My Teeth are Rotting Out of My Head

Over the last few days I’ve tried to convince myself that the cavernous regions of my mouth are not revolting against the rest of my body.

It all started about 6 days ago. I woke up one morning and realized that the gums around my back molar were slightly swollen and bright red. Mehh. It’ll go away. I began getting random hot flashes and wrote them off as the AC not being low enough (despite the fact that it was already blasting in the 65 range.) It was when I finally caught myself chewing last night’s take out BBQ with my front two teeth like a fucking rabbit that I realized something might be off.

Apparently I’ve got what’s known as a toothache?!?!? What is this you speak of?? Never had one. Ever.

But somehow I’ve found myself unable to chew, swallow, or (much to the Boo’s satisfaction) speak and let me tell you this BLOWS. My throat is red and burning and my glands are swollen to the point where I look like I may or may not have an Adam's apple and therefore be in possession of a bulge. Clearly I can’t go to the dentist to have it properly fixed. No job plus no money means I get to suffer my way through the pain Little House on the Prairie style.

(And let me tell you, I’m no Laura Ingalls. I don’t take kindly to throbbing, aching, make me want to blow my brains out pain.)

So here I sit, hopped up on the Boo’s excess 800 mg Ibuprofen from his recent fracture, sipping water, inadvertently fasting and wishing someone would saw my jaw off.

Or bring soup. Ya know, either or.

On How I Was Violated by Hagar the Horrible

So I know you’re all waiting with bated breath to hear about the rousing time I had at the doctor’s on Thursday and I’m here to assuage your anticipation.

The place was pretty skimy. (I have no insurance so that kind of forces my hand to opt for walk-in clinics and the like, most of which are not exactly beacons of hygiene and professionalism but ya know, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.) However, because of the outdated offices I was aesthetically blessed with a superfluous amount of faded silk flowers infiltrating every space upon which to gaze at. Beautiful I tell you.

The Boo drove me but refused to enter the premises as he told me it was a “girl doctor” and he “doesn’t do stuff like that”. Fine, suit yourself and sit in the car. (He was out there for 2 hours.) The benefits of your boyfriend sitting directly outside the entrance to your doctor’s office? You get text messages like this for the duration of your visit…

“If you get a nurse in pink scrubs who looks like an inbred make sure she washes her hands. She is out here smoking a cig like she’s on crack or coke.”

(See where I get it from?)

Luckily I didn’t get the coked up by-product of a mother-son relationship. Instead, I got the mean, angry, heavily mustached Hispanic woman who looked at me with disdain for making her actually work. (So sorry, heifer. Didn’t mean to pry you away from your Cup O’Noodles.)

She had a severe tude for the first 5 minutes or so in which she talked over me and ignored my questions. However, being the true bitch I am, I cattily pulled the “kill em with kindness (and sarcastic, snide remarks)” and eventually she snapped out of it.

At one point while the stached nurse was consulting a BMI chart and informing me that I was, indeed, overweight for my height (well, thanks for that), a wandering redneck with an improperly bandaged hand seeping blood and wreaking of Hepatitis shuffles his way into the room, ambling about, muttering incoherently and asking for “that there” (ie. Blood samples). I was horrified to realize that this man was not some homeless war vet from the street but yet, an EMPLOYEE for one of their sister companies. WTH??! How does this crusto have a job and not me?!?!?!

(The world is a cruel, cruel place.)

I eventually saw the “doctor.” She was a "huge, beastly, bulging" man woman (name that movie) who stampeded her way into the room swaddled in stereotypical floral moo-moo and hair cut appropriately butch-like. This worried me.

Her breathing was excessively loud and the flammability of the friction from betwixt her thighs imposing on each other’s personal space was quite scary. And loud.

Her fingers were akin to Cheddarwurst and her breath was something atrocious.

It was then that it occurred to me that either a) this woman was not an accredited doctor and I was being swindled for a ghastly amount of money or b) this woman was dying right before my eyes insinuated by the shortness of breath, beads of sweat forming along her upper lip, and the 20 second pauses between her words while walking down the hall.

Or c) she was a man.

All in all it was pretty traumatic. But hey, at least I had this to look at while I was being violated by the He-Man's German sausage sized digits.

I kid you not. It was (cleverly) taped to the ceiling above my examination table.

I would have felt much more comfortable had it been this.

That’s Just How I Roll

To say that I’m a bit of an exaggerator would be the understatement of the century.

It’s no shock that I have a tendency to sensationalize situations, a penchant for fabrication, a flair for the dramatic if you will. (I’m something straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Mrs. Bennett anyone?) Never in the interest of lying, per se, but more so in the constant pursuit of a more refined satirical art. I take the extremes in every situation; I spin normal mundane monotony into Laguna Beach quality excitement.

It’s what I do.

It’s who I am and I think that’s become more than obvious to anyone who knows me or even simply reads this. I never just state the facts. That’s too boring. I exaggerate and elaborate and embellish for the good of the story and ten times out of ten it’s all done out of good, sarcastic fun.

Because I am nothing if not a sarcastic bitch.

