Let's Glasses!

As mentioned earlier, my glasses were killed in combat last Friday. It's some consolation that they died a warrior's death, and some day we'll meet again in Valhalla, where we'll enjoy an eternity of battle and feasting. Vikings, now that I think about it, had a very odd view of the afterlife. But, then again, don't we all?

So I had some decisions to make... I could go glassless until Thanksgiving, when I could buy a new pair pretty cheap down in Florida, or I could just suck it up and pay more for them right now.

After a night or two of wandering blind at night and not enjoying life (and realizing that borrowing a pair from someone with similar-but-not-exact prescription would cause headaches and eventual death), I bit the bullet and went shopping.

Which, actually, is a lot of fun for me. I love trying on different pairs, I know what I like and want (I want to look like Doctor Who)...


...I know what I hate (looking ugly), and there are a number of nice/cheap places, including my favorite, Fabulous Fanny's, where I've gotten two pairs of glasses in the past and they always remember me, which makes me feel kind of famous.


I found this pair of glasses in Chinatown. Note, though, that I don't think they're really the color shown in this picture. They're way more black instead of green, but the serial number is the same, so what do I know?

And I like 'em! They're a bit more narrower than the Doctor's, but what're you gonna do? The green background is a nice tint, and a change from my old pair, which were more brownish on the inside. Two-tone, is that the word?

And though I dislike the idea of wearing "designer" glasses, everything else just looks stupid and terrible. Part of my reluctance to shop in Florida is that their choices might all be awful, and then I'd be obligated, especially with my parents looking on, to make a horrible and regrettable purchase.

So life goes on, and now I can see. Whee!


RIP, Other Glasses
December 2008 - October 30, 2009
Non Omnis Moriar

Let's Weekend Recap!

A big three days! So much to do, so little time, here's everything in bolded form.

Moustache!
Friday = shave and a haircut for the Hogwarts show. I brought the barbers this picture...


...and walked away looking a bit like Freddie Mercury. I'd forgotten how uncomforable it is to get a professional shave. It feels like they're just scraping off my bristles, and since I'm not the type of man who can shave up against the grain, it gets almost painful at times.

The reviews are mixed. Two people called it "cute," but others have advised I get rid of it. But for the time being [meaning until I'm in a situation where it would be inappropriate to look like Freddie Mercury], the moustache stays. This could be for a very long time, since I never do anything where such a look would be inappropriate.

Yoga!
The hilarious and kind-hearted Kate Spencer spent her birthday teaching her first ever yoga class, and I was lucky enough to be a part of it.

Faithful readers might remember my strained relationship with yoga, but this class was a delight. Difficult, sure, especially since I was probably the only beginner in the class, but I got through it and felt better afterward. I'm still a little sore, which makes me want to do more yoga.

Hogwarts!
As the song goes, it was the best time of my life. If I ever needed to conjure up a Patronus, I'd only have to think of this show.

Immediately after making this statement, Royal realized it was true.


(Here's the flickr set, for those who are curious.)

Street Fair!
On Sunday I was delighted to find a street fair right outside the apartment, so I spent some funny money on a 10-minute massage (not bad!), some corn (not bad!), lemonade (not bad!) and funnel cake (not great).

Even though they're all the same, I always walk through street fairs. But this one was different because it was right outside my apartment! So I could run around going "Street fair!" and buy a lot of weird and crazy food because I could wash my hands afterward.

Swimming!
I went swimming this morning. Swimming! With a moustache!

Let's Swimming! (The Recap)

We did it!


Waking up was surprisingly easy... I got six hours of sleep, so maybe Sarah's on to something with this theory of sleeping in time-multiples of three. There was none of the usual "Tired, Nanny" nonsense that I experience every day. (When I'm tired, I talk like a Muppet Baby.)

So what was it like at Astoria Pool? Kind of weird!

There didn't appear to be any changing stations, and I'm still a bit shocked by moments of male nudity. In Florida, we just don't do that. In New York, everyone's naked all the time. The locker room was mostly empty, so the views of penii were few and far between, but there was still the moment of, "Oh, is this the way it works? ...OK, then."

