It just doesn't get any more real

The inside of my mouth is going to explode, I can’t go see the Violent Femmes tonight and I am fucking bleeding. Oh, and I hate everyone. It doesn’t get much more real than that. Seemingly separate issues, but we’ll explore. Hang on to your tights.

I had some oral surgery done recently because I’m a masochist. Not really, I am in the process of having an implant put in because I’m a superficial, shallow bitch. Yeah, that’s right. For years I have lived without dental insurance and a nasty candy habit. Fast forward 12 years, some shitty hygiene practices and presto, you have a tooth extraction. Being the self-conscious woman that I am, with the self-esteem of teenager with budding breasts and an acne problem (accurate even at 37,) this missing tooth thing is debilitating. I’ve wanted this corrected for a long time. It’s only taken me 4 years of bitching and moaning to finally to do something about it. After 4 long years my mother is FINALLY taking care of this shit for me! About damn time too. The prospect of said tooth has filled me with much joy and contentment. It all went to hell after the procedure however. Mind you, we are only in the beginning stages and I am already certain that the dentist is someone I douched over somewhere and I just can’t place him yet. Maybe I said something to him about his comb-over, maybe I was openly hostile, perhaps it was a classic case of fashion Tourette’s. All of these are possibilities. It’s just too hard to tell. My face is throbbing all of the time and while I enjoy pain meds as much as the next guy, I also enjoy pain meds as much as the next guy! It’s a slippery slope – or so they say. Next thing you know I’m wearing rain boots and a bicycle helmet with a rainbow painted on the side in 80-degree weather and talking to tree people. Laugh. Go ahead. Been there. Done that.

I had planned on seeing the Violent Femmes tonight at the Del Mar Racetrack. Let’s be clear about a few things: I have never seen the Femmes and would LOVE to see them. It’s a cheap show. I too am cheap, so this too is PERFECT!!! I typically do not do well in large groups of humans. It’s like all of the synapses in my brain start firing at once. Sensory overload. Johnny 5 is alive!! After about an hour, my shit completely melts the fuck down. “Disassemble Stefanie!” I seriously need to go home and be alone. The crazy in me sees the crazy in you and feeds off that shit. It’s all bad. It’s also the Racetrack. I expect to get stepped on and beer spilled on me; this is usual behavior. What I do not enjoy and don’t find acceptable is when people bump into you and say nothing. Jack shit. Nada. I get accidents happen, but when you bump someone is it not customary (or at least kind) to say something like “I’m sorry” or “excuse me?” WHERE ARE YOUR DAMN MANNERS??!! People suck and I have trouble not telling them so when situations like that arise. I also will have trouble not getting my ass handed to me. My mother did not just spend 3k on an “almost tooth” so that my aloof ass could get it knocked the fuck out because some twat didn’t say “excuse me.”

I am bleeding. I normally don’t share about such issues, but what the hell. I am like Artax in the swamps of sadness. My concert is a no go, relationships around me are failing, I am in pain, OJ is free… I mean the list goes on people. Swamp. Sadness. Let’s add, shall we? So I start my miserable period and I am not sure whether I want to stab someone or hug them. It’s terribly confusing. My fists are constantly ready to throw a punch but I’m also ready to “hug it out.”  Anyhow, in the middle of the night I am awakened in one of my fits of pain from the oral surgery and that’s when I realize that I’ve also started my period. Like any good Girl Scout, I am prepared. I reach under my sink to grab a tampon. I just need one. Just one. Only one. The entire Costco size box (exaggeration because that would be some apocalyptic shit) dumps over in the furthest reaches of my cabinet. FML! I just wanted one, damnit!  I spend the next 3 minutes cleaning up tampons one at a time because apparently this is all I am capable of.

It should end there. But it doesn’t. After the OB tampon spill of 2017, I managed to inadvertently knock one of my rings down the drain while straightening up the counter. Now I’m pissed. I stumble into the kitchen to get myself something to drink to wash down the ibuprofen that I need to take for my mouth and now these infernal cramps when it happens. I feel something warm and with some density squish between my toes. I have just stepped in still warm cat puke. Swamp. Sadness. Artak. Doesn’t get realer than this….