What Can The Facebook Do For You? Create Friendships With Inanimate Objects, Apparently

Just like me, Kelly has a total love/hate relationship with The Facebook, mostly because it's too easy to discover things about distant "friends" that one never really needed to know in the first place. Especially since there are reasons one hasn't talked to said "friends" in ten years.

Drama aside, she often calls me with hilarious tidbits that she discovers, and this one had me laughing so hard that it was just too good not to share:

"Another thing that I don't understand about Facebook is that apparently you can become friends with a cheese biscuit from Red Lobster? How does that work?"

I'm with you, Kel.

"We are excellent listeners."

Head On! Punch Me Directly in the Forehead!

Last night, I had the worst migraine of my life and called Em for advice. Should I go to the hospital? Should I double up on drugs? Should I waste myself and be done with it? I was terrified and I honestly thought that my head was going to explode. I was nauseous and seeing spots and my extra strength prescription migraine pill was seemingly worthless.

Em's been battling migraines since she was a teenager and is my go-to guru every time a particularly bad one invades my life. She thought that I should wait on the hospital visit (she waits for a migraine to torment her for TWELVE HOURS before she eventually goes to the ER, which just confirms my belief that she's the toughest girl I've ever known. Especially since, once at the ER, she gets a shot. And since I do not enjoy needles, I wanted to avoid the hospital at all costs), and that I should take Mike up on his offer of a vicodin. And since I am the wussiest wuss who ever wussed, I was too nervous to take someone else's pain medication, and turned them both down.

So Em suggested that Mike run to the drugstore for Head On. You've seen the commercial:

Easily the most irritating commercial to ever hit the airwaves,
oh my freaking God.

And I hate to admit it, but the combination of my migraine pill, the Excedrin migraine, and the Head On Apply Directly to the Forehead... worked. The Head On was menthol-y smelling and cooling, and it seemed to take my attention away from my pounding head. I finally fell asleep. When I awoke at 5 or 6 in the morning, the migraine was gone completely.

I don't know how to explain it, but I don't just feel fine. The absence of that horrible, throbbing pain is impossible to describe, and now that it's gone it's not like I am back to normal. I'm better than normal. But absolutely terrified of the next time...

Not So Dirty Little Secret

For those of you who know me on The Facebook, this probably is no shocker, because most of my "friends" on The Facebook are from my hometown. For those of you blissfully unaware of the infamous and ridiculous social networking site that is The Facebook, know that it is a total mindfuck battlefield. People who didn't talk to you more than twice in high school are now "friending" you. You see thousands of pictures of their children. You find out that one of your cousin's old roommates once went on a date with your boyfriend. And secrets that you thought were deeply buried have a way of clawing back to the surface.

So I have a secret, and it's not a huge deal, really, except that being a member of this high school group isn't going to make me any cooler than you all probably don't think I am anyway.

(What? I thought that sentence made total sense.)

I was in the high school band.

Sigh. I was outed by my former band director, who posted a ton of band nerd photos for EVERYONE TO SEE.

But yes. It's true. I was a band dork. I played the most bitchingly awesome instrument available to me, however: the saxophone. In sixth grade, my parents wanted me to play the flute, and I was all, "The flute? Fuck that, the flute fucking sucks. I'm playing the saxophone." And they, happy that I wanted to be in the band at all, especially since my trashy hometown didn't have an orchestra, gave in (oh man, did my dad want me to play the violin...).

Plus, having band as a class meant that I didn't have to take gym. And though I wasn't opposed to exercise, per se, getting sweaty would have meant having to redo my hair and when you are a girl in middle school in 1993, you can imagine what an Aqua Net nightmare that would have been.

And? I legitimately liked playing the saxophone. I was teased, but that was concurrent with the sixth grade glasses and brace-face phase. "But it is bigger than me," I agreed with the mean boys, "so it's not that funny." And I really didn't think that being called "Lisa Simpson" was that much of an insult.

