Meow

Meow. Mer. Meeowww! I'm a Pussy. Let me start with today was a suck ass day. Totally. Suck. Ass. My lovely, lovely granny called me yesterday to tell me that she put birthday money in our account yesterday. Now when I say our account, I mean our account. My Granny account. This is the very first banking account I ever opened. The one my granny signed onto when I was in high school and took my first ever economics class and decided I wanted to have all the rights and privileges that came with opening a checking account. READ: I wanna go shopping and write some checks byotches! So, when I was 16, my granny went to Sovern Bank and opened me up a checking account. It has since been Nations Bank and is now called Bank of America. My granny has had her lil ole name on my account for more years than I am willing to admit. READ: I ain't telling you byotches my age yet! It was my main bank account until I got marrieds (yes, plural) and I kept it, because some sage advice was given that a woman should always have a separate checking account. So I kept it. It is now referred to as the granny account, because nowadays any funds that are deposited are put there by The Granny. The account is now used for emergency funds or a girl needs to get a lil something special shopping spree. My birthday is coming up, so I thought it was sweet that she filled it early. Not only with birthday funds, but catch this ya'll, with back to school shopping money too. She added a lil extra to compensate for the fact that she takes all the grandkids back to school shopping. Now, I've been out of school for a while. This includes teaching. So I think its so extraordinarily special that my granny still treats all her grandkids the same and still includes me in her thought process when it comes to spending the same amount on everybody. So. So. Sweet. Sigh... Anyway, today I got myself together to do a little a girl needs to buy herself something special shopping spree. And it was a big, ole FAIL. Fail. Fail. Fail. No cute stuff. No great sales. No nothing but traffic congestion and construction. Suck ass boo. Then I had to go to the dentist.

I hate going to the dentist. READ: I fucking hate going to the mutherfucking dentist byotches!! I'm not quite sure when my sheer and utter terrifying fear of the dentist began, but I always tell people, I had a bad experience as a child. That is a lie. I don't ever remember being afraid of the dentist as a child. Good ole Dr. Carpeneter. I heard as an adult he was an alcoholic and a gambler, but that never made any difference to me as a kid. I had a mouthful of cavities, and he filled them up just right. I think my fear began when I got my wisdom teeth pulled. Well, my bottom two wisdom teeth at 22. Worst experience ever. Had a baseball sized lump in my jaw that lasted over a week. No pain medicine, just pain. Blech. Consequently, I didn't return to to the dentist for about ten years. Mostly due to the fact that I didn't have dental insurance, once I grew too old to be on my father's policy. Bad Idea folks. One shouldn't wait ten years, because the news is never good when you go back. I knew that pain in my tooth (or teeth) that I had endured for seven or so years (which caused me to chew food on the left side of my mouth and drink lukewarm fluids- why do you think I like a whisky neat) was probably a good indication something was wrong. That and my top two wisdom teeth had come through, well at least halfway through. Let's just say I understood why kids cry so much when they're teething, and I had been teething for years. So when I was finally able to go back to the dentist, fully insured, I discovered that I had cracked some teeth from grinding my teeth too hard during my sleep. This made since to me and was a bit of a relief to understand why my teeth were hurting so much. Verdict- pull the wisdoms, two crowns and a root canal.  I won't go into too many details, except this one. The root canal was the the most horrible experience ever. Not only did I have three Novocain shots in my mouth, but during the procedure I still felt pain. So much that tears were running down my face, so the doctor gave me a shot right in the root nerve. Apparently, I had a "sensitive" nerve (duh). It certainly made a lasting impression on me, particularly since I opted for gas. Which brings me to today. In LA, my dentist has decided that all of the fillings good ole Dr. Carpenter had given me were loose or defective in some way, so I have had the fortunate opportunity to have all of my fillings replaced (that and another discovered cracked tooth- I do wear an expensive mouth guard BTW). My last appointment, we discovered my nerves were still "sensitive" so to speak, which required an additional numbing shot. One that I reminded him of today, when I went in for the final filling replacement (he is keeping an "eye" on the cracked tooth right now, so delaying the crown on the one tooth I felt really needed attention and the only one that really gives any sort of discomfort). Whadda you know. Shot one, he starts drilling and I jump. Shot two, he resumes drilling, and I jump. He asks if he can keep going and I reply just finish this. Then the tears of pain start leaking from my eyeballs and my quite freaked out dentist decides to give me one more shot. Finally after three shots of Novocain in my mouth and dried leaky eyeballs, he manages to re-fill my teeth. I am shaking with nerves and my fear of the dentist has increased tenfold. That on top of the fact that he does not provide the so necessary gas I need to chill the fuck out. Final verdict- We'll keep an eye on the cracked tooth. WTF! Fuck my cracked tooth. I'm pussy McPussy. I waited ten years for the first crown, I may well last another. Next time knock me the fuck out. There are not enough recreational drugs in this world that will make this dread any better. Shit, shit, shit. I wait for January or so for the next round. For now, I'm waiting for Fat Albert's friend Mush Mouth to exit my body. READ: three shots of Novocain fucks a byotch up byotches!!