Fiji was fun

I was lucky enough to have a tooth pulled last week. And by lucky, I mean cursed to the millionth thousandth degree. Oddly enough, the actual procedure was a piece of cake. Dare I call it a fun experience. I chose to be sedated, which in my dentist's office means they start you off with sweet air, and then pump your veins with magical happy juice that makes you higher than a kite. It was glorious. I supposedly talked about how awesome it was to be cracking beers on the beach in Fiji, because I thought I was there. I don't remember that, or really anything at all, but the whole experience ovrerall was a peice of cake.
But then you wake up. (Okay that's not so bad, because you're still kinda groggy and novicained up). But then you have the one hour drive home. Which is actually two hours because some higher power decided to hate you that day and put construction zones on every single effi'n road you have to drive home. And the big fat suck creeps in. And then BAM! You are in hell.
People, I gave birth to and 8.4 lb baby with a ginormous head and an accompanying arm, without pain meds. I am no stranger to pain (and managing it to a pretty good degree). The pain I experienced after getting my tooth pulled is pretty damn comparable.
Do you know what's more awesome? Yesterday I went back to the dentist and it turns out the very first doctor I saw FORGOT to tell the oral surgeon that I actually needed two teeth to be pulled. FORGOT?!!? Yeah, so I'll be going in for round two on July 25th. I will prepare better for the post tooth-pulling this time around, but in the meantime I have to try to rid my worries with the hopes that I take myself back to Fiji - and actually remember it.

One can hope right?