Go To The Dentist
I haven’t been in four years. I have one cavity and I need to floss more, which is consistent with what every other dentist has ever told me—about flossing, that is. I’ve only had two other cavities.
I went yesterday and oh man, was it unpleasant. I’m one of those people who really dislikes having a stranger stick sharp metal instruments in my mouth. And the toothpaste always tastes nasty. I have to go back the week of July 4th to get the cavity filled. Happy Independence Day to me!
What else did I do on my day off yesterday? Bought new sheets at K-Mart—the expensive kind from Land’s End. And I got a nice beach towel to replace my ratty old Sponge Bob one I’ve had since high school.
Then Jake came to pick me up in his Unimog and I really wish I liked him more because it would be so worth it to be able to have access to this thing all the time. Seriously, look at it:
AMAZING. But really uncomfortable. The engine is basically inside the cab and gets wicked hot and when it rains, as we found out last night on the way back from trivia, it is not leak-proof.
Still, a pretty awesome beach vehicle.
I know it’s early in the season, but you can really tell that the summer people are here already, and I’m basing this solely off of the snippets of conversation I overhear and how the women dress.
For example, Monday night I had a table of six—two moms and their kids—and the mothers were talking to each other like this: “I think I’m going to have a beer.” “Oh you should. You totally deserve it.” “I am. I am going to have a beer.” “You go girl!”
I wish I was exaggerating. It all sounds so fake and Real Housewife-y. Like the day I went to Indian Wells and there was a group of middle-aged women in their fancy cover-ups and Lululemon capri yoga pants and a couple of them were like, “We’re going to check out the food truck.” “Obviously we’re the ones eating on our exercise walk!” “Do you have any money?” “No, but I have my credit card number memorized! Hahahaha!” Ugh, no, stop. Materialism is not something that should be celebrated.
That’s what these people do—they come out here to celebrate themselves SO HARD. I can’t even take credit for that observation—Pete the bartender came up with it. He texted me one night to say, “At the EH Grill. Never seen people celebrate themselves so much.” I go on vacation to relax. The people who come out here to vacation do it to be seen and to see and judge others. And to feel fabulous about their wealth and possessions.
Yeah, and I recognize that further up in the post I specifically mention that I bought the expensive kind of sheets from K-Mart. I guess the difference for me is I don’t define myself by my purchases? Not that I think a lot of these people realize or admit that that’s what they’re doing, but think about it. I think there was a Vanity Fair or some similar magazine interview with Keira Knightly and she said something like, “I work hard to not be defined by the things I own.” And at first it’s like, well, yeah. That sounds kind of awful. But then you think about and it and what kind of shit must you own to potentially be sucked into deriving your identity from it? Oh, maybe something like a Maserati, a 30 million dollar house, an Hermés Birkin. Not the stuff I have: a five year-old laptop, a set of nice sheets from K-Mart, a Joy of Cooking, a couple of those energy saver light bulbs that cost more than the regular kind. You know what I mean?
I’m descending into bitterness. Leah’s getting her shit taken care of today, so I’m off to be supportive and all that.