Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Category: Theater of Cruelty

Domination, Donald Trump, Donuts

bread food sandwich wood

Photo by Steyn Viljoen on Pexels.com

…is not what this post is about, but a list of my frequently-used tags (do I write a lot about those things? really?) on the side of my page showed them, and the juxtaposition amused me. Like my music collection, in which “Catholic Communion Classics” is next to “More Cowbell.”

Disclaimer: Nick paid for this post with dinner and a movie, and is, I’m sure, already fretting because his name is not in the title. He will have to settle for a subtitle:

DINNER AND THE MOVIES WITH NICK

And not even a very good subtitle.

Nick may think that he can change from his human to his beast-shape at will, but that actually occurs only when will it, which does not always work to his advantage. So it was in the form of a man that he came to pick me up Sunday evening. I had invited myself along to see The Big Lebowski, his favorite movie, basically because I wanted to know what the big deal was. And Nick was too much of a gentleman to say, “No, you can’t come, you’ll spoil the mood.”

Our dinner party also consisted of Nick’s wife J. (I’d add her middle initial, but I don’t know it), their children Thing One and Thing Two, and Nick’s friend Officer A. B. Nick’s wife was eight months and three weeks pregnant with Thing Three, and I kept thinking, What if she goes into labor right here? Well, there are two police officers here, I guess they’d know what to do. Actually, most men know more about childbirth than I do.

If J. had gone into labor, it would be because there were two birthday parties going on at Hacienda that night, and employees are required to come to the table and clap and sing, and they were VERY LOUD. I was about ready to run out the door myself.

Nick, whose idea of a good time apparently involves trying to make me eat food I dislike, kept asking me why I don’t like salsa, to the point of insisting that this post include the explanation. I don’t know why, since I told him why right then and there. It’s because it looks like vomit. This also applies to gazpacho (I once actually saw someone vomit into gazpacho, and it looked no different afterwards than it had before), and re-fried beans, which look more like cat vomit. If anyone now feels they’ll never eat any of those again, they can just blame Nick, which is a good policy anyway. I tried dipping my chips into ranch dressing, when that option was made available, but it seemed pointless.

Before the food arrived and gave me something to do (since I don’t talk much), I did the usual social-event self-monitoring–OK, now you’ve looked at that person long enough, it’s time to look at someone else, or they’ll think you’re staring at them. If Nick has the keen peripheral vision he’d like me to think he has, he would have noticed that I did stare at him quite a bit (he was sitting next to me), and assumed I was magnetized by his good looks. I was actually wondering if a light-colored fleck on his cheek was a chip crumb or a gray hair in his beard. Oh well, by now it’s either washed off in the shower, or not. I’ll have to remember to check next time.

Thing Two, The Destroyer of Crayons, got free french fries because his food was late. Thing One, The Gazer at Screens, wasn’t sure this was fair.

Nick protected me from an ant on my plate, even though he had sore fingers from being bitten by a folding chair earlier. See, there is an officer there when you need one. Even if he lost a fight with a folding chair.

J. and the kids went home (because this movie is soooo not suitable for children), and the rest of us headed for the theater.

I didn’t really think I’d like The Big Lebowski, but I actually did. It is dopey, but a lot of intelligence went into its making. Did you know:

–“Directing” Jeff Bridges consisted of him going up to the director before each scene and saying, “Did the Dude burn one before this happens?” Since the answer was usually yes, he would get ready by rubbing his eyes until they were bloodshot.

–A lot of the Dude’s distinctive clothes were actually Bridges’ own. Sure, it all looks like it came from Goodwill, but you know the Dude would be selective about his Goodwill shopping.

–The dream sequences were lit to make them bright and sharp, the Dude’s apartment was made seedy-looking (insofar as a bungalow in Los Angeles can be made so) with grittier lighting, and the bridge between the two was the lighting they used for the L.A. skyline shots, which used the orangey-type streetlights rather than the cold bluish kind. So it, to paraphrase the Dude, tied the look together.

–Walter’s repeated admonitions to Donny to “shut the fack up” was an inside joke about Steve Buscemi’s character in Fargo, who never stopped talking.

Nick and I shared a tub of popcorn (which I hadn’t had since I retired). Once we reached into the tub at the same time and our hands touched. Yikes, cooties!!!!!

Oh, I also liked (most of) the music, especially “Dead Flowers” at the end, although it would have been better by the Stones themselves. So, all in all, thanks be to Nick, who, I am reasonably sure, would not forget to put roses on my grave.

