So it's national Recreational Explosives, Hand Loss and Wildfire day, and unlike 2023, there is nary a drop of rain in sight.
Despite being slapped upside the head by God, my put technically inclined neighbor has acquired TWO pallets of fireworks this year.
The state is of no help: my city police department has made it pretty clear they don't intend to respond to any fireworks calls this weekend. I've sent the pictures I took to the county tipline and received and automated email reply saying that it will take several weeks to process my case. Perhaps he will get jail time later, but this does not actually you know. Stop him from setting the neighborhood ablaze. Going up to his door the week prior and very politely asking him to move- not cancel, just relocate - his celebrations was met with calling me a "nosy bitch" and "I'll set one off in your ass!".
Sometimes God needs us to make our own miracles.
My miracle comes with several layers, and plenty of opportunities to back down without losing face. We'll see how many are needed.
The first wave has already been deployed: a psyop directed at the Visiting Mother In Law of the miscreant.
I got up at 8:30 AM this morning to make sure I'd be in the front yard of my house, casually doing yardwork with Herschel. His participation was essential.
For those of you who are new here, Herschel is the world's most charming Cardigan Welsh Crime Tube, who thinks everyone in the world is his best friend and that people come to the house to see him specifically. So at 9:04 AM when the visiting mother-in-law appeared around the corner on her daily power-walk around the block, Herschel employed his natural Corgi instinct to make friends with everyone and cheerfully tossed himself on the sidewalk in front of her, belly up for expected tummy rubs.
"OH AREN'T YOU DARLING!!" My target coos, kneeling down to pat him while he makes him like snuffling noises of glee. She is at least 70. I think her bright pink leg warmers and terrycloth headband might be original from her jazzercise days.
"I'm so sorry! Herschel you're going to trip people doing that!" I apologize, going up to greet the woman. "I'm [REDACTED], I don't think we've met..?"
"No, I'm just visiting my daughter and her family- my name is Barbara. And who is this?" She asks Herschel, whose whole back end is waggling with glee.
"This is my service dog Herschel." I explain while he rolls around on the pavement. "I just wanted him to get some time outside before the pyrotechnics start."
"Oh. Yes." Barbra grumbles and I know I've got her. "My son-in-law is planning something extravagant." She says with such disdain it practically comes out of her nose. This is a woman who loves her daughter and dearly wishes she married someone, anyone else.
"Yeah, he got rained out and sick the last two years, so I think he's compensating." I agree.
"Oh he's definitely overcompensating!" Barbra spits, then shakes her whole body like a dog. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't complain. You said he's a service dog?"
I go for it.
"Yeah! I have... Neurological problems." I say and that is technically true. "I've um. Lost a lot of things, like a sense of time, or appetite, and his job is to remind me to eat or take my meds or alerts that I'm having an episode. My personal dog-tor!" I say, patting his adorable little head, and he leans on me, equally adoring.
"Oh, is that why-?" Barbra starts to ask, gesturing at the top of her head, but stops herself.
I hadn't planned this, but yesterday I'd shaved my head to deal with the heat and now only have a quarter inch of hair, which doesn't really hide the scars from when I got run over by a minivan. They're bright red with the heat and exertion of yard work.
I decide I'm okay with lying to a stranger to prevent my house from being set ablaze.
I sort of... Crumple to the ground and drop the rake I was holding, and Herschel immediately climbs into my lap to comfort me as I start to cry.
"Oh my God." Says Barbra.
"I'm sorry!" I gasp, tears streaming down my face. I've been stressed and this is honestly very cathartic. "I'm sorry to dump on you, I'm just so scared-!"
"Oh my God. It's bad." Barbra realizes.
"D- do you know what-" a pause as Herschel tries to manually clear my nostrils like a good service dog. "-oh, Herschel... It's - do you know what an astrocytoma* is?"
*An astrocytoma is a type of brain tumor.
Barbra turns white and sits down next to me. "I'm so sorry... I- one of my friends from church had one, it was agony but she's alright now!" She tries to reassure me.
