Small change pimpin'

Ah the Wisdom Teeth Saga.  It's over now.  Here's the Finale.

I re-worked/revised/reviled the other two posts and then added my last visit.

Dry Socket to Me!

Princess Kitten here.

Ah the dentist. I am making up for time lost to their tender embrace.

The last week has lead me to an uncomfortable bit of self-knowledge.

I appear to love having masked women prod my mouth with metal instruments.

I must. I've been back to the dentist office twice since last friday. And that is what dentists, and hygienists and dental assistants appear to do. Maybe they have off hours where they aren't jabbing folk with do-hickies that they have lying about the office. There are 24 hours in a day after all? How long can the jiggery-pokery keep one entertained? Long enough to fill 20 or 30 year long careers it seems.

No clue what path this new found understanding will force me down, but I expect it will end with “Getting A Face Tattoo”. I really wonder if the more artistically inclined subset of humanity, who enjoy the whole jabby-jabby activities on the whole, go into tattooing instead of dentistry.

I felt that I was doing fantastically well the weekend after my extractions. And maybe I was. The bleeding was lessening, and I wasn't in tremendous pain. In fact, I managed to get a couple of long hikes in over the course of two really beautiful days(seriously, sunny and 50 degrees in Febuary?). So all was well.

All I had to look forward to, was getting my sutures removed on the following Friday, and I was home free. And then the pain didn't stop. In fact, it got worse. Imagine someone slowly pressing a screw-driver into your temple. And then just leaving it there for hours upon hours.

The experience is frightening, or it was to me. I worried about having an infection that the Amoxicillin wasn't prepared for. And after 2 days of discomfort, I called my dentist office again and requested an early visit to their kind and stabby domicile. They assented, and I found myself once again leaning back in a chair as another masked women poked at my teeth and asked me if I felt any pain.

Nope. None there. Just the impending implosion of my maxilla as it all burst inwards.

They said my gums appeared to be a bit agitated, but looked to be healing well. But decided to up my anti-biotic to ten day regimen of augmentin. The sister informed me that I am in line for a nice case of Thrush. A fungal infection that is often suffered by people who take heavy doses of anti-biotics.

I thanked her kindly for setting another anxiety in my path. Just what I needed.

But, they placed a medicated pack into my wounded gum and placed more gauze over the newest edition to my jaw. Really, there was room, as now there were 2 holes just sitting there. Waiting to be filled. Don't read anything into that.

The effect was rather quick. The pain went away. And then they packed my face with some more gauze. Really, I think that I'm developing a pathological fear of gauze, soft as it may be. Gauze seems to manufacture saliva, and as I was driving back to work about a gallon seemed to materialize in my mouth. And there it sat, as spitting is impossible as you try to keep a wad of gauze clenched between your teeth. All you can do is open the flood gates and release a tsunami of drool.

When I returned to work, I felt fantastic. The lack of pain left me feeling energetic and happy. That lasted until the following morning. After yet another night of rough sleep, the pain returned. Thursday was a eternal.

I was noticing a rather large hole in the back of my jaw, were the wisdom tooth usta been. A gap in the gums through which you could see all the way to the bone. That folks, is dry socket. The cause of my pain. To paraphrase the eloquence of The Iron Sheik – THE DRY SOCKET IS A JABRONI, FUCK THE DRY SOCKET LIKE THE MONDAY!

Friday seemed longer. Felt crappy. Even though the pain receded. Only had to make it until that evening for endgame(probably not, the way my luck runs). I returned to the dentist office for hopefully for the last time, to finally have my sutures removed.

The Dr. wasn't about for the sutures. But one of the 4 Hygienists I've seen over the course of the week was able to step up. Which is how I found myself in yet another chair, being poked by a new set of tools.

She found a sliver of bone sticking out of my gum and plucked that, before removing the sutures proper. And then re-packing my face with a syringe full of gel called Sockit! Sockit! Is wonderful. I don't know how well it works. But I love puns. And it seems to be keeping my pain at bay.

Hopefully this is all over soon.

I don't think that I have the fortitude to live with chronic pain. I wonder how people manage to live like that, and don't know if they inspire me or not. I think I might be inclined to take the easier way out, as all Princess' must. That is, picking a knife-fight against a biker gang in some Mexican dive, giving a good account of myself, before finally going down for good.

It's our way.

I am a delicate flower

I am a delicate flower.

