When celebrities get divorced, they often blame it on a nebulous something called “irreconcilable differences.” Vague by design, I have no idea what that means. What I do know is this:

If I was a celebrity going through the big “d” (and I don’t mean Des Moines), based on my last week’s behavior, the line asking reason for split would read: irreconcilable bitchiness.

I’m coming out of it now, but last week was like kvetchfest 2006.

I was mad at the cats – I don’t *like* being awoken with someone’s fur lodged in my nostrils, prickly pain in my fingertips where little teeth have been nibbling as if to say “I’ll let you keep your digits if you feed me my organic kibble, never mind that it’s 5am.”

I was mad at Monday – I don’t *like* to go to work on Monday. Monday sucks. About the only thing that makes it bearable, is that it’s the one day of the week I get to wear the underpants with “Blue Monday” spelled out across the kiester.

I was mad at St. Patrick’s Day – I’m not Irish. I don’t *like* wearing green. Call me an ass, but I feel like I don’t need to celebrate something I have little chance of ever becoming. Plus I don’t drink beer.

I could go on and on. The point is, last week I was MAD.

The worst offense of bitch-n-moan week, the one thing that got my panties in a bunch like no other, was my dental plan.

Folks, if any of you have a DMO (the dental equivalent of HMO), you might as well take your insurance card, bend over, and shove it up your ass.

…Because seriously, that’s about all it’s good for.

Did you know that if you take this DMO card to your dentist and they find one tiny bit of plaque, *you*, not the insurance you so painstakingly pay into each month, are responsible for 100% of the cleaning?

And did you know that as part of this DMO plan, even though we live in the United. F-* ing. States, land of the free, home of the brave and all that, you are required to get a fluoride treatment at the end of your cleaning? Never mind if you’re into green living and are vehemently opposed to pumping a chemical into your body that is a) unnecessary and b) has been linked to a little thing called CANCER.

And also, did you know that if you call your insurance provider to bitch and moan about your DMO, you’ll be routed to a customer service agent whose only redeeming quality is that he sounds like a bored automaton?

… But actually, this last thing is quite nice. There’s something very satisfying about being a jackass to someone you’ll never meet in person, and so I would’ve quite enjoyed ending our conversation with, “Domo arigatou Mr. Roboto” – Click.

I didn’t think about that one until later though.

To top it all off, the icing on this DMO cake is, while checking my chompers, the dentist told me I needed to floss like a hundred times.

I know I’m a little slow on the uptake, but come on, a hundred reminders is excessive … even for me.

Around reminder 82, I wanted to tell Dr. Dentist, “Look man, if I want to pour brandy on my gums and set my teeth on fire whilst dancing the funky chicken in my Blue Monday underpants, then I’ll damn well do it!” But I didn’t tell him that… mostly because he had a sharp instrument in my mouth.

And with that, I must bid you adieu dear hannihaus readers. Have a good day, eat your vegetables, mind your manners and don’t forget to take care of your teefs.
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You know what’s funny? Splitting your pants in public (been there, done that). Know what’s not funny? Cancer. Likely everyone reading this has been affected by cancer; Some of you may have friends and family who’ve battled it, and some of you are cancer survivors yourselves (Go Kranki!). Hannihaus, Personal Assistant, ScottyGee is fundraising on behalf of the American Cancer Society and this is especially poignant as his own mother is currently undergoing her last rounds of chemotherapy. If you can, please support him in his efforts. Donate for cancer research.