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fuck-a-you very much
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1595
Carmellina, she's worked there almost 30 years, 70 years old now, she's been there since the restaurant first opened. The other Italian ladies have been there over 20 years each, but they aren't as competent, salads and prep is what they're good at, they don't know the recipes, can't work on their own...
The regular customers, they cut through the kitchen after their meals, praise the food, thank the owner, nod and say hi to the women in the kitchen, they should know them but they don't, just a general "hi" and a wave in their direction, then they exit through the back door.Carmellina, still one of the sharpest knives in the drawer, smiling she waves goodbye back, "fuck-a-you very much" she says, and her eyes glitter behind her glasses.
The Fear of Dentists
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2269
It's been a rough couple of days. Sunday I got through without any painkillers, unless you count Scotch.
Monday painkillers were definitely required, whether for the Scotch or my tooth is still undetermined.
The pain has spread, diffused, throughout my mouth. No longer just in the tooth, now it feels as though my entire mouth is stuffed with cotton, the feeling as if there were an electric current running through all my teeth, persistent headache, intermittent fever and cold sweats, it hurts to smile or in any way to contort my face.
I don't eat solid food. soft bananas, chewed carefully. Cold smoothies, blended, although I bit down on a still frozen blueberry and kicked loudly, cried softly for 10 minutes.
It's getting better.
But I have to see a dentist.
I have a fear of dentists. A phobia almost.
Funny, in that I've never had a bad one. They've always been friendly, jocular, attentive....
But their stock in trade is misery and pain.
They scold and chide me for smoking. I know, I know, but they do it every time. They promise me that for a mere $40,000 and visits every other week for the next 2 years I can have a new smile.
It's not going to happen. They live in some sort of imaginary world where everyone is a dentist, everyone earns what they earn, has the benefits they have.
I don't.
They talk above you, your mouth stretched open, slivers of metal stuck into the root of your tooth, talk about their weekend, the new Maserati they're going to buy, impervious to your pain,
You try to signal them, get their attention, but they assure you they won't be too much longer and keep talking. Inane programs on the overhead TV.
Meanwhile the freezing has worn off, the metal shards are nails hammered into your jaw and you toy with the idea of just biting down and running the hell out of there...
The metal shards would go right through your jaw, you could pull them out the bottom with pliers, and, hell, it couldn't hurt possibly any more than it's hurting now, could it?
Eventually, when you've moved into the zone of indifference and everything in the world is suffering they finish up, try to cheerfully rebook you in a few weeks, $1000, $2000 please, give you a free loot bag filled with floss and toothbrushes and little pamphlets...
They should be paying me.
And for the suffering, the hours of misery trapped in the chair, the days spent with cotton stuffed in your cheek, mouth numb (at best), expectorating blood, rinsing mouth with salt water, a headache the T3's can't seem to find, $10,000 wouldn't be enough.
They wonder why I'm not more regular.
It's been beef broth with overcooked noodles sucked down through a straw.
The kids, they understand that they have to just leave me alone, they don't understand the pain, cheerfully eating their little apples, crunching pistachios and potato chips...
I can see the offending tooth, the treacherous little maggot, hiding behind a clump of other teeth, pushed behind a lower canine. I should have had braces, they'd all be lined up in those perfect little rows, instead they look like they were fired into my mouth scatter-shot. Ground down from stress, stained with Nicotine, coffee, red wine, I am the embodiment of vices that are paying for my dentist's Maserati, second wife, child support and private schools.
I have to see a dentist. There's no postponing it any longer, the excuse (valid, they'd approve) of having no money no longer cuts it, I don't have the kind of money they'd like or understand, but enough to cut the pain, temporarily stop the agony, some mild preventative work because it's important I save the awkward and listing ivories I have left, would be better to replace them all with implants, every one of them, 4 in the top, 4 in the bottom, $5,000 per implant, $40,000, not a Lamborghini or Maserati but a down payment at least, hell, sometimes you have to save up for things you know, and here there's a weak smile from the dentist, laughing at his little joke...
I have a fear of dentists.
Tim Cahill - Jaguars Ripped My Flesh
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Books
- Hits: 1666
More travel literature.
Humorous and wry short stories and anecdotes from a writer for Outside magazine, an anthology of his articles and adventures from the 70's and 80's. Enjoyable. Reassuring in the sense that he lets us know that there's still much to be explored and discovered. Some of the stories are more anecdotes, some are more carefully fleshed out and researched, all are worthwhile.
They inspire the spirit of adventure....
I'd give it 2 bananas.
Scotch, Tylenol, Advil, Ibuprofen
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2511
I've a toothache.
Nasty, nasty toothache. And while I'm taking a veritable concert of medications (currently on the Scotch and Advil Mix), it's still there.
After you take the pill, an hour, maybe two, where you forget that it's there. Well, not forget, but you feel pretty good comparatively.
Then it begins to throb, intermittent.
Occasional waves of fever as the bacteria attack the body. I'm pretty sure I'll live but it's unpleasant nonetheless.
I swill my mouth with diet pop, salt water, Listerine, Scotch.
I can't brush, can't even think of brushing at the moment...
26 days until benefits kick in. I'm pretty sure it'll be gone in the next 2 or three days; but I have a huge phobia of dentists. Immense phobia. Early experiences with modern dentistry, all unpleasant, I'd just as soon see a barber or shoemaker for the extraction and necessary repairs. Couldn't hurt more and would probably cost a hell of a lot less.
So forgive me for not writing at greater length. I can't talk, I have a toothache.
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