I slept a grand total of one hour. Yes I should’ve just stayed up but there’s always that dim grade school hope that inclement weather conditions will shut the world down. I had a dental appointment to keep and it’s my recommendation that you quit your medical training, even your engineering track program and instead attend dental school. $63 for one minute of mouthpoke. When you break it down, I don’t even think Heidi Fleiss’ girls got that much. I hate the dentist. While you may suppose such sentiment is universal, I refer you to my slightly deranged ex boyfriend who eagerly anticipated his dental visits. We’re not even talking Bill Murray’s masochist in Little Shop Of Horrors. This ex of mine plainly loved going to the dentist. It made me want to punch his teeth out. Before you accuse me of cruel intentions, please reread the penultimate sentence.  I never saw that movie “The Marathon Man” but rest assured I am marathoning in the very opposite direction from the picks, pliers, and extractors.  As a practical matter, the only person you could really get to talk through dental torture is a deaf mute. I’m still confused as to why my dentist will make conversation when there are 20 some odd tubes sticking out of my mouth. Very little gab today.
“Debbie, how long would you say that part of your gum has been tender?”
“At least 2 weeks. I know because I made the appointment two weeks in advance specifically so I’d have time to get better and then cancel it.”
If you know me at least a little bit well, you’re aware of how little I sleep to begin with. Sleep was an impossibility last night, I was far too wired to let go of the awareness state. Our adventure begins with inclement weather. It was a dark and stormy night....(well it was!) I’m going to cut and paste this story from an email so that I don’t have it to retell it from scratch. Indeed we frown upon cutting and pasting but please…. if you would read the suction cup text on my car window….“woman with tender gums on board.” You brake for women with tender gums. Which I assure you is better than braking for “tree that you’re going to smash into head on”. Recommended reading below:
The yarn, as spun by “Dreidel” Debbie as cut and pasted by Cut and Paste Debbie (please note that the minute the story begins, I’m Dreidel Debbie again)
“Guess what? I had a near-hurt-really-badly experience tonight. OK I
could conceivably round it off to near-death experience but it was such
a rush that I feel it needs no embellishment. To make a long story
short, my car made two complete revolutions at 50 mph all over the
roadway before abruptly stopping to a halt. I realize the special FX in
The Matrix were far more impressive but just you think back to when the
Dukes of Hazard was cutting edge! Amazingly, I remained calm, blood
pressure steady, but my head felt like it'd been etherized. I first
called my mother so I could feed her worries.... but she was sleeping.
While I was off emulating evil knievel, she was tucked away in bed. Not
everyone can be the raring daredevil that I am. So then I called a
friend, motorcycle and pilot guy, I knew he'd understand. Now granted it
was all a big accident but do we really know for a fact that stuntpeople
aren't just amazingly klutzy?”

It’s my birthday next week, day 18. You’ll forget about it even though I just told you. Every year without fail someone relatively close to me has to diss me big time. And I’m still nice to these people on their birthdays. Just not as nice as I used to be. For instance, I might bake you your favorite cake but if my sweet tooth beckons during delivery, you could end up with six seventh of a cake. Which is five seventh more than you ever gave me (ok I was hungry again). I admit it, I’m a full blown birthday grouch. To keep things in perspective I recount my best friend Michelle’s birthday bash in the 3rd grade. The invitations were all misdated and I was the only one who showed up. But it turned out great because I got to take home no less than 20 bags of edible party favors. And it reaffirmed what I still know to be true, that special occasions are best spent with a special someone, not diffused among a crowd of freeloaders who are clearly only there to eat up my party favors.

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