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6:23 a.m. - 2004-10-06

IT'S A FAMILY AFFAIR


After Susie dropped the bomb that her Mom and I were gonna be BFF on Friday, she thankfully waited a day before hitting me with another revelation.

Next June, we are traveling to Arkansas to attend a family reunion on her Dad's side.

For one.

Full.

Week.

Seven days with a man who I make no bones about it ... I just don't care for him for a number of reasons.

But it won't be just him ... nope.

His six brothers and sisters and their children and their spouses and their grandchildren and blah blah blah.

I am horrified at the prospect of there being upwards of 100 people in this family all gathering together to be uber-nerds.

I immediately told Susie of my game plan.

"I plan on spending maybe an hour a day with everyone and then claiming I'm sick and staying in the hotel room the rest of the week! That'll work!!"

She says "Uhhhhh ... you want the bad news or the worse news?"

Holy Mary, Mother of God ... pray for my sinnin' ass.

What POSSIBLY could be worse than a week-long family reunion with people we've never met?

ANSWER: There will be no hotel stay. Because Susie's father has made the ultimate sacrifice and taken all the child support payments that he was supposed to have sent to Susie's mother in order for Susie to have a decent life and used them to rent a house that Susie's immediate family will all be staying in.

Read: 19 people in one house. For a week.

I.

Will.

Go.

Mad.

I'm an extremely private person who shares my most intimate stories with thousands of people on the internet at a safe distance and that's how I like it.

I do NOT like sharing a house with two grandparents, three brothers-in-law, two sisters-in-law, six teenage nephews, one niece, one nephew's bitchy girlfriend, one hyperactive great nephew, my wife, and my son.

And a goddamned partridge in a motherfucking pear tree.

My only option out of this is to die an early death as this is a dream come true for my wife who will finally get to meet all the cousins and aunts and uncles that she hasn't seen since she was a small child.

I did offer to take my DJ equipment along so that I could DJ the major function(s).

Susie said that was a very nice thing for me to offer.

Hell ... it means I can stand away from the rest of them and not have to get stuck listening to Cousin Elmer's exciting stories about pig milking or whatever the hell these people do.

The funny thing is ... nobody in the family lives in Arkansas. They just decided to pick a central location in the country for everyone to meet and somebody made the wacky suggestion of Hot Springs, Arkansas.

WHOOO-HOOOO!!

Never mind it could have been a more happening city like St. Louis or Memphis.

Or Omaha for that matter.

Let's all flock to the most un-touristy place in the nation! They've probably even got a McDonalds!!

It will be a miracle ... A MIRACLE ... if I don't kill anybody at any point during that week.

Yep.

I'm Mr. Positive, alright.



God.

Holy hell.

I had the worst experience EVER at the dentist yesterday.

I know I bitch about the dentist here every time I go, but the truth of the matter is ... I don't mind dental work.

Even the root canal I had recently was dramatized for your amusement. That root canal was one of the more simple things I've ever had done to my teeth.

But yesterday, getting a temporary crown put on that tooth was pure f'n hell.

Mainly because ... well ... I think the dentist screwed up with my novocaine shot and accidentally pierced my larynx instead of my gum with the needle.

Because it hurt like hell. Enough for me to physically move in the chair which I never really do.

Then he gave me a second shot for good measure.

And while he's working, he says "Don't breathe through your mouth, breathe through your nose."

Sure thing, Doc.

One problem ... after years of addiction to nasal sprays, my sinuses are about as reliable as Michael Jackson's babysitting services.

(Balloons and confetti fall from the ceiling as I successfully make my 1,000th dig at Michael Jackson's alleged pedophile status because, as always, I'm too lazy to conjure up another celebrity metaphor)

So I'm trying to breathe through my nose so the dentist can work on my tooth.

Problem is, I can inhale.

But I can't exhale.

My chest is all puffed out as I'm trying desperately to force air through my nostrils to no avail.

Finally, I lift my left hand as if I'm about to punch out the dentist's assistant and everyone removes their fists from my mouth.

And I exhale like a woman in labor.

"I ... can't ... breathe ..."I gasp.

"Well, don't die!" says the sympathetic dentist.

He then starts taking small one-minute long shifts in my mouth so that I can breathe once a minute.

I guess they were about a minute long.

I wasn't timing him.

They probably just waited until my skin started turning light blue before they'd retreat from my mouth and let me breathe again.

Then, his assistant, who was obviously new because the dentist second guessed everything she said, was in charge of holding my tongue out of the way of the drill since my mouth was numb and my tongue was doing the Macarena in my mouth without me being able to control it.

And she's using some sort of metal object to do this.

And she's absent mindedly pressing this metal object HARD against my upper lip which is cutting into the edges of my upper teeth while she's holding my tongue.

This is causing me extreme pain because only the right lower side of my mouth and tongue are numb ... not the upper left side.

Finally, during one of their little "Let the fat ass breathe" sessions, I rubbed my upper lip soothingly to let her know that she was putting about 140 lbs of pressure on my lip.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked.

"Uh mittle" I slurred.

"I'm sorry," she said as the dentist stared at her like she was Michael Jackson behind a tree at the park.

(1001!!)

THEN ... THEN ... THEN ... the assistant is in charge of putting my temporary crown on until my new one can be tailor made to fit my teeth or some shit.

She packs this bonding cement into the tooth.

Puts it on my now-dead tooth (RIP Toothie!).

And walks away.

Five minutes later, she comes back and my temporary crown is floating in the pool of saliva at the back of my throat.

"Oops!" she says. "I guess I didn't put as much cement in it as I should have. Now we have to start over!"

I've seen this move that they do in the WWF where a guy hits another guy square in the face with the point of his elbow.

I tried desperately to do that to the assistant, but there were too many trays and lights and wires and shit to successfully make contact with her nose.

But I TRIED DAMMIT.

Finally, after two hours and fifteen minutes of sitting in this chair, I was allowed to leave with this cool platinum bling bling tooth, a swollen cheek, and blood-soaked gums.

I've never been so happy in my life.

Now if Arkansas would just catch on fire and burn to the ground, my life would be complete.

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