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2004-08-04 - 10:06 a.m.

There is nothing worse than a hot dentist. Seriously. Heís in your mouth, and heís hot. Even if youíre happily involved in a relationship, you still donít want to go to a hot dentist. It should be an ugly old man who extolls the value of healthy teeth, not a hot blooded Latino hottie who, coincidentally, grew up a few towns over from you in upstate New York. You donít want to go to hot dentist because you were really honest on your medical information, and now he knows you havenít been to the dentist in a disgustingly long amount of time, you have a heart murmur, and youíre petrified to death because youíve had your teeth drilled without Novocain. He introduces himself without his mask on, and heís hot. Oh God, you think, this is worse than the hot eye doctor experience. He puts his mask on to look in your mouth. You think, Jesus Christ, what possessed me to eat corned beef hash for lunch? You knew you didnít have a toothbrush, why didnít you just eat mint leaves for lunch? You feel like he smiled at you more before he got you on your back with your mouth wide open. In the dentistís chair, that is. Now heís not smiling as he prods your teeth. Is it your breath? Do you have boogers in your nose?

You shouldíve known it would be a terrible day when you went to pick up your grade and got caught in a giant cluster fuck of traffic. Not one, but two major douchbags decide to play traffic cop and straddle two lanes so you canít get past. In a moment of insanity, you press your foot on the gas, with every intention of slamming your car into the back of this motherfucker who thinks he has the right to block your way. You slam on your brakes right before you hit him, because youíve been taught not to write a check you canít cash, and if this dude gets out of his car and heís huge, youíre beat. All that bullshit and your fucking grade wasnít ready. Your spidey sense told you not to leave work, why didnít you listen? You know 75% of your irritation is because you are horny and there is no relief in sight until the honey comes over in three days. You wish you werenít the kind of girl who gets irritable when she needs sex, but you are, so you resign yourself to being slightly on edge until you get laid.

You get lost driving to the dentistís office, because the numbers on the same street keep changing. There's no order whatsoever, as if someone who couldnít count randomly picked numbers out of his or her ass. You finally get to the dentistís office, after almost getting stuck on a road that was flooded out. Itís pouring rain as you run toward the building, shirt over your head so you donít get drenched, but because your view is impaired you donít realize youíre running into a puddle that comes up just below your kneeóuntil youíre in the middle of it. Cocksucking shitbird. It's not your day. You walk into the building shivering, because itís air conditioned inside and youíre soaked to the knees.

You find out, after hot doctorís examination, you have two cavities and you must get your wisdom teeth out. Fucking great. Oh, and he doesnít have time for the cleaning, so you have to go back for the cleaning and one filling, then back again for the other filling. As the receptionist tells you this, you wonder, what the fuck was this appointment about then, so I could meet the hot doctor and hear about all the work my mouth needs? He didnít even do anything! Except stand there and look hot.

You start driving home and you have no desire to go to the gym. Rather than take care of your body by exercising, right now youíd like to fill it with chocolate and alcohol and pizza. But like a good girl, you go to the gym. Usually if you force yourself to go, you end up enjoying it, but today, no dice. You get home, burn some incense to set the mood, put on a Billie Holiday CD, and cook dinner. Things are looking up. Dinnerís great, and you decide to read for a few hours. But you canít stop eating. You put on Nina Simone and proceed to drink a glass of water, soda, then Mikeís Hard Lime, and you eat three le Petit Ecolier cookies, and a large handful of Cheez Nips. There goes your workout. You start watching nip/tuck, but one of the characters was slashed by a rapist, and you start thinking that if you have a stalker he knows you're home alone and itís only a matter of time before he comes over and tries to force himself on you. Youíre happy you keep a tire iron under your bed, but unless you plan to sleep with it in your hand, itís not going to do you any good. If you keep it in your hand while you sleep, you'll probably impale yourself, and that's a bad thing, too. Itís 11:30, well past your bedtime, and you crawl into bed, after locking the door and putting a chair in front of it.

You fall asleep to The Polyphonic Spree CD, hoping that some of its contagious joy will seep into your subconscious as you slumber, and tomorrow will be a better day.

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