Thursday, July 06, 2006

So Now I’m Back from Outer Space

You should have changed your stupid lock. You should have made me leave my key.

I’ve been on a brief hiatus lately. Tanya and I have been house-sitting. Well, house-sitting and dog sitting. The people whose house we look after bought a new dog recently (the dog we used to look after passed away. So did the old cat. Now that I think about it, maybe Tanya and I aren’t the best people to care for pets?). The new dog is fun, but man, he requires a lot of attention. He completely wore me out with his constant desire to tear-ass around the back yard. He just wants to play all the time. And he doesn’t want to play alone. He wants me to chase after him. Doesn’t he realize that I’m going to be 33 soon? Doesn’t he realize that I’m lazy?! I don’t have the energy to play “keep-away” at every available moment. I suppose I was encouraging him a bit by letting him win all the time. I could have totally gotten that bone away from him. Easy! I just didn’t want the puppy to feel bad about himself.

Maybe by the time we house sit next life will have worn him down to a dull, lifeless pile of dog hair content to watch the world pass him by and wait for death?

Oh, man, that would be sweet.

I also had to go to the dentist yesterday. I hate the dentist. I mean, I really hate the dentist. Which, I suppose, makes me a glutton for punishment since I decided to go to UCLA Dental School to get my work done. Now, UCLA is a great school, so it’s not like getting your hair cut at the local Barber College. But the morons at the barber college don’t poke at your gums with sharp instruments either.

I’m going to go ahead and wager a guess that you’ve been to the dentist before. I’m also going to assume that you’ve had your gums probed with one of those pokey gum probing thingies. Those things that they shove down into your gum line to check for bone loss and periodontal disease. Those things that make having a toothpick shoved under your fingernail feel like a manicure.

I hate it.

Well, thanks to the fact that my resident “dentist” had little experience with the procedure (and thanks to the fact that I’m a big pussy who flinched every time she crammed that thing into my jawbone) I got to experience the process a grand total of three times!

Whenever the instructor came around to check my resident’s work I crossed my fingers that she wouldn’t have to do it again. I think I may have even prayed a little. I suddenly became her greatest cheerleader. I’ve never wanted a student to succeed so much in my life. Now I know how her parents must feel.

Anyway, it turns out that I don’t have an abscess as I previously thought (yeah me!). Just horrible, horrible gums. Usually, the protocol for me at the dentist is to sit in the chair, get my teeth poked at and, given the state of my gums, have the dentist tell me how awful my oral hygiene must be. I wind up leaving the place feeling like I’ve got the brushing technique and mouth of a crack whore (but without the potential income that it could generate, which could come in handy when it comes time to pay the bill).

But yesterday I was finally diagnosed with a genetic condition. Finally! I knew that I was blameless! I knew that my bad gums couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I smoke, eat questionable meat products and sometime go entire weeks without brushing!

No, I don’t do those last two things. But it is nice to finally have a dentist give me a freaking break for once. It was nice to have a dentist who didn’t berate me. It was nice to have a dentist who didn’t make me feel like I had gums that could have only been crafted by Satan himself. I’m still in shock.

Has anybody checked the temperature in hell lately? I’m fairly certain that there’s been a cold snap.

Fun Fact: I’ve talked a lot of crap about my gums, but really, they’re not as bad as all that. Sure, they’re not in great shape, but at least it’s not something that you can see.

And if anyone out there is as afraid of the dentist as I am, I suggest that you go to the nearest (respectable) dental school to have your treatment. There’s nothing like a younger, ambitious co-ed to make you act like a tough guy. Sure, inside you’ll be screaming, but the thought of looking like a pussy in front of a college chick is enough to help you hold it together. At least to the point that you can walk out of the dentist’s office with your dignity still intact.

And, trust me, if I can leave a dentist office with dignity, anyone can.

No comments: