Chaos Out of Control

by pjmcbride

English: Symbol of Chaos

English: Symbol of Chaos (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Surely you expect that us emergency professionals all haz disaster plans. Here’s an insight into my planning process:

–Day before severe storm (not severe storm “event”–avoid unnecessary words unless they’re entertaining): Polish nails. Select clear (official name: Diamond Strength “Flawless”) as the color least likely to show chips if I am stuck in a storm shelter and unable to touch it up.

–Before bed: Plan outfit for next day–must be comfortable, versatile, not wrinkle much. Decide on long-sleeved t-shirt and chinos. But, in case there’s no time to get dressed, figure out which nightclothes will cause the least embarrassment if I have to relocate while wearing them.

–Dream that the storm hits and I am frantically unable to locate those clothes.

–Morning of event, storm not yet arrived: Lie in bed wishing we had made sure we bought a house with a basement, instead of a crawl space crawling with spiders and sprickets. Develop leg cramp because of being wedged in by cats, then start worrying about being able to get them into their crates quickly if necessary.

You can see, with all of this advance planning, that the storm itself was a breeze (so to speak).


No, let’s not. I would prefer to buy toilet paper in a brown paper bag in a dark alley, with no words exchanged. But since that one company (the name of whose product I have blotted out of my memory) insists on annoying us with that Englishwoman (for the sake of cuteness and quaintness), let me just object to her promising one’s bum (or, as we say in the States, butt) will be “fresh and clean” by virtue of said product. Now, being clean all the way down (so to speak), certainly I’m in favor of it. But I object to the word “fresh” being used in this context. Just picture bending over to tie your shoes, and someone behind you saying, “Your @ss–it smells so fresh!”


Nick might object to being brought up right after the previous discussion, but he’s currently in no condition to argue with me. Friday was the first day I dispatched after his unfortunate…accident, and it was just not the same without the playful beast, frolicking in the streets, not having the sense to come in out of the rain….Could it be that I’m starting to…miss him? Surely not! I merely regret that I won’t have the chance to whip him into shape before the end of the year. I will have to add it to my ever-growing list of New Year’s resolutions.


Lastly, but not leastly, I must thank Indiana Eddy (not exactly his real name), for stating that I am “oozing with talent,” or something to that effect. It involved talent and oozing, anyway. Eddy is the author of a blog even more obscure than this one, so obscure I’m not sure he wants this much publicity. (A problem I don’t have–as clever readers might observe, Scratchy Glitter’s not even anonymous.)

I’m getting a headache and it’s time for bed.