ALL YEE WHO DAREST FOLLOW ME...

Wow, 3rd day at the BLOG thing and I have 2 - count 'em - TWO "FOLLOWERS".  Ya know, I don't want to seem like a megalomaniac or something, but I've always suspected that one day I'd have some FOLLOWERS and now this blog has finally given me that proof.  I feel downright drugged with power.  I am feeling like goddamn She-sus right now.  Wait, that's too much responsibility.  Let me relax for a minute.

It was a rough nite with the tooth.  So first thing this morning I call my dentist, Dr. Friedman on 65th Street on Myrtle Avenue in Glendale.  I'm terrible about keeping up with the dentist, I'll admit it.  The last time I went I was almost dying from pain, and this time is pretty similar to that time.  I don't even have Dr. Friedman's telephone number on file at my desk.  But who needs a file when you have the internet, right?

So I look him up online.  I find him right away, and I'm pretty impressed because there's even a photo of him beaming confidently right there next to all his contact info.  Only it looks nothing like what I remembered him looking like last time I saw him, which was only about a year ago.   He looks at least like 20 years younger in this photo and, honestly, like a completely different man altogether. 

But I figure, fuckit, ole' Doc Friedman must be vain about his online profile so maybe he put his son's picture up instead, who the hell cares.  I call to make an appointment, get his answering service and wait for a callback, which comes almost immediately. 

Lady:  "Hello, this is Pam at Doctor Friedman's office calling for Lynn."
Me:  "Yes, this is Lynn."
Lady:  "Doctor Friedman can give you an 11:15 appointment today."
Me:  "Ok, great.  I'll be there."
Lady:  "If you can make it a little early, it would be appreciated since you're a first-time patient."
Me: "But I'm not a first-time patient.  Doctor Friedman is my dentist, and he's my parent's dentist as well."
Lady: "What is your parent's name?"

I tell her.  She goes: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Am I sure of my parent's name?"  (Pretty sure....)
Lady:  "No, are you sure this is the Doctor Friedman you are looking for?  There's another Doctor Friedman on 65th Street."
Me: "There is?  Right on the same block?  And he's also a dentist?"
Lady:  "Yes.  Only two doors down."
Me:  "You gotta be kidding me.  So this is the wrong Doctor Friedman?"
Lady: "Well, maybe.  Can you describe our waiting room?"
Me: "What?"
Lady: "Do you remember if we have teal carpeting?"
Me: "Do I remember if you have...oh for christ's... WHAT?  Listen, forget this. This is insane."

But then I actually make a tentative appointment with this Younger, Alternate-Universe Doctor Friedman.  I already know that he's the wrong guy because now the online photo of a young, gifted doctor makes a little more sense.  

But honestly, after careful soul-searching, I come to the conclusion that I don't want this young whipper-snapper.  I want my old, shlubby Doctor Friedman.  He's like a Woody Allen/Richard Dreyfuss who wields sharp, frightening instruments but somehow makes it all seem like it's gonna be okay in the end.  And it usually is.  I mean, I'm still alive.

So anyhow, turns out MY doctor Friedman can't see me until tomorrow.  But I'm the loyal type.  Also possibly the stupid type, the next 24 hours will determine that.