Tag Archives: funny

My Anti-Dentite Moment

13 Oct

I’d never been in a state of hilarity, disgust, fear, and anxiety all at once. Those tend to hit me one at a time. But nothing like a visit to the dentist to just bring out the best in you.

I didn’t hate him, but I sure didn’t love him. I don’t think anybody loves him. I mean he’s got root canals for crying out loud. Drilling at the vary root of it, the most painful, uncomfortable and exposed nerve possible. And at the end of it it’s not just your tooth that hurts…your whole freakin’ face hurts, and all you can do is move in slow motion for about a week.

But it doesn’t stop there … no.

They try to put television now to distract you from the pain of it all, but sometimes they put stuff that just adds to the pain, like the stupid Kardashians. Watching them hurts my brain … and if you do watch them it’s all good for you … but don’t tell me. I still want to think highly of you.

However this visit to the dentist had nothing to do with root canals or that talentless family. Nope. This was something much worse. I’d imagine much more painful if I’d gone through with it.

Although my dentist assures me it’s a necessary procedure if I don’t want my mouth to cave in or whatever in 20 years. But I’m up in the air about it. I wonder what Ferris Bueller would do?

You see there I was enjoying the sounds of the Showcase Showdown and Drew Carey on The Price is Right, when my dentist paused.

Hmph.

antidentite

Anti-Dentite Moment

He told me to give him a minute and then another chick entered the room. They both examined me, with that the miniature Captain Hook hook and the tiny mirror. They nodded in agreement and then he took off his mask.

You’re gums are receding. They’re in bad shape.

I had no idea they could do that, but apparently I’m an angry brusher. I was told I could no longer scrub my teeth like I was at a car wash, I needed to be doing it in a gentler manner, which was weird because I never thought of myself as an angry brusher, I just wanted my teeth to be clean.

All right sounds good doc, I’ll take it easy on the brushing. Am I all done?

Not quite.

You see because you grind your teeth at night and because the recession is so severe…you see here and here and on the other side there…the nerve is almost exposed…you see that? You feel that? That increases your sensitivity.

Yeah I guess I see.

Well we need to cover that up. There are two options.

He went on to tell me about the seriousness of it all, and suggested surgery. It was the only way to fix it. And I agreed. Totally … until he got into specifics.

You see this procedure would entail cutting the roof of my mouth and placing that extra gum piece on the side where my gums were down to the nerve. They would then stitch me up and wait a couple of weeks after I healed before cutting the other side of the roof of my mouth, grab some more Guat cells and replace the other side.

Now I don’t know if you’ve ever burned the roof of your mouth with a hot cheese pizza, but that tends to hurt for hours, I can’t imagine how having stitches on the roof would feel.

Dreamy I bet.

Option II

I could just get some tissue stuff they had there. Benefits are that healing time is reduced and no stitches on the roof.

Bonus! Right?

So what do you make this tissue stuff out of?

Wasn’t sure what kind of technology was going to be up in my mouth. But apparently it wasn’t Flubber or some other advanced form of tissue.

It was cadaver tissue.

You know the kind that dead people hang onto when they pass on.

Yeah. I’d have someone else’s gums in my mouth.

Dude.

Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude.

And it was right there and then that I lost it, right on that leathery Lazy Boy type of chair, with that chick from Iowa losing her Showcase Showdown. I lost it.

Disgust, fear, anxiety and hilarity all rolled up in one.

I laughed. I cracked up. I couldn’t stop.

The doctor didn’t know what to do, he looked confused and just smiled.

I’m gonna need a minute to mull that over I said in between laughs.

After about five minutes of gut busting laughter I left the office and told him I’d give him my answer next week.

It’s been about two weeks now.

I’m thinking dentures might not be that bad.

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Guarantees … You Get The Ones You Don’t Want So Stop Hitting The Snooze Button

14 Sep

They said it. I was listening to a lecture and they said it.

They didn’t know me, but it was like they were talking to me.

