Girl Regressing in Light of Impending Dental Horrors

Am I still allowed to call myself a girl? Young-lady? Ugh.

Anyhow, tomorrow I have a dental appointment which I fear will result in a root canal. My dentist back Calgary told me he was worried I would need one, and that he wouldn't have the time to do one before I left, which is why I didn't have it dealt with then. Now I'm going to a dentist I don't know.  And not even the dentist I didn't know but who nonetheless was recommended to me by Dr Sheppard, and who the internet had confirmed is the tops. No, instead I have his 28-year-old baby-faced "associate." Seriously, there is nothing about the practice's website that puts my mind at ease, least of all the classical music and photos of people giving awkward open mouthed "smiles" (which really prove why you're not supposed to smile at monkeys - the people in these photos look like they thirst for my blood).

My "dentist" is "Dr." Henri Leblanc. Seriously - check this guy out, because I'm pretty sure he still gets IDed in bars.

So, apparently my coping mechanism is nostalgic escapism. Last night I dreamed that I was both playing Nintendo games (wherein, I kid you not, Mario was running drugs - though, you know, with all the mushroom power ups may not be too big a jump) and hanging out on a grassy lawn with three members of N'Sync. Yeah, only three: JC, Joey and Lance. These are perhaps the three most random members of N'Sync for me personally to dream of hanging out with (boy, is that ever a fucking sentence). Really though, Justin is the only one who still has a career (being a second rate Joan Rivers doesn't count Bass) and Chris Kirkpatrick was my favourite. Yes - you read that correctly. I know I'm not alone either, because N'Sync-mania circa 2001 was such that, in an attempt to plumb the depths of available information about N'Sync members, I had my first encounter with fanfiction erotica. Yeah. Starring Justin Timberlake and Chris Kirkpatrick. You can't even make this shit up.

Now, my more grown up self is watching Psycho and falling in love with Anthony Perkins while awaiting my last final chewable meal with Claire.

Does Anthony Perkins count as a more acceptable celebrity crush?

he's kind of dreamy when he's not in elderly drag

Note: I was tired of my blog being a haven for those who wished to gaze longingly on Chris Kirkpatrick's visage. And so it is gone. Mourn quietly.