Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Chinese food

Day 21 (Sounds Like I’m Serving A Sentence, Doesn’t It?)

S.G.’S 20TH POST, 4/21/13: The Relation of Sweet-Talking to @ss-Kicking

Pretty much what it says, which is why I didn’t bring it up yesterday. In retrospect, though, the illustration featured an old poster exhorting bakers–“We can’t win this war without the baked goods you provide!” I figured it would lift Rom’s morale.

S.G.’S 21ST POST, 4/23/13: Theater of Cruelty: I Apologize to Nick and Six Other People

–It is revealed that I was supposed to know that Nick’s offhand comment about going to Canton Inn meant he was offering to bring us all food. Therefore, neither I nor my co-workers got any, because I did not understand this. He did not yet know how literal you have to be with me. Giving me specific directions is also helpful, as Rom has learned.

–This post also marked the birthday of the great & glorious RABECCA. The illustration in her honor featured a stir-fry, captioned with the remarkable words, “Uploaded to Wikipedia to showcase baby corn.”

CRISIS IN PROGRESS

–“Caller was informed that getting to the mall is not an emergency.”

For some reason, my co-workers tonight felt inspired to tell their personal food-poisoning vomit stories. I have one, but Steak & Shake/St Louis/mid-70’s is all I’m going to say.

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Lord of Misrule

I have called you all together to address the topic of a certain photograph recently circulated on the Internet. Said photo purportedly shows your World Leader, dressed in un-matching clothing and wearing what are commonly known as Mardi Gras beads. Questions have naturally arisen.

BUT FIRST…

Mardi Gras means “Fat Tuesday,” because it comes before Ash Wednesday. Since the exact date each year depends on the date of Easter, it is understandable that one might not remember when it is. But we can all agree that IT COMES ON A TUESDAY, and therefore NO MARDI GRAS PARADE ON FRIDAY, UNDERSTAND?

Alright.

I just learned a few days ago that Mardi Gras has its own official colors–who knew? Purple, green, and gold. I realized–I can do this! As follows: purple turtleneck, gold polo shirt, olive green pants. And yes, the fact that nothing matched (well, my underwear matched the turtleneck, and my socks were chosen not by color, but because that pair wouldn’t scrunch down into my snow boots and never be heard from again, but I digress) didn’t bother me as much as it would have bothered me to go out on Mardi Gras not wearing the Mardi Gras colors, once I knew there was such a thing. Once you know the truth, you’re obligated to follow it.

“But, but–” they say, squirming with impatience, “what were you doing eating lunch with Nick in the first place?”

Well, because he asked me. And the reason he asked me, it turns out, was because his owner was out watching 50 Shades of Gray, and he was in need of some wholesome entertainment. (Although, as it turned out, he was secretly fantasizing about how I acquired my two {2} strands of Mardi Gras beads.) (More on that later.) (More about the beads, not his fantasies.)

We were chaperoned by his two cubs, Thing One and Thing Two. Thing One is, I believe, destined to become like his father–Nick said, “I love you, son,” and was answered with “Yeah, right.” Four years old and he’s already sardonic. This was followed by a steady barrage from the back seat–“Dad, can you see me?” “No, I’m driving.” “Can you see me now?” “No.” “How about now?” “No, but I can feel you kicking the back of the seat.” Nick’s patience was saintly. I found it amusing, but I don’t have to live with it, since I have no children that I know of. Thing Two didn’t remember that he’d actually seen me a couple times before, and stared at me with solemn suspicion.

We landed at the Canton Inn, where Nick had threatened to take me on our ridealong, which now will never be, due to scheduling conflicts (the conflict being that I refuse to work on the same shift with him). I partook of the legendary buffet, which has the wonderful plus of LABELS FOR ALL THE FOOD, so I don’t have to risk a golden-brown batter coating actually containing something I don’t like. I had: egg drop soup, crab rangoon, fried rice, green beans that looked like asparagus, and which I actually thought were asparagus until my dining companion corrected me, and something called salty chicken, which was. Chicken and salty, that is. It was all very good, and the fried rice was excellent. Speaking of being corrected by my dining companion, I HAD TO BE TOLD that you’re supposed to take a fresh plate when you go up for seconds, instead of bringing back the plate you already have. Well, it’s not like I was going to stick my saliva-coated fork and spoon back into the public trough, so WHO CARES, and more importantly, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?

“But, but–” they say, imprudently interrupting me, “what about those Mardi Gras beads?”

OK, then. There is actually a separate story for each strand.

STRAND 1 (green round beads): This was a reward for eating lunch at Hacienda on 1st Avenue, which I did because my dental appointment happened to be on Mardi Gras one year, and Hacienda is across the street from the dentist’s office.

STRAND 2 (green disk-shaped beads): A reward for standing at the bus stop at Franklin & St Joe after the Mardi Gras parade had passed by. (And you know the old saying, “I Love a Parade!”? I hate a parade.) The beads were lying on the ground next to the bus stop sign.

So you see, there was a story to go with these beads. Just not a very interesting story. (“I came up with a better story,” Nick says, but I pretend not to hear him.)

And then he took me to DQ to get ICE CREAM, because I’d said I was giving up dessert for Lent the next day. Because that’s just the kind of guy he is.

