Orally Violated

As I write this half of my mouth feels as puffy as Renée Zellweger's squinty-eyed face. I have two shots of novocaine, the taste of latex in my mouth, and a weird tale.

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"Orally Violated"

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This week I returned to Laredo to relax and enjoy my Spring Break. The majority of it was somewhat uneventful. However, the past three days have made up for it.

Two days ago I had an appointment with a dentist here in town. It had been a few years since I had paid one a visit and I desperately needed to see a dental professional since my faux (I quite enjoy that word) tooth has been giving me some problems.

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*SIDE-STORY*

I feel that I best explain my fake tooth. When I was in sixth grade I had the shit beaten out of me due to being Jewish and having a mullet. Oddly enough, the hate was equal and not pushed more towards the hairdo of my early childhood (which I am none to proud of). While in gym class the boy came up to me, and without really saying anything, pushed me onto the wooden gym floor. By this time in my life I already had my adult teeth grown in. When I landed I apparently landed wuth my mouth open.

The next thing I remember is screaming and holding 3/4 of my front tooth in my hand and feeling blood drip through my hand. (Lovely, yes?) Needless to say my mother was pissed, the perpetrator shocked, and I was saddened. What makes this story worth telling I(aside from explaining the trip to the dentist) is that the boy who pushed me had a mother who was/is a dentist! She offered to put the tooth back in (which turned out to be impossible) for free. I have never seen my mother so pissed. It was wonderful.

Ever since that day though, I have had a fake front tooth that is extremely sensitive to: air, cold water, ice cream, television waves (odd), and people hitting me in the fucking mouth (which has happened numerous times since the incident).

*END SIDE-STORY*

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After telling my mother that my tooth was hurting she scheduled an appointment with who I will from now on refer to as Dr. P. Imp.

Now, I understand that we need dentists in the world. I understand that good oral hygiene, especially for someone who uses their mouth as a major part of their profession (i.e. stand-up comedians, talk show hosts, news casters, hookers, etc.) is imperative. However, I think dentists are also the most bitter and passive-aggressive people in the world.

When I got to the dentist's "office" I noticed two red flags right off the bat:

1. The "office" is in a residential neighborhood
2. My dentist had terrible teeth

Red flag number two may not seem as bad as most things, however, I firmly believe that you should at least, for show, have decent looking teeth if you're a dentist.

Now then, after sitting in the living room that Dr. P. Imp is passing off as a waiting room for over twenty minutes past my appointment time, I am called to the guest room where there is a dentist's chair, weight scale, and a sink. This isn't slightly creepy, at all. The dental hygienist/assistant/daughter/prostitute fits me with one of those paper bibs, reclines me, and then leaves. Ten minutes or so later the "doctor" walks in, gives me a limp handshake, and begins the examination. The first examination was pretty uneventful aside from the fact that I found out I needed a root canal in one of my back teeth, and had to have a filling in a tooth on the opposite side of the canal tooth. I also rediscovered that I have a horrendous gag reflex. I choked on nearly everything stuffed in my mouth. I have no clue how his assistant does it.

The second day is where the good stuff begins. Today I returned to Dr. P. Imp's house to get my filling. I was seated inside the guest room/examination room almost immediately and was seen by the doctor. Almost instantly my face was numbed with a q-tip and two syringes. The procedure was relatively painless (thanks to the drugs). However, the act of performing the filling was what made me feel like a truly violated whore.

Apparently, to get a filling in one of your back teeth, you need to have a latex gag put in. Yep, you heard right, a gag. Now, I've been called a whore on a few occasions:

1. When my friends picked me up in a car after seeing me walk down the sidewalk at night (I was walking back to my apartment after a night class)
2. When I accepted a role in the Junior class's group for a university wide-show just to be on stage
3. For the way I dress at times...

So, after the gag was put in, Dr. P. Imp began drilling. Oddly enough, the procedure was relatively painless thanks to the anesthetics. Despite the pain in my jaw, it's never been open for so long, I got quite sleepy. You see, the good doctor's daughter/hygienist/"employee"/etc. put a pair of sunglasses on me so that the light wouldn't hurt my eyes. It was like a scene from "Weekend at Bernie's". I was silent (somewhat), wearing sunglasses, and being used by two people who really were probably just doing it for my/my mother's/the one-day-to-be-mine since it's in the will/etc. money.

