Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Lent

What I Did On My Vacation

…other than getting bitten by a dog, of course. That’s more of an adventure than I usually want to have.


This actually took place before the dog-bite episode, but the latter kind of drove it out of my mind.

I was sitting near the back door, eating and minding my own business (eating fish, in all likelihood, it still being Lent), when a scruffy-looking guy wearing Carhartt-type overalls and nothing else came charging in. He stomped over to a table where an elderly couple was eating and yelled, “DON’T YOU KNOW WHY WE HAVE *$@%! REAR-VIEW MIRRORS?!! YOU ALMOST HIT A HOMELESS PERSON!” {I suspect he meant himself.} Pointing at elderly man–“F@CK YOU!” Pointing at elderly woman–“AND F@CK YOU! GO KILL YOURSELVES!!!” He then charged back out the door. A moment later, apparently unsatisfied with his previous performance, he came back in again and addressed the room at large. “DO YOU SEE THOSE PEOPLE? THEY ALMOST HIT 2 HOMELESS PEOPLE IN THE PARKING LOT!! WHY DO YOU THINK WE HAVE REAR-VIEW MIRRORS?! F@CK THEM!! THEY SHOULD KILL THEMSELVES!!” Having delivered himself of this speech, he left again. (Suicide note: “Dear world, I’m killing myself because some guy at lunch told me I should.”)

Once he was safely gone, a young man came over to the old couple, asked them if they were OK, said that the guy should have respected his elders (you know you’re old when someone says that to you), and said, “My dad over there was getting his knife out!” (Situation ESCALATE in 3…2…1…) There followed intense discussion about whether management was going to call the police. I waited breathlessly for the police to arrive, but they never did, so I guess the answer was no. The manager did mention that wearing overalls and no shirt still qualifies as No Shirt, No Service. I hate to think of what that guy would have done if he’d been refused service on top of nearly being killed in the parking lot.

Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen

…as usual.


Fiona and Archer insisted on telling me the story of their birth. According to these two reliable sources (who are, after all, only 3 years past that event), Fiona kicked Archer out of the womb, and then he pulled her out.


The Ski pie at Marx BBQ has a weird undertaste. Of course, I am only an occasional consumer of Ski, so don’t take my word for it.


Rom recommended that I try their Triple Steak Stack, because I am carnivorous by nature. I thought it sounded good, but then I saw the commercial, which advises guys not to define their manhood by whether they use Axe/Old Spice body spray, or are The Most Interesting Man in the World, but by whether they eat the Triple Steak Stack. I was afraid Taco Bell would not allow me to eat said entrée–in the manner that some primitive tribes don’t allow their women to touch certain objects–but they did agree to take my money. And I did indeed like the item, so there. Although I was unnerved by the fact that the wrapper said “DO NOT MICROWAVE” all over the inside. Of course, considering the time it took them to serve me, they were probably building a fire to cook it over. Anyway, I ended up destroying my manly credentials by deciding the whole thing was just too messy, and cutting it up with a knife and fork.


I decided to give up desserts for Lent. The other day at work, the Birdman offered me an ice cream bar, and I forgot it was Lent and took it. And then remembered, and ate it anyway.


For some reason, Nick is under the impression that I am plotting his death. I assured him that, if he fell into my hands, he would be treated with the utmost CARE and CONCERN. Personalized attention. He responded, “I’m pretty sure I’d knock you over if I fell into your hands.” I reported this to Rom, who said, “Well, I wouldn’t say you’re the best candidate for doing one of those trust falls.”


…the photo with your obituary is a mug shot.


Nasty Habits

Ad on Facebook: “The Wear-All-Day Bra You Absolutely Need!” I absolutely do not need to wear a bra all day. You’d be amazed how fast I can whip that sucker off. Without even taking my shirt off. It’s a magic trick many women have mastered.


Didja ever notice all the fish-sandwich specials at this time of year? And that they’re all “for a limited time only”? Guess what limited time it is? That would be Lent. But they never mention it, lest non-Catholics think they’re not allowed to buy a fish sandwich on sale.


–Call of a possible meth lab. The sign on the building says “Hoosier Accounts.” So much better than getting your meth from Mexico, or wherever it’s coming from these days.


I encountered Nick at Thornton’s, and now I have a knot on my head and Coke on my jacket. I will jerk a knot in his tail at my earliest opportunity. Which reminds me…

The other night, I went down to Fountain Ave. (there is no fountain to be seen there, by the way), where they were attempting to train Nick to detect arson, sniff out explosives, etc., with the aid of a burned-out car. (He will work for food, such as bananas, oranges, and the occasional dead rat.) But first he tried to guard the car by jumping on top of it and flaring his wings. He can hardly be blamed for that, since he has been bred and trained for guard duty. He then found an old shoe in the gutter, and between chewing on it and growling at anyone who tried to take it away, there was really no reasoning with him. So they called in the Cop Whisperer.

He tensed up when he saw me, raising his head, with a strip of leather dangling from his jaws. “You can’t have this shoe.” He quickly gulped down the rest of it.

“I already have shoes.” I showed him, and he drew back a little, because, well, he’s been kicked once or twice.

He then laid down, wrapping himself in his tail (although the claws protruded just a bit from beneath it) and folding his wings. In other words, appearing as non-threatening as one can when one is bristled and scaly. Unfortunately, the fang tips also protrude a bit even when the jaws are closed.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” he said.

“I highly doubt that.”

“It’s true. Did you know–” he sort of elongated toward me, without getting up off his belly–“that, if you volunteer to go on a ridealong, you retain your right to leave at any time? It’s called our catch-and-release program.”

“Back off or I’ll swat you on the snout. No, I did not know that.”

“It’s worth considering, don’t you think?”

“It sounds like a trap.”

“Would I lie to you? I’m offended that you would think so. Why don’t I just pounce and rip you apart right now?”

“Would it be worth all the trouble you’d be in?”

“Ah. There is that. I’ve heard stories…”

“So how about paying attention to your fire training now?”

“I don’t like fire. Fire bad.”

…And that, for the time being, was that.

To be continued, if he has his way….

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