I feel bad for Israel, Mitt Romney is coming for a visit. Oye Vay! I’m hoping he gets stopped at the airport with planted weed, knives and weapons of mass destruction in his bags. I’m also hoping his entourage drives on Shabbat and gets rocks thrown at him. Oops, did I say that out loud?
Is it just me or do other people have a huge phobia of Dentists? I don’t know why I have such a fear of them, but I do know that I’d rather have another baby than go to the Dentist. Actually, now that I think about it, I would even prefer a colonoscopy to having someone put their hands and sharp tools into my mouth. The night before my appointment I have to either consume large amounts of alcohol or take Valium, otherwise I lay awake all night starring at the ceiling. You would think that having a Grandmother that used to be a Dentist would make one MORE comfortable with getting dental work, but in my case I believe that it made me LESS comfortable.
Let me explain. My Grandmother went to dental school right after the War, which might as well have been during dinosaur times. The fact that she never worked on her children or grandchildren was definitely alarming to me, and raised a lot of questions in my head as to why she always referred us to other dentists… She had no problem with fixing other people’s teeth, but when it came to us she would state: “I have a very heavy hand and don’t want to hurt you.” To this day I have absolutely no clue what that means.
Or maybe my brain has ingrained the image of all those Soviet dentists I had to go to as a child. The memory of getting my teeth pulled without Novocain, the pre-historic tools they used (see pic), the cavity work without anesthetic, etc… I wonder if any of that has to do with my terrible fear of the dental chair?
I do remember getting out of mandatory visits to the Dentist with my class. For those of you not familiar with how Communism works, apparently the government has the right to decide when and how children are supposed to visit the Dentist, amongst other physicians. Basically, during various times throughout the school year our teacher would take us on a “field trip” to the Dentist. And every year, as soon as I was placed in the dental chair, I would announce that my Grandmother is a practicing Dentist therefore there was no need for my check up. A couple times I did get away with it, but most times I ended up being dragged back there by my Mother the very next day. Let’s just say that by forth grade I had developed a file that read DIFFICULT/DEFIANT.
Not only did we have “fieldtrips” to the Dentist, but we also got visited by “nurses” in the beginning of the school year to give out vaccines right there at our desks! Dead, honest truth. They had those Sci-Fi looking guns that shot out a dose of vaccine, which sounded like an air gun going off. (See pic) It was the scariest thing in the world, and we all dreaded those days when the “nurses” made their rounds through the school. We had other so-called fieldtrips also, to clinics and medical offices to name a few. I wasn’t kidding when I wrote awhile back that when my husband got to go on potato chip factories on his fieldtrips, I went on Concentration Camp fieldtrips. But that wasn’t until we were much older, more mature and able to comprehend the atrocities of the Holocaust, around the age of twelve or so. More on that later.
Could all of that contribute to my anxiety and debilitating fear of dentists?
Is it just me or is the show, ‘The View’ going down the hill? The last couple of years it seems that the show has gotten a lot more hostile than in the past… They have great guests on the show, and their topics are pretty relevant but its the hosts that bug me the most. Not all of them, mainly the blond, bitter, and very angry 70-year-old woman trapped in the body of Elizabeth Hasselbeck.
How could a 33-year old person be filled with so much anger, resentment and bitterness? Every time, I tune in to the show and listen to her speak I can’t help but want to scream at her: “Chill out, loosen up, take a breath, relax woman.” She is constantly arguing, yelling and trying to prove her point. Granted there are three or four other women to compete for air time with, but come on! Every single conversation, every topic becomes a yelling match with her. It’s like she is trying to over-compensate for her young age or something.
Hasselbeck has to always be right, with every single topic. Does she ever listen? Sure, she seems to sit there and pretend to listen while the others are speaking but the whole time you hear her trying to get a word in. How can a young person be so radically Republican and a conservative? Aren’t most young people just want peace, love and equality? How badly was she damaged during her childhood that she has to turn so conservative? I really would love to try and have a conversation with her, I doubt it would be anything more than a monologue though… Who hired her to be on the View anyway?
