My hot dentist

My dentist is hot.

You know how when you know you have a dentist appointment coming, you make sure you brush your teeth really well for that last week floss every day (after six months of flossless life)? Then that morning, you make sure you blow you nose really well so you don’t have any danglers or spider webs. Well, not only do I floss every day for that last week, brush super great, and check for danglers and webs, but I make sure I’m super cute.

I don’t even go this far for a date (but then again, a date isn’t scrutinizing my dental work underneath a crazy big halogen light with a water pick and tiny mirror). I want to make sure my eye makeup is just right because he’s only three inches away from my face and I want to make sure his view through those huge plastic dentist goggles is nice. I put on perfume because I’m sure he’s tired of smelling halitosis and mint toothpaste. I ponder pithy remarks for those rare moments of relief when he’s not stretching my mouth to epic proportions in order to become familiar with my uvula. And I wear clothes that will match the blue paper bib because heaven forbid my clashing in front of the dental Adonis perched above me in his dashing gun-metal blue scrubs and messed hair with a bit of gray at the temples. Sigh.

So, he’s married. Maybe he has a brother. If he does, he’ll for sure recommend me to him. I mean, I didn’t have any cavities!

Nostalgia

My baby sister (who at 16, isn’t much of a baby anymore) just sent me a plethora of photos of the fam when we were much younger. As I perused the photos, I stopped on a couple and a few thoughts came to mind. And because I didn’t have anything else to say, I’d share these thoughts with you. What do you care anyway? You don’t have to read this. You’re coming to this blog voluntarily.

Anyway, back to my thoughts. Let’s go to the photo with the kids on the couch. Which of my seven siblings was that baby? Was skin cancer even an issue in the 80s? And while I’m on that train of thought, why can’t I tan like that now? Why did Carey have to get that awesomely white blonde color? She doesn’t even know how to fix hair! Where did I get that fabulously striped shirt? When did mom think it was alright to have a faded print of a duck hanging on our walls? Where are those curtains now? Did mom make me a dress out of those like she did out of that bed sheet that one time? And did my folks not have problems with naked kids sitting on the couch?

Then I went to the family shot and laughed out loud. My mom and dad look like they should host some blonde Osmond Christmas special. My three brothers all look like they should be orphans in the play “Oliver”. Carey’s hair looks like a white slug was trying to crawl across her head and climb into her brain. And while I’m on the topic of bangs, mine are impressive. I wonder how long it took me to get them to do that - my head is tilted because they’re obviously so heavy. Why didn’t I take any time on the rest of my hair? Why am I wearing Tarzan’s loincloth around my neck?

Who knows? The eighties were a strange time in fashion history. . . Yet, now I see girls sporting fashions I wore in 7th grade. We’ve got to warn them! Quick- run outside and tell the first teenage girl you see that jelly shoes are an awful idea and that her feet will smell like cheese for months if she invests in them! Hurry! Summer is on its way!

Suffer for beauty

My mom always said “Casey, you have to suffer for beauty.” Usually she said that while she was doing something to my head. She was all about braiding my usually very long hair into Princess Leia buns, Heidi loopy things, or over the top of my head- like the Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate girl. My school pictures are gems. As I was entering junior high, she said it when she pulled my hair into those tiny tight rollers and then poured the acid burning home perm solution on my scalp.

She was right though. I mean, you look at the models on magazines and they’ve suffered plenty. They’ve completely given up eating altogether, surviving on a diet of cigarettes and Evian. Poor poor girls, suffering as they’re fawned over and walk the catwalks in Milan wearing designer clothes costing more than my car made by people I can’t pronounce. I digress. Back to the subject at hand, MY suffering for beauty.

I love shoes. Yesterday (oh, hope you had a nice Easter, by the way) was an exciting day. I got to wear my really super cute 5 inch high heeled white dress shoes that went. I love what those shoes do for my calves (and my height – I’m well over 6’ in those shoes). They’re so cute that even a guy commented on them and men don’t notice anything! Well, as I walked around with cute shoes, painted toe nails, and shapely calves, I was suffering. By the end of 4 hours, I had huge blisters. Oh, but I kept smiling.

This morning, I woke up at 5:30 to hit the gym (another example of that whole “suffering for beauty” thing) and tried to put on my gym shoes. But to no avail. I couldn’t walk in them. I tried for a good five minutes to walk but couldn’t do it without looking like an idiot. So, I gave up on suffering, took off the shoes and went back to bed.

Spring is in the air

I love the spring. I know, everyone says that because of the whole “Oh look, the world is coming back to life” thing we’ve got going. I love it because I hate the snow so much that I get mad just seeing a Norman Rockwell holiday painting when it’s not Christmas. I’m good with snow at Christmas but the grey crap that’s piled up for weeks on end in our parking lot, taking up 12 spaces has just got to go.

And now that it’s spring, the grey crap had better be gone for good . . . until next Christmas I mean.

So now I can whip out all of my springtime merriment. Out come the fruit scented perfumes (am I the only one that divides her scents into seasons and moods? And while I’m on the perfume subject, does anyone else match her perfume to her outfit?), the bright colored shirts, the eight million technicolored flip flops, plaid shorts (shut up, you know you’re jealous), and the pink eye shadow.

I must admit, I’ll miss the layering with all my jackets and tuxedo shirts that the winter allowed. Springtime calls for short sleeves, which highlight my non-Kelly Ripa upper arms.

Shoot.

I have passed some line somewhere

“I have passed some line, some place. I am beginning to repel people I'm trying to seduce.” That was said by Holly Hunter’s character, Jane Craig in 1987’s “Broadcast News”.

Personally, I feel both this statement and its opposite, “I’m beginning to seduce people I’m trying to repel” are apparent in my life.

When I was 23, I worked at a high school translating many of the classes into Spanish for the children of migrant workers. This small town had a rather large gang population and the gang leader was this 6’3” tall 6’3” wide Mexican senior named Oscar. He was terrifying. He almost killed my brother once. Anyway, on his graduation day, he came over and gave me this huge hug and said “Maestra will you marry me? I could take care of you.”

My response? “No thank you but please don’t kill me.” How romantic.

This past December, A man the size of a mountain and dressed like a mix between gangsta and bouncer was in the same aisle of Blockbuster as I was, perusing the comedies.

Later, in line, I noticed this small weasel of a man bugging the Mountain. Weasel was saying “Omigosh! You’re Michael Jordan’s bodyguard aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Was all the Mountain could say before Weasel started pelting him with questions. I stood there paying for my rentals, imagining how many different ways the Mountain could disassemble Weasel in 30 seconds. But, as I was leaving, Mountain called out to me “Hey you. What’s your name?”

There were like 6 people in between us in line so I didn’t realize at first he was talking to me. I answered him and he walked past everyone else and came up to me. I was engulfed in his shadow. “Do you like to dance Casey?” I answered that I did, but that I wasn’t feeling up to it at the moment. He told me to call him and we’d go dancing together, gave me his card and left.

No, I haven’t called him but his card is still on my fridge if you’re interested.

Just recently, a 21 year old Mexican construction worker gave me a golden ring with heart on it and told me that I have his heart. I tried to tell him that our 13 year age gap was an issue. He didn’t see it that way. Then I told him I had a boyfriend. He said he wasn’t a jealous man. Shoot. I said my boyfriend was a jealous man but that didn’t seem to sway him either.

Not that any of these guys aren’t quality guys, I’m just not sure we’d have a lot to talk about after the initial introductions were over. I only know so much about gang life, basketball, and Mexican construction.

As for the men I’m trying to seduce? Ew, that sounds weird. If any of you know me, I’m sure you’ll understand. . . I’m not really the seductive type. Maybe that’s why I’m not very effective with the boys I like. I mean, I still haven’t been able to make Owen Wilson notice me.

My Not-So-Happy New Year

This New Years Day, I was at a friend’s sushi party and only really knew the hostess. The rest of the people there were either complete strangers, mild acquaintances, or just strange. I was sitting in proximity to the Diet Coke and was talking to a pair of sisters, let’s call them Josie and Jane*. Josie was next to me and Jane was on her other side. I had talked to Josie before but only in a “my goodness the weather is nice today” kind of way. . . Wait, come to think on it, she did mention wanting to make out with a friend of mine in the midst of that weather conversation. It was like “Wow, the weather sure is improving. Your tall friend Dan is absolutely gorgeous and needs me to kiss him. I like the snow, don’t you?”

