Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

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.

 

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.

 

 

 

The Whole Violet Plant: Borsari Violetta di Parma

beautiful bloom blooming blossom

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Today is National Lipstick Day, and I’m spending it in Vintage Pink gloss. (I am a true boomer, and associate real lipstick with my mother’s generation.) “Vintage” is a fitting concept for exploring Violetta di Parma, a fragrance which debuted in 1870. (It actually predated that by about half a century, having been originally created for Marie-Louise of Austria and Parma, Napoleon’s second wife. 1870 was the year it became commercially available.) (Disclaimer: Borsari Violetta di Parma was actually discontinued in 2014. A company called Jewel’s Joy then purchased the name and reformulated the scent, giving it “youthful actuality,” whatever that is. This review is for the Borsari original, which can still be found online. All hail the Internet!)

If African Violet is just the flowers, ma’am, and Devon Violets is flowers + green leaves, Violetta di Parma is the whole thing. Green leafy notes, sweet but somehow un-powdery violet, and just a bit of woodsiness at the base. It reminds me of one of those botanist’s drawings of the violet plant, showcasing each part of the plant in turn, including the stems and roots. It is very natural-smelling, which makes it seem very modern, since the current trend in scent is “non-perfumey.” I sometimes think we can blame the boomers for that, too, or at least the hippies. I always liked perfume in all its forms, but I grew up amidst classmates who wore “just the natural oils, man.” All cultural analysis aside, VdP is a brilliant depiction of violet, and the first thing I would recommend to any lover of that note. My cat Glamour, for instance, who insists on Rom giving her a violet leaf to eat every morning, and is intensely interested in any violet perfume I sample.

Side note: Marie Louise was obsessed with violets, as I am with roses, and often wrote in violet ink. Perhaps I should start writing in red ink.

MCDONALD’S REPORT!

Not satisfied with turning the interior into something, well, unique, in its Vintage Boomer Mid-Century Modernity, the McDonalds on St Joe is now remodeling the outside. Who knows what wonders are to come? It seems ill-advised to remodel the exterior after the interior, but what do I know? I do know that one piece of machinery (some type of hydraulic lift that lets you move in all directions without climbing a ladder) had a sign written in magic marker saying “Cold Coal Chamber.–‘Monkey'”. Was this equipment somehow coal-powered? How could coal power anything if it was cold? Who is “Monkey,” and how, exactly, would a monkey be involved? Mysteries abound.

CELEBRITY NEWS

…is something you’ll next-to-never hear from me, but Cardi B named her new baby “Kulture.” I don’t really think we should legislate what people are allowed to name their kids, but it’s tempting. Of course, we can’t really blame the mother, whose first name is apparently “Cardigan.”

The ever-eclectic Rom is playing En Vogue singing “Free Your Mind and the Rest Will Follow.” I guess they’re not going to admit that the original sentiment was “Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow,” which I first heard from Parliament or Funkadelic. One of those George Clinton outfits, anyway.

 

 

The End of the World or Getting Lost on the Bus

blur chain close up daylight

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

…is what I most often dream about.

FUN FACTS ABOUT SCORPIONS

Did you know…

–they have external digestion–they spit digestive fluids onto the prey item, which dissolves it so they can then ingest the liquid?

–they glow blue-green under UV light? But only when their exoskeleton has had time to sclerotize.

–the male sometimes uses a small amount of venom on the female, to pacify her so mating can occur?

–once it occurs (courtship takes from 1 to 25 hours), the female bears live young, and carries them on her back? They are white at first, and are called scorplings. Adorable!

I should have looked up fun facts about spiders instead, seeing as how it’s A Certain Person’s birthday, but she will just have to make do with scorpions. As one sometimes must.

Fashion Police Report

DUELING T-SHIRTS ON THE BUS

First, another guy with a “SORRY, I Couldn’t Hear You Over the Sound of My FREEDOM” shirt, but this time with Abraham Lincoln instead of an eagle. Somehow, I doubt that Lincoln was in favor of not listening to other people.

Then a woman with a “Green Eggs and Ham” t-shirt and pink hair got on, and Mr. Freedom started flirting with her. Or trying to. Guys, “I see you’re goin’ for the Wanna-Be-a-Goth look” is not a good pickup line. He then started loudly listing the Dr. Suess books, ranked according to his estimation of best or worst (#1: Green Eggs and Ham, #2: The Star-Bellied Sneetches, #3: The Lorax), followed by the movies he’s seen recently and his evaluation of the CGI quality of each. All the while, he was oblivious to her avoidance of eye contact. Maybe he couldn’t notice it over the sound of his freedom.

