ... it was just a matter of when. They never let us down. Ever. Well, except when they would retire and then un-retire ... but even that was as though they were undoing whatever they had previously done to lose our trust.

It was an epic time of victory and awesomeness.

But since moving to Indiana, I realize that not everyone feels the same way.

Here, I introduce you to a disgruntled Pacers fan.

His name is Josh. I've featured him here before.

You see, Josh is sad, because his whole life he rooted for the Pacers. And every time they had a shot at the championship, those darned Bulls knocked them out of the running.

Needless to say, Josh is a bit bitter. But he's not the only one. I have another friend ... a Cavs fan, who also shares in the hatred. Apparently, it's a serious problem for NBA fans across the nation.

When I first heard of this Bull-hatred, I really couldn't believe it. I seriously had gone through my entire life, assuming that everyone was in love with the Bulls. I mean, who could hate them?! But of course that wasn't the case. Many people hated them and were wishing them to die, while I was praying that not only would they rule the world, but that Michael Jordan would actually grow wings and fly.

Bottom line ... While my childhood memories were full of wins and beat-downs and great moments, theirs were full of losses and beatings and embarrassing moments.

It's not fair. It's not right. But that's the way it is.

And that's why we're here, 15 years later. 2011 NBA Playoffs. And the Bulls and Pacers are at it again.

Apr 16 @ Bulls		Q1	Q2	Q3	Q4									TOTAL
	Pacers	27	28	24	20									99
	Bulls	23	28	20	33									104

Sorry, Josh. Looks like some dreams just aren't meant to come true.

lady of the night

My parents used to tell me that I'd become a morning person once I grew up. That one day, a love for the damp, coldness that is the world right after sunrise would hit me like cupid's arrow and I'd never go back to my late-night ways.

Well, it's 12:05am, and I'm sitting in a hotel room in Columbus, Ohio, wide awake.

You'd think after years of battling the night owl disease, I'd have a strategy of sorts. But I don't. Not really, anyway. I mean there's the obvious reading strategy. And the tv strategy. And the lay perfectly still and relax one body part at a time strategy. But their success rates are sketchy at best, and I'm in no mood to try the sampler platter of drug-free narcotics.

So, in the meantime, I've put together my thoughts on how the world would look if night-lovers ruled over the morning peeps.

And it sounds like a great place.

Work hours would run from:
8pm to 5am
People would generally sleep from:
11am to 6:30pm

1. All work would be done in the darktime hours, leaving small pieces of daytime hours for fun and play. 
2. No one would ever get sunburn. Except for the crazy day birds who would insist on staying out at all hours of the day.
3. You could wear evening makeup to work without feeling too dressed up.
4. No one would ever pressure you to be happy right after you woke up, because the world would be ruled by generally sluggish people such as yourself. More importantly, roommates wouldn't sing at you after you rolled out of bed.
5. You would also never ever have meetings first thing in the evening (which would be your morning). Furthermore, no one would talk to you until after you've had a few hours to acclimate.
6. The hottest part of the day would take place while you're asleep!!!

Well, that's about all I can come up with. It's 12:26 and I'm a bit more tired. I'm having trouble forming cohereent thoughts, which is a good sign.

Guess I'll go read for a bit. Read and hope for the day when I'll be chipper in the morning and sluggish at night and all grown up.

Grapefruit Confessions

You’re sitting at your desk, eating a perfectly delicious red grapefruit. You don’t normally eat grapefruit. Especially not at work. But 2011 is the year you’ll finally get fit and stay fit, and so all your snacks of CheezIts and chocolate are replaced by apples and green peppers. And grapefruit.

You’ve sliced it in half and set the halves before you. Carefully-placed slits free each fruit section from the rind. Generously-sprinkled Splenda sweetens their tartness. And yet, you laugh to yourself as the red fruit puckers your lips and squints your eyes.

First one half, then other. Piece by piece, you polish it off, knowing full well that co-workers may find you strange for choosing such an odd snack. They eye you from across the open room or walk past your desk, and you can almost hear their inner dialog about you and your grapefruit.

Or maybe, you’re just being paranoid.

Once empty of their ruby fruit, the grapefruit halves sit before you, full of juice. Wonderful, tangy, healthy juice that would be drunk within the minute if you were in the privacy of your own home.

But you aren’t home. You’re at work, in a room with no barriers or blockades or cubicles. And your coworkers might see you.

What do you do? Do you drink the juice or throw it away?

Do you remain true to your quirky self or do you follow social convention?

After a moment of deliberation and a glance over your shoulder, you drink. And it tastes lovely. Once you’ve wiped your mouth, you sit back and think about how excited you are that you have another grapefruit for tomorrow.

And how lucky your coworkers are that you had the office sense to squeeze the juice into a cup instead of sucking it straight out of the fruit’s shell like some kind of crazy person.

Est. 1983

I really hate including my graduation year in my literary agent bio.

I mean I really really hate it.

It makes me sound as though my college degree is one of my top credentials. As though I'm one of those "Class of '06, baby!" losers who wants every single person to know exactly where I studied and who I graduated with.

And I didn't even go to Princeton or Harvard or Yale. I went to a tiny school in Indiana.
Doesn't really scream prestigious academia, does it.

The truth of the matter is just the other day, someone asked me if I was still in school ... a question I get far too often. And everytime, I just want to scream "No, I'm not still in school. In fact, THERE ARE PEOPLE MY EXACT AGE RUNNING BILLION DOLLAR BUSINESSES AND LEADING NFL TEAMS THROUGH THE PLAYOFFS."

Do you think anyone would ask Jay Cutler or Aaron Rodgers to have their dad contact the service station if their car broke down? Of course not! In fact, they probably don't even get carded at restricted movies or have to tell their insurance guy that they don't qualify for the "good student program". And they're 1983 babies just like me.

So with a heavy sigh, I'll send my bio off to the conference organizers, my 2006 grad date in big, bold letters.

And maybe while I'm there, I'll walk around with a Jimmy John's Est. 1983 t-shirt. Sure, I'll still be one of the young-uns. I'm ok with that. I'm just trying to avoid people asking if I'm agenting as part of an internship (true story).

Any other ideas? BTW, mom jeans, lipstick and a darker hair color are out of the question.

Sidenote: I realize the Jay Cutler/Aaron Rodgers reference was random ... but I'm SO excited for Sunday's game that I couldn't resist. Go Bears!

of dreams and english things

I had a friend in college named Jason.

We had plans to visit England and do a bunch of literature-inspired things.

We were going to run in the moors, while I shouted “Heathcliff!” and he shouted “Catherine!”

We were going to search out 221B Baker Street.

We were going to visit Wessex and milk cows.

We were going to smoke pipes at The Eagle and Child pub.

We were going to do so many more things that now I cannot seem to remember.

That’s what happens when you don’t follow through with your dreams and plans and goals. You end up with a bunch of blank space where there should be exciting, inspiring memories.

10 points to the person who can tell me the literary significance/reference behind each of these without using the links.