… to the mom that’s worried about the future of her kids, worried that something might happen, you’re terrified about all these terrible things that might happen to your kids … You know what, it might … This happens to mothers. The worst might just happen. But you have to realize that you have today. You get a shot. You get to raise this kid and you only have the joy of trying it today …

You’re trying to get a guarantee that your kid won’t end up screwed up. But you don’t get guarantees. Our desperate addiction to certainty and guarantee robs you of the joy of this moment, which is you get to try it now… you get a few years to raise this kid, you don’t get any guarantees, but you do get this moment to enjoy that kid, to give your best shot of being their mom and dad and that’s what you get … –Rob Bell

He said it.

And he was right. I do look for guarantees. I work hard, try hard, leave it all out there, and hope for the best, but in truth I am looking for a guarantee that my kids will be all right in the future. Isn’t that why I’m giving it all I’ve got?

But he’s right. I’ve got no assurances. And even though this scared the crap out of me, it was also a reminder. Stop hitting the snooze button. Stop! I needed to continue focusing on the present, on the moments between then and now. In life and in parenting, my proactive nature would be for the best in the long run. Don’t hit the snooze.

You wake up in the morning and realize you’ve got another chance to do it right, and at night you go to sleep and hope to put all the mistakes behind you (that piece of advice I just heard recently from Elizabeth Gilbert).

So no matter how well you walk the line, you don’t get guarantees, not the kind you want anyway, especially when it comes to kids or life. Crappy stuff happens. Sometimes it’s stuff that you’ll be able to find humor in right away, and other times it will be stuff that will take longer to recover from because your heart is broken.

But for parents trying to find the humor, here are the Top Seven Guarantees of Parents with kids 7-under …

  1. Just before you’re about to walk out the door, your kid will take a serious poop in their diaper that probably leaks onto their pants.This will require more than just wipes, in fact it will be a complete hose down and you’ll be late to wherever you’re going and for some reason you’ll still smell poop and realize that it’s on your shirt while you’re driving to wherever you’re going and you’ve got no extra shirt.
  2. No matter how hard you try to keep the peace your kids will argue about who had the red Lego first, about who was the first to open the door, about who didn’t want to play with who, about whose turn it was to watch Nick Jr, about which Superhero has the greatest superpower, and about the motion of the Earth … yup they’ll argue at least once a week, or once a day, and that will raise your blood pressure, give you gray hairs, and drain you of every ounce of energy you’ve got. It’ll make you wish you had a chocolate stash in every room of the house but you can’t because those bastard ants are crawling everywhere.
  3. You’ll have to talk to a pretentious prick of a parent the kind you wouldn’t lend your jumper cables to, all because your kid and their kid hang out at school and they’re trying to arrange a play date.
  4. You’ll always have spilled CapriSun, Goldfish Crackers, Wheat Thins, Craisins, Cheerios,  and remnants of a once crispy In-and-Out french fry in every crack and crevasse of your car and you won’t be made aware of them until your kid throws up in the car, which is also an assurance.
  5. You’ll have to go to Chuck E. Cheese  once during your parenthood existence and you’ll vow never to return again to that craziness, but know full well that it’s a lie.
  6. Bedtime doesn’t go according to schedule, between the bubble baths, teeth cleaning, ironing of clothes, reading of books and multiple attempts of trying to sleep in my bed instead of their own, bedtime happens about thirty minutes after you really wanted.
  7. They’ll hug you or smile at you at least once a day. And their laugh will make you feel good.  (This is the one you aim for everyday).

The teenage years bring about a different set of guarantees … more than seven I imagine … I’ll let you know when I get there.

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I Love His Thoughts On Gluten

26 Aug
Heck yeah I bought it!

Heck yeah I bought it.

Chocolate And Comedy?

Dude.

I should have bought more than just one.

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The Madness of Summer Signups

1 Jun

Just as I was feeling proud of my son for completing first grade, happy about his accomplishments this year, and surprisingly emotional about this first grade mini-life milestone, I realized summer was here.

The Summer of George! And I happen to be Costanza with two kids.

But that only momentarily stopped me in my tracks. What gave me serious pause was the race for signups.

Have you been a participant in this mad dash to be one of the select few to receive that amazing email that says, “…you have successfully registered your child for our summer program”? Have you gotten a few of these in your lifetime? They save your sanity when trying to entertain your kids during the summer. If I had a big house with a nice back yard, I assume summer would be easier. I’d have space to let my kids roam, and build projects, explore, and go outdoor camping inside our own home. But I don’t. I’m of the apartment people clan, where getting out everyday is a necessity.

Register_Now

So for me things began at 9:30 a.m.

I mean don’t get me wrong, 9:30 was nice. I was grateful that I didn’t have to rush the kids through their wake-up routine just so we could get to school on time. I was thankful I didn’t have to yell at them to get out of bed, to hurry up and brush their teeth, and to get dressed quickly just so they could scarf down their pancakes, Honey Bunches of Oats, or Eggo Waffles before we raced out the door before eight in the morning.

So 9:30 a.m. wasn’t a big deal. What happened to suck this particular morning was the stress I was feeling, the anxiety that was building, the teeny tiny headache that was forming in my brain that would eventually turn into Excedrin-worthy migraine if I wasn’t able to get my kids into any activities during the summer.

SoCal parents are crazy and have their kids in sports, music, acting, cooking and My Gym camps every day all day. I’m a part timer, don’t need to keep my kid busy from 9 to 5. I’m not like those moms you want to tackle because they go off bragging about how they got their kid in every single workshop and class available, because they knew someone, who  knew someone, who knew someone. Bitches.

Me? I’m all for down time, and hanging out with Legos, playing in the park, having our own Foosball tournaments, baking cookies, and tending to our makeshift garden in the small patio. But I can’t do that all day, every day in the summer. They’d get bored. So I was looking for some help from our local library, museums, community centers, aquatic center, zoo, nature center, bowling alley, and local firefighting station.

Summer signups started today, well in truth some of them started three weeks ago, but a lot of activities didn’t have signups until today. I was hoping my Internet connection was fast enough to get something. I just needed to get into two programs during the week. Three would be awesome, but two was good.

Last year I had plenty of parent failures during the summer. Nobody ever told me that summer signups were like buying U2 concert tickets. Things selling out within minutes of opening online. I sure didn’t want a repeat occurrence of my disaster with the AYSO.

So I was ready this time. I researched online, organized my flyers, and prepared my summer timetable of possibilities. I had classes and times highlighted, login and password information readily available, and a credit card ready for those that required payment. You would have thought I was preparing for tax season with all the papers on the table.

The clock struck 9:30 a.m., my timer went off and bam!

Needless to say I wasn’t the only parent in pajamas staring at their computer screen that morning.

No dinosaur outdoor explorer classes, no basketball classes, no guitar classes, no local swimming classes. But I did manage to score swimming classes twice a week at a pool 10-15 minutes away, depending on traffic, and I was able score spots in the Every Hero Has a Story Workshops which featured music and magic once a week for my kids.

Success!

I got something. Something! And that’s success here in the Guat household.

Nobody ever told me about the madness of summer signups. It’s not in any of those what to expect when you’re expecting books, although I never read them. But I’m sure it’s not in there anyway. I would have heard. This is something you learn. So I’m giving you the lesson free of charge.

Hope it helps.

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I Blame This On You … AYSO … You Suck

16 May

Dear AYSO,

I normally don’t talk about my parent failures, unless they are of epic proportions.Most of the time I have my mini break-downs and hope that two Advil will help cure the ginormous headache that accompanies every parental disaster in The Guat household.

I took the Advil, but the two-mile run and the punching bag worked better. I think this disaster got to the punching-bag level because it involved sports.

For the second year in a row, I failed to sign-up my son for AYSO soccer season. Now normally something like this wouldn’t bother me, it’s not like we live and breathe soccer over here. But I did want to expose my son to the world of soccer and feel the World Cup hype the rest of the universe experiences.

But for some reason, everything on the road to AYSO registration went wrong, and thus parental failure was born.

