Hon

I don't mind being called "hon" by bartenders or my grandma. But being called "hon" by Tiffany, my 27-year-old dentist hygentist, doesn't really work for me. Especially when it is between eager jabs with that sharp metal pick she uses to clean my teeth. "I'm almost done, hon." Plus, she shared the diagnosis, "your tongue has a mind of its own." Thanks, Tiffany. Like I need to feel insecure about yet another body part. Now even the inside of my own mouth isn't safe from self scrutiny. I get to return next week for a filling. I will require extra shots. This is written in my chart because the last time I had a filling, I felt the drill after two shots and almost jumped out of the chair. I'm not going to think about it anymore. It is bumming me out.

Worked most of the afternoon at Mad Art trying to schedule 2006 exhibitions and events. I'd rather do one show every 6-8 weeks, but it looks like we have something every month, at least through August. It will be a lot of work. Going to see March of the Penguins tonight...gotta run.