I was glad to find Lauren once I got outside, since the layout is confusing to a n00b. They roped off half the pool, then had signs designating "Slow," "Medium," and "Fast." Actually, that's not confusing at all, but there was also a sign-in table and I didn't know what that was about, and is there any etiquette to entering the pool and starting to do laps?

Turns out not really. Lauren put on her bathing cap and opted for the Medium lanes, while I stuck to the safety of the Slow lanes. I felt more comfortable competing with the old guy walking in a brace. Not that this is about competition, but it was nice being speedy in the Slow lane as opposed to the idiot who doesn't belong in the Medium lane.

The water was colder than I'd have liked, but now that I think about it, it was perfectly fine. It's a shame the prime afternoon hours are wasted on the youth and everyone else, as that's my favorite time to swim.

And swim I did! Or didn't... to be honest. I got tired so fast! And then I just started walking the width of the pool (apparently 165 feet), but pushing really hard with my arms. There's no shame in it, I tell myself. I just have to get my strength back.

I "swam" about six laps before calling it quits. If my calculations are correct (and they probably aren't), that's 1980 feet.

Lauren was wiped out by that time, too, so we dried off and looked at the sign-in table. Everyone has a card, and if you swim X amount (it might be 25 miles, which is the length of Manhattan or something... or I could be 100% wrong on all this, I should've read more about it), you get a free t-shirt proving you are a dedicated swimmer.

I like t-shirts, and I'd like to win this one! But I don't think I can. 25 miles? That's, literally a billion feet! At my current rate, I'd have to swim for 66 days, which is too many days before the pool closes at the end of summer.

Also, no way I can do this every day. Maybe every other day. I'd like to, at least. I know my arms will be all noodle-like and dead by the middle of this afternoon, so I'll need a day to recuperate.

So no free t-shirt, but yes free swimming! Take that, Negatory M. Chopbuster!

And now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to be the oldest person at the Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows paperback release.

Let's Swimming?

I love swimming, but don't have a swimming pool! What do I do?

Answer: The Astoria Pool, the oldest and largest public pool in NYC. And it's (relatively) close to my house!


Lauren, my friend and fellow Astorian, has talked about starting a swimming regiment, and I've expressed interest. My current exercise routine of weighing myself on the Wii Fit and then eating Cheese Puffs certainly isn't enough, so I gotta add something else.

But she wants to do early morning swims. Like, leave the house at 7 a.m. And that is hard. I'm allergic to waking up early. And anything different scares me. Like, I'll have to walk to the pool (I walked there this weekend, it isn't bad), but then I have to figure out where to put my clothes and how to work the locker and then swim amongst strangers.

And I dunno if I'll want to do laps, because that pool is damn big, or if I'd rather just jump up and down in the water. Or if it'll be too cold and I'll want to go home. And do I have to interact with Lauren? Are we swimming buddies? Or are we just there to make sure the other person shows up and doesn't laze out? Can I just jump up and down?

Also, despite years of living in a pool, I'm not that great of a swimmer. I never learned to hold my breath underwater and I don't swim properly, I just dope around and scream. Oh, and is it inappropriate to scream? Not too loudly, not enough to bother people in their houses, but just loud enough to be like, "Whoa, I'm in the water!"? Eh, I already know the answer to that one.

So... tomorrow. I'll do it. I'll do it at least once. Year of Yes. But this one does scare me.

Let's (Not) Burgers?

[First off, forgiveness please being all quiet on the bloggy front. I've been up to stuff, but it's stuff that can't be blogged about... yet. But don't get excited, none of it is that exciting. Except for the super-secret exciting parts, those are pretty good. Ooh, if you only knew! Mmm, boy!]

So I had two burgers in the past week, after a hiatus since before January (!!!), and as I said on my Facebook status, I think my burger-eating days might be over.

"What?!" said the omnivores on Planet Kirk.

"You go, girl!" said the vegetarians/vegans, since they use outdated slang that I find hilarious. I could say "You go, girl!" for, like, an hour straight. I probably have. All alone, rocking back and forth, saying "You go, girl!" over and over and over.