 

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Creepy Eating at Taco Bell

portrait of young woman with umbrella

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

No, the person in the picture is not me, although I can see why you’d think so.

I decided to eat at Taco Bell yesterday, because I wanted the one thing they could offer me–a chicken quesadilla (the one at Taco John’s has stuff in it I don’t like that looks like boogers).

Since it was raining, the helpful bus driver actually drove me across the street to get me nearer to the desired location. Taco Bell on St Joe (as opposed to the evil one on Lloyd which removed its attendant KFC–why would you want Taco Bell if you could get KFC?) has two entrances, one from the parking lot and one from the street. I, naturally, chose the latter. Walked in the door, and the manager LOCKED THE DOOR AFTER ME. This was disconcerting, especially since I was the only customer, but I was determined to have that quesadilla. (Doesn’t that sound like a relative of the armadilla?) The manager then walked over and locked the other door also. I thought, What is this? Some kind of Stephen King deal? The horrific ARMADILLA will burst through the floor tiles and devour me? I thought of demanding to be let out at once, but I was determined to have that quesadilla. I didn’t bolt it down in a panic, either. I had to shrug my shoulders at several puzzled customers who tried the door and couldn’t understand why I was in there eating alone, as if I’d reserved the place. Then another employee asked the manager, “Why is it locked?” and she said something about “they’ll track across the lobby.” So she was planning to NOT LET ANYBODY IN until it stopped raining. She abandoned this plan when she saw that everyone who tried the door did not just go through the drive-through instead, as she’d been hoping, but left, no doubt to go to Taco John’s in the next block, which was letting people track across their classy CARPETED lobby.

BUT NOW…

Are we alone now? Is Mark Zuckerberg gone? Good. Today marks the end of Facebook automatically notifying my tiny helpless group of Facebook friends every time I write a new blog post. Facebook has decided that a blog is a Commercial Enterprise, rather than a personal one. This is news to me, since I make no money off it. They say it’s in the interest of not annoying people with unwanted commercial content, which could, as it happens, be allowed to annoy people anyway if I gave Facebook some money. “If you’re a public figure, it’s to your advantage to turn your Profile into a Page!” they say. I ask you–am I a public figure?

Anyway, I am just going to manually link my blog posts to my Facebook feed until they make me stop that, too. I am encouraged by the fact that, since I resumed illustrating the blog, Facebook has started labeling it as a “photo” instead of a “post.” They allow photos, right?

A USEFUL DISTINCTION

I dreamed that the government set up totalitarian rule, and I tried to warn Nick about it, but they seized my papers and computer. Maybe Nick was actually IN ON IT.

Just remember: armed henchmen sent by the public sector are “jackbooted thugs;” if sent by the private sector, they are “hired goons.”

–Donald Trump sends someone to seize my stuff = jackbooted thugs.

–Mark Zuckerberg sends someone to seize my stuff = hired goons.

KNOW YOUR OPPRESSOR!

I AM NOT INSANE.

 

 

 

Wild In the Streets

food eggs

Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

…is what I currently am. Since I’m awaiting a doctor’s appointment for, um, digestive issues, and anticipating a long and dreary round of elimination diets, I’m doing the sensible thing and eating all the stuff I’m afraid they’ll tell me I can’t have. Except for ham and sausage, which make me very sick. I told myself I would not blog about the upcoming embarrassing adventure, but I make no promises, since I once live-blogged about my colonoscopy prep. Until it became impossible.

Speaking of wild things, let’s…

CHECK IN WITH NICK

The said beast is waiting for his latest egg to hatch.

“Well, it’s not mine, exactly. I didn’t lay it. The shell isn’t mine.”

“Don’t lie on your back like that. You’re indecent that way.”

“Well, I could do a privacy tail, like this–” he whips it neatly into place–“or I could do this,” and he curls up tightly, with his tail on his head.

“You look like an armadillo that way.”

“What’s an armadillo?” he asks, uncurling.

“Well, it’s a scaly thing…quite a bit smaller than you are, though.”

“Edible, I presume?”

“Uh, I don’t know.”

“You lead a boring life,” he says, flicking a wing dismissively.

“You should talk. You’re the one waiting for an egg to hatch. Where are the other two cubs, by the way?”

“I sent them out to play. They kept rolling the egg around. They can’t wait for her to hatch! So I told them to go out and practice their flying.”

“How are they doing?”

“Well, Thing One is getting pretty good. Thing Two can finally get up in the air, but he still has trouble turning, and crashes into stuff.”

