You're Not Funny

I was at work today. Because that's what adults do (or so I'm told). I was working on a gentleman who was not so gentle at all, or rather, his words weren't gentle. He kept saying every two minutes"Are we done yet?" like it was the funniest and most clever thing he's ever heard. And like it was cute. Hey, hot shot. It's not cute. It isn't. It bothers me. Because I have a job to do. Because you don't understand what it's like to have to do something that majority of the general public has come to dread. Because you've already made it clear by your complete lack of dental hygiene that taking care of your teeth is not something you put very high on your Priority List in life. And answer me this, of the two of us in this room, do you honestly believe you're the one that wishes "we were done?" No. I am the one that desperately wishes "we were done" so that I wouldn't have to clean out that 8 mm pocket on the distal of 30 that's packed full of pus and last night's dinner. Got it? So, how about you zip it and let me do my job so I can stop courtesy laughing at your ridiculous and unoriginal "joke." Bless your heart.

And speaking of food, what is it with people thinking it's OK to come to the dentist with a mouth jammed full of their last meal? I mean, c'mon! I went to clean a lady's teeth today, and as I am looking around in her mouth, I noticed these orange, fleshy things caught between her teeth--all of them.

Me: Did you have cantaloupe before you came to your appointment today?

Patient: Oh. No. I had a carrot and some orange juice after I brushed my teeth.

Oh. OK. Wait. No. Really? You picked the two things out of thousands of foods that are infamous for getting stuck between teeth and you eat them AFTER you brush your teeth before coming to the dentist? Stringy carrots and orange pulp. Seriously. What a genius. Hey, I have an idea lady. I think we have some chicken in the break room. I'll just go stick it in a blender and let you mash on that for awhile so that I can pick it out from between your teeth, too. Sound like fun? This same patient went on to ask me about "grills" and how much they cost. Lady. No offense, but you do not fit the demographic description for a "grill." Case closed. Period. The end. So, don't even worry about it.

My sister-in-law texted me the other day. She lives in Boise. Her text said this: "Rachel. I just went into the public bathroom at work and a lady was in the stall talking on her phone! I immediately thought of you." I really hope Ashley thought of me because of my blog, and not because she grouped me among people like Bathroom-Stall-Chatty-Cathy? No, no. I'm pretty sure it was because of my blog. Right, Ash? Ash? I asked her if the lady at least washed her hands. But Ashley didn't stick around to find out. Good call, Ash. I wouldn't have, either. And you contacted the right authorities: Me.

Until next time...;)

Accolades--D.C. Style

This post is dedicated to The Rosenbaum and Nichols' families:

My husband and I recently returned home from a trip to the east coast. We spent the week in and around the Washington D.C. area. It was great. It really was. But, may I just say that prior to our adventure I was convinced that most of the world's "crazies" were packed into the upper left hand corner of the United States (i.e. Washington State). WRONG. Dead wrong. There are plenty of obnoxious people residing on the opposite side of the good ol' U.S. of A. Like I've always speculated, idiocy is a pandemic! Let me elaborate (because you know I'm gonna):

1) This is crazy man number one. We encountered him on our very first ride on the Metro system into The "District." That's right, a bunch of white, sheltered west coasters riding a big subway for the first time and this guy shows up. I spent majority of the trip looking straight ahead as to not draw any attention to myself (or my family). I wasn't convinced that he wasn't hiding a pistol in that Mickey Mouse Fantasia-style warlock cap. Oh, his sign? He was protesting the border scandal that is currently causing all sorts of chaos in Arizona. Although, we couldn't be sure because he had "border" spelled as "boarder." So, he could be protesting the skating industry for all I know. Makes more sense with his clothes and all. Personally, if I had my own protesting sign, it would be arguing his fashion crimes: white socks with "man-dals," Joe Boxer smiley faces underpants worn OVER shorts, and his tie dyed t-shirt. Also, that may or may not be a Cabbage Patch doll head or a mop hanging over the top of his sign. We never could decide (remember, we were too busy pretending not to stare).

2) My sister-in-law and I counted not one, but two, women wearing at least 4 inch heels as they were touring the sights and sounds of our nation's capitol. Incredible. There they were, hobbling along, clearly in pain as their strappy stilletos dug deep into the tops of their feet. But who cares? They looked good, right? Ladies, let's be real. Nothing looks more ridiculous then when trying to be fashionable rather than practical especially when your surroundings were screaming "comfort" and "functionality" rather than "fashion." I should know. I used to be one of you. You and I both know that your feet do not FEEL good even though you think they LOOK good. Your feet are bleeding for pete's sake! Arlington National Cemetery does not care if you have stilettos on. Most the men are buried in the ground anyway, and I'll guarantee you they're laughing at you from their graves. Bless your hearts.

