Tails from the Bark Side

So, last weekend, the night before I left for 'Murrrca, I think my drink got spiked. Jeannie, Dan, Anna, John and me went to see Harry Potter (cry forever) and then Jeannie, Dan and I went to the Dungeon. I was dancing most of the night, by our table, upon which was 39864 purple WKDs and my pint of lager, of which, throughout the night, I consumed four. I'm sure it was four, and only four. Might've even been three. I was Taking it Easy because I was travelling the next day. I was going nuts on the dance floor and generally drawing attention to myself as usual, and we had a great time. We sat outside in the garden for a while and chatted to people. There was some beef when Sarah and some of our other mates showed up, because two of the boys don't like each other. But other than that, all was fine and dandy, a standard all-round wicked Dungeony night. I remember all of it being normal, tipsy drunk and loving it. Soon it was time to go home, and from there, the rest of the night is a patchy blur. Jeannie and Dan went off to catch the night bus to Hythe, and I went on with Sarah to Junk in a cab, where we planned to meet the other mates who had left a bit earlier - not that I remember that beyond saying to Sarah, 'I might come with you, actually.' I remember going out past the cloakroom of the Dinge and saying thank you to the bouncers, then nothing until I got to Junk, where I remember paying to get in and Sarah gave her coat to the cloakroom attendant there. Then I remember running straight onto the dancefloor with the others, where I remained for about five minutes before heading off to the loo, definitely NOT feeling sick. I have a vague memory of finding the stairs a bit dark and tricky, then the next thing I know I'm waking up on the floor in a toilet cubicle and I'm being hideously sick. Then I must've passed out again because my next hazy memory is of being manhandled. I remember someone trying to rouse me by shaking me, and then grabbing me under the arms and hauling me up, and saying, 'Come on, you've got to go.' I could hear no music, and no people at all, so figured it was past closing time, and my friends must've gone. Then I remember sitting on concrete, and fumbling around in my bag, and a policeman was chuckling and he said to somebody else, 'It's okay, we'll take her home.' Then I was in a car, and my artificial eye was missing, and people were repeating my name, and 'Are you going to be sick?' and a plastic bag was shoved into my hands, and they said, 'What's your address?' and repeated my name again and again and I just wanted them to shut up but I couldn't talk, I just couldn't talk, but I must've done because they knew my name and I got home and if I wasn't speaking the ambulance that followed me and the police car home would've taken me to hospital, right?

I then remember knocking on our front door and telling the dogs to shut up and trying to shout because I knew it would take a lot for Anna to hear me but I couldn't shout, I remember trying to explain to her what had happened and I was embarrassed because I'd wasted the policeman's time and I was angry that this had happened to me at all, and I just couldn't speak, but Anna said I was wailing, 'I've lost my eye,' and she said that I collapsed against the wall and she and the copper had to help me up and walk me through the door, and there was laughing again and a voice telling me not to drink so much next time, and then I woke up in bed and it was morning and I was still in all my clothes apart from my boots; Anna said she had taken them off, and the first thing I did was laugh, because 'Lmao, I got too drunk again, this is getting to be a habit, lol lol... oh shit my phone is missing, oh lol, lost my eye lol that's hilaire that must've been a shock, no wonder they called an ambulance, oh man I really can't be without my phone! But at least I didn't get attacked, lol lol, right I have to go and borrow a phone, pack, print tickets and get on an aeroplane, lol yeah I must've got spiked lol lol, but I have no time for visiting the police and the clubs and stuff...' I rushed around that day on pure adrenaline and I wasn't hungover in the slightest, but I was shaking and having trouble getting the in out sentences right the in words order.

But then I was on an aeroplane and in America and eating amazing food and visiting brilliant places with wonderful people and watching Soundgarden and I forgot about it all. I guess I had to get it out now because I'm lying here in my own rubbish, squeaky bed for the first time since that night and I'm unable to sleep and I know I should be angry and upset but I'm just not. Oh, sertraline. Anna was shocked because she knows me and knows that while I do sometimes go overboard with drinking, the only result of it is the usual dehydration fail in the morning. I never lose my memory, at all, I never slur my words, I never throw up. So I don't know. Maybe it was just nerves or a bug or something.

