Please bookmark the correct page at http://suzannadanna.net/ Princess of Irony

But then again, I don’t get embarrassed easily. See also: I like the song London Bridge by Fergie.

Issue Date: Wednesday, Oct. 04, 2006

Ok, I don’t want to point any fingers or lay the blame on anyone for any wrong doings, but I just have to know. Who in the hell punched me in the face… twice… while I was sleeping?

I woke up at like dawn’s ass crack (4:38 A…M…(!)) and sat up, Mister mumbled, “I’ll let him out.” and then he just lay there. The dog was whimpering quietly like every two minutes in a very apologetic way that sounded sort of like, “Hmmm?” As in, “Pardon me, but would you mind letting me out so that I may use the toilet, m’lady?” So I shook Mister and asked him, “Are you really going to let him out?” He mumbled, “Yes, YES.” and got out of bed to take the dog out.

I stayed in bed, laying there for about ten minutes wondering what the hell I had been dreaming about (Consequently, it was about a long-lost great aunt who had helped my great, great grand father raise his 12 children… she was nicknamed Smokey – because of the color of her eyes – and when my great, great grandfather wrote her a letter when she had left home he addressed it to Smokey Black. She was all “Eff you old man, you don’t want to claim me as kin, fine… I’m a changing my name to Smokey Black for good.” It was all very scandalous. (And can I be any more parenthetical? I suppose that I could, yes.)) and that is when I noticed that my face felt like I had been punched in the jaw, twice.

Where my jawbone connects to the rest of my head is a-fire on both sides of my face. I feel like I rolled out of bed sometime during the night and promptly fell and landed on my chin. My teeth don’t hurt, but it hurts to hold my top and bottom jawbones together.

Did you hit me? No?

Well then what about you?

You there, with the clown shoes. Did you?

Ya’ll. I know you didn’t beat me while I lay dreaming (of Smokey Black!... Arrggggh. Was she a pirate?). A few months ago I went to the dentist. I love the dentist. It may be because I have never had an issue with periodontal disease or because I only have three tee-tiny fillings in my head, but I love the dentis(th)t. I have strong teeth, they aren’t the most blindingly white teeth and I do have a small space in between the front two*, like Madonna… the singer, not the Mother of Christ… but they are mine.

*It is kind of embarrassing as the gap has only appeared over the past four years or so. But then again, I don’t get embarrassed easily. See also: I like the song London Bridge by Fergie.

While I was getting my teeth cleaned and buffed I inquired about the space and maybe getting them whitened. So they scheduled a consultation for me with my (dear Lord, he is hot) dentist, Dr. Wood. And No. I am SO not kidding about the name.

I went back a few weeks later for the consultation and they put me in the chair. I flipped my hair off my neck and adjusted that little paper bib thingy so as to look as hot as humanly possible for the incredibly cute… Dr. Wood. Right, like that is achievable. Dentis(th)ts’ chair, paper bib, laying prone, business causal attire, most likely lipstick on my teeth. Lord. Oh, there he is, there he is… do I have a double chin when I am lying this way? Are my pants puckering as to make me look like a she-male? Oh, great. The LIGHT. Yes, hi, how are you. Dear God, your teeth are perfect. Why yes, thank you, I will take the mirror and look at what you are showing me. MY EYES! Why would you use that bright ass light and give me a magnifying mirror. You could park a Buick in my nose pores.

Finally, I stopped freaking out about how cute he is, how perfect his teeth are, how imperfect my teeth are and that I had some sort of glitter thing in the corner of my eye. It looked like I was trying too hard, like I put glitter (?) there to draw attention to my eye corner because the LIGHT WAS SO BRIGHT, Dear God! The Light! But hey, check out my perfectly natural and totally cute (glittery) eye corner.

I know. I need help. Maybe some prescription help. Or booze?

I started listening to him and maybe even answering questions. I am sure he had asked me the same questions like eight times as I was lying there totally and narcissistically looking at my nose pores and eye corner.

Do I grind my teeth? No. No, I don’t think so. Don’t you have to be totally jacked up on massive amounts of stress to grind your teeth? (You, there, in the clown shoes, I do not need helpful hints from you that I am jacked up. Okee Dokee?) Bring my teeth together… ok… now move my lower jaw to the right? Oh. Yes, I do see how the top teeth fit in the grooves of the lower ones. Move my lower jaw to the left? Ah. Yes, I see.

Dammit.

A bite plate?

Invisiline braces and whitening? It would be my dream to have perfectly straight and blindingly white teeth. Yes, ok. Um. How much?

So, Dr. McHottie Wood left after spending about a half hour with me and I was ushered into the Insurance Lady’s (yes, that is her name) office. She told me that I could have the teeth of my dreams for X amount. I was already prequalified for 18 months interest free payments. It was almost used car salesman-y.

“What can I do to get you into that shiny new set of teeth today?”

Honestly ya’ll? I really want to do it. I talked to Mister and we have been playing the, “Which would you rather have… a pool or new teeth? A new car … or new teeth? A Vacation or… new teeth?” But then again we also play the, “If you were Mister’s favorite movie what would you be?” game. By the way, the answer is Thunderball. So I don’t know. This is the first morning that I have woken up with monster pain from my face trying to eat itself at night.

My worry is that Dr. McHottie Wood said that my Invisiline braces would require about 10 trays (a new tray every two weeks). I don’t want to wait until it requires 12, 14 or 16 trays. Have any of you done the Invisiline route? Steph did before she got married three years ago and she has the most gorgeous smile.

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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