She: I love, love, love the Earls in North Vancouver!
He: Yeah, that is a sexy one, isn’t it?
She: It really is, the epitome of what Earls should be.
He: All of their girls are hot.
She: They are, like, like, so hot. Much hotter than the girls downtown. OMG, check out this top!
They: looking at mesh top circa 1987, murmuring pleasure at its singular awesomeness.
She: Yup. Earls in North Van is the best.
He: It is.
Postscript:
He & She: bad ass septogenarians. Get on wit' your bad selves!
Showing posts with label Uhhhh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Uhhhh. Show all posts
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Mouth Rape – warning…some graphic content involved:
To preface, I don’t mind going to the dentist, as such, but I loathe the lectures about proper dental hygiene from the 14 year old hygenists. They are the sole reason for my irregular visits to have my mouth checked and teeth cleaned, and by extension, my bad teeth. How’s that for the North American-style passing of the buck?
I had a dental appointment yesterday since I’d had a toothache (haha – liquid, dripping pain) the night before, brought on by a wonderful loaf of French bread and cheese. Which is pretty sad itself since I'll be associating intense pain with french bread and smoked cheese for a time, I'm sure. I told the dentist this (not about regretting that it was bread and cheese, just the facts) and he came up with:
MY OPTIONS:
- remove the tooth (the very last one)
- root canal with a crown and post
PROFESSIONAL RECOMMENDATION:
- remove the offending tooth
I have been a bit bewildered for the last 24 hours, solely due to the quick decision (approximately 18 seconds) I had to make regarding its status in my mouth. Upon reflection, I know that I would have removed it in any case, because it’s apparently a ‘useless’ tooth – with a cavity, and no lower tooth to keep it in place* - but I can’t help but feel a teensy bit bullied into having it out. I made the call, but trying to decide if you should keep your damaged tooth with an expectant dentist and his assistant waiting for your answer with their heads cocked and syringes of novocaine in hand is unnerving.
Is this weird? They asked if I wanted to see the x-ray. Of course, I'll finally get to see the result of wearing a lead apron. They asked if I wanted to see the tooth. I hesitated, but in the end, how could I not. Then they asked if I wanted to keep it. Uh, no, but...thanks?
Later that evening:
I was watching tv, eating room temperature tomato soup that was so not satisfying, when KB called, which began the flow of blood that would not stop. I looked like a cage fighter, bloodied mouth and all, which was pretty cool, but on the second hour of bleeding, I had some genuine concern that I would bleed to death, alone, in my apartment and no one would find me until the scent of decay alerted passerby that something was wrong…
I'm fairly alarmed about having teeth removed with no intention of having fakes put in. In my case, there would be no point, but how fucking hill-billy is that? I might have to start eating road kill and marry my brother if they find me out. Fingers crossed that those wisdom teeth will come in soon.
It’s fine now (but I managed to get mouth blood all over my cream sheets, so that’s annoying), I did come into the office today, but am planning on taking the afternoon off because all my good drugs are gone. And that is as good an excuse to watch a movie as anything, no?
* I had the lower one removed years ago from a tragic pillow fight incident.**
**haha, not really
Further cementing the notion that this just ain’t my week:
I find it impossible to peruse a grocery store in an orderly fashion. I will walk kilometres in grocery stores, even if I have a list, because that’s how I roll. Inevitably, I spend a lot more time shopping for groceries than I would like to, but, there you have it…I just can’t shop any other way.
During one of these trips earlier in the week, I managed to slip (it was more of a skid and slip) in the produce section. It was about as graceful and comedic as a slip can be, I have no broken bones and I didn’t even spill the milk or break the eggs. But, worse than that, I had a witness…gah…a witness that I see regularly. The shame, the shame!
It was so slippery, I thought I must have stepped into an oil slick or puddle of greasy water, and I was so very surprised to find that it was a spinach leaf that tripped me up. A fucking spinach leaf. I was completely undone by a speck of green on the lino.