After the entire experience was over though I felt better. I'm sure Dr. P. Imp felt good too since we have another date scheduled for June. Does this mean I'm his ho now? I mean, I did have a gag and his hand in me in under an hour.

My First Half-Kiss

Now that I've hit the sudsy milestone that is twenty-one years old, I feel it appropriate to reflect back on past romantic endeavors so that I don't try to drown them out in my glass later on in life.

Okay, that's a lie. I'm full of shit (as I was told by my best friend a few nights ago). However, the story behind my first "kiss" is one to drink about.

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"My First Half-Kiss"

During the spring of my sophomore year I had an interesting encounter with a friend of a friend. One night during the middle of the semester myself and a small group of friends decided to go out to dinner at Chili's. The party included:

• Me
• Alphabet
• Texter
• Poor Navigator (the friend of Texter)

Dinner was rather uneventful aside from the usual outburst from me or Poor Navigator in an attempt to embarrass Texter or Alphabet. Generally, if you're out to dinner with me, I guarantee you'll get your money's worth....depending on the group we're with.

Anyways, dinner was uneventful. What's really important is what happened afterward. After we left the restaurant (it's in the town north of my university's) we headed back to school. Halfway back Alphabet discovers that she left her phone in the booth. Naturally, some concern is seen and we drive back to retrieve the device. Then we depart for school again.

After arriving at school I discover that I have now left my wallet at Chili's. I have no clue why I didn't check to make sure I had it before. However, I wasn't twenty-one at the time. My driver's license was basically useless and thus worthless to me. During this scene (concern was shown for the phone. However, I made a scene when I discovered my wallet was missing) Alphabet decides she's going up to her and Texter's apartment. Myself, Poor Navigator, and Texter all pile back into the front seat of the car (there is a backseat in the vehicle, we just chose not to use it for whatever reason) and drive to Chili's for the third time that night.

Now, during the course of the evening myself and Poor Navigator are getting along swimmingly. We're both funny, loud, and generally pleasant people to be around. Texter is quite proud she introduced us and is mentally patting herself on the back for pairing up this new-found friendship.

Back to the story:

We arrive at Chili's. By this time the underpaid "hostess" (I don't believe you're a host/hostess in a place that hangs roadsigns up as decorations) is not amused that we're back and just has my wallet sitting on the little pedestal. It's quite obvious she's not amused anymore by our town-wide scavenger hunt.

After retrieving the wallet (and checking to make sure nothing else was left (we'd developed sense by this time)) we departed for school once again. On the way back the three of us begin to talk about believing in your friend's threats and whatnot. While this discussion goes on I disagree with a point made by Poor Navigator. Texter, who has been friends with PN for a while now chimes in not to challenge this man. I, on the other hand (with a mind of my own) say he's full of shit (or something along those collegiate lines). Poor Navigator looks me in the eyes and says,

Poor Navigator: "Michael, if you don't take that back I will kiss you on the lips."
Me: [Poor Navigator] you have a girlfriend. You're also full of shit."
Texter: "Mike, don't call [PN's] bluff. He means it."
Poor Navigator: "Yeah Mike, listen to Texter. She knows I don't fuck around."
Me: "Psh, whatever." (I then turn to look out the window since I'm should-to-should with Poor Navigator)
Texter: "Mike, I mean it. Don't call his bluff. Just take it back."
Me: "No he will n-"

Before I could finish my sentence I saw a pair of hands come out of my peripheral vision, pull my head to the left, and then I felt something cover half of my lips and part of my lower-left cheek.

They weren't fucking around and I should have listened.

Yep. My first kiss was from Poor Navigator. Now, a normal person would think things like:

• "Did he just fucking kiss me?"
• "Did....did that really just happen?"

I on the the other hand could only think:

"HE FUCKING MISSED."

Yep, Poor Navigator lived up to his name. Despite being shoulder-to-shoulder with me, he still managed to kiss half of my lips. To this day I still can't fathom how someone misses. Even now I weep for his girlfriend when I think that's he's just missing all over the place. How could he fucking miss when we weren't even two inches from each other?!

Now, of course this happens all in a split second. As soon as it's over Poor Navigator turns to Texter and says:

Poor Navigator: "Can we stop at this gas station? I need some energy drinks."

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The story of my first kiss is tragic. What makes it worse is that it was a half-kiss. I'm sure normal people would be upset over the fact that a man just kissed them. Maybe they'd be upset that he was taken. Nope, not I. I was upset because he missed.

Man that year was fucked up.