I woke with a jolt, with a jolt of horror, about 6:30 in the morning on Thursday. I had been startled by a terrifying nightmare that seemed incredibly real, it centered around my walk back home from the theater the night before, only in it I drunk-dialed my ex and we had a terrible exchange. I immediately thought this was not a nightmare, but rather a hazy memory. Needless to say, despite my bleary-headedness, I commenced a frantic search of my apartment for my phone, which was - of course - hiding. After 4-5 minutes, I found it. Quick scan of the recent calls menu showed my fears were actually false - the worst I had done was respond a bit more flirtatiously than possibly wise to a couple female friends. That shouldn't be a big deal, though. After two weeks of friendship with me, my inherent creepiness is quite apparent, so this was (sadly for them) nothing new. I hope.
Anyway, for about 5 seconds I felt relieved, and then after that I felt disgustingly hungover. Not headache hungover, but brain-fried nauseous hungover. That one, I think, might be worse.
I decided to clear my head by walking down to Phoenix on Lee and getting a coffee, then stopping at CVS and seeing if they had any newspapers available (they didn't). Then I struggled back home, plopped on the couch, wished for some aspirin and energy and retroactive better judgment, and realized I couldn't just go back to bed. Although it was a day off, I had a cable repair guy coming to fix my screwy high-range channels. I sat around, watching bad movies, till the guy showed up around 11. After he left, I had a bite to eat, then went over for my first dentist appointment in quite some time.
15 years to be exact.
Yes, I had not been to the dentist in a decade and a half.
Why not? Well, it totally freaks me out to have someone put their fingers in my mouth. Totally, horribly freaks me out. I sweat through every article of clothing. Sad, disgusting, strange, and more.
When I was led to the dentist's chair, the hygienist asked how long it had been, and when I told her she was unable to hide her look of contempt. She started to warn me that this could take 2, possibly 3 cleanings, but then just threw her hands in the air, looked to the heavens, and mumbled something to herself about wasting time. Then she asked me to open my mouth.
Apparently, I am a very good tooth-brusher, because she was in total disbelief that it had been that long. That's good, at least. She did the cleaning and it totally sucked. I took off my hoodie when she had me rinse, and then I took off my over-shirt when she asked me to rinse again.
At this point, she and I both realized that my t-shirt was an old Daniel Johnston "Hi How Are You" shirt and that it matched the tattoo on my forearm. I felt horribly embarrassed and she said something about how I must really like http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifthe guy. I guess that's true, but I didn't want to be matching t-shirt and tattoo guy. Anyway, I figured this would only be the latest in the day's string of indignities, and gave up trying to explain the coincidence. There really isn't any good explanation anyway.
Eventually the horror of the cleaning ended and I got to see the dentist. She was nice, a sweet accented gal who was pretty helpful. She found a tiny cavity (ugh) that hurt terribly when she poked it with her scalpel and warned me away from my affection for medium bristles over soft. She also gave a sales pitch for flossing like she was on commission.
Eventually, I finish up, am pleased to realize there is no co-pay, and hike back home to see if I can squeeze in a nap before the next agenda item on my daily calendar.
Instead, I came home, changed into a Browns sweatshirt, and went over to the Pub on Lee to meet Jose for a pre-game meal before catching the game at Browns Stadium. The meal was delightful (the off-menu Buffalo Chicken Sandwich is to die for), and Christmas Ale was on tap. According to Jose, it beats last year's.
We eventually get over to downtown, and hike from Jose's secret parking garage to the stadium. Then survive the bottleneck to get in. Then navigate the ridiculous climb to the tickets I had cheaply purchased. Then suffered from deja vu as the Browns did what they did the week before and blow a two-digit lead in the second half as they lost to the Broncos. Then we leave, though it took a good half-hour to exit the stadium. I swear that Browns Stadium is the worst engineered major stadium I've ever been in, at least as far as entrances and exits are concerned. You'd think the architect had seen his lover stolen by a fire inspector, giving the garbage of getting in and out of that place.
Anyway, we eventually get out, hike back to the secret parking garage, find the car after a couple false starts, pause on our way to getting into it because a drunk dude is pissing right in front of it, eventually get in, back up, and make it all the way down to the third level of the parking garage before getting stuck in traffic.
We sat there for the next 57 minutes.
OK, we didn't exactly sit there for the next 57 minutes. Every so often, we inched a little further down.
Nearly an hour later, we exit the garage, and promptly make the ill-advised decision to take Superior eastward, rather than getting on either Chester or Euclid. We eventually find ourselves in Baghdad, I mean East Cleveland, where we get even more lost. Soon we are curving around Mayfield in what would become the most confusing and strange trip from downtown to home I've ever gone on (so far). Fortunately, I had my new iphone, and the GPS tracker/map feature enabled us to figure out where we were and how off our shared knowledge of east-side roads were.
Finally, we pulled up to my place, Jose drops me off, and I trudge toward my door, mostly feeling bad that he still had to drive all the way back home.
I get upstairs, greet and then walk Smelly, and hit the hay. All in all, it was a good day - caught my first Browns game, got to hang with a newish friend, got my teeth cleaned and only had one cavity despite not visiting a dentist since sophomore year of high school, and enjoyed that delicious sandwich at the Pub on Lee. But it would have been so much better had I not started it with a hangover and finished it by saying to Jose, "Sure, Superior takes us the exact same place that Euclid does." Sorry about that, man.
3 years ago