I must explain the burger thing. Yeah, I think I'm done with 'em. I'm just not digging on them anymore. Back in the day, I loved them so hard, but these two in the past week - one from Better Burger and then today from Petey's Burger down the street - just left me feeling gross and greasy and unfulfilled, and that's not how I want to feel after eating food. I want to feel good and greaseless and fulfilled.

So maybe I've just moved on. Or at least, that's what I thought as I started to write this blog, but then I got a suggestion for a place in Park Slope, and I remembered how Petey's seems to be based off In-N-Out (back when I'd fly out to LaLa Land for work, I'd eat In-N-Out every day, mmm, boy!), and then the Message from Petey over on his website really inspired me, so maybe I'm not done yet.

Usually, if a restaurant or food fails me once, they're dead to me, just like that Thai place down the street. Fuck those guys! But sometimes I'm the type of person who will go "I didn't dig this meal. Better get it again tomorrow." (see: waffle sandwiches). So I dunno. As it stands right now, I'll probably get Petey's tomorrow. Except without the fries and milkshake. Just too much. Maybe just the milkshake.

But then, I dunno. Maybe I don't care. People suggest vegetarian burgers and I've had them and they're fine. It's like with bacon. I've had a lot of that fake bacon over these past few months. It's fine. I don't miss real bacon (maybe because I get it on my Papa John's pizzas all the time), when I eat the fake kind I'm not like, "Boy, I wish this was real." It doesn't taste the same but I don't care much one way or the other.

Also, it's interesting to note that I don't have this ambivalence toward hot dogs. I was talking with Julie about hot dogs today, and how good they are. God, they taste good! Especially if the skin is crispy. Mmm, boy!

Maybe I just don't love hamburgers because they rarely sock it to me (TerryBurgers being one exception). I'm picky about the bun, mostly. Few places have the proper buns. You could say the same thing about people. You go, girl! So if I don't like the bun or the lettuce or the tomato, I'm like, "Meh."

Hot dogs are easy. All their buns are the same. But a good burger is truly hard to find (and I don't think GoodBurger has good burgers).

If only Bachelor Chow would be invented, then all this food angst could end forever.

Let's Meatless March: The Recap

I ate a lot of frozen food.

Mostly from Morningstar Farms (whose website tells you to "See Veggies Differently") or from Amy's Kitchen.

I especially enjoyed the Morningstar products, because I like any company whose name has a connection to the devil, and because they make a mean mini corndog. They tasted just like the real thing, but with, like, one-third the fat! And I could say the same for their chik'n nuggets and sausages. So I ate a lot of that.

Also, cheese. I used to think I was lactose intolerant, but maybe not. I'm doing all right with that awful Alfredo sauce in a jar, at least.

Compared to the hardest thing I ever had to give up (playing on the swings, when I was in first grade), living without meat for 28 days was pretty easy. Not that I didn't crave it. I did. I lost a lot of my appetite (not actual, physical hunger, but my psychological desire for food), and stopped getting psyched about meals.

A meal without meat seemed to be less filling, like getting a lot of appetizers insted of a main course. I was always aware of that missing, vital ingredient, something hearty and tangible that I could tear at with mah teef and eat with humorous and numerous annoying noises.

When I'd smell the street vendor carts with their cooking chicken, or when I'd fast-forward through a commercial for Kentucky Fried Chicken on Battlestar Galactica, I'd remember and sigh and think about what sort of big, delicious, stomach-killing meal I'd enjoy on March 1st.

And eventually... I sort of got used to vegetarianism. It's March 2nd and I still haven't eaten any meat (my excuse yesterday was because it was a busy day and I didn't want to get sick, today I just haven't eaten anything yet because I'm trying to lose three pounds by sunset). And I don't feel any pressing need to. The appetite's mostly diminished.

Like, sure, one day I'm gonna go to the tea place and get that Irish bacon. And I really want to have BBQ with some choice friends someday soon. But I think I'm over the hill on feeling the need to have it with every meal.

I'm not in the mood for a cheeseburger, at least, and that's something I thought would never happen.

Meatless March

I'm gonna go vegetarian for a month.

I thought March would be a good time to take on this project, because Meatless March has a nice ring to it, but didn't feel like waiting another thirty days. So we'll just do it in February.

Why am I doing this? I dunno. I thought it might be interesting to see if I feel healthier/less sick all the time and less like a big fat chubbalubba.

There's rarely any meat in the house, anyway, except for the occasional cheeseburgers I bring home from the place down the street, and the packages of liverwurst I enjoy having for lunch (cottage cheese and liverwurst, I'm like an unemployed schlub, circa 1960), so it's not gonna be that big of a change.

Breakfast is usually oatmeal and tea and juice, lunch is cottage cheese and chips, and dinner is whatever Sarah makes. Gone are my other options: cheeseburgers, Subway sandwiches, tacos from that truck down the block that are surprisingly really good and not poisonous, but I'll make do.

The only time this should be weird or hard is when I'm at a restaurant, which I don't do much anymore since I'm trying to save money. So it should be easy, right?

On Friday, after helping Heather move, we ate at that Polish restaurant, and I thought that was a fine note to end on, as far as meat-eating goes. I ordered the Polish Platter (I'll eat anything as long as the name is alliterative - cheddar cheese, Cocoa Krispies, rack o' riblets, Meatless March), and boy-howdy, was it something.

Stuffed cabbage, which I thought would be stuffed with... I dunno, the Polish equivalent of rice or cous cous, which turns out to be an amazing meatball. Something that translates to Hunter's Stew. A kielbasa that was tough and crispy, like bacon. Three pierogis, two of which had some kind of meat. And I think one other thing, I can't remember what, but it was definitely meaty.

I thought it would kill me, but everything was so delicious and free (thanks, Tom's family) and nothing made me sick afterward, so I feel I got enough to last me through a whole month.

Let's Katana!

Yesterday Matt DeCoster and I took a workshop on swordfighting with katanas from the very nice people of Byakokan Dojo. When I woke up this morning feeling sore in the strangest of places (left calf?!), it took me a second to remember this is the reason why.

I know more about swordfighting than the average person (because I'm a nerd who's acted in Renaissance Fairs and has taken Dungeons and Dragons TO THE EXTREME) and less about it than anyone who's studied it in a mature manner. And my knowledge of katana-related stuff mostly comes from the woefully inept Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so I was psyched to learn some real skillz.

And it was pretty interesting! I didn't know what to expect, really. A class full of martial artists, stunt men and lunatics, taught by either a scary badass or a weird Renaissance Fair guy with a ponytail.

But it turned out to be a lot less disconcerting than that. The most intimidating student was Matt (who, truth be told, is very intimidating), and the sensei and his assistants (I'm sure there's a Japanese term for "assistants," but I didn't catch it. And that was one of the difficulties in this workshop, they'd refer to the different motions in Japanese, and since I speak that language as well as a two year old, I had trouble keeping up) were cool and mellow and my age. They were a lot like me, in fact, totally geeked out about their passion, though theirs was swordsmanship and mine happens to be playing with a cake puppet.

This wasn't about how to look awesome using a katana, and I'm glad. It was just about how to kill someone quickly and cleanly and safely. Usually in one hit. And don't think they were all, "Swords are awesome!" (though they are), they talked a lot about the history and how it's dangerous. Nobody goes around with a katana cutting people up. But it's still cool to learn.

And when they demonstrated, holy crap! Like, they cut up these tatami mats (which they said smelled bad, but either the smell is reminiscent from my half-Asian childhood or I was a martial artist in another life, because I thought they smelled nice) and that was pretty impressive, and then when they'd spar, they would attack with these terrifying, lion-like roars that one never hears in this day and age.

I wouldn't want to fight these guys. I would die. Also, if there was ever a zombie uprising, someone who is skilled with a katana would probably do pretty well. THIS IS GOOD TO KNOW.

Here's a video (of them cutting up mats, not fighting zombies):


So we were given these bokken (wooden swords) to use, and DeCoster and I ended up with these really heavy pieces of wood. Like, the guy told us when he handed them out, "These two are really heavy," and damn, they were. It was like holding a two-by-four over your head for about an hour. Midway through one of the instructors traded me this light, toy-like sword, and I was like, "Whoa, this is what everyone else has been using? Ridiculous!" I MUST BE SUPER STRONG.

Eventually we sparred. Simple moves, obviously, and it was all about getting the form down properly. I partner up with Matt, since we know each other, and I'm more comfortable attacking him than a total stranger. Also, I trust him completely. No one I know is more in control of their body than Matt. But still, it was pretty crazy. The instructors kept telling him to relax, not be so intense, because when Matt gets on his intense face... THINGS GET INTENSE.

They say that most of the fight is willpower and intimidation, and I felt more than a little intimidated seeing Matt DeCoster try and hit my skull with a wooden plank. I like to think even the instructors were intimidated.

Just imagine his eyes bugging out, features contorted into a combat face of deadly concentration, muscles flexed and rippling... and then there's Kirk, the small and the meek, who always leans forward too much and can't get his shoulders out of their concave position, having to deflect DeCoster's bokken before it hits him in the brainpan. And he has to do this 40 times.

Obviously, it went well. No injuries (note that I didn't say my skull was hurting this morning), and a good time was had by all. I wish there was a more exciting ending ("There was blood anywhere!" or "Ouch, my brains!"), but this blog is about the real world, not my fantasy life. It was just a three-hour workshop. And, like any martial art, it's all about discipline, so there wasn't any jackassery or running through Manhattan swinging swords at everyone.

But still, it really made me want to take some sort of exercise-y class. Fencing, maybe, since that's like Dungeons and Dragons. Or tai chi, since that's slow and is with old people and doesn't involve getting hit. I'm scared of pain.

Food: Cheers and Jeers

Cheers to Swiss Chard, and to the new cafeteria, in general.

Some time ago, the Lodge changed their food providers, and I must say there's a distinct raise in quality amongst the food. And the prices ain't bad, to boot.

Today they offered Swiss Chard, which I had never eaten before. But I like leafy green things that aren't iceberg lettuce, so I decided to Year of Yes it. And it was pretty good! Tasted basically the same as broccoli rabe or spinach. And I'm pretty sure eating this will add valuable months to my lifespan.

Jeers to Lula's Sweet Apothecary, a vegan ice cream parlor that Sarah, Lynn and I had planned to visit before seeing Death Note II.

Not that I have anything against vegan ice cream (it tastes terrific), but they get a jeer for this:


Closed?! Damn it! That's just unacceptable (barring, of course, family emergencies or the like). Doesn't Lula know that the best way to disappoint Kirks who want ice cream is to close down the ice cream parlor on the specific day they're gonna get it?

Actually, the best way to disappoint Kirks is to have them excitedly rush up to the storefront, see that it's closed, press their faces sadly against the window, read all the varieties of ice cream they will not get to choose, wonder how they're gonna kill an hour before seeing the movie, decide to go to Cold Stone Creamery to get one of those kick-ass Cake 'n' Shake milkshakes (that have real pieces of yellow cake in them), then forget where the nearest Cold Stone Creamery is, never find it, go see if Dinosaur Hill has re-opened yet, see that it hasn't, sigh heavily, get in a crappy mood, try to find decent discount clothes at the Urban Outfitters on 2nd Ave., don't find shit, then arrive late for the movie so they have to sit in a sucky area.

At least I can now skip all that nonsense and look up 1) that Dinosaur Hill is still closed and 2) where Cold Stone is (it's on Astor Place, that's right, it's near where Barnes & Noble used to be. That's why I wouldn't have been able to find it, I thought it was on 2nd Ave. somewhere).

A Surefire Cure for a Cold

I'm healing, slowly but surely. Last night seems to be the worst of it.

And I'm pretty amazed that Sarah was able to move so much furniture and get settled into the new apartment while waylaid with this cold. This proves she's got a higher Constitution than me.

Almost everyone I know is sick, and everyone's got their own cold remedies, but this one worked really well for me.

My supervisor came over and asked me if I'd ever heard of the old Internet meme, "How is babby formed?"