"It hurts! Everything hurts all the time!" I sob. "And- and I'm scared, so he's scared and I feel bad for hi which just makes it worse and then there's the-" I gesture at the sky. "I have surgery in a month to remove as much of it as they can and do biopsies to see if I need radiation too but..."
"-but all that noise must be Hell on you and your doggy." Barbra nods.
"It'd be fine if he went down to the lake of something but, that house's driveway is like, a hundred feet from my bedroom, I can't sleep and it TERRIFIES Herschel..." I whimper pathetically.
"Well. I may be able to do something about that." Barbra decides.
"Oh no, I don't want to intrude!" I mock-protest.
"No, we're the ones intruding dear. I'll have words with him." She growls. I get the impression she's been waiting for an excuse To Have Words With Him.
"Th-thank you. Um. It's getting hot and I'm a mess, we should probably go inside..." I mutter and Barbra very kindly helps me and Herschel to the front door and tells me she'll be by later with watermelon as we wave goodbye.
From the porch, I watch her furiously power-walk back to her daughter's house, wrench open the front door, and issue a battle cry of "HEN-RY!!!" before it slams behind her.
Now I realize that this may not have been the most honest or ethical thing to do, but I figured it's more polite and ethical than the next step, which is chemical warfare, courtesy of Bath & Body Works :)
Well, they Psyop seems to have worked! That cul-de-sac, and indeed my entire block is perfectly quiet tonight!
Unfortunately I cannot say the same of the surrounding neighborhood, so it has been necessary to deploy The Stench.
The Stench is a mixture of Odoriferous chemicals meant to be discreetly poured over a surface (preferably something hot, like a sidewalk or fence in direct sunlight) to render an area temporarily uninhabitable, Similar to spraying coyote pee on your garden to discourage the rabbits. I can't give you a full recipe because I forgot to take notes, but elements include:
Spoiled beef broth, which is both rancid and unexpectedly sour (boiled to kill bacteria)
Expired milk, the most retch-inducing ingredient for me.
Several bottles of Liquid Ass
Ghost Pepper Hot Sauce
Concentrated Dog Urine
and FOUR bottles of Bath & Body Work's Cucumber Melon, which smells light and fruity when used as a light body spray, but in concentration smells like an entire fruit cart left to rot, possibly along with the carcass of the fruitseller.
The resulting solution smells like raw sewage, a fraternity dorm fridge when the power's been out for a week, and a roadkilled skunk. It's impressively vile. Herschel wanted to roll in it so bad.
I've spent the last few hours strolling the surrounding neighborhoods until I found the source of the mortars and flying explosives that are the real hazards, ingratiating myself into the parties, and discreetly dousing the lawns and fences nearby until someone goes "OH GOD!" and gags, and the party breaks up shortly thereafter. I returned home because I ran out of The Stench, despite hiding five 2L soda bottles of it in a backpack.
I will call it a success though, because while I can hear fireworks, they're all at least a mile away from me. In total:
Fire Hazard Parties derailed: 13
Screaming: 10
Crying: 13
Vomiting: 4
Fight blaming each other for causing The Stench: 5
Called the city to complain about The Stench, on the assumption it was a sewage issue, and then waited right next to their pile of illegal fireworks, for the fire department to show up: 2.
Guy who claimed to be enjoying the smell: 1
Party was partially derailed by The Stench, and partly by the fact they actually did start a fire: 1 (every human was alright, the pyro's roof, not as much)
Stray dogs caught and returned home: 2
So next year: MORE STENCH.
Until then, I have a corgi zooted on trazadone on my feet, and we bid you goodnight.
(If you would like to support a disabled storyteller and/or fund more stench research, you can donate to my Ko-fi or pre-order my Family Lore book on Patreon)
So the really fabulous thing about this is that while there’s two basic theories about how the seals get an eel up their nose, there are also problems with both of them. The first is that the seal is shoving its head in holes in the rocks and the eel panics and goes for what looks like a hole—ie a seal nostril. And that would be a great theory, except that seals have what are described as “extremely muscular nostrils” because they gotta slam them closed when diving to keep water out.
