Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Category: Retiring in Public

The Moral of the Story

black bird perching on concrete wall with ocean overview

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com

A couple days ago, I missed my bus, for the usual reason of letting Rom show me points of interest in the yard for too long (and, I must admit, prolonging our romantic leave-taking). OK, I thought, I will walk down to St Joe, which takes me 20 minutes or so.

I got to the top of the hill, turned, and felt a warm splat on my face. Ironically, a couple of days previously, I’d thought, It’s surprising, with all the walking I do, that I don’t get pooped on by birds more often.

It got on my face, my hair, my pants, my glasses. Suddenly I lost all appetite for walking to St Joe, especially since I was wearing dark clothing (as I usually do), which made what had happened all too evident. I walked back down the hill, glasses clutched in one hand, and one eye squeezed shut, since the stuff was threatening to drip into it, in spite of my flailing at my face. There actually is a story in the Catholic Bible–you know, the one Protestants didn’t take books out of–about a man who slept out in the open, and birds pooped in his eye, and he went blind. (Yes, there’s a lot of weird stuff in Scripture.) I was fairly sure that, due to being legally blind, I would trip or be hit by a car, but neither occurred.

So I got home, cleaned my face, hair, and eye with makeup-remover wipes, and changed my pants. Rom said he’d never seen so much bird poop on a person, and speculated that it had been a large bird like a crow. Hence the illustration. Also keep in mind that crows are probably the smartest animals other than us and the great apes. (I don’t know about the not-so-great apes.)

But what is the moral of the story, you ask?

Well, Rom said, “It seems like Someone doesn’t want you to go out.” Nevertheless (and ever the more), I went out again anyway, and got on the next bus. At a stop down the way, a couple was waiting, but all they had was a $5 bill. They asked if anyone on the bus had change. And guess who had a wad of $1 bills, thanks to McDonald’s being short of 5’s? Considering one of them had a lunch box, and they were willing to use a $5 bill for a $1.50 fare for the two of them, I bet they got out at Walmart to work, not shop. So maybe Someone wanted me to take that bus, although I question the use of bird excrement to achieve the desired end.

VOTE FOR ME! I’M THE OUTSIDER!

And I know what it’s like to be shat on! And if I get any subpoenas, I’ll just ignore them. Why not?

Disclaimer: The author of this post received 1 or 2 subpoenas in the course of her job, when she had one, and did not ignore them.

 

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Greetings from Cobra Rose

nature red love romantic

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.comS

Sorry I haven’t been around much, but it seems that retirement has robbed me of material. For instance, today I was remembering the time a 911 caller made an obscene suggestion, and I responded, “Only if you like big butts and you cannot lie” and hung up. He must not have liked them, since he didn’t call back.

The above blue rose caught my attention, because during my 1st abortive attempt at college (there have been 3 in all, all abortive), my friend Rick hypnotized me, and gave me “blue rose” as my snap-out-of-it word (kind of like a safe word). Yes, I am easily hypnotizable, but I tend to freak out. If I ever founded a company (but why would I?), I would call it Blue Rose Enterprises.

Today is my birthday. At the time and place I was born, it was 54 degrees, wind 16mph out of the NNE. So I was born in a cross-fire hurricane.

THIS POST IS AN EXPERIMENT OF SITTING DOWN WITH NOTHING IN MIND AND SEEING WHAT HAPPENS. What happens is that I don’t put this disclaimer at the start, as I should have.  I will sue Redd’s for this.

THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO WISHED ME WELL ON FACEBOOK, IN CASE I DON’T REMEMBER TO GO THERE AND DO SO. IT’S MY BIRTHDAY AND I’LL POST IF I WANT TO.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Raw Material

cash dollars hands money

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I’ve been suffering from a dearth of material since I retired, but I realized I have, at the moment, two past events and two future events to recount, PLUS a segue between the two categories, so here goes–counterfeit money + a 90th birthday party + physical therapy + perfume review introduction (you thought I’d forgotten about those, didn’t you?).