The highlights of this unfortunate incident:
The very concerned, very masculine Olga that asked me in a deep, gravelly, breathless voice if I was ok. (I was)
The look of shock on Hodge’s face when he realised that I was not where he expected me to be, rather on the floor in a yoga-esque position, 3 paces behind him.
And the confused expression on both Hodge and Olga’s faces when they searched for the giant puddle of cooking oil that was my undoing. ‘Ummm…there’s a bit of green there…?’
Oh…remember the dream.
-remember to floss twice a day, A
To preface, I don’t mind going to the dentist, as such, but I loathe the lectures about proper dental hygiene from the 14 year old hygenists. They are the sole reason for my irregular visits to have my mouth checked and teeth cleaned, and by extension, my bad teeth. How’s that for the North American-style passing of the buck?
I had a dental appointment yesterday since I’d had a toothache (haha – liquid, dripping pain) the night before, brought on by a wonderful loaf of French bread and cheese. Which is pretty sad itself since I'll be associating intense pain with french bread and smoked cheese for a time, I'm sure. I told the dentist this (not about regretting that it was bread and cheese, just the facts) and he came up with:
MY OPTIONS:
- remove the tooth (the very last one)
- root canal with a crown and post
PROFESSIONAL RECOMMENDATION:
- remove the offending tooth
I have been a bit bewildered for the last 24 hours, solely due to the quick decision (approximately 18 seconds) I had to make regarding its status in my mouth. Upon reflection, I know that I would have removed it in any case, because it’s apparently a ‘useless’ tooth – with a cavity, and no lower tooth to keep it in place* - but I can’t help but feel a teensy bit bullied into having it out. I made the call, but trying to decide if you should keep your damaged tooth with an expectant dentist and his assistant waiting for your answer with their heads cocked and syringes of novocaine in hand is unnerving.
Is this weird? They asked if I wanted to see the x-ray. Of course, I'll finally get to see the result of wearing a lead apron. They asked if I wanted to see the tooth. I hesitated, but in the end, how could I not. Then they asked if I wanted to keep it. Uh, no, but...thanks?
Later that evening:
I was watching tv, eating room temperature tomato soup that was so not satisfying, when KB called, which began the flow of blood that would not stop. I looked like a cage fighter, bloodied mouth and all, which was pretty cool, but on the second hour of bleeding, I had some genuine concern that I would bleed to death, alone, in my apartment and no one would find me until the scent of decay alerted passerby that something was wrong…
I'm fairly alarmed about having teeth removed with no intention of having fakes put in. In my case, there would be no point, but how fucking hill-billy is that? I might have to start eating road kill and marry my brother if they find me out. Fingers crossed that those wisdom teeth will come in soon.
It’s fine now (but I managed to get mouth blood all over my cream sheets, so that’s annoying), I did come into the office today, but am planning on taking the afternoon off because all my good drugs are gone. And that is as good an excuse to watch a movie as anything, no?
* I had the lower one removed years ago from a tragic pillow fight incident.**
**haha, not really
Further cementing the notion that this just ain’t my week:
I find it impossible to peruse a grocery store in an orderly fashion. I will walk kilometres in grocery stores, even if I have a list, because that’s how I roll. Inevitably, I spend a lot more time shopping for groceries than I would like to, but, there you have it…I just can’t shop any other way.
During one of these trips earlier in the week, I managed to slip (it was more of a skid and slip) in the produce section. It was about as graceful and comedic as a slip can be, I have no broken bones and I didn’t even spill the milk or break the eggs. But, worse than that, I had a witness…gah…a witness that I see regularly. The shame, the shame!
It was so slippery, I thought I must have stepped into an oil slick or puddle of greasy water, and I was so very surprised to find that it was a spinach leaf that tripped me up. A fucking spinach leaf. I was completely undone by a speck of green on the lino.