I had not, so she directed me to that site. Watching it 10 times in a row, laughing very hard and silently, really cleared out my head and lungs.

But, I suspect it's like Brigadoon, in that it only works if you've never seen it before.

Four Previews of Upcoming Posts

I apologize for the lack of updates, but (1) moving into a new apartment will do that for you. Even simply moving four blocks in Astoria isn't cheap or easy or quick. Moving sucks!

During my absence, I also (2) celebrated my birthday with my new favorite dessert, sticky toffee pudding. It's delicious!



And then yesterday I (3) ordered my plane tickets for Thanksgiving... looks like Sarah and I are going to Disney World! My first time back in almost eight years, whoa!

And finally, (4) I caught a cold. It sucks!

Flansburgh and Linnell's Miracle Elixir

I'm cured, and I owe it all to Flansburgh and Linnell's Miracle Elixir! And rest assured, this is no ordinary tantimonious tonic, but a magical medicine of music and melody!

Because, really, I'm talking about They Might Be Giants and their concert last night at Le Poisson Rouge.

Yesterday I finally decided that I was done with being sick and tired, and if my wisdom teeth weren't gonna heal, eff it, I'd just return to my regular life and let them catch up. Because, seriously, a week and a half of only oatmeal and milkshakes gets to you.

So I bought some solid food and tried to eat it. I never realized that a Subway sandwich was so tall. Apparently I can't open my mouth as wide as I used to, but I was triumphant in my quest.

A minor, minor victory, and I wish that I could say it was the best sub I've ever had, or it was this delectable return to solid foods, but it was just all right.

Then, because I didn't want to spend another night cooped up indoors, I decided to see the TMBG concert.

And at first I regretted it. I felt a little woozy on painkillers, standing in place waiting for the show to start was hard, and I just really wanted to rest, but when John and John came on stage... seriously, I was cured.

It was like a blast of energy from the sun (which is not a mass of incandescent gas, actually, but a miasma of incandescent plasma) and boom, Kirk was back.

I bopped and enjoyed a good 90-minute set where they played at least one song from every one of their albums. And let me tell you, They Might Be Giants puts on a great show. I've seen them easily a dozen times since moving to New York, and I have to say this was one of my favorite concerts. Three or four encores! And they played "Cowtown" and "I Hit My Head," neither of which I'd heard live before.

This was probably my favorite Year of Yes moment so far.

The Seventh Plague...

This morning I woke up to discover my upper body was covered in red bumps.


What the frack?! First wisdom teeth, then infection, now a rash? What next, frogs and locusts?

My first two thoughts were bedbugs (my biggest NYC-related fear, more than crime or terrorist attack, is getting bedbugs) or chicken pox (never had 'em, so when they come, it'll be terrible), but I didn't feel itchy or achey, so, seriously, what the frack?

When my doctor was finally able to see me, she figured it out in about a minute: allergic reaction to penicillin.

Which, truth be told, isn't so bad. A little confusing, because I only got the rash after I stopped taking antibiotics, but it's more of a harmless oddity when compared to the never-ending pain in my jaw.

She had some bad news, though: the rash was still in its early stages, and if it got worse and spread to my throat (ugh), I'd have difficulty breathing and should go to the emergency room ASAP to prevent death.

I guess when you've gotta heighten the ordeal, you go from pain to more pain to death, right? Thankfully, though, I've been OK... so far, and the rash has spread to my legs instead of my precious, precious insides.

But now I'm dreading falling asleep and waking up to the next plague.

Mending... I Think.

Yesterday I went to the dentist, and it seems I do have an infection. But, he explained, there wasn't anything he could really do about it, since I'm still on antibiotics and on painkillers. Hopefully they'll take care of it, and if not, then they'll try something else.

I'm not surprised by the unhelpfulness of this advice - he's the third dentist to look at me, so wasn't fully briefed. At first he thought I had been hit with a hockey puck, as a matter of fact.

I left with the understanding that I'd return for a follow-up appointment sometime soon, I think in the next two days (when my antibiotics run out).

Tried to go to work, but didn't last long. I started to get super nauseous, and had to leave. Very unfortunate, because I ended up having to cancel a job interview.

