I can't flare my left nostril, and other things you always wanted to know...

So I finally went back to the dentist today. It was a million-dollar experience.

First, I am in the operating room, reclining at an extremely awkward position. My mouth, which is being held open artificially with a rubber-block-thing, is also covered with a rubber-band-type-cloth-thing. There is a clamp-thing fastened around my decaying tooth, and I can't feel the whole left side of my mouth. I also can't move my tongue or breathe or swallow. Tell me then, what makes the dental assistant think that I am going to be able to answer her when she is NOT asking yes or no questions? Why would she even talk to me? I can breathe through my nose, but I can't talk through my nose, people! It was so excruciating not to get to participate in the conversation.

A word about anesthesia. The anesthesia they give me usually lasts for a good 3 hours after I leave their office. So, on my way home (aka Starbucks), I peered in the mirror to see if my mouth looked any different. (For those of you who have never had a cavity, the anesthesia makes your mouth feel swollen and tingly.) I smiled... and decided I was bearing resemblance to Greta Van Susteren. If you know who that is, you will laugh. If you don't, Greta is a Fox Cable News anchor with a crooked smile who talks out of the side of her mouth.) It gets better.

My nose was feeling tingly, so I tried to flare my nostrils. Even up till now, ONLY ONE NOSTRIL IS FLARING! Talk about weird. I opted not to take a video, but trust me, it's awkward!

I have two experiments for you.

1. Go look in the mirror, and try to ONLY flare one nostril. I have a feeling it will be difficult.
2. Try to talk out of your nose.

Let me know how it goes. Till next time...

a coming-of-age story

It's not often I cook something almost totally from scratch - or something with more than 5 ingredients, as you may well know. A good dinner in the Gibson house usually equates to of a piece of meat or fish with a side of veggies and bread. Fortunately, Matt and I are both satisfied with a simple menu. (Note: Matt's diet in college consisted of spaghetti, mac n cheese, and turkey sandwiches. Very appetizing.)

Anyway, tonight our Nearly-Newly Married Group is coming over, and we are having a pot-luck of sorts. However, this is not your typical potluck. After almost three months of meeting twice a week with this group, I discovered that at least two of the girls (and their fiances, by default) prefer to eat gluten-free. Since the start of our group I've tried all sorts of gluten-free desserts for the first time.

Anyway, tonight we are having lasagna. (Leave it to the church group to have a potluck with lasagna - how predictable!) My original plan was to take the easy way out and just buy a frozen one - totally my style. But just for grins, I googled "Gluten-Free Lasagna," and found a yummy-looking recipe at http://glutenfreemommy.com/lasagna.

The kicker? The recipe calls for like 18 ingredients!!! (And a little love... But either way, it's way outside my comfort zone.) Anyway, it's hard to believe, but after some thought, I decided it just doesn't feel right to serve my guests a frozen lasagna (with gluten) that takes no time and no love.

Oh my! Did I really just say that? Maybe I'm growing up. Maybe.

I'll let you all know how it goes! :)

backseat driver

There are times in our marriage when I've been accused of being a bit of a control freak backseat driver. I have to admit that when Matt is at the wheel, I tend to get a little critical (or in my own defense, freaked out). I don't want to point out all of the little mistakes that I feel he is making, but when I sense that I am about to die, or that I see something he doesn't, it's only natural for me to scream bloody murder.

Now don't get me wrong; Matt is a responsible driver (ahem, when he's not trying to use his crackberry at the same time - and I have a story about that, too). It's just that I am also paranoid. So, someone could be putting on their brakes 1/2 a mile up the road, and if Matt doesn't break immediately, I'm screaming or hiding my face in my hands - freaking out - much to Matt's chagrin. And traffic makes it worse.

Ask Matt about the last few times we have gone to Houston to visit my sister and her family. From the time we hit Houston traffic till we pull in her driveway, we are both pulling our hair out. I think this last time I told Matt, "I just don't think you are driving very defensively!" (And what a civil way of putting it!) I think his response was something along the lines of, "Ughhhh!" He is always faithful to remind me that he drives every single day without me, and that he hasn't had a wreck since he was 17. Still.