The highlights of this unfortunate incident:
The very concerned, very masculine Olga that asked me in a deep, gravelly, breathless voice if I was ok. (I was)
The look of shock on Hodge’s face when he realised that I was not where he expected me to be, rather on the floor in a yoga-esque position, 3 paces behind him.
And the confused expression on both Hodge and Olga’s faces when they searched for the giant puddle of cooking oil that was my undoing. ‘Ummm…there’s a bit of green there…?’
Oh…remember the dream.
-remember to floss twice a day, A
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Where My Place of Work Becomes A Lavatory...
I have my alley back today! Huzzah and Hooray! Or do I? Do I really? This just happened... I went to my spot to have a puff, as I do when they aren't blocking it off for movies and roadworks and the like, and found a man peeing against a dumpster, 3 feet away from the sidewalk. Uhhhhhh.
Walking into my alley just now was quite like walking into a bathroom where someone is doing number two's or walking into your friends having sex, which is to say, a big, nasty surprise. I wasn't sure what to do, so I did a 180, pirouette style, and stood in front of the coffee shop, in spite of hating to smoke there.
Normally, I'm pretty unflappable and certainly have been known to do my fair share of outdoor peeing (Pee snake!! [and, um, not recently]), but I think that I have good manners enough to not pee in full view of the public. I've also seen, and not been disturbed, by the man who always begs at (what was) my local train station, pee into a cup, very discreetly, but still in full (frontal) view of the general public while continuing to ask for change. That, internet, is dedication to the task at hand! Uhhh, so to speak!
My rant, sir of no fixed address, is not directed at your public urination, as distateful as it was, but rather the lack of discretion. There are dozens of better places where you could have emptied your bladder without offending anyone, including the many public restrooms around Vancouver. In fact, not two blocks away, there is a mall. And in that mall, there is an abundance of toilets to which you can relieve yourself. More importantly, there is also a row of sinks where you can wash your pee hands when you're finished.
In numerical order, I did not appreciate the following:
Walking into my alley just now was quite like walking into a bathroom where someone is doing number two's or walking into your friends having sex, which is to say, a big, nasty surprise. I wasn't sure what to do, so I did a 180, pirouette style, and stood in front of the coffee shop, in spite of hating to smoke there.
Normally, I'm pretty unflappable and certainly have been known to do my fair share of outdoor peeing (Pee snake!! [and, um, not recently]), but I think that I have good manners enough to not pee in full view of the public. I've also seen, and not been disturbed, by the man who always begs at (what was) my local train station, pee into a cup, very discreetly, but still in full (frontal) view of the general public while continuing to ask for change. That, internet, is dedication to the task at hand! Uhhh, so to speak!
My rant, sir of no fixed address, is not directed at your public urination, as distateful as it was, but rather the lack of discretion. There are dozens of better places where you could have emptied your bladder without offending anyone, including the many public restrooms around Vancouver. In fact, not two blocks away, there is a mall. And in that mall, there is an abundance of toilets to which you can relieve yourself. More importantly, there is also a row of sinks where you can wash your pee hands when you're finished.
In numerical order, I did not appreciate the following:
- Nobody wants to see you tuck your junk back into your pants as you walk towards them. Tuck and zip at site of urination. I know that you like your willy, but I don't and I certainly don't wish to see it in any context, ever, ever, ever.
- I don't want to give you money. I have been officially traumatised by you and I'm not paying for the pleasure. I'll be handing that spare change over to my therapist.
- And no, you cannot use my lighter. You've got piss hands and I don't want you touching any of my personal property with your disgusting, glistening pee hands. Even the thought of if made me rush to the alcohol based lotion, which I despise, to disinfect. But you can't disinfect your soul with that, can you? I'm tainted. Gah!!
If anyone needs me, I'll be in the corner, in the foetal position, gently rocking.
-Clean Hands Anna
Note to the mugless: It's been smashed to smithereens*, sucker.
*Such a great word. Say it with a lisp, it's even better!
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