The company that I work for offers free health insurance. All you need to do is participate in a health screening and forgo the use of tobacco products. The latter is a cinch. The former involves a blood draw. All in all, it saves me around $1000 over the course of the year. That is quite a chunk of change.

I was OK with the process – which is basically the phlebotomist taking your blood pressure and heart rate – followed by a couple vials of blood with which to run some tests. I got through the first half fine, and then was OK well into the second part, where I made the mistake of looking over at the needle and vial sticking out of my arm. Up until that point I was feeling like a bad-ass.

Bam, look at that, my life's blood squirting out of my body to the rhythm of my heartbeat! Neat!

That was where I got kinda feinty. My vision went all wiggly, my temp seemed to explode with the ferocity of a wildfire, and I got all sorts of shaky. I have never liked the sight of blood.

On the up side, I was fine during my second screening a couple weeks ago. Largely because I squeezed my eyes shut as the wonderful woman distracted me. The whole process took about 90 seconds. I had been fearing this since Febtober of 2015.

Results are back, my blood pressure was a little high(but I was stressed) and I have been declared to be slightly overweight. At 6' tall and clocking in at an estimated 185 pounds – I'm clearly a fatty.

Yep, a dainty princess am I.

On this past Monday I developed a rather sudden tooth ache. One that seemed to fork out like lightning through the double row of teeth that hide beneath my left cheek. There, it jumped around like a fat woman waiting in line at Walmart to pee. Like that imagery. You're welcome.

The next day, my teeth still hurt, especially the one directly in front of my left wisdom tooth. Eating was almost excruciating, whenever I tried to employ that molar. So, I avoided it, thinking it might just be part of mild infection. I've had them before. My head was achy, but eventually it cleared up. I was fine the following night until at around 1am, I woke up with a bitching tooth-ache.

I've heard wonderful stories about infections in the mouth traveling to the heart or brain and doing some serious damage. As my brain is probably running on less than four cylinders, I felt that I didn't really wish to risk further complications to degrade my stupid to the next lower level. More so, since I was beginning to feel a bit feverish to boot.

Now, my wisdom teeth came in some 18 years ago. The top two are perfectly straight. No problems there. While the lower teeth came in at rather odd angles – the one on the right was at 45 degrees to the molar in front, while the problem child was a sitting perpendicular.

I've had dental insurance for a couple of years now, but have yet to use it. Taking care of your teeth, when they are so obviously going to cause pain and trouble in the future is clearly a wise move. But, as I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts, and I play the lotto, I feel that I have proven that I do not make the best decisions in my life. And as I knew my teeth were wonky(an understatement) and would likely have to be extracted.

You may call me kitten.

I shall start the next section with the following: “Fuck Dentist offices and their hours that make bankers look like Hard-driving Puritans.” With that out of the way, I had a list of dentist offices in my locale that took my insurance. Delaying all the while because as an ultimate badass, I didn't really wish to commit myself to what was going to be an unpleasant experience. I started up the closest office, and then expanded out from there.

Finally I found a place that was actually open on fridays, and had room to fit me in for a cleaning and initial prognosis. I was told that they would probably just take x-rays and get me some pain-killers and anti-biotics. 9 am sharp the next day, I am getting my teeth cleaned for the first time in 20 years. And low and behold, it was rather painful and bloody. 20 years of tarter and plaque build-up will do that.

Not to mention a cavity in the problem molar. Fun times!

The experience was both better and worse than I remembered. There was the being jabbed in the sensitive gums with a sharp metal object that reminded me of a article I read in college about the Nacerima tribe and how they subjected themselves, and their children to “Magic Mouth Men” who took a sadistic pleasure in jabbing them with metal hooks and probes. For those who are about as dim as myself Nacermia is American spelled backwards.

There were the questions too. I don't like answering those while getting my haircut. Trying to talk with a face full of rusted nail is all that much worse. Do I brush my teeth? Twice a day? Do I floss? Hah! The last time I flossed a chunk of something broke off my tooth. I swore off it then.

Full on panic has come and gone as I jumped in. Mother Teresa used to give me swirlies. When she was 90.

With all that, my teeth are in surprisingly good shape. Most likely due to the case of fluorosis that I gave myself as a child when I ate toothpaste like candy. The entire time my mind kept returning to two different stories. The first being Bill Cosby's famous bit about dentists. Spot on there man.

I met the dentist, and was informed that he had a opening in his schedule and could take care of my pain. Which would involve taking out both the wisdom tooth and the molar with the cavity. No crowns or root canals mind you. He was just going to tear it out. How did I feel about that? The others could wait until later.