One piece of good news, though... they moved back our final day to "some time in October." Even though that's pretty darn vague, every little bit helps.

I spent most of yesterday in misery, stayed home from work today, and then woke up around noon feeling... better. Like my fever has broken. I still hurt, I'm still requiring painkillers every couple of hours, but I feel like my jaw has mended and my teeth are moving back into place.

The stitches finally came out of my mouth, it was weird having this little string in there. I wanted to rip it out, but wisely resisted that temptation.

I'm supposed to direct a rehearsal tonight and have a show later, but doubt I'll be able to do either.

I really hope this is my final post on the matter. Wisdom teeth suck.

Re: Ugh.

After reading that last entry, two people advised I call my dentist's emergency number, so I decided to listen to them. As Dave said, an infection by one's windpipe is a serious matter.

The doc didn't really know what to tell me - I'm already taking painkillers and antibiotics (forgot to mention the latter in previous entries, so it probably seemed like I was more likely to get an infection), and he advised I call the office in the morning and get in there some time tomorrow.

That's what I'll do, then. Also, tomorrow I have a job interview, so I'm banking on it being an absolutely terrific Monday for me.

Ugh.

I don't know if my wisdom teeth are getting better. In fact, I think they're getting worse.

My jaw feels like I just got punched really hard, and it only goes away when I've taken a painkiller. It looks normal, but it feels kind of lumpy, like I have swollen lymph nodes or something.

I'm afraid it's infected, but won't be able to do anything about it until tomorrow, when I can call the dentist. And if it IS infected, I hope they do something about it by Thursday, otherwise, I'm pretty screwed.

Opening my mouth hurts, so eating (still on oatmeal, pudding and juice) is difficult and painful. I can't take my pills until after I've eaten, so it's a catch-22.

I continue to hate everything.

Addendum...

Shortly after posting last night's entry, I started to feel super nauseous, don't know if it was because of the antibiotics or if the bloody gauze was finally getting the better of me.

I willed myself to not throw up (a special power I have - I can stop it by doing multiplication problems in my head), and then stumbled off to bed.

This morning I woke up with the grossest mouth I've ever had, but decided it was time to eat. I haven't eaten anything since about 2 p.m. yesterday, and that was just soup and orange juice.

And so now I have breakfast. It sucks. I have orange juice, which is pretty easy, and I have oatmeal, which is pretty hard. I don't want the food to touch my healing wounds and infect them or anything, so it's hard sliding it straight down my throat. And I can't tell if I'm still bleeding or not.

It also sucks because I don't really get to savor the taste of these delicious Quaker Oats, the oatmeal's gotta go straight for my empty chasm of a stomach.

But at least for dessert I get some painkillers... and maybe some pudding.

This is how I look and feel this morning, right down to what I'm wearing:

I Got My Wisdom Teeth Removed and All I Got Was This Lousy Bloody Wisdom Tooth

The stories people told me about wisdom teeth have run the gamut from it being God-awful torture to being no biggie, so I had no idea what to expect. Also, my body is weirdly resilient to a lot of injury, but I also have a low pain threshold and a strong aversion to blood. Would I bounce back immediately, or would I scream and faint like a cartoon dowager?

With Jen Mac patiently waiting for me in the waiting room, I ventured forth to meet my destiny.

And you know what? It sucked.

I decided to splurge on the nitrous oxide, not just because of the obvious reasons, but because I was really interested in experiencing it. You know, scientific observation and all that. Most people tell me the gas makes them forget everything, then are ridiculously incoherent for X amount of time afterward. And I totally wanted to get in on that.

Now I'm not sure what's up with my body chemistry, but either the gas tanks weren't working properly or I'm immune, because I never felt any different. Throughout the entire procedure (about 75 minutes), I felt totally in my right mind. Not even mildly buzzed or anything. I even questioned them afterward, like, "Are you SURE those tanks were set up properly?"

As for the procedure itself, it wasn't so bad. The dentist decided to leave one in because it isn't hurting anybody and is dangerously close to a nerve. The two on top were easy-breezy-Cover Girl, they said it only took about two minutes to remove both of them.

