What Up, Ya'll?

I've been in communicado lately, as I'm sure you (maybe?) noticed. Partly because of the crater in my head, partly due to home improvement work. Both projects have resulted in scars of one sort or another, but mostly prevented me from being able to think coherently.

Oh, by "crater in my head," I mean the aftermath of an ill-fated root canal/crown combo. The crowns (yes, there were two attempts) wouldn't stay put, which means I'll eventually need to get a tooth implant. I didn't think I'd need fake parts until much later in life. Sigh.

I can only imagine what the oral surgeon had to do to scrape my head clean of toothy bits left behind by the root canal, but my jaw is STILL sore. This little procedure took place 10 days ago. Mix in with that the guilt that I feel about taking pain medication, and I'm sure I have been a joy to live with during my recovery period. Why am I guilty about pain medication? There's a wee history of addiction in my family. I've never been one of those afflicted, but every time I take a prescription pain killer, I wonder if somehow this will be the gateway pill to "Intervention." It's kind of irrational, I know, but it's still there. As Super Ninja points out, though, I'm 33 years old and the likelihood that I'm going to jump on the addiction bandwagon at this point in my life is slight.

As for the other craters in my life... Faithful readers of LtW will know that I've been yearning to do some home improvement forever, and little problems like ignorance and lack of funding have proved to be impediments. I hate admitting I don't know something or can't figure it out, and I hate spending money that I don't have. I'm growing as a person, though, and sucked it up and asked for help from my neighbor. He's a general contractor, so he's stuffed with knowledge about things like replacing toilets. I never thought I would be excited by knowing how to replace a toilet, or marvelling at the efficiency of low-flow technology, but there it is. Also, Super Ninja got bit of a bonus from work, so we had some money to invest in the improvements.

The end result of this new knowledge and little lump of cash are some half-done projects. My powder room has a new vanity, but the taps aren't connected to the water supply because I didn't realize that the new sink sat higher than the old one (oops). My basement has new flush mount light fixtures, but because of random extra wires, one of them doesn't light up.* (Black connects to black, white connects to white, but red connects to...what does red connect to? THERE IS NO RED WIRE ON THE FIXTURE.) Also, I ripped out all of the baseboards so that I could replace the godawful flooring on my first floor. (I mean, really. WHO installs faux pine laminate next to real oak hardwood floors, and installs it so that the grain runs perpendicular to each other? A jerk, that's who.)

Once I have some after pictures, I will post them for your entertainment.

Why do all of this work? Well, Super Ninja and I intend to move next year. Intended, 'til the economy took a header.

Given the way housing prices skyrocketed after we'd bought the place in 2004, I wasn't really bothered about investing in home improvement because I knew I'd still make a decent profit. I knew work needed to be done, though, because the home inspector said that the house "has good bones." This is code for, "the structure is solid, but yeesh, it's outdated. And in some places, very ugly." At that time we did some basic stuff to beautify a bit -- painted, installed new carpet, replaced some windows -- but nothing major.

Why bother, I thought? If you bought the house for X, and houses in your neighborhood are selling for X + $115,000, you can take the hit if someone talks you down to say, X + $100,000 when you sell the place, right? And even houses that need improvement sell within 90 days, right?

Not so much any more. Either the selling price, or the speed in which the houses sell. UNLESS you have a house that a buyer can look at and say, "Sweet, I don't have to do anything to it." I'm not expecting to sell the joint for the song that I once could have. Mostly, though, I don't want to be in selling limbo. If someone wants to hurl wads of money at me, that'll be fine, but I'm not planning on it. Besides, if the place doesn't sell, or would only sell at a sincerely lower price than what we'd need, we can stay put and enjoy all of the lovely improvements. Win-win, no?

*I know how to fix this now, courtesy of the internets. Thanks internets!

Guess Who's Heading Back to the Dentist's Chair?

Or, should I say, guess who's heading back to the maxillofacial surgeon's chair, then back again after about six weeks, and THEN goes to the dentist's chair?

This guuuuuy! (Waggles thumbs at chest.)

