The Unnecessarily Defiant Dentist (& His Shitty Apology)

It’s such a pain finding a new dentist, isn’t it? But I really liked this one. My brother-in-law recommended him and I was pleasantly surprised by the office’s organization, professionalism and friendliness.

On my last visit, in anticipation of Hannah going for her first exam there the following month, I asked if they could look at the calcifications on her front teeth and tell me if anything could be done or not. I specifically told the hygienist that I didn’t want it mentioned in front of Hannah because she had been self conscious about them in the past. I didn’t want that box of worms reopened until I knew there was a simple—an affordable—solution. The hygienist and I both communicated this to the check out woman who said she understood. We even made notes in the system together and she reassured me that they would not bring it up to Hannah.
The day of Hannah’s appointment, I noted that a different dentist was on duty this time. I wasn’t even aware there was more than one dentist at this practice. Oh well, I’m sure he’s just as good, I thought and went back to watching Hulu. About an hour later, just-as-good-dentist came out to brief me on the state of Hannah’s pearly whites.
“So I spoke to her about her teeth calcifications and told her there’s a paste to get rid of them…” he started. I didn’t hear much after that because I was too busy having a conversation with myself in my head about how that could have happened.
“I thought I asked for the calcifications to be discussed with me in private and not in front of her. Weren’t there notes in the system?” I asked.
“Yeah I know, but it wasn’t a big deal, she was fine with it,” he replied.
“But that’s not the point. I asked you guys NOT to talk about it with her and you did anyway,” I kept going.
He just stared at me for like a million seconds without saying a word. I could imagine the thought bubble above his head though. And it had lots of expletives. As did mine. I remained silent, refusing to speak first.
“Well, I’m sorry,” he finally said with a definitely not sorry tone, and then further canceled it out with “But she didn’t seem upset by it.” Hmmm, he’s a stubborn one.
Yeah, I get it doc. I’m an overreactive borderline hysterical mom and you’re just a cool know-it-all dentist. I left the office without saying anything else about it because I wanted to give myself a chance to calm down.
I fumed all the way home and started to question why I was so mad. People make mistakes. Hannah WAS fine with it. I COULD afford the paste. No harm was really done.
Oh. It was his shitty apology.
If, from the beginning, he had just said “Oh I’m sorry! That was totally my fault. I should have ….blah blah whatever” instead of digging his heels in defiantly, I could have been more understanding. Annoyed, but not enraged.
I don’t like it when people pretend to apologize, but don’t really apologize.
Top 3 least sincere apologies:
1. They say sorry, but with a tone (which they pretend is a figment of your imagination).
2.They say they’re “sorry you feel that way” i.e. You’re not supposed to be upset.
3. They say soooorrrryyyy! i.e. sorry you’re an oversensitive loser.
They might as well just say what they mean: Sorry, not sorry.
Have you ever given or been on the receiving end of an sham apology? Tell me about it in the comments below! (Doesn’t it look like that tooth is giving the middle finger in the photo above? Made me laugh to myself)
Photo by Tom Hilton

#Throwback Thursday: Once Upon A Time, We Went To See Oprah

Originally published 10/28/14….I love remembering this trip…

For as long as I can remember, my mom and I had always wanted to attend an Oprah show taping. So this summer when I saw tickets to her “Live Your Best Life Weekend” go on sale, I had to snag some. Sure they were expensive. Sure it was a 6 hour drive to Atlanta. Sure we’d miss work and school. But hey. It’s Oprah. I booked the adventure.

After we arrived and checked into our fancy Oprah weekend hotel, Hannah and I headed over to O-Town. O-Town was a little neighborhood of tents and booths filled with all things Oprah. Everything from her OWN network to O Magazine to activities promoting all of the Oprah teachings was showcased. We saw a very long line to register for a Wells Fargo VIP package to the show. It was super hot and we were sweating up a storm.

Hannah said, “Let’s register”. I replied, “It’s toooooo hot and the line is toooooo long and the chances of us winning are one in a million.” We declined to enter.

That night Oprah spoke of trials and tribulations she’s experienced in her life. It was so exciting to watch Hannah as Oprah spoke about intention, gratitude, surrender and the golden rule because I could see it all clicking with her. She was the only kid I saw in the entire stadium.

The next morning we dined on fancy Oprah weekend french toast room service and headed off for day two. In a stadium that seats 18,000 people, our seats weren’t the worst and they weren’t the best, but they were ours and we were excited. Suddenly a woman’s voice over the loud speaker.

