Technicalities

Despite the fact that my brother and my old college roommate insist that everything is too technical for me, I decided to embrace the 21st century and buy an electric toothbrush. It's so shiny and clinical and it has all these buttons and knobs! I charged the sucker up and was so excited when I turned it on! The high pitched hum! The green glowing LED!


Lord, the thing is too technical for me.


Does anyone know how to use a sonicare? It seems awfully powerful and it vibrated the toothpaste right off of its head, the second I turned it on. I think it's good for my gums, but I haven't figured out how to use the thing on my teeth. Is there a trick to this? If anyone can advise, please do!

I was told by my friends who had worn braces in the past that I would soon get obsessed with teeth--and notice things that I never would have noticed before. I hate to say it, but this is true. I saw The September Issue tonight and both Anna Wintour, Vogue dominatrix extraordinaire and Grace Coddington, Vogue's Creative Director and my new favorite person both had teeth that could have used a bracket or two! I was amazed at the beauty and power that these women represent, and yet, they themselves are not at all picture perfect. I liked this about them, though. My days in magazines have taught me well, that you don't have to look like or live the fairy tale, you just have to be able to know how to sell it.

Talk about selling the dream: I loved this layout from Vogue's Sept. 2007 ish. And look! Inserting images into my blog aren't too technical for me!

And I utterly loved the scene where the model, after her photo shoot, still strapped into her corset like a punked-out Victorian, bit into that chocolate cherry pie with such obvious, honest relish! Oh honey, I know the feeling! I miss it!

I was also utterly amused that, upon exiting the theater, I got a dirty look from two girls behind me who said, "Let's get out of here, there are too many hipsters here" and with upturned noses, they stormed off. Well! Girls! You're in the East Village! What did you expect? And secondly, I'm a hipster? Well, all right! I guess I was lookin' good in my shorts and winter boots! Andre Leon Talley has nothing on me!

That just torques my jaw!

First of all, I am pleased and honored to have been tagged in another blog! And so sweetly, too.

http://kivawa.blogspot.com/2009/08/new-bionic-friends.html

Thanks Miss K!

I have a friend from South Carolina who has all of these great Southernisms that she uses to very eloquently express herself. One of my favorites--which she exclaims whenever she is outraged or fed up--is "Well that just torques my jaw!" I thought this was downright quaint, and wonderfully descriptive. However, it takes on a whole new meaning now that quite literally my jaw is in a perpetual state of torque.

Case in point: This morning, I went back to the orthodontist yet AGAIN. It was feeling too darn tight on the left side of my face after they fixed the wire, and I couldn't imagine that this was right. So I went to see my orthodontist, a dapper man with lovely teeth (of course) an open face, salt and pepper hair, and and an expensive, luxurious silk tie always around his neck. Today it was a white tie with a floral pattern, one that was very popular among the glitterati a few years ago.

He explained that my teeth are constantly moving, and this is why the teeth don't meet properly. He said it's ok if they feel lopsided, because I have a "very unusual crossbite" which has to be fixed. He said that it's a funny situation, but that "you're funnier than most."

A statement like that should have made me shake my fist at the sky and rue my mouth, but really, my doctor is a most benevolent man, and his good-natured way of saying this made me feel oddly proud that my teeth had amused him.

Teeth as court jesters! Imagine that! I'll rent them out to dental conventions! I'll put them on trading cards! Next stop: the Coney Island freak show! There's millions to be made with these puppies!

I Am Not An Animal!

I mentioned before that food is one of my greatest pleasures--and that the fact that these braces have curtailed that pleasure has made me feel small and vulnerable, unsure how to inhabit this altered body of mine. It has been a wonderful side effect that I have lost weight (noticeably, in almost 2 weeks) but it represents a loss of sensuality to me, and I have been a bit mopey about that. I met my friends Louise and Jackie for dinner tonight--lovely ladies who I haven't seen in quite some time. We went to Blossom, a place I chose since Jackie's a vegetarian and Louise is a big ol' foodie like me. The food was great--the whipped sweet potatoes made me think I was enjoying a Thanksgiving dinner and the risotto with peas and artichokes was wonderful--once I got it home and put it in my blender so that I could eat it. (Ah, to spend $20 for an entree of mush!)

