Getting a Kelly Carwash

Where EG's starting to wish she had moved to warmer climes when she had the chance..

Friday, January 13, 2006

In Loving Memory

This blog's namesake, Ch. Kelly's Bold Christy, or Grandma Kelly as we called her, died this morning. She was 17 1/2 years old. I can only hope my boys live to be that long and are that healthy throughout their lives.

Kelly was famous for going between people's legs and stopping mid-way through to let them scratch her back. Kelly's owner, Sally, began calling them carwashes.

Goodbye, old girl.

Chomp Chomp

I have 2 irrational fears. You could probably even call them phobias. One is of aliens. Not the illegal kind, but the grey skin, almond eyes, no nose, triangle shaped head kind. I’d look up a picture and link to it, but I’d probably have a panic attack. The second fear? Cavities. Yes, I’m desperately afraid of having a cavity. Like can’t-sleep-at-night afraid. I’ve never actually had a cavity, which probably adds to my fear. And I put a little blame on the dentist I had growing up. "Dr. Skeletor" was over 6 feet tall, as bald as a pool ball, wore wire rim glasses, and had about 3% body fat. Picture a skeleton with skin over it, and you know exactly what Dr. Skeletor looked like. And he smelled, well, sterile. Like no dirt had ever touched him or his office. I would have happily eaten off the floor, knowing it was probably cleaner than any plate I’d ever licked. By all accounts he was a strange, but nice, guy. Just think of it, though. You’re 7 years old, and you have to go sit in a claustrophobic room, on a chair that looks like it was used for torture only a few minutes ago, surrounded by strange, loud, sharp tools, and let a skeleton stick his bony hands in your mouth. You’d still be scared of dentists, too.

Oh, yeah, to my point… After 7 years of being too afraid to even think about stepping foot in a dentist’s office, I went today. It was, if you can believe this, one of my New Years resolutions. One that I figured I wouldn’t actually cross off my list, except for the fact that I was getting a little ache in my front tooth and the words, “If you don’t go in soon you’ll have to have a root canal,” kept running through my head (Thanks, Alf). I got a recommendation from my friend, Kelli, who promised I’d love the dentist she sent me to. And you know what? I did! And I loved the hygienist, too! If I were into that sort of thing, I would have totally asked the hygienist out. She was that cool. Anyway, they oooohhhed and aaahhhed over how fantastic my teeth look for not having had them cleaned in so long, and they declared that I don’t have any cavities and probably never will. I did a little happy dance but then felt enormously stupid for making such a big deal out of everything. Oh, and the ache in my front teeth? Just normal teeth sensitivity. God, I’m a dork. Though I still quake at the thought of having a cavity filled. So, I guess I didn’t get rid of one of my irrational fears after all. I guess I'll have to wait until the earth is invaded by aliens...

In other teeth related news, El Presidente got his braces off yesterday. His teeth are beautiful and straight, and he’s totally digging his Invisiline retainer. At the end of his appointment, the hygienists (is that what you call them at an orthodontist office?) all signed a card for him, and gave him 2 movie passes. I’m hoping they do that for all of their clients, but the way he talks about how flirty they are I’m wondering if they didn’t give him a little special treatment. And after reading this post over, I realize that if Andy and I ever feel the need to add a little spice to our love life we’ll have to find ourselves a hygienist (sorry you had to read that, Mom).

Happy Full-Moon Friday the 13th.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


I got a (very short) comment on my blog (that said my post on the mullet wedding was funny) from one of my favorite bloggers and it inspired me to keep writing. Now I realize the only one who’s probably stuck with me this long is Lisa, but to hell with it. It’s my blog after all. Besides, now I can rip on everyone and not worry about them getting mad at me.

Another reason I wanted to post again was this entry by sweetney (dated Jan 10, 2006). I only read her occasionally as she’s normally too melancholy for me (though I luuuuurve her taste in music). But she also sometimes writes the things I’d love to write in the way I’d love to write them. Anyway, the above post could, in many ways, have been written by me (except the whole goth thing… I’m not that into black…). Except that I have to be more cheerful than her or risk disappearing into my dark thoughts. I can’t resign myself to the fact that the world is as irreparably damaged as she makes it out to be and as I sometimes fear it is. I crave hope. I can’t live without it. When I read her words, all I see is black. It makes me want to crawl in a hole and never come out. It makes me wonder if it’s all worth it. And I just can’t live that way. Besides, I wonder if I am (and she is) just being over dramatic. Yes, this world is really screwed up, but it’s also beautiful. How can I be so egotistical as to believe my time is so worse than my parent’s time, or my grandparent’s time? So while I feel for her, and understand her despair, I refuse to loose myself in it. Maybe that means I’m not as creative, or as socially conscious. Or maybe it means I’ve knowingly pulled the wool over my own eyes. But seriously? We’ve only got one shot at this life. And it’s possible for me to make the world a better place without completely loosing my identity within its problems. Doesn’t pessimism do more harm than good? Isn’t optimism what we really truly need?

So I could spend paragraphs and paragraphs on what’s happened over the last few months, but I won’t… It’s been a good few months. Full of family and holidays and good cheer. And the weather? Wonderful. Amazing. Seriously fantastic. I can’t remember a winter with weather I’ve enjoyed more. And that alone could be the reason why I’ve been so content.