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I love to be entertained. I’d say it’s one of my favorite hobbies. I love a good book, a well-written television show, and everything about going to the movies. Harry Potter, Hunger Games and Mad Men are my most recent loves. I couldn’t wait for the next book, that next episode, the next film. But each has come to an end and this last year I found myself a little depressed.

I’ve tried all sorts of replacements: Divergent- Hunger Games reworked; The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo- shock value;  and the worst yet- ABC’s Once Upon a Time- the Lost writers trying to fit the Lost blueprint into the popular fantasy genre, not to mention the horrendous special effects. I had almost given up.

Then a ray of light, hope in the midst of my despair! Downton Abbey.

I happened upon this little historical fiction on PBS’s Masterpiece Theatre right before New Year’s Day. Because I was highly disappointed by the BBC’s The Hour last year, I didn’t expect much from Downton. I thought I’d try a few episodes while my husband watched the 10,000 bowl games that I care nothing about.

Well, right off the bat- The Titanic sinks and the Earl of Grantham is left with no heir to his title, his money, and Downton Abby, a fictional estate in Britain’s North Yorkshire. The story follows the Earl, his three daughters, his American millionairess wife, and his meddling mother played by Maggie Smith. As the aristocrats grapple with the antiquated world around them- dealing with issues of inheritance, different classes in a changing society, and love and marriage, a parallel but very separate society in the servants’ quarters tackles the same issues.

The things I loved about Season 1:

The writing is superb- Each storyline is well developed and relevant. Each character is intriguing and vital to the plot. Mary is selfish yet endearing. I feel sorry for Edith and hate her all at the same time. I am appalled by O’Brian and equally repelled by Thomas. I cheer as the love develops between Mr. Bates and Anna, and hope that Matthew can figure it all out before the War begins. There are many characters, many story lines, and no lack of action. This show never slows down.

The art direction is fantastic- Highclere Castle in Hampshire is used  as a setting and could not be a more perfect and beautiful backdrop as the drama unfolds. The costumes are equally as stunning, bringing to mind the 1998 film, The Titanic, (sans early/cheesy computer generated special effects) and giving Mad Men a little competition in the television period-drama category.

The Season Finale puts both the writing and the art direction together beautifully. The excessive and dated aristocratic society come face to face with its absurdity as World War I is announced- announced during the most beautiful and lavish garden party- complete with linen-clad guests, white roses and a mint julep.  It’s a story for the eyes as well as the heart.

The things I hope for Season 2:

Better character development- Season 1 left me disliking Thomas so much that I couldn’t believe in him. He was too evil, too mean, and too selfish. The writers even managed to weave in a thread of humanity for O’Brian but left Thomas as terrible as ever. What bothered me the most about Thomas’s characterization was that he is the only homosexual character. I was troubled that the only gay character was the only completely horrible character- and I long to see him made real. To my relief, the beginning of Season 2 provided Thomas some depth, and the beginning of a back story which might prove to help.

The unrequited love story lines- I’m so over the unrequited love story lines and so tired of all the whining. I just get so Twilighted out and wish people would just say how they really feel! The relationship between Mr. Bates and Anna begins to take a very intelligent and intriguing turn in the Season 2 premiere that I applaud. On the other hand, the Matthew and Mary love story that is based upon the “I love you but I just can’t say so” mentality wears on me. My hope is that the writers are developing Mary’s character- maturing her and allowing her to show some empathy for Matthew’s fiance- instead of just creating the inevitable drawn out love affair that we expected for Season 2.

All in all, I can’t wait for Sunday nights. Thank you PBS for a wonderful surprise. How did I miss this one for so long?

I dare say that all of The Tiger Lilies readers will enjoy Downton Abbey too- you will not be sorry- at least until the episodes end.

Also, if you dig what I dig, check out this blog, YABookBridges.com. There is a post about Vixen, a book series set in 1920′s Chicago. I know I’m going to check it out.

Dental Chair Confessions

This post won’t have any photos, it won’t be warm and fuzzy, and it sure won’t be PC, but it will be honest. And maybe a little graphic.

So my dental history is something that I’ve kept quiet because of the Shame. My teeth are like rotting bones in the grave of my mouth that opens up once or twice a year to scare dental professionals. I guess it’s appropriate that my most recent visit to the lucky Edmond dentist was in October.

A brief history:

-One of my front incisors (a baby tooth) was brown, so my parents had it removed.  During that visit to Dr. Joel, he put some citrus flavored toothpicks in my mouth and I barfed all over the dental chair.

-I’ve never gone to the dentist without them declaring loudly and proudly that I have a cavity. They caught another one. Yay!

-I hallucinated when I had my wisdom teeth pulled and cried for my mother.

-I went on a flossing kick my freshman year in college and when I returned to the dentist over Christmas break, I had EIGHT cavities.

-I then stopped getting my teeth cleaned until I got married in 2006. The hub’s incessant flossing and Sonic-caring almost drove me to drink. Finally, I broke down and went to the best dentist of all time- Dr. Richardson. He made me feel like a real person, not a leper.

-Unfortunately for my teeth, we moved to Oklahoma in 2010 and I had to find another dentist. Cue the crazy looks, gasps, and the donning of the surgical masks when I open my mouth. It’s not contagious people!

So here I am at 31, in a dead-sweat at the dentist and hoping that it will be over soon. After the first dentist mysteriously no longer took my insurance anymore, the second dentist agreed to fill two cavities for me after seeing my x-rays. I went in on Tuesday and the nightmare began.

First, I asked for the gas, because I thought this might help my anxiety. But alas, it’s just like watching the surgery totally drunk. About half way through, I went back to plain oxygen. The dentist kept saying, “Oh, more decay.” “Wow, more decay.” “Just a little more decay.” Then, (God knows why she did this) but she showed me her work with the smoking drill; she let me take a look with a hand mirror. After I almost had a cardiac arrest and I kept myself from throwing up, she explained that my shell-of-a-tooth, soon to be filled, would probably need a crown in a year or two. Then, eventually a root-canal.

A few things about this bothered me- 1. Why just leave a shell of a tooth? If it’s that bad, why not pull it? 2. And why, if I will need a crown in a year or two, why not just go ahead and crown it now? 3. The irony was just too thick to ignore. Such a Royal Name: a Crown. Why not call it what it really is: a permanent patch over that cesspool of bacteria in my mouth.

After an hour an a half of drilling and filling and bite-blocking and gassing and nausea and panic, It was all over. But, hooray! “The decay was so bad, I’m afraid you will need to have two other molars refilled next week.” Oh, and to add insult to injury: “No sodas, not even diet.”

Right, asking me to give up Diet Dr. Pepper is like asking an Oreo to give up the creme filling. It’s like telling Romeo: “No Juliet.” It was just more than I could take.

I left there defeated and feeling disgusting. Never mind that I brush twice a day, floss at least weekly, and get my teeth cleaned (almost) every six months. I’m destined for dentures at 45.

I head back to the dentist on Tuesday for two more fillings; I’m sure they won’t be my last. I guess I’d rather my teeth be terrible than my eyes, my back, or my brain. But it sure would make me feel better if someone else out there felt as awful as I do when leaving the dentist. A shared confession might provide a little relief- the kind of relief I felt when Christina Aguilera finally put on a few pounds too.

Oh gosh, anxiety attack- what if I pass this on to my child? Tiger Lilies to those of you who have “never had a cavity.” (Said in a snotty, I’m so great, high-pitched voice.) Don’t feel so proud, you jerks- I’m convinced it’s all genetic.

It Begins. Couch to 5K.

For various reasons, I haven’t worked out in over 18 months. I’ve tried to get back on the treadmill a few times, but with no success. Now that my little guy is big enough to survive the flesh-eating bacteria that is probably crawling all over the gym nursery’s floor, I’m going to try the Couch to 5K training program. This is a training schedule that is designed for those of us that have literally been “on the couch” and now want to run a 5K. (30 little minutes, a 3 mile run)

So here is my motivation:

#1 My cousin, who has two children, is currently running her brains out and I’m competitive.

#2 I get winded picking my child up from the crib.

#3 Vanity strikes again; I’m all flab.

So here’s how it all went down; Couch to 5K, Day 1:

Last night at a baby shower I was finishing my second cookie and a Pioneer Woman stuffed mushroom when my two new friends, Courtney and Rebecca, invited me to come “jog” with them at Gold’s Gym. “Gold’s Gym?”, I asked as I licked my fingers, savoring the last bite of cream cheese. Oh right, I’m a member of Gold’s Gym- although the last time I darkened that door, it was Aspen Gym. (I believe the changeover happened months ago.) “I’d love to actually get a little bit out of my 15 year, $100,000 membership!” I joked.

But now I was in- so the baby and I headed out this morning to Gold’s. (That’s what the “regulars” call it.)

Upon arrival, I dropped my baby off in the sea of infection (the nursery) with reluctance but determination. A few of the 40 kids in there were screaming, but the two teenage girls behind the desk seemed un-phased so wished the baby luck and didn’t look back.

I climbed up on the treadmill and informed my two new friends that it wasn’t personal, but I wouldn’t be talking with them anymore. I would have to concentrate to breathe and that talking would complicate that endeavor. The Couch to 5K training guide explains that on week one, you should alternate 60 seconds of running with 90 seconds of walking for 20 minutes. So I skipped week one, naturally.

Week two alternates 90 seconds of running with 2 minutes of walking. I could do this. After all, I’ve run one marathon and two half marathons in my life, this would be easy. Right. Cue the following: head spinning, side cramps, blurred vision and gasping for air.

Half way through, I decided that if my son had a problem and the sea of infection called, I would need access to my cell phone which was on the floor. As I left the treadmill to retrieve the cell phone, Courtney thought I had fallen off. (Evidence of how taxed I probably looked at this point.) I assured her that I was fine and continued my 90 seconds/ 2 glorious minutes alternation.

I began playing little mind games with myself to keep motivated. (This is something I’ve always done as a runner, keeping myself going when the going-gets-tough.)

First, I found the prettiest 20 something in the place, who was wearing an OSU hat, and pretended that we were in a contest to see who could work out the hardest. This motivation lasted only so long.

Next, I turned on some tunes to get me pumped up. Unfortunately, I had to borrow my husband’s iPod shuffle because mine was not charged. I endured a few Journey songs sprinkled with maybe a Led Zeppelin number until a Black Eyed Peas song finally came on. Even Boom Boom Pow began to drag and I had to find something else.

By this time, I saw the creepy, and mustached 50-something giving me the eye from the elliptical machine across the way. (Or maybe he was just concerned about me, but either way, he took a quick look.) This one helped because now I was running from him. 

All in all, it finally ended when Courtney’s daughter brilliantly needed something from the nursery. Courtney’s name was called over the loud speaker, and I was off the treadmill.

Thankfully, I finished the Couch to 5K “Day 1″ and made it to my car without passing out. Tiger Lilies to all of you that have worked out post-baby. It’s damn hard. Here’s to hoping “Day 2″ is a little easier.

 

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