But as I was blending, I looked at the takeout container of mini spring rolls that had been a part of the Chinese soup special that I had ordered for lunch. I couldn't bring myself to throw them away, so I took them home with me. And as I blended, I had this animalistic need to gnaw on those rolls like a dog with a bone. I wanted to try using the teeth. Just try! The sauce that they had been bathed in all day had softened them up, and for the first time in almost two weeks, I used my front teeth, my back teeth the ups and downs of all my teeth. I felt food getting caught every which way they could squeezing my teeth even further than the braces, but I was unstoppable--I chomped on that spring roll like a predator on prey, and it tasted damn good. I have teeth! Hear me roar! Aslan ain't got nuthin' on me!

It took me about five minutes to brush and floss all the spring roll debris out of my teeth, and they feel so odd now. That clay-like feeling is back but I think this is a good thing.

That queen of the jungle act is not something you'd want to see me do in public, but it's a start.

In Yo' Face!

First of all, I have to give a shout out to Cory and Mick, who not only read my blog, but read it at the same time in the same room on different computers. THAT is dedication, folks.

Cory and I actually met for lunch today and it took about 10 minutes to explain to the waitress that I wanted soup. Despite the fact that we found many ways to convey this, we unfortunately could not convey this in Thai. If I am an X-men mutant, then Cory indeed should be wearing a cape, (and a most fashionable one at that) because she turned into a Superhero coming to my culinary rescue when the plate of...obviously not soup was set down in front of me. I felt very loved--thanks, C!

I'm having one of those "what the hell was I thinking" days with the braces. A week and a half was enough. Joke's over. Now let me get back to my real life so I can stop thinking about them ALL the time. The distraction, and the tiredness I feel from giving this all my energy has reached a breaking point. I'm sick of soup. I can only anticipate going through this again when they put the braces on my bottom teeth in a few months--and I'm not happy about it.

Now I really understand where the phrase "In Your Face!" comes from. Man, these things sure are in my face.

A few days ago I got this note from "the universe" in my inbox:

The real reason so many have trouble with the baby steps--doing all they can, with what they've got, from where they are, no matter how humble or seemingly futile--is because they haven't yet grasped that the baby steps trigger unseen forces that throw wide the floodgates of unstoppable momentum, infinite abundance, and eternal life. I understand that braces are an oral version of baby steps, and that the molar shifts can only be felt in teeny, tiny ways. I know that look on a baby's face when s/he is old enough to understand, but not old enough to speak, and the frustration that accompanies that feeling, is what I feel right now. I think I have that look on my face all the time. This slow pace is so demoralizing to a New Yorker who is used to having everything at lightning speed. Trusting the process is just not feeling easy or fun or...ah, here's the word, palatable today. If I allow myself to think of me at 38 happy that I've gone through this, that is some consolation. But right now, these things are just too much "in my face!"

Mutant Message

I have a weekly meeting with my boss every Monday morning. Let me start off this posting by sharing the joy I felt when my boss said to me "I think your teeth look straighter already." Maybe she was being kind, but coming from her, it felt genuine. It was my first authentic, unabashed smile in over a week. It made my day!

The whole molars-feeling-like-clay thing was starting to worry me this weekend, and it was a strange revelation when my friend Nicole said, "Call your orthodontist about it on Monday!" Why didn't this occur to me? Why did I feel like I would be bothering him? I mean, I'm paying the man an arm and a leg (and a jaw.) I spent more time than I care to admit steeling my confidence to call him. I looked up dental terminology to present myself properly. I was going to say "I feel like the molar bands on my bottom teeth are too strong for the corresponding top teeth, which to not have molar bands." I wanted to ask why they didn't put bands on my top teeth--I was kind of angry at myself for not asking that when they put the braces on in the first place. I guess I was so overwhelmed with the whole braces concept, I though I has asked enough questions. But apparently not.

Kismet intervened on Sunday night. I accidently dislodged the wire from one of the brackets--a side effect of overzealous brushing. It was amazing to feel just how how much of a difference there has been in my progress in just a week, how just one bracket could make everything completely lopsided and off-kilter, reminding me just how much I medically need these braces. It put things in perspective, and I felt grateful for the braces for the first time.

So, instead of asking my clay-teeth question, I called to the doctor's office to tell him about the wire. I half expected the receptionist to act as gatekeeper, and ask me to MacGuyver myself, to put the wire back in using a paperclip, some twine and a swinging door. But she was completely understanding and asked what time today I'd like to come in so that it could be fixed. It took a full 45 minutes to get to my orthodontist's office from work, and when I got there, the very sweet, 25-year-old looking doctor on duty took less than three minutes to put the wire back in and secure it. In fact, it's tighter than it was before, which is actually nice. Maybe I got an adjustment a little early, which is fine with me if it means these teeth will move faster.