Which, okay, fine, except that there’s often like two, three feet of eel INSIDE THE SEAL. The stuff hanging out is just the end of the tail. And eels are astonishingly powerful for their size, true, but so are seal nostrils. (Why am I typing these words? How did my life come to this?)
The other theory, of course, is that they barfed up an eel and it came out their nose instead, but we’re talking a fairly impressive feat that the eel lined up just right to come out the nostrils, and also those are BIG eels. It’d be kinda like a human puking a spear of asparagus out of their nose. (Why am I typing THESE words, too? Why?)
The remaining theory, which is actually the one ascribed to by the lead scientist on the endangered monk seal project, is that dumb teenage seals are snorting eels at each other for fun. And y’know…I just…sure. We live in a world where that wouldn’t even be the tenth strangest thing I’ve heard about mammals.
In conclusion, if any young monk seals are following me, Just Say No To Eel.
Ok but the real question is what happens to the eels? Are they alive up there squiggling around like, ‘wtf?’ Do the scientists remove them? Are eels beginning to avoid areas where teenage monk seals hang out?
I regret to say that the eels do not come out of this as well as the seals do. But it did lead to one of the most understated and marvelous sentences ever spoken by a wildlife rehabber, namely:
“Though no seals have died or been seriously affected by the eels, having a dead animal up their noses for any extended amount of time poses potentially adverse health impacts, said Simeone, director of Ke Kai Ola, a monk seal hospital in Hawaii run by the Marine Mammal Center.”
So I guess by now the seals know if they snort an eel, they get to go to an all expenses paid vacation in the seal hospital, and just hang out and get fed and meet other cute young seals?
b) once burnout hits you CANNOT work that hard, by your standards, so odds are it actually hit a while ago and you just “powered through” because that’s what you’re used to doing. So now, every day, you’re hitting your limit and thinking “wtf man i used to be able to do this, i used to be competent, clever, diligent” and like yeah. you were. and that burns glucose. welcome to the dumb bitch zone.
i used to be so good at writing strong, thoroughly-researched, thoroughly-edited essays.
as a kid in hs, my teacher literally came up to me, holding my 40 page essay on the intersection of the European witch hunts and capitalism/exploitation/gender roles (it was supposed to be 7 pages...whoops) and went like "this is literally a master's-degree level thesis. what are you doing?? you could literally use this as your final dissertation in a master's program, what the fuck."
NOW??? NOW?? you'd think I'd be oh so skilled. but alas. i can barely piece together two ideas. adhd skill-regression is so so real. im SOBBING
The skill can come back and it often does. It is not unusual for it skill recedes during stressful and painful times. Maybe you just need more stability/safety/kind people around you.
I have been through something similar a few times in my life with writing, yoga, studying...
Admittedly, my life is always financially and socially precarious, so my notion of stability currently just means "enough money to pay the rent and food for the next few months."
It is hard to hold onto anything when you have to fight for survival all the time, either materially or emotionally.
Wow, uh. Okay, I'm gonna need a minute to process "It is hard to hold onto anything when you have to fight for survival all the time...". You're genuinely rewiring my brain is we speak.
the books I wrote when I was getting paid enough to live on are, uh, rather different from the books I write when I am getting $40 split into 5 payments over 3 years, let me tell you.
in one of those phases of crippling existential self-doubt where the nervous horse that controls my productivity is just lying down in the mud and won't get up. the horse is asking questions like do I deserve carrot for big jump if big jump meaningless and is it wrong to be a horse. I'm trying to goad it with compliments and treats but so far the horse won't bite, it's too busy ruminating about the cosmic value of horses
we're telling the horse you can make the jump, you're such a special horse for being able to do the big jump, everybody loves it when they get to watch a big jump, you will get so many carrots, and the horse is not buying it. it's just snorting at us. the horse is saying well there are other horses and flicking mud at us with its tail without getting up. we're telling the horse: but not for us! you're the only horse in the world to us! what must we offer you, nervous horse? o, nervous horse, take pity on your believers!
