I Need a Chimney Sweep...

To clean my teeth!

I have been up all night with a throbbing face and a terrible cavern that only a day ago was home to my upper right molar. Tooth # 2, I miss you friend. I was told that the only options were root canal (NO!) or extraction (NO!). I went with the cheaper option, but am wallowing in regret and pain right now. This is the first non-wisdom tooth I have had pulled. Depressing.

Since having the tooth pulled I have learned a few interesting things.

1. My dentist doesn't believe in writing pain meds, despite my throbbing head and no sleep, despite the fact he had to yank and crank on this tooth for almost forty minutes straight to get it out. It felt like my brain was being gouged with a screwdriver. He finally had to use something called a "cowbell" to get it out. My neck is actually sore from the tugging. My sinuses hurt from it. It was like having my gums assaulted by a wrench.

2. When I went back in to have it looked at today I naively thought he would see how inflamed it is and see the error of his ways and actually do something that would help me. Hell no. In keeping with his Eastern medicinal philosophies he looked at it, swabbed a Q-Tip in something that tasted like clove and told me it would get better. Standing up, I noticed that my mouth tasted like... the leftovers of a house fire. What?! Yes, a house fire. It tasted just like what a burned house smells like. "It's creosote, " he says.

"Like the shit they scrape out of your chimney?!"

Yes, that stuff. He informs me it'd probably KILL me if swallowed (Um, good thing it's ONLY IN MY MOUTH!), but just a little jammed into the raging fleshwound of my soft palate should be fine!

Of course I go home pissed off, still in pain. I Google "creosote used in dentistry" and here is what I found:

In recent days, it has been deleted from the Pharmacopoeia in Western countries and not officially used for medicinal purposes.

But wait- there's more!

Hazards identification
To man: toxic if swallowed and by contact with skin, may cause burns

So that is a little unsettling. Also, a friend informed me of this dentist's shady past and spotty record. Why do people always tell you this sort of thing AFTER the fact? So it may be that this dentist isn't so much philosophically opposed to writing meds, but is possibly legally prevented from doing so. Scary.

I take back every negative thing I've ever said about Western medicine! Give me the damn drugs, man!

Tell-Tale Signs of Questionable Parenting

• Your two-year-old sighs and says "I need a cigarette!" (Although in toddler-speak it was more like "ciga-tett.")


• She asks for coffee that same day.


• When she sees something she likes she says "Cool, baby, cool," much like a stereotypical movie Beatnik might.


• Your child knows most of the dialogue from any given episode of The Mighty Boosh.

No y'all, I ain't a bad parent. I'm just country, like Britney Spears.

Kidding about that country part. I don't allow my child to drink soda in lieu of milk or water, and she doesn't need her teeth whitened from poor diet and neglect. And I haven't shaved my head and vandalized a car with an umbrella. Yet.

"Et tu, Brute?"

Oh, the Ides of March.

You think Caesar had a bad day?

Well, ten years ago today I made the worst mistake of my life: I married a real bastard. I wrote about him once before, here. I was freshly twenty-one and hopelessly naive. He was almost twenty years my senior and secretly diabolical. (Well, he was a lawyer so perhaps it was only a secret to me. See above: naive.)

Let's just say one of the nicer parts of the union was the time I hurt my back somehow and he decided I was faking the excruciating pain and inability to walk. He went about his business, leaving me stuck sitting up on a couch for four days until my mother had to come over and take me to the hospital! Oh yeah, he also stole my jewelry while I was there. (If you read the other post linked to above that will make more sense to you.)

One would think that the bastardly deeds would end at divorce, right? They don't. I swear to you that every year around this time something comes up to remind me what a total Brutus he is.

One year I received a letter from court saying that I would face some type of criminal charge if I didn't pay the taxes on a car that HE sold and kept the profits from. The best part is: it was my car which he had been awarded at the divorce hearing.

A few years ago I found out that he owes taxes from 1999- the year we married. I had foolishly filed jointly with him, thankfully only that one year. Every year since then my return has went towards his debt. Last year the IRS (after denying my Innocent Spouse Relief claim) told me that it was finally paid off. I was so relieved... until last month when I called to check on something else and they informed me that "when we told you that it was paid, ummmm, we made a mistake. Now you owe the late penalties from that year.)

Of course, the penalties are nearly as much as the original debt. Ughhh. Whom do I despise more, him or the IRS?

Hmmm.

It's close, but he still wins. Definitely.