She really needs to pull that stick out of her butt, take a Xanax and try having sex once in a while. It will do her body good, not to mention put that anger into a coma for a little while. Again, just my opinion…
Years ago, I had applied for a position with the Department of Homeland Security. Why would I apply for a position with the Homeland Security? Who knows… Remember my post about my ADD, and pins in my ass? Well, that’s why. This was right after 9/11, and they just formed this new Department. Homeland Security was looking for people that spoke fluent Russian, to interview potential immigrants that are trying to come to the U.S. My family and I had to go through that interview process when we immigrated here. So, when my oldest son started school I decided to go back to work. The position they advertised looked very lucrative. Pretty good starting salary, full government benefits and all I had to do was sit on my butt all day, and talk with people. If you know me, you understand how I could not turn that down!
I filled out an online questionnaire that only took six hours to complete, faxed over all the necessary documents, and sat back and waited. And waited, and waited. When I received a letter in the mail six month later, I seriously thought that someone was playing a joke on me, and purposely applied me for a position with DHS. I completely forgot about it.
The letter asked me to come down to San Diego for a written test, and then wait some more. A full year and eight months of my second pregnancy later, I received another letter telling me that I had passed the written test with 96%, and now they were scheduling me for a physical exam to make sure I was in good mental and physical shape. I was so excited, yet confused about why I needed to be in a good physical health to sit at a desk all day?!?! How was I going to hide my 8-month pregnant belly… Not to mention, how was I going to do at least 10 sit-ups, run up and down the stairs, and do at least 10 jumping jacks? To a normal person, reading that letter would have set off some kind of a red flag in their head. Not to me. I was as excited as President Clinton upon learning that Jewish girls were allowed in the White House!
Thankfully for me, this is the government we are talking about, they weren’t booking the exam for another three month. That gave me time to have the kid, pass him off to Mom, get rid of all the baby weight, get into a body-builder shape, and all in two whole months. I really thought I could do it. Hell, if Kate Hudson and Angelina Jolie can do it, I can do it. And they were losing weight for a much greater good that serving their country, they were doing it for the love of film and nude scenes.
I show up to a Medical office for my physical exam feeling pretty confident. I am instructed to change into my “work-out clothes”. I really didn’t want to explain to the nurse that my “work-out clothes” don’t include a sports bra and shorts, but rather a bed with some nice 600-thread sheets on it, but I did it anyway.
First, I did the drug test which didn’t worry me at all. Being a mom to a 5-year-old and a newborn doesn’t leave much time for recreational drugs, unless you count alcohol as one. Next they had me do a full physical with a 300-lb woman who I am pretty sure was enjoying it a lot more than I was… When it came time for a physical endurance test, I was sent to another room that had a small step ladder, a chair and a mat in it. I knew I was in trouble when the amazon woman pulled out pages of what I was supposed to complete. At first, I had to do ten push-ups, while she sat on my feet. I tried to explain to her that I had just had a baby about two months before, and wasn’t sure if I could even do one push-up. Whatever stomach muscles I had pre-pregnancy were long gone! She pretended not to hear me, and repeated the order. See, most sane people would have told her to go where the sun don’t shine, and run out of there. But since I am far from sane, I kept taking her orders while trying not to cry. I managed to do one push-up, at which point I was very proud of myself. The amazon woman just gave me a glance, and told me to get myself up off the mat and start doing jumping jacks.
By the time I was done, I felt like I was hit by a truck, and I am pretty sure I passed out for a bit there too. At the end, they handed me a small packet containing my results, and told me NOT to open it until I get a letter in the mail stating that I can open it. As soon as I got in my car, I opened it. It stated that I basically failed every single physical test, and they do not recommend me for the position I applied for. As I sat there pondering, again what the hell my physical strength has to do with doing a desk job, I realized that some idiot at Homeland Security probably got my paperwork switched with another applicant. Since it is absolutely impossible to get through to any government agencies by phone, I had no choice but to sit and wait for another letter.