Anyway, I am pretty sure the intensity of my paranoia is a big part of the problem. Next time I feel like I am about to die, I should probably pray first, and then if I still feel the need to scream bloody murder, I'll have at it.

panera bread and k-mart

Let me get this out of the way. I stumbled upon Panera Bread's Pre-Grand Opening today at their new location in the Gateway shopping center, and somehow earned free lunch for me, Matt, and my MIL, Kathy. It was total luck. If you think that sort of thing never happens to you, I am proof that there is hope! Anyway, they gave us free lunch under one stipulation, which is that we tell our friends that tomorrow is their GRAND OPENING. So there you go.

Now, here's another thing. Matt and I are not wine snobs. We like it, but if it's just for home, we will go cheap. Granted, we won't stoop as low as Sutter Home or Franzia, but still. So yesterday I called Matt from TARGET to tell him that the Barefoot Wine, which is usually $6 a bottle was on sale there for $5. Big savings right there.

Anyway, I decided to pass on the $1 savings, and tonight Matt said to me, "You should have gotten that wine at K-Mart."

Excuse me? K-Mart?

I love you, but how could you confuse TARGET with ANY discount store EVER? Target is the best, and should not ever be confused with ANY other. BTW, didn't K-Mart run out of business like 12 years ago? That's what I thought.

Sweet husband. I love him.

My Second Nephew!

BG on his way home! You can't really tell in these pictures, but he has so much hair!
He was born at 10PM on 4-20-09, and he weighed 7lb, 9oz, and was 20 inches long. He has long skinny legs, and dimples like his big brother and his dad.

With his proud Aunt Leah. Apparently the kid didn't cry during his circumcision, which seems amazing to me.


Bennett and Mommy from Cindy Buescher on Vimeo.

A proud big brother! When Peter met his baby brother, he said, "Hi ______, do you want some Chick-Fil-A?" This guy's world is about to change.

say it with me

Hey blogosphere! Let me get the apology for infrequent posting out of the way first. I am sorry. I've been stacking up a selection of post topics, but have not been able to get the momentum I need to turn those into actual posts. Do you forgive me?

Also, my sister had her baby on Monday night. So as soon as I get pictures, I will post them of my new nephew, Bennett George Vescovo! :) I went to Houston on Monday/Tuesday to meet him, and he is so precious.

But all that aside, I think we need to have a little talk. Because if you are EVER in public, and happen to be using the word "REALTOR®," I want to make sure you don't sound like an idiot. That is the point of this post. I want to educate you. (And if you are wondering... Yes, this is a direct response to a conversation I overheard at Starbucks in which the participants were talking very loud.)

First we need some definitions. What is a "Realtor?" The general public believes that a REALTOR® and a real estate agent or a real estate salesperson are the same. They are not. REALTOR® is actually a trademarked name given to those real estate agents that are members of the National Association of REALTORS®.

A real estate agent has a license to represent buyers and sellers. A REALTOR® is a real estate agent who pays a buttload (for lack of a better word) of money and takes extra courses to stay informed and be a member of their local, state, and national association of REALTORS®. They also have access to their local Multiple Listing Service, where most real property is listed for sale or rent. So be safe rather than sorry. Just say "agent" or "real estate agent." And NOW, for the MOST important part. PRONUNCI - freakin - ATION. :)

Do you see an "A" in between the L and the T of the word "REALTOR?"

The answer is NO, you sure don't.

So please, please, please, do not say "Real-A-tor." That is not a word. It's "reeeeel-tor." Please resist the urge to add an "A" or an "uh" where it clearly does not belong.

I'll work on being patient with the less informed. You're welcome. :)

Why "Awesome Alert" and "Gibbizarre?"

Where did I get the title "Gibbizarre?"

