Dr. Susan did my filling today, and I just can't rave enough about her. I left there wanting to write her a thank-you note, which is exactly what I believe I did the last time she did some work (other than my semi-annual checkup) on me. Now, you know you have a good dentist when you want to write her a thank-you note after your appointment!
She is always telling you what's going to happen next, what it's going to feel like, and then consistently checks in every minute or so, "You doing okay?"
I was having a little fracture filled in a tooth that already had a filling in it, so she had to drill a little bit into the old filling to "connect" this new section to it. At one point in the drilling, I raised my hand to indicate, that in spite of my tongue feeling like the size of a potato, "I felt that."
She stopped, and injected three hefty doses of Novocaine to the area directly around that tooth (this was in addition to the two big ones in the back of my mouth at the very beginning of the whole thing), and then she proceeded after a minute or two. Shortly, again, I raised my hand, and she said, "Hmmm. Let me switch to this less invasive drill, but it's going to be a little bumpy."
As it ground against my tooth, it sent ripples down my body, and I said, "Whew. That made my nipples hard."
Both she and the hygienist agreed that, no, most definitely, they'd never had anyone say that before.
At the end, she asked me if it felt like all of the gauze from under my tongue was out, and I said, "My tongue is so numb—and feels so fat—there could be a car under there for all I'd know."
From there, I drove out to IBM, and spent some time:
- unpacking my office
- hanging up one award, one certificate, and one poster
- hooking up my workstation and docking station
- getting access to the "e-Review" tool, which I need for a task I'm going to do tomorrow, and
- changing my printer configurations to access the ones on the fourth floor instead of the second.
I got a hankering for some Spaghetti with White Clam Sauce for dinner tonight, so before I left, I printed a recipe for it. I'm going to substitute spaghetti squash for the pasta.
On the way home, I stopped at Food Lion, where I bought said spaghetti squash, three cans of clams, some Romano cheese, and some rolls.
At home, I had a message on my answering machine from a collection agency, which I immediately knew wasn't for me.
I called the 800-number, and after the woman said, "I'm calling on behalf of our client, Bank of America, to collect at $359.60 debt of yours. We can take a check, or we can charge the amount to a credit card, or we can set up a payment account to take care of it as you can."
"I don't do any business with the Bank of America, so this can't be my debt." I said.
She replied, "Oh, well it is possible that we have the wrong John Martin. I'll need the last four digits of your social to verify the account."
To which I replied, "I'm not giving you the last four digits of my social for an account that isn't mine."
"Well, it's the only way I can verify that it's the wrong person."
I said, "Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not giving the last four digits of my social out to a collection agency I know nothing about for a debt that isn't mine. I'm just not doing it."
She got a little belligerent with me, "What do you think I can do with only the last four digits of your social?"
I had to bite my tongue to keep from SHIFTING INTO UPPER CASE with her, "I have have no idea, and that's why I'm not giving it to you," I said with matching belligerence.
She then, incredulously, said and did, this: "Well, let me tell you what the social security number is on the account and you tell me if it's yours."
Now you know that has got to be against some kind of law. Obviously, the person's name is John Martin and she told me his social security number.
"That's not my number," I said.
She then said, "I didn't think it would be," and then, "We're going to pursue collecting this debt."
Knock yourselves out.
In anticipation of my financial planning meeting with Nathan tomorrow, I sent him a snapshot of all of my IBM investments, and a copy of the new 401-K Plus plan, which he'll use to factor in with the other half of my investments that are under his charge.
Robert decided not to come to Raleigh for dancing tonight, so I put the Spaghetti with White Clam Sauce recipe on hold. That'll be better anyway, since it contains garlic, which I don't like to eat before going dancing.
I'll make it Friday night when he comes to town.
I received a paycheck from my final work at CECE over the summer, and it contained an affirmation on a sticky note attached to the statement from the administrative assistant in the area who mailed it to me: "Wish you were here." How incredibly sweet!
I thoroughly enjoyed dancing tonight. I had three wonderful two-step dances over the course of the evening—one each with Rick, Bill, and Joe.
Every once in a while, we do a dance that we haven't done for a while—one that used to be rote to me, but suddenly needs my mental attendance to get through it. I love the process of "feeling" a dance "bubbling to the surface."
It's an interesting process, both intellectually and physically, as each time through the complete set of steps, a bit more of it comes back, and then—all of a sudden—about a quarter of the way into the accompanying song usually, it's all back again, and I am free again to just dance the dance instead of thinking the dance. This happened tonight with Honky Tonk Badonkadonk.
I missed Robert for a waltz.