Spring Break Is Over

Sigh. Apparently there was a tornado near Tampa about an hour ago. That's a good thing, I think. We need the rain. I guess we don't need any massive tornado-caused holes in our roofs, but like, my lawn is dead. Even though I'm colorblind, I can still tell what looks bad.

Hm...what to talk about...

I seem to be getting a good response from the tiny amount of people that have seen this already, so, I'll see how long I can keep this e-journal up.

Who in the world would want to be a dentist? And why do we pay them so much? I would like to know who exactly shoots out of bed and proclaims, "I want to drill people's teeth!" to the world? I personally hate dentists. I've had 6 teeth pulled, had my wisdom teeth out, and had braces for about 30 years. Jordan is done with teeth. But, I mean, really, what a crappy job they have? How do they keep from shooting themselves after they get home? Maybe I secretly respect them. It must take a lot of dedication to get up everyday and scrub the gook off people's molars. Ugh, but that's so gross! The only reason I like going to the dentist is because I have a superiority complex. Hoo-boy. There's no better feeling than plopping down and taking pleasure in the fact that my dentist, a grown woman, has to shine the teeth of a gangly white kid. During the entire visit, I'm shouting, "That's right! You clean MY teeth! Ha ha ha ha!" in my head.

Uh, I digress.

If ever something is wrong with me, I think I'd consider being treated by a veterinarian. You know, a vet. Mostly because they have to know how like, a thousand different animals work instead of one human body. Besides, aren't vets like, attractive young women? Well, not like it means much; I'd take anything over the chrome-dome-butt-goblin-van-Mordecai I have as a doctor. Sheesh. That guy is boresville. I'm not really going to go into the details of my visits with the man (since I only see him about once a year), but, for some reason his hands are always very, very cold. I think it's because doctors don't have souls. You've got to be at least slightly emotionally detached to be able to stick your hand in certain questionable areas, or cut someone open on a table with a knife, or tell someone they've got a terminal illness before quietly ushering them out of your room and welcoming the next victim, er, patient. Sorry, that wasn't funny.

I try to write like I speak. So, uh, if you see an "um" or an "er" or an "uh", it's my just filling up space while I try to think of something cool to write.

Okay bye!

-J