Simple. I combined our gangsta name, "Gibbizzle" with the word "bizarre." And there it is. This was originally a temporary name, but somehow it grew on me, and now "we" are stuck with it.

And why the description, "Awesome Alert?"

Do I really need to explain this?

Probably.

While one might be led to believe that "we" chose that description because "we" think "our" blog is awesome, I assure you that is not how we came up with the name.

Matt likes to say, "Awesome Alert," whenever he thinks something is cool. So, for instance, if he sold a house, he would probably hold up his hand for a high five, while simultaneously exclaiming, "Awesome Alert!" I literally put less than one minute into deciding on that description.

Nevertheless, in reference to the fact that I advertise my blog to anyone who may or may not be interested, Matt has accused me of being a "shameless self-promoter." So take it for what it's worth.

what makes one an adult?

If you read my post about Matt's brother, Meyer, you might remember that I wrote this:

"It took me marrying Matt to realize that there really are people in the world who don't enjoy being just a little rebellious. Matt is one of them. But Meyer is probably a little more like me; he has a little bit of a rebellious side (or as my mom likes to call it, an 'edge.')"

This edgy rebellion of mine came out twice on good Friday.

First situation was at Chuy's with Matt's family. Let's just leave out the details and say that Matt's 16 year old brother, Mitchell, made a sarcastic remark in response to a question posed by his mother. While I immediately busted out in laughter, Matt and his mom both scolded Mitchell and told him that his joke was "not funny at all." I then ducked my head and tried to hide the fact that I was laughing. Oops.

The second situation happened about an hour later when we were attending the Good Friday service at a Lutheran church with Matt's family. Matt's youngest brothers were not thrilled about having to go to the service, so we were trying a little bit harder to be optimistic and set a good example. That pretty much went down the pipe about two minutes into the service. You see, the script for the service was written in the 1800s, and it consisted of liturgy followed by very dramatic transitions into opera style music. At every transition, I started to snicker, and I eventually had to pull out my Bible and ignore the singing just so that I wouldn't be a bad influence on Matt's brothers. I'm pretty sure Matt "ssshhhed" me about five times before we left... but I caught him holding back laughter.

Anyway, Matt became an adult when he was 11, and we're still not sure about me.

Good Friday

Forgive me for skipping my family profiles two weeks in a row now. In honor of Good Friday, I wanted to share the following video. The dude talking is Matt Chandler, an extremely gifted pastor at The Village Church in Dallas. I frequent his podcast. (Forgive the alignment problems.)



Isaiah 53 - A Prophecy About Jesus, the suffering Servant.

1 Who has believed what he has heard from us?
And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?
2 For he grew up before him like a young plant,
and like a root out of dry ground;
he had no form or majesty that we should look at him,
and no beauty that we should desire him.
3 He was despised and rejected by men;
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;
and as one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

4 Surely he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted.
5 But he was wounded for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his stripes we are healed.
6 All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have turned—every one—to his own way;
and the Lord has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.

7 He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he opened not his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he opened not his mouth.
8 By oppression and judgment he was taken away;
and as for his generation, who considered
that he was cut off out of the land of the living,
stricken for the transgression of my people?
9 And they made his grave with the wicked
and with a rich man in his death,
although he had done no violence,
and there was no deceit in his mouth.

10 Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him;
he has put him to grief;
when his soul makes an offering for guilt,
he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days;
the will of the Lord shall prosper in his hand.
11 Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied;
by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant,
make many to be accounted righteous,
and he shall bear their iniquities.
12 Therefore I will divide him a portion with the many,
and he shall divide the spoil with the strong,
because he poured out his soul to death
and was numbered with the transgressors;
yet he bore the sin of many,
and makes intercession for the transgressors.

leah goes to the dentist (continued)

Note: Read part 1 first. And do I really need to tell you that? You are smart enough to know.