3) This next story is my favorite of the week. On Wednesday of our vacation, we crowded onto the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland to watch the ever-so-entertaining Blue Angels fly (along with thousands and thousands of other people). It was hot. Scratch that. It was sweltering. Humid. And have I mentioned it was disgustingly hot? I have very fair skin. A friend of mine once called my complexion like that of skim milk. Nice. So, naturally, I had an umbrella up and around me to shade my poor white body from burning, or worse, tanning. That's when I felt it. A tap on my left shoulder. I turned around to behold a woman screaming over the noise of the flying jets. "Do you think you could put your umbrella down? It's blocking the view!" Oh, the view? You mean the one straight up in the sky thousands of feet above the silhouette of my umbrella? You mean the hoards of people standing in front of you (many of which also had umbrellas) and the two giant trees along the bank of the river weren't already blocking your view? Oh, it was solely my umbrella stopping you from enjoying the show? Well, in that case, let me say one thing: Get over yourself. And, I have a suggestion. How about you take a half a step to your left and magically, your problem (i.e. my umbrella) would no longer be your problem at all. This same lady was later heard excitedly saying, "Oh! This is my favorite formation!" Lady, be honest. How many times have you seen the Blue Angels? Weirdo. And next time you ask me to move it, you're going to get a big, fat "NO!"

4) Picture this. A big family (in every sense of the word) sitting atop a double decker tour bus, tearing pages from their tourist maps and letting them fly off the back of the bus over and over again because, after all, it's hilarious, right? Go, America! Idiots.

5) Foreigners. I have mixed emotions about them. My husband has always jokingly called me Hitler, although it's not funny anymore ever since we visited the Holocaust Museum on our vacation (and in fact, I never did find it all that funny in the first place). But I do have a problem when people from other countries come to our Capitol and don't listen when the tour guide says, "Pictures of the Pentagon are prohibited at this stage of the tour." And then I look over to see a french woman doing what? That's right. Taking pictures of the Pentagon at this stage of the tour--over and over again. Hey! Lady! I don't care if you ignore tour guides in your own country! But listen up when we say you can't take pictures of the Pentagon! Got it?! It has to do with a little something known as September 11, 2001. Sheesh. At first, I thought it was because she didn't understand any English. And, then I knew it was because she didn't know any English. Point proven.

6) And if you thought my last story was harsh, just take a gander at the photo below and you'll know I am not opposed to taking criticism myself. That's right. My brother and sister-in-law snapped this picture. That's me (the oblivious looking one on the left) and my hubby (the really oblivious looking one on the right). If you look closely, that little blue handicapped sign above our heads reads: "Priority Seating." Of all the seats available for us to choose, we picked those two. 'Nuf said. Oh, and we laughed pretty stinkin' hard when we realized what we had done. Until next time ;)

Dear Morons (not MORMONS, M-O-R-O-N-S) of the World,

You suck. No, really. You do. You know how I know this? Because I deal with you people every single day. And dare I say, it's making me a little stir-crazy? Like that time today when I was driving to pick Jason up from work, and I looked in my rearview mirror to behold one of your kind throwing a fistful of garbage out his window like it was rice at a wedding. Seriously, dude? It hasn't been cool to litter since like 1996. And if I hadn't run the risk of driving into the ditch while trying to grab a pen and McDonald's receipt off the floor of the car so that I could write your license plate down, I totally would have reported you to Al Gore--or at least the police!

Or like that time this week at work when I took your blood pressure and it was too high and another one of you said, "I'll just go down to the blood bank and donate a pint. That always brings it down." OOOHHH. Right. Until your body does it's job and produces more blood to replace the old blood and then your poor little blood cells are again left to find passage between your veins and arteries that are clogged with lard and sodium.

Or like the time this week when pulling out of our apartment complex, one of you pulled up behind us, honked your horn, and mockingly flagged us on to turn left. OH! Is that what we do after four lanes of traffic have cleared? We actually carry through with the manuever our left blinker was signaling by jerking the wheel to the left? DON'T you dare give me that stupid thumbs up sign, Mister Neighbor! Because I KNOW for a fact you freakin' don't mean it, you big impatient idiot.

I have to go. My face is getting warm. And I'm hungry. But this isn't the end. I'll be back with more tongue lashings. Is there no accountability anymore? Sheesh.

Warmest Regards,

Rachel

Triple Threat

The idiots are out in full force lately! I think this means the world is going to end soon--or something.

Story 1: I was perusing the shopping racks at Kohl's the other day with my mom (surprise, surprise) when the large Diet Coke I had downed at lunch hit me. I sped to the bathroom upstairs, flung open the door and looked to the first stall for relief. Now, typically I don't go for the first stall. I'm not sure why. I just don't. The second or third always seem like the obvious choice, but for some reason on this particular day, the first stall was calling my name. But before I got too far I stopped dead in my tracks when I realized somebody was occupying the first toilet. I'm not sure what made me pause--divine intervention, perhaps--because it was dead quiet and up until that point, I thought I was the only one in the bathroom. On the contrary! As I passed the stall (and I assure you I was NOT intentionally looking, OK?!), I noticed the "occupant" clicking away on her cell phone. That's right. There she sat, pants down, chillin' with her cell phone in hand, TEXTING on the toilet in a Kohls bathroom. Seriously?! No, really? Are you for real right now? She was. She was for real. SICK. I just did my thing and got the HECK out of there. As my very Caucasian husband would say, "Girl! You trippin'!"