ADVENTURES IN COUNTERFEITING

I found a $20 bill on the floor at the Dollar General. If I’d seen someone drop it, I’d have returned it to them, but no one was around, so I snagged it.

It was crumply and had weird markings on it, but no more so than some other bills I’ve had. But I presented it at McDonald’s, and they knew it was wrong right away. “We’ll have to keep this, if you don’t mind,” the employee told me, but of course they’d have kept it whether I minded or not. Easy come, easy go, I said, and explained how I’d gotten hold of it. I also explained this to the nice officer who came to pick it up.

I tell this story belatedly because Nick, who was the first person I told it to after Rom, felt compelled to post it on Facebook.

Perhaps this is what my fortune cookie meant when it said I’d inherit some money this year, but I didn’t exactly inherit it, unless someone had fallen down dead in the dollar store and dropped it. I am also picturing the conversation if I had seen it fall out of someone’s hand–“Excuse me, you dropped this,” “No, never mind, it’s fake anyway.”

SOCIAL PAGE

I attended my mother-in-law’s 90th birthday party yesterday. An impressive number of people braved the cold and snow to be there. (In the interests of accuracy, I must note that she will not actually turn 90 until Wednesday.) It is the job of Trexa and myself at these gatherings to sit in the corner and mutter about how loud everyone else is. I am betting this was the loudest 90th birthday party I’ll ever attend, and possibly the loudest anyone will ever attend. Unfortunately, the corner we were sitting in was right in front of the card/gift table, and people kept handing me things and asking me to put them on the table behind me. However, I’ve developed a condition called “frozen shoulder,” and I can’t really reach behind me. So I’d hand the items to Trexa, and she’d put them on the table. Yes, it takes two people to put a birthday card in a basket.

Now this is where the segue comes in. You might remember my dislocated finger 2 years ago, and the 5 months of therapy that followed. Well, I start physical therapy for this shoulder tomorrow, and it should be good for a few weeks of whining at least.

Also coming up at some point–reviews of the entire Frederic Malle perfume line. They will be widely interspersed, though, so you can gather your strength between reviews.

 

 

Tragedy Averted

 

 

black and white short coated cat

Photo by Brit on Pexels.com

Note: the above photo is not Ez, but gives you an idea of what she looks like.

About 10 days ago, Cat Esmerelda (my dual-purpose spirit and service animal) started to jump onto my clothes cabinet via Rom’s chest of drawers (or, as we say in this part of the world, “chester drawers”). However, I’d left a pair of socks on the chester drawers, because I intended to wear that pair the following day. Ez freaked out upon seeing the unfamiliar object, aborted her leap, and fell across the arm of the bedroom chair. Since she got up and walked away, I thought nothing more of it. When she started huddling in the corner behind my laundry basket, and stopped grooming herself, we thought, Well, maybe she’s sore and bruised from the fall. It wasn’t until she started refusing all food but yogurt, and actually gagging when we offered her other food, that we thought, She’s getting worse, not better. Rom took her to the vet, who ordered blood work and diagnosed kidney damage. She was given subcutaneous fluids. Arrangements were made to admit her for intravenous fluids, but this proved not to be necessary.

I will never forget her jumping onto the bed (barely clearing it) to be with me, laying her head wearily in my hand, and looking at me with dull eyes, as if to say, “I want your face to be the last thing I see.” Rom offered an alternative translation of her look–“Fix it!” Of course, she probably meant both of those things. I’ll also never forget a few days later, when she joyfully bounded onto the bed, ramming her head against me repeatedly (with her icy and no-longer dehydrated nose), and looked at me with shining eyes–“You fixed it, just like I asked!” The credit actually goes to Rom for taking her to the vet, because I myself was sick that week. (Google “shigella,” and prepare to be grossed out.)

OTHER AND NON-TRAGIC NEWS

McDonald’s is finally through with the remodeling. Rom would approve of their removal of the multi-color wall panels, although they replaced it with the words “Two all-beef patties with a bunch of other crap and a sesame-seed bun” (I have never been a fan of the Big Mac and can’t remember its attributes) in multi-colors, which I can hardly regard as an improvement. They also are attempting to get people to use the self-service kiosks by greatly reducing the size of the counter where you order from an actual person, but I ain’t falling for it. “But, World Leader,” you ask, “being autistic, wouldn’t you welcome not having to deal with an actual person?” Yes, in theory, but in actuality, I oppose anything that might enable them to lay people off. INSERT MOMENT OF SILENCE HERE FOR THE TWO PEOPLE THE CITY WAS ABLE TO LAY OFF WHEN THEY AUTOMATED THE TIME CLOCK, WHOM I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN. One of the main reasons I retired as soon as I could was that they were out to automate as much as they could, and the job was being pared down to just answering phones, which was my least favorite part of it. Yes, it is all about me. But you knew that.

OVERDUE WALGREEN’S NEWS

Of course, they have their Halloween stuff out in abundance. I was looking over the makeup, trying to decide which would be the most flattering with my coloring. Then I remembered–it’s Halloween, it isn’t supposed to be flattering. I will probably just do what I always do, and wear stuff I already have, just more of it.

They also have the first Christmas stuff out, but I suspect it’s just stuff that didn’t sell last Christmas, so I will not blame them for it.

will, however, blame whatever company (and I don’t remember which one it was, SO THERE) said on TV that their product and/or service would enable the customer to “family greatly.” Hey, it’s all random anyway.

MCDONALD’S HAS PUMPKIN PIES, AND IT’S ALL PUMPKIN, NOT THAT PUMPKIN “CREME” STUFF THEY FOISTED ON US LAST YEAR!!

Evansville Is Invaded

adult arrival beard boss

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

I have it on good authority that 911 dispatch received a “strict dress code” on 2nd shift yesterday for Donald Trump’s visit. Did they really think he’d stop by? I was itching to ask my source (well, they weren’t just “my” source) exactly what the dress code was, but “Send it to me so I can make fun of it” didn’t seem like a tactful request. (But if you do, I will.)

I did, however, run into the Assistant Director of Dispatch at Walgreen’s (a reader since this miserable thing first started as e-mail in 1990!), and she informed me that there were two (2) designated dispatchers, one for the motorcade and one for the venue itself. This is overtime I’d have snapped up, in my best chinos and polo shirt (my “uniform” whenever I was Representing the Department). It would be interesting to find out how much of the job I’ve retained, but not interesting enough to risk people’s lives for it.

Instead of exciting 911 stuff, I will now regale you with…

MY DEALINGS WITH MY CELL PROVIDER

  1. Log onto their website to find out why I can’t post pictures to Facebook.
  2. See an ad for upgrading my phone for $20 off. I was planning to do so anyway, so I agreed.
  3.  (the computer or WordPress or somebody is automatically numbering and indenting these things; how cool is that?) New phone arrives.
  4. Call to get service “swapped,” as they call it, to new device. Am told this will take anywhere from half an hour to 3 days.
  5. It doesn’t happen, but, instead, says “Error 02.”
  6. Call back, get a different person, who says the original person (who acted like it was, not her first day on the job, but maybe her first week) hadn’t really made this happen.
  7. Put process in motion. All goes well, until it says “Error 09.”
  8. Still another person tells me “Error 09” means no one actually knows what the problem is, and I should turn it off, then turn it back on. (I should have guessed this, from my very first experience with computers, with Fire Department training in the late 80’s.)
  9. New phone is fine, until I call my voicemail, and am told “We are unable to authenticate your voicemail.” Give up out of weariness.
  10. Call voicemail again later in the day, and it works fine and pretends nothing has happened.
  11. Check the mail today, and they have sent me yet another phone which I didn’t ask for.
  12.  Call and speak to a 4th person, who says they will send me a mailing label to send the superfluous phone back.
  13. How do I get it to stop numbering stuff now?
  14. I will tell you how the whole return-label thing goes. (“Oh, please do,” Nick says, making me itch to slap him.)

