All in the Family Feud

The Bunkers, our crotchety and decrepit downstairs neighbors, have been trying to oust me and Charlene out of our condominium complex ever since they moved in two years ago.

It all started because Mrs. Bunker allegedly had a bad childhood experience with a German Shepherd. Therefore, anytime she sees Zigzag, be it near or far, she jumps back, clutches her heart, and yells, "I don't trust that dog!"

About a month after the Bunker's moved in below us, we received a letter from our association stating that their have been complaints about noise and a large aggressive dog. Now, if Mrs. Bunker thought Zigzag was aggressive, she should have seen Charlene after reading that letter. I did everything short of shooting her with a tranquilizer dart to keep her from going downstairs and painting the Bunker's walls with their own old, dusty blood.

I rarely see Charlene become that unglued. In fact, the only time I've seen her boil over with that level of rage is when someone took her appropriated parking spot. The perpetrator was lucky I was there to diffuse the situation -- otherwise there would have been no windshield left on his car for Charlene to place a nasty note on.

It took an hour or so before Charlene's fury weakened from a category 5 hurricane to a tropical storm. "I'm calm now," she alleged. "I would like to go downstairs and talk to those ASSHOLES about this letter now."

"Okay," I said. "But, before I let you go I need to frisk you for weapons. The last thing I need is to be bailing you out of prison tonight."

I offered to confront the Bunker's with her, but she was just as concerned about my temper flaring up as I was about hers.

I admit it. I'm not ALWAYS the voice of reason. I do get the occasional road rage. And, I also get upset when I see children on leashes and men talking on their cell phones at the urinal. But, I'm not proud of how I react to these things.

Charlene was gone for over an hour. I feared the conversation didn't go as planned and pictured her trying to dispose of their bodies in their large handicap-equipped bathtub with a bucket of lye. Thankfully, she walked in the door just as I was about to bust in on a potential crime scene.

"There you are!" I said. "I was worried about what might have you done to them. How did it go?" 

"It went fine." she answered. "I think we worked everything out." Or so she thought...

But, you can't really work everything out with a couple of bottom dwelling geriatrics. Our cease fire was in effect for only about a week before they violated it by writing another letter to the association about Zigzag.

I'm not going to lie. Most people would rather have a gun pointed at their head than have a dog like Zigzag unleashed on them. That being said, Zigzag has no history of violence. Sure. She barks and growls at people just like every other dog in the neighborhood (including the Bunker's); but the only things that she's guilty of biting are sticks, tennis balls, bones, and whatever I put into her food bowl.

"That's it!" Charlene exclaimed. "I'm going to write a letter to the association about them!"

The Bunker's weren't exactly model neighbors either. For one, their dog is more like a rooster. He wakes us up every morning at sunrise with a half-hour of shrill barking. Then they turn on the television, which is so loud that it sounds like they're watching it in our living room.

But, I'm being petty. After all, they didn't write to the association about something Zigzag did. They wrote to them about something that they're afraid of Zigzag doing (i.e. attacking them).

"Do you know what I'm afraid of?" I asked Charlene.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm afraid that the Bunkers are so old that they might forget to turn the stove off and burn the whole place down. We ought to write the association about that."

 "You know what I'm afraid of?" Charlene added. "That the Bunkers are so old that they are going to crash their cars into us while we are walking Zigzag. We ought to write the association about that too."

We devised a long list of ways Mr. and Mrs. Bunkers could hurt, maim, or kill us due to their old age. But, for whatever reason, we never sent it to the association. Instead, we agreed to kill them... with kindness.

Well, that didn't work either. Mrs. Bunker took that as an opportunity to make indirect complaints about the noise coming from upstairs. One time she ran into Charlene in the parking lot and asked, "Who won the race last night?"

Confused by such a seemingly senile inquiry, Charlene smiled and politely asked "What are you talking about?"

"The cats!" Mrs. Bunker shouted. "We could hear them running around all night!"

The Bachelor: So Easy A Caveman Can Do It

Once again, Charlene has me hooked on yet another season of the Bachelor. It's a little embarrassing to admit, but we actually measure the length of our relationship not by years, but by seasons of the show. We've been together since Deanna.