So...I've lived with an aversion to "the dentist" since I got my first cavity, probably while I still had my baby teeth. Lord knows the dentists have never had an aversion to me; when I go to visit, it's like they are getting their semiannual bonus. They LOVE me at the dentist.

This relationship sort of explains the last 2 months of my life in which they constantly pursued me and I just ran away. You see, I had my semi-annual cleaning scheduled in February at the same dentist I've been going to since 8th grade. I really didn't feel like going to the dentist in February, so I canceled my appointment.

I kid you not that I have been "missing" an average of 2-3 phone calls a week since February. And then the unthinkable: I ran into my dental hygienist at H-E-B on Monday. On Tuesday, I missed another call. So, I took the little hint from God, and finally called yesterday to make a cleaning and x-ray appointment for today.

When I got there this morning, my hygienist told me that when she saw me on the schedule, she and the dental assistant who had been calling had a minor battle over who should get the credit for the fact that I finally booked my appointment. It sort of makes me wonder if the dentist has some sort of deal with them - like if they can get people with "problem teeth" to come in, they get commission or something.

It really wouldn't be a bad idea because like I said before, when I go to the dentist, it's not a matter of whether or not something will be wrong with my mouth, but about what is going to be wrong with it this time, and how much it is going to cost.

Today, while my hygiene report was good, they still found cavities problems. Usually these "problems" lead the dentist to ask me (EVERY single time I see him) if I am still wearing this splint that I got in 10th grade to protect my teeth from grinding while I sleep. Until this time, I have always answered, "Yes, but I think I take it out subconsciously in my sleep." But this time I told the truth... almost all of it.

I was never good about wearing that thing, but over the years I have had phases of compliance. Anyway, two years ago after I broke one of my fillings from grinding so much, I decided that I was going to start using it regularly... except first, it needed to be cleaned.

So I, being the genius that I am, cannot be satisfied just cleaning it with the typical sanitizer. Instead I decide that I need to put it in boiling water to clean it. Um, it's made of hard plastic. Der. So, naturally, it shrunk, and I said goodbye to the expensive splint that was fitted perfectly for my tiny little teeth. I tried to go to Walgreen's and get the kind that you form to your teeth by yourself, but I found it's effectiveness lacking.

So when the dentist saw signs of rather intense teeth grinding, he was faithful to ask, "Do you still wear your splint every night?"

"Um, no." (Leave it at that. Does he really need to know that I'm a total idiot?)

"No?"

"It's gone."

"The dog ate it, huh?"

"Yep."

Then I got a lecture, and they actually think it's MORE urgent for me to get a splint than it is for me to get my cavities filled other problems fixed, if that tells you anything. I'm afraid that they are afraid that I am going to lose my teeth, and to be honest, I think Matt is right there with them; he "jokes" that all of my teeth will be gone by the time I am 35.

So, long story short, I received a lovely piece of paper with the suggested treatments and the cost of the treatments and was told that the teeth grinding issue was urgent. Let's just say that paying for my teeth won't be an issue, but there wasn't exactly an allowance in the newly revised budget for my million-dollar mouth. Okay, okay, it's not millions.

Before we parted, the dentist told me that he would rather me put him out of business with my perfect teeth than have to keep getting expensive treatments for the rest of my life. And just when I was starting to feel good about contributing to his welfare...

Stay tuned for information about how you can donate to the cause of my million-dollar mouth.

And I hope that you know that last sentence was a joke, but just in case... that was a joke. Happy Thursday!

leah goes to the dentist (Part 1)

Note: This post was way too long, so I had to break it up.

I've been a little short on blog material this week, which has actually been a nice chance for me to focus more on Easter and the mystery of the cross of Jesus Christ, my Savior, and the Savior of the World. I have loved that.

But then, I went to the dentist, and I realized that I have been concealing a huge "gibbizarresque" part of my life since the start of this blog: my relationship with the dentist.

When I go to the dentist, it's not a matter of whether or not something will be wrong with my mouth, but about what is going to be wrong with it this time.