“Have you decided on a name for the new one?”

“Well, Thing Three, obviously. You are so dense sometimes.”

“Did you explain that girl-beasts don’t have wings?”

“Well, they can figure that out, by looking at their mother. She left to get some food. I offered to bring something back, but she wanted to get out and hunt for herself. Of course, it may take her longer to find something, being wingless and all.”

“I heard that,” says the she-beast herself, appearing in the entrance. Her voice is muffled, since she has something bloody in her mouth. It’s hard to tell what it is. Or once had been.

“It’s only reasonable,” Nick tells her, warming up to what must have been a familiar argument, “since you can’t go, you know, soaring through the skies, searching for prey on the ground…”

“And would you have been able to get this“–she indicates the bloody heap at her feet–“crashing through the underbrush with those wings? I think not.” She settles down and begins to feed.

“Can I have some?” he asks.

“No. Get your own. In the underbrush.”

“Hey, have you ever heard of an armadillo?”

She raises her head. “I had one once. Scaly. Not worth the trouble.”

The egg doesn’t look any nearer to hatching than it did when I arrived, so I head out the door.

I am still playing with the photo feature for the blog. I have the uneasy suspicion that’s it’s been here all this time, and they’d just moved it from the side (where it used to be–some of you might remember that this thing used to be illustrated) to the top, where it now resides. I tried to make the picture less huge, like it used to be, but if there’s a way to do that, it eludes me. (“Lots of things elude you,” Nick says as I’m leaving. “I bet an armadillo would, too.”)

 

 

Inflation Will Get Us All

First off, my thanks to whoever read, um, 37 previous posts on the 13th.

The inflation I speak of is not the financial sort (that would be boring, though accurate), but creeping slippery-slopism in other areas.

FASHION INFLATION

An ad on Facebook said, “We’ve perfected the no-show sock!” I commented, “What’s wrong with socks, that you want no one to know you’re wearing them?” but went unanswered. Yes, I’m the only person who can’t start an argument on the Internet.

Once upon a time, no-show socks (we called them “footies”) were solely worn by women. Now they are routinely worn by men, including fashion icons like Nick. Socks have now become unmentionables, except for…wait for it…WITH SANDALS, BY MEN. This used to be the sole province of nerdy old men, but now young men do it too. I’m not sure what weather conditions would call for sandals with socks. Of course, I’ve asked the same question about wearing a sweatshirt with shorts, and got the answer, “Because it’s cute.” If you say so.

This isn’t inflation-related, but why do the same women who obsess about panty lines not care if their bra straps are showing?

I had another example of cultural inflation, about something other than fashion, but I can’t remember it. Perhaps I will do so in the future.

COSMO ASTROLOGY, 1983

Romantic Rendezvous for Scorpio–“On the deck of an ocean liner, during a storm at sea.” Really? “All hands on deck! Just work around these two people doin’ it!”

Ads & Products & Stuff, Oh My

ADVERTISING HALL OF SHAME

…award this week goes to some product (I don’t even remember it, so there!) that starts its commercial with “Are you bothered by chronic constipation?” with SHOTS OF PEOPLE SITTING ON THE TOILET.

Rom is urging me to tell on Head & Shoulders shampoo, not least because we’ve argued twice about it. The newest bottles have “#1 DERM RECO” emblazoned on them. Our disagreement was not because that’s not a stupid way of putting it–we are agreed on that score–but because he believes most people wouldn’t understand what they meant by it, and I disagree. Of course, I read women’s magazines, which routinely use “derm” for dermatologist, just like they use “gyno” for gynecologist. (And if you read these magazines, you get the idea these are the only two doctors their readers have.) Now that I think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard people actually using these terms in conversation.

Let’s just go ahead and ban this sort of thing, shall we? I haven’t issued a World Leader Edict in awhile.

BY THE POWER INVESTED IN ME, WHICH I HAD BEFORE STEPHEN COLBERT STARTED HIS FURRY-HAT ROUTINE, JUST CHECK MY ARCHIVES UNDER “WORLD LEADER PRETEND”…

Be they banned henceforth and forevermore:

–“mani,” “pedi,” and “mani/pedi”

–“vacay”

–“cardi” for cardigan

–“cami” for camisole

–“convo” for conversation

–not only “reco” for recommendation, but “recs” as well

–“deo” for deodorant

I’ll probably think of more as I go along.

–Sign on door of CVS–“Automatic Entrance. Doors Can Close Unexpectedly.” Is “Enter at your own risk” really good business practice?

–IHOP is deciding to focus on burgers? Why?

–Also, Dunkin’ Donuts deciding its name is now just “Dunkin'” is stupid.

I SUPPOSE YOU’RE WAITING FOR ME TO REVIEW THE NEW QUARTER POUNDERS

McDonald’s claims these are better than they previously were, and I agree. Keep in mind that I’ve never been a big Quarter Pounder fan, preferring the double cheeseburger or McDouble (which are not, by the way, the same thing, although the difference is just an additional slice of cheese on the double cheeseburger) (maybe you already knew that, but I had to have it explained to me). My main problem with Quarter Pounders now is that they have a more “charcoal” flavor. I never care for that–it tastes just plain burnt to me–but I know a lot of people like it.

I SOLVE A MYSTERY

For a long time, I’ve wondered how McDonald’s determines receipt numbers. Some people get, say, 398, while someone else there at the same time might get 277. But they always start with 2 or 3. I finally realized that it has to do with which register it was rung up on. #1 is never used for some reason, 2 and 3 are at the counter, so the people ordering inside always get those, and 4 is for the drive-through. I’m glad I figured that out. Wait a minute–maybe 1 is for the drive-through, and 4 is the one that’s never used. Oh well, I never have to deal with those, so they don’t affect me.

Did you know that Nick once said the military would be good for me? Of course, he said the same thing about prison.

 

I’m Gonna Complain

…inspired by a woman on the bus, who used “Well, I’m not gonna complain” to wrap up a lengthy complaint.

WAR ON WORDS UPDATE

Yes, it’s not just a war on parts of speech. I saw an ad for cottage cheese that said, “A Whole New Way To Cottage.” By which they meant, “to eat cottage cheese.” Because who has time to say two more words? We’re approaching point-and-grunt territory. Speaking of which, I saw a game on Facebook–“Write the name of a band using only emojis and let us guess who they are!” See, a means of communication shouldn’t make me have to guess what you mean. I don’t think the Sour Neon Crawlers could be represented solely by emojis.

Courtesy of Rom: “The erupting volcano in Guatemala is called Volcano del Fuego. As opposed to…?”

Also courtesy of Rom, things that have been forever ruined for me…

“Old Rugged Cross”= “On a hill far away stands an old Chevrolet”

“Ring of Fire” = “I keep a close watch on this heart of mine. I hold my pants up with a piece of twine.”

And the auto-parts place–“When the name is Napa, the quality’s crappa.”

LETTING US LOOSE IN SOCIETY

There is an autistic guy working at McDonald’s (I know this because he says so), who reminds me of myself at his age. He was telling a work buddy, “Yeah, I’ve tried applying for other jobs, but at the end of the interview I tell them, ‘I’m autistic, just so’s you know,’ and I never get a callback.” Oh, dear, as Nick would say. (This phrase inserted for the sake of Nick, whose eyes well with tears whenever a post of mine doesn’t mention him.) Now, I never applied for jobs at fast food places when I was his age and looking. They all knew me as that weird customer. Black biker t-shirts! Big rings! And other stuff that doesn’t go with glasses!

 

 

 

 

 

Stress-Free Writing Experience

…switched to “Distraction-free writing mode” since I remarked upon it yesterday. Apparently they realized they could not promise to eliminate stress, in spite of the feverish sort of enjoyment I usually derive from this. Once I actually start. Anyway, all it meant was they hid the menus at the side, as if I had been stressed out by them before. As if.

Almost done with the second can of Wicked Apple Ale, thanks to wicked Nick, not to mention his wicked wife, who first gave me some to try, though it was the non-wicked type. I soon hit the harder stuff, to quote Bob Dylan.

Today is my 31st anniversary, and Trexa took me and Rom to Logan’s Roadhouse. My steak (medium-rare) and sweet potato (without cinnamon) (they also had cinnamon apples, eww) was very good. Rom had a burger done “medium-well,” which I guess means gray and flavorless without being actually burnt. No wonder he put both ketchup and steak sauce on it.

You know Logan’s serves lots of aging boomers, because the soundtrack when we entered was Bachman-Turner Overdrive and the Guess Who (involving some of the same personnel–they must need the money). Speaking of which, I saw a headline recently–“Millennials Now the Most Frequent Caregivers.” Why? Did Gen-X’ers get tired of our shit?

