brainfetti

For Mark, and the year without him.

(The Dude abides.)

I was in the dentist’s office for hours a month when I was a kid, from age 4 on up. I don’t think I minded at the time, because they had this awesome fish tank and a whole Sega Genesis room filled with bean bags and new games, and my orthodontist was a cool, skinny guy who never gagged me with that root beer flavored tooth-mold goo. 

I have an underbite, and some of my teeth were slightly crooked on top. This was concerning enough to my parents that they thought it best that I get painful spacers, and then braces. Not cool Invisalign braces, the metal braces that feel like you got punched by another 8 year old when they tightened them. They tried all kinds of shit that was annoying and didn’t seem to work. 

Eventually the orthodontist was concerned I wouldn’t be able to chew my food correctly, and would have jaw pain if my lower mandible kept growing the way it was. Outside of having a major surgery, they gave us the option of putting me in a face gear. Basically it was a glittery red piece of plastic on the top of my forehead with metal bars going down the side of my face, and another piece of red plastic on my chin, with rubber bands attached to the front that extended to the back of my braces. The purpose of it was to pull the top of my growing jaw forward and eliminate the underbite that would probably get worse over time. It was a pain in the ass/face, and I was relieved to hear that I only had to wear it at night. Until they told me I had to wear it during the day.

I covered it in stickers which only made me look like some sort of crafty Hellraiser from the depths of your Pinterest nightmares, and wore it with as much pride as possible to my 4th grade class. Lucky for me there was a girl named Alexis who had also gotten a face gear, so I wasn’t alone. Poor Alexis, instead of two bars on the side, she had one that went straight from the top of her head to her chin, right down the center of her face. Like, if she were 16, it would have absolutely been some sort of restriction on her license. 

I wore this shitty little contraption during the day, ate what I could, and had to wear it at night. I eventually got my braces off and had beautiful straight teeth, just in time for puberty. They quickly resumed their former position, and I was fitted with a second face gear and second set of braces. The resentment for my mouth grew and I ended up sneaking my retainers out at night because they caused headaches and I was sick of being uncomfortable. 

I eventually stopped caring if my teeth were straight, and at age 25, it shows. They sort of stick out in front and I have a hell of an underbite. I remember being called “Jay Leno” at the community pool when I was 8 (Why were those kids watching goddamned Jay Leno?), and later in school I got called “moon-face”. Luckily I had learned to laugh at myself, at least publicly. (And I’ll give credit where it’s due, “moon-face” is at least sort of clever.)

As I get older I learn to love parts of myself a little more, and my teeth and chin are one of the last things I struggle with. I hate seeing my profile, and uselessly wish my face were more feminine around the jaw. More importantly, I know where I learned this self-deprecating behavior from, and wish they gave kids the opportunity to know the level of their Mother’s low self-esteem before they allowed them to make decisions about their teeth and face for them. I don’t want to hate any part of myself. I want my daughter to see a Mom who loves who she is, because it’s who SHE is. I’ll be damned if she grows up to judge every inch of her body, and obsess over who may or may not look a certain way compared to her.

My Mom took me to the dentist, and paid for my braces, and also sort of taught me how to hate myself.

I’ll never let that happen to Karleigh. 

lanadelreydancing:

by houseofthedevil

I’ve been having serious pain in my tailbone for the past few weeks so I’m sitting on a pillow because it’s less embarrassing than being 25 and having to buy one of those geriatric donut-cushions but really it’s not.

New drawing.
“Fungus”
8x10

Just hired August’s first babysitter, so if anyone is looking for me I’ll be the ball of tears and anxiety in the corner breastfeeding a one year old for the next two weeks.

visualgraphic:

LIfe is like photography

Death and dying and all that sucks.

As any normal adult, I’ve always feared losing those around me. It will be tough to see my Grandmother, Aunts, Uncles, and Parents all go to that supermall in the sky. Only in the last year have I developed an acute paranoia surrounding losing those that I come into contact with daily.

Lost in my own thoughts I’ve tried to wrap my mind around the response, if any, I’d be able to muster if I was to lose one of my sweet children or boyfriend. This all sounds morbid, but I’m not popping Prozac and downing it with rum in a dark room or anything. It’s more of a self-relection on how much strength I have as an individual, and how much weight my straight spine could hold without needing to be committed to a white room.

I truly can’t fathom losing one of my little ones. They are so bright eyed and even the thought of someone giving them crap on the playground one day makes me get all Hulk-y and twitchy eyed. I never want to experience the hollow space that would make its home in my soul in that situation. Nothing bad should ever happen to them, after all. I can only hope that my coping skills mature in my late 30’s and I allow any sort of activity without a helmet and teflon.

When Tim goes to work in the atrocious ant line of Dallas traffic I basically bathe myself in anxiety. I’ve never had a best friend like him, and no one has ever been keener to my perception, morals, qualities, and faults. He can piece together my thoughts, which aren’t always unmischevious, and directs me exaclty where I need to go. When I think of losing him, the most saddening thing is thinking about who I would go to for comfort? He is comfort, in the entire sense.

I am a much stronger person now than I was last year, and definitely five years ago. As I grow I feel like I can take on the tough things with more grace than before, and hopefully I never have to experience one of the losses I’ve just discussed. I love my family so much. They are my home and my whole heart.

This wasn’t supposed to be terribly sad, and I’m not upset in any form. I was thinking about the blow of Mark’s death, and how sitting in the hospital after he passed with his parents going through what can only be the toughest of emotions, there were nurses going about their usual activities, and someone rolling a silence crushing trash can down the hall full of us in noveau mourning. Something about if felt disconnecting, and sitting in the middle of an already burdensome situation there were people rolling the leftover compost from other sick people’s lunches in front of our noses. I don’t want to deal with that. And maybe that makes me a selfish baby.

Death and dying and all that sucks.

Eek. Ah! EEK!

I am going to be free for a WHOLE day!

Not free as if I’ve been in shackles up to this point, but free in the sense of a long stretch of stay at home mommy-hood being on pause for an entire day in honor of my birth.

Tim got a group together to take me to Edgefest, and one of my dearest friends from my days as a youth is coming to stay the night and go with us. We used to listen to Cake in her little Geo Metro as Sophomores, and now we get to see them, The Black Keys, Cage the Elephant, and The Ting Tings live. Along with a slew of other musical talent.

I’m nervous about leaving August with anyone, as he’s been the shadow at my feet since birth, but I have full faith that his charm and handsomeness will hypnotize the babysitter, giving him a total 8 hours of baby-control.

I haven’t been this excited for a birthday maybe ever. I’m lucky. Tim knows me so well, and this is the perfect gift. I am so pumped to spend a day in the sun surrounded by noise and filthy Dallas young people, next to my man, friends, and best gal. Weeeeeeee! C’mon April 22nd, whicha’bad self.

Man with eyepatch and dreads that does not resemble Johnny Depp.
Username:katality