Please don't hurt me Mister.

How folks in the past managed to deal with tooth extractions without the aid of some sort of anesthetic I don't really want to ponder for too long. But I must say that the anesthetic was much more unpleasant in it's own way than the pain of the cleaning. Largely because I have experience dental pain in the past. But rarely has my a significant portion of my face gone numb.

I celebrated this by poking and prodding at my lips and cheeks. Because I am an adult and make terrible choices. But I do appreciate new experiences. Sometimes. And then I found myself in another office, in another chair, waiting for the remainder of my appointment.

I asked a couple times how long this would take. Not so much since I had any plans afterwards, as my anxiety does better with an itinerary. Flying blind leads to panic attacks. A panic attack in a dentist chair didn't seem appealing.

The worst part was the pressure. I could envision the pry-bar that the dentist seemed to be using to attack my molar, just slipping and jabbing into the the counterpart on the far side of my mouth. It was an unpleasant visual. You ever see the first Tim Burton Batman movie? I imagined his rack of instruments to resemble in the surgery scene. Yeah, that was pushing on my skull as he pried at the gums.

One of the crowns finally cracked and he handed it off to his assistant while she vaccumed up All the while he was discussing his weekend and (I assume) his wife's 29^th birthday. Not to mention the rather sadistic attempt at the jokes. He was a nice guy, but that deserved a dick punch. This was about where I began to get myself a bit of the warm and woozies.

They took a break and brought me a fan. I sat in silence with my eyes closed as I waited for the discomfort to pass. The woozies are worse than pain. But we got back to it and I now had a large hole in my mouth where before 2 molars had always been. My Doctor finished the sutures with a flourish and gave me another anesthetic.

I was told that I was ok to drive, so I crossed town and went to the pharmacy to pick up my meds.

Odd, I was doing fine until I read the instructions for post surgical care. First and foremost was about dealing with the hemorrhaging. Hemorrhaging. That is a word that I associate with mothers dying in child birth and soldiers who succumb to their wounds in MASH. Hemorrhaging has some rather negative connotations for me, and is something I don't really want to apply to myself, especially as I pry blood-soaked gauze out of my mouth for like the 4^th time in the last couple hours – along with an ceaseless stream of crimson saliva.

Yeah. I took a seat and let it go.  Now I wait with baited breath to have the other three molars extracted this spring.

I am so damned precious.

A rock and or roll event you say?

Many of my friends seem to live to see their favorite bands in concert. I suppose that the statement “I don't care for live music.” will make me an apostate. But, there you go. Attending concerts isn't something I'm passionate about. I don't like the noise. I tend to avoid them. Who wants to pay to be uncomfortable?

Oh wait, that's the basis of BDSM.

There are few musical acts whom can compel me to adhere to their schedule. Why bother, when I can just listen to about any song I want in the comfort of my home whenever I like. Thanks The Internet! You are a true pal to an introverted hermit with a moderate love of music.

I do however love spectacle. Not a novel statement, or very deep, I know. “I enjoy new experiences” ranks up there with “I love Pizza!” on the scale of surprising things that one can announce. It sits exactly directly opposite from “I'm pregnant” or “Sara Palin's IQ test is through the roof!”.

When it comes down to a show I enjoy costumes and other goofiness. This is what has dragged me to Rennfaires, Comic Cons and to the Opera Carmen(Did I write about that? It happened last year and was a fantastic ife experience).

My friend and co-worker pitched the idea that a unique band was going to be in town and that the tickets were to be had on the cheap. A band that I had heard of, but knew next to nothing about. One that has been touring for around 30 years. Would I like to go?

So that's how I found myself talked into shelling out an $A.J. to go and see Gwar.

Have you ever heard of Gwar? Well, In case you're shaking your head in confused silence at your monitor, here's a rundown. They were formed in the mid to late 80s as a thrash metal band in the state of Virginia. Their backstory, and yes they are a band with a backstory, is that they were a band of intergalactic warriors that got frozen in a glacier here on Earth. After being thawed out, they were introduced to a wide array of human vices. Drugs, sex and Rock and Roll! You know, the good stuff in life(Ha! As if I would know!).

In short, they all wear elaborate costumes and portray monsters. That is their shtick. As such, the band has had a rolling line-up over the decades(almost said years) of their existence. Much like the Blue Man Group, any member can leave and the character will live on. The exception being when an active cast member dies, then they retire the character. Take a look at this – yeah, some of the characters have been played by a half dozen different people.

