Erica Scott: Life, Love and Spanking

Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken spanko and unapologetic attention wh–, um, hog.

Archive for the category “dentists”

Slow news week

Happy Hump Day. Not a whole lot going on this week; I am busy with work, but otherwise, little to report. I did manage to have a brief visit with Steve yesterday, but it had to be quick, because I had a dental appointment at 1:30. One of my back teeth is bothering me. Not horrible, just annoying. The weird part is that it’s a tooth that’s had a root canal, so how the hell can it be hurting?? The nerves are removed! It’s just sort of a dull ache, and most of the time I’m not even aware of it, but I can’t help wondering what it might be. John, bless his heart, damn near gave me a heart attack by suggesting that maybe I had a cracked root and needed to have the tooth pulled. Auggghhhh! Fortunately, when the dentist took an X-ray, he didn’t see any cracks or infection. He said the gum was healthy too. What gives? Stupid teeth. He said I should monitor it and let him know if it gets worse. Swell. Well, at least I don’t have to have any sort of oral surgery any time soon.

Steve, of course, loved the story of Saturday night and the bath brush. He declared that he wanted to use hairbrushes yesterday (I have two of them) as well as my wooden spoon. All wood! Ugh! But because we had so little time, I guess he was trying to get the most bang for his buck. At least this pain was the good kind. I was so tense and nervous about the dentist, and Steve helped me let go a bit and relax. Of course, once I got there at 1:30, my nerves kicked back into high gear. (sigh) Did I mention that John actually sleeps through dental work? I consider myself lucky if I don’t have a coronary during a filling.

Anyway, no pictures, again. I’m hoping we’ll take some fun ones when we have our fourth anniversary in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, I am trying to get the hang of taking decent mirror selfies, but I don’t seem to have the knack. I twist and turn and position the phone in one hand, but then I’m not dexterous enough to maneuver my thumb over the shoot area. I get weird angles and blurry photos and all kinds of nonsense. This was the best I could do:

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Sorry, kids. Guess I’m just not going to be doing too many butt selfies (or belfies or buttfies or whatever the hell they’re called).

In the news: Seems like the GOP is going after porn in America, calling it a “public health crisis” as well as a “public menace.” Really? Health crisis? Funny… I did fetish porn for fifteen years and my health is just fine. Everyone I know in this industry is also quite well. But thanks for your concern, guys. Go do something useful.

And finally — in August 2010, I finally got off MySpace (MyWhat??) and started blogging on a designated blog site (first Blogspot, then WordPress). Since then, I’ve amassed quite a few posts. This one is #994, so I am closing in on Post #1000. So, readers… what shall I write about for that milestone? Thoughts?

Off to the showers with me.

OT: May I vent, just a little?

Don’t worry. I’m not going to talk about politics, or about terrorism, or about guns. Although the circumstances of late have got me on edge and are making my tolerance a lot lower for life’s little aggravations. So if y’all don’t mind, I need to blow off a little steam here, over my First World Problems.

My mother passed away in 2012, and my stepfather in 2014. Here it is the middle of 2016, and would you believe all the details of their trust still aren’t fully resolved?? I won’t bore you with who’s who and what’s what, but let’s just say certain people haven’t been cooperating. Not responding to requests, not communicating, not providing what’s needed. And so, things drag on and on and on. Why do people have to be so damn difficult? I have my crazy stepsister’s all-caps emails and one of her drunken rants saved on my voice mail. What a piece of work. She got more money than anyone else in the will, and she’s still complaining. In her last message, she slurred, “I wish Dad were here so I could shake some sense into him.” Really? THAT’S why you want your dad here? Ick. I wish she didn’t have my address and phone number. Thank goodness for caller ID.

Also, remember at the end of last year when I had a root canal and a crown restoration? Guess how much of that my dental insurance covered? Zero. WTF is the point of having dental insurance if they don’t pay for anything? Oh yeah, they cover cleanings and x-rays. Big whoop. But as soon as you need anything besides that, they deny you. I spent a fair amount of time online researching the racket that is dental insurance, and discovered that unless I pay a fortune, I’m not getting any decent coverage. If your dental insurance is covered by your office group plan, give thanks. Because an individual paying for their own plan is screwed. Soooooo… I am now trying something different: A dental discount plan. You pay a small annual fee, and then all your dental procedures are discounted. Not free, mind you. They’re still expensive. Just not as expensive. For example, the root canal that cost me $1300 would have cost $700. I spent about forty-five minutes on the phone with an agent today who explained it all to me. The good news? No waiting period. I’m on the plan immediately. More good news? My dentist and endodontist accept the plan. So now, if my teeth continue to fall apart, at least I won’t go broke as quickly. The plan is Aetna, so at least it’s not some Joe Blow dental plan that will get bought out before I get to use it.

