Monday, May 6, 2013

I Never Had Your Class Ring, David.

Back in high school, I dated a boy named David.  Very tall, very handsome, very broken.  David was something of an orphan--he lived on his own (whether or not he was an officially "Emancipated Minor," I don't know).

Our relationship didn't go so well--two teenagers, one unwilling to have sex (that'd be me), both indulging in drugs and alcohol at wild parties at the orphan's horrid little dive of a home in a crappy part of town?  No surprise things didn't go well.  When Christmas came along, and David gave me the saddest, smallest of little "can barely see the chip" diamond rings?  I panicked.  Within a month, I'd broken up with him--not because of the ring, but because he came home one night, bloodied, laughing about how he and a friend had gone "queer bashing."

That was the end of that.

I stumbled across David years later, on Facebook, of course.  He'd cleaned up (like me), gotten fat (like me), and had found ol' Joseph Smith in a BIG way (totally unlike me).  Married, lovely wife, beautiful kids.  It was nice to see that he hadn't sunk and ceased like I'd expected.

When David "friended" me, I thought it a bit odd--we hadn't really parted on great terms.  But then, it had been 28 years, so hey, you know?  It wasn't long, though, before it became clear why he'd wanted the contact.  You see, he sent me a message, asking if I still had his class ring and senior year book.

Problem is, I never had those things.  In fact, we broke up four months before the yearbooks were even issued.  Who knows how long before he got his class ring?  I don't recall him ever having a class ring.  Sadly, that didn't occur to me at that moment.  All that occurred (and all I said) was, "I'm sorry, David--I never had them."  And his response?  Polite, but clearly skeptical.  And then he dropped me from his friends list.

Well, if you're reading this, David, I never had your class ring, and I never had your yearbook.  We broke up in January.  Yearbooks came out last week of May/first week of June.  The ring you gave me was a sad, small little diamond chip in 14 karat, and I still have it.  No slight intended, but you were powerfully wasted back then most of the time.  It's not surprising that you've lost track of who and when.  I hope you figure it out and get your stuff back.


So, remember the awful rat child across the street?  The scary, violent, stupid one who, along with his friends, kills small animals and terrorizes the kids in the neighborhood?  He beat the living daylights out of another kid two days ago--punched and strangled him.  We didn't see it happen, but we saw the aftermath--a little girl crying, a vehicle with two women in it racing up and coming to a halt in front of the rat and the crying girl, then rat-child leaping on his bike and flying off toward home.  When he saw his Dad was home, he raced off around the side of the row--we saw him skulking off across the grass with his bike, hiding.  

Don't know why he bothered.  Bobby (his dad) is an utterly ineffectual, passive-aggressive git who chews his kids out when there's an audience, and then let's it all slide once the show is over.   Rat-boy still had friends sleep over that night, and the next day he was out and about on his bike like nothing had happened.  One of those reaffirming, vindicating things for us (though we feel bad for the boy he hurt--that kid's social life in this neighborhood is over).  Really reinforces why we barred that feral little rat-freak from our home.


It's spring-time--that wonderful time when all the idiotic "how to remove a tick" memes start making the Facebook rounds.  Let's just clear it all up now, okay?

Matches, other hot objects, Vaseline, baby oil, Ben-Gay, turpentine, dish soap, nail polish, or whatever other wives-tale-y thing you've been told?


Sorry, but that's the truth of it.  See, the problem with anything meant to "irritate" or "suffocate" a tick out of you?  It can also inspire the tick to regurgitate into you.  And that, my friends, is how they make you sick.  That is how they transmit Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Anaplasmosis, Babesiosis, Lyme Disease, Ehrlichiosis, Rickettsiosis (that's the Gulf Coast Tick), STARI, Tickborne Relapsing Fever, Tularemia, and the brand spanking new 364D Rickettsia, which has started popping up in California, transmitted by the Pacific Coast Tick.  

There is ONE appropriate way to safely remove a tick that has embedded in your body (or your pet's, or your kid's).  Get a pair of fine tipped tweezers, grasp the tick firmly right behind the head where it's attached (get as close to the skin as possible so you're not squeezing the abdomen), and pull firmly (but not jerkily) straight away from the body.  Firm, even pull, don't twist.  It'll take some force, but I've had to do it repeatedly now.  After your remove the offending beast, drop it in a ziplock bag with a scrap of damp cotton, and mark the bag with the date and place you think you picked the guy up.  Put it in the fridge.  Wash your hands and the site of the bite (and your tweezers, which should be tick-dedicated).  Watch for rash.  If you show symptoms (rash, fever, chills, aches and pains, ulceration, or paralysis), get to your doctor with your preserved tick.

Here, check it out:  

Also, from the CDC.


Oh, something funny I realized the other day.  Remember how I said I have a hard time getting to the word "Hammock?"  How, since my accident, I have to come at it sideways?  It hit me the other day, as I struggled to come up with the word "hamper" (another word that thwarts me most times), that I have a lot of trouble with a number of words that start with "ham."

Of course, I can't come up with "linen closet" most times, either, and I call the vacuum the lawn mower and vice-versa, so maybe it means nothing.


And that's that.  Having tuna tonight--first meat in almost a week.  No, I don't feel miraculously better (in fact, I haven't, to be completely indelicate, had a "movement" in almost four days, and yes, my fiber intake is out of this world), but I do find I can eat a LOT more because non-meat items aren't nearly so calorie dense.  Last night's Catalan (sans chicken for me) was spectacularly good, and I had all sorts of spare calories for being bad.  It rocked.

Here, have something ugly:

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