Charlene, like many other women, loves the fairytale aspect of the show. I, on the other hand, enjoy the utter shamelessness demonstrated by the people that appear on it. These individuals will clearly do and say anything to be on television. Case in point: Bob Guinea. Now, let's be honest. He was half man, half pig; had a greasy jheri curl; and his laugh was kindred to the "Shiba Inu Scream". In real life, before he became the Bachelor, Bob Guinea was what the cast of the "Jersey Shore" refer to as a "grenade".  Fortunately for Bob, 25 women, handpicked by producers, mainly for possessing little to no self respect, were rearing to jump on the Guinea Grenade in exchange for their 15 minutes...  of indignity.

Since Bob, a wide-variety of maladjusted single men have taken the throne. From the mind changing Meznick to the bipolar Pavelka, to the woman beating Womack, the series has demonstrated time and time again that countless women are willing to do anything (and I mean anything) to receive a rose -- even despite appearance, past, or personality.  The fact is, if you're the Bachelor, you are guaranteed at least a two out of three victory in fantasy suite. It's literally so easy a caveman can do it. And, that's exactly what the producers set out to prove this season with Ben Flintstone (better known to the public by his stage name: Ben Flajnik).

Unbeknownst to many, the Bachelor isn't Ben's first appearance in the public eye. He was actually big news in Russia back in 1999 when a group of biological researchers discovered his body frozen in time inside of a glacier off the coast of the Bearing Sea.

Ben, estimated by anthropologists to be approximately 40,000 years old, was not only the oldest caveman ever to be unearthed, but he was also the only caveman to be found alive when they found him. He was an instant scientific marvel and a worldwide sensation.

In 2003, after Ben spent four intensive years learning to speak, read, and how to use his severely atrophied body again, Geico Insurance company approached him about starring in a certain ad campaign that they planned to design around him. It was called, "So easy a Caveman can do it".

The first commercials aired in 2004 and it was a huge success. It was so successful, in fact, that in 2007, ABC jumped on board and co-created a television series based on the ads called, "Cavemen". Sadly for Ben and his costumed caveman costars, the show completely tanked. One viewer quoted it as being "dog shit" on his Facebook status -- a status of which received over 4 million likes.

ABC execs were livid about show's failure and the financial loss that ensued. The network had put a lot of time, money, and faith into Ben and his fading authentic caveman celebrity. They were determined to somehow get a return on their investment.

In 2010, ABC finally had a stroke of brilliance. Their idea: to steal a concept from one of their biggest competitors, CBS.

CBS's Sunday prime-time lineup included an hour-long commercial called "Undercover Boss". Companies such as Roto-Rooter, Norwegian Cruise Lines, and Hooters paid a hell of a lot of money to be on it.

ABC wanted to make boatloads of money selling hour-long commercial slots too. So, they called up their old friend and business partner Geico and pitched them an idea that would both revolutionize television advertising and corrupt reality television at the same time. It was an offer and opportunity Geico couldn't refuse. Without hesitation, they bought an unprecedented amount of advertising for an unprecedented amount of money. It was the biggest television advertising deal in history!

It's top secret information, but the second Ben Flajnick (real name: Ben Flintstone) stepped out of the stretch limo to meet Ashley on last year's season of the Bachelorette, you were being sold Geico auto insurance.

Producers did everything they could to camouflage Ben's true caveman identity (cut his hair, shaved his beard, dental implants, straightened his posture). But, they also wanted Ben to look enough like his caveman self that viewers made the connection. And, it worked! Every time Ben and Ashley had a scene together, people all over the country and the world were saying, "Ashley is so easy a caveman could do her!" Geico was making millions! 

Ashley, surprise, surprise, never had any interest in Ben. She kept him around until the end in exchange for lower premiums on her car insurance. Ben, however, really fell for Ashley. He hadn't felt that way about a woman since Wilma.

On the flip side, Ben's broken heart won over fans and put Geico's caveman franchise back on top, just like ABC had promised. In addition, Ben was crowned the next Bachelor -- meaning a guaranteed two out of three victory in the fantasy suite. It will be the first time in his life that he won't have to use a club to coerce a woman into having intercourse with him.

Fat, Sick, and Almost Dead

Inspired by the movie "Fat, Sick, and Almost Dead", me and Charlene decided to try a "reboot". In other words, we were going to go five days consuming only homemade fruit and veggie juice. I was somewhat opposed to the idea at first because neither of us are fat, sick, or almost dead. In fact, we're both healthy and in rather good shape. But, Charlene insisted that it would cleanse us. Cleanse us of what I'm not quite sure. But, I agreed to join her on the juice cleanse journey anyway. If nothing else, I saw this as an opportunity to challenge the beast of all beasts: My appetite (and Charlene when she hasn't had enough to eat).

As if taking on an all juice diet wasn't hard enough, we further increased the difficulty level by beginning on Monday -- also known as taco night in our household (Charlene's favorite night of the week). She originally lobbied to activate our reboot on Tuesday (soup and salad night), but conceded to Monday as a mark of her commitment to the cleanse. 

I got up early Monday morning to prepare our first liquid meal of the day. The recipe was called "Minty Fresh Berry". I had all the ingredients except for the mint leaves and the fresh berries. So, I renamed the recipe, "Juicy Frozen Berry".

My Juicy Frozen Berry juice came out better than expected. It tasted like a chunky, cherry flavored Jell-O. It even put a smile on Charlene's face. "Wow! This is good!" she affirmed. And, for a few moments, there was hope that the "reboot" might not be so bad after all.

While I got ready for work, Charlene fired up our Jack LaLanne juicer and got to work on our lunch. She was preparing a juice called "Mean Green". I could hear her in the distance taste testing it. It was the sound of her gagging and laboring the words, "Oh my God..."

"I'm not sure you're gonna' like this one," Charlene shouted to me from the kitchen. "Do you think you'll be able to drink it if it's disgusting?"

"That's ok," I yelled back. "I can handle disgusting."

We'd been handling disgusting everyday for the past few months ever since we introduced a variety of superfruit concentrates into our daily diet. It just didn't seem likely to me that a tall glass of Mean Green could taste any worse.

Charlene sent me off to work with a generously poured liquid lunch and a bonus: A fruit and veggie combo juice to be used as a snack. She spoiled me so...

I was a little concerned about what kind of mood starving myself would put me in, especially while putting in a long, eight-hour day at work. According to the movie, the first few days of the reboot were going to make me feel tired, cranky, and even depressed. I already didn't like the guy I worked for (the cheap, sleazy, car salesman-like dirtbag he was) and it occurred to me that, out of pure hunger, I might just say or do something to get myself fired.

By happy chance, I didn't hiss, bark, or bite at all. In fact, I was in a surprisingly good mood all day long. Not a headache or hunger pain to speak of. Not to mention, Charlene's juice concoctions weren't nearly as dreadful as she described.

I got home from work at about 5:30 PM and immediately took Zigzag out for a walk about the neighborhood. Approximately halfway through our jaunt, I began to think about the fabulous leftover brisket that sat in the refrigerator. I was upset by the idea of it going bad by the time our reboot was over. "I'll just give it to Zigzag," I told myself in a feeble attempt to move on to a non-food related thought. Oh. But, I couldn't shake it. That delicious, fat-laiden brisket was tattooed on my brain.

By 6:00 PM, a fierce rumbling in my stomach demanded my attention. It's growing tremors shook my body like a dispatched Roman army shook the Earth. I knew what was coming. The beast of all beasts, my appetite, was on it's way to take back control and force feed me my brisket.

Charlene wasn't due back to get home from her job for another two and half hours. My ravenous appetite had already begun hammering me into a weakened state and I didn't know if I had the mental fortitude to hold my ground against the overpowering urge to eat everything in sight before she got back. Just as I was about to succumb to craving, however, the answer came to me: Make more juice!

I rushed to the Jack LaLanne juicer and decimated every fruit and vegetable I could find into a hunger squelching green, foamy liquid. "This should buy me some time," I confidently affirmed to myself.

The juice slightly suppressed my desire to renege on the reboot, but I wasn't out of the woods yet. I still had two hours left of depriving myself of proper nutrition before Charlene returned. I realized my best option in terms of passing the time was simply to go to sleep.

