Plates

No, not the garden variety found in your cupboard. And I bet you thought I might possibly be talking about one in my head (the one that I previously mentioned that allows me to receive HBO through my eyeballs), given all that I've written so far, huh? :-) Well, actually, I'm talking about the ones in my jaw.

No, they're not plates, actually, but that's the way they feel and how I think of them. I just got back from the dentist for a fitting for a mouth guard. Apparently, I have TMJ problems. The "plates" in my jaw have apparently shifted a bit; have become unhinged. Sigh. The paste for making the mold was kind of goopy, and funny-tasting. But watching the assistant whip it up in a bowl made me think of how amazingly similar it is to mixing cake batter. I never knew. Anyway, all was well when I saw my dentist whip out this little glue gun for your mouth to make yet an addendum to the first mold, if you will. I was fascinated - it looked like something Austin Powers would have used.

In some ways, it's only apropos that I live here in L.A., home to one of the biggest dance floors where Mama Earth shakes what God gave her. I mean, my plates have shifted, too. Now, my father jokes that my having a mouth guard is apropos as well - only he thinks it should be upgraded to a muzzle. (You have to know my dad to understand that that's not an insult; we Schraders have a weird way of showing our love.)

You know, with all of my wacky musings and notes here on Facebook, my former classmates and sorority sisters on here must wonder, "What happened to that girl? Is this the Tina we knew?" Well, yes and no. Yes, I still have the same DNA I used to. But, also, no - I'm also older, wiser (HA!), and... my plates have shifted. (I still sound like myself, though - not like Charlie Brown's teacher, in case you're wondering.)

Hey - did you also know that I wore braces on my legs when I was little? Yep. Apparently when I was still in utero, as it got closer to my due date, there was less room for me to shake MY booty, and my feet got positioned inward somehow. Since there wasn't much space for me to rework my new position, my feet ended up forming that way, I guess. At least that's what the doctor surmised when he talked to my mother about it. I didn't complain much, I guess. All I remember is sitting on the doctors table looking down my legs at the big pair of brown shoes on my feet in which the braces ended. After a while, it appeared that the braces weren't working, and the doctor just suggested that I be fitted with a good pair of tennies. It worked; I can walk normally to this day. In my opinion, anyway.

And yet, to this day, I still find myself standing sometimes with my feet turned inward. And whenever I genuflect (an action that involves kneeling on one knee while making the Sign of the Cross; it precedes entrance into one of the pews in a Catholic Church and is a sign of respect for Christ on the Cross), my right foot immediately bends at a clean 90-degree angle upon going down. And when I lie in bed sometimes, if I'm on my back, my feet just naturally turn inward upon one another. If ever there were a sure sign that some things, indeed, never change, then that must surely be it.

Perhaps my jaw is trying to correct for the odd bend in my feet. I don't know. I gave up trying to figure out all the weird ways my body and mind try to declare their individuality. You might find me feeling differently on some days, but overall, so what if I'm a little "off?" In a lot of ways, and thank goodness, my kookiness is right "on."