the horse is questioning the validity of a system in which carrots are rewarded to horses who make the big jumps, seeing as every horse wants a carrot and big jumpers are few, and wants to know why we can't love it for its talents in identifying threats like plastic bags blowing in the wind & being so alert it has a nervous breakdown, instead of expecting it to jump all the time, and perhaps the horse would enjoy a career in calligraphy or nursing instead of this jumping for carrots rigamarole. our negotiator was forced to state that the horse is, nonetheless, a horse. the atmosphere remains tense.
Fillings could be consigned to history after scientists discovered that a drug already trialled in Alzheimer's patients can encourage tooth regrowth and repair cavities.
Researchers at King’s College London found that the drug Tideglusib stimulates the stem cells contained in the pulp of teeth so that they generate new dentine – the mineralised material under the enamel.
Teeth already have the capability of regenerating dentine if the pulp inside the tooth becomes exposed through a trauma or infection, but can only naturally make a very thin layer, and not enough to fill the deep cavities caused by tooth decay.
But Tideglusib switches off an enzyme called GSK-3 which prevents dentine from carrying on forming.
Scientists showed it is possible to soak a small biodegradable sponge with the drug and insert it into a cavity, where it triggers the growth of dentine and repairs the damage within six weeks.
The tiny sponges are made out of collagen so they melt away over time, leaving only the repaired tooth.
At the gate for my flight home from visiting friends and there's a woman here with a service Shiba Inu. No pics because he has a Do Not Disturb vest and taking pics of strangers is illegal but I need to stress how ON DUTY this animal is. Ears up. Eyes doing Lazer scans of everything. Examining everyone who passes within 10ft like a security guard. Ass planted on her feet. I have never seen a dog with such intense chivalric guardian energy before. He has tiny eyebrows and they are FURROWED with concentration.
Man behind me having unhinged phone conversation. There is an internationally famous dairy in the area I was visiting and he was commissioned by the lady on the other end of the phone to collect specific cheeses from there. The lady is very high strung about the type and condition of the cheese.
The man does not know from cheese. The man "ain't never seen no cheese but orange before" and "I showed ya list to the cheese lady so if it's wrong it's her fault ok?"
I am 80% sure she sent him there for a really specific bleu cheese, 40% sure he does not have the very specific bleu cheese, and 100% sure he's done with her shit.
Our flight is delayed.
He does not have the cheeses in a cooler, just a regular backpack.
I need to emphasize that there is no cooler bag in the backpack. He has Jansport backpack that is jam-packed with cheeses. There is apparently $405 dollars worth of cheeses in that backpack, which I know because he has been trying to get the lady to venmo him the expense, which she has failed to do. It is unclear whether his relation to the lady is romantic, familial or what, but I'm leaning towards "what".
Two more people have joined us. One is a very elegant man with a perfect manicure in a tailored business suit, the other is a neon-haired person of indeterminate gender wearing a fox kirigumi. The Shiba Inu has been staring at the latter for three minutes now.
Cheese man has been demanding payment because apparently he went like six hours out of his way and paid with his own money and between the cheese and price of gas, he is pretty sure he does not have enough money in his account for an Uber home.
The lady is FLABBERGASTED that he is demanding payment at all, as she was under the impression he was doing this for her out of the goodness of his heart.
He's not having it. He's insisting she told him she would pay him back- he would have gotten her maybe one cheese somewhere closer to his business in the area out of love, but he went out of his way because she agreed to pay him costs+ extra to cover it.
"YOU ALWAYS DO THIS! YOU ALWAYS DO THIS AND I FALL FOR IT EVERY TIME! NO! NO! FUCK YOU! IF YOU'RE NOT GONNA PAY ME, YOU DON'T GET FANCY CHEESE."
