---

Apparently you all weren't wishing hard enough. Damn you!

There's nothing quite so alarming as hearing a dentist say, "Oh. Look at that." while poking around in your mouth. Nothing. It's chilling. That was followed up by, "You know, if a 50 or 60 year old woman had teeth like this, I wouldn't really be worried. But you're 31 -- what have you been doing to your teeth?"

What's funny is I have tremendously good teeth. Both the dentist and hygienist asked if I had ever had braces and then were flabbergasted when I told them no. I, apparently, have the most perfectly and naturally straight teeth either of them as ever seen. And my teeth are really strong.

Unfortunately, I'm a nighttime tooth grinder. And I clench and grit my teeth when I get pissed off or stressed. So my poor perfect teeth are being ground down to nubs. And the dentist pointed out half a dozen teeth that barely have any enamel left. I risk cracking my teeth at any given moment if I don't take preventative measures.

So. I have to drop $400 on a nightguard for my mouth. I feel slightly sick about this.

While I realize keeping my teeth is worth more than a measly $400, $400 could also get me to Scotland for a week or purchase a really nice piece of jewelry or net me a day at the spa. But I'm biting the bullet [OK, not really -- with my poor perfect teeth, that's now out of the question. I'm not even supposed to eat popcorn] and buying the mouthguard.

It should be really entertaining trying to get used to having a huge piece of plastic shoved in my mouth while attempting to sleep. Great.

On a positive note, the dentist and hygienist are both really wonderful. So that's good news.

---

Like most people, I hate going to the dentist. But it's just one of those things that you kind of have to deal with, sort of like going to the gynecologist [well, boys don't really have to deal with that]. I will admit that this is my first visit to a dentist in just about three years. My excuse is that when I moved to Fishtown it was a pain in the ass to get to my old dentist in South Philly, and I was frightened to trust my teeth to a Fishtown dentist.

But I'm about to do just that in about 2 hours.

I made Craig go first. He assures me the dentist is a wonderful person. I still have my doubts, but Craig is a bigger baby when it comes to dentists than I am.

I feel a little sheepish about having a fear of the dentist. I did have some issues when I was little, though. When I was pretty young I fell flat on my face in the middle of the street and knocked out pretty much all my teeth. They were all baby teeth, so it was OK, except that I looked ridiculous until my adult teeth grew in. And then I had too many teeth, so I had to get several teeth yanked.

I can still hear the juicy cracking popping sound in my head from having a tooth pulled. I'm getting the heebies just imagining it. But, beyond having two un-impacted wisdom teeth removed when I was 19, I've had no problems. I have two teeny tiny little cavities that I got when I was a senior in high school.

So I know that when I go to the dentist everything is going to be OK. But a few years ago some bozo dentist tried to give me a gross debridement [that's cleaning underneath your gums] with no anesthesia. After I blew out his eardrums with my screeching, he gave me so many shots of novocaine I sounded like Mushmouth for the rest of the day.

But, just to be on the safe side, around 5pm EST I want you to think really good thoughts toward me. Because you just never know what you're going to get in Fishtown.

---

While I certainly wouldn't want to be considered a "Revisionist Historian" by George and his allies [what the fuck does that even mean? So is someone a "revisionist historian" if they once opposed and still oppose the Vietnam war? What about someone who opposes Clinton and thinks he should have been kicked out of office? Is that person a "revisionist historian"?], it seems odd to me that the invasion of Iraq was supposed to lead to unsurpassed freedom for the Iraqi people, but there's very little freedom to be had.

Belly dancer Siri has been performing since 1996. The Islamic dress and gun are new and necessary accessories since the fall of Saddam Hussein on April 9.

"Before the war I was practicing my work freely. It was quite normal for me to stay out late after midnight but now I have to be at home before 6 in the evening," said 27-year-old Siri, who lives in a small apartment in a poor Baghdad suburb.

The war to topple to Saddam was followed by a wave of insecurity and lawlessness which Iraqis complain U.S. troops have done little to tame.

