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Even though I have the best of intentions when it comes to writing here, my reality just isn’t reflecting it. It’s not that I’m rushed off my feet - in fact, quite the reverse - it’s that… I don’t know. I feel hobbled, somehow.

Anyway, Zeus willing, the house renovation starts tomorrow. The guys are coming to do something painful to my driveway, and something something foundations blah. I have a feeling this renovation process is going to be VERY irritating in the worst way. My whole life is an exercise in Trying To Avoid Irritation, Even Though It Follows Me Everywhere, and a project of this magnitude… well, let’s just say that if *I* were in charge, it would probably go a lot smoother.

In other news, I don’t think this half-marathon is going to happen. I have developed shin splints, which might be a result of new shoes (which are the same as my old shoes, just the updated model) and/or an increase in mileage. After the tailspin that was February, getting back on track has been difficult, to say the least. While I think the body could slog through 13.1 miles, I’m not so sure the mind can do it. I’m too distracted.

I hate it when my life gets in the way of my life.

Last weekend, I allowed my periodontist to drill a hole in my jaw and insert a bolt.

That was fairly uncomfortable in itself, and then the swelling and the bruising came and the right side of my face looked a bit like Jennifer Aniston, with the cheek and all.

The blood part was pretty gross, too.

But it’s been a week, and most of that is gone except for the remnants of the bruise, a wee bit o’swelling, and the stitches.

Which I cannot stop playing with.

The periodontist is going to leave the stitches in for another week at least and then take them out maybe but that’s a WHOLE WEEK at least of sticking my tongue in there! I’m going to be so annoyed. And I may sprain my tongue.

At some point in my hippie adventures, I broke a molar. It was 1995, shortly before I returned to Ohio. It wasn’t painful, since the root wasn’t exposed (or was dead, whichever), so I ignored it for the most part. That was an extremely rough time for me anyway, and dental insurance was pretty far out of my reach.

Four years later (on my 24th birthday, to be exact), I got the remnants of that molar extracted. Apparently it was pretty gruesome, and my dentist wouldn’t even let me see what he’d pulled out of my head. Disappointing.

Time went on, as it does, and the gap between my back molars didn’t bother me much. Fixing it wasn’t a priority, even though I’m a stable married lady now and dental insurance is a part of my life. But at my last-but-one teeth cleaning session, the dentist pointed out that the lonely molar in the back was starting to drift, and was I interested in getting a bridge?

That’s when I decided I was elderly.

Instead of a bridge, I opted for an implant. Way cooler and much more permanent. After seven months of waiting, my appointment was this morning.

Now, I’m no stranger to pain. I fall down a lot. I refused pain medication after I had a c-section because I am that kind of rock star. I once got six cavities drilled in the same session. That was a bad idea, actually. But pain is really no biggie to me, so away I went.

My periodontist jabbed me with novocaine and started digging around in my jaw. After about 90 minutes, I had a little screw-type thingy in my head and a numb face. He warned me that the pain would arrive shortly after the numbness went, and whoo boy, he wasn’t kidding.

It doesn’t hurt unless I move my jaw, which means talking is a challenge, and chewing even more so. Mashed potatoes for dinner, yeah! The talking thing could be a problem, but I find that if I just go a little slooooowwwww, things are all right.

In four months, I’ll go back and get the actual tooth-thingy stuck on top of the screw-thingy and it will look like a regular tooth. I wonder how it will stand up to my furious teeth-grinding? I really do grind my teeth a lot. Always have. Various doctors have prescribed different relaxation techniques to help me not do that, but I’m just really tightly wound (this should not be news to anyone at all), and that’s how my body deals with tension.

It’ll be interesting to have a full head of teeth again.

Beer is a big part of my life. I make it, drink it, read about it, and write about it.

It wasn’t always this way, though. I was never a big beer drinker. When you’re a teenager, you drink whatever your parents have in the liquor cabinet, never the beer. You figure they know exactly how many bottles of beer are in the fridge but they don’t always know the precise level of the vodka. When you do drink beer as a teenager, you’re definitely not drinking good beer - you’re drinking whatever cheap-ass shitty beer you can convince your friend’s 22-year-old cousin to buy for you. And of course you don’t like it - you’re drinking the shittiest beer ever made.