I'd love to see that happen with boybands. When Corey the Bad Boy archtype kicks it, or goes to prison for diddling an underaged boy, the producers just chuck out one of their spare Corey clones.

Prior to one evening last week, I don't believe that I had ever listened to one of their songs. I was aware that they were a metal band from the 80s. I was aware that they wore costumes in their performances. That was all. I didn't bother to look them up on youtube. Who wants to spoil the surprise?

The music wasn't why I went. I went because they were said to put on a bizarre, one of a kind show. They did not disappoint. The music was secondary anyways. We found a nice spot at the back of the venue. Nice being relative. The seats were moderately comfortable and it was out of the way. Mostly we sat around as the opening acts played, and waited for the main event.

I didn't catch the name of the first band, they were already in play when I arrived. They played a mix of metal and punk. Not bad. There was a banner behind them that read Battlecross. I wondered if they were Battlecross or if they had just stolen the banner. I was wrong on both accounts. Which makes the rest of the night that much less interesting.

Battlecross was a mid-level local band. By that, I mean they had some success as a band, but weren't the main act. And they were actually from the region of the country in which I reside. They seemed to have 4 guitarists, one of whom reminded us of Toki Wartooth. All I can say about the group is their lead singer was hella-entertaining. I almost bought one of their albums on the strength of his banter alone. But I'm a cheapskate, so I checked that impulse.

Onto the main show.

Gwar for me, epitomized both the best and worst that live shows have to offer. First, they were loud. Really loud. They were playing in a small venue, maybe a couple thousand square feet at most, for a couple hundred people. Despite that, they had their amplifiers turned up to 11. Have you ever sat through a wave of noise so powerful that it seemed to tug at your hair? How about having it make your insides vibrate? That was Gwar.

I hate that. HATE. They say “If the Music is too loud, then you're too old.” Well I'm too old. So I made use of a pair of earplugs to try and protect what remains of my hearing. What the hell is the point in paying to go to a concert to listen to music that you won't even be able to hear? That is fekking insane.

Ok. So I didn't get too much from the music. That's not where Gwar excels anyhow. The rest of the performance is where they rock. The dialogue and skits that they perform in between songs. For me, the songs are just filler and segways between the real meat of the show. They were crude and sophomoric and intentionally offensive, and we all loved it.

No spoilers here(if you want those, google them). My aforementioned friend has been going to rock concerts for 30 years now, and he declared that not once ever has he experienced the like. I will close out with this – if you have the chance – Go See Gwar.

Oh, and wear clothes that you don't mind getting ruined. The Spew goes everywhere.

Detroit, home of Robocop and Eminem. That sounds like a great horror shortstory.

In our part of the world, the year can be divided up into two seasons. Those happen to be listed as winter and construction, both of which vary in length and intensity.

During winter one must contend with the possibility of encountering snow and ice on all of the surfaces. But these tend to be passing conditions. Where as during construction season, those surfaces onto which you so gingerly ventured out, may be missing entirely. Hey, that road that leads exactly to the destination which you are so desperately trying to reach? Well now it's a 10 foot deep trench that stretches for blocks at a time.

Free on street parking though. Come on down.

We made the mistake of visiting during the first or second worst season for travel, depending on how you reckon such things. I have some disdain for traveling in 90 degree weather when I'm being forced to navigate an ever-changing gauntlet in a new city.

I would like to take this moment to say “Fuck you Siri, in all of your incarnations.” You know that asshole who swerves across 3 lanes to turn? Yep, probably listening to Siri.

For our collective birthdays this year, it was some how decided upon that we would visit Detroit. I missed the committee meetings on this one, so I cannot explain the rationale behind the choice to you. Yeah. Detroit. The murder capital of the universe! . Happy birthday to us!

Do you want to see urban decay and street crime? Well come to sunnyish Detroit! The Crown Jewel of the Rust Belt. Shells of houses that have tasted the kiss of Arson? Check! Miles and miles of decaying concrete? Got that too! The shattered remnants of what America used to be? We're having a sale! Make sure that you stay on the highways that run 4 lanes in either direction and have a posted speed limit of 55mph(which everyone ignores and opts for the more conventional 70+).

Detroit is a modern wasteland known for the ruins porn in a way that has moved past trope and into cliché. Rotting infrastructure that is so beloved amongst urban explorers. People who explore the remnants of our once mighty industrial base and stick their noses into the crumbling past and document what has befallen the American Dream. People who aren't me.

