a drill, a fill, a bill

i was introduced to a new friend today...







NOVOCAINE!






up until this point in my life i have proudly held membership to an elite group of individuals having one thing in common - no cavities. incidentally; no gum disease, gingivitus, plaque, or anything else mentioned in the toothpaste commercials.

(the fact that the other members of my prestigious group are a bunch of 8 year olds who haven't been properly introduced to redbull or altoids is beside the point)

but all of that is behind me now because i got myself a cavity. several, if you want to be exact.

the dentist introduced herself and pried me open to take a look inside. she gently let her latexed fingers glide over my teeth for a slow and uncomfortable sixty seconds.

"your teeth are gorgeous. did you know that?" she asks.

"um...thanks."

i figure i'm a new patient and she's just trying to make me feel good about myself before she tells me how i don't floss enough. she continues to stare into my mouth, in a daze.

"they're really beautiful. i'm being serious." she cooed.

"okay. thank you."

then her face slowly dropped and her eyes saddened as she looked into my gaping mouth. by the expression on her face you would have thought she just witnessed someone smearing fecal matter on the mona lisa. behind that surgical mask, there was devestation. the words that followed seemed to cause her physical discomfort...

"you have some cavities."

then the happy fun time began:
novocaine, needles, drills, gagging on my own pool of saliva, and the smell of my burning enamal wafting up past my nose.

yet it was the small talk during the procedure that really killed me. i've got six fingers, three medical instruments, and a couple tubes crammed into my mouth and you decide now's a great time to ask me if i enjoy my job. i managed to grunt, hoping that this would be a sufficient answer to her inane question.

with the drilling and filling finally complete she took a look at her work. the doom and gloom mask was quickly replaced by supreme satisfaction.

"your teeth are absolutely amazing."

seriously lady, do you just want to take my teeth out on a date? just be sure to bring them back by ten, i don't want them to get a reputation.

then she blurted out the non sequitur:
"i really like the crab legs."

was this a dental procedure i wasn't familiar with? oh. she was talking about my job again, this time without the cornucopia of instruments jetting out of my oral cavity.

i wasn't quite sure how to respond to someone revealing their love of crustaceans to me. it was at this point in time that i realized i had now lost the ability to move my tongue and lips - the novocaine had fully kicked in. i tried the grunting approach one more time.

"what's your favorite thing there?" she prodded.

i was tempted to physically grab my tongue to help assist it in formulating words.

"um. i don't know. fish?"

truth is, i hate the food at red lobster. love seafood, hate red lobster. but i didn't have the desire or the ability to continue this conversation with her. three hours had gone by since i arrived and i just wanted to pay my $300 and go home.

"what about the lobster? i LOVE lobster! what about you?"

"you know, i actually don't really like their food that much."

that was not the right thing to say.

"what do you mean?!" her voice quickly rising to erratic.

"i don't know. i guess it's different when you work around it every day."

"no. i don't think so. you just must not like seafood."

"okay."

how do you respond to someone who takes personal offense to those who dislike the food at red lobster? i could maybe understand it if she was a shareholder, or her father was Poseidon or something. otherwise, let it go.

it's a good thing she was so enamured with my incisors, otherwise the conversation could have ended in a fistfight. but i'm sure she couldn't risk damaging the masterpiece that is my grin.

(side note: my molars are going to be doing a booksigning at the local Barnes & Noble this saturday from 9am-2pm if anyone wants to stop by)

beeswax, pomegranate, and my pretty pretty lips

i accidently bought the wrong chapstick.

let's just start off by saying i recently discovered burt's beeswax. the wax and i have created a special bond; very similar to the unique relationship between a soccer mom and meth. normally i just stick to the straight-up no-nonsense variety and that suits my needs just fine. a couple of weeks ago i found myself with the honey-flavored variety. close enough. i muddled my way through it as best i could, nobody needs to know.

then came tonight's little treat. as i looked at it's box, i realized i had accidentally grabbed the pomegranate flavor. same thing, right? hardly.

after it's application, i found myself staring into the mirror. in fact, i couldn't stop. i was mesmerized by the enchanting pomegranate scent wafting into my nose while simultaneously disgusted at my resembling a hybrid of the cat lady next door and a drag queen from west hollywood. my initial reaction was to wipe it off in disgust. however, i decided to let it linger on my lips...just for a moment - before re-masculinizing myself by drizzling scotch over my mouth and lighting the whole mess on fire. with red wax now dripping from my chin, i threw the remnants into the trash and called it a night.

pomegranate is one of those culinary quirks that suddenly appears out of nowhere; like chipotle or ciabatta bread. and once it does, EVERYONE scrambles to carry it on their shelves. it seems like it was about three years ago when pomegranate snuck onto the scene in the U.S. it started out as one of those ultra expensive 'health-nut' juices that nobody cared about. but before long it had infused itself into our apple juice, lotions, green tea, martinis, and my chapstick of choice.

what does pomegranate even taste like? can the average american even identify it? because to me it just seems like a giant marketing ploy. i wanna do a blindfold test. banana flavor? got it. vanilla? child's play. orange? practically my brother.

but, pomegranate? what is it...a strawberry? mixed with lime? i don't get it. all i know is that i don't want it in my chapstick or rubbed on my ciabatta.

county fairs, americana, and the douche

LA has a fair. you know, like the kind with corndogs, barn animals, nascar enthusiasts, and shady titl-o-whirl operators. for the residents of los angeles?

i can't think of a more inappropriate location for a county fair. what was once a summertime celebration of agriculture, blue collar jobs, consumption of cheap american beer, hyperactive fat kids, and the social acceptability of overalls and flannel shirts will now be tainted by the attendence of 'the douche' (pictured below).

arriving in a mercedes, blackberry in hand, rolex on wrist, scoping out the food stands for a killer tofu smoothie.




apparently i'm not the only one who finds the idea of a fair in LA county amusing. here are some local ads running on TV right now: