Getting My Wisdom Teeth Removed (And How To Avoid Having Yours Removed)

These small empty pockets in the back of my mouth are all the fault of one innocent dentists visit for my regular cleaning. So in order to avoid this hellish disaster that is now my 4less mouth, avert your life at any and all costs if you feel any of these stages seem familiar.

Stage 1: A visit to the dentists for teeth cleaning when you mention a periodic mysterious pain in the back of your mouth. This begins the pain and woe that is having your wisdom teeth removed. The hygienist will tilt her head slightly to the side like she has no idea what you're talking about, because in reality she's trying to psych you out, prevent your mind from thinking of the horrors that are to come. Then she calls the dentist over.

Stage 2: A mouth x-ray thingy that spins around your head. The dentist will tell you it's all just fine and all you have to do is bite down on this simple little bar and the machine will spin around your head and do all the work while you just stand there. Little do you know, it's just the beginning.





Stage 3: A referral to an oral surgeon. You finish with your stupid cleaning and even though your teeth are squeaky clean, you're no longer thrilled with this whole "minor procedure" ordeal that the dentists are trying to spring on you. The receptionist hands you your referral and smiles. Stupid overly perky receptionist. You go home and you glare at every driver you pass on the way because they have their stupid wisdom teeth (oh the irony) and they don't care about the pending doom of your own.

My actual x-ray

Stage 4: A phone call for an appointment with the oral surgeon. They look at the x-rays of your perfect normal teeth and then point out your embarrassing rogue escape artist teeth on the sides. You sink a little in the chair and they pry your mouth open and poke around in it. The surgeon says that they're going to give you little pills to take to make you calm, and that you won't feel anything. There will be four stitches, not necessary, but there anyway. You'll leave and wonder why the unnecessary stitches have to be put in. Then you realize they never actually described the procedure. THEY DUPED YOU!

Stage 5: A valium the night before. You take the stupid "calm" pill, and you go to bed. Since you're super tired, you fall right to sleep and in the morning you realize that you're still FREAKING THE HELL OUT!!!!


Stage 6: A small sip of water following the remaining two valium. You're not sure that they'll work because you really don't remember them working last night. But you fell asleep kind of quickly so it doesn't matter anyway right? RIGHT????

Stage 7: A very long ride to the not so far away place where they're going to take away your wisdom teeth. You're still freaking out, so you tell your mom and boyfriend that this sucks. Also, your mother feels it is appropriate to stop at Starbucks on the way. I assure you, this is not appropriate and you should feel slapped in the face.






Stage 8: A stumble out of the car. That valium? Well while your mother was stupidly getting her stupid little iced stupid coffee, your stupid valium was stupidly taking effect. And somehow it's a lot harder to walk through those stupid doors that seem to be just out of your stupid range. Stupid feet.

Poor Boy...

Stage 9: A wait in the waiting room. Now this is where blackmail may or may not take place. You may start spontaneously slipping from your chair. At which time, your boyfriend will grab you and replace you in your respective spot, and your mother will tell you to lay down. Then you will flop your head down really really really hard on your boyfriends very very very bony collarbone. But you don't care, you're on valium.



Stage 10: A section of your life that you will never remember. This will be filled in by the spectators, and may never be accurate. Take with a grain of salt.





Stage 11: A nurse calling your name. You pop up ready to walk in that direction but that stupid valium is still there... Your stupid body wants you to go in all sorts of stupid directions. People stupidly grab you and pinch at your stupid flailing arms, but somehow you make it to the room.

Stage 12: A shove into the seat of torture. The nurses begin preparing you for the dramatic removal to come. The surgeon comes in as a nurse is wiping some goo on your lips and asks if you would like to keep your teeth but answers his question with a no before you even have time to mutter a response. What if you want those teeth? What if those were the best things in your life? You are suddenly bitter over your loss of rights.

Stage 13: A stab in the arm. The nurses put your arm in a brace, which you can't see because they're so preoccupied with your face, and suddenly there's a stinging sensation. They're stabbing you. The doctor tells you that you're going to become drowsy soon and eventually become unconscious. You start to freak out because you're not drowsy. Another nurse comes and sticks two cottony boulders into your mouth. You're still not drowsy. The surgeon tells you it'll be about 45 minutes, and he'll call later that night to check on you. It would be really kind of him if he weren't just secretly out to steal all of your teeth. Oh god you're still not drowsy and it's been almost a minute!


Stage 14: ...

Stage 15: A nudge. Tugged out of the car and pulled into the house, you're directed towards the couch. But that's not comfortable, all you want to do is sleep. What the heck do these people think they're doing. You try to say that you want to go to bed but it comes out as more of a "buh" because your mouth is stuffed with cotton and your lower lip is five times its normal size! Or... at least it feels like it. You get to bed and promptly fall asleep.


