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“You can’t Handle the TOOTH!”

Issue Date: Thursday, Jun. 16, 2005

Alright, ya’ll know that I would love for my teeth to be blindingly white. And my wish is that you would hear an audible “ding” and see one of those sparkles shoot from the flash of brilliance from the sun off of my choppers when I would smile and casually toss my hair… no? Well, yes. I would love that.

But alas, I have been foiled by nature. Damn you nature! (Please, don’t strike me with lightening.) My teeth are just the normal tooth color (pictures are posted somewhere, I’m too lazy to link.)

I have been lucky for the most part. I have never had to wear braces or any kind of lip-tearing retainer or headgear of any kind. So, yeah, that’s cool. And with the years of smoking (that I quit) and the vats and rivers of Dr. Pepper that passed over my lips (that I stopped too dammit) I was lucky not to have my teeth turn yellow, brown or even fall out.

But, here’s the deal, this has been a very toothful week.

A) I went to the dentist on Monday during lunch. As I was waiting for my turn in the lobby (I was early, I’m neurotic like that.) the receptionist-type-person asked me if anyone in the office had called me about Jennifer. “About Jennifer? No ma’am, why?” “Well, she is no longer with us so we need to put you with another hygienist. Will that be okay?” “Sure.”

So, in my mind I was thinking, if it wasn’t ok… then what?

They put me with Diana, Mister’s hygienist. Which was cool, but… I’ve been getting my teeth cleaned by Jennifer for over five years. I know about her puppy, her upcoming wedding (In Ireland!), her new apartment. I was sad. And, AND Diana didn’t know about my toothlet.

I never had any wisdom teeth come in. Apparently they were shy. I have one tiny little guy that is about the size of a 1carat diamond that dropped down… not even halfway behind the molars of my upper right teeth. Ergo… my toothlet. Or fanglet as Mister calls it.

B) I like Diana, she’s gentle for the most part and very complimentary. “Whatever it is that you are doing, keep it up, your teeth look great.” Blush, thanks. But. She got a little stabby-pokey around my bottom left molar and my gum line got pissed.

I couldn’t really eat correctly until this morning. All chewin on the right side of my face. I even had to get some Oragel™. That shit is nasty… but effective.

C) I’m all for the interesting faces look. And Lord knows I have a different spin on what is attractive than most people. Ask Mister. This past Sunday we were watching “Hell: The Devil’s Domain” on the History Channel and there was this professor guy, very Greek looking, from Loyola Maramount University as one of the panelists… and RAWR!!!! And Mister was like, “Really?” And I said, “Yeah, he has a very interesting face.” But do I really want to have one of them?

The reason I am asking is because I have this… gap… this tooth gap… that is creeping in between my two front teeth. It isn’t Seal or Madonna huge or anything. I can barely fit a fingernail in there. But I don’t want it there. Straight, blinding white, non-Tom Cruise “You can’t Handle the TOOTH!” … just lovely, white, straight teeth are my wish. Gah.

D) If the gap, the dentist, new hygienist, my neuroses about my teeth are not enough. Yeah, I had a dream. It was awful. And now, to pass the brain enema on to you so I can stop thinking about it I will type it all here in it’s weird and shaky, dream-like, totally incoherent entirety.

Just for you… because I love you.

Opening sequence: I was getting ready at 4 am for a conference I had that morning on stage at Treasure Island in Vegas. I was worried that with the water stage for the Cirque du Soleil performance of “O” that there wouldn’t be enough room for my conference… for CPAs.

Because… you know… clearly French circus performers and certified public accountants mix.

And then.

All of my front lower teeth fell out. Except for two stubborn ones.


I’m normally a smiley type of gal, and I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to greet my attendees with a smile and a “Thank you for coming, blah dee bloo…” that I started crying. My dad walked by with a turkey leg in one hand, a bucket of quarters and a large poster with a sun on it and told me to, “Suck it up, baby doll.” I told him, “Daddy, I can’t… Literally. I don’t have any teeth.” And then I showed him the poor little napkin I had in my pocket that was overflowing with teeth.

I wanted to find a dentist, but it was 4 am in Vegas. And damn, I couldn’t get all those little teefs back in the napkin and into my pocket, and I had a lot to do before people started showing up for the conference… on the water stage.

I went outside the casino and terrorists were trying to hunt down this woman who was a water nymph. She could shape change and she had a magic vibrator… I found it and held it aloft like fucking Excalibur while the FBI guys swarmed in. She dove into the volcano thing out front and my two remaining teeth fell out.

I bent down to pick them up and the napkin fell out of my pocket and my poor little teeth went everywhere and I dropped the magic vibrator.

I woke up.

I blame that “rabbit” episode of Sex and the City that was on TNT last night.

I do. Really.

The previous bit of crazy was brought to you by the letter vain as shit and the good people down at that creepy ass commercial where those two old people are sharing dentures just so they can eat a Butterfinger™.

June 25th Contest:
Okay, a few of you have placed your bets on where Mister is taking me on the 25th of June. (I asked the question two entries ago… well, one, the banner entry doesn’t count.) I will leave the polls open for a full week. Please leave your guesses in the comments section at the bottom of this entry. The winner who is the closest will get a rockin mix cd made by yours truly. Or something. I like the mix cd idea.

Notify List:
Also, I wanted to point out the notify listy thing. Down at the bottom of the page there is a place where ya’ll can sign up for my Notify List. It will alert you when I have updated. The people on the notify list are the ones in the know.


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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.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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