This is eerily true…
I found it both hilarious and disturbing:
Click {here} and take the test for yourself
My Promise To: and An Intimate Moment With: Myself
I have mentioned this once or twice here, I think. I don’t make a big deal about it because I’m kind of ashamed. But, I am also kind of proud because I defeated my inner voice and did something that was very scary for me (even though I still have not told my parents).
Two years ago, November 2011, I had mostly all of my teeth removed. They had been destroyed through a combination of things: neglect (I used to really dislike myself. I used to do a lot of destructive things. Mr. Doom-n-Gloom was a good choice for me when I made it because I was being so horrible to myself), my seizure disorder (when I started having seizures I was too old to be diagnosed with epilepsy. Regardless, when you bite your teeth together during a seizure it’s very powerful, especially on already bad teeth) and my use of methamphetamine for the better part of two years. That third one surprises me probably as much as it surprises you (maybe… If you haven’t read about it here already). I am such a different person now than I was then. I would like to blame my environment, but I will definitely have to take responsibility for my choices — that’s part of the new me.
Anyway… I made a promise to myself that, when a certain one of my front teeth broke, I would finally call a dentist and see what I had to do to get my teeth fixed. I might bitch about Doom-n-Gloom a lot, but his job provides awesome dental benefits and I am ashamed that I did not start using them sooner. I called several dentists before I finally found one that would help me within two weeks of my call.
I knew how bad my mouth was when I went in for my initial appointment. I sat in the lobby waiting; feeling like a puppy dog that knew he did something very wrong. When the nurse called me in, she brought me to a room with a table and a couple of comfy-ish chairs and told me the doctor would be in to see me shortly.
Seriously, at this point it had been so long since I had been to see a dentist that I had absolutely no idea what to expect; I knew it was going to be different from a normal appointment, that’s it. So, I sat in that room and waited for the doctor (I don’t care if he’s technically a doctor or not. He is a fucking magician in my book!!) feeling kind of like I was going to throw up. Then, in walks Dr. McHotterson! I practically choked while I sat there attempting to swallow my pride and tell this beautiful man about my shitty mouth and how I had let it get so bad.
He listened to everything I said, taking notes and asking questions; completely not judging me. It was so strange for me not to be judged! He took me to the actual dentist chair and had the nurse come over and take some x-rays. Dr. McHotterson came back when she was finished, looked at the x-rays and started looking in my nasty mouth at my broken and stinky teeth.
After all of that, he sat my chair back upright and told me exactly what he was going to have to do to make me beautiful (that’s not how he said it, but that’s how I heard it) and how much it was going to cost me with insurance – option #1 and option #2. I agreed on option #1, because option #2 wasn’t going to help me fulfill my promise to myself.
I don’t think I have ever felt such humiliation and relief ever in my life! And I was feeling them both at the same time!
When my initial appointment was finished, the nurse took me to the appointment desk. We made payment arrangements and I scheduled my appointment for multiple extractions. In a week, the day before Thanksgiving, I was going to have all but 8 of my teeth pulled from my mouth.
When appointment-time came, I wasn’t nearly as scared as I had anticipated. I still didn’t know what to expect, but Dr. McHotterson had made me feel very comfortable and I trusted him to “do me right”. That awesome man spent almost three hours, first thing on a Wednesday morning, taking no breaks (he would answer other nurse’s questions, but he never left my side), yanking out broken teeth and wrestling with tooth shards. He anticipated every single one of my questions and concerns before I even had to attempt to communicate through all of the novocaine and equipment preventing that from happening — and, then, when I had to speak, he always knew what I was saying, even though I couldn’t even understand myself.
Dr. McHotterson has been more intimate with me, in my opinion, than any doctor I have ever had. I have exposed more of myself to him than any of my gynecologists/OBs/GPs, etc…
This week when I went in to see him, because I am getting fitted for a new set of permanent upper dentures (YAY!), he made me feel special and sexy and important to him all over again (I’m not getting a stalker crush on him or anything, he is just SO kind to me!). He even remembered that I told him, two years ago, I wish my front teeth were a little larger. I have been a tooth-grinder since I was a little kid and those front teeth had been basically worn down to nubs. The teeth in my new dentures are larger than the ones in my “baby” dentures and while Dr. McHotterson was looking at me while I had the mold of my new teeth in (to see what else that needed to be done to make them perfect) he said to me, “You’re right. I do like the bigger teeth. I think you should keep this size.”
OMG!! OKAY! Whatever you say, Dr. McHotterson!
All of that to get to this very short point…
I have never been one to fantasize about men I am not sleeping with! I fantasize about Loverman all the time and find it completely satisfying.That being said, this morning I was having some time alone with a couple of my vibrating toys (after 2 hours of kitchen cleaning and then some vacuuming and some garbage. UCK! I felt I deserved a reward after my shower) 😉 and all it took was one fleeting thought of my super-hot Dr. McHotterson to take me over the edge. Almost instantly.
Oooh. La. La!
19 Years
I had an epiphany when I was out on my lunch walk yesterday…
My life is happening in 19 year segments.
ACT I – The first 19 years of my life I lived with my parents. I was raised in a very stable household. Insanely so, like one of those hermetically sealed bubbles. And nothing I ever did was ever good enough. You all know the story: If I got an A, I was asked about the A+. They would sign me up for sports and classes without thinking about whether I would like it or if I would be good at it. I was the same level in Tap Dance classes for over 4 years – the instructor actually had to pull my mother aside to tell her that I am not a good tap dancer and that it’s not good to keep me in the baby class any more… Then there was:
- Basketball (because I was tall when I was young – I got decimated out there!)
- Swimming (I can swim well and far, just not fast)
- Piano (yay, I actually could do this one! Even though I feel short of my parents’ expectations yet again, it made me very proud of myself.)
- College Math classes in High School (I am smart, but I kind of need to have the core knowledge before I can work out college-level Probability classes. Hello!)
- Babysitting for the neighbors (First, they signed me up for babysitting classes when I was 12. As soon as those were finished, they would volunteer me all the fucking time! They key word here being: volunteer. This went on up until and beyond when I got a “real job” – after that we had some very heated arguments on obligations. I don’t remember what they said to me. In fact, I don’t give a shit what they said because they were wrong!)
No matter what they picked for me to do, I could never do it as well as my parents felt I should have. It was such a relief when I finally turned 16 and could get my own job that I wanted because I picked it! Then, even more of a relief when I graduated high school so I could get the fuck out of there and begin…
…the second 19 years of my life – ACT II. I met my husband, married him and had two lovely daughters. I struggled though things pretty much just enough to get by and that’s about it. I didn’t love myself, but I didn’t hate myself either. I had no desire, drive or passion to do pretty much anything. When I look back on it now, it seems like I was lost somewhere but I was perfectly content staying that way – I felt anonymous, unimportant, tedious and boring, but also comfortable being that way.
Then, there was a couple of years of meth-amphetamine abuse (sadness…) I want to, but I can’t entirely blame it on my husband, I chose to do it. But he is the one that introduced it to the home and kept bringing it home and giving it to me. It started to get kind of scary, not really scary, but scary enough. I had kids! I needed to start thinking about them! I had a couple of seizures – that helped kick me in the ass and quit the meth, and my husband stopped bringing it home (he still did it, though. I think he still does it on occasion). We moved to a completely different state; away from my asshole family and the meth. During ACT II, I wasn’t told I was inadequate so much as just not told I was adequate – or anything at all. Whenever my husband said the words, “I love you” I never once felt that he knew what love meant. I still think that he confuses need with love. Regardless, ACT II was better than ACT I. I have the most wonderful daughters! And even though I can’t stand the husband-person in my life any longer, he has helped me to evolve into me.
He probably wouldn’t appreciate what he has taught me — if he even knew or cared about my personal/emotional growth (which I am convinced that he doesn’t). Those lessons have driven me farther from him. Those lessons showed me that all I needed was a responsible and dependable adult-type person, whose opinion I respected, to simply start telling me what an awesome person I am. I really needed someone to help me learn that I truly am a vital, intelligent, exciting and sexy woman.
I found that special adult-type person in ACT III: where I am right now. The third 19 years of my life, which is just beginning. So I don’t have much to write about. I can say that like it so far. There is this wonderful man in my life constantly telling me how awesome I am. Not only does he tell me – he fucking SHOWS me! Also, I think that man is pretty awesome his damn self. He is helping me learn that I am a vital, intelligent, exciting and sexy woman. He taught me that I am not just adequate, but that I am “wonder-furrr”… This one man has, inadvertently, taught me more about myself than anyone (and everyone) else had ever before. He showed me that I am worth it, that I am meaningful — he shows me that every single time we’re together. He’s shown me that even though he needs me for some things, he can be there when I need him, too. I can depend on him. He is responsible. He is my sexy Loverman…
Smitten with Him 