I have funny conversations sometimes

Actually, I have funny conversations a lot of the time. To basically completely copy "My girlfriend is ridiculous", I'm going to start posting some of these conversations. Good times. Here's one now:

Ms. V: "There's a Waffle House in Cleveland. We could go to the Waffle House in Cleveland! Woo!"
Joe: "We're not going anywhere in Cleveland."
Ms. V: "Except the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame."
Joe: "Yeah, and leaving!"


More to come soon. Promise.

xo,
Ms. V

Interesting conversation... and I held back

Today. Hannaford. South Burlington. Picture it.

I walk to my car and I hear "excuse me lady?" I ignore it initially but then turn to see that the man who said it really was referring to me. The following conversation took place:

Man (with no teeth): "My girlfriend and I are living in my truck and I need to get a prescription filled. I'm $1.05 short. Can you spare it?"
In the Christmas spirit I decide to hand the guy $2. Sure, I have no way of verifying that it's for a prescription but I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it's only a couple of bucks. While I pull out my wallet, he shares his story...
Man (with no teeth): "We've been livin' in my truck. I only get $132 unemployment check and that doesn't go far. Hey! You're beautiful! You could really make it if you moved to Florida where I'm from! I hate this state!"
Me: "Oh, thank you. That's very nice. Here's your $2. Happy holiday."
Man (with no teeth): "Thank you! Merry Christmas!"

I held back. I decided not to point out to him that our economy is in the ole' crapper because "his" great state of Florida is responsible for letting an imbecile in office, causing one of the largest economic downfalls in US history. I was not happy though. I don't take kindly to people who speak ill of Vermont. I especially don't take kindly to it when they're IN Vermont, asking for handouts, and actually receiving one. This is something that likely would not happen elsewhere. Why? Because Vermonters are nice. I held back. The dude was crazy and standing about 2 yards away from me. Also, he called me beautiful. Flattery scored him a few points.

Happy holidays!
xo,
Ms. V

A New blog to stalk

On the recommendation of my buddy Perplexio (aka: Darrin), I checked out My Girlfriend is Ridiculous. Cute. Hilarious. Love it. I've added it to the blog links at the right. Check it out, peeps. Here's the description from the master of the blog himself:

"I have a girlfriend. Her name is Jessica. I was initially attracted to her because she is very hot. As it turns out, she is also very sassy."

More blogging to come. I have two glorious weeks off before going back to the hell of a ridiculously long commute and 10 hour work days. :D

xo,
Ms. V

C'mon baby light my fire...

Over the years, I have discovered that funny things happen, and many stories emerge when I do stupid stuff. This should not be a surprise to anyone reading this blog, as I've got 4 years worth of junk posted on this thing to back me up. If you're reading, you know this. We're off to a good start.

So.... I'm sitting around my fabulous apartment the other night, enjoying the season of Thanksgiving. Wanting to set the mood for some relaxation, I decide to light some candles but notice (in a mildly annoyed way) that the wick of one of the candles is off-center and now melting the wax unevenly. Scientist that I am, I note that a simple solution is to add something small and flammable to the other side of the candle that will burn out on its own but cause the wax to melt. Gosh, I'm stupid. No, really. I really am. Read on...

I roll up a *tiny* - yes *TINY* piece of paper and add it to the wax. It burns. It keeps burning. The paper doesn't disintegrate. I shut the bathroom door and pretend this isn't happening. I wait a minute. Open the bathroom door & note flames. I shut the bathroom door again and hope that I hallucinated. I re-open the bathroom door & note flames again. I also note the boiling wax. At this point, the glass will shatter if cooled too quickly, so water is now officially out of the question. I'm too terrified to go near this tiny, contained fire because I now have visions of glass exploding and careening all over my bathroom and myself. (Yes, I'm a bit paranoid, I know). I whip out the fire extinguisher from under the kitchen sink, open the bathroom door a 3rd time, pull the pin, stand back 6 feet, aim, squeeze, and admire the puff of white smoke that has filled my downstairs bathroom. The fire is out. Everything is coated in powder. I put the fire extinguisher back underneath the sink, pour myself a glass of wine, and pop in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." Clean-up can wait.

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving!

xo,
Ms. V

She's back!

...and better than ever! I decided to check my site-counter and, much to my surpise, I discovered that people still check this thing.