AND FURTHERMORE…

Nose rings are gross. The newly-fashionable kind that hangs down from your nose and looks like a protruding booger in profile, more so. Michael Stipe, I’m looking at you. But trying not to.

Leggings continue to not be pants. The number of people treating them as such does not alter this reality.

WORLD LEADER EDICT

I hereby ban fake stuff on clothes. This includes:

–Pants or leggings with fake holes torn in them. “But it shows my cute legs in the summer!” or “I can wear cute print tights under them in winter!” is not a valid defense.

–Fake signs of wear on jeans.

–Fake pockets or, even more weirdly, fake flies on pants, ditto. I must confess that I actually own a couple pairs like this, but since I always wear my shirts untucked, it doesn’t matter what the top of my pants looks like. Pants are just a pair of legs to me. Ironically, I am the ideal candidate for leggings.

–T-shirts advertising a college you didn’t go to, a charity event you did not participate in (if only to donate money), a band you don’t like (except the Sour Neon Crawlers, who need all the publicity they can get), etc. If your shirt says “I’m Awesome,” you must, in fact, be awesome. If you have a Scratchy Glitter t-shirt, the lettering must be in glitter which is, in fact, scratchy, although I shudder at the thought.

A FAN-BASE GET-WELL CARD

Before I forget, as I am prone to do, best wishes to a couple readers who are recovering from medical problems. Privacy regulations do not allow me to reveal who they are or what they are recovering from.

BUT NEVERTHELESS I WILL PLUNGE BOLDLY INTO POLITICS

…and observe that if there is a Second Civil War, I will be stood against the wall and shot, no matter who wins. The fringes on both sides participate in The Emperor’s New Clothes politics, they just differ in what fancy outfit they believe the Emperor is wearing. If only there were a Party of Common Sense. But then we couldn’t agree on what common sense was. I may have to rule the world after all.

Sign at the Pet Food Center: “Uncle Sam Wants You To Be Flea and Tick Free.” That was Uncle Sam’s final wish, before Trump shot him on Fifth Avenue because Vladimir Putin told him to. And no, I’m not a progressive. Fooled you again.

boy wearing black jacket holding electric guitar

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

 

 

Green and Purple: Devon Violets

 

 

background beautiful bloom blooming

Photo by Lukas on Pexels.com

Our exploration of violet continues today with Devon Violets, which has been around since the 1920’s and is still being made in Devon. You can find antique bottles, with violets hand-painted on them, on Ebay, if you’re one of those mysterious people who collects empty perfume bottles.

DV is exceedingly green, especially in the beginning. The violet gets more prominent as it goes on, but the greenness never really leaves. It’s as if you grabbed a fistful of violets and got a handful of grass along with them. So how you feel about this one would depend on whether you like green notes, which I do. DV doesn’t last very long, but it is very cheap, so you can reapply freely. I like it, but as with African Violet, it’s a bit too sweet to suit me (although not quite as sweet as AV).

Today has been a heavy sampling day–I have 4 perfumes on. No, I did not go out like this.

AND SPEAKING OF SMELL…

Ad for dry shampoo–“Makes your hair smell fresh on the days you don’t wash it.” Or you could just wash your hair.

The ads for Febreze saying you can use it to freshen your winter coat or upholstery are questionable enough, but I saw one saying you can use it to get extra days of wear out of your PANTS. Your PANTS, people. Now I am going to look askance at anyone I see buying Febreze.

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.”)

 

 

Violets In Powdered Sugar: Attar Bazaar African Violet

purple hydrangeas

Photo by K B on Pexels.com

First off, HURRAY for a free photo service even I can navigate!

In case you couldn’t read the suddenly-tiny print in the last post (no, I wasn’t trying to sneak the information in–apparently cutting-and-pasting song lyrics off Google is not as clever an idea as I thought it was), I’m going to include the occasional perfume review. And if anyone has a perfume-related question (“I want a perfume that smells like X” or “I can’t find my favorite scent anymore, now what?”), please ask. Fragrance is one of my “special interests,” as we say in the autism biz. (“Obsession” sounds so judgmental, doesn’t it?) (No, I did not intend a pun on the perfume name Obsession.) I suppose this knowledge can now expand to fill the space once occupied by NCIC codes and NIMS definitions.

I’ve always wanted a “signature scent”–“me in a bottle,” what could be more romantic? Sure, also self-absorbed, but in a romantic way! Frustrated by my inability to find something that fit both my personality and preferences, I turned to my husband for help. Rom, of course, knows me better than anyone. It could be argued that he knows me better than I know myself. (It would be argued, in fact. We tend to be argumentative.) He said I should smell like “cool, misty dusk in an interesting place.” (Could he be more romantic?) I asked the fragrance fans at MakeupAlley for help, and they said this mood was best achieved by notes of violet, iris, sandalwood, oakmoss, powder, and/or incense. They recommended 13 specific perfumes, the first of which we deal with today.

