(Continuation of Ebola Mom Part 61 and part of the Ebola Mom series)
She found an interpreter!
I Trust Her Implicitly
I found a dentist who can do my Invisalign treatment at a (comparatively) super-cheap cost. My dentist friend warned me that if it’s that cheap, I should beware of the dentist’s skill and credentials. But this woman seems great!
Dentist: “So, lucky for you, it seems you will only need 15 weeks of treatment!”
Me: “Oh, that’s perfect! No time at all!”
Dentist: “Exactly! You’ll be done in…” (counts silently in her head) “…6 months!”
Way To Make Me Look Cool
One of the musicians who will be playing at our wedding ceremony/reception emailed to ask us our favorite artists, in order to get a sense of what he should play during the cocktail hour. Here was Eric’s response.
It’s going to be a weird wedding.
I Just Shrug it Off
People ask me how I can continue to work for Ebola Mom after all the shit she’s pulled, but her nonsense doesn’t get to me. Really.
Ebola Mom, Part 61
I Got Nothing
I’m going to take a cue from my dating days and keep my expectations for this administration, much like first-date expectations, below sea level.
With the crustaceans and plankton.
That way, while I can and always will be shocked, dismayed, and horrified, I will at least never be disappointed. And avoiding disappointment, the worst of all the feelings, is the key to surviving and keeping your eye on the prize*!
*The “prize” in dating was finding Eric. I don’t know what the prize is here. Surviving? Not turning into a pessimistic dick bag? Going high when they go low, even though they go low every. fucking. time? Hoping he’ll die of natural causes because he’s sort of old to be president? Not becoming the kind of person who hopes someone will die?
Yeah I don’t know this whole thing just fell apart.
Lying in bed…
Eric: “Just give me a little scratch on the back. Come on.”
Me: “No. I’m tired and sore and I just want to go to bed.”
Eric: “Come onnnn! Play with me!”
Me: “Seriously. I’m tired and I don’t feel well.”
Eric: “FINE. I’m just going to turn around and pretend like you’re not even here lying next to me.”
Me: “That’d be great. Thank you.”
30 seconds later…
A Little About Myself
I got a referral for a wedding hair stylist and gave her a call…
Stylist: “So tell me a little about yourself.”
Me: “I am a sweaty, frizzy-haired Jew. I have lots of anxiety. I feel prettiest when I wear my hair down, but, due to my aforementioned sweat problem, that might not be an option for the wedding. But the idea of wearing my hair up is giving me anxiety, because I never wear my hair up for special occasions. And now I’m starting to sweat just thinking about it.”
Stylist: (laughs) “Ok…”
Me: “Sorry, was that not the information you were looking for?”
Stylist: “Well most people start by telling me their name.”
Never Assume
On the subway just now, riding by myself, minding my own business, sitting sandwiched between two men:
Man: “I don’t mean to be forward, but, you are really gorgeous.”
Me (flustered): “Oh, um…thank you, I, um–”
Man: “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Me: “Oh.”
Man: “I was talking to him.”
I’m Never Having Kids.
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