Man of my dreams

You know how some people just hope and pray to someday meet that special guy who will take one look at them and say, “Baby, when I look at you, I see the future”? Well, I have found that guy.

Unfortunately, he is my dentist. And what he sees when he looks in my mouth is his future.
His future car,
his future boat,
his future beach house. It seems that when I hit that magic age of 34 years, 5 months, 4 days, 11 hours and 14 minutes my teeth decided to all turn into Chiclets and start giving me trouble.


It all started with a pistachio. I decided a few years ago that my new year’s resolution was to try new things.


Aren’t those just some famous last words that usually end up in a last minute trip to Mexico in the trunk of someone’s car and a desperate attempt at rounding up bail money from across the border?


But, maybe your Senior Year was different.


That fateful time, a few years ago I decided that I would try all sorts of new things: rock climbing, bellydancing, running even if no one was chasing me and…… eating pistachios. I read a book when I was a kid about this girl who loved pistachios so I thought, now that it has been over twenty years since I read that book, it’s my turn, too!

They should come with a warning label.

I had no idea you had to take them out of the shell first.
I tried to eat it, but it was too hard and when I tried to bite down on it, it hurt my tooth. I bravely tried to throw it out the sunroof, but it came back in, landing in my hair.

Must be divine providence. Tried to throw it out again. Again it returned to me. Must be meant to be. Tried to eat it again. That was the fateful move, I believe. There was my dental downfall.

CRACK goes the tooth. Cha-ching goes the dentist.


So, here we are, three crowns and two root canals later.

Do you see where being adventurous gets you?

I had an appt with "Dr. Joe" yesterday to get fitted for a new crown, being royalty and all. I told him that next time we get together I am just going to take an order of nitrous, hold the pain. When you suck in enough of that stuff you believe that you can do anything, like text message while lying flat on your back and stoned. All I remember was some poorly spelled text message and the fact that my cell phone fell on my face. More than once.

A friend commented that she was surprised that they "let" me text message while on nitrous. I don't think that there are any laws about drunk dialing, or, in this case, nitrous texting.


I was still on cloud nine from my near-victory the night before in a Jerkey Belching Contest. Thank you, Friend Jason for feeding me weird jerky. Despite my near-Olympic worthy flossing skills I was still picking kangaroo out of my teeth the next morning.