I asked him why there weren't any molar bands on my top teeth, and he very gently said, in his Russian accent, "Well, you don't have any molars on your top teeth."

Yes, it's true. I am a mutant. X-Men, add another to your ranks. I'd like to think of myself as the next wave in human evolution. I knew that I was missing teeth genetically, but I didn't realize they were ALL molars. In fact, according to this diagram, I am missing 7 teeth. (I thought it was 6.) The average adult has 32 teeth. I have 25. (Trust me, I just counted.)

Click on the diagram. See all those molars on the top? Numbers 1,2,3, 14, 15 and 16 DO NOT EXIST in my mouth.

Mom, if you're reading this, that's why you've had to give me the Heimlich maneuver so much as a kid. Also the reason I gave up steak at a young age. Too hard to chew it. I simply don't have enough teeth to handle it.

Could I be the missing link to prove that vegetarianism is truly the way of the future? Get me my cape! Get me my carrot insignia on my chest! Get me my spandex! I am the Green Goddess! Powerful in my veggies!

Well, as soon as I can actually chew them again.

Happy Anniversary!

It is my one week anniversary with braces. If one year anniversary gifts should be made of paper, then the one week anniversary gift is indubitably gelato. I went to Grom which is one of my favorite places to go. Yes, it costs an obscene $5 for a teeny cup, but hey, this was certainly cause for celebration. I decided to be really traditional, and I got the vanilla (which was lovely) and the extra dark chocolate which unfortunately had bits of nibs in it, which I couldn't chew. It broke my heart, but I had to throw it away.

My front teeth seem to have settled themselves, but my molars feel like they're made of clay, maleable, unformed. Even if it was comfortable to chew, I imagine that my teeth will turn into food shaped items that I dream about: popcorn, walnuts or pizza slices. Maybe this liquid diet is turning me trippy. Definitely trippy. If my life was a "tribal love rock musical," I could have this as my theme song (to be sung to the tune of "Hair")

Gimme a fruit to bite, to make my teeth feel right
Shining, gleaming, tasty, juicy, chewy
Give me in my hand, PEAR!
Sweet to my incisors!
Here baby, there mama, Everywhere daddy daddy

Pear, pear, pear, pear, pear, pear, pear!
Bite it, Chomp it;
Round as God can grow it, My pear!

("Eclair" could work in this ditty too, but I don't really like those.)

Oh my. I think I've really lost it now.

Julie and Julia and Bionic Grin

I saw Julie and Julia this past weekend, and it was quite literally, delicious. Meryl Streep as Julia child is adorable, irresistible, captivating. She manages to make herself oafishly elegant while speaking in that should-be-annoying falsetto, wondering what she should "dooooooo" in Paris. She's a woman after my own heart--she starts eating, and doesn't stop, intoxicated by butter only the way an American in Paris can be intoxicated. I watched with braces firmly in my mouth, drooling over the boeuf bourguingon, the raspberry bavarian cream, the divine bruschetta and sole meunière, which Julia lovingly feeds to her husband Paul. I was entranced. I was enchanted.

I was jealous.

This was gratuitous, hard core food titillation, meant to inspire viewers to whip out their wallets to buy Mastering the Art of French Cooking, buy Le Creuset pots, heck, buy plugra butter and lots of it!

If I could have eaten any of it, I would have gladly jumped on the bandwagon, emptied my pockets and filled my face. But as I sit here now with a bowl of mashed potatoes (Yukon golds, my mother tells me, make the best smashies) still with my inability to chew, gumming at the spuds and telling myself that eventually, I too, will eat like Julie. Or Julia. Or that lucky Paul.

As inspired as I was by the food, perhaps I have the film to thank also for starting the blog. It's something I swore I would never do, but the idea of a limited relationship to blogging--only so long as the braces stay on the teeth--is downright cathartic. I've read that one year blog projects are in vogue now--but for me it's simply a way of charting the tumultuous sea of time upon which my raft floats. And there is no way for me to know exactly how long this will take. The orthodontist says two years. I am willing my teeth to move like a desperate high school basketball coach ("C'mon team! Y'all can do it!!") to cut that down to one. At this point, only time can keep that secret and knowingly smile.

With its perfectly straight teeth.