Marc
On Oral "Surgery": Very fun. I loved getting knocked out. Didn't take no more than five minutes to me, it seemed like, and next I knew I woke up in a different room with my mom and dad sitting at the side of the little bench I was laying on, all covered up in a nice warm blanket, mind you, and I was telling my mom some (slobbery) story about how I guess I should pull out of the boxing match I was scheduled to fight in later that night on account of my mouth. Some nurse heard it, too, apparently, and laughed. I also was told I tried telling some stupid joke while I was falling asleep, I'm assuming it was my "Fish Dam" joke, but I never quite made it to the punch line. Ah. I still have yet to try the codeine, though. I'm planning on doing that tomorrow. Vanilla Sky and codeine will hopefully mix together quite well. I've never had either.
On The Possibility of Just Having Had My Tires Slashed: I know I come off a little paranoid on this thing, but there are nights like tonight where I think that the paranoia may be more grounded than most times. I just got home from a bar in Bradley, IL, on Broadway St, for those of you in the know, and have come to the conclusion that someone sabotaged my front-right tire. Here's the story -- we walk in, myself, Tall Ben from Colorado, and our friend Angie, and decide that we're all just going to have one drink. Ben and Angie get beer, and I get a Coke, on account of the medications I'm on. We talk. We're a little creeped out, especially by how it feels like everyone's staring at us. Though Angie still lives in town, Tall Ben just got home tonight from his long drive from Colorado, and I haven't been around much since the summer of 1998, when I was forced to move home by the Illinois State University dorm authority. People in small(er) towns don't have short memories, it seems to me, cause I was getting some pretty intense looks from some pretty intense looking people whom I attended school with way back when. I know that at least two of these people never liked me before -- one for good reason, the other for no reason that I could readily discern either now or then -- and that they were talking quietly for a few moments before one of them took off and stood outside the door in front of my car. I tried to keep my eye on him and the guy he (looked like) he was talking to, but people kept getting in the way, and whatnot. It got extremely uncomfortable inside, like funny stares and awkward hellos for both myself and Ben to people that we hadn't seen in years, so we downed our drinks quick and took off out the door with Angie in tow. We get in the car, start driving, and suddenly it feels like my tires are riding funny. Pulled over, got out, and found a bolt sticking all the way into the front right tire, which was odd considering me saying, while we were still in the bar, "Shit, I just know that they're slashing my tire." I don't know. Something seems fishy.
On This Post Looking Pretty Much Like An Extended Version of an Email That I Just Sent Off To Someone: You have my apologies, though I'll point out to this mysterious person that I sent the email first, and realized afterwards, that I have absolutely nothing else to talk about. Cause I'm sure no one wants to hear about how I laid on the couch all day long in sweatpants and a hoody with an icepack on my cheek, playing video games, watching movies, getting pampered by my entire family, who I was able to sucker into doing everything from getting me pop to washing my dishes to drying my clothes for me. I ate ice cream and Ramen noodles, though not at the same time, and took a whole hell of a lot of naps, and generally just kind of loafed all day long. One person from Bloomington called me to see how I was doing, and it made me feel good, though I didn't actually start hurting until way later this evening when the numbness in my mouth and cheek wore off. For a few minutes, to be honest, I actually worried as to whether or not this was one of those instances where the doctor had done something wrong and I would have to come to terms with never having feeling in the right side of my mouth ever again, and (I know I'm going to want to shoot myself after I write this, but ...) one of the first things I thought of after that was, "Man! French kissing is going to suck now!"
I'm a dork.
On Oral "Surgery": Very fun. I loved getting knocked out. Didn't take no more than five minutes to me, it seemed like, and next I knew I woke up in a different room with my mom and dad sitting at the side of the little bench I was laying on, all covered up in a nice warm blanket, mind you, and I was telling my mom some (slobbery) story about how I guess I should pull out of the boxing match I was scheduled to fight in later that night on account of my mouth. Some nurse heard it, too, apparently, and laughed. I also was told I tried telling some stupid joke while I was falling asleep, I'm assuming it was my "Fish Dam" joke, but I never quite made it to the punch line. Ah. I still have yet to try the codeine, though. I'm planning on doing that tomorrow. Vanilla Sky and codeine will hopefully mix together quite well. I've never had either.
On The Possibility of Just Having Had My Tires Slashed: I know I come off a little paranoid on this thing, but there are nights like tonight where I think that the paranoia may be more grounded than most times. I just got home from a bar in Bradley, IL, on Broadway St, for those of you in the know, and have come to the conclusion that someone sabotaged my front-right tire. Here's the story -- we walk in, myself, Tall Ben from Colorado, and our friend Angie, and decide that we're all just going to have one drink. Ben and Angie get beer, and I get a Coke, on account of the medications I'm on. We talk. We're a little creeped out, especially by how it feels like everyone's staring at us. Though Angie still lives in town, Tall Ben just got home tonight from his long drive from Colorado, and I haven't been around much since the summer of 1998, when I was forced to move home by the Illinois State University dorm authority. People in small(er) towns don't have short memories, it seems to me, cause I was getting some pretty intense looks from some pretty intense looking people whom I attended school with way back when. I know that at least two of these people never liked me before -- one for good reason, the other for no reason that I could readily discern either now or then -- and that they were talking quietly for a few moments before one of them took off and stood outside the door in front of my car. I tried to keep my eye on him and the guy he (looked like) he was talking to, but people kept getting in the way, and whatnot. It got extremely uncomfortable inside, like funny stares and awkward hellos for both myself and Ben to people that we hadn't seen in years, so we downed our drinks quick and took off out the door with Angie in tow. We get in the car, start driving, and suddenly it feels like my tires are riding funny. Pulled over, got out, and found a bolt sticking all the way into the front right tire, which was odd considering me saying, while we were still in the bar, "Shit, I just know that they're slashing my tire." I don't know. Something seems fishy.
On This Post Looking Pretty Much Like An Extended Version of an Email That I Just Sent Off To Someone: You have my apologies, though I'll point out to this mysterious person that I sent the email first, and realized afterwards, that I have absolutely nothing else to talk about. Cause I'm sure no one wants to hear about how I laid on the couch all day long in sweatpants and a hoody with an icepack on my cheek, playing video games, watching movies, getting pampered by my entire family, who I was able to sucker into doing everything from getting me pop to washing my dishes to drying my clothes for me. I ate ice cream and Ramen noodles, though not at the same time, and took a whole hell of a lot of naps, and generally just kind of loafed all day long. One person from Bloomington called me to see how I was doing, and it made me feel good, though I didn't actually start hurting until way later this evening when the numbness in my mouth and cheek wore off. For a few minutes, to be honest, I actually worried as to whether or not this was one of those instances where the doctor had done something wrong and I would have to come to terms with never having feeling in the right side of my mouth ever again, and (I know I'm going to want to shoot myself after I write this, but ...) one of the first things I thought of after that was, "Man! French kissing is going to suck now!"
I'm a dork.
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