November 22
if I make it through this week, it will be a minor miracle.
I know that everyone talks about how much they hate going to the dentist, but I really, really hate going to the dentist. I mean it. I hate it MORE than other people. Honestly, though, I don't know why I hate it as much as I do. I have perfectly good teeth. I've never worn braces, don't have any major problems. I brush all the time, I floss daily, which I've mentioned before. What I hate is the cleaning, the scraping, the torrential bleeding that inevitably occurs (sensitive gums, little wimpy weakling that I am!).
This happened today. I was called in, and noticed that I knew the hygienist. She's the wife of the brother of a guy Nick works with. (did you follow that?) I met her at a wedding. I could tell that she had no recollection of who I was, but since I remembered her, it was okay. We had stuff to talk (well, as best as I could with a mouth full of blood) about. Gossip to share. She gave me a special toothbrush.* Aside from the annoyance factor & the pain, it was allright, and was over pretty quickly.
Then the dentist saunters in, my gums are throbbing and raw, still bleeding. She jams the metal thing in all of my teeth to test for the stick that signals a cavity. I had two.
TWO FUCKING CAVITIES.
BALLS, man. BIG, FAT, HAIRY BALLS.
It's perfectly illogical that I should still be getting them, at this age, considering my oral anal retentiveness (oral anal, eh?). To be fair to me though, both were in wisdom teeth which are notoriously hard to get to with a toothbrush, thus necessitating the special toothbrush.*
Then, it was Nick's turn.
The dentist was a winner tonight for sure. He came out forlorn. Two cavities.
We SUCK.
*:
I'm sure you're all agog with jealousy..after all, it's not every day someone gets a Brosse, and for FREE, too!
Oh, and three last things:
1.) I was reminded, at the dentist of something my brother in law Wally used to talk about: The stupidity of having more than one tooth. He was under the impression that we, as a race, would be much better off having one continuous top tooth and one continuous bottom. If you put together the Two Tooth Theory, a 6 pack and a Tom Waites album, you can just imagine how it all fell apart from there.
But man, he INSISTED we'd be better off with two teeth.
2.) Have you ever noticed that no matter what kind of doctor you're going to see, someone has a horror story? Seriously. Nick told his sister that we were going to the dentist. She replied "Don't let them give you gas!!" "We're only going for a cleaning!" he replied. "Because the sister of someone I work with [of course, it's ALWAYS the sister {or cousin}of someone someone works with] was having a cavity filled, and they gave her gas [for a filling? Christ. and I thought I was wimpy] and they didn't notice until like 20 minutes after they started that she wasn't breathing and she DIED!!"
3.) Nick's friend John insists that having cavities filled is a racket. "So, a cavity is a hole, right? Why do they need to DRILL the hole to FILL the hole??" I tried my best to explain it, but realized I've no idea myself. I probably could have asked, but figured that one of you, nice people, would tell me. Why DO they have to drill a hole first? Why not just slap the filling in there? (I gave an answer, I'm trying to see if my answer is correct)
My Grandmother:
I got the turkey on Saturday. It was partially frozen. No problem, I stuck it in the bottom of the fridge, where it's been happily sitting for a few days. When we came home from the dentist, there was a message on the machine. From my Grandmother. I call her back. We talk corn starch, bell's poultry seasoning. Then, we talk turkey.
Her: Was the bird fully frozen when you got it?
Me: Um, no Gramma, it was partially frozen.
Her: Hmmm..partially {insert dramatic "the bird is crap" noise} . So you don't know how long it's been there, or if it was frozen and unfrozen?
Me: Uhh..no, I don't know. I couldn't tell. I thought it would be better to buy one that wasn't fully frozen..
Her: No, no..you're supposed to get one that's frozen, let it defrost for two days.
Me: But, I bought one partially that way, and gave it more time to defrost!
Her: Hmmm..
Me: Well, I could return it!
Her: You can't RETURN IT! What would you say the matter was?
Me: I dunno! It smells funny? It's a weird color? They work at Stop and Shop. They're not rocket scientists. I can return it.
Her: Well, no, because now it's too late. By the time you go to the market tomorrow morning, it won't have that full two days to defrost!
Me: I could go tonight, though. I mean, we just got in, I could go back out.
Her: NO!!! It's FOGGY OUT!
Me: But..I just came in from the fog!
Her: NO! Promise me you wont drive in The Fog!!
Me: Um..not even for a better turkey? (At this point, Nick yells from the basement "WE CAN HAVE PIZZA!") Wait..Nick suggests a Thanksgiving pizza.
Her: The turkey will be fine. Im sure it's still frozen inside. But pizza is a good back up plan.
Me: Well, geez. I don't want to poison all of us. We only have one bathroom!
Her: That WOULD give special, holiday meaning to togetherness!
So now I'm all paranoid that thanksgiving is going to be ruined by my premature turkey purchase. The funny thing about it is that this is the first time I didn't call her from the supermarket, to make sure I was buying the right kind of bird. I was all empowered, I'm buying my OWN TURKEY with NO input from anyone. And I know, I just know the conversation that took place the moment we hung up the phone.
She walked into the living room, sat down on her sofa and said to my Grandfather:
Gramma: Dana bought the bird on Saturday.
Angelo: SATURDAY?? Was it still frozen?
Gramma: Half.
Angelo: HALF frozen? Only half? Why'd she buy it?
Gramma: I don't know. I told her that she should have gotten a fully frozen bird, today, maybe yesterday, the earliest. I told her it was still probably frozen on the inside, but I'm sure it's not.
Angelo: But, now it's going to be bad, right?
Gramma: I don't know. I've never heard of good things happening from a turkey bought half frozen on SATURDAY.Well, fuck it. There will be plenty of side dishes. And there's a diner a few blocks away. I could also slip Tylenol PM into their drinks, and let it not be a problem.
Poem:
In Glasgow:
In my smoochy corner
take me on a cloud
I'll wrap you around
and lay you down
in smoky tinfoil
rings and records
sheets of whisky
and the moon all right
old pal all right
the moon all right
Mercy for the rainy
tyres and the violet
thunder that bring you
shambling and shy
from chains of Easterhouse
plains of light
make your delight
in my nest my spell
my arms my shell
my barn my bell
I've combed your hair
and washed your feet
and made you turn
like a dark eel
in my white bed
till morning lights
a silent cigarette
throw on your shirt
I lie staring yet
forget forget
Edwin Morgan (b. 1920)
I am in the midst of the most fucked up email exchange I've ever been before. THE most fucked up. Single handedly. Without question or fail. It is so fucked up that I wouldn't even know where to start in the explanation.
So, with that cryptic message, I'm off.
