So when I realized that so many of my readers are deeply interested in Christina Aguilera's butt crack--and that they actually found my blog by doing Google searches for "Christina butt crack slobber slobber slobber,"--I decided I might as well throw them a sop.
Hence my title.
But now I'm going to talk about the dentist. A very talented Chicago blogger--whom you really should be reading--named Tequila Red recently waxed eloquent on the subject of cruel dentists. Far be it from me to even attempt to compete. So I'll just say that I had a bridge replaced today, which meant I had two crowns removed. Now this isn't pulling teeth. But it isn't cleaning them, either.
So there was the sticking with the needles and the drilling and the stuffing of my mouth with all the necessary accoutrements and the prrrrryyyyyyyyyying off of the old crowns that really didn't want to leave and the impressions and the seemingly endless fine-tuning of the temporary crowns. After two hours I was finally allowed to leave, sporting some groovy new choppers.
So that's good, right?
But now that the four shots of novocaine are wearing off, it feels as though a large, heavy animal mistook my mouth for the cave that it no doubt resembles--or perhaps a trampoline--and decided to hibernate on the right side of my lower jaw, after jumping up and down on it for a couple of hours. In other words, ow, the soreness. At this point I can't really open my mouth particularly wide. Eating and pretty much every other enjoyable oral activity are going to be sharply curtailed for a while.
Isn't it lucky that I've got my fingers to do the talking. Especially for Christina Aguilera's Australian fan boys.
So here I am, sitting at home. If you can't open your mouth more than an inch, it's pretty much impossible to sing opera. So the weekly voice lesson is out.
Free time! Woo hoo! Albeit in pain.
Big plans for today now include knocking a few things off the "To Do" list I finally started when I realized that I either have confetti for brains or ADD. Because generally I start to do one task, and I'm doing fine. But if I get interrupted, even by a thought springing up unbidden in my own brain--well, you know those moving toys that move along nicely, but if they hit a table leg or a bump in the carpet they just stay put, grinding along but not really going anywhere? Yeah, like that.
So lists. That's the answer. Lists.
Now I'm off to go find mine. And make myself a pot of tea so I can dribble it down my front.
p.s. For the Australian fan boys out there--here ya go, mite!