2001-05-22 || 2:38 p.m.

|| dag that toof infection. ||

yeah mister, there may be a party in yer pants but there is a goddamn gilman street show gone awry- one of the wretched ones with spikes from someone's shoulder hittin you in the eye and drunk girls barfing on your shoes at happy donut and you're sitting on the couch that everyone says is full of crabs and you just got elbowed in the boob and hell that hurts sometimes- goin on in my mouth. it hurts, ow. and i am going to complain because this is my page and i cannot possibly do anything else. wanna hear something sick? i have an infected tooth and i had to go to the dentist (the nicest dentist that i want to hug every time i see him because he is so great and terribly nice and oh howdy he gave me vicadin) and he had to drain the em pus out of this swollen spot in my gums. i am sorry. but pretend . so yuck. and part of the bone has dissolved and there is a fracture in the root and i have to see a specialist and he might take the toof out completely. my toof. and have i said it hurts? because it does. and i am posterlady for wondrous oral hygiene, dag. toothbrush and magic floss you have betrayed me. happy teeth dancing on the posters in the waiting room i am on to you, hey. there are only cavities and pus and botched root canals in this world, and my crusade to say otherwise has come to a screeching hurty novocaine-numbing hault.

ouchy.

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