I'm so sick of spending my hard-earned cash on my fail-train of a body. I spent around £250 (luckily NHS this time, the same treatment would've been triple that had I stayed with my old dentist in Hythe) on stupid teeth this year. I've just spent £116 on my stupid eye (glasses) and it was all WRONG:

I always feel like they're rushing. Two examples of it this year. H (dentist) has the pleasure of treating me because I'm a friend of his receptionist. He's always bringing up our friendship which is a bit annoying, but the benefits outweigh that. He's brilliant - seriously mad dentist skillz. I first went to see him around this time last year, and he could tell my previously root-filled and (since) broken bottom molar had become infected at the root, just by looking at the colour of it. Didn't even poke me with the sharp stick thing, and told me I would need a new root filling and a crown. Aaargh. He said, 'No rush, I will leave you to think about it and see you again in April.'

Just before April, one of my teeth at the top started hurting. I went in to see H, who gave me a massive lecture about not going back earlier - I was meant to have booked another appointment to have treatment on it when I left that day! He turned his attention to the top hurty tooth, and root-filled and crowned it over 2 sessions - £198. When I tried to explain that it was the bottom tooth I had supposedly neglected, I got, 'No, no, you should listen to me, I could have been in trouble if you'd needed to have emergency treatment with that,' then bangs on about me being friends with his receptionist again and how he knows we're friends but he has to treat me like any other patient. (Do so then, and STFU about it!)

So. Yeah: 'You said it was my bottom molar that I had to think about fixing because it was infected and broken, not this one...'
'I know what I said. THIS one is infected,' he says. 'This top one is infected...'
'Okay, okay... I trust you...' *screaming inside*

So at the end of the treatment, in my relief to have it all over, I went and reminded him about the bottom one like a dumb-ass; I need moar injections, please. He said it just needed a filling, and he'll do it now, in fact. He did it then, and that was that. Most confusing, because I KNOW he said it needed crowning. I remember it well, because I was impressed at his speedy diagnosis. Anyway, tl;dr: Now it's broken even more and I'd be surprised if it turned out to be salvageable at all. If it is, I can't afford £198 (and more - I'd need a white crown) because I need to pay car insurance this month. So, I need to go and get it removed, most likely. I'll add to my already-questionably-good looks by being a Gummy McGappy and I'll most likely get another bollocking for my troubles. FML.

Now glasses: I went in two weeks ago for a routine eye-test, and also because I was having trouble focussing on road signs and getting eye strain - I knew I'd need a new prescription. I was in and out, no fuss - which is an understatement - I was barely there for five minutes before being told that my 'prescription is lower now because in your thirties you become less short-sighted. It's happening already!' Was a -2.75, now a -2.5. I did think it was a little quick - they didn't do all the 'better or worse?' stuff with the different lenses! At the time though, I was only happy to accept it and get home. I do love being at home. So yeah, cut to three days later, pick glasses up, can't see a damn thing. Turns out I needed a slightly more short-sighted prescription, not less. Boo, more short sighted. Yay, eyes aren't thirty years old. The glasses are off in the lab having -3.0 lenses put in, so now I have no leet sight skillz at all. Brilliant. At least when they screw up they put it right for free, unlike the dentist. Haha.

THE END.

Sorry for filling your flist with essay bollocks. I thought it was set to private, not friends only.

HAVE A GREAT SONG INSTEAD.

You know what, I really want to go see Faith No fucking More. There better be tickets left tomorrow. SO MANY DOGS. Amazing. I am going to have MONEY WOOHOO. I really, really, really want to go shopping and buy loads of things. I give up on trying to record music. The universe obviously doesn't want me to. Dentist later, omg. I don't reckon I'll be able to have the first half of my filling (£150) done today 'cause it's still a bit infected. SHAME. I want the sunshine back! littlefloyd's bum smells.

Boring, amirite? I have nothing else to report.