And hell followed with him
I am staying with parents for a spell before I venture off into another ultimately losing electoral effort, and this visit is good for a couple of reasons. First, and most importantly, free food. Every 25 year old's dream. All I have to do is do the dishes, take out the garbage, and change the occasional lightbulb, and I'm in kosher meat heaven! Yes, I know, one day I will become a fully functioning adult.
The second benefit of staying with my parents is that I am priviliged to be able to read the Ladies Home Journal and Woman's World when I am using the bathroom. Most men will read whatever is put in front of me in that room, and I am no exception. I have reread the same article on how to make the most efficient lunch sandwich for my children at least six times. One word: Wraps.
The final good thing is not so much a good thing as, well... a horrible thing. I saw the dentist and dental hygenist, or, as they're better known, the Boys from Brazil. I had not been to the dentist since I had graduate from college nearly four years ago, and, apparently, you're supposed to go a couple times a year. Who knew? Also, there's this product called floss that... wait, I think I'm moving too fast.
I went to the dentist for two reasons. First, I discoved a severe chip in my tooth that I think I suffered during a basketball game a few months back. Secondly, I enjoy being ridiculed, insulted, and stabbed by a woman I've never met before and having my manhood questioned by a guy I've known my entire life. It's envigorating.
So I get into the hygenist's chair, and I hear the words you never want to hear from anyone, especially a dentist, mechanic, or someone you're about to sleep with: "You haven't been here in a longgggg time..." So after she wiped away the cobwebs from my gums, she pulled out the standard issue CIA/Mossad/Hygenist torture kit and went sodering away.
I won't waste any time on the details of the cleaning/shellacing/grouting, but at one point, the radio started playing a song by Maroon 5, which firmly reinforced my theory that I was, indeed, in hell. Dante's 26th level is Maroon 5 in a dentist's office.
So she finished up, after complaining that she could, "no longer have her way with me", which for the first time in my life, had no sexual connotation. I was then blindfolded, my hands were bound, and I was led into the dentist's office, where he numbed my gums with what I think was candle wax and plunged a needle into my mouth. Surprisingly, his portion of the two and a half hour session was not painful, although at one point, he did say, "You're going to feel a little vibration..." Bullshit. The San Andreas shakes less than this device.
He filled in the chip, evened out a tooth that had been bugging me for years, and sent me on my numb, groggy, and bitter way. But, I did get a free toothbrush and this small box with string that I think you're supposed to use on your teeth... One step at a time I guess.
The second benefit of staying with my parents is that I am priviliged to be able to read the Ladies Home Journal and Woman's World when I am using the bathroom. Most men will read whatever is put in front of me in that room, and I am no exception. I have reread the same article on how to make the most efficient lunch sandwich for my children at least six times. One word: Wraps.
The final good thing is not so much a good thing as, well... a horrible thing. I saw the dentist and dental hygenist, or, as they're better known, the Boys from Brazil. I had not been to the dentist since I had graduate from college nearly four years ago, and, apparently, you're supposed to go a couple times a year. Who knew? Also, there's this product called floss that... wait, I think I'm moving too fast.
I went to the dentist for two reasons. First, I discoved a severe chip in my tooth that I think I suffered during a basketball game a few months back. Secondly, I enjoy being ridiculed, insulted, and stabbed by a woman I've never met before and having my manhood questioned by a guy I've known my entire life. It's envigorating.
So I get into the hygenist's chair, and I hear the words you never want to hear from anyone, especially a dentist, mechanic, or someone you're about to sleep with: "You haven't been here in a longgggg time..." So after she wiped away the cobwebs from my gums, she pulled out the standard issue CIA/Mossad/Hygenist torture kit and went sodering away.
I won't waste any time on the details of the cleaning/shellacing/grouting, but at one point, the radio started playing a song by Maroon 5, which firmly reinforced my theory that I was, indeed, in hell. Dante's 26th level is Maroon 5 in a dentist's office.
So she finished up, after complaining that she could, "no longer have her way with me", which for the first time in my life, had no sexual connotation. I was then blindfolded, my hands were bound, and I was led into the dentist's office, where he numbed my gums with what I think was candle wax and plunged a needle into my mouth. Surprisingly, his portion of the two and a half hour session was not painful, although at one point, he did say, "You're going to feel a little vibration..." Bullshit. The San Andreas shakes less than this device.
He filled in the chip, evened out a tooth that had been bugging me for years, and sent me on my numb, groggy, and bitter way. But, I did get a free toothbrush and this small box with string that I think you're supposed to use on your teeth... One step at a time I guess.
posted by quint at 2:00 PM
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