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Diaryland

2004-12-08

Finish up!

I went in to my final appointment with the orthodontist. Since I still need the braces to stay on my big teeth, they prepared me for a transfer. They took a molding of my teeth (jamming a clay-waxy substance in my mouth; I recalled it tastes better this time around). They took new x-rays, and then some snapshots of my new smile. I must admit, the teeth are so-much so-much SO-MUCH better than when I first got braces 2 years ago. All I need now is to even out my bite so my teeth touch down correctly when I bite down.

I called the office in advance and told them about this. Doctor Ay didn't seem to have gotten the message, so he was surprised when I told him. While I told him I was leaving, his face was close to mine as I laid back in the chair. I noticed things about him I never had before. Hmmm, he has fair olive skin with a sunkissed touch, like mine in the summer. His face is slightly oily. His dark hair grew longer since the last time I had seen him, and it was lightly gelled with curl(!) Curl! I never knew his hair curled! My lips were deliciously close to his cheek while we talked. Yummy! I promptly added him to my wish-for-a-kiss list.

I didn't get a kiss, unfortunately, but a simple well-wish. I then left the office with $100 I didn't quite expect to give so they could copy my records, make my mold, and give them to me so I can give them to the next orthodontist. Hoorah!

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I gave Greaseball the landlord my 30-day notice. He'll be happy. I painted the interior of my flat quite nicely. Then, he'll be able to raise the rent to the next suckas who move in. He said he wanted to see me off, so we'll probably go out drinking before I leave.

When I met him to sign the lease in August 2002, he looked at me funny. He asked, "you're not Arab, I'm not sure if you're Italian or maybe Greek, but what are you?" He was wearing a hat with the Virgen of Guadalupe on it and he looked ethnic himself (he looks just like Ron Jeremy of the present, excuse me for saying) so I told him I was Mexican and Puerto Rican. He said, "no shit! They're all I rent to!" He owned a bunch of properties in Mexicotown in Southwest Detroit.

Next was when I boggled him. I was the first Latina he rented to who:

Went to and graduated from college

Went to graduate school

Didn't have any kids

Never been married or have any lingering relationships

Didn't have a boyfriend, or any for that matter who hit me, was in a gang, or in prison

Didn't have a drug problem or been in jail

It pisses me off that it's that way for many Latinas. The unfortunate part is I've known MANY, family members included, who were in those states. Latinas get a raw deal in many places. Those paths were all-to-easy to follow, and that's part of why I ran away.

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Last but not least, I gave the notice to the library folks. The univ.lib people were really excited and word spread quickly. I told the pub.lib, and I was suprised to see my supervisor Ms. Nightengale's eyes tear. She was happy for me, but said she was very sad to see me go. I ended up giving her my notice only one day after my first anniversary with them. I guess she really did like me, but we never really talked unless it was about a project or something I screwed up doing.

Everyone was surprised to hear about it, but the consensus among the librarians was: "you're leaving your rank as an indentured servant? You're leaving for a full-time job with benefits, better pay, and different working environment... in Florida? Rock on!"

I coordinate the magazines in the library, and one of the ladies assigned to work with me hates my guts. I bet she was singing ding, dong, the witch is dead! The witch is dead! The wicked witch is dead! I wasn't evil towards her or anything, but I could tell she'd rather do other things than work with me.