brush yo' toof!

Someone wrote in to ask me if I’ve had my wisdom teeth out, and I’m so glad they did, because if they hadn’t, I would have really drawn a blank on what to write about today. As it happens, it’s a very interesting story.
I was seventeen. I was having no problems whatsoever with my teeth. I’ve never had braces, and though my teeth have recently started moving slightly, it’s safe to say that back then, my teeth were in every way, just fine.
What was not fine was my experience with dentists. When I was about ten I had a dentist, a fat guy with a beard, and a taxedermied deer head in his office, who smoked…I’m not making this up, people, a cigar WITH the latex gloves on WHILE he was examining me. I only went to him once. The next guy was giving me an exam when I was about twelve, and in checking on something (I don’t remember what. You might even say I kind of blocked it out) he held out his index finger and said, and I QUOTE “Okay, Brendan. Now, suck on my finger as though it were a penis.” Needless to say, I went to town on his finger. Deep throating, spitting on it, kissing it up the sides, putting his balls in my…wait. No. Actually, that was the last time I visited that guy too.
I mean seriously, suck on my finger as though it were a penis? That guy must get all the chicks…er, uh, boys…Well, needless to say, by the time I was seventeen I was wary of dentists in general and I was presented with another reason to question the judgment of dentists when I was told that I’d need my wisdom teeth out at age 17.
They weren’t coming in at all and it was going to be pretty big surgery. I’d go completely under and they’d rip into my jaw to get out my wisdom teeth, which were, at that point still a long way from breaking the gum surface. Hey, sometimes when you’re a dentist, you need to make a boat payment, and you don’t have the luxury of waiting three or four more years until those teeth actually present themselves to determine whether or not they need to come out. Besides, this way is way more expensive.
ANYWAY, I went to the surgeon and even though it was surgery where I was completely unconscious, it was done in an office and I was an outpatient. So, I went under and when I came to, my nose was bandaged, my mouth was packed with gauze, there was blood everywhere and I was super swollen. I had stitches in my gums and I tried to stand up, but I was too wobbly so they put me in a wheelchair.
My mom wheeled me out into the waiting room, which was, according to her, packed with people (I don’t actually remember this…I just know the story as it’s a bit of a favorite around the holidays) and I looked like a bloody mess. I was in a fucking wheelchair with my whole face swollen shut and blood all over me, and I said-- no, yelled, to all the people in the crowded waiting room “Get out of here while you can! I just came in for a regular check up!”
Then my mom wheeled me away. Nice one! That marks the first funny thing I ever did while blacked out, with mom as the accomplice.
So, my face was swollen for a few weeks and I could only eat milkshakes and I was NOT to smoke. However, I smoked, and I smoked pot and I ate a falafel (which got stuck in the stitches and was about as gross as it gets…I went back to just milkshakes after that) and I played a show with my band at the fireside bowl. We opened up for the Pink Lincolns and I looked like a chipmunk and could barely open my mouth, but I think it was a pretty good show.
Anyway, I know there’s lots of advice to get to, but I have a ton to do today, so that’s gonna have to wait until tomorrow. See y’all!