Today, my dentist stuck a giant syringe in my mouth and wiggled and poked until my eyes watered. I may have whimpered once or twice. When he removed the instrument of evil from my mouth, he sweetly asked, "Are you alright?" Wiping away tears, I muttered, "That really hurt, but I was very brave." For some reason, he found this funny.
For the next fifteen minutes or so, he used whirly things that made screechy noises and one gadget that vibrated my head so bad I thought my earrings were going to fall out. Apparently, this teeny tiny cavity was in between my two back upper molars on my left side. Apparently, it was one tough son of a bitch to get to. At one point I had three hands, three tubey things, a cotton swab and some sort of Medieval clamp in my mouth. None of the hands were mine, as my two were on my lap trying valiantly not to flip my dentist the bird.
With torture complete, my numb face and I headed to the front desk to check out. As I handed the office manager my debit card and paid the $94 fee charged for their proprietary brand of pain, I stupidly said, "Thank you," and grinned at her with half my face.
As the pain medication is wearing off, I'm finding that my jaw aches. What a bonus!
Last night, Mr. Right and I decided to go see the big moneymaker at the theater and contribute another $19 to its bottom line. Yes, we saw The Hangover. It was crude, rude, foul, rank and absolutely hilarious. I typically don't care much for what I refer to as "boy humor," but I have to tell you, I laughed from beginning to end, virtually non-stop. And, when I say I laughed, I mean I guffawed, bellowed and snorted. I'm sure it was quite lovely to behold.
The only thing that tainted the experience for me was the couple sitting next to me. They must have been in their early twenties. (Since turning 40, anyone under about 25 looks like an ankle biter to me, so I'm probably not the best judge of age.) Anyway, these two had either just been recently released from separate prisons or just had their chastity belts removed because they were practically making babies right next to me. Don't get me wrong. I'm neither a prude or anti-young love, but jeez-o-pete. He would occasionally, and loudly, repeat a line that was just said in the movie, laugh and ask the object of his lust if she'd heard that. (As in, "DID YOU HEAR THAT?!") She, on the other hand, appeared to be bored out of her skull with the movie, but perfectly enthralled by the fact that the arm of her chair raised up so that she could actually lay in her man's lap. I eventually had to position myself in such a way as to make them no longer appear in my peripheral vision. *Bleh*
As we were leaving the theatre parking lot, we saw this sign:
This made me break out into serious giggling. Caution indeed!! If only they'd posted this sign inside the theatre, I could have been better prepared!
Snotty and Grumpy arrived home from their month in Colorado. *Sigh* We'd no sooner set foot inside the front door when the calls started coming in from their friends. We let them spend about an hour "hanging out" and then called it quits for the rest of they day. We'd not seem them for a month and here they were wanting to immediately dump us for their pals. Rotten, they are.
I prepared one of their favorite meals and as we ate dinner, we let the hammer fall. We'd made a deal with them in December when we'd finally broken down and purchased cell phones for them. The deal was that they had to keep their grades up to A's and B's as they currently were or their phones would be taken away. From December until the end of school, we fought tooth and nail with them over their declining grades and had to take their phones away several times until they pulled grades back up. When we received final grades in the mail after Snotty and Grumpy left for Colorado, it was not good news. Mr. Right and I decided to let them keep their phones while they were away, but agreed that we'd have to hold up our end of the deal as soon as they returned home. Oh, boy. I'm sure that we will be the subject of their reports in school if asked to write about evil dictators or homeland terrorists.
I decided not to cook dinner because I was seriously jonesing for the Greek salad at My Big Fat Greek Restaurant, so off we went.
As our waitress approached us, I noted that she was probably a solid 6 feet tall and possibly around 210 lbs. or so. She had long wavy blonde hair and was what I would call "cute." As she stood at our table and opened her mouth to speak, it took all of my will power not to jerk my head to look at her and stare in shock. She had the voice of a four year old. I'm not kidding. One of those squeaky, baby-like, itty bitty voices. On the inside, I was in full on hysterics.
She asked what I'd like to drink and when I said, "Ice tea, please," she squeaked, "Thank you," and then...she curtsied. Yep. One foot behind the other and a bow. It was a mini-curtsy, but a curtsy nonetheless. Hmmm. I waited while Mr. Right ordered and when he was finished, "Thank you," and a mini-curtsy. For the duration of our meal, no matter if we asked for extra napkins, more pita, or for her to do a little jig, we received a "Thank you" and a mini-curtsy. When she brought us our ticket at the end of dinner, she'd circled her name on the "Your Server Was...." line. Her name, as it turned out, was "Stacey." Oh...I'm sorry. That's St♥cey. Mmm hmmm. With a heart. And, to top it off, she wrote, "Thank You!" on the ticket and turned the dot of the exclamation point into a heart. Then she drew a heart around the Thank You. If she hadn't been such a damn good waitress, I would have punched her in the snout.
So, there it is. My weekend in reverse. I would put it in the proper sequence for you, but this is the way I thought it and now I'm too lazy to turn it all around. It's 110 outside and even though I'm inside, the heat just seems to suck all motivation and ambition right out of me. You certainly are dears to put up with it all.