“And the winner of the Wells Fargo VIP package is Jennifer ***** and guest!”

Huh? A light shined on us and people around us were shouting “Congratulations!” as one of Oprah’s producers whisked us away. We walked the long walk down to the floor and were stopped in front of two seats that said “RESERVED”. They were reserved for us! Necklaces with “VIP” on them were put around our necks. We kept looking at eachother in disbelief. It was like we had won the lottery.

When Oprah came out on stage, we could just about touch her. I could not believe that we had won this contest (we’d somehow entered unbeknownst to me) and were sitting in front of someone I had watched on my TV screen for over 20 years.

When we broke for lunch, the loud speaker lady came on again instructing those with VIP Saturday tags to stay put. Oprah’s producer appeared again and asked us how we were enjoying the seats. I took that opportunity to ask him what we were waiting on. He pointed us in the direction of a small group of people who were heading upstairs and told us to follow. By the time we caught up with them, the group of people were standing at the elevators waiting for the next one to arrive.

Everyone was quiet as I asked the lady next to us, “Where we were going?”

She replied, “To meet Oprah!”

“Get out!” I exclaimed not fully believing her.

The elevator transported us upstairs and behind a velvet curtain was a beautiful world of yummy buffet food, free drinks and beautiful centerpieces on white linen table cloths. After we ate and took many pictures of ourselves, it was time to get pictures with Oprah.

As our turn came up, one of the producers asked me if we were the mom and daughter who won the VIP package. I said yes as she relayed the info to Oprah. Hannah walked up to her first and said, “Thank you for inspiring me” to which Oprah replied, “Awwwww thank you for inspiring me” and gave her a big hug. They let us each have a photo alone and then one with the three of us. I couldn’t even think of a single thing to say.

As we walked around the stadium, it was like we were famous. Everywhere we went people were congratulating us. On the way to the car, a lady yelled across the parking lot, “Are you the mom and daughter who won the VIP tickets?” Yep, that’s us. And life is amazing.

Person Of Interest, I Love You So Much

I’m obsessed with Person of Interest, a show on CBS. I’m a little late to the party since it’s in it’s fifth season and I’m only on season 2. No spoilers!

Each evening I’m a guest in a wonderful land of make believe where the complete badass on the left is ALWAYS the smartest and the complete badass on the right ALWAYS wins the brawl. The smart rich guy (of whom I’m very fond, even though he is the SUPER CREEPY serial killer from The Practice) sends the other smart handsome guy (who navigates the stickiest situations without ever raising his voice above a whisper) out on do-gooder missions to save the lives of people who don’t even realize they’re in danger.


Their missions, very growing towards the sun-nish…their methods, unorthodox. They’re like superheroes saving the world. Maybe that’s why I’m in love with it so much right now. They’re out there doing good…like many of us are trying to do…and they never ever lose.



Which Glasses Will It Be Today?

I’m always amazed at how different life can look from one day to the next, without anything ever actually changing. One day I have on dark glasses and everything about life feels super unmanageable. The next day, rose colored glasses are back on and life is no sweat. Nothing drastic occurred between yesterday and today…it’s just the glasses I picked up.

I would consider the dark days depression except it’s usually just a day here and there. Nothing consistent, just consistently sporadic. Though, admittedly, almost always tied to the level of my headache pain that day. Add extra stresses to that and life becomes a desert, barren and absent of hope and light.

Friday was a terrible headache day and I had to work on wedding items for my boss. No, it’s not my job. Not at all. I’m a corporate graphic designer being held hostage as a wedding designer. <sarcasm> Because yeah it’s perfectly normal to have a company designer also design your wedding on the clock along with all their other work. It’s not at all necessary for you to pay them for a freelance job. </sarcasm>

I actually entered Publisher’s Clearing House when I got home. 42 years old and I have never been desperate enough to turn to PCH. I am hoping there’s a bunch of balloons, confetti and an oversized check in my near future.

But yesterday was a good day because Hannah went with me to run errands. It made the chores seem much less chore-like with her there to talk and joke with. 

We passed a truck with this bumper sticker:takebackamerica.png

“Take back America,” Hannah read out loud. “Who has America? Did someone steal America?”

I reply as the voice of the bumper sticker driver, “These dang foreigners!……Oh wait, that’s us.”

And we laughed. Ya know, since we’re all foreigners.

Do you ever feel like you’re wearing different glasses from one day to the next? Here’s to rose colored glasses this week!

