Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: birthdays

Prodded With a Sharp Stick

The computer says “Suggested Sites: Add New Post–Scratchy Glitter,” so I feel obliged.

Responses are coming in for the Party of a Lifetime~

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”–L.K.

“I feel honored to be invited.”–T.R.

“I wouldn’t dare miss it.”–N.C.

What to wear, what to wear? It must make me look super-cool, yet be comfortable when I’m nervous, yet not be destroyed if I spill my drink on it. Similar to the Fall Festival wardrobe requirements, come to think of it.

–You know that hearing-test kind of noise you get in your ear sometimes? I read that it means that a cell in your ear is dying. At the rate I’ve been having those lately, I will have to retire early due to deafness.

“My name is–WHAT?–my name is–WHO? Slim Shady!”


–“Next time your landlord walks into your apartment naked, you should call the police.”


Her: “My ex-husband has my wedding ring, and the police need to go and take it from him and put it in safekeeping.”

Me: “Ma’am, they can’t do that.”

Her: “But they have to, because it’s got a really bad curse on it.”

The curse turned out to be that anyone who puts it on becomes a serial killer.

Speaking of curses, may one be upon a Certain Person for thinking she could buy Nick’s love (or whatever it is that he feels) with tacos. It can only be bought with chocolate.


“I want the police to make someone leave my apartment.”

“Do they live there?”

“They’ve been…staying here.”

“Then it’s considered their residence, and the police can’t make them leave. They’ll have to be evicted.”

“But they’re not on the lease.” Check!

“Does your landlord know you’ve been letting someone stay there who’s not on the lease?” And Mate! Especially when they realize the landlord is the one who’ll have to file eviction proceedings.

The “They’ve been staying here” argument is similar to the invariable answer to “How do you know the people at this address are doing drugs?” The answer is always, “I just know.”



McDonald’s has trademarked “Mickey D’s.” What’s next, trademarking “Tar-jay”? And speaking of which, how exactly does “Mickey D’s Sweet Tea” differ from just tea that you put sugar in?


“Insights Into the Saliva of the Brown Marmolated Stink Bug.” And why was I googling that? You don’t want to know that, either.





The Social Event of a Lifetime

my lifetime, that is. I’ve never had a full-fledged birthday party before, and I never plan to have one again. But this year, my birthday party actually is a thing! Brought to us courtesy of Rom. Whose birthday is today. But I learned better than to give him a party because, in a scene worthy of a sitcom, I once planned for people to meet at our favorite Chinese restaurant for a surprise dinner on his 40th. It was within walking distance, so it was easy to persuade him to go. But he wanted to go for lunch, not dinner, while I had made plans for dinner, not lunch. So, without giving away the surprise, I said, “I’d really rather have dinner than lunch,” and he said, “You mean I can’t even have what want on my own birthday?” and the conversation deteriorated from there until I finally burst out, “Because I’d planned a surprise party, that’s why!”

Anyway, I wanted to try having a party for my birthday for a change, and he knew better than to try a surprise one, because surprises lead to me darting under the furniture and having to be dragged out by the hair. I’m getting nervous about all the talk of spanking that co-workers have started, but I trust in Nick to protect me.


There are numerous birthdays now. Apparently sex is a popular pastime during August/September. In chronological (by date, not year) order:

–Nick is a pitiable thing who was reduced to buying his own birthday cake. But at least he smells fresh and friendly, thanks to dabbing Fresh Blast Right Guard on his wrists and under his ears.

–My profound apologies to the FOXY LADY, who did not get any recognition of her birthday here because, well, because I didn’t post that day.

–Rom turned 64 at 4:35pm today. The day he was born set the heat record for this date, which remains unbroken as of today. The question arises, as it must for all boomers, “Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64?”

—-Need: more than ever

—-Feed: I’ve never fed him anyway, so nothing has changed. I have not had to cook since 1978.


Speaking of Nick and what he’s been reduced to, the power went out last night. To save hot water (the water heater is gas, but maybe it has an electric ignition switch or something), I showered Army-style–washing only the crucial areas mentioned in Nick’s Field Sanitation Manual, by the light of a camping lantern which my sister gave me in the futile hope that I’d develop an interest in camping. Still, it beat showering in the backyard by dusk-to-dawn light with a garden hose, which I have also done. Rom held the hose.