Sarcastic writings to follow. Promise. I just had to recover from Paul's death. My period of mourning is over. Time to celebrate!

xo,
Ms. V

So long, Paul

A truly fantastic actor, and by all accounts, an even better person:

Paul Newman, has passed away. I will be watching one of my all time favorite movies, The Sting, in his honor tonight.

xo,
Ms. v

Bad ways to start a morning...

As I was sitting downstairs studying the other day, I could hear soon-to-be-ex-Hub rummaging around in every cupboard, drawer, and closet space in our upstairs bathroom. You know it'll turn interesting when the conversation goes like this...

Me: "Are you alright up there?"
Soon-to-be-ex-Hub: "No."
Me: "What's the matter?"
Soon-to-be-ex-Hub: "I can't stop the bleeding."

Silence.

I make my way upstairs only to find that he has, in fact, cut himself and he can't, in fact, stop the bleeding. I patch him up and make sure to comment that any one he dates in the future will also need to have some sort of medical or first aid training.

Fun times.

xo,
Ms. V

Two weeks of dazzling adventures

Sometimes I feel like my life is a giant practical joke. Here's why:

Tuesday, 8/26: I got out of class 30 minutes early, headed home, and found that my Amazon.com order had arrived. At this point, I think "Wow, this day can't get any better!" Completely excited, I figured I would get right to work in assembling my new pieces of furniture. After having done such a fantabulous job with my coffee table, I knew it would be a piece of cake. I started to put together my bookcase, only to discover that the holes were drilled into the wrong side of one of the pieces. I put everything back in the box and emailed Amazon. I then moved on to the bathroom storage unit and assembled the bottom half. Before moving on to the top, I decided to make sure it would actually fit in my bathroom. It didn't. I put everything back in the box and emailed Amazon again. I looked at the third item, a hutch, and realized it was too large for my apartment and I didn't really need it anyway. I was smart enough not to open the box this time, but had to email Amazon a third time. At this point, it occurred to me that I just spent a ton of money that I don't have on 3 items that I don't need (and don't really have room for). It turns out that only one of the three items is returnable. I now have a path of boxes from my door to my computer and bed. Yes, I'm serious.

Wednesday, 8/27: I woke up and thought "Well, at least today can't be any worse than last night!" My gosh, I'm an idiot. I made my way out to my car only to find that it wouldn't start. Normally, I could just walk to school since I live less than 1 mile away, but I was inconveniently parked in a "Wednesday spot." My car had to be moved by 9am, otherwise I would receive a $75 parking ticket that I couldn't afford (after spending all that money on the now-useless furniture). There was also the possibility it would get towed. It would depend on whatever mood the parking officer was in at the time. Since I still have VT plates, my bet is that it would be towed. I didn't want anyone to mess with Zippy Jr, so I called my friend for a jump start. It worked. Yay.

Thursday, 8/28: I woke up and thought "After the last two days, today HAS to be better." HA! Zippy Jr. wouldn't start again. I left the dome light on. To quote George Costanza, "I am Ms. V, Queen of the idiots." I couldn't walk to school on Thursday because we had to play dress up and I was wearing high heels. There was no frakking way I'd walk a mile in those shoes. I called my friend to come pick me up. After class got out, another friend gave me a ride home and tried to jump start Zippy Jr. but to no avail. A kind gentleman happened upon us and offered his services. He said both of our batteries were fine. He took mine out, cleaned things up, put it back in, and Zippy Jr. still wouldn't start. We had stood outside for an hour, desperately hoping that the problem would soon be solved, only to find that we were back at square one and short the $20 that I had paid the guy who helped us. I called my father. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "Am I the only one of the kids who has ever called you with car problems?"
Dad: "Yes. Call AAA. They'll boost you."
It turns out that my friend's battery didn't have enough juice to jump start ZJ's battery. AAA came to my rescue, and I took my friend out for Mexican food and cheesecake to celebrate the return of ZJ's happily purring motor.

Wednesday, 9/3: I took the first exam of the semester and realized that I hadn't studied at all. I passed, but not by much. At that point, I didn't even care. There's a saying in PA school: "C gets the degree!" It's my new mantra.

Thursday, 9/4: I woke up this morning only to find that I had no running water. Fan-frakking-tastic. I didn't have class today, thankfully, but had to meet with my study group to work on a class project. I called up the two girls who are in the group with me (the same two girls who had rescued me when I had car problems last week), told them I'd be late, then called my aunt to ask if I could use her shower. I raced to Delmar, became human, grabbed a bagel at Bruegger's and arrived only an hour late. Not bad. Ten minutes after sitting down in our library study room, however, the fire alarm went off. We had to evacuate. It wasn't a drill. Great. After being let back in, we finished our project and parted ways. I haven't stopped laughing since, mainly because I know darn well that there must be a hidden camera somewhere and I will somehow end up on TV after all this. It's probably some knew reality show. "How much can the PA student handle?" Or "How many bad things does it take to set off an Irish woman's temper?" Check your local listings.

That's it for now. Wish me luck for the weekend!
xo,
Ms. V

Draw'rings

This is what I do during class:

It's almost amazing that I'm actually passing, huh?

Truthfully, doodling actually helps me pay better attention. If I didn't doodle, I'd daydream. At least I actually hear what the professors are saying when I doodle. Some of it must stick in my brain somewhere.

Final exam status: 3 down, 2 to go. Speaking of finals, it's time for me to get back to studying.

xo,

Ms. V

Getting there

My current final exam status is: 2 down, 3 to go.

I have one tomorrow on the kidneys, one on Friday morning in Applied Pathophysiology (this time it's kidneys and endocrine), then another on Friday afternoon that is 120 questions long and - get this - CUMULATIVE. Fun times. We'll be tested on pathology, cardiology, respiratory, gastrointestinal, and kidneys again. Fun times.

At approximately 3pm on Friday, August 1st, 2008, I will likely be the happiest woman alive. That is when I officially go on break for two glorious weeks. :D

Wish me luck!

xo,
Ms. V

I'm still alive

Things I need

- A good chiropractor in the capital district.
- A massage. Desperately.
- Sleep, and lots of it.
- A caffeine IV.

If anyone out there can point me in the right direction for any of my requests, I would greatly appreciate it.

We have only 3 weeks left of this hellish summer semester. After that, I'll have a 2 week break that will be spent traveling around upsate NY and VT, and moving out of the townhouse. Should be interesting. What happens next? Well, I'll start another 15 weeks of torture with the fall semester. Great. Fun times. Prepare to deal with a very crabby Ms. V.

That's all for now. I have a test, a paper, and a homework assignment all due on Friday. I'm fairly convinced that our professors are actually in some sort of super-secret special ops part of the military and they're testing new forms of psychological torture on us.

xo,
Ms. V

My own little version of "You Might be a PA Student If..."

Well folks, here's a small taste of my life.

You might be a PA student if...

- You check your watch so often that you even look at your wrist in the shower and have a mild panic attack when you see that it isn't there. It takes a few seconds to recover and realize that you don't actually wear your watch in the shower and there is no pressing need to know what time it is every second of the day, anyway.

- Your backpack has become a constant companion. A constant, heavy, companion. When you don't wear it, you have phantom limb pain.

- You buy beverages according to caffeine content. When you go out for some rare leisure time, you buy beverages according to alcohol content.

- You refer to anyone who hasn't gone into a medical profession as a "non-masochist."

- You seriously consider the possibility of living in a shack on the beach and selling sun-tan lotion for the rest of your life.

- You start to think things like "Oh, it's only another $10,000 on my loan. That's not too bad."

- You realize that the afore-mentioned loan will total more than many mortgages when you're finished.

- You also realize that, after graduation, you will have to move to a remote part of Alaska to qualify for repayment of the afore-mentioned loan because that is the only way you will ever be able to afford things like groceries again.

- You watch TV shows, commercials, or movies and notice all of the things people do wrong, medically. You announce these things to your friends. They give you a look that says "It's fiction... it doesn't matter if she put the earpieces of her stethoscope in backwards."

- You automatically run through the ABCDEs in your head whenever you notice that a friend has a mole. You then tell them what the ABCDEs are and insist they go to a dermatologist immediately just for monitoring. Pester them until they make an appointment.

- When you're out in public, you diagnose certain things on sight alone, then you think about how you would write up a description of your assesment.

- By the end of first semester, you have become convinced - on at least three occassions - that you have some sort of rare disease or condition. Your classmates have also convinced themselves of this. Between the 30+ students, you've covered every disease known to man.

- You have absolutely no clue what your, :ahem:, cycle is anymore - partly because you're constantly stressed and partly because you sit in a classroom with 30 other women every single day. You also hang out together most evenings.

- You can put together a complete sentence using only acronyms and abbreviations and know exactly what it means.

- You use these acronyms and abbreviations with your non-school friends and they look at you as if you're speaking Greek. (You are).

- You say things like "If I see the word beta-adrenergic one more time I'll have to claw my eyes out." You're only half-kidding.

- You love every single second of it and wouldn't trade it for the world because when you finally stop to think about it, you're still astounded that you got accepted in the first place. ;)

Time to get back to studying for the big Pathyphysiology exam tomorrow (and hence look at the word "beta-adrenergic" again and again and again).

xo,
Ms. V

Speechless

Holy mother-frakking cow. Flight of the Bumblebee on piano and up-tempo. There are no words to describe it. None. I am truly speechless.

I think some people may even get motion sickness just watching the close-ups of his fingers. Unbelievable.

xo,
Ms. V

Request for a date

Well folks, I’m in need of a date for “Ironman.” A classmate (the only guy, bless him) invited me but left me in the lurch and saw it on his own last weekend. When I told him he was at the top of my SL, he said “I’m sorry. I thought you’d forgotten!” Ahem. I responded with “I NEVER forget the request for a date to a superhero movie!” He’ll pay. He’ll pay dearly. He’s trying to get back in my good graces by offering to see it again. I’m not sure I’ll take him up on that just yet. He might have to bribe me with coffee. We’ll see.

Tomorrow night, however, will be something much less fabulous than "Ironman." A few of us are supposed to hang out and watch the newer version of "A Texas Chainsaw Massacre." I wonder if I'll be able to keep my eyes open through the whole thing? Wish me luck!

xo,
Ms. V

P.S. - This is my 200th post. Yay me. It's kind of sad to think that I actually have that much useless crap to discuss though, isn't it? ;)

My new roommate

I hate bugs. Really. I really, really hate bugs. One of my ex-boyfriends used to say "There are only 2 things that Ms. V hates: bugs, and bugs." He wasn't kidding. Spiders aren't bugs, but I hate them too. They're creepy and crawly and gross.

This past weekend I was talking to a friend of mine about how much I hate them, and how I killed my first spider at the age of 20. He brought up a very good point: why kill a spider? It's an animal too, isn't it? If I would never kill a dog or a cat, I shouldn't kill a bug. He was absolutely right, so I mentally vowed to stop squishing all of the nasty critters who show up in my apartment.

I didn't think this would be a problem since I don't exactly live in a cockroach infested slum. It turns out that I was wrong. While going over some homework last night, I noticed that there was a very large spider sitting on top of my closet door. Fabulous. Just what I like to see. I was faced with a major dilemma. If I were to capture it and take it outside (5 stories down), I'd have to get within 6 inches of the hideous thing for more than 3 seconds and I would run the risk of it crawling onto some part of my body, which would send me into a psychotic fit. If I were to attack it with a paper towel, I'd become and animal-killing hypocrite. The only choice I had was to accept it and leave him (or her!) alone. The fact that I can't actually reach the spider helped with my decision. I'm short and don't have a stool. It hasn't moved. My theory is that it knows it was spared and has chosen to cohabit with me in peace. I'm OK with that. The other possibility, of course, is that it's already dead. Either way, I'm not willing to find out, so I'm keeping it as a pet. Maybe it'll help me get over this completely irrational fear.

If you have name suggestions, I'm happy to hear what they are. Something gender-neutral would be preferable. ;)

I'm going to stop avoiding my mountain of schoolwork now and get some of this stuff done.

xo,
Ms. V

Skills

Well dear readers, I arrived back in Albany this afternoon around 5:30pm. Zippy Jr. did a great job carrying the 2 large pieces of luggage, the small luggage (which held my books and was heavier than either of the large pieces), my laptop, and my medical bag. I managed to get extremely lucky and find a parking space within 1/2 a block from my building. Ab-fab.

After 3 trips up to my 5th floor apartment, I decided it would be fun to put together the coffee table I received on my last break in February. I figured it would be a cinch, since I am now an old pro (having deftly assembled my TV and microwave stands). If it were easy, however, I wouldn't be blogging about it, right? By now, you've probably figured there's a story. You're right: there is.

If you're ever interested in assembling the same style table, feel free to use my revised instructions below. Plan on the entire project taking at least an hour and a half. This is exactly how I managed to survive the ordeal and with careful planning, you can too.

1) Cut open package containing coffee table, look at 2 diagrams and simple instructions, say to yourself "Hey, this isn't bad at all." (Words you will later wish you had never uttered).
2) Remove 2 "B" pieces, 2 "C" pieces, one "D" piece, 8 nuts, 8 screws, 8 wooden pegs, and 1 allen wrench. Dig out the flat-head screwdriver from the little black toolkit you stole from your mother 10 years ago. Prepare for take-off.
3) Using nuts, screws, allen wrench, and flat-head screwdriver, attach 2 "C" pieces to one "B" piece, then attach "D" piece to same "B" piece. Crank allen-wrench like mad to make sure everything is secure. Strain a muscle in your arm.
4) Turn the table onto its side to attach other "B" piece to the empty ends of the "D" piece and 2 "C" pieces. Just as you're about to secure the screw, drop the allen wrench on your foot, then drop the heavy screw on your foot, too. This is best executed when you're barefoot (which I always am). Lose screw. Lose allen wrench. Sift through coffee table box to find them. Start over with attaching the screw and once again crank like mad to make sure they are all nice and tight. Plug all 8 holes with wooden pegs to make the table look pretty. Drop one peg under your futon and get a cramp in your shoulder as you reach to retrieve it. Note that none of the pegs fit.
5) This is where the real fun begins. I suggest mixing yourself a drink at this point. I didn't but I wish I had. Dig piece "A" out of the box. Note how heavy it is. Find 4 cambolts and 4 camlocks hidden in the mess of packaging. Once again break into the old black tool-kit that you stole from your mother 10 years ago and retrieve a Phillips-head screwdriver.
6) Use Phillips-head screwdriver to secure 4 cambolts into the 4 holes in the bottom of piece "A." Note that the holes are too small and you need to make them larger by hand. Strain another muscle in your arm while you complete this task.
7) Insert 4 camlocks into 4 holes of both "C" pieces. Gently place "A" face down on top of these holes so cambolts fit into locks. Realize that none of them fit. Contort yourself into positions that would make Nadia Comaneci proud. Use allen wrench in an attempt to re-position the camlocks. Lose 2 camlocks in the process.
8) Invent new curse words and contort yourself once more as you search for the camlocks. Find them in the mess of cardboard sitting on your floor.
9) Repeat steps 7 & 8.
10) Repeat steps 7& 8.
11) Repeat steps 7 & 8.
12) Turn table upside down and attempt to secure cambolts into camlocks. Repeat steps 7 & 8.
13) Turn table right-side up and attempt, once again, to secure cambolts into camlocks. Repeat steps 7 & 8.
14) Take a deep breath (or a large sip of that drink you mixed), and pray for a miracle.
15) Rejoice in the miracle that has occurred and secure cambolts into camlocks. Strain a muscle in your arm to make sure they're tight.
16) Lift table from the top to make sure it won't fall apart. It won't. Pull a Pat O'Brien and bury your face in your hands and cry.
17) Look at the mess on the floor, decide it's going to stay there until tomorrow, then blog about your experience.


The end result will be a few strained muscles, a cramp in your shoulder, a bruised metatarsal bone, and a coffee table that looks like this.

Good luck,
Ms. V

My shoulder hurts real bad!

(I miss Napolean.)

xo,
Ms. V

ps - My shoulder really does hurt. I never got around to making an appointment with my chiropractor on break. Great.

The madness of life

I am absolutely certain that PA school turns people into alcoholics. I actually said this to my mother today on a quick trip to upstate NY. The bright side is that I will know the minute I have cirrhosis or pancreatitis. Heck, I'll even know how to perform my own liver transplant! This might not be so bad afterall.

All kidding aside, I have concluded that there are only two things required to survive PA school: chocolate and coffee (actually, in my case, these are the only two things required to survive life.)

I had been enjoying my glorious two-week break until this past Wednesday when my fellow students and I received an email from a professor with a homework assignment attached. Fabulous. Naturally, I am the queen of all procrastinators and haven't even considered doing the reading yet. I'll probably crack open the book at 11pm on Sunday night when I arrive back in Albany.

To get over my mild-depression (related, of course, to "life's general annoyances"), I guzzled some pomtini's then stayed out at a friend's house until 3 o'clock this morning watching "Curb Your Enthusiasm." This was followed by a quick trip home to catch an episode of "Ace of Cakes" which helped me nod off to sleep in the recliner. When I finally awoke from my coma, I high-tailed it to Malone and was lucky enough to see both my niece (16 months old) and brand new nephew (3 weeks old). Naturally, they are perfect in every single way.

Hub is away for the evening, I'm going to settle back into the oh-so-comfy recliner and take a ride in the TARDIS with Doctor Who (or as I like to refer to him: "my second husband").

I know this is a bit of a boring post this evening (certainly not nearly as entertaining as my little trip to the dentist, which people are still asking about), but I'll have more very soon. Promise. School starts again on Monday. Something tells me that I'll have plenty to write about.

xo,
Ms. V

Ms. V goes to the dentist

I hate going to the dentist. Really. I really, really hate it. I can barely manage having my teeth cleaned. Imagine my dismay when I was told at my last check-up that I needed a crown. Abso-frakkin-lutely-fabulous.

I showed up today for an appointment that I was told should only take an hour and a half. The nice assistant called me back, settled me into a comfy chair and offered me a Newsweek. Not too long after, the nice dentsit arrived, swabbed some topical anesthetic on the inside of my cheek and jabbed a needle full of novacaine into my mouth. He walked away to let it work its magic and I settled back down with my Newsweek.

This is where the problem began to take shape. The people at my dentist's office are normally very quick. You don't wait to get called back to the comfy chair, you don't wait to have your checkup, you don't wait for your filling. They get you in, get you taken care of, ask for your money, then send you on your merry way. Today, however, was a different story. After the glorious (sarc) shot of novacaine, my dear ole' dentist had to attend to a few other patients. I waited. Then I waited some more. I finished the Newsweek and started reading Forbes. I continued to wait. Somewhere in my waiting I thought "Hey, if I wait much longer they won't be able to finish putting this crown on before the novacaine wears off." As it turns out, my psychic abilities are still quite sound. Read on...

The dentist finally arrived to work his magic. He drilled, ground, chipped, and drilled some more until the only remnant of "tooth 15" was a tiny, foreign-feeling nub. He took pictures, played on his computer, designed my new tooth, then turned the whole project over to the hygenist and walked away. His work was finished. The hygenist became an artist, finished designing my tooth, then said "it'll take about 20 minutes to make it" and walked away. In that 20 minutes, you can probably guess what happened: the novacaine started to wear off. The waiting had been too much. Oh lord. Read on...

Hygenist #2 arrives and reminds me of Nurse Ratchet. I can tell this is going to be a fun ride. She doesn't introduce herself, treats my poor mouth like it's a slab of meat, and uses my chest as an additional table-top for her tools. Great. To make matters worse, as she's cleaning up my hopeless little nub, preparing it for the crown, I start to cringe and squeam. The following conversation then took place:
Nurse Ratchet: "Did you feel that?"
Me: "Yeah, a bit."
Nurse Ratchet: "You're starting to thaw. Would you like another shot?"
Me: "How much left do you have to do?"
Nurse Ratchet: "Not much, mostly just rinsing and drying."
Me: "I'll be alright if it's quick." (This is perhaps the dumbest sentence I've ever uttered.)

Nurse Ratchet picked up her mini-fire hose and proceeded to blast the living daylights out of my mouth. Now, I don't know if any of you have ever had ice-cold water blasted onto the root of a tooth, but I can assure you it's painful. Imagine your tooth being electrocuted. Yeah, that's what it felt like. Blinding, white-hot pain shot up the mandibular branch of my trigeminal nerve (c'mon - I'm a PA student remember? Technical terms will be used). I cringed. I squeamed. I gripped the sides of the comfy chair like it was binding me to life. I tell Nurse Ratchet "I'm completely thawed. I felt it all. Are you almost done?" She seems to take pleasure in my pain and responds with a blast of ice-cold air to the same poor tooth root. Great. The bright side is that the worst was over. Once she put the crown on, it had a mild analgesic in the cement and the root was no longer exposed. My mouth was still a slab of meat and my chest was still an extra table for her instruments, but I survived.

Funny how I never would have felt a thing if they had worked on me a bit sooner, giving them time to finish everything before the novacaine wore off, huh? Funny how, with the waiting, my hour-and-a-half appointment turned into a two-and-a-half hour appointment. Oh well. They're a good bunch overall. I'll forgive them. Besides, it's the same dental group that Bernie Sanders uses, so you really can't go wrong if Bernie likes them. ;) I saw him there at my last check-up. Awesome.

In the end, dear readers, this was my excitement for the day. My tooth is still sore, my gums are still swollen, the whole thing feels funny because I technically have another foreign object stuck in my mouth, but I'm pretty satisfied with my new tooth overall. :)

xo,
Ms. V

You'll laugh, I promise (part deaux)

This is the funniest Saturday Night Live skit I've seen in a long time.





A good rule of thumb is: never turn your back on a cactus.
Ms. V