But what a headache. This, on top of paying over $800 a month for medical insurance. This is the downside of self-employment. Still… I wouldn’t have it any other way. Everything comes with a price.

And finally — those of you who have been with me for a while, or who read my book, know that I had the Stepmother From Hell, my father’s third wife. When he finally wised up and unloaded her, he stayed close with her son, B, who is about eight years younger than I am. When Dad passed away, B came to help me with packing up his place, and he came to Dad’s memorial. He was a decent kid, nothing like his mother. After that, we kind of fell out of touch. I knew he had married and had a couple of kids (I got the Christmas cards and the erstwhile email), but we didn’t communicate otherwise. This week, clear out of the blue, I got email from him. Said he’s been through some “crazy life changes” and would love to get together to catch up. Coffee? Sure, I said. We agreed for this Thursday. This morning, he wrote again, asking if we could do lunch instead. Said he had to do something for his son later that afternoon, and that “wouldn’t leave sufficient time for his long-lost sister.”

I know he meant that in the nicest possible way. I know I should be flattered that he thinks of me that way. But I couldn’t help it; I felt creeped out. “I’m not your sister,” I thought. “I had a brother. You aren’t him. And I don’t share any of that bat-shit crazy woman’s blood with you.” Am I horrible? I don’t mean to be this way, but you have to understand — his mother made my life hell for years. I know it’s not his fault, but seeing him, hearing from him, reminds me of her and I feel almost sort of a PTSD. I mean, to this day I still can’t stand to hear the c-word, because she called me that all the time.

And what does he want, anyway, after all these years? What are these crazy life changes? Divorce? Am I a terrible person for wondering if he needs money for some reason? Ugh. Between John’s family and mine, I’ve known way too many truly crappy people. I am suspicious, and I don’t like being that way.

So yeah. I’m meeting B for lunch on Thursday. I am curious. And my dad was very fond of him. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to meet up and hear him out. I’ll just have to brace myself to hear about his mother. Maybe the witch is dead. Ding dong! Oh, please. Trust me, B has no illusions about Mommie Dearest. Years ago, when his first child was born, he said something along the lines of “I don’t want her [his mother] to come anywhere near him.” I think she’d be somewhere in her late seventies now.

Oy. I need to get my spank on. Soon. And I am way overdue for a Girls’ Night Out. I am hoping that both will happen next week. Meanwhile, this week I will stay busy with work and do my best to maintain some semblance of sanity in a world of chaos.

If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you…

Part 2 is up, and Erica is a crybaby

Some of you may have already noticed, but Part 2 of my Richard Windsor interview is now up on Spanking Tube, here. I really appreciate Rich getting these up so quickly, and I hope you guys like them! And if you do, please do take a sec and give a rating. I suppose there will be those who are disappointed because there’s no spanking, just talking, but there will be that fun little spanking clip that Rich and I did as well, coming soon.

Please excuse me, but I’m going to whine now. I went to the dentist today. Here’s what was on the docket: an old crown on the upper left was to be removed and replaced, and the tooth next to it needed a filling. Then on the lower left, an old filling was to be replaced.

The crown should have been simple; the plan was to pry it off, take the impression for the new one, then cement the old one back on as a temporary until the new one was done in a couple of weeks. However, that didn’t happen. The damned old crown would not come off.

Dr. T said he was going to try to “tap” it off. He was going to hammer at it a bit in an attempt to loosen it, but I wouldn’t feel any pain. Well, guess what… despite four shots of anesthetic (yes, four), I still felt pain up in the jawbone. Plus, the feel and sound of the impact did something to me–I could sense and hear this banging resonating loudly through my head, and it freaked me out. I guess I must have gone chalk white, and I didn’t realize I was twisting and wringing my fingers until the dental assistant laid her hand gently over mine. The doc would stop, then try again, but the @#$%ing thing still wouldn’t come off and I was clearly terrified, so he stopped.

Plan B — drill the old crown off and fit me for a new acrylic temporary, since the old one would now be history. So drill, drill, drill away, plus drilling for the new filling in the tooth next door. Granted, by now the anesthetic was fully kicked in and I felt nothing, but my jaw was wedged open and my mouth stretched wide, and I could hear the drill (plus there’s that lovely smell of your teeth disintegrating). So when he finally said, “OK, drilling is over,” I had to fight the urge to burst into tears of relief. Yes, I am a big old baby.

