Tooth Whitening Gone Awry

So, here's the thing.

I wanted to whiten my teeth. YES, I know it won't change the colour of my fillings. YES, I know I am a huge p*ssy and can't stand the sensitivity it causes and I bitch and moan mercilessly until I can no longer stand it and I give up on the whitening treatment at hand.

But then... a year passes, and I resume hyper-criticism of myself in pictures and decide that whitening is in order.

It also helped that a company that tried to rip me off accidentally sent me TWO whitening kits in error and so they were just lying around, begging to be loosely and painfully applied to my gums and chompers.

TEST RUN #1:

- Fill flimsy, ill-fitting mouth trays with clear, goopy, mint-like gel.
- Actually place trays inside of my big mouth and wait for glistening magic to happen.
- Begin foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog on steroids baring its fangs and spewing Alka Seltzer at all passers-by.

Like this, but with a little less moustache. (source)

- Curse newfangled whitening method and try to wipe off 6% hydrogen solution of currently sizzling tongue.
- Continue to drool.
- Check watch to see only 3 minutes have passed (of the 30-60 minutes).
- Re-read package instructions to confirm that yes, indeed, swallowing the solution is NOT recommended or safe.
- Realize that there is NO way would Feyoncé™ agree to do this for the wedding, no matter what I promised in return.
- Check watch to see only 2 more minutes have passed, as I try to distract myself from the sexy foaming, drooling and general spit-pooling in my mouth.

Awesome.

TEST RUN #2
- Same as above, however flimsy bottom tray replaced with my fitted (sexy... RAWR!) mouth guard.
- Intense burning has commenced, and part of my lower teeth are not covered in the goopy gel; fear uneven (if any) results.
- Start blog post to bitch about ineffectiveness of Denta Bright.
- Check watch to see only 11 minutes have passed.


Can only assume that this will be my last run. GAH.

TEST RUN #3
- Discover puppy has chewed the ill-fitting mouth trays to shreds on the floor.
- Stand in shock, having not realized puppy can reach the back of the bathroom counter top.
- Realize that teeth are SO.UNBELIEVABLY.SENSITIVE.AND.PAINFUL, that this is so not worth it.
- Stash trays under bathroom sink for next year when cycle will repeat itself (if I can find new trays).

Like this, but with slightly MORE moustache. (source: drchetan.com)

*Another big, long, dramatic sigh*

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Domestic Supply Stores = Depression

So, not sure if I mentioned this to anyone, but I am getting married in less than 3 weeks.

Ya know, no biggie. It's not like I am the stressing-type.   /sarcasm font

So I moseyed ("mosey-ed"?) on down to the local Home Outfitters to add some stuff to the registry. You know, some reasonable kitchen crap instead of the overpriced pots and pans.

Holy shit.

Want to feel inadequate in the kitchen? Roam the stemware aisle (that's, like, fancy glasses and wine goblets and the like. You know, gold chalices. What every household needs. Like cowbell. MORE MORE MORE).

Want to feel inept in food preparation? Glance at the food combustion/chopping/processing/flame-throwing Cuisinarts. Read their boxes and STILL walk away perplexed at their actual purpose.

Want to feel overwhelmed? Try selecting JUUUUST THE RIGHT garlic peeler and press. Out of 20. All overpriced and looking similar to what I assume torture devices look like.

Then I come across the devices designed for the ridiculously lazy. Or those phallic plastic banana cases. $7... really? I think I will just take the extreme risk of a bruised banana. I'm crazy like that.

Strap sheets to "ensure your bedsheets stay attractively flat". Yeah, um, there may or may not be dog pee currently on my bedsheets right now. That are half off the bed. I think I'm fine without the straps.

And don't even get me STARTED on the Martha Stewart shit out there. Soon enough she'll have suppositories and lubricant. (What?!? She WAS in prison, folks, regardless of her ridiculously fake I-have-a-team-but-I'll-make-you-feel-less-than-inferior domestic skills.)

I came home and made soup from a can. I stirred it with a metal spoon, in my metal pot from Walmart, and didn't have a fancy spoon rest. *gasp*

I may or may not have eaten it straight from the pot. I'm not telling.

Domestic mastering is just not my thing. What a depressing "shopping" outing.

*sigh*


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Embarrassing Realizations (Part 3 of ∞ )

All in the same day....

Realizing, as you arrive late to hot yoga, that you have no towel to sop your sweat/keep your clammy, slimy hands from slipping and letting you face-plant/wipe off your appendages so you can actually hold on to them.

Oh, LOLcats, is there anything you CAN'T do?

Further realizing the closest thing that will have to make due, out of the trunk of your car, is a sweater of grandmotherly proportions and quality that you purchased at a thrift shop in 1996 and have left in your trunk "just in case".

I think the layering was cool, a-la-Nirvana, circa 1996. I could be very, very wrong, though.

Upon implementation of said granny sweater, realizing that NEITHER your rubber yoga mat nor your acrylic/polyester/synthetic knit sweater stops hands and feet from slipping.

Then realizing that your I-only-wear-these-capris-when-I-haven't-washed-my-workout-clothes-and-they-are-all-that's-left purple capri pants display, quite clearly and nicely for all to see, that you sweat excessively in your groin.

You know, like this, except not nearly as nice, probably from circa 1987 or else free from the Goodlife Gym. What?!? It was free.

Fast forward to the end of a painful hot yoga class. Throw on a pair of jeans that happen to be in your dufflebag (does anyone under the age of 50 refer to these things as dufflebags, or is it just me? Just me. Okay.).

Go to the pet store, and shop at the grocery store for over an hour before realizing that your zipper is down.

Totally down. Completely open.

And, well, you just came from being drenched in hot yoga and therefore removed your sw-assy underclothes and put the jeans on as a temporary sweat cover until you were able to go home and shower.

Also noting that you are allowing a certain amount of... erm.... growth, in order to facilitate honeymoon sugaring (much like waxing).

Finally get into your car, giving yourself multiple, much-needed facepalms.

Awesome day and it's only 12:20pm.

Grin and bear it, folks. You've got another 12 hours of awake time to suffer through. Well, if you're me, that is.

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