Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Labor Day

Fishing For Compliments and Looking For Answers

Welcome to D., who found her way here safely. I’m betting these are more words than you’ll ever get out of my actual mouth.

Speaking of words…


–Sister Theresa: “I never let my kids scream like these.”

–Charles: “If you burn them with a cigarette once or twice, they’ll learn.”

NO, he’s not really in favor of child abuse. He’s just funny that way. You can see how I’d fit right in with this bunch.


If you plan on robbing someone, don’t wear yellow shorts.


The yellow-shorts guy said his victim gave him the money to give to some other guy to buy some pills, and then the pill guy proved unreliable, and a scuffle broke out. The reporting officer observed drily, “Investigation determined there was some truth to this story.” I will report what the pill guy was wearing as soon as details become available.


–Thanks to my colleague Canderson, who was astonished that I’m old enough to have had a colonoscopy (9 years ago!). And that’s all you’re going to hear on that topic. Well, except for the fact that I’m planning on having a party for my 60th birthday. I have until May to realize that this would be a really bad idea. As if getting drunk in public could ever be a bad idea.

–Thanks to Charles, for thinking I would make a good novelist, although he has no evidence to base that on.

–And Rom said I was successful in my line of work (not this one, the real one) because “you’ve been there a long time and haven’t been suspended!” Hard to believe, isn’t it?


WordPress has a tempting option, Add Poll. Let’s try it (with some trepidation–what if it doesn’t work and the computer blows up?):

Mid-Century Modern


…my in-laws, that is. This involves finding a safety zone–a cushy chair in a far corner is ideal. However, on the way, Rom’s daughter was talking about some recent furniture finds, and mentioned that one piece was valuable because it was from the coveted Mid-Century Modern period. I thought, Wait, wait–back up. Mid-Century Modern? You mean what your father and I knew as “furniture”? So I have decided my kind are not baby boomers, but Mid-Century Modern, and I have a feeling you all are going to get pretty sick of this term before I’m done with it.

Annnyway, I was fashion-disadvantaged because the party setting featured a swimming pool, and I have no bathing suit, because up to now, no one I know has had a pool. (Even though I can’t swim, I enjoy the splashing-around part. As long as no one tries to shove me under water. Remember that I’m dangerous when frightened.) So I solemnly promised to buy myself a bathing suit next summer. I also told myself I’d lose the 10 (OK, 15) extra pounds before next summer, but like that book I plan to write, I’ve been telling myself that for a very long time. I will say, however, that I was very well-accessorized. Rom was planning on distributing some necklaces he’d made to his mother, daughter, and sisters, and I wore mine as well, so that no one would think I hadn’t got one. Because that’s just how good a Christian I am.

(Speaking of ecclesiastical matters, we at St Boniface have a new young priest. He is short, slight, and bespectacled, and I was trying to figure out who he reminded me of. It was at a high point in the Mass that I realized–my spiritual director is Harry Potter.)

I was looking forward to dinner, because there was a pile of fried chicken, and Rom said, “Did you see the corn bake?” “The–corn bake?” I said, barely able to believe something that sounded that good. “Yes, it’s got corn, creamed corn, and cream cheese–” and I was bolting for the kitchen. So excited was I that I piled these items on my plate, brought them happily to the table–and realized that not all the food was laid out, and the signal hadn’t been given to actually eat yet, and Your Humble Narrator had missed Another Social Cue, so I had to just sit there and be embarrassed until the actual moment arrived. No wonder I had to ask where the forks and napkins were–they hadn’t been put out yet. But I’m married to Rom, so these people are stuck with me.

And my old friend Charles, as he is not called, asked me how I’m doing on the book. As if that were a real thing. Maybe I should give up this fantasy life and start living the life I actually have.

Oh, and Bingo Pingo is alive and well. Thanks for asking.

Yes, I’m an Unreliable Correspondent

English: New York City Mayor Mike Bloomberg wi...