"OR ELSE WHAT?"
"I'm gonna-? THE BABY SHOWER? MONICA CAN'T EVEN HAVE THIS CHEESE SHE'S PREGNANT!"
"The cheese lady asked if it was for someone because the mushrooms or whatever in the cheese are dangerous for the baby or something?? You wanna poison Monica?"
"WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THAT?"
"YEAH OF COURSE I GOT THE CHEESE, THATS WHY I DON'T GOT MONEY FOR UBER!"
"YEAH, GO TELL! GO TELL MOMMA I STOPPED YOUR STUPID ASS FROM KILLING MONICA OR THE BABY! FUCK!"
*hangs up phone*
*head in hands, borderline hyperventilating*
The man in the three piece suit is in the chair next to him. He waits a moment, then reaches into his carryon and pulls out an entire bottle of wine with the TSA pre check sticker on it, and taps cheese guy on the shoulder.
"If your friend doesn't want it, would you be amenable to having it right now?"
1. This is some fucking great Camembert. I have compensated cheese guy accordingly. So have like six other people. He's recouped like half his losses.
2. Cheese guy is crying a little about the cash and opening up about his problems. The cheese lady is his younger sister. Suit guy is being very generous with his Pinot Blanc. We are having a picnic/improv family therapy session.
3. This is apparently the latest in a long string of his sister asking for something and then flaking when he asks to be paid back. Started with paying him back only some of what he was owed, then claiming something she paid for him was of equal value when it was not, then recently telling him his memory is wrong and he said it was a gift or that he'd do it for free.
"Yeah, the specific thing of trying to convince you your memory is unreliable is called gaslighting and it's really fucked up." I say
"yeeeeah. The other stuff I forgave because she's never really had a good job so she can't pay me back all the time but at least she was making an effort y'know? But that was. That was over the line."
"If you haven't already, check on the rest of your family's finances. My brother started trying to gaslight everyone when he started stealing from our parents." Says Pinot Blanc.
4. Shiba Inu Lady has purchased a cheddar. Apparently, the dog's name is Donut, and he's her service dog because she's severely visually impaired.
"Oh, he's a guide dog?" Asks cheese guy.
"oh, no." She laughs. "He's too short, and the way my eyes are, it's easier for me to navigate with a cane. No, the problem I have is that some morally impaired people see the cane and think they can get away with stealing my bag or assaulting me because I wouldn't be able to give a description- which is wrong, but rather than deal with that I got Donut, and he helps me by howling at anyone who gets in my personal space and biting anyone who grabs me!"
"Uh." Says Kirigumi. "He's been staring at me do I need to back up or..?"
"Ohdear! No, no- He wasn't looking at you! He loves cheese but he knows he's not supposed to beg so he decided the way to deal with something he wants but can't have is to stare in the other direction."
"OKAY!" Says Kirigumi. "I'm wearing fox pajamas and thought like. He thought I was another dog or something."
"No, no- he doesn't care about dogs, and you get a warning before he goes for the calves. Very helpful, when I was living in Italy!"
"Oh what part? I have family in Tuscany." Says Pinot.
"Does he want a cheese? There is still so much cheese." Says cheese guy.
1. Cheese guy has sold all but two or three cheeses that he an Pinot are going to eat on the flight.
2. I know they're planning to continue because Pinot talked to the gate agent so he and cheese guy can sit together and talk about family drama and cheese.
3. Pinot has been teaching him about different types of cheese and how to enjoy them.
4. Cheese guy apparently repairs computers and other technology devices for a living and is currently doing the software version of scraping barnacles and other crap off Pinot'macbook.
5. Pinot is now convinced that cheese guy is the smartest and most interesting man in the world.
Ok so the Wifi wasn't working on the plane (also like, nonstop turbulence) and also they got seated in a different row from me, but:
Now that I've heard the word aloud, and they are an astrophysicist. Who correctly believes in being comfy as fuck on planes. They are also familar with the concept of a meet-cute and is rooting for them too.
