Dig Your Chili

(note: thank you JAN for the title of this post, wouldn't want to be accused of stealing ;) Ok grafts.  It is one of those words that you hope you never encounter in your life.  I think it ranks up there with enema in terms of Whoo - hoo - ness .  I just found out that my implants (now that is a word that I love to say because people automatically look at my tits!) (dental implants) are not behaving the way proper good little healing implants should.   Apparently I have one tooth that just refuses to play ball and in fact is such a bastard that it is not just "not healing" it has decided to LOSE bone density.  I have a month to grow some bone on that side of my mouth or else I have to have a bone graft.  And I am assuming that the bone that is grafted into my mouth comes from somewhere in my body?  Probably a good question to ask the DR - but I am pretty sure they are not going to remove my femur in order to plug a hole in my mouth.  But maybe I am wrong and I will actua

Yep that's right. Bitter. Which coincidentally rhymes with Shitter which is where my NON EXISTENT love life is at the moment. So what Bitter- fied me? Jan goes on her first date post divorce and the guy texted her after the date to tell her he had a good time and wants to see her again. Now I LOVE Jan to death (even when we both leave the bathroom doors open while peeing and I can see her sitting on the pot, via the circa 1980 mirrored closet doors that she has in the bathroom!) But I have been on about, oh I don't know, A BAJILLION dates and .... NOTHING. Cooties. It has to be cooties. I must have them and guys know it. Shit. Guess it is time to get back to the bathroom mirror (no sickos ... not to watch Jan pee) but to practice "I am a precious treasure" over and over and over until hell - maybe I'll want to date myself.

At the end of my last counseling session my counselor asked me to do an affirmation. Now I am not a big fan of the affirmation. While there are probably countless studies and evidence to conclude that the affirmation does actually work to bolster ones self esteem, I can think of nothing more douche-baggy than telling my self in the mirror that I am GREAT. (Yes total mental image of good old Stuary Smalley ). But being that I am paying good money to confirm that I am in fact nutso and beyond all hope, I decided to play along with the counselor. She asked me to say "I am a precious treasure". Harmless enough until I get hung up on the word precious and immediately think of Precious Moments figurines. To which I start laughing like a hyena (pretty much literally sad to say) and can't get another word out without giggles. So now when I think of affirmations all I can think of is "I am a precious moments figurine". Not quite what my counselor was going for I suspec

For those of you who know me - you probably know where this is going (that is if you even know this blog exists!). Why am I so attracted to the letter J? And why after a HALF a year do I even care about the letter J? Damn the J and the remnants of some fabulous chemistry. I miss the letter J and that makes me want to poke both of my own eyes out with a dull spoon. But "love" is blind, right? Or is "love" just really psychotic and needs to up its meds ?

Pirates Pirates everywhere. Walking on campus this morning I realized that I am old and probably stuck in the early 90's before the dawn of ridiculous pirate fashion. What the hell is up with the skinny jean and pirate boots? Are eye patches and parrots on the shoulder next? Makes me want to walk around and yell ARRRGGG ( ok I have that fetish anyway if I have to be honest). And can I just say UGG ?? Who needs woolly mammoth boots in TEXAS? If you have to wear your boots with shorts - it is probably not cold enough for boots that resemble a small dog. So what happened to chunky mary janes ? Am I the only one in the world who wants to go back to my early-mid 90 roots? Crap. I am realizing that I have had the same hair style for the past 10 years - Great. I am THAT girl.

This weekend was moving weekend. But being that I don't have $5 to my name Jan and I had to move my enormous amounts of crap without the aid of movers. Needless to say it sucked. But we got it done and I think Jan will only really lose one arm to some gangrene infection -- and come on Jan ... two arms? Aren't you being a bit selfish there -- one is perfectly ok. So now I am out of the apartment and into the new house (which is still not finished ...) My new room is about the size of a postage stamp. Which if I look on the bright side means less cleaning ... however, I can see into Jan's room while lounging on my bed. Awkward? I think so. Also, my bathroom is right outside of Jan's bedroom -- meaning my 3 a.m. bathroom runs are not so private anymore. The other night I actually held it as to not wake Jan up with my urination. But I am sensing a whole string of UTI's from improper bladder usage - so maybe Depends or a chamber pot are in order. It has been a

Urrggh. That is about all I can muster after drinking copious amounts of cheap red wine last night. You would think that survival instincts would kick in and my brain would remind me that my liver hates me. But apparently my brain hates me too and thought it would be way more fun to suffer. Bastard. And of course I have a ton of work to do as I am moving from my apartment tomorrow (and am no where near packed). All I want to do is curl into a little ball on the floor but I don't think that pill bugging will get my apartment packed. And what is really stupid - I didn't even have that much to drink last night which means that I am getting old and can't handle my liquor no mo. Great. The onset of old age. Pretty soon I will be able to understand the Luby's Luanne platter. (I am utterly convinced that when you turn 65 the secret of how to order the Luanne is magically unlocked in your brain) I have a whole rant on dating and how the hell long should you wait for a

Which sounds like the beginning of a truly epic story. Unfortunately, unless epic really means super lame and boring, I will probably not reach epic proportions with my random musings. But it has been suggested to me that journaling is a good way to exercise demons. And I am all for exercising especially when it does not involve actual work or sweat. So first things first. Dig your Chili. What in the hell is chili digging you may be asking? Dig your chili was a phrase that I started using a few years ago (which honestly I always claimed invention rights to ... but Urban Dictionary puts me to shame there) that means that "you like someone". And when you really stop to think about it Chili is actually quite a good metaphor for love. a). Chili can be hot b.) Chili can also give you severe diarrhea c.) Chili is good with cheese on top See where I am going with that (ok minus the cheese thing but who can argue with cheese!)? Chili is a lot like love, in that it makes yo