At McDonald’s, I overheard a 9 or 10-year-old girl, of the sort we’re not supposed to call “bossy” these days, inform her mother that she was embarrassed by the fact that the mother wore makeup, and when her mother mildly objected to this, the girl said, “Don’t argue with me!”


This town currently has both a Unity Taxi Service and a Diversity Taxi Service. Which would you rather have, unity or diversity? Or how about forgetting about abstract ethical concepts altogether and just sending me a cab?

Crisis in Progress: Rhetorical Questions

–“You don’t know his name, and you’re pregnant by him?”

–“You want to file arson charges on your 10-year-old son?”

–“Why do you think 911 would call the power company for you?”

As one caller said, “That’s how people get killed–answering all these questions!” Well, no, it isn’t, actually. I cannot think of one instance, either in this jurisdiction or others, where someone was killed because the 911 operator  was asking questions. Interestingly, the man who was worried about getting killed answering questions was himself threatening to cut someone and burn down their house.


I’ve complained before about people refusing to go in their house to defuse the stressful situation before police get there. But here’s the opposing view:

“The guy who used to sleep with my ex-girlfriend is harassing me. He pointed his finger at me like he had a gun, so I had to run in the house.”


I reluctantly wish Nick a happy birthday.

Social Page: Beware the Ides of March

…for it is the birthday of Nick’s cub Thing 1, who is today 5. I was invited to the jamboree held for that purpose at the Wesselman Nature Center, probably because Nick wanted press coverage of the event. (He is wounded by every blog post which doesn’t mention him.)

This event required the dreaded Getting Up Early (before 11), which I normally do only for church. I felt guilty because my service cat had just cuddled up to me in bed, but guilt is a routine part of cat ownership. You can never do enough for them.

So I washed and combed myself, and Nick texted me and asked if I was ready yet, and I answered in the affirmative, which is pretty bold for someone standing there in a bathrobe. Trust me, throwing clothes on is the least time-consuming part of me leaving the house. Provided I’d planned the outfit previously, of course. It doesn’t always happen.

I was looking forward to this event because it would feature a falcon, and I’ve thought they were SO COOL since I was a child myself. (“Had falcons evolved yet back then?” Nick is wondering. See, I write his lines for him, to spare him the trouble.)

However, it turned out the falcon was “having a bad day.” (What would a bad day involve for a falcon? Gouging out someone’s eyes? Not gouging out someone’s eyes?) And how did they make up for the lack of a falcon? (I can hardly even type it without laughing, it so sounds like a bad joke..) They gave us–an owl with an eye infection, and a chicken. The chicken could do tricks with a Hula-Hoop, it turned out, although I didn’t see it. And the party picked up after I left (“I bet that happens a lot,” Nick is thinking)–a barn owl (minus eye infection–the infected one was a screech owl) and a skunk were deployed. Well, the skunk wasn’t actually deployed–I’m sure they save that for guests who refuse to leave.


–I believe Thing 1 is a perpetual-motion machine. Unlike Thing 2, who at one point was burrowing between his father’s legs as if trying to return from whence he came.

–The lobby of the Nature Center featured snapping turtles, both common and alligator. They were pretty cool, although they didn’t do much of anything. I imagine they would have done something if I’d stuck my hand in the tank, however.

–I got to meet Officer J.H., whom I had not met previously, even though we work together. Although he doesn’t actually look like the guy, his habitual expression was exactly like the guy in that movie trailer who says, “Go ahead and do it! The waiting is the worst part!” (I realize that if you haven’t seen the trailer–I think the movie is called “Taking Care of Business”–this comparison is of no use to you.)

–Just as I was leaving, Officer Sam-I-Am, Nick’s erstwhile partner, came in, modeling the latest in the Shorts of Horror collection (a favorite designer of hers).

–Nick was acting out his fantasy of being my sexy waiter, jumping to refill my glass, expecting tips, etc. When he wasn’t LURKING BEHIND ME, which is something he did  a lot of at Dispatch when we were on the same shift, too. I don’t know what the deal is, unless he’s thinking of cutting off my hair, which, I may as well tell him, would incur MY EXTREME DISPLEASURE. And no, that is not a dare.

%d bloggers like this: