Dear Aspen Dental,

I hate you.

Here is why:

1. Your bad, evil dentist did all of my copious cavities wrong, leading to a "redo" that inevitably led to a root canal and a crown. (Please note that the new dentist is much nicer, but also gives off a distinct "I hate you" vibe.)

2. The ladies behind your counter treat me as if I were a suspicious dissident.

3. The bathroom in your office requires a screwdriver to unlock.

4. The radio station your reception tunes to is always staticky and tuned to Delilah, which is the worst radio show EVER.

5. And finally, I just received a threatening letter from you demanding the $31.20 I owe you, despite my never having heard of this debt before, especially when I specifically remember asking the dissident-fearing receptionist how much I owed, and she said "nothing."

Your $31.20 is en route. I hope it makes you happy in your cold, cold dentistry heart.

All best,
Kim

Do as I do

Not unlike Pen, I, too, have noticed a general malaise among our Blogs of Note (except, of course, for Ashley, who continues bringing the awesome like it's her job)-- I, personally, have been rather neglectful of late, because I have been too busy doing the following things:

• Getting root canals
• Having my kidneys ultrasound-ed
• Watching the 3rd (and alas, final) season of Arrested Development
• Reading books about girls who had sex in high school, probably in a belated attempt to cover up for the fact that I wasn't one of them
• Attending my butthead cousin's soccer game

Et Cetera.

But more than that, I have been experiencing a general malaise, based largely on my growing belief that, despite the fact that I got into graduate school for creative writing, I am not even kind of creative. I base this belief entirely on the fact that I have never once created a catchphrase.

I am so jealous of people who create catchphrases. Like Daisy's "I less than three..." That totally depresses me. Because I'm like, that's a really awesome catchphrase. And I totally didn't come up with it.

Oh, I'm big on appropriating other people's catchphrases. To the point where, the other day, I had to ask Marita, "Did I come up with the word 'ween?'" Because I really thought I did. But no, I didn't.

And it doesn't help that, around the office, people do an imitation of my boyfriend's catchphrase, which is just the word "sure" spoken with a Wisconsin accent, but still, it's totally catchy, and he came up with it, and he doesn't even work here.

And it's not just catchphrases-- I am also super jealous of T.'s discovery of the Church Sign webpage. Because that thing is totally rad, and I totally can't use it now because it's T.'s thing, and I don't want to be a copycat. So not only have I never come up with a catchy catchphrase, I can't even find awesome webpages to use for awesomeness, as T. did.

So far, the only even remotely creative thing I've done is figure out that I can post to my blog by e-mail, as I am doing right now. But that's not really so much creative as it is devious.

But in an effort to revive the blogscene and ease my own mind, I will attempt to blog more often (and less about my teeth). The way I see it, every entry I write is another chance that a phrase I use will become catchy. And isn't that all we ever dream of?

Dental Day

So I'm leaving for my three hour dentist appointment in about ten minutes-- what an awesome way to spend a day off! But hopefully, by two o'clock this afternoon, all my dental woes will finally be over. Which will free up much of my blogging time to talk about other, much more interesting things, such as:

• I made homemade Chex Mix for the first time yesterday! A nation rejoices; my waistline, it weeps.
• Curtis Sittenfeld's book Prep-- unstoppably awesome. Go get it, now!
• Who's a crochet madwoman? It's me! Believe it, bitches!

Okay, so I lied, the posts won't be any more interesting than they are right now. But at least they won't be about my grody teeth.

Pity party

Suddenly, without warning, things have gotten really upsetting at my house. Including:

1. Ben being the middle car in a three-car accident, in which he was hit by an uninsured motorist. An uninsured motorist, no less, who was driving illegally, as his license had been suspended four years ago for not having insurance.

2. Ben's identity has been stolen. Which is creepy, and gives off a Lifetime-esque vibe. I keep expecting Robert Urich to pop out from behind a road sign and bludgeon me to death. Which then makes me even sadder, because he's already dead.

3. This? Still happening. It's time for another ultrasound! Because the three I've already had were so much fun, I couldn't resist a fourth.

4. Not to mention the whole having all my cavities, which were done improperly the first time, redone by the dentist situation.

So, I am down right now, and planning on medicating with a Klondike bar. I realize things could be a lot worse. But right now, I am totally ready for PJs and a good wail.

At least my face looks thin when I do that pouty thing.

Maxin' and relaxin'

Okay, seriously, I do have interesting things to blog about, I swear-- but as the result of a super-busy whirlwind weekend of fun (Congratulations, Karin and Ryan!), I just need to spend a night or two relaxing (and finishing a library book that is dangerously close to being overdue). I do hereby solemnly swear that I will be back blogging like a maniac within 48 hours, so please don't abandon The Unwilling Adult as being comatose.

In the meantime, here are some quick tidbits to tide you over until I can get to the real shiznit:

1. The dentist? I have to go back. And have all eight fillings redone, as the first doctor did them totally wrong. I also have to rinse with a truly heinous fluoride mouthwash that has the aftertaste of vanilla, mint, and sweet barbeque. More on this later.

2. I have an insanely large zit on the side of my head-- roughly the size of a baby's eyeball. I'm thinking that soon it might develop cognizance and start vying for control of my brain. Pictures to come? If you dare gaze upon its horror.

3. Megan and Matt were here this weekend for Karin's wedding, and we went to the zoo and saw the cutest orangutans ever. When my strength has returned, killer orangutan YouTube footage.

4. The Bourne Identity is the first action movie I have ever seen that didn't make me want to kill myself. Discuss.

An open letter to those with teeth

Dear Dental-Minded Americans,

You may have heard some sort of claptrap at one point or another in your lives that indicated that you should be going to the dentist every six months or so in order to maintain your dental health. I am here to tell you now that this is patently untrue, and that, in fact, going to the dentist will only make whatever dental problems you may have a bajillion times worse.

Observe: About six months ago, I decided to start going to the dentist, not because any of my teeth were particularly bothering me, but because my parents made it seem as though if I didn't go to the dentist soon, I would most likely be dead before my thirtieth birthday, as dental problems, especially undiagnosed ones, are evidently the number one killer among all age groups and races.

Over the past six months, I have gone from having what were undoubtedly unhealthy but perfectly nice and painfree teeth to having extreme sensitivity in pretty much all the teeth the dentist worked on (in one spot, so bad that I can't really chew on it, which will likely cause me to wear down the teeth on the opposite side of my mouth much faster, which will definitely end with my face being severely lopsided), a still-gaping hole where my wisdom tooth was pulled, and the sinking feeling that one of the teeth he worked on is just a millimeter larger than all the others, causing my bite to come down awkwardly.

And last night, while I was dilligently flossing, a piece of one of my teeth broke off. Just broke off. Which, I might add, was not a regular occurrence in my Pre-Dentistry days.

So now I have a hole between my front teeth where the Tooth Piece used to go, and a toothache that my aunt, who is a dental assistant, diagnosed as needing a root canal, which sounds wholly unpleasant, and one monster tooth that is bigger than all the others, and, to top it all off, my dentist keeps mailing me mysterious bills for $10, which I keep paying, because I don't know what else to do, and my dental insurance keeps mailing me even more mysterious letters claiming I had other coverage during several of the aforementioned procedures, and they want me to prove it. Which I am so not going to do.

In closing, no matter what anyone tells you-- Mr. Rogers, your parents, anyone-- do NOT go to the dentist, as it will only end in heartbreak. And toothbreak.

Hugs and kisses,

Kim

A time to gather stones together

I just realized that I've gone almost an entire week with no blogging! This makes me a bad blogger. It also should show you how very boring I am. But just in case you wanted a breakdown of what's been going on recently...

Trips to the dentist: none (hooray!)
Houses burgled: none (double hooray!)
E-mails answered: approx. 50, due to build-up and then responses to responses sent re: buildup
Computers broken: one
Number of hours spent weeping over broken computer: at least three
Computers now fixed, rendering me v. sheepish at my own weakness: one

Dang. I can't even come up with a funny list.

Apparently I have entered into what I would consider "a time to gather stones together," a period mentioned in Ecclesiastes (and, in a much more groovy way, a song by the Byrds) which I consider to be the most boring of all the time periods mentioned. At least "a time to cast away stones" involves throwing, which can be fun.

Can't come up with a funny list, and am making backward Biblical/60's music references. I think I'll stop here now.

Oh, and just so reading this post isn't a giant waste to everyone involved, I'll use it to mention that old seasons of South Park are on sale at Target for the ridiculously low price of $22. See! It was totally worth reading all the way down here for that!