Gallant eats his spaghetti with a knife and fork. Goofus uses his hands.

Ah, Highlights for children.

I had totally forgot about that magazine until sitting in the dentist's waiting room. I knew I'd get looks from the staff and the other patients, but I couldn't resist.

When I was little, my grandmother gave me a subscription. From the ages of 6 till about 9 I had that bundle of information about wholesome values, reasons to wash your hands, and to fear and respect escalators delivered to my door each month. My favorite feature was always Goofus and Gallant.



See? How else would we know not to run down what are essentially stairs, our parents? Shouldn't it be something like not running the wrong way up or down the escalator? Why am I giving it this much thought?

Because I grew up on this shit, that's why. How much have my own values been shaped by some obnoxious do-gooder and some self-centered idiot with obvious behavior issues?



I'm bossy, sure, but that other comparison is like apples and oranges. Literally.
Oranges are easy to share, apples aren't. Someone has to take the last one.

So I guess I'm more Goofus than Gallant at this point, but I choose to think that Gallant is a little brown nosing apple polisher and Goofus is awesome.

It works out in my head.

It's About Time We Invented Magic

I've been rereading some Harry Potter books. The 6th movie comes out in November so I wanted to brush up on my details so I can complain about what the movie left out.

But I think I need to stop reading them. I keep getting all pissed off that I can't do magic and fight evil and be awesome.

Sporting Amy Winehouse Mouth

I broke a tooth yesterday. It shattered when I bit down on some hard bit in a Dunkin Donuts sausage breakfast sandwich. I don't want to think too hard about what that was. The pain was incredible. It was like getting punched in the face by a zombie brandishing an ice pick.

So, despite my total paralyzing fear of dentists, I called one and made an appointment. Later that afternoon I go in. I manage to burst into tears from sheer anxiety when filling out the paperwork, scare the crap out of the receptionists with aforementioned outburst, and make most of the paperwork illegible due to tears. The receptionist was really nice, as was the girl who came out to lead me to the office. She probably noticed me shaking like a chihuahua in a snowstorm, and I appreciated the kindergarten teacher approach to dealing with me.

The tech gives me an x-ray, me in the lead blanket, her hiding in another room. I burst into tears again, this time for absolutely no reason. Then the dentist comes in. Big, friendly Russian guy, shakes my hand, starts explaining everything in the nicest way possible. It turns out the tooth is basically ruined, and as a bonus, I need a root canal. Tomorrow.

As devastated as I was to hear the news, his follow up of "we'll give you vicodin for the pain" really softened the blow. For some reason, any anxiety I had was cured by the idea of painkillers.

So my roommate and I went to fill my prescription, wondering aloud why dentistry immediately goes to heavy painkillers when a problem comes up. I take some and pass out. I get up this morning, shaking with terror, and go to my appointment.

The dentist told me yesterday that we'll use as much novocaine as it takes to numb me. When I get there, I immediately get 3 shots of novocaine. Those fucking hurt. Then another. Then 2 more just in case. We go through the procedure, me listening to my iPod the whole time. I didn't feel a damn thing. Still can't, I'm rocking a totally numb left side of my face. Six shots of novocaine, I could take a sledgehammer to the face and not notice.

So my shattered tooth is mostly gone, and I get a crown and a cap or something a week from Monday. Until then, I get to have a gap in my teeth. I feel like such a hillbilly. Or Amy Winehouse.

Maybe I should get a bouffant and finish off the look...

Is your lemonade made from real lemons? Are your Girl Scout cookies made from real Girl Scouts?

Ah, cookie time has ended yet again. May I just say, I love cookies. Cookie was my first word, and to this day I'll fight anyone over the last oreo in the box.

This tends to be my favorite time of year. Little girls, learning about responsibility, entrepreneurship, and hocking baked goods to random passers-by.


Ah, delicious. Even on a computer screen.

In my case, I don't actually know anyone in Girl Scouts or with kids in Girl Scouts.
This leads me to be super-creepy around my office, asking anyone who nears my desk if they have young daughters. After the initial weird look, I usually get a no. I eventually learned to ask straight out if someone had a cookie connection, making it sound almost illicit, but much less pedophiliac.

Fortunately, we had a new person start working here right at the open of cookie time. Her first day, within our first conversation, I asked. And as luck would have it, her daughter is in Girl Scouts and was selling them.

So I got 14 boxes. I'm not even kidding.
I gave some out as gifts and thank you's for helping me out on various things.

Then I got 6 more boxes. Bringing my total to $80 spent on cookies.
I have about 5 boxes left. I've been saving the good ones for myself.

I think what I love most about these cookies (aside from the deliciousness) is the fact that I spent $80 dollars on cookies and instead of looking like gluttony, it looks like generosity.