Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Not QUITE Elizabeth Taylor

I've been on a frenzy of obituary/memorial gathering and creating for our alumni group.  Hundreds and hundreds, it seems.  Feels like there are more of us dead than alive!  I came across a wonderful name today--actually RE-came across--I originally found her a couple of years back, but am just now getting things organized into birth year folders.  Her name was . . . well, it was LONG.  Five marriages, six different last names.  Divorced twice, widowed twice, leaves behind her last.  She grew African violets and, hopefully, did better with them than she did with the whole marriage thing.

I wish I'd known her.

Speaking of names, Messiah.  No, really.  Messiah.

Some woman and her boyfriend wound up in court down south, hashing out which last name their baby would labor under.  Imagine their surprise when the judge said (and I'm paraphrasing here), "Last name, shmast name--that FIRST name's gotta GO!"  And BAM!  Little Messiah wasn't anymore.

So many issues here in this one little story.  On the one hand, yes, Messiah is a CRAP name, it's bordering on ABUSIVE, and those parents should be smacked daily.  Forever.  That said, the judge's reasoning ("There's only one Messiah and that's Jesus Christ") is garbage, and has NO place in a courtroom.  There's only ONE Messiah and that's Jesus?  Tell me, in SoCal, how many JESUSES are there?

A few thousand?

Get your religion out of my courtroom, thank you.

I really do think that Messiah is an atrocious name, and shame on the parents.  I hope he goes by "Si" rather than "Mess."  And I hope he keeps his full name a secret.  See, kids with stupid names?  Have a markedly higher rate of juvenile delinquency.  And kids who tangle with juvvie?  Are far more likely to grow up to be criminals.  So don't give your kids stupid names like "Messiah."

Or "Jermajesty."


Speaking of stupid names, I came across one last night that, quite literally, made me scream.

Hey, folks?  THAT'S NOT A NAME!  THAT'S A HOMOPHONE.  Stop it!


A quick revisit to our "Miracle Angel Priest."  Surprise, surprise--he's not.  A miracle, that is.  Or an angel, even.  He is a priest, though--that's one for three!

Here's the follow-up--while he is not longer an angel who "appeared out of nowhere," he is now being credited with inspiring Gosh to make the equipment suddenly and magically work.  You ever live in terror that people who believe in magic and miraculous interventions are in charge of saving lives?  Because it scares the daylights out of me.

Ack!  Danger!


New crown seems to feel good, chewing-wise.  Too bad the garbage-and-county-fair taste and smell from between that tooth and the next persists.  TWICE I've asked Dr.Mendes's staff/dentists about it during visits, and twice I've been told it's nothing.  Just a little food caught up, I should floss.  Well, hang on, let's start from the beginning.  I had the temp crown put in around July 11th.  I was told, in NO uncertain terms, NOT to floss anywhere near the temp crown.  And so I didn't.  And the taste and smell got worse and worse, until, at about one week out, I called and said, "Okay, it's like a cow shat in a garbage can up there--is this an infection?"  They had me come in, and the dentist who saw me (a different dentist) said it wasn't an infection, it was just food caught up there, and I should FLOSS.  I said, "I was told NOT to floss."  He said, "Well, you SHOULD floss, but do a pull-through instead of yanking it back out."  I did, and it didn't really help.  Didn't hurt, though.  I went back in for the permanent crown on July 25th.  They pulled out the temp and the smell was horrid.  Oh, wow.  Worst smell my mouth has ever put off, and I'm pretty sure I've had cats take dumps in  my mouth during the night.  The dentist (a return of the first one) wiped at the area with a bit of gauze, but didn't flush it at all.  No water hit that tooth or surrounding gum.  I know, it would have been agonizing.  It also might have CLEANED the area before he put the permanent crown on.  I asked then (again) if it was infected.  He said it wasn't.  I asked when the horrid taste and smell would go away.  He said it shouldn't be long.  I should floss.  Which I do--every time I eat.

Okay, it's August 13th now, and guess what?

Stinky, stinky, cow shat in a garbage can still going on.  If I give a good SUCK I get more of it, and if I run a finger over the space between that tooth and the one before it, I can smell it on my finger.  Whatever's caught up there, I can't seem to get it out, no matter how much flossing, brushing, or rinsing I do.  So I call Dr. Mendes's office today and I'm told that they can't tell me whether or not they'll charge me for the appointment.

TWICE I've been in there, complaining about this.  TWICE I've asked, "Are you sure this is normal, are you sure this isn't an infection or something bad that needs to be taken care of?"  And TWICE I've been told it's not a big deal.  And maybe it ISN'T a big deal, but they can't even tell me if they're going to charge me for their screw up?  And it most certainly is THEIR screw up, because they could have taken care of this the first time I came back.  Or the second.

We have NO money.  If we go in and they ask for cash, we have nothing.  I made an appointment, but I'm not sure what to do.  Besides find a new dentist if they try to charge me.  And let my insurance companies know how things went down.

And write a scathing piece online, of course.  Because that's what I do.


Oh, one fun little class reunion tidbit?  Shelly, the duck-lipped, immigrant-hating, Obama-slamming cleavage queen from the drill team?  Didn't come--apparently, she's been offending so many folks that even her old friends didn't want her there.  And a not so fun bit?  Debbie.  Debbie came all the way from Kansas, and she came to see me.  And I wasn't there.  Apparently she was very disappointed, and I feel terrible.  She was, without a doubt, the kindest, nicest, all-around "not mean" est person I've ever known.  When someone says, "Imagine the most rock-steady, loyal, caring, nice person," I see Debbie.  Boy, don't I feel like a heel?


And here's an ugly house.  Just 'cause.

This would be an "eh" house, were it not for the freaky blobs on the wall

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