But hey, Detroit is a place that exists and surely they have some gems. So we did our research and came up with a list of places to do and things to visit – I think. I'm not sure that our thinking was straight.  After all, Detroit is one of the cities that I used as the basis of Jefferson(Chicago being the other) - the fictional necropolis in which I set part of my zombie series.  Good times.

We were mostly there to see friends and find some of the sights that might be worth seeing.

As a species part of our shared humanity seems to be intertwined in the appreciation of food. Many cultures are, at least in part, defined by their cooking. So you will forgive us if food is one of the driving factors in our travels. We jot down any interesting restaurants that we encounter and store them for future consideration.

Detroit had several such entries. So we met in a place called Fall's Sports Lounge. I don't know who picked that one. On google they rate between 3 and 4.5(out of 5). And are supposedly renowned for their hamburgers, the best in Detroit(a lot of ground to cover). I love hamburgers. I did not protest.

I won't review them into great depth. The food was good, especially the fries, but I cannot imagine that they were the best in all of Detroit. We have several joints here in my hipster-infested burg that are superior to the fare. I don't know if I would ever sample them again – not a dis, It's just that there have to be other places to try in my rare visits to Detroit.

Enough of food. I can eat well here. On to activities that my current home town doesn't offer!

This was in our hotel room shower -

I have no Idea what it is for.

The Detroit Institute of Art. A few months back, when the City was going through bankruptcy, the DIA was on the chopping block. Until the State of Michigan stepped in to save it. Good call Michigan. The DIA doesn't really stack up to museums in grander cities such as the Chicago Art Institute. But it is still a wonder to experience. The founders collected some amazing artifacts from around the world and houses them in a wonderful warehouse of ingenuity. The building alone is worth visiting for the architecture. The treasures within are priceless.

The campus of Wayne State University seems to be a trendy and revitalized part of Detroit, this is almost a facade, or maybe an Utopian island. A mere handful of blocks away the city seems to fade back into it's seedier side with the graffiti and abandoned houses. We accidentally found ourselves wandering through as we searched for a place to park.

 

Wayne State home of this African Batman mask!

Onwards!

I love me some books. I may have mentioned such a sentiment before. On par with food, I am a bookstore tourist, and have been since high school. In fact, I first visited this place back when I was in around 11^th grade. That was at least 20 years ago. And the place hasn't changed much since(though I believe that it has become more cramped and packed with printed goodness.

 

Here there be Treasure!

John King books... where to start? First, it is entirely a used book store. All four stories of it. With books overflowing the shelves and lying in stacks and boxes around the floor. In fact I suspect that they have several annex buildings to house their stock. The store is so big that upon arrival a member of the staff will hand you a map. Imagine the library of a large city, and that all of those books are for sale. Everything from ancient classics to the most recent smut. I found a full two shelves dedicated to carving duck decoys – just to give you an Idea of what this place is about. Boooooooks!

Joygasm!

There is the wonderful book must that permeates the air. I don't like aftershaves or body washes or what-ever. But if someone would make an old book cologne, I think that I would wear it daily. (Note, I won't be searching google for this product, I have spent enough money this weekend.) Days could easily be whiled away wandering the shelves of John King. Sadly we took less than two hours before moving on.

One of the best finds was This - 

Oh yes, I am reading it now!

There. The rest of the day was spent eating, hanging out in the hotel room and drinking bourbon homemade wine. All activities that need little mention.

hey baby baby baby

dear sobre self. my very deepest apologies but clowns ard dirty dirty creatures.  morib curoisity stopped by, and you know what kiund of sick bastard he can be.  sorry about the tacobll. Heh. did ou know that they makje tacos with dorito shells?  if you dxidnt before, you are going to find out in the AM, if not befor.  I used before twice, suckatude.  wepll pip pip and such.

Hey there handsome-ish-notreally...

Dearst Sober myeself. Firstly the wine waws ok. I dont remeember what it wazs as the bottle is in the other room. So success. Anyhow, we should like to remdind you that you need to remember to hide your psswords better. Sens e of humor and I tuely hope you enjoy your newish coipy of Microwave Cookery for 1One. We think that is what ist called, it has a picture of a chick on the cover. You'll sort it all out. Anyhow, also enjoy the ramifications of our tacobell runn, as poor decision making skills has just awokn and he is hungr. Cheerio you sad sack!