April 19
Listen, people. Turd Monster is in seclusion. He and the Dude Who Lives in My Car (who, by the way, is not a duck, you freaks!) are holed up in the back seat of the truck, discussion their course of action for picking up chicks in Mexico. As such, he is not available for photo sessions right now. Thanks for asking.
Originally this entry was dated April 17 which would be when I started writing it. I've been percolating on it for two full days, and I still can't be assed to come up with something to say. Seriously. This entry was all conversation, one between BS and I, one between Dr. B and I, and what I said to an answering machine. I pulled some of the jibba jabba and left some of the jibba jabba and am using this all as an excuse to just write a long, flowing stream of...uh...well, jibba jabba, I guess. Ready? Okay.
The Dentist, and a Sad, Racist Confession:
Last night, we went to the dentist for the first time since 1999. Late 1999, but 1999 nonetheless. In 1999, we were both told we had cavities (me, only one. I am dentally pure. Ah...) and we made appointments to come back in a few
weeks time to get them filled. A few weeks later, the appointments were canceled, for whatever reasons we may have had (most likely "No fucking way!" or "It's a cavity! It can wait!!"). "We'll reschedule!" our mantra, until yesterday: April 18, 2001.All day, I freaked out about it. I freaked out because for my entire life, the dentist meant a half hour of scraping and poking with that metal scrapy pokey thing (My dentist in NY called it "the Truth Teller", but he also called the spit sucky thing "Mister Thirsty" and the polisher "Mister Twirly". I think he may have been sampling his own gas between patients) and then the jabbing into the porous surfaces and the nasty 'schtuck' sound it makes. Then, the polishing itself. "Okay, we have a few flavors to choose from. Okay. Lime Mint Kiwi Banana Flambe or...uhh...what's this one? Oh, Coconut Creamy Cream Custard Peach!" Right. The polishing. Fun for people without sensitive teeth. Horrorshow for pantywaist little Dana.
So, Nick goes in first. I hear laughter. I hear merriment. I hear the spit sucky thing. I hear typical dentist noises. I am relaxing, reading Adventure Kids magazine. I am learning A-Z facts about the Backstreet Boys. I am chilling and no longer freaking out about being where I was, and then, I hear it. Nick. A shout? No. A scream? Uh-uh. A cry of anguish? Nope. A yelp? Shit yeah. I freeze. Then they call my name.
I lay down in the chair. I get my x-rays. I am properly scolded about my dental omission for the year 2000. I am warned that the cleaning will be unpleasant. I open my mouth. 5 minutes later, my cleaning is over. "I guess you just don't make much tartar!" Everything I remembered hating about having my teeth cleaned, I loved! That gummy scraping shit they do? Yeaahh! It was this pleasureful pain thing. It was a happy itch. It was cool! She gets out the polisher ("We call it "the Tickler", here.", said she "Not to the adults, I'd assume" I replied) and starts. I wait for the sensitive tooth freakout. Nothing.
She finishes. I have had a delightful dental experience! The dentist comes in, and this is where I reveal to you my dorky, horrible self--the dentist came in--and he was black. My first reaction? "Man, how cool! A black guy went to dental school. Wow, how unlikely. Wow. I've never seen a black dentist before." How fucking stupid am I? Then, I'm like "Wow! he has Doc Martins on! He's a dentist, a black guy, and a hipster. That is triply cool!" which is what I thought until he told me I had cavities, and started in on the "you need to pull your wisdom teeth" thing. Then, I was just like "Listen here, you're an asshole!" but I digress.
Okay. I have all 4 wisdom teeth. They came in more than 10 years ago. I have room for them. They do not bother me. Why should I pull them? Yes, they are harder to brush because they are difficult to get to. However, that means I'm going to get cavities back there, eventually. Correct me if I am wrong, here, but, is it not the function of a dentist to seek out and drill cavities? Pulling out my teeth is a short term fix, sure, but in the long run, that's 4 teeth he will no longer be able to get money from. Four less teeth! That's like me leaving 4 hours early every day, saying "eh, I didn't need the extra 4 dollars.." (note: because I do, in fact, make 1 dollar/hour) Chances are that I will not get any more cavities in ANY OTHER TEETH besides the wisdoms. That means, an entire lifetime of nothing but cleanings, polishings and "see you in 6 months.." By pulling out my evolutionary throwback wisdom teeth, in dental speak, is nothing short of tossing out fistfuls of money. Keeping my teeth is keeping the dentist in business. Thank you. My name's Dana. I am a moron.
The Dental Paradox.
"Jab! JAB!! JAB!! SCRAPE!! SCRAPE!! (note: italics imply MOTION. Duh. Like you didn't know THAT) You know, your gums are really inflamed and sensitive here!! JAB!! JAB!!!"
"Yes, but they weren't when I sat down in this chair, were they?"
Yes. They are red, Einstein. Perhaps the constant molestation by a sharp, metal object has a little to do with that phenomenon. Man. And I'm the secretary here...
This is the part of the entry from the other day. Live it up.
The Voicemail I Left:
"When I called yesterday and left a message asking you to call me back, I actually MEANT it. I need someone to call me back! I was not kidding! It was not a suggestion. I've gathered from your answering machine that you don't want people to know what department you are, you are the secret department! Woo, you're like spies! As helpful as that is, I found you! please call me back!"
Enjoy:
Haiku for Deletion:
where there were once words
now there is gentle haiku
too much sharing: bad
the other day | home | email | tomorrow
Please forgive me if I act alittle strange
for I know not what I do
feels like lightning running through my veins
everytime I look at you