OK, apparently you just need to hit the return key twice. Would you rather hear about how my latest doctor’s visit went?

SPEAKING OF DRESS CODES…

BUT ACTUALLY, I’M SNEAKING IN MY DOCTOR’S VISIT ANYWAY!

As Trexa and I were waiting for the elevator, the guy who was waiting for it with us was wearing a t-shirt that said, “I Like My Butt Rubbed and My Pork Pulled,” and justified this with a picture of barbecue.

My doctor’s visit involved discussing an embarrassing solution for my embarrassing problem–but at least there IS a solution! Let’s see if I can refrain from telling you about it.

Trexa and I saw a woman who’d pulled off at Claremont & Dreier (where other drivers can’t see you until you’re almost on them) so she could squeeze a zit on her chin.

 

 

Winter Is Coming

How do I know? School supplies are edging out the sunscreen at Walgreen’s.

SEEN ON T-SHIRTS

“Scream While You Can While We Rip You To Shreds.” That’s what this country needs–more hostility. I assume this sentiment was promoting a video game, because it was worn by a nerd I couldn’t imagine ripping anybody to shreds.

Black t-shirt with bald eagle, except the eagle was red, white and blue: “I Couldn’t HEAR You Over the Sound of My FREEDOM.” Well, why is your FREEDOM so fackin’ LOUD?

A black t-shirt featuring a Native American smoking a joint, and the exhaled smoke turned into galaxies and stuff.

“This Is What Epic Looks Like.” Epic looks like a skinny girl with pink-tipped red hair. Of course, these days, maybe her name was Epic.

And a guy in a neon-orange t-shirt and camo cargo pants. Apparently he only wanted his upper half to be seen.

THIS JUST IN

Fiona and Archer are now 7, and are into metaphysics.

Fiona: “Everything has a shape.”

Archer: “Not God. He’s everywhere.”

F: “OK then, well, everything has a color.”

A: “Not a black hole. It has all the colors.” Wouldn’t it actually have none of the colors? I don’t know. I’m no physicist. Or metaphysicist.

CRISIS IN PROGRESS: CRIME IS COMING TO A LAWN NEAR YOU

I promised Trexa I would tell this story eons ago. And you’d think I would have, since I’m always whining about lack of material.

Trexa woke up one day recently and saw that part of her lawn was brown, but in a weird pattern. She called the lawn service to come out. Pointing it out to the guy, she said, “It almost looks like some design, doesn’t it? Maybe like a scissors.”

The lawn guy said, “Or…something.” He was hesitant to tell the nice lady that a drawing of male genitalia had been etched on her lawn with weed killer. Apparently vandalism (or, as the law calls it, Criminal Mischief–I’ve always liked that term, along with Maintaining a Common Nuisance, which is what they charge you with when other people were doing drugs in your house, but you weren’t doing them yourself) (and it’s great to be a former 911 dispatcher, so no one will wonder how I know all this) with Round-Up has become a thing.

 

 

 

 

 

Freedom Day

I have been retired for a year today. Hmm, have I learned anything? And why do I feel like I should have learned something?

I am wearing the “My Work Number is 911” t-shirt, because it isn’t.

Today is National Donut Day, but I had no donuts. I guess I could rectify that tomorrow.

I am somewhat intoxicated.

Oh, Rom wants you to know, reference our anniversary lunch at Logan’s, that he did not, either, put both steak sauce and something else (ketchup?) on his burger. He used them to dip his fries in, which I personally don’t think is any better, and may be worse.