Stage 16: A cry of pain. You wake up and it hurts. They said it wouldn't hurt. You should have known... those jerks. It really doesn't hurt that bad, but you're kind of miserable anyway and everything going on right now is so foreign, it just seems right to cry out. Your mom comes in with an antibiotic, an ibuprofin, a vicodin, and some water. You put the first one on your very large lip and press it into your mouth with one finger. You figure out how to use the cup with your new found gino-lip and tip in some water to swallow the pill. But your mouth is numb. You dribble bloody water all over you bed. You whine, finish the pills, and go back to sleep.

Stage 17: A conversation with your boyfriend. He'll ask how you are. When you reply, he'll give you a look saying, "Huh?" like you just said nothing but baby garble. Finally you glare at him because clearly boyfriend is too insensitive to understand your gino-lip speak and you must write down the words on paper for him. You go back to sleep.

Stage 18: A period of lucidity. You walk around the house, but sit down because you get dizzy. You watch tv, get on the computer, drink some water, glare at the hard candy sitting on the table. Then you hear your stomach growl.









Stage 19: A makeshift meal of applesauce and pudding. You stick the spoon in your mouth but realize that gino-lip is still useless. You use your top lip to scoop the applesauce off of the spoon and let it drop into your mouth. You are content, but spectators are rather disgusted. You kind-of-smile because you are proud of yourself. You continue spooning the soft food.

 

Stage 20: A stitch loose on your tongue. Eventually the stitches will come off and you'll think you have a chunk of food on your tongue. You don't. It's a stitch. Gross or not, I assure you that you're probably eating most of them anyway. You spit the stitch out and go back to spooning your chicken bits and asparagus chunks into your mouth, much to your mother's embarrassment.


Now as I mentioned before, this horrible procedure that removes 4 separate pieces of you should be avoided at all costs. So if any of these stages are familiar to you, it's probably because your parents have sent you into the spiraling processes of hell (AKA getting your wisdom teeth removed) and you should stop this nonsense now.

Glad I could help :)

Every 15 Minutes

"Every 15 Minutes, someone dies as a result of an alcohol related collision."

Recently, Casa Roble put on a program to illustrate the dangers of getting in the car with a drunk driver, and driving drunk. Despite the charades and games that most at this school tries to play, a majority of the guises were dropped by the second rally when a guest speaker told us a story about how her daughter was killed by a drunk driver.

Day 1: The day started off with a police officer explaining the idea of the program. Every 15 minutes, someone dies from a drunk driving accident, so every 15 minutes a heartbeat would sound around the school, slow, and flatline.
Along with the flatline, a student would be removed. A grim reaper could be seen walking into a classroom, accompanied by a police officer and a piece of paper to be handed to the teacher. The teacher read to the class the story for why that student was no longer a part of their lives. Each story was an alcohol related accident.
Some students laughed at the 15 minute flatlines, joked around about the fake deaths, used other mechanisms to avoid facing the reality of the program, to cover their own emotion.
Day one was hard. The people that "died" were people important to the school: teacher, yearbook EIC, student government, cheerleader, football, etc... Every student was required to attend an assembly on the football field, a complete simulation of a drunk driving accident; wrecked cars, fire trucks, helicopter and all.
That night, there was a candle light vigil held for all the students that had been taken throughout the day. As hard as the program had been for us, it was even harder for these students' parents. Parents were asked to write a letter to their son or daughter after being told they were not coming home, and the students were asked to do the same for their parents.

Day 2: The morning of the second day seemed rather still and calm, very uneventful compared to the previous day, making everyone anxious to know what was going to happen. The "living dead," as the every 15 minute students had been termed, were unable to contact anyone for the full two days of the event; why would they? They were dead.
As the entire school crowded into the large gym for the second day assembly, the majority of the room was filled with chatter. The emotion from the day before has subsided due to the uneventful morning.
The long wait to get the event going again made the crowd uneasy and slightly anxious, leaving all the pressure on the principal, who forgot his own password onto the computer. Hint: Wedding Date.
I must admit, for the assembly having so many technical difficulties, Mr. Shoemake certainly remained calm. I never would have expected to hear a principal tell the entire school that we would be there until everything was running, no matter how long it took, because the program was that important. Any other person would have skipped the video.
Never before had I seen so many people in one room wipe their masks of nonchalance away with their tears. The way the guest speaker told her story about her daughter being hit by a drunk driver while walking to a bus stop was able to capture even the most indifferent students. Across the gym wrinkled white tissues were wiping away the involuntary tears, eyes were focused on the speaker and her story, and some heads were turned away. The touching words from this woman concluded with her advice. Kids: Listen to your parents, do what they say, and make good choices. Parents: Don't be so hard on your kids all the time, you never know what the last words you say to them may be.
After the speaker, the "living dead" and their parents had a chance to share the letters they had written. I don't know about anyone else, but I know what was running through my mind through these letters. What would my parents say if this was me? What would they do? Would their letters be like this?
Needless to say, the second day, though only filled by a 2-hour long assembly, was the hardest. The reality sunk in more than it had before. The invincibility veil that most wear was torn away by both the program and the very recent death of a Casa student who had fallen while skating.
Though I'm sure some students still were only slightly shocked by the program, I know many were shaken by the events of the week. It had been one of the most emotionally exhausting and physically draining weeks ever.

