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So get this! Ol‘ numero 30 (I had it wrong, it was 30 not 29) is fine! Ship shape! A-okay! The dentist who was 112 but very nice blew cold air on it and banged it with an instrument and even x-rayed it and everything’s going gangbusters for that little molar. Apparently he thinks it was just tooth sensitivity! JUST TOOTH SENSITIVITY! He even felt my glands and listened to my jaw with a stethoscope. He also complimented my bite a few times and I thought he was nearly going to jump out of his chair with delight when I mentioned retainers in passing. Did I bring them, he wanted to know. Regrettably I didn’t, I had to tell him, and at the time I was like “yeah, how silly of me not to have brought my retainers!” however now that I’m back home and away from shelves of plaster teeth moldings and more diplomas and awards and honors than you can imagine, including an autographed picture from Frank Sinatra and some shots of the Pope (he’s a very decorated dentist. Perhaps he invented retainers), it’s occurring to me that I never would have thought to bring them. In fact, the last time I took them anywhere was when I first got them and left them (in their case) in the car of this guy I had a crush on which made me want to die. Sadly, that wouldn’t be the most embarrassing item I’d leave behind.

I'm on my way the the dentist and hoping he's not going to suggest doing anything that's going to make me look like a chipmunk on TV tonight. For example, if he suggests stuffing my cheeks with acorns I will ask if it's vitally important to do that this morning or if I can come back another day and do it. Then I will stamp my tail and burrow. Or whatever it is chipmunks do. Look cute and eat nuts?
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Is it wrong to want to rule out an apartment just because it's a walk-up? The irony is that I'm typing this while at the gym, on the stairclimber. Not really. I'm on the bike. And perhaps if I had to cycle to my apartment I wouldn't be so quick to say no, but the idea of having to climb a number of flights to get home bothers me. What if someone is chasing me and my legs get all noodley/rubbery and I can't push myself any further and I'm carrying sixteen bags of groceries, two cans of hairspray, emergency television makeup, three books, a drink and a lawnchair and I slip? That would never happen as I would never carry a lawn chair. But this is reason five million and twelve why looking for an apartment when it's hot and summertime is stupid. Maybe I wouldn't mind stairs in the winter. Anyone? Weigh in please.
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…however I seem to have gotten sucked into Date My Ex: Jo and Slade.
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We had to cut the Monopoly game short so I can go to sleep and be coherent tomorrow but that's quite alright because I was losing anyway. Perhaps I angered the Monopoly gods when I placed the top hat on my head, picked up the iron in my right hand and the dog in my left and announced, 'Hi, I'm here to iron your dog.'
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I'm playing Monopoly. I'm getting gouged I tell you!
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The attentive reader already knows this, but I’m going to be on Fox & Friends tomorrow morning at 9:45am ET doing the news rewind segment. I’m filling in for fellow Red Eye person and pig doodler Bill Schulz. I don’t know where he is but I know that he and I bonded over the awesomeness that was Michael Ian Black on Red Eye. Did you see him? Wasn’t he funny? I thought so. Anyway, yeah. I bet Bill is shark hunting or shark diving or shark riding. That would be a Schulzian thing to do.

Did you hear about my new thing? It’s that it takes me for-fucking-ever to write and some of what I write turns out to be crap! Unless you are one of my editors/bosses in which case I am lightning quick and only ever brilliant.

Seriously though, I feel like I’ve been wearing this constipated writer look on my face for days now and it’s interfering with my otherwise beautiful visage and sadly frizzled hair (yes, I know it’s not a word but I think it should be. the FRIZZLING being from the body wash as shampoo fiasco of two posts ago). What was I saying? I don’t know but I wish the writing just poured out of me in sheets of awesomeness but instead it seems to come out a tiny drip at a time. I need a brain colonic. I also need to stop with all the disgusting metaphors. Sorry readers. I’m tired and gross.

Today I accidentally washed my hair with body wash. The kind for your body. I don’t know how it happened. I mean, I do, but it’s a long story which I don’t care to share so I’d appreciate if you would stop trying to get it out of me. I mean, I noticed that it wasn’t really lathering in the regular shampooey way, but I just let it go. Actually, that’s not true either, I decided not to fight the lack of suds and so I just poured more into my palm. So what I’m trying to say is that today I washed my hair with a shitload of body wash. Then upon realizing it I decided to wash it with shampoo and I wasn’t sure whether that would restore some precious pH level and amino something or other and pump up the volume or whether it would further damage and strip my once lovely locks. Then I conditioned, careful not to be pouring hand lotion into my hair because I’ve lost confidence in my ability to shower effectively.

Then I ate a bar of soap, because why not.

Camel chin

Three things surprise me about this story.

1. The fondlee was female.
2. Marijuana? I would have expected something harder.
3. I could have sworn there was a third thing. I find the depth of the cleft in his chin quite noticeable, but I’m not going to go so far as to say surprising. Also, his hair color. Also, the crazy look in his eyes. But none of those were what I was going to say.
4. this is in no way related to the interview I just did
5. with a famous pop star’s brother
6. at the Maritime Hotel and the last time I was there there were mice scurrying around and I didn’t say word one about it today, which I think is mature, don’t you?
7. it’s hot here
8. I have a headache and a lot of work to do
9. I enjoyed Mr. Dick in Dude, Where’s My Car. Truly.
10. But then, I also enjoyed Hal Sparks in that movie and he turned out to be a douche nonpareil (we did Red Eye together)
11. that’s a douche covered with little chocolate candies covered in small white balls
12. then rolled in capers
13. But I did like Queer as Folk.