I used to be ashamed of this reality because I didn't do what I was supposed to as far as dental hygiene goes. And on top of that, I don't suck jolly ranchers, I chew them, and I used to chain-chew an unbelievable amount of bubble gum. So less than excellent hygiene plus a diet consisting of about 50% sugar doesn't so much help someone like me. Oh, and do not let me forget to mention that my top and bottom teeth fit together like a puzzle because I grind them so much.

But I have stopped feeling ashamed at the dentist for several reasons. First of all, my brother's hygiene wasn't much better than mine growing up, and he has maybe only had one cavity ever. Second of all, Matt's brother, Mitchell, eats far more candy than I do, and he also does not have a cavity problem. And lastly, I have showed very strong improvement in both hygiene and sugar consumption in my adult years, and the problems haven't gone away. All of the evidence leads me to conclude that this is a genetic problem. I guess only God knows that, but I am passing off the blame until all is revealed.

I guess there is one thing that still makes me feel a little ashamed, and that's the fact that Matt has PERFECT teeth and PERFECT hygiene, not to mention the fact that he doesn't eat much sugar and he doesn't grind his teeth. And would any of you expect anything less than perfection from Matt?

But to say that he doesn't understand my dental problems is a ridiculous understatement. I know that many of you out there are like Matt in this respect, and I'd like to suggest that you take a good look inside and consider whether or not you've been self-righteous when it comes to your perfect little teeth? Now I am getting off topic, and this is getting long, so let me get on with the story... continued here.

really? (note: read previous article first)

I don't know who's crazier in this whole saga. Is it the mom? The judge? or The doctor? Or is it the yet-to-be-determined surrogate mother? (Cause we all know some weirdo who needs cash and attention will step up to the plate to carry the baby.)

I'm thinking that the judge wins the crazy award. The doctor and the surrogate mother and the mom all get something (besides just attention) out of it, regardless of the fact that we now all think they are deranged.

If you can't tell, I am legitimately disturbed. But I will try very hard to make this my last post about psycho-mom. Your thoughts and alternative opinions are welcome.

this woman lives in my town?

One woman is doing her part to keep Austin weird. Read the story here. Am I the only one who thinks this is absurd?

hello blogosphere

Sorry I've we've been AWOL! Apologies for skipping familial Friday. I know you were probably heartbroken.

To be perfectly honest, nothing Gibbizarresque has so much taken place. I've been doing our taxes and perfecting the previous "budget" which was unrealistic and also ignored.

But here's an update. I PICKED UNC TO WIN THE NATIONAL TITLE. (Me, along with millions of other Americans, including the president.) Nevertheless, I will toot my horn for everyone to hear. Toot.

That also made me first place in the "pick 'em" group that Matt invited me to take part in. Toot. Okay, there were only 4 people in our group.

On another front, we have finally gotten around to setting up the weather center that my dad got Matt for Christmas. (To my knowledge, we never told you about this because we were waiting till was set up to blog about it.) All we have left to do is install it outside, and that will be the beginning of Matt's weather forecasting career. Coming soon: Matt streaming live from our deck. Thanks for the initial investment, Dad.

No but seriously, couldn't we all picture Matt chasing tornadoes? You might not be able to, but I can. (Remember people, he is a drama king.)

Sometime last year, there were a series of tornadoes spotted within miles of our house, and Matt refused to come inside and take refuge in the bathroom with me. He wanted to go OUTSIDE to see the tornadoes instead. I think I had to pretend to cry in order to get him to cooperate. (Oops, is that manipulation?)

And you all thought he was perfectly reasonable all the time, didn't you?

Okay enough, Leah! I don't even know what I am writing about anymore! I just wanted to say hi! Have a terrific Tuesday! :)

officially awkward

Oh my gosh. I am officially the most awkward person on the planet. This literally happened less than 5 minutes ago, and the story can't wait. So without further ado...