Story 2: What is it with people NOT driving the speed limit?! I mean, really. They're either going Mach 5 or slow as molasses. And usually they have "Jesus Fish" on their tailgates and/or beanie babies on their front dash. I assure you, Jesus wants you to drive the speed limit! And it gets even better when these really efficient drivers "drift" into your lane, forcing you to make an emergency pull to the very outside of your lane to avoid getting hit. And all the while, they are completely and utterly oblivious! This happened to me today on my way home. A beanie-baby loving motorist began the drifting pattern, and before I knew it, I was yanking my wheel so she wouldn't clip the front end of my car. As soon as the cloud of cuss words (you know, like "Dang it!" and "Oh, my heck!") and mean remarks dissipated from my mind, I scooted past her, throwing death glares. And guess what? This fine citizen quickly climbed my ranks of "valuable" members of society when I realized the source of her distraction--she had headphones dangling from her ears. That's right. She was listening to music via headphones as she was driving. Hey! Lady! That's illegal! You know, like "against the law!" Now get out of my way before I yank those stupid things from your head! Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

Story 3: I was at one of my favorite stores earlier today. I was in the jewelry department when I noticed a mother with her 3-year-old daughter. 99.9% of Mom's attention was diverted toward the jewelry selection in front of her, but the little girl seemed innocent enough. She wasn't going to get into any trouble like most 3-year-olds, right? Wrong. Just then, said little "angel" girl stuck out her right arm and basically bulldozed one of the jewelry tables, knocking metal hooped earrings and pearl necklaces all over the tile floor. THIS caught mom's attention--but only long enough for her to look up at her daughter, look down at the mess she had made, turn her back and walk away, daughter in tow. Awesome. Way to set an example for your kid, mom. Don't worry about the mess. No, really. I'll get it. Or I'll get one of the minimum-wage employees to pick it up because that's why they make a whopping eight dollars an hour. And I'm sure your sweet little girl won't think anything of her behavior. In fact, I KNOW she won't think anything of her behavior. I bet it won't be long until she finds something else to destroy, something that's DOESN'T belong to her. That's why society is so screwed up lady, because people like you reproduce over and over again, and the pattern for dumb continues it's inevitable course. Oh, and Happy Mother's Day to the World's Sharpest Mom. Blah.

Twihard

The following is a picture I took in the car while waiting at a stoplight:

Man or woman? Man or woman? It doesn't matter. Clearly "Twilight mania" transcends gender. Right, husband?

Shut Up, Lady

7 AM is too early to see other people, let alone complete strangers. My first patient of the day must of known this because she was pushing ALL the right buttons--and I'm not talking about the ones that make the dental chair go up and down. I'm talking about my buttons, my "feisty, make-Rachel-grumpy" buttons. I wasn't going to write another "dental post," but people never. cease. to. amaze. me.

As the story goes, I was finishing up the cleaning on my first patient this morning. Mind you, she had already loudly articulated how much the x-ray sensor had cut into the bottom of her mouth when I was taking bitewings on her (as if I did this on purpose. Hey, lady. I got it! You ain't the only one who complains about this. Believe me, it's a dead and beaten horse). Also, this particular patient must have gone through her makeup drawer prior to her appointment to find her lip gloss that was the consistency of peanut butter (I think just to spite me). Because I just LOVE it when I get ooey-gooey gloss all over my gloves and consequently, everything else. That's right, lady. Lay it on thick. Thicker next time!

So, it shouldn't have surprised me when this patient said the following to me (key word being "shouldn't):

Me: "OK. I'm going to polish your teeth now."

Patient: "Ugh. FINALLY."

OK. Listen here, peanut butter lips. You've been lying in the chair for maybe--MAYBE--20 minutes, 25 minutes max. I highly doubt your comment of "FINALLY" was necessary as if you'd been imprisoned for thousands of years and you were lastly granted your long-delayed freedom. And, really? I mean, really? Is it THAT awful? Is it? Don't you expect to kind of lie in a dental chair for some period of time when you come to the dental office for a dental appointment. After all, that's why it's called an "appointment" because it is an "appointment of time!" What I really wanted to say to her, you ask? Something along the lines of "Shut up and just let me work" or "My sentiments exactly." But I didn't. Because I would have regretted it. Right? I would have regretted it? Hmmm...

Needless to say, I finished polishing Miss Naysayer's pearly whites and sent her on her whiney way. Boo wah.

Until next time ;)

Here, There & Everywhere

People are ridiculous in all sorts of places. It's an epidemic.

At restaurants:

Real or Fake? Real or Fake?

At the airport:

Hey, lady! Your backside is falling out of your pantaloons! And no, they aren't making out, but that would have been great!

On the road:

See that little blue car? Mr. Car refused to pull forward--maybe he thought there wasn't enough space? There is clearly PLENTY of space! Because Mr. Car would NOT pull forward, he caused a 20 car back-up. Dope.

Until next time ;)