Thursday, March 18, 2010

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.
.
*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.

1 comment:

  1. 1. You repeat yourself a whole lot.
    2 There are a gross number of typos in this post.
    3. I *love* the reasons you posted for being called a whore, mainly because they are all true.
    4. You repeat yourself a whole lot.

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