I was awoken by a text message from Charlene that read, "Comin home"

"Yay!" I replied.

I jumped out of bed, bee lined back to the Jack LaLanne juicer, and prepared Charlene's dinner. She walked in the front door just as I finished pouring her a heaping glass of "Delightful Green Juice".

"Something smells good!" she yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

I met her at the landing and said, "That's because I made tacos!"

Her eyes lit up; she smiled from ear-to-ear;, and joyfully expressed, "Thank God! I was hoping you were going to say that."

"Just kidding," I revealed. "I made juice!" 

I immediately witnessed all the wind withdraw from her sails. "Really?" she asked with shock and chagrin.

I offered to make her tacos, but she refused. "I can do this!"she proclaimed.

"In that case... here's your dinner," I said as I handed her a tall, frothy glass of green goop.

She looked at me with contempt and asked, "Why did we have to choose taco night to do this?"

Funny. I wondered why we had to chose any night to do it. So, I put my arm around her, looked her in the eyes, and shared, "I won't think any less of you if we end this thing right now..."

She hesitated.

There was nothing left for me to do except let it all out. I revealed everything that happened while she was gone. I told her about the brisket, the hunger, the brisket, the fatigue, the brisket, and how close I came to devouring it.

It appeared as if the world had been lifted from her shoulders. "I felt the same way," she admitted. "I even almost stopped for fast food."

I was in disbelief. Since I've known Charlene, she has never, ever wanted fast food. Never!

"I think I should make you some tacos," I told Charlene. "We have nothing to gain by starving ourselves."

All she heard was that I was making tacos -- and I could sense she was delighted. "Are you going to have tacos too?"
"No. I'm gonna' have the rest of the  brisket!"

And, so it was agreed. After one day, we officially terminated the "reboot" on the basis of brisket and tacos.

State Funded 2-Year Vacay

I'm so jealous of my friend Ron Jeremy. He is now on his second year his of state funded vacation, otherwise known as "unemployment". He is getting paid $500 a week to play video games and watch porn. I wish I could collect unemployment. Unfortunately, I'm not eligible because the state is prejudice against people like me who worked as independent contractors.

I could use some state money, that's for sure. The job pool dried up on me around last October -- and Charlene has been head of household ever since. She says I have until April to pull my weight or it's the gutter for me and Zigzag.

I have one solid prospect that I'm crossing my fingers will work out. That's my only leverage with Charlene right now. Anytime she starts getting on my case about money I tell her, "If the job with Spacely Space Sprockets works out, we'll have plenty of money."

"Do you think you're going to get it?" she always asks without exception.

"Yeah. I think so," I tell her. "But, even if I don't, something else will come along."

I try to stay positive like that.

I worked with Spacely back in May for a couple of months. So I sort of have an in there. I managed a two-month promotional bus tour for them. We basically visited potential clients all across the country to show off our new wares, like a traveling trade show. The bus was nice too. It was.the same kind of bus that all the crooked presidential candidates campaign around on.

I spent a lot of time with the Spacely staff -- particularly the marketing team. A bunch of thick, corn fed country girls, they were -- plus one guy named Leroy who did all he could to stay out of the drama.

The unofficial boss of the group was Rosie O'Donnell. And, I was warned before I took the job that she was a real bizatch.

Rosie's right hand was Nancy Grace. Nancy was also supposed to make my life hell, but not quite to the same extent as Rosie.

Then there was Natalie Green. There was some kind of classic southern feud going on between her and Rosie. Nancy, of course, being Rosie's flunky didn't care much for Natalie either. But, I'll get into that later.

Luckily, we didn't all travel together at the same time and, fortunately, I never had to give my "Why can't we all just get along?" speech.

Uncle Jesse was the bus driver. I spent more time with him than anyone else on the tour.

Uncle Jesse was a character. He was this short, stumpy, grey bearded 65 year-old southern fried good ol' boy who had more stories than the New York Times. That man loved to talk. And, the two things he loved to talk about most were the Kentucky Wildcats and Barack Obama -- of which he hated both.

