Love, love, love Prudie. A couple of real zinger responses today! Love ’em!
I worked from home this morning, editing two atrocious error messages, and responding to Brendan’s dispositions on my previous edits.
I got to my dentist appointment about 10 minutes early, and they took me about 5 minutes later.
For some reason, I did not get my regular hygienist, Leann, and the one I did get seemed to have some kind of vendetta to settle with my teeth. She scraped the shit out of them. Okay, technically, I guess I should say, “She scraped the tartar out of them.”
She mentioned that she’d been “doing dentistry” for many, many years, and though she was scraping hard, and for a long time, I do have to say that she never once hit one of those places that makes your ass rise off the chair and sends chills that turn your nipples so hard that they could cut glass.
She asked me — before beginning to smear the toothpaste on my pearlies to mash it into the crevices with that rotating electric brush — “Would you like mint or strawberry?”
Hmmm, I thought. “I think I’ll try the Strawberry.”
“It’s good,” she said. And it was.
It made me start thinking about why there’s only pretty much mint for a choice of toothpaste flavors (for adults anyway). Seems like a missed advertising bonanza when you think about it.
At the end she asked, “So, how do they feel?”
“They feel great!” I said, and meant it.
And since Robert said that he tried my favorite line out on his hygienist or dentist last week, I decided to try it myself.
“My teeth are so clean I can eat off them,” I said.
Well, this just cracked her up.
I said, “Yeah, like as long as you’ve been in dentistry, you haven’t heard that 600,000 times.”
She cocked her head wonderingly for a moment, and said, “You know I really don’t think I’ve ever heard that,” which is exactly what the folks at Robert’s dentist’s office said.
I worked the rest of the afternoon from Helios.
I left there at about 4:30, and on the way home heard something on the radio mentioning Veteran’s Day, which reminded me that just about every year I end up a day late with my sister’s birthday card, because I don’t account for a day less of the mail running when I calculate when to send it so that it arrives on the exact day.
I rushed home, filled out her card, and ran it over to the post office with three minutes to spare.
I love the card I got her:
On the front, two women, one sort of yelling to the other, “Your doctor said to exercise and try more foods.”
On the inside, the other lady, who’s holding a ton of shopping bags yells back, “Oh, I thought he said to accessorize and buy more shoes!”
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
I called Myra to see if we were meeting in any particular room at the McKimmon Center tonight, and was glad I called from home instead of waiting until I was in the McKimmon Center parking lot. The reception, dinner, and workshop are next Thursday.
With my found time, I did the online USA Today Crossword Puzzle — both today’s and yesterday’s.
I took a nap this evening, and at 11:30, headed over to Flex to meet Kevin (av8rdude) for Trailer Park Prize Night. Less than one hour later, five minutes after the show started I hauled my ass out of there.
Busted Cherry was doing her final performance as emcee, and it started off with her fighting back and forth on stage about her DVD that she wanted played for her opening number, which Brigner couldn’t find in the back to put on. Refuckingdiculous.
“I’m going to work at DisneyWorld, where they sure as hell pay more than they do in this shithole,” she said to the audience.
Good. Go. And report back to us on how long you’re there before it dawns on you that you are nowhere near what you think you are.”