That part is the only reason I think the gas might have worked - I remember them putting little clamps or something on my teeth, but I have no memory whatsoever of them removing my uppers.

The bulk of my time in the chair was spent on Mr. Lower Right, the problem child that was impacted and pretty much entirely horizontal. They worked on that asshole for about an hour, and had to smash him up and extract him, piece by piece.

And this is where it was dreadful. Not only was it boring, but it hurt! They say it was because of the proximity to the nerve, but man, you know what sucks? Feeling something drill into your jaw.

Worse than the pain was the feeling of blood spurting in my mouth. I was all numbed up, so thankfully I couldn't taste it, but I knew what it was, and that grossed me the eff out. Typing this now, with a mouthful of bloody gauze, I get nauseous. And the thought of me constantly swallowing a spit/blood combo for the next many hours is just as awful.

And then there was the boredom. I thought the dentist was pretty mean to the assistant, and people just walked in and asked questions. It was all very casual. Which I guess is good, it means this wasn't a tricky procedure, but at the same time, let the man work. There were times I wished I had my phone with me so I could text people about how shitty of a time I was having (what a horrible text to receive), or maybe play Mr. Do's Castle.

But I exited the surgery totally coherent, totally fine. They let me keep one of the uppers (the other one was too disgusting, they said), but both of 'em were in pretty sorry shape. Decayed and stuff, which I don't understand, since they were under the gum. This surprised the assistant, too (she's new). I wish I could post a picture, but I already accidentally ate the damn thing.

Turns out I didn't need Jen Mac to drag me home, I felt totally normal, just with a numb jaw. So home I went, bought a lot of soft foods (I hope my roommate likes pudding, because I accidentally bought twice as much as I planned), took a Vicodin, and continued calling places about apartments.

Sarah came over soon after, and although I couldn't eat (I refuse to eat until my mouth is no longer bloody), I got to at least smell the pizza she made. It was good.

Then, as the Novocaine died, my jaw felt worse and worse until I was just about ready to cry, because it's all so tedious. My jaw is tired, I'm sick of holding it open to fit around this damn gauze, it aches constantly, and there's always blood, always blood.

The Vicodin, like the nitrous oxide, had zero effect... at first. Later, after taking a stronger dosage (is that illegal?), my jaw started returning to normal and I finally felt well enough to write this entry.

And that's, I say for the last time, the tooth!

Kirk Loses 4 Wisdom (Teeth)

September is a month chock full of ch-ch-ch-changes. There's losing my job (oh, yes, and they moved our final day up to September 25th), looking for an apartment with Sarah, buying Carcassonne, and let's not forget that oral surgery.

When last I blogged about it, it didn't seem likely that I'd be able to get these pesky wisdom teeth removed. I had that tentative appointment for October 1st, but it was mostly dependent on whether or not my benefits would extend past my last day of work. Tooth be told, I wasn't expecting it to happen.

But everything changed today when the dentist office called and said they could move my appointment up to tomorrow.

TOMORROW?

That's pretty soon, and not much time to plan/ready myself (surgery scares me), but you gotta do what you gotta do. So I'm getting it done tomorrow.

This wouldn't be possible without some wonderful people, like my understanding supervisor, who is letting me take two vacation days on such short notice, and Jen Mac, who's agreed to help haul my drugged-out, bloody-mouthed self home afterward.

So that's it. The next time I post I'll be minus four wisdom teeth. I'll try and blog while still under the influence of anesthesia, that could be interesting.

And That's the Tooth!

I was supposed to get my wisdom teeth taken out this morning, but due to a family emergency on the oral surgeon's part, it got canceled.

And that ain't good.

We're getting laid off around the end of the month, and that means an end to my insurance. There's no way I can afford this surgery without coverage, so I really wanted to get these bastards removed in September.

I just called the dentist office, asked if I could maybe get an earlier date with the other surgeon, and they said it can be done on October 1st... which is the alleged day of the layoffs.

So it'll be tricky, tricky, tricky, timing-wise... I hope I can pull it off.