I’m Dying

Oh my God. I’m dying. Literally dying. I’ve just had all four of my precious wisdom teeth savagely ripped from my mouth with a giant and unimaginably sinful set of pliers, and now my entire face feels like a bloody, swollen, minefield. I no longer believe in God.

Now, this whole situation wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that it was done in the most barbaric and evil of ways. For starters, my dentist is a sadist. My mother says he’s a pervert but I like my word better. Either way he’s the kind of doctor that just doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. Like, do you actually think I want to be sitting in your god-forsaken chair, listening to you ramble on about every single restaurant you’ve ever been to in your entire pathetic life while I’ve got 100lbs worth of metal rods and other various torture devises in my mouth? Do you really really think that’s why I came here- so you could try and make me laugh with your unfunny anecdotes about when you were young and “rebellious?” Dick. I wonder if they tell jokes to prisoners of war before they beat them to death…

Anyway, because I was getting all four teeth pulled at once Dr. Lameass suggested he put me to sleep rather than get Novocaine. He said it was because the procedure could be very long and uncomfortable, but I had an inkling it was because he wanted to stare at my tits while I was passed out. Whatev. At least I didn’t have to look at his fat face the whole time. So, as he suggested, I passed out and missed the whole thing. About an hour later I woke up to his hairy, meaty fingers in my face, waving around what appeared to be a tooth and laughing furociously, like some manic serial killer who just murdered his 100th victim. What was so funny you ask? Well, apparently when I was waking up I was so out of it that I asked the nurse if she was the sandman. Big deal. Like he’s never mistaken someone for the sandman before. I don’t even remember saying it but both he and the nurse made a point of reminding me about ten times and then telling my mom when she came to pick me up as well. Naturally. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I stumbled out, mouth bleeding, and looking like a drug addicted maniac in yellow sweat pants.

When I got home things started to look up. This is because my mother handed me what looked like a lifetime supply of painkillers. Vicodin to be exact. Yay. I immediately popped one of those shiny blue pills into my aching mouth. About 45 minutes later when I was still in dyer pain I decided it was time to take another. About twenty minutes later, slightly out of it but still not feeling that great, I took yet another. Very bad idea. Apparently my body doesn’t get along with Vicodin. How monumentally unfair? Verbal molestation by a sadistic dentist and now this. I suddenly felt incredible sick. Thinking I was about to projectile vomit but simultaneously unable to move my limbs, I called for my mom. When I opened my eyes she was there, standing above me with a full-grown bear and one of those handlebar moustaches that curl up at the ends. Holy fucking shit.

Basically, the Vicodin made me hallucinate. Not like happy, colourful, ecstasy hallucinations, but more like “oh look there’s a dog being born…. oh god now it’s being strangled by a 10ft long anaconda” kind of hallucinations. Not cool. My mom, very sweetly, tried to comfort by sleeping next to me and rubbing my head. Unfortunately this did not help at all as her man-beard was freaking me the fuck out and I kept thinking her fingers were giant tarantulas on my skull. The next five hours were like one never-ending, terrifying acid trip. My life is just one tragedy after another.

But, alas, the worst is over and I am feeling slightly better today. At the moment I’m drinking a milkshake and watching Oprah. She’s talking about a mix between angels and her vagina. You’d think after fifteen years this would get old, but it’s still as gripping as ever. Tonight there’s supposed to be a snowstorm- a “nor’easter” according to the man on the TV. My mom is in the midst of a panic attack. She can’t decide whether or not to go to the store to get more chocolate soymilk before it starts to snow. She doesn’t know if we have enough to last the storm. Life… it’s a motherfucker, eh?

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