April Winchell

Zombie Girl

After two weeks in New York with no email access, I came home to over 1,000 messages. Of course, they were all for Levitra, but it's the thought that counts (I always knew I'd be able to order online someday).

I started having some pain in my jaw toward the end of the trip. I don't have any cavities, but I do have some sensitivities in certain teeth that come and go, so I didn't really pay much attention to it.

After about a week of searing, throbbing pain that eventually reached my right eyeball, I reluctantly went to the dentist.

Apparently, I have some sort of raging infection in the root of one of my upper molars. The dentist told me I needed a root canal, which sent me into a fit of panicky tears. Seeing my condition, she tenderly leaned down and whispered, "Do you have insurance? Because this is going to be really expensive".

She sent me to another dentist down the street. Dr. Mengele, I think his name was.

He thought I had a broken tooth, and that root canal would be a waste of time. He said they had a simple test to determine this, which involved putting a piece of ice on the tooth. If you can feel it, you don't need root canal.

After my head exploded and brain matter shot out all over his tunic, he determined I didn't need root canal.

At this point, no one is sure what to do with me. I've spent the last few days in a Vicodin haze, watching bad television and looking for my Elizabeth Kubler Ross books.

I'll either get that tooth yanked in the next few days or go on a shooting spree, depending on how long the drugs last.

I'll try to post a decent update soon. I have lots of photos and stories from my trip, including almost having a drink with Boy George, coffee with Donald Trump and being serenaded by a drag queen in Star Jones' club.

Magical isn't too strong a word.