Yeah, baby. My two-time-crown loser, Tooth #30*, is just a wee decayed nub at this point. Think Shane McGowan. Better yet, don't. I'm not that bad. But I do have to have the carcass of this root-canaled mess yanked out of my face. From what they tell me, the jaw bone needs to grow in where the tooth's root used to be, then they implant a post, and stick a fake tooth on top of that. Sounds delightful, no?

I go in on Friday for the extraction. Good way to start the weekend, I think. Or, it'll at least be a good way to start the debates, especially if I'm looped on painkillers.

*Did anyone else think of that joke, Question: What time is the best time to go the dentist? Answer: Two-thirty. Tooth-hurty, get it? No? Just me? Man, it's always just me.

Aetna, You Are Dumb

This isn't a Falling Down moment or anything like that, but it's as irritating as jalapeno juice in the eye. The Boy needs to be seen by a dentist. He doesn't have visible cavities, but I'm beyond sensitive about dental care. My parents didn't have it, so we went to the dentist when our teeth hurt. Having a tooth pulled every time you go to the dentist does not instill a healthy respect for the profession. Anyway, the books all tell me that this is around the age that a kid should head to ye olde dentist for his inaugural check-up.

My preference is for the Boy to be seen by a pediatric dentist. Call me crazy, but I think the Boy is more likely to enjoy the experience if the dentist has treated many, many kids. Yeah, so I went through Aetna's directory of pediatric dentists in my area, and called the one closest to me. As someone who served as an Human Resources liaison for an office, I'm well aware that you need to call a health care provider to double check that they (a) accept the insurance, and (b) are accepting new patients. Dr. Closest-to-Me's receptionist answered. Here's our exchange:

"Hi! I'm calling to make an appointment for my son. Does your office take Aetna DMO?"

"No, I'm sorry, we don't."

"Oh. Really? Dr. Closest-to-Me is listed in Aetna's directory."

"We used to take that insurance, but we don't anymore."

"Okay, thanks."

Now, I'm all about the free and fair exchange of information. So I e-mailed Aetna through their Contact Us form to let them know that this purveyor of pediatric dentistry doesn't take their insurance, and perhaps they should pull him from the directory. I wasn't snippy or anything -- these databases are a pain to maintain, so I figured I'd help where I could.

I got an e-mail back from them stating that since Dr. Closest-to-Me is technically a specialist (pediatric dentistry is special, apparently), so he can't be listed as a Primary Care Dentist (PCD). I was aware that I'd need to get a referral to be seen by that dentist, but my point was that the office no longer takes Aetna DMO, not that they wouldn't allow me to claim them as the Boy's PCD. So, I responded and thanked them for the info, but that the dentist's office pointedly told me that they do not take Aetna DMO at all, and that it has naught to do with the PCD vs. specialist shenanigans. Their response? Dr. Closest-to-Me can't be chosen as a PCD thing.

I'm leaving it at that. I like my head, and if I try to explain the situation again, I will be smacking it against a brick wall.

'Cos You Were All Yellow

Over the weekend, I played a color quiz game with the Boy. I do this often to reinforce the names of colors that he has at his command. Once he's comfy with the basics, I'll introduce fun color names like vermilion and crimson and chartreuse. These are the ones to which I always gravitated during my oil painting days, and I want to share my palette love with him.

After a few minutes, we'd identified the colors of just about everything in the room, so I focused our little game on our own appearances. This game does double-duty in that identifying similarities in our coloring helps strengthen his identification with the family unit. Well, triple duty in that you can unintentionally discover some, ahem, physical flaws.

"What color are my eyes?" I asked.

"Blue," says he.

"That's right! And what color are your eyes?"

"Blue!"

"What color is my hair?"

"Brown!"

"That's exactly right! And what color is your hair?

"Brown too!"

"Right again! And what color are my," I fish around for something else that's easy, "teeth?"

"Yellow!"

Oof. Crushing pause.

"Good job. Let's, uh, let's go read a book now."

Vanity, thy name is MCV. Time to invest in some of these.

I Know that It's a Stereotype that the British Have Bad Teeth, But...

Someone from the United Kingdom stumbled upon LtW by Googling, "How to remove your own wisdom tooth." DON'T DO IT, DUDE!

I have to assume that 'twas someone of the male persuasion who searched this out. I don't know any women who would perform her own oral surgery (they may be out there, those hearty and hale females, but I've not made their acquaintances). Removal of wisdom teeth involves stitches and ugly terminology like "dry sockets," so please, fella, hie yourself to someone who gets paid to do this stuff.

My Dental Appointments Resemble a Möbius Strip

M.C. Escher, Möbius Strip II, 1963 Poster

Yeah, that's right. I used umlauts. Given the approximate 1,200 hours I spent in foreign language classes, I'm a bit of a stickler for using accents properly. Ooh, how I cringe when I see someone's used an accent grave instead of accent aigu on words like résumé.

But I digress.

After last night's dental appointment, I am the proud owner of a shiny new crown. Watch, it'll tumble outta my mouth in a week. You'd think this was the last I'd see of the pleather dental chair for a while, right? Yeah, you'd think that. Except I have a wicked decayed wisdom tooth that I have to have yanked. Not very wise of me to still have this thing at the age of 32. Ha ha! Ha. Ha...

Anyway, my dentist doesn't extract wisdom teeth, so he's referred me to a maxillofacial surgeon. Sounds scary, right? I had two wisdom teeth removed about seven years ago, and it wasn't the worst thing I've ever experienced. Why didn't I just have all four wisdom teeth pulled back then? My dental insurance wasn't so awesome, and cash was thin on the ground. But now I'm loaded for bear when it comes to dental insurance, so Mr. Maxillofacial Surgeon can have at it.

Of course, these means that I have three more dental appointments -- one at my regular guy for one of those full head x-ray thingamahoosits, a survey appointment with the surgeon, and then the blessed day when they remove the gnarly cratered thing and its stalagmite twin from my head.

Three Appointments Down, Two to Go

Just got back from the dentist, and I look like a refugee from Moonraker. Why? Well, it's a little bit of a long story...

I'm having a crown replaced. I'm beginning to think that my teeth are made of shale. Honestly, you don't normally hear about 31-year-olds getting crowns, and it's even more rare to hear about 31-year-olds getting crowns replaced. This means that this stretch of my jaw is a two-time loser. Three-time loser if you count the intermediate temporary crown that went three rounds with an ill-advised caramel and lost. Riesen, confound your deliciousness!

Anyway, my dentist will install the permanent replacement during my next appointment. Why he couldn't just shove it in today, I don't know. The temporary crown that he used, however, is the inspiration for this post. When I got back to the office, I went to the ladies' room to check out my smile now that I'm not all gappy on one side. And what did I see winking back at me? Why, it was a tooth with a silver patina.

Now, I'm not vain. Okay, I'm not super vain. But I'm a little chuffed that I wasn't forewarned that this temporary would be so completely different from the rest of my teeth. All I can think is that this is how Bond henchman Jaws (see picture above) got his start. He had a crown replaced, and at the temporary stage, he gazed at his visage and thought, "You know, that silver tooth makes me look bad ASSSSSSS! I must get me a mouthful of these!" This is prior to the dawn of Grillz, where having a mouth of metal took a lot of dedication.

Oh well. Early June is just around the corner.

Question: How many dental tools in MCV's mouth at the same time?

Answer: Four. The suctiony thing, the little round mirror, the scrapy hook thing, and something that looked like a power drill with a dayglo orange shield. I'm hopeful that it is a real dental tool and not a surreptitious mind-wiping device. What? All of you know that trivial knowledge is anathema to secret organizations the world over. Of course these secret organizations are going to attempt to disable the greatest threat they've ever known. (Alright, 30 seconds of Googling reveal that it was a curing light. I still like the mind-wiping idea, though.)

Today I enjoyed the second of the five dental visits I scheduled at the end of February. Our mission today was to install the post for the crown that I lost whilst preggers with my daughter. My dentist was reluctant to do any dental work that would necessitate X-rays or novocaine shots, which are apparently 98% of all dental services, or 100% of all dental services I required. So I'm making up for lost time.

For what it's worth, I've never been scared of going to the dentist. When I was a kid, my parents didn't have dental insurance, so we didn't go every six months like you're s'posed to. Nope. We only went when our teeth HURT. So I learned that if your teeth ache, you go to the dentist, and BLAMMO! When you leave, you feel fine. Who doesn't want to sign up for that?