Ben or Noel? Who will she choose?

I spent the weekend wasting away my valued brain cells reviewing and re-emoting over a television series. I can't just watch the show; I must delve deeply enough into the characters' FICTIONAL lives that I am moved to tears during EVERY episode. Oh, the shame.
I actually had nightmares last night as a direct result of having watched too much Felicity in one day. This tremendous guilt weighed on me that I had not been there to protect Julie (who, in my dream morphed into three different people) from being attacked. I am not kidding.
It's not just that.
Honestly, this worry over brain atrophy becomes more significant the further I get from college (about 10 months. Who's overdramatic now, FELICIDAD?!). I fear (just typed "feer"--DEAR GOD) that mental decline is upon me.

Novocaine Nonsense

This morning I had a temporary speech impediment.
I decided to test out several things:
1. Spitting. A ridiculous act in which I stuck out my tongue and pushed air out from the sides of my mouth. At the same time, I spoke to myself in the mirror about how funny it was that I was attempting to spit.
2. Smiling. My bottom lip felt like a rising loaf of bread. I can't tell whether that sensation was from the perspective of the lip or my hand.
3. Leaving messages on my mother's work answering machine. Completely unintelligible. And I was laughing because at that point, I was not yet in pain.
As DDS filled my FOUR CAVITIES, he occasionally stopped to tell me about his progress thus slowing it down and increasing that brow-knitting, gag-inducing awareness of metal-on-tooth taste.
As for my progress, I'm currently experiencing the pain and the lack of bite togetherness I felt in my former life as a cavity mouth.

I blame the novocaine for numbing my mind.

If every student had the same name, they couldn't stand in alphabetical order.

Racing Toward the Center of the Earth

I have this habit of throwing my trash on the floor. It's purposeful. There's no trash can in my office (which is approximately a 4' by 8' and a story for another day), so I usually collect a hefty pile of papers and occasionally an orange peel before I take and deposit said items into a receptacle.
As I'm writing this, I realize that I do it at home, too. Only, at home it's clothes and receipts and purses and scarves and unbreakable Nalgenes.
EVERYTHING GOES ON THE FLOOR! IT'S GRAVITY!

hahahaha

This made me laugh out loud.
AND it's my first link!

Holy, holy crap

Two things:
1. People are psychotic drivers. Chemical imbalance as result of snow and SUV ownership takes over their brains; they believe they are invincible and go outside to test the theory (which reminds me...what's up Brown One? Remember how you thought the word was invisible? That still gets me.)
2. I cannot stand the sound coming out of the room adjacent to my own. If this office were a recording studio, I would document this in some audible form and download the shit into cyberspace so you might judge it for yourself and complain with me in a resounding chorus. Clarinets in attempt to reach the same pitch.
Violins pulling the devil's voice from instruments in unison.
Percussive little....bastard people.

Places to put stuff

If you were my teeth, you would have
A. zero cavities
B. no cavities
C. four cavities, or
D. not one cavity
If you were my teeth, you would be getting a serious lecture from
A. no one
B. me
C. the dentist, the hygenist, and the receptionist
D. both B and C
I blame my FOUR cavities not on lack of flossing or brushing, but a high count of sneakily selective drugs administered to me by my sister at dinnertime so that during the dead of the night, she may sneak into my room unannounced, pry open my mouth and strategially place sugar therein.
And I'll tell that to the insurance company.
And then we'll sue my sister.

If these words don't inspire, I'm not sure what will...

[This would be a good time to type something like "Tina, you fat lard, it's time for dinner."]
The best place to find a helping hand is at the end of your own arm.
It's simultaneously enchanted and annoyed. How can you refuse this opportunity to do something good for somebody else...IDIOT.

Heard

While I waited for my meeting to begin, I reaped the rewards given to all eavesdropping early birds: morsels of bizarre conversation.
I happened upon this...
-We're still offering a french fry. It's a trans-fat free fry. It will be a little more expensive. Let's just see if the popularity of this fry increases against the other, which will be available in the other line.
-I have a problem with that. We cannot be offering fries every day. It sends the wrong message. [with disbelief] When I visited, teachers in observation were eating french fries. What an example!
-Can you bake it?
-It's just a hydrogenated process.
And later...
-[with supreme enthusiasm] On the day that we do the beefy nacho, we're changing to a baked tortilla chip.

Bummer.

It's too bad when you select friends based on their laugh, because it's not even a sense of humor you are judging.
I'm sorry, Marge*, I can't be your buddy because when you laugh it sounds like bats are attacking me.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.