He had done it all. He was once a computer programmer, a pizza shop and radio station owner, a real estate mogul,  an astronaut, and the list goes on. I couldn't help to wonder why was this man driving a bus for Spacely Space Sprockets?

Mafia Style Novocaine Injection

Now that I had my first root canal procedure and the nerve was removed, you'd think the pain that originally brought me into the dentist would have ceased, right? Well, as it turns out, the pain only goes away if you fix the tooth that hurts you... not the one next to it! I'm still kicking myself for letting that lady dental surgeon's good looks cloud my better judgment.

I was in agony -- the kind that prompts a man to get the toolbox off the top shelf and start sizing up pliers for a self-extraction. It was no use, though. The tooth was too far in the back of my mouth and I couldn't get a good enough grip on it. And, yes. I did go that far to find out.

I tried to make an appointment with the dentist that day, but it was Saturday and they were closed. The best thing they could do for me was schedule an emergency visit; which didn't quite work for me because emergency fees and I don't mix. It's an "I have no dental insurance" thing. Instead, I got myself a big bottle of Nyquil and put myself in a haze for the remainder of the weekend. But before I went down the rabbit hole, I called up the Apprehensive Patient and reserved myself a 2 PM slot for a tooth extraction for that coming Monday with Dr. Tony Soprano.

Dr. Tony Soprano didn't have much of a bedside manner. He burst into the room, looking somewhat agitated, and a-matter-of-factly told me who he was.  He then asked me to open my mouth and BAM! He abruptly stabbed me once in the lower gums and again through my bad tooth with a foot-long needle that I didn't even know he had until after it was over. And, just like that he was gone. A true mafia-style Novocaine injection.

He returned 10 minutes later and it appeared that he'd been in my toolbox. "Numb yet?" he asked smiling as he juggled a pair of pliers and a hammer.

"I think so," I fearfully replied.

He wasted no time getting under the hood. I could tell he was beating the shit out of the inside of my mouth, but it was the damndest thing. I couldn't feel it all. The Crypt Keeper, I thought, could learn a thing or two about administering anesthesia from  Dr. Soprano.

The oral turbulence lasted about 3 minutes before it came to a sudden hault with a simple, "You're done," followed by the clinking of metal instruments being dropped onto a table. I opened my eyes and said, "that's it?"But, no one was there. Dr. Soprano was already off to his next paycheck... I mean patient.

Charlene was waiting for me in the lobby. I went in and out of surgery so fast that she asked, "What happened? You chicken out?"

"Shit?" I slurred. "I had the Dale Earhardt of teeth pulling in there."

"Wait. You're done already?" she asked with more seriousness in her tone.

I opened my mouth wide and gave her a close-up and personal view of the crime scene.

"Aw...." she winced. "That's disgusting!"

"There you have it," I concluded.

On the car ride home, I gave Charlene the whole rundown of my experience with the charming Dr. Soprano and his "surprise needle"technique and signature"Fast and the Furious" tooth extraction. She was like, "Oh my God! I would never go back to the dentist again if that happened to me."

My experiences with the Apprehensive Patient made me question what the name "Apprehensive Patient" really meant. My initial interpretation was that "I" was apprehensive about going to the dentist and "they" were going to demonstrate to me that going to the dentist doesn't have to be scary. But, after 3 visits with them, I began to think that maybe the were in the business of producing apprehensive patients -- like saying, "If you weren't scared of the dentist before, you're going to be now."

I guess I was pretty tough because I went back to the Crypt Keeper for the second leg of my root canal. Mostly I hoped he had gotten better with the Novocaine. But nope. He'd gotten worse. It took him 6 tries -- and I was probably only numb due to the sheer volume of Novocaine he injected into my system.

The second procedure wasn't as bad as the first, but I still felt like I was getting "dental school" quality level work done. And, I still had two procedures left yet to undergo. One was some bullshit surgery to lengthen my gum and the other was to cap my dying tooth. But, guess what? I didn't have either done because my job ended earlier than expected -- which meant I didn't have the  money to pay for it.

I'm not going to lie. I was a little concerned about half-assing my dental work like that. The question was: Can you get away with only getting half a root canal done?

