The Stars and the Cookie Jar

My girlfriend is directing the movie of my book. Or cinematographing. Or something. I forsee creative control through sexual favors. No, actually I trust her judgment. But it's more fun to sound despotic about it. So, without further ado, CAST MY MOVIE. Singing is a requirement for at least one actress, but if anyone suggests Emmy Rossum, they will die. They will die dead. We also need a seven piece brass band, but I'll let someone else take care of that. Also, I envision grandiosely many location shoots. And now she's grumpy, so I'm done posting.

(ETA: this was written in the fly pages of my paperback book, in the dental suite, and I have since learnt that he is A BAD DENTIST. But! Read on.)

I'm so angry. So angry so angry so angry. If I could have, I'd have gone across the counter and punched the fellow. Even if he was fixing her teeth.

"Lesbians," he said to the receptionist, with a roll of his eyes. "She brought her wife."

Now, until he said that? I'd thought he'd sent me out of the room, even though there was obviously gonna be a wait, because there was not enough room in the room. He sent me out of the room because N said 'fiancee'. And I'm stuck in the waiting room uselessly angry, and if I hadn't been getting up to get some random pre-schooler some paper, and registered 'Huh, that's N's dentist, perhaps I shall learn something' and tuned in, I'd never have heard him say it.

Learnt something, all right.

"But people have been going back there together," said his receptionist, and you know what? They had been.

And then he noticed me, and said hurriedly and quite loud, "Well, it doesn't really matter who it is."

What a dick.

And you know, it's just a routine dental procedure, and that she's not as nervous as I am, but still, you worry!

Dr Gary S. Leff, DDS, I hope someone separates you from your loved ones at a tense time, someday.

*adds Dr Gary S. Leff, DDS, to list of Absolutely Not Gay Friendly Dentists*

Son of a goddamn bitch, I am so angry.

AGH SO ANGRY AND IT'S TAKING SO LONG ROOT CANALS DO NOT TAKE THAT LONG!

*panics and worries and panics because can't be in there arrrrrgh*

I know it's not like cardiology. I know she's not terrified. But she might be bored. But my place is there with her, and if I can't hold her hand, I need to be as near as possible as I can be to holding her hand.

To whom do I report this? Dude. So angry, so angry, so angry. Less angry at airport. If only she hadn't said 'fiancee'. Crap. I hate this. Maybe I'll sneeze on him and give him Gay, or something. It's not fair, it's not fair, how dare he roll his eyes and look like that when he talks about us TO HIS GODDAMN RECEPTIONIST WHO KNOWS NOT US FROM A HOLE IN A TREE?

SO ANGRY. SO ANGRY. GOD DAMNED SON OF A BITCHING ANGRY.

it's just, I guess, I'm used to it, used to being with her. In my mind, it's not odd. Where she goes, I'm going to follow. I inquire about domestic partnership benefits. I research open fertility plans. This is a part of my life. Our life together is a part of my life. Going to the dentist with her is part of my life. It has stopped being strange. What is strange is the disjoint and disorientation of suddenly being excluded. And it's not fair, I'm so angry, it's not fair. ARRRRGH.

I know. I'm 12. Not fair.

So angry, so angry so angry. Why can't people be modern about things? Jesus Christ, people, gay is here to stay. Well. At least I've kept my temper and the writing honestly helped. Dear Dr Gary S. Leff, DDS, give me ten minutes and access to Google to find a way to get you boycotted, or blacklisted, or whatever, and I shall do so. And I shall feel ARRRGH SO ANGRY better, for given tiny amounts of better.

You know, life is odd like that. You never know how strongly you feel about something until you get up and get some kid named Youssef some paper.

*wanders off in search of some snow to kill, so sonofabitching angry, will steal the pen*

DC Area.

One that looks nice. And not too expensive.

...or just send me your contraband lasix. And maybe some simvastatin. And coumadin!

Maybe you better recommend a cardiologist.

Also, I have commenced a new diet of Iam's Wife Chow. darthrami seems pleased. There is not enough chocolate in Iam's Wife Chow. But she says it guarantees me Fifty Happy Healthy Years, and it'll lower my cholesterol. I think that's the bran.

Item: Selkie still needs a cardiologist.

So I am Turning Over A New Leaf.

Yeccch.

I'm still not doing as well as I should be, I still weigh a metric ton (though under 300lbs, thank heaven for small personal victories) so I'm thinking I might actually follow that cardiac diet that I should have been following since my first heart attack. That, for those of you keeping score, was seven years ago.

Besides which, heart palpitations make my fiancee cry. That's not on, and it's basically my fault, for lo I am a lazy ass.

So! No more ice cream. No more sneaking her potato-chips, which still counts as me eating them (damn). No more fast food. No more whole milk. Lots of chicken, which should be easy, and lots of brown rice and bran things, which... EW. I need to ditch the standard American diet, I suppose.

I may even give up cream-filled vacherins and pots de creme au chocolat. Yes, she means that much to me.

Wow, is this going to be bland, and suck.


Also, I need to find a way to entice my beloved to learn 'Friling'. How happy that would make me. I might even eat some goddamn brown rice with lite soy sauce on it.

Bleaccch.

Oy nemen meyn harts tsu, un gib es op meyn glik!