I'll be home for Christmas (or in Regina, anyway)

Dentist willing, I'll be heading out to sunny Regina, Saskatchewan on Saturday. I'm still getting my ass kicked by this dental-surgery recovery, but I go in for a follow-up appointment tomorrow and they'll let me know if I'm able to fly. Of course, word on the prairies has it that my mom has gone off her anti-depressants just in time for the holidays, so the throbbing jolts of nerve pain in the left side of my face will probably pale in comparison to the torture I'm in for over the next week. And then there's the weather. The freezing, crazy Saskatchewan weather. And I can't even do the fun winter things like sledding and skating because apparently if I fall my vulnerable jaw will explode or something. And then I come back and have to start a brand new job. So, things are awesome. So awesome.

On the bright side, I will get to see my family, and meet my latest nephew for the first time, and my brother's new dog, and there will be wine. Whatever, it'll be like every other family Christmas: people will fight and be petty and complain and get stressed, and then when it's almost over we'll all be sad and wish we had been nicer and swear that next time we'll be the bigger person and not sink to the other peoples' levels and just do whatever it takes to have the best Christmas ever.

In the meantime, I am going to spend the last hour and a half of my birthday sitting alone on the couch with a heating pad strapped to my head, enjoying a cocktail of painkillers and beer.

Not so super, but kind of awesome, even though I'm shaking and nauseous dental update.

Well Simon got out his red-tape machete and managed to get the insurance company to agree to paying 60% of the surgery. Then he talked to the people at my dentist's office. Here's the fun part: they told him I was having all four teeth pulled. Yes, even scary number four. Apparently my hotshot dentist specializes in complicated extractions and I guess he wants to add my freak tooth to his resume. Either that or he knows he'll never get me back in that chair again and doesn't want me to suffer through a lifetime of pain.

I wish there was a God so I could get people to pray for me. Or, failing that, I wish the goddamned courier I'm waiting for would get here so I could go out and buy a gallon of wine.

Super Awesome Dental Update

So, no, the dentist did not call and cancel again. This time, the good news came from the insurance people. Turns out, they aren't going to cover the wisdom tooth extractions after all. Even though we were told they would cover oral surgeries in the second year of our coverage, which is why I waited and endured an additional four months of pain. Now they tell us they meant all oral surgeries except wisdom teeth. Bastards. Nothing like a surprise 1200-dollar medical bill two weeks before Christmas.

So, medical won't cover this surgery, and our expensive enhanced dental insurance won't cover this surgery. It must be because I'm just having the surgery for fun and not because I really need it. God damn. I should move to France. Did you see Sicko? Those French folks get all sorts of fabulous benefits. Plus they have better wine than us. Ice wine? Are you kidding me? That stuff sucks.

Surgery Eve

Twas the night before oral surgery and all through the house, Amanda was stirring and eating and watching "The Price is Right" and freaking out.

I can't believe it has finally come down to this. Tomorrow morning at 9am (barring any more cancellations from the Coal Harbour Dental Group), I will be drugged up and strapped into a chair while some dude puts big ol' holes in my head. Will there be three holes or four holes? Not sure yet. There should be four, but that fourth one's a real sonofabitch. And now I'm told, even without yanking the evil fourth tooth from its bone-encased, nerve-wrapped home, there is a chance that I may not be able to fly to Regina for Christmas. Something about excruciating sinus explosions and dry sockets or something. But they are being kind enough to drag me in on my birthday (Dec 20) to gauge my recovery and let me know if I'll be good to go or not. If they don't give me the go ahead, not only will I be a painful mess, but I'll also have to call my mother two days before we were scheduled to come home for the holidays and let her know that we won't be there. That should be almost as fun as the surgery itself.

Okay, deep breath, calm blue ocean and all that. This time tomorrow it will all be over--except for the painful recovery, which, when I think about it, is really the bad part. Although, despite my fears of sounding like a drug-seeking junkie, I did manage to convince my dentist to prescribe me something stronger than Tylenol 3s. Hello percocet. Mmmmmmmm...percocet.

The things I learned in Vegas.

Last night we returned from a weekend in Vegas. It was my first time. It was pretty cool. Here's what I learned.

Do not buy new red patent peep-toe pumps and try to break them in by walking the Vegas strip. This will result in massive foot trauma. To paraphrase Shakespeare: all the bandaids of Arabia will not sweeten my little feet.

Apparently you don't have to be young and hot to be a cocktail waitress, especially at Slots of Fun. You just need to have a voice damaged by years of smoking, over processed hair, a willingness to wear a tiny outfit made of non-natural fibres, and a look in your eyes that says you have given up the will to escape your casino prison.

Simon is not the only dork that can barely restrain himself from reenacting scenes from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas while visiting Circus Circus.

If I ever had to work in a Las Vegas buffet, I would completely lose any respect I ever had for human beings.

Table games are a lot more fun than slot machines, and your money lasts longer, but nothing beats that moment when the slot machine yells "Wheel of Fortune" and you get that free spin and you don't know where it will stop and you start planning your tropical vacation and...then it stops on 20 credits and you lose everything about two minutes later. But at least the margaritas are only $1.

Time has no meaning in Vegas. You can get breakfast at 3am or 10pm or any time in between. You can get a gin and tonic at 7am--without anyone raising an eyebrow. You can shop, gamble, ride a rollercoaster, get a massage, go ice skating, go dancing, check out some tigers, eat a giant plate of ribs...whatever you want whenever you want. The only problem is trying to remember to sleep.

Do not take a card from the guys on the street wearing a t-shirt that says "Girls to you in 20 minutes." Unless you want a girl in 20 minutes, I suppose. I wonder if it's like Dominoes and you get her for free if she doesn't arrive on time? I'll have to test that next time.

The desperate looking people sitting at the slot machines at 6am when you are leaving for the airport are not early risers.

Just because it has palm trees and sand and stuff does not mean Vegas is a tropical destination. It was colder there at night than it is in Vancouver. Luckily the copious amounts of free/cheap alcohol help to numb the cold.

A lot of people are willing to spend a lot of money to see Celine Dion. Seriously. They even buy all sorts of crap with her crappy face all over it in her crappy gift shop in Caesars.