I know AYSO is supposed to be a great organization and has this whole everybody plays, everybody is equal, open registration, let’s-have-fun mentality, but dude … I can’t even get on the team.

I can’t …

You lie AYSO!

For two years in a row the system has failed me. The first year I pleaded ignorance, I decided to sign up for a fall sport in the early summer. Apparently the end of June was not the time to sign up for a sport that happens in The Fall. Apparently this happens in Winter … Winter/Early Spring. Are you kidding me?

So because of this failure the only solution was The Wait List.

Let me fill you in on something called The Wait List … it’s a bunch of lies. It was fake hope they instilled in me along with generic emails that wished me luck next year. The Wait List is crap.

This year I decided I wouldn’t let them bamboozle me with this Wait List and sideline my kid. So Spring was here. I thought I got this … I got this! But no I didn’t.

I searched The Internet and went to their main page. I looked for login information and they had nothing but a smiling orange.

Lies ... All Lies

Lies … All Lies

Nothing about registration on the main page. No promotion. No advertising. No “Hey Click Here For Soccer Registration” Button. Nothing.

So I came back this month. May. We’re still in Spring, flowers blooming, right?

And again … I got nothing but …

The Orange

The Orange

I thought this was cutting it close, summer is next month. I don’t see any registration information. I better click a few links and dig deeper. So I did. Families tab. Kids tab. Training tab. Volunteer tab. I felt like Columbo searching for clues. Then when I found a link with the “Find a Team Near You” tab I thought I got lucky.

Nope

Page Not Found.

I clicked on the Resources and Registration tab and ended up on the Page Not Found Page.

I kept clicking on link, after link, clicking and clicking and then thinking No Whammies, No Whammies, No Whammies.

Burn.

I don’t know if it’s a secret society where you just guess when registration is supposed to be, you have secret communications, or you have a secret handshake but after 33 minutes I finally breached the soccer Illuminati code. I was in! I found a separate link, that took me to another page, where I could fill out a form. I had a form! But apparently after I filled it out I was not done.

There was a Step 2.

Bring two printed copies to a designated park registration site. AYSO had one after Groundhog Day, and then the second one today. It was from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. I looked at my clock. It was 2:07 p.m.

Bastards.

I thought maybe if I print this out and rush to the park that’s twenty minutes away I can still catch them packing up. However the HP57 PhotoSmart Scanner and Printer In One was in on the conspiracy. Cartridge jam. Paper jam. Load Paper Alert! Even though there was a ream of Staples best 8 1/2 X 11 white sheets in the tray. After 23 minutes of trying to print two copies, I grabbed the one copy I miraculously printed and took off.

You lie AYSO, not everybody gets to play. Not. Open registration didn’t happen for me. We’re still on the waiting list, but I know that’s a whole He’s-Not-That-Into-You kind of situation where I’ll never get a call. I blame this on you AYSO, you suck.

But when I told my son the story he said … “well when’s hockey season?”

You lost a good one AYSO.

Sincerely,

The Guat

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The Killing Spree Comes To An End … I Hope

1 May

I had no idea that I’d grow up to be a killer. I’m a pacifist … sort of.

I do my very best every time to keep the peace, but things don’t turn out the way I planned and I end up feeling bad about the whole situation. I mean I’m a parent, dude. I should know about surviving, and thriving. I can’t be on the most-wanted serial killer list.

But with my track record, I think I am.

Every year around spring time, I see them, young and high-energy, ready to rock the world until they cross paths with me. And then it’s over and I transform from The Guat, mom extraordinaire to … The Guat Goldfish Killer.

It’s been three years in a row that I had to explain to my kids why their goldfish had to be rushed to the fish emergency room at Petco and stay for at least 24 hours before returning home, looking a little bit different. More orange. Longer or shorter tails. Only then to be sent back to the ocean to be reunited with their family a week later.

I think I need an EKG machine. I never knew you could give fish heart attacks, but I’ve become an expert at that, no matter how long I leave the water out when cleaning the tank they always suffer the same fate.

But I thought this time would be different.

Our first fish this year.

Our first fish this year.

I was wrong.

This year when we brought our goldfish home from the church fair, my kids’ fish died on the third day, when we cleaned his tank. I hid the evidence, took my kids to school, and then replaced it with a similar looking one right before I picked them up. Not only was I killer, but a liar now.

But in hopes of ending the lies and deceit, I thought I’d take a different approach.

We got a 10-gallon tank, with pebbles, plastic green plants, and a SpongeBob Squarepants Bikini Bottom Pineapple House. With a turbo filter. But I almost killed it … again.

I thought it might have been lonely, maybe it was death by broken heart or loneliness syndrome. He might want a friend, it’s lonely out there in this world. And both my daughter and son agreed. So I asked the fish guy at the pet store if the small goldfish that my son liked, the one in the tank with plastic ferns, got along with the tiny goldfish in the tank next to him, the one that looked like the one we had.

And he said yeah … sure … of course. They’re both goldfish.

Parent failure.

Never trust the fish guy at the Petco. He knows nothing of the delicate relationships and aquatic balance needed for two goldfish to survive. He’s no Aquaman. The tiny fish stayed in the top-right hand corner of the tank for nearly four hours, while the bigger fish roamed the tank and feasted of flakes.

Apparently there are all kinds of goldfish and it’s probably not a good idea to mix and match the varieties as they get stressed out, which can eventually lead to death.

In order to end my goldfish killing spree, I separated them, and the tiny guppy seems a lot happier. He’s swimming, checking out the whole SpongeBob Squarepants Pineapple House. We’ve decided he doesn’t need friends for the time being, he can be a loner for now.

And my son and daughter are both happy that this fish didn’t have to be reunited with its family in the ocean, we’ve had enough of that here. With this new plan, I think the killing spree has come to an end … the aquatic parenthood failure ceases to exist … I hope.

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Yes …

13 Apr

There was just one member on Team Guat this weekend for my big race … me … I barely survived …

Inspirational

Yes.

I could have used him on Saturday.

Tune in on Wednesday for the play by play.

Bedtime Routines …

13 Mar

 

How Things Work

From Becky Mansfield @ ModernFamily.com

 

 

 

For All The Love Birds …

16 Feb

 

romancedemotivator

via despair.com

 

 

 

 

It’s B.B.O.

11 Feb

I was channeling all my Columbo powers, but for some reason it wasn’t happening.

I looked behind the seats, under the driver seats, and in the cracks of every cushion. But I got nothing.

I had no idea where it was, but I knew it was there.

I tried to air it out by leaving the windows and doors open for a couple of hours, but the next day it just came back again. As soon as I opened the door, it smacked me in the face. I had it. I don’t know how I got it. But I did. I had it.

B.O.

 

 

 

Bad Odor.

But not just regular B.O. it was as my good friend George Costanza says Beyond B.O. it was B.B.O.

And I didn’t know why.

I keep my dad’s truck in good condition, and  wash it about once a week. If the kids ever eat anything in there I make sure there is no trash or crumbs. I thought for some reason I had missed something, but no I didn’t. No matter where I looked, I couldn’t seem to find it. And then as I tried to rush the airing out process I turned on the air conditioner and there it was … the smell.

I had found the B.O.

It was caught in the air vents.

It was coming from the engine.

I thought I was glad to have found the source, until I found out what it really was … a rat.

A dead rat.

The bastard had made its way into the engine somewhere and got trapped.

Dude.

It was one of the most disgusting and foul episodes I’ve had so far.

After being completely grossed out and having it removed, I aired it out for 24 hours.

It still smelled.

It still smelled.

I might give it another day of air, before turning to more drastic measures.

I feel like Jerry Seinfeld when he couldn’t get rid of the B.O. in his car. The B.O. from the valet, that contaminated every part of the car including the people who were in it. Poor Elaine, she had to put tomato juice in her hair.

I feel like I need ten gallons of tomato juice.

Wish me luck.