I'm pulling into a rather small parking spot at my second favorite Starbucks in town. As I am pulling in, I notice that the owner in minivan in the spot next to me is still in his car. Awesome.

So I am parked really close to him (because the spaces are small), and I consider just backing out and parking somewhere else. Then it seems like the dude in the minivan is about to leave, so I decide to just park it. It turns out that the dude wasn't really leaving, he was just readjusting because I was parked too close to him.

He then rolls down his window and says, "The spaces are small."

But my window is up, so I roll mine down and say, "I'm sorry?"

And he says, "Sorry, the spaces are really small."

I immediately misinterpret his apology to be a sassy, "Hate to break it to ya, but you're gonna need to move" tone.

So to keep the rapport, I snap back, "OH, so I need to park somewhere else, huh?"

The guy was actually being nice and he totally didn't catch onto the sass. In fact, he thought that I was being nice to him by offering to park somewhere else. (But don't kid yourself, it was totally sassy.)

He responds very calmly since he didn't catch the attitude and says, "Oh no, you can stay there, I was just letting you know why I readjusted my car. I wanted to make sure you could get out."

I immediately feel terrible for being a sass-master, remember that I am actually going to Starbucks to read my bible, and then begin overcompensating for the bad attitude with overt friendliness.

"Oh, well, I just might go park somewhere else; that would be easier."

Dude responds, "No don't worry about it, I am just waiting on my wife, and we are about to leave anyway."

I respond, "Well, okay. Thanks."

Then I notice he has a kid in the backseat. (Mind you, I am still trying to compensate for being a total butt.)

"Oh you have a baby?" I asked with an unusual amount of enthusiasm.

Man responds, "Yep," but looks concerned like, "Why in the world is this crazy woman asking about my kid?"

I immediately realize that if I act too interested in some stranger's kid, it might freak him out a bit, so once again, I try to overcompensate.

"Oh, well, I am just really obsessed with babies right now..." (A completely false statement - and do I really think THAT statement is going to make him feel better about the situation?) "... My sister is about to have a baby."

Man sort of nods in a way that suggests the conversation is over.

I walk the walk of shame into Starbucks and live to blog about it.

Moral of the story? Don't try to bail yourself out when you act like a nincompoop; you will only make it worse. Just humble yourself, receive the forgiveness that you could never earn, and move on. Just move on.

those kitchen appliances will get ya

Matt and I have started getting ready-to-bake pizzas at Papa Murphy's on nights when we decide not to cook. 1- They are really good. 2- They are really cheap.

Last night, we were going to be eating a late dinner, and so we opted to get the pizza instead of cooking. My job was to pick up the pizza on my way home from a meeting, and Matt's job was to preheat the oven.

When I got home at about 9:15, Matt greeted me at the back door.

Matt: "Now, I don't know if we are going to get to eat the pizza. I think something's wrong with our oven." (Trying to break it to me gently and also carrying a somewhat concerned tone.)
Leah: "Really? What is it doing?"
Matt: "Well, when I turned it on, it made a really weird noise, and I smelled a lot of gas."
Leah: "Okay, show me. I am not going to be happy if we have to eat spaghetti."
Matt turns on the oven to show me. Nothing unusual happens.
Matt: "Do you hear that?"
Leah: "What? The gas?"
Matt: "Yes, it NEVER makes that noise. Is it leaking?"
Leah: "Um, babe, It ALWAYS makes that noise."
Matt: "No way, there's like a FIRE in there."
Leah: "When was the last time you actually turned the oven on?"
Matt realizes that the only thing he ever cooks on his own is spaghetti, waffles, and eggs, and that the last time he turned on the oven was probably at least a year ago.
Matt: "That's so weird. It's like there's a fire in there."
Leah takes over the operation of kitchen appliances.

I think Matt has a general paranoia concerning the household appliances he doesn't use very often. It is not an exaggeration that every time we leave the house together while the dryer is still running he says something like, "The dryer's running. I hope our house doesn't burn down."

Once again. Drama King.