Teef


A week from tomorrow, I will lose 4 IQ points. That's right my friends. I will drink a full gallon of Windex for your snortful amusement.

Not really. Actually I'm finally having my wisdom teeth pulled. yanked. hammered. cracked. extracted by tiny piece after piece. chipmunk cheeks.

All of the above and I'm actually excited about the whole process to be honorary. This will mark my first time having a sorta surgery. I've never had an operation before (even if this is just a lousy oral one). It's kind of exciting.

The oral surgeon said that two of my teeth are definite surgical extractions whereas the other two could be done awake. I was going to ask for the knockout gas anyway because I want this to be the most painless, most pleasant, most polysynthetic, most proficient, most moist experience. I've had exposure to many-o horror stories and that stuff isn't fun. Actually, maybe I do want to have some sort of horror story to blog about. What's so fascinating about saying "I got knocked out and woke up with $4 under my pillow"?

Anyway, it's an interesting time to get this done since there's something to do every weekend this month. While my aunt throws a party for two of my cousins, I'll be feasting on blood-soaked gauze. Mmmm doggie!

But as I said, I'm excited to have this done finally. My mouth is entirely too small for so many sharp teeth and from the looks of my recent x-ray, one of my wisdom teeth is growing horizontally into my other molar. So I'd say this is going to be worth the $666.

Oh, you don't know that story? The ladies at the surgeon's office quoted an estimate on how much I'd have to contribute (versus insurance coverage) and it just so happened that I'll have to pony up $666 on the day of. When she was telling me, it kinda clicked in her head that the number was weird and probably a bad omen. I gave her a nice friendly frightened look, buggy eyes and all, and then reassured her that I wasn't superstitious. just heavily religious. afraid of the devil. terrified of triple digits. cuddly puppies. oven baked.

Freshly baked pookies. Mmmm doggie!

What the hell was all that about?


HOLY MOLARS!

Ricky
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