It turns out you can -- because six months later I'm still short half a root canal and feeling great. I just need to fill my tooth with some toxic dental cement I found at the supermarket every few weeks to protect it from the elements.

The Crypt Keeper of the Root Canal

After agreeing to two root canals, I had to figure out a way to tell Charlene without her blowing a gasket. So, I told her what the dental surgeon told me -- except in my story the dental surgeon was a fat old man with bad breath and bushels of hair coming out of his nose and ears.

"That sucks!" Charlene exhaled. "But, if that's what the dentist thinks is best, then I guess that's what you should do."

The conversation went way better than expected. I was seriously prepared to see her flip out about the money -- because, let's face it, I'm not exactly Donald Trump -- and I didn't even have a steady job. But, last year was a good year financially for us. We even took 3 vacations. And, I had a good gig that was due to be set up from August to January 2012. So, I guess Charlene saw the dental hit as one less vacation for us instead of a financial ass whooping.

I was back in the chair of pain before I knew it. I had a new dentist -- and there was nothing stunning about him except his uncanny resemblance to the Crypt Keeper. He was a young guy too, maybe even younger than me. But, his cheeks were sunk in; his skin was full of jaundice; and he was so skinny and frail that he could almost pass as being two-dimensional. Nice guy, though.

I couldn't help to feel a little like fell victim to an old "bait and switch" scam. Draw me in with the incredibly beautiful dental surgeon (who was probably nothing more than a sales person) and stick me with the Crypt Keeper. Brilliant, I tell ya'!

The Crypt Keeper had some good news for me. He informed me that I only needed a root canal on one tooth and that the other would need to be extracted. I was elated... for a moment... but that warm feeling was quickly overshadowed when it became time to begin my first root canal procedure. 

He reclined my chair and swung around that super bright spotlight. That was my queue to close my eyes, open my mouth, and go to my happy place.

My happy place was more difficult to get to than I originally anticipated. The harpoon-sized needle didn't help the process, that's for sure. Even worse, the needle didn't even work. I could feel everything! I tried to be tough for like a second and not say anything, but then I was like, "I can feel that!"

It took 4 more shots before I was completely numb, making his accuracy with the Novacaine about as accurate as the U.S.'s celebrated guided missile systems.

Another roadblock to my happy place was the blue tent that they pitched in my mouth for almost 2 hours. It turned out the procedure takes a little longer at the hands of an unskilled dentist. It wouldn't have been that bad if not for my post nasal drip trying to slowly asphyxiate me the whole time. I did, however, learn to be creative with my cardiovascular system to clear keep my airway clear.

Charlene was waiting for me in the car when I was done. She was there for support, but also wanted to pay for this round of dental work with her new Carnival Cruise Line credit so that my pain and suffering could translate into cruise points.

"How was it?" she asked.

I paused for a moment before answering (mostly because the whole right side of my face was swollen and numb) and said, "That might have been one of the worst experiences of my life."

Willis Resurfaced

Oh my. More than a whole year has gone by and I've kept it all to myself. Shame on me. It looks like I owe you guys a detailed recap. There's so much to bring you up to speed on...

I think we left off with Baby Wolfgang. Can you believe it? That little shit is a year old now. In fact, we just went to his first birthday party last weekend. He already weighs 25 lbs. Charlene isn't surprised. She said, "No wonder he's so big with the bad eating habits your brother and Tootie are already teaching him." 

Charlene was referring to Christmas dinner at my parent's house where the proud parents fed Wolfgang baby-bite-size pieces of prime rib. She was also referring to the "smash cake" they let him smash, eat, wear, and decorate the floor and walls with at his birthday party. "Can you believe they let him have that whole Cake?" Charlene uttered in disgust on our way home from the party. "He's going to end up looking like your brother and Tootie!"

My brother and Tootie aren't exactly the poster people for Abercrombie and Finch. All of their favorite activities involve sitting. For example, they like to eat, drink, watch tv, play video games... and I think that's it. They way I look at it, though, is that's what they like to do -- so who cares? And, if they want to feed Baby Wolfgang prime rib and smash cake, then so be it! Not my problem.