The crown and the one filling ended up taking 2 1/4 hours total, and they didn’t even get to the second filling. They’ll do that when I go back for the permanent crown. However, I couldn’t get an appointment for that until three weeks from today. And instead of my porcelain old crown as a temp, I have an acrylic that isn’t meant to withstand all that much stress. The last time I had a temporary crown, I chewed right through it.

God, I hate dental work. You can say what you like about my spanking tolerance, but I am not a masochist. I hate pain.

The lidocaine has worn off and a dose of Advil has beaten the flare-up of pain down into a dull ache. And I have been warned not to eat anything sticky or really hard for the next few weeks. Thank God I don’t chew gum.

OK, whining over. Thank you for listening.

I am, therefore I bitch

Or is it the other way around? Whatever. I don’t care.

Cosmopolitan magazine (yes, I read Cosmo, shut up) has a regular feature they call “Bitch It Out!”, in which they invite their readers to vent their frustrations, aggravations and complaints. Not because they can do anything about them, but because they recognize sometimes it feels good to blow off steam and just maybe, others out there will relate to you. I rather like this idea, so I’m going to indulge in a bit of bitching myself. And after that, I’m opening the floor. Someone pee in your Wheaties? Having a suckfest of a day? Let go of it here! Have fun with it. You’ll feel better, I promise.

I hate the dentist. No, not my dentist, personally. He’s a decent chap. But I hate going to the damn dentist. I don’t like people poking around in my mouth. I don’t like having my jaw wedged open until it feels like it’s going to lock in that position. I really, really don’t like that nasty, poky little implement that scrapes and scrapes and scrapes. I hate the taste of that stupid numbing agent that’s supposed to make me not feel the needle, but I do anyway (and I hate the needle too). I hate the sound of the drill and the smell of teeth being pulverized by it. And you know what I hate more than any of that? How @#$%ing much it costs for the dubious pleasure of all this torture.

I had my annual dental exam today. I get my teeth cleaned twice a year and I observe all the proper oral hygiene, so my teeth are generally in decent shape. But when I was younger I wasn’t as conscientious, so I have a mouthful of crowns and fillings. Only one root canal, though. So far.

Last year, I got a clean bill of health after the x-rays and exam, and I exhaled in gratitude, realizing I hadn’t taken a breath in the past 45 minutes. Today, I wasn’t so lucky. Triple whammy… An old crown needs replacing, as well as a very old filling, plus I have a tiny new cavity. Fun fun fun! Dear teeth: You suck. So I had to make an appointment for two fillings and a crown; I am NOT doing this before the Shadow Lane party, so I scheduled it for the Tuesday after I come home. What the hell, I’ll be dealing with post-party drop anyway. Might as well throw in mouth pain and get it all over with at once.

The cost of today’s exam and the upcoming work? $1,145. And that is with dental insurance. What the hell are they putting in my teeth, platinum?

Funny thing about checking accounts — they don’t self-replenish. You have to actually have some work to do, earn some money and deposit it. Not much of that going on around here. So you’d think my damn teeth would cooperate and stay healthy, but noooooooo. Blech. Nothing I can do about it, though. I’m rather attached to my teeth, so I gotta do what I gotta do.

It was 108 degrees here today, at least that’s what my car’s temp gauge read on the way home. Have I mentioned lately how much I detest the heat? I don’t even feel like playing, which would probably do me a world of good. Ever notice how extremes in temperature either way are not conducive to spanking? If it’s too cold, you want to stay bundled up, not remove layers of clothing. And when it’s this hot, the last thing you feel like doing is exerting yourself. This afternoon, I sat in my computer chair and thought, “I’m hungry. I’m hungry. I’m hungry.” However, it took me nearly an hour to go get something to eat. Why? It seemed like too damn much effort to get up and walk into the kitchen. So forget spanking. Six swats in and I’m breaking a sweat. And don’t give me this baloney about how women don’t sweat, they glow and look dewy. I’m not a freaking Southern magnolia blossom. I sweat.

It was a crappy day. Not a heartbreaking day, not a tragic day, not an earth-shattering day… just enough to make me cranky as hell. Forgive me and thank you for listening. But I’m all about equal opportunity.

So, something have you cranked out of shape? Share! Bitch it out. I feel so much better.

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