Our First Date – A Test

So I’m probably the only person under the age of 30 who listens to the radio at home, but I like to listen to a local radio show (Eric and Kathy) every morning when I get ready for work. They talk a lot about relationships and the differences between men and women, and, because I live with a boy, he’s  forced to listen to it as well. More often than not, we usually end up talking about topics they discuss. Just like a couple in the 1930s.

The topic the other day was first dates, and one of the hosts, Eric, was saying most men don’t remember what the woman was wearing. They are more likely to remember her cleavage, but not the dress she wore to make her boobs look good. And, of course, all the ladies on the show insisted they remembered every detail of their date down to the shoes.

So, of course, I had to ask the live in if he remembered what I was wearing on our first date more than 27 months ago. He said he thought it was “a blue dress with a crissy-crossy pattern or something.”

I didn’t wear a dress, but I DID wear a blue shirt with a pattern that could be described as crissy-crossy. And that’s good enough for me. Well done, live in boyfriend. Well done.

Now if only I could remember what he was wearing…

Tell me – do you also have the memory of a man?

The Best Day of My Life

Just call me Shermatron

Earlier this week, I had the best day of my life. Not because I got a promotion, got married, had a baby or anything of any significance to most normal people.

No, instead, in my cute, quirky (read: crazy) world of mine, I had the best day ever because I caught my first ever pass in flag football.

In normal person world, we were up by 20 points with about 30 seconds remaining in the game so the pass didn’t make much of a difference. In my world, catching that pass meant world peace, an end to childhood hunger and no more cancer.

And because I ALWAYS play it cool, you would never have noticed it was my first ever catch because when I realized I caught the ball, I immediately started screaming…and kept on screaming as I ran for about five more yards until my flag got pulled. 

I like to make the live in boyfriend (who is also on the team, but was on the sidelines at the time) tell me what my awesomeness looked like from his point of view at least a couple times a day.

Did I mention I got a first down? I know. I’m already waiting to be recruited by the NFL so I can put myself on my fantasy team.

I Thrill When I Drill a Bicuspid

Childhood Dentist

I’m afraid of the dentist.

I know what you are thinking. Oh, I hate the dentist too!

But, I’m serious. I’m afraid of the dentist. Like irrationally afraid. As in, whenever I go to the dentist, I cry. As in, I cry when I make the appointment. I cry when I check in with the receptionist. I cry when I sit in the chair before they do any work. And then I cry when they do any work. And whenever I cry; I sweat. Did I go too far with that last one? Well, whatever. It’s true. And I needed to paint that picture for you so you know, unlike you, I’m for realz afraid of the dentist.

You won’t be surprised to learn, it’s been about two years since I’ve been to the dentist. My last dentist who put up with the sweaty tears, left his practice, taking all the medical history with him, never to be heard from again. And I wasn’t ready to get to know an entirely new dentist.

Until I realized there were eight weeks left in the year, and my health spending account would expire…which means I would lose money. I HATE to lose money so the search for a new dentist began.

Ultimately, I made an appointment with a dentist recommended by my coworker. After crying with whoever answered the phone and explaining my situation, she had the dentist call me directly. We spent 10 minutes talking about why I’m so irrationally afraid. I explained how my childhood dentist (my family coined the Butcher) would yell at me whenever I would start crying. I remember when I had teeth pulled, he looked at me with crazed eyes, while waving a needle around, telling me it would hurt more if I cried.

I cried during the entire 10 minute conversation, and the new dentist didn’t make me feel crazy at all. And he prescribed me Xanax to take before the appointment “to take the edge off.”

So, now, instead of being afraid of the dentist, I’m afraid of taking the Xanax. I’ve never taken it before, and, in general, I don’t like prescription drugs because I once saw someone who had taken prescription drugs, drink two bottles of wine and fall off a chair during dinner.

I’m so quirky.

Tell me – what are you “quirky” about?