The Dentist

The dentist's office is the only place that I know of in which you allow a person you don't know to put their hands in your mouth, and you pretend they don't exist. 

Surely if someone on the street were to put a hand - gloved or not - into your mouth, you'd have some choice words for them. But here in the office that smells of fluoride and latex, you stare beyond them into the brightest light known to man, pretending the masked person hovering a few inches from your face isn't there at all. 

You know as well as I do that looking into the dentist's eyes would be astonishingly uncomfortable.  Think about it. No one wants to be seen like this. 

And you probably don't want to psych out the person wielding the space weapons. 

This will never be a reality: 

Neither will this. I pray your tongue cannot see. 

Even if you think keeping your eyes closed will ease the tension, there will always be small talk. Chit-chatting about your time off and your major are fine anywhere else, but here, where people encourage you to spit in front of them, it's worse. The dentist could be the nicest person you've ever met, but you simply can't hold a conversation when your mouth only allows you to make vowel sounds. 

Blaaeuoaruaooaaruuaeugh. 

Shield Your Eyes!

It's that time again, folks. Soon enough, the scent of chocolate will permeate everything. People will feel a mixture of happiness and nausea.  Some will succumb to the gaiety and latch on to their loved ones, while others will watch The Notebook with that Haagen Dazs boy I've heard so much about.

Valentine's Day. Because nothing says love like arrows puncturing vital organs.

Now, I have no problem with the chocolate or the flowers or the hand-holding. It's the kissing. Nearly everywhere you turn, people will be locking lips.

I know. It's awful.

What are you supposed to do? Here's the plan.
1) Run.
2) Hide in a crevice of some sort until you stop crying.
3) Re-enter the room.
4) Maintain this facial expression:

Problem solved. 

Fly Me to the Moon

Republican candidate and former beet farmer Newt Gingrich has his eye on the prize. First, the presidency. Immediately afterward, THE MOON.  Well, within eight years, the moon. But Newt's going places.

Slowly but surely. 

"When we have 13,000 Americans living on the moon, they can petition to become a state," Speaker Gingrich said boldly.  The 600,000 Americans in DC can wait. 

The instinctively grandiose Newt promised a "365 day a year relentless pressure" to embody the lyrics of Daft Punk. I believe the music video also illustrates Newt's plans for any illegal aliens on the moon. 

All we hear about from the Gingrich camp is the Rocket Man. What about Callista? From what I've seen, you mustn't speak to the future first lady, as human contact alarms her. 

         

It turns out Mrs. Gingrich III published a children's book called Sweet Land of Liberty about an elephant who sets off on a quest to discover what made America the home of the free. 

As a former American child myself, I can tell this will be a best-seller--if it isn't already--especially if she took notes from the great Maurice Sendak. 

Overall, things are looking up for the Gingriches. Let's hope Florida pulls through. 

...My Mistake

When you engage in conversation with someone you don't know, seemingly normal comments can go awry when you least expect it.  

For instance, the question "when are you due" can be a dangerous one. If you receive this look, you'll know the answer. That person isn't pregnant. She's just fat. 

Or perhaps she's a man. Sometimes it's not clear.

When I cut my hair in fourth grade, my dad took me to work and one of his students said "Is this your son?" and her friend said, "that's a girl," which didn't stop her from saying, "HE'S SO CUTE!" 

While I appreciated that she found me adorable, I still wept quietly into my Spongebob t-shirt and asked Dad if we could go home. For some father-son bonding time. 

"Is this your [significant other]" can be a toughie too. Last night a comedian asked two people if they were married or dating. They were cousins, which is wrong in the eyes of Mark Zuckerberg. 

Moral of the story: stop speaking to people.  It's just too painful.