Has there been a day this week I have not been dashing off to somewhere and pulling a fast post out my arse?
June's blog. Come for the photography. Stay for the grace and dignity.
In case you were up all night, tossing and turning, my dental visit went shockingly well. Oh, I still need to replace old fillings and get a bridge because apparently I have a raging river in there or I have to connect San Francisco with Oakland or something, but the last time I was there--in January, same day as my first date with Ned, in fact, and I remember writing to him, "If this date is a bust, at least you can tell everyone 'She had great oral hygiene"--I bought the new Oral B. I already had Oral and his B, but I got the updated version. Oral B 2.0. Because back then I had a job and was not eating Cream of Wheat for dinner.
So I get in there, and to say my hygienist is chatty is like saying Avril Lavigne might not be making the most sensible decisions right now. I realize the whole time I have pointy instruments in my gullet, so chatting back is not possible, but can we just enjoy the silence every once in awhile?
Why do women need to chat so much? Asks the woman who every day writes 1,000 words to the ether. Honestly, though, it drives me berserk. At salons, stores, restaurants, you hear women, "And bloop de bloo doo and I said to her well blee de bleep de blee!" Good GOD women, give it a REST. Must everything be discussed ad nauseum?
I think that's why I have more men friends. I don't often find it necessary to prattle on. Do I? Friends in real life? Do I? Okay, Renee, you can't answer that Q. For some reason Renee and I explode with words when we're together. And who is sad she didn't get to hang with Renee in Hawaii this month?
Anyway. MY POINT IS, and I am totally being a woman now, the hygienist got in my mouth, there, and she was all, "Oh, wow!"
Now, see. That's what they always do. Oh, your root canal didn't take. Your filling now needs a crown. Your whole mouth needs removed and restarted. But this time, she said, "Everything looks great!" She got out her pointy tools, and thank GOD her kitchen remodel is over, so I didn't have to hear about that again, but she interrupted herself midprattle to say, "I don't really even need to polish you. I will, but, Esther? Get in here!"
Poor Esther, who probably has ear bleeds every night from working with my hygienist, came in kind of trepidaciously. "She bought the Oral B last time she was here and look at her!" They peered at me like I was baby Jesus in the manger. "Wow!" Esther admitted. I think it was my swaddling clothes.
Then they did the thing where they stick ANOTHER pointy tool in your gums and say, "Three two three. Three two three." I always like that because 323 is my old area code in LA. When they'd finished poking at every molucule of gum I own, the woman taking the numbers said, "I haven't heard numbers that good in years."
So, June. Passing the dental exam. Won't you admire my teeth with me?
In other news, there was a really good rainbow when I got to Ned's the other night, and of course my iPhone captured it brilliantly. Perhaps I could sell some of these really good teeth buy an iPhone 4.
Also, I decided to do just the muscular structure work of my Traci Lords veeedeo, and the animals made that super easy.
You know, me being on a mat does not mean, EEEEEVERYBODY! ON THE MAT! PARTAYYY ON THE MAT! Really. It doesn't.
After repeatedly kicking both my mentally and physically challenged pets, it turns out my heel hurts. So damn. That isn't good.
Okay, screaming off, because apparently being unemployed means you are super busy.
June, sayin' it loud. I'm plaque-free and I'm proud.
