Kev Goes to the Dentist...and makes a long, long post about it.

I know what you're thinking.


So, I went to the dentist a week or so ago. I did not blog about it immediately, because I...took a note from a close friend and decided that when I have an...disturbing event occur, I should let my uneasy feelings subside before posting about it to avoid "paranoid, delusional episodes." That close friend was my Mom. She gave birth to me. Welcome the "I probably made that up" tag. Prepare to be used, baby.


My Dad had an appointment on the same day an hour after mine. He said it would be fine.

Now, my Dad is never right. One day, he was wrong so often, even he started to realize he was wrong when he thought something. So I was not assured. We arrived at the dentist office. There was a faint smell of dread in the air. A still.

Suddenly, we heard the dentist call out (it was a small office): "DAMNIT! GET ME THE HAMMER DRILL," followed by "Which one? The Craftsman or the Bosch?" from an female assistant. I did not like his reply: "WHICHEVER ONE HAMMERS HARDER, DAMNIT!"

Seemingly for good measure, he yelled again: "DAMNIT!"


My Dad handed me the forms. "What are THESE?!" I screamed, half in a rage, half almost in tears. You know how your voice gets when you're in immediate, horrifying danger. "Kev...it's the forms. You're almost a man. You need to learn to write on them."

He added for good measure: "Oh...and make sure your writing in legible."

The words echoed in my head as the world spun around me.

Now, for some reason, my Dad thinks my writing is illegible. I wouldn't know why. My writing is a WORLD apart! I don't know anyone else who can write like me. No one even tries! Below is a picture of both my normative write and also my cursive.


Purely readable. You could print the above picture on a matchbook and still be able to read it. So clear.


Now, have you ever seen better cursive? You could print that on a match and still be able to read it. Whew. *touches writing and makes a "tsss" sound to indicate that it is very hot penmanship*


So I filled out the form. I made ONE little mistake, and my Dad shredded it and decided I should attempt to fill out another or "save them stacks of paper and let me do it." Ooh, that man!


We waited around a bit in their waiting room. We could faintly hear the drill in the operations room. It stopped. Someone yelled out "OH, CRAP!" Shortly thereafter, a nurse appeared near the receptionist. She shook her head solemnly and formed a cross on herself. The receptionist stated "third one this week."

...it was Tuesday.


"Oh, dear God," I prayed. "Now would be a nice time to call us all home, please. Or just strike the dentist with one of your lightning bolts, or a meteor. Yeah- a big meteor. You know, I heard that a lot of people are dropping dead from heart attacks all over nowadays...kill him, Lord!"

Then I heard the call.

From the nurse.


"Mr. Stewartsky?" she stated. "HI!" I blurted, trying to appear more scared than I was. "Come with me," she said. There was something about her. Something evil. Something...evil. Wait. No, yes, that's right. Two evils.


"Hi, my name's Susan, I'll be your oral hygienist today," she said, her soothing, grandmother-like voice eking evil. Or...kindness...I forget which. Hindsight, and all that. She directed me to a dentist chair. I would not be broken that easily. Do you have any idea how close "Susan" is to "Satan?" VERY!

Sadly, my "I am a good patient" instincts kicked in, and I sat down. Curse that instinct. All my doctors love me, though. One time, my doctor passingly mentioned his lunch break, so I offered to do the work while he went to lunch. I had such a good patient history, he trusted me to do it myself and gave me his stethoscope! I diagnosed myself and even gave myself 5 shots! Note, this wasn't Dr. BBHitnnaface (the time I got some blood drawn, the time I got the test results back).


The rest of the visit went fine. She was the most awesome oral hygienist- she made a comment on my Dad's dental history. He hadn't gone to the dentist for 30 years, and now he has to have a few teeth pulled. She- spur of the moment- called it the "30-year plan." Rofl. Dolf. Tax, please!

Everything went fine, that is...until the dentist came in to take a final look. Wow, it's amazing how much their XRay technology has improved. It used to be...you'd have to wear a 400 pound lead "apron," and so you wouldn't die while it was on you, they first hooked you up to an iron lung. THEN, they sealed you in a concrete chamber 50 feet underground so you wouldn't "radiate up" the atmosphere. Like it was YOUR fault!


...anyway, once the dentist got there, he started breathing in my face. He was a smoker who heavily minted his breath. It was like gutting an animal, sticking your head in its ribcage, and trying to drive. Sorry, that may be a bit graphic. They actually have really clean rib cages, but they STINK!



In the end, I got the all-clear from the dentist. I think I became addicted to cigarettes in the 3 minutes he was looking at my teeth, though. I had no cavities. AT ALL. Plus, Sata-er, Susan, said my teeth were beautiful. She almost fainted once she got to looking at them!


Lastly, she polished them with love. I asked her how she has so much love to polish into teeth. I know that if I have to cook, say, three meals worth of hamburger patties, I have less love to put into each patty, and if I have to put love into a meal like Thanksgiving, I have to store it up by cooking hatred and disgust into two or three meals right before cooking the Thanksgiving dinner. She said that you just get used to it, and that she could only polish love into one or two sets of teeth a day when she first started. Go figure. I guess that's why people who often cook typically get better and better.



Now I need to go to sleep. One more day to my birthday. Oh, and that reminds me, did you know that I enjoy using a glove when I play RTS games like C&C (Real Time Strategy / Command & Conquer)? Oh, yes, I used to use a certain glove, but it is long gone. The problem is that most gloves are not comfortable enough to use with a mouse for any length of time, and if they are, they're very slippery and do not afford a good grip. But if they do offer a good grip, they're usually too thick to be comfortable. Oh, what a predicament, oh, meomi. It's hopeless. I pretend I'm Destroevsky. You know. That's really a brilliant thing, I think.

That guy was gay, right?