I got home, and thought smugly, Ha! He should have taken a picture, to prove that I actually agreed to be seen with him in public, but he didn’t think of it! Went to check my email, and thought, Why are there all these Facebook comment notifications? Because HE TOOK THE PICTURE WHILE I THOUGHT HE WAS CHECKING HIS TEXT MESSAGES. So, speaking of 50 Shades, I think his owner should spank him when she gets home.

A SAYING FROM THE OLD COUNTRY

All together now: What old country? Any old country!

Nick was quite taken, in an icked-out sort of way, by a playful threat grownups used on children back in Rom’s childhood–“I’ll turn you upside down and spit in your butt!” Feel free to use it on your own children, if any. It will at least make them stop and stare at you for a moment.

Adventures in Low-Fi

I gave up on the smartphone experiment, since the phone’s I.Q. was apparently higher than mine. It felt like I was trying to ride a motorcycle that was too big for me. (I actually considered taking up motorcycle riding at one point. Surprised? Hey, I walk streets of fire!) So I just got myself another Jitterbug and had it text-enabled, which was the feature I used the most anyway.

THE LIBRARY OF TEXTS

The said phone features 20 pre-made texts, to spare you all that typing for routine messages. I was intrigued by what they thought I would probably need, but the texts were boring (although I’ve already used “Thank you” once and “No” twice).

MY OWN SUGGESTIONS FOR PRE-FABRICATED TEXTS:

“Help, I’m locked in the trunk!”

“Is this 911?”

“Stop bothering me.”

“I mean it.”

“No, I won’t pick up anything for you while I’m out.”

“This is 911? No, I can’t come in to work. I’m sick. No, it’s none of your business where I am.”

SPEAKING OF THE RELATIVE INTELLIGENCE OF PHONES….

My current least-favorite commercial is the one for, I think the iPhone, with a bunch of people tuning their instruments, then a girl starts screaming, “Gigantic! Gigantic! Gigantic! A big big love!” I mean, doesn’t that thing last two and a half minutes? It ends with someone using her phone to set off fireworks. Big deal. People can use their phone to dial 911 with their butts, so what?

WHY I SHOULDN’T BE TRUSTED WITH DEVICES OF ANY KIND

–I wondered why I couldn’t get out of the bathroom stall, then realized I hadn’t unlocked it yet.

–I was attempting to dose myself with antihistamines, of a brand I hadn’t used before. “Push pill through the foil,” the instructions said. (“Then place in mouth. Then swallow.”) “Why is this pill so *$%! hard to push through the foil, anyway?” Did you know it’s a lot easier if you peel the paper off first?

–I bought some microwave popcorn, paid for it, then left the store without it. Yes, it was too late to go back by the time I realized it. Luckily, Nick & Sam took pity on me and brought fried rice. I asked if anyone had a scissors to open the soy sauce packets (NO, I can’t tear them open, WHY WOULD YOU THINK SO?), and both officers promptly produced surprisingly large knives from some unknown location. So that was a bit unsettling, but luckily, someone did have a scissors. (I wasn’t about to try using either of the proffered police implements, since there wasn’t an ambulance standing by.) (I hope I haven’t revealed some law-enforcement secret here, but I don’t imagine officers being armed is a real big secret.) By the way, Nick had change for the first time. Perhaps next time he will learn not to drop it on the floor. I guess he believes what they say, that if you want to solve a problem, you throw money at it.

THESE ARE CRAZY DAYS

…to steal a title from the late and lamented Brown & Langrehr, a local band we followed back in St Louis.

It’s summer, when the calls are insane.

–“Officer safety alert–subject previously disconnected his colostomy bag and threw the contents on officers.” “I once saw a guy disconnect his colostomy bag and drink from it,” Sam offered helpfully. And they wonder why I don’t want to go on a ridealong. That, and having to sit in the back seat with whoever they arrest.

–“Intoxicated subject left the house with a sword.”

–“Naked female standing in caller’s yard.”

The perfect run would involve nakedness, a sword, and a colostomy bag.

–A little girl said her parents made her drink detergent and rubbed her teeth with bleach. This proved to be untrue, although it does sound like something Nick’s owner would need to do to him periodically for maintenance.

…AND I END ABRUPTLY, HAVING FORGOTTEN WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY

 

I Got Distinguished Hair!

…from “Mitt Romney Style”

My beauty secret? Regular combing!

I was bending over the heat vent at work, to unplug my phone from the charger, and the person relieving me (D.D., my lone fellow cat-lover) said, “You’ve got model hair!” For one brief shining moment, I thought she meant my hair looked that good, but she just meant it was blowing around.

YOU LEARN SOMETHING NEW EVERY DAY AT THIS JOB!

What I learned yesterday:

–No matter what, you cannot open a soy sauce packet with a scissors without having it splash on your hands. But I wasn’t about to ask Nick to open it for me, so it’s the price I had to pay. And yes, I washed the scissors. Again.

–Having someone stare at me while I eat makes me lose my appetite.

–There is a high rate of recidivism among banana thieves.

Fortune cookie: “You are strong and sensitive.” Right.

I DID NOT WATCH THE SUPER BOWL. I DID, HOWEVER, ENJOY STEPHEN COLBERT’S “SUPERB OWL” COVERAGE. HATE ME NOW, KTHNXBYE.

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