January 27, 2005.

Taking It All Off is back and posting! Yay! (Thank you to reader Michelle, who let me know.)

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I had to be out of the house by 7 this morning to make my 7:10 appointment at the dentist to do the “bite registry” I mentioned yesterday. This entailed sitting in the dentist chair while the woman in charge (I have no idea what her job title is) used what looked exactly like a caulking gun to put what looked like pink caulk along the bottoms of my top teeth, then I had to bite down and wait three or four minutes for the pink stuff to harden. I did that once without the front tooth guard, and once with. Then I was done and on my way, and she said they’d call when the nightguard was ready, which will be about a week and a half.
Yes, I look like a dork. Also, a pinhead.
(In my defense, I was staring at the camera right before the flash went off, and I thought “Oh, I shouldn’t stare directly at the camera, I should be looking off to the side!”, and as I moved my gaze the picture took. Also, I’m aware that I am in desperate need of an eyebrow waxing. But it’s a really bad angle to begin with, so there’s no way I was going to come out of this picture looking like anything with a dorkwad. Also, I’m blotchy. And yet, I’m HOT and SEXY and you know you want me!) When Fred got home from work yesterday we were laying on the bed talking and he was laughing at how having that piece of plastic over my front teeth made me lisp. “What is it supposed to do?” he asked, although I’d already told him. “Relax my jaw so that they can get a good bite registry,” I said. “Does your jaw feel relaxed?” he asked. “Not particularly. Besides, I sit around with my mouth hanging open all the time; it’s not like my jaw was particularly tense to begin with.” “What are you, one of those mouth breathers?” “Yeah, just call me Cory Haim.” “Say ‘sufferin’ succotash‘,” he said. “NO.” “Please?” “NO.” “Awww Bessie, come on, just say it once!” he begged. “NO. Shut UP. I’m not going to say it!” Finally he gave up, but this morning on my way to the dentist’s office, I relented. I called him at work and when he answered I said “Sufferin’ succotash. Happy?” But he wasn’t, because he claimed I didn’t sound as lispy over the phone. Sucks to be him, I guess.
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I feel crabby, oh so crabby, I feel crabby and bitchy and wild!”
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