Yesterday was my first of three dentist appointments to pimp my grill. This one was way more invasive than I imagined. For over two hours I tolerated burning flesh, chipping my tooth out one itsy-bitsy piece at a time, and trying not to punch my dentist every time she said, “my boyfriend -- whoops! -- I mean my fiancé!”

Under the right amount of Novocain, I can handle burning bits of my gum off and chiseling, yanking, and grinding my old, fake tooth off bit by bit. But under the right amount of nothing do I want to hear about how sparkly your ring is, how much you love your schmoopy, or how many kids you want to have.

Bitter? Maybe.

Whatever.

So today I have a bit of a burn mark on my gum line and a Chiclet sitting front and center. It’s really not all that bad, but the residual pain from all of the whittling away at my fake tooth has my nose feeling like it’s broken. Hence the donkey-kick title of this here entry.

One month from now I go back to the dentist to get fitted for two new teeth, and about three weeks later, I’ll be sporting the new grill. Between the time that I get fitted for them and the time that I get them, I’ll have two Chiclets and will be seen both parentally and internationally.

My folks are finally both making the trip down to Chicago before I jet outta here for sunnier skies and warmth on my bones. They’re taking multiple days off of work to do whatever there is to do in this town if you’re only here for about a week. Since I have a chorus show over the weekend that they’re here, I’ll be taking the days off of work to spend hanging with them before I go to rehearsals all night.

Then at the end of their trip here, I’m heading to London to visit with my friend Becky. This involves even more time off from work. My hopes are that I’ll come back from nearly two weeks off, no one will remember me, and I’ll head home and collect paychecks until work realizes the error.

Here’s to hoping, anyway.

The plans for LA are currently up in the air, as another idea has been planted. I chose LA because it fits my requirements and because I’ve got a good connection to easily make friends and find a pimp-worthy job. There are lots of places that fit my requirements, actually: be warm most of the time, have a beach, have a nightlife, and be somewhere that I can afford to live on my current salary.

Last weekend my girl friends headed to Ft. Lauderdale to visit our favorite Natty. Now they’re gung-ho moving there. And since that matches my requirements and includes people who I already know and love, why the hell not? I can have my powder blue VW Bug with a grey convertible top there just as easily as in LA, I can learn to surf on a different ocean, and -- shit -- I can write a check right now for a down payment on a decent condo there.

Bring it on.

Saying that I live in Florida might not be as sexy at saying I live in LA, but I’ll lie and say I’m in Miami since it’s close enough anyway.

Go get me a tramp stamp, my silly little car, and a job that I also don’t have to particularly care about, and I’m up for it.

And now it’s time to stop with the daydreaming and head outta here. Into the 33-degree evening. Waiting for the snow to fall. And my face aching.