THE WEIRDEST AD I EVER SAW

This was an old magazine ad on Ebay, for some brand of lipstick. It said, “There’s a little bit of Satan in our satin-finish lipstick.” Because it’s devilishly sexy and stuff. It had a guy in a devil costume lurking behind the lipsticked model. I just can’t see that ad running today. Of course, we have an entire line of nail polish called Sinful Colors, so I could be wrong.

Oh, looking back on my decision to be a Writer (and the accompanying Hey! I might not need college!) decision I made in 8th grade–I didn’t, and don’t, doubt my ability to write, per se. I think I could have been entirely adequate in some magazine-staff or copy-writing position (that didn’t require me to go out and interview people). The doubts were/are about Creative Writing. After all, an agent once told me, “You don’t even understand the basic story-arc.” And how could an autistic person, who can’t understand how people tick, make characters come to life? OK, I haven’t Learned Something.

Speaking of which, the paper recently had something about The Danger of Self-Diagnosis, when it comes to autism. So have I been officially diagnosed? I have been half-diagnosed. I once said to my mother, “That nice lady you had me talk to in first grade was a child psychologist, right?” And she said, “Yes, she said you might be autistic, but we figured out it was just that we didn’t know your eyesight was so bad!” Yeah, that explains a lot. Not.

 

 

I Remembered To Show Up

…belatedly.

OBSERVATIONAL HUMOR

…is what Rom says this is.

Brought to you courtesy of Nick, who showed up at my door on my birthday with a gift bag full of apple ale clenched in his teeth, before flying away. The bag was black and had scratchy glitter on it. I suspect this was deliberate. Have you noticed that such bags always have the scratchy glitter on one side, but are smooth on the other side, so that glitter doesn’t rub off on your clothes? Why do I always have to touch the glitter anyway, even though it makes me shudder?

I have had 2 cans of ale (my normal dose), which makes me want to spend money on something self-indulgent. Last year it was green-and-white gingham shorts, but I resisted the temptation. (I love green-and-white gingham, and plaid with a black background. These prints give me a feeling of security. They’re like the opposite of the Baby Corn and the Union Suit. Anyone remember those? Check the posts under Conspiracy News for more info.)Now am tempted by some Keds in Iris Shimmer, and an Almond Cucumber perfume sample, even though I tried the AC perfume before and it didn’t work for me. Almond and cucumber are my comfort notes (kind of like the Magic Prints noted above), so I keep thinking, But it has to work! Sometimes perfume just refuses to cooperate.

OK, I hit some key that keeps deleting stuff I didn’t intend, and I don’t know what I hit, so I can’t correct it, and that is why the above paragraph is incorrectly punctuated.

SONG LYRIC ANALYSIS–MOODY BLUES

“Schoolwork, one and one is two

But you know that now that’s just not true”

Yes, it is true. Your ingestion of LSD does not affect its veracity.

AND THE DOORS

Rom says that “When the Music’s Over–turn out the lights” makes him think, “turnip delight.” You’re welcome. I hope I can forget that before I listen to it again.

Today is the 2nd anniversary of Alien Finger, which is celebrating by being stiff and sore, which I suppose is appropriate. I keep reading about people who dislocate a finger, pop it right back in, and it’s good as new. What’s their secret? Youth, probably.

Today is Pentecost, which makes me think, “Here he comes to save the day! That means the Paraclete is on his way!”

Long ago, my cousin Becky (hurray for Facebook and cousin Linda, who helped me discover cousins on the Forbidden Side of the family!) asked me, “Do you miss working?” After long thought, I can say I sometimes miss having a job (a Purpose in Life and all that, though I never thought of 911 as that purpose), but I don’t miss having that job. As I think every time I go by Dispatch on the bus and think, Glad I’m not answering phones in there.

IT HAS TO BE CLASSY, IT HAS CARPET–TACO JOHN’S

I visited this fine establishment on Cinco de Mayo. Since it was Saturday, I had church, and couldn’t go to Hacienda and have a strawberry daiquiri, which would have been the logical thing to do. Although people might have been drunk at St Boniface Church before.