Remembering Pretty In Pink And Why Andie Should Have Stayed Single. Obviously.

Hannah was forced dying to go see Pretty in Pink with my sister and I when theaters brought it back for its 30th anniversary. Upon arrival, she felt very lucky we didn’t wear prom dresses like some very enthusiastic audience members. Instead we said the funny lines with, or sometimes slightly before, the actors—which I’m sure everyone around us was fine with.

I still got excited when the Psychedelic Furs started playing and Andie’s little pink car pulled up to the school. My sister and I made fun of Steff and all the linen. So. Much. Linen.

So Duckie already established Blaine is not a name, it’s a major appliance. Turns out Blaine was as weak as his name. He didn’t stand up for Andie when his disgusting friends treated her like dirt. Then he ghosts on her and refuses to break up with her to her face like a punk. He was too afraid of being judged. So many red flags, Andie!

Blaine had some growing toward the sun to do.

Duckie adored Andie, but she only connected with him as a friend. And I get that. You can’t feel what you don’t feel. And she was a good friend to Duckie. She couldn’t help that he wanted more.

In the end, Andie mistakenly gave that whimpering richie another chance. He even had the nerve to say to her, “I believed in you. I always believed in you. You just didn’t believe in me.”

How dare you, sir.

“What does that even mean?” my sister asked.

“Yeah that makes noooo sense,” I agreed.

“She needed to end up with neither of them.” Hannah was adamant. “The last thing we need is another forced relationship full of dysfunction!”

Not sure who “we” is, but I thought it was funny.

Fun fact: They original ending had Andie ending up with Duckie, but test audiences reacted badly to that version. So they changed it to have her end up with Blaine which I find puzzling since no one I have talked to EVER has been happy she ended up with the appliance.


#Throwback Thursday: Growing Up Is Hard

Originally published 9/1/13:

Trying to Escape Adulthood By Reliving My Youth

I have noticed the past 3 years since my mom passed away, I have been extremely nostalgic for my youth. I think looking into the past allows me to bring my mom back and the days where nothing bad ever happened.

I have looked up grade school friends on Facebook, poured over old photos and repeatedly relived memories of growing up. My iPod is purposefully filled with 70s and 80s wonderfulness that Hannah is already over. I’m drowning in Laverne and Shirley, Little House on the Prairie and Mork and Mindy reruns. I have even looked for episodes of Wonder Woman. Contemplated starting

I’m constantly telling Hannah “when I was younger” stories and watching as she looks at me with confusion when I educate her on record players, telephones with cords and taping songs off of the radio. I’ve shown her my old houses, my old schools and places we used to shop. She even politely humored me as we watched Back to the Future (still good) and Ghostbusters (not so good) together.

During 6th grade, there was a roller skating (not roller blading!) rink my friends and I went to. I remember that rink being dark with bright colored flashing lights. There was a screen at one end where they showed music videos. We would all gather around when Thriller or Girls Just Want to Have Fun would come on. There was a DJ booth where you could request your favorite songs and a snack bar where you could hang out with friends. Our parents would drop us of there on Friday nights and we would be in our own world for a couple of hours.

So a few weeks ago, I went back. It looked some the same, but a lot different. There was a lot of unnecessary junk added—an indoor playground type thing, some games including that ridiculous claw and mini golf course. The DJ booth was closed off, there were no music videos and they didn’t even turn the lights off when we skated.

Surprisingly, I was able to skate, though not with the stealth of my past. After about an hour and one Justin Beiber song too many, I asked the guy at the counter if they could play something 80s like Michael Jackson or Madonna. The guy hesitated. “So I can feel young again,” I joked. He laughed and said ok. I’m super charming when I make fun of my age.

We went back out on the floor as Michael Jackson’s “Remember the Time” began playing. I noted that this was 90s MJ and NOT 80s MJ. I mean, did that guy not know I meant Billie Jean or Beat It? Gah! Obviously! I kept skating as I tried to construct a Michael Jackson musical timeline in my head.

Not 30 seconds later, some teenager skates into me and I fall straight back onto the much-harder-than-I-remember-it floor. As I’m lying there, seeing stars, I think to myself “It’s true what they say. You really can’t go back”. I got up and we went home.

I know everyone thinks they grew up in a simpler time. A better time. A time where there was less chaos and more security. And that time is called “before we were grown ups”.

Why do we like nostalgia so much? What are some of your memories?

Photo courtesy of