Look, I don't try to hide it: I'm not a fan of Halloween. If I had children, I would probably have a lot of fun with it (if nothing else, I would make it fun for them), but Halloween and I have never jived. I think I was in second grade when I told my mother that I didn't want to trick-or-treat anymore. I wish I could pinpoint what it is that spurs this massive abhorrence…maybe I'm just a killjoy.

Fall is my favorite season. There's not much to dislike: hearing rustling leaves, seeing beautiful colors, feeling stillness, breathing crisp air, smelling spicy cinnamon, appreciating the coziness of home…such a delicious season. The only real mar is this silly Halloween thing. (Well, I am kind of charmed by really little kids in adorable costumes, but that's it.) I don't care for spiders, bats, ghouls, or vampires. Is this what people aspire to be!? Why can't everyone just be sweet little kitty cats!?

I've spent the day with a fake smile plastered on my face…now I'm off to sit in the dark until I'm sure the candy-beggars are all gone. I am a killjoy, aren't I? This is really my only scroogy holiday...aren't I allowed one?

Boo. For real.

Everybody has quirks. The trick to living with someone else without turning into a monster is either finding someone with the same quirks or who doesn't mind yours all that much (and vice versa, naturally).

Well, Nick's had it in his head for years now that he is going to be able to reform me of a few of mine. I think he's getting a little frustrated that I'm not the malleable ball of clay he thought I was. I can be just as stubborn as anybody, I just store the cement wall behind behind an acquiescing smile. (It's very effective in the business world.)

I have been spending a lot of time with my cousin Michelle over the past year. At first I was awed by how quickly we reconnected and how deeply we bonded. Now that I've had time to think about it, the connection is obvious. We were raised with the same role models, our heartstrings are played to the same tune, and our logic speeds along the same zip line. Even with ten years of little communication, we recognized a part of ourselves in each other.

Nick has grown close to Michelle over the last year when he really didn't know her very well before. He's been trying to get her to contradict me on something just to feel like he's got someone on his side (the side that believes my quirks to be stupid). Her uncoached answers to his questions always tickle me because they are almost verbatim what I have already answered.

• Months ago, on a date weekend out of town, he wanted to go see a stand-up comedian. This doesn't particularly interest me because I have zero desire (probably even negative desire) to be heckled. Michelle was going to hang out at the condo while we were away to Sophie-sit. He was worn out trying to convince me to go, so he tried to reenforce his reserves by asking Michelle her opinion. She replied with the same immediate distaste, asking, "Why the hell would you pay someone to pick on you!?"


• He likes the sensation of falling. He loves roller coasters and wants to go skydiving one day. I would prefer not to fall, ever. I don't need to mimic the feeling of plunging to my death to know that it wouldn't be a pleasant way to go. We were all in the car together when Nick asked Michelle if she would go to Great America with him. She choked on her Diet Coke and told him, "I'm patient. I'll wait until my number is up to feel like I'm going to die."


• As the season began to change, Nick went on an on about doing a corn maze this year. He goes on and on about this every year. If there's anything worse than falling, it's being lost and too small to see your way out. My anxiety begins to rise just thinking of that, so no thanks. Michelle and I have gotten unintentially lost in actual corn fields before, and we didn't find it entertaining. He asked Michelle if she'd go with him through a corn maze. She looked at him for a long while before asking, "What is WRONG with you!?"


• Now, there are several types of quirks other than rational fears, and this last one is more habit-based. Nick does most of the driving, and he tends to get distracted looking every which way but forward at traffic lights. For the longest time I tried to be helpful and let him know when the light had changed. After enough of his diva tantrums, I've learned to curb the urge. Let him irritate the cars behind him; I'm sure road rage is a myth anyway.
  
  Yesterday, the three of us were in the car together, stopped at a light. Nick was looking out to the left when the light changed. Michelle, completely innocent and unaware, piped up, "It's green." He whipped around to glare at her and she looked at me like, "What the hell!? He wasn't looking!" I tried to hide my smile. In talking later, she found it absurd that he wouldn't prefer a friend prodding him along instead of a honking car.
  
  Dude, I know.

I think Nick needs to seek an ally elsewhere.

It's all my fault, really. I'm the one who brought it up, and I'm the one who imagined the Quasimodo-meets-Beast scenario after they outlined my likely future if I didn't take a particular course of action.

I just got back from the dentist. Let me give you some background.

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Nick and I love our dentist. We found out after we started dating that we had the same dentist as well as the same hygienist. Crazy world, right? Anyway, since the office knows both of us, they were all very interested in the whole wedding thing that happened back in January. When it came time to invite our friends and family to the reception in August, Nick and I put together a booklet (well, Nick put it together and I told him what I didn't like when he gave me proofs…group effort) of some of the 700+ photos we took during our two weeks in Florida.

Since Nick has to go to the dentist more often than I do, he was badgered for pictures first. When the booklets were ready to go out, he took one of them to the dental office. I did not see her until a couple of weeks ago when I was in for my second cleaning of the year.

