WARNING: SPOILER

(more…)

I’m wearing braces on my teeth at age 38, because I’m a frickin’ masochist. Come on, baby, make it hurt so good.

It just occurred to me that the orthodontist neglected to tell me the safe word. There’s got to be a safe word! How’s he gonna know when I really want him to stop?

Since he’s a professional, it’s likely that the safe words run along the lines of, “My check was no good, compadre.” (IMPORTANT: Always call people “compadre” when you are explaining to them that your check was cold. This practice befuddles them and can somewhat effectively detract their attention from your lack of funds, drawing it instead to your lack of social skills.) Unfortunately, I paid in advance with a credit card. I’m officially screwed with no end in sight.

Even as I type this, my mouth is filled with blood-soaked gauze. Don’t be jealous – I can probably get you hooked up. See, my orthodontist knows a guy who’ll take care of all your blood-soaked gauze needs. You supply the blood, he supplies the gauze. Sweet deal, eh?…Yeah, well, he made it sound good at the time.

He did give me a prescription for hydrocodone. I have the bottle right here in front of me. So close and yet so far. It might as well be in Bermuda; I’m not supposed to take it on an empty stomach. And, let me see, what’s the last thing in the world I want to do right now? Can you guess? Did you guess eating? Bingo! I feel like sleeping, I vaguely feel like throwing up. But eating? Not so much.

I had two, count ‘em, two teeth removed. It was fairly painless, really. The man knew what he was doing and yanked them right on out. Only the waiting was painful.

They put me in a small green room decorated with a lonely painting and left me facing it while the local anesthesia they injected me with took hold.

Naturally, my heart started beating rapidly as it always does in these situations.

I decided I would try to calm my nerves by using my imagination. THIS NEVER WORKS, and this particular instance is the perfect example of why THIS NEVER WORKS:

The racing horses were painted in watercolors and were facing forward so that they appeared to be running at you or wisely attempting to run out of the painting. There were some splotchy looking clouds in the background and some brush strokes off to the sides to indicate an audience watching the race.

I tried to visualize that the horses were running toward a large open field of green, dotted here and there with the occasional lily. Wide open spaces where horses can frolic in safety on the soft grass. Relaxing. Ah, yes… BUT NOOOOOOO! Watch out horsies! There’s a tray with scalpels and shit on it right there, and you’re heading right for it! Can’t you see it? Well, I sure as hell can! Slow down, you stupid horses!!!!

OH THE HUMANITY! Horses are getting impaled and legs chopped off right and left. Jesus! Is there no end in sight?

“Oh, hello again, doctor…”

PS – Question. What’s more fun than getting dental floss stuck in your braces? Answer. Getting BLOODY GAUZE stuck to your braces. YUM.

trees.

ollie and hardy.

Do those words mean anything to you? Well, they don’t mean a thing to me, but I suppose they should. All that came to mind when I saw them was, “What the fuck is this?” Not exactly a Hallmark moment.

Does anyone think I should attempt time travel to find out what I meant by that shit? No? Me either.

But, my hope is that those words are the four trigger words that will eventually bring about memories of my previous life as a deadly assassin and/or pastry chef. I could really use one of those cream bun thingies right now. Ummm. Cream bun.

Me – My husband is so paranoid.

You – How paranoid is he?

Well, we just got back from a California/Nevada trip, which you probably don’t know anything about, because I wasn’t allowed to release any information about our leaving until we were safely back home. Why?

Michael – Nassty mean internetssses wants to steal the Precious and hi-jacks our identitieses. Hiss.

Me – Shut up, Michael. It’s gonna be ok. We’re home now.

You see, dear friends, whereas I am sure that you are all the classiest, best kind of people, my insanely paranoid husband is sure that as soon as I mention on the blog that we are going to take a vacation on such and such a date, that you will run straight out and rent a moving van in preparation to rob us blind when the appointed hour arrives. He thinks you are the absolute worst sort of scoundrels…You aren’t, are you? Of course not! You’re lovable scamps.

But, honestly, even if you did have malicious intent, I can’t imagine how you’d acquire our home address. Breaking into Fort Knox would be an easier caper to pull off. Even Michael’s own mother has to use our post office box for correspondence. I shit you not.

His concern with people mailing things directly to our home is that if we should ever move away, an important document might get into the hands of the new resident who will most certainly be a mustache twisting cad and who will surely use the information for some devilishly dastardly deed.

Still though, I’m pretty damn sure that we’ll give his mom our new address if and when we move, which to my mind is enough of a precautionary measure. But, what if his mom were to forget and inadvertently send something to the old address? That’s just what the mustache twisting fiend wants to happen! It’s a chance Michael is not willing to take.

Mustache Twisting Cad – Curses! Foiled again!

As I seem to have a tendency to do, I just used up all my time today making fun of Michael who, in addition to being a delusional nut-case, is a very good sport. Unfortunately, that means I don’t have even one minute left to tell you about our trip and how lovely it was.

It was lovely indeed. Super nice people one and all. Nobody threw anything at me or made fun of my extra head, which is good because I’m still kinda self conscious about it. But, I’ll spill more tomorrow. The family is clamoring for dinner. Yes, they do clamor. Don’t doubt it for a minute.

Mustache Twisting Cad – Shut up, bitch! Go fix me a turkey pot pie!