Taco John’s has been around since 1969, although Rom can’t remember it the year he graduated from high school. The identity of Taco John is mysterious. I imagine him being kind of like Johnny Appleseed.

TJ’s is the only carpeted fast-food place I know of. Like the Women’s Hospital, the addition of carpet adds a certain cachet. It’s almost like you’re at home, except that someone cut into your abdomen. At the hospital, I mean, not at Taco John’s.

My softshell taco was very good, especially since the clever person who assembled it added a tuck-and-fold technique that meant I didn’t have to balance it carefully to keep everything from falling out the end. That must have been a Cinco de Mayo special, though, since it has fallen out the end every other time I’ve been there.

Ah, Potato Ole’s. The old Mexican classic of disc-shaped Tater Tots sprinkled with Lawry’s seasoned salt. Cinco de Mayo marked the first time I have ever finished an order. And if you put cheese on them, you are gilding the lily. And if you put bacon bits, donut bites, icing, and chocolate on them and EAT THEM FOR DESSERT, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

TJ’s has a senior discount of 10%. I forgot to add discount information when I wrote about Taco Bell, but that was because I got 10% off there once, and the next time I requested it, the manager said they didn’t have a discount. Maybe I just looked too young.

LEGGINGS AS PANTS UPDATE

I am actually not against leggings as a lower half, as long as you wear a butt-covering top. But today I saw a woman who did wear a butt-covering top, but then knotted it up in the back, because she got dressed and thought, “Oh no! Now no one can see my butt!”

Speaking of entities trying to defy me, the roses in my yard, which normally bloom in mid-May, burst into glorious bloom simultaneously on THE DAY AFTER MY BIRTHDAY.

Spellcheck thinks “donut” is not a word. I don’t know what to tell it.

WordPress has an icon in the corner that says “Stress-Free Writing Experience.” I have to find out what that might be, but I am too stressed-out at the moment. As is Alien Finger.

 

 

Live-Blogging: Death & Taxes

Yes, I am using my FanBase for stress relief.

These will be my federal taxes. I never inflict both federal and state on myself on the same day.

No, I do not file them online. No, I do not itemize. No, I do not have them done by a professional.  I am lazy and miserly, and do not want my taxes/bill-paying dependent on whether I have internet access. Plus, I never hooked up my printer. See “lazy” above. OK, see “autistic inertia” as well. And fear of the unknown. And stuff.

My, I have a lot of forms. Pension, Social Security, final W2…I’m frightened already. Maybe I shouldn’t be responsible for my own affairs.

Damn, I didn’t buy alcohol to reward myself with. Afterwards, I mean. Although drunk tax-doing would be entertaining. The IRS will probably send me a letter anyway, saying, “Were you drunk when you did this?”

“First name and middle initial.” I got this.

“Last name.” I’ve made a good start.

Oh no, I got up to use the bathroom and discovered that my service cat Esmerelda had been waiting patiently in the hall for me to get up, and she came to me crying. ‘LIE DOWN ON THE BED AND LET ME NURSE ON YOUR HAND, IT’S PROVEN TO LOWER YOUR BLOOD PRESSURE, DO IT NOW NOW NOW!!!”

Back 4 minutes later, after washing the cat spit off my hand. Much purring was obtained.

Line 9a–“Ordinary dividends.” As opposed to…? Oh, “qualified dividends.” These terms seem overly subjective.

“Special rules may apply if your home was in one of the Presidentially-declared disaster areas.” Well, he declares everything a disaster area. How about “the industrial Midwest”?

“You can ask the IRS to figure out the taxable portion of your pension for you for a $1000 fee.” I get the feeling they’re trying to discourage that practice. Luckily, the pension people already figured it out for me.