English: New York City Mayor Mike Bloomberg with Spider-Man at Midtown Comics Downtown. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

…but let’s move on, shall we?


…Lurking for many months below the ground, in the company of cicadas but feared by them, slowly making its way to the surface, behold…THE UNION SUIT! DANCING ITS WAY INTO OUR HEARTS AND MINDS!

Yeah, you probably forgot about the present menace, since we’ve been battling the Baby Corn since March. But now it is a new (but equally evil) age. Especially since the B.C. will still be in evidence until the actual first day of fall. The B.C. and the U.S. have been spotted together. As always, observers were unable to determine if they were in alliance or opposition. Renewed and redoubled vigilance is called for.

{Thought I just heard a co-worker tell a caller, “Just slap your keypad.” I think she actually said ‘lock,” but, you know…}

I should have realized the signs of the times. Remember when I reported that Thornton’s no longer has 44oz cups? (Yeah, it was a long time ago, I know.) And I praised Phillips 66 for still having them? Well, the other day, I was there at Phillips and I TOOK THE LAST ONE.  (So now you know who to blame.)  Now, instead of 20, 32, and 44oz, they have 16, 20, and 32 oz. And what could this be but a conspiracy? THE Conspiracy! Sabotaging our national styrofoam supplies! Preventing us from having the quantity of carbonated beverage it is our right as Americans to have! Perhaps Mayor Bloomberg has reached his octopoid tentacles from New York into the sensible Midwest.

No, I am not insane.


The Police Department just posted on Facebook that a couple local radio D.J.s will be going on a ridealong, and broadcasting therefrom. Being, as I am, a radio personality of sorts, I am picturing a broadcast I could do:

“Yes, we’re turning into the convenience store lot now. The building is draped in black to observe the death of the 44oz cup. Several police officers are present, with solemn faces, consoling themselves with coffee.

We are now stopping at the officer’s house so he can use the bathroom.

Now we are on Reitz Hill, currently infested with football fans, giving out parking tickets to all and sundry. I can spot my husband applauding this on my front porch.

And on to Howell Park. We spotted a couple guys hitting each other with 2 X 4’s, but it turned out to be some sort of local athletic competition.

Investigating Howell Wetlands. The officer is telling me of a case where someone died of mosquito bites here and fell into the swamp and was never heard from again, but I suspect he’s making it up.

Breaking news–we are just receiving word of a shoplifter escaped from Walmart. We are currently eastbound on the Expressway, headed toward the other side of town. I was under the impression that there is another  Walmart actually located in this particular officer’s beat, which may be the one we’re supposed to be headed for, but I never go to Walmart, so what do I know? We seem to be picking up speed in this heavy traffic, and swerving, um, rather rapidly, and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NICK, PLEASE SLOW DOWN, ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US KILLED?” {car goes airborne briefly, a big screechy U-turn is executed, we head back toward the right Walmart this  time, and the dispatcher wonders why it always takes 2W21 so long to call on scene.}

*****************THE ASTERISKS OF SERIOUSNESS**********************************

Happy Labor Day!

A small town I’ve never heard of in Illinois is considering outsourcing their 911 services, and negotiating with 2 different national dispatch companies. National dispatch companies? Say what? “Yes, we want to make sure no one has any common-sense knowledge of our particular locality.” (Remember what I said very long ago–Just because computers make it possible to do something doesn’t mean we should be doing it?) They are doing this because, A MONTH AFTER SIGNING A UNION CONTRACT, They came back and asked the dispatchers to accept concessions, including regular pay for any overtime hours, which I believe is illegal, {commence sarcasm) in some obscure technical sense. {end sarcasm} {Yeah, I know, it never really ends.}

Y’all gonna make me act a fool, up in here, up in here….

***********AND BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAM**************************

Ambulance enroute for a 14-year-old girl who dislocated her knee while dancing. LAY DOWN THE BOOGIE AND PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC TILL YOU DIE!

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