Got to walk the nice lady and her Tactical Assault Shiba to her next gate because it was on the way out and talk for a bit. Donut is called that not because he is the color of a Donut (which he is) but because he likes to sleep curled up in a perfect circle. He has a sister who does the same thing named Bagel.
Lost track of Pinot and Cheeseguy for a bit but when I saw them again at Baggage claim, Cheeseguy was holding both their jackets, and Pinot was on the phone to his hotel about "Well do you have any rooms with TWO beds?". The rest of the call indicated that yes, there were rooms with two beds, but Readers, I Had A Moment.
:)
Anyway, it's 2AM, I need to sleep, if you feel like supporting this kind of hard-hitting reporting, I have a Tip Jar!
most problems will go away if you ignore them. of course they'll resurface with greater intensity, so you have to ratchet up your ignorance every time. luckily this can go on forever, until you die in some strange- assuredly unrelated- way
I think one of the funniest things I’ve accidentally taught my parrot is yelling “WHAT?”
The best part is that if he says something weird and and someone else says “what???” he usually repeats what he just said.
Like just now, I was cooking in the kitchen and he heard me boiling water so he asked “you wanna noodle?” but I couldn’t quite hear him so I yelled “WHAT” and he repeated “you wanna noodle?”
The thought of this parrot declaring “I get a peanut” for good behaviour like he’s stating an immutable natural law that must never be disputed is sustaining me through this day. I was a good parrot. I get a peanut. That is how it is. That is how it always has been.
That’s exactly what he means when he says it. It’s not a request. It’s a statement of fact. These days he says it preemptively as a way of ensuring that he will be paid for his efforts. Like if you ask him to step up somewhere or go back in his cage he’ll say “I get a peanut” before he does it to make sure you agree to give him one.
He used to get really angry if he did something expecting a peanut and we said “no, no peanut” because he’d been really rude (bitey, screechy, generally hostile body language) about it previously or he’d already had a whole bunch of peanuts. Since he’s started saying “I get a peanut?” beforehand, if we respond with “no peanut” he generally just decides not to do it.
He often announces something like “step up and get a peanut?” if he’s already had a bunch of peanuts and he knows he’ll have to do something to earn one. Unfortunately, he also causes trouble (furniture destruction, usually) explicitly for the purposes of suggesting “Ripley go back and get a peanut?” when we scold him, because he knows we’re going to want him to go back in his cage, and he always wants a reward for going back in his cage.
We do literally refer to him “holding the couch hostage” when he decides he’s going to make holes in the cushions until we attempt to bribe him to go back into his cage.
Honestly, I don’t know anyone who gets accurately diagnosed without social media because, like, the amount of times I have been referred for things and doctors have gone “yeah, no, no idea what’s happening there - I agree it’s fucked up though”
And then it turns out that the thing in question is a symptom of a common co-morbidity with autism
Honestly, it’s so fucked
And I’m just as obtuse. It will take me seeing dozens of posts and being like, “Well, I’m not hypermobile because I’m not flexible - I just have really fucked up joints and posture and I stand weird but that’s just a bunch of different things”
And then finally one post will be like “yeah, you might not be flexible, your muscles might be tight instead” and another will be like “yeah, it’s not normal to lock your knees when you stand and walk and stuff, that’s a hypermobile thing” and I’ll be like fuck
And I’ll also be like “I don’t have POTS, I don’t faint - I just feel like I’m going to faint a lot and my GP said that was probably post-viral fatigue I picked up from somewhere, or sensory overload, and I can usually get it to go away by drinking sports drinks and eating something fatty like avocado or cheese or chorizo”
And then I’ll see another post like “yeah, cold hands and feet are also symptoms, and you usually manage it by keeping your electolytes up and eating little bits of fatty food throughout the day” and I’m sitting here, like, with cold hands and feet that doctors have agreed is fucked up but “eh, it’s not raynaud’s, so who the fuck knows” like… Okay, maybe we should test for this… You know, just in case…