I Am Against New Year's Resolutions

"The grass is greener on the other side."

The New Year means a sky rocket in sales for gym memberships and fitness equipment, and a drop for fast food and other less healthy items. I've never really been into the whole Resolution deal. It seems like I'm always setting myself up for failure. A year or two ago, I made all or my resolutions nearly impossible to not achieve. You know what I mean:

New Year's Resolutions 2011

1. Don't die.
2. Don't get hit by a train.
3. Do NOT chop off left hand.
4. Feed self.
5. Blink.
6. Breathe.
7. Pee.
8. Do not injure self again.

Simple things that can be simply accomplished nearly everyday. Except.. for maybe one or two. But out of a long list, that's not too bad. Seven out of eight cannot possibly be considered failure. Therefore, it is a reasonable list for me. Others have IMPOSSIBLE lists... like:

New Year's Resolutions 2011

1. Lose 30 pounds by eating nothing!!!
2. Eat only healthy green things that nobody else likes!!!
3. Stay out of debt and be unhappy because I can't have nice things!!!
4. Buy a dog to jog everyday with!!!
5. Drink goopy protein shakes!!!

See. In reality, you people are unrealistic. When you get to February, as we are now, you realize...
Revised New Year's Resolutions 2011

1. That pizza sure looks tasty... I didn't REALLY need to lose weight, did I?
2. Look at him... he's not eating anything green...
3. This money is so heavy in my pocket...
4. I hate this dog's poooooop! And running.
5. Do I have to drink another one? :/

When you make it a month, not even a whole year, with 0/5 - I think should be considered a failed list. Which is why everyone should stick to breathing. And feeding the cat every once in a while.

DJ: Friend or Enemy... Pt. 2

This kid drives me absolutely insane. When we're out of school, I'm left deprived of my daily Beatings of DJ. He looks so innocent and huggable, and he kind of is. But then he goes and just pisses you off and ruins all things for you and your life, and then you resort to having to hit him with something hard and sturdy like a notebook at least once a day.

I spend all second period picking on DJ. I sit semi-across the room from him and send him threatening texts or throw angry glares. Often I'll text something like "I'm going to kill you" and then I just wait and watch to see him pull his phone out, pause for a moment, slowly turn around towards me, and shake his head disapprovingly. It's a slow, but fulfilling harassment.

Everyone secretly wants to marry DJ.
DJ is a secret perv.

Basically, DJ makes my yearbook world a living hell. 

• I finally finished one of his sports spreads. I was absent one day. He assigned me another sport. 
• This "sports editor" likes to avoid copy blocks until the last possible second, too. So instead of saving something as ssmithcba, I save it as ssmiththisismymaincopybecausedjhasn'tgivenmecopyblocksyet.
• Each copy has it's own character count. Some random obscure number like 138. Now, say DJ doesn't tell you what your character count needs to be for main copy. So you type out this lovely 400 character copy (his suggested character count until counts are out), and he goes, "Yeah character count is 330." Then you're forced to chop the crap out of your beautiful piece of written art, all at the fault of DJ.
• On the first sports spread, I had DJ read over my main copy, making sure I had it right before turning it in to Austin. DJ said it was fine. Austin completely rejected it, saying it was the wrong concept. DJ doesn't even understand his own concept.
• After completely changing one main copy and getting it approved, DJ finally put up the flow chart in the pressroom and there are 3 main copies to mark off, not 4. My panic is greatly lowered while my anger at DJ drastically increases!
• One single complaint at DJ, his immediate response: "Get outta here!"
• DJ actually walked into Austin's room to announce that there were now hardcopy folders. I got super excited and went to relinquish all my signed off papers that I might possibly lose if given more time with them. I was very disappointed when I saw no hardcopy folders in the pressroom.
• Me: DJ, where are the folders?
• DJ: Oh.. well we don't actually have the folders apparently...
• Me: So.. you lied? Again?
• DJ: It's not my fault!
• This is where I beat DJ with whatever is handiest at the time.
• Say you're actually working on a computer, doing your work and stuff. For DJ. DJ's work. For one of his spreads. He's a big stupid jerk that will come and exert his "editor authority" over you and steal your computer.

So pretty much, Yearbook is where DJ ruins lives the most.

I've recently discovered I'm not the only life he ruins.

• DJ updated details about a play practice. The night before the practice. On facebook. At 8 p.m. To be at a church. This is greatly distressing to play members.
• Shadi was having a horrible day, and upon coming up with one happy moment, DJ immediately jumped at the opportunity to shoot it down and ruin all her happiness.

See. DJ just sucks.

Fun facts about why I hate DJ!

• DJ is taller than me.
• DJ is thinner than a twig.
• DJ is a robot.
• DJ is comparable to Einstein. 

               ... Minus the mustache.

I hope you all realize why DJ is such a horrible person. :)
And sorry I haven't posted in a while, I've been busy! D8