I must take issue with Logan’s restroom. It had a fake distressed-concrete floor, with real puddles of water in 3 out of the 4 stalls. It made me feel like I’d been kidnapped and taken to the basement of an abandoned warehouse. Well, except that I had a toilet instead of a pail to go in. And they gave me steak. Anyway, why would you want your bathroom floor to look like it was crumbling away after the fall of civilization?

1968 vs. 1984

It was 1968 when I decided I was going to be a writer. I was sitting in 8th grade English class, we were studying 1984, and it struck me–I could do this! Then I immediately started worrying about whether I could do it or not. This was against the background of recently discovering that my lack of math aptitude precluded a career as a scientist. Actually, my 2nd thought after my epiphany was, And I wouldn’t necessarily have to go to college! I suspected even then that I wouldn’t be able to make it through. This did not keep me from trying 3 times.

 

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.

 

 

Birthday in Hell…

…it being a day of record-breaking heat. Of course, Rom broke the heat record on the actual day he was born, so no contest there. I think that was 91, too, which is even more remarkable in late April.

Thanks to all the well-wishers who included praise for the blog. I had been considering terminating it–I’ve sometimes felt I have nothing to write about now that I’ve retired–but thanks to you, IT SHALL CONTINUE.

COSMO ASTROLOGY ’82

Fashion for Taurus: “Elegant pajamas in sun yellow and navy stripes are exotic at night, especially when coupled with bright pink sandals.” Because yellow and navy blue just don’t clash enough.

Fashion for Gemini: “Smashing combination: red halter under a gray flannel jacket worn with pale peanut-colored pants or tucked into orange walking shorts.” Again–did we just forget how to combine colors in the 80’s?

Fashion for Virgo: “Pair a hand-painted short wrap shirt in peanut-glazed cotton with a forest green tightly-pleated skirt.” What is with all this peanut stuff?

Decorating for Scorpio: “Invest in a hanging fireplace.” Now, I don’t know much about such things, but how do you hang a fireplace, exactly? Seems like it would catch something on fire.

ROM & I GO TO GERST HAUS

My only observations (it was an enjoyable afternoon, and I do better at complaining):

–If your cornbread has hot peppers in it, you should mention that fact on the menu. Otherwise it is just a cruel practical joke.

–This is the only establishment I’ve visited that had, over the relevant area, the word TOILETS. We know what you really want!

Poor Nick was saved from forgetting my birthday only by my tender mercies in telling him yesterday, since he hasn’t found the part on Facebook that tells you all the upcoming ones for the whole year.

 

 

The Content I Robbed You Of

ASTROLOGY FOR 1980

The Liberated You–Aries: “You’re propelled toward many affairs and will have them whether or not you marry. (Once wed, of course, you’ll be considerately discreet.)” Of course.

The Liberated You–Taurus: “You’ll have many, many lovers in your life (Venus girls are sexy at sixty!), and though you may forget a few of them, their memories will overflow with lusty thoughts of you.” I’ve had two. Unless I forgot a few of them.

The Liberated You–Aquarius: “Even when well-married, the lusty Aquarian girl has a taste for affairs on the side. You dally discreetly, though, and waste no time with guilt–nor should you.” I’m beginning to get an idea of what constituted “liberation” in 1980.

OLD POSTS DEPT.

Around this time in 2013, I was being relieved that the police department didn’t have helicopters, because that meant there was no chance of a mandatory training ride-along with Nick.

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Our family friend Charles has described the typical garden tour given by my in-laws:

“Here’s where I was going to put in marigolds, but I decided the yellow wouldn’t go with what I already had.”

“There was a hydrangea bush here, but it died when we had that cold snap last year.”

“These rosebushes were covered in flowers last week, but they’re all gone now.”

In other words, the strictly-theoretical garden.

In that spirit, I give you…two things I thought of writing about but didn’t.

–I went to Walmart (where I’ve never been, at least in its present location–you know, until they decided they needed a Bigger Building, and left the old one as an Everlasting Eyesore), hoping to report back to you. But the only things I have to say about Walmart is:

A. It’s very large, and

B. Their restroom sink sprayed water all over my sleeve.

I bought myself a souvenir of an extra-large deodorant stick. That seems to be what they specialize in. Maybe that’s why they needed a bigger building.

–Inspired by their new Peach-Mango flavor, I was going to try 5-Hour Energy Drink and report back to you (thereby having experienced mango flavor in both stimulant and depressive {ale} forms), but my social worker/arresting officer Nick advised against it.

So there you have it. Or rather, there you don’t have it.

 

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