That letter finally came three months after the physical exam, and this time it stated that I was moving on to an actual Human to Human interview. This in-person interview was going to be held at the FBI offices in San Diego, since the position would be out of that office. Wait a minute, I applied for the Orange County offices position. How the hell was I going to get to San Diego every day? Not wanting to pass up an opportunity to work for the government, and having gone this far already I couldn’t just let this go by, I had to go to the interview! Once there, I thought I would simply explain the situation, tell them that something got mixed up along the way, and we would all have a big laugh about it while they offer me the greatest job ever.
I show up at the FBI offices in San Diego wearing my brand new Ann Taylor suit, happy as a clam! As I looked around the room, I had a strange feeling that I was in the wrong place. All other applicants were either dressed in CHP uniforms, police uniforms or a combination between a policewoman, a hooker and a cross-dresser. The green eye shadow really gave it away. I felt completely out of place, especially because they were looking me up and down like I was their prey. They were trying to figure out what position I had applied for and why…
Once I was called inside, I was standing in front of a very long conference table. In my whole life, I have never seen a table that long, and I am pretty sure it was there for one reason: Intimidation. There were only three people at the table, why else would they need such a long table besides to intimidate the interviewees? There was a very large gentleman wearing a California Highway Patrol uniform, why the hell was he there? Next to him there was an even larger gentleman wearing a Military uniform, and lastly a tiny bald man in civilian clothes. Nothing more intimidating to a five-foot-nothing girl than to be interviewed by giant men in uniform, except for the bald guy. He didn’t scare me.
Baldy started the interview by telling me that they will each read one question for me to answer. They were very random questions, such as my work ethic and if I would ever leave an Officer behind if they were hurt. I really didn’t understand how it had any relation to the position that I applied for, and being too scared to ask any questions of my own, I just kept answering what I thought they wanted to hear. “No, Sir I would never leave an Officer behind!” What Officer, what the hell is he talking about? Where and why would I need to leave an Officer behind? Like during lunch, at Chili’s? You would think at this point I would just walk out, but I didn’t. I guess I really wanted to see where this would go…
The last question they asked me was: “I’m going to paint a scenario for you: Its dark, the middle of the night. You are all alone at the border of U.S. and Mexico. Your life may be in danger, and you have no way of calling for back-up. Do you still take the job?” I stared at them with a black look on my face, trying to figure out if this was a joke. I started to say something in the nature of: “I think I may be interviewing for the wrong position here…” The giant in the Military uniform cut me off saying: “Would you like me to repeat the question?” They were not going to take “NO” for an answer. I wanted to yell out: You can repeat the question all you want, buddy. The answer is still going to be NO! But instead, I mumbled something, I can’t even remember what. They told me that was the end of the interview, and I need to wait out in the hall for their decision. As I stood in the hall for what seemed like an eternity, I kept going over what just happened inside the conference room. I was baffled, scared and pretty sure that I had peed in my pants a little. For a tough chick like me, this sure seemed over the top.
Why the hell I kept waiting out in the hall is beyond me. What comforted me was the fact that they would come out and tell me its a “Hello NO!”, and in a way I was relieved, since it was obvious I was interviewing for the wrong job! Well, it was obvious to me, but what happened next was an apparent lack of common sense in our government!
They finally let me back in, but this time don’t even ask me to sit down what I thought was a bit rude, but who am I to argue with the Federal Government. Without any hesitation, all three looking at me they announce that I got the job of Border Patrol Officer! What? Me? A hundred and ten pound, five foot nothing, Ann Taylor suit wearing, never go camping or having desire to, afraid of the ocean, 5-star hotel minimum, never seen or touched a real gun in person, getting lost in a city I’ve lived in for twenty years, forgetting which way to turn when getting off the freeway ramp while going home, taking two showers minimum daily, wearing make-up to the gym, sanitizing every public toilet before using it only not to ever sit on it, hypochondriac with irritable bowl syndrome? You want me to do what? Stand and guard our borders with Mexico, day or night with a weapon? I am pretty sure I said something along the lines of: But there will be a nice, private toilet near-by, right?
Don’t you feel extremely comforted knowing our government is sending tiny, inadequate, young, Russian-born, Jewish mothers to guard our borders against human traffickers, drug smugglers, and anyone else wanting to get into this country?