Attar Bazaar was started in 1980, and they offer inexpensive perfume oils, mostly in an Oriental vein (incense, patchouli, woods, resins). But they do have a few florals, hence African Violet.

I find AV a bit screechy when first applied–violet is a high-pitched note to begin with, so the beginning is a little shrill. It quickly settles, though, into a candied sweetness that makes me think, not of violets with sugar crystals, but violets dredged in powdered sugar. There’s a creaminess to it, a velvety softness. I detect no other notes (unless you want to call sugar a note)–no leafy green notes, no woods–just the violet flowers themselves. So if you are a violet purist and just want the sweet stuff, I recommend this. Also, there are not many violet scents in an oil formulation, so if you prefer that to an alcohol-based scent, definitely check this one out. For my own purposes, I found it a bit too sweet.

By the way, my reviews are based on samples I paid for myself, and I am not paid for reviews. Of course, I’m not paid for anything else on here, either.

Now let’s move on to…

WORLD EMOJI DAY? REALLY?

“Facebook salutes the tiny symbols that have changed the way we communicate.” Yeah, I guess. And I’m wondering how long it will be before texting eliminates punctuation. It’s already made it uncool, in the same way that paying for stuff with actual cash is uncool.

 

 

 

 

Telling People Why They’re Wrong

…a service we’ve (OK, I’ve) provided for over 5 years.

CRITICIZING THE LYRICS OF MICK JAGGER

Sure, he’s written world-famous lyrics, but I CANNOT BE STOPPED.

–“She was more than beautiful

Closer to ethereal

With a kind of down-to-earth flavor”

You can’t be both ethereal and down-to-earth. They are opposites.

But I take issue with every verse of “Fool To Cry,” my second-to-least-favorite Stones song. (My very least-favorite is “Emotional Rescue,” which is so bad it embarrasses me to hear it.)

OK, in the first verse, his daughter sits on his knee and says, “Daddy, you’re a fool to cry.” Any child young enough to sit on her father’s lap does not have the worldly wisdom to make a remark like that.

In the second verse, we learn that he has a woman who “lives in a poor part of town.” She, too, advises him that he’s a fool to cry. (Actin’ the fool, as it were.) WHY IS YOUR WOMAN STILL LIVING IN A POOR PART OF TOWN? YOU’RE A RICH ROCK STAR. BUY HER A MANSION. Or marry her and move her into your mansion. That would be more cost-effective.

In the third verse, even his friends state that he’s a fool to cry. I find it hard to believe that Mick Jagger’s friends give him philosophical advice. Mick Jagger’s friends say things like,

“Hey, what’s the matter, man?
We’re gonna come around at twelve
With some Puerto Rican girls that’re just dyin’ to meet you
We’re gonna bring a case of wine
Hey, let’s go mess and fool around
You know, like we used to”
In case you think I do nothing but complain, my favorite Stones songs are “Paint It Black,” followed by “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.” I was born in a cross-fire hurricane, after all.
ROCK AND ROLL WILL NEVER DIE
…is wishful thinking, just like “Big bands will come back.” Nevertheless (and ever the more), I have a new Blue Oyster Cult t-shirt. It only has the band’s logo on it, not the name. The other day, the bus driver looked at my shirt and said, “Hawkwind?” No, but good guess.
MORE ADVERTISING ABOMINATIONS
Triscuits are trying to get you to just call them “‘–scuits.” Resist them. Also, “so you can Meijer any way you want” is to be avoided. Sure, it tells you how to pronounce it, but that could be accomplished without turning it into a verb.
A FINAL WARNING
S.G. will start sporadically featuring PERFUME REVIEWS. No, no one was saying, “World Leader, can’t you please include perfume reviews?” (Although I know that a few of you would be interested.) Yes, I should probably start a second blog for that purpose. No, I’m not going to actually do so. Partly because I’m too lazy and incompetent to manage more than one blog, and partly because I don’t plan to do this regularly. I’m not a collector, just a person on a signature-scent quest that seems to be lifelong.
I actually have been doing this informally for some time. In the unlikely event you want to read my reviews of a variety of cosmetic products, check out

MakeupAlley, where I have posted as Snakeskin, Wyrmiax, and, currently, CobraRose.

Cat Esmerelda thinks I have spent enough time writing this, and need to attend to her strange and varied needs.

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

%d bloggers like this: