So yesterday morning I was up at 7am for a dental appt -- my current employer provides for medical but NOT dental insurance, so dental's out of pocket these days. Hey, at least I have medical, right? A teeth cleaning two weeks ago resulted in the need for a small filling in my #30 molar -- quoted to me as a $185 expense. Prior to Tuesday, mind you, I wouldn't know my #30 molar from my #31 molar, but since I now do (it's you third molar from the back on the lower right, starting with your wisdom tooth), I figured a little specificity here might endear me to any dental school geeks that may be reading, possibly resulting in future dental discounts.
Now that I pay out of pocket, I am back with my formerly-beloved dentist -- figure shit, I might as well enjoy paying someone, right? Since my last visit to them, they've renovated the building -- everything from the street-level entrance to the elevator banks to the in-cubicle TV for the patients. Not gone is the waterfall in the lobby. My chiropractor has one too. Between these two water features and the Drinkwell Pet Fountain we have at home, I may never stop peeing.
Turns out one filling became four, to the tune of $410 -- there were two other spots that were iffy, and rather than come back in 6 months and be shot full of novocaine again, my dentist and I agreed to do them all now while the decay was microscopic. Plus, while he was in there, he pulled out a silver filling in a tooth he was already working on and replaced it with tooth-colored amalgam. So now the entire lower right quadrant of my mouth is pristine. Again, for $410.
They asked me if I wanted the TV on, to watch while I waited for the novocaine to take effect (and the topical anesthetic before that) -- I said sure, and when they asked me if the Today show was okay, I said yes. What the hell, it's like 830am in the morning, it's not like I'm going to find Electric Company on, so Today will do. In their studio (because it was cold as tits outside), they had little miss Kellie "What's a calimari?" Pickler on, singing the first single off her post-American Idol debut album -- a little ditty called "My Red High Heels" that Kellie told Billboard online she just (co-)whipped together at the last minute because she felt the album needed a shoe anthem (I shit you not). Thank god (or Yuck Mouth) I was there to see the live performance.
Kellie comes out looking a little puffier than usual, which enough upper-arm pudge to make me send her a silent prayer titled "Be Careful, Lest You Go Where I Hath Gone (Requiem for Sleeveless Shirts)." She was wearing a shapeless black shift dress, that besides being neither a little bit country nor a little bit rock-n-roll, was completely unflattering to her bustline or cute little figure. This of course further supporting my theory that the figure has become less little and/or cute. Accompanying this disaster was a pair of black opaque tights. Lest anyone in Middle America think she has become a Koken, she set all this off with her platinum hair pulled back in a severe ponytail* and enough makeup to render her slightly unrecognizable. Oh, and ubiquitous red high heels... mary janes, to be precise.
The song? Forgettable. The song, the look of the band, the lamentable styling** on Ms Pickler... all of it made the performance seem like a bad public access show. She overworked the camera, in that Early Tori Amos way that makes female singers seem more psycho than confident. And, laughably, about six people applauded at the end of the performance -- since they were not outside at their performance stage, there was no audience except a couple of crew, a stage manager, and probably Kellie's reps (including her stylist/saboteur), and therefore hardly anytone to applaud. Made it all the more Public Access-like. Hell, even Chic-A-Go-Go acts draw a warmer response.
Luckily, other than Kellie, all I had to sit through was Matt Lauer's interview with Tim Allen, and a story about a little girl with brain tumors -- she and her family raised $4.5 mil for her local Texas hospital to buy their own copy of the machine that enabled doctors to save her life. It was a heartwarming tale bookended by Meredith Viera, who then introduced the folks in charge of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade -- they informed the now-twelve year old that she was being awarded the honor of Grand Marshall or Chief String-Holder or whatever for the parade. Oh, and they have her a coupon for a free Caramel Coolatta from her local Dunkin Donuts. Okay, I made that last bit up, but wouldn't that be awesome? "Hey, congrats on beating The Cancer! Here's a coupon for a free box of Munchkins!"
*The hair is extensions, I'd bet my fup on it. Don't believe me? Watch the actual music video and tell me that's not extensions she's sporting these days.
** We've got one of two problems on our hands: Either they're letting her dress herself (MISTAAAAKE!), or her stylist hates her. Either way, everything that was charming about this girl has been spackled over.
Why is lack of motivation and/or desire to get re-motivated not enough in and of itself to jump-start motivation? Wanting the thing is not enough. It is not the missing flint. And in many ways, it is it's own vacuum. Motivation is like love, it is a form of self-love [insert masturbation or auto-fellatio joke here]. And like love, wanting it does not make it so. You can sit at home and type into your blog all you want about you are ready for love, and how you want love in your life, but love does not fall into your lap. Love is a set of circumstances, bound by timing and mindset and fortune and sheer will, and then lit by a spark.