However, as with any written form of communication, blogs can easily be misconstrued. If you can’t see my dry, sardonic face and hear the sarcasm dripping from my tongue then you might take things literally and that could be bad for everyone involved.

Bottom line: my last post was a dramatization of a normal day in my life. Just as most of the other things I write here. Yes, it’s true, everything that I write about does happen but not necessarily in the extremist way (and with as many adjectives) as I typically describe them. So with that being said, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m literally in need of being shipped to a California rehab center. I have not lost control. This is not my cry for help.

This is just me. Being hopelessly dramatic (as always) in the midst of mind-numbing monotony (all around me) and in the hopes of being somewhat entertaining (but mostly failing.)

So just to be clear if I was to post true recounts of my day to day life in all their tedious normalcy then it would go a little something like this:

Yesterday was the day that I slipped and fell at Publix. It hurt.

But you know I’m much more likely to spin it like this:

Yesterday was horrendous. I drove to the store in the blistering heat in my car whose AC has given up the ghost and has subsequently invited an excruciating tete a tete with my skin every time I slap my sweaty bare limbs against its leather seats. I search endlessly among the hordes of mongrels teaming with diseases at our local Publix and finally find my few measly purchases. Ready to hightail it out of there ASAP and not necessarily wanting to wait behind a middle aged imbred with a sack full of nickels, I promptly walked across the front of the store scanning the aisles ahead of me to obtain the fastest exit route. It was then that it happened. With my gaze upwards and my attention diverted, I swiftly felt myself losing balance in a pool of unidentifiable liquid. Horror and panic gripping my heart, it was then that I felt myself come crashing down in the very front of the store among the multitude of appalled onlookers. My left knee bent askew in an ungodly position, my right ass cheek bruised and soaking wet and my tub of low-fat moose tracks frozen yogurt flung several feet in front of me, I picked myself up off the ground. Willing myself not to cry, wondering if I’ve had a concussion and inanely repeating over and over “there should really be a sign there” to the one lonely store worker who showed any concern. I hobbled my way out of the store with my soggy smushed ice cream and my wilted self-esteem, called the Boo and promptly broke into a sob fest. In my car. In the parking lot. With my hot, sticky seats. Oh, woe is me!!

Because THAT’S how I roll.

Wanna See Me Make a Fool of Myself?

So I'm posting this even though the Boo told me I shouldn't. I fully realize and apologize in advance for saying "umm" fifteen hundred times, looking up incessantly and making weird freakish movements with my mouth. But alas, I'm too tipsy and lazy to start anew. So you're stuck with take one. Enjoy!

Edited to add: When I say I'm posting from the bathroom because"the Boo would fuck me up" otherwise, I didn't mean physically Bobby Brown style fuck me up. (Homie don't play that, yo.) All I meant was that he would be making fun of me for being such a nerd that he'd fuck up my concentration and make me have to do it over again. Just wanted to clear that up. Ha!

Margarita Night from Little Miss Pissy on Vimeo.

The List

I’ve had this sitting in my ‘drafts’ for a few days now. But we all know I’m not that patient.

Sorry, in advance, if this is a boring post for anyone else (and if so, just leave now and I’ll see you tomorrow for our regularly scheduled debauchery). However, I happen to be super stoked about the idea, the list, the challenge, etc and I wanted to share it all with you, my wonderful bloggy friends.

So without further adieu, I give you…

101 in 1001
Begin January 28, 2009
End October 25, 2011

Completed
In Progress

FOR MY HEALTH:
001. Lose 10 pounds
002. Take a daily multivitamin
003. Workout 30 minutes a day at least 5 days a week
004. Start moisturizing daily
005. Continue drinking 8 8oz glasses of water daily
006. Change my contacts once a month
007. Visit the Farmer’s Market or health food store once a month for a year (0/12)
008. Run a 5k
009. Quit smoking (for good)
010. Whiten teeth
011. Take a self-defense class
012. Find a family doctor
013. Find a dentist

FOR MY COMMUNITY:
014. Begin recycling
015. Volunteer for 50 hours (0/50)
016. Do a giveaway on my blog
017. Donate to 5 charities (0/5)
018. Buy a homeless person a meal
019. Compliment 20 people for no reason (0/20)
020. Adopt a cat
021. Use “green friendly” bags at the grocery store
022. Discover 20 new blogs (0/20)

FOR MY LOVE/FAMILY:
023. Buy and beat 10 PS3 games with the Boo (0/10)
024. Get a couple’s massage
025. See one new movie in the theater every month for a year (0/12)
026. Start a weekly game night
027. Go to a theme park
028. Have a couple’s self-portrait made
029. Tell someone I love them when I’m mad at them
030. Write 20 hand written letters just because (0/20)
031. Send flowers to 2 people just because (0/2)
032. Surprise the Boo 10 times (0/10)
033. Have date night once a month for a year (1/12) landry's
034. Go to brunch 10 times (0/10)
035. Go to a drive in movie
036. Go camping
037. Go to 10 NFL games (0/10)
038. Try a fondue restaurant
039. Bake birthday cakes for the dogs
040. Spend a whole day in bed with the Boo
041. Visit a bed and breakfast
042. Introduce the Boo to grandparents
043. Organize a 5-course dinner party for 8 people