Then you get to college, and your tastes change. You’re still underage, sure, but at least now the parties are better because you have friends who are over 21 and while cheap beer is still the best for binge-drinking, it’s usually something slightly better than the warm donkey piss you’re used to. Still, hard liquor is still the fastest way to get blackout drunk, and that’s the goal during these years, right?

It happens to most of us.

For me, I remember the first time I was really aware of what beer I was drinking. I remember what it was. I remember who bought it for me. I remember what bar I was in and even where I was sitting. I remember what month it was, but not quite what day. I remember it so well because it was absolutely a ‘fork in the road’ moment (that had nothing to do with beer, incidentally), and I chose my path that night.

ANYWAY, I had recently turned 21 and was thus able to appreciate all the choices before me. Up to then, I’d been drinking Bud Light (what my boyfriend drank - but don’t worry, he’s reformed now), or Killian’s Irish Red (what Mom had in the house). Beer wasn’t my favorite and it seemed like a waste to branch out and spend money on something that I probably wouldn’t even like.

Then That Night happened, and I haven’t looked back. At beer, anyway. The other thing… yeah. Ha.

I forget exactly where I was going with this. It just struck me last night as I was reading about extreme beers that I could pretty much pinpoint my conversion. I saw the light, man.

So we’re about to make a super-hopped ale, which I cannot wait for, but I will have to. That’s going in bottles, which means a good three or four months from brew day to drinking day. It better be worth it. In the meantime, we’re making a Sam Adams-style as our first attempt at kegging. If it’s successful, then I have a feeling we’re going to go broke buying more kegging equipment, and the vague, unformed plans to run beer lines from the basement to the kitchen will come to fruition.

Can someone explain The White Stripes to me?

I was having a conversation with someone whose music tastes I generally agree with, and he was flabbergasted that I didn’t LOOOOOOOVE The White Stripes. I’m constantly shocked at the knowledge that he has no room in his life for U2, but we get along just fine despite his huge and glaring personality flaw.

I get this a lot, though. “You don’t like Such-and-Such band? WHY NOOOOOOTTTT????”

“Erm, because I just… don’t?”

I’ve listened to quite a bit of The White Stripes. I am given to understand that they are pushers of boundaries, etc, but I just don’t enjoy their music at all. So someone needs to explain them to me in 500 words or less.

Spring is coming!

The dog has lately taken to peeing and pooping in the house again, after being 99% housetrained. I am not thrilled with this development, mainly because it forces me to choose between steam-cleaning the carpet that is GOING AWAY when we renovate, starting at the end of March or smelling dog pee ALL THE TIME. Guess which I chose?

I hate the smell of dog pee, but there you are.

Cannot WAIT for this reno to start. I’ve never purchased a toilet before - who knew there were so many options? Also, I know myself well enough that I should NOT watch Moulin Rouge while thinking about decorating ideas for my bedroom. There is a LOT of decoration in that movie, and my tastes are such that someone who spent their entire life in a Russian Orthodox church would take a look at my place and go “yeah… that’s crowded.”

I am still not a skier. The boots are definitely to blame, since I went a size up and my feet did the same damn thing with the numbness and hurty-ness. Next season I will attempt it ONE MORE TIME with men’s boots and if that doesn’t work then I will know that I am not meant to ski and I will then try to kill myself on a snowboard. The upside is that I did get to spend a lot of time in the bar, and I chatted up random strangers for fun.

There are plenty of other was I can kill myself athletically, one of which I will be attempting on Sunday. Oooh, mystery!

I don’t know if the garden is going to happen this year. I suppose that depends on when I have to move out of my house and where I end up. If I end up in Ohio with the parents for a few weeks, I will end up tending THEIR garden, which would be an exercise in futility, much like most things are with them. We’ll see.

Still listening to Editors pretty much exclusively. I got to see them twice in February, once in NYC and once in Philly, both times with friends, which was nice. They put on an AMAZING show and I am more than ready to drop my whole life and follow them around the world. However, I’m masquerading as a responsible adult these days and that is just not possible. Would if I could.

Speaking of live music, Phish is allegedly playing in Telluride this summer. From what I understand there are NOT going to be a lot of tickets available and if I get them, we’ll go but I’m not going to kill myself trying for tickets. We’ll see what Lollapalooza is up to as well as All Points West.

I make people angry on a regular basis. Sometimes even by accident.