Wednesday, September 03, 2003


It might be a good idea to heed your dentist’s advice when he says “I wouldn’t chew gum if I were you, it’ll pull that temporary crown right off.”


I was chewing Freedent no less… the kind that won’t stick to dental work. (Or as the pack clearly states … apparently… ‘won’t stick to most dental work’.) It stuck to mine alright, and pulled the temporary right off. It happened kinda fast, but once I figured out that I had a nub of a tooth exposed panic ensued. I wouldn’t close my mouth, and opted instead to take the gum out of my mouth, detach the crown and for a second almost cried because I don’t know which way to put the little fucker back on. My heart was racing and all of a sudden it was very hot in the office, and I grabbed my little mirror trying to figure out which way to put it on. I didn’t want to touch the nub of a tooth that’s left after the root canal… I don’t know why, I just couldn’t touch it. After much arguing in my brain, I just stuck the crown on my tongue, said a quick prayer and gently pushed it back on. It fit right away, didn’t have to rotate or anything. Thank you LORD. Ugh, I hate little crises like that. And yes, it was a definite crisis. Anything involving dental work is a fucking crisis in my book. Rates right up there with spiders in the home, and running out of milk when the cereal is poured. Class A crisis. I keep pushing on it, hoping to keep it in place. After all, I have 9 days until I go to the dentist again. 9 fucking days. Oy vay. I go through a pack of gum a day. This… should be fun. Add to that my ‘sympathetic pain theory’ and you’ve got a rip roarin’ good time. I know there is no root in that tooth, and that technically the dentist could drill his initials in it while I sat there un-numb and I would feel nothing. However, I am CONVINCED right now that that tooth is hurting. Great. A fucking phantom toothache. Woo fucking hoo.

Anyhoo, have I mentioned to you lately how much I loathe that lazy fucking ass-hat that I work with named Satchel? NO? Well I do. A lot. Seriously. More than I even hate Ashanti... and you know what, the scales are getting even on that too.

Kevin at work gives me like ... almost 80 units of our product that needs to be sent out for service. He completes a repair tag for each and every one, like he always does. Satchel slaps five or six units on my desk top, no note except for partial post-its with the company name on them so I know who they belong to. No idea where they go, what's wrong with them etc. He can't take the fucking time to write out repair tags for 5 or 6 radios, yet Kevin will come in and put them on all 80 of his. Same thing with UPS... Kevin and John take care of 90% of their own UPS shipments, simply because they are able to do it, and they don't disrupt what I am doing if they can take care of it. If they are in a rush, or don't have time etc, they call and ask me to do it. Satchel absolutely fucking refuses to do it himself. "That looks like something that is in YOUR job description" he says. Fuck you, you little oompa loompa. Yesterday, while I was busy logging and doing the paperwork for the previously mentioned units, (all 80 took me damn near all day to do), I forgot to send out Satchel's UPS shipment. He makes me stop what I am doing to get it together so he can take it down to the UPS depot "right away"... guess what was still sitting there this morning? I.HATE.HIM. Yesterday he also wanted me to "research" something for him, and I didn't get to it right away because I was busy as fuck. He asked me about it a little while later, and I said "I haven't gotten to it, I have been extremely busy today." I should point out that the 'research' he wanted me to do was call up to Everett and find out if a customer that had called already had been appointed a salesperson because it was an unfamiliar name. Um... do you not know how to dial a fucking phone? I hadn't even looked at the 2 paragraph note he had written to me on this... yeah, the fucker will write a long ass note, march it up to my desk... but won't pick up his own phone and call the corporate office. When I told him I hadn't gotten around to it he sighed and started to scold me in his little way. I cut him off "Satchel. Don't start with me. If you are so lazy you can't pick up the phone to do it yourself and must depend on me to do every teeny tiny little task for you, then you will just have to wait, because I am doing something more important." He said "I asked you to do it, because it's YOUR job. If you had told me you were busy, I would have gladly taken care of it." (um, yeah fucking right.) I said "well, I apologize for not letting you know, I just thought with my desk piled high with these units and boxes, you might come to that assumption all by yourself." He just walked away. ARG. I hate hate hate him!!!

I should also mention that I am still kinda pissed over last week when he handed me a note that asked me to find a file for him. HIS MOTHERFUCKING OFFICE IS LESS THAN 6 FEET AWAY FROM THE FILING CABINETS. My desk is all the way at the front of the office. Do you see why I get so pissed? In the time it takes to write the note, and walk it up to me he could have gotten the file and done his business with it and be on his way to putting it back. I took that note and crumpled it into a ball and deposited it into the circular file. I just don't care. I am not his fucking personal assistant, and you know what, he is more than capable of retrieving a fucking file all by himself. I am not budging on this. If I don't put my foot down on some of this crap, next thing you know I'll be taking his trash out, nuking his lunches for him, cutting his meat and wiping his ass.

On a slightly more pleasant note, I watched 'Newlyweds' last night. Damn. And that's all I have to say about that. My sister, said the commercials reminded her of me camping. Um.... after watching the episode, you can so kiss my butt. Oh yeah. I said it. :-)

I bought that damn cat bed and the only way to get the little bastards into it is to sprinkle catnip and then they LOOOVE it.


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