chuck decided he was the boss of dinnertime a week ago and punched open one of his containers of meat-paste: i know this because i get covered with cat food goo whenever i take things from the cabinet, and he looks especially smug. i can't find the compromised package, though, and it continues to ooze, and no amount of hand washing gets the putrefied chicken niblet smell from my hands. turnabout is fair play: he's got "falling star" yellow whiskers from fucking around with my paint as i tried to salvage the walls this afternoon. so much for the sheba commercial good looks, buddy.
saw the dentist for the first time in years. no prodding from mom - i'm a big girl! this guy has hollowed out his ceiling and filled it with synchronized twinkle lights: it was creepy, but mesmerizing enough that i only cried for ten minutes when he went at my gums. much better than visits of yore, though i miss my OC dentist's toothbrushes (we love your smile! ivan ho, dds). subgingivally, i'm ready for the east coast.
karamazov count: 252. tap, tap.
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