My bus trip into the dentist was interesting.
I sat on a near empty bus for 15 minutes, listening away to some Joe Cocker. I never realised how he can sooth pre-dentist nerves.
I waited inside the fucking waiting room, which needs a new name in my opinion, next to a man who stank of hamburgers and a little girl who was crying because she was so scared. I honestly couldn't blame her.
I haven't been to a dentist in over ten years: I refused to go back after my filling fell out and I learnt that to numb my mouth they had to stick needles in my gums.
No thank you: dribbling because of numb nerves and muscles just isn't my deal.
I spent forty five minutes, reading the same two Cosmopolitan magazines, getting strange looks from the Little Girl's mother when she read over my shoulder, the article, with big bold letters,
I liked the little pictures they had used as dot-points; they were little penis heads with legs.
Reading something about flavoured lubricant, I remembered my birthday present last year that Jules and Conran had bought me: A large bottle of cherry flavoured lubricant, that subsequently was used as a breath-freshener, taste-killer, and sometimes a little snack. It was only very rarely used for its purpose.
It was one of those things where your brain is saying "You shouldn't be doing this and enjoying it!" but your taste buds are going "Shut the fuck up, man, she doesn't need you anyway...this is so good."
So, whilst I tried to picture the before featured photograph of George Castanza (see Seinfeld), I had to endure the Little Girl beside me, now wailing her little heart out, for the whole fucking time.
The first twenty seconds, I thought it was cute.
The rest of the forty-four and a half minutes, I spent wanting to beat her with a stick and tear out my own uterus. I swear to fucking god, if and when I have children, I'm going to reach down their little throat and rip their voice box out so they can't make that much noise.
Then, everyone will go "Oh, wow! Cute Little Billy is so well-behaved! He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream, how do you do it!?"
Cute Little Billy had his voice box removed when he turned two. Cute Little Billy is relying on his good looks (of course inherited from his drop-dead-gorgeous mother) to get him through life, and not his fucking tantrums, that would most likely also be inherited from his rather cantankerous mum.
All these thoughts about my hypothetical son was taking my mind away from the otherwise cute little girl, screaming the fucking dental surgery down to the ground. She had pigtails and freckles and everything; she was just obnoxious as all fucking hell.
Was finally called into their little hell-room.
First thing that went through my brain was:
Why in God's good name does it smell like motherfucking strawberries?!
The chair was pretty rad.
It went up, down, sideways and reversed. I could have played with it for ages.
Dentist walks in, and whilst it was not George Castanza, it was a woman. For the first time in my entire dental history, a woman was going to poke shit in my mouth. (<--- What the fuck?) Rattled on for five minutes about my molars, asked my the general questions, with that fucking light in my eyes. It was still enough to fucking annoy me, even with the disgusting sunglasses they give you. She noticed I was attempting to supress giggles: yes, in the dental chair, whilst she's scraping and poking and pulling my cheeks out with big, long fingers. "What's so funny?" She asks me, a little bit bemused. "Nothing, nothing," I shake it off, and open up again. Of course, I was imagining myself pulling a Angelina-Jolie-Tombraider-esque move and flashing the light in her eyes, throwing the instruments all over her little work assistant and bailing, throwing a chair at the little girl on my way out. I decided this woman was alright, as she was yet to stick needles and shit in my gums. She cleaned some gross shit that I'd had behind my two front teeth, and it felt weird. My favourite part though, is when they bring out the little air-sucker and water-sprayer tube things. I remember that being the most enjoyable part of going to the dentist as a kid. She told me that I had one of the nicest sets of teeth she had seen in a long time; something about my 'bite'. I always thought my teeth poked on an inwards slant, towards my tongue. She tells me I need a filling, as I have a hole in one of my molars. Hoorah! Needles! Looks like I'm gonna be that little girl, screaming down the surgery. As I only had $150 on me today, I told her to leave the filling for another day when I was mentally prepared for the fucking needles. She did some crazy shit called a "Teeth Cleanse" or something (I should really take more notice of the words and things I hear and read, so I can make accurate recounts of things.). SHe brought out this weird little tool with a little circular end, and tried to tell me it was a toothbrush. I know what a toothbrush looks like; it was no fucking toothbrush. But it made a cool noise, so i went with it. Expecting some disgusting dettol or mint taste, I got fruit tingles. Yes, fruit tingle flavoured toothpaste.
I swear, if they actually made fruit tingle flavoured toothpaste, I would take my motherfucking toothbrush to school.
"Excuse me miss," I would say.
"Where are you going?"
"To brush my teeth!"
I can just imagine the looks I would get from the people who already suspect me to be mentally unstable after various outbursts, including throwing a table.
That was all over in about half an hour, and my mouth felt nice.
For the first time in my life, I enjoyed a dentist appointment.
The woman was pretty, she was nice and definitely was not smug.
I toddled straight off to the supermarket and searched the toothpaste isle. There was no nice flavoured toothpastes; all "minty-fresh" bullshit.
So instead, I settled with another vibrating toothbrush.
My change only allowed that; I had my hopes set on some new fan-dangled electric toothbrush.
Toddled off to the bus top.
Spotted a hottie, as bus stops are a hot spot for bachelorettes like myself. He would have made potential material, if only he had nicer hair.
His face was nice though.
I realised today, that I get off on peoples flaws. I seen a guy in Melbourne once, and he had one leg and wheeled himself around in a wheelchair. He looked like death warmed up, and had really unkempt hair.
But whilst I was being the shallow-stone-cold-superficial bitch that I am, I realised I was imagining what Mr. One-Leg would look like naked. I walked over to him and started up a conversation: within the first minute, I found he was a dud - he liked techno and rap.
Bup-Bow: No free wheelchair rides for Amy.
He was probably shit in bed anyway.
I'm going to get a wheelchair, so when I get drunk, i don't have to walk places.
I saw a guy today, in his mid-forties, with the most hideous mullet I've ever seen. And trust me, I've seen some absolutely appalling mullets. Old Mate, wearing blue jeans, a Cher t-shirt, blindly white sneakers and a camel toe big enough to scare small children, supported some disgusting leather bag with a strange peroxided blonde growth.
That's his wife.
She glowed the neon-orange colour of a spray-on tan, and looked something akin to a pair of horse-riding boots I owned when I was eight years old. By the time i was ten, I decided all on my own, that the colour was absolutely putrid.
Her leather pants accentuated the cellulite that dribbled down the backs of her thighs. I'm confident the brothels in Saint Kilda wouldn't have even taken her. However, she obviously did something for Mullet-Man-With-No-Taste.
When I arrived home, I told mum about the child at the dentists. Went about cooking my dinner/breakfast, as I haven't taken the opportunity to eat today. I made myself a huge plate of nibbly-bits left over from Friday night. I cut the dry bits off the Camembert cheese, coated some Sayo biscuits in french Onion dip and stuck some cheese, pickled cocktail onions and cabana on top.
What a healthy dinner!