A BRIEF INTERMISSION TO REMOVE THE PORTION OF THE PACKING PAPER WE LET THE CATS PLAY IN THAT HAD GOTTEN WEDGED UNDER THE WHEEL OF MY CHAIR AND WAS GETTING ON MY NERVES

“Report the taxable portion of your pension from form 1099 on line 12b. But you may be able to report a lower amount if you use the General Rule or the Simplified Method instead.” I’ll take my chances. I have a feeling that the Method isn’t really Simplified enough for me. It’s a trivial amount anyway.

Nick, there are all kinds of alternate rules for military personnel. Sucks to be you.

THE JUST FACKING-WITH-ME PART

“Subtract line 10 from line 9.

Enter the smaller of line 9 or line 10.

Enter one-half of line 12.

Enter the smaller of line 2 or line 13.

Multiply line 11 by 85%. If zero, enter 0.” Well, duh.

“Add lines 14 and 15.

Multiply line 1 by 85%.”

THEY DIDN’T SAY SIMON SAYS! And that will be my defense in court. Oh no, now I hear sirens! They’re on to me.

Seriously, this is the part I always screw up. Sometimes to their benefit, sometimes to mine, never involving very much money.

“Line 19–Reserved for future use.” If you say so.

“If you checked any box on line 23a, use the Standard Deduction Chart For People Who Were Born Before Jan. 2, 1953 Or Are Blind.” Darn it, Rom.

“If refund amount is $1 or less, we will send a refund only on written request.” Half of your refund will go for the stamp needed to mail that request.

“Bank routing number–the first two digits must be 01 through 12 or 21 through 32.” Why? What happened to 13 through 20?

Time to check my math! Wish me luck. (“It’s not a matter of luck,” Nick says primly.)

Well, now it’s storming. Thunder and lightning are always reassuring on the completion of one’s taxes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blogging Addiction

I was digging through some stuff from my retirement party (YES, IT WAS LAST JUNE, WHY DO YOU ASK?), and came across an unsigned note expressing the hope that I would “keep feeding our blogging addiction.” I sure hope no one’s actually addicted to this thing. They must be in a bad way by now.

ASTROLOGY ’78

Career for Taurus: “Form a partnership with a talented chum and invest last year’s savings in a doll hospital.” Is there even such a thing? I had no pal talented enough in ’78 to tell me. Good thing I didn’t invest ’77’s savings, if any. I think I was unemployed most of the year, except for the summer spent at the massage parlor. This is where having lower-upper-class parents comes in handy.

Interior decorating for Sagittarius: “Old piano covers can still be found at thrift shops, make an interesting centerpiece for your living room.” I’ll say. What do you do with those, anyway? Wouldn’t you have to buy a piano? Or do you just pile them up on your coffee table?

THE THING I’M LEAST LIKELY TO WEAR

A t-shirt I saw an ad for saying “I Pooped Today.” For one thing, wouldn’t you have to wear it most days? I refuse to define myself by whether I’ve pooped on any given day.

THE WAR ON PARTS OF SPEECH CONTINUES

“Discover your sexy.”

“Realize your awesome.”

WHAT IS WRONG WITH NOUNS? STOP GRAFTING ADJECTIVES IN THEIR PLACE!

CANNIBALIZATION OF PAST POSTS CONTINUES

In March 2013, I was preoccupied with a sign I saw advertising the Grim Reapers’ house party. Especially since they forgot to include the date.

In April, in honor of Nick’s recent birthday, I admitted that I owed a whole room of dispatchers dinner from Canton Inn because I hadn’t realized that his message “Going to Canton. Jealous?” was actually an offer to bring us some. I also noted, based on bitter experience, that my beloved Woa Dip Har was impossible to eat at work. Reading that gave me a voracious desire for Woa Dip Har, now that I don’t work (unless you call writing this post work), but I fear it will remain forever unsatisfied.

The actual date I was writing was the birthday of the Foxy Lady, whom I called “my fellow connoisseur of the absurd.” In her honor, I illustrated the post with a picture of a stir-fry captioned “Uploaded to Wikipedia to showcase baby corn.” And what deserves to be showcased more?

 

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