For women, the streets of Baghdad are a more dangerous place, and an upsurge in religious fervor means they must stick to Islamic dress if they want to be left alone.

So this is freedom?

---

So I was sitting around watching Maury just now [because daytime television sucks ass] while I was finishing my knitting project when one of those "Ask your doctor about [drug name]" commercials came on. This one was for DermaBond, which is like stitches made of Crazy Glue.

The commercial talks about how uncomfortable traditional stitches are, blah blah blah, and then says, "Next time you're in the Emergency Room, ask you doctor about using Dermabond."

If I'm in the Emergency Room, the last thing on my mind is going to be asking the doctor to use Dermabond. I can picture it all now...

I'm bleeding profusely from my eyes and the multiple gunshot wounds peppering my broken body. I'm barely conscious, and can barely make words with my jacked up mouth. In my weakened state I motion to the doctor or nurse that I'd like to write something with my one good hand. I scribble feverishly for a moment and hold up the note. The note says,

Dear doctors and nurses working hard to save my life, Please use Dermabond to sew me back together. I'd like to ensure the company stays in business.

Love, Nicole

Even if it's something not as life threatening, say I walked into a statue on the street [because I've been known to do that] and cracked my head wide open. I'm going to sit there in the ER for four hours and when my time to see the doctor comes I'm going to be preoccupied with making sure the doctor uses Dermabond to fix my head?

It was the dumbest thing I've seen today, and considering I looked out my front door at some bar patrons about 30 minutes ago, that's saying something.

---

When I was still on the market, so to speak, I had one single pick up line. It's tried and true, totally stupid, and worked everytime. I'd run up to the target guy, give him a peck on the cheek and a friendly arm squeeze, and say, "I haven't seen you in forever! You look great!" and then continue talking like I'd known him forever.

Most of the time the guy would continue to talk, not letting on at all that he's never seen me before in my life. Boys notoriously have bad memories for that type of thing, and think maybe they met me while drunk or something. If, by some chance, the boy in question actually said, "Do I know you?" or "I think you have me confused with someone else." that's OK too. I can work with that.

Eventually our conversation would come to an end and I'd write my name and phone number down on a piece of paper and say, "Well hey, I have to run...but call me, let's go out!" And I'd get a call within two or three days.

See, it's all strategy. I meet cute boys and no one feels weird about it.

I appreciate a good pick up line from a boy. Something that's not trite or overused is appreciated. Something that isn't completely vulgar or disgusting. Of course, just coming over and saying "Hi, I'm [insert name here]." is always refreshing as well.

There's something terrifying about a site that lists every pick up line ever invented and/or tried. I'm especially frightened by this line: Do you know the difference between my penis and a chicken leg? No??? Well, let's go on a picnic and find out! and the fact that 2 our of the 21 women it was tried on thought that was sexy.

Gee, that's a nice set of legs, what time do they open? What woman would be charmed by that?

---

I have this theory, you see. If finding something to wear in the morning proves to be too difficult and mentally demanding, I should call out of work. I guess I just think of it as a cosmic sign that I'm better off not in the office.

This morning I must have tried on every single piece of clothing in my closet...twice. Nothing screamed, "Wear me!" I hated everything. Nothing was right. So I threw on an old faded red tshirt and a pair of cut off sweats, picked up the phone, and called out of work.

My outlook on working is that life is too short not to use your personal days. It's not like I have anything exciting planned for today. I'm knitting a pair of slipper clogs for Craig. Maybe I'll cook, do some laundry, do a little yoga. I have a dentist appointment later on. But it's the principle of the thing -- any morning I don't feel like working, or it's too much of a hassle to be at work, forget it.

And, luckily, I have a boss who encourages that sort of thinking. I was just out of the office on a personal day last week or the week before, and I had half a day off on Tuesday. But it's not like I'm missing anything pressing at work right now. I don't have gifts sitting on my desk, or donors to thank, or anything.

Sloth, thy name is Nicole.