Then in high school? I went to band camp. I did. For four years. And there were definitely moments worthy of "this one time, at band camp," but as we learned from Michelle in American Pie, they would mean nothing to you unless you were there.

In general, being in the high school band - at least in my hometown - wasn't horrible. Sure, its members were mostly the creme de la creme of nerdery, but there were a ton of stereotypically popular people thrown in for good measure. Guys who also played football and ran track, girls on the cheerleading squad and volleyball team - a good mix. Lots of us were on student council (although... that's kind of nerdy, too, isn't it? Sigh). But really, in my area, our band was huge - we had over 200 people. Most bands in the surrounding towns had maybe half that. We thought we were the shit.

The months before my freshman year began, we were thrown into a summer of intense practices before we even went to camp. We got to know the upperclassmen, which wasn't as scary as we expected, and it slowly dawned on us that we had a lot of work ahead. And we nervously awaited camp.

We were on edge that we, like every single freshman class before us, were going to be hazed into the ground. Our director pissed off everyone (but us) by putting a ban on hazing starting that summer, and we escaped being covered in shaving cream, peanut butter, and glitter and getting thrown in the lake. Thank God.

Camp was tiring, exhausting, draining, and sunburningly hot. We were stuck in cabins with our entire class. It was freezing in the mornings. Each year at Karaoke Night, we had to endure the senior class singing "Summer Lovin," and the last night at camp was always a cryfest.

But in the end? Those four years were a total fucking blast. I got to know really nice, really smart people I would have never had the courage to talk to in school. I dated a junior when I was a freshman. I got to act as a mentor in my senior year. Friendships solidified into lasting, lifelong relationships.

It's hard to explain, really. I suppose that it is just like going to any other themed camp. If you're not in it, you just won't get it.

Revisiting My Insanity

As I reached for a paperclip at work today, I could only find a massive clip, which annoyed me to no end. Then I realized that I had already written about paperclips, which just makes me laugh. I've written an entire blog post about paperclips and my insane prejudices against some of them.

I figured that I would revisit that post now, because it is too awesome to forget.

Originally posted on 2/27/06:

Scary!

After receiving over 200 internship applications for the summer, I've learned a great deal about Microsoft Access, the copy machine, and the applicants themselves who just WON'T. STOP. CALLING about their applications. "Have my reference letters arrived?" "Have my transcripts arrived?" "Did it arrive on time?" "Did I remember to sign it?" "Did I use enough staples?" (answer: Never! You can never use too many staples! Interns apparently LOVE staples, staplers, and any device that will adhere as many staples as possible to their required five complete copies. My hand hurts from using my trusty staple remover to extract them from each packet). Did I use the best, most unique paperclips?

And that's where the contest begins...

(FYI - This gets scary. Not just the content - that alone is terrifying. It's scary because it shows how completely insane I am. You have been warned).


If you sent in an application with any of these "paperclips," I would disqualify you if at all possible. I hate these paperclips. They're huge! And some are rusty and scary! It's bad enough that I could get anthrax from the hundreds of envelopes I opened - I could get tetanus! There exists a mini version of these clamp-like things, which I adore, but I didn't receive any applications with those :(

These are nice. Small, free of rust, and sometimes colorful, these paperclips make an application desirable. Ah...

You can't tell from the picture, but these are large paperclips. I HATE these. Some of the silver ones are grooved and they tear the hell out of your carefully constructed application. Too late - your application sucks!

I don't know what the hell this is. Scary!

These. I don't know what these are. They were almost impossible to pry off of the applications and left the paper bent and ugly. Ew!

Check out this rogue mini paperclip! It's blurry, but you can see the amazing pattern. Green and white striped! Your application goes in the "maybe" pile!

