For those of you keeping track, I'm teething again. Fuck. I don't know what it is about this time of year (could it be the pie?), but I don't know what to do. Except pound the Advil and use my prescription mouthwash, and contemplate the vicodin but probably not take it. I suppose I could just get my wisdom teeth taken out, but at this point I'm more afraid of getting oral surgery than a little pain.
So maybe it's my fault for getting cocky with yesterday's post but tonight I'm tired, cranky (oh yeah, I lost my chicken at work today, only two days after the Fabulous evaluation) and I really wanted to watch the end of Tim Gunn's Guide to Style but the sink was leaking and I had to help Mr. Bump clean it up. There's no point in just watching the beginning of a makeover show without the payoff. Does anyone know if Lori wore a short dress that showed off her scar?
Sigh. I have no reason to bitch, however. I didn't get my jaw cut apart this week like our dear friend C. We're thinking about you and wincing for you so you don't have to do more than take the vicodin and drink the chocolate ensure milkshake!
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