In case you were wondering, Charlene and I did continue the Christmas tradition we started last year. Charlene relented, but yes. We went back to Wawa -- except this time, my favorite, the "Gobbler" turkey sandwich, wasn't on the menu. I had to settle for a prime rib sandwich instead. Charlene also switched it up. She chose the quesadillas instead of pancakes-in-a-bowl.

I hate to admit it, but I'm not sure this tradition is going to carry over to next year. The prime rib sandwich just didn't do it for me. In fact, it kind of almost ruined my family Christmas dinner. I was so tired after eating that greasy thing that I could swear they cooked the meat in Nyquil. Fortunately, the excitement of opening Christmas gifts helped me to snap out of it.

Another new development is that I quit drinking soda. Yup. Hooray for me. I dropped it cold turkey back in September. It was actually my New Year's resolution in 2011. It just took a while for it to kick in.

My soda habit was way out of hand, but the real wake-up call was the head splitting toothache that simultaneously led to half of one root canal and one tooth extraction that, combined, cost over $3,000.

I am deathly afraid of the dentist, so, as you can imagine, I felt a great sense of relief when I saw a dental office in the yellow pages by the name of "The Apprehensive Patient". I knew immediately that that was the place for me.

I remember sitting in the waiting room on my first visit - palms sweaty, short of breath, my heart beating out of my chest. I wanted so bad to bolt out the front door and never come back. But, the pain... the pain needed to be dealt with. And, what was I afraid of? I was at the "Apprehensive Patient" after all. Their logo was a frightened monkey in a dentist chair. It had to be a happy place.

The dental assistant called me into the torture chamber within in the first 10 minutes of me being there. I decided to face fear with humor like I often do and told the dental assistant,
"You do realize that the picture outside of the scared monkey is really me?"

She gave me polite smile and said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but 90% of our patients claim to be that monkey."

"Does that mean I don't get the employee discount?" I kindly asked.

"I suppose it does," she replied as she directed me to have a seat in the chair of pain. That's when I got really scared...

After she adjusted my chair to make me more "comfortable", the dental assistant said, "the dentist will be in shortly," and just up and left me to my own devices. I couldn't believe how archaic this place was. They didn't even have a tv to distract me from my own horrific thoughts. I mean, all I could think about was that thick, foot-long needle they were going to stab into my gums. And, just at the height of my self-generated panic, in walked one of the most beautiful women I'd ever ever seen (besides Charlene, of course) who introduced herself as the dental surgeon.

All of the sudden I was acting all macho telling her ridiculous things like, "Give me the biggest needle you have," and "You know what? I don't even need Novacaine...".

Now, I don't think I told you this, but I made the appointment with the dentist with the full intention to have the tooth (my back right molar) that hurt so bad for so long that it made me want to kill myself removed. No root canals; no implants; no stem cell clonings of my old tooth. No. I was getting it pulled.

The dental surgeon was so stunning that I was embarrassed to let her see the inside of my mouth. I was a reckless soda drinker for most of my life and there were some nasty things going on toward the back of my mouth that I was ashamed for her to see. But, at the same time, when she told me she wanted to take a look inside my mouth, I just couldn't refuse her.

"I see a lot of decay back there," she pointed out. She then pressed on the tooth next to the tooth that hurt me and asked, "Is this where the pain is coming from?"

"No. It's coming from the one right next to it," I explained.

"Are you sure?" she kindly questioned.

Was I sure? Wait. Was I?  I thought I was. But, I felt a sudden wave of uncertainty about the root of my pain -- even though I'd been feeling it for weeks. That's how dangerously under her spell I was at the time.

"Hmmm... Maybe the pain IS coming from that tooth. I'm not sure," I diffidently replied.

"I believe it is," she stated. 

She directed me to close my mouth and said, "The bad news is both of those teeth are blown out. The good news is I think we can save them. Now I know you came in for an extraction -- and I can do that, but you're such a young guy. I would hate to see you lose your teeth knowing we can save them."

I knew immediately she was suggesting a root canal -- Errrrg... I mean two root canals!

Still deeply under her spell (and despite the cost, the time, the fear, and the pain), I enthusiastically cheered, "Yeah, let's do it!"

She wrote me a prescription for some Amoxicillin and made my first appointment for the following week.