BECAUSE I HAVE TO:
044. Buy a pair of Manolo Blahniks
045. Get a third and fourth tattoo (0/2)
046. Buy a custom blog design
047. Buy a new comforter for the bed
048. Buy an iPhone
049. Learn how to shoot a gun
050. Sing at karaoke
051. Wash car once a month for 6 months (0/6)
052. Buy a new (to me) car
053. Transfer 5 dance videos on to DVDs (0/5)
054. Get a current passport
055. Buy a new coat
056. Buy an original painting for the living room
057. Redecorate the bathroom

FOR MY MIND/SANITY:
058. Join a book club
059. Read 100 books (0/100)
060. Apply to grad school
061. Keep a current blog
062. Start a small flower garden
063. Get something published
064. Learn Italian
065. Go to a museum
066. Go to a zoo
067. Take 3 spontaneous road trips (0/3)
068. Go one week without saying anything negative (0/7)
069. Keep a dream diary for one month (0/30)
070. Learn to knit
071. Knit 10 things (0/10)
072. Write in a coffee shop 10 times (0/10)
073. Begin a novel (write at least 50 pages) (0/50)

FOR MY WALLET:
074. Pay off both credit cards (0/2)
075. Get a job with benefits
076. Save $5,000
077. Sell 10 things on ebay (0/10)

FOR MY SOUL:
078. Get a pedicure
079. Take a gourmet cooking class
080. Go wine tasting
081. Go to Italy
082. Finish a scrapbook
083. Watch AFI’s Top 100 greatest movies of all time (0/100)
084. Take a bubble bath once a month for a year (0/12)
085. Go fishing
086. Make 10 new friends (0/10)
087. Take a ballroom dance class
088. Print 100 pictures and make a photo album (0/100)
089. Go to 5 ballets (0/5)
090. Watch the sun rise 10 times (0/10)
091. Have a girls’ night once a month for a year (0/12)
092. Bake one thing a month for a year (0/12)
093. Go to 5 concerts (0/5)
094. Try 10 new random restaurants (0/10)
095. Dance in the rain
096. Hike to the top of a mountain
097. Discover 5 new bands/artists (0/5)
098. Take a picture everyday for a month (0/30)
099. See a Broadway show
100. Try 20 new recipes (0/20)
101. Laugh so hard I cry 5 times (1/5)

Twitter what?

I gave in. Just like Jacqueline. In fact, I think she may have pushed me over to the edge.

So what I'm trying to say is...I joined Twitter. Despite not completely knowing what it's about or why I need it. What can I say? I don't do well with peer pressure and I like to jump on bandwagons that boast epic proportions.

So there you go. Follow me if you want. Laugh at my naivety. Or enlighten me on the ins and outs.

Either way, I'm giving it a shot. Now time to see what all the hype is about.

Never Have I Ever...

I oftentimes look back on the summer after my high school graduation as one of the best times of my life.

I practically lived with my BFF and we spent every day endlessly tanning, shopping, writing, and driving around trying to look “cool.” Going to band practices (the garage kind, not the geeky school uniform kind. No offense to any of you out there), eating our favorite lunch of corn dogs, 3D Doritos, and Cherry Coke and gossiping about who we liked that day.

Life was good.

We had lots of great friends whom we usually met up with every night. Each of us fueling the others’ maturation into bonafide raging alcoholism, splashing around in our friend’s parents’ pool, dancing to insanely loud music, and taken an innumerable amount of pictures.

But the one staple that seems to stand forefront in each and every one of those drunken nights is the drinking games. Yea, you know em. Those drunken games you find yourself being sucked into usually against your will. Those same games that are always accountable for a much more loud, loving, uninhibited you. Those same ones that nine times out of ten you regret the next day because they erased your entire recollection of the previous night and left you only with a brutal hangover.

Yea, those games. Don’t act like you don’t remember.

From “Down the River, Up the River” to “Fuck the Dealer” to “Quarters”, my favorite was always “Circle of Death” and for one reason only. The 10 card – i.e. the “Never Have I Ever” card.

Anytime it was flipped everyone would always groan but deep down you know you had a little smile on your face knowing that you were about to find out something truly heinous and black mail worthy from one of your inebriated com padres. In admitting something that you hadn’t personally ever done you were most likely throwing someone else under the bus for the amusement of everyone else. The Never Have I Ever card was the greatest.

I usually liked to start off with a “never have I ever” that would inevitably call out all the guys but for the sake of this blog I’ll keep it more PG.

So for today I’ll say: Never have I ever picked up a living animal weighing over a pound (this includes cats, dogs, rabbits, frogs, birds, turtles, you name it). And the only reason I say over a pound is because I did, on rare occasions, hold my (now deceased) pet dwarf hamster, Dopey. RIP. But even then, I didn’t do it without much coaching, coaxing, and even more trepidation.

To put it lightly, I have a massive phobia of actually holding animals. Even if they pose no harm or threat to me whatsoever. I know, I know. I’m effed in the head a little bit.

Now that I’ve gone and humiliated myself it's your turn. Never have I ever….?