Paradise By The Drug Store Lights

Like half the internetowebosphere this week, I am gearing up for my trip to Chicago for the 2009 BlogHer conference. Unlike half of that half, I am not the slightest bit concerned with what I'm wearing or the way I smell or how fat I am. I am worried that my passport will be stolen by a senile old woman in teal clubbed shoes in a bathroom stall while I wait to make my move on Donald Sutherland but, as luck would have it, lightening never strikes twice and yes, that has already happened to me once, so I think I'm safe.

And while I've come to accept that I'm a 20 pound overweight woman with no sense of fashion whatsoever who stutters when she gets nervous and will, most assuredly, forget to wax off her beard before the conference, there are a few personal issues I've not completely resolved myself to, those being the state of my teeth and pores. Because I like to totally wigg out about things that are completely beyond my control, that's why.

I thought about getting some of that pore serum that Penelope Cruz is constantly advertising on afternoon tv commercials, but the sound of Penelope Cruz's voice makes me want to hit people, and hard, and there's something about her nose which is just slightly alien in its almost-disproportionate to her forehead that wouldn't normally bother me at all, except for that voice, and every time I pick up a box of that L'Oreal pore stuff and try to purchase it, all I can hear is that squeak coming out of that nose and I have to ask myself, "Are tight pores really worth being haunted by a gelfling?" and I decide they are not, and so I move on.

And besides, my momma always said that cold water was nature's astringent, but my momma also said that pantyhose worn over the head would keep the aliens out, so I'm not quite sure if her judgement is to be fully trusted.

And so I give up and worry about my teeth instead. I have gorgeously straight upper teeth that are plagued by my genetic pre-disposition to not have enough enamel, and so keeping them really white takes more time than I have to give. It doesn't much help that I smoke, and when I'm not smoking I'm drinking coffee, and when I'm not drinking coffee I'm drinking tea, and smoking, but I'll blame my parents. It's more fun that way. I went to the store today and bought one of those 14-day Crest teeth whitening kits for the first time in my life. I brought it home, opened it up and looked at the little strips that I immediately wanted to stick on my nose for ten minutes and then lift off, uprooting a small forest. Thank you, Biore, for housewife crack.

The directions told me to stick the strips on my teeth, not my nose, and fold them around and then wait 30 minutes. And I did exactly that.

Did you know that if you're in a pinch around Christmas, you can go to any old store and by a big sheet of bubble wrap and mail that out to all your loved ones, and they will thank you for it? Bubble wrap is the single coolest thing ever. You can lay it on the floor and jump on it, you can snap it in your fingers one by one, you can wrap your brothers and sisters in it and then have a space-aged mosh pit, and you can even use it as a teething device if push comes to shove.* So when someone asks you to wrap your teeth in it for thirty minutes, and leave it alone, you really should just back away slowly.

You adhere the stuff to your top teeth with your fingers and smooth out all the air-bubbles (pop-poppedy-pop) and then you do the bottom teeth (poppop-bam-pop) and then you adjust it slightly around your gumline (poppoppop) and then you push out all the new air bubbles you've just created (POP-POP-POPOPOPOP) and then you spend the next thirty minutes popping bubbles with your tongue and totally screwing up the entire whitening process. The directions say you can relax, check your email, mask your face or wash your dishes while you wait, but what they really need to do is suggest a few OCD groups in your neighborhood that will help you recover from the most obsessively satisfying 30 minutes of your life.

Needless to say, I'm just going to have to be okay with having normal-old thirty-somethingish discolored teeth, but good lord, I can't wait to do that again.

*Not recommended by the American Pediatric Association, Child Services or Momo Fali.

{This is an original post for Canada Moms Blog by Mr Lady from Whiskey In My Sippy Cup, who will be licking her teeth for the duration of the conference in Chicago, and now you'll know why.}