How I Know the Universe Hates Me

• Last evening, while sporting unkempt hair and a "wifebeater" undershirt in place of a real shirt, I answered the door not to my expected guest (Jeremy's mother- who wouldn't be shocked to see me like that), but to two young Mormon missionaries. The more talkative one was of Korean lineage; which I point out because his name was Elvis. Rather than take my word that, "No, we aren't currently looking for a religion," he said he'd like to come back when the "man of the house" was in. How very unlikely.
• I barely brushed against my coffee mug, which of course is on the computer desk. It actually leaned, paused as though it were making a decision of whether or not to topple and completely soak the keyboard below, or sit back in place. Guess what it did?
• My neighbors have went all out decorating outdoors for Christmas. That's not a bad thing, right? Well, it wasn't the first night or two, but now the Griswaldian glow of the lighted nativity scene, deers, trees, hedges, bushes, and... well there is more but I can't see past the glare of the front line of decorations to describe what is behind there, but anyway it is bright enough to be headache-inducing. Even with the blinds drawn. It has blotted out all the stars in the sky, and right during the only time for the next fifty years that Jupiter and Venus (and a crescent moon!) are visible together in the night sky. Bah. Humbug!

Yarrrg! Camera Problems Already!

Damn, damn, damn.

I shot really cute videos earlier of Violet dancing and being silly, but upon uploading found that they are totally screwed up. They are multicolored with lines through them and there are three simultaneous images overlapping. Has anyone ever had this problem?

I don't think it's anything I'm doing wrong. I shoot video all the time. I've emailed Canon to see if they can help. No answer yet despite their claim of return contact within thirty minutes. They better, as I just purchased this thing at the end of July! Most of all I'm pissed that these videos were sooo cute and they are irretrievable, I fear.

Here are some photos.

At least that part still works. For now.

"Not As I Do," An Allegory

This is the tale of a smart young woman (that's me!) who made some very bad decisions in her past. Or, as fairy tales often say: Long, long ago. In real life it is morelike ten years ago.

Lesson # 1

Never marry someone you barely know, especially when that big decision is based on an LSD-induced "epiphany." Extra-especially when that person (represented below by the drug-addled clown) is nearly twenty years your senior. It can't end well. (Brought to you in AcidVision!)Lesson # 2

If you fail to follow the wisdom of lesson # 1 and you do find yourself married to a drug-addled clown neary twenty years your senior, by the gods, man, DO NOT file a joint tax return! You will find yourself responsible for the old clown's tax debt years after the marriage is over. Drug-addled clowns, even those with careers and the facade of "community respectabilty" are notoriously bad with finances. When it comes down to either paying taxes or buying OxyContin from little old ladies, the clown will choose OxyCoffin every time! Take heed.

Lesson # 3

When you have finally extricated yourself from the grasp of the psychic vampire you found yourself inexplicably married to, stay away! He will attempt to use his codependent logic to draw you back in. Remember, it takes two to be codependent! Run! Run far!

When you see him feeding pigeons (or is he capturing them to eat?) with the other homeless people and junkies in the park do not look his way; He'll take it as a sign that he can ask you for money.

When you hear that he is incarcerated- because sooner or later he certainly will be- laugh! Laugh whole-heartedly while you reflect on what a bitch karma truly can be! Hahaha!

So, please, do as I say. Not as I do!

Bad Karma From The Pony Express (with illustrations!)

So I have a theory. It is this:

In a former life I was a bandit. I spent my days chasing and robbing the Pony Express riders. (I wanted some of them fancy Sears-Roebuck catalogs. They makes real good outhouse paper.) I killed me a few of them, and their damn ponies... with my boom stick.

So, that is my theory. I do believe that Shirley MacLaine would agree, although I fear that some of the details may be anachronistic (was Sears-Roebuck even around then? Doubt it. But they do make for some good outhouse paper.)

The reason this theory exists is the simple fact that I cannot order anything through USPS- which is the modern Pony Express, without it being stolen destroyed, lost, eaten by fruit bats, or some such surreal scenario. I know this happens to lots of people sometimes. It happens to me every time. No lie. The only logical explanation is that I am paying my karmic debt for those Pony Express boys I did wrong in my past life. Here is proof:

This is a package ordered by anyone else on earth but me. It is happy. It hangs out, lounging on a bright throw pillow adorned with a happy bear. Life is beautiful:

Now, compare to the following package that was addressed to me, which was eviscerated before even reaching the post office and its contents arriving separately, and by chance. Life is hell, and he now has a drinking problem and a bad attitude:

When you are a box that is destined to be sent to my house- take heed! Recycle yourself, shove the box in line behind you to take your place, call in sick... because once you are in the mail stream and on your way here there is no hope left for you!

(or whatever the hell I've wasted my money on.)