But I digress. As I was talking to these sisters, a man sat by Jane, picked up her hand, and starting rubbing it. I didn’t say anything because I thought they were friends. Obviously not. She slowly turned and looked at him, face aghast.

“What are you doing!?” she asked

“I’m a physical therapist” He said. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

“No!” she said, pulling her defiled hand away and turning towards our conversation.

By this time, another guy sat by me and we had starting talking. We’ll name him Mike. Anyway, Mike and I were talking and Josie wanted to join in. “Mike, if you want to, Casey will make out with you. Go on, take her outside. She’ll kiss you a lot.”

Are you kidding me? I’ve only talked about the weather with this woman and already she’s painted me as some sort of lip slut to a complete stranger?! Needless to say, I tried to brush over her obnoxious remark and continue the conversation with Mike. Soon, I saw Josie stand up and hover over us. I pretended not to notice.

“I’ve got a new hug. You want to feel it?” She said.

Ew. I looked over at Mike because I thought she was talking to him but he was smiling at me bemusedly. Horror stricken, I looked up at Josie. Her face was fixed on mine, her mouth smiling and her arms extended. “No! Go hug someone else. Go hug a man.” I fought. But she persisted, begging me to hug her. Finally Mike suggested that if I hugged her, she’d go away. So I stood up and leaned in, not wanting to make too much contact.

She grabbed me, pulled me in, and then pushed her ample bosom into me. Now, I’ve failed to explain this girl’s stature. She’s about 6’1” and well endowed. And when I say ample bosom, I don’t mean it in the polite way Jane Austin would. The girl was huge. There were mammaries everywhere. It was awful. I strained against her, repulsed.

“That’s gross! I’ve got my own pair! Why would I want you to squeeze up into me like that? Go freaking hug a man!” Ew Ew ew ew. I felt so dirty. A nearby guy had been watching and came in for his own hug, distracting her for a moment. I turned to Mike and said I had enough excitement for the evening and was leaving. He bent in, kissed me and then told me to have a good year.

What a surreal way to welcome in a year. I didn’t even get any sushi. And where was Jane this whole time? Why didn’t she reign in her sister? Was she still busy fending off physical therapists with hand issues? Oh well, I guess it’s good because things can only get better from there, right?

*Please note: Most names in this blog will be changed to protect the innocent or myself from the people who’re the cause of that particular day’s random thoughts.

Um, so here's the beginning of my random thoughts.

I used to write random thoughts daily and send them out to over a hundred women along with some photo of a Hollywood hottie with some Casey blurb on it. I keep getting requests to start that up again and while my other blog, http://www.caseynelsonstuff.blogspot.com/ is more for my artwork- I'd start this up for my random thoughts. . . So, here's a new blog. . . With random thoughts. Now, bear in mind, these are the ramblings of a single woman so they're probably weird and one-sided. And since I've kept some of the thoughts from before, I'll submit a few of those before I whip out some new ones.



I miss underoos. Remember the power you felt with your special underwear? I had a Wonder woman tank top/underwear combo, a Batgirl bra and underwear set, and Artoo Deetoo underwear. I really did feel stronger with my blue and white starry Wonder Woman panties.



Man, Wonder Woman was so cool. She had dating all figured out. She could just change her clothes by turning around in a circle. Us mere mortals spend forever trying on several outfits, turning around to see how our butts looked in the jeans only to end up wearing the first outfit we put on. I wish that I had the lasso of truth too. Then I could really tell what a man was thinking instead of thinking "Oh crap, he wiped his nose when I did. Do I have a nose nugget?" or "Gah! Was that a real laugh or a courtesy laugh? Am I funny enough? Am I too funny? Crap. I don't know! Should I just shut up? Shut up Casey!!" . And her invisible jet? That's the way to go, I tell ya. You could park anywhere, no need to worry about valet parking (uh, not that I've had a date that required valet parking in ages but just in case). She could also kick hiney if necessary. I don't think she realized how wonderful her life really was. And those star encrusted wrist bands went with everything.