I admit it, I'm bad at consistancy.

But really, a lot has been going on. And also, I've been in the house a lot. Ok, I know. Excuses. What can I say? Sometimes a girl just gets busy. (And sometimes a girl becomes paralyzed with fear of her impending oral surgery.) Hey, it happens.

My apologies to the three people who await fresh posts from me. I'll try to get with the program.



This is a self-portrait? Do you see me? that black blob on the left of the spigot part of the fountain? Yep, that's me, procrastinating on my walk to work. I was mesmerized by the colors of the playground and the fountain's chrome (ooh, shiny!!) finish. So neat and clean; it stands in direct opposition with the way I see the city of Philadelphia as a whole. Which is to say I think Philly is treated as one giant trashcan by half the residents, the infrastructure is crumbling, and in general it's really f-ing dirty. But this park is well-maintained (because it's new and in an affluent area, I'd assume) and it's still bright and shiny.



A nail and moss on the outside of the Eastern State Penitentiary.



A continuation of the moss theme, this time with a bright blue pipe. This is on the front of a house in the Fairmount area. I love blues and greens, the brighter the better. Also, as usual, the more crumbly and pathetic, the better.


L plus bearsuit plus Jelly.

L's mom gave us the most amazingly comfortable sweatshirts. They're unbelievably warm and snugly. They have thumb holes which keep the sleeves pulled up over your knuckles, they're lined with a wool-like fleece, and the hoods zip over your neck and chin. We've dubbed them our "bearsuits," and we wear them around the house whenever it's cold. My bearsuit is the most comforting piece of clothing I've ever had, I think. I'm contemplating wearing it on Thursday when I go to the butcher oral surgeon. I think it will make me less scared. Perhaps it won't be as calming as the massive dose of lorazepam I'll pop before I head out the door, but still... I need all the help I can get.

I have a friend going with me, and L's taking the afternoon off to take care of me once I get home. I should relax; I've got my bases covered. Instead, I've been losing sleep over this thing. Silly, I know, because I've gone through oral surgery twice before, and feel like I should know the routine by now. The needle is the worst part, and it's over in two minutes. The actual surgery? Gross, noisy, and a little scary, but not painful. I don't know why I can't overcome my innate panicky feelings over this whole thing and just chill out, but I can't.

Eh, such is life. It'll be over in less than 48 hours, and I'll be on here whining about how my mouth hurts and how much indigestion I've gotten from eating nothing but ice cream.

Wisdom

Before class on Tuesday night, I wandered around Center City watching the snow fall. I wandered down Sansom Street, one of my favorite streets downtown. I walked past Nodding Head brewpub, past my old haunt Oscar's, the diviest of dives, and right into this:


Do I get a free psychic reading if I buy a soft pretzel? 'Cuz that'd be pretty cool.

Not the best photo, but the best thing! Imagine how awesome it would be if they had a "buy one, get one" deal! To be quite honest, I'd be a little afraid to get a psychic reading. I'd fear dire predictions, like on "Lost" when the psychic tells Claire all that creepy stuff about her unborn child. Nevermind, I'll just take the pretzel. (With extra-spicy brown mustard, please.)

After class, I pretty much immediately realized that I was in pain. For a day or two (or three) before, I'd become acutely aware of the fact that one of my bottom wisdom teeth was on its way in. No big deal, I thought. It would be my third wisdom tooth to come in, and the other ones were fine. (Were, not are, because I got a cavity in one and ended up having it pulled.) But the point is that having them arrive hasn't been a problem in the past, and my dentists have never suggested otherwise.

It turns out I need this one out. I had a terrible infection that caused me to lose a night of sleep and a day of work. And now, I get to lose at least two, if not all three, of my remaining wisdom teeth. Awesome.

Even better? Lemme tell you about my week next week: on Monday, I have jury duty. Again. I am one of those lucky people who gets called every year. You can ask my girlfriend (who never seems to get called); I'm totally cursed. If you have a good reason for me to give about why I shouldn't serve on a jury, now's the time.

Ok, so then, I have work Tuesday and Wednesday (provided I don't get called to serve on some crazy case.) Good. Work. Money. This will be the highlight of my week.

Thursday, I get to have oral surgery! Yay! I'm so pleased! My sadistic singing oral surgeon will vacillate between making gruff comments about my extreme anxiety and singing (yes, I said singing) "don't be afraid, this won't hurt" in operatic style. Did I mention he's tall, muscular, and has a military haircut? I dare not rebel. I'll just stare at the ornate opera mask framed on his wall (gay, gay, gay) and suffer my fate.

Next week is probably not going down in my "Top Ten Best Weeks Ever" list. Not unless Lou buys me a pony or something.


The only reason I'm not in the fetal position in the bathtub right now.

Ah, the sad collection of drugs keeping me alive. Not pictured? The amazing clay heat pack I microwave, insert into a purple sleeve, and strap to my face. That thing is amazing (though not really great for the ol' social life.)

Oh, did I mention I pulled my butt muscle? Yeah... Ouch.


Another spigot. Apparently, I can add them to my list of things I obsess over a bit. Locks, look out. You've got competition.

Uh... I bring you a random spigot. I just liked the way the green rust contrasted with the red brick. And I'm just tired of bitching about my stupid ailments.