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Toothache

2002-04-08 - 12:15 a.m.

I love Sunday nights. Because after Adult Swim I can smile and say to myself "Wow. I only have to be up in SIX hours." I usually say this either very quietly or in my head since I don't want Ben to get to freaked out when he hears me start talking to myself (again). By the way, if you're not already watching Adult Swim (particularly The Brak Show and Sealab 2021) than you should be. www.adultswim.com -Then again, some people claim they can't watch it due to stupid reasons (that usually sound like "New Jersey" or "Plymouth") Ah well. . .fignuts. Episodes can be downloaded on Morpheus. . .and if you really need a good reason to watch Sealab 2021, then how about the lovely ("White") Debbie?

So I got in a little terse discussion tonight with my ol' friend Rick M. . .no wait, that's too obvious, let's call him R. Morten. . .hmmm, that gives it away too, how about I just call him Ditchy McNotComingToSeeKidsInTheHallAnymore? Yes, that seems to just roll off the tongue. Well, if anybody else is interested in having a mix CD with the late, great Big Banana adorning its front and bursting with musical goodness on the inside you just let me know.

My tooth is fucking killing me. I guess I could go the obvious route and guess that it's probably due to the ginormous amounts of "Baby Sale" cookies I scarfed down at G. Wallakers (also known as "Rainbow Death") over the weekend. ("Cookie 19 and I'm feeling keen!") or perhaps the scraps of Sunbursts, Sour Patch Kids, Hud mondo-cookies, and BROWNIES that get foisted on me, but I'm sure it's something much more logical like earwig infestation. If I had a nickel for every one of my life's problems that could be traced back to earwigs (either in infestation form or just exploratory form) - I'd be a man with a lot of fucking nickels.

I don't know what my fascination with earwigs is. ("What's the FASCINATION?!?" -Mr. Scott; yeah boyee, keepin' it old school!) I know there was a lot of earwigs in our basement on Washington Street in Lakeport, and I know I spent unhealthy amounts of time down there either:

a.) playing my Atari

b.) fighting over my G.I. Joes with McLaughlin, Ben, and Keith

c.) trying to avoid having Tim Laurent lock me in the old decrepit fridge Cherrie Johnson style

d.) looking for the pieces of Chutes and Ladders my father had thrown down the stairs after swearing he would do it if he stepped on "one more god damned toy" I left out.

Either option, the point is there was a lot of fucking earwigs in that basement, and my guess is, one of my older cousins (who *I* idolized, but they probably LOVED tormenting me, similar to how I love to torment the Slops {C, K, and both B's}) must have convinced me that these nefarious earwigs would nest in my ear, lay eggs in my brain and I would die. I think I repressed it, and now, years later I fault the earwigs for everything. That and my parents really shouldn't have let me play in the basement so much. Jeeze, sure Bond Beach was practically our back yard, but a boy could get rickets spending that much time in a basement!

What was my point in all this anyway? Oh yeah. My tooth is fucking KILLING me. I just read that aspirin helps prevent cancer so I guess I might as well kill 2 birds with one pill. Also, there's an off chance that the 12 liters of soda I drink a day may have a slight effect on my dental pain. Just a hunch. {Lisa needs braces - Dental Plan - Lisa needs braces}

Hmmmmmm, so is this online JOURNAL thing such a good idea? (He asks as Film Class hovers closer and closer . . .) Brooke (the "e" is silent) seems to think there is nothing funnier than me writing an online journal and now that I have mentioned her name I am sure I will only get it even worse from the most evil friend ever: Brooke (she's here until 11 people! please remember to tip your waitstaff!) I should clarify. There's two things I'd like to think Brooke would find funnier than me writing in this. #1 - Mike Marsh asking "Is there . . .anybody out there?" at Jason's party and #2 - The photograph of Brooke, Tim Curtis, Coty and Olga (Ben's half/step/twice-removed/long-lost Russian sister) in a car at a parking garage for a Bugaboo Steakhouse in Mass.

Here is theme for now: Weddings. Weddingy Weddings. Chad, Scott, and Molly. Chad's is in less than a month and then he will be super-married and I will be $785 poorer. Molly's is in September (and for the record, I'm NOT invited - not that I should be, but I just like to talk about it a lot) and from what I hear it's going to be quite the affair. All the blueberry muffins you can eat, but they will keep them inside where none of Molly's friends are allowed to go. What's that Ben? Did somebody say "Wipe Me!"? Scott's isn't until next year, but he asked me to be in the wedding, which is cool. I was an usher in my Uncle Jim's wedding once. I didn't mess up (i.e. puke on anybody). So I'm not too worried about Scott's.

Yeah, I'm not too sure how this whole online journal thing is going to work out.

A - I'm the only one I know that cares this much about me.

B - How can I write this without being true to my evil nature and thusly alienate everyone I know?

C - Man, I want some Dairy Queen. But that probably wouldn't help my tooth.

"I'm the tooth fairy. I came for your teeth. So, just . . .so just give me your teeth . . .and I'll go." - Sifl and Olly

Argh. I'm going to bed. I have work to do in the morning. I wish my work was eating a cheese danish.

At least I'm going to see Kids in the Hall for the 2nd time. That will make me happy. And shit, I'm going to see Paul McCartney on the 19th, so you know, I got that goin' for me. . .

It's been real,

Question-Air

ps - To think, all one has to do to get out of the dog house is to read Watchmen!

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2002 - 2009 ZQF8

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