Let's take a look at all of them together. So many emotions...

~~~

Now, the paperclips below are awesome. I've never seen anything like them. These applicants win everything! Yay!

Have you ever seen any paperclips as cool as these? That regular-looking one in the back is special because it is extremely tiny. I LOVE the tiny paperclips. These are all perfection.

See? I told you I was INSANE.

(Though I am insane, rest easy. I actually have very little say in accepting interns. I review each applicant's interests and experience to see with which staff member s/he would best fit, and I'm not allowed to throw away the stupid applications, i.e., the high school students who didn't read the internship description that says UNDERGRADUATE SENIOR OR GRADUATE STUDENT).

Sunrise Photos I Took From A Moving Car. As I Was Driving...

Peanut Chicken with Rice Noodles

I had a bunch of random ingredients in the fridge, and as I am practicing the whole "quit wasting food, you idiot" approach to cooking, I devised a nice little recipe in my head.

I've been craving Thai food lately, so the meal was going to take an Eastern route. To start, I brewed up a nice peanut sauce:

1 cup chicken broth
3 tablespoons peanut butter
2 tablespoons soy sauce (reduced sodium)
1 teaspoon sesame oil
fresh grated ginger (about an inch)
1 teaspoon chili oil (more or less, to your liking)(my liking is none)

Bring peanut sauce to a boil and then let it simmer. Now for the main ingredients!

1 package rice noodles (12 ounces)
3 cups shredded chicken (from a rotisserie chicken, if you'd like)
2 cups broccoli florets
2 cups edamame, shelled
2 green onions, chopped
4 ounces bean sprouts
crushed peanuts
lime

Bring water to a boil for the rice noodles. Follow the directions for these, as they cook in just a few minutes. Drain and rinse with cold water. Set aside.

Next, cook broccoli florets in boiling water for a minute or less, depending on how crisp you'd like the broccoli. Cook shelled edamame in a separate pot fo boiling water. Chop up the cilantro and green onions.

Once the peanut sauce has reduced to a thickness of your liking, pour into a deep pan or wok. Add the cooked rice noodles, chicken, and vegetables. Toss together well. Add the chopped cilantro and mix in. Everything should be coated with the peanut sauce.

To serve, squeeze fresh lime juice over top and sprinkle with additional chopped cilantro and crushed peanuts.

Supernatural

The first three discs of Supernatural had been languishing next to my television for over a month. Due to an increasingly unhealthy, inexplicable obsession with watching Twilight over and over and over (and over and over) again, my brain slowly dissolved and washed away in the shower, thus leaving me even MORE vulnerable to sparkly vampires. Mike was getting worried about me, too. And I can't be positive, but I do wonder if watching so much teenage angst has contributed to my latest bout of depression (I mean, it could be the looming end date of my current job, but it could also be the angst. THERE IS JUST NO WAY TO KNOW.)

"Sparkles are addictive, it seems."

In a bid to be happier and less emo, I decided that it was time to stop pissing away money by letting my subscription go to shit and popped in the first disc of Supernatural.

"Hello. We are delicious."

Sam (the delicious Jared Padalecki from Gilmore Girls) and Dean (the even more delicious Jensen Ackles from... um, lots of shows on the WB?), are brothers. Their mother's death 22 years earlier left them to be raised by their father. But he's suddenly disappeared and the two team up to find him.

The opening scene shows us what happened on the night of their mother's death, but all the viewer can ascertain is that it was an unnatural death. A supernatural death, if you will.

The boys' father makes it his mission to find the cause of their mother's death, and along the way becomes a hunter of demons and other such beasties... (or maybe he already was a hunter? I don't know, I'm only 16 episodes in).

Fast forward to present day. Sam is finishing up his undergraduate career at Stanford, with law school on the horizon. Who shows up to ruin all of the fun? Dean. Apparently, Dear Old Dad has gone missing, and they know that it's something... supernatural. Sam reluctantly joins Dean (he didn't have a happy parting with his father, you see), solves an urban legend, destroys a ghostie, and returns back to Stanford and his girlfriend, Jess.

And then, well... it's not good. Sam then joins Dean on the road, and we get our show.

"At least it's sunny today."

The show is fantastic. I was a fan of Buffy, and now I am a fan of Supernatural. They have similarities, of course, with subject matter, but they also share some ingenuity. Like Buffy, almost entire episodes are set at night, leaving me to close the blinds to be able to actually see the screen. Which makes the whole experience even creepier. Which makes me more skittish. Which is awesome.

But, just like most shows on the WB/CW, it has the potential for a high cheese factor. While it definitely has its silly language and those wonderfully cheesy moments, Supernatural also has something else: it's actually really scary. The brothers investigate all manner of phenomena, from the wendigo and the woman in white, to haunted asylums and Bloody Mary, and I slept with the lights on one night. Yeah, I'm a wuss, but I love to be scared.

The acting is very good, though at times a little over the top (but really, can you expect anything less from the WB/CW? Scenery-chewing is written into the script!).

I love the interactions between Sam and Dean - two brothers raised to fight evil, yet with conflicting ideas about life. They have a great, dare I say, chemistry between them, and the viewer believes in them and in their story.

Plus, they travel the country in a '67 Impala, which is pretty badass.

"Something... supernatural is going on here."

I'm at the same point now that I was when I was caught up with Veronica Mars - I won't get the next Netflix disc until Tuesday, and I'm considering hitting up the library to avoid a long break between episodes.

Thorofare

This is the story of the best prank I ever pulled. And Liza? This one's for you.

Like most teenagers, my friends and I were constantly bored. There was never much to do on a Friday or Saturday night besides sit in a basement somewhere and watch SNL, and so we were forced to get... creative (of course, we did do our fair share of house TPing and it's possible that we may have stolen more than a few election signs and then placed them all on one lawn. But that is a rumor that has absolutely no substance).

We went to Denny's often, screwed around at Meijer, and hit up coffee houses, but it was when we drove to the surrounding cities that things finally got exciting.

Like most areas, I assume, the suburbs of Detroit had their share of urban legends. At this point, I'm not sure which ones we heard and which ones we concocted on our own.

There was the "Reflector House" in Romulus, where some nutjob had placed reflectors of all sizes on his house, trees, and garage. He lived at the end of a dead end street, and trapped us there once when one moron in our group attempted to steal one of his beloved reflectors. He had a shotgun, and I honestly thought that we were going to end up in jail.

There was the "Pink Castle," located on a winding drive in New Boston. Pink bricked and ivy-covered, it was placed far from the road and surrounded by a stone wall. The driveway was blocked by a chained wrought-iron gate, and across the top letters spelled out "BUENOS..." something. I think that the legend had something to do with kids being killed in the field between the house and the stone wall, but I can't really remember. We used to dare people to touch the gate, and the driver would pretend to take off.

God, we were stupid.

And then there was the "Red Driveway House" in Wyandotte. The story: a father accidentally ran over his daughter in the driveway, and painted it red to cover up the bloodstains. They posed a child-sized doll in the front window and changed her clothes daily. Who knows if the story was true, but the driveway was red brick, and there was a ridiculously creepy doll posed in the window.

Finally, there was Grosse Ile, a small island in the Detroit River. Its residents are wealthy and their houses rival those on Lake Shore Drive. Traveling to Grosse Ile was almost like going to another world. There were no McDonald's and no Best Buys - standard fare for those of us accustomed to strip malls and fast food. Instead, there were small grocery stores and mom and pop restaurants.

The road dissecting the north side of the island from the south is called Thorofare Road. And this is where our story begins.

We had heard/concocted a story about Thorofare - namely that someone had been hung from a low branch at a fork in the road. With the headlights turned off, we used to slowly drive by that spot, waiting for something to happen. Someone always claimed to have seen something in the woods, but even on a winter night, with snow blanketing everything, there was just nothing to see. It was creepy as hell, of course, but nothing more.

I really don't know how it got started, but we devised a plan, sitting in Kelly's boyfriend's kitchen, thinking that we were going to scare the pee out of our friends. Chad would be hidden in the very back of my mom's minivan, behind the bench seat. When we got to Thorofare, I would stop the car with the excuse that the back hatch door was ajar. When I opened it, he would drop out of the back of the car and hide on the side of the road.

This all happened seamlessly.

I closed the hatch, got back in the driver's seat, and slowly started to drive. Chad, dressed all in black, waited on the side of the road. Kelly, sitting by the sliding door, called for me to stop the car. Chad had been throwing firecrackers for the past few minutes, and even though everyone in the car was predictably freaked at this point, I stopped the car. Kelly got out, and after a few tense seconds, was promptly snatched by Chad. And I? Drove away.

Looking back, I'm not sure why I drove away, but it seemed like a good move at the time. Liza and Rita were freaking out, and wouldn't listen when I tried to explain the prank. Even when I turned around and found Kelly and Chad by the fork on the side of the road, they were still slightly hysterical. I don't think that Rita talked to either of us for a few days.

For what it's worth, it was a pretty rotten trick, and I'm sorry about that. I'm pretty sure that our friends forgave us, but the closest I ever got to pulling any sort of prank again was in college when I helped stuff popcorn between someone's door and newspaper taped across the door frame. Lame, I know.

But we did have fun together - me, Kelly, Rita, Liza, and Julianne. Remind me to tell you about camping at Pontiac Lake sometime...

Perhaps I'm a Little Hormonal Today?

This commercial just made me cry:



I think that I need a nap or something. I mean, it's a neat commercial, but worthy of tears? Gah.

Earth Rocks!

I love Paul Rudd so much.



And also, just because:

I Love Television

I'm in a deep rut of unoriginality, so I totally stole this from Mike's sister's blog. Empire magazine listed their idea of the 50 Greatest TV Shows ever, and it's a pretty damn good list (though I don't see Little House on the Prairie, MASH, or Danger Mouse, so I do have to call shenanigans on the Brits. Ha! Danger Mouse!).

A. Bold the shows you watch/used to watch on a regular basis.
B. Italicize the shows you’ve seen at least one episode of.

50. Quantum Leap (I remember watching it at Emily's after a sleepover)
49. Prison Break
48. Veronica Mars (Kristen Bell is my girl crush)
47. Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
46. Sex & The City
45. Farscape
44. Cracker
43. Star Trek
42. Only Fools and Horses
41. Band of Brothers
40. Life on Mars
39. Monty Python’s Flying Circus
38. Curb Your Enthusiasm
37. Star Trek: The Next Generation
36. Father Ted
35. Alias
34. Frasier
33. CSI: Las Vegas
32. Babylon 5
31. Deadwood
30. Dexter
29. ER
28. Fawlty Towers
27. Six Feet Under
26. Red Dwarf
25. Futurama
24. Twin Peaks (but it's in my Netflix queue)
23. The Office
22. The Shield
21. Angel
20. Blackadder
19. Scrubs
18. Arrested Development (best. show. ever.)
17. South Park
16. Doctor Who
15. Heroes
14. Firefly
13. Battlestar Galactica (though I've heard it's amazing)
12. Family Guy
11. Seinfeld (pretty sure I've seen every single episode in syndication alone)
10. Spaced
09. The X-Files
08. The Wire
07. Friends (multiple, so many quotes could go here)
06. 24
05. Lost
04. The West Wing
03. The Sopranos
02. Buffy the Vampire Slayer
01. The Simpsons (though I haven't really watched it in years)

Adventureland

I have a long list of movies on my horizon this year, some of which I'll catch in the theater. The others are reserved for Netflix, and that's okay.

Adventureland was a film that I was not going to miss. I knew a little about the plot - a coming of age tale set in the most glorious decade of them all: the 1980s. But there was something else there that drew me in: the very real feeling of being in a transitional period, unsure of the next step.

James (Jesse Eisenberg), a recent Oberlin graduate, had grand plans to backpack through Europe for the summer, but that all goes to shit when his dad gets demoted. He's forced to take a job at his hometown amusement park to save money for graduate school. We've all been there, right? We've all been forced to work that menial job with people looking down on us, judging us because of our jobs, our clothes, our hair. Being unable to scream, "I'm smart! I have a college degree! Don't talk to me that way!"

James meets a wide array of people working at the park, from the enthusiastic, slightly insane owners/managers (Bill Hader and Kristin Wiig) who hire him on the spot, to the self-loathing college students stuck there - like him.

Joel (Martin Starr) leads James's orientation, pointing out the ridiculousness of the park. The games are rigged, the rides are just barely safe, and the employees just look to pass each day without seriously contemplating suicide.

And then James meets Em (Kristen Stewart). She's up front and honest and rebels from the ridiculous fashion trends of the eighties. Instead of the matchy outfits with scrunchies, she wears oversized tees and sports flat, lifeless hair. On the surface, she seems like an independent, intelligent woman. But her home life is fucked, she doesn't know what she wants, and she doesn't care about herself much at all. Yet you're drawn to her because of these flaws. You want to know what's going to happen with her. You're rooting for her.

Adventureland was billed as "from the directors of Superbad," which I see as both positive and negative. It's good because it might get more people to the theater, but it's bad because people are going to expect simple, sophomoric humor. I know that people loved Superbad, but I was not one of those people. And Superbad doesn't hold a candle to Adventureland.

With any coming of age film, there is a formula to follow. The main character has to get over a hurdle, discover things about himself, do some seriously stupid things, and come out a little older, a little wiser. Adventureland follows this formula, but not in any order. Instead, you get bits and pieces about the characters at different times. No one is completely explained, leaving a little to the imagination.

If you look back to eighties films - Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, etc., you recognize that they are good movies. The Breakfast Club in particular made a bold statement about high school - that we're all fucked up in our own ways - that brought it to a level unseen before in teenage comedies.

Adventureland took that idea a step further. It wasn't a boy-meets-girl, boy-screws-up, boy-wins-girl-back kind of movie, because that rarely happens in real life. In real life, the girl gets wise to the boy's bullshit, or the boy realizes that the girl is... kind of a bitch. They move on. All of Adventureland's characters are flawed - some are very damaged and clearly need therapy, some are embarrassed with their places in the world, and some are just confused. They all know that "figuring it all out" is not going to happen overnight, and they are accepting of it.

The acting was absolutely phenomenal. Eisenberg is pitch-perfect as a guy stuck between college and the rest of his life, but Kristen Stewart carries the film. While the film is ultimately about James's first summer in the real world, it's really Em's life in which we become most interested, most invested. And overall, it's their gritty, real love story.

Surprisingly, one of the most understated performances in the film is by none other than Van Wilder himself, Ryan Reynolds. His depiction of the park's (secretly) sleazy maintenance man was completely against type and the viewer sees that he has much more range as an actor than his usual role as an overgrown frat boy.

And now? I kind of love Kristen Stewart. She is an extremely talented actress, and I am happy that the success of Twilight has propelled her toward roles she deserves. The praise she's earning for this role is very much justified, and I look forward to her future films.

I want to see Adventureland again, for many reasons. The script is real and doesn't make any apologies for the flaws of its characters. The acting is wonderful. The soundtrack is great. And I left feeling good. Not happy, not sad... good. Refreshed.

Yes, This is Exactly What I Want in April

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Snaggletooth: The Toothening

I have two fake teeth.

It's almost impossible to tell, but they are right there in front - my eye teeth. I don't know why I ended up missing so many teeth - sometimes I tell people it's because I was born prematurely, and they "didn't have a chance to develop," even though I know it's complete crap. I'm pretty sure that it's just hereditary and that I basically had no chance for a normal-toothed mouth.

But I am missing six teeth - four on the top half of my mouth, and two on the bottom. The baby teeth fell out and nothing new came in to take their places. I had no idea that this was a problem, though I should have noticed the glances between my dentist and my mother were almost never positive. (It's probably also because everyone was convinced that I didn't brush my teeth, and I SO DID, MOM. I apparently also inherited my mother's thin enamel, forever plaguing me to cavities no matter how hard I tried to protect my teeth.)

I don't know when my baby teeth appeared and disappeared, but I do know exactly when I started orthodontics: third grade. As if the short stature, the enormous forehead, and the horrible plastic upside-down arm glasses weren't enough, they wanted me to have braces.

Problem: My teeth were not yet ready for braces. They had to be prepared for the experience. I started with innocent little rubber band spacers stuck between my molars. It was like having a bit of food stuck between your teeth, and it was beyond irritating. They were meant to create space between the teeth for a future purpose, and had I known what was to happen, I would have stabbed my motherfucking orthodontist in the neck.

Sidenote: I hated my orthodontist with a burning passion. I wanted him to explode into pieces that would later be eaten by wolves and coyotes. Going to the orthodontist almost always resulted in pain and I can't imagine anyone pursuing a career that could result in getting firebombed by twelve year-olds.

(Oh, right. They make assloads of money. Funny, that.)

Once the rubber band spacers had done their worst, the top of my mouth was fitted for a palate expander. This is exactly as it sounds. Twice a day, my mother put a little "key" into the expander, turning it to slowly and microscopically push my mouth apart. PUSH MY MOUTH APART. It was supposed to go on for a month or something, so imagine - IMAGINE - my face when I was told that I would have to continue for an additional month. I was trying to shoot fireballs from my eyes, but nothing came out but tears.

I knew that my mom felt awful about causing me pain, but all I really got from her was, "I'm sorry honey. But think how pretty your teeth will be when it's all over!" I mean, she did give birth to me. Maybe it was actually payback.

It's a good thing that I knew better than to hit my mother. After all, she had the key thing. But none of us knew how long this would last, either.

I really thought that I had been through the worst. I was an idiot.

The braces came next, in fifth or sixth grade - I can't remember exactly. I had little metal rings shoved onto my back molars, metal glued to my teeth, and colored rubber bands set in place. Because pink rubber bands make you forget that you look like a freak of nature and that boys will never want to kiss you.

(I didn't have my first kiss until eighth grade. I still had the braces though, so they weren't as much of a deterrent as I had once thought. BUT STILL.)

By this point, they had fashioned fake eye teeth that were then attached to braces. Before then, I had gaping holes where the teeth should be, and let me tell you how attractive THAT was. This was fine, but sometimes they would get loose. After a few months, I was able to flip those teeth on the wire. Backwards, forwards... anything to gross out my parents.

And then...

This is your worst nightmare. It is called a frankel. It is for people with underdeveloped lower jaws, which meant that I hadn't evolved far enough past the Neanderthals, apparently. This was the worst thing that I could have ever imagined. It slowed my speech, I had trouble breathing, and eating was an experiment in futility. I lived in constant fear that I would somehow lose it, and with with my dad's daily reminder of its expense, it was more stress than a twelve year-old needed. I was embarrassed to wear it any other time than at night, and the mean boys in my class had yet another way to make fun of me.

Oh, and I had braces at the same time. Yes.

And let me just interject to say that my orthodontic work dragged on much, much longer than it should have, underdeveloped mouth and all. Their office would refuse to schedule longer maintenance appointments after school, and because I (yes, me - not my parents) didn't want to miss class, I would have to wait until summer or Christmas break for these appointments. I am still livid that they wouldn't help me out, and if my child ever has to go through this, I will find an orthodontist who isn't a complete assface (though - do they even exist?).

So when did I get my braces off? The day before my eighteenth birthday. When did I get the secret retainer with the fake eye teeth? Two days later.

I spent my eighteenth birthday without my eye teeth. At a Matchbox Twenty concert. I also got dumped that night. Yay!

My teeth look absolutely fine now, but I still have that retainer. I actually have nightmares about losing it somehow and having to leave my house looking like a deranged rabbit.

If given the chance to skip classes in middle and high school, just to speed up the toothening? I would do it. That "Perfect Attendance" award in high school lost all meaning once they handed me the certificate anyway.

Yay! Spring! Or... Not.

Yay! Spring!

Yay! Flowers!

Yay!

...

Snow?

Fuck you, Mother Nature.