I am used to people complimenting the way I looked on our wedding day—everybody compliments the bride's dress, hair, or whatever…whether they mean it or not! It's just what you do. Well, when my dentist complimented me, I knew it was sincere because she's the only one who commented on my teeth. Yes, my dentist looked through our wedding photos and oohed and ahhhed over my teeth. I am not sure if she even saw anything or anyone else in the pictures because she just kept going on about how pretty my teeth looked in the pictures. Like I said, I love my dentist. She's the only one who appreciates me.

She always has my teeth's best interest in mind (not mine, but my teeth's). She's talked me into some pricey things with her wooing, let me tell you. I should know, I just slapped down two bills at her office.

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So I was getting my normal cleaning, nothing out of the ordinary. The hygienist still tried to carry on a conversation with me (asking me questions while she's got her hands in my mouth), same old, same old. Then the part of the appointment came where the dentist asks if I have any concerns, and I opened my big mouth.

I mentioned that it's getting harder to floss my lower incisors...almost like the teeth have gotten schmushed together. I mentioned it because of another spendy thing that she charmed me into buying. Though, I must admit that it has single-highhandedly wiped out my migraines (when I remember to use it). One of the warnings with my night clenching-guard is that it can cause the teeth to shift.

Well apparently, the NTI plus my advancing age (they keep telling me that it's my aging jaw) is causing just that.

I will admit that I was completely unaware that teeth could just up and move around throughout life. I thought you were born them them standing one way, and they remained that way until the end. Apparently this is something that everyone who has had braces knows, but I've never been to an orthodontist: my teeth aren't perfect, but they suit my needs well enough.

Once I opened the can of worms about my teeth, they gave me all the gruesome projections for the next few decades. I have some space on my lower jaw, plenty of room for my teeth to do the jump and jive. Then she said that my canines will likely fall forward and start pointing out towards my lips. Oh no you didn't.

At my look of dismay she soothed that I can get a bonded retainer. Again, poor, ignorant me, I thought retainers were only for people who have had braces (to make sure all of that bracing isn't undone). She patted my hand and said, "No one will see, and your teeth will never move from where they are today."

Well, between incisors that are a little hard to floss and teeth that point out to stare people in the eye, I really had no choice.

I sat in the chair, apprehensive about the whole thing. When the technician came in I felt the need to ask, "Is this going to hurt?" She laughed and shook her head. I just didn't know what to expect, but now that it's over, I understand why she laughed. She basically had to glue a wire to the tongue-side of my lower incisors, that's it.

Oh yeah, real painful.

Now I just have to convince the rest of my mouth to accept the new addition, because right now my tongue is going berserk and I am subconsciously holding my jaw from closing all the way. Poor little, shifting incisors. I've made them social pariahs with my attempt to help.

A few weeks ago, we replaced the television in the living room. The last television was a rear-projection model, and the bulb simply wore out. The bulb is affordable and easy to replace at home (you just have your husband do it, duh). I will admit that I wanted a new television, and have for awhile, but I needed a reason. I am rather (make that VERY) particular about images, and I thought the television was a little lacking.

I mean, the picture was vibrant and displayed such high-definition that I could count eyelashes and see dust motes on sitcom sets…but I was disappointed in the blacks. They just weren't…black enough. I love the "true black" of an image. It isn't the absence of light that intrigues me, but the prominence that the contrast gives to the rest of the picture.

Anyway, I saw the bulb burning out as a big thumbs up from above to bring a new television home. (And it's beautiful, but that's not for this post.)



So now we were left with an extra 42-inch, rear-projection, high definition television that would be operational with minimal effort. (There are pictures of the TV in this old post.) What to do with it? It's hard finding random places for a 42-inch television. In the hallway next to the shoe tray? In the kitchen sharing the same outlet with the toaster? In the bathroom under the towel rack? The darn thing did not work anywhere.

Anywhere, that is, until I thought of my revived love affair with exercise DVDs. The big rear-projection beast would totally kick the 19-inch tube's butt. I wasn't concerned with my frustration on the "true black" thing because I know that sweat mellows me…or is it that I am concentrating so hard on just surviving that I can't find the energy to care about inadequate contrast?

I used the new resident in our home gym area last night. I kept debating between Billy and Jillian. I told Nick, "I'd burn a lot more calories with Jillian, but I'd have a lot more fun with Billy." Since I told Nick earlier that I felt a twinge in my low back, he piped in that I should go with Billy.

Ta da! Decision made: I grabbed Jillian's DVD.

Immediately, it was obvious that the DVD was not formatted for a wide screen. When she appeared on the screen, I had to say aloud, "Oh, Jill…you don't look so good." I will admit that I got a kick out of her stretched image for a handful of seconds. This is the woman, after all, that brings me to complete muscle failure every time. Once, she even made me cry because I was just at the end of all the energy I had…no more to give. She could stand a little good-natured distortion. You know what they say: a widescreen TV adds 30 pounds! (I did update the view eventually).

It took me extra long to all asleep last night. I am going to have to get used to life-sized Jillian in my basement, that's all I can say right now.

I still have chills.