Tooth # Fucking 30

I've been a little busy lately. Fucking tooth number 30 (for those of you who aren't dentists - it's the bottom right, second to last back one) decided to get all externally resorpted AND DIE. That's right. I've had virtually NO tooth problems EVER except for this one.fucking.tooth. In January of 2009 I had to have a root canal ... because somewhere around November of 2007 I pulled my filling out with a sour patch kid at the movies. I have no idea what movie it was. But I'm sure it was stupid. Because any memory I have associated with this fucking tooth is stupid. Anyway, so I pulled a filling out 5 years ago ... it never hurt, so I didn't bother to get it re-filled until 2009 - when it started to hurt like a bitch. So I had the root canal. And nearly died. 

Because the dentist is evil. I mean WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND would go to school in order to attack someone's nerve with a drill?? And get PAID for it?? A sadist. That's who.

None of this really matters about what happened recently. I'm just making the point that it's  ONE.FUCKING.TOOTH. So this same tooth starts to hurt about a month or so ago, I go to the dentist, who sends me to the endodontist, who sends me to my oral surgeon, who tells me that I have an external resorption on tooth #30. AND it has to be pulled AND I'll need an implant. Fuck my life. And fuck the dentist. And fuck Mitt Romney too because I bet he wanted to be a dentist when he was a kid. Motherfucker.

The day I found out about all this I cried for 4 hours and went to the liquor store. Because people at the liquor store are NOT sadists. They went to happy school to make people happy AND GET PAID FOR IT. The world would be a much better place if everyone worked at a liquor store. World peace here we come.

And as I was bitching about my tooth for hours on end, one of the guys I used to work with sent me an email. It is as follows:

Dear Caroline,

I am very sorry to hear about your external resorption on tooth number 30. I tried to find you an appropriate get well card, but they only went up to tooth number 28.

Please get well soon.

Your friend,

Mike

Fuck you, Mike. Fuck you.

When I went in for my consult with the oral surgeon - who's Dr. Gordon Brady, by the way. We used to call him Gordo. He's Chris Brady's dad - a friend of mine from Marist. When we were in high school, Chris took our posse to his family's lake house on Lake Burton for the weekend. If God were a lake house, he would be THAT lake house. For those of you who've been there, you know that's not an exaggeration. So I'm sitting in the dentist chair (you know the one - the chair of PAIN), and Gordo's telling me he has to pull my tooth and stick a titanium rod in it's place. If he weren't the best fucking oral surgeon in Atlanta, I would have punched him in the face. So, he tells me what all has to be done, and meanwhile, I'm wondering just how much this shit is going to cost me. A lot. It's going to cost a lot.

So what ELSE would I do next?? Ask for a fucking discount, that's what. A Marist discount. Because I went to Marist. Oh, did I mention that Dr. Brady has NO FUCKING CLUE who I am? He took my wisdom teeth out summer after high school graduation, but I am ASSUMING he's taken a lot of peoples wisdom teeth out ... but that's just based on his God-Like Lake House. I don't know that for a fact. Anyway, I shamelessly asked for a Marist discount. He gave me a "This Girls is Fucking Loony Toons" look, and told the lady in the room to give me 5% off. Apparently being desperate and shameless has it's advantages.

As I'm paying for the consultation and setting up my next appointment of hell, the lady looks at me and says, "A marriage discount? Never heard of that one before."

Me: "MARRIAGE?? NO! MARIST! I WENT TO MARIST!"

(yes, I'm yelling at her ... we're very proud of the fact we went to Marist)

Lady: "Oh, I thought you said marriage ... I thought that was a bit odd."

Me: "I WENT TO MARIST! I WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH HIS SON."

(still yelling)

Maybe THAT'S why Gordo gave me the "Who the Heck is the Cheapass Sitting in MY Chair of Pain Asking me for a Discount" look. He thought I wanted a discount because I got married. Congratu-fucking-lations, Caroline.

Awkward. Just awkward.

So I had my surgery a week ago. AND I WAS AWAKE FOR THE WHOLE THING. I even asked the girl stabbing me with my IV needle to give me more drugs. She laughed. Bitch, I wasn't making a joke. I was pretty out of it, but awake none the less. I heard the drill. I still have nightmares about that drill. 

And then I lived on pain killers, chicken soup, and Yoforia for a WEEK. It's not as glamorous as it sounds. 

And last night (my first night out IN A WEEK), the girls and I went to see Magic Mike. FUN, right?? Not exactly. We went to Studio Grill - where you can eat crap, drink booze, and watch Channing Tatum and Mathew McConaughey take their clothes off all in one place. Which would have been awesome if my fucking order had come. I ordered a fucking cheese pizza. Courtney's order came. Rebecca's order came. But Erin and I - who clearly ordered fanciest things on the menu (cheese pizza and BURGER BITES) - NEVER GOT OUR FOOD. After 30 minutes I reminded the dumb fuck waiter that I was still missing my pizza. 15 minutes later he comes back and says, OOPS. Must have gotten lost. (There is a reason people work at movie theaters. It's because they weren't smart enough to be dentists and weren't happy enough to be liquor store employees.) So finally, after an hour, my pizza comes. And I chewed on one side of my mouth and enjoyed every bite. And tipped $0 because I was appalled they didn't comp the meal. Fuck dentists and fuck Studio Grill.

And